There's clean and then there's wife clean

It’s interesting how men and women have different versions of clean.
A guy could look at a room and think, ‘Yup, that looks good to me.’
A woman could look at the same room and wonder what kind of barbaric hand-to-hand battle had occurred to make such a mess.
The difference is most noticeable when it comes to spring cleaning.
For a guy, spring cleaning means moving the couch when he vacuums. For a woman it means dismantling the couch, vacuuming every square inch of it and reassembling it to better than original.
When it comes to cleaning, men and women just do things differently.
For example, a few years ago my wife tried a little experiment.
There was a pair of clean wool socks next to my side of the bed. My wife was determined to leave them until I put them away.
After a few weeks, she was astounded they were still there.
“Those socks have been there for weeks and you haven’t even noticed.”
To which I replied, “That’s where you are wrong. I did notice I just didn’t care. There’s a difference.”
I figured the socks weren’t hurting anyone, they were out of the way and if I needed them I knew where they were.
Spring cleaning for a guy means going through his closet and throwing out a couple of shirts that are too torn to wear even under a sweater and digging out the several pairs of pants that have mysteriously shrunk over the winter.
For a woman, it means hauling every single item of clothing out of the closet, trying each item on, assessing their value and comparing current fashion styles with what they have to determine what goes and what stays.
The process can take days.
“Does this still look good on me?”
“Yes it does.”
“No, I don’t think it does, I’m going to get rid of it.”
That’s what I meant to say actually, but I decided to say something else to see if you were on your game or not.
Helping in this area is not something for a man. Ladies, for future reference, call a friend to come over if you want an opinion on clothes.
Unless it is lingerie, most guys are not too interested in what you dig out of the closet.
And please, do not ask the question every man dreads, “Does this make me look fat?”
Even prehistoric cave men knew the answer to this one.
When the little woman threw on the latest in Wooly Mammoth fashion and looked at hubby while asking the infamous question, even a walnut-brained Neanderthal new enough to grunt, “No dear,” lest he get a brontosaurus bone upside the head.
The lady of the house could weigh slightly less than a Volkswagen Beetle and the universal answer would still be ‘No.’
The most frightening area of spring cleaning is the kid’s rooms.
Grown men have fled in terror as the missus’ eyes glass over with spring-cleaning fever and she seeks recruits to help with the task.
The woman will dig into the job with energy typically reserved for a piranha feeding frenzy.
Every toy car, gadget and plastic super hero has its own specific place.
I did not know this. To me, everything with wheels went in the car bin, super heroes went in another bin and whatever did not fall into those categories went in whatever bin still had room in it.
Again, for the cleaning-crazed woman of the house the job is an all day affair. For a guy it’s a two-hour task broken up by time spent playing with some of the cooler toys.
It is times like this I am thankful for weeds so I can get out of the house where all I have to worry about are bee stings and burning nettle.



Copyright 2016 Darren Handschuh

Who wants a bunch of gold anyway...

I was watching a show on the gold rush the other day and quickly came to the conclusion I would have made a lousy pioneer.

I am just not a settle-the-new-world kind of guy.

The documentary told of the hardships these hardy souls endured in their quest make it to the great gold fields of the north.

They would walk for weeks, even months on end.

My first question was: what sort of bathroom facilities were located along said trail?

I am pretty sure the answer involved leaves, sticks and a very uncomfortable rash.

That alone is enough to keep me safely tucked away in some already-developed part of the world.

The documentary said many of the gold rushers had never spent time outside of a city before and had to learn as they went.

I would imagine they learned really fast what leaves to avoid when it came to personal use.

'Leaves of three let it be' was a vital piece of information. Of course the aboriginal population already knew about the 'evil leaves' because they had lived in the land since time began.

I like to think there was at least one Aboriginal jokester who convinced a plump, citified white boy that 'leaves of three are ideal for thee.'

The intrepid, but not too skilled frontiersman, would then grab a handful of poison ivy after taking care of that personal business I mentioned earlier.

It would be easy to tell what gold seekers fell for the gag – they would be the ones walking like their rear end was on fire.

Our jokester would then go back to his village with a great story to tell.

"You will not believe what I just got some white guy to do. You know that plant that makes you itch really bad? Well..."

They of course would break out in roaring laughter every time they saw a cowboy doing the poison ivy shuffle.
"Hey white guys, you know what else is a good idea - sleeping with food in your tent. Bears hate that and will avoid you like the plague."

Did any of that really happen? Probably not, but it is kind of fun to think about.

Then there was the bathing issue. Many of those intrepid pioneers would bathe once a year whether they needed it or not.
It was not an easy task to lather up in those days, and the last thing someone wanted to do was dive into an ice-cold lake or stream.
It was much easier to just smell bad, and besides there were no ladies to impress anyway so what's the point?
"Joe you smell absolutely delightful today, what have you done?"
"Well Fred, I took a quick bath in that crick over thar and then used the natural wonders of the aloe vera plant to keep me smelling like a fresh spring rain"
Of course the natives were kicking back and lounging in local hot springs.
"Do you think we should tell the white guys about this?"
"Naw, it's way more fun to watch them the way they are."
"Good point."

While they may have been adventurous, frontiersmen were a smelly lot with poor hygiene: no matter how hard you scrub, brushing your teeth with your finger does not make them clean.

So let's review: no bathroom facilities, you smell like a camel barfed into an old gym shoe, your breath could slay a dragon and you spend countless hours surrounded by other men.

As fun as that sounds, is gold really that important? I think I would just find a nice job in the city, squirrel away some savings and work on retirement.

But the lure of gold was too strong for many and they left the comfort of the city and plunged head first into the challenges only Mother Nature could provide.
And after a while I am sure even Mother Nature plugged her nose when an intrepid gold seeker went by.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

I didn't know I wanted Netflix until my son told me I do

I came home from work the other day and Junior informed me he had signed us up for Netflix.
“That was very kind of you son. And, why do I want Netflix?”
“Because they have tons of cool shows.”
“OK, and I assume I will be the one paying for all these cool shows.”
“Um, er, well...lemme show you what all they have.”
So now, I have Netflix (which actually is pretty cool.)
They do have a lot of good stuff – and a lot of stuff I could care less about – but it has more that interests me than what is on TV, so I figure I will give it a try.
The problem is, our television set is so old, Fred Flintstone used to watch it.
It is an old bubble TV that we got for free when our other ancient TV packed it in a couple of years ago. But despite its age, it does everything I require of a TV – it lets me watch TV.
The challenge now was, how do I get Netflix from our wi-fi router to our ancient boob tube?
There had to be a way, so the Missus and I headed to the local electronics store to see what kind of gizmo we would need to make the magic happen.
The first store we stopped at we were assisted by a lad so young his voice had barely finished changing.
We explained our situation while he looked at us with a blank stare.
He then called his manager over – who was just slightly older - and she too gave us a blank stare and said they could not help us.
Hmm, perhaps this will be a little more difficult than I thought.
But we carried on with our quest and explained the situation to the kid at the next store.
This guy seemed a little older as was evident by the three whiskers he had growing out of his chin. I had a pair of shoes older than he was, but at least he was not giving us the blank stare.
But as we told Scooter about the situation, he did look at us like we were hill folk in town for our annual pilgrimage.
Obviously, he could not believe someone – anyone – in this day and age would still have a bubble TV.
On the outside, he listened patiently, but I am sure on the inside he was thinking: “These old people need to get with the times. I hope they don't break a hip in the store. I wonder where they parked their walkers?
"A bubble TV ... I can't wait to tell everyone on lunch break.”
I am not at the top of the tech game, but I am hardly a dinosaur – even if my TV was around the same time T-Rex was.
I may have recently slid past the 50 mark, but I am hardly ready for a home – although some days, it does sound appealing.
Unlike Skippy at the first store, this guy actually had an idea of what we needed, and after he explained the situation to a much older co-worker – this guy was at least 25 – they found what we were looking for.
It is some sort of adapter that receives the wi-fi signal and will hook up to our Jurassic TV set.
I must admit, deep down I was scanning new TVs and secretly hoping we could replace the bubble with a new, high-tech contraption, but Scooter came through and the gizmo thingy works just fine.

--> That's OK, the gizmo cost a lot less than a new TV and the bubble TV works just fine – and now it works with Netflix.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

The 'fun' of parenting never ends

When my children were younger, I would always think things will be easier when they are older.

“When they are older, I won't have to change stinky diapers anymore.”

Which is true, but for a while you have to deal with 'accidents' that happen at pretty much anytime of the day, no matter where you are.

For parents with children in this transitional phase, you quickly learn to carry extra clothes with you even if you are just running to the grocery store for 10 minutes.

Because, as every parent knows, you can ask your young one if they have to go 'potty' before you leave to which they will always say no.

Then, five minutes after arriving at your destination, they will have to go - immediately. Sometimes you would make it to the nearest lavatory on time, some times you wouldn't.

And of course more than one day began with the changing of the sheets after a night time 'accident.'

“It will be nice when they can walk, then I won't have to carry them everywhere.”
Now that statement is true. I did not have to carry them everywhere, I had to chase them everywhere. And young children rarely walk anywhere. Instead they skip and hop and run, but they rarely walk.

I used to think, “It will be so nice when they are in school. I will have all this free time – it will be wonderful.”

Well, you do have more free time during the day. But after school there is homework and sports and special events and parent-teacher interviews and...

Then there is the drama. Oh my, the drama.

Not so much with my sons, but with my daughter there was lots of girl drama – something I was not expecting nor prepared for.

I had no idea the emotional tsunami a growing girl brings to the party with her. One minute she is feuding with someone, the next they are best friends. One second she is happy, the next she is bawling her eyes out.

It was hard to keep up.

“When they are in high school, then things will be easier.”

Remember that emotional tsunami I was talking about? Well, it carries on well into the high school years.

It is true they are a lot more independent in the teen years, which is good, but they also think they know a lot more than they do.

It also means they want to drive, and for the first few years that meant driving my car, until they could afford one of their own.

“Dad, the car is out of gas”

“Well, put some in.”

“I don't have any money.”

“Dad, I kind of backed into a truck. The truck is fine, but the car not so much...”

So for the next couple years a drove a red car with a grey trunk that was always out of gas.

OK, when they graduate high school and move out things will be easier.

Except for the ridiculous expense of college that is.

“What do you mean one book costs $600. What kind of book is it? Is the type written in gold or something?”

Then there is the moving out part.

“He dad, can you help me move – again.”

“Hey dad, I'm a little short of rent money this month – again.”

So you see, the challenges of young children are replaced with challenges of older children.

I know people who's children are well into their 40s and still giving their parents grief.

Now I say, “It will sure be nice when we retire, then we can move away and not tell them where we went.”

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

Soliciting strangers for candy

It's almost that time of year again.
The leaves are turning their magical colours, the air is crisp with a hint of frost glistening off the hood of my car as I head off to another day in the salt mines.
Yup, it can only mean one thing: Halloween is just about here.
I love Halloween. It should be a stat holiday. How can kids concentrate when they know there is a mountain of candy waiting for them at every door?
I know when I was a wee lad the school day was pretty much a write off. Kind of like most days actually, but this time I had a legitimate excuse for not paying attention.
All sorts of hideous creatures with their scary faces and foul stench were seen roaming the hallways at my school, and some of those people dressed up for Halloween as well.
There were always a few kids who were too cool to wear their costume to school, but later that evening, when all that free sugar was being handed out, they were jostling for position with the best of them.
You are never too cool to get free candy.
The spooky commercials and TV shows would start a few weeks before the big day adding to the excitement.
Is it just me, or was the world a lot less weird back then? Some of the stuff coming out in the form of horror movies these days is downright disturbing.
I never saw it in the theatre – I was way too young – but I can remember hearing about The Exorcist and how scared people were. I can remember news stories on how people were terrified about being possessed.
Now, it would likely be viewed more as a comedy than a horror, but back then, it was some scary stuff.
I know I am rambling on like an old fuddy-duddy, but movies seem to have crossed the line from being scary to being gross and filled with mindless violence.
But then again, I am sure older people said the same thing about the horror movies I used to watch as a teen.
Either way, horror movies and Halloween go together like America and fat people.
TV is also besieged by ghastly ghouls of every description and that is just on the news.
Every show has to get in their Halloween special featuring everything from cute and cuddly monsters to some scary beasts that devour humans like Elvis on a deep-fried doughnut.
Before TV, people used to sit around in the dark and tell scary stories to frighten each other.
“There were two horrific beasts preying upon the good citizens of the land. Each had a foul tongue and used every trick they could to fool and captivate innocent people...”
Wait a second, my bad, I was referring to the U.S. presidential debates, sorry about that.
Anyway, TV and movies have replaced storytelling with visual effects that could not even be imagined a few decades ago.
Costumes are also way more intricate than when I was a kid. My friends and I had to suffer those thin plastic masks with elastic band straps that depicted vampires or werewolves or other ‘scary’ creatures.
The problem was, the only scary thing about those masks was when your friend ran up and pulled on it before releasing his grip and laughing as the mask smashed into your face.
It is amazing how often that would happen in a single night.
But no matter how things change, the more they stay the same.
Halloween is still about dressing up, having fun and getting a bag full of free treats.
So like clockwork, every Oct. 31, parents dress their children up, send them into the dark of night and encourage them to take candy from strangers.

Copyright2016, Darren Handschuh

You're OK, kid, walk it off

I find it interesting how children interact with their parents.

When my boys were younger, it was clear their mom and I each had particular roles to play.

If they wanted to wrassle, roughhouse, or generally do things of a testosterone nature they came to yours truly.

I can remember one instance when the boys, who were around eight and six at the time, were using me as their personal wrestling dummy.

They would attack in tandem and I would fend off the assaults that came from every direction imaginable.

I stopped the action and asked why they never wrestle their mom this way.

My oldest stopped, looked at me and with all seriousness said, “Because we love mom.”

The younger one agreed and the assault resumed.

It's not that they didn't love me, but they decided it was my role to give them noogies while holding them in a headlock.

It was mom's job to provide a more nurturing role.

As little guys, they determined mom was the giver of affection and dad was the jungle gym, punching bag and wrestling mat.

Their mom also took on the role of academic assistant. When they needed help with their math homework or something of that nature, they ran straight to mom.

This had nothing to do with me being the dad, but everything to do with mom being a lot smarter than I am.

However, when they needed help repairing their bike (later on their cars) they came to me, because while their mom makes me look the intellectual equivalent of a neanderthal with a learning disability, I am fairly handy with tools.

I spent a lot of time fixing my own bikes and cars over the years, so I could apply that knowledge to assisting my spawn.

And while they interact differently us, my wife and I interact with them differently.

Being boys, I expected them to come home with scrapes, bruises and the occasional boo-boo.

If they were walking, talking had all their appendages and assorted body parts, I would generally say “You're OK.”

And they were – aside from a few minor injuries that is.

I witnessed many of my dad friends do the same thing with their kids.

“You're OK, now pick up your spleen and put your bike away.”
Of course, if the injury was more than just a minor boo-boo, I knew exactly what to do.

“Where's your mom!”

Mom would then rush in, assess the situation and apply whatever type of care is needed. From a Bandaid to a hug, mom could cover it all.

It's not that dad's don't care, they just do things a little differently than their female counterpart.
For example, my oldest son loved to climb trees when he was small and the apple tree in front of our home was a perfect place to hone his skills as a monkey.
One day he fell out of the tree, a distance of about two metres. I ran to the window in time to see him get up, dust himself off and give me a big grin.
I made sure he had not hit is head or broken anything before giving my official diagnosis of “You're OK.”
When I told his mom about it a couple hours later, she called him over for an examination that came just short of a full body CT scan.
When she was done, she reached the same conclusion I did, he was OK.
I hate to say I told you so, but...

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

I have good ideas galore

I wish I was better at marketing things.
And by better, I mean I wish I had even the slightest idea of how to market things.
The Missus and myself have come up with some awesome inventions over the years, but we have no clue what to do with the idea after it forms in our collective craniums.
Many years ago, we came up with the idea for the “air bra.”
The concept was simple: you place a tiny hand pump in a specially designed bra and should the need arise to em, er, enhance things a little, well problem solved.
All the wearer has to do is squeeze the pump a few times and voila. No medical procedures are needed, the changes would be immediate and if you put in too much air and things are growing a little too much, just release some of the pressure and things go back to normal.
Of course the trick would be to make sure both sides inflate evenly for obvious reasons.
Dumb idea you say? Probably, but several years after we came up with the idea, we saw an ad by a major clothing company for – that's right – an air bra.
You don't hear much about them nowadays so they must not have taken off, but it was still an idea good enough for a major corporation to give it a shot.
A friend of mine suggested we make air underwear for men, so they could um, er, enhance a certain area of their physicality.
Hey, if women can do it, why can't men?” was his argument.
I think I will leave that marketing campaign to someone else actually.
A few years after the bra inflator idea, we were driving down the road with our two dogs in the backseat when another idea came upon us: doggie seatbelts.
Our mutts would bounce around back there - jumping from window to window - and if I had to hit the brakes really hard they would always slam into the back of our seats.
Once, the littlest dog actually made it all the way to the front seat.
And that is where the doggie seatbelt idea was born.
We had it all figured out. It would be like a harness that snapped into the regular seatbelt clip. No more risk of Fido becoming a projectile in the event of hard breaking or a collision.
We talked about it for a while, but due to our complete and total lack of salesmanship or marketing abilities, the idea faded.
Until a few years later when we saw an ad for, that's right, a doggie seatbelt.
The design was similar to ours and we were wondering if perhaps we were being spied upon.
While the air bra was kind of a silly concept, doggie seatbelts are a great idea and had we been smart enough to market them, there is a chance I would be writing this column from my yacht in the Bahamas.
It would be a small yacht, but a yacht none the less.
But alas, I have no marketing or sales skills.
I do have all sorts of ideas that are sure to make a small fortune should they ever make it to mainstream society.
If the Pet Rock – which was absolutely brilliant by the way – can make its inventor rich, then there has to be other silliness out there that can do the same for yours truly.
I just don't know what they are yet, and when I do know it still won't help because I won't know how to market them.
OK, I will admit, there are a few holes in my get-rich plan, but at least I have a plan.
Anybody looking for an ideas man with no marketing skills?

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh