I figure that there are plenty of deep thought blogs out there and basically I write about events in my life, because to be honest, I really couldn’t make stuff like that up if I tried.  I know it has been a while since I blogged and I actually had a couple of chapters about my long, very long, road trip to Texas to visit my Mom who hasn’t been feeling well, but something happened last week that leaves me hugging the people I love and going over the petty walls that need to be torn down in relationships in my life.  Before we moved to Richmond Virginia so I could pursue training in nephrology, we attended First Baptist Church in Sioux Falls.  While there we made friends who are still close to this day.  There was a group of people who became close, all about the same age with kids. One of those relationships was with a couple named Cal and Sandi F.  Last week while, while sitting with her son who was in the hospital, Sandi died suddenly leaving Cal and three small children.  I don’t pretend to know why the same God who spoke the worlds into existence decided that it was Sandi’s time to come home, but I know that Sandi is now sitting on the lap of Jesus getting a big hug.  Part of my heart is jealous, but the other part of breaks for her husband and three kids who now don’t have a wife and mom.  A husband who won’t have a best friend to watch the kids go to dance lessons, baseball, middle school, prom, graduation, weddings, grandchildren, etc.  It reinforces the fragility of life and that every day is a blessing and in my own life the obscene amount of time that I waste in silly disputes with people.  I have often said that people don’t really live like they know they are called because they do not have a revelation of Hell and what it would be like for a loved one to spend all of eternity in such an awful place.  The converse of that is also true.  What will it be like when you get to Heaven (assuming you know that is where you are going)?  When Jesus meets you what will it be like?  Will he look at me and say, “yes Dave, you accepted me but didn’t really live like I wanted you to but come in,” as he looks past me to the next person?  Or will He come running out to meet me, throw his arms around me, pick me up in a big bear hug, and while holding me, say to me, “I have missed you so much!  Come with me and see what I have prepared for you!”  How about you?  I have a feeling that Sandi is in a big heavenly hug and catching up with people who have gone before her.  See you later Sandi, you are deeply missed.   I have to go hug my wife and kids and tear down some walls that have been put up between friends.

I confess, I’m a caffeine junkie. I have been consuming the sweet nectar as long as I can remember. It is probably a product of the hours my job requires me to keep, but I consume large quantitites daily. My parents both drank the black gold (although my Dad liked his with cream and sugar, somehow cheating the process of drinking coffee by leaving less room for caffeine). My parents bean of choice was a Folgers derivative, but that was before you could get hundreds of different kinds of flavors, everything from peanut butter swizzle stick to coffee beans that have been consumed by an animal called a luwak and pooped out to be collected and ground into coffee (hmmgood! NOT!) delivered directly from the dealer right to your door . As a young lad, I snuck a sip of the high octane gruel. I didn’t die on the spot, but thought the swill was going to eat a hole completely through my body. That started a journey down a very jagged, steep path. Caffeinated beverages now come in many forms. I am thoroughly convinced that Diet Coke and Peanut M&M’s were the manna provided the children of Israel in the desert. When I was in medical school there was a little coffee shack at the edge of town and I popped in for a cup of mud one day during lunch hour. As I was perusing the menu, I came upon an exhilerating little number referred to as the Freight Train. I was not a newbie to the world of caffeine stimulation so thought in my sleep deprived state a little extra pick me up would come in handy. I hastily consumed the five shots of expresso topped off with coffee and returned to class. As I sat there listening to the mind numbing biochemistry lecture, I thought my skin was trying crawl off of my body onto the space alien I swear was sitting in front of me. I was young, so the heart rate of approximately 250 beats per minute was tolerable, but I was trying to remember the proximetry of the closest cardioversion device or if I should just lick my fingers and shove them in the nearest electrical outlet. Needless to say, self preservation was more on my mind that day than biochemistry. I haven’t tried this particular drink since then but do partake in several cups of regular joe and quite a few Diet Cokes per day and an occasional Vault. I have taken up with another forbidden fruit recently. It goes by the name Double Shot on Ice and I of course get the “energy packet” that is offered. This is available at the local Fourbucks. The venti is 24 ounces of caffeinated yummy and I am sure that if the DEA were aware of the “energy packets” that the supply would be cut off from Starbucks Columbian supplier if you know what I mean. I provides that little extra kick in the pants at just the most opportune moment without feeling like I just got hit by a freight train. My wife, also a caffeine junkie, prefers to go the local juice stop and get a large juice drink with a can of sugar free Red Bull and an energy packet. More healthy she says. I’m not sure how it can be more healthy when they don’t even know that the energy packet is probably a derivative of crack cocaine, but since I am still recovering from the last excoriation I received at the hands of the health food zealots, I won’t go down that road anytime soon. As they used to say when I was a resident and fellow after medical school, “You can sleep when you’re dead. Get some coffee, we have rounds to make.” Long live the bean!!!

I thought that things like this only happened in the wild west, but apparently things in Milwaukee Wisconsin are just a tad slow these days (www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,391522,00.html). It seems that Keith Walendowski’s (no polish jokes allowed!) Lawnboy mower had requested a vacation day and forgot to tell Keith about it. After achieving the appropriate blood alcohol level for an early morning mowing job, Keith went to start his mower in attempt to get an early start on the honey do list that his wife was most certainly nagging him about. Not owning a single pull Honda, Keith attempted to start his Lawnboy, to no avail. Annoyed, Keith retrieved his sawed off shotgun from his Second Amendment bunker and shot the defenseless mower, he didn’t even give it a running chance (BAHAHAHAHA…sorry, couldn’t resist). I wish I could say that I haven’t felt Keiths pain. Granted, it’s been quite awhile since I was tanked at 9:30 in the morning, besides, what was he thinking, the morning dew isn’t even off the grass by 9:30. Now, I never shot a mower, but I did get mad enough one time to hit one with a sixteen pound sledgehammer when I was 15. It probably didn’t have the same effect as 00 buckshot, but it would have been better than getting a piece of the flywheel embedded in my leg like a hunk of war time shrapnel. I think Keith is on to something here sports fans. What if the mower had a fighting chance, say like a head start, throttle set on full rabbit and had the ability to fight back. This could be more fun than calf riding in a Little Levi Rodeo and certainly has more potential than the 3 day BB gun wars we used to have when I was growing up. I hope Keith learns his lesson from all of this, nothing runs like a Deere.

Why is it when I am going 30 miles per hour on 41st Street it feels like it would be faster to jump out and run to the particular place I am going, but when someone else is driving, say a for example a hormone enraged teenager, it feels like we are doing a space jump on the Battlestar Galactica to try and avoid the Cylon invaders and I swear I can see planets whizzing by my head…

Why is it when I want to take the 100 pound Yellow lab/doorbell for a walk (which isn’t often mind you) I let her run in the yard for 30 minutes, care free, and she does no “buisiness” if you know what I mean, but right at the beginning of the walk, just far enough from the house where you can’t turn back, she drops a heater the size of scottish terrier, then looks at me like, “let’s see you rub my nose in that one fatbutt.”

Why is it the Walmart bag you took on your walk to carry the “business” in always seems to have a hole in the bottom…

Why is it when you are running late for work and don’t have time to stop for gas, the last words you hear as you are running out the door are, “I took your truck today and by the way, the gas light came on sometime while I was driving it.”

Why is it you never know quite how far you can drive with the gas light on…

The completion of third grade in the Kovaleski household carries many significant meanings, the most significant (no, not that driving is only four short years away), is that one has reached the age needed to attend Camp Judson (www.campjudson.org). Camp Judson has a long history in our family. My wife started attendeding Camp Judson after completing third grade (I won’t tell you how long ago that was because I have become accustomed to walking without a limp), and the tradition was followed by John, Luke, and now Abby. I am not sure who was more nervous about her going, Abby, her Mom, or me. It was bad enough to send the two boys off to the wilderness of the Black Hills, but the Princess has me wrapped very tightly around her little finger. As with all younger siblings, the lore of the siblings who have gone before preceded Abby to Camp. Stories are still told around the camp fire of Luke deciding to wear his swim suit all week because it has built in underwear, thereby eliminating the need to change shorts, as well as being able to do everything from swimming to rock climbing, all in the same outfit. Actually, makes pretty good sense to me. As we have done with the previous attendees, we trek out to the Hills midweek to check on the first time camper. We like to think this is because the new camper is so terrified and homesick that a visit from the parents will put their hearts at rest. In reality, it is more for the parents who need to appease their worries. As with years past, the new camper was having a terrific time, meeting many new friends, enjoying new adventures, and most importantly, developing a deeper walk with God. Luke is packed and ready to go for his fourth year in a row tomorrow. I hope all have a chance to attend this camp at some point in their lives, it is well worth it.

Most of my friends would tell you that I tend to have just a wee bit, tad, just a dab of sarcasm to my humor, okay, alot. My wife says that the Luke apple didn’t fall from the tree if you know what I mean (I say it’s the lutefisk eating Norwegian tree of my wifes side of the family). I have a shrine to Dave Barry (www.davebarry.com) in the Fortress of Solitude and count Rick Reilly among my favorite authors. My favorite ESPN personality is Colin Cowherd. He tends to be just slightly sarcastic and realistic. Mr. Cowherd was recently in Sioux Falls in support of South Dakota Network Against Family Violence and Sexual Assault, sporting a fetching Avera polo shirt in this photo (not sure how he escaped having Denny’s name somehow branded on his forehead) and Luke and I were fortunate enough to meet him. He signed a picture for Luke as well as his t-shirt, and didn’t make fun of my five time world champion Pittsburgh Steeler t-shirt. One of Lukes favorite pieces of advice from Colin is: If you can say it out loud and it still sounds like a good idea, then it probably is okay to go ahead and do. Luke says this has saved him many a ground and pound (UFC reference there…) from his big brother. Thanks Colin.

As a kidney doctor, one question I get asked, usually daily (this came from an actual patient interaction), is “Do I really need to drink THAT much water EVERY DAY. Does the Starbucks quadruple shot topped off with coffee that I chase with 6 Cokes, oops, Diet Cokes and 4 cans of Red Bull and the 5 Miller Lite’s I drink during the day count in that total?” Read the editorial in the recent Journal of American Society of Nephrology and look at the evidence (evidence? really?) and decide for yourself. Maybe, Maybe not. Gotta run, have several Meerkat Manor shows on DVR and that show ROCKS!  Click on the “water” tab at the top to see the article.

Signed: I P Freely.

Okay, just Dave

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There are many sentinel events in a young persons life. At the Kovaleski Compound today we arrived at one that we knew was coming, and honestly had done our best ostrich imitation by deciding to stick our heads in the water saturated turf at our house. John, the first born, the prince, the apprentice to all that is Kovaleski, first in line of succession, okay, you get my point, arrived at home today with none other than his very own learners permit to drive, unsuspectingly issued by the State of South Dakota (I wonder if there is a hidden psychological aspect to the point that it is not in a very calm blue color like the one you get when you turn 21, but screaming danger red). You would have thought he was Charlie from Willy Wonka and found the golden ticket to the kingdom. At this point I was seriously questioning our (I have to lay some blame with my wife!) decision to skip drivers education, even though we would receive no discount on our insurance, surely the amount of money we would have saved in valium and psychotherapy would have been worth the cost of the course (I hear one of the perks to being a drivers ed instructor is they receive their medication and electric shock therapy free as a bonus for teaching a prebuscent hormone enraged teenager how to drive a two ton killing machine on 41st street). Like a convict who had been incarcerated and now with keys to the world, John was ready to saddle up and explore the neighborhood with the four-dollar-per-gallon horse. As he looked at my wife and I sitting at the kitchen table (which for some reason he decided to clean up tonight after dinner…), my lovely bride pointed out to me as she was racing up the stairs to complete some chore that had conveniently just popped up, that he is actually more responsible than I am (which is actually true by the way), and to have fun. Have fun? That is queen of the household speak for, “tag, your it!” I checked off the appropriate check boxes in my mind: 1) health insurance paid, check 2) life insurance paid up, check 3) long term disability paid just in case I need to be fed through a straw for the rest of my life, check. We then had a major decision to make: Sleek Honda Odyssey or Mighty Toyota Tundra. As football stud pointed out, it just wouldn’t be right to be seen cruising the hood in a minivan, but the Tundra allow him to more appropriately display his new stature in life. Actually I thought this was a huge plus because the Tundra is the only full-sized pickup to earn the IIHS’s Top Safety Pick (which was actually part of the plea used on my wife when I was begging her to let me get one two years ago!), and had excellent scores on frontal, side impact, and rear collisions and could easily roll over any unsuspecting tree-hugger type car like a Prius or several unwary Harley-Davidson riders. We proceeded to the garage where Big Red was stabled (which actually caused me physical pain to say, those of you who know I bleed U of Michigan blue and would crawl across broken glass to avoid anything associated with the U of Nebraska. What exactly is a cornhusker anyway?). John took the appropriate position, adjusted the seat, put the key in the ignition and brought the Tundra to life. As he quivered with excitement, I was actually saddened because not only is this a sentinel event in John’s life, it is just another milepost crossed to the time I don’t have me buddy at home with me as he moves on to college (Michigan!?!). He put the truck in gear. I calmly pointed out the reverse would probably work better than drive for backing the truck out of the garage and that Mom probably wouldn’t appreciate the truck parked in the kitchen. As we backed out, I comforted Prince John that is exactly why the engineer at Toyota designed folding mirrors, to fold in, instead of being ripped off by the wall of the garage as we backed out. My neighbor, who has one son out of high school and the other a senior in high school (going to Nebraska by the way. We still talk.) gave me the two thumbs up sign as to say, “dude, I feel your pain and can I have your riding lawn mower if you don’t happen to survive the quest.” The rest of the trip was for the most part, uneventful. I pointed out that the point of acceleration was not based on the space shuttle take-off theory, that we were not trying to go from zero to Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier speed within the space of one city block to try and escape the gravitational pull of the earth, that the point was smooooooth acceleration. I also found out that the inertia reel placed on the passenger side safety harness was working as designed as we approached the first intersection and the Tundra’s speed went from escaping gravitation pull acceleration to zero in the blink of an eye. The people who designed anti-lock breaks: way, way, way underpaid. Overall, the first ride went well. I gave the new driver kudos. I tried to tell him that the mirrors fold both ways, but he decided to leave the truck in the driveway. He then jumped on his bike and rode over to a friends house to jump on his friends new trampoline. I sat there for awhile (no, I didn’t wet my pants. I made sure to go before we left!), realizing that kids grow up way to fast and I won’t have my best big buddy (John: Best Big Buddy, Luke: Best Little Buddy, Abby: The Princess and Best Girl Buddy, Denita: My Best Friend in the whole world buddy) around much longer.

I was sent this video clip by my brother-in-law yesterday. It was just what I needed at this time in my life (funny, no pun intended, how God works that way). I was laughing so hard I about wet my pants (sorry, I had to get some sort of kidney reference in there). My brainiac 12 year old (see gun wielding Pookie post) who watches things like the National Spelling Bee informed me this contestant, Sameer Mishra, actually went on to win the whole, “kit and caboodle.” As a long time connoisseur of the cliche, I quickly informed brainiac that it was an improper cliche to use in this situation because the meaning certainly wasn’t appropriate. He proceeded to take me out to the newly renovated basketball court and give me the “whole nine yards” (yes fellow cliche freekazoids, I am using the war time meaning of the term, jeez) by beating me P-I-G to nadda (nice use of urban slang huh!).  And in case you were wondering, he didn’t make me use it is a sentence.  In the famous words of Homer, Simpson that is…DOH!
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6214100200406816721&q=spelling+bee&e

I went downtown tonight to see not only one of my former guitar instructors but a good friend, Dan Mahar (www.danmahar.com). As usual, he didn’t disappoint. Dan not only is a super guitar player (definitely one of the best in Sioux Falls), but has a great voice. The weather was great for sitting outside on the patio at Stogeez and enjoying his music. I am looking forward to Dan’s new CD which will hopefully be out soon.  There is a good review on the Argus Leader (www.argusleader.com) web site in the entertainment/link section of Dan’s cd Long Stones Throw.

On a similar note, over the last three days I have been able to listen to three guitar oriented cd’s. The first was the latest offering from session guitar master Steve Lukather, Ever Changing Times. As one would expect from one of the greatest guitar players ever, great guitar chops. One can definitely hear the Toto like songs as well as a Steely Dan influence. I knew I would like the cd when the first song, Ever Changing Times had a Zakk Wylde sounding riff. The second was the latest from Billy Idol ax man, Steve Stevens, Memory Crash. Just when I thought that Lukather’s album was going to be the guitar album of the moment (despite the singing), I was totally blown away by Memory Crash. If you are a guitar junkie, this one is a must buy. His cover of Robin Trower’s song Day of the Eagle is phenomenal (btw, Bridge of Sighs, one of the best ablums ever in my opinion). A lot of people don’t know that Mr. Stevens is one of the all time best guitar players out there. One of his best is Flamenco a Go-Go, which I still listen to frequently, shows he is not just a rock guitar god. Last, but by far not least, is the latest by the super jazz guitar player and one of my all time favorites, Pat Metheny, called Day Tripper. I have never gotten to see my favorite guitar player John McLaughlin in concert, but I have been fortunate enough to see Mr. Metheny on more than one occasion, including the latest line up of one of the best bass players in the business, Christian McBride and wonder drummer Antonio Sanchez. Every track on this cd is incredible. Mr. Metheny probably a shoe in for his 18th grammy, definitely a must buy for any jazz junkie.