Go Retire Psychiatrist

Thoughts on Etiquette

I sometimes wonder about etiquette. Take the sandwiches in the featured image today. Of course, you can’t actually “take” them; don’t be so literal. My wife, Sena made them for lunch yesterday, after we’d worked on clearing a lot of snow and ice from our driveway and sidewalks. We were ravenous.

Sena ate the neatly cut sandwich with her hands. I ate the messy one and you can see why it’s messier—I used a knife and fork.

I looked this up so there can’t be any dispute: it’s perfectly acceptable according to the rules of etiquette to eat a sandwich with knife and fork.

That said, there are questions about why there would be rules of etiquette about how to eat sandwiches in the first place. Without any research on it, I surmise it’s all about messiness.

Is it messier to have the condiments and contents of your sandwich smeared all over your plate or your face? You be the judge; but just so you know, since I’m writing this post, I’m the authority and I say you ought to keep your sandwich off your eyebrows and your earlobes in polite company.

This reminds me of other points of etiquette I’m often not sure about. What about coconut? I just happen to be one of the many souls who cannot stand the texture of shredded coconut. It’s like chewing pieces of paper. I just can’t bring myself to swallow it.

What do you do if you’ve discovered, too late, that you’ve just taken a mouthful of shredded coconut? What is the proper etiquette? You’ll be happy to learn that I have the answer although I didn’t do any research on the matter.

You should discreetly expectorate the papery mess on the left side of your dinner plate—without making any kind of noise as though you were hawking up a lunger. You’re welcome.

And what do you do with those beer bottles made by knuckleheads who think it’s clever to wrap paper around the neck all the way up over the cap which you can’t just twist off? You try your best to pop the top with a standard bottle opener and you can bet your bottom dollar a piece of paper will end up in your beer. It’s a small piece, just big enough to make you worry that you’ll choke on it like you would on a piece of shredded coconut.

Etiquette might say you should adroitly hold your bottle opener so that paper doesn’t end up floating in the foam. But you’ll have plenty of foam everywhere if you try to be adroit about it; trust me, I know. The bottle will slip, tip over, and smack the countertop which will lead to an eruption of suds all over the place, including you. No matter how hard I scrubbed and how much air freshener I sprayed in the kitchen, Sena called out from down the hallway in the front of the house, “Boy, sure smells like beer in here!”

You could just leave the paper in the bottle, which is the easiest. However, it’s pretty tough not to try to drink around it. Etiquette doesn’t cover that, probably because there is no way to gracefully drip beer from your chin.

Moving on to another point about etiquette although not involving food, let’s get back to shoveling snow, which we did an awful lot of yesterday.

We don’t own a snow blower, even though we live in Iowa, which gets a fair amount of snow. Yesterday morning we woke up to about 5-6 inches (not counting the driveway plug, courtesy of the city plow) of heavy snow and ice. We got out there and I was poised to plunge my ergonomic shovel in the plug when the neighbor across the street walked over and shouted over the roar of his snow blower, telling me he would be happy to let me use it. He offered more than once, pointing out that he was already finished clearing his driveway.

It was tempting. We usually spend about 2-3 hours shoveling after a heavy snow. On the other hand, I had no idea how to operate a snow blower. What would etiquette say about how to respond to repeated offers from a friendly neighbor to allow me to borrow his?

I could have just said “OK” and borrowed it. The only problem with that is I would then demonstrate my total ignorance about the machine. I would probably have the augur cranked down too low and sent spears of shattered driveway into his chest (I’m sure he would stand out there and watch me). How about rotating the chute so that the snow and ice hits me in the face? What does etiquette have to say about that? That’s probably more about first aid and the emergency room than etiquette.

On the other hand, I couldn’t let him know I didn’t know how operate a snow blower. Etiquette amongst guys is clear on that point. I would have had to turn in my man card. So, I did the only thing I could, which was to politely decline the offer, “I appreciate you so much, but I do this mainly for the exercise!”

Then I would proceed to throw my ergonomic shovel into the drifts, twist and hurl the load of snow clumps that were more like stones over my shoulder and slam the shovel into the drift in order to make an impressive show of the proper technique for removing the frozen residue from the inside of the shovel. I paid dearly for that later.

Anyway, those are some of my thoughts about etiquette. It’s time for blueberry tartlets. Etiquette clearly allows eating them with a shovel.

Kitchen Table Cribbage

Well, Sena and I are making progress with our cribbage playing skills. We’re in the Kitchen Table Cribbage league for sure. I think one of the main differences between American Cribbage Congress (ACC) rules and Kitchen Table Cribbage rules is that no penalty points for mistakes are scored in the latter. I’m sure there are many other differences; but you know, when I googled the term “Kitchen Table Cribbage,” I came up empty.

For us, the learning curve is pretty steep but it’s a lot of fun. We made a YouTube video of our latest efforts. We must have made at least a half dozen tries at it before we settled on one which we think had the fewest mistakes. That doesn’t mean there weren’t any. I edited out glaring errors, but I’m sure viewers will find others.

We’re also using our new v-tournament cribbage board, on which it’s easier to peg (although the video shows me fumbling with my pegs!).

I hope cribbage enthusiasts give us some credit for at least trying to illustrate the basic rules and play of the game. I could find very few videos on the web that used a demo game to help tyros pick up the basics from the players’ perspective. We had a hard time just figuring out where to place the board and how to play the cards, which I had to piece together from different web sites and a surprisingly small number of YouTube videos.

You’ll notice Sena and I help each other with the pegging and scoring hands and cribs. You can’t do that by ACC rules. And there’s a Muggins rule you can apply that lets you take advantage of your opponent’s mistakes.

I also got a free cribbage scoring app for my smartphone, although we don’t use it that much. I’m sure you can tell.

Hey, we’re Kitchen Table Cribbage players. We’ll leave Muggins to the pros.

Go Kitchen Table Cribbage!

An Auspicious Chair

I took the picture of the little chair one of the residents brought to the psychiatry consult office yesterday. I got a big charge out of it, especially because I’ve been using a version made of wood and leather for a few years now. I think it’s possible that it could be an auspicious chair.

The resident actually used his, too. It was a busy day; I put in about 4 miles and 40 floors on my step counter—which meant the residents did too. The chair is obviously useful to rest our feet, but I think Thomas P. Hackett summed up the best ever rationale for sitting with patients:

“As a matter of courtesy, I sit down when interviewing or visiting patients. Long accustomed to the ritual of making rounds, many physicians remain standing as a matter of course. Standing, physicians remind me of missiles about to be launched, poised to depart. Even if that is not necessarily true, they look the part. Patients sense this and it limits conversation. In addition, when standing, the physician necessarily looks down on the patient. This disparity in height is apt to encourage the attribution of arrogance. Looking down at a patient who is prone emphasizes the dependency of the position. Sitting at the bedside equalizes station. Sitting with a patient need not take longer than standing with him.”— Hackett, T. P., MD (1978). Beginnings: liaison psychiatry in a general hospital. Massachusetts General Hospital: Handbook of general hospital psychiatry. T. P. Hackett, MD and N. H. Cassem, MD. St. Louis, Missouri, The C.V. Mosby Company: 1-14.

I had a little fun with the chair in a YouTube video as well.

The chair I use now is a replacement for the first one I got as a sort of loaner from a colleague in Palliative Care Medicine. That one broke during a consultation visit with a patient and his family (circumstances disguised to protect confidentiality) in the emergency room in which we were asked to evaluate for catatonia. The patient was mute but there was little evidence otherwise for catatonia, one of the chief features of which is the inability to react to any stimulus in the environment. I was sitting on the chair explaining in detail the intravenous lorazepam challenge test for catatonia (which often interrupts the episode of muteness and immobility).

I was sitting in front of the patient but facing the family and the consult service trainees while expatiating on the topic. As I was droning on, I heard a sudden pop—and I fell unceremoniously on my rear end as the chair collapsed beneath me.

My audience exploded in loud laughter, of course, as you’d expect when a pompous ass falls on his ass. But they also pointed to the patient. When I turned to look at him, he was convulsed with apparent mirth although still unable to make a sound.

I considered this a novel test for catatonia, negative in this case. Of course, it would be impractical for regular use.

Where was I? Oh, the little chair the resident brought for consult rounds. I was honored by it. It seemed to show that I was leaving a legacy as I head for retirement in June.

Another sign of leaving a legacy was a New Year’s email message I got from a former resident, Dr. Paul Thisayakorn, MD, who has been making an auspicious beginning in the field of consultation-liaison psychiatry in Thailand. He’s working very hard and is an outstanding clinician, researcher, and teacher. He has a lovely family. He and I respect each other a great deal.

Speaking of auspicious, when Paul graduated from our psychiatry residency and before leaving for his Consultation-Liaison fellowship program, he gave me a necktie with white elephants printed on it. I still have it. I may not have the symbolic meaning of the white elephant exactly right, but I think the white elephant in Thai culture is called “chang samkhan,” or maybe “chang phueak” which means “auspicious elephant.” In general, I think the idea is they symbolize success or at least the promise of success. Paul’s gift showed his gratitude and respect for me because I was one of his teachers. I am still honored to have been a part of his education and his life. I will always treasure his gift of gratitude.

Paul is very hard-working and very successful. And if the residents now start to use the little camp stools to sit with their patients, I would treasure that legacy as well.

Do Barbers Still Exist?

About once or twice a year, I consider going DIY on getting my hair cut. My wife has been doing it for decades and cutting mine as well. Do barbers still exist? Or are we now calling them stylists? I grew up in the era when males usually sat in dim waiting rooms with a few rickety chairs around a beat-up table gaily decorated with coffee cup ring stains, cigarette burns, and old sports magazines dated from the Eisenhower administration. You waited for your favorite barber as the one you were leery of from past bloody buzzcuts loudly snaps an apron over his empty chair, staring at you.

Anyway, I usually go through about a half dozen on-line instructions in text and videos. The gist of most of them is usually polarized between two main viewpoints.

Writers on one side command you to never go DIY on anything as crucial as getting the right haircut because that’s why hair stylists (they almost never call them barbers) go through years of training. The message is that if you try to cut your own hair, you’ll be shamed for the rest of your natural life because you’ll certainly goof it up, wind up in the gutter and eventually have to move to Antarctica where you can at least hide your head in an oversized hooded parka, not that the seals and penguins care much about your hairstyle.

The other side generally says anyone with a kindergarten level education and a pair of garden shears can and should cut his own hair and do it right now for the sake of our economy. The instructions usually contain about a dozen or so steps and several disclaimers which sound like empty reassurances (“Remember, it’s just hair; it’ll grow back!”). If you see an article in which the expert doesn’t know the difference between “perpendicular” and “parallel,” regarding cutting with a pair of scissors, you should probably just ignore it.

There is a third approach, which might fit an old guy nervous about hitting the barber scene after so many years. It’s advice about how to talk to your barber about what kind of haircut you want. I used to ask for a knuckle cut, which I think means different things to different barbers. I found one YouTube video about not cutting past the second knuckle which likely explains why some barbers gave me a funny look whenever I asked for a knuckle cut. It’s just a general principle about how to cut using a pair of scissors, not a specific cut per se.

So, talking to your barber would involve knowing the language of the art. The minute you get in the chair, you should confidently state, “Los libros están en la biblioteca.”

Seriously, there are a number of terms out there on the web about haircuts that barbers suggest you not use if you don’t know what you’re talking about—like the “fade.” The definition according to one author is that your hair is cut all the way down to the skin at your hairline. Most writers recommend readers not ask for it because they probably don’t want it. OK, I don’t want it.

Another cut I don’t want is a buzzcut, something I mentioned that old timer barbers used to give me when I was a kid. That was my first ever haircut at the barbershop. I remember it because he tied a piece of paper around my neck which I was really nervous about because it was tight. In fact, there are on line DIY suggestions that you can use a belt for the same purpose—which I think is just to mark the boundary of your neck hairline and which sounds a little creepy. Interestingly, the buzzcut is what some writers recommend for DIY beginners to haircutting. Just for the record, I’m opposed to cuts that involve chainsaws. I’m also not too keen on seeing what my scalp looks like after all these years.

I see the difference between the block and tapered nape cuts, the latter being preferable since the blending with the natural hairline makes for a longer-lasting neat look as the hair grows out.

I’m not as sure about the other kind of taper which is more technical and involves tapering the hair length gradually from the top of your head down to the neck. If I want my hair about the same length all the way around, I probably don’t want a taper—right?

I don’t know how to talk about texture with a barber. “Please cut my hair so the texture is like, you know, hairy.” But there are terms for texture, such as “razored” which some experts swear gives you a “badass” look, I think because the barber uses a straight razor. The associations elicited using words like “badass” and “straight razor” in the same paragraph tend to make me a little edgy.

I don’t know how that would even look, but that reminds me of another suggestion for how to talk with your barber about what you want which doesn’t involve words but pictures. You should bring a photo of your favorite movie star sporting the cut you want.

“To look like Yoda, you want?”

I think I’m on safe ground if I tell my barber I would like my arches natural, referring to the hairline around my ears. If you ask for high arches, you might risk getting the loving cup look. I can handle my own sideburns, thanks. I have a trimmer for that, but if you have to mess with them, just trim them a little.

For now, all I can say for sure is that I’m not going DIY on my haircuts as a New Year’s resolution. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

New Cribbage Board Delivered Before Christmas–Barely

We got our new cribbage board today—after ordering it on December 15, 2019 by Priority Mail through the United States Postal Service (USPS). It’s a handsome Cherry on Hickory base V Tournament board, although we were puzzled by the label on the box which indicates that it was a Priority Mail 3-Day delivery when it was anything but.

In fact, my wife, Sena, took it down to the post office to ask a few questions about the meaning of Priority Mail. Our expected date of delivery was changed several times. Initially, it was December 18^th or 19^th. That morphed into December 21^st, 22^nd, and finally the 23^rd. We got a couple of email notices saying it was to be delivered by 8:00 PM, even on a Saturday when we knew the Post Office was closed. A 3-day delivery turned into a week, which the USPS charges us a little over $13 and then says there’s no guarantee.

Sena found out that even if you order it delivered by First Class, depending on the weight, it gets bumped to Priority Mail. I’m guessing you pay more for First Class, but it sounds like you might not necessarily be any better off. Moreover, the multiple changes in expected delivery dates were called “unusual.” The worker was sympathetic, but sympathy was all Sena got. Sena was lucky she didn’t get the postal service worker working with another customer in the line next to her. All that worker said was, “There are no guarantees!”

In fact, we interrupted a cribbage game today when we discovered the new board was delivered on our porch. I set up both boards to reflect the scores.

Cribbage game in progress…

I can see that it’s easier to play a two-handed game with fewer chances for mistakes in pegging on the new board. The tracks are further apart. Knocking over pegs was not uncommon on the old board—unintentional of course.

The metal pegs that came with the new board fit the holes perfectly and the stowaway hatch on the back for them were safe because of the snug fitting wooden cover.

As I’m finishing this post, our cribbage game which started this morning around 10:30 AM, sits on the dining room table unfinished on both boards. That’s because it’s close to 50 degrees outside and Sena is watering the lawn and the trees.

We might finish the game—but there are no guarantees. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year–that’s a priority!

Shopping for Cribbage Boards

As you know, Sena and I have been relearning how to play cribbage, a traditional card game using a special peg board for keeping score and about a million rules. They say cribbage is a game that takes 20 minutes to learn and 20 years to master.

We’re having a lot of fun learning. We bought a set for about ten bucks. It’s a folding board, a little over 14 inches long and 3 and a half inches wide. The pegs are plastic and can be stored in a shallow slot on the back of the board—not protected by the plastic sliding cover. We found that out one day; luckily the pegs weren’t lost. You can find these in most hobby and big box stores where you live. We’re shopping for a new cribbage board.

The cribbage set came with a simplified set of rules, which you can read with a standard magnifying glass. The peg board has 121 holes and you sort of race around the board to see who gets to 121 first, pegging your progress by scoring special combinations of cards from a standard 52 card deck like cards whose pip values add up to 15; pairs; 3 and 4 card runs like 6, 7, 8: flushes and so on. Then you score your hand and your crib (an extra hand that only the dealer gets and to which both the dealer and non-dealer contribute). Because there are so many opportunities to score during the game, it’s a lot easier to peg it out on the cribbage board. You can find all the rules on the American Cribbage Congress (ACC) website. The basic game is for two players although there are 3 and 4-handed versions.

Because our board is a little on the small side, we’d like something bigger and easier to read. I’m not a shopper by any means, but I’m learning about the variety of boards out there.

As usual you can find anything on Amazon, but what we’re looking for is something large and for that we have to look in other places. It turns out there are tournament boards that the ACC recommends and uses in the many tournaments around the country. You won’t find tournament boards just anywhere. You most likely won’t find them in any local store where you live.

There are tournament boards that have two straight rows that go for 60 holes up and back (to cut down on pegging errors) and a line across the board at the 90 mark, which is the skunk line. If you don’t make it past the skunk line, you have the right to be embarrassed. It means you will never be a cribbage player worth two cents, probably lose your job, your home, end up in the gutter, be kidnapped by aliens, taken to another planet in a distant galaxy and displayed in a zoo for the rest of your natural life, living on a diet of wild hickory nuts, which the aliens think all earthlings survive on.

That means you should study cribbage closely and for that you need the right kind of board. We like to have numbers printed on the board—but it turns out the official tournament boards don’t have them. When I think about it, I guess it makes sense. There are only two peg holes worth paying attention to and that’s the one where the skunk line is and the 120^th.

But it just looks nicer to have the numbers on the board. We’ve shopped around a little. There is a tournament board that is a special V-type version. There are two rows but the 2^nd row slants away from your opponent, making it even easier to peg.

There’s a guy in Florida who makes a V-type with all the numbers and even images of little skunks on it. It’s a little bigger than ours, made of hickory and comes with one of three top playing surfaces to choose from: Cherry, Maple, and interestingly, something called Beetle Kill Pine which is wood from thousands of acres of pine trees that have been killed by a beetle that injects it with a dye, giving a bluish cast to the grain. He doesn’t mention whether the boards are disinfected or not. The board runs about 75 dollars if you buy the cloth carry bag (65 dollars if not and that doesn’t count shipping). The maker is very honest and tells you that he can’t promise that the pegs he makes will fit the holes. Hmmmm.

There are mom and pop outfits in places like Canada and Rhode Island which specialize in hand-crafted game items and they make gorgeous cribbage boards, one of which will set you back over 100 dollars. It’s about 29 and a half inches long and about 8 inches wide and the pegs are 2 and a half inches long. It’s called the Imperial, and well it should at the price. The same outfit also has another model which I later learned is a Century model, a vintage board with a busy top surface along with the peg holes around the edges. There are several different peg holes that allow you to score other things like skunks, “legs” (which I think are different from games and matches, but I’m not sure, unless it’s for how many of your legs the aliens hack off for every skunk you lose by), hickory nut brownie recipes, and ways to score up to about 900 points, for what I don’t know. There’s so much stuff on the board it’ll make your head swim, but it’s the least pricey of the higher end bunch we’ve been looking at. It goes for 50 bucks. Part of the description of the company says the founders “…believed that quality materials and painstaking engineering were tantamount.” I think they meant “paramount”.

The place in Canada makes pretty boards out of Canadian Hard Maple. The largest one is about 27 inches long by 8 inches wide and has a stowaway slot for the metal pegs and a deck of cards. Most storage compartments on cribbage boards have the kind of slots we have on our cheapo board, with a little cover that slides over the slot, which falls off and allows the pegs to escape to their everlasting freedom down the floor heat register. The Canadian model (called the Jumbo) has an artsy carved wooden cap which is secured by “powerful rare earth magnets.” Have fun playing if you can get the cap off. It’s priced at 65 dollars and that’s with the storage bag.

You know, our little 10 dollar folding cribbage board does get the job done. Happy holidays!

Go Cribbage, Psychiatrist!

Sena and I started playing cribbage again yesterday after Thanksgiving dinner, for the first time in over 20 years. It was a great way to pass a little time; we hope you had as much fun in your own way.

We’re rediscovering how fun it is to play cards. We’ve been brushing up on the many rules of cribbage. It was just a practice game—BUT I WON, YEAAHHH!

OK, technically the game was null and void because I screwed up on one of the several dozen conventions such as how to cut for the starter card. Actually, I forgot it completely during one hand.

Because scoring is pretty complicated and easy to screw up, I downloaded a simple and free smartphone app to check our addition, at least until we get more practice. We’re using it to help us check our math, just until we’re more confident.

In general, there two phases to the game, sometimes called the “play” and the “show.” In the play you try to earn points by making plays of scoring cards, such as 15s, pairs, runs, and so on. You keep a running tally of the cards by counting each card as it’s played. But you can’t go over 31. In the show, you score cards and the crib (a special hand that only the dealer scores) to which the two players each contribute two cards. Games usually go to 121 and you keep score on a cribbage board on which you “peg” your points as you make them. See the ACC for the full rules (see below).

And, it just so happens that today is the 29^th of the month—which reminds us of the very rare but possible 29 score in cribbage (see below). We’ve not played in so long that we’re really green beginners, as you can tell in the video. Making the video was just as much fun as playing the game.

I’m sure anybody who is experienced will cringe as they watch us play. Probably even dead cribbage experts will turn in their graves. We think it’s a hoot. We made mistakes and Sena even got the giggles.

The biggest organization in the world for cribbage is the American Cribbage Congress (ACC), which was established in 1980. They have an annual Tournament of Champions in Reno, Nevada. You can find out anything you want to know about cribbage on their website.

There are many branch cribbage clubs located across North America, called ACC Grass Roots clubs. There’s even one in Ankeny, Iowa, called Club #17, Capital City. You play 9 games in an evening, rotating from table to table so you can play someone different each time. I notice that the club in Ankeny tells you not to worry if you have trouble moving through the rotation scheme, because they allow for stationary seats. There are awards given, such as for getting the extremely rare 29-point hand, which some say is as rare as a golfer getting a hole-in-one.

And I notice that photos of players on the ACC websites show mostly people my age—not implying anything at all. They say games usually take only 15 to 20 minutes. Sena and I took much longer than that today. I guess you could say that, as mentioned on the Capital City website, we play what they call “kitchen table cribbage.”

Go cribbage!

Back in the Saddle Again

This is just a short update on how phased retirement is going. I’m back in the saddle. Last Friday I went back on duty on the Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry service. I’m at 50% time. My step counter today shows about 2 miles and 17 floors—a slow day. That’s fine with me.

Colleagues pass me in the hall and say, “I thought you were retired.” They don’t look happy when I tell them I’ll be fully retired in June next year.

But I’m a little happier. It’s taking a long time to get used to not being a fireman, which is what it means around here to be a C-L psychiatrist.

How’s the cooking going? Miserable but getting better, in a way. I can deal with things like “Just Crack an Egg,” which my wife, Sena got for me, as a sort of sympathy gift, I guess. I can handle it. And I made an omelet the other day, my first ever. The kitchen was not filled with smoke and it was edible.

How’s the exercise routine going? I’m still at it, 20 minutes every day, along with my mindfulness practice.

As I was giving my usual orientation remarks to the new trainees coming on the service this morning, I caught myself saying “I do it for the juice” when telling them why I do this schtick. I’ve said that to a lot of residents and medical students over the years.

I guess I should rethink that remark and the mindset that makes me say it so often. Pretty soon, I won’t be chasing all over the hospital anymore— “for the juice.”

I’ve been trying hard to find something else for the juice. Sena and I’ve rediscovered card games we haven’t played in over 20 years: Pinochle and Gin Rummy. I lost track of time playing Gin yesterday, I had so much fun. We just celebrated our 42^nd anniversary. It was magical.

I’m probably going to be OK.

Baby Boomer Tools

The featured image for this post is a group of three snow shovels, one of which is my new ergonomic snow shovel, which is the one with the silver handle with the black grip. It’s right next to the old one, roughly the same model only with a crack in the blade from the time last winter when I tried to use it as an ice chopper. That’s why there is also a box labeled “Ice Chopper”—which is also new.

Snow shovels are important at our place because we don’t have a snow blower. We got a little snow yesterday (which promptly melted almost completely) and the forecast is for a few inches tomorrow. I probably won’t need the shovel.

The snow shovel is about the only tool I feel reasonably confident in using these days. I used to be more comfortable with a variety of tools years ago, even including some automotive tools, like the one pictured below. If you don’t know what it is, it might be because you’re not a baby boomer, like me.

Vintage Auto Tool

There’s a similar tool that a seller on eBay calls “vintage” and which you can buy for about five bucks. I can’t recall what I paid for the auto tool when it was new. I’m sort of a vintage boomer. There have been a couple of surveys done in the last few years which tend to indicate that baby boomers know a lot more than most younger people about what do with cars for preventive maintenance and repair. It surprised me a little that young folks may know more about how to set up the GPS than change a tire. I have changed a tire once or twice in my entire life. One of those times was in the pouring rain. Everyone should have those experiences; they build character.

At least, that’s the kind of things many of the old-timers (I assume most of them are older) say on some of those DIY web sites. There were 70 comments in reply to an on-line story written by someone who was courageous enough to mention that he didn’t think it was worthwhile for most people to change their own oil these days. Most of the commenters were polite but a few mentioned that if you didn’t change your own oil, you should lose your “man card.” One of them was named Natalie.

That doesn’t necessarily apply to all boomers. I changed my oil regularly back in my younger days. I used that tool and knew what I was doing—sort of. On the other hand, I did have a slight problem getting a transmission adjustment done, which resulted in a large bulge in our garage wall, when I mistakenly hit the gas instead of the brake. Sena thought I would not mention that. It was another time, maybe in another dimension.

Sena asked me to check the fluids in the SUV yesterday, which tends to puzzle me anymore. I’m not sure what to do about the oil, transmission fluid, and whatnot these days and, because we lease a car, I’m not motivated to do much, including oil changes. I used to change the oil in our cars but that was many years ago. I had a pair of red ramps I drove the car up onto so I could slide on my back under the car; I had an oil wrench; I had a pan to catch the old oil; I had a big oil stain in our driveway. Sena was a bit more tolerant of certain things like that back in those days.

I also knew what to do with that strange looking tool pictured above.

Anyway, I checked the oil. It was fine. I was not sure where the transmission fluid dipstick was—and eventually found out by checking on the web that there is no dipstick for it. The driver can’t check that; it has to be done by a dealership mechanic.

I topped off the windshield wiper fluid. The radiator fluid level was fine. There was also the matter of a maintenance alert on our dashboard screen that I tried to reset but could only get partly accomplished. We didn’t need to change the oil yet but the darn thing was constantly alerting us to do so, each and every time we started the vehicle.

The owner’s manual was not helpful for learning how to reset the maintenance alert or much of anything else. Sena stopped at the dealership while she was out doing other things and told him the manual was not informative. He was surprised to learn that we even looked at it—most people don’t.

I see snow flurries out there already; maybe I will need the new shovel after all tomorrow. I’m prepared.

My shovel and me

By the way, that tool in the picture is my vintage Kastar Precision spark plug gauge tool (which the guy on eBay called a “rare type”). You see the spark plug is a key component in the combustion engine, which works mainly because of a series of controlled small explosions caused by the spark from several plugs igniting a critical mixture of gasoline and air which leads to a series of relay switches and connectors to the GPS unit on the dash which tells you to drive your car through the back of your garage.

At least I still have my boomer card.

Am I a Mover and a Shaker—or Just Shaky?

I sometimes wonder about whether I’m a mover and a shaker or just shaky. I think it’s the latter. I’ve known plenty of movers and shakers and they tend to be great planners. On the other hand, I tend to take the path of least resistance. Often, I don’t consider enough options and just settle for what’s expedient. That has not always turned out for the best. My wife, Sena, is more likely to shop around for things which cost the least and reward the most—although that process can seem very long to me.

Take the time I decided I wanted to try private practice. There were actually two times and neither worked out in the way I intended. I learned valuable lessons, one of which was that I was a better teacher than I gave myself credit for.

I guess if I had thought things through more back when I thought the grass was greener on the other side of the fence, I might have qualified for the early retirement benefit from the place I left—twice.

On the other hand, I’ve made what seemed like hasty decisions other times in my life and made out all right. One of them was marrying Sena.

I can’t recall what the other one was.