Here, in the sultry Midwest, we’ve had very high degree days of late. Yucky hot. Sweaty hot. “I don’t wanna do anything” hot.
Interesting, life is. Varying degrees of everything. Saw a friend had arrived back in the states after a mission.. Commented “It is so good to be home, I will never take water, no soldiers with machine guns on the streets everywhere, and freedom for granted. This 4th of July will have extra meaning.”
Article this morning in paper about Garden City, KS. Huge Tyson Foods plant there. Workers from all walks there, as well as living meshed nicely in the community. Lunch break room has signs in three languages (English, Spanish, Vietnamese) and there are approximately fourteen different languages coexisting in employ.
(From Star: The city’s long history with immigrants may make it more welcoming today, experts noted. Kansas State University anthropology professor Janet Benson researched immigration in Garden City in the ’80s and ’90s and was struck by what she calls the city’s “quiet accommodation.”
“People get used to each other,” Benson said. “Our ancestors did. One of the ways they did it was through the legal system and the political arena. As people become citizens they learn about their rights. They vote. And that’s how we change as a people.”
Omar Flores moved to Garden City eight years ago from Chihuahua, Mexico. He said he rarely encounters anti-immigrant hostility. “This town is different,” Flores said while taking his 2-year-old daughter, Adaliz, to a local carnival. “They’re more welcoming. I think they’re used to it.” ) They get along. Cool.
Inner city. Two youths approaching 90 mph in effort to escape police. Finally, turned on midtown highway going South in Northbound lane. Not long after, lost control, off road, flipped time and time again - ejecting driver, pinning him under car. Same police that chased, pushed car off youth, administered CPR - youth later died at hospital. What makes that happen? Somewhere along the way ‘mesh’ didn’t happen. Probable the fault of many. Sad.
Interesting article on Willie Nelson this morning. Every 4th, he has a concert and invites groups from every different kind of music there is… county, rock, rap, hip hop, blues, jazz, etc. Works. Crowd gets along. Different degrees of socio economic, life experiences, upbringings, religion, sexual preference, etc. Works. “Rednecks, hippies, misfits - we’re all the same.” “It’s people drinking beer, smoking pot, and finding out that they have things in common and don’t really hate each other,” Willie says. “Music gives people a chance to enjoy something together.”
Tooka drive this morning (oh the degrees are down, soooo nice) around our little town. Early. 8am-ish. Folks everywhere, out on decks, porches, partaking in the shade and the wonderful brief respite from the degrees. Within a span of 60 to 90 seconds, you can move from one socio-economic end to the other within our town. Somehow, works. Always has. Hopefully always will.
Recently read article announcing Kansas City as “the thirteenth dumbest city in the US.” This was measured by the average number of degrees per square mile. Duh. And surprise surprise, New York City was at the top. Duh. I’ve always been of the belief anyways, degrees aren’t the end all/be all. It’s more of an opportunity, and many aren’t afforded that opportunity. I’ve learnt so much in life from folks not possessing a degree, be they a parent, a boss, a coworker, a friend, whatever. Degree/schmegree.
I know this blog was allover the place. Reckon that’s kinda the point. Degrees, varying, rock. Even when one has a 40 minute commute daily with no AC. Happy degrees, Victurd.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Happy Father’s Day…..
I am aware there are all kinds of father/child relationships out there. Great, good, so-so, bad, non-existent. I was lucky. My father rocked.
Jack of all trades, master of one - role model. He loved my mother immensely. He loved my sister and I greatly. He loved life. He loved simple. He loved rehabbing anything mechanical, and that frequently meant parts of a different color, brand… duct tape, spray paint… anything he could find to get it back up and running - short of buying the exact new replacement part. And he would/did.
My mother and father were at Winston Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech on March 5, 1946 in Fulton, MO. Kinda-sorta. They were actually on campus where his speech was made - but they were at a dance in an adjacent building. Growing up in the Depression, they deemed themselves “po, but didn’t know it.”
My father worked in sales for a living.. You name it, he sold it. Likable. Friendly. Real name Edward Schultze - longtime moniker “Bud”. Thus, with his gift of gab, occasionally he was nicknamed “BS”. He’d tell a two minute story in ten, simply to finally come around to a punch line… where you realized, all this time he was reeling you in - he got the last laugh, but you too were left with “Oh that Bud Schultze.” Leftfield. I feel fortunate to have learned it’s much more fun coming from leftfield, and I owe that to my father.
My mother suffered a massive stroke at age 58. Dad was a traveling salesman. The two wouldn’t work. He quit. Got “Dealer’s Tags” - sold cars from the driveway, cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, drank an occasional Budweiser, brought a bed to the first floor for my mother, slept on the couch, sang “Mack the Knife” (again and again and again), unmercifully (but funlike) teased my mother. Happy. He was happy.
My father never got a speeding ticket in his life that I’m aware of. If the speed limit was 40, he was doing 30. Sixty/fifty. We rode in the slow lane. No hurry. In fact, on the rare occasions he’d pass another car, my sister and I would clap.
People at work tease me because I wear the old white socks with shorts, and the socks come up to mid-shin. I don’t really care, I like ‘em. My father wore similar socks with shorts, only they were black.. “Oh no dad, PLEASE no!”.. He didn’t care. He liked ‘em.
With no intent to make him out as a legend - my father was simply very likable, and to me that’s a pretty damn good trait. Loved animals. Whenever someone brought up the term “euthanasia” he’d reply “you mean kill ‘em?”.. And that’s been handed down.
He too lived by “I still think I’m young.” Even when left with five, maybe seven hairs atop his head, he still do the ole’ comb over. If I ever needed him, he was there for me. Didn’t matter how many miles between, what the weather was like, I could count on him.
I know I repeat stuff, and I’m sorry for that. I know I repeat stuff, and I’m sorry for that. After mother had passed, and my dad was in the fairly early stages of Parkinsons (maybe age 78 or so)- he started having a bit of trouble getting up out of his chair. Soooooooooo.. We bought him one of those “lift chairs”.. Comfy, nice, helped. The day it arrived, it was accompanied by a representative from the manufacturer who spent well over an hour showing dad how to operate it, explaining everything about it… and at the end of the presentation he announced “and it even comes with a massager”.. to which Mr. BS replied “Does she spend the night?”
I’ma thinking, when it’s all said and done for each and every one of us - the most important thing will be - when you think of that person that’s now gone, how do you react -what kind of emotion do you have? I smile when I think of my father. I know of no better ‘salute’.
Happy Father’s Day Mr. Bud Schultze. I miss you. Love, Victurd (And yes, he is responsible for me having that nickname.)
Jack of all trades, master of one - role model. He loved my mother immensely. He loved my sister and I greatly. He loved life. He loved simple. He loved rehabbing anything mechanical, and that frequently meant parts of a different color, brand… duct tape, spray paint… anything he could find to get it back up and running - short of buying the exact new replacement part. And he would/did.
My mother and father were at Winston Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech on March 5, 1946 in Fulton, MO. Kinda-sorta. They were actually on campus where his speech was made - but they were at a dance in an adjacent building. Growing up in the Depression, they deemed themselves “po, but didn’t know it.”
My father worked in sales for a living.. You name it, he sold it. Likable. Friendly. Real name Edward Schultze - longtime moniker “Bud”. Thus, with his gift of gab, occasionally he was nicknamed “BS”. He’d tell a two minute story in ten, simply to finally come around to a punch line… where you realized, all this time he was reeling you in - he got the last laugh, but you too were left with “Oh that Bud Schultze.” Leftfield. I feel fortunate to have learned it’s much more fun coming from leftfield, and I owe that to my father.
My mother suffered a massive stroke at age 58. Dad was a traveling salesman. The two wouldn’t work. He quit. Got “Dealer’s Tags” - sold cars from the driveway, cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, drank an occasional Budweiser, brought a bed to the first floor for my mother, slept on the couch, sang “Mack the Knife” (again and again and again), unmercifully (but funlike) teased my mother. Happy. He was happy.
My father never got a speeding ticket in his life that I’m aware of. If the speed limit was 40, he was doing 30. Sixty/fifty. We rode in the slow lane. No hurry. In fact, on the rare occasions he’d pass another car, my sister and I would clap.
People at work tease me because I wear the old white socks with shorts, and the socks come up to mid-shin. I don’t really care, I like ‘em. My father wore similar socks with shorts, only they were black.. “Oh no dad, PLEASE no!”.. He didn’t care. He liked ‘em.
With no intent to make him out as a legend - my father was simply very likable, and to me that’s a pretty damn good trait. Loved animals. Whenever someone brought up the term “euthanasia” he’d reply “you mean kill ‘em?”.. And that’s been handed down.
He too lived by “I still think I’m young.” Even when left with five, maybe seven hairs atop his head, he still do the ole’ comb over. If I ever needed him, he was there for me. Didn’t matter how many miles between, what the weather was like, I could count on him.
I know I repeat stuff, and I’m sorry for that. I know I repeat stuff, and I’m sorry for that. After mother had passed, and my dad was in the fairly early stages of Parkinsons (maybe age 78 or so)- he started having a bit of trouble getting up out of his chair. Soooooooooo.. We bought him one of those “lift chairs”.. Comfy, nice, helped. The day it arrived, it was accompanied by a representative from the manufacturer who spent well over an hour showing dad how to operate it, explaining everything about it… and at the end of the presentation he announced “and it even comes with a massager”.. to which Mr. BS replied “Does she spend the night?”
I’ma thinking, when it’s all said and done for each and every one of us - the most important thing will be - when you think of that person that’s now gone, how do you react -what kind of emotion do you have? I smile when I think of my father. I know of no better ‘salute’.
Happy Father’s Day Mr. Bud Schultze. I miss you. Love, Victurd (And yes, he is responsible for me having that nickname.)
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Comfy…….
Familiar. In outta the rain. Easy. Nice. Aha… Ahhhhhhhh…
Creatures of habit, we are. We stumble out of the uterus, not knowing anything - and before too long - we’ve got a growing list of things, people, places that are comfy.
My office chair. McDonalds on the weekends for breakfast, newspaper. Drives down roads past. Bed. Friends. Family. In our element.
Uncomfy. I thought I was comfy with death. Unfortunately, all too familiar in my own nuclear family. Learning I have an uncanny fear, and not very comfy with being around others who have lost loved ones. What to say? How to act? Is it ok to say “oh I miss _____” and if I do, will it come out as if ‘forced’, cause it ain’t.
I do remember from losing mother, father, sister - how very good it felt seeing a familiar face - and how appreciative the simple “I’m sorry” felt. I’ve bungled some deaths - not attended some funerals - and there’s no going back, no do-overs, so hopefully I can just remember the two words “I’m sorry” and be there into the future.
Death isn’t comfy. This morning’s paper… Beautiful 39 yr old gal. Brain cancer. “leaves behind 16 month old daughter.” Yuck. Terrible. Tragic. Shouldn’ta happened. Not fair. Uncomfy with that. Two year old twins die in car due to heat, windows rolled up. Not fair. Uncomfy with that.
Some friends of mine work in places where death happens. I would think it would never get comfy. A friend I recently reconnected with works with the elderly.. When asked “how do you do it… get attached… and then… death?”… Her sweet, quick response was ."I consider it an honor to be a person who is there for the transition between life and death." Nice. VERY nice.
I volunteered to be co-chair for our upcoming class reunion “recognition of the deceased.” Unfortunately, there are approximately 22 out of 211 now gone. Uncomfy with that. Included within two of my best friends forever, Richard Justus and Bill Skillman. Uncomfy with that. Not fair. Sad - very. How can one ever be comfy about losing loved ones so early in their lives? Ya can’t.
My partner in this task has pretty much done all the footwork herself. I’m uncomfy with that - but I’m just not as comfy with death as I thought I was. Comfy and familiar are completely different.
I don’t necessarily think grieving is ‘a process’ with an end. I think it’s a lifetime.
My ex mother inlaw is not in too gooda shape. I appreciate the days on this planet I got to spend loving her - and they will continue in memory until eternity. A beautiful lady - with her own, beautiful snowflake way of doing things. Fiercly loyal.. A dash of rebel. A wonderful mother. A great mother in law (In spitea the “3rd person” talk.. “Does he need more mashed potatoes?“). Fun. She’s lived life fun. From her I attribute abiding by “my body may be old, but my brain will be young forever.”
She even has a fun attitude about death. In addition to receiving a phone call on each and every birthday - hearing her on the other end singing “Happy Birthday” in it’s entirety… when prompted in person, she’d gladly sing “The Worm Song.” Onea my favorite life experiences hearing her sing it:
They always, always pick on me.
They never, never let me be.
I'm so very lonesome, awfly sad
its been a long, time since I've been glad,
but I know what I'll do, bye and bye,
I'll eat some worms, and then I'll die,
and when I'm gone just wait and see,
they'll all be sorry cause they picked on me.
That helps, but I’ll still never be comfortable with death. Trying for a positive spin - maybe that’s impetus enough to soak up, cherish, chose to enjoy - every waking minute.
Will try to do - until the day I pee my pants and forget my name. Love, Victurd.
Creatures of habit, we are. We stumble out of the uterus, not knowing anything - and before too long - we’ve got a growing list of things, people, places that are comfy.
My office chair. McDonalds on the weekends for breakfast, newspaper. Drives down roads past. Bed. Friends. Family. In our element.
Uncomfy. I thought I was comfy with death. Unfortunately, all too familiar in my own nuclear family. Learning I have an uncanny fear, and not very comfy with being around others who have lost loved ones. What to say? How to act? Is it ok to say “oh I miss _____” and if I do, will it come out as if ‘forced’, cause it ain’t.
I do remember from losing mother, father, sister - how very good it felt seeing a familiar face - and how appreciative the simple “I’m sorry” felt. I’ve bungled some deaths - not attended some funerals - and there’s no going back, no do-overs, so hopefully I can just remember the two words “I’m sorry” and be there into the future.
Death isn’t comfy. This morning’s paper… Beautiful 39 yr old gal. Brain cancer. “leaves behind 16 month old daughter.” Yuck. Terrible. Tragic. Shouldn’ta happened. Not fair. Uncomfy with that. Two year old twins die in car due to heat, windows rolled up. Not fair. Uncomfy with that.
Some friends of mine work in places where death happens. I would think it would never get comfy. A friend I recently reconnected with works with the elderly.. When asked “how do you do it… get attached… and then… death?”… Her sweet, quick response was ."I consider it an honor to be a person who is there for the transition between life and death." Nice. VERY nice.
I volunteered to be co-chair for our upcoming class reunion “recognition of the deceased.” Unfortunately, there are approximately 22 out of 211 now gone. Uncomfy with that. Included within two of my best friends forever, Richard Justus and Bill Skillman. Uncomfy with that. Not fair. Sad - very. How can one ever be comfy about losing loved ones so early in their lives? Ya can’t.
My partner in this task has pretty much done all the footwork herself. I’m uncomfy with that - but I’m just not as comfy with death as I thought I was. Comfy and familiar are completely different.
I don’t necessarily think grieving is ‘a process’ with an end. I think it’s a lifetime.
My ex mother inlaw is not in too gooda shape. I appreciate the days on this planet I got to spend loving her - and they will continue in memory until eternity. A beautiful lady - with her own, beautiful snowflake way of doing things. Fiercly loyal.. A dash of rebel. A wonderful mother. A great mother in law (In spitea the “3rd person” talk.. “Does he need more mashed potatoes?“). Fun. She’s lived life fun. From her I attribute abiding by “my body may be old, but my brain will be young forever.”
She even has a fun attitude about death. In addition to receiving a phone call on each and every birthday - hearing her on the other end singing “Happy Birthday” in it’s entirety… when prompted in person, she’d gladly sing “The Worm Song.” Onea my favorite life experiences hearing her sing it:
They always, always pick on me.
They never, never let me be.
I'm so very lonesome, awfly sad
its been a long, time since I've been glad,
but I know what I'll do, bye and bye,
I'll eat some worms, and then I'll die,
and when I'm gone just wait and see,
they'll all be sorry cause they picked on me.
That helps, but I’ll still never be comfortable with death. Trying for a positive spin - maybe that’s impetus enough to soak up, cherish, chose to enjoy - every waking minute.
Will try to do - until the day I pee my pants and forget my name. Love, Victurd.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Aging is a mo-fo on the brain. Whilst the body is telling you “you stupid idiot, you can’t do that any more” - the want to GET UP AND GO increases as we age.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution
All this time, we’d soared like eagles, and perhaps didn’t have the greatest recognition/appreciation of it. Now, we’re left to visit with our spirit.
Feed the babies
Who don't have enough to eat
Shoe the children
With no shoes on their feet
House the people
Livin' in the street
Oh, oh, there's a solution
Taking notice. Before, we didn’t notice stuff like that. Perhaps aging, here, is a good thing.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Buddy o’ mine today. Said “eh… kids nowadays.. They’ve got WII… Play Station II.. Cell phones… The Internet… we just had wiffle ball.. U don’t see kids playing wiffle ball any more… and.. It was “the best”…tonight, my granddaughter was over.. She has all that… (WII, PSII, cell, Internet… she comes to us with “I‘m bored“
Being fitty-something… whilst the bod might have slowed down, the brain is on overdrive. I wanna go, I wanna do.. I wanna see.. GOOD LORD HELPS ME take in/do as much as I can before I pee my pants and forget my name.
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Tick tock, tick tock… we learn to abhor clocks, calendars.. Decades… friggin AARP literature in the mail…
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
You say you want a revolution, well you know.. (Victor, you dumbass, you can’t combine two songs in a blog.)… Oh… sorry mate. So noted. K, so I am prepared, kinda-sorta, wishin’ an hopin’ (Victor!).. Sorry… Ok, so, might I say “I awaken daily, thoroughly cognizant “hey, time here is limited… go/do.. Appreciate.. “… And… while I was never really an “Honor Roll” kinda guy.. I think in life generally, I get it. I appreciate it. I immerse myself daily with “tick tock.. This is gonna be fun.”
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Corporate Challenge Long Jump. Learned I’m old. Corporate Challenge 3 on 3 basketball. Learned “Victor, WHO are you kdding.”.. Softball, Sunday nights with buddies.. Thinking “maybe it’s time.” Understand - and I knew this too would come to pass. I will move/go/do in other ways.
I so want to soar like an eagle (or hell.. A sparrow.. Or one’a those damn honking geese) on the way out.. I ain’t gonna let crap get in the way.
Time keeps on slippin’. I want to fly like an eagle.
Happy soaring, Victurd.
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Aging is a mo-fo on the brain. Whilst the body is telling you “you stupid idiot, you can’t do that any more” - the want to GET UP AND GO increases as we age.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution
All this time, we’d soared like eagles, and perhaps didn’t have the greatest recognition/appreciation of it. Now, we’re left to visit with our spirit.
Feed the babies
Who don't have enough to eat
Shoe the children
With no shoes on their feet
House the people
Livin' in the street
Oh, oh, there's a solution
Taking notice. Before, we didn’t notice stuff like that. Perhaps aging, here, is a good thing.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
Buddy o’ mine today. Said “eh… kids nowadays.. They’ve got WII… Play Station II.. Cell phones… The Internet… we just had wiffle ball.. U don’t see kids playing wiffle ball any more… and.. It was “the best”…tonight, my granddaughter was over.. She has all that… (WII, PSII, cell, Internet… she comes to us with “I‘m bored“
Being fitty-something… whilst the bod might have slowed down, the brain is on overdrive. I wanna go, I wanna do.. I wanna see.. GOOD LORD HELPS ME take in/do as much as I can before I pee my pants and forget my name.
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Tick tock, tick tock… we learn to abhor clocks, calendars.. Decades… friggin AARP literature in the mail…
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Fly through the revolution
You say you want a revolution, well you know.. (Victor, you dumbass, you can’t combine two songs in a blog.)… Oh… sorry mate. So noted. K, so I am prepared, kinda-sorta, wishin’ an hopin’ (Victor!).. Sorry… Ok, so, might I say “I awaken daily, thoroughly cognizant “hey, time here is limited… go/do.. Appreciate.. “… And… while I was never really an “Honor Roll” kinda guy.. I think in life generally, I get it. I appreciate it. I immerse myself daily with “tick tock.. This is gonna be fun.”
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Corporate Challenge Long Jump. Learned I’m old. Corporate Challenge 3 on 3 basketball. Learned “Victor, WHO are you kdding.”.. Softball, Sunday nights with buddies.. Thinking “maybe it’s time.” Understand - and I knew this too would come to pass. I will move/go/do in other ways.
I so want to soar like an eagle (or hell.. A sparrow.. Or one’a those damn honking geese) on the way out.. I ain’t gonna let crap get in the way.
Time keeps on slippin’. I want to fly like an eagle.
Happy soaring, Victurd.
Friday, June 11, 2010
I'm in pieces, bits and pieces
Since you (Youth) left me and you said goodbye
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
All I do is sit and cry
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
You went away and left me misery (In Missouri)
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
And that's the way it'll always be
“We need people to sign up for the Corporate Challenge Events. Doesn’t matter how badly you do, or how long it’s been since you’ve done the event, we get participation points just for you being out there.”
Ahm, 40 years ago I usedta long jump. I see they got that. I see too that they break it down in age groups, but the basta’s ain’t got an age group for me. They have 20-29, 30-39, and 40 and up. Yes, I am “and up” but that shit ain’t quite fair is it?
The guy who is in charge of our company never responded, but had, I imagine he’da said “Well hell no Vic, people past age 49 shouldn’t be long jumping… what’s the deductible on your Health Insurance?”
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
You (Youthhood) said you loved me and you'd always be mine
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
We'd be together till the end of time
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
Now you say it was just a game
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
But all you're doin' is leavin' me pain
Ok, so I gave in. Jumping against 40-somethings and up from other companies around the City. I peeked at last year, 6’ was last place. “Hell, I can do that.” Get there. 100+ long, lanky, much younger, in shape, “I’m going 22’ tonight” whippersnappers.
Were a few I could tell “hey, you’re an old sumbitch like me, I bet the first Bush was in office since you got carded yeah?”.. so we kinda gathered…
There also were 6’6” dudes that could easily simply step over a Honda Accord. Shee-it. I warm up. I stretch. I run down the asphalt a few times to “get my mark”.. I take one practice “leap”.. and hey, it’s ok, I hit my mark.
Drum roll. I’m standing, prolly number 40-something in line. My muscles were stretched. Frontwards and backwards. It’s just that it’s been a few President’s ago that I’ve actually “run full bore.”..
I am next in line. There are two points to jump from. “The Board” which is roughly 9’ into the sand… and what I will call “the woosie mark”… a taped departing area, about 4’ from the sand.
“I’m using the board sir.”.. So, off I went. Awkward. Been awhile. Got to board/mark “the hell do I do now?”…….. dayum…. I didn’t make it to pit. “Can I run/hide now?”… Didn’t, jumped back in line.
Second jump. I see a bunch a guys reasonably close to my age, and they are all using the taped line to jump from (4’ from the sand)…….. NAH.. Hell, “I’m good”….
So I go……… and I barely make it. I mean barely. I’m talking “Victor, had you been 6” shorter and landed on your tailbone, you’d prolly be a paraplegic now”……..
So…………. Last jump…….. It was finally my turn. I told the dude “This time, I’m going off the one closest to the sand” (The woosie mark).. … Did. Scratched.
I will never-ever-ever tell you how far (little) I jumped. It’s there if you’re Internet savvy. I will say, I was bummed. Then… awakened today…….. Results up…….. I finished 35th out of 40. I figure for 40-up, that ain’t too damn shabby.. Then, they group our results based upon competing companies similar in size, and lo and behold if I didn’t take 3rd. Outta like 6. Again,I will never-eva share “how far (less)” I jumped, lets just say it was less than half as far as I jumped as a kid.
So………… this whole thing has been a REAL eye-opener. I can play softball, fit in, blend in. Tomorrow, I’ll play basketball, fit in, blend in.
The long jump. Nuh uh. It told me…. “You dumb sumbitch… you need to pick a charity to donate your time to… you suck.. You’re washed up… we abhor recording the infimal results you old geezers turn in.. please stay away next year.”
Guys with
Time goes by and goes so slow (oh, yeah)
It just doesn't seem true
Only just a few days ago
You said you'd love me, never make me blue
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
w you've gone and I'm all alone
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
And you're still way up there on your throne
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
Nothin' seems to ever go right
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
'Cause night is day and day is night
The message here is………In many things, there’s no ‘measurement” as to how old one is getting. I play softball. I get a hit once every three times, all is good. Basketball, a good pass here, an Ok rebound there, it's all good.
Today. Nuh uh. I lined up. I competed. I sucked. I keep awaiting the dreaded “tap on my shoulders”…….”Victor, give it up, you’re done.”
And certain in some respects, that already shoulda happened.
My brain is young, my body is old.
Quoting Beetle juice “somebody help me”
It's a long jump from 1970 to 2010. And man, have things changed. Love, Victurd
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
All I do is sit and cry
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
You went away and left me misery (In Missouri)
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
And that's the way it'll always be
“We need people to sign up for the Corporate Challenge Events. Doesn’t matter how badly you do, or how long it’s been since you’ve done the event, we get participation points just for you being out there.”
Ahm, 40 years ago I usedta long jump. I see they got that. I see too that they break it down in age groups, but the basta’s ain’t got an age group for me. They have 20-29, 30-39, and 40 and up. Yes, I am “and up” but that shit ain’t quite fair is it?
The guy who is in charge of our company never responded, but had, I imagine he’da said “Well hell no Vic, people past age 49 shouldn’t be long jumping… what’s the deductible on your Health Insurance?”
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
You (Youthhood) said you loved me and you'd always be mine
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
We'd be together till the end of time
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
Now you say it was just a game
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
But all you're doin' is leavin' me pain
Ok, so I gave in. Jumping against 40-somethings and up from other companies around the City. I peeked at last year, 6’ was last place. “Hell, I can do that.” Get there. 100+ long, lanky, much younger, in shape, “I’m going 22’ tonight” whippersnappers.
Were a few I could tell “hey, you’re an old sumbitch like me, I bet the first Bush was in office since you got carded yeah?”.. so we kinda gathered…
There also were 6’6” dudes that could easily simply step over a Honda Accord. Shee-it. I warm up. I stretch. I run down the asphalt a few times to “get my mark”.. I take one practice “leap”.. and hey, it’s ok, I hit my mark.
Drum roll. I’m standing, prolly number 40-something in line. My muscles were stretched. Frontwards and backwards. It’s just that it’s been a few President’s ago that I’ve actually “run full bore.”..
I am next in line. There are two points to jump from. “The Board” which is roughly 9’ into the sand… and what I will call “the woosie mark”… a taped departing area, about 4’ from the sand.
“I’m using the board sir.”.. So, off I went. Awkward. Been awhile. Got to board/mark “the hell do I do now?”…….. dayum…. I didn’t make it to pit. “Can I run/hide now?”… Didn’t, jumped back in line.
Second jump. I see a bunch a guys reasonably close to my age, and they are all using the taped line to jump from (4’ from the sand)…….. NAH.. Hell, “I’m good”….
So I go……… and I barely make it. I mean barely. I’m talking “Victor, had you been 6” shorter and landed on your tailbone, you’d prolly be a paraplegic now”……..
So…………. Last jump…….. It was finally my turn. I told the dude “This time, I’m going off the one closest to the sand” (The woosie mark).. … Did. Scratched.
I will never-ever-ever tell you how far (little) I jumped. It’s there if you’re Internet savvy. I will say, I was bummed. Then… awakened today…….. Results up…….. I finished 35th out of 40. I figure for 40-up, that ain’t too damn shabby.. Then, they group our results based upon competing companies similar in size, and lo and behold if I didn’t take 3rd. Outta like 6. Again,I will never-eva share “how far (less)” I jumped, lets just say it was less than half as far as I jumped as a kid.
So………… this whole thing has been a REAL eye-opener. I can play softball, fit in, blend in. Tomorrow, I’ll play basketball, fit in, blend in.
The long jump. Nuh uh. It told me…. “You dumb sumbitch… you need to pick a charity to donate your time to… you suck.. You’re washed up… we abhor recording the infimal results you old geezers turn in.. please stay away next year.”
Guys with
Time goes by and goes so slow (oh, yeah)
It just doesn't seem true
Only just a few days ago
You said you'd love me, never make me blue
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
w you've gone and I'm all alone
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
And you're still way up there on your throne
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
Nothin' seems to ever go right
(I'm in pieces, bits and pieces)
'Cause night is day and day is night
The message here is………In many things, there’s no ‘measurement” as to how old one is getting. I play softball. I get a hit once every three times, all is good. Basketball, a good pass here, an Ok rebound there, it's all good.
Today. Nuh uh. I lined up. I competed. I sucked. I keep awaiting the dreaded “tap on my shoulders”…….”Victor, give it up, you’re done.”
And certain in some respects, that already shoulda happened.
My brain is young, my body is old.
Quoting Beetle juice “somebody help me”
It's a long jump from 1970 to 2010. And man, have things changed. Love, Victurd
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Because I should……
Come here many a time, stared. Blank brain. Blank Word sheet. Dayum. Come today, “because I should.” Sposedta, I guess.
Behaved in school, for the most part, ‘cause I should. Went to college, ‘cause I should. Down on my knees (twice) to propose, ‘cause I should. Worked (and worked) ‘cause I should - that and the fact I enjoy warm baths, lights on, AC/heat, etc.
Wear mostly appropriate clothing, ‘cause I should. Bathe, brush chops, throw on deodorant, ‘cause I should.
That said (again and again) I do love those who spout the three most wonderful letters on earth.
“Why?”
Two-a my HS classmates, when told “get a haircut, because you should” asked “why?”.. There wasn’t a good answer, yet, each, were prohibited from continuing to attend school. Because it shouldn’t have ended that way.
Conform to HR rules, don’t ‘technically’ gender discriminate, and don’t say things I shouldn’t to chickies that I may be thinking. Technically - you ask? I (lovingly) love to diss women at work any chance I get. They know I’m teasing, and rather than be offended, they’re sometimes prompted to smile… and that plays LARGE with me. We smile, because we should.
For instance.. On break.. Equal number-a chicks/males.. Subject of births was brought up. Somewhere into it, I threw in “I was born in 1952.. Delivered by a female physician…which was rare in those days… now though… we let women do a lot more things.” Hehe. So, while they stare at me (with smirky grins), they don’t say STOP IT Victor (because they shouldn’t) and I just stare back with a smile.. one small way to get around "because I should."
The brain somehow allows us to defy “because I should” whilst still conforming to school, company, societal ways. Come out of the dugout, not from leftfield. Sand WITH the grain, not against it.
Nomme. I love Abby Normal. I giggle the first time I hear a toddler say “shit” because it mortifies the parents into YOU SHOULDN’T. Because you should (behave, walk straight/narrow, don’t pass go, don’t collect $200... Exit only.. Wear nice clothes to church.. Wash behind your ears… wear nice undies in case ur in a car wreck... HOW CAN YOU HAVE ANY PUDDING IF YOU DON'T EAT YOUR MEAT?)
Nomme. My undies have character. Hehe. I am bored shitless with “because you should” so I love pushing the envelope. “________, you’re disgustingly sappy on the phone.” She is, in fact, VERY nice to our customers, because she should be. I prefer to give her crap about it. Just once I’d love to hear her cuss someone out on the phone, but it’ll never happen ‘cause she shouldn’t, she’s probably got very clean behind the ears, and undoubtedly un-holy undies.
Just read nifty article on John Wooden. Just passed, probably the greatest basketball coach ever. 1957. He was coaching a small college basketball team back East. Qualified for National Tourney in Kansas City… wouldn’t bring team however. Happened to have a young black man on their roster. NAIA said “you can’t” (ie, because you should follow our ways/rules.) Wooden, probably inside, said “Screw you… we ain’t coming.” And they didn’t. Way cool John. “It wasn’t because he was a great player, because he really wasn’t… it was because it just wasn’t right.” Rest in peace Mr. Wooden, God Bless.
Hard to fathom where our Country/World would be today had not folks stepped up and spouted “why” to “because you should.”
Going now. Because I probably should. Gonna go bathe, flip my undies (jk… already did that last time… time for ‘new’ character pair. Speakinowhich.. WHY do they call undies “a pair”?)
Gonna go stare at the happy weeds in my flower bed. Drives Gladys (because you should) Cravits crazy. Play a game or two of Sudoku. Take a nap. Put my feet up on the counter. Anything I can think of to question “because you should.” HEY... TEACHER.. LEAVE US KIDS ALONE.....
Have a great day, because you should. Love, Victurd.
Behaved in school, for the most part, ‘cause I should. Went to college, ‘cause I should. Down on my knees (twice) to propose, ‘cause I should. Worked (and worked) ‘cause I should - that and the fact I enjoy warm baths, lights on, AC/heat, etc.
Wear mostly appropriate clothing, ‘cause I should. Bathe, brush chops, throw on deodorant, ‘cause I should.
That said (again and again) I do love those who spout the three most wonderful letters on earth.
“Why?”
Two-a my HS classmates, when told “get a haircut, because you should” asked “why?”.. There wasn’t a good answer, yet, each, were prohibited from continuing to attend school. Because it shouldn’t have ended that way.
Conform to HR rules, don’t ‘technically’ gender discriminate, and don’t say things I shouldn’t to chickies that I may be thinking. Technically - you ask? I (lovingly) love to diss women at work any chance I get. They know I’m teasing, and rather than be offended, they’re sometimes prompted to smile… and that plays LARGE with me. We smile, because we should.
For instance.. On break.. Equal number-a chicks/males.. Subject of births was brought up. Somewhere into it, I threw in “I was born in 1952.. Delivered by a female physician…which was rare in those days… now though… we let women do a lot more things.” Hehe. So, while they stare at me (with smirky grins), they don’t say STOP IT Victor (because they shouldn’t) and I just stare back with a smile.. one small way to get around "because I should."
The brain somehow allows us to defy “because I should” whilst still conforming to school, company, societal ways. Come out of the dugout, not from leftfield. Sand WITH the grain, not against it.
Nomme. I love Abby Normal. I giggle the first time I hear a toddler say “shit” because it mortifies the parents into YOU SHOULDN’T. Because you should (behave, walk straight/narrow, don’t pass go, don’t collect $200... Exit only.. Wear nice clothes to church.. Wash behind your ears… wear nice undies in case ur in a car wreck... HOW CAN YOU HAVE ANY PUDDING IF YOU DON'T EAT YOUR MEAT?)
Nomme. My undies have character. Hehe. I am bored shitless with “because you should” so I love pushing the envelope. “________, you’re disgustingly sappy on the phone.” She is, in fact, VERY nice to our customers, because she should be. I prefer to give her crap about it. Just once I’d love to hear her cuss someone out on the phone, but it’ll never happen ‘cause she shouldn’t, she’s probably got very clean behind the ears, and undoubtedly un-holy undies.
Just read nifty article on John Wooden. Just passed, probably the greatest basketball coach ever. 1957. He was coaching a small college basketball team back East. Qualified for National Tourney in Kansas City… wouldn’t bring team however. Happened to have a young black man on their roster. NAIA said “you can’t” (ie, because you should follow our ways/rules.) Wooden, probably inside, said “Screw you… we ain’t coming.” And they didn’t. Way cool John. “It wasn’t because he was a great player, because he really wasn’t… it was because it just wasn’t right.” Rest in peace Mr. Wooden, God Bless.
Hard to fathom where our Country/World would be today had not folks stepped up and spouted “why” to “because you should.”
Going now. Because I probably should. Gonna go bathe, flip my undies (jk… already did that last time… time for ‘new’ character pair. Speakinowhich.. WHY do they call undies “a pair”?)
Gonna go stare at the happy weeds in my flower bed. Drives Gladys (because you should) Cravits crazy. Play a game or two of Sudoku. Take a nap. Put my feet up on the counter. Anything I can think of to question “because you should.” HEY... TEACHER.. LEAVE US KIDS ALONE.....
Have a great day, because you should. Love, Victurd.
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