Darwin J. Smith

My blog page has evolved into a potpourri of who knows what, but I haven’t made a post in weeks, in large part because of a tragedy to Darwin Smith, my father-in-law. He took a walk from his independent living home and never returned. We searched frantically from Tuesday night (the day after Labor Day) to Sunday night before conceding that either a) he was a victim of foul play b) he had a medical catastrophe or c) he was safe and sound either unable or unwilling to contact us. It ended up being the medical issue—a heart attack—which is what we suspected all along. He was discovered in the middle of a woods three days after the official search had ended. He had passed away somewhere between the Tuesday evening that he had left and early the following Wednesday morning and was found eight days later.

Let me say that tragedies like this are a strain on a person’s faith in God. I’m sure He knows this obvious fact. I had a few unhappy heart-to-hearts with God during the week. And just when I was wondering why I and hundreds or thousands of other praying people were so unimportant to Him, He pulled off a miracle, answering our prayers. The body was found “coincidentally” in a place the County Drain Commission was clearing brush and trees for the first time in seven years. A worker actually got lost in the woods where he discovered the body. There was closure. It doesn’t change the grief of losing a father, brother, grandpa, friend, and for me, a father-in-law. He was a fantastic man—someone for whom I had great respect…someone for whom I have fantastic memories. Below are a few of them:

1.       I’ll never forget the nervous meeting I had with him when I asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He told me if I take her, I couldn’t give her back. He asked me if I had any idea what I was getting into. I felt compelled to defend my love for her before he started laughing and told me he would be honored for her to marry me. He teased everyone, and somehow it made him more likable. He was always having fun.

2.       Darwin had a unique way of saying goodbye. I remember one time after my wife and her sister and brother had investigated some places for him to move into, he told me that he wanted a “house with a restaurant in the basement.” Well, when we moved him into his third floor apartment at Genesee Gardens, the dining facility was on the first floor where we ate dinner with him on Labor Day. His house had “a restaurant in the basement.” When we’d officially moved him in and said our goodbyes for the day, he did what he always did. He walked us to the door and stood there in plain view, waving as we drove away. That’s the last time I saw him—he disappeared the next afternoon—but it’s how I’ll remember him.

3.       He had a stroke on Good Friday. After his stay in the hospital, we chose to put him in the same convalescent home for temporary rehab that his wife lived. She has Alzheimer’s; he had a difficult time speaking sensibly. I was visiting him with my wife, and we took him to see my mother-in-law. She likes to walk, so he grabbed her hand and held it as the four of us walked around the facility. It was such a sweet thing to see, sad as it was at the same time. But Darwin loved Bonnie—he told people before he left his apartment that he was planning on visiting her—and their hand-holding is the picture I’ll always remember.

4.       Both of my kids played three sports in school, and Darwin loved to come watch them play. However, he never got there on time. I can’t even fathom how many times we had to save seats for him and my mother-in-law, watching the doorway for him so we could get his attention. He’d been out to eat, of course. He rarely ate a meal at home, so rarely in fact, that we took to checking the dates on everything in his refrigerator before we’d consider eating it. He’d inevitably call my wife at least three or four times, asking us about the schedule (which we’d always given him), letting us know he was coming, checking where we were, telling us he was parking—it was a constant routine that seemed old at the time, but seems endearing now.

5.       Holiday celebrations were a constant in the Smith family. We’d meet on Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween night after the kids trick-or-treated, and Christmas (which will be a memory all its own). We met at the cottage for Labor Day, Memorial Day, and watched fireworks from a pontoon boat in Silver Lake on the Fourth of July. Meals were always organized and we spent lots of time laughing and sharing around the table. I’ll never forget the time for Thanksgiving that he was responsible for the turkey, and he purchased turkey in a can. He never lived that one down. All the family traditions will be remembered fondly and will be continued in his honor.

6.       Darwin was a handy guy. I am not. He could build or fix anything. I break permanently anything I try to fix. My wife just resigned herself to my ineptness, and she would call her dad. He whistled while he worked. Actually, he whistled while he walked, drove a car, and cooked. He whistled while he moved would be a better description. It was nice to hear because if he wasn’t around fixing our broken things, I would have been destroying them. I once broke my porcelain toilet, trying to change the toilet seat. He installed the new toilet. Another time, I had finally resorted to a hacksaw to remove a doorknob before my wife and sister-in-law removed it in about six seconds. If a dollar value could be placed on my father-in-law’s home fix ups, it would be in the thousands. What am I going to do now…maybe if I took up whistling my success rate would improve?

7.       He played the organ for his church, but he played our piano nearly every time he visited our house. I bought Jennifer a piano one Christmas. He’s played it more than she does. Even just a couple of weeks after his stroke when his mind was on the mend, he could still play the piano perfectly. Over the last five months as he struggled to get back to his old self, he continued to smile, laugh, and play the piano perfectly—never the same song twice. Our dogs would curl up at the piano bench when he played, sometimes even licking his legs. I’ll always think of him when I hear piano music.

8.       The newbies of the family have taken to calling the Smith Christmases “Smithmas.” Well, Smithmas is the single biggest thing I’ll remember about my father-in-law. Christmas in my family lasted about twenty minutes, not counting cleanup. Oh, we played with our nice gifts and had a fantastic meal, but the presents part was a shedding of paper and thank you’s at the end. My first Christmas with the Smiths ended with me opening my last gift 17 hours after arriving at my wife’s grandparents’ house for breakfast and round one. Three meals, numerous snacks, three separate gift-opening sessions, and about fifty gifts later, I collapsed into bed after midnight. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I was stunned and exhausted. There have been minor changes in the celebration considering the passing of the grandparents, growth of our families, and the changes in our economic conditions, but the enormity of it all has never changed. What a generous, happy man Darwin Smith was, and his family was raised just like him.

Teasing, waving goodbye, loving his wife unconditionally, being with his family, family traditions, handiness and helpfulness, happy whistling, piano playing, and Christmas—those are things I’ll never forget about my father-in-law. He’s in Heaven now, teasing his brother, waving goodbye to friends he is making, keeping an eye on his wife, spending time with his mom and dad, watching us carry on his legacy, laughing at me break things, whistling a perfect tune, singing praises while playing the piano and organ, and fellowshipping with the One who is the reason for Christmas. He’ll be missed, but we’ll see him again.

For the Love of Surgery

Surgery isn’t fun. Sometimes it’s scary. Sometimes it’s life or death. Sometimes the recovery period is awful. I’m not making light of such scenarios; however, as I tend to do, I am going to make light of my own recent surgery.  It is my fifth time under the knife in only about six years. I’m becoming a regular patient with three shoulder surgeries and two knee surgeries. Today I’m going to share my list of eight things that I don’t like about surgery.

1.       Pain meds. I have to admit my knee felt better on surgery day than it did the next couple of days because of the pain medication in my IV, but pain meds constipate me. I’d rather my knee be sore. The nurse suggested I use my pain meds and a “stool softener.” No thanks.

2.       Shaving my leg. Now, I’ve had arthroscopic knee surgery before. There are two little incisions right by my kneecap. So why does the nurse shave my leg eight inches above and below my knee? So I can’t wear shorts the rest of the summer out of pure embarrassment?

3.       Questions before the surgery. Why do five different people come up, grab my chart, read it, and ask the same exact series of questions? Doctor, intern, assisting nurse, prepping nurse, anesthesiologist. Yep, it’s still my left knee. Nope, I didn’t develop any new allergies since the last person asked. Yep, I’ve had surgery before. Nope, I haven’t changed my mind and decided to let you stick a needle in my spine. I’ll still go with general anesthetic.

4.       Showering. Lying on my back in the bathtub with my leg draped over the side of the tub doesn’t work. Showering with the shower door open and my leg dangling out doesn’t work. My leg in a garbage bag taped with duct tape works. Duct tape works for everything.

5.       Trips to the bathroom. The carpet is nearly worn out from my bed to the restroom. An IV must be necessary during surgery (and I surely enjoy getting all the hair ripped from my arm when they take it out), but it’s hard to deploy the rest and relaxation method of surgery-day recovery when I have to limp to the bathroom every ten minutes. I guess it’s better than the time that I couldn’t go. My bladder filled to explosion level. I was certain it was going to burst. I’m sure with an ultrasound my bladder has stretch marks. The hospital suggested I come in for a catheter. I finally peed out of fear. The dozens of restroom trips were better than the bloated bladder, but not much.

6.       Cottonmouth and vile taste on the back of my tongue. I tried to eat a graham cracker as a snack after surgery. It stuck to my tongue like dry cornbread. My mouth was so parched I couldn’t get the cracker unglued, and my tongue stayed that way the rest of the day. Drinking just led to longer pees in the bathroom. I brushed my tongue with toothpaste five times. My voice was raspy because of the tube they’d put in my throat, and my tongue was a baked slab of leather.

7.       Sleeping. Rather…not sleeping. Ice strapped to my knee, leg elevated a foot and a half, blankets pulled away from my head, pain medication wearing off, tongue made of leather, bladder working overtime…sleeping after surgery is wonderful.

8.       Memory loss. This has to be the worst thing for me. My wife and I were filling out a post-surgery evaluation form. One question was “Was your nurse friendly and professional both pre- and post-surgery. I said no. My wife asked why, and I said it was because as soon as I woke up, she pulled me from my bed, walked me to my car, and put me in it. My wife calmly explained I’d been in recovery for over an hour and that we had been talking for well over a half hour before we left surgery. Didn’t I remember getting dressed? No. Didn’t I remember eating a graham cracker? Oh, yeah. The dried cornbread stuck to my tongue. My wife said I told her I chose my snack poorly. I don’t remember that. Didn’t I remember the anesthesiologist stopping by? No. Didn’t I remember the doctor telling me I should no longer run? No. My wife said that I said, “I can’t run anymore? I’ll get fat!” Then I asked her three times if I could play basketball. She asked me finally if I had to run to play basketball and she claims it took me about 15 seconds to reach the conclusion that I did indeed need to run. Finally I said, “Well, if I can’t run, we’ll have to have sex every day so I don’t get fat.” I don’t remember any of that. I don’t remember getting wheeled into surgery. I don’t remember the car trip home. I don’t remember how I got in my bed. About three hours of my life existed, but the memory is missing. I hate that worst about surgery. 

You know, I hurt my knee playing basketball. Maybe it’s time to quit. I hate running to stay in shape. Maybe it’s time I found a different thing that I can enjoy more. (Sex was an option I thought of even under anesthetic delirium). Maybe I should appreciate showers, hair on my legs, saliva in my mouth, a healthy bladder, a good night’s sleep, and one good knee. Maybe I should appreciate surgeons who can repair a tear in my meniscus and take out four pieces of floating cartilage. Maybe having a wife and kids to take care of me is a blessing. Maybe I should reassess my love of surgery.

Question Me

A little over a year ago, I did a ten-day countdown to the release of Bulletproof, the third stand-alone novel in my Clay and Tanner Thomas series. People sent in questions, and I responded to two or three each day. I saved my responses on my web page and happened to look at them a couple of days ago again, which led me to make this post of six of my responses. I hope you enjoy them—and maybe you’ll become interested in the book. Thanks for stopping by.

These questions are from fellow author Nely Cab, whose name I love, and whose questions I’m not so thrilled about, but here goes. First one - Have you ever milked a cow? (I have and it feels so nasty touching udders).  This is an udderly ridiculous question. I know…horrible, predictable pun that I just uddered but I couldn’t resist. I grew up in the country and one of my best friends was a dairy farmer, so yes, I’ve milked a cow. I’ve even gone so far as drinking straight from the udder…I know the gross picture you all are currently imagining…but it was sprayed, not sucked. :)    Second one - Do you know how to make cheese?  On two separate fieldtrip/excursions, I’ve made cheese. It was such an exciting endeavor, I recall wishing I lived in Colonial times. I do remember one time discovering cheese-like chunks at the bottom of a carton of milk…does that count? I think I was responsible???  Third one - Is cheese or cow milking mentioned anywhere in Bulletproof? If yes, where? If no, why the heck not?  I just completed a document search using my Word “find” feature, and inexplicably there were no hits on cows or cheese. But there was a giant, a midget, and a skunk. Do I get half-credit?

What is your ultimate pet peeve? (posted by Jenny Bynum)  You said pet peeveS, right? #10 I hate it when people merge onto the expressway slowly! #9 I don’t like it when I leave a message and the person never calls me back!! #8 I hate when sportscasters say stupid things like, “It’s their first national championship in four years”…like they’re supposed to win every year, or like their second championship in five years is inadequate!!! #7 I get irritated when I give something to someone and they don’t say thank you!!!! #6 I get perturbed when politicians overspend and mismanage my tax money and fix the problem by raising my taxes!!!!! #5 Drivers with road rage are a pet peeve. Don’t they realize their cars are weapons of destruction? My wife didn’t cut them off on purpose!!!!!! #4 I really don’t like to hear people say, “I seen it!!!!!!! #3 While I’m on it, why do people say, “It don’t matter” when I think it really do?!!!!!!!! #2 I don’t like it on Facebook when people tell me they’re drinking coffee or cleaning their toilets or eating frog legs or counting their floor tiles. I really don’t want to know!!!!!!!!! #1 I’m bothered by people who take the time to give a one-star review. Why? Why not just load viruses on people’s computers and let your dogs bark outside all night!!!!!!!!!! You know what’s funny about this answer and all the emotional exclamation marks? I’m really a very easy-going guy and none of these things really bother me much at all…well, except the viruses and taxes…and bad grammar. :)

What’s the funniest story you have based in the classroom? (posted by Becky Johnson)  I don’t know if this is the funniest story, but it’s the one I want to tell. I had this girl in class. I’ll call her Amanda Forr, though that’s not her real name. She was ditzy and proved it often with absurd questions. One day in class, I was going over a log-in procedure for a computer test we were required to take. I explained that they were to use the first initial of their first name and the first four letters of their last name as their log-in I D. Immediately “Amanda’s” hand went up. Her question? “What if you only have three letters in your last name?” Well, I patiently explained that I assumed in that case the person would only have to put in three letters, but I also stated that I didn’t have any students with only three letters in his or her last name, so it really didn’t matter what the procedure would be. But Amanda was not to be denied, and she replied, “Uh huh.” She held her hand up so I could see her as she counted with her fingers for all to see. “F … O … R … oh, my name has four letters.” This is a true story, and I find that I worry about the poor girl.  

Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what inspires you? (posted by fellow author, Stacey Rourke)  Listening to music definitely inspires me. For instance, I learned deductive reasoning from Thin Lizzy who sang, “Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak…Somewhere in this town.” Hey, guys…I’m guessing that this supposed jailbreak will happen somewhere near the jail. I learned geography from Sade’s “Smooth Operator.” She sings, "Coast to coast…L.A. to Chicago." Chicago, Massachusetts, I assume. I learned rhyme from Des’ree’s “Life.” She sang, “I don’t want to see a ghost. It’s the sight that I fear most. I’d rather have a piece of toast. Watch the evening news.” I get my creative juices flowing from songs like “Who Said” by Miley Cyrus. “…There's no limitations on imagination. Imaginate." Now when I get stuck, I just imaginate. There’s a lot of grammar to be learned from “I Don’t Want to Wait” by Paula Cole. “…say a little prayer for I…And see the peace in every eye.” Maybe the bad grammar was so she could make a rhyme???? Here’s some snappy dialogue and quality sentence structure I learned from “Your Song” by Elton John. “If I was a sculptor, but then again, no.” Because of Soul Asylum’s “String of Pearls,” I’ve decided not to write while on drugs. “Who's racing to the delivery room? ‘Cause in the back seat his wife is busting out of her womb, and the sack breaks, and out come the Siamese twins who grow up to become the first president with two heads are better than one.” I learned a little about romance from “Sk8er Boi” by Avril Lavigne. "He was a boy. She was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?” I personally don’t think so, Avril. I learned about character description in “Whenever, Wherever” by Shakira. "Lucky that my breasts are small and humble so you don't confuse them with mountains." And if I need concern myself with character description, I should worry about my settings too. In “So Yesterday,” Hilary Duff helped me to understand, “If the light is off then it isn't on.'' If not for music, I wouldn’t have the inspiration to produce quality works of fiction. I’m always listening and learning.

I have never read your books so what can you tell me about them that would have me hooked so I will go out and pay for one? (by Amanda Honea)  Do you know about the opening scene to The Princess Bride when the grandfather shows up to read his book to his sick grandson? I’ll answer your question as I review their conversation. The boy asks, “Has it got any sports in it?" (Yes, Tanner is a basketball player) The grandfather then replies, "Fencing (No). Fighting (Yes). Torture (No). Poison (Possibly…there’s a murder in every book). True love (Of course). Hate (Lots…hateful characters and characters to hate). Revenge (For sure). Giants (Actually, yes, as well as midgets). Hunters (No). Bad men (Definitely). Good men (Clay and Tanner are the best). Beautifulest ladies (You bet…the most beautifulest ever). Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and descriptions (No, but there are ghosts as well as porcupines, squirrels, and skunks to add humor). Pain (Personal and physical). Death (In every book). Brave men (Brave men and heroes). Coward men…Strongest man (Well there’s a smorgasbord of interesting characters and some would fit that description). Chases (A couple). Escapes (Yes, from a kidnapping). Lies (Yes…and there are consequences). Truths (Yes, of course). True Love (Unquestionably). Miracles (Parapsychology).” Plus all three books have humor. Well, the boy responds with something like, “That sounds okay. I’ll try to stay awake.” Turns out he liked the book pretty well. You should give mine a try too. :)

Nely Cab asked, "What’s “Bulletproof” about?"  Finally, a question about my book! Though I’ve enjoyed being tortured (a little), I’ve been hoping it’ll promote some interest in this book. My two main characters for this third book in the series are named Clay and Tanner Thomas (father and son). Both have parapsychological powers, but their abilities differ so they need each other to solve the mysteries (of which there are two in this book). Clay’s father is critically injured in the beginning of the novel during a robbery, and then he’s accused of the crime and Clay is arrested as an accomplice. While investigating, the Thomases visit a witness who owns a haunted hotel, and Clay is persuaded by a ghost to also solve his eleven-year-old murder. There is a character who apparently also has mind-control abilities who is executing numerous robberies around town, leaving no clues. Clay and Tanner endeavor to uncover the guilty party for both crimes, which may be related, and numerous suspects emerge, leading to a suspenseful and surprising climax. The book includes some unforgettable characters to go along with ones you’ll care for and root for. There is a smattering of sports and romance, but a bookful (book full?) of suspense, drama, humor, and quality detectiving (I made that word up—I’m an author…I have creative license). I hope people enjoy reading this novel as much as I enjoyed writing it.  

Nearly two dozen other questions were answered that week and can be found on my web page, but I thought that smattering of questions would entertain you. Thanks again for stopping by.

Murphy's Law and a Malicious GPS

I recently spent nearly a week in Tennessee visiting my parents and selling books—and golfing and ruining my left knee. At 11:00 am on Friday morning, I headed for Saugatuck, Michigan, for an art in the park where I was to sell more of my books. My Garmin GPS said I’d arrive at my daughter’s apartment, forty minutes north of Saugatuck at 8:22 pm. Yeah, right. What GPS ever took into consideration Murphy’s Law? Exactly…none of them ever do.

The obvious route was to take I-40 into Nashville and then catch I-65 north to Michigan. The Garmin, however was bound and determined that I take back roads for approximately 650 miles. I wholeheartedly disagreed, so each and every exit I passed, the annoying mechanical device recalculated my arrival time, and it continued to scoff at me, telling me I was going to arrive later and later. On the two-hour leg of the trip to Nashville, the Garmin let me know I had lost well over an hour, so inconceivably, just before Nashville, I decided to do as the Garmin said, thinking I just might miss the noontime traffic by skirting around the city. The Garmin is actually a demon, isn’t it? It was programmed by an evil, insidious, inhumane, sinister person, intent on ruining the day of any would-be follower who recklessly throws all caution to wind, correct? On my ninth turn and eleventh stoplight, I began to recognize that I didn’t “recognize” anything whatsoever and that Nashville was quite a busy city and that I was lost and my Garmin had no intention of finding me or saving me any time on my trip. It just wanted to toy with me. I checked it for settings that might possibly say “Expressways only” or some such thing. I swear I barely took my eyes off the road, but when I looked up, the twelfth red stoplight had mysteriously appeared and another car was comfortably sitting before it while I raced toward him at approximately forty MPH. I slammed on my breaks, swerved to the shoulder, and skidded to a stop exactly beside the law-abiding driver. I never looked to my left, but I’m certain the driver was glaring at me and making unnecessary gestures. I knew I was a careless idiot; I didn’t need any additional confirmation.

Well, I found I-40 (yes, the very road I exited) and drove the rest of the way through Nashville and onto I-65 north. My car brakes had begun grinding unmercifully after the near accident—until Louisville, Kentucky, that is. It was there that every car on the highway was taking a siesta. No cars were moving—at all—and the grinding stopped. Indefinitely. For some reason, no cars were getting off at the exit just ahead and to my right. When I eventually inched forward, I decided to head through another big city. I actually had very little faith in the GPS, so I took out my phone and went to the compass with the brilliant notion of heading north for a while and then slipping back onto the expressway ahead of the traffic jam. My compass said I was going southwest. I can now say with certainty that there was a Gremlin in my phone as well…so after driving several miles in what I was sure was the correct direction, I finally turned to the GPS device for guidance. It said turn left. Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. I kid you not—I went completely around onto the same road I started. If Louisville has a ghetto, by the way, I was in it. All roads were one-way streets. On the fifth left, I was directed to get on I-65 east, which I passed out of confusion, but I then decided in pure frustration to do as I was instructed by the evil device, so again I turned left, left, left, left, left, left—again, I kid you not—and it was on all different streets than before. I didn’t recognize a single one, but on the sixth left, the fiendish gadget told me to get on I-65 west. Yes, west. I did it. And somehow shortly thereafter was speeding along north toward my destination. 

My arrival time continued to climb as I burst back onto the expressway, certain that it would be smooth sailing, but within five minutes, there was no movement whatsoever. I saw flashing lights far ahead, but no cars were moving at all; however, there was an exit to my right. I was in the left lane, of course. After waiting twenty minutes with my turn signal on, the cars had moved enough for me to change lanes and I drove right into…a rest stop—even I had to laugh. But I passed about a hundred cars when I drove back out onto the expressway. When I finally passed the mangled car, burnt to a crisp on the side of the road, my Garmin said I was going to arrive at 11:00. I’d lost two hours and thirty-eight minutes at that point. 

There is a road that runs north through Indiana called US-31 that on a map looks like a wonderful shortcut to Grand Rapids, Michigan, but which a couple of kind customers in a gas station told me to avoid like a plague, unless I wanted to stop at approximately 400 stoplights and visit 35 small towns on my way through the state. I chose to heed the advice, but my Garmin was bound and determined for me to exit and use the most direct path. Each time I passed the suggested exit, the time recalculated to something later, until at midnight, I was still an hour from Saugatuck and an hour and forty minutes (barring a new disaster) from Allendale and my desired resting place. I had an unload/set-up time at 6:45 am on Saturday. I deducted that it was no longer sensible to visit my daughter, so I pulled off at an exit where I saw a Super 8 motel where I envisioned a nap and a shower for about $40.00. At the Super 8, a single room was just “$109.99 plus tax.” I slept in a truck stop.

My knee was aching, my car was full of crap, and I was so tired and frustrated that I basically cleared space on top of my folded-down back seats which I was unable to raise, laid down some blankets and pillows, and crashed for four hours. I woke up twice—the first time after a dream that I was speeding around an elevated expressway entrance and my brakes weren’t working. I jerked the steering wheel so I wouldn’t fall to my death and woke myself, dripping inside a sauna. Every window was fogged over and I was completely drenched in sweat. I opened the windows some and fell asleep only to dream I was being robbed at gunpoint at the truck stop, but I saved myself with a sand wedge from my golf bag that I used to whack the thief over the head. As I was plucking hairs off my wedge, my phone alarm went off, and I got to have my first experience in a truck stop shower. Thirteen dollars. But I showered, changed from my sweat-saturated clothes, brushed my teeth, and made it to my art in the park event right on time—nineteen hours and forty-five minutes after I left Tennessee. Thank you very much, Murphy. It was a frustrating adventure that I’ll never forget.