South Florida Hospital News
Thursday August 6, 2020

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May 2015 - Volume 11 - Issue 11

Publisher's Note

I’ve Learned It Really Is the Little Things …

Here’s the scenario: Sundays in South Florida, living la dolce vita. First, of course, it’s breakfast at our local Palm Beach Bagel. Then Carol generally takes over the screened porch with a mile-high stack of Sunday newspapers, a giant diet coke, and blaring country music. And finally when she’s ready to discard a redwood forest’s worth of newsprint, she embarks on her sacred Sunday New York Times crossword — which, by her way of thinking, is definitely not a two-person activity. After all when you’re trying to set a new land-speed record in word puzzle solving, I’m kind of deadwood. Or, to put it more delicately, she prefers I not bother her … stay out of her hair … scram.
Problem is, when I have free time, I can be like a little kid constantly seeking amusement and, of course, new toys. And even worse than a kid, when I don’t have something to occupy my time, well, I guess you might say that’s when I can get a little, uh, annoying. But Carol is an intelligent woman (just one of the many reasons I married her), and she has found the perfect solution to our dilemma: she turns me loose on a weekly PROJECT.
Ah, yes, a Project! Unlike a lot of married men, I appreciate a new project; in fact, I embrace it. Carol’s only ground rules are that I not need her help, permanently devalue our property (one nasty explosion can do that) or spend an unreasonable amount of money on supplies, especially electronic (like Tim “Tool Man” Taylor, my personal hero.) And one last caveat — cameras are NEVER considered necessary new equipment!
A notorious early riser (as in 4 or 5 a.m.), I usually start my Sunday scoping out Home Depot or Lowe’s—otherwise known as Toys “R” Us for big guys—to collect my supplies (some necessary, some just too good to pass up). I always feel a bit like Johnny Cash, a man’s man; he “walked the line,” I “walk the aisles.” And to make my recent exploits even more fun, my youngest grandson Caden also is a certified tool junkie (my fault, of course). Some kids are taken to Chuck E. Cheese’s, but Caden prefers a trip to Harbor Freight Tools.
My most recent project was an annual one — getting our hurricane closet organized by repairing shelves to hold our emergency essentials. (Regular readers will remember my favorite Hurricane Wilma purchase: a hand-operated coffee bean grinder, which still has a special place of honor on our shelves.) Carol can have her time in the sun; I prefer spending my Sunday afternoon at my tool bench communing with my friends — Mr. Power Drill and his sidekick, Super-Duper Level.
Maybe it’s just semantics, but I don’t consider working on these projects as a hobby. I really don’t have a hobby; I work, I volunteer and I do projects. Lately I’ve thought about finding a hobby and maybe even encouraging Carol to join me. There was a time when we played tennis, but the only people who might gain from us resuming that sport would be an orthopedist and home health agency. So maybe I’ll hold off on a hobby for a while longer. I have a great life already. (Just ask Carol—she’ll be glad to tell me - uh, I mean you, how happy I am!) 

You can reach Charles Felix at 

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