Uncertainty…….

This I’m sure of: I’m uncertain of our future.

2016 has seen great loss.. and great gain.. Ya gots roughly 7 and ½ months (once ya find out) to know/watch/wait “great gain”.. Great loss can come in the flip of a light switch, when you had no idea it was so dark.

Politics. I know I know. Yes, I have a side. Yes, I will support. Yes, I pray for our country. Being led by someone who has never been in political office (some say “a wonderful thing”) to me, will be akin to wearing a blindfold on the Zambezi Zinger – never knowing if we’re one wrong turn from the noggin’ catching a steel girder – or, if we’ll eventually come to an exalting, emotional, safe stop.

Music. Who are these guys? Once we baby boomers ultimately check it in – will Ray Charles, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Eric Clapton continue to hit the airwaves? Hell, will there still be airwaves?

I am really really certain, we daily go about our business, living next ta one-another that may not be the same color, size, religion, sex, sexual preference, culture, socio-economic status, big city, little city, suburb – and again, we daily go about our business pretty darn congenially. That said, I’m certain we’ll never end hardheaded, opinionated, prejudicial, biased people. The certainty of that leads to great uncertainty.

Family. Uncertain. When I was 9, I thought I’d live on Miller Street forever, devouring mom’s famous (to me) Spanish rice.. playing whiffle ball.. wearing out the knees of my jeans. That’s changed. Man has that changed. Family pictures over the years, great change. People die. Become estranged. Move to where visits become almost financially impossible, to ultimately physically impossible. Divorce. The certainty of uncertainty.

Sports. Will football lawsuits one day surpass profits? Will the New Yorker ever draw the line and say “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna pay $120 for a baseball ticket, or, refinance my house to buy post season tickets in the possibility we make it.” Will youth sports continue to hand out a trophy to all? Will the youth basics (baseball, basketball, soccer, etc) eventually be 365 days a year PER SPORT, and if/when that happens, what will we have accomplished?

Jobs. You name it, I/we’ve seen it. Continual smooth rides to retirement. Chapter 11’s and 7’s. Many companies fall to the wayside due to better things coming around, like Blockbuster. Like my great grandfather’s buggy building business when the first car came around. Relocation. Jobs cut. Jobs added, busy time ends, jobs cut. Companies that make it, no matter what, due to plan, focus, ambition, attitude, ethics, commitment to both customers and employees, train, assess. Wanna job there? Ya mostly never know. Oft time ya mostly got no choice.

Terror. Hideous. No certainty of “what’s next”, “is he on the ‘good team’”, and “I just didn’t see that coming”. A hop back on that rollercoaster of uncertain paths.

I’m certain I’ve gone on too long. Many thrive in uncertainty. Many can’t take it. Many painfully make it. Many, many absorb the ups, the downs.

Merry Christmas, certainly….
Victurd

Recollections of Christmas Caroling at Nursing Homes the last five years……

I remember the first – kinda sorta invited graduates (and friends) of the Liberty HS Class of 1970. I’d gone in advance to ask each home if it were permissible for us to come/carol… “Of course”, so in recent years, have just gone, not asked – and they’ve been very accommodating…

It’s been a different group almost each and every year. Different stars have shown, some years our ‘talent’ has left a little bit to be desired! (A couple of years ago, one resident tugged on my sleeve and said “I used to teach choir, and you gentlemen could use a little work” – and I very much knew she was correct!.)

I/we were maybe admittedly scared to go. Neither of my parents lived in a home as such, and we didn’t know what to expect. As we would enter the foyer, starting with “We wish you a Merry Christmas”, slowly, wheelchairs, walkers and regular walkers would gather..

The ones that meet in the foyer seemingly still have very good hearing, and a pep in their step. After a few songs, we’d make our way slowly, singing down the hall toward the dining area. It was here we’d pass one that we absolutely knew they could not, would not, get up for dinner – so we’d stop, sing, maybe even in more recent years, gone and shook hands.

Once in the dining area – we’d (initially) rigidly stand, sing a carol, turn the page, and sing another. Responses, of course, varied upon the resident’s condition – anywhere from gayly smiling, singing along with us – to, pretty much basically comatose.

I/we knew there would be sad – but it FOR SURE wasn’t all said. Very, very many happy, smiley people. A few within our singing group – in recent years, ‘taught’ us it’s ok to go shake a hand.. to kneel, hold the music up where you/the resident could see/sing along.. and we’d mingle.

We’ve been fortunate in most of the years to have children with us. They literally steal the show and are afforded many, many smiles…

Yes, we’ve gone through alzheimer's units, and they too are happy. They to would lip (or sing) the songs with us. A great appreciation has been afforded to us in these units.

Oft times, the staff will stop and sing with us. It’s a wonderful time of year, and it’s, of course, our hope it will bring back memories of yesteryear..

We, the initial mostly 1970 graduating class, even related “hey, we’re looking for our next residence” – and there very well could be truth in that. Sadly, I can recall two who have caroled with us in the past that are no longer with us. Wouldn’t want to know how many residents have been lost in these past 5 years.

Now, our group is very literally anyone and everyone. Yes, I know most, but we’ve had years where people come, support/sing, and I had no idea who they are. Cool. Very.

You never know the residents that have frequent visitors (or not.) They are people, just as us – a little bit older, a little bit slower, just as much as joyous, and, in keeping with ‘their era’, quick to stop and show appreciation, clap, simply say thanks. We return that gratitude for welcoming us into your home.

If you can’t sing, come. If I can blend in, it’s for sure you can too.

If you are scared, don’t be. It’s a happy event. Yes, some sad cases – but it’s the right side of the grass – and many are vibrant, leaders, communicators.

Just last year we were in a dining hall singing Silent Night.. allofasudden I hear this MOST BEAUTIFUL voice.. I didn’t think it was one of us, but was unsure. In checking further, one of our group members was kneeling down next to this beautiful lady.. with a beautiful voice.. a moment I’ll never forget.. We should have had her do a solo – it clearly would have been enjoyable.

You’re invited – I guarantee you’ll smile. I guarantee you’ll see smiles.

Sunday, 12/18 at 3:15pm (after the Chief’s game) we’ll meet in Conrad’s parking lost (NW corner shopping center @ 291/152 intersection.) Wear Christmas’y stuff if you can. Thanks and Merry Christmas, Vic

Life... and the horse.....

Life……

Is a tale of two cities. Mebbe sometimes more.

Stuff amazes me. That “the dog can take you for a walk” (ie, we have cars that can now drive FOR you)… motorcycles that will stay upright, ya ain’t gotta put your feet down, lean, etc. Yet, our new (assuredly expensive computer system at work) doesn’t have the capability to type Mcdaniel as McDaniel… and it’s possessed, because it sucks at possessive (Charlie’s sweater always comes out Charlies sweater.)

On the first part of the journey I was looking at all the life…
There were plants and birds and rocks and things.. there was sand and hills and rings…

In the midst of this journey comes hot, cold, really hot, really cold, storms (wet/freezing/blowing) mild, a smile.. hearing a funny story (to undoubtedly re-relate/butcher it later)… many political ads relating “ask not what your country can do for you, but what these SOB’s running surely cannot do”… an email from/to a loved one.. a compliment.. and then news of the passing of (another) classmate. Kinda rearranges the view from the horse.

I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name, it felt good to be out of the rain,
In the desert you can remember your name ‘cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain,
La la la la la las…

Life brings a first job, anudder job, a pay raise, a layoff, a promotion, a Chapter 11, then 7, work in a different metropolitan area.. fun coworkers.. great managers.. then some that you wonder howinthehell they even brush their own teeth, get their shoes on the correct foot.

After two days in the desert sun my skin began to turn red… after three days in the desert sun I was looking at a river bed.. and the story it told of a river that flowed made me sad to think it was dead…

You see, life is roses, thorns, “oh baby oh baby’s”, spitwads, missed field goals, routine balls bobbled, SPECTACTULAR catches.. good guys, bad guys, quiet guys, guys that won’t shut up (scroll to “but what these SOB’s running surely cannot do”.)

After nine days I let the horse run free
‘cause the desert had turned to sea..
There were plants and birds and rocks and things,
There was sand and hills and rings.. The ocean is a desert with it’s life underground
And a perfect disguise all above..

There are brides.. there are grooms.. there are those meticulously groomed.. or, a coworker that let’s her hair down (literally and figuratively) once a month.. VICTOR, you can’t talk about people! Watch me! Loose lips sink ships… ships traverse many across the sea.. ships help win wars.. The Titanic and The good ship lollipop…

You see I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name.. it felt good to be out of the rain.. In the desert you can remember your name ‘cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.. La la la la la la la……

The vane says North, or South, or East, West, NE, NW, SE, SW.. Carly says you’re so vain… I’m gonna tie this rubber thingy around your arm, this won’t hurt a bit, now watch your vein kinda grow a bit.. OUCH! DAMNIT!

Victor, you continue to be weird. I am unique, just like you. We all are. Where we live, what we do, where we go, what we enjoy, what we don’t enjoy, what makes us upchuck, what gives us heartfelt emotional orgasms, what makes us wanna run punch a dude, and yes, ever what makes us spout “hold my beer Vern and watch this!”

I miss Life magazine. I miss out on life sometimes when the tortoise shell covers.. I stand atop the mountain and shout at times, when the pity party recovers..

When we ride atop the horse, reckon we ought remember life isn’t forever. When riding/struggling alone, you don’t even know when the horse poops – so, full steam ahead.. don’t let binders keep you from taking it all in. Run/ride like the wind. Or go slow, your call. That’s the best thing about life – it’s your call. Call me eh?

Love, Victurd

Nascar B Team...

In Nascar, they have the A team, full-time, consisting of the driver, crew chief, mechanics , engineer and some of them double on the pit crew on race day. Then, there is the B team, pit crew dudes and support team that works only on race day.

Well, that ain't what this is about.

It's about a 9 pound, huffin' and'a puffin', tail waggin' (if you consider a nub a tail), black and white miniature Schnauzer = Nascar.

He does though, have a propensity to correlate seeing the blue leash to race day. Pull he does, UP HILL, my 208 lb body. OK, 214 damnit.

If he hears another bark from behind a fence we're passing, he puts it in another gear and threatens my shoulder socket. Should another dog walking his owner happen on the path approaching us, it entails both hands on the leash to keep them apart.

Through it all, I kinda giggle and lend that stupid grin that I think I rolled out of the womb with. I love this hound, and I've told said girlfriend "If you ever kick me to the curb, I get visitation rights."

Said girlfriend, and I reckon me too, thought the man should walk the dog, not the other way around.

So....

To doggy obedience class we go. Now, by nature of his breed, his size, he perhaps is a little 'chirpier' than most hounds. I kinda like that about him.

He already does do some pretty cool stuff. He will fetch and return, sit, lay down, and stay, man will he stay. (I'm talking putting a treat on the floor, announcing "stay" (he does) as we binge watch an entire season of a Netflix sitcom, announce "OK go get it" and he does. A cool dog, but of course I'm biased.

Dog class day arrives. He sees the leash, and his heart (engine) goes from 75 beats (RPM's) to 250 before you can blurt out "ready?"

On the 'warm-up lap' (our drive to class) of course the window is down, his head is out (wind kinda compresses his hair to where he kinda looks mole-like. With every approaching car, he likens a Wal-Mart greeter. He's a social little dude.)

OK, out we go from the car, stopping at 32 trees, 7 poles on the trek from the parking lot.

What to expect? Twenty barking, slobbering, peeing, pooping, biting, other mutts? Probably.

We enter. Nascar flips out. Barking (saying "hi") insessently , pulling, yanking, slobbering... excited, to say the least. The other hounds?

Total quiet (WHAT?) All in 'laydown' position, totally ignoring - almost to the point of disgust, Nascar.

"Oh crap" we thought, this is going to be a bigger challenge than we thought. After a minute or so of "Nascar frenzy" the teacher lady walks up and asks "Were you here last year?" I thought to myself (facetiously) 'yeah lady, can't you tell what a good job you did', then actually replied "no, this is our first time" - to which she replied:

"Well this class, the 7pm class, is the advanced class. These dogs are all either service dogs, therapy dogs or show dogs. The Beginner class (aka Nascar B team) was at 6."

A sense of relief, embarrassment, and maybe even a sly 'SE-grin' ensued.

"Sorry", then back thru the 32 trees, 7 poles to the car, the wind, then home - where we X'ed off 7pm from next Wednesday and chickenscratched '6pm' over it.

FYI, the next week was totally as expected, 20 snarling, barking, peeing, pooping, biting, fellow mutts. The B team.

As the weeks went on, in spite of rave reviews on sit, lay down, stay/come - Nascar flunked doggy school. "Too social, should learn how to ignore other dogs."

Oh well. It was of some consolation the chick at the welcome counter (we had a test to see how the dogs would react away from their owner, so one by one they were walked from the training room, to the welcome counter for a five minute stay there) so anyways, as we were leaving that night I asked the chick "How'd he do?"... "Oh, NASCAR? He was my favorite! Bring him back anytime!"

B team or not, no doggy degree - he's my favorite too.

"Time for a walk Nascar... I'm a little tired tonight, can you help me up the hills?"

love, Victurd.

hAyseeds

We here in the Midwest – those of us that are maybe missing a tooth or two, have seen a hay bale, and are aware the Feed Store and the Piggly Wiggly ain’t one in the same – oft times add an “a” to our words. We’re basically laid back, ain’t in no big hurry – but, again, at times we add those “a’s”, thus, skipping a letter or two in haste to simply get it said.

Gonna. I’m gonna do that tomorrow. Frank? You gonna mow the yard? Gonna later, I woulda last night but ma’ back ached a bit.

Woulda is anothern. If that’d been me, I woulda whacked him. I woulda turned in my homework but mom couldn’t find ma’ backpack. You shoulda looked for it yourself.

Shoulda. Midwestern for “If I’d known then what I know now”. I shoulda never married her/him. I shoulda done what Mr. Brady said and started my 401K b’fore I lost any teeth. I shoulda paid more ‘tention in school. This here GPS is messed up, we shoulda been there by now.

Canya. Canya loan me a quarter? Canya take me to…….. watch my kid…… grab me a loafa bread… believe that?

Downta……. I’m going downta the store. I’m going downta the tractor pull. I’m going downta the basement. (Ouch, shoulda fixed that step. I woulda if I hadn’t wrenched ma’ back.. Gonna fix it tomorrow). I mighta been ok had I fixed it.

Mighta. I mighta just met ma’ 4th wife. If I’da known then what I know now, I too mighta been able to afford onea them big F-3 fitties.

Onea. Onea y’all ain’t listenin.’ Onea ya did it, come on, fess up. Onea these days. Onea these days I planta.

Planta is kinda like gonna. Now Hazel don’t be upset, I planta fix that table leg soooon. I’da done it last night by my arthritis was actin’ up.

I’da, not to be confused with the cashier Ida at the Piggly Wiggly. I’da fixed my car ma’self had I known how much the shop was gonna charge me. I’da never guessed that. I’da never voted for that Brackabama had’a known, you gotta believe me.

Gotta. I gotta new car. On vacation back when we were termites, we'd tell dad "I gotta go I gotta go I gotta go to Conoco."

From the land of butthurt, hayseeds, twerkin’, rubes, bumkins and yokels: Have a happy day… wouldya?

Love, Victurd

Lane change………

As I drive to work – I’m a true wuss. Not even JJ Watt himself could unhinge my paws off the steering wheel. Nervous, I reckon. Old, too. I have noted, most traffic incidents are due to lane changes.

Almost saw a “good one” this morning. Three lane highway, cement truck in far right lane.. Speeding car in far left lane. Each, decided at same time “wouldn’t it be nice to be in the Center lane.” Thankfully, each saw the other at the same time – swerved back, shimmied – and there were no cars in their path back, thank God. Not always the case.

Day before. Made it into the big city where there lay (overturned) a U-Haul trailer being towed by a pickup. He’d tried to change lanes whilst going around a corner, the trailer had other idea, and now – as you drive past, it said lnɐɥ-n.

Rain, snow, nighttime for us old farts. There ain’t no seein’ lane change, so, ‘wooo-hoooo!’, we probably change lanes all the time and never know it!

Head-ons. Yuck. Disastrous lane changes. Who knows why… alcohol, health reasons, texting, inattention, yada.. never fun..

Listening to talk radio yesterday (mebbe THE best thing ever for me, my AM went out on my car, forcing me to listen to something besides sports).. they were talking about fat bias. Dude that worked at station, admittedly large, didn’t mind the bias, admitted it happens – but his take was “it’s more non-beauty bias.”

Continued to spiel about being at Wally World, ready to checkout – and even though lane #13 was longer, he ‘lane changed’ from #12 to where the checker was a beautiful person. Nomme. I damn near count items in checker-outers I might be behind, and I ‘lane change’ to the line that will get me out the damn door the faster.. checker with or without teeth, it no matter to me.

Radical Islamist, certainly a lane change somewhere there along the way. Transgendered, lane change? Perhaps, but most would say “I was in that lane all along.”

Many marriages, they have this lane of grass.. usually enclosed by some means, certainly measured by the taxation folks. Nearby on the other side of the fence, is another ‘lane’. Some take look on other side, then look back on their side. Do so again. Many stay in their lane, but some choose the (perceived) titillation of “if I lane change here, the grass appears to be greener.” If children involved, they obviously will have to continue changing North/South or East/West lanes – whilst either parent drives their own certain direction. Just my opine, selfish. Till death do us part, or, I might decide to make a lane change.

Religious zealot. Many/most have changed lanes……. Now on a full-speed-ahead path, but, attempt to force others who are not willing to change lanes. Interesting traffic, to say the least.

Bernie says – if he doesn’t make it – folks going to make a lane change to Trump. Eh, perhaps so. It’s been an interesting year.. Seems we’re either gonna get a female, or a male that’s never been in office – a definite lane change either way.

Instead of writing, thinking, talking on and on (and on).. gonna make lane change today and keep it short. I believe I kinda keep my convictions, thoughts, beliefs in the same lane – but too, am open to listen to any/all opines. I mean, hell, just the other day, age 63, I tried my first broccoli. Ya know what? It twerent bad!

Happy driving.. keep your eyes (and your mind) open. Love, Victurd

They're coming to take me away........... ha ha...

Hi, my name is Victurd and… I’m going nuts. You see, I no comprende human behavior. I walky down hall at work. I meet approaching coworker, eye to eye, 12’ apart. Offer: “Hi!”…… and… and…. Crickets. WHYINTHEHELL is it so hard for some folks to muster a return salutation, or hell, even get a little neck exercise and nod back…… They, them human behavior experts, offer “eh, don’t worry, people are different.” Duh. It still drives me nuts.

And They're coming to take me away Ha Ha
They're coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time, and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and they're coming to take me away ha ha

I telephoney vendor at work, give my 47 second spiel on my specific need… then I hear “Just a moment” AND IM TRANSFERRED… The hell? I gotta do that crap allover again? WHATTHEHELL IS YOUR JOB? I want an “all you have to do is simply answer the phone” job. This is happening with more and more frequency. I see Nurse Ratched in my near future.

You thought it was joke and so you laughed, you laughed when I had said that losing you would make me flip my lid, right? You know you laughed, I heard you laugh, you laughed, you laughed and laughed and then you left, but now you know I'm utterly mad.

People… people who need people.. NO THAT’S NOT THE RIGHT SONG DAMNIT! Another one. All I want is one Gosh Darn McChicken (ketchup and pickles only) and a cup of water. I speaky that. I hear “I’m sorry, could you repeat that please?” I stay calm but wanna holler “PUT YOUR GOSH DARN PHONE DOWN, YOU CAN READ NOAH’S TEXT LATER. I’M GONNA ORDER AGAIN, WILL YOU BE LISTENING YOU LITTLE SNOTNOSE?”

And they're coming to take me away Ha Ha
They're coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
To the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes, They're coming to take me away ha ha...

OLD PEOPLE. VICTOR! You’re an OLD PERSON. I know I know, but…. At Wallyworld, or PigglyWiggly, or CVS, Wallgreen, Lowes, Hope Depot, WHEREVER: Old people pay. And they talk. They no move. They no worry about me (and 12 others behind them) holding a bag of dirt, or four prescriptions, or a case of oil. I sometimes wish my eyes were mildly hot lasers.. so I could buzz/shock some sense into folks. Remind me (soon): Pay, then get the hell outta the way, fast.

I cooked your food, I cleaned your house, and this is how you paid me back for all my kind unselfish loving deeds. Huh? Well you just wait they'll find you yet, and when they do they'll put you in the ASPCA you mangy mutt.

I with friend. Really good friend. I ask question. They no answer, no comment. Two bits, four bits, six bits a cactus, I ask questions just for practice. Life, as I age, is changing from “no reaction whatsoever” to “Are you a lunatic, can you not hear me? How can you be so damn insensitive?”

People, people who need people... GOSHDARNIT NOT THAT ONE!!…..

And They're coming to take me away Ha Ha
They're coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
To the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be happy to see those nice men in their clean white coats. They're coming to take me away Ha Ha
To the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle thier thumbs and toes. They're coming to take me away Ha Ha Ha

This much I have figured out. People are different. I am too, we all are. I’ve figured out, there’s no figuring out. If I don’t go crazy first – maybe I can take that approach: Hey, this is unique, I’m gonna ask this.. and let’s see what this person says… and that person… (if they say anything).. maybe they’ll transfer my question to a friend? Maybe they’ll say “can you repeat that please?.” This could be fun!

And They're coming to take me away Ha Ha
They're coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
To the loony bin with all you can eat perscription drugs like thorizine, and lithium, and electric shock and insulin. They're coming to take me away Ha Ha

People… people who understand people.. are the luckiest people in the world. Call me weird, call me crazy I don’t care. I scratch my head sometimes – but, then I know I’m different too… so it’s all good.

“Hi Nurse, how’s your day?”…………….. Love, Victurd

Lightning bugs, 2 lane highways, fill her up – ethyl…..

To say “a simpler time” might be misleading. I guess you could look at it as exercise to get up and turn the TV channel.. walk to the the den to grab the “EFG” encyclopedia…

Was driving out in the country to play golf.. 2 lane highway, 45 MPH, curves – hills – aplenty. How did we do it? Did we go pee a bit when a semi approached from the distance? Howinthehell did we ever get a left front tire changed? Motorist’s assist? HA! The hell would they park?

Passing could lead to a coronary.. having a tailgater is why we smoked.. and ashed out the wing, remember those? What kid today knows the true meaning of “roll up the window”? The hell is an inner tube?

TV’s with tubes? Mercurochrome cured everything and a butter knife down the back stopped nosebleeds.. I remember the 10:30pm Johnny Carson show was a family ritual.. Rare is the night my eyes are still open at 10:30pm… VHF/UHF? Test patterns?

Baseball was by radio – unless you were fortunate enough to be on the Game of the Week (seems to me it was always either the Yankees or the Dodgers.. ) Dirt was hidden in shag carpet, waterbeds were the bomb (until they burst, or, the heater went on the fritz.

Sleeping on sheets dried on the clothesline, yum! Fried chicken straight from the chicken coop – “Oh Granny, you didn’t?”..

We worked our fine motor skills turning/tuning the radio dial.. We caught (and saved in jars) lightning bugs.. WHY? A trip to the grocery store with pop bottles in a wagon yielded an ice cream cone, two packs of baseball cards and a wax bottle – remember those?

We walked to school by ourselves, or, with the neighbor who was 4 years older, or 3 years younger.. and mom’s only fear was “look both ways when crossing”….

Ya knew what year virtually any car was, and model change was a HUGE event. The phone cord stretched from the kitchen to the dining room – and we’d never heard of the ‘five second rule’ should an orange slice make its way to the floor.

Dogs helped wash dishes and somehow we survived. Playing an album was awesome – until your younger brother did a handspring and landed two feet from the record player, ruining the album forever..

Police were respected.. By teachers we were directed.. Our parents backed the principal.. I don’t ever recall “a problem” with an adult leading/working with little leagers, cub scouts, girl scouts and the like.

Who knows what ‘antiquated’ lifestyles children of today will write about 50-60 years from how.. This much I know – I’m glad I saw it, lived it, loved it – and I will hopefully take that same fervor into tomorrow – the Good Lord willing.

May your day be keen, swell, groovy, The Most. Don’t pop the clutch, dig? Right on, let it all hang out (that’s gnarly).. keep on truckin’.. don’t be a square… peace out. Love, Victurd.

Dream weaver......

Quilts. Wiki relates they mighta originated as far back as “Ancient Egypt”.. Being a C+ history student, I wasn’t sure wheninthehell that was, so I Googled, which led me back to Wiki, which told me as far back as 3100 BC. Dats a long time ago.

When I thinka quilts, I thinka grannies proudly sitting in the rocking chair, specs on, pieces of cloth about, hand-sowing a bright, vibrant quilt for a loved one, friend.. or for their own warmth.

The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. A 6 inch by 6 inch piece of cloth ain’t nuttin. Strewn together with hundreds of other 6 by 6 pieces – it’s strength. Beauty. Fun 'work'. Giving. Laborious love.

Reviving. Hamilton MO. Smalltown America is, sadly, dwindling. Folks flock from quiet rural farms to hubba-hubba suburbia for employment and opportunities. Jenny Doan had other ideas and preferred to stay put. She turned her quilting hobby into a multi-million dollar business, and she’s “The most famous quilter in the world”. It’s literally woven the town back together as well, thus, the symbolism of quilt to the strengthening of fabric, life, people, teams, yada, yada. I love the words quilt/woven, the idea of small parts joining forces to become a strong unit.

My girlfriend’s daughter surprised her with a quilt. It’s really quite unique as it’s composed of actual T-shirts from her mom's 'yesterday'... Companies she's worked for, places she’d been, sayings, bands she’d heard, etc. It’s not only woven together for her mother’s warmth – it's woven with love, and it’s woven for a synopsis of her mom’s life. Pretty cool. Now what was all that talk about Millennials being selfish, entitled?

Lawn chairs are woven, quilted so to speak. New – proud, strong. Old? Sun-bleached, not quite as strong – and moments happen where one’s butt (larger than last remembered) purges thru the woven fabric – embarrassment happens….. but again, it’s kinda symbolic. Virtually everything ages, becomes frail – at least the lucky ones.

Life is a quilt. Friends, family, jobs, school(s), neighbors, vendors, customers, acquaintances, old folks, young folks, in-between folks, yada.

Facebook is, in a way, our own uniquely planned quilt. The T-shirts of our past. The laughter, the tears, the sharing, the compassion, the silliness, the camaraderie… all molded us into who we are.

Victor, you CAN NOT repeat a line you’ve already written. (Sorry).. Virtually everything ages (quilts, cars, buildings, bodies, brains, etc), becomes frail – at least the lucky ones. I wish you mesh happiness, love Victurd.

Someone's knockin' at the door...

Do you let friends in?

Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door and let 'em in

Nuh uh, don’t mean ‘opening the door’, I mean do you let friends in to be very very close to you?
Not certain I really do. Not really certain I know why. I make all this talk about feel, emotion, deep – but then I can ‘cover up’ like onea them roly poly bugs..

Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door and let 'em in, yeah, let 'em in

Prince, RIP. Described this morning on the news as “painfully introverted.” I write too damn much here, so I don’t think I’m necessarily introverted. I think sometimes I don’t let people in (intimately) so it won’t hurt so much should they ‘go’. You?

Sister Suzie, brother John
Martin Luther, Phil and Don
Brother Michael, auntie Gin
Open the door and let 'em in, yeah

I do have a BFF, since childhood. While we’re still, and always will be very close – marriage(s), kids, grandkids, work – stuff like that have gotten in the way – so it’s different… but, still the same closeness/appreciation whenever we do catch up. Just like yesterday (another Beatle's song, ha!)

Sister Suzie, brother John
Martin Luther, Phil and Don
Uncle Ernie, auntie Gin
Open the door and let 'em in, yeah

I so admire certain friends, relatives that have multiple close, lifelong friends. The "drop everything I'll be there in a sec" kinda friends. I too believe I do, but not sure I don’t occasionally roly poly in certain areas.

Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door and let 'em in, ooh yeah, let 'em in

I do cry at funerals. I cry (inside) when I hurt. I cry when I see others hurt. When it’s all said and done, maybe I actually do let them in. You?

Sister Suzie, brother John
Martin Luther, Phil and Don
Uncle Earnie, uncle Lin
Open the door and let 'em in, yeah

Life’s a shell game… I guess.. Where we look around, look for friends.. Should we, do we, open the door?

Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door and let 'em in, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Love, Victurd

Blurt

Blurt

Blurt can be curt and can cause hurt.
I go about quite nicely, and then I slip and spurt.

Words they’re sharp, both East, West, North and South –
Blurt, curt, spurt – damnit, you’ve opened your mouth.

Ya can’t yank ‘em back with a rope - you dope…..
Soooooooo, don’t sit there and mope.

Blurt curt spurt, sure can cause a big frown…
Pride is hard to swallow, but it will eventually go down.

Others blurt, and man it can hurt.
Wanna run, hide, drop down in the dirt.

Don’t girt, don’t be pert – simply turn around, lead with your shirt.

When one blurts, damn it does echo…… and echo,
Makes one hurt, sad, green like that damn gecko.

Practice what we preach… Cause once gone, them words we can’t reach.
Suckup the lesson leech.. every waking moment, opportunity to teach.
(Our turn to learn)

Blurt can hurt, tether up there forever….
No temp, no scrape, no bruise, still - belly under the weather…

You can run but you can’t hide – careful what you say or you’ll hurt inside.

He/she repeated, seemed conceited, left one defeated, depleted, mistreated.
The rule is quite simple.. Treat one another how you’d like to be treated.

By Henry Gibson

Those were the days....

Hey Edith, what say we binge-watch a couplea Gunsmoke seasons tonight?
I dunno Archie, I kinda had my heart set on unplugging our phones, taking them to Perkins,
having a bite to eat and staring at them all night….

Boy the way Glen Miller played
Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us we had it made,
Those were the days.

Edith, how bout some dinner? Sure Arch, just as soon as I download this S&H Greenstamp app.. Ok, then after supper maybe we’ll get to see Ann Margaret do some twerking on the boob tube eh? Hey, and why don’t you ask Siri to find out where Gloria and Meathead are, see if she'll GPS ‘em, then maybe they can eat with us?

And you knew who you were then,
Girls were girls and men were men,
Mister we could use a man
Like Herbert Hoover again.

Hey Edith, don’t this upcoming election trump all? Next thing ya know we’ll have a female in the White House.. Ohhh I dunno Arch, how could ya cook, clean, entertain AND run the country? The times there’a changin’ Edith.. the times there’a changin.

Didn't need no welfare state,
Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee our old LaSalle ran great.
Those were the days.

Slow down, you move too fast

You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy

Life’s a garden, dig it. Life goes fast, remember/enjoy it. With all the hustle/bustle of November 2016 elections, ISIS, Immigration, refugees, global warming, healthcare costs, yada – I thought it’d be nice to close ones eyes for a sec and simply ‘remember good’.

So I did so. One recent feel good was simply that, closing my eyes and remembering yesteryear.. painting my youth’s Big Screen on the insides of my eyelids. Performers were parents, sister, grandparents, extended family, friends, coworkers, the gamut of folks who’ve wondered in/out of my life.

Hello lamppost, what'cha knowing
I've come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doo-ait-n-doo-doo, feeling groovy
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy

Can I be a witness? Song for another day – but, things I’ve recently witnessed making me feel groovy: a crowd of 70, 80-somethings bouncing to the beat of Big Band era songs. Their yesterday returned as well. A baby’s first steps. A dog at play. 70 degrees in February. Four friends in the pasture of the golf course.

I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morningtime drop all its petals on me
Life, I love you, all is groovy

The autistic student manager of a high school basketball team, inserted in the lineup of a ‘real’ game – he sinking a 3 pointer, mobbed by teammates, classmates. Glee. The chicken runs at midnight (long story, teared me up in a feel good way).. The sights/sounds of baseball – a reminder life is cyclical – and for all the yuck we ‘drive thru’, feeling groovy is sure to happen soon.

Life I love you, all is groovy. Love, Victurd.

Carry on my wayward son,

For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Wayward as in capricious, erratic, or unpredictable. Yesterday… Attended a fascinating “Big Band Era” production – twas really really marvelous. The second act opened with a long, soft, mellow instrumental – and I closed my eyes – envisioned – in what seemed like forever, was but a quick respite… a respite to look at those close, but now gone.. of youth, but no longer.. of good/great times – etched forever – but in the aft of life.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I'm dreamin', I can hear them say

I can still ‘hear’ my mother’s voice… my sister’s.. father’s… grandmother’s.. teachers, coaches, youthful friends, classmates, college buds – ago…. Songs of yesterday, sounds of yesterday, Long ago..

Carry on my wayward son,
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Carry on, as in, the river will still flow. The pages to the book will still turn. The characters they come, the characters they go – there’ll be peace when we are done.


Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know
On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

Stormy, tossed, masquerading, charades – “wise”.. course for winds of fortune.. Those before us, those after us. Even those after them. Carry on.

Carry on my wayward son,
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Weary ultimately happens.. sooner for some, later for others.. Fleeting, time here.
Carry on, you will always remember
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor
Now your life's no longer empty

Surely heaven waits for you
Carry on my wayward son,
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Carry on… and let’s do so righteously… congruently (at least with peace amongst one another).. Harmonious.. in brotherhood.. Our paths always end, but others will carry on. Life is fleeting, let’s not cry no more.

Happy trails to you......

Perhaps the slug does it best.. at least you can see the trail they’ve left behind.. a bit gooey though.. Us humans – we have all this ambition.. we mate.. we populate.. we accumulate.. we assimilate.. we aim to have the best… the most.. the biggest.. the baddest..

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.

Then.. we spend our latter years downsizing.. on our way out.. .

Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Packing I was (to move hopefully a FINAL time).. .. going thru old stuff.. parent’s old stuff.. not much left. Of course precious pics (What’s to come of digital pics into the future?.. Saved forever? There’s simply something about holding a 5 by 7 in one’s hand – lifelike).. I think of all they owned (and I don’t mean “ha ha look at me”.. I mean that we were a very average family.. but we, like all, had ‘stuff’, belongings)..

Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here’s a happy one for you.

Then we die. Our trail comes to an end. We know our own trail. We vividly remember our parent’s trail. We have our youthful take of our grandparent’s trail.. the vast majority of us have no idea on our “great” grandparent’s trail. Trails evaporate. By the wayside. Poof.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Seems here we should mebbe change songs to “What’s it all about, Alfie?”.. Or mebbe "All we are is dust in the wind".. so… reckon we have to make our trail the best, for ourselves.. One day no one will remember us anyways.. WE need to make that trail nice – nifty. We need to make that trail happy. We need to remember it ain’t about stuff.. we ultimately get ridda all that.. – it’s about stuffing fun, family, love, comeraderie, niceness, smiles – all that, into our trail. Roy and Dale seemed to ‘get it’. Hope we do too.

Happy trails to you, ‘till we meet again… Let’s make a pact not to be a gooey slug. Love, Victurd

Got any spare change?

Personalities.. Looks. Mates. Opinions. Financial status. Stock market. Weather. Undies. Spare. Roller coasters. Tides. Solar/Lunar. Style. Jobs. Choices. Path. Priorities. Self-talk. Motivation. Friends. Waistlines. Commitments. Inputs. Methods. Intensity. Spending.

Uh huh, things that change (or can).. 180’s. Some do 180’s. Some, 360’s. Some change there is no control over. Some changes are ones we very badly want to do – but ain’t got the chutzpah to do so.
We close our eyes and see our perfect person in the mirror, yet, we devour that twinkie anyways.. we puff away “just this one”.. we have another.. we repeat the same behaviors in spite of inching along on the balance beam of intention. We swim toward the wall, but the current keeps us from gaining any ground.

Some change is really really good. A new dog. A new mate. A new job. A new lease on life. A 180. I had cataracts 9 years ago. Doc literally ‘busted’ my lenses, replaced with lens implants. I walked into the Piggly Wiggly shortly after and the change was unreal. Bright, flamboyant, beautiful – I’d trudged in greyness seemingly forever and forever without knowing so. “Po’ but didn’t know it” I believe my mother would have likened it to. My eyes were depressed, so to speak.

For many, change is accompanied by proudness. Cool. Hard work rewards. Change can lift from depression. Sometimes change happens due to luck.

I ain’t no shrink, but I think depression is 360. It’s same ole same ole. Stuck. Treading water –arms that grow tired doing so. Drink, smoke, Candy Crush, online slots, worse, mire. Sleep 12 hours. Sleep zero hours. This usedta be fun. Ashamed. Agitated. Headache. Eat. Don’t eat. Tired.

Miracles, good friends, new mates, better outlooks, self help, 180’s – do/can happen.

Never give up. Each day is a gift, each sunrise a blessing.. Every breathe we take. Life is good, somewhere in there – wait for it. Visualize it. Trust it’ll happen. Up follows down. Teeters totter. Frowns change. Osmosis is real.

Change is a miracle. Striving for even perhaps a greater thing. Love, Victurd

Your Phil……..

Way more than you ever ever wanted to know about Punxsutawney Phil.

Tradition started in 1887. “They” say “there is only one Phil, and all the other groundhogs are imposters".. This is interesting since the life expectancy of a groundhog is 6 years.

Phil’s wife is Phyllis (of course) and their daughter is Phelicia (uh huh). Their home is actually a couple miles East of Punxsutawney.

Groundhog Day was actually filmed in Woodstock, Illinois.

In 1995, Phil flew to Chicago for a guest spot on Oprah.

In March of 2013 an Ohio County prosecutor sent an email calling for Phil to get the death penalty for “misrepresentation of an early Spring, an Unclassified Felony, and against the peace and dignity of the State of Ohio.” (Temps that day reached a record low, snow fell.. and temps remained below seasonal average for some time.)

In February of 2015, the Merrimack Police Department in New Hampshire issued an arrest warrant for Punx for having failed to disclose the extreme amounts of snow that would ensue after Groundhog Day.

Phil has now made predictions for 120 years. He’s predicted an early spring (no shadow) only 18 times (including this year, an early Spring, 2016). Those keeping tabs say his predictions have proved correct 39% of the time. This is significantly worse than chance – and the traditional interpretation of Punxsutawney Phil’s predictions should be reversed.

Crap. 6 more weeks of winter. At least, he’s as accurate as Busby, Lezak, Thompson.

Your Phil for today. Quick, close your eyes. Can you spell Punxsutawney?

Victurd