ERRAND BOY? EMBRACE THE JOB

Who’s an errand boy? Who isn’t?

That’s how things get done, doing on errands.

What else is there, hiring someone to do errands?

But there are times it makes sense.

My neighbor once invited me to go on an errand with him in his hotrod car.

I needed to get a few things and always wanted to take a ride in the car that seldom left his garage, so why not?

We hit 70 mph in a 35 mph speed limit road. I was clinching a little, but rode quietly while a built 327 roared down the rode.

I hadn’t heard that sound since 1977 when I borrowed a hopped up ’72 Mustang and drove past my ex-girlfriend’s house in Eugene. (Hey Rob)

I didn’t hit 70 in the alley, but the revs and burnouts showed its spirit.

After we got back together I asked her about it. She was not amused.

 

The neighbor and I went to Fred Meyer for our errands.

We spotted a clerk and he asked:

“Where are the condoms.”

Just a couple of guys looking for condoms. I couldn’t stop laughing.

To keep up I bought a fours pack of Fleets enema juice.

Me at the checkout:

“I’m glad I found these sports drinks.”

It was the neighbor’s turn to laugh hysterically. (Hey Larry)

 

Errand Boy On The Job

I visited my Mom one time when she was feeling awful and needed some relief.

Wife: She needs help.

Me: She’s fine.

Mom: OHHH IT HURTS.

Step Dad: We have home care coming tomorrow.

Wife: She needs help today. Now.

 

My Mom was trending downward and didn’t leave her chair very often due to mobility problems associated with age.

I had a clue about it because I’d been the 24/7 caregiver for my father in-law for five years. I’d bragged about keeping him going without problems like constipation.

To prepare for the home care nurse the next day, step dad and I went to the store for enema gear.

When we got back, Mom was in worse pain.

 

Wife: You need to do something now, or we’re going home. She’s in awful pain.

Me:

 

My Mom struggled to her feet, gripped her walker, and ambled to the bathroom.

My wife gave me the eye and pointed that direction. I shook my head. She gave me the baseball signal for out.

As an embracer of the errand boy philosophy, and not be an irresponsible caregiver, I stood up.

Things turned out positive and the day calmed down.

I mentioned the visit to family members, telling them to expect the same treatment on their birthdays.

They all agreed to suspend their birthdays.

 

Talk The Talk, Walk The Walk

From helping others, to addressing problems on my property, some activities need professional intervention.

This is a picture of a collapsed retaining wall in what passes as a backyard.

It bulged outward for years. My contractor buddy said don’t worry, it’s not a landslide so don’t take it apart and rebuild until you need to.

That was the talk I remembered while I took a lap and saw this. Not a landslide, then what happened?

Each block was full of soil and weighed about sixty pounds.

Should I jump in and try to fix the mess? Of course. If it proved too much, I had a crew to call.

My guy said it would cost $2000 to $2500 to repair.

So I jumped in errand boy style.

I cleared the blocks, cut back the ivy, chipped mud off the front of the bank, and found the problem.

The base didn’t have a cement footing poured and the front edge of the blocks had tilted forward.

I got down in the mud with a kickass pry bar and leveled the entire row along with the sides I took down to even things out.

To keep blocks in place I sledge hammered four foot lengths of re-bar under each block at an angle to hold its position.

It may have been the hardest work I’ve ever done in my life, so I set a pace.

That was the key.

Solve problems after setting priorities. Don’t add to the problem, don’t be the problem.

I’m Bulldog tough, lift weights, but I’m also sixty-nine. No shame if I gave up and called in the professionals.

But I went into a construction trance, bought new boots, and steeled myself for the work ahead.

I was shocked at how sticky the mud was.

Each boot loaded up to about ten pounds each and slippery.

Priority: Don’t slip and fall on the cement blocks.

By the end of the day, the third day, this is the wall:

What’s it feel like to see a problem, assess a solution, and drive it home?

Pretty damn good, I must say.

I once posted a work picture and got this response: “You’re a field hand.”

This is the field hand after hours of continuous effort:

Could I do it day after day, year after year?

I’m not that tough anymore, but tough enough for a few days of grinding hard labor.

Did I celebrate with a few beers? Not this time, but I’d earned it.

Instead, I hosed off the tools and boots, went inside for a shower, and stretched out on the couch with my wife.

She’d made dinner, football was on, and I was the king of my castle, not a dirty rascal.

I think my he-man beard grew an inch while I was setting blocks.

Errand boy proud.