Life can be precarious for all of us. For those of us who are wheelchair users, we are occassionally left stranded by failed technology. That's how my weekend began.

When I came home from work Thursday as I was opening my van lift, it quit about 1/10th of the way down. It would close back up, but would only open a little bit, then quit. Well. being the man of the house I tried it a couple of times (analyzing the problem). This was really a puzzler. So, after about 30 seconds of intense analysis, I yelled, "JAN!" No response. So I put it up and down (1/10th of the way), cause- that was all I knew how to do. I didn't want to just do nothing. Finally, she came out- at some point she remembers I should be in the house by now. After about a second she noticed a problem. I told her, yes that is a problem. (Trying to re-assure her). Then she noticed a loose bolt also. She went to get an appropriate wrench. (Sidebar- It is always a problem for me if anybody ever asks where a wrench or screwdriver is, it is tough at your own house to say, "Well I'm not sure". I think in the future I will say "I'm not sure where she moved them". Softens the blow a little.

Anyway, she comes back with a wrench, tightens this bolt, and all is well. I felt, well, like brother Ronnie. I think we are not burdened by that "fix-it gene". Ray has us there. Now I can add grease monkey to Jan's repetoire of skills. I married Trailor Trash Grease Monkey. She did get mad at me cause she was sweating and wanted a fan turned on and I didn't. Bringing the fan was Troy's job. That's about the extent of his fix-it skills. If I have to choose between not having a beer gene or a fix-it gene, there is no contest.

Saturday was reunion day. First, we went to Pleasant Hill where Jan's family on her mother's side is from (note: that's also where Floyd Harris, a former brother-in-law, was from). There seems to be a parallel. It's probably the drinking water up there. Anyway, we pull into Pleasant Hill city park. I get out and make my way around these pick-up trucks. The movie "Deliverance" is running through my mind. We eat at about noon, and all the locals leave right after eating. So, Jan and all her sisters, her brother, and mother (and us bro-in-laws), and a couple other out of towners, sit around and talk to each other 80 miles from home. We've been doing this for 8 years, and their family has been doing it for decades. It's be like us Goodwin's traveling to Kentucky, dragging aunt Pansy out of the home she will be in some day, eating, her going home, and us hanging around talking to each other. You talk about missing some genes! Well, the food was good.

That evening we went to Jan's 30 year class reunion at the Alton Sports Tap. This is truly first class. We get there about an houir late and miss the meal. This is the first high school reunion I've ever been to that was not one of mine. I drew heavily upon my beer gene, as thats about all you can do while the grease monkey wife is off hugging all the old flames. I loved it, and raised my average "beer per week" to where now the calculation once again refers to "beers per day", back where it belongs. I also called upon my sports gene to generate some discussion. The Roxana Shells of 1968. The only class in America who didn't know the sixties happened. There was one pretty cool guy, I told him my name was Big Al and that I sold used cars. I kept buying him beers. He didn't know they were free.

Return To Articles