Dad’s Fortune Read “Dependability”

I once opened a Chinese fortune cookie and cringed to see: “You are dependable.”

“Wahoo!” I thought. “Why not ‘A great fortune will come you way’? ‘Sunshine will light your path today’? ‘You will have amazing success in all you do’?

Reflecting on my dad this Father’s Day, I award the dependable cookie to him.
Without cringing.

It might be fun to share some zany dad stories like my Facebook friends are posting today. But other than insisting – for years – that “unjar” was a word in Scrabble, Stephen Ondo was not a character. He was “Even Steven,” as he liked to describe a perfectly equitable arrangement.

Shying away from flair, he was a cautionary tale who saved his warranties, changed his oil on time, and ran to the encyclopedia in the middle of dinner to settle a point that the rest of us didn’t even know was a point.

A self-described “realist,” he humored my mother by reading Norman Vincent Peale. In later years, he began to cross the line toward optimism. “Don’t get your dauber down,” he would tell us, and – though not religious – “Keep the faith.” From him, these admonitions seemed real.

In an age of fleeting Internet fame for all (he would hate this post), he has lived on as an increasingly important reminder of the value of consistency, stability and – yes – dependability.

I his honor, I have booked an oil change. (Sorry, dad. It’s slightly overdue.)

Big Oskar Saga Continues….

This week, I was set to report a miracle of the universe. After publicly bemoaning the death of Big Oskar, my years-faithful food processor, I was excited to announce that thanks to eBay, I had found another of these gems that is no longer made.

Not only that. I was excited to announce that the Big O had carried the sought-after acronym NIB (“new in box”) and had, in fact, been found like an abandoned treasure, under the rafters of an old house. Through my wishful thinking and Oskar’s need for a home, I knew the two of us had been synchronistically connected!

All this I was writing in my head as the Big O was making his way from Pennsylvania to my kitchen counter.

“He’ll be good for another 20 years!” I exclaimed to all who would listen, as I finally lifted Oskar from his original Styrofoam packing onto the counter.

All was blissful until I plugged him in, fitted the shiny new lid into its familiar locking position, and flipped the switch. At which point, as my mother used to say, the silence was deafening.

Apparently, with nary a carrot chopped, Oskar died a quiet death from disuse under the rafters. Or perhaps, he was Oskar the Lemon to begin with, and his young newlywed owners had stashed him rafter-ward in frustration.

And so I am left to ponder the philosophy of my friend and fellow coach Amy Ryan Rued, who assures me that the universe will attract my vision “or something better.”

Maybe a paring knife???

The Mouse Ate My…

If I ever write a sequel to The Dog Ate My Planner, I’ve already got the title. I’m not especially sensitive to heat, but when I set the thermostat to 75 on one of those few sweltering days, and for two days, it registered 86, I figured something was wrong.

Enter the A/C wizard, who announced after a good deal of sleuthing, “Your A/C isn’t working.” A bit later, he pranced back in – proud as a cat with a mouse in her mouth – and presented me with several burned out bits of wire.

“Looks like the mice got in your outside unit, ma’am, chewed up the wires and blew out your compressor.” To his credit, he wore his best “don’t shoot the messenger” look. When he quoted the replacement cost, I understood why.

I would like to pass along some learning here – maybe a way to prevent a similar demise. But I’m told that a determined mouse can slip into a hole no bigger than a dime – and in the dead of winter, will.

And that, dear friends, is how the mouse ate my air conditioner.