Howdy,
Welcome to the first post on this blog. I hope you learn a thing or two and when you are done reading each post, I hope you have a smile on your face.
I have written a group of essays detailing how it can be there are still real cavemen among the rest of you. In the essays that I will transform into posts, I will attempt to explain how and why men like us still exist and why we still make contributions to our communities and the world.
I can easily explain the differences between most men and women and when you understand the differences, you might just slap the palm of your hand against your forehead and blurt; "now why didn't I think of that!"
I will let you know why the title of this blog is "Caveman Dairy" and not "Caveman Diary".
I will open up the world to the inner workings of the hunter-gatherer man and how he fits into all the pictures, big or small.
You are finally going to learn, from a real caveman, why we don't talk a whole lot and why we simply can't listen very well. Everything will become so clear through reading the postings that you will come away with a greater understanding of why caveman are the way we are. More importantly, you will see why, once you understand us, we are very important to the society.
And now, without further adoo or adon't, I begin my Caveman Dairy!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
I am a caveman, please let me explain...
I am a caveman. You know many guys like me.
I am usually quiet around groups of people.
You think I don't listen to you.
I eat either bland food or bar-b-qued meat.
I can also eat spicy food.
If you put "California Cuisine" in front of me I'll probably ask you, "what's for dinner?"
I work, or I am retired from a job that didn't involve a lot of "group think".
When I watch T.V. that's about all I can do.
I know I know where I am going in my car/truck/suv.
I love to read......westerns, detective stories, military stuff, biographies of other cavemen, porn.
Every green living thing is either a "something kind of tree" or "I don't know the name of that flower".
I can spend hours playing solitare.
I enjoy being around other cavemen.
There will be lots more to learn about me in the future.
Back in the day, cavemen had just two tasks to perform: supply the community with food, and assist in creating more cavebabies. That's it. Those two tasks were the only things we were good at. BUT we HAD to be good at those two things or the community would not survive.
Cavemen supplied the food and assisted in creating more cavebabies. Cavewomen did everything else. We may never know the reason why this was the way it was, but in future posts I will show you why it was so important and how we real cavemen are still pretty much the way we were back then.
I am usually quiet around groups of people.
You think I don't listen to you.
I eat either bland food or bar-b-qued meat.
I can also eat spicy food.
If you put "California Cuisine" in front of me I'll probably ask you, "what's for dinner?"
I work, or I am retired from a job that didn't involve a lot of "group think".
When I watch T.V. that's about all I can do.
I know I know where I am going in my car/truck/suv.
I love to read......westerns, detective stories, military stuff, biographies of other cavemen, porn.
Every green living thing is either a "something kind of tree" or "I don't know the name of that flower".
I can spend hours playing solitare.
I enjoy being around other cavemen.
There will be lots more to learn about me in the future.
Back in the day, cavemen had just two tasks to perform: supply the community with food, and assist in creating more cavebabies. That's it. Those two tasks were the only things we were good at. BUT we HAD to be good at those two things or the community would not survive.
Cavemen supplied the food and assisted in creating more cavebabies. Cavewomen did everything else. We may never know the reason why this was the way it was, but in future posts I will show you why it was so important and how we real cavemen are still pretty much the way we were back then.
The Difference Between Men and Women
So much has been written, studied, argued about, fought over, and every other action concerning this subject, that I thought I would finally reveal the true difference.
Once you internalize the explanation, you will understand. Learning this key difference will aide you in reading and understanding future posts.
I am going to explain the difference between the vast majority of men and the vast majority of women, and I am going to do it with just three sentences. Once you see it, learn it, and realize it, all will be more well in your life, relationships, and future accomplishments.
Are you ready? Please read very carefully the next three sentences.
1. A "something" is any action, emotion, or thought.
2. Most men are "sequential tasking": they do something, THEN they do something else, THEN they do something else.
3 The vast majority of women are "multi-tasking": they do something, AND they do something else, AND they do something else.
See, now wasn't that brilliant! But you always knew it. You just didn't know how to put it into words.
These three differences explain so very much, so very easily. Now that you have read them, you can start seeing those differences in the men and women in your life.
The differences between "THEN" and "AND" are enormous. They were, and still are, life and death differences.
It is now time for you to reflect on this post. You may read the next post which will illuminate you about "sequential tasking" if you like. But I feel that I have given you something you can ponder on before going forward.
Once you internalize the explanation, you will understand. Learning this key difference will aide you in reading and understanding future posts.
I am going to explain the difference between the vast majority of men and the vast majority of women, and I am going to do it with just three sentences. Once you see it, learn it, and realize it, all will be more well in your life, relationships, and future accomplishments.
Are you ready? Please read very carefully the next three sentences.
1. A "something" is any action, emotion, or thought.
2. Most men are "sequential tasking": they do something, THEN they do something else, THEN they do something else.
3 The vast majority of women are "multi-tasking": they do something, AND they do something else, AND they do something else.
See, now wasn't that brilliant! But you always knew it. You just didn't know how to put it into words.
These three differences explain so very much, so very easily. Now that you have read them, you can start seeing those differences in the men and women in your life.
The differences between "THEN" and "AND" are enormous. They were, and still are, life and death differences.
It is now time for you to reflect on this post. You may read the next post which will illuminate you about "sequential tasking" if you like. But I feel that I have given you something you can ponder on before going forward.
The Caveman and "Sequential Tasking"
Remember when I wrote that caveman only had two requirements in the community? I wrote that a caveman's jobs were to supply food to the community and assist in creating more cavebabies. I also wrote about the differences between cavemen and women. Now for a longer explanation.
Cavemen were hunter-gatherers. Their job was to supply the community with food. If the community didn't have food, all would die. So cavemen developed special skills to hunt for and gather the most, and best food for their community.
In the lines below you will see the word, "we". When I write that I am referring to ancient cavemen and modern cavemen, like myself.
Here are some of the traits ancient cavemen had that you still see in us modern cavemen:
Quietness. It's very hard to stalk prey when your conversing with other cavemen. The prey didn't appreciate human voices nearby. Berries, grains, fruits, and vegtables don't have ears, so why talk when you are around them? It just wastes energy need to supply food to the community.
Keen eyesight. Those of us that were the hunters needed to find food sources from great distances.
Sequential task management. Growing food required us to plan, cultivate, gather, and transport food to the community. If we didn't develop the skills needed to grow food, there wouldn't have been a me to write this blog and there wouldn't have been a you to read it.
Concentration on one thing at a time. This trait has gotten us in a whole bunch of trouble with the multi-taskers. They don't understand it. Please let me explain.
When we went out to hunt for prey, we needed total concentration on the task at hand. We HAD to find, kill and transport prey back to the community. So we established plans to seek out, stalk, and kill the food we needed. That concentration required us to sit still for long periods of time, quietly surveying the landscape. We may have had to wait many hours or days to have the opportunity to get the prey. We had to be focused on the task at hand, very focused.
For the gatherers like me, we needed to have a set of guidelines that had to be followed strictly to provide the best food for the community. We had to forego distractions to develop the skills to become farmers and "ranchers".
Engineering skills. To provide food, we had to develope the tools required for the hunt and the sowing. We taught ourselves how to make weapons, not to kill each other, but to kill the prey we needed.
There are more skills we have that are different that cavewomens' skills. More further along in the future.
Cavemen were hunter-gatherers. Their job was to supply the community with food. If the community didn't have food, all would die. So cavemen developed special skills to hunt for and gather the most, and best food for their community.
In the lines below you will see the word, "we". When I write that I am referring to ancient cavemen and modern cavemen, like myself.
Here are some of the traits ancient cavemen had that you still see in us modern cavemen:
Quietness. It's very hard to stalk prey when your conversing with other cavemen. The prey didn't appreciate human voices nearby. Berries, grains, fruits, and vegtables don't have ears, so why talk when you are around them? It just wastes energy need to supply food to the community.
Keen eyesight. Those of us that were the hunters needed to find food sources from great distances.
Sequential task management. Growing food required us to plan, cultivate, gather, and transport food to the community. If we didn't develop the skills needed to grow food, there wouldn't have been a me to write this blog and there wouldn't have been a you to read it.
Concentration on one thing at a time. This trait has gotten us in a whole bunch of trouble with the multi-taskers. They don't understand it. Please let me explain.
When we went out to hunt for prey, we needed total concentration on the task at hand. We HAD to find, kill and transport prey back to the community. So we established plans to seek out, stalk, and kill the food we needed. That concentration required us to sit still for long periods of time, quietly surveying the landscape. We may have had to wait many hours or days to have the opportunity to get the prey. We had to be focused on the task at hand, very focused.
For the gatherers like me, we needed to have a set of guidelines that had to be followed strictly to provide the best food for the community. We had to forego distractions to develop the skills to become farmers and "ranchers".
Engineering skills. To provide food, we had to develope the tools required for the hunt and the sowing. We taught ourselves how to make weapons, not to kill each other, but to kill the prey we needed.
There are more skills we have that are different that cavewomens' skills. More further along in the future.
Why men can't do what women do, part one
I did the best that I could on the title of this post. Probably the more correct title could have been, "Why cavemen can't do what most women do."
I think it is safe to admit that all men are not cavemen. But there sure a heck of a lot of us left on the planet. Most of the cavemen are not gay, BUT I FEEL THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY!!! Most gay men seem to have transformed themselves into "multi-tasking" men who have more opportunities than we cavemen at learning to deal with women.
It can also be acknowledged that not all women would fit the "multi-tasking" abilities that cavewomen had. Let's leave that to someone else's blog.
Cavemen don't do what many women can do, not because they won't try, but they simply CAN'T do those many things.
I am always amazed that my wife can read a book and still understand what is happening on the T.V. My wife can talk with me while she is thinking about her library, at the same time she is ironing her clothes for the next day's work.
I will use me as a prime example of a "sequential-tasking" modern caveman for the purposes of explaining why cavemen can't do what most women can do.
If I watch T.V., I use my concentration skills genetically implanted in me to concentrate on the T.V. program. When my wife comes up and asks me something, I don't hear her.
I don't hear her because I can't hear her. A "sequential tasker" like myself can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Remember "do something THEN something else"? My brain is not wired to do more than one thing at a time. Please don't get anywhere near me on the road if I have my earpiece in my ear. When talking on the cell phone and driving, we simply don't have the capacity to do both things at the same time very well at all.
That being written, when I am doing a "something" and only that one thing, I am totally dealing with that one thing and foregoing everything else.
While writing the previous post to this blog, my wife tried to talk to me about one of my other blogs. I lost track of what I was writing because she spoke words I had written and I got very confused. I had to stop writing and talk to her. I lost my concentration, and that is very natural for me.
I hope you take what I have written and try to look at the cavemen in your life and how they interact with you. I am very sure you will see some of the same issues in them that I write about.
I think it is safe to admit that all men are not cavemen. But there sure a heck of a lot of us left on the planet. Most of the cavemen are not gay, BUT I FEEL THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY!!! Most gay men seem to have transformed themselves into "multi-tasking" men who have more opportunities than we cavemen at learning to deal with women.
It can also be acknowledged that not all women would fit the "multi-tasking" abilities that cavewomen had. Let's leave that to someone else's blog.
Cavemen don't do what many women can do, not because they won't try, but they simply CAN'T do those many things.
I am always amazed that my wife can read a book and still understand what is happening on the T.V. My wife can talk with me while she is thinking about her library, at the same time she is ironing her clothes for the next day's work.
I will use me as a prime example of a "sequential-tasking" modern caveman for the purposes of explaining why cavemen can't do what most women can do.
If I watch T.V., I use my concentration skills genetically implanted in me to concentrate on the T.V. program. When my wife comes up and asks me something, I don't hear her.
I don't hear her because I can't hear her. A "sequential tasker" like myself can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Remember "do something THEN something else"? My brain is not wired to do more than one thing at a time. Please don't get anywhere near me on the road if I have my earpiece in my ear. When talking on the cell phone and driving, we simply don't have the capacity to do both things at the same time very well at all.
That being written, when I am doing a "something" and only that one thing, I am totally dealing with that one thing and foregoing everything else.
While writing the previous post to this blog, my wife tried to talk to me about one of my other blogs. I lost track of what I was writing because she spoke words I had written and I got very confused. I had to stop writing and talk to her. I lost my concentration, and that is very natural for me.
I hope you take what I have written and try to look at the cavemen in your life and how they interact with you. I am very sure you will see some of the same issues in them that I write about.
Why Cavemen are competitive
Think about it. You have to feed your community. You need to bring in the best harvest. If you aren't the best, cavepeople will suffer.
How to you kill the most, find the best, and carry the most? Simple, be the best.
Competition. Originally in my essays I wrote that cavemen weren't necessarily competitive. I changed my point of view will looking closely at "Type A" males, which I am not one of.
I looked particularly at the financial sector in our modern world. I learned about men who use other people's money to make more money for themselves. These cavemen were driven to achieve a simple goal; more is better. These fellas had high levels of concentration about the topic of making money. "The guy who has the most toys, wins."
The hunter who brings in the most food helps his community the best. The farmer who grows the biggest crops is also the hero in the community.
The only way to be the best is to compete. It doesn't matter if your competing to find the next medicine to cure a disease or hitting the most home runs. Cavemen compete to provide the best for themselves and others.
Is competition a major trait a caveman has? I think probably, yes. In early cavedom, cavemen did what they could to provide and assist in creating more cavebabies. With the ever increasing successes of the creating angle came the need to provide more food for the community. More mouths to feed, the more food needed. In time, I feel, cavemen within a community began competing to see who could provide the most food or assist in creating the most cavebabies.
Some competition is more obvious than others. I was never the fastest, best looking, most adroit, or smartest. But I can usually get at least a chuckle out of just about everyone. My competitive trait is to be funnier than the next caveman. I also competed, unknowingly to most others, to be the best technician in the work I do. Did I succeed at either competitions? I can make folks laugh and I can fix communication devices quite well.
So yes, another trait of being a caveman is competition.
How to you kill the most, find the best, and carry the most? Simple, be the best.
Competition. Originally in my essays I wrote that cavemen weren't necessarily competitive. I changed my point of view will looking closely at "Type A" males, which I am not one of.
I looked particularly at the financial sector in our modern world. I learned about men who use other people's money to make more money for themselves. These cavemen were driven to achieve a simple goal; more is better. These fellas had high levels of concentration about the topic of making money. "The guy who has the most toys, wins."
The hunter who brings in the most food helps his community the best. The farmer who grows the biggest crops is also the hero in the community.
The only way to be the best is to compete. It doesn't matter if your competing to find the next medicine to cure a disease or hitting the most home runs. Cavemen compete to provide the best for themselves and others.
Is competition a major trait a caveman has? I think probably, yes. In early cavedom, cavemen did what they could to provide and assist in creating more cavebabies. With the ever increasing successes of the creating angle came the need to provide more food for the community. More mouths to feed, the more food needed. In time, I feel, cavemen within a community began competing to see who could provide the most food or assist in creating the most cavebabies.
Some competition is more obvious than others. I was never the fastest, best looking, most adroit, or smartest. But I can usually get at least a chuckle out of just about everyone. My competitive trait is to be funnier than the next caveman. I also competed, unknowingly to most others, to be the best technician in the work I do. Did I succeed at either competitions? I can make folks laugh and I can fix communication devices quite well.
So yes, another trait of being a caveman is competition.
Cavemen and Religion
Now here is where I may get into trouble. If you dream about it, you just might see it.
As cavemen progressed, time passed, and skills were honed, communication began.
Picture a group of cavemen walking toward a place they think there will be great prey to hunt. What do you imagine they talked about? They probably talked about life in the community, who was the best hunter, and what should they do when they returned home. (insert create more cavebabies here.)
At some point in the early history, different communities of cavemen began wondering about life and why they thought and communicated differently that other creatures. In there talking they probably learned the each of them had two common questions that all senescent humans have or are told: "Why am I here?" "Is this all there is?"
Religion was invented to answer the two basic questions that humans had when they began to think for themselves, all the way through to every thinking person on the planet, today.
I can imagine that small groups of cavemen began to ponder these questions and try to understand why they all had the same questions. Perhaps a particular caveman came up with answers the other cavemen liked and presto, the first minister is found. I bet that since the other cavemen gave high regard to the caveman that answered the questions that most pleased the others, that caveman was considered more of a leader. When this new leader was acknowledged, then he was given high status in the community and others began to seek his counsel.
"STOP! STOP! STOP, M what about religion and cavewomen?
Remember when I wrote that the difference between cavemen and cavewomen was between "THEN" and "AND"? Cavewomen had to do everything else in the community that Cavemen couldn't or wouldn't do. I don't think cavewomen had the time to consider the two questions, even though, they were probably on the minds of the cavewomen, too
Here is a list of some of the duties of cavewomen that were definitely or probably not shared by cavemen who were out hunting or gathering most of the time:
Bare and raise cavebabies
Provide shelter, clothing, water, and firewood for the community.
prepare and serve the food the cavemen brought to the community.
Learn and share skills with other cavewomen all at the same time they were caring for cavebabies.
Teach the cavedaughters the skills they would need in the community.
Everything else the cavemen didn't do.
Cavewomen did all of this all at the same time.
So you see, cavemen are "sequential tasking": they do something, THEN they do something else, THEN they do something else. Most women are "Multi-tasking": the do something, AND they do something else, AND they do something else. (If you are new to this, look at a post lower on the blog or in archives, please.)
Cavewomen couldn't take the time to ponder religion during their extremely busy day. Cavemen sometimes stayed at the same hunt site for days and had the time to ponder albeit very quietly.
As cavemen progressed, time passed, and skills were honed, communication began.
Picture a group of cavemen walking toward a place they think there will be great prey to hunt. What do you imagine they talked about? They probably talked about life in the community, who was the best hunter, and what should they do when they returned home. (insert create more cavebabies here.)
At some point in the early history, different communities of cavemen began wondering about life and why they thought and communicated differently that other creatures. In there talking they probably learned the each of them had two common questions that all senescent humans have or are told: "Why am I here?" "Is this all there is?"
Religion was invented to answer the two basic questions that humans had when they began to think for themselves, all the way through to every thinking person on the planet, today.
I can imagine that small groups of cavemen began to ponder these questions and try to understand why they all had the same questions. Perhaps a particular caveman came up with answers the other cavemen liked and presto, the first minister is found. I bet that since the other cavemen gave high regard to the caveman that answered the questions that most pleased the others, that caveman was considered more of a leader. When this new leader was acknowledged, then he was given high status in the community and others began to seek his counsel.
"STOP! STOP! STOP, M what about religion and cavewomen?
Remember when I wrote that the difference between cavemen and cavewomen was between "THEN" and "AND"? Cavewomen had to do everything else in the community that Cavemen couldn't or wouldn't do. I don't think cavewomen had the time to consider the two questions, even though, they were probably on the minds of the cavewomen, too
Here is a list of some of the duties of cavewomen that were definitely or probably not shared by cavemen who were out hunting or gathering most of the time:
Bare and raise cavebabies
Provide shelter, clothing, water, and firewood for the community.
prepare and serve the food the cavemen brought to the community.
Learn and share skills with other cavewomen all at the same time they were caring for cavebabies.
Teach the cavedaughters the skills they would need in the community.
Everything else the cavemen didn't do.
Cavewomen did all of this all at the same time.
So you see, cavemen are "sequential tasking": they do something, THEN they do something else, THEN they do something else. Most women are "Multi-tasking": the do something, AND they do something else, AND they do something else. (If you are new to this, look at a post lower on the blog or in archives, please.)
Cavewomen couldn't take the time to ponder religion during their extremely busy day. Cavemen sometimes stayed at the same hunt site for days and had the time to ponder albeit very quietly.
Fashion? You are Kidding?
Cavemen and fashion. Hopefully this is the only time you will ever see those two words so close together.
We have no fashion sense. This one, seemingly small fact, gets us in more trouble than you can imagine.
How many of you have asked a caveman, Do I look fat in this outfit? Did you like the response?
The response was either a lie or a veiled attempt to attract you to the events dealing with the creation of cavebabies. If our answer was the truth, we probably had to spend the next several nights on a couch, far away from the cavebaby creation process.
We have no fashion sense. It is not our fault. We didn't need to care what size you looked to be, we just needed to learn that the bigger prey was the better prey. We are still, pretty much clueless to the specter of fashion. If that is being genetically impaired to you, then, so be it.
We do like colors, though. The more you look like an animal or a plant, the more we are attracted to you. Again, it is in our nature. If you look like the food we want to gather, there is a better chance of attracting us. See how utterly simple we are?
Why do you think Carmen Miranda wore those fruity hats and colorful costumes? You saw a singing and dancing queen. We saw dinner.
One of my two sons is not a caveman. He is a straight male, like many other non-cavemen, who does have a fashion sense. Sometimes when it is time for me to pick clothes other than blue jeans and polo shirts, I take him along to pick out the clothes that he and my wife think I would look good in. I don't particularly care what they pick out, as long as it is comfortable.
My other son is a caveman. He and I share our lack of care in fashion. He is one more reason I think I am a gatherer and not a hunter caveman. I must have passed his color sense down to him. His favorite color is green. He has been attracted to the many shades of green all his life. Above all other colors, the kid picks green. Cave-daughter-in-law now picks his clothes.
Please people, if you ask a caveman their opinion about what you are wearing, accept their comment that they have no opinion. They truly don't care much of the time what your clothes look like or how you fit into them. Unless of course, you look like an animal or plant!
We have no fashion sense. This one, seemingly small fact, gets us in more trouble than you can imagine.
How many of you have asked a caveman, Do I look fat in this outfit? Did you like the response?
The response was either a lie or a veiled attempt to attract you to the events dealing with the creation of cavebabies. If our answer was the truth, we probably had to spend the next several nights on a couch, far away from the cavebaby creation process.
We have no fashion sense. It is not our fault. We didn't need to care what size you looked to be, we just needed to learn that the bigger prey was the better prey. We are still, pretty much clueless to the specter of fashion. If that is being genetically impaired to you, then, so be it.
We do like colors, though. The more you look like an animal or a plant, the more we are attracted to you. Again, it is in our nature. If you look like the food we want to gather, there is a better chance of attracting us. See how utterly simple we are?
Why do you think Carmen Miranda wore those fruity hats and colorful costumes? You saw a singing and dancing queen. We saw dinner.
One of my two sons is not a caveman. He is a straight male, like many other non-cavemen, who does have a fashion sense. Sometimes when it is time for me to pick clothes other than blue jeans and polo shirts, I take him along to pick out the clothes that he and my wife think I would look good in. I don't particularly care what they pick out, as long as it is comfortable.
My other son is a caveman. He and I share our lack of care in fashion. He is one more reason I think I am a gatherer and not a hunter caveman. I must have passed his color sense down to him. His favorite color is green. He has been attracted to the many shades of green all his life. Above all other colors, the kid picks green. Cave-daughter-in-law now picks his clothes.
Please people, if you ask a caveman their opinion about what you are wearing, accept their comment that they have no opinion. They truly don't care much of the time what your clothes look like or how you fit into them. Unless of course, you look like an animal or plant!
Dairy entry for Sunday October 8, 2006
I've finally been caught.
It took my Uncle Chuck to catch me. He is a caveman. He is of the hunter type. He fishes.
His keen eye and sense of correctness led him to be the first one to post the question; Why "Dairy?'
As I am sure you all know, cavemen don't really care about spelling. We have better things to do than consider whether you can read out writing or not. Have you ever met a caveman who can spell worth a darn without spellcheck? Neither have I.
Of course the more correct name for this blog should be "Caveman Diary" but it is both a play on words and an admonition that we cavemen don't spell very well. We didn't need to back then and I can prove we don't really need to now.
You see, if you can raed tihs snetnece esaliy, tehn you can udnresantd how we can raed whtiuot hvanig all the ltetres in the crorcet oeedr. We olny need the frist and lsat ltetres crorcet and we can raed fialry wlel. So selplnig is not so ipmrotnat to us.
I did a good Caveman deed today. After we took the girls for a walk along the coast, I went with my wife to the Southcoast Botanical Gardens. She marveled at all the plants and was curius about their names. I suggested to her that they were either members of the greenleafy boringus family, or the colori flowerus group. If the trees didn't have fruit in them they were all tallus-trunki boringus.
During this visit to the gardens there was a Jaguar car show on the lawn area. You wouldn't believe all the rich cavemen strutting their stuff and their cars named after very fast prey. Think about it,some of the most popular cars are named after animals/food. Cougar, Jaquar, Ram, Ramcharger, Viper, Cobra, Mustang, Firebird, and a host of others. All the cavemen who brought also wore very colorless clothes, and they all pretty much looked alike.
I have been thinking about all the things cavemen cannot do very well. I think I will include items as I ponder them, further along this blog-path. Being close to plants and flowers today, I thought of a thing that a caveman is not fit to do. We can't arrange flowers or plants. To us, they are food. To non-cavepeople, arranged flowers and plants are wonderfull to look at and pleasant to the emotions, I think. If I can't eat it, why arrange it?
It took my Uncle Chuck to catch me. He is a caveman. He is of the hunter type. He fishes.
His keen eye and sense of correctness led him to be the first one to post the question; Why "Dairy?'
As I am sure you all know, cavemen don't really care about spelling. We have better things to do than consider whether you can read out writing or not. Have you ever met a caveman who can spell worth a darn without spellcheck? Neither have I.
Of course the more correct name for this blog should be "Caveman Diary" but it is both a play on words and an admonition that we cavemen don't spell very well. We didn't need to back then and I can prove we don't really need to now.
You see, if you can raed tihs snetnece esaliy, tehn you can udnresantd how we can raed whtiuot hvanig all the ltetres in the crorcet oeedr. We olny need the frist and lsat ltetres crorcet and we can raed fialry wlel. So selplnig is not so ipmrotnat to us.
I did a good Caveman deed today. After we took the girls for a walk along the coast, I went with my wife to the Southcoast Botanical Gardens. She marveled at all the plants and was curius about their names. I suggested to her that they were either members of the greenleafy boringus family, or the colori flowerus group. If the trees didn't have fruit in them they were all tallus-trunki boringus.
During this visit to the gardens there was a Jaguar car show on the lawn area. You wouldn't believe all the rich cavemen strutting their stuff and their cars named after very fast prey. Think about it,some of the most popular cars are named after animals/food. Cougar, Jaquar, Ram, Ramcharger, Viper, Cobra, Mustang, Firebird, and a host of others. All the cavemen who brought also wore very colorless clothes, and they all pretty much looked alike.
I have been thinking about all the things cavemen cannot do very well. I think I will include items as I ponder them, further along this blog-path. Being close to plants and flowers today, I thought of a thing that a caveman is not fit to do. We can't arrange flowers or plants. To us, they are food. To non-cavepeople, arranged flowers and plants are wonderfull to look at and pleasant to the emotions, I think. If I can't eat it, why arrange it?
The Cave, Part One
Every Caveman needs a cave. This is an undeniable fact. It is as true as any other fact you know.
The sun is the center of our solar system. Cavemen need caves.
One plus One equals Two. A Caveman must have a cave. Get the picture?
Of course you do. All of your life around a caveman, you have witnessed his efforts to find and keep at least one cave wherever he lives.
A cave is where a caveman goes to relax and contemplate the day's hunt or the harvest he works hare to gather. The cave is where a caveman is most comfortable. His cave must not be shared by non-cavemen or most women in his life, (unless that caveman and the woman are dealing with aspects of his assistance in creating cavebabies).
Our cave is the center of our world. We must return to our cave to refresh our spirit and gather the strength for future hunts, more cultivation, and entertaining thoughts and plans to assist in the creation of more cavebabies.
Growing up, my caveman-dad had his cave. It was a vinyl recliner that sat in the corner of the living room. It was his one spot in the entire world that he could just relax and deal with life. As the years went by, his cave would need replacing. Replacing caves is one of the few area where men actually enjoy shopping. I think "Archie Bunker's" cave is still in the Smithsonian.
Other cavemen have caves with four wheels, more or less. Sometimes they spend tremendous amounts of money purchasing, restoring, and showing them. This is another aspect of cavemen in competition.
My cave is the same room I grew up in for 12 years. When I was nine, our house got an addition and I got my own bedroom. Cave-dad had his chair, I got my room. When I moved back into the house at the age of 43, I naturally put my cave-stuff in the same room. I didn't even think of putting in the larger of the two front bedrooms.
My wife has learned what all wives of cavemen learn: don't mess with a cave. A caveman need complete control of his cave. Wives can have almost the entire rest of the house, just don't mess with the cave. Unless the caveman grants you access to or use of part of the cave, please, for the sake of lessening the amount of stress in the family, leave his cave alone.
A garage or workshop is most certainly the cave of many cavemen. While walking our dogs around the neighborhood, we always see the same caveman in his garage, every single night. The garage door is always open and the caveman is doing nothing or doing something or conversing with other caveman neighbors.
Cavemen are more comfortable sharing their cave with another caveman or cavebaby.
My Caveson had his cave in any tree he could climb. When he was little he had to share his home and bedroom with my non-caveson. So caveson could usually be found in a tree, contemplating things or just watching the world go by.
Caves can be places or things. I am sure many of you who know cavemen know that a particularly wonderful cave has usually a white ceramic stool-like structure that contains water and can be flushed. Many, many cavemen consider this place to be their secret, or hide-a-way cave. Let the world rush forward as a caveman takes his time in that type of cave.
All of you who know real cavemen inherently know about their caves. You have had to deal with them, and support their need for their cave.
I shall ponder more and write about this most important topic in the future.
The sun is the center of our solar system. Cavemen need caves.
One plus One equals Two. A Caveman must have a cave. Get the picture?
Of course you do. All of your life around a caveman, you have witnessed his efforts to find and keep at least one cave wherever he lives.
A cave is where a caveman goes to relax and contemplate the day's hunt or the harvest he works hare to gather. The cave is where a caveman is most comfortable. His cave must not be shared by non-cavemen or most women in his life, (unless that caveman and the woman are dealing with aspects of his assistance in creating cavebabies).
Our cave is the center of our world. We must return to our cave to refresh our spirit and gather the strength for future hunts, more cultivation, and entertaining thoughts and plans to assist in the creation of more cavebabies.
Growing up, my caveman-dad had his cave. It was a vinyl recliner that sat in the corner of the living room. It was his one spot in the entire world that he could just relax and deal with life. As the years went by, his cave would need replacing. Replacing caves is one of the few area where men actually enjoy shopping. I think "Archie Bunker's" cave is still in the Smithsonian.
Other cavemen have caves with four wheels, more or less. Sometimes they spend tremendous amounts of money purchasing, restoring, and showing them. This is another aspect of cavemen in competition.
My cave is the same room I grew up in for 12 years. When I was nine, our house got an addition and I got my own bedroom. Cave-dad had his chair, I got my room. When I moved back into the house at the age of 43, I naturally put my cave-stuff in the same room. I didn't even think of putting in the larger of the two front bedrooms.
My wife has learned what all wives of cavemen learn: don't mess with a cave. A caveman need complete control of his cave. Wives can have almost the entire rest of the house, just don't mess with the cave. Unless the caveman grants you access to or use of part of the cave, please, for the sake of lessening the amount of stress in the family, leave his cave alone.
A garage or workshop is most certainly the cave of many cavemen. While walking our dogs around the neighborhood, we always see the same caveman in his garage, every single night. The garage door is always open and the caveman is doing nothing or doing something or conversing with other caveman neighbors.
Cavemen are more comfortable sharing their cave with another caveman or cavebaby.
My Caveson had his cave in any tree he could climb. When he was little he had to share his home and bedroom with my non-caveson. So caveson could usually be found in a tree, contemplating things or just watching the world go by.
Caves can be places or things. I am sure many of you who know cavemen know that a particularly wonderful cave has usually a white ceramic stool-like structure that contains water and can be flushed. Many, many cavemen consider this place to be their secret, or hide-a-way cave. Let the world rush forward as a caveman takes his time in that type of cave.
All of you who know real cavemen inherently know about their caves. You have had to deal with them, and support their need for their cave.
I shall ponder more and write about this most important topic in the future.
On The Telephone
Cavemen can work on the telephone, but most of us hate being on the telephone.
Sure, when we were younger we may have spent many hours talking on the phone to females in our unending attempts to assist in the creation of cavebabies.
I have worked in the communications industry for almost 26 years. In the U.S.A.F., I spent my enlistment dealing with communication devises. I just hate using them.
I think I hate the phone bell more than I hate the alarm to get up. The alarm lets me know that it is time to begin my hunt or my gathering. Didn't you cavemen just love the sound of the alarm when it was time to get out of bed to go fishing, hunting, or camping. The added benefit to that alarm also meant, in the old days, your best excuse to get away from the phone.
I'd rather climb a pole or go down into a manhole than talk to someone on the phone about climbing up a pole or down into a manhole.
After I secured the affections of my wife, the telephone became an anchor to the progress of attempting to assist in the creation of cavebabies. We have all had experiences where we were involved in the assistance processes and then "ring, ring, ring". The telephone would usually sound the end of our efforts, many times, for the entire evening.
Of course, there is something worse than the telephone....the doorbell!
Sure, when we were younger we may have spent many hours talking on the phone to females in our unending attempts to assist in the creation of cavebabies.
I have worked in the communications industry for almost 26 years. In the U.S.A.F., I spent my enlistment dealing with communication devises. I just hate using them.
I think I hate the phone bell more than I hate the alarm to get up. The alarm lets me know that it is time to begin my hunt or my gathering. Didn't you cavemen just love the sound of the alarm when it was time to get out of bed to go fishing, hunting, or camping. The added benefit to that alarm also meant, in the old days, your best excuse to get away from the phone.
I'd rather climb a pole or go down into a manhole than talk to someone on the phone about climbing up a pole or down into a manhole.
After I secured the affections of my wife, the telephone became an anchor to the progress of attempting to assist in the creation of cavebabies. We have all had experiences where we were involved in the assistance processes and then "ring, ring, ring". The telephone would usually sound the end of our efforts, many times, for the entire evening.
Of course, there is something worse than the telephone....the doorbell!
My Father's Caves
My dad had many caves. In his youth, and trying to avoid being around his own cavedad, my father found comfort with cars and motorcycles. He often spoke about the cars he would some how acquire, beginning when he was about 14-years old. Whether running or not, cars were my dad's first caves.
Marriage to my mom brought my dad to the facts that dealing with a cave-car usually meant that he had to be apart from the assisting in the creating cavebabies thing. Hence, the reclining chair, in the corner of the living room, of his then-two bedroom home. It was probably much more comfortable than any car or motorcycle seat, and in close proximity to my parents bedroom and...
After the accomplishments of my father's attempts at assisting in the creation of cavebabies, he once again returned to vehicles to possibly avoid the requirements implied on him by my mother to assist in raising the cavebabies he assisted in the creation of. Lots of true cavemen try for some time to avoid the raising of the cavebabies. In my case is worked pretty darn well for my father as you will read further down. I never really felt the way my father felt and I was, and still very much involved with my, extremely brilliant, wonderfully talented, ridiculously good looking, and very loving sons.
When I was about 5-years old, my dad brought home a 1935 Ford Pick-up truck. For the next several years my father accomplished what is called a "frame-off" restoration. There is a picture of my sister and I standing in the middle of the freshly painted frame setting on our driveway.
When my dad wasn't at work, in his recliner, pouring the concrete for the many slabs in our backyard, or attempting to assist, you know what I mean, he was working on the truck.
My dad did take us camping while he did the other things. That is a perfectly normal thing for a real caveman to do. He also fished, so he gathered.
During the time of the 1935 Ford, my dad used a variety of cars to get to and from work. My mom had a used 1955 Ford station wagon, until she got our first brand car. It was a 1962, baby blue, four door, Ford Falcon. She got the new car because she was starting her student teaching a school some distance away from our home AND she did an unthinkable thing shortly before we got the new car.
Mom drove herself to Cal State Long Beach to finish her classes that led to her teaching credential. On day my dad came home from work and found the front fender and grill dented on the old 1955 station wagon. My dad learned that my mom had did the unthinkable...she hit a beer truck. Cavemen drink beer. It probably would have been less troublesome to my father if my mother had driven into a Sunday school classroom, filled with kids and parents. But she hit a beer truck. Oh my!
With that incident finally cleared, my dad finished his truck and let it sit in our one-car garage while the brand new Ford rested in the driveway. Then, the pick-up was sold and my dad bought a used 1962 Ford Econoline van he painted.....green.
The van was then his ultimate escape vehicle to visit what was to become his largest cave. As a boy my cavedad would take his caveson on trips to the desert for many reasons. He was able to get away from the house on his day off, usually a Thursday when I was "sick". from school. He was also taking the trip to scope out locations for a new cave. He was also able to drink beer during his drive. On one of these trips, my dad decided Lucerne Valley, in the Mojave Desert might be a good place of a new cave. First he bought 10 acres that he contemplated building a house on. After some years of no progress, he found and bought a house on three acres of land just off the main road.
The Lucerne Valley cave was bigger than our regular home that had grown to three-bedrooms when I was nine-years old. The L.V. house had three bedrooms, too. But it also had a fireplace in the living room, a dining room, a den with another fireplace, and it all came with a concrete pool behind the home. This cave would become my fathers cave for the next decade and a half.
My dad would go to his giant cave three our of four sets of off days he had from work. In time, the old recliner in our living room vanished and my dad got a new recliner for his ultimate cave.
After my dad retired from work, he sold his Lucerne Valley cave and moved to Mexico. He had long since given up on dealing with his cavekids and he no longer seemed interested in assisting in anything, more or less. He seemed very happy first in one of those converted trailers, placed in an all-American enclave, along the coast of Baja. His final Mexico cave what the brightest yellow house on a hill just before you drove south into Ensanada, on the Cota Road. Folks could see that thing for miles. It stood out like a ripe banana surrounded by bunches of blackened fruit and sage brush.
I brought my cavedad home, with the assistance of my own caveson in about 1998. Dad was injecting Insulin and not getting along too well south of the border. My wife and I took him to our local furniture store for him to pick out the brand new furniture for his apartment in town.
He walked around the store and pointed at almost ever piece of furniture he wanted purchased, without so much as a second glance. Tables, sofas, a bed, dining furniture, lamps, T.V. stand, all were selected almost instantly.
But you already know that one piece of furniture selected needed to be tried out, carefully selected, color coordinated, easily workable, and ultimately, the most comfortable. Go ahead, say it....I don't need to.
Marriage to my mom brought my dad to the facts that dealing with a cave-car usually meant that he had to be apart from the assisting in the creating cavebabies thing. Hence, the reclining chair, in the corner of the living room, of his then-two bedroom home. It was probably much more comfortable than any car or motorcycle seat, and in close proximity to my parents bedroom and...
After the accomplishments of my father's attempts at assisting in the creation of cavebabies, he once again returned to vehicles to possibly avoid the requirements implied on him by my mother to assist in raising the cavebabies he assisted in the creation of. Lots of true cavemen try for some time to avoid the raising of the cavebabies. In my case is worked pretty darn well for my father as you will read further down. I never really felt the way my father felt and I was, and still very much involved with my, extremely brilliant, wonderfully talented, ridiculously good looking, and very loving sons.
When I was about 5-years old, my dad brought home a 1935 Ford Pick-up truck. For the next several years my father accomplished what is called a "frame-off" restoration. There is a picture of my sister and I standing in the middle of the freshly painted frame setting on our driveway.
When my dad wasn't at work, in his recliner, pouring the concrete for the many slabs in our backyard, or attempting to assist, you know what I mean, he was working on the truck.
My dad did take us camping while he did the other things. That is a perfectly normal thing for a real caveman to do. He also fished, so he gathered.
During the time of the 1935 Ford, my dad used a variety of cars to get to and from work. My mom had a used 1955 Ford station wagon, until she got our first brand car. It was a 1962, baby blue, four door, Ford Falcon. She got the new car because she was starting her student teaching a school some distance away from our home AND she did an unthinkable thing shortly before we got the new car.
Mom drove herself to Cal State Long Beach to finish her classes that led to her teaching credential. On day my dad came home from work and found the front fender and grill dented on the old 1955 station wagon. My dad learned that my mom had did the unthinkable...she hit a beer truck. Cavemen drink beer. It probably would have been less troublesome to my father if my mother had driven into a Sunday school classroom, filled with kids and parents. But she hit a beer truck. Oh my!
With that incident finally cleared, my dad finished his truck and let it sit in our one-car garage while the brand new Ford rested in the driveway. Then, the pick-up was sold and my dad bought a used 1962 Ford Econoline van he painted.....green.
The van was then his ultimate escape vehicle to visit what was to become his largest cave. As a boy my cavedad would take his caveson on trips to the desert for many reasons. He was able to get away from the house on his day off, usually a Thursday when I was "sick". from school. He was also taking the trip to scope out locations for a new cave. He was also able to drink beer during his drive. On one of these trips, my dad decided Lucerne Valley, in the Mojave Desert might be a good place of a new cave. First he bought 10 acres that he contemplated building a house on. After some years of no progress, he found and bought a house on three acres of land just off the main road.
The Lucerne Valley cave was bigger than our regular home that had grown to three-bedrooms when I was nine-years old. The L.V. house had three bedrooms, too. But it also had a fireplace in the living room, a dining room, a den with another fireplace, and it all came with a concrete pool behind the home. This cave would become my fathers cave for the next decade and a half.
My dad would go to his giant cave three our of four sets of off days he had from work. In time, the old recliner in our living room vanished and my dad got a new recliner for his ultimate cave.
After my dad retired from work, he sold his Lucerne Valley cave and moved to Mexico. He had long since given up on dealing with his cavekids and he no longer seemed interested in assisting in anything, more or less. He seemed very happy first in one of those converted trailers, placed in an all-American enclave, along the coast of Baja. His final Mexico cave what the brightest yellow house on a hill just before you drove south into Ensanada, on the Cota Road. Folks could see that thing for miles. It stood out like a ripe banana surrounded by bunches of blackened fruit and sage brush.
I brought my cavedad home, with the assistance of my own caveson in about 1998. Dad was injecting Insulin and not getting along too well south of the border. My wife and I took him to our local furniture store for him to pick out the brand new furniture for his apartment in town.
He walked around the store and pointed at almost ever piece of furniture he wanted purchased, without so much as a second glance. Tables, sofas, a bed, dining furniture, lamps, T.V. stand, all were selected almost instantly.
But you already know that one piece of furniture selected needed to be tried out, carefully selected, color coordinated, easily workable, and ultimately, the most comfortable. Go ahead, say it....I don't need to.
Cavemen and Written Instructions
Bicycles, cribs, swing sets, cameras, computer systems, hobby items, and cavemen "toys." They all have one thing in common...written instructions.
Do cavemen follow the written instructions? I just left the area blank because you filled in the answer in your head.
Cavemen know that written instructions for things were written by other cavemen who used their high level of sequential tasking to write a step-by-step set of instruction to be followed in order to assemble or use the item the written instructions were packaged with.
Cavemen, being inherently sequential-tasking themselves, find it naturally needless to follow instruction written by other cavemen. Our mind tells us that written instructions are meant for multi-taskers to use to understand how something should be assembled or used.
Cavemen simply think they see the finished item fully assembled and take it apart in their mind until it looks like the many pieces just removed from the packaging. Once disassembled in their mind, they simply try to put it back together. One of the problems is is that we cavemen tend to only see the big pieces and forgo thought of the little things like nuts, bolts, and washers.
Does not reading instructions lead to problems? Again, I need not waste keystrokes to put your answer on this blog.
When I was a young father, I used to build radio controlled vehicles for myself and my sons. Once I was able to put the things together, we had a great time running them around our neighborhood and crashing into things. I usually tried to pick the easiest models to build because it meant I didn't need to use the instruction books. I was pretty good until I got a mid-engine, four-wheel drive model. That one stayed in the box for quite some time before I let caveson build it. Reading instructions are such a bore.
When Caveson was eleven, and we had wrecked, very happily I might add, just about every radio controlled vehicle we played with, he came to me with the desire to built an electric radio controlled helicopter. Now this was testing time for me. We got the "Whisper" helicopter with the notion that we would work on it together. And we did. I tried my darnedest to help him build his project by using written instructions as little as possible. I didn't do so well. Caveson knew at his young age that he didn't have the knowledge at the time to ignore the instructions, like I thought I had. He read the instructions and completed his helicopter. It flew. Just a little. But it flew long enough and high enough for caveson to be happy and me to be so proud of him. He quickly tired of his finished helicopter and moved on to other projects.
My caveson and my non-caveson tried to teach me a valuable lesson. Read the instructions. Alas I am still a caveman. Cavemen write instructions for non-cavemen. Now how do I get the video I recorded on my still camera to play back? Oh-oh, I might have to read the instructions.
Do cavemen follow the written instructions? I just left the area blank because you filled in the answer in your head.
Cavemen know that written instructions for things were written by other cavemen who used their high level of sequential tasking to write a step-by-step set of instruction to be followed in order to assemble or use the item the written instructions were packaged with.
Cavemen, being inherently sequential-tasking themselves, find it naturally needless to follow instruction written by other cavemen. Our mind tells us that written instructions are meant for multi-taskers to use to understand how something should be assembled or used.
Cavemen simply think they see the finished item fully assembled and take it apart in their mind until it looks like the many pieces just removed from the packaging. Once disassembled in their mind, they simply try to put it back together. One of the problems is is that we cavemen tend to only see the big pieces and forgo thought of the little things like nuts, bolts, and washers.
Does not reading instructions lead to problems? Again, I need not waste keystrokes to put your answer on this blog.
When I was a young father, I used to build radio controlled vehicles for myself and my sons. Once I was able to put the things together, we had a great time running them around our neighborhood and crashing into things. I usually tried to pick the easiest models to build because it meant I didn't need to use the instruction books. I was pretty good until I got a mid-engine, four-wheel drive model. That one stayed in the box for quite some time before I let caveson build it. Reading instructions are such a bore.
When Caveson was eleven, and we had wrecked, very happily I might add, just about every radio controlled vehicle we played with, he came to me with the desire to built an electric radio controlled helicopter. Now this was testing time for me. We got the "Whisper" helicopter with the notion that we would work on it together. And we did. I tried my darnedest to help him build his project by using written instructions as little as possible. I didn't do so well. Caveson knew at his young age that he didn't have the knowledge at the time to ignore the instructions, like I thought I had. He read the instructions and completed his helicopter. It flew. Just a little. But it flew long enough and high enough for caveson to be happy and me to be so proud of him. He quickly tired of his finished helicopter and moved on to other projects.
My caveson and my non-caveson tried to teach me a valuable lesson. Read the instructions. Alas I am still a caveman. Cavemen write instructions for non-cavemen. Now how do I get the video I recorded on my still camera to play back? Oh-oh, I might have to read the instructions.
Sometimes a Caveman's Mind Wanders
Many cavemen can sit for hours just thinking. Many of our thoughts are not understandable by non-cavemen, and most certainly by most women.
For me, I call it "pondering." Perhaps I see something that makes me think about things. Sometimes I finally grasp a bizarre concept and try to see if it relates to reality.
I am going to share an example how this particular Caveman can view something so seemingly natural and common, but with pondering, find it completely foreign and not-understandable.
My wife and I were a Costco, a giant warehouse type store, and we wandered through the newly placed Christmas stuff and toys. As I pass a small plastic Santa Claus, a song came out of him:
"Dashing through the snow,
in a one-horse open sleigh.
O'er the fields we go,
laughing all the way.
Bells on bobbed tails ring,
making spirits bright.
Oh, what fun it is to sing
a sleighing song tonight."
You all should know the song; "Jingle Bells."
As I heard the song coming out of the plastic, jiggling Santa, I stopped.
"Wait a minute." I said to my wife. I again went back to the jolly looking doll to watch it wiggle and have that song coming from it. Something was very wrong about Santa singing "Jingle Bells."
I pondered. When I got home, I pondered more. Santa Claus has no business singing "Jingle Bells." It is a song that the "right jolly old elf" has anything to do with. Please consider the following;
Santa doesn't "dash through snow", he flies over it.
No "one horse" can pull his sleigh. He needs eight trained Reindeer.
I will admit Santa does go "o'er the fields", but he is usually alone when he flies over them.
I hope Santa is always in a good mood on Christmas Eve and he laughs a lot. But I don't imagine he laughs "all the way."
It is much easier, I believe, to bob a horse's tail than a reindeer's tail, and there has never been an illustration of any bells on any bobbed tails of Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, or Blitzen.
Yes, it might be fun for folks to sing sleighing songs, but according to "A Visit From Saint Nick",
Santa was not witnessed singing anything.
So to me, the idea of Santa Claus riding with another person, in a one-horse sleigh, making lots of noise by singing and having bells on the horse's tail ring doesn't seem plausible. Sure he may do it on another night other than Christmas Eve, but to have anyone believe that "Jingle Bells" has anything to do with Santa Claus, is not reasonable, in my opinion.
I'm still pondering on a more proper song for a wiggling, singing, plastic Santa to have come out of it. Perhaps it should transmit "Frosty the Snowman", but there too, I can't connect the two individuals together.
This calls for lots more pondering.
For me, I call it "pondering." Perhaps I see something that makes me think about things. Sometimes I finally grasp a bizarre concept and try to see if it relates to reality.
I am going to share an example how this particular Caveman can view something so seemingly natural and common, but with pondering, find it completely foreign and not-understandable.
My wife and I were a Costco, a giant warehouse type store, and we wandered through the newly placed Christmas stuff and toys. As I pass a small plastic Santa Claus, a song came out of him:
"Dashing through the snow,
in a one-horse open sleigh.
O'er the fields we go,
laughing all the way.
Bells on bobbed tails ring,
making spirits bright.
Oh, what fun it is to sing
a sleighing song tonight."
You all should know the song; "Jingle Bells."
As I heard the song coming out of the plastic, jiggling Santa, I stopped.
"Wait a minute." I said to my wife. I again went back to the jolly looking doll to watch it wiggle and have that song coming from it. Something was very wrong about Santa singing "Jingle Bells."
I pondered. When I got home, I pondered more. Santa Claus has no business singing "Jingle Bells." It is a song that the "right jolly old elf" has anything to do with. Please consider the following;
Santa doesn't "dash through snow", he flies over it.
No "one horse" can pull his sleigh. He needs eight trained Reindeer.
I will admit Santa does go "o'er the fields", but he is usually alone when he flies over them.
I hope Santa is always in a good mood on Christmas Eve and he laughs a lot. But I don't imagine he laughs "all the way."
It is much easier, I believe, to bob a horse's tail than a reindeer's tail, and there has never been an illustration of any bells on any bobbed tails of Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, or Blitzen.
Yes, it might be fun for folks to sing sleighing songs, but according to "A Visit From Saint Nick",
Santa was not witnessed singing anything.
So to me, the idea of Santa Claus riding with another person, in a one-horse sleigh, making lots of noise by singing and having bells on the horse's tail ring doesn't seem plausible. Sure he may do it on another night other than Christmas Eve, but to have anyone believe that "Jingle Bells" has anything to do with Santa Claus, is not reasonable, in my opinion.
I'm still pondering on a more proper song for a wiggling, singing, plastic Santa to have come out of it. Perhaps it should transmit "Frosty the Snowman", but there too, I can't connect the two individuals together.
This calls for lots more pondering.
Cavemen and Doctors
Cavemen and doctors usually meet as the result of an accident. Cavemen generally hate to visit the doctor and they are somewhat reluctant to visit them even as the result of an accident.
I am still pondering whether most doctors are cavemen. I am tending to think that because they can deal with so many health issues at the same time, they may not fit into the true caveman category. They are problem solvers and they use caveman-like techniques, but they may be too complex to be considered cavemen.
A true caveman thinks that they can heal himself. If they feel pain, they may try ointments, over-the-counter remedies, or mindsets that will tell them just to "buck up" and deal with it.
Chest pain to a caveman is usually thought to be muscle related, and it is usually not the heart muscle that is thought about. We kill ourselves off too many times by not seeking professional help.
The main reason a caveman finally visits a doctor is not because he is hurting too much. It is because he has suffered with dealing with his spouse confronting him just one too many times to seek help. A caveman always remembers about his assisting in the creation of new cavebabies an that is far more important than not finally seeing a doctor.
I hated to go see the doctor during my youth and well into adult-cave-hood. When I was little I always was getting shots for ear infections until I was 9-years old and had my tonsils out.
Every visit to the doctor usually meant pain for me and I didn't like that. My cavedad was even more reluctant than I was to seek medical attention. It is a caveman thing to be resistant to visiting the doctor.
Should I address the dentist? I was forced by my mother to visit the dentist every six months between the time I could first remember and the age of fifteen. Now my dentist could have been a caveman because of his beliefs. It was his opinion that cavities should be drilled out and filled without the patient's benefit of having Novocaine or lidocaine, used. I didn't get my first shot of pain relief until I was in the Air Force. For many years thereafter I was extremely reluctant to visit the dentist. It has only been in the last ten years that I have been able to visit the dentist regularly. I have found those little shots that I should have been given as a little boy quite nice now in the dentist's chair.
There are two types of doctors that you will very rarely see a caveman visiting. In fact, if you know of a caveman visiting these two specialties, you are seeing something that is very unusual. Cavemen, by nature do not feel any need to visit a psychologist or psychiatrist. Cavemen think they know themselves well enough that they find no need to have their mind and emotions explored by anyone else. A caveman knows that he knows himself better than anyone else and finds it absurd to have anyone else explore his mental or emotional stability.
So if you see a caveman in a doctor's office you will know one of the following has happened;
He has hurt himself doing something, probably, stupid.
Another caveman has hurt him.
His spouse has finally gotten through his thick skull that it was time to seek treatment.
He was brought in by ambulance because he didn't heed the warning signs of a heart attack or a stroke.
He is just being himself, a true caveman
I am still pondering whether most doctors are cavemen. I am tending to think that because they can deal with so many health issues at the same time, they may not fit into the true caveman category. They are problem solvers and they use caveman-like techniques, but they may be too complex to be considered cavemen.
A true caveman thinks that they can heal himself. If they feel pain, they may try ointments, over-the-counter remedies, or mindsets that will tell them just to "buck up" and deal with it.
Chest pain to a caveman is usually thought to be muscle related, and it is usually not the heart muscle that is thought about. We kill ourselves off too many times by not seeking professional help.
The main reason a caveman finally visits a doctor is not because he is hurting too much. It is because he has suffered with dealing with his spouse confronting him just one too many times to seek help. A caveman always remembers about his assisting in the creation of new cavebabies an that is far more important than not finally seeing a doctor.
I hated to go see the doctor during my youth and well into adult-cave-hood. When I was little I always was getting shots for ear infections until I was 9-years old and had my tonsils out.
Every visit to the doctor usually meant pain for me and I didn't like that. My cavedad was even more reluctant than I was to seek medical attention. It is a caveman thing to be resistant to visiting the doctor.
Should I address the dentist? I was forced by my mother to visit the dentist every six months between the time I could first remember and the age of fifteen. Now my dentist could have been a caveman because of his beliefs. It was his opinion that cavities should be drilled out and filled without the patient's benefit of having Novocaine or lidocaine, used. I didn't get my first shot of pain relief until I was in the Air Force. For many years thereafter I was extremely reluctant to visit the dentist. It has only been in the last ten years that I have been able to visit the dentist regularly. I have found those little shots that I should have been given as a little boy quite nice now in the dentist's chair.
There are two types of doctors that you will very rarely see a caveman visiting. In fact, if you know of a caveman visiting these two specialties, you are seeing something that is very unusual. Cavemen, by nature do not feel any need to visit a psychologist or psychiatrist. Cavemen think they know themselves well enough that they find no need to have their mind and emotions explored by anyone else. A caveman knows that he knows himself better than anyone else and finds it absurd to have anyone else explore his mental or emotional stability.
So if you see a caveman in a doctor's office you will know one of the following has happened;
He has hurt himself doing something, probably, stupid.
Another caveman has hurt him.
His spouse has finally gotten through his thick skull that it was time to seek treatment.
He was brought in by ambulance because he didn't heed the warning signs of a heart attack or a stroke.
He is just being himself, a true caveman
Dairy input for Sunday October 29
Today for me, was a day many caveman look forward to, and usually dread. I replaced a toilet.
Replacing a toilet is something every real caveman should be able to do. It is somewhat simple and if cavemen follow the correct procedures, many tools won't get thrown and not too much cussing should be heard.
I had been dreading changing this particular toilet because it was 57 years old and the original "throne" my father used in the house. It had become too worn out and kept running for too long and leaked like a sieve.
Cavemen particularly enjoy "dismantling" any toilet. O.K. so it is more like beating the living daylights out of something that breaks apart so very easily. It is a fun time to whack the pretty white sides with a hammer and watch the pieces fly all over the place. Smacking the "throne" to death removes a good deal of pent up aggression. The only bummer is that you have to really clean up the debris so nobody steps on the sharp pieces.
As usual, it only took three trips to the home center to accomplish the task. In my way of thinking, if I can get a job completed in less than three trips to the store, I have obviously not done a complete job, or I have forgotten a very important piece of the puzzle. If a job takes more than three trips to the home center, then you probably should have hired a better caveman to accomplish whatever task needed to be done.
Picking out the new toilet was left to this caveman's wife. Being a caveman, all toilets look just about the same to me. If they look comfortable and appear to do the job they are tasked to do, why would I care what it looks like. Mrs. Caveman, on the other hand, had to shop for the "perfect" toilet. She wanted a "best buy" as mentioned in Consumer Reports. She wanted the right height of the tank so it wouldn't be too high next to the sink. She wanted a design that fit into the decor of the bathroom. Please, give me a break! But since I am a good caveman and do not want to have the Mrs. upset with me, I even went to two different home centers on a SUNDAY to pick out the best toilet the Mrs. was looking for.
Installing the toilet is usually an easy task for a true caveman. As the old toilet is removed, cavemen try to remember how they took it out so they can install the new one using sequential steps. There appears to have been an instruction booklet inside the toilet tank's box. Naturally, I didn't read it.
I didn't pay particular attention to the box that held the Wax Ring. That box contained the bolts and nuts to secure the toilet to the flange. So, since I didn't look closely at the box, and couldn't find the bolts and nuts in the bowl box, (I assumed they would be in that box) I had to make another trip to the store to get bolts, nuts, and washers that I already had. Hey, my garage is very typical for a caveman, many extra things laying around because I didn't read the instructions and had to buy items I later found I already had.
I also took my time replacing the toilet. I needed my special time to break apart the old toilet, that was fun! I cleaned around the floor and old flange and got as much of the goopy old wax cleaned up as I could. I took plenty of time installing the new one so I wouldn't need to throw tools around or make myself bleed (well, I almost got away with not bleeding). I also managed to do the entire job without yelling at anything or uttering even the nicest of cuss words.
Many cavemen are very comfortable with one particular toilet. Whether it is in their home, as most usually are, or at their work location, cavemen tend to personalize their "throne." The old toilet was my dad's special "throne". When we would go on trips, my caveman-dad always had his troubles with toilets that weren't his "throne". When we returned from trips, my dad would finally feel most comfortable at home after he used his "throne". Cavemen have caves and sometimes those caves have "thrones." So it was with some small level of sentimentality that I caused my dad's old "throne" to become broken into little pieces.
Will ever I feel that the new toilet might become my "throne?" Only time and constipation will tell.
Replacing a toilet is something every real caveman should be able to do. It is somewhat simple and if cavemen follow the correct procedures, many tools won't get thrown and not too much cussing should be heard.
I had been dreading changing this particular toilet because it was 57 years old and the original "throne" my father used in the house. It had become too worn out and kept running for too long and leaked like a sieve.
Cavemen particularly enjoy "dismantling" any toilet. O.K. so it is more like beating the living daylights out of something that breaks apart so very easily. It is a fun time to whack the pretty white sides with a hammer and watch the pieces fly all over the place. Smacking the "throne" to death removes a good deal of pent up aggression. The only bummer is that you have to really clean up the debris so nobody steps on the sharp pieces.
As usual, it only took three trips to the home center to accomplish the task. In my way of thinking, if I can get a job completed in less than three trips to the store, I have obviously not done a complete job, or I have forgotten a very important piece of the puzzle. If a job takes more than three trips to the home center, then you probably should have hired a better caveman to accomplish whatever task needed to be done.
Picking out the new toilet was left to this caveman's wife. Being a caveman, all toilets look just about the same to me. If they look comfortable and appear to do the job they are tasked to do, why would I care what it looks like. Mrs. Caveman, on the other hand, had to shop for the "perfect" toilet. She wanted a "best buy" as mentioned in Consumer Reports. She wanted the right height of the tank so it wouldn't be too high next to the sink. She wanted a design that fit into the decor of the bathroom. Please, give me a break! But since I am a good caveman and do not want to have the Mrs. upset with me, I even went to two different home centers on a SUNDAY to pick out the best toilet the Mrs. was looking for.
Installing the toilet is usually an easy task for a true caveman. As the old toilet is removed, cavemen try to remember how they took it out so they can install the new one using sequential steps. There appears to have been an instruction booklet inside the toilet tank's box. Naturally, I didn't read it.
I didn't pay particular attention to the box that held the Wax Ring. That box contained the bolts and nuts to secure the toilet to the flange. So, since I didn't look closely at the box, and couldn't find the bolts and nuts in the bowl box, (I assumed they would be in that box) I had to make another trip to the store to get bolts, nuts, and washers that I already had. Hey, my garage is very typical for a caveman, many extra things laying around because I didn't read the instructions and had to buy items I later found I already had.
I also took my time replacing the toilet. I needed my special time to break apart the old toilet, that was fun! I cleaned around the floor and old flange and got as much of the goopy old wax cleaned up as I could. I took plenty of time installing the new one so I wouldn't need to throw tools around or make myself bleed (well, I almost got away with not bleeding). I also managed to do the entire job without yelling at anything or uttering even the nicest of cuss words.
Many cavemen are very comfortable with one particular toilet. Whether it is in their home, as most usually are, or at their work location, cavemen tend to personalize their "throne." The old toilet was my dad's special "throne". When we would go on trips, my caveman-dad always had his troubles with toilets that weren't his "throne". When we returned from trips, my dad would finally feel most comfortable at home after he used his "throne". Cavemen have caves and sometimes those caves have "thrones." So it was with some small level of sentimentality that I caused my dad's old "throne" to become broken into little pieces.
Will ever I feel that the new toilet might become my "throne?" Only time and constipation will tell.
Common Caveman Behaviors 1
From time to time I will attempt to teach folks who know and love cavemen, some common behaviors that every single caveman enjoys.
There is something genetic and very natural for all true cavemen to enjoy. I will fill you in on behaviors you most certainly already know, but thought that your caveman was special.
It is an absolute certainty that a true caveman was the first to coin the phrase; "Hey kid, come here and pull my finger." Breaking wind, passing gas, farting, whatever you may call it, is an enjoyable practice and behavior of all true cavemen.
The smellier, the louder, the most disruptive, the better. If a caveman can clear the room of other cavemen, then he is champion of all he sees. We also enjoy when our cavewomen break wind. It is a natural and unspoken sign that they have the right to try to get even with us. But make no mistake, the true caveman is master of the methane.
Belching is fun. It just is. Again, the smellier, the louder, the most disruptive, the better. What better place to let loose a loud burp than a fancy restaurant, while dining with your in-laws. The caveman's father-in-law will certainly understand even though he is compelled by the mother-in-law to at least give a little scowl at the offending son-in-law.
A big dog chewing crunchy or crispy food is surely to get a real caveman, at least, chuckling. We cannot help it. There is something in our being that finds a big Lab or Great Dane chomping down on a handfull of Potato Chips, something we simple can't help laughing at. Give a dog some Peanut Butter, and we'll watch with glee for hours. It is unexplainable, yet it is so natural. It doesn't matter if we have heard the sounds a thousand times before. We still can't help belting our at least a giggle or chuckle.
We all enjoy one special "throne" in which to do number 2. Pooping is a science for cavemen and we are quite the masters on this subject. As I wrote about my father's favorite toilet, the one he would come home to after being away for days or weeks, every caveman has that one special place where he feels most comfortable doing his duty.
We make strange noises when we eat. My cavewoman finds it humorous. She thinks I'm grunting like a wild animal when I am chewing whatever meat that I am enjoying. Perhaps this behavior is unconcious to us and we don't even know we are doing it. It seems we also get a bit defensive when the noises that come out of us are commented on by others. It is perfectly to let the commentators know that you are a caveman and you are supposed to make noises when you chew. Slurping drinks and soups is also authorized.
If you know of other behaviors that you feel all cavemen have in common, you can Email me at the address on the top of the blog and I'll see if it is true and comment on it.
There is something genetic and very natural for all true cavemen to enjoy. I will fill you in on behaviors you most certainly already know, but thought that your caveman was special.
It is an absolute certainty that a true caveman was the first to coin the phrase; "Hey kid, come here and pull my finger." Breaking wind, passing gas, farting, whatever you may call it, is an enjoyable practice and behavior of all true cavemen.
The smellier, the louder, the most disruptive, the better. If a caveman can clear the room of other cavemen, then he is champion of all he sees. We also enjoy when our cavewomen break wind. It is a natural and unspoken sign that they have the right to try to get even with us. But make no mistake, the true caveman is master of the methane.
Belching is fun. It just is. Again, the smellier, the louder, the most disruptive, the better. What better place to let loose a loud burp than a fancy restaurant, while dining with your in-laws. The caveman's father-in-law will certainly understand even though he is compelled by the mother-in-law to at least give a little scowl at the offending son-in-law.
A big dog chewing crunchy or crispy food is surely to get a real caveman, at least, chuckling. We cannot help it. There is something in our being that finds a big Lab or Great Dane chomping down on a handfull of Potato Chips, something we simple can't help laughing at. Give a dog some Peanut Butter, and we'll watch with glee for hours. It is unexplainable, yet it is so natural. It doesn't matter if we have heard the sounds a thousand times before. We still can't help belting our at least a giggle or chuckle.
We all enjoy one special "throne" in which to do number 2. Pooping is a science for cavemen and we are quite the masters on this subject. As I wrote about my father's favorite toilet, the one he would come home to after being away for days or weeks, every caveman has that one special place where he feels most comfortable doing his duty.
We make strange noises when we eat. My cavewoman finds it humorous. She thinks I'm grunting like a wild animal when I am chewing whatever meat that I am enjoying. Perhaps this behavior is unconcious to us and we don't even know we are doing it. It seems we also get a bit defensive when the noises that come out of us are commented on by others. It is perfectly to let the commentators know that you are a caveman and you are supposed to make noises when you chew. Slurping drinks and soups is also authorized.
If you know of other behaviors that you feel all cavemen have in common, you can Email me at the address on the top of the blog and I'll see if it is true and comment on it.
Black Friday: Caveman Hell and Caveman Heaven
In America Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving and is considered the first day of Christmas shopping for the season.
In recent years, folks have begun shopping live and on the Internet long before this particular day.
I survived Caveman Hell and enjoyed Caveman Heaven this year.
Caveman Hell. Sears (not the tools section) and Macy's. Also every store that doesn't sell tools or electronics on Black Friday. Every real caveman I spotted in these stores on this day looked as dazed and confused as I did. We are out of nature when we are shopping on this day and with our cavewomen. We have no answers when confronted with "How do you think this will look on Aunt Martha?"
I entered Caveman Hell at about 6:30 a.m. Granted this was later in the day then some cavemen were dragged into hell by their wives. Retailers should be particularly happy this year if Cavemen like myself, who have successfully remained far from hell on this day, finally relented to the yearly prodding or our cavebaby creators and were dragged into hell.
Caveman Heaven. Comp U.S.A. Sears tools area. I could also include Fry's Electronics and just about any other computer store that opened before the sun rose. The deals for real cavemen at stores of this type are wonderful. I saw joyous cavemen with their shopping carts full of H.D. Televisions. Smiles were plentiful as cavemen raced towards the discounted laptops and accessories. Strolling through the ridiculously crowded "toy store" that is the Sears tool department was very pleasurable to each and ever caveman that quested for that specially priced tools.
Caveman Hell is also the mall spaces between the stores. On this particular day you will see more blank stares from males than anywhere else in the world. Normally we can't stand malls and make every attempt to avoid them. Black Friday forces many of us to suck them up and try to look interested as we nudge our way past all the other cavemen who are trying to get through this very trying time.
Caveman Heaven is also shopping on the Internet. It certainly not the heaven we enjoy when we are clamoring for the bargain electronics at the store, but it is so much better than actually being out in public. It is also preferably to us to have our Cavewomen shop online and show us what we think she needs or wants. I like the Email hints my wife sends me so I don't screw up her wishes. If we leave the sizing up to our wives, we cant get in so much trouble if they tell us what size to buy, and then buy it online. Naturally, even though we buy the size they want, they always get mad at us for buying something "too small."
While shopping in Heaven today, I picked out, and my wife bought me Flight Simulator X and a new joystick with a throttle. I also got a 7-port USB 2 hub. Jealous? I am just so happy I could burst. Not only did I get the newest caveman must-have, but I got a new joystick to use. What a perfect world. I had been holding out and considering that with the new simulator I would be spending even less time in conversation with my wife. I almost felt guilty telling her I wanted Flight Simulator X. Those feelings lasted about 100 microseconds. Just think men, my wife willingly bought me something that will keep me from having to deal with her emotions and stories even more! Could life get any better?
So for me, going through a few hours of hell with my wife afforded me the opportunity to visit heaven and receive some of the greatest presents any caveman could ask for. I saw in the lowered eyes and stooped shoulders of many cavemen trudging through the mall and I came out a winner, after all.
I hope those poor souls who schlepped along the malls with their wives and kids are awarded with a piece of Caveman Heaven they so rightly deserve. Their sacrifice just one day after the turkey imposed nap is a wonderful demonstration of how devoted they are to their families. Their rugged struggles to keep their wives and children happy are testaments to the strength and endurance of all cavemen. Their keen sense of value in visiting Caveman Heaven shops and stores provides encouragement that cavemen are not wussies on Black Friday.
Cavemen, continue to shop until your fingers fall off. Make sure that every trip shopping between now and Christmas includes at least one stop to an electronics store or any place that sells tools or hardware. Please write clearly when you give your wife a list of what you are supposed to buy for others. Don't be too stingy with the wallet this season. The more you try to save, the more shopping YOU will be required to do. Don't worry, Play Station III will still be produced. And now the most important news of all.....Kmart sells Craftsman Tools!
In recent years, folks have begun shopping live and on the Internet long before this particular day.
I survived Caveman Hell and enjoyed Caveman Heaven this year.
Caveman Hell. Sears (not the tools section) and Macy's. Also every store that doesn't sell tools or electronics on Black Friday. Every real caveman I spotted in these stores on this day looked as dazed and confused as I did. We are out of nature when we are shopping on this day and with our cavewomen. We have no answers when confronted with "How do you think this will look on Aunt Martha?"
I entered Caveman Hell at about 6:30 a.m. Granted this was later in the day then some cavemen were dragged into hell by their wives. Retailers should be particularly happy this year if Cavemen like myself, who have successfully remained far from hell on this day, finally relented to the yearly prodding or our cavebaby creators and were dragged into hell.
Caveman Heaven. Comp U.S.A. Sears tools area. I could also include Fry's Electronics and just about any other computer store that opened before the sun rose. The deals for real cavemen at stores of this type are wonderful. I saw joyous cavemen with their shopping carts full of H.D. Televisions. Smiles were plentiful as cavemen raced towards the discounted laptops and accessories. Strolling through the ridiculously crowded "toy store" that is the Sears tool department was very pleasurable to each and ever caveman that quested for that specially priced tools.
Caveman Hell is also the mall spaces between the stores. On this particular day you will see more blank stares from males than anywhere else in the world. Normally we can't stand malls and make every attempt to avoid them. Black Friday forces many of us to suck them up and try to look interested as we nudge our way past all the other cavemen who are trying to get through this very trying time.
Caveman Heaven is also shopping on the Internet. It certainly not the heaven we enjoy when we are clamoring for the bargain electronics at the store, but it is so much better than actually being out in public. It is also preferably to us to have our Cavewomen shop online and show us what we think she needs or wants. I like the Email hints my wife sends me so I don't screw up her wishes. If we leave the sizing up to our wives, we cant get in so much trouble if they tell us what size to buy, and then buy it online. Naturally, even though we buy the size they want, they always get mad at us for buying something "too small."
While shopping in Heaven today, I picked out, and my wife bought me Flight Simulator X and a new joystick with a throttle. I also got a 7-port USB 2 hub. Jealous? I am just so happy I could burst. Not only did I get the newest caveman must-have, but I got a new joystick to use. What a perfect world. I had been holding out and considering that with the new simulator I would be spending even less time in conversation with my wife. I almost felt guilty telling her I wanted Flight Simulator X. Those feelings lasted about 100 microseconds. Just think men, my wife willingly bought me something that will keep me from having to deal with her emotions and stories even more! Could life get any better?
So for me, going through a few hours of hell with my wife afforded me the opportunity to visit heaven and receive some of the greatest presents any caveman could ask for. I saw in the lowered eyes and stooped shoulders of many cavemen trudging through the mall and I came out a winner, after all.
I hope those poor souls who schlepped along the malls with their wives and kids are awarded with a piece of Caveman Heaven they so rightly deserve. Their sacrifice just one day after the turkey imposed nap is a wonderful demonstration of how devoted they are to their families. Their rugged struggles to keep their wives and children happy are testaments to the strength and endurance of all cavemen. Their keen sense of value in visiting Caveman Heaven shops and stores provides encouragement that cavemen are not wussies on Black Friday.
Cavemen, continue to shop until your fingers fall off. Make sure that every trip shopping between now and Christmas includes at least one stop to an electronics store or any place that sells tools or hardware. Please write clearly when you give your wife a list of what you are supposed to buy for others. Don't be too stingy with the wallet this season. The more you try to save, the more shopping YOU will be required to do. Don't worry, Play Station III will still be produced. And now the most important news of all.....Kmart sells Craftsman Tools!
An Extremely Non-Caveman Debate
For more humor's sake, I pose a question and answer that would never be asked and answered around an evening fire where Cavemen currently gather.
Who was the better dancer, Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers?
Ginger Rogers. She had to be at least as good as Fred while dancing mostly backwards, in stiletto heels, and wearing long flowing gowns.
Who was the better dancer, Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers?
Ginger Rogers. She had to be at least as good as Fred while dancing mostly backwards, in stiletto heels, and wearing long flowing gowns.
A Holiday Diversion
Sometimes, cavemens' minds wander. Such is the case with this post.
Perhaps I was lulled into pondering this holiday problem while I was waiting for my prey to come into range. Or perhaps, I was resting after planting winter crops when I thought up this issue. It doesn't really matter.
Why do so many people, when thinking about a song and Santa Claus, always seem to think about the song, "Jingle Bells"?
"Jingle Bells" has absolutely nothing to do with Santa Claus! Singing the song in the presence of or earshot of Mr. Claus is nice, but meaningless.
I will post the lyrics, line by line and prove to all of you that "Jingle Bells" and Santa Claus have nothing to do with each other.
Dashing through the snow
Santa doesn't dash through snow. He flies over it.
In a one horse open sleigh
It takes eight reindeer to pull Santa's sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Who else rides with Santa on Christmas Eve?
Laughing all the way.
Don't you think laughter would wake up the kids?
Bells on bob tails ring
Have you ever seen a reindeer with a "bob" tail, whatever that is?
Making spirits bright
This is the truest line, so far
What fun it is to laugh and sing
Here again, I caution Santa and whoever he is with to not wake up the children.
A sleighing song tonight.
Does anybody know another "sleighing" song in Southern California?
Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells
I must protest having bells on the tails of eight reindeer. Oh, the noise it creates
Jingle all the way
You mean to say that Santa will have to listen to jingling bells all around the world?
Oh, what fun it is to ride
I agree, riding can be fun
In a one horse open sleigh
One horse could not pull the weight of Santa's sleigh.
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Here we go again with all those noise makers
Jingle all the way,
Loud bells all around the earth? NOT!
Oh, what fun it is to ride
O.K., fun it probably is
In a one horse open sleigh.
Santa rides in an eight reindeer open sleigh!
A day or two ago
When, exactly was that?
I thought I'd take a ride
At least you are thinking.
And soon Miss Fanny Bright
WHO??? What about Mrs. Claus. I guess you stopped thinking
Was seated by my side.
I won't tell, if you don't tell
The horse was lean and lank
The horse would be near death trying to pull Santa's sleigh with two people riding in it.
Misfortune seemed his lot
Misfortune probably was his name, too
We got into a drifted bank
I wish banks would drift over to me and give me money
And then we got upshot
I think I am going to upchuck. That is terrible!
Chorus repeats twice.
"Jingle Bells" was written in 1857 by the Reverend James Pierpoint, who composed the song for children celebrating his Boston Sunday School's Thanksgiving.
Merry Christmas to all. And to all, a good night.
Peace and be well,
Mark
Perhaps I was lulled into pondering this holiday problem while I was waiting for my prey to come into range. Or perhaps, I was resting after planting winter crops when I thought up this issue. It doesn't really matter.
Why do so many people, when thinking about a song and Santa Claus, always seem to think about the song, "Jingle Bells"?
"Jingle Bells" has absolutely nothing to do with Santa Claus! Singing the song in the presence of or earshot of Mr. Claus is nice, but meaningless.
I will post the lyrics, line by line and prove to all of you that "Jingle Bells" and Santa Claus have nothing to do with each other.
Dashing through the snow
Santa doesn't dash through snow. He flies over it.
In a one horse open sleigh
It takes eight reindeer to pull Santa's sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Who else rides with Santa on Christmas Eve?
Laughing all the way.
Don't you think laughter would wake up the kids?
Bells on bob tails ring
Have you ever seen a reindeer with a "bob" tail, whatever that is?
Making spirits bright
This is the truest line, so far
What fun it is to laugh and sing
Here again, I caution Santa and whoever he is with to not wake up the children.
A sleighing song tonight.
Does anybody know another "sleighing" song in Southern California?
Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells
I must protest having bells on the tails of eight reindeer. Oh, the noise it creates
Jingle all the way
You mean to say that Santa will have to listen to jingling bells all around the world?
Oh, what fun it is to ride
I agree, riding can be fun
In a one horse open sleigh
One horse could not pull the weight of Santa's sleigh.
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Here we go again with all those noise makers
Jingle all the way,
Loud bells all around the earth? NOT!
Oh, what fun it is to ride
O.K., fun it probably is
In a one horse open sleigh.
Santa rides in an eight reindeer open sleigh!
A day or two ago
When, exactly was that?
I thought I'd take a ride
At least you are thinking.
And soon Miss Fanny Bright
WHO??? What about Mrs. Claus. I guess you stopped thinking
Was seated by my side.
I won't tell, if you don't tell
The horse was lean and lank
The horse would be near death trying to pull Santa's sleigh with two people riding in it.
Misfortune seemed his lot
Misfortune probably was his name, too
We got into a drifted bank
I wish banks would drift over to me and give me money
And then we got upshot
I think I am going to upchuck. That is terrible!
Chorus repeats twice.
"Jingle Bells" was written in 1857 by the Reverend James Pierpoint, who composed the song for children celebrating his Boston Sunday School's Thanksgiving.
Merry Christmas to all. And to all, a good night.
Peace and be well,
Mark
Merry Caveman Christmas
As this yule season comes and goes, a caveman has certain duties and responsibilities that separate him from the rest of the real world.
Modern cavemen provide many non-cavefolks with sources for great humor and serious frustrations, during the holiday season.
Cavemen enjoy providing their children with gifts they loved to receive when they were younger. What they were given as gifts often times, by their caveman-fathers, are usually passed down in the same manner generation after generation.
When I was four-years old, I got a wooden railroad track and small wooden trains for Christmas. The set was called the Snap Train and Harbor Set.
When my own sons were three and four, it was my turn to give them wooden train sets.
I repeated the same things my father did to me when my sons got their sets.
We dads got to put them together while we sons had to watch and eat breakfast.
It is a caveman thing to take control of the really neat gifts that are given to our cave-children. Cavekids need to learn this at an early age so they accept that they don't get to be the first ones to play with their new toys, and they need to learn to carry on this tradition to their own children.
The simple fact is; if it runs on batteries, gets plugged in, gets assembled, or looks too fun, cavedads get to play first.
Children often receive gifts from their cave-fathers that required assembly prior to the presentation of the gift. Assembly of such gifts naturally fall onto the shoulders of the cave-dad.
Assembling things is usually accompanied by shouts, cuss words, thrown objects, mostly tools, and the inevitable extra pieces that don't seem to have a place to go.
Cavemen have the inherent knowledge that they believe they can assemble anything at any time. Whether this is true or not doesn't really matter. All cavemen know that they can construct, assemble, put together, gather, assimilate, concoct, and produce any and all gifts that will be given at during any holiday or festivity.
I am sure all non-cave people have read this post and noticed one word that is missing when writing about assembling things, and putting together gifts. I know what the word is and I have seen pieces of papers with printing on them, in boxes that contained the gifts to be assembled. I have heard countless times from both of my wives that I should, at least, browse through whatever is written on the papers and pages of booklets that come with the unassembled gifts.
It is not in the nature of cavemen to read printed material that comes with unassembled items. We have a genetic structure that makes us feel terrible if we even glance at printed material of this type. It doesn't matter if we cannot deliver gifts in a timely manner as long as we can avoid the printed materials.
Cavemen have places in their garages or caves for storage of "excess" parts and pieces to items we could have found places for on the items if we had read the printed materials that come in the boxes with the items. So nobody should be worried. All the parts and pieces have places to go. If not in or on the item, then off to storage they go.
I am sure when my sons become cavedads, they will carry on the natural traditions they have witnessed from their cavedad and cavegrandpas. I just hope their wives will be as tolerant as their mother, step mother and grandmothers were....or they can fake it as well as they did!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Mark and Terri!
Modern cavemen provide many non-cavefolks with sources for great humor and serious frustrations, during the holiday season.
Cavemen enjoy providing their children with gifts they loved to receive when they were younger. What they were given as gifts often times, by their caveman-fathers, are usually passed down in the same manner generation after generation.
When I was four-years old, I got a wooden railroad track and small wooden trains for Christmas. The set was called the Snap Train and Harbor Set.
When my own sons were three and four, it was my turn to give them wooden train sets.
I repeated the same things my father did to me when my sons got their sets.
We dads got to put them together while we sons had to watch and eat breakfast.
It is a caveman thing to take control of the really neat gifts that are given to our cave-children. Cavekids need to learn this at an early age so they accept that they don't get to be the first ones to play with their new toys, and they need to learn to carry on this tradition to their own children.
The simple fact is; if it runs on batteries, gets plugged in, gets assembled, or looks too fun, cavedads get to play first.
Children often receive gifts from their cave-fathers that required assembly prior to the presentation of the gift. Assembly of such gifts naturally fall onto the shoulders of the cave-dad.
Assembling things is usually accompanied by shouts, cuss words, thrown objects, mostly tools, and the inevitable extra pieces that don't seem to have a place to go.
Cavemen have the inherent knowledge that they believe they can assemble anything at any time. Whether this is true or not doesn't really matter. All cavemen know that they can construct, assemble, put together, gather, assimilate, concoct, and produce any and all gifts that will be given at during any holiday or festivity.
I am sure all non-cave people have read this post and noticed one word that is missing when writing about assembling things, and putting together gifts. I know what the word is and I have seen pieces of papers with printing on them, in boxes that contained the gifts to be assembled. I have heard countless times from both of my wives that I should, at least, browse through whatever is written on the papers and pages of booklets that come with the unassembled gifts.
It is not in the nature of cavemen to read printed material that comes with unassembled items. We have a genetic structure that makes us feel terrible if we even glance at printed material of this type. It doesn't matter if we cannot deliver gifts in a timely manner as long as we can avoid the printed materials.
Cavemen have places in their garages or caves for storage of "excess" parts and pieces to items we could have found places for on the items if we had read the printed materials that come in the boxes with the items. So nobody should be worried. All the parts and pieces have places to go. If not in or on the item, then off to storage they go.
I am sure when my sons become cavedads, they will carry on the natural traditions they have witnessed from their cavedad and cavegrandpas. I just hope their wives will be as tolerant as their mother, step mother and grandmothers were....or they can fake it as well as they did!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Mark and Terri!
A Caveman and Going to See the Doctor
Cavemen, and this particular caveman do not usually enjoy going to see the doctor.
First, why should we ever go? We caveman never think that what ails us in anything big or something that we can't workout for ourselves.
Sure pains come and go. My pain began in my right hip in the spring of 2006. The pain came, was pretty sharp for a few days and then went away. When the pain came back, this caveman just thought it was muscle pain, just like he (I) thought it was, the last time it was felt.
Over time, the pain reoccured, got sharper, stayed around longer, and the periods of time between pain episodes got shorter and shorter.
Because I finally acknowledged just last August, that I had the family curse of diabetes visiting me, I went to see the doctor for that reason. During that visit, I told the doctor about the pain I have been having in my hip and we both decided it was probably muscle pains, cuz hey, I am getting older and I have been doing a very physical job for over a quarter of a century.
Let me remind you now that cavemen don't like to see doctors. Perhaps they will tell us that there could be problems that would keep us from doing our two primary duties: providing for the cave members, and attempting to assist in the addition of cave babies.
Going to see the doctor never fits into either of the missions of a caveman. Doctors might tell us that we are getting too old to perform our two main duties, or they might even tell us that we can no longer do either or both of our two main duties.
Of course, there are two instances where cavemen will quickly visit the doctor's office. The first most important reason is if we find ourselves having difficulty, in any way, with our natural attempts at assisting in the procreation of cave babies. We will sometime speed to the doctor's office and even pay lots more money to get this problem corrected. It is so engulfed in our nature to do the assisting things, that to not do them makes us feel like we are not cavemen anymore.
We also visit the doctor, reluctantly it seems, if we have problems providing for the folks back at the cave. Being hunter-gatherers as one of only two primary missions for existing, when we finally tell ourselves that we are not hunting and/or gathering like we know we should, sometimes that gets us to see a doctor.
My problem isn't one of assisting in the creation of cave babies. My problem deals with hunting and gathering. It finally got to the point where it was too painful to go to work. I could no longer walk without having extremely sharp pain in my right hip.
So now I sit in my cave, which is my office portion of my wife's cave. I don't have an easy chair or recliner type of cave and my cave/garage is far too cluttered for my liking. So here I sit in my very own cave within my wife's cave. I am now waiting for the results of the MRI I had this morning.
I know the MRI machine was invented by a caveman. It is really big, really, really loud, and makes banging sounds only true cavemen can tolerate, and even love. Not only can you hear the pounding going on, you get to enjoy the pounding feeling throughout your caveman's body. I think I should have paid for a ticket to ride inside the machine.
So back to the hip pain. The Orthopedist said during my preliminary examination that I probably have avascular necrosis of the right hip. It is also called osteo necrosis which translates to bone death. When blood supply is cut off to bones, for whatever reasons, they begin and continue to die. It looks like my right hip is dying.
The best fix for me, I feel, is to replace my right hip with a titanium one. Not THAT is a caveman's dream. To become partially metallic, to have titanium inside your body, now that is really caveman. My Panasonic Tough Book laptop comupter I use at work has a case made out of titanium. It is quite a lot like the laptops the Army is using in Iraq. It won't stop a bullet, but it takes a pounding. I feel I would be honored to have some titanium in me just like my tough laptop has.
The sooner I get my titanium, the sooner I can get back to my hunting and gathering mission.
Being stuck in my cave is not the worst thing in the world, though. I get to be around all of my toys and it is the second most comfortable place in the entire world for me to be. The first place is, well, it has something to do with the other duty all cavemen have.
My cave-wife is home much of the time, too. So I get to be around the two best places in the world for a caveman to be and I am there almost all the time.
I got lucky this time. Most cavemen who wait too long to see the doctor don't get to live long enough to enjoy being at their cave, or they are in too much pain or too sick to enjoy being in their cave. As long as I don't walk too much, I can now live relatively pain free, until I get my hip fixed.
Some cavemen are not like me, though. If they are stuck in their cave for too long they fight to get back to the hunting and gathering. I know there is an internal mechanism demanding that even I get back to the business of hunting and gathering. But every time I walk for any length of time, my hip reminds me that I really need to wait a bit longer before forcing myself back to the plains and fields where I hunt and gather.
Please don't be sad for me. I waited too long to see the doctor and now I will probably need to have more radical surgery than I would have if I had pursued the problem more last year. It is my fault. My only defense is that I am a caveman and I can't help it.
First, why should we ever go? We caveman never think that what ails us in anything big or something that we can't workout for ourselves.
Sure pains come and go. My pain began in my right hip in the spring of 2006. The pain came, was pretty sharp for a few days and then went away. When the pain came back, this caveman just thought it was muscle pain, just like he (I) thought it was, the last time it was felt.
Over time, the pain reoccured, got sharper, stayed around longer, and the periods of time between pain episodes got shorter and shorter.
Because I finally acknowledged just last August, that I had the family curse of diabetes visiting me, I went to see the doctor for that reason. During that visit, I told the doctor about the pain I have been having in my hip and we both decided it was probably muscle pains, cuz hey, I am getting older and I have been doing a very physical job for over a quarter of a century.
Let me remind you now that cavemen don't like to see doctors. Perhaps they will tell us that there could be problems that would keep us from doing our two primary duties: providing for the cave members, and attempting to assist in the addition of cave babies.
Going to see the doctor never fits into either of the missions of a caveman. Doctors might tell us that we are getting too old to perform our two main duties, or they might even tell us that we can no longer do either or both of our two main duties.
Of course, there are two instances where cavemen will quickly visit the doctor's office. The first most important reason is if we find ourselves having difficulty, in any way, with our natural attempts at assisting in the procreation of cave babies. We will sometime speed to the doctor's office and even pay lots more money to get this problem corrected. It is so engulfed in our nature to do the assisting things, that to not do them makes us feel like we are not cavemen anymore.
We also visit the doctor, reluctantly it seems, if we have problems providing for the folks back at the cave. Being hunter-gatherers as one of only two primary missions for existing, when we finally tell ourselves that we are not hunting and/or gathering like we know we should, sometimes that gets us to see a doctor.
My problem isn't one of assisting in the creation of cave babies. My problem deals with hunting and gathering. It finally got to the point where it was too painful to go to work. I could no longer walk without having extremely sharp pain in my right hip.
So now I sit in my cave, which is my office portion of my wife's cave. I don't have an easy chair or recliner type of cave and my cave/garage is far too cluttered for my liking. So here I sit in my very own cave within my wife's cave. I am now waiting for the results of the MRI I had this morning.
I know the MRI machine was invented by a caveman. It is really big, really, really loud, and makes banging sounds only true cavemen can tolerate, and even love. Not only can you hear the pounding going on, you get to enjoy the pounding feeling throughout your caveman's body. I think I should have paid for a ticket to ride inside the machine.
So back to the hip pain. The Orthopedist said during my preliminary examination that I probably have avascular necrosis of the right hip. It is also called osteo necrosis which translates to bone death. When blood supply is cut off to bones, for whatever reasons, they begin and continue to die. It looks like my right hip is dying.
The best fix for me, I feel, is to replace my right hip with a titanium one. Not THAT is a caveman's dream. To become partially metallic, to have titanium inside your body, now that is really caveman. My Panasonic Tough Book laptop comupter I use at work has a case made out of titanium. It is quite a lot like the laptops the Army is using in Iraq. It won't stop a bullet, but it takes a pounding. I feel I would be honored to have some titanium in me just like my tough laptop has.
The sooner I get my titanium, the sooner I can get back to my hunting and gathering mission.
Being stuck in my cave is not the worst thing in the world, though. I get to be around all of my toys and it is the second most comfortable place in the entire world for me to be. The first place is, well, it has something to do with the other duty all cavemen have.
My cave-wife is home much of the time, too. So I get to be around the two best places in the world for a caveman to be and I am there almost all the time.
I got lucky this time. Most cavemen who wait too long to see the doctor don't get to live long enough to enjoy being at their cave, or they are in too much pain or too sick to enjoy being in their cave. As long as I don't walk too much, I can now live relatively pain free, until I get my hip fixed.
Some cavemen are not like me, though. If they are stuck in their cave for too long they fight to get back to the hunting and gathering. I know there is an internal mechanism demanding that even I get back to the business of hunting and gathering. But every time I walk for any length of time, my hip reminds me that I really need to wait a bit longer before forcing myself back to the plains and fields where I hunt and gather.
Please don't be sad for me. I waited too long to see the doctor and now I will probably need to have more radical surgery than I would have if I had pursued the problem more last year. It is my fault. My only defense is that I am a caveman and I can't help it.
This Caveman Ponders A Tough Situation
Kathryn Buck, a person living way across "the pond" in jolly old England is curious how Cavemen handle being left by their Cavewomen.
The first and best answer is, not well at all.
Being a caveman and having been through being left by a girlfriend and then getting divorces by my first wife, I have been pondering how cavemen deal with breakups and living without a cavewoman.
Cavemen usually tend to consider their cavewomen as prizes when they get them to become their girlfriend or their wife. We see this all the time by cavemen strutting their stuff when they are in the vacinity of their mate or a female they wish to have as their mate. We dress to impress if we really need to achieve our ultimate goal of feeding the group and assisting in the production of more cavebabies.
Cavemen use all their hunting and gathering skills in attempts to lure females into their caves. New cars, expensive clothes and jewelry, nice dating rituals, and an almost non-stop progression of things to bring the female to the cave and to the caveman's bed.
Because their are different types of cavemen, there exist many different ways to deal with the one common set of goals. More "Type A" cavemen like to try to attract several females to their cave. These are more of the hunter type of caveman and they love to show off their females more like those potential cavewomen are like property or "trophy wives."
I am of the more gatherer type of caveman. I still pursued my prey (cavewomen) with almost reckless abandon, but I only attempted one harvest at a time, if you know what I mean.
When the natural progression of events is successfully accomplished, the caveman will begin his life with his cavewoman, bring necessities back to the cave and attempting on just about any and every occasion, to assist in the production of cavebabies.
Unfortunately, real, true cavemen today are being forced to realize that the ways of our ancient ancestors are long gone but as true cavemen, we have a very hard time dealing with this fact.
I would imagine that if all the divorces and seperations and breakups between males and females were recorded, cavemen would far surpass any other type of male in the percentage of failed relationships that occur.
It's in your genes to be the cavemen we are and there is very little that can make us change. Our genetic makeup as real cavemen in the 21st. century creates so many problems that it is very natural to suggest that many females might want to steer clear of us, alltogether.
As I have written before, cavemen by nature are usually silent and/or oblivious to our mate's needs. We are sequentially minded so concentrating on our mate's needs, wishes, or concerns takes the back stage to whatever we are concentrating, at the time. We usually have a much harder time focusing on social skills outside of the hunt or the gathering and that makes our mates very upset, so much of the time.
Again, it is not our fault, we have been like this since we walked on two legs and it is going to take many more generations of cavemen and cavewomen to bring cavemen out of the pre-historic ages.
Ms. Buck wanted to know how cavemen dealt with a breakup, loss of a cavewoman, and what they might do afterwards.
First, we have all seen the results or what happens when cavemen lose their cavewomen. Cavemen get very upset, but we are usually so badly skilled at dealing with the loss and pain of the loss that we usually get very physical and self destructive. Alcohol is a great sensitizer for cavemen's losses, as well as taking things that are not usually meant to be thrown or destroyed, and then throwing things and destroying other things.
Cavemens' communications skills, when dealing with the loss of their cavewomen are not too good as well. We are the loud ones who never seem to be able to state our position in an understandable way. We do sometimes revert to when we were cave toddlers in that, we have tantrums.
Another thing a typical caveman will do is not take "no", "good-bye", "we're through", "it's over" for the true answers the cavewoman states. Many cavemen will keep going back, even when they are told that the relationship is over, and try to use the best hunting and/or gathering skills they still have left in their pockets to try and lure their cavewoman back, even though in their minds, that the relationship should be ended.
Kathryn wants also to know how cavemen can be helped to go and begin looking for another female.
Help is hard to ask for and accept by a caveman. We have been so genetically impressed that we have to hunt for or gather all the answers ourselves, or with the help of other cavemen, it is extremely difficult for non-cavemen to breach our shields and get us to let them help them.
In looking at the breakup between my high school sweetheart and myself, I did the typical job of trying by best to get her back with all the tact of a cow in a china shop. I was a young caveman at the time and still fairly unskilled at many of the traits a confident caveman has.
My first wife fit the absolutely perfect model of a cavewoman to this caveman. She stayed at the cave while I did my hunting and gathering tasks, and she greeted me warmly in all my attempts to assist in increasing the population of our cave. We set lofty goals because that is what "nuclear families" did and we worked very hard, each in our own ways to achieve all the goals that our society demanded we achieve. A new house, two new cars, two great sons/cavemen in training, and all the things that looked important to our neighbors, our nations' caves, and what a perfect family should look like.
I did all the cavedad things like scouting, camping, and training my sons to be good caveboys. But along the way, my wife grew tired of my caveman ways and she went to college and began her working career when our boys grew old enough. I, being the caveman I always will be, found that the mutual goals we set for ourselves were achieved, but her goals and my goals drifted apart after we successfully achieved all that was expected of us for that period of time when we were building our great cave and doing all the things we had enjoyed doing. Having a caveman husband and two caveboys in training also was stressful for my wife to deal with.
It is almost impossible to change a caveman from being a caveman to anything else. Our genetic makeup is so ingrained and formidable, that whoever seeks to help us should always be reminded that to try to change a caveman to anything else, will be fruitless and more than stressful to everyone.
The first wife and I grew so much apart in our lives that she wanted to be free from this caveman and his unchanging makeup.
My breakup with my first wife was not a problem at all once she got through my thick, unchanging skull that I was no longer happy as well. Cavemen can usually be content letting things ride in relationships, even if they are bad, for a very long time. The quest is to never lose your cavewoman. But first wife had the intelligence, nerve, and strength to get me to realize that if both of us were not happy any longer, then why continue the relationship.
We parted as friends and as the parents of the two greatest sons on the planet. She learned her lesson with this caveman and she has not seen fit to try to become intangled with another caveman.
After parting with the first wife, I did what all good, true and real cavemen do and I tried to re-attract my high school sweetheart. I figured if she was my cavegirlfriend once, what would be wrong with having her as my new cavewoman. It was easy for me, I thought, and I wouldn't have to go through so much hunting and gathering that finding a stranger-cavewoman would have caused me to go through.
Big mistake! It is also a mistake made by cavemen all over the world who do not want to start from scratch. High school sweetheart would have nothing to do with this caveman, but I was too stupid to realize that before my feelings and ego were soundly crushed.
So now this put this caveman back into the quest of finding another cavewoman. As you probably know with the cavemen in your lives, we cavemen do not live very well without a cavewoman. Again, I think it is genetic that we must have a cavewoman in our lives for as long as we live. It's not our fault, it is how we are wired.
I didn't seek help from other cavemen or women I knew in trying to find a cavewoman. The folks who knew me, the female types, knew me well enough that they were not interested in any relationship with this caveman.
It took a leap into the real realm of hunting to find my solemate. Yes, I used the personal ads in the local newspaper. "Nice guy, what a curse" was the opening line of my ad. After I wrote about some of my qualities, I got several responses, because it seems, that many women were fed up with the other type of cavemen who either love them and leave them, or try to "acquire" them as hunted trophies for their little black books.
The third woman I had a very informal date with became my cavewoman within days and my cavewife within months. She is the best cavewoman in the world because she understands that I am a caveman and I always will be. We now share our goals together because I have learned a little more about dealing with cavewomen and she accepts my sequential mindedness, even though she still gets mad because I don't listen to her.
I guess if someone who doesn't really understand what a caveman is really like and tries to help them, they may become stressed and upset that they feel they aren't gettin to the caveman they are trying to help. I feel understanding how we are different than other males is the first step in creating ways to help cavemen, even though they will probably balk and any assistance provided to them, I think.
How to market to cavemen a system to help them find their own cavewoman is a task that I am glad I don't have. We cavemen usually like looking at pictures like the ones on Page three and putting a picture of a fast car, a bottle of brew, a really big gun, usually attracts our attention. Dealing with what needs to be done afterwards is a daunting task, I think.
Perhaps finding a group of women who are not the top models or the blondest of females, if you know what I mean, usually gets cavemen who are hold up in their caves to sometimes come out and take notice. Maybe a support group where true cavemen can talk amongst themselves while being listened to by some potential cavewomen might not be so bad. Many true cavemen do not have very high egos especially when they are in between cavewomen. Having models, very successful women, high maintainence females around these cavemen can have them feel bad and not able to properly communicate with these women.
One of the hardest things for a caveman to reveal is their emotions. We are not supposed to have real feelings or express them in any way, especially to other cavemen. Our nature is to hunt, gather, and assist in the creation of more cave babies. Feelings seem to get in the way of our purpose in life, for many of us cavemen, so taking note of that fact, may be quite important in dealing with us.
If this post has helped Ms. Buck or anyone else understand a little bit more about cavemen, then that is good. If I can answer any other question one may have, I'll give it my best shot.
If you remember how we are so very different, then you are one step further along the evolutionary path tham we cavemen seem to still be stuck on.
The first and best answer is, not well at all.
Being a caveman and having been through being left by a girlfriend and then getting divorces by my first wife, I have been pondering how cavemen deal with breakups and living without a cavewoman.
Cavemen usually tend to consider their cavewomen as prizes when they get them to become their girlfriend or their wife. We see this all the time by cavemen strutting their stuff when they are in the vacinity of their mate or a female they wish to have as their mate. We dress to impress if we really need to achieve our ultimate goal of feeding the group and assisting in the production of more cavebabies.
Cavemen use all their hunting and gathering skills in attempts to lure females into their caves. New cars, expensive clothes and jewelry, nice dating rituals, and an almost non-stop progression of things to bring the female to the cave and to the caveman's bed.
Because their are different types of cavemen, there exist many different ways to deal with the one common set of goals. More "Type A" cavemen like to try to attract several females to their cave. These are more of the hunter type of caveman and they love to show off their females more like those potential cavewomen are like property or "trophy wives."
I am of the more gatherer type of caveman. I still pursued my prey (cavewomen) with almost reckless abandon, but I only attempted one harvest at a time, if you know what I mean.
When the natural progression of events is successfully accomplished, the caveman will begin his life with his cavewoman, bring necessities back to the cave and attempting on just about any and every occasion, to assist in the production of cavebabies.
Unfortunately, real, true cavemen today are being forced to realize that the ways of our ancient ancestors are long gone but as true cavemen, we have a very hard time dealing with this fact.
I would imagine that if all the divorces and seperations and breakups between males and females were recorded, cavemen would far surpass any other type of male in the percentage of failed relationships that occur.
It's in your genes to be the cavemen we are and there is very little that can make us change. Our genetic makeup as real cavemen in the 21st. century creates so many problems that it is very natural to suggest that many females might want to steer clear of us, alltogether.
As I have written before, cavemen by nature are usually silent and/or oblivious to our mate's needs. We are sequentially minded so concentrating on our mate's needs, wishes, or concerns takes the back stage to whatever we are concentrating, at the time. We usually have a much harder time focusing on social skills outside of the hunt or the gathering and that makes our mates very upset, so much of the time.
Again, it is not our fault, we have been like this since we walked on two legs and it is going to take many more generations of cavemen and cavewomen to bring cavemen out of the pre-historic ages.
Ms. Buck wanted to know how cavemen dealt with a breakup, loss of a cavewoman, and what they might do afterwards.
First, we have all seen the results or what happens when cavemen lose their cavewomen. Cavemen get very upset, but we are usually so badly skilled at dealing with the loss and pain of the loss that we usually get very physical and self destructive. Alcohol is a great sensitizer for cavemen's losses, as well as taking things that are not usually meant to be thrown or destroyed, and then throwing things and destroying other things.
Cavemens' communications skills, when dealing with the loss of their cavewomen are not too good as well. We are the loud ones who never seem to be able to state our position in an understandable way. We do sometimes revert to when we were cave toddlers in that, we have tantrums.
Another thing a typical caveman will do is not take "no", "good-bye", "we're through", "it's over" for the true answers the cavewoman states. Many cavemen will keep going back, even when they are told that the relationship is over, and try to use the best hunting and/or gathering skills they still have left in their pockets to try and lure their cavewoman back, even though in their minds, that the relationship should be ended.
Kathryn wants also to know how cavemen can be helped to go and begin looking for another female.
Help is hard to ask for and accept by a caveman. We have been so genetically impressed that we have to hunt for or gather all the answers ourselves, or with the help of other cavemen, it is extremely difficult for non-cavemen to breach our shields and get us to let them help them.
In looking at the breakup between my high school sweetheart and myself, I did the typical job of trying by best to get her back with all the tact of a cow in a china shop. I was a young caveman at the time and still fairly unskilled at many of the traits a confident caveman has.
My first wife fit the absolutely perfect model of a cavewoman to this caveman. She stayed at the cave while I did my hunting and gathering tasks, and she greeted me warmly in all my attempts to assist in increasing the population of our cave. We set lofty goals because that is what "nuclear families" did and we worked very hard, each in our own ways to achieve all the goals that our society demanded we achieve. A new house, two new cars, two great sons/cavemen in training, and all the things that looked important to our neighbors, our nations' caves, and what a perfect family should look like.
I did all the cavedad things like scouting, camping, and training my sons to be good caveboys. But along the way, my wife grew tired of my caveman ways and she went to college and began her working career when our boys grew old enough. I, being the caveman I always will be, found that the mutual goals we set for ourselves were achieved, but her goals and my goals drifted apart after we successfully achieved all that was expected of us for that period of time when we were building our great cave and doing all the things we had enjoyed doing. Having a caveman husband and two caveboys in training also was stressful for my wife to deal with.
It is almost impossible to change a caveman from being a caveman to anything else. Our genetic makeup is so ingrained and formidable, that whoever seeks to help us should always be reminded that to try to change a caveman to anything else, will be fruitless and more than stressful to everyone.
The first wife and I grew so much apart in our lives that she wanted to be free from this caveman and his unchanging makeup.
My breakup with my first wife was not a problem at all once she got through my thick, unchanging skull that I was no longer happy as well. Cavemen can usually be content letting things ride in relationships, even if they are bad, for a very long time. The quest is to never lose your cavewoman. But first wife had the intelligence, nerve, and strength to get me to realize that if both of us were not happy any longer, then why continue the relationship.
We parted as friends and as the parents of the two greatest sons on the planet. She learned her lesson with this caveman and she has not seen fit to try to become intangled with another caveman.
After parting with the first wife, I did what all good, true and real cavemen do and I tried to re-attract my high school sweetheart. I figured if she was my cavegirlfriend once, what would be wrong with having her as my new cavewoman. It was easy for me, I thought, and I wouldn't have to go through so much hunting and gathering that finding a stranger-cavewoman would have caused me to go through.
Big mistake! It is also a mistake made by cavemen all over the world who do not want to start from scratch. High school sweetheart would have nothing to do with this caveman, but I was too stupid to realize that before my feelings and ego were soundly crushed.
So now this put this caveman back into the quest of finding another cavewoman. As you probably know with the cavemen in your lives, we cavemen do not live very well without a cavewoman. Again, I think it is genetic that we must have a cavewoman in our lives for as long as we live. It's not our fault, it is how we are wired.
I didn't seek help from other cavemen or women I knew in trying to find a cavewoman. The folks who knew me, the female types, knew me well enough that they were not interested in any relationship with this caveman.
It took a leap into the real realm of hunting to find my solemate. Yes, I used the personal ads in the local newspaper. "Nice guy, what a curse" was the opening line of my ad. After I wrote about some of my qualities, I got several responses, because it seems, that many women were fed up with the other type of cavemen who either love them and leave them, or try to "acquire" them as hunted trophies for their little black books.
The third woman I had a very informal date with became my cavewoman within days and my cavewife within months. She is the best cavewoman in the world because she understands that I am a caveman and I always will be. We now share our goals together because I have learned a little more about dealing with cavewomen and she accepts my sequential mindedness, even though she still gets mad because I don't listen to her.
I guess if someone who doesn't really understand what a caveman is really like and tries to help them, they may become stressed and upset that they feel they aren't gettin to the caveman they are trying to help. I feel understanding how we are different than other males is the first step in creating ways to help cavemen, even though they will probably balk and any assistance provided to them, I think.
How to market to cavemen a system to help them find their own cavewoman is a task that I am glad I don't have. We cavemen usually like looking at pictures like the ones on Page three and putting a picture of a fast car, a bottle of brew, a really big gun, usually attracts our attention. Dealing with what needs to be done afterwards is a daunting task, I think.
Perhaps finding a group of women who are not the top models or the blondest of females, if you know what I mean, usually gets cavemen who are hold up in their caves to sometimes come out and take notice. Maybe a support group where true cavemen can talk amongst themselves while being listened to by some potential cavewomen might not be so bad. Many true cavemen do not have very high egos especially when they are in between cavewomen. Having models, very successful women, high maintainence females around these cavemen can have them feel bad and not able to properly communicate with these women.
One of the hardest things for a caveman to reveal is their emotions. We are not supposed to have real feelings or express them in any way, especially to other cavemen. Our nature is to hunt, gather, and assist in the creation of more cave babies. Feelings seem to get in the way of our purpose in life, for many of us cavemen, so taking note of that fact, may be quite important in dealing with us.
If this post has helped Ms. Buck or anyone else understand a little bit more about cavemen, then that is good. If I can answer any other question one may have, I'll give it my best shot.
If you remember how we are so very different, then you are one step further along the evolutionary path tham we cavemen seem to still be stuck on.
FAKE Cavemen on our Televisions
First, you all MUST know that the characters depicted on the commercials for an insurance company ARE NOT REAL MODERN DAY CAVEMEN!
There is absolutely, positively no "metrosexual" cavemen. There have never been any, there are NONE now, and THERE NEVER WILL BE.
You all know quite well what I am writing about. That insurance company's television ads would have you believe that modern day cavemen act the way those actors in heavy makeup and costumes do. This is completely false.
Not only must we all be subjected to those ads, there is a Web site where a "tour" of one of their living spaces can be panned through and NO MODERN DAY REAL CAVEMAN WOULD EVER LIVE IN A PLACE LIKE THAT!!!!!
Still is seems the ABC Television Network may even buy a series based on those characters from those awful advertisements.
Cant you imagine the total disgust when real cavemen view these ads and know we are nothing like those characters depicted on those ads.
Shame, shame on that insurance company's ad agency for coming up with that marketing ploy. It stinks and it confuses many of the good, honest, and intelligent who are trying to figure real modern day cavemen, out.
There is, fortunately, a great many shows that have had actors depict real cavemen. I am going to list some of those characters and give you the one, most important way, that you can tell these actors are portraying real cavemen.
The first really, really big secret any person who really knows what real modern day cavemen are like, knows they must first look for the caveman's cave. Once you can identify the cave, you have identified the caveman. sometimes the caves are hard to spot, so I will give you some clues.
Here are some great cavemen's portrayal on Television, and their caves.
Archie Bunker. His "cave" is in the Smithsonian Institute. It's his chair.
Dan Conner. He was most at home in his "cave", which was his garage, near his motorcycle.
"Jim" from According to Jim. He has his chair in the living room, too.
Sheriff Andy Taylor. Notice how comfortable he looks behind his desk in his office?
Fred Mertz. This I know, is a toughie. If you notice how comfortable he is next to Ricky Ricardo, and how uncomfortable he is near Ethel, you will find his "cave" always being near Ricky.
Captain James T. Kirk. Of course his chair on the bridge is his "cave".
Frank Barrone. His "cave" was in a chair at any table with food on it.
Ray Barrone. His "cave" was in his basement where he wrote at a desk. All other places he seemed to not be comfortable.
Television can show us where many different cavemen have their caves and we see that no matter where it is, as long as the character seems comfortable in usually one specific spot, that is their cave.
I have a very strong feeling that if any network puts on a show with the characters portrayed in those insurance company ads, not only will you not be able to find any "cave" but thankfully, the show should not even last one season.
The folks at the networks have gotten it correct for generations in the depiction of cavemen in the modern world, any new show with those characters is doomed.
There is absolutely, positively no "metrosexual" cavemen. There have never been any, there are NONE now, and THERE NEVER WILL BE.
You all know quite well what I am writing about. That insurance company's television ads would have you believe that modern day cavemen act the way those actors in heavy makeup and costumes do. This is completely false.
Not only must we all be subjected to those ads, there is a Web site where a "tour" of one of their living spaces can be panned through and NO MODERN DAY REAL CAVEMAN WOULD EVER LIVE IN A PLACE LIKE THAT!!!!!
Still is seems the ABC Television Network may even buy a series based on those characters from those awful advertisements.
Cant you imagine the total disgust when real cavemen view these ads and know we are nothing like those characters depicted on those ads.
Shame, shame on that insurance company's ad agency for coming up with that marketing ploy. It stinks and it confuses many of the good, honest, and intelligent who are trying to figure real modern day cavemen, out.
There is, fortunately, a great many shows that have had actors depict real cavemen. I am going to list some of those characters and give you the one, most important way, that you can tell these actors are portraying real cavemen.
The first really, really big secret any person who really knows what real modern day cavemen are like, knows they must first look for the caveman's cave. Once you can identify the cave, you have identified the caveman. sometimes the caves are hard to spot, so I will give you some clues.
Here are some great cavemen's portrayal on Television, and their caves.
Archie Bunker. His "cave" is in the Smithsonian Institute. It's his chair.
Dan Conner. He was most at home in his "cave", which was his garage, near his motorcycle.
"Jim" from According to Jim. He has his chair in the living room, too.
Sheriff Andy Taylor. Notice how comfortable he looks behind his desk in his office?
Fred Mertz. This I know, is a toughie. If you notice how comfortable he is next to Ricky Ricardo, and how uncomfortable he is near Ethel, you will find his "cave" always being near Ricky.
Captain James T. Kirk. Of course his chair on the bridge is his "cave".
Frank Barrone. His "cave" was in a chair at any table with food on it.
Ray Barrone. His "cave" was in his basement where he wrote at a desk. All other places he seemed to not be comfortable.
Television can show us where many different cavemen have their caves and we see that no matter where it is, as long as the character seems comfortable in usually one specific spot, that is their cave.
I have a very strong feeling that if any network puts on a show with the characters portrayed in those insurance company ads, not only will you not be able to find any "cave" but thankfully, the show should not even last one season.
The folks at the networks have gotten it correct for generations in the depiction of cavemen in the modern world, any new show with those characters is doomed.
A Caveman Moves Into the Light
This post is very personal, just like so many others on this blog and deals with this caveman's loss of his Cave Dad.
My Cave Dad passed away at about 6:00 PM on October 13, 2007. I was with him and I hope I was able to help him finally find his way into the light.
Because of the experience I had with my father that evening, I believe more and more that there really is a bright light that some people see when life slips away, and they can hear people near them at the end of their lives, even though they may not be able to show us they know we are there.
I still can't write how I actually feel about the last experience I had with my father. It will always be one of the most incredible series of moments in my life and I don't feel I can even try to help others who have never had this type of experience understand what it meant, means now, and how it impacted me and those closest to me.
My dad was a true caveman. He was most certainly sequentially-minded, and so much more of a caveman than I could ever be. Being a caveman in today's world is very difficult and true cavemen are having to deal more and more with a world they don't really belong in, anymore.
But it was cavemen who won World War 2, and it was cavemen who came home and built the world we live in now, wars and all.
Dad was a caveman, and he lived his entire life in that life style and with the difficulties that brought to everyone.
My dad was not a great father to me. He didn't know how to be a good father. His father, also a caveman, was unable to provide any emotional skills training that most cavemen don't know in the first place. My dad was a much better father to my sister. They seemed more alike, for some reason and they communicated better with each other.
My dad never told me he loved me in my presence, but he did tell others.
But I was the one who chose to be with my dad right at the very end of his life. I was determined to not have him die alone or without a family member with him. It may be something internal in me that feels that when a family member is about to pass away, someone from that family needs to be with him or her.
October 13 was a Saturday. It was exactly two months, to the day that my wife Terri had lost her mother, who passed away at the age of 82-years, in the home she loved so much. It was also exactly two months before my father would have turned 80-years of age.
Around noon that day, Terri and I visited dad at the nursing home where he was taken after being released from the hospital. Dad was taken to the hospital from his former nursing home on September 24, due to a dramatic decline in his health, due to a severe infection.
From the time dad went into the hospital on September 24 and until about October 11, he was either sleeping all the time, delusional, hallucinating, or pumped up on drugs that kept him from suffering too much. Dad went on dialysis during his hospital stay, but his "numbers" never got under very good control, even after dialysis.
Dad's breathing, up until October 13 was fine, not labored, and seemed to be good. He had been using a nose tube to help him receive plenty of air, and he was given breathing treatments.
On October 11, dad had his most conscious day, it seemed to me. he was able to tell the doctor that dialysis made him feel lousy and he did not want to continue having that treatment. Dad realized to himself what would happen if he stopped dialysis, and for the first time since 2005, he knew and was able to consider that the end of his life was near.
On October 11, I had my last conversation with my dad. Someday when my sister can deal with what dad and I talked about, I will write it all down. When it is read, everyone will know how hilarious my dad could be at times. What he said during that final time I ever talked to him will stick with me, every single word, forever. The few folks who I have told either laughed until tears welled up, or laughed, stopped laughing, and then started up again.
What my dad and I talked about that last time is absolutely, positively, nothing any person on this planet would expect to talk about, especially during the last conversation. What made it even more "different" is that it was during the time my dad was the most lucid, clear, and communicative he had been since before September 23!
You will laugh, I guarantee it. You won't cry, I'm sure. It is not a "last" conversation you would ever expect to hear, but it was part of what made my dad what he was, warts and all.
After October 11, I never heard my dad's voice again, except in my mind. During the evening of October 12, my sister got a call from dad's nurse who told her that dad has said he loved us, before he fell hard asleep or unconscious.
Also on October 12, I visited my dad twice, but he was so sound asleep that he would not wake up. I could tell he was asleep, his breathing was fine and he moved around slightly, but he wouldn't wake up.
On his last day, my dad's breathing became quite labored. When Terri and I visited, I think we both knew that he was not going to live much longer. I asked a nurse what her experiences were seeing people in dad's similar condition, about how long she felt dad might live. The wonderful Jessica thought that dad had less than a week to live.
I didn't like dad's breathing and I didn't see him acknowledge when Terri and I talked to him or touched his shoulder.
My sister was on her way over to see dad as Terri and I visited. When my sister got to the nursing home, we were waiting outside to tell her what we saw and learned. I tried my best to warn her that seeing her dad breathing like he was would be a shock to her. It was.
My sister has been a perfect angel in caring for our father since he moved back to San Pedro from Ensenada Mexico, in around 1999. She was even more perfect at she cared for our dad since May 8, 2005 when he fell, couldn't get up, and was placed in his first nursing facility, after one of his many trips to the hospital.
My sister lost it when she saw her dad. During the time since September 24 and October 13, the only time I cried was when I saw my sister so distraught. I felt so much pain at her suffering and I was not prepared for that. Watching everything my dad went through didn't bring tears, but watching and thinking about what my sister was going through and all the efforts she made to keep our dad from suffering is the thing that breaks me down, and the tears flow freely.
My sister said as we, along with her husband, all four of us by dad's bed, that she could no longer bare to watch her dad's breathing and how difficult it was. It would be her last time with her father.
As we all left that mid-day, I asked to be notified when the staff feels dad's time was growing close. Also as we left, we all thought dad had a little more time, but less than a week.
At five in the afternoon, on that very same day, we got the call that dad's fingers were turning blue and that I needed to get to the facility as soon as possible.
As I drove to the nursing home I was trying to think of what to say to my dad. I didn't know if he would hear me, or even if he would be alive by the time I arrived.
As I drove, I thought of talking to him about something we did, on occasion, while I was growing up. Dad had Thursdays and Fridays off from his job as a marine terminal operator for Standard Oil Company of California, later Chevron. Every couple of months and for many years, dad would keep me home from school and we would venture out on day trips across parts of the vast desert, near where we lived.
Dad would wake me up before sunrise, we would let Rumar, our dog, and dad's best friend, by far (Ru-Ruth my sister, mar-Mark, me), run to whatever vehicle my dad had at the time, and we would begin our Odyssey.
Dad would pack the BB gun, beer, some snacks, and a few sodas for me, and we were off.
Dad didn't like humans very much. He was alive on the desert and spent his retirement in a house in Lucerne Valley, a trailer in Baja, or a house he had built above Ensenada. Dad also spent most of his Thursdays and Fridays at the Lucerne Valley house, which was larger than the house we lived in, in San Pedro.
The day trips out onto the desert provides some play time for dad, me, and Rumar. We were three souls, trying to have a connection, a good time in the desert, and for one of us, a great time to drink beer. Dad would usually be somewhat smashed by the time we got home and his mood usually wasn't too wonderful when driving home, especially if he had to drive through work traffic.
So on the trip to the nursing home to be with my dad for the last time, I decided to tell him about the times we had, the three of us, out in the desert. I had no clue, while I was thinking about what I would talk to him about, how it would become a way for him to go "into the light."
We got to the nursing home and dad's breathing was even more difficult than we had observed just five hours earlier. Now he was laboring more, taking much longer between attempts to breath, and having some breathing that appeared to be gasps.
It was with his breathing in the foreground that I went up to him and told him that I was going to tell him about one last trip together, out onto the desert.
For my story, I created it in a chronological way. I talked to dad about waking me up, grabbing the goodies, including Michelob Beer, back then his favorite, and beginning our journey.
For the story-telling, I would lean down near my father's right ear and I would put my hand on his right shoulder and rub it, from time to time to also try to let him know I was there.
The trip began before sunrise because I knew my dad loved to watch the sun rising over desert landscape. My story started with the preparation and the first "episode" ended with my dad stopping his 1955 Chevrolet pickup truck, painted school bus yellow, (really it was, he just had a thing for the color yellow) to fill up with gas, a little before sunrise.
I think this is when I first thought about creating a story about the end of dad's life because I told dad that the person who was pumping the gas into the truck was his nephew, Joe.
Joe, dad's eldest nephew, passed away a year or so ago. I told dad about Joe's passing some time ago because I was researching the paths diabetes takes on our whole family.
The school bus yellow truck was being filled by Joe, before sunrise, and I told dad that we still had a long way to go. I left dad's side to sit for a bit at the foot of dad's bed and just watch him breath.
Time progresses, or doesn't progress at all, it seemed, and still seems to me, when dealing with what I was dealing with at that particular time. Later during the time of my story-telling, I would look at my watch, almost every minute, but during the first bits of the story, time stood still for both of us.
I got up again to continue the story I was telling dad. I told him we let Rumar go pee after we got gas and we were heading east, it was still dark in my story, but we could tell the sun would rise in a short time.
Breakfast. The sun was going to come up shortly, but we hadn't eaten, and we had a long trip to take. As we headed east, with the sun almost rising, I told dad that out in the far distance, a bright white light might also appear. I told dad that it was a good light and we didn't have anything to worry about. I told dad that it was time for breakfast and that I knew he liked bell peppers in everything he ate, peanut butter on anything, onions all around, and plenty of eggs would be ordered. I also told dad that I would save some links of sausage for Rumar because he couldn't come into the restaurant.
I told dad I would be back to tell him more of the story after we ate breakfast, and I sat down again.
I probably watched dad breathing for what must have seemed like hours, but was certainly more like ten minutes. During this time, dad's breathing became even more gasping, slower, and labored. I saw dad's eyes move, but his eyelids did not open. Dad also closed his mouth for about two breaths through his nose. I still had no idea how much longer dad had, but I think I began to feel that I needed to bring the white light closer to the truck or dad closer to the light, soon.
Breakfast ended. This time, instead of rubbing dad's shoulder, I thought he might be able to feel my hand running through his very fine white hair. It was also time to describe to dad just what we ate at breakfast, so I did.
I have french toast, because I always have french toast. I also had potatoes, and I saved sausage and wrapped it up in a paper napkin for Rumar.
Dad's eggs had bell peppers, cheese, ham (even though he really didn't like it that much), onions, and had ketchup on top. He also had potatoes and toast, but he didn't have any sausage.
I told dad that the cook at the restaurant was Mr. Durant, his old boss at Standard Oil. I reminded dad that when he took me to pick up his check on Thursday, his day off, Mr. Durant would give me some money for the candy machine that was really out in the lobby. That was another good memory I could share with my dad.
As I told dad what we ate, I also told him that we let Rumar out for a good pee and to eat the sausage I saved for him. I told dad that we needed to get going because there were still lizards to shoot at with the BB gun and the white light was getting brighter.
We headed east and I talked to dad more about the white light. I told dad that there were family members, and old friends in the light and that the light was comfortable and there was no suffering in the light. I had the light grow brighter as we headed towards the east.
For some reason, and I will never know why, I began to look at my watch as I watched my dad's breathing slow even more during the story. I don't know how I knew that he has just minutes left, but I looked at my watch and I saw 5:58. Dad's breathing was course, labored, sometimes very shallow, and time was growing ever longer between breaths.
The light was growing much brighter. I told dad that Rumar was waiting for him in the light, just like his parents, Joe, and niece Susan were also waiting. I told dad the light was good and he needn't be afraid if he wanted to go into the light.
I continued to also tell dad about what we were looking at in the desert and that I reminded him that the first time he let me drive any vehicle from behind the steering wheel, was in our VW "bus" and the first direction he let me drive in was reverse. I told him the light was growing brighter.
I had a dilemma building in me, with a very short time to get by it. I didn't know how to tell my dad that it was O.K. with Ruth and me for him to go into the light. I had no real clue how to "release" him without feeling that I didn't want him on my side of the light any longer.
It was 6:00 on the watch. Dad's breathing got even worse. I told him more about the light and that there were two sides of the light. We were "outside" the light and I told dad there were people who loved him on both sides of the light. I told him that nobody on either side of the light would be mad or hurt if he stayed outside the light or went into the light. I also told dad that Rumar would be so happy to be with him again.
I told dad that Ruth and I loved him and that if he wanted to go into the light, we would be O.K. with that. I told dad that we understood if he wanted to go into the light and that we would not feel bad if he went into the light.
As I brushed my fingers through his fine hair, dad went into the light. After taking one gasp, he hesitated for a very short time and took three very short, shallow breaths, back to back. I didn't see hear or feel him exhale from the third breath.
I kept talking to dad and told him that "you done good" and that I was comfortable with him going into the light.
I removed my hand from his head and placed it on his chest. I continued to tell him that we were proud of him and that he was good. I moved my hand calmly over his chest and didn't feel any heartbeat.
I looked at my watch after some time and saw 6:02. I walked towards the door and my dad's roommate, who I thought was listening to the T.V. said "I'm sorry." Apparently he heard the whole thing even though I didn't think he could understand what was going on.
I went out into the hall and calmly told the assistant that my dad had just died. She ran into the room, took a glance at my dad and ran out to find the nurse.
I returned to the room and waited.
Terri, who came to the nursing home with me in a rush that last time, said a little after we arrived that she had left the oven on, with food inside. She asked me if she should stay or go home. I said that losing my dad and my home on the same day would be "a bit much" so I think we both immediately agreed that she would go home and turn off the oven.
Now there I was in the room waiting for the nurse to confirm what I felt I knew. Dad never took a breath after that third, shallow breath and his face seemed to turn a bit yellow in his cheeks.
It seemed like hours of waiting by the time the nurse arrived. She looked at day and then used her stethoscope. She looked at me and shook her head, then left the room.
It again seemed like an eternity until Terri came into the room. I looked at her and we hugged. She was crying a little as we looked at my dad, he was so very still.
I felt it was time to go and call Ruth. When I called I told her "dad went into the light" and how peaceful and comfortable it seemed to me. I told her I would go and see our mother.
Terri and I went back into the room and looked together, one last time. We both walked out together.
About ten steps down the hall, I told Terri there was one thing I still had to do. I had no idea why I did it, I have NEVER done it before but I felt I needed to do it, for unknown reasons. I turned around, walked back into the room, and kissed my dad's forehead.
My Cave Dad passed away at about 6:00 PM on October 13, 2007. I was with him and I hope I was able to help him finally find his way into the light.
Because of the experience I had with my father that evening, I believe more and more that there really is a bright light that some people see when life slips away, and they can hear people near them at the end of their lives, even though they may not be able to show us they know we are there.
I still can't write how I actually feel about the last experience I had with my father. It will always be one of the most incredible series of moments in my life and I don't feel I can even try to help others who have never had this type of experience understand what it meant, means now, and how it impacted me and those closest to me.
My dad was a true caveman. He was most certainly sequentially-minded, and so much more of a caveman than I could ever be. Being a caveman in today's world is very difficult and true cavemen are having to deal more and more with a world they don't really belong in, anymore.
But it was cavemen who won World War 2, and it was cavemen who came home and built the world we live in now, wars and all.
Dad was a caveman, and he lived his entire life in that life style and with the difficulties that brought to everyone.
My dad was not a great father to me. He didn't know how to be a good father. His father, also a caveman, was unable to provide any emotional skills training that most cavemen don't know in the first place. My dad was a much better father to my sister. They seemed more alike, for some reason and they communicated better with each other.
My dad never told me he loved me in my presence, but he did tell others.
But I was the one who chose to be with my dad right at the very end of his life. I was determined to not have him die alone or without a family member with him. It may be something internal in me that feels that when a family member is about to pass away, someone from that family needs to be with him or her.
October 13 was a Saturday. It was exactly two months, to the day that my wife Terri had lost her mother, who passed away at the age of 82-years, in the home she loved so much. It was also exactly two months before my father would have turned 80-years of age.
Around noon that day, Terri and I visited dad at the nursing home where he was taken after being released from the hospital. Dad was taken to the hospital from his former nursing home on September 24, due to a dramatic decline in his health, due to a severe infection.
From the time dad went into the hospital on September 24 and until about October 11, he was either sleeping all the time, delusional, hallucinating, or pumped up on drugs that kept him from suffering too much. Dad went on dialysis during his hospital stay, but his "numbers" never got under very good control, even after dialysis.
Dad's breathing, up until October 13 was fine, not labored, and seemed to be good. He had been using a nose tube to help him receive plenty of air, and he was given breathing treatments.
On October 11, dad had his most conscious day, it seemed to me. he was able to tell the doctor that dialysis made him feel lousy and he did not want to continue having that treatment. Dad realized to himself what would happen if he stopped dialysis, and for the first time since 2005, he knew and was able to consider that the end of his life was near.
On October 11, I had my last conversation with my dad. Someday when my sister can deal with what dad and I talked about, I will write it all down. When it is read, everyone will know how hilarious my dad could be at times. What he said during that final time I ever talked to him will stick with me, every single word, forever. The few folks who I have told either laughed until tears welled up, or laughed, stopped laughing, and then started up again.
What my dad and I talked about that last time is absolutely, positively, nothing any person on this planet would expect to talk about, especially during the last conversation. What made it even more "different" is that it was during the time my dad was the most lucid, clear, and communicative he had been since before September 23!
You will laugh, I guarantee it. You won't cry, I'm sure. It is not a "last" conversation you would ever expect to hear, but it was part of what made my dad what he was, warts and all.
After October 11, I never heard my dad's voice again, except in my mind. During the evening of October 12, my sister got a call from dad's nurse who told her that dad has said he loved us, before he fell hard asleep or unconscious.
Also on October 12, I visited my dad twice, but he was so sound asleep that he would not wake up. I could tell he was asleep, his breathing was fine and he moved around slightly, but he wouldn't wake up.
On his last day, my dad's breathing became quite labored. When Terri and I visited, I think we both knew that he was not going to live much longer. I asked a nurse what her experiences were seeing people in dad's similar condition, about how long she felt dad might live. The wonderful Jessica thought that dad had less than a week to live.
I didn't like dad's breathing and I didn't see him acknowledge when Terri and I talked to him or touched his shoulder.
My sister was on her way over to see dad as Terri and I visited. When my sister got to the nursing home, we were waiting outside to tell her what we saw and learned. I tried my best to warn her that seeing her dad breathing like he was would be a shock to her. It was.
My sister has been a perfect angel in caring for our father since he moved back to San Pedro from Ensenada Mexico, in around 1999. She was even more perfect at she cared for our dad since May 8, 2005 when he fell, couldn't get up, and was placed in his first nursing facility, after one of his many trips to the hospital.
My sister lost it when she saw her dad. During the time since September 24 and October 13, the only time I cried was when I saw my sister so distraught. I felt so much pain at her suffering and I was not prepared for that. Watching everything my dad went through didn't bring tears, but watching and thinking about what my sister was going through and all the efforts she made to keep our dad from suffering is the thing that breaks me down, and the tears flow freely.
My sister said as we, along with her husband, all four of us by dad's bed, that she could no longer bare to watch her dad's breathing and how difficult it was. It would be her last time with her father.
As we all left that mid-day, I asked to be notified when the staff feels dad's time was growing close. Also as we left, we all thought dad had a little more time, but less than a week.
At five in the afternoon, on that very same day, we got the call that dad's fingers were turning blue and that I needed to get to the facility as soon as possible.
As I drove to the nursing home I was trying to think of what to say to my dad. I didn't know if he would hear me, or even if he would be alive by the time I arrived.
As I drove, I thought of talking to him about something we did, on occasion, while I was growing up. Dad had Thursdays and Fridays off from his job as a marine terminal operator for Standard Oil Company of California, later Chevron. Every couple of months and for many years, dad would keep me home from school and we would venture out on day trips across parts of the vast desert, near where we lived.
Dad would wake me up before sunrise, we would let Rumar, our dog, and dad's best friend, by far (Ru-Ruth my sister, mar-Mark, me), run to whatever vehicle my dad had at the time, and we would begin our Odyssey.
Dad would pack the BB gun, beer, some snacks, and a few sodas for me, and we were off.
Dad didn't like humans very much. He was alive on the desert and spent his retirement in a house in Lucerne Valley, a trailer in Baja, or a house he had built above Ensenada. Dad also spent most of his Thursdays and Fridays at the Lucerne Valley house, which was larger than the house we lived in, in San Pedro.
The day trips out onto the desert provides some play time for dad, me, and Rumar. We were three souls, trying to have a connection, a good time in the desert, and for one of us, a great time to drink beer. Dad would usually be somewhat smashed by the time we got home and his mood usually wasn't too wonderful when driving home, especially if he had to drive through work traffic.
So on the trip to the nursing home to be with my dad for the last time, I decided to tell him about the times we had, the three of us, out in the desert. I had no clue, while I was thinking about what I would talk to him about, how it would become a way for him to go "into the light."
We got to the nursing home and dad's breathing was even more difficult than we had observed just five hours earlier. Now he was laboring more, taking much longer between attempts to breath, and having some breathing that appeared to be gasps.
It was with his breathing in the foreground that I went up to him and told him that I was going to tell him about one last trip together, out onto the desert.
For my story, I created it in a chronological way. I talked to dad about waking me up, grabbing the goodies, including Michelob Beer, back then his favorite, and beginning our journey.
For the story-telling, I would lean down near my father's right ear and I would put my hand on his right shoulder and rub it, from time to time to also try to let him know I was there.
The trip began before sunrise because I knew my dad loved to watch the sun rising over desert landscape. My story started with the preparation and the first "episode" ended with my dad stopping his 1955 Chevrolet pickup truck, painted school bus yellow, (really it was, he just had a thing for the color yellow) to fill up with gas, a little before sunrise.
I think this is when I first thought about creating a story about the end of dad's life because I told dad that the person who was pumping the gas into the truck was his nephew, Joe.
Joe, dad's eldest nephew, passed away a year or so ago. I told dad about Joe's passing some time ago because I was researching the paths diabetes takes on our whole family.
The school bus yellow truck was being filled by Joe, before sunrise, and I told dad that we still had a long way to go. I left dad's side to sit for a bit at the foot of dad's bed and just watch him breath.
Time progresses, or doesn't progress at all, it seemed, and still seems to me, when dealing with what I was dealing with at that particular time. Later during the time of my story-telling, I would look at my watch, almost every minute, but during the first bits of the story, time stood still for both of us.
I got up again to continue the story I was telling dad. I told him we let Rumar go pee after we got gas and we were heading east, it was still dark in my story, but we could tell the sun would rise in a short time.
Breakfast. The sun was going to come up shortly, but we hadn't eaten, and we had a long trip to take. As we headed east, with the sun almost rising, I told dad that out in the far distance, a bright white light might also appear. I told dad that it was a good light and we didn't have anything to worry about. I told dad that it was time for breakfast and that I knew he liked bell peppers in everything he ate, peanut butter on anything, onions all around, and plenty of eggs would be ordered. I also told dad that I would save some links of sausage for Rumar because he couldn't come into the restaurant.
I told dad I would be back to tell him more of the story after we ate breakfast, and I sat down again.
I probably watched dad breathing for what must have seemed like hours, but was certainly more like ten minutes. During this time, dad's breathing became even more gasping, slower, and labored. I saw dad's eyes move, but his eyelids did not open. Dad also closed his mouth for about two breaths through his nose. I still had no idea how much longer dad had, but I think I began to feel that I needed to bring the white light closer to the truck or dad closer to the light, soon.
Breakfast ended. This time, instead of rubbing dad's shoulder, I thought he might be able to feel my hand running through his very fine white hair. It was also time to describe to dad just what we ate at breakfast, so I did.
I have french toast, because I always have french toast. I also had potatoes, and I saved sausage and wrapped it up in a paper napkin for Rumar.
Dad's eggs had bell peppers, cheese, ham (even though he really didn't like it that much), onions, and had ketchup on top. He also had potatoes and toast, but he didn't have any sausage.
I told dad that the cook at the restaurant was Mr. Durant, his old boss at Standard Oil. I reminded dad that when he took me to pick up his check on Thursday, his day off, Mr. Durant would give me some money for the candy machine that was really out in the lobby. That was another good memory I could share with my dad.
As I told dad what we ate, I also told him that we let Rumar out for a good pee and to eat the sausage I saved for him. I told dad that we needed to get going because there were still lizards to shoot at with the BB gun and the white light was getting brighter.
We headed east and I talked to dad more about the white light. I told dad that there were family members, and old friends in the light and that the light was comfortable and there was no suffering in the light. I had the light grow brighter as we headed towards the east.
For some reason, and I will never know why, I began to look at my watch as I watched my dad's breathing slow even more during the story. I don't know how I knew that he has just minutes left, but I looked at my watch and I saw 5:58. Dad's breathing was course, labored, sometimes very shallow, and time was growing ever longer between breaths.
The light was growing much brighter. I told dad that Rumar was waiting for him in the light, just like his parents, Joe, and niece Susan were also waiting. I told dad the light was good and he needn't be afraid if he wanted to go into the light.
I continued to also tell dad about what we were looking at in the desert and that I reminded him that the first time he let me drive any vehicle from behind the steering wheel, was in our VW "bus" and the first direction he let me drive in was reverse. I told him the light was growing brighter.
I had a dilemma building in me, with a very short time to get by it. I didn't know how to tell my dad that it was O.K. with Ruth and me for him to go into the light. I had no real clue how to "release" him without feeling that I didn't want him on my side of the light any longer.
It was 6:00 on the watch. Dad's breathing got even worse. I told him more about the light and that there were two sides of the light. We were "outside" the light and I told dad there were people who loved him on both sides of the light. I told him that nobody on either side of the light would be mad or hurt if he stayed outside the light or went into the light. I also told dad that Rumar would be so happy to be with him again.
I told dad that Ruth and I loved him and that if he wanted to go into the light, we would be O.K. with that. I told dad that we understood if he wanted to go into the light and that we would not feel bad if he went into the light.
As I brushed my fingers through his fine hair, dad went into the light. After taking one gasp, he hesitated for a very short time and took three very short, shallow breaths, back to back. I didn't see hear or feel him exhale from the third breath.
I kept talking to dad and told him that "you done good" and that I was comfortable with him going into the light.
I removed my hand from his head and placed it on his chest. I continued to tell him that we were proud of him and that he was good. I moved my hand calmly over his chest and didn't feel any heartbeat.
I looked at my watch after some time and saw 6:02. I walked towards the door and my dad's roommate, who I thought was listening to the T.V. said "I'm sorry." Apparently he heard the whole thing even though I didn't think he could understand what was going on.
I went out into the hall and calmly told the assistant that my dad had just died. She ran into the room, took a glance at my dad and ran out to find the nurse.
I returned to the room and waited.
Terri, who came to the nursing home with me in a rush that last time, said a little after we arrived that she had left the oven on, with food inside. She asked me if she should stay or go home. I said that losing my dad and my home on the same day would be "a bit much" so I think we both immediately agreed that she would go home and turn off the oven.
Now there I was in the room waiting for the nurse to confirm what I felt I knew. Dad never took a breath after that third, shallow breath and his face seemed to turn a bit yellow in his cheeks.
It seemed like hours of waiting by the time the nurse arrived. She looked at day and then used her stethoscope. She looked at me and shook her head, then left the room.
It again seemed like an eternity until Terri came into the room. I looked at her and we hugged. She was crying a little as we looked at my dad, he was so very still.
I felt it was time to go and call Ruth. When I called I told her "dad went into the light" and how peaceful and comfortable it seemed to me. I told her I would go and see our mother.
Terri and I went back into the room and looked together, one last time. We both walked out together.
About ten steps down the hall, I told Terri there was one thing I still had to do. I had no idea why I did it, I have NEVER done it before but I felt I needed to do it, for unknown reasons. I turned around, walked back into the room, and kissed my dad's forehead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
