Oh, Don't Worry.

My wife bought me a very nice wedding ring in May of 1979 with money she earned as a grocery bagger at Wray’s Grocery Store. I used to wear this ring with pride. It’s a beautiful ring really. Now back in the day when my waist size was a smaller number than my pant length, I apparently had thinner fingers. Circa 1979 I was wrestling in the 142lb. weight class. These days, I am happy when my weight is anything south of 2 bills. In-the-know readers of Darrell's Yakimania have commented that I have sausage fingers, whatever that means. An important point of this post is that I can no longer wear my wedding ring. I live a life style that often requires that I remove my wedding ring. Things such as, wrestling, rock climbing, lifting weights, etc. I have purchased a number of temporary rings to replace my wedding ring with the thought that I would eventually lose the weight and slip back into my real wedding ring.

Friends have suggested that I simply have the ring stretched. I consulted a jeweler, but he recommended against it because it would likely ruin the design of the ring. Because these temporary rings were just that—temporary—I have continued to lose them. Now I have mostly purchased cool CTR rings, and interesting rings from gas station jewelry display cases—you know the rings that in a week turn your finger green. The She-wolf commented that I don’t take care of my rings and continue to lose them because I know they are cheap rings and don’t value them. I suspect this is likely true.

For my birthday, I asked for a nicer ring; one that I would value and take care of—just like my original skinny ring that lies safely in the She-wolf’s jewelry drawer. While vacationing in Hawaii, the She-wolf found a beautiful Titanium and Koa wood ring—something perfect for a Wolverine, don’t you think?! However, I balked at the price of $195. I have become accustomed to spending nothing more that $19.99 on the temporary rings I have purchased over the years. Her response? “Oh don’t worry, that’s nothing compared to what you’re going to spend on the next ring you buy me!”

There was a very long pause. I gulped, laid down my plastic do-anything card and pulled the trigger on what is apparently a very inexpensive ring.

Little Boys

Anyone who has ever observed little children at play recognizes immediately the extreme difference in gender at even a very young age. This gender-based observation was on prominent display recently at a resort that Sheila and I were staying at in Hawaii. The Hilton Grand Waikoloa resort has a covered lanai with artwork, which runs the length of the resort—over a mile in length. While there is a train and aboat to transport guests to various locations on the resort, Sheila and I mostly walked the lanai. Every afternoon, we noticed that someone had strategically placed little stones at the rear end of the animal statuary to appear as dung. I was mildly amused and thought it funny. “Now what kind of person do you suppose would
do that?” I queried. “Well, you can be rest assured that it was not a female.” My wife replied. Hmmm…She's probably right, I had to agree. As I thought about this further, I concluded that it was probably some young boys who recognized a prime opportunity at some quality humor. The resort staff would quickly remove the stones, but by afternoon, the dozens of statutes had all apparently defecated that morning’s breakfast. It’s embarrassing to admit that I found this whole scenario grossly amusing. I noticed grown men laughing when they observed the stone feces; their spouses on the other hand, exhibited obvious signs of disgust. The She-wolf, of course, was disappointed that I also found this all so entertaining; and was mortified when I wanted to document my keen gender-based observations for my blog with photographic evidence.

“What if someone thinks you are the culprit?” she asked.

I tried to reassure her, “I’m 55 years old, who’d suspect me?”

Her reply shocked me, "I know you and I think you're capable of exactly that!"

Wow was all I could muster.

While I can’t be certain the culprit(s) of these vulgar, random acts of humor was a young boy (Afterall, it could have been a grown man!), the She-wolf assures me that it was a not a female of any age.

An Little Indiscreet Dinner Table Revelation

The She-wolf and I recently celebrated a very romantic Valentine's Day in Hawaii. We went to
Kauai for several days for our annual firm retreat, after which we returned to the Big Island to the Hilton’s Grand Waikoloa resort. We had taken our kids to this resort about a decade ago and had a fabulous time. As a pre-Valentine Day gift my thoughtful wife gave me a totally awesome T-shirt that read: I Put the "Man" in Romance.

Enough said. If you buy yourself the shirt, you appear the desperate fool. It's absolutely meaningless. However, if your lover gifts you the shirt, YOU are the man! The fact that this shirt was gifted to me by my lover truly communicated something special to me. To say that I was thrilled, would be a mild understatement.

Now when it comes to the “Romance-O-Meter” I have always considered myself somewhere near the top. The Shirt simply confirmed what I already believed to be true. I planned on wearing The Shirt on Valentine’s Day—maybe even to a romantic dinner. Even though, a nice restaurant might frown at such casual attire, I reckoned that an exception would likely be countenanced for my wife’s romantic gesture.

Several days before Valentine’s Day, we were having dinner with our law partners at Roy's in Kauai, when Mistee Verhulp (one of my partners) asked the Sheila, “Do you have any special plans for Valentine’s Day?” My wife replied, “Not really. Although, we are trying to get reservations for The Beach House--a very nice restaurant that Darrell and I went to the night of our 20th Wedding anniversary.” I interjected, “I’m pretty sure we’re going to have one of the most romantic Valentine’s Day of our entire marriage! Sheila has already bought me a most amazing gift, haven't you Sheila?!” Sheila, was apparently a little embarrassed by my bragging and declared, “Oh, as a joke, I bought Darrell, a silly little shirt.” ...Total silence on my part… I was musing to myself: What do you mean a silly little shirt? That shirt says it all, doesn't it?! Totally unaware of the dumb-cow look on my face, Sheila, cruelly continued, “Yeah, as a joke, I bought Darrell a funny T-shirt, that reads, I Put the Man in Romance.” “Ha, Ha, Ha!” Everyone was laughing…everyone that is, but me! I was devastated. “You mean it was joke? I thought you meant it. Why else would you give me such a cool shirt?” The crushed look on my face said it all. When Sheila saw the wrecked pain in my face, she tried to recover and say something sweet about me. However, the truth was already firmly established—The Shirt was merely a joke!

I am not sure how to put all of this in perspective really. I know that my wife loves me. She thinks about me all the time and is constantly doing nice things for me. She builds me up and speaks words of passion and love all the time. Despite all of this, at some level, apparently she doesn’t take me all that seriously. Her indiscretion was a cruel and painful revelation for me. Now, the worldwide readership that is Darrell's Yakimania well know that the naked truth is sometimes best to be avoided—this is particularly true in marital relationships. Yes, we demand fidelity and trust, but the TRUTH? Most definitely not all of the time. There are times that we simply need to be contented with honor, commitment and a lifetime of loyalty. I think the truth of how she treats me every day speaks louder than a slogan on some silly T-shirt. So in the future if you catch me proudly wearing the very cool shirt my wife thoughtfully gifted me for Valentine’s Day, go ahead, eat your hearts out--she might have really meant it! Well, that’s my version of the truth regardless of her little indiscreet dinner table revelation.

Tom

When our kids were little we used to play a game with them called "Guess Who." I am not sure exactly how this got started, but I am laying the blame directly at the feet of my most remarkable No. 3 daughter--Sydney. I believe Syd suggested to her siblings that I somehow look like Tom, a character in the game. Personally, I don't see it, but Tom nevertheless stuck visa-vis moi. In an act of disobedience that would place any child's inheritance in jeopardy, one of my children secretly removed Tom from the game and posted him on the fridge, where he hung for many years. Everytime, I removed Tom and threw him in the garbage, he would mysteriously reappear on the fridge. I eventually tired of this game and just played along. I am pretty sure this most dangerous act was to remind everyone in our family what a doofus I am. At least that's how I interpreted this 15 years ago. Actually, it still kind of feels like that.



Regardless, the question remains: Can you look like Tom, and still be uber-cool like me? I have included a survey above and would like your feedback only if your answers are a, b, or c. (In fairness to my children, I used to wear glasses more consistently than I do now.)

Salty's

Now I am not normally one to make a commercial plug for any business, but honestly, Salty's on Alki Beach (West Seattle) has what is probably the most amazing buffet known to man. I'm not going to lie--my first plate was all crab, shrimp and oysters. My 5th and last plate? Just crab of course. The smiles in the pictures below well represent the tale of the tape.




Shea and Chelsea are still smiling. They were in loads of pain three plates later.

Lil D enjoying the brunch and the parade of Nutcrackers.

Sheila and I enjoying a beautiful Holiday Season.

The crab table was temporarily out of crab--my face says it all.

Moments later, our server brought the news that the crab table had been restocked. Again, I think my face says it all. Sheila often reminds me that I am an easy read. I, however, have viewed myself over the years as mysterious and pretty much inscrutable. After seeing these pics, I'm ready to believe her view of me. What do you think?

Do I hear an echo?!

I have heard many middle-aged empty nesters claim that life was never better. I don't see it that way. Sheila and I have been alone for a week now, and I am hearing an echo. It's almost creepy. With kids around, I didn't have to think about what I was going to do--their calendars, events and schedules dictated my every move. I was able to carve out a few minutes for myself doing things I wanted to do. However, my schedule was always set against the backdrop of family events. Now, everything not set in stone by church and office work, is basically all mine. Sounds great? I hate it. I liked being inconvenienced by the kids. We had our children, to have our children. If I hadn't injured my knee, I would at least be working out. Without that outlet, I basically work at the office. Don't get me wrong, there is plenty to do, I just miss the kids and doing what they have scheduled. People have suggested that Sheila and I "borrowed" Peter and Tara last fall to give us time to adjust to this new life. While that's not true, having them around did help with this transition. Bishop Tree consoled me at church yesterday and assured me that in about 6 months time, I would adjust and might even find myself enjoying the empty nest. Hmmmm.... I have my doubts. So please keep me in your earnest prayers over the next 6 months and let's see if I can get through this.

I Deserve a Medical License

Sometimes, you just have to say it. One of my most important mottos in life, has been, "When in doubt, shout it out!" So here it is, "I deserve a medical license." I need a big collective effort from the loyal readers of Darrell's Yakimania to petition the Washington State Medical Association for me to receive a license to practice medicine. Many important people have received honorary degrees from prestigious universities. That doesn't mean squat. Those degrees are worthless--that's why they call them "honorary degrees." What I want is a license--now that's power. Dang it, I deserve it! Let me explain....

Below is a picture of The Big Nasty--aka Colton Guerney. He got off to a slow start this year, but I still have confidence that he will end up on the podium at the State tournament. West Valley has two good 285 lb wrestlers this year, both of whom could place. I included a picture of Colton because, well, he is The Big Nasty, and because I wanted to mention my role as a volunteer assistant coach in the context of this post. It's my job to wrestle the big guys and coach them up. Well, it was my role until Christmas break when I tore my MCL at practice. I won't bore my World Wide Readership with the details of my injury, but suffice it to say that Dillon Foster (a former state placer for WVHS) has gained a little weight since he graduated. The good news is I don't need surgery; the bad news is I can't wrestle for another 3 weeks. I was determined to help Colton get better. Not being able to help is a big disappointment. I have a lot of big events on my outdoor calendar for 2012 so I need to be patient and get this thing healed, so I'm probably not going to live wrestle for the rest of the year.

However, what is of most interest to my World Wide Readership is my impressive medical acumen and spot on analysis concerning my injury. I immediately diagnosed my injury when it occurred. I briefly (and dramatically) whined about the pain, and then turned to "Fatty Foster" and declared,

"You Fatty, you tore my dang MCL! "

"Coach how do you know it was your MCL? You're not a doctor."

"Trust me, I know these things." I added, "Although, I'm pretty sure it's not surgical."

Upon my arrival at home, I declared to my caring and concerned spouse,


"Fatty Foster tore my dang MCL, but don't worry it's not surgical."

Her reply? "What makes you think you actually tore something? You're not a doctor. I swear, you are so dramatic!" (or words to that effect)

"Trust me, I know these things," was all I could muster.


Now somewhere between my competitive wrestling at USU and my 50th birthday, the She-wolf tired of my immature decision (her words, not mine) to keep wrestling for fun. "You're just going to get hurt, and when you do, I will quarter you no sympathy." I have mostly been impervious to big injuries (setting aside the two orthopedic surgeries for torn ligaments in my left shoulder and left thumb). So it was with great humility when I pleaded with her to drive me to the Ortho Clinic to obtain the drugs and crutches I needed. To be certain, I didn't need a diagnosis--I already had that!



The Ortho Clinic scheduled an MRI to confirm my diagnosis as well as a follow up appointment with PA-C Todd Curtis, to confirm my treatment recommendations. In the end, what I needed most from the medical community was drugs. That's almost always what I need from the medical community. Now there might come a day when I need Dr. Brett DeGooyer and PA-C Curtis to actually treat me, but until then, what I really need is a medical license to prescribe myself drugs.

I am not sure how these things are accomplished. It's too late for me to actually attend medical school and sit for medical boards. I don't have time for that. If I could just get the license, my life would be much simpler. One thing is for certain, I could reduce some of the congestion and out-of-control medical costs we all face. In particular, I would save myself a heck-of-a lot of money. If granted, I would be entirely magnanimous about this gesture in that I wouldn't charge anyone for my expertise. So, if you really care about my well-being and want to help resolve this health-care crisis, please do something about it and help me get what I most needed for Christmas--a medical license.