I’ve spent the past few months with my dad in my childhood home in Northeastern Wisconsin, population just over 11,000. This has been a huge change of pace and scenery for me, and let’s just say I have stories.
Let me begin by saying that Dad has daily routines and habits, and one of those is listening to the local radio station. This particular station features two older gentlemen, one of whom Dad knows from amateur radio club. I rather enjoy their show; lots of banter and opinions about the Milwaukee Brewers, a random trivia question every day, and excellent music. During their time on the air they have free reign to play whatever they want, which is mainly “oldies” from the 50’s and 60’s. (Don’t get me started on these stations that call themselves Oldies and then play Madonna from the 80’s. In my mind, Oldies stations will forever be 50’s and 60’s, and that’s final.) Personally I love their musical selections as they will pull some stuff that is a bit more obscure but also quite fun.
The thing is, Dad doesn’t change the channel as the day goes on, so while we hear The Everly Brothers in the morning, Dad will suddenly be listening to Welcome to the Jungle in the afternoon. It’s kind of bizarre but it works.
Besides the music, my favorite part of the morning show is called Swap Shop. Locals who have never heard of Facebook Marketplace call up the station to sell all their unwanted stuff. They often talk about some used bikes or generators or very specific mechanical crap that’s likely been sitting in their garage for years and is “very valuable”. And then they proceed to give their phone number over the radio to everyone who is listening (!!!)
Swap Shop can also be used to announce things like a charity brat fry at the local grocery store. And then there are those times when people are seeking things and not selling them.
For instance, one day a lady called in and said she is (and I quote), Looking for someone who has or raises rabbits. I’m looking for two to three rabbits.
Let’s let that sink in.
I’m looking for two to three rabbits.
Not two OR three, but two TO three.
I don’t know about you, but who looks for two to three rabbits? Someone who’s making a stew, that’s who! She was clearly reading from a recipe card!
Anyway … moving along.
During my visit I’ve been attending workout classes at the YMCA. And let me just say that these classes were GOOD, and I am super impressed by everyone around me. These people are dedicated and strong. Of course I couldn’t escape at least one embarrassing class moment, and that was when the tubular band I had tied around my thighs came undone and flew halfway across the room, nearly taking someone’s eye out. I had to do the walk of shame across the room to retrieve it as I muttered, “Welp, watch yourselves!”
And lastly, speaking of things flying through the air …
I took my dad to the senior center to get his toenails cut. For some folks this might seem like a perplexing sentence. However, it is quite common for older folks to get their toenails cut by a nurse because they can get really dense, coarse, and thick. It’s even harder for my dad since he has a hand contracture disease, so even things like holding a glass can be difficult - much less some toenail clippers.
I took him into the room for the trimming and took a seat nearby to do my daily Wordle. I soon learned that I was sitting in the direct line of fire as toenails Flew. Across. The. Room.
The nurse just carried on like this was the most normal thing in the world, but I was looking around for personal protection equipment. Nails were catapulting so far that they literally bounced off the walls. For those of you old enough to understand, this was a Candid Camera moment. My mouth fell open in shock, but then I figured I better close it just in case a toenail comes too close.
Forget dodging wrenches.
If you can dodge a toenail, you can dodge a ball.
Happy Monday, everyone.