Wonder what I’d do.

If God somehow tapped you on the shoulder and said, “say… sorry to announce, but today your last day on the planet.”

Hmmm. I’d find my son, hug him. I’d see family. I’d pet my pets. I’d have a 300 burger from the bowling alley. I’d visit my mother’s, father’s and sister’s gravesite.

I’d park at the City Park and remember all the times.

I’d go to the library and find an ole’ Joe McGuff article. I’d search the internet to watch George Brett’s swing. I’d peruse microfish to see the paper the day after the Chief’s won the Super Bowl.

I’d put on the goofy homemade shirt I wore to the 1985 World Series between St. Louie and the Royals.. (Hand-scribbled picture of the State of Missouri.. “May the West team win”.)

I’d have a vanilla ice cream cone. I’d go buy a pay as you go cell phone. VICTOR? You don’t have a cell phone? Nope, sorry, don’t. Years ago did have a bag phone when we had small delivery company, so color me “country, when country wasn’t cool.”… and with this new cell phone I’d call anyone and everyone I’ve ever loved – platonically or “Oh baby”-wise, and again tell ‘em I love ‘em.

I’d blog – to you, ‘cause I’m so thankful for each and every time I peek and someone has actually viewed this page.

I’d run a lap around the High School track. I’d take a walk around the Square – up to the College, back toward the old High School to admire all the old houses that are the foundation of Liberty, my home. I’d grasp the vibrant colors of the flowers…

I’d sit in the sauna, the Jacuzzi. I’d find a mirror and smile.

I’d spend awhile on YouTube watching/listening to Fleetwood, Louie Armstrong, Pink Floyd, Ray Charles…..

I’d find a rope and jump it. I’d park outsidea the home I grew up in and look back, thankfully of how lucky I was to have landed where I did, when I did, and with who I did.

I’d cry. Happy cry. I’d wing emails to every damn addy I can remember. I don’t think I’d share with anyone I was keeling – but I might harken up one or two emails that say “hi… I’m dying tonight.. it’s ok.. just wanted u to know I always wanted to doink you..” Hehe. Oh don’t give me shit, you’ve been there too!

I’d go to the airport and watch planes takeoff and land – remember all the good times, good friends from my “airport days”… I’d go the batting cages just to hit a few line drives..

I’d go to the driving range to really let loose on a few… I’d look thru old pictures, watch some old video tapes.. I’d find the mirror again, smile, remember how lucky I’ve been.

I might take off running… u know… like Forrest did… Stupid is as stupid does… trying to compile as much visual, mental, emotional happiness as I could in a short time. Then,

I’d stop and have a cig (I know, that stuff’ll killya.).. Then I’d have another cig. Then I’d search and find a cold Michelob. The hell happened to Michelob? I know the Belgium folks bought out Anheiser, tis cool – I love all people.

I’d take out whateverinthehell I had in the bank… drive to downtown KC.. search under bridges, at bus stop shelters – find homeless folks and dish out the stash…

I’d do an Arthur Bryant’s BBQ sandwich, and delight in watching how mucha that crap the guy puts in his hand as he slaps it on the bread…

I’d tell my best friend Sanford “thanks for being my best friend.” I’d go find Roger Craven (guy that was a senior when I was a freshman, he pulled a knife on me on the 3rd floor hallway) and I’d say “you know… you’re an asshole.”

I’d go to work, hug ‘em all.. tell ‘em “yeah, I’m taking a personal day.” Not vacation – a personal day.

I’d find a shade tree… plop my size 36 down.. close my eyes and visualize the years, the times, the friends, the situations, the fun.

I’d thank the Lord, even though he’s pulling the plug – it’s been a joyous ride. Fantastic. Vibrant. Uh huh, sometimes a rollercoaster, but still, one helluva ride.

If I truly ever was told “you’re dying.. today is your last day” I’d really be Ok, for I’ve loved this life. That’s what I’d do. If you were given that one day “bucket list” opportunity, what’d u do?

Had another thought.. Had to "edit" this. Whilst I don't recommend daily doing all that crap (the Michelob, the 300 burger, etc).. After I hit "publish post" it dawned on me - wouldn't it be nice to 'take on' every day as if it were your last? You'd forget the anal, and focus on the good. The love. The yeah baby. I'm gonna try. Remind me if I forget.

Love, Victurd.

As I was driving to softball practice….

The glaring sun thru the windshield was suddenly cut into two halves. Twas then I realized, uh huh, an eyebrow hair had gone South. Something wrong with this picture. Wild, stray eyebrow hairs that are commonplace with 50, 60-something men – and softball.

Oh well, whatthehell. Tell me – why is it, for 40+ years, them sumbitches faithfully grow “East-West”… then the moment that AARP card arrives in the mail they stray in every which direction, mainly South. I reckon, equivalent to the female saggin booby huh?

Said to a young, 20-something gal in the sauna who’d just finished swimming a ridiculous amount of laps… “So.. do you do those triathlons?”.. “Why yes I do.. in fact, I’ve been doing marathons too…. you?”…

Ahm, no. Sorry. Fitty-six here, softball is enough of a challenge. ‘Sides, I smoke… “Ohhhh, my mom is 60.. she quit smoking ten years ago, and now she’s a runner.. in fact, we just got back from Lincoln… I did a marathon, she did a half-marathon.”

I felt small – but then I realized… as good ole’ Buck O’Neill usedta say.. “I was right on time.”… My life is very far from perfect, but it’s me – I control the steering wheel, the gas, the brakes – and I have fun.

Life, “agin’ the grain” I’ve found is pretty fun. You must do it this way? WHY? You must conform. WHO SAID? You’re fitty-six, come on! (BLANK) YOU!...

Being single… in those moments other than when having both arms petting felines with their motors purring – I think about life a lot.

I think of conversations. Co-workers. Bosses. Friends. Family. Then, I finally deduct – it’s me that I converse with the most. Me, who I need to keep happy. Me who turns left, right, stops, strays. I’m not too much controlled by the clock.

Cousin sent a pretty nifty email. About an old Cherokee discussing with his grandson about a battle that goes inside all people. He said, 'My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.'

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: 'Which wolf wins?'

The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one you feed.'

I dine from both menus – but happy to report, moreso from the good. It’s a choice. I control it. I slip. I fail. I dig back out. I smile. Others smiling feeds my heart. My emotions. My good.

Come to think of it, I gots some Injun blood in me. Ok, time to go. Not that the clock says so – it’s that my brain says so. I’ma thinking I’ve got ADHD, so if I know by now I’m bored, surely you’re zonked here.

Ain’t sure where I’ll go, but happy I’ll determine that. I might pluck me some stray ear hairs… or… I just might continue to let ‘em grow so when I get up to bat, onea them young punks on the other team will perhaps barf over it.

Feed the good. Understand you’ll dip into the evil, just don’t dwell. Both hands on the wheel of life… or.. I remember in the day whatshername usedta get sooooooooo pissed when I would be doing something else with my hands (lighting a cig, turning the radio dial, reaching for whatever) that I’d propel the wheel with my thighs. It’s my life, it’s my steering wheel, I’ll turn it however I wanna, whatever way I wanna.

I’m the baby, I’ve gotta love me. Love u too, Victurd.

"If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you

We don't need no education
We dont need no thought control

Well, yes and no. We do need education – of course if you wanna get ahead (or hell, nowadays keep up/stay afloat) – u need formal education. Life is an education though. We’ve all seen ‘em, those that aren’t book smart but are worldy smart. Control is an evil word, to me anyways.

No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!

Been many a year, but yes, seen the piercing hurt of sarcasm upon a youth – not a good thing. Many a good teacher, but yes too, those that should leave them kids alone.

All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.

Our lives are like a brick building. We build it up, clean it up, show it off, live in it, tear it partially down, leave it unattended,abuse it, let the dust gather – ultimately, with death comes the demise of the building. Had a friend one time from a very wealthy family – his folks deceased – and that money spent. Had a building named after him in Downtown Kansas City. One day, whilst bemoaning his current financial situation I said “hell ________, you’ve got a building named after you.” “Vic, you can’t eat brick.” No, I guess you can’t.

I ain’t so much worried about the physical building I live in. Probably why I’m still single. I am attending to “my own building” working out damn near every day… Fit as a fid… not completely to the fiddle part.

With every brick in a wall comes insignificance… however, the building, foundation, appearance, temperature, everything, are affected if onea those bricks is suddenly gone. Could be a worker leaving your company, a loved one’s passing – a friend moving…

Life is fleeting, the brick building is ever changing. I like the mortar of life. There are some bricks, I will admit, I’m glad they’re on the 5th floor, and I’m on the 2nd. I too think I’d prefer the South side as a brick. The East thinks they’re all that, the West is too GD hustle-bustle, the North is too damn cold.. the South fits. Fit as a fid.

The hell you going with this Victor? I ain’t real sure. Just kinda standing back away from “me”.. away from ‘now’ – to try and take a look at the big picture. The bond. The concrete. The individual bricks. The work. The teamwork. The comeraderie that all make up a life… brick by brick. Tis a good thing you know, reckon if we let it be. Funny. There’s no “I” in team, but there is in ‘brick’, in ‘building’ and in ‘life’. Reckon that’s ‘cause we’re there.

Of course one has to think of one’s self, and it’s ok to. Roughshod otherwise. We’ll get runned over. Strong, like a brick. Stand up for one’s self – if the other brick is worth even arguing with. Some are as hardheaded as a brick. Some as lazy as a brick. Some as warm as a brick paver on a sunny day. Some cold. All kindsa bricks. All colors too. Shapes, sizes.

Reminded me – my grandfather made his living at the Brick Factory. His role was to wheelbarrow the bricks from the plant to the train. And kids nowadays got it rough eh?

Have fun in your building. Visit many floors. Say ‘hey’ to all, unless you don’t wanna say hey to that one on the 5th floor. Hope u and ur friends have wonderful mortar.

All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall. Love, Victurd.

Twenty Minutes….

It’s 20 minutes until the work bell tolls… Twenty minutes is interesting…

Third of an hour.. We’ve all ridden the rollercoaster of up/down groups of twenty minutes…

Could be intimacy.. “The best 20 minutes ever.”.. Could be as a kid, moving to a new school.. that first day.. “The worst 20 minutes ever.”

I’ve waited in the drive thru at Mickey D’s for 20 minutes before. Seemed like sixty.

Dino days, coached women’s college basketball team.. The twenty minutes that ensued after winning the Missouri Small College Championship – really gotta experience Cloud 9 that day. The best.

That night. Or, morning I should say. “Victor, I’m too drunk to drive home… staying at my sisters.” 2am to 2:20am, the worst. Calling her work the next day.. “She’s out today.”.. The twenty minute drive from my work to her sister’s house. The worst. Arriving there, 8:20a. Her car, no her. Another twenty minutes of the worst.

The first twenty minutes of my son’s life. The best. The very best.

Watching the Ken Burns “Baseball” documentary on TV, the twenty minute segment with Buck O’Neill.. Awesome…. Game 6 of the 1985 World Series. Standing room only with my brother inlaw. The roar of the crowd as the Royals scored two runs in the bottom of the 9th to extend the Series to seven games. Euphoria, allover.

That first date. Twenty minutes into it – somehow ya just know.

Meeting former co-workers for lunch, dinner, happy hour. That first twenty minutes of re-living. Excitement, invigorism (That’s two days in a row I’ve written that word and Bill Gates underlined it to say “huh uh, ain’ta word.”.. Don’t care, leaving it.)..

The license bureau.. twenty minutes of hell. The doctor’s office… twenty minutes in the lobby of “I hope the hell I’m ok.”

4:40pm to 5:00pm, the longest twenty minutes of the day. Twenty minutes. About how much you get of actual show for a 30 minute sitcom…. Twenty minutes walking, on the elliptical, the treadmill – nice, tiring, but still not enough (they say) to do any good for your cardiovascular system.

9-11. Twenty minutes of shock, disbelief… Tornado sirens.. Twenty minutes of “could it really hit us?”..

A friend’s compliment, twenty minutes of sticking that plumage out there. Hearing one talk about you (not good said) and they weren’t aware you were within earshot.. hell, twenty minutes of inward hell.

“You got the job.” Twenty minutes of yippee!.. My beloved sister – she hired many.. “You could tell by the very first reaction after announcing ‘you got the job’ whether or not this person was to be a good worker.”

The last twenty minutes of my sister’s life. Hell, pure hell – yet, an entrance into Heaven. One literally goes from hope to ‘hurry’.

Ok, time’s up. I gotta go #2. Victor, thanks for announcing – I suppose you’re onea those twenty minute poopers eh?... No sir, in and out. Are we really discussing this? You started it. Reckon just goes to show, twenty minutes can be wonderous, or it can be shitty.

Chin up, chest out, corners of the mouth up… suckup them twenty minute segments.. we get 72 of ‘em per day. Make ‘em memorable. Love, Victurd.