Back when one was five - and one had a question - it was mom/pop to the rescue. At nine, and you needed to know something, of course you relied on the twelve year old for answers... As a wet behind the ears college Freshman, it was the good ole Dewey Decimal System (IF the reference book was stored in it's proper place.)... All of the above, sometimes hit or miss.
Today, it can be Bing, Yahoo! Search, Ask, Wow, WebCrawler, Infospace - and of course the popular standby Google. So I Googled "how to stop negative thoughts/thinking" (or something like that.. DOES IT REALLY MATTER? Oooops, sorry, slipped)..
Lemme see, here's one with 7 steps.. another with 10.. (I'm positive the one with ten would be better than the one with seven, I think.)
I like to think of myself as a positive person - but oh baby oh baby do I have my moments... thus, I write/search/seek answers... ie, to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome.
#1. Meditate or yoga. Jumping to yoga, I think of 112 lb women in overly tight spandex twisting/gyrating in ways my body never could/would, so that's out. At age 62, meditation might last me three minutes before I would fall asleep - but hey, three minutes is three minutes eh?
#2. Smile. I likes that one. Happy breeds happy. Sometimes when you see the same person in smile (all the time) you wonder "I wish I knew what he/she was drinking, or taking" but - if you meet them at 7:50am in the parking lot on a 12 degree day and you see it (their smile) it congers up "hey, maybe there is something to this." Told before my smile is more like a "SEG" (u can figure that out) - I don't care, it's me/my way to smile.
#3. Surround yourself with positive people. A tad easier to do in real life/free time - choosing.. a bit tougher when at the mercy of an HR department. (And NO KIM, I don't mean you, I KNEW you read this!)
#4. Change the tone of your thoughts from negative to positive. "We are going to have a hard time adjusting to our living situation", huh uh, think "We will face some challenges in our living situation, but we will come up with solutions that we will both be happy with."... SWEET! Lemme try, "I dunno if I will make it to work before I pee my pants", instead, I'm thinking "I might have a hard time, but if I use solutions like crossing my legs..............".. uh oh. Brb.
#5. Don't play the victim. You create your life - take responsibility. I Will always have the choice to make change happen, if need be. Ok, comprende.
#6. Help someone. Shifts the focus away from you and you do something nice for another person. Reasonable, and a good idea.
#7. Remember that no one is perfect and let yourself move forward. "I felt terrible that I acted that way and that I wasted the weekend. The only thing I can do now is learn from my mistakes and move forward."
#8. Sing. HA! Haven't they heard me? I wonder what #9 is? Ok, ok - #8 is correct. I even tried it recently - and in spite of how crappy I sounded, I liked the end result, the message, the feel, the frankness. If I was writing the article though, I might term it "#8: Sing, or, listen to professional/inspirational singers." VERY good therapy for me.
#9. List five things that you are grateful for right now. Ahm, I made it to the bathroom and there WAS one roll left... my car started first time... it's my beautiful granddaughter's 4th birthday... I actually had my first date in, well, a long time.. - ok, two years damnit... I ate breakfast at HyVee and for doing so, I got an additional 5 cents per gallon off my next fill up on the wonderfully already low gas price (see, even I can learn/spout/accentuate the positive)..
#10. Read positive quotes. Thank goodness Todd Haley is no longer our head coach. You mean like "watch your thoughts, they become words... watch your words, they become actions... watch your actions, they become habits... watch your habits, they become your character.. watch your character, it becomes your destiny"?..
(Ok the ten thing list thing was good, but, perusing the seven thing list just in case something was left out.)
"The people who are the hardest to love are the ones who need love the most." Likes that too, although can be trying.
Stop thinking in extremes, all or nothing. Stop over-generalizing the negative... Don't minimize the positive... Stop mind reading.. Stop forcing your own rules.. Stop making stuff up and believing it.
Bottomline - certain I will still need help (but I'll get there. HA. SEE? Learning)..... I think it would be a good once-a-week thing to Google/Bing/Yahoo this same topic and make it a frequent, pleasant reminder.
I've rambled, sorry... kinda. Off now to find me a yoga class full of those 112 lb'ers in tight spandex... or, maybe I'll meditate instead.
I'm positive........... I think.
Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
Take a listen....
Christmas, of course, is just as much about the past as it is the present. I am very well aware I am (by far) not alone in having 'empty chairs' around the table this time of year..
As the sole survivor of the nuclear family I grew up in, I relate it as "I couldn't have hand picked a better family to grow up in, they just all checked out WAY too soon."
I very much miss my mother, father and sister. They are a part of me, I am a part of them - and again, almost everyone across the land shares in emptiness not only all year, but specifically (or maybe more emphatically) this time of year.
I, like most I'm sure, am very biased. My sister, as an example - trying to describe her to friends who didn't know her, or children born after her - there's no way to amply do so.
At my sister's funeral, her boss of many years, spoke for fifteen minutes on her life, her person, her business acumen - and the entire speech involved the humor she intermixed in her life therein, perfectly describing the life she led.. it was beautiful, it was teary, it (rightfully) involved 'fun/funny', and it was spot on, I was (and am) proud.
Am I weird to think "wow, I wish I had a recording of that speech - for when into the future someone might say 'Tell me about your sister' - I could simply go to the tape recorder and say 'here, take a listen.'
Gruesome, some might think. I think not. I guess I am just curious if anyone else has recorded eulogies - or wish they had. Instead of "You'd had to have known her", I could simply smile, push 'play', and say 'take a listen.'
Happy New Year, love, Victurd.
As the sole survivor of the nuclear family I grew up in, I relate it as "I couldn't have hand picked a better family to grow up in, they just all checked out WAY too soon."
I very much miss my mother, father and sister. They are a part of me, I am a part of them - and again, almost everyone across the land shares in emptiness not only all year, but specifically (or maybe more emphatically) this time of year.
I, like most I'm sure, am very biased. My sister, as an example - trying to describe her to friends who didn't know her, or children born after her - there's no way to amply do so.
At my sister's funeral, her boss of many years, spoke for fifteen minutes on her life, her person, her business acumen - and the entire speech involved the humor she intermixed in her life therein, perfectly describing the life she led.. it was beautiful, it was teary, it (rightfully) involved 'fun/funny', and it was spot on, I was (and am) proud.
Am I weird to think "wow, I wish I had a recording of that speech - for when into the future someone might say 'Tell me about your sister' - I could simply go to the tape recorder and say 'here, take a listen.'
Gruesome, some might think. I think not. I guess I am just curious if anyone else has recorded eulogies - or wish they had. Instead of "You'd had to have known her", I could simply smile, push 'play', and say 'take a listen.'
Happy New Year, love, Victurd.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
All we are saying is give peace a chance...
One two, one two three four
Ev'rybody's talking about
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Midway between our crisis of the 60's, and the present crisis - I was a 'transitional' (temporary) letter carrier in Kansas City, KS. I'm ashamed to admit, I was scared to start. The unknown? I was an idiot for feeling that way. What followed was beauty. The day the USPS had their annual food drive - I delivered mail to perhaps the poorest area in the city. I drove an old Ford Pinto - and the people filled that sucker to the gills FOUR times that day with canned goods.
A month or so later (and I apologize as I've shared this before) there was an old man, guessing 80-something.. more than halfway up a 16' ladder, sawing a limb off his tree. He happened to be white. Next door neighbor walks up, happened to be black - bearing one of those long poles with a saw on the end to give to his neighbor so he could safely cut from the ground. I felt more guilt for my initial fear of working in these neighborhoods... I marveled at that sight, and I thought to myself "I wish everyone could see this."
C'mon
Ev'rybody's talking about Ministers,
Sinisters, Banisters and canisters
Bishops and Fishops and Rabbis and Pop eyes,
And bye bye, bye byes.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Centerforracialharmony.org, Belleville, IL. Office of Racial Hamony, Archdiocese of New Orleans... Bridge Center for Racial Harmony, Saginaw, MI. The Foundation for Racial, Ethnic, & Religious Harmony, West Newton, MA. (And many, many more that are organized.. and perhaps even better, the ones not formally organized - like many workplaces across the land where harmony is 'the way')
Let me tell you now
Ev'rybody's talking about
Revolution, evolution, masturbation,
Flagellation, regulation, integrations,
Meditations, United Nations,
Congratulations.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Youth. We, the elders, are supposed to be the ones that teach. Ha! Go to virtually any park in the United States and watch children promote harmony in a world of difference. "We" should feel sheepish in our inactions, in not emulating/expressing, as their unbiased love does.
Ev'rybody's talking about
John and Yoko, Timmy Leary, Rosemary,
Tommy Smothers, Bobby Dylan, Tommy Cooper,
Derek Taylor, Norman Mailer,
Alan Ginsberg, Hare Krishna,
Hare, Hare Krishna
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
"Darkness cannot out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.".....
"Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies - or else? The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or else we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation."
"I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."
"We may have all come in on different ships, but we're in the same boat now."
"I just want to do God's will. And he's allowed me to go to the mountain. And I've looked over and I've seen the promised land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we as people will get to the promised land."
All, from Martin Luther King, Jr.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Ev'rybody's talking about
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Midway between our crisis of the 60's, and the present crisis - I was a 'transitional' (temporary) letter carrier in Kansas City, KS. I'm ashamed to admit, I was scared to start. The unknown? I was an idiot for feeling that way. What followed was beauty. The day the USPS had their annual food drive - I delivered mail to perhaps the poorest area in the city. I drove an old Ford Pinto - and the people filled that sucker to the gills FOUR times that day with canned goods.
A month or so later (and I apologize as I've shared this before) there was an old man, guessing 80-something.. more than halfway up a 16' ladder, sawing a limb off his tree. He happened to be white. Next door neighbor walks up, happened to be black - bearing one of those long poles with a saw on the end to give to his neighbor so he could safely cut from the ground. I felt more guilt for my initial fear of working in these neighborhoods... I marveled at that sight, and I thought to myself "I wish everyone could see this."
C'mon
Ev'rybody's talking about Ministers,
Sinisters, Banisters and canisters
Bishops and Fishops and Rabbis and Pop eyes,
And bye bye, bye byes.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Centerforracialharmony.org, Belleville, IL. Office of Racial Hamony, Archdiocese of New Orleans... Bridge Center for Racial Harmony, Saginaw, MI. The Foundation for Racial, Ethnic, & Religious Harmony, West Newton, MA. (And many, many more that are organized.. and perhaps even better, the ones not formally organized - like many workplaces across the land where harmony is 'the way')
Let me tell you now
Ev'rybody's talking about
Revolution, evolution, masturbation,
Flagellation, regulation, integrations,
Meditations, United Nations,
Congratulations.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Youth. We, the elders, are supposed to be the ones that teach. Ha! Go to virtually any park in the United States and watch children promote harmony in a world of difference. "We" should feel sheepish in our inactions, in not emulating/expressing, as their unbiased love does.
Ev'rybody's talking about
John and Yoko, Timmy Leary, Rosemary,
Tommy Smothers, Bobby Dylan, Tommy Cooper,
Derek Taylor, Norman Mailer,
Alan Ginsberg, Hare Krishna,
Hare, Hare Krishna
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
"Darkness cannot out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.".....
"Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies - or else? The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or else we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation."
"I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."
"We may have all come in on different ships, but we're in the same boat now."
"I just want to do God's will. And he's allowed me to go to the mountain. And I've looked over and I've seen the promised land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we as people will get to the promised land."
All, from Martin Luther King, Jr.
All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance
Monday, December 22, 2014
Reallytired......
Tired: in need of sleep or rest; weary.... bored with.. no longer fresh or in good condition..
re: Once more..(reactivate).. with return to a previous state (revert)..
So, no comprende why retire is called retire. We work when we're tired. When we 'retire' it ain't "once more".. It (retire) ain't 'with return to a previous state'.. It should be reallytired.
Roy Williams, the famous basketball coach, tells his players (in reply to hearing "tired") "you're too young to be tired." I like that, I really like that. In fact, I repeat it to snotnoses (said lovingly) at work who mutter how tired they are. I'm AARP elgible. I'm SS eligible. I'm reallytired and wanna be reallytired.
It's hard, I think, to relate to people under forty, maybe even fitty, what it feels like to REALLY wanna be 'reallytired' (retired).. From day one, when we learned to march (silently) from our 1st grade chair to the lunchroom - we've been obligated to "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign."
LinkedIn, no thanks. Resume', huh uh, ne'er again. 'Polite' (reminder) emails from HR hinting of admonishment if one doesn't "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign" - paaaaaaaatoooooooey! Remind me, I'm tired, reallytired. I'm reallytired of being 'led'. (I looked up 'led, in a work situation' on "Vikapedia" and yep, there was a picture of a horse with blinders on it.) Ha! I wanna moonwalk (singing "ABC") from my desk to the cafeteria seat. I wanna attend only the last ten minutes of the two hour Long Range Planning Meeting. I'm reallytired. I wanna be reallytired!
I would miss the birthday celebrations. Uncle Don had a children's radio show from 1928 until 1947. One day, upon completion of his program, he forgot the turn the mike off and out slipped "THERE, that ought to hold the little bastards!".. EXACTLY, I'll buy a Mylar balloon once a month in memory of the birthdays,,, that ought hold the little bastards! (I josh, I love my coworkers, I'm just reallytired.)
I would miss the countdown (number of days until retirement) thingy on my cubicle wall I update when I get a 'polite' email, 'suggestion' from boss, list of new building rules (do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign"),etc... I guess, insteada the countdown, I could send automated emails to myself every six days reminding me to "Magic Eraser" the stool, tub, sink (not necessarily in that order.) I could have my printer automatically (sometime near the end of November each year) print an entire ream of "Roberts Rules of Order" to use as kindling to stoke my fireplace for the winter.
I'm on vacation. I could get used to this. I could enjoy one day being permanently on revacation, or reallyvacation. No alarm, no 'friendly' HR reminders, no "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign".... why, I could even wear my undies and scratch myself on the way to the 'cafeteria' every day if I wanted!.. I could forward R and X rated emails to my buddies bypassing the intrusive IT department that presently adorns them to read "explicit language" on the receiving end. "No profanity, that shit ain't allowed here, do as I say, not as I do." Sorry, a reallytired moment. (I'll update my Cubicle calendar to 1,380 days to go when I get back.)
I gotta go.... again.. (It's an old man thing)... I hope you are reallytired. If you're just tired, then please do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign. No cussing. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 (Christmas bonus.. oops, slipped, sorry), and please put the lid down. (<-- Yes, we did get a company email on that.)
Bye now. Scratching myself enroute to the bathroom where I'll leave the lid up. Then, I'm gonna take a nap. I am really tired, figuratively to one day be literally reallytired. Sorry. kinda. The rebel in me snuck out.
Love, Victurd. ("WHAT BLOG BOSS? I don't have a blog!")
re: Once more..(reactivate).. with return to a previous state (revert)..
So, no comprende why retire is called retire. We work when we're tired. When we 'retire' it ain't "once more".. It (retire) ain't 'with return to a previous state'.. It should be reallytired.
Roy Williams, the famous basketball coach, tells his players (in reply to hearing "tired") "you're too young to be tired." I like that, I really like that. In fact, I repeat it to snotnoses (said lovingly) at work who mutter how tired they are. I'm AARP elgible. I'm SS eligible. I'm reallytired and wanna be reallytired.
It's hard, I think, to relate to people under forty, maybe even fitty, what it feels like to REALLY wanna be 'reallytired' (retired).. From day one, when we learned to march (silently) from our 1st grade chair to the lunchroom - we've been obligated to "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign."
LinkedIn, no thanks. Resume', huh uh, ne'er again. 'Polite' (reminder) emails from HR hinting of admonishment if one doesn't "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign" - paaaaaaaatoooooooey! Remind me, I'm tired, reallytired. I'm reallytired of being 'led'. (I looked up 'led, in a work situation' on "Vikapedia" and yep, there was a picture of a horse with blinders on it.) Ha! I wanna moonwalk (singing "ABC") from my desk to the cafeteria seat. I wanna attend only the last ten minutes of the two hour Long Range Planning Meeting. I'm reallytired. I wanna be reallytired!
I would miss the birthday celebrations. Uncle Don had a children's radio show from 1928 until 1947. One day, upon completion of his program, he forgot the turn the mike off and out slipped "THERE, that ought to hold the little bastards!".. EXACTLY, I'll buy a Mylar balloon once a month in memory of the birthdays,,, that ought hold the little bastards! (I josh, I love my coworkers, I'm just reallytired.)
I would miss the countdown (number of days until retirement) thingy on my cubicle wall I update when I get a 'polite' email, 'suggestion' from boss, list of new building rules (do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign"),etc... I guess, insteada the countdown, I could send automated emails to myself every six days reminding me to "Magic Eraser" the stool, tub, sink (not necessarily in that order.) I could have my printer automatically (sometime near the end of November each year) print an entire ream of "Roberts Rules of Order" to use as kindling to stoke my fireplace for the winter.
I'm on vacation. I could get used to this. I could enjoy one day being permanently on revacation, or reallyvacation. No alarm, no 'friendly' HR reminders, no "do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign".... why, I could even wear my undies and scratch myself on the way to the 'cafeteria' every day if I wanted!.. I could forward R and X rated emails to my buddies bypassing the intrusive IT department that presently adorns them to read "explicit language" on the receiving end. "No profanity, that shit ain't allowed here, do as I say, not as I do." Sorry, a reallytired moment. (I'll update my Cubicle calendar to 1,380 days to go when I get back.)
I gotta go.... again.. (It's an old man thing)... I hope you are reallytired. If you're just tired, then please do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign. No cussing. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 (Christmas bonus.. oops, slipped, sorry), and please put the lid down. (<-- Yes, we did get a company email on that.)
Bye now. Scratching myself enroute to the bathroom where I'll leave the lid up. Then, I'm gonna take a nap. I am really tired, figuratively to one day be literally reallytired. Sorry. kinda. The rebel in me snuck out.
Love, Victurd. ("WHAT BLOG BOSS? I don't have a blog!")
Friday, December 19, 2014
Slow music....
I think we like all speeds of life. Fast, the lefthand lane of I-70. Medium, when so lucky traversing our crowded 152. Slow, as in Richfield Road.. A Highway... a trip around the Square on Farmer's market day.
Someone recently asked "What song/music make you wanna get up and dance?" Easy answer for me.. "Shout" by The Isley Brothers. We, to me, are way comfortable in our own skin, but something like a song like that changes us in a heartbeat. Lotsa heartbeats - out of the shell we go. Like nobody's watching comes to fruition.
I enjoy The Mall - watching so many different ages, faces, body types - a melting pot - on "78 speed" for you fellow old-timers. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Go, go, go. Followed closely by "damn am I tired - I didn't realize shopping was so much work."
A sporting event where you fear to take your eyes away in case the play of the game is missed. Taut muscles. Open eyelids. Edge'a the seat stuff. Grandkids to the park, whew!
Family - ah, the perfect medium speed. Pass the mashed potatoes please. One "eye" on the conversation - the other on the tots running amuck. Sitting down in that comfy chair that mosta the time sits empty. The comfort level affords never being afraid to talk. A nice, loving pace.
Still, I like slow. A float trip with no rapids. Sitting, staring at a lake, the ocean, a river. Working 'easy' to get that heartbeat down to a minimal level. Yum.
Slow music. It speeds thinking, but in a way one doesn't feel rushed. "Seeing" with the eyes closed. The mind can go 'like 60' thinking about The Mall, the ballgame, the tots running amuck, the family, the meal, the conversation, the traffic, the "to do's", the "done dids" - all, sent down the funnel to complete relaxation.
Happens to be even yummier if one to enjoy it with. And if not, still so very nice.. I think I'll actually use this ottoman, I never do.
Where "Shout" gives us kind of an out of body experience - slow music gives us the time to be thankful for all the paces that have been in front of us - all of the life we're living/just lived. No car horns, no physical exertion, no crowd of people watching (other than our minds), no hustle bustle - just slow. Peaceful. Wonderful.
I do like all paces, and am thankful for each - but slow music is like wine for the soul. If I were to fall asleep in slow music - I could only be so lucky.
I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome. I love you slow music, thanks.
Love, Victurd
Someone recently asked "What song/music make you wanna get up and dance?" Easy answer for me.. "Shout" by The Isley Brothers. We, to me, are way comfortable in our own skin, but something like a song like that changes us in a heartbeat. Lotsa heartbeats - out of the shell we go. Like nobody's watching comes to fruition.
I enjoy The Mall - watching so many different ages, faces, body types - a melting pot - on "78 speed" for you fellow old-timers. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Go, go, go. Followed closely by "damn am I tired - I didn't realize shopping was so much work."
A sporting event where you fear to take your eyes away in case the play of the game is missed. Taut muscles. Open eyelids. Edge'a the seat stuff. Grandkids to the park, whew!
Family - ah, the perfect medium speed. Pass the mashed potatoes please. One "eye" on the conversation - the other on the tots running amuck. Sitting down in that comfy chair that mosta the time sits empty. The comfort level affords never being afraid to talk. A nice, loving pace.
Still, I like slow. A float trip with no rapids. Sitting, staring at a lake, the ocean, a river. Working 'easy' to get that heartbeat down to a minimal level. Yum.
Slow music. It speeds thinking, but in a way one doesn't feel rushed. "Seeing" with the eyes closed. The mind can go 'like 60' thinking about The Mall, the ballgame, the tots running amuck, the family, the meal, the conversation, the traffic, the "to do's", the "done dids" - all, sent down the funnel to complete relaxation.
Happens to be even yummier if one to enjoy it with. And if not, still so very nice.. I think I'll actually use this ottoman, I never do.
Where "Shout" gives us kind of an out of body experience - slow music gives us the time to be thankful for all the paces that have been in front of us - all of the life we're living/just lived. No car horns, no physical exertion, no crowd of people watching (other than our minds), no hustle bustle - just slow. Peaceful. Wonderful.
I do like all paces, and am thankful for each - but slow music is like wine for the soul. If I were to fall asleep in slow music - I could only be so lucky.
I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome. I love you slow music, thanks.
Love, Victurd
Thursday, December 18, 2014
A winter's day....
A winter's day-
in a deep and dark December
I am alone-
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock, I am an island.
I bundle. I start car to go work. I get out to scrape. Car die. Back in, start car again. Out, scraping, half of front windshield done, half of that snow, down pantleg. That cold. Car die. Back in, back out. Almost done, car die. I remember my promise to not cuss as much. Forgive me for I have sinned.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mity
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship
friendship causes pain
It's laughter and loving I disdain
I am a rock, I am an island
I'm back in car now. Windows cleared. A hint of heat. I'd promised myself to cut down on my calories. The fat that dunlapped over my belly and behind my back, is now skin to leather with 20 degree leather seat. Wow. That cold.
Don't talk of love
but I've heard the word before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber of the feelings that have died
If I never loved I never would have cried
I am a rock, I am an island.
I coast in neutral from my spot, because 1999 car remind me it old, need 'winter foreplay' before it kick in. It die. I no cuss. I pull to side of road, that hard with no power steering. Start. I go again.
I have my books
and my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armour
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I have my Coffee and my longjohns to protect me. Car warm now. On Interstate. Roads not cleared. Oh shit (forgive me again) WHERE ARE LANES? I go 15 mph slower than others. Other cars no likey me. One was from California I think as I heard 'sunny beach' when he went by. I no ask where he live. They mad, I no care. Comes with being 60-something. Safe bet, rush hour, everyone going 15 mph less is 60-something, and think about one thing, retirement.
I am a rock, I am an island
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.
A winter's day- in a deep and dark December. I'm kinda into purple pinkies, purple toes, shoes that leak -driving woes. And YES, shorter days for us old farts that no can see to drive in dark, perfect! Shrinkage. Yellow snow from hound. 53'ers that spray as they pass so I no use so much washer fluid. Never mind the ten seconds I can't see road/pee a bit.
I am a rock, I am an island
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries. 1395 days until retirement. I no county. I no rock. I no island. Boooo whooooo booooo whoooo.
Love, Victurd.
in a deep and dark December
I am alone-
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock, I am an island.
I bundle. I start car to go work. I get out to scrape. Car die. Back in, start car again. Out, scraping, half of front windshield done, half of that snow, down pantleg. That cold. Car die. Back in, back out. Almost done, car die. I remember my promise to not cuss as much. Forgive me for I have sinned.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mity
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship
friendship causes pain
It's laughter and loving I disdain
I am a rock, I am an island
I'm back in car now. Windows cleared. A hint of heat. I'd promised myself to cut down on my calories. The fat that dunlapped over my belly and behind my back, is now skin to leather with 20 degree leather seat. Wow. That cold.
Don't talk of love
but I've heard the word before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber of the feelings that have died
If I never loved I never would have cried
I am a rock, I am an island.
I coast in neutral from my spot, because 1999 car remind me it old, need 'winter foreplay' before it kick in. It die. I no cuss. I pull to side of road, that hard with no power steering. Start. I go again.
I have my books
and my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armour
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I have my Coffee and my longjohns to protect me. Car warm now. On Interstate. Roads not cleared. Oh shit (forgive me again) WHERE ARE LANES? I go 15 mph slower than others. Other cars no likey me. One was from California I think as I heard 'sunny beach' when he went by. I no ask where he live. They mad, I no care. Comes with being 60-something. Safe bet, rush hour, everyone going 15 mph less is 60-something, and think about one thing, retirement.
I am a rock, I am an island
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.
A winter's day- in a deep and dark December. I'm kinda into purple pinkies, purple toes, shoes that leak -driving woes. And YES, shorter days for us old farts that no can see to drive in dark, perfect! Shrinkage. Yellow snow from hound. 53'ers that spray as they pass so I no use so much washer fluid. Never mind the ten seconds I can't see road/pee a bit.
I am a rock, I am an island
And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries. 1395 days until retirement. I no county. I no rock. I no island. Boooo whooooo booooo whoooo.
Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Attrition……
Merriam-Webster relates “a reduction in numbers usually as a result of resignation, retirement, or death…. weakening… wearing or grinding down by friction..”
A family photo album speaks to attrition. Gone, not forgotten.
Our local High School, Liberty, Missouri – holds an “All School Reunion” every four years for everyone that attended “the ‘old’ High School.”.. It’s a nifty affair, spread out around our small town typical “Square”. It starts on the East end with folks who graduated In the 70’s.. wide, open ‘booths’ (for each class) to hold the attendees, each adorned with a large picture of our school mascot, The Bluejay, the year of graduation written upon it.… it continues to the North, booths, each a bit smaller, for the classes of the 60’s… West side – the 50’s.. still, good sized booths, hair a tad bit grayer.. Finally, the South side.. booths smaller.. sometimes the Bluejays of the years are assembled in the same booth.. finally to the 30’s, all of the Bluejays enscribed from the 30’s in one booth – sadly, only a few attendees. Attrition.
Weakening, wearing or grinding down by friction. The number one reason people enter a Nursing Home is lack of stability. Weakening. Wearing, grinding down.
Every Christmas, at least for the last three years, the Sunday before Christmas, we’ve gone to sing Christmas Carols at Nursing Homes in our hometown, Liberty, Mo.. First year was scary, didn’t know what to expect – but pleased to report it went VERY well. We had three gals who had sung lifelong in choirs – and they carried us through.
Two years ago, not so good. Attrition. Things come up, we realize that – especially around the Holidays. Time is precious. Our number that year was not good – and our singing admittedly, wasn’t that whoopee. I am a horrible singer who ‘hides within the crowd’, and unfortunately that day, there wasn't anywhere to 'hide'.
That day, at our final home – I literally ‘lost it’. One of my best friend’s mothers was a resident there. I remember vibrant. I remember her hitting a golf ball a football field farther than I. She approached catatonic. I lost it. Attrition. Grinding down. Sad. Very sad. She is gone now.
Even in year two though, when attrition affected the size of our singing group, the residents had fun. They are, of course – of vastly differing conditions. Some, with great mind, but having body afflictions… some, with great body stability – and a mind that doesn’t necessarily remember loved ones.. recent past.. Attrition. Grinding down.
Last year was wonderful. More voices. Wonderful voices, a violin to keep us on chord (well, keep ‘them’ on chord!).. Even had a Santa among us.. and……. CHILDREN! The folks love seeing the children. Certain they help stir the memories of yesteryear.
Upon arriving at each home, we walked in with “We wish you a Merry Christmas”… Residents sang along – some. Some, ne’er opened their eyes, but lipped the lyrics. Some clapped, some cheered, some even joined in dance. Brief. The homes are big. One had three dining rooms – a song or three in each.. We go at an hour where they are either in the dining rooms – or, are making their way there.
We also had a pact, if we went past a door, and the person was bedridden – an entire song we’d sing from the hallway. Was very fun to see the smiles on the face, and the arms lifted up to wave. Good feel is a two way street.
This year, our numbers to Carol aren’t good – and adding to that, perhaps even more attrition. If we were a practiced choir, a small head count wouldn’t matter. I don’t mean that to be offensive to any previous attendee (remember, I am the one admitting to not being able to carry a tune, and the more ‘my type’, the “eeweier” it sounds!)…
Within these beds, chairs, lie/sit someone’s parents, Aunt, uncle, granny, grandpa. Some have visitors daily, some rarely or never. We’d like to think our brief Caroling uplifts, all. I know several of us who Caroled no longer have parents on this earth. Maybe somehow, attending/singing is the next best thing.
We don’t have enough people to go this year, and if any attrition were to occur it would be completely embarrassing. One final ‘shout out’, and we’ll make a decision tomorrow (Wednesday, 12/17) “yay or nay” as to whether to postpone for a year or not.. If you live close, have the time, and wanna – I can promise ‘good feel’. For you. For them. Love, Victurd:
CHRISTMAS CAROLING AT 3 LIBERTY AREA NURSING HOMES... Anyone/everyone welcome ("Just folks"). Sunday, 12/21, we'll meet *after* the Chief's game, at 3:45pm in the Parking lot of Conrads. (NW Corner of 152/291 Intersection.) We'll go to Pleasant Valley Manor, Our Lady of Mercy, and finish at Ashton Court. 4th Annual, if you've never attended, PLEASE DO! We need a minimum of 15 (Last year we had an AWESOME # of folks show up!) Great singing voice not a necessity, it's the spirit that counts. You are welcome to share this posting, the more the merrier – please (Facebook) message Vic Schultze if you are planning to attend. THANKS!
A family photo album speaks to attrition. Gone, not forgotten.
Our local High School, Liberty, Missouri – holds an “All School Reunion” every four years for everyone that attended “the ‘old’ High School.”.. It’s a nifty affair, spread out around our small town typical “Square”. It starts on the East end with folks who graduated In the 70’s.. wide, open ‘booths’ (for each class) to hold the attendees, each adorned with a large picture of our school mascot, The Bluejay, the year of graduation written upon it.… it continues to the North, booths, each a bit smaller, for the classes of the 60’s… West side – the 50’s.. still, good sized booths, hair a tad bit grayer.. Finally, the South side.. booths smaller.. sometimes the Bluejays of the years are assembled in the same booth.. finally to the 30’s, all of the Bluejays enscribed from the 30’s in one booth – sadly, only a few attendees. Attrition.
Weakening, wearing or grinding down by friction. The number one reason people enter a Nursing Home is lack of stability. Weakening. Wearing, grinding down.
Every Christmas, at least for the last three years, the Sunday before Christmas, we’ve gone to sing Christmas Carols at Nursing Homes in our hometown, Liberty, Mo.. First year was scary, didn’t know what to expect – but pleased to report it went VERY well. We had three gals who had sung lifelong in choirs – and they carried us through.
Two years ago, not so good. Attrition. Things come up, we realize that – especially around the Holidays. Time is precious. Our number that year was not good – and our singing admittedly, wasn’t that whoopee. I am a horrible singer who ‘hides within the crowd’, and unfortunately that day, there wasn't anywhere to 'hide'.
That day, at our final home – I literally ‘lost it’. One of my best friend’s mothers was a resident there. I remember vibrant. I remember her hitting a golf ball a football field farther than I. She approached catatonic. I lost it. Attrition. Grinding down. Sad. Very sad. She is gone now.
Even in year two though, when attrition affected the size of our singing group, the residents had fun. They are, of course – of vastly differing conditions. Some, with great mind, but having body afflictions… some, with great body stability – and a mind that doesn’t necessarily remember loved ones.. recent past.. Attrition. Grinding down.
Last year was wonderful. More voices. Wonderful voices, a violin to keep us on chord (well, keep ‘them’ on chord!).. Even had a Santa among us.. and……. CHILDREN! The folks love seeing the children. Certain they help stir the memories of yesteryear.
Upon arriving at each home, we walked in with “We wish you a Merry Christmas”… Residents sang along – some. Some, ne’er opened their eyes, but lipped the lyrics. Some clapped, some cheered, some even joined in dance. Brief. The homes are big. One had three dining rooms – a song or three in each.. We go at an hour where they are either in the dining rooms – or, are making their way there.
We also had a pact, if we went past a door, and the person was bedridden – an entire song we’d sing from the hallway. Was very fun to see the smiles on the face, and the arms lifted up to wave. Good feel is a two way street.
This year, our numbers to Carol aren’t good – and adding to that, perhaps even more attrition. If we were a practiced choir, a small head count wouldn’t matter. I don’t mean that to be offensive to any previous attendee (remember, I am the one admitting to not being able to carry a tune, and the more ‘my type’, the “eeweier” it sounds!)…
Within these beds, chairs, lie/sit someone’s parents, Aunt, uncle, granny, grandpa. Some have visitors daily, some rarely or never. We’d like to think our brief Caroling uplifts, all. I know several of us who Caroled no longer have parents on this earth. Maybe somehow, attending/singing is the next best thing.
We don’t have enough people to go this year, and if any attrition were to occur it would be completely embarrassing. One final ‘shout out’, and we’ll make a decision tomorrow (Wednesday, 12/17) “yay or nay” as to whether to postpone for a year or not.. If you live close, have the time, and wanna – I can promise ‘good feel’. For you. For them. Love, Victurd:
CHRISTMAS CAROLING AT 3 LIBERTY AREA NURSING HOMES... Anyone/everyone welcome ("Just folks"). Sunday, 12/21, we'll meet *after* the Chief's game, at 3:45pm in the Parking lot of Conrads. (NW Corner of 152/291 Intersection.) We'll go to Pleasant Valley Manor, Our Lady of Mercy, and finish at Ashton Court. 4th Annual, if you've never attended, PLEASE DO! We need a minimum of 15 (Last year we had an AWESOME # of folks show up!) Great singing voice not a necessity, it's the spirit that counts. You are welcome to share this posting, the more the merrier – please (Facebook) message Vic Schultze if you are planning to attend. THANKS!
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Hugs....
Near the top of the "life" chain is the hug. It's brief, long, awaited, exhilarating, comforting, empathetic, sympathetic, rewarding, reconnecting, lovely thing that speaks to I love/like you.
I've found (shut the front door Victor) that one can go a long time without "you know", but, one has to have a hug - with decent frequency. Hugs ain't gender specific, race specific.. they're perhaps not specific of anything other than, I like you, I love you, I'm thankful for you, I'm proud of you, I've missed you, this feels really good.
Hugs are a brief action that oft times relives many good years, memories.. catches up. Hugs from little ones come free with butterfly kisses... Hugs between admiring ones, often are adorned with deep kisses.
Guy friends can be reluctant to hug, so hugs between good male friends really break down perceived barriers, and speak to "man, you're a good dude, we've had some fun together."
It is said basic needs include sun, water, air, food, and a habitat with the right temperature. Not 100% would agree I'm aware, but hug should mebbe be on that list as well.
Two little arms from below reaching up, followed by perhaps the best kind of hugs of all.
A passionate, immersed hug - well...ok, maybe the one just above is a close second.
Nonverbal, yet speaking volumes. Light, polite... or strong, like "I ain't afraid to show my feelings for you, howthehell ya been, I have great memories of you, me, us." Hugs are a very simple thing - so much stronger, and with much less effort than any mediation.
Hugs celebrate. A touchdown. Home run. Marriage. Graduation. A job offering. A job well done. Retirement. A friendship. An absence. A courtship. A long bliss.
Stolen:
A hug is a handshake from the heart.
A kiss without a hug is like a flower without the fragrance.
You can't wrap love in a box, but you can wrap a person in a hug.
Just remember, you can't wrap your arms around a memory, so hug someone you love, today.
Love (and hugs), Victurd.
I've found (shut the front door Victor) that one can go a long time without "you know", but, one has to have a hug - with decent frequency. Hugs ain't gender specific, race specific.. they're perhaps not specific of anything other than, I like you, I love you, I'm thankful for you, I'm proud of you, I've missed you, this feels really good.
Hugs are a brief action that oft times relives many good years, memories.. catches up. Hugs from little ones come free with butterfly kisses... Hugs between admiring ones, often are adorned with deep kisses.
Guy friends can be reluctant to hug, so hugs between good male friends really break down perceived barriers, and speak to "man, you're a good dude, we've had some fun together."
It is said basic needs include sun, water, air, food, and a habitat with the right temperature. Not 100% would agree I'm aware, but hug should mebbe be on that list as well.
Two little arms from below reaching up, followed by perhaps the best kind of hugs of all.
A passionate, immersed hug - well...ok, maybe the one just above is a close second.
Nonverbal, yet speaking volumes. Light, polite... or strong, like "I ain't afraid to show my feelings for you, howthehell ya been, I have great memories of you, me, us." Hugs are a very simple thing - so much stronger, and with much less effort than any mediation.
Hugs celebrate. A touchdown. Home run. Marriage. Graduation. A job offering. A job well done. Retirement. A friendship. An absence. A courtship. A long bliss.
Stolen:
A hug is a handshake from the heart.
A kiss without a hug is like a flower without the fragrance.
You can't wrap love in a box, but you can wrap a person in a hug.
Just remember, you can't wrap your arms around a memory, so hug someone you love, today.
Love (and hugs), Victurd.
Wednesday, December 03, 2014
The ups.
There was a time in my life when hearing "Like I said" was fingernails on the chalkboard, drumsticks on the aluminum trash can lid. All that said, scraped, ratta tat tatted, like I said, I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome.
Life is full of emotion. Moods. The blahs. The good, the bad, the ugly, the "oh baby". Our eyes, ears, hearts, bellies, breaths are intertwined like a car battery getting amps... or not. (Eww, that comparison reeked of "You might be a redneck!").. We're "after coffee", "after booze", "after a rough day". "After a letdown." The 'after', affects our moods.
Thank goodness, for every splinter, spill, fall, failure, fender-bender, speeding ticket, overdraft, broken bone, illness, breaking news yuck story, loss of a loved one - we counter all those by the wonder of 'the ups'. I love 'the ups.'
The first time you hold that baby in your arm
My two year old grandson. Just about every time I go to his house, first thing he does is run, get his shoes - come up to me and mutter beggingly "paaarrrrkk?" He remembers the fun we have. I love that. I get 'the ups'. (And I feel horrible we live in a climate where there are long stretches it's too dadgum cold to go to the park.)
The school play, 'their line' - preparation before supper, after supper, on the way to school. Finally, it happens - their line. You watch proudly, you pray it goes well, it's said and done, and done well. Their eyes seek you, find you, 'the ups'.
Last year, at our company Christmas dinner - having had a dreadful 4th quarter (but wonderful year) we hoped/prayed/crossed fingers enough $$'s could be squeaked out in bonus we could buy our loved ones Christmas. We were all literally floored when our President announced an amount that not only allowed us to buy a nice Christmas, but an amount allowing us to buy a damn good one. My buddy, her spouse laid off a good chunk of the year, after hearing, started crying. "The ups" got her, and I loved it.
At a wedding awhile back, the very beautiful bride - a graceful lady who never ever wanted the spotlight - had it shown on her as she was asked to repeat the vows. She started shivering, quivering, stammering - shaking. My first reaction was to breathe in, breathe out in attempt to somehow give this beautiful lady some breath - but my second reaction was "how much this means to her". And I found comfort. She wonderfully gathered herself, finished remarkably, and EVERYONE there - got 'the ups'.
I fall in love too damn easily, it's demonstrated. As a tradeoff, I get 'the ups' very easily. The Royals in October afforded many of those. A surprising, wonderfully orchestrated flash mob gives me 'the ups'. Sometimes happy tears are involved, I ain't afraid to admit, and that (the tears) even makes it 'uppier'.
I love seeing postings on the social media of the father/bride in their slow, somewhat mundane, mandated father/bride dance... allofasudden have the music cranked, fast, speedy wonderful music replaces the ho-hum background music, and 'poof' a niftily choreographed twosome dance routine sends the audience to tears, cheers, laughter, and a healthy case of 'the ups'. The dad/daughter looking at one another upon completion, even 'uppier'.
I've got an old trunk in the living room, filled with 62 years of memories. Sometimes, insteada playing Sudoku, running the fridge for a chicken sandwich, insteada a nice nap... insteada watching a ballgame I really don't have a passing interest (simply to pass time) - I open this trunk.
Many of the pictures inside are of those gone. Of course that's sad, yet, looking thru them reminds me, 'takes me back', makes me well up, make me smile/laugh, remember, find joy - and have, 'the ups'.
Depression. Happens. I believe to us all, in varying degrees, sometime only for a moment for some, sometimes for a month for others. I find 'the ups' to be my own personal Wellbutrin, Paxil, Prozac, serotonin.
Gotta run. Joint I go to is having Customer Appreciation night. Earlier this summer I'd gone there, the discussion was "The Royals" and I mentioned that it was an unusual year for I hadn't made it to a Royal's game yet. Next time I went in, manager hands me a coupon for two Royal's tickets, WOW, nice! 'The ups.' Meeting buddies there, quite certain there will be some 'the ups' moments.
I could never karaoke as I always get the words messed up. How's that song go? Been down so long it looks like 'the ups' to me?
Love Victurd.
Life is full of emotion. Moods. The blahs. The good, the bad, the ugly, the "oh baby". Our eyes, ears, hearts, bellies, breaths are intertwined like a car battery getting amps... or not. (Eww, that comparison reeked of "You might be a redneck!").. We're "after coffee", "after booze", "after a rough day". "After a letdown." The 'after', affects our moods.
Thank goodness, for every splinter, spill, fall, failure, fender-bender, speeding ticket, overdraft, broken bone, illness, breaking news yuck story, loss of a loved one - we counter all those by the wonder of 'the ups'. I love 'the ups.'
The first time you hold that baby in your arm
My two year old grandson. Just about every time I go to his house, first thing he does is run, get his shoes - come up to me and mutter beggingly "paaarrrrkk?" He remembers the fun we have. I love that. I get 'the ups'. (And I feel horrible we live in a climate where there are long stretches it's too dadgum cold to go to the park.)
The school play, 'their line' - preparation before supper, after supper, on the way to school. Finally, it happens - their line. You watch proudly, you pray it goes well, it's said and done, and done well. Their eyes seek you, find you, 'the ups'.
Last year, at our company Christmas dinner - having had a dreadful 4th quarter (but wonderful year) we hoped/prayed/crossed fingers enough $$'s could be squeaked out in bonus we could buy our loved ones Christmas. We were all literally floored when our President announced an amount that not only allowed us to buy a nice Christmas, but an amount allowing us to buy a damn good one. My buddy, her spouse laid off a good chunk of the year, after hearing, started crying. "The ups" got her, and I loved it.
At a wedding awhile back, the very beautiful bride - a graceful lady who never ever wanted the spotlight - had it shown on her as she was asked to repeat the vows. She started shivering, quivering, stammering - shaking. My first reaction was to breathe in, breathe out in attempt to somehow give this beautiful lady some breath - but my second reaction was "how much this means to her". And I found comfort. She wonderfully gathered herself, finished remarkably, and EVERYONE there - got 'the ups'.
I fall in love too damn easily, it's demonstrated. As a tradeoff, I get 'the ups' very easily. The Royals in October afforded many of those. A surprising, wonderfully orchestrated flash mob gives me 'the ups'. Sometimes happy tears are involved, I ain't afraid to admit, and that (the tears) even makes it 'uppier'.
I love seeing postings on the social media of the father/bride in their slow, somewhat mundane, mandated father/bride dance... allofasudden have the music cranked, fast, speedy wonderful music replaces the ho-hum background music, and 'poof' a niftily choreographed twosome dance routine sends the audience to tears, cheers, laughter, and a healthy case of 'the ups'. The dad/daughter looking at one another upon completion, even 'uppier'.
I've got an old trunk in the living room, filled with 62 years of memories. Sometimes, insteada playing Sudoku, running the fridge for a chicken sandwich, insteada a nice nap... insteada watching a ballgame I really don't have a passing interest (simply to pass time) - I open this trunk.
Many of the pictures inside are of those gone. Of course that's sad, yet, looking thru them reminds me, 'takes me back', makes me well up, make me smile/laugh, remember, find joy - and have, 'the ups'.
Depression. Happens. I believe to us all, in varying degrees, sometime only for a moment for some, sometimes for a month for others. I find 'the ups' to be my own personal Wellbutrin, Paxil, Prozac, serotonin.
Gotta run. Joint I go to is having Customer Appreciation night. Earlier this summer I'd gone there, the discussion was "The Royals" and I mentioned that it was an unusual year for I hadn't made it to a Royal's game yet. Next time I went in, manager hands me a coupon for two Royal's tickets, WOW, nice! 'The ups.' Meeting buddies there, quite certain there will be some 'the ups' moments.
I could never karaoke as I always get the words messed up. How's that song go? Been down so long it looks like 'the ups' to me?
Love Victurd.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Goofy........probably....
I'm thankful daily for hearing my alarm at 5:20am. ("Pavlov's dogs" awaken me every Saturday and Sunday about the same time for breakfast at Hy Vee).. I'm thankful for breakfast at Hy Vee.
I'm thankful for a car that starts., a furnace that turns on, and a fridge that keeps my food (beer) cold.
I'm thankful for wherever it is flies go in the winter. I'm thankful for paying a hunnerd dollars a month to watch the Channel 9 news every day.
I'm thankful for those I would never wanna text, phone, go to lunch with for never texting, calling, asking to go to lunch.
I'm thankful for getting up in the dark, grabbing a pair of undies and three socks, scooting to the bathroom only to find a matching pair of socks, sometimes three.
I'm thankful for being 62 and not wanting a boss that continually looks over my shoulder, and for having a boss that doesn't continually look over my shoulder.
I'm thankful for caller ID and the wonder of discern. Even though I occasionally slip, I'm thankful age has taught me not to blurt, talk/type/regret when I hear/see/read something that makes me wanna barf.
I'm thankful for store's restrooms that have those automatic flusher thingys that actually work. I'm thankful, when they don't work, when there's no one close on my heels to take my place in the stall.
I'm thankful that for 5 year olds, race is, "first one to the tree and back."
I'm thankful for Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser, and for the Dollar Tree where I can buy 'generic' for half the cost.
I'm thankful for Apartment living in that my walk is shoveled, my grass is mowed, and when something in my apartment doesn't work, one call to the maintenance man, presto- it's like snapping one's fingers.
I'm thankful none of the folks in my building play "American Werewolf in London" (or similar) at way too many decibels at 2am. I'm thankful the neighbors above me moved even though I'm not personally opposed to amor at 3am. I'm thankful my ceiling has sturdy crossbeams.
I'm thankful for living where we have four seasons, giving one just cause to bitch no matter the month/weather.
I'm thankful for Freedom of Speech (in spite of, scroll to 'barf' above).. I'm thankful for merchants that reciprocate with "Hi" and say "thanks" cause they know if it weren't for us, they wouldn't be there.
I'm thankful for being able to backsapce. I'm thankful for being a male every time I walk in an ORI.
I'm thankful for my windshield wiper solution, even though I pay twice as much as most, as about half the spray shoots over the top of my car. I'm thankful, when people tailgate, I'm able to use my windshield wiper solution.
I'm thankful for being a simpleton, probably over-loving me some Liberty Bluejays, William Jewell Cardinals, Missouri Tigers, Kansas City Royals and Kansas City Chiefs. I'm thankful I'm one the edge of my seat when watching. I'm also thankful it doesn't bother me that I haven't the foggiest idea when someone says "Remember that game back in '94?"
Never been a big fan of thrill rides or jungle gyms, but love that life is a rollercoaster and a teeter-totter.
I'm thankful for breasts, at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'm thankful for folks who jump to conclusions only to find themselves wrong.
I'm thankful for my BFF. He's occasionally an idiot. Sometimes imbibes. Can certainly be opinionated. He gets irate when vendors get an attitude. Mostly though, he's a wuss, but again, I like him, for he is me. (If one can't enjoy being in one's own skin... well, nevermind.)
I'm thankful there wasn't a class in college entitled "Women", for I would have received an "INC". I'm thankful I enjoy the quest of trying to figure out women, but knowing I never will. I'm thankful that 50% of you that just read that didn't get pissed off because you're aware AT LEAST half of my best friends are women.
I'm thankful for the opportunity to sit here and write whateverinthehell I wanna, and it really doesn't bug me too much what others think about it.
I'm even thankful my dad called me Victurd. (Count your blessings, unless you were a shop teacher)...
Love, Victurd.
I'm thankful for a car that starts., a furnace that turns on, and a fridge that keeps my food (beer) cold.
I'm thankful for wherever it is flies go in the winter. I'm thankful for paying a hunnerd dollars a month to watch the Channel 9 news every day.
I'm thankful for those I would never wanna text, phone, go to lunch with for never texting, calling, asking to go to lunch.
I'm thankful for getting up in the dark, grabbing a pair of undies and three socks, scooting to the bathroom only to find a matching pair of socks, sometimes three.
I'm thankful for being 62 and not wanting a boss that continually looks over my shoulder, and for having a boss that doesn't continually look over my shoulder.
I'm thankful for caller ID and the wonder of discern. Even though I occasionally slip, I'm thankful age has taught me not to blurt, talk/type/regret when I hear/see/read something that makes me wanna barf.
I'm thankful for store's restrooms that have those automatic flusher thingys that actually work. I'm thankful, when they don't work, when there's no one close on my heels to take my place in the stall.
I'm thankful that for 5 year olds, race is, "first one to the tree and back."
I'm thankful for Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser, and for the Dollar Tree where I can buy 'generic' for half the cost.
I'm thankful for Apartment living in that my walk is shoveled, my grass is mowed, and when something in my apartment doesn't work, one call to the maintenance man, presto- it's like snapping one's fingers.
I'm thankful none of the folks in my building play "American Werewolf in London" (or similar) at way too many decibels at 2am. I'm thankful the neighbors above me moved even though I'm not personally opposed to amor at 3am. I'm thankful my ceiling has sturdy crossbeams.
I'm thankful for living where we have four seasons, giving one just cause to bitch no matter the month/weather.
I'm thankful for Freedom of Speech (in spite of, scroll to 'barf' above).. I'm thankful for merchants that reciprocate with "Hi" and say "thanks" cause they know if it weren't for us, they wouldn't be there.
I'm thankful for being able to backsapce. I'm thankful for being a male every time I walk in an ORI.
I'm thankful for my windshield wiper solution, even though I pay twice as much as most, as about half the spray shoots over the top of my car. I'm thankful, when people tailgate, I'm able to use my windshield wiper solution.
I'm thankful for being a simpleton, probably over-loving me some Liberty Bluejays, William Jewell Cardinals, Missouri Tigers, Kansas City Royals and Kansas City Chiefs. I'm thankful I'm one the edge of my seat when watching. I'm also thankful it doesn't bother me that I haven't the foggiest idea when someone says "Remember that game back in '94?"
Never been a big fan of thrill rides or jungle gyms, but love that life is a rollercoaster and a teeter-totter.
I'm thankful for breasts, at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'm thankful for folks who jump to conclusions only to find themselves wrong.
I'm thankful for my BFF. He's occasionally an idiot. Sometimes imbibes. Can certainly be opinionated. He gets irate when vendors get an attitude. Mostly though, he's a wuss, but again, I like him, for he is me. (If one can't enjoy being in one's own skin... well, nevermind.)
I'm thankful there wasn't a class in college entitled "Women", for I would have received an "INC". I'm thankful I enjoy the quest of trying to figure out women, but knowing I never will. I'm thankful that 50% of you that just read that didn't get pissed off because you're aware AT LEAST half of my best friends are women.
I'm thankful for the opportunity to sit here and write whateverinthehell I wanna, and it really doesn't bug me too much what others think about it.
I'm even thankful my dad called me Victurd. (Count your blessings, unless you were a shop teacher)...
Love, Victurd.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Have you ever noticed?
Those that smile.
I am immersed in those that smile so... Years and years of being able to open my eyes daily, also tells me these people have wonderfully good hearts.
I, like many, find myself (certainly at times) in the dregs of "I don't wanna go to work today... I hate Mondays.. Come on 5 o'clock... It really sucks the funds are so low... WHY ME? This ALWAYS happens to ME!.." Paddling life upstream. Pity, as in self.
Not the smilers. Nuh uh. You can't tell if they've got a migraine... if their rent check just bounced.. if the love of their life is now the love of someone else's life... or if they're simply just having a really crappy day.
For many, many years - I've preferred to live life in the background. Heck, when I did/do talk, people say "Huh?" cause my voice is so goofily soft. No longer though. My all-time favorite boss (an Elementary Principal where I taught) offered out "catch 'em being good." I liked that, I really liked that. Doesn't have to apply to children only though.
The other day, a smiler walked by me. From my spot in the background, I've watched this person walk by some 4,376 times - and each and every time, with smile. On this, the 4,377th time, I emailed this person. "Just wanted to let you know, I really think you have a great take on life, and I really think it's cool you always, ALWAYS offer your smile to others. You must have had really good role models growing up."
This person emailed back "That may be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me." (And this isn't why I write, anyone can wing a compliment, not everyone can 'earn' them).. Continuing "My ex left me when I was pregnant with our 3rd child. Never a penny of child support. My kids lived on mac and cheese, no milk, because it's all I could afford. My grandparents were my role models, and you're right, I remember them smiling all the time. My sister married a millionaire and is never happy - me, I guess I'm just happy for what I have, even at times when it isn't much. I always wanted to go to college but could never afford.. well, I finally got remarried, went back to college, and now I have my degree."
Wow. Far out. Smile out.
I have friends who,it's pretty obvious, live with physical difficulties.. you see struggle, hurt, and most assuredly (on the inside) have to wonder WHY ME? You could never tell on the outside. They smile. Lots. Often. Mostly without impetus.
Another thing I've noticed. A smile generally brings one back in the other direction. What better?
Stealing a few:
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." Dr. Seuss.
"Peace begins with a smile.." Mother Teresa.
"If you only have one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning 'Good morning' to total strangers." Maya Angelou.
"You'll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile." Charles Chaplin.
That's about it. I guess we should smile. It's inexpensive. It isn't nearly as difficult as a jumping jack. It seems to 'talk.' It makes an impression on depression, both in giving and receiving. Seems people that give smiles are also givers. Seems there's some kind of connection between the heart and a smile.
When it's least expected, you're elected, it's your lucky day......... smile
Love, Victurd.
I am immersed in those that smile so... Years and years of being able to open my eyes daily, also tells me these people have wonderfully good hearts.
I, like many, find myself (certainly at times) in the dregs of "I don't wanna go to work today... I hate Mondays.. Come on 5 o'clock... It really sucks the funds are so low... WHY ME? This ALWAYS happens to ME!.." Paddling life upstream. Pity, as in self.
Not the smilers. Nuh uh. You can't tell if they've got a migraine... if their rent check just bounced.. if the love of their life is now the love of someone else's life... or if they're simply just having a really crappy day.
For many, many years - I've preferred to live life in the background. Heck, when I did/do talk, people say "Huh?" cause my voice is so goofily soft. No longer though. My all-time favorite boss (an Elementary Principal where I taught) offered out "catch 'em being good." I liked that, I really liked that. Doesn't have to apply to children only though.
The other day, a smiler walked by me. From my spot in the background, I've watched this person walk by some 4,376 times - and each and every time, with smile. On this, the 4,377th time, I emailed this person. "Just wanted to let you know, I really think you have a great take on life, and I really think it's cool you always, ALWAYS offer your smile to others. You must have had really good role models growing up."
This person emailed back "That may be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me." (And this isn't why I write, anyone can wing a compliment, not everyone can 'earn' them).. Continuing "My ex left me when I was pregnant with our 3rd child. Never a penny of child support. My kids lived on mac and cheese, no milk, because it's all I could afford. My grandparents were my role models, and you're right, I remember them smiling all the time. My sister married a millionaire and is never happy - me, I guess I'm just happy for what I have, even at times when it isn't much. I always wanted to go to college but could never afford.. well, I finally got remarried, went back to college, and now I have my degree."
Wow. Far out. Smile out.
I have friends who,it's pretty obvious, live with physical difficulties.. you see struggle, hurt, and most assuredly (on the inside) have to wonder WHY ME? You could never tell on the outside. They smile. Lots. Often. Mostly without impetus.
Another thing I've noticed. A smile generally brings one back in the other direction. What better?
Stealing a few:
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." Dr. Seuss.
"Peace begins with a smile.." Mother Teresa.
"If you only have one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning 'Good morning' to total strangers." Maya Angelou.
"You'll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile." Charles Chaplin.
That's about it. I guess we should smile. It's inexpensive. It isn't nearly as difficult as a jumping jack. It seems to 'talk.' It makes an impression on depression, both in giving and receiving. Seems people that give smiles are also givers. Seems there's some kind of connection between the heart and a smile.
When it's least expected, you're elected, it's your lucky day......... smile
Love, Victurd.
Saturday, November 08, 2014
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
A ten minute walk through Google related at least 28 different meanings behind the writing of this song.. depression.. seeing strange people on the tour.. acid/LSD.. He had writer's block, walked to the top of the canyon where he lived, observed a Hallucinogenic party in a backyard nearby, went running home "I need to write! I need to write!".. the fact that Jim himself, while brilliant, was strange (at least he supposedly perceived himself, and others, as that)..
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
One 'guesser' as to the meaning of these lyrics also wrote "there's a person I don't like in the cubicle next to me, and when she gets real loud, I start singing this song... it bugs her." (LIGHTBULB! I'm gonna try this!)
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
I do believe the hint of depression. When one is alienated, even if self induced, we perhaps tend to see others as strange so we can be more accepting of our own self. I know it's the day and age of HR Departments perusing public message boards, Facebook, etc. That said, I don't care, there are some strange folks at work - and yeah, maybe I'm even one of 'em! (Ever seen a guy wear the same jacket 20+ years?)
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
The City. Happens to be Kansas City where I'm near, but a trip to The City oozes of strange people, at least coming from the shoes of this simpleton suburbanite. It's reinforcement of "how lucky I am/we are to live where we live." (Even though all the while the next door neighbor is maybe a sexual offender, religious zealot, or, has been in a "People of WalMart" chain email.)
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
"Women seem wicked when you're unwanted?"... Hmmm, MAYBE! All's fair in love and war, could as easily been written "Men seem wicked when you're unwanted". Another vice versa way to like ourselves.
We're all strange. Unique. I'm unique, just like you. We look different, act different, think different, believe differently, dress differently. Queer, I believe we called it, before we even knew what the word actually insinuated.
Strange blog. Sorry. Kinda. Strange person. Don't be a stranger, love VIcturd.
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
A ten minute walk through Google related at least 28 different meanings behind the writing of this song.. depression.. seeing strange people on the tour.. acid/LSD.. He had writer's block, walked to the top of the canyon where he lived, observed a Hallucinogenic party in a backyard nearby, went running home "I need to write! I need to write!".. the fact that Jim himself, while brilliant, was strange (at least he supposedly perceived himself, and others, as that)..
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
One 'guesser' as to the meaning of these lyrics also wrote "there's a person I don't like in the cubicle next to me, and when she gets real loud, I start singing this song... it bugs her." (LIGHTBULB! I'm gonna try this!)
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
I do believe the hint of depression. When one is alienated, even if self induced, we perhaps tend to see others as strange so we can be more accepting of our own self. I know it's the day and age of HR Departments perusing public message boards, Facebook, etc. That said, I don't care, there are some strange folks at work - and yeah, maybe I'm even one of 'em! (Ever seen a guy wear the same jacket 20+ years?)
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
The City. Happens to be Kansas City where I'm near, but a trip to The City oozes of strange people, at least coming from the shoes of this simpleton suburbanite. It's reinforcement of "how lucky I am/we are to live where we live." (Even though all the while the next door neighbor is maybe a sexual offender, religious zealot, or, has been in a "People of WalMart" chain email.)
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange
"Women seem wicked when you're unwanted?"... Hmmm, MAYBE! All's fair in love and war, could as easily been written "Men seem wicked when you're unwanted". Another vice versa way to like ourselves.
We're all strange. Unique. I'm unique, just like you. We look different, act different, think different, believe differently, dress differently. Queer, I believe we called it, before we even knew what the word actually insinuated.
Strange blog. Sorry. Kinda. Strange person. Don't be a stranger, love VIcturd.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
I had abs then.
1985. I/we also had $260 in savings, and permission ("uh huh, sure, like they're gonna draw our name") to put it towards the 'lottery' for Playoff/World Series tickets. Forgive me Father, my sister lived in Jackson County, I used her addy for preferential treatment.
Presto. In the mail, tickets for each/every game. $260 won't even buy one standing room World Series tick this year.
Memories fade, but I will never forget Game 6 with my brother inlaw Terry - and the absolute loudest roar (Forgive me Chiefs/Seahawks/Guinness) I've ever heard when Dane Iorg knocked in the tying and winning runs in the 9th. Strangers hugging strangers. Hands/palms, before the fist bump was even invented, hurt from all the high 5's.
Game 7. HAD to win - coming from behind in the ALCS, AND coming from behind in the World Series. Two tickets, RIGHT BEHIND home plate, the very last row in the upper deck. I wore a goofy shirt in which I'd drawn the State of Missouri (huge) on the back. Along with (probably sloppily) written words "May the West team win." No outs to go. Did.
Parade. Confetti. I can't wait until next year! Wilson's legs will carry him into his 40's.. Hell, George can DH into the new millennium, and Leo will still be winging BB's for years. Even if later he only hits .250 Frank can glove it well into the 90's. Who needs to invest in a 401K, hell, I'll be alright.
HA!
TWENTY NINE FRIGGIN YEARS! Twenty losing seasons in twenty nine friggin years.
Howser (RIP) only one more year. Then, Mike Ferraro, Billy Gardner, John Wathan, Bob Schaefer, Hal McCrae, Bob Boone, Tony Muser, John Mizerock, Tony Pena, Bob Schaefer again, Buddy Bell, Trey Hillman - and finally NedYo.
The exodus. Kevin Appier. Jermaine Dye. Johnny Damon. Raul Ibanez. David Dejesus. Carlos Beltran. Many others.
Hi, my name is (Lindsay Lohan, Lady Gaga, Mary Kate [and Ashley] Olsen, Usain Bolt, Colin Kaepernick, Tim Tebow, Rihanna, Kevin Durant, Russell Wilson, Jamaal Charles) and I wasn't alive in 1985.
2,310 losses, 5 Presidents, 783 'Ketchup wins', 3,465 Derek Jeter hits, 5,460 Late Shows with David Letterman later - we're back!
We (Lohan, Gaga, Olsens, Bolt, Kaapernick, Tebow, Rihanna, Durant, Wilson, Charles, 467,000 Kansas Citians, hundreds of thousands more throughout the land) just witnessed perhaps the greatest sport's week in the History of Kansas City.
They're fast. They glove it. They've got hair allover, many different "do's". They pitch. Oh do they pitch. They mingle with Joe Citizen. They're charitable. Sure, they can be brash. They fear no one.
Driving down the road today, one of the National Sports Talk shows was talking about the upcoming World Series between the San Francisco Giants and the Kansas City Royals. "OUCH!" (Sorry.. I pinched myself. I heard it, I REALLY HEARD IT!)
My kid, your kid, our kid's kids, we all getta see it. There are no Blue laws on Sunday anymore, in fact, they're selling T-shirts at damn near anyplace that accepts a debit card. The South Korean kid is coming back. My cousin's preschool grandson can recite the entire batting order. There's a buzz. A unification. Strangers hugging strangers.
"OUCH!"... It's real. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Get over it.
Nope. Nada. Sorry. Not.
I love living in the past. Ok, lemme rephrase. I love remembering the past. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Yes, this blog has cobwebs, but one might recall sometimes seeing the lyrics of a song, accompanied by a rather poor attempt at humor. I Googled for about an hour this morning, searching for an adequate, timely song about yesterday/this mindset. Gave up. They all touched on a former relationship - and whilst I've been there, it ain't why I find delight in (occasionally) dwelling in the past. Ok, scratch that. I'm addicted to the past, and scoff if you may, I don't find that such a bad thing.
Fun, smiles, giggles of yesteryear bring grins, happiness, and contentment of today. My/our worlds are a canvas, and it couldn't have been painted any better.
Are things, is life, perfect? Quoting my stepson, "Not no's, but hells no's"... So what Victor? What are you saying? I'm saying today's worries bring my eyes to closure to remember mom's pecan pies. Aunt Ethel's biscuits. Riding my bike to the City Park with my baseball glove on the handlebars. The crack of a bat. The
The worn out base paths in our front yard, and being thankful for parents who cared more about 'this seed', than any damn award-winning perfect lawn.
I remember, and am thankful for, all I learned in the early stages of school - and who nowadays looks at teachers/preteen kids and stops and thinks "they're learning things they'll take with them into the latter stages of their lives."? I do. And I smile, and relate.
I am thankful for friends, and the lesson, to have a friend, you gotta be a friend. After two days of silence, my phone finally received a text message the other day. OH BOY! Who? What? Event planned? "Just saying hi"? A life 'touch'? Will I see the word 'love'? Nuh uh, it was my cell phone provider relating they had just taken out fitty-two bucks to pay my monthly bill. Victor, you gotta be a friend to have a friend. Life reminders.
Yesterday my belly was flat, and I regret never standing, turning sideways, staring at the mirror with "HOLY SHIT! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!".. Ahh, yesterday.
This past weekend, our hometown abound with yesterday. Lined up around the town Square, 'kids' from the classes of 1930-something, to 1970-something. A walk around conjured many a mem... Or course, sometimes shocking to see aging's progression - but you can never take the kid outta one's heart. It was our sock hop with shoes and wrinkles. Our victory homecoming celebration, no matter the fact that tying our shoes has once again become a chore, like in first grade.
Jolt to today, 2014: Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be - There's a shadow hanging over me - Oh, yesterday came suddenly... And I'm so very glad it's there in the back of my brain.. to reflect, remember, enjoy, appreciate, LOVE the blood, sweat and tears.. to one day just let me go naturally. Victor, time out. That's 3 GD (gosh darn) songs in one blog. That's illegal today. Uh huh, sure, but this is about yesterday, sorry. My rules. I vote "get your own damn blog!"
Yesterday includes errors, mishaps, band aids, stitches, plaster casts, broken relationships, loss of loved ones, pets I canardly remember their names now - and all of the 365 times however many sunrises/sunsets we've been fortunate enough to witness.
Dont' think twice it's all right. (VICTOR! I give up!) No, yesterday wasn't perfect. Like I said (OH I hated when heard that!) the fun, smiles, giggles of yesteryear bring/have brought the grins, happiness, and contentment of today. Peace out. May your today bring tomorrow's grin. And if our memories one day dwindle, die out: then it's once again fun, being a kid, learning, Franklin School - here we come again!... Say, can you help me with this shoe?
Love, Victurd.
I love living in the past. Ok, lemme rephrase. I love remembering the past. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Yes, this blog has cobwebs, but one might recall sometimes seeing the lyrics of a song, accompanied by a rather poor attempt at humor. I Googled for about an hour this morning, searching for an adequate, timely song about yesterday/this mindset. Gave up. They all touched on a former relationship - and whilst I've been there, it ain't why I find delight in (occasionally) dwelling in the past. Ok, scratch that. I'm addicted to the past, and scoff if you may, I don't find that such a bad thing.
Fun, smiles, giggles of yesteryear bring grins, happiness, and contentment of today. My/our worlds are a canvas, and it couldn't have been painted any better.
Are things, is life, perfect? Quoting my stepson, "Not no's, but hells no's"... So what Victor? What are you saying? I'm saying today's worries bring my eyes to closure to remember mom's pecan pies. Aunt Ethel's biscuits. Riding my bike to the City Park with my baseball glove on the handlebars. The crack of a bat. The
The worn out base paths in our front yard, and being thankful for parents who cared more about 'this seed', than any damn award-winning perfect lawn.
I remember, and am thankful for, all I learned in the early stages of school - and who nowadays looks at teachers/preteen kids and stops and thinks "they're learning things they'll take with them into the latter stages of their lives."? I do. And I smile, and relate.
I am thankful for friends, and the lesson, to have a friend, you gotta be a friend. After two days of silence, my phone finally received a text message the other day. OH BOY! Who? What? Event planned? "Just saying hi"? A life 'touch'? Will I see the word 'love'? Nuh uh, it was my cell phone provider relating they had just taken out fitty-two bucks to pay my monthly bill. Victor, you gotta be a friend to have a friend. Life reminders.
Yesterday my belly was flat, and I regret never standing, turning sideways, staring at the mirror with "HOLY SHIT! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!".. Ahh, yesterday.
This past weekend, our hometown abound with yesterday. Lined up around the town Square, 'kids' from the classes of 1930-something, to 1970-something. A walk around conjured many a mem... Or course, sometimes shocking to see aging's progression - but you can never take the kid outta one's heart. It was our sock hop with shoes and wrinkles. Our victory homecoming celebration, no matter the fact that tying our shoes has once again become a chore, like in first grade.
Jolt to today, 2014: Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be - There's a shadow hanging over me - Oh, yesterday came suddenly... And I'm so very glad it's there in the back of my brain.. to reflect, remember, enjoy, appreciate, LOVE the blood, sweat and tears.. to one day just let me go naturally. Victor, time out. That's 3 GD (gosh darn) songs in one blog. That's illegal today. Uh huh, sure, but this is about yesterday, sorry. My rules. I vote "get your own damn blog!"
Yesterday includes errors, mishaps, band aids, stitches, plaster casts, broken relationships, loss of loved ones, pets I canardly remember their names now - and all of the 365 times however many sunrises/sunsets we've been fortunate enough to witness.
Dont' think twice it's all right. (VICTOR! I give up!) No, yesterday wasn't perfect. Like I said (OH I hated when heard that!) the fun, smiles, giggles of yesteryear bring/have brought the grins, happiness, and contentment of today. Peace out. May your today bring tomorrow's grin. And if our memories one day dwindle, die out: then it's once again fun, being a kid, learning, Franklin School - here we come again!... Say, can you help me with this shoe?
Love, Victurd.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Aging has made me take notice....
The body, 'she' changes. I had an ole' Chrysler LeBaron.. Sat so low to the ground, getting in and out was an experience in and of itself. In fact, I kinda felt entitled, like I didn't have to go to the gym that day 'cause I'd already had my exercise simply getting behind the wheel and back out. I 'talk' to my body as I 'tumble' in/out, but it hasn't listened, paid attention, behaved for some ten years now. As I bend, twist, gyrate - balance sometimes goes - and I'm forced to simply laugh - like, "oh shit, I hope no one saw that!"..
Same thing with undies. Huh? VICTOR!!!! No, for real, it's never happened to you? You put your right foot in... you raise the left leg, but age doesn't allow you to cooperate and place it inside, so again, the balance goes - and you find yourself hop-hop-hopping the old age hop on one foot (naked) - your hand eventually finds a wall for balance. Not a good "selfie" moment, but - you giggle and realize, age has made me take notice.
You go into a large store, you know, like WalMart, or Piggly Wiggly.. you see sooooo many younger folks, you take it upon yourself to "by god, I'm gonna walk aisle by aisle until I see someone older than me." You eventually end up in the Lawn and Garden department, remember you live in an apartment - and ask yourself "now what in the hell was I looking for?" Age has made me take notice, notice?
You walk around a corner at work, a coworker pops outta nowhere, so you swerve, scrape your arm on a door jam mildly - wake up the next day and you've got a 4" by 6" black and blue thing on your arm that looks like you just left the ring from an MMA battle.
Like a good boy, you attend the optional health screening thing at work. BP, a little blood taken, and finally height, weight, and waist measurement. One, I've shrunk. Two, I weigh more, but "by god, my pants ARE, and always have been, a 36".. "You don't need to measure my waist ma'am, it's been a 36 for eons" I think to myself. But she does anyways.. "HEY WAIT! YOU'RE MEASURING AROUND MY BELLY BUTTON, NOT MY WAIST" I yell, to myself. "Ok, 41" sir." CRAP!.. Age has made me take notice.
To Do lists, Pocket organizers, IPad reminders, have been reduced to "Eh, I'll do that tomorrow." One of the nicer things about old age, choice of what one does. I call it the (close your ears) "I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks, when I do (or don't) get it done - my pace." Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week - borrowing from Frank, "I did it my way."
Flatulence happens. OUTTA NOWHERE! Walking across the room at work (on this the fourth trip to the john this morning) and flatulence (audible to 6 nearby coworkers) happens. You giggle. Scrape your heel on the tile in hopes of fooling coworkers, continue on, and realize, age has made me take notice.
Inchlong eyebrow hairs. Half inch hairs protruding from your ear lobe. I HATE GOOD LIGHTING! Embarrassed, you clip, pull, giggle, and realize, age has made me take notice.
Watching friends, loved ones in health battles - at least ONE area of my life I've cleaned up. I eat better, wiser. But, mebbe once a week, I cheat. A Snicker's bar, yum. That all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet @ HyVee - HEY, it takes awhile to read the Sunday paper, I might as well be busy eh? It kinda feels like I'm getting away with something.. Like driving to an 18 bar in HS, or mebbe skipping 7th hour and not getting caught. Age, has made me juvenile in some ways. I've taken notice of that, and I really don't care what anyone thinks.
I've sat in this chair, continuously now, for some two-plus hours. A pile of laundry, an unmade bed, and an empty fridge stare at me. I'll get to it. Later. Maybe. Sometime.
Aging fortunately doesn't tell the brain to 'think old'. Aging adamantly tells one, "by god, I can still do that." He/she said I was too old to do/for that? HA! Watch me! Other day, up popped a picture of that new waterslide in town, THE tallest one in the world. I argued internally as to whether or not I would/wouldn't go for it. Long about that time, a gal three years older than me in HS wrote "Count me in!" I love aging, kinda, often, mostly, sometimes.
I've got to go now. (Victor, you've already peed five times and it's not even nine am.) I know, aging has made me take notice. No, I really HAVE to go. "Cause I think I'm gonna sit here a couple more hours in front of the computer and do nothing. Pretty important stuff (choosing) when you're old.
May you all have old age, giggle moments. Better to have them now than to withhold them, and find yourself one day be looking up at sod, thinking "I shoulda laughed at myself more."
With flatulence, brownspots, protruding hairs,
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Fathers.......
Stick an 'r' in there, and the definition goes farther. Yes, on this day we stop and think of our own fathers - and of course, I'm in that boat.
One paragraph (only), I promise:
My father was happy. Lived, without knowing so, as an example. Found humor where others might fret. A knack for making those around him feel comfortable. A tag team parent whose philosophy was "Well, if you wanted to do it, and we could afford it, and it wasn't hurtful to you - we were amenable." Always drove 5-10 miles under the speed limit (sister and I would clap if he ever passed a car on the ole' two lane highways), loved cooking, singing, and an occasional Budweiser. Loved acting, and continued that role in real life. Could/would tell a ten minute story, leaving you wondering "where is this going/is he making this up", glued to him, knowing full well he'd "gotten you" before - eventually closing with a long premeditated one sentence punchline - that on more than one occasion brought laughter, along with a sometime a "Oh sh%, Bud!", a smirk, and a look of wonderment.. (Got me again!) I miss him, and in a way (hopefully), he lives within.
Other fathers. As a kid, young adult, coworker, friend, teacher, coach, umpire/referee - I've been very fortunate to observe many wonderful fathers (And certain you feel this as well.) There is nothing like the father/daughter bond - witnessed by the many Father/Daughter Wedding dances posted on the internet. Proud. Father/Son, a game of catch, fishing, changing the plugs on an old Chevy, lessons of discipline, respect - and by example the right way to treat a woman.
"Our" era, the tail end of the mom at home, dad at work thing. Perhaps we took mom for granted - for attention always turned to pop when he eventually came home.
I love the pictures, remembrances, kind things people display - about their fathers. I love the way girls/women, say "Daddy" with the such affection. Daddies become grandpas, and allofasudden, relive. Had an uncle whom I never saw without him holding one of his granddaughters in his arms. The bond is passed on a generation.
Moms as dads. Along the way, I've witnessed all too many children having their father absent from the picture. Most, with little or no child support - '"fought the battle" admirably, and wonderfully picked up the slack in being both mom/dad, as well as breadwinner.
Too, grandkids without dads (and moms).. Being 61, I CANNOT imagine raising children, but witnessed many a grandparent who does/has - and without chagrin. Many different reasons, abandonment, death, immaturity....I have friends who were raised by their grandparents - and somehow their love is extra special between.
Non-blood 'fathers'. Teacher, coaches, bosses, clergymen, friend's fathers, neighbors, etc. People who have taken an interest in a child/youth's development - setting father-like examples along the way. You hear it often, "he was like a father to me."
While "Father's Day" is specific (and truly is), it's also much broader. Farther.
I am gonna go lay down for 15, 20 minutes - close my eyes..reflect.. and think, of course, about my own father.. but too about moms that were/are 'dads'.. grandpas (and grandmas) who unselfishly raised/are raising.. and the many father figures that have touched me in life's passings.
Happy Farther's Day. Love, Victurd.
One paragraph (only), I promise:
My father was happy. Lived, without knowing so, as an example. Found humor where others might fret. A knack for making those around him feel comfortable. A tag team parent whose philosophy was "Well, if you wanted to do it, and we could afford it, and it wasn't hurtful to you - we were amenable." Always drove 5-10 miles under the speed limit (sister and I would clap if he ever passed a car on the ole' two lane highways), loved cooking, singing, and an occasional Budweiser. Loved acting, and continued that role in real life. Could/would tell a ten minute story, leaving you wondering "where is this going/is he making this up", glued to him, knowing full well he'd "gotten you" before - eventually closing with a long premeditated one sentence punchline - that on more than one occasion brought laughter, along with a sometime a "Oh sh%, Bud!", a smirk, and a look of wonderment.. (Got me again!) I miss him, and in a way (hopefully), he lives within.
Other fathers. As a kid, young adult, coworker, friend, teacher, coach, umpire/referee - I've been very fortunate to observe many wonderful fathers (And certain you feel this as well.) There is nothing like the father/daughter bond - witnessed by the many Father/Daughter Wedding dances posted on the internet. Proud. Father/Son, a game of catch, fishing, changing the plugs on an old Chevy, lessons of discipline, respect - and by example the right way to treat a woman.
"Our" era, the tail end of the mom at home, dad at work thing. Perhaps we took mom for granted - for attention always turned to pop when he eventually came home.
I love the pictures, remembrances, kind things people display - about their fathers. I love the way girls/women, say "Daddy" with the such affection. Daddies become grandpas, and allofasudden, relive. Had an uncle whom I never saw without him holding one of his granddaughters in his arms. The bond is passed on a generation.
Moms as dads. Along the way, I've witnessed all too many children having their father absent from the picture. Most, with little or no child support - '"fought the battle" admirably, and wonderfully picked up the slack in being both mom/dad, as well as breadwinner.
Too, grandkids without dads (and moms).. Being 61, I CANNOT imagine raising children, but witnessed many a grandparent who does/has - and without chagrin. Many different reasons, abandonment, death, immaturity....I have friends who were raised by their grandparents - and somehow their love is extra special between.
Non-blood 'fathers'. Teacher, coaches, bosses, clergymen, friend's fathers, neighbors, etc. People who have taken an interest in a child/youth's development - setting father-like examples along the way. You hear it often, "he was like a father to me."
While "Father's Day" is specific (and truly is), it's also much broader. Farther.
I am gonna go lay down for 15, 20 minutes - close my eyes..reflect.. and think, of course, about my own father.. but too about moms that were/are 'dads'.. grandpas (and grandmas) who unselfishly raised/are raising.. and the many father figures that have touched me in life's passings.
Happy Farther's Day. Love, Victurd.
Sunday, June 08, 2014
A fair day.....
I'm weird. I love words. Fair is a wonderful, diverse word.
We want educators, law enforcement, judges, politicians (ha!), parents, playmates, umpires/refs, to be fair. 3 year old granddaughter, heard it enough that (when playing with her one year old brother) bestows "Play fair!"...
We buy presents at Christmas time. Gotta make sure, to buy/spend equal amount on those we love. Two grandbabies, GOTS be fair. I go buy, lay them all out on the bed, decide "nope, he/she needs one more", go, buy one more. Now: fair.
We ride the Ferris wheel, eat funnel cakes, have livestock competition, rodeos, at the Fair.
We argue fair or foul. Now, it's decided electronically if protested. Hopefully, the dudes in NY that review - have larger TV's than the 5 inch monitor the football ref peeks his head into under that tarped tripod. That would only be fair. Or foul.
Forecast: fair, partly cloudy.
Fair grades. That was me! Mediocre sure, but fair! Gaining my undergraduate degree was probably the best six years of my life! Seeing these kids nowadays, athletes graduating in three years, Seniors in HS going to college already having 18 credit hours under their belt, holy guacamole!
California Chrome. More than a fair amount of publicity. A feel good story, horse didn't cost that much, trainer, 77 years old, first Derby horse.. two scintillating wins.. Belmont, final leg of the Triple Crown, not so much. Ran a good race, but not even in the money. Moments after, co-owner complained/lamented "NOT FAIR!". "Our horse ran all three races.. the winner rested two.. they're teaming up against us!".. Kinda dampered the feel good. Not fair, but happened.
Being a redhead, fair-skinned. I don't get tan, I get additional freckles. Not fair, but I'm fair, skinned.
Fair and equitable, divorce settlement. Some, in disagreement, go on, and on, and on, and on, and on... which, lends one to eventually think: hey, maybe it WAS fair.
Jury duty. Car wreck. Guy was speeding, at fault. Injuries. Fair and equitable amount due. How to decide? Twelve of us (I think it was.) All agreed "he owes", but how to obtain a fair amount? Scratch an amount on a piece of paper, throw out the high and the low, take the average. Fair? Dunno, but that's what we did.
Illness. Not fair. Bias, huh uh. Age, color, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, size, looks, dress - all 'judged'. Not fair.
Article in paper this morning. Young man out on the Lake, taken into patrol boat for liquor violation, handcuffed behind the back, lifejacket thrown over his head. Of course, still under investigation, not incriminating here. He fell overboard, drowned. Not fair. There is no fair compensation for death.
Another article about ALS, the Lou Gehrig disease. Not fair, but Lou, tragically en route to death, in a ceremony honoring him, harkened "today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." The article related the heartfelt relationships of ALS victims, and KC area sport's legends. Chief's General Manager John Dorsey and his mother, Tom Watson and his caddy, George Brett and his best friend. ALS is not fair, but they all persistently work to raise funds, find a cure.
In discussing the unfairness of this disease (and terminal illness in general) - George Brett related he once asked Dan Quisenberry "Don't you ever stop and and ask 'why me?'. Quiz answered, "No.... why NOT me?".... Wow.
Buck O'Neil, a very, very good "Negro Leagues" baseball player was denied entry into the Major Leagues due to his color. By the time Jackie Robinson played, Buck was past his playing prime, but did later become the first African American coach. When asked if he was bitter, shoulda happened earlier. Not fair. Buck replied "I was right on time." Another wow.
Fair (the word) is beautiful, ginger, just, impartial, sunny,
Fair time to stop, written enough. Happy day, love, Victurd.
We want educators, law enforcement, judges, politicians (ha!), parents, playmates, umpires/refs, to be fair. 3 year old granddaughter, heard it enough that (when playing with her one year old brother) bestows "Play fair!"...
We buy presents at Christmas time. Gotta make sure, to buy/spend equal amount on those we love. Two grandbabies, GOTS be fair. I go buy, lay them all out on the bed, decide "nope, he/she needs one more", go, buy one more. Now: fair.
We ride the Ferris wheel, eat funnel cakes, have livestock competition, rodeos, at the Fair.
We argue fair or foul. Now, it's decided electronically if protested. Hopefully, the dudes in NY that review - have larger TV's than the 5 inch monitor the football ref peeks his head into under that tarped tripod. That would only be fair. Or foul.
Forecast: fair, partly cloudy.
Fair grades. That was me! Mediocre sure, but fair! Gaining my undergraduate degree was probably the best six years of my life! Seeing these kids nowadays, athletes graduating in three years, Seniors in HS going to college already having 18 credit hours under their belt, holy guacamole!
California Chrome. More than a fair amount of publicity. A feel good story, horse didn't cost that much, trainer, 77 years old, first Derby horse.. two scintillating wins.. Belmont, final leg of the Triple Crown, not so much. Ran a good race, but not even in the money. Moments after, co-owner complained/lamented "NOT FAIR!". "Our horse ran all three races.. the winner rested two.. they're teaming up against us!".. Kinda dampered the feel good. Not fair, but happened.
Being a redhead, fair-skinned. I don't get tan, I get additional freckles. Not fair, but I'm fair, skinned.
Fair and equitable, divorce settlement. Some, in disagreement, go on, and on, and on, and on, and on... which, lends one to eventually think: hey, maybe it WAS fair.
Jury duty. Car wreck. Guy was speeding, at fault. Injuries. Fair and equitable amount due. How to decide? Twelve of us (I think it was.) All agreed "he owes", but how to obtain a fair amount? Scratch an amount on a piece of paper, throw out the high and the low, take the average. Fair? Dunno, but that's what we did.
Illness. Not fair. Bias, huh uh. Age, color, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, size, looks, dress - all 'judged'. Not fair.
Article in paper this morning. Young man out on the Lake, taken into patrol boat for liquor violation, handcuffed behind the back, lifejacket thrown over his head. Of course, still under investigation, not incriminating here. He fell overboard, drowned. Not fair. There is no fair compensation for death.
Another article about ALS, the Lou Gehrig disease. Not fair, but Lou, tragically en route to death, in a ceremony honoring him, harkened "today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." The article related the heartfelt relationships of ALS victims, and KC area sport's legends. Chief's General Manager John Dorsey and his mother, Tom Watson and his caddy, George Brett and his best friend. ALS is not fair, but they all persistently work to raise funds, find a cure.
In discussing the unfairness of this disease (and terminal illness in general) - George Brett related he once asked Dan Quisenberry "Don't you ever stop and and ask 'why me?'. Quiz answered, "No.... why NOT me?".... Wow.
Buck O'Neil, a very, very good "Negro Leagues" baseball player was denied entry into the Major Leagues due to his color. By the time Jackie Robinson played, Buck was past his playing prime, but did later become the first African American coach. When asked if he was bitter, shoulda happened earlier. Not fair. Buck replied "I was right on time." Another wow.
Fair (the word) is beautiful, ginger, just, impartial, sunny,
Fair time to stop, written enough. Happy day, love, Victurd.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Tape......
A few months back, I'd thrown lawnchairs behind the backseat in my ole' 95' Lebaron convertible so the grandbabies would have a place to sit. After dropping them off - the weather was el gorgeous, so I put the top down.... Crunch. Lawnchair tried (and did) come thru the back window - shattering it into a kajillion pieces. A $300 boo boo.
Heavy plastic and tape worked....... for a short. I made lig
Car shopping. "Upgraded" to an ole' '99 Grand Marquis - hey, don't laugh, it came complete with a cassette tape player, one of those trunk/alarm/auto-lock thingies (Even though moments happened like when I walked out of the Piggly Wiggly and my trunk was up for no fathomable reason.) - and a numerical 'combination code' to gain entry - setup with the feller's birthday date from 1920. Cool.
This blog is checkenginelight for a reason. I think back to Bill Hallisey's (wonderful man) "Used and Abused" junk store - and that's kinda been the story of my car history, as well as other/all facets of life... house looking great, furnace goes out... job awesome, fly anywhere for $6, company goes bankrupt.. married to the prettiest lady in town, oops, there she went.
Pity? Hardly. I've loved my life, the path. Just when the moment comes to start acting all cocky, reality sets one back in place. Anyways, you get the drift.. I think.
Tape. Long about 100 miles into traversing around town in my "damn this thing is big, I've already run over two curbs turning right" car, I noticed some black electrical tape to the left of the speedometer. Seems the 'checkenginelight' was consistently on, and figure the old dude covered it with the black tape so it wouldn't bug him driving at night. This/my age, completely understand - and appreciate.
Correction tape, somewhat passé', but I still occasionally use it for errors when faxing docs at work. Backspacing is the 'new' tape. Duct tape/bailing wire. All the King's horses and all the King's men.....
Some things, tape doesn't work on. Won't bring a bullet back. Won't make words flown out of the mouth inaudible. A Facebook post can be deleted - but certain there are similar addicts as I who've surely read - cannot be taped over.
Victor, you're rambling again, tape your mouth shut. HAHA, and nanny nanny boo boo, it's my fingers 'talking'! OK, well then is there a moral to all this cockamamie writing?
I suppose. We all have 'tape moments'. They frustrate us. Remind us of life's imperfections. Our imperfections. And that we're human. (Victor, you can't start a sentence with "and".) And errors (will) happen.
We (all, I think) beat ourselves up occasionally when words have flown out and we wished we had had (geez Louise) tape over our mouth. Actions, behaviors, events happen often in life, and there is no correctable tape that can heal.
Duct. Scotch. Gorilla.. Worm (eww). Cassette. Video. Correction. When the story of our lives is taped together - about the only workable response is to laugh - admire the water that's gone under the bridge - and prepare to enjoy the current ahead.
No clever tape saying to end this. (Victor, who ever said your endings were clever?) Right you are alter ego. I could have backspaced you out, but you keep me in line - as do
Heavy plastic and tape worked....... for a short. I made lig
Car shopping. "Upgraded" to an ole' '99 Grand Marquis - hey, don't laugh, it came complete with a cassette tape player, one of those trunk/alarm/auto-lock thingies (Even though moments happened like when I walked out of the Piggly Wiggly and my trunk was up for no fathomable reason.) - and a numerical 'combination code' to gain entry - setup with the feller's birthday date from 1920. Cool.
This blog is checkenginelight for a reason. I think back to Bill Hallisey's (wonderful man) "Used and Abused" junk store - and that's kinda been the story of my car history, as well as other/all facets of life... house looking great, furnace goes out... job awesome, fly anywhere for $6, company goes bankrupt.. married to the prettiest lady in town, oops, there she went.
Pity? Hardly. I've loved my life, the path. Just when the moment comes to start acting all cocky, reality sets one back in place. Anyways, you get the drift.. I think.
Tape. Long about 100 miles into traversing around town in my "damn this thing is big, I've already run over two curbs turning right" car, I noticed some black electrical tape to the left of the speedometer. Seems the 'checkenginelight' was consistently on, and figure the old dude covered it with the black tape so it wouldn't bug him driving at night. This/my age, completely understand - and appreciate.
Correction tape, somewhat passé', but I still occasionally use it for errors when faxing docs at work. Backspacing is the 'new' tape. Duct tape/bailing wire. All the King's horses and all the King's men.....
Some things, tape doesn't work on. Won't bring a bullet back. Won't make words flown out of the mouth inaudible. A Facebook post can be deleted - but certain there are similar addicts as I who've surely read - cannot be taped over.
Victor, you're rambling again, tape your mouth shut. HAHA, and nanny nanny boo boo, it's my fingers 'talking'! OK, well then is there a moral to all this cockamamie writing?
I suppose. We all have 'tape moments'. They frustrate us. Remind us of life's imperfections. Our imperfections. And that we're human. (Victor, you can't start a sentence with "and".) And errors (will) happen.
We (all, I think) beat ourselves up occasionally when words have flown out and we wished we had had (geez Louise) tape over our mouth. Actions, behaviors, events happen often in life, and there is no correctable tape that can heal.
Duct. Scotch. Gorilla.. Worm (eww). Cassette. Video. Correction. When the story of our lives is taped together - about the only workable response is to laugh - admire the water that's gone under the bridge - and prepare to enjoy the current ahead.
No clever tape saying to end this. (Victor, who ever said your endings were clever?) Right you are alter ego. I could have backspaced you out, but you keep me in line - as do
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Living.... not dying... Your grade?
Someone posted a very interesting article written by someone who worked very closely with folks who were dying. There was a 'title' for her position - but now I can't find it.
Anyways, there were 5 common threads/regrets that ran true in those she cared for:
1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
You? Selfishly, I think I now do this since I'm divorced. There is less sacrifice in being single - but, it certainly (to me anyways) doesn't outweigh being in a relationship. I've always been kind of a rebel - sometimes I do things I regret - but happy to say, for the most part I could care less of people's expectations of me/my behavior (family excluded).
2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
You? I bitch/moan, but I love working. My job is very seasonal, and in the summer I never get both days of the weekend off. I do regret that, but, the corner to retirement is ahead - and I dream of mowing grass on a golf course in exchange for allowing me to shoot my normal 107 (for free). I saw something once that said "Have work at fun", and that's a model I try to remember/live by. I write all this crap about me, but, it's for anyone - these questions. The article maybe teaches us to wake up before we go to sleep.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
B- here. I've heard of families that never utter the "L word". I find that sad. The older I get, the easier this (expressing my feelings) is to me. Expressing feelings is like making footprints in the sand of life. How boring if the sand were perfect after we walk on it. Sometimes I get myself in trouble here - but I really mouth off (or back at) whenever I observe holier-than-thou behavior. I wake up in the morning, look at Facebook and think "Oh man, did I really write that?" - yes, is the answer, perhaps I should be embarrassed - but better thought a fool I guess than someone thinking "all that's up there is cobwebs."
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
C- here. Longtime townie friends, yes.. past coworkers, college chums, sometimes even family - could very much do better. You?
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
I'm an A- on the outside, and perhaps a C-, D+ on the inside. I, like many I'm sure, beat myself up a bit. Thankfully, aging helps reverse this process. So, if you're a pup, reading this - relax. Like yourself. You are the most important person in your life.
I've not thought a lot about death. You? Oh, I've considered getting a size 10 type tattoo "somewhere down there" that says "morticians suck" - eh, why not go down makin' 'em laugh? Cremation, ashes scattered about at the City Park in Liberty.
I do look at my grandchildren and try to predict how long I'll get to see them. Helps (me anyways) keep things in perspective. Living is like whittling, kinda. We certainly have those "oh shit" moments we can never take back - but then again, hopefully along the way we've created something others will like.
Do you ever stop along the path and consider these five things? Do you literally act upon them? Kudos to you if so. They're pretty deep, but life is as well.
Our high school graduating class recently lost three fine people in a month - and it does make one stop and think. Reading the 5 things above - is kinda like a 401K. "Man, I wished I woulda started all that at age 20" - but - starting at any age is a very good thing.
What/who are you gonna be before you die?
Love, Victurd
Anyways, there were 5 common threads/regrets that ran true in those she cared for:
1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
You? Selfishly, I think I now do this since I'm divorced. There is less sacrifice in being single - but, it certainly (to me anyways) doesn't outweigh being in a relationship. I've always been kind of a rebel - sometimes I do things I regret - but happy to say, for the most part I could care less of people's expectations of me/my behavior (family excluded).
2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
You? I bitch/moan, but I love working. My job is very seasonal, and in the summer I never get both days of the weekend off. I do regret that, but, the corner to retirement is ahead - and I dream of mowing grass on a golf course in exchange for allowing me to shoot my normal 107 (for free). I saw something once that said "Have work at fun", and that's a model I try to remember/live by. I write all this crap about me, but, it's for anyone - these questions. The article maybe teaches us to wake up before we go to sleep.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
B- here. I've heard of families that never utter the "L word". I find that sad. The older I get, the easier this (expressing my feelings) is to me. Expressing feelings is like making footprints in the sand of life. How boring if the sand were perfect after we walk on it. Sometimes I get myself in trouble here - but I really mouth off (or back at) whenever I observe holier-than-thou behavior. I wake up in the morning, look at Facebook and think "Oh man, did I really write that?" - yes, is the answer, perhaps I should be embarrassed - but better thought a fool I guess than someone thinking "all that's up there is cobwebs."
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
C- here. Longtime townie friends, yes.. past coworkers, college chums, sometimes even family - could very much do better. You?
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
I'm an A- on the outside, and perhaps a C-, D+ on the inside. I, like many I'm sure, beat myself up a bit. Thankfully, aging helps reverse this process. So, if you're a pup, reading this - relax. Like yourself. You are the most important person in your life.
I've not thought a lot about death. You? Oh, I've considered getting a size 10 type tattoo "somewhere down there" that says "morticians suck" - eh, why not go down makin' 'em laugh? Cremation, ashes scattered about at the City Park in Liberty.
I do look at my grandchildren and try to predict how long I'll get to see them. Helps (me anyways) keep things in perspective. Living is like whittling, kinda. We certainly have those "oh shit" moments we can never take back - but then again, hopefully along the way we've created something others will like.
Do you ever stop along the path and consider these five things? Do you literally act upon them? Kudos to you if so. They're pretty deep, but life is as well.
Our high school graduating class recently lost three fine people in a month - and it does make one stop and think. Reading the 5 things above - is kinda like a 401K. "Man, I wished I woulda started all that at age 20" - but - starting at any age is a very good thing.
What/who are you gonna be before you die?
Love, Victurd
Sunday, May 04, 2014
Instructions..
First thing that comes to mind: printed matter within a box of a new toy, gadget, table, chair, swing set, virtually anything that's reasonably big - broken down, stuffed into a box like a size 38 waist in a pair of size 34 jeans.
Parts. All kindsa parts. Labeled. Mebbe even in separate baggies. The hardheaded among us, "I don't need no stinking instructions" - rush off to assemble - and soon, the rectangular table looks more triangular, simply because we've screwed 'B" into "D" - insteada following the instructions.
As a child, instructions abound. Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Of course - school, our teachers - their instructions. Cub Scouts, Brownies, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Swim lessons, Little League, Karate' - instructions. For most, life is easy - 'assemble' it one step at a time.
Non-conformists no likey instructions. Seems they take two paths: prison, or brilliance. Us other wet-behind-the-ears, mostly instruction abiding folks manage along the way until schooling ends, and the real world hits.
So, insteada having a teacher, we pick a mate. Two heads are better than one eh? For many, this goes well - and lasts long into life until we reach the stage we forget every damn thing we've ever been instructed on.
Some, in the two-heads-are-better setup, soon learn that one thrives in being the instructor - ultimately giving hives to the instructee. Divorce happens, and once again back to square one with no instructions.
The world is wondrous in that, justabout the time one figures out how to be 20 (or 30, 40, 50, 60, etc) - 30 (or 40, 50, 60, etc) happens. We are poor little lambs who have lost our way, baa, baa, baa.
There are no instructions for divorce. Illness. Depression. Obesity. Unemployed. Underemployed. Being disabled. Even for being quite healthy and alone. Even GPS ain't perfect. Sometimes we even cuss at Google "NO, NO, NO - that's NOT what I want!"
Friends help. Family helps. Smiles help. Happy helps. Experience helps, but then again you run into the 30-turning-40, 40-turning-50, yada thing again.
Saw an email the other day outlining stages: Age 4, not peeing your pants. Age 12, having friends Age 16, driver's license. Age 20, having sex. Age 30, money. Age 50, money. Age 60, being able to have sex. Age 70, having friends. Age 75, having your license. Age 80, not peeing in your pants. It's all one big cycle - with no printed matter to help us along the way.
Follow the yellow brick road. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. DIY. Drink more Ovaltine. You put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up. "Get more exercise, and watch your diet." Uh huh, sure. Thanks doc.
Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign.
(Except for when it comes to knowing how to live. All these 'parts.' No labels. No baggies filled with stepping stones for the path. No longer even the two-heads-are-better-than-one except for the one who doesn't agree with that.)
We're little black sheep who have gone astray, baa, baa, baa.
Stayed here too long, gotta run, sorry. "Siri, take me to __________, zip 64068" "Unable to find destination." Shit. Baa, baa, baa. Love, Victurd.
Parts. All kindsa parts. Labeled. Mebbe even in separate baggies. The hardheaded among us, "I don't need no stinking instructions" - rush off to assemble - and soon, the rectangular table looks more triangular, simply because we've screwed 'B" into "D" - insteada following the instructions.
As a child, instructions abound. Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Of course - school, our teachers - their instructions. Cub Scouts, Brownies, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Swim lessons, Little League, Karate' - instructions. For most, life is easy - 'assemble' it one step at a time.
Non-conformists no likey instructions. Seems they take two paths: prison, or brilliance. Us other wet-behind-the-ears, mostly instruction abiding folks manage along the way until schooling ends, and the real world hits.
So, insteada having a teacher, we pick a mate. Two heads are better than one eh? For many, this goes well - and lasts long into life until we reach the stage we forget every damn thing we've ever been instructed on.
Some, in the two-heads-are-better setup, soon learn that one thrives in being the instructor - ultimately giving hives to the instructee. Divorce happens, and once again back to square one with no instructions.
The world is wondrous in that, justabout the time one figures out how to be 20 (or 30, 40, 50, 60, etc) - 30 (or 40, 50, 60, etc) happens. We are poor little lambs who have lost our way, baa, baa, baa.
There are no instructions for divorce. Illness. Depression. Obesity. Unemployed. Underemployed. Being disabled. Even for being quite healthy and alone. Even GPS ain't perfect. Sometimes we even cuss at Google "NO, NO, NO - that's NOT what I want!"
Friends help. Family helps. Smiles help. Happy helps. Experience helps, but then again you run into the 30-turning-40, 40-turning-50, yada thing again.
Saw an email the other day outlining stages: Age 4, not peeing your pants. Age 12, having friends Age 16, driver's license. Age 20, having sex. Age 30, money. Age 50, money. Age 60, being able to have sex. Age 70, having friends. Age 75, having your license. Age 80, not peeing in your pants. It's all one big cycle - with no printed matter to help us along the way.
Follow the yellow brick road. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. DIY. Drink more Ovaltine. You put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up. "Get more exercise, and watch your diet." Uh huh, sure. Thanks doc.
Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign.
(Except for when it comes to knowing how to live. All these 'parts.' No labels. No baggies filled with stepping stones for the path. No longer even the two-heads-are-better-than-one except for the one who doesn't agree with that.)
We're little black sheep who have gone astray, baa, baa, baa.
Stayed here too long, gotta run, sorry. "Siri, take me to __________, zip 64068" "Unable to find destination." Shit. Baa, baa, baa. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, May 03, 2014
Christmas? In MAY?
Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Uh huh, whatever the season is. (Enter that "Happy" viral song here).. Deck-orate with
whateverinthehell the seasonal aisle @ WallyWorld says it is.
Don we now our gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Gay = happy, and who cares if it's the other, to each their own. Sing @ the festival - no matter the season. Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra.
See the blazing Yule before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the harp and join the chorus.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Bonfire. Fire pit. Friends gathered, encircled. Can't sing? By all means, join the crowd. Take a selfie.. or a vid... have your own flashmob. Crank the music in the car, singalong (loud) and pretend you're on the stage at Starlight - and - they LOVE you/ (Particularly effective at stoplights with windows rolled down.) "DID YOU SEE/HEAR THAT DUDE? He HAD to be 70!"
Follow me in merry measure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
While I tell of Yule tide treasure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Follow, join, lead. Measure = predetermined. I likes that. A method to one's happiness. Treasure - all around. Youth, old, in between. Pricey things, simple things, treasured things.
Whether weather, dark, light, cloudy/grey, blue/puffy, hot/dry/wet/frigid, rainbows, rivers, winds in the trees, happy in the breeze, new places/unknown, old/familiar places - faces..
Fast away the old year passes,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Hail the new, ye lads and lasses,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Uh huh, goes fast. Wrinkles, brown spots, "oh hell, WHERE'S THE BATHROOM" happens. Lemme see, if I retire at 62 I'll make this much (but won't have health insurance, crap).. 65, this much (more).. and 66, even this much more. The yearn for "Take this job and shove it" turns to "Seeya on Monday" ("damnit" under our breaths)
NEW (year) AND NEW lads/lasses. Ahhhhhhhh, the best. In them, we see us, and those before us - with all new features, personalities, spunk. When the need/want for G
Sing we joyous, all together,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Heedless of the wind and weather,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Choose whatever one desires. I like happy, light - no matter the damn weather, partnered/non-partnered, bank balance/lacka bank balance. Uplift (no, not that kind Kim Novak).. Gotta frown? Stand on your head. Worry wart? Glass'a wine instead.
Relax. Enjoy. Breathe deep. Make notes/'videos' with your eyes. Have fun.
Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra..... Love, Victurd.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Uh huh, whatever the season is. (Enter that "Happy" viral song here).. Deck-orate with
whateverinthehell the seasonal aisle @ WallyWorld says it is.
Don we now our gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Gay = happy, and who cares if it's the other, to each their own. Sing @ the festival - no matter the season. Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra.
See the blazing Yule before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the harp and join the chorus.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Bonfire. Fire pit. Friends gathered, encircled. Can't sing? By all means, join the crowd. Take a selfie.. or a vid... have your own flashmob. Crank the music in the car, singalong (loud) and pretend you're on the stage at Starlight - and - they LOVE you/ (Particularly effective at stoplights with windows rolled down.) "DID YOU SEE/HEAR THAT DUDE? He HAD to be 70!"
Follow me in merry measure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
While I tell of Yule tide treasure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Follow, join, lead. Measure = predetermined. I likes that. A method to one's happiness. Treasure - all around. Youth, old, in between. Pricey things, simple things, treasured things.
Whether weather, dark, light, cloudy/grey, blue/puffy, hot/dry/wet/frigid, rainbows, rivers, winds in the trees, happy in the breeze, new places/unknown, old/familiar places - faces..
Fast away the old year passes,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Hail the new, ye lads and lasses,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Uh huh, goes fast. Wrinkles, brown spots, "oh hell, WHERE'S THE BATHROOM" happens. Lemme see, if I retire at 62 I'll make this much (but won't have health insurance, crap).. 65, this much (more).. and 66, even this much more. The yearn for "Take this job and shove it" turns to "Seeya on Monday" ("damnit" under our breaths)
NEW (year) AND NEW lads/lasses. Ahhhhhhhh, the best. In them, we see us, and those before us - with all new features, personalities, spunk. When the need/want for G
Sing we joyous, all together,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Heedless of the wind and weather,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Choose whatever one desires. I like happy, light - no matter the damn weather, partnered/non-partnered, bank balance/lacka bank balance. Uplift (no, not that kind Kim Novak).. Gotta frown? Stand on your head. Worry wart? Glass'a wine instead.
Relax. Enjoy. Breathe deep. Make notes/'videos' with your eyes. Have fun.
Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra..... Love, Victurd.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Hazey....
In our youth - we all seemingly had that fixture of security to latch onto. My granddaughter has "Hazey" - a purple-ish pillow pet that must be in attendance on car rides, walks, TV watching, and of course, bed/naptime. Among the first distinguishable phrases, "wher Hazey?"....
I ain't afraid to announce, I had "Teddy." A simple, brown teddy bear - who, over the years saw his fluff worn off from his chin to his arms by my arm constantly encircling him. Seams ultimately worked their way open - stitched/restuffed time and again by mom.
Linus had his blanket - and he found more uses for it than a Swiss Army knife. His comfort.
Transitional objects. From the belly, to the breast - to blankey. Police, ambulances, carry stuffed toys to provide comfort for children involved in accidents.
One day, aging, adulthood, independence happens. The precious inanimate objects are safely tucked away, fondly to be remembered - and replaced by siblings, friends, and even one day perhaps - loved ones, ie - mates.
Many make it through a lifetime having these forever bonds, all-time comforts, and they live happily ever after.
Some... don't. Some lose loved ones, friends, comfort 'objects' for various reasons. Location. Loss of life. Divorce. Disagreement. Difference.
Some, even in/with the company of loved ones - get lost along the way as well. The perception from afar seems right/well - but struggle happens within.
Hazey, Teddy, the blanket - are often misguidedly replaced by addiction, depression, a feeling of worthlessness - and abandonment of the idea/want of/hope for normalcy/good/happy/security. We/some replace our comfort object with facades like alcohol, drug, food, seclusion - all with perceived good intent, all with the result of disparity.
There was a cool thing posted recently about 'special glasses'. Shows a guy pulling out of his driveway, almost runs over a kid on his bike - frustrated... goes to coffee shop, lady pulls in his parking space (grrrr)... once inside, waits, and waits, and waits for his turn. Unbearable. Always thinking 'me, me, me." Selfishness.
Given the magic glasses to put on - he revisits those situations. "Labels" of life appear on those around. "Just lost her spouse." And another "contemplating suicide". And "Figthing addiction." I don't remember them all - but the message was basically "ya just never know." The video ends with the guy returning to his driveway - the child is there again, along with the label "just want someone to care." He rethinks. A game of catch happens, and life is once again good/changed.
To me, for me (welcome to hitchhike): always remember struggle happens, for everyone. Even within those who 'for a lifetime' have the company of their 'comfort object.' There's no room for harsh. There's no place to be a drain (be a fountain.) Choose positive. Think positive. Attitude, alone, can be a huge comfort object.
There's more to the definition of "the beaten path" than scores of footprints. It's a journey, a trial, a tribulation daily, hourly, minute by minute.
Another friend recently posted something along the line of "I have a friend who I think is having a pretty rough time, but he/she hasn't said anything to me, should I do anything?" By all means, yes. When two lean on each other, they walk upright. Remember the last time someone said something to you that kinda took you back, marveled you, made you think "wow, that person really cares about me."? Me too. It's impactive. It's uplifting. It's a rush, a feel good, a comfort object. Let's be that person.
People are really remarkable. Even you, me.
With love, Hazey, Teddy, the blanket, and Victurd.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
One of the best times I've ever had, was on the patio of a restaurant - good friends, sitting around. We knew each other, the basics - where we worked, who our mates were/weren't/usedta be, the car we drove, where we grew up, the basic chumminess of fairly frequent meets. Thick, yet shallow. The topic came up "let's go around the circle, and tell one thing about yourself that no one else knows." The answers amazed, and lent depth to a greater, more loving friendship.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
To me, we (most, many) live in a world where feelings, thoughts, wants, yearns are pent up - and that's so very sad. Bravo to the man or woman having capable partner/friend to explore oral 'orgasm', ie sharing ALL feelings, thoughts, ideas about not only one's self - but those of the other.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
Day by day, mechanical. Pleasant, sure - yet almost artificial. Departing if I may from depth, one day it was myself, and four women on break at work. I noticed all four women talking at the same time (and if this borders gender discrimination - have at, as with tongue in cheek - it's just one true descriptor for the WONDERFUL feminine species).. anyways, all four were talking, so I asked "If there are four women, and all four are talking, who's listening?"
We talk, we greet, we smalltalk - we rarely deep talk. Discriminating on gender again, we men are ingrained "to not compliment, to not explore depth of character." Makes me wanna gag and Garfunkel.
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence.
Sure, do as I say, not as I do - but I'm working on that. (I write to/for me, hitchhikers welcome).. See a person down? Ask 'em if they wanna talk. See a person looking/acting very vibrant, let 'em know "you're looking, feeling vibrant." Victor, you must be genuine though - otherwise it reverts to people talking without speaking - people hearing without listening. Dig? Uh huh, thanks.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence.
Today's pace for the everyday race for the mortgage is frenetic. I'm going to try to listen more, talk less. Drive slower, observe more. Ask questions to/of friends that make them think (and genuinely know I care) "hmmm, it's really nice this person cares enough about me to ask that, therefore, I'm pretty sure he/she cares, I'll remember that, and pay it forward."
It ain't about age. So many of my young friends amaze me. Guy at work, never fails, before I can get out "Hi", he's already spouted "Hi Vic, how are you doing?" It too is possible for a 14 year old to have more depth than a 60 year old. Shame on us. Let's start today, doing better, warding off the sounds of silence, REALLY get to know better (deeper) those in our every day life, and even our family members.
Simon was 22 years old when he wrote this - already keen to the frailty the sounds of silence lend. Far out. Groovy even. Love, Victurd.
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
One of the best times I've ever had, was on the patio of a restaurant - good friends, sitting around. We knew each other, the basics - where we worked, who our mates were/weren't/usedta be, the car we drove, where we grew up, the basic chumminess of fairly frequent meets. Thick, yet shallow. The topic came up "let's go around the circle, and tell one thing about yourself that no one else knows." The answers amazed, and lent depth to a greater, more loving friendship.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
To me, we (most, many) live in a world where feelings, thoughts, wants, yearns are pent up - and that's so very sad. Bravo to the man or woman having capable partner/friend to explore oral 'orgasm', ie sharing ALL feelings, thoughts, ideas about not only one's self - but those of the other.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
Day by day, mechanical. Pleasant, sure - yet almost artificial. Departing if I may from depth, one day it was myself, and four women on break at work. I noticed all four women talking at the same time (and if this borders gender discrimination - have at, as with tongue in cheek - it's just one true descriptor for the WONDERFUL feminine species).. anyways, all four were talking, so I asked "If there are four women, and all four are talking, who's listening?"
We talk, we greet, we smalltalk - we rarely deep talk. Discriminating on gender again, we men are ingrained "to not compliment, to not explore depth of character." Makes me wanna gag and Garfunkel.
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence.
Sure, do as I say, not as I do - but I'm working on that. (I write to/for me, hitchhikers welcome).. See a person down? Ask 'em if they wanna talk. See a person looking/acting very vibrant, let 'em know "you're looking, feeling vibrant." Victor, you must be genuine though - otherwise it reverts to people talking without speaking - people hearing without listening. Dig? Uh huh, thanks.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence.
Today's pace for the everyday race for the mortgage is frenetic. I'm going to try to listen more, talk less. Drive slower, observe more. Ask questions to/of friends that make them think (and genuinely know I care) "hmmm, it's really nice this person cares enough about me to ask that, therefore, I'm pretty sure he/she cares, I'll remember that, and pay it forward."
It ain't about age. So many of my young friends amaze me. Guy at work, never fails, before I can get out "Hi", he's already spouted "Hi Vic, how are you doing?" It too is possible for a 14 year old to have more depth than a 60 year old. Shame on us. Let's start today, doing better, warding off the sounds of silence, REALLY get to know better (deeper) those in our every day life, and even our family members.
Simon was 22 years old when he wrote this - already keen to the frailty the sounds of silence lend. Far out. Groovy even. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
To the outhouse, by Willie Makeit, Part 1 of who knows how many.
100 days. I write with apologies to my friend Sanford - who has been working out faithfully since we graduated 44 years ago. Apologies to cousin Steve who has ridden his bike more miles than my '99 Grand Marquis has on it (He even conquered the Katy Trail.. the ENTIRE Katy Trail.) To my friend Terri - who has run more marathons than there are days in a month.
I recently was moved by a lady's thingy on youtube where she posted time lapse photos of her throughout 100 consecutive days of exercise. She dropped 28 lbs, got under her sub-300 lb goal, and happy to report continues to lose weight.
I am tired of looking at pictures of me, and having them resemble a Christmas tree sans ornaments. Many things, I'm not disciplined. Exercise being one of those. I go, I do, I quit shortly thereafter.
So, figured if I wrote about it, I'd have to stay on my own butt to continue on. So, writing. Saturday, January 11, yeah, I'll start then. Saturday comes. "It was a long week at work, I deserve a day off, I'll start tomorrow."
Sunday, Jan. 12. "I'll start today, but... but.. I'd better attack that huge pile of laundry first." Victor, you hate doing laundry. "I know, but it does need to get done." Ok.
I suppose along with exercising, I oughta eat more prudently. Need laundry soap. There.. right there in Dollar General - staring at me when I walked in: Little Debbie.. Cap'n Crunch.. Jimmy Dean.. Russell Stover.. Swiss Miss.. Duncan Hines.... mmmmmmmmmmm, yum. "VICTOR! CHEESE IT!... er, I mean get your laundry soap and get the hell outta there." Oh, ok.
Laundry done, it's getting kinda late. Victor - get your butt to the gym. Nope, it's unseasonably warm, I'm going to the track. The last time I started this, I knew I was doomed, as I searched (and found) the closest parking space to the gym. HA! NOT THIS TIME! (I took the 2nd closest spot).
"Walkers and joggers please use lanes 5, 6, 7 & 8." Like that's gonna happen. I wanna go 2 miles, not 2 miles and 342 feet. Lane 1. Two laps in, car pulls up. Crap. Ok, lane 2. Three minutes later, a female gazelle goes around me at a speed I don't think I've ever reached. Eh, it's ok - crap, I am 61. I turn to see if the other gazelle has taken off. Nope, she's old too, probably even older than me.
Half a lap later, the bitch (sorry) passes me. The old one. Eh, it's ok, I've got a blockage in my leg and it hurts like hell - track, you're lucky I'm even here. Finally lap 8 happens, I'm done, and no, I am not going to share how long it took.
To the gym, right after. Might as well lift some weights to develop some tone. "Victor, you need more than 100 days to develop tone." Ok, bite me, I'll go for tonette then. First, I'll walk over here and knockoff some push-ups and crunches. Remember Victor, you usedta do the mandated 100 push-ups in school like it was nuttin'. Uh huh, long time ago. I'm going to do ten to start... After 4th push up "ok, sets of 5 works." I did that, twice.. and I was done. You're more than welcome to laugh at me, I've earned it. Twenty crunches. YES, only 20. Gotta start somewhere.
To the scales. Christmas tree weighs in at 209, ouch. And no. NO time lapse photos here! (You're welcome)..
Two 'laps' around the weight machines - done. Reward myself with sauna, then Jacuzzi. In the sauna, I'm dying. Snotnose basta' maybe 21 walks in.. stands next to heater thing, jogs in place. Basta. 'Nuff sweat, to the Jacuzzi. Ahhhhh, yes, my favorite thing about exercise routine. Up to the jacuzzi walks gorgeous female with not very much material within her swimsuit. Ok, maybe Jacuzzi 2nd favorite thing.
Morning, day 2. Eh, not so bad. Elliptical - only leg weights after. Day three, elliptical, 30 minutes, I ain't gonna tell you how far I made it, at least I made it. Arm weight circuit after. Morning, day 4. My calves and I are not speaking to each other - in fact, they've requested twin beds. Day 5, son/DIL have no car - so, after 8rs work - we run to HyVee, WalMart and the Smoke shop. Eh, it's already 6:45pm, I'll just get in this left lane, pull into the Dish Pizza, have a beer and restart with day 1 tomorrow. "VICTOR!".. To the tune of Alvin the chipmunk.. Victor? Victor? VICTOR? OKAY damnit, I switched lanes, went to gym, worked out.
Yesterday was day 6. I have more pep in my step at work - legs actually better now - but my arms feel like they're ready to fall off. I go, I exercise. I sauna. I Jacuzzi (as does same chick with not very much material within her swimsuit.) I could get used to this. Mebbe.
My father, fittingly, labeled me a follower. I would do projects around home to earn money for going out with friends, phone would ring mid paint stroke - and I was off. Gone. Easily led. I hasten to put this on blog 'cause I ain't sure I'll make it. Gonna. I can handle embarrassment if I don't make it. Pride is hard to swallow - but it will go down.
Today is day 7, I will get through day 7. (I referee little turds [1st/2nd grade] basketball for four, COUNT EM, FOUR hours. ) If that ain't the equivalent to 30 minutes on the elliptical, 2 laps around the weight machine, sauna/Jacuzzi - bite me. I will miss the little material one though. All men are pigs, 100 out of 100 days. Or in this case, 7 out of 7.
Smoking (cough cough cough, gasp) MIGHT be addressed within this 100 day (hopefully) period. Two years ago I bought a vapor cig, never used it, lost it. A bit ago, I bought Nicorette gum, looked at the box the other day, "Expires Oct 2013." I have a new vapor cig in coat pocket. Never used it. Easily led. No discipline. Follower. It's(cough cough cough, gasp) me, who I am.
100 days? Stay tuned - to the outhouse, by Willie Makeit. Love, Victurd.
I recently was moved by a lady's thingy on youtube where she posted time lapse photos of her throughout 100 consecutive days of exercise. She dropped 28 lbs, got under her sub-300 lb goal, and happy to report continues to lose weight.
I am tired of looking at pictures of me, and having them resemble a Christmas tree sans ornaments. Many things, I'm not disciplined. Exercise being one of those. I go, I do, I quit shortly thereafter.
So, figured if I wrote about it, I'd have to stay on my own butt to continue on. So, writing. Saturday, January 11, yeah, I'll start then. Saturday comes. "It was a long week at work, I deserve a day off, I'll start tomorrow."
Sunday, Jan. 12. "I'll start today, but... but.. I'd better attack that huge pile of laundry first." Victor, you hate doing laundry. "I know, but it does need to get done." Ok.
I suppose along with exercising, I oughta eat more prudently. Need laundry soap. There.. right there in Dollar General - staring at me when I walked in: Little Debbie.. Cap'n Crunch.. Jimmy Dean.. Russell Stover.. Swiss Miss.. Duncan Hines.... mmmmmmmmmmm, yum. "VICTOR! CHEESE IT!... er, I mean get your laundry soap and get the hell outta there." Oh, ok.
Laundry done, it's getting kinda late. Victor - get your butt to the gym. Nope, it's unseasonably warm, I'm going to the track. The last time I started this, I knew I was doomed, as I searched (and found) the closest parking space to the gym. HA! NOT THIS TIME! (I took the 2nd closest spot).
"Walkers and joggers please use lanes 5, 6, 7 & 8." Like that's gonna happen. I wanna go 2 miles, not 2 miles and 342 feet. Lane 1. Two laps in, car pulls up. Crap. Ok, lane 2. Three minutes later, a female gazelle goes around me at a speed I don't think I've ever reached. Eh, it's ok - crap, I am 61. I turn to see if the other gazelle has taken off. Nope, she's old too, probably even older than me.
Half a lap later, the bitch (sorry) passes me. The old one. Eh, it's ok, I've got a blockage in my leg and it hurts like hell - track, you're lucky I'm even here. Finally lap 8 happens, I'm done, and no, I am not going to share how long it took.
To the gym, right after. Might as well lift some weights to develop some tone. "Victor, you need more than 100 days to develop tone." Ok, bite me, I'll go for tonette then. First, I'll walk over here and knockoff some push-ups and crunches. Remember Victor, you usedta do the mandated 100 push-ups in school like it was nuttin'. Uh huh, long time ago. I'm going to do ten to start... After 4th push up "ok, sets of 5 works." I did that, twice.. and I was done. You're more than welcome to laugh at me, I've earned it. Twenty crunches. YES, only 20. Gotta start somewhere.
To the scales. Christmas tree weighs in at 209, ouch. And no. NO time lapse photos here! (You're welcome)..
Two 'laps' around the weight machines - done. Reward myself with sauna, then Jacuzzi. In the sauna, I'm dying. Snotnose basta' maybe 21 walks in.. stands next to heater thing, jogs in place. Basta. 'Nuff sweat, to the Jacuzzi. Ahhhhh, yes, my favorite thing about exercise routine. Up to the jacuzzi walks gorgeous female with not very much material within her swimsuit. Ok, maybe Jacuzzi 2nd favorite thing.
Morning, day 2. Eh, not so bad. Elliptical - only leg weights after. Day three, elliptical, 30 minutes, I ain't gonna tell you how far I made it, at least I made it. Arm weight circuit after. Morning, day 4. My calves and I are not speaking to each other - in fact, they've requested twin beds. Day 5, son/DIL have no car - so, after 8rs work - we run to HyVee, WalMart and the Smoke shop. Eh, it's already 6:45pm, I'll just get in this left lane, pull into the Dish Pizza, have a beer and restart with day 1 tomorrow. "VICTOR!".. To the tune of Alvin the chipmunk.. Victor? Victor? VICTOR? OKAY damnit, I switched lanes, went to gym, worked out.
Yesterday was day 6. I have more pep in my step at work - legs actually better now - but my arms feel like they're ready to fall off. I go, I exercise. I sauna. I Jacuzzi (as does same chick with not very much material within her swimsuit.) I could get used to this. Mebbe.
My father, fittingly, labeled me a follower. I would do projects around home to earn money for going out with friends, phone would ring mid paint stroke - and I was off. Gone. Easily led. I hasten to put this on blog 'cause I ain't sure I'll make it. Gonna. I can handle embarrassment if I don't make it. Pride is hard to swallow - but it will go down.
Today is day 7, I will get through day 7. (I referee little turds [1st/2nd grade] basketball for four, COUNT EM, FOUR hours. ) If that ain't the equivalent to 30 minutes on the elliptical, 2 laps around the weight machine, sauna/Jacuzzi - bite me. I will miss the little material one though. All men are pigs, 100 out of 100 days. Or in this case, 7 out of 7.
Smoking (cough cough cough, gasp) MIGHT be addressed within this 100 day (hopefully) period. Two years ago I bought a vapor cig, never used it, lost it. A bit ago, I bought Nicorette gum, looked at the box the other day, "Expires Oct 2013." I have a new vapor cig in coat pocket. Never used it. Easily led. No discipline. Follower. It's(cough cough cough, gasp) me, who I am.
100 days? Stay tuned - to the outhouse, by Willie Makeit. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, January 04, 2014
A year...
Nothing is perfect. Recently, on Golf's Champion Tour, our Kansas Citian Tommy Watson registered a hole in one. A reporter asked him about it after - and hinted of 'luck'. Watson acknowledged, "sure, there's luck involved, but it was where I was aiming."
2013 is in the rear view mirror. It wasn't perfect, never is, but hopefully our aim was. The year taught me (again) I am human. I made some stupid errors - even damaged a friendship because words exited before the thought process reached the brain.
After hours, days, weeks in shame, I Googled "Don't beat yourself up", and am thankful for whoever in the hell invented the internet - and the answer/suggestion for virtually every problem, need, sickness remedy, recipe, how to put an alternator on a '95 Lebaron, etc, etc.
I'm thankful for the upbeat daily postings on Facebook from a guy I graduated with, a gal in Kearney I barely know, the daily biblical verses by a fraternity brother, and so many more.
I'm thankful for the quick postings of inappropriate (but fun/funny) humor from a former co-worker. I'm thankful for people simply asking for prayers - and hope for those that are unable to bring themselves to that - the knowledge that people do care, and many are in the same boat.
I'm thankful FB allows me to share in the fun, travels, hobbies, family events - anniversaries - birthdays, woes, venting, humor, and yes, even the political views of friends here.
Old age, too many damn jobs, six years to complete my four year degree, 52 years of athletics - and a lifetime of touches have blessed me with tons of friends not only on FB, but 'real life' as well. (Thank you to all for your patience on the millions of pictures of my grandkids that I'm 'tagged' in as well.)
I'm thankful for the fervor for sport's teams, the ups/downs within, and of course the banter back and forth over the fence. I'm thankful that those that could care less about sports - whet their fervor appetite here, be it in bread making, knitting, old cars, the blues, astronomy, economics, music, yada.
I'm thankful for the old Liberty group - and it's assistance in keeping yesterday here today.
I'm thankful to catch up with family here. As we spread throughout the US, dwindle in numbers, multiply in numbers - every 'like' really represents 'love.'
It's kinda fun to peek at the number of mutual friends - and to wonder what the view is from your fingers on the FB keyboard - and the hope that you too enjoy as I do. Sandbox, we all had 'em, and there is nothing better than sharing life, observing other's lives, leading our own - in numbers. Life as a single piece of cloth: boring, monotonous. Woven with others, so much more vibrant, strong, comforting, peaceful.
I'll go now, 2014 beckons. The Good Lord willing, I hope for good health for all, and the aim for perfection - and the knowledge "hey, it's ok" if perfection doesn't happen.
Happy New Year, to each his/her own, intermingled. Victurd.
2013 is in the rear view mirror. It wasn't perfect, never is, but hopefully our aim was. The year taught me (again) I am human. I made some stupid errors - even damaged a friendship because words exited before the thought process reached the brain.
After hours, days, weeks in shame, I Googled "Don't beat yourself up", and am thankful for whoever in the hell invented the internet - and the answer/suggestion for virtually every problem, need, sickness remedy, recipe, how to put an alternator on a '95 Lebaron, etc, etc.
I'm thankful for the upbeat daily postings on Facebook from a guy I graduated with, a gal in Kearney I barely know, the daily biblical verses by a fraternity brother, and so many more.
I'm thankful for the quick postings of inappropriate (but fun/funny) humor from a former co-worker. I'm thankful for people simply asking for prayers - and hope for those that are unable to bring themselves to that - the knowledge that people do care, and many are in the same boat.
I'm thankful FB allows me to share in the fun, travels, hobbies, family events - anniversaries - birthdays, woes, venting, humor, and yes, even the political views of friends here.
Old age, too many damn jobs, six years to complete my four year degree, 52 years of athletics - and a lifetime of touches have blessed me with tons of friends not only on FB, but 'real life' as well. (Thank you to all for your patience on the millions of pictures of my grandkids that I'm 'tagged' in as well.)
I'm thankful for the fervor for sport's teams, the ups/downs within, and of course the banter back and forth over the fence. I'm thankful that those that could care less about sports - whet their fervor appetite here, be it in bread making, knitting, old cars, the blues, astronomy, economics, music, yada.
I'm thankful for the old Liberty group - and it's assistance in keeping yesterday here today.
I'm thankful to catch up with family here. As we spread throughout the US, dwindle in numbers, multiply in numbers - every 'like' really represents 'love.'
It's kinda fun to peek at the number of mutual friends - and to wonder what the view is from your fingers on the FB keyboard - and the hope that you too enjoy as I do. Sandbox, we all had 'em, and there is nothing better than sharing life, observing other's lives, leading our own - in numbers. Life as a single piece of cloth: boring, monotonous. Woven with others, so much more vibrant, strong, comforting, peaceful.
I'll go now, 2014 beckons. The Good Lord willing, I hope for good health for all, and the aim for perfection - and the knowledge "hey, it's ok" if perfection doesn't happen.
Happy New Year, to each his/her own, intermingled. Victurd.
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