Skeletal Adjustment & Shopping Saturday

Hoping my shoulder problem was not a rotator cuff injury of the sort for which surgery is the recommended treatment, I called a chiropractor in the town where I work to see about getting a skeletal adjustment. Multiple automobile wrecks when younger, sundry other injuries, gave me reason to think the chronic shoulder and other pain is related. Interconnectedness of bone and sinew, and so forth.

Last time I saw a chiropractor was in the mid-nineties, and the one-time adjustment helped a lot. Earlier, in the 1980s, I got relatively frequent adjustments from Frank N. Roje at San Pedro. Frank’s method did not involve racking and cracking, but the guy I saw yesterday did just that. Although still in some pain, it’s way less severe.

Home from work yesterday afternoon, I cleaned out the refrigerator. Man, what a lot of food we waste. Caution-Lady’s gorge rises in the presence of anything that’s been too long growing mold, so she tends to “not see” things in the fridge that need thrown out. I guess as long as she can handle changing the little monkey’s fecally diapers (because Daddy’s gorge sure enough do rise then), I can tolerate throwing out the stuff my wife’s scared of.

I’m not paddling today, but will spend time with Caution-Lady and Seventy-Six. We’ve got to buy a new television that will work with our new DVD player. I’ll probably have to go to at least one department store to shop with my wife for her sister-in-law’s latest baby’s Christmas gift outfit. I know already my eyes and mind will glaze over, and I’ll be looking for a place to take a nap. Kryptonite.


So I had a job interview today for a position as an instructor for one of the state’s departments. Got home early, ate a 12 point lunch, changed into slacks, white shirt, tie, steel-toe bomber boots, and drove to the interview site about four minutes from my house. The interview went really well, however, since 22 people signed up to interview, the interviewers can only choose from among the top three in terms of overall central-office scored apps, I probably won’t make the cut. Maybe next time.

Back home again the phone rang, and I had to run a related errand. When I finally changed out of dress clothes I can wear again thanks to a net loss of about 16.5# (I gained a pound to get back up to 170), Caution-Lady wanted me to look after the baby while she went to the store.

Coming late in life to fatherhood, I had a goal, and it was never to change a diaper.

Shortly after she left I heard El Ninito sqaulling. He stank. I couldn’t leave him in that. No diaper-roulette this time. I knew what it contained. Without vomiting I got through the ordeal, and so did my son, all clean and still screaming. My younger brother and family bought me two harmonicas and one shaker-egg for Christmas. I’ve found the shaker-egg amuses and interests the baby when he’s protesting a change of diapers. Holding the egg in his hands and shaking it, or against the bottoms of his feet while shaking it seems to produce a sensation he finds distracting and interesting. But not today.

Then, I put him in his cradle and rocked it while reading to him from a children’s book entitled Just in Case You Ever Wonder, getting choked up a bit at the last couple of pages. May have shed a manly tear, but the baby wouldn’t have noticed, as much as he cries.

Getting choked up is the damnedest thing. Emotions have no real value, their expression fails to verify depth or sincerity. Although mine are subject to the observation and analysis of my intellect, they continue to coexist with the great and arrogant brain.

Be grateful there’s no picture today.