Golf.
Golf, like many things in life, has natural 'progressions' to let one know just how damn old one is.
We, three of Medicare age - struck out on a "regulation" course yesterday. Earlier this year, we'd joined an "Executive" course - and I ain't real sure why they call it that, because it's basically for retirees (All the holes are par 3, you don't have to walk as far - the longest hole is 190 yards, you don't have to hit it as far.. it takes less time/energy, it's perfect for us old farts.)
But, there we were, the three of us, on a huge, regular course, oh yea, a couple of par 3's, but mostly par 4's that are 400+ yards long, and a few par 5's that are the equivalent of walking from Liberty to Kearney. There are Blue Tees, the ones farthest from the hole you're trying to hit it to.. "those are for younger people." Some years ago, due to our (lack of) skill level - we moved up to the White Tees, a tad closer and located somewhere between the young pup Blue Tees and the Women's Tees.
As Baby Boomer became a catch phrase, someone had the bright idea to add Gold Tees... even closer to the hole for us Old Farts. As we old farts sometimes naturally do, we scoffed at the Gold Tee idea - and we played the White Tees (more walking, having to hit farther, higher scores, yada). We're not sure exactly at what age you start playing the Gold Tees, but I recommend them once you hear "how come you ain't playing the Gold Tees?" - kinda like the time I ordered a black coffee at McDonalds and the snotnose shot back "One Senior coffee coming up."
None of us three golfers are/were former NBA, Major League Baseball, NFL, nor PGA folk - but - "reasonably athletic" back in the day. As we butchered our way along the course, I smiled, announced to my buddies "ya know, this is fun, we oughta plan a float trip." Astonished, the reply was:
"Vic, isn't that something for younger people?" For behoogity sakes. This, coming from probably the most athletic among us, a former linebacker, a dude who used to hit you on the playing field, immediately changing the course of your run from North to South. I giggled outwardly, cussed inwardly, then considered his answer.................
What things ARE WE too old for?
I've never had an entrepreneurial bone in my body, but I have this idea in the back of my brain (scary, I know) to open "Boomer's Groomers." It would be setup for old farts, and services would include toenail clipping, ear hair pulling and eyebrow trimming. Strange thing about toenails, we shrink in height as we age, yet, them friggin' toenails get farther and farther away from the clippers every year. Ear hairs. Why, oh why Lord, do we live on this planet 50+ years never having them - but they allofasudden SPROUT at age 60? Needing to wear 'readers' coupled with bad restroom lighting, WE CAN'T SEE 'EM (ear hairs.) So, Boomer's Groomers would pull 'em forya.
The eyebrows? A given. They too start growing at age 60, the snotnoses (said lovingly) at Great Clips are paid hourly, thus, they don't care, "get 'em outta the chair." Enter Boomer's Groomers.
What else Victor? What else do you find that is "for younger people"?
Well, Pickleball. I know it's the rage, in vogue. (For those that ain't familiar with pickleball, it's tennis's answer to the par 3 golf course for old farts. Smaller court, bigger 'paddle', bigger ball to hit.) Oh, we old people can play pickleball ok, it's just the problem of "when the volley ends" and you gotta bend over and pickup the damn ball that is the hard part. Thus, entrepreneurial plan 2, "Pickleball Picker Uppers." We'd get with engineers, figure a way to have some magnetic thingy in the paddle and in the ball.. that wouldn't affect the actual hitting of it, but, when the volley is over, you hover the paddle over the ball and the magnetic field makes the ball magically rise up to stick to your paddle. Screw a bunch of "isn't that for younger people", hell to the yes we can play Pickleball (outfitted with Pickleball Picker Uppers.)
To be frank, I'd have to legally change my name. Sorry. That was a bad one. To be frank, the "isn't that for younger people" regarding the suggested canoe trip kinda peeved me off. Oh, there are some things I could give a rats about that are for younger people (rap music, video games, college loan debt, running, hoverboards, piercings anywhere that really hurts, mom/dad's basement, SnapChat, Pokémon, the left lane on Interstate, hold my beer and watch this, champagne at midnight on New Year's Eve, 3am infomercials, Elmo/Big Bird/Cookie Monster, yada.) Nevermind on Elmo/Big Bird/Cookie Monster, I've found it's twice as fun the second time thru!
I never knew the origin of the phrase "biting the bullet" ("It is often stated that it is derived historically from the practice of having a patient clench a bullet in his or her teeth as a way to cope with the extreme pain of a surgical procedure without anesthetic.") Ahm, I will never be too old for anesthetic, but mebbe I will bite the bullet on some things I can no longer do.
It is my hope though, there are folks in my Boomer corner, who, when told "isn't that for younger people" reply likewise with "The hell it is!" (It's not advisable to use the phrase "over my dead body" however.)
Going to clip my toenails now, seeya Monday morning.
Love, Victurd
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Friday, April 20, 2018
The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take you away, coming to take you away....
In deference to that one phrase going around regarding news - I much prefer to dip into the meaning behind these Beatle lyrics as "ain't so sure."
Social media of thought:
"Eh, it's a drug thing, can't you hear it? "Roll up roll up for the Mystery Tour"?
"It sounds like a song about Jews being taken away to Nazi death camps, only to be told they were going to "work camps" or something similar ("they've got everything you need [...] satisfaction guaranteed"). They're coming to take you away, take you today. They're not asking you to come on this Mystery Tour, they're forcing you."
"Viet Nam. Tanks 'roll up' and take soldiers away.. the Magical Mystery Tour is dying to take you away."
"Paul's idea for a 3rd movie."
"It speaks to the changing of their music.. teenie bopper to songs with greater meaning, depth."
No matter... to each our own...
I think of life - a Magical Mystery Tour. Who knows what's around the next corner? Magic, it is, if we let it be, pun not intended.
I think of full blown emotion. I love you, I love life, I have no idea to the timing, cast of characters, placement of "the end" - but my eyes are wide wide open to ATTEMPT to suckup the wonder every day, every moment. Sure, I slip, I fail, but I try to remember. Even mundane can be perty nifty - if we allow it.
Alarm clocks awaken us, showers wipe yesterday away to prepare for today, coffee, for many of us, acts as jumper cables. Do we then walk thru life like it's a muddy swamp and frown at the path, or do we attempt to climb the highest mountain, reach the top of that mother and scream out, to no one in particular, I LOVE THIS RIDE!
Victor, you ain't hearing Ringo's beat, your take is too gosh darn Pollyanna. Mebbe, "two sides to every board" my granny usedta say. I'll take it, the song, and MUCH, MUCH more as reminders to smile, laugh, enjoy, not get so damned bent outta shape - know, there are going to be 'swamp moments' - all, while that mountaintop is within view. Within heart. Within behavior.
There is, frankly, much within life that ain't quite so joyful... thus, I dig into my bag of tricks and I watch an Ellen Show.. play golf with buddies of 50+ years.. or I dial up 781-1998 and orders me a 300 burger with ketchup and pickles... or I youtube Ray Charles.. and after a few songs, I search for "Shout, Parts 1 and 2" by the Isley Brothers:
We-eee-eel... you know you (life) make me wanna shout, kick my heels up and shout, throw my hands up and shout, throw my head back and shout, come on now... don't forget to say you will.. don't forget to say, yeah, yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah.. Say you will, say it right now baby, say you will, come on, come on, say you will.. say that you will..
The thicket ain't the ticket - it's walking, living the belief this is a magical mystery tour.
Death happens too often.. too early... too unpredicted. We drive the roads, worry about traffic, tailgaters, money for commute, upward mobility, what other's think, this/that... patooey. It's a magical mystery tour, if we allow it.
I don't need much. When the day comes I'm at the front of the room in that urn, all I'd like to hear is "damn, he 'got it'.. he enjoyed life.. sure, he had faults, but he was basically nice to people.."
The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take you away.. coming to take you away..
Set your alarm, shower off yesterday, drink that java... go/do/live... joyously,
Love, Victurd
Social media of thought:
"Eh, it's a drug thing, can't you hear it? "Roll up roll up for the Mystery Tour"?
"It sounds like a song about Jews being taken away to Nazi death camps, only to be told they were going to "work camps" or something similar ("they've got everything you need [...] satisfaction guaranteed"). They're coming to take you away, take you today. They're not asking you to come on this Mystery Tour, they're forcing you."
"Viet Nam. Tanks 'roll up' and take soldiers away.. the Magical Mystery Tour is dying to take you away."
"Paul's idea for a 3rd movie."
"It speaks to the changing of their music.. teenie bopper to songs with greater meaning, depth."
No matter... to each our own...
I think of life - a Magical Mystery Tour. Who knows what's around the next corner? Magic, it is, if we let it be, pun not intended.
I think of full blown emotion. I love you, I love life, I have no idea to the timing, cast of characters, placement of "the end" - but my eyes are wide wide open to ATTEMPT to suckup the wonder every day, every moment. Sure, I slip, I fail, but I try to remember. Even mundane can be perty nifty - if we allow it.
Alarm clocks awaken us, showers wipe yesterday away to prepare for today, coffee, for many of us, acts as jumper cables. Do we then walk thru life like it's a muddy swamp and frown at the path, or do we attempt to climb the highest mountain, reach the top of that mother and scream out, to no one in particular, I LOVE THIS RIDE!
Victor, you ain't hearing Ringo's beat, your take is too gosh darn Pollyanna. Mebbe, "two sides to every board" my granny usedta say. I'll take it, the song, and MUCH, MUCH more as reminders to smile, laugh, enjoy, not get so damned bent outta shape - know, there are going to be 'swamp moments' - all, while that mountaintop is within view. Within heart. Within behavior.
There is, frankly, much within life that ain't quite so joyful... thus, I dig into my bag of tricks and I watch an Ellen Show.. play golf with buddies of 50+ years.. or I dial up 781-1998 and orders me a 300 burger with ketchup and pickles... or I youtube Ray Charles.. and after a few songs, I search for "Shout, Parts 1 and 2" by the Isley Brothers:
We-eee-eel... you know you (life) make me wanna shout, kick my heels up and shout, throw my hands up and shout, throw my head back and shout, come on now... don't forget to say you will.. don't forget to say, yeah, yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah.. Say you will, say it right now baby, say you will, come on, come on, say you will.. say that you will..
The thicket ain't the ticket - it's walking, living the belief this is a magical mystery tour.
Death happens too often.. too early... too unpredicted. We drive the roads, worry about traffic, tailgaters, money for commute, upward mobility, what other's think, this/that... patooey. It's a magical mystery tour, if we allow it.
I don't need much. When the day comes I'm at the front of the room in that urn, all I'd like to hear is "damn, he 'got it'.. he enjoyed life.. sure, he had faults, but he was basically nice to people.."
The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take you away.. coming to take you away..
Set your alarm, shower off yesterday, drink that java... go/do/live... joyously,
Love, Victurd
Monday, April 16, 2018
January 106th........
Damnit darnit it's cold.
I guess this is where Ed McMahon on cue supplies "How cold is it?"........ To which Johnny replies
"Well, on my way in this afternoon, I couldn't help but notice an exhibitionist on the corner, and it's so cold, he was flashing a drawing of himself."
We all, well.. most of you.. remember the extremes. Gotta buddy who ridiculously (but said lovingly) can recite the date, the year, and hell, even the time of day he tied his left shoe first insteada normally tying his right one. I can't remember the dates of when power lines were down, the ice was so bad it completely halted our town for days upon days, but, bet he can.
I can't remember what year/month it was we were snowed in for four days, but I do remember I was outta smokes, and I frantically tore up the house looking for cigars buddies had given me when their baby was born. I'd find one, puff a bit, put it out, go back later and repeat.
Heat spells, nope, don't remember.
Point is, I may, may not come across this blog years from now and ask "whatinthehell are you talking about? I don't remember that?"
It's been nothing earth-shattering. No record snows. No ice. For the record, Piggly Wiggly ain't never even ran outta bread, milk - but GEEZ will this cold ever letup? Out damn spot, out I say!
Ever been in the backyard relaxing on onea those fold up lawn chairs strong enough to support 170 lbs? (I say that because I've broken 5 or 6 of them cheap suckers, so I finally got one that's good for "up to 350 lbs").. and.. whilst relaxing in that chair a damn mosquito starts buzzing and IT WILL NOT STOP... IT WILL NOT BE SWATTED... how, with them tiny little damn eyes can it keep evading my right palm? I'll try slapping with BOTH hands.. nope, nada.. ANNOYING. BUZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ... (More buzz below:)
That's been this damn winter. January, they say, was the coldest on record. I won't remember that, but I do remember hearing that. People made fun of me (I shoulda never opened my trap) when I said my thermostat was set at 59. Their wrath, combined with it being too damn cold to run around, cavort clad only in my preferred undies, caused me to rethink and "up that" to 63 degrees.
I've got plastic with Gorilla tape on every dadgum window in this apartment.
I want Cancun. I'll plan.
Oh shit, December heat bill. "Maybe drive to Destin, FL instead?"
January heat bill. "Hey, remember how much fun Silver Dollar City usedta be? Let's go there!"
February heat bill. "Does the Holiday Inn over by World's of Fun still have that occasional 'buy one night, get two?' "
March heat bill. "Whereinthehell did I put that tent? We're vacationing at Smithville Lake this year."
I've had all I can takes and I can't takes no more. I cannot see out my dadgum windows due to the plastic.. I peruse the forecast.. "Oh yeah, it looks like maybe after this weekend Spring will finally be here.".. Weekend comes, new 10 day forecast. Damnit darnit, more cold on the way - gotta wait another week before I rip that plastic off.
GO AWAY DAMN MOSQUITO!... buzzzzzzz, buzzzzzz...
I gotta one bedroom apartment in an old, 2 story, leaky house (coupled with thermostat at 63) - thus the plastic. I don't go the gym any more. This is where Ed asks "Why not Victor?"... Well, my apartment takes up one side of the house lengthwise. My bedroom, with a very small closet, is on one end of the house. The only other closet is on the very other end. I thought I'd Don Adams "Get Smart" and put my long sleeve goodies in the bedroom closet back in October.. and the short sleeve goodies clear on the other enda the house. I swapped 'em (short sleeve to BR, long sleeve to back of house) in February cause I just knew Spring was around the corner. In looking at my cheapass 'app' that tells me how many steps a day I take - I've been taking MANY to begrudgingly go to the other end of the house to retrieve yet another long sleeved shirt. THAT, has been my exercise.
Dear Spring: One way, or another, I'm gonna findya.. I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha.
Again, it ain't been earth-shattering - just annoying.. you know, like a 30 minute office meeting that takes two hours. Like yet another Vinson Mortgage or 1-800-GOT-JUNK commercial.. or a hangnail that WILL NOT mend.. it harkens me back to the parenting days of repeatedly hearing "I'M HUNGRY".. when, CRIMINY, I just fed you YESTERDAY?!!!
You remember the gal you went out with back in the day and you shared that heart palpitating, lengthy, wonderful kiss.. so you went out again (and again).. and turned to repeat (again and again) another yummy smacker and she turned her head away (again and again)? Uh huh.. that's the way this damn winter has been. Go play golf, nope, put the clubs away, more cold coming. Go play golf, huh uh, wait awhile. TEASING. THAT DAMNED BUZZING MOSQUITO.
I gotta go. (I gotta go because THAT'S WHAT THE DAMN COLD DOES TO OLD FART MEN, it makes one haveta pee!).. BRRRR...
I do hereby solemnly swear to never, NEVER, sing that "Sunshine go away today" song again. I needta cheer up. Maybe I'll get the paper and read the Comey recap. Oops.
With warm regards,
Love, Victurd.
I guess this is where Ed McMahon on cue supplies "How cold is it?"........ To which Johnny replies
"Well, on my way in this afternoon, I couldn't help but notice an exhibitionist on the corner, and it's so cold, he was flashing a drawing of himself."
We all, well.. most of you.. remember the extremes. Gotta buddy who ridiculously (but said lovingly) can recite the date, the year, and hell, even the time of day he tied his left shoe first insteada normally tying his right one. I can't remember the dates of when power lines were down, the ice was so bad it completely halted our town for days upon days, but, bet he can.
I can't remember what year/month it was we were snowed in for four days, but I do remember I was outta smokes, and I frantically tore up the house looking for cigars buddies had given me when their baby was born. I'd find one, puff a bit, put it out, go back later and repeat.
Heat spells, nope, don't remember.
Point is, I may, may not come across this blog years from now and ask "whatinthehell are you talking about? I don't remember that?"
It's been nothing earth-shattering. No record snows. No ice. For the record, Piggly Wiggly ain't never even ran outta bread, milk - but GEEZ will this cold ever letup? Out damn spot, out I say!
Ever been in the backyard relaxing on onea those fold up lawn chairs strong enough to support 170 lbs? (I say that because I've broken 5 or 6 of them cheap suckers, so I finally got one that's good for "up to 350 lbs").. and.. whilst relaxing in that chair a damn mosquito starts buzzing and IT WILL NOT STOP... IT WILL NOT BE SWATTED... how, with them tiny little damn eyes can it keep evading my right palm? I'll try slapping with BOTH hands.. nope, nada.. ANNOYING. BUZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ... (More buzz below:)
That's been this damn winter. January, they say, was the coldest on record. I won't remember that, but I do remember hearing that. People made fun of me (I shoulda never opened my trap) when I said my thermostat was set at 59. Their wrath, combined with it being too damn cold to run around, cavort clad only in my preferred undies, caused me to rethink and "up that" to 63 degrees.
I've got plastic with Gorilla tape on every dadgum window in this apartment.
I want Cancun. I'll plan.
Oh shit, December heat bill. "Maybe drive to Destin, FL instead?"
January heat bill. "Hey, remember how much fun Silver Dollar City usedta be? Let's go there!"
February heat bill. "Does the Holiday Inn over by World's of Fun still have that occasional 'buy one night, get two?' "
March heat bill. "Whereinthehell did I put that tent? We're vacationing at Smithville Lake this year."
I've had all I can takes and I can't takes no more. I cannot see out my dadgum windows due to the plastic.. I peruse the forecast.. "Oh yeah, it looks like maybe after this weekend Spring will finally be here.".. Weekend comes, new 10 day forecast. Damnit darnit, more cold on the way - gotta wait another week before I rip that plastic off.
GO AWAY DAMN MOSQUITO!... buzzzzzzz, buzzzzzz...
I gotta one bedroom apartment in an old, 2 story, leaky house (coupled with thermostat at 63) - thus the plastic. I don't go the gym any more. This is where Ed asks "Why not Victor?"... Well, my apartment takes up one side of the house lengthwise. My bedroom, with a very small closet, is on one end of the house. The only other closet is on the very other end. I thought I'd Don Adams "Get Smart" and put my long sleeve goodies in the bedroom closet back in October.. and the short sleeve goodies clear on the other enda the house. I swapped 'em (short sleeve to BR, long sleeve to back of house) in February cause I just knew Spring was around the corner. In looking at my cheapass 'app' that tells me how many steps a day I take - I've been taking MANY to begrudgingly go to the other end of the house to retrieve yet another long sleeved shirt. THAT, has been my exercise.
Dear Spring: One way, or another, I'm gonna findya.. I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha.
Again, it ain't been earth-shattering - just annoying.. you know, like a 30 minute office meeting that takes two hours. Like yet another Vinson Mortgage or 1-800-GOT-JUNK commercial.. or a hangnail that WILL NOT mend.. it harkens me back to the parenting days of repeatedly hearing "I'M HUNGRY".. when, CRIMINY, I just fed you YESTERDAY?!!!
You remember the gal you went out with back in the day and you shared that heart palpitating, lengthy, wonderful kiss.. so you went out again (and again).. and turned to repeat (again and again) another yummy smacker and she turned her head away (again and again)? Uh huh.. that's the way this damn winter has been. Go play golf, nope, put the clubs away, more cold coming. Go play golf, huh uh, wait awhile. TEASING. THAT DAMNED BUZZING MOSQUITO.
I gotta go. (I gotta go because THAT'S WHAT THE DAMN COLD DOES TO OLD FART MEN, it makes one haveta pee!).. BRRRR...
I do hereby solemnly swear to never, NEVER, sing that "Sunshine go away today" song again. I needta cheer up. Maybe I'll get the paper and read the Comey recap. Oops.
With warm regards,
Love, Victurd.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Take me home, country road.........
I wanna go back.
No, not Marty McFly and Doc back... nor even Phil/Bill Murray Ground Hog Day back......
I just wanna have stuff to return to where fake meant:
She's wearin' falsies, them ain't real.
Take a dime and scrape the gold on that ring, it ain't real, it's fake.
To when the National Enquirer was the only fake rag.
To where 66.6% of the panel on To Tell The Truth were fake.
Them ain't her real eyelashes, they're fake.
We all hopped in Jimmy's car, cause he had a fake ID.
I couldn't take it any longer, Lord I was crazed, And when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave I started swearing to my God on my mother's grave that I would love ya till the end of time, that I would love ya till the end of time, I swore that I would love ya till the end of time.
Dewey Defeats Truman...
Having the fortune to once be married to a Baptist Preacher's daughter.. I was in attendance one Sunday when her father recounted a story about a revival.. the preacher was a preachin'.. the crowd was a rantin'... ESPECIALLY one feller in row twelve. Preach would speak, row 12 dude would holler "Fill me Lord, oh Fill me Lord"... and agin, "Fill me Lord, Oh Fill me Lord,".. this went on into seemingly infinity.. Finally, lady in row 17, who had witnessed the shallow ways of feller in row 12 (coming out of the bar, different women different nights, loud, heavy metal rock parties at his house, cigs, presumed drugs, yada) stood up and shouted "DON'T DO IT LORD.. HE LEAKS!"....
Crop circles... "Rolex's".. Fiji Mermaids.. Jackalopes... Paul is dead... Rosie Ruiz... Flying saucers.. Sasquatch.. The War of the Worlds..
I'd like to again tune to a network (notta notwork) and see/believe.
The hell happened to principles?
Love, Victurd
(And to all you perverts who were expecting me to include "Faking it"... faking it.)
No, not Marty McFly and Doc back... nor even Phil/Bill Murray Ground Hog Day back......
I just wanna have stuff to return to where fake meant:
She's wearin' falsies, them ain't real.
Take a dime and scrape the gold on that ring, it ain't real, it's fake.
To when the National Enquirer was the only fake rag.
To where 66.6% of the panel on To Tell The Truth were fake.
Them ain't her real eyelashes, they're fake.
We all hopped in Jimmy's car, cause he had a fake ID.
I couldn't take it any longer, Lord I was crazed, And when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave I started swearing to my God on my mother's grave that I would love ya till the end of time, that I would love ya till the end of time, I swore that I would love ya till the end of time.
Dewey Defeats Truman...
Having the fortune to once be married to a Baptist Preacher's daughter.. I was in attendance one Sunday when her father recounted a story about a revival.. the preacher was a preachin'.. the crowd was a rantin'... ESPECIALLY one feller in row twelve. Preach would speak, row 12 dude would holler "Fill me Lord, oh Fill me Lord"... and agin, "Fill me Lord, Oh Fill me Lord,".. this went on into seemingly infinity.. Finally, lady in row 17, who had witnessed the shallow ways of feller in row 12 (coming out of the bar, different women different nights, loud, heavy metal rock parties at his house, cigs, presumed drugs, yada) stood up and shouted "DON'T DO IT LORD.. HE LEAKS!"....
Crop circles... "Rolex's".. Fiji Mermaids.. Jackalopes... Paul is dead... Rosie Ruiz... Flying saucers.. Sasquatch.. The War of the Worlds..
I'd like to again tune to a network (notta notwork) and see/believe.
The hell happened to principles?
Love, Victurd
(And to all you perverts who were expecting me to include "Faking it"... faking it.)
Friday, April 13, 2018
A constant...
Writing, for me, is fun - messed up, but blessed. Thinking to one's self is fun, messed up, but blessed.
I was gonna title this "Let it be", didn't - but more on that later.
Life is so very different. It's different a continent away... Across the Continental borders... Across these United States.. Different a County away.. Different down the street.. even different next door. Even the apartment above you.
Folks live on the street.. in tents.. shacks put together with pallets.. studio apartments.. rental houses.. small, family homes.. large estates...
On our feet, some wear nothing.. some, made from birch bark.. sandals.. loafers.. cowboy boots, huge - furry boots..
We make no bucks, some bucks, a lotta bucks.. dollars, yen, pounds, rands, Euros, Francs, yada.
We are small, large, medium, light skinned, medium skinned, dark skinned, hairy, not hairy, blonde, brunette, ginger, tall, short, abled, disabled, loud, quiet, yada.
Our lives are spent diversely. Some, hunting prey to subsist, most - running to make ends to meet.. some, with silver spoon in hand.
Victor, what on earth could that constant be?
Mom(s).
Moms come in all sizes, varieties. Most, birth the child, many, do not. Some moms are grannies, some are even aunts. My own father - his mom died when he was 6. He turned out ok, because he was raised by many, and certainly by one specific aunt.
I have friends who have adopted children and are wonderful mothers.. I have friends who are raising their grandchildren, and are truly devoted 'moms'. I have friends who are adopted, who adore their 'moms.'
Thank you Lord for this.
"All that I am, or hope to be I owe to my angel mother." Abraham Lincoln.
Impossible for us men to put ourselves in those bare feet, birch bark shoes, sandals, loafers, cowgirl boots, furry big things. However, we know all very well about moms.
What better than observing a mom looking at their child while the child can't see her - the smile, the proudness, the sentinel.
I am aware, not 100% of the people have a superb, perfect, mother-child relationship. That said, I can't help but think a good life lived goes without having been touched by one, some, many females along the way.
Moms spank, and don't spank. Moms are quiet. Unassuming. Lead by example. Demonstrative. Loud. Different, but same. Some put the fear of God in one, some put God in one - most are Godly - some, even all three.
"I was lucky" say many of us. Much sticks with me regarding my mother - but some real huge things standout. She allowed me to think on my own two feet - even knowing that may get me knocked down. She never told me "treat people how you'd like to be treated", she lived it, demonstrated it. Daily, even to a stranger passing the other way at the convenience store, we hear "how ya doing?" My mother always asked "How's my Victor?" And she meant it.
You're stuck, it's my blog - a couple more diddies on my mother then I'll move on. The things one keeps. I will never forget being at a Major League game, a 100 mph foul ball hit our way.. the inclination is to duck, throw your arms up to protect one's own head, get the heck out of the way.. not mom.. she shielded ME. That was my mom, your mom, moms. I remember coughing spells - and how she would not take a breath until I took mine.
"God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers." Rudyard Kimpling.
Let it be. Paul McCartney wrote these lyrics at the twilight of the Beatles. He claims he was alone, had been drinking, probably depressed. His mother (named Mary) passed when he was 14. She came to him in a dream. He heard the words "Let it be," as in words of comfort, reminding him not to think about sad things too much, to accept bad things that happened that can't be changed.. "Although they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer - let it be."
Even mom's gone, are always there. The moves we make, the thoughts we take. We talk internally, and we bounce ideas off mom, both living and posthumously.
"A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them." Victor Hugo.
Going back to McCartney's "Let it be," it's many things. A retort to our beating ourselves up. An answer to "what should I do?".. A simple calmness to a storm.
I'll go now. Turning on the TV, reading the newspaper, hearing the old guys that gather daily around the table at the local diner - reminds us, our world seems to be a pretty gosh darn messed up place at present.
Imagine how much worse off we'd be without moms...
No matter your age, you always need your mom. If you are one, please take a deserved pat on your own back.
Love, Victurd
I was gonna title this "Let it be", didn't - but more on that later.
Life is so very different. It's different a continent away... Across the Continental borders... Across these United States.. Different a County away.. Different down the street.. even different next door. Even the apartment above you.
Folks live on the street.. in tents.. shacks put together with pallets.. studio apartments.. rental houses.. small, family homes.. large estates...
On our feet, some wear nothing.. some, made from birch bark.. sandals.. loafers.. cowboy boots, huge - furry boots..
We make no bucks, some bucks, a lotta bucks.. dollars, yen, pounds, rands, Euros, Francs, yada.
We are small, large, medium, light skinned, medium skinned, dark skinned, hairy, not hairy, blonde, brunette, ginger, tall, short, abled, disabled, loud, quiet, yada.
Our lives are spent diversely. Some, hunting prey to subsist, most - running to make ends to meet.. some, with silver spoon in hand.
Victor, what on earth could that constant be?
Mom(s).
Moms come in all sizes, varieties. Most, birth the child, many, do not. Some moms are grannies, some are even aunts. My own father - his mom died when he was 6. He turned out ok, because he was raised by many, and certainly by one specific aunt.
I have friends who have adopted children and are wonderful mothers.. I have friends who are raising their grandchildren, and are truly devoted 'moms'. I have friends who are adopted, who adore their 'moms.'
Thank you Lord for this.
"All that I am, or hope to be I owe to my angel mother." Abraham Lincoln.
Impossible for us men to put ourselves in those bare feet, birch bark shoes, sandals, loafers, cowgirl boots, furry big things. However, we know all very well about moms.
What better than observing a mom looking at their child while the child can't see her - the smile, the proudness, the sentinel.
I am aware, not 100% of the people have a superb, perfect, mother-child relationship. That said, I can't help but think a good life lived goes without having been touched by one, some, many females along the way.
Moms spank, and don't spank. Moms are quiet. Unassuming. Lead by example. Demonstrative. Loud. Different, but same. Some put the fear of God in one, some put God in one - most are Godly - some, even all three.
"I was lucky" say many of us. Much sticks with me regarding my mother - but some real huge things standout. She allowed me to think on my own two feet - even knowing that may get me knocked down. She never told me "treat people how you'd like to be treated", she lived it, demonstrated it. Daily, even to a stranger passing the other way at the convenience store, we hear "how ya doing?" My mother always asked "How's my Victor?" And she meant it.
You're stuck, it's my blog - a couple more diddies on my mother then I'll move on. The things one keeps. I will never forget being at a Major League game, a 100 mph foul ball hit our way.. the inclination is to duck, throw your arms up to protect one's own head, get the heck out of the way.. not mom.. she shielded ME. That was my mom, your mom, moms. I remember coughing spells - and how she would not take a breath until I took mine.
"God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers." Rudyard Kimpling.
Let it be. Paul McCartney wrote these lyrics at the twilight of the Beatles. He claims he was alone, had been drinking, probably depressed. His mother (named Mary) passed when he was 14. She came to him in a dream. He heard the words "Let it be," as in words of comfort, reminding him not to think about sad things too much, to accept bad things that happened that can't be changed.. "Although they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer - let it be."
Even mom's gone, are always there. The moves we make, the thoughts we take. We talk internally, and we bounce ideas off mom, both living and posthumously.
"A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them." Victor Hugo.
Going back to McCartney's "Let it be," it's many things. A retort to our beating ourselves up. An answer to "what should I do?".. A simple calmness to a storm.
I'll go now. Turning on the TV, reading the newspaper, hearing the old guys that gather daily around the table at the local diner - reminds us, our world seems to be a pretty gosh darn messed up place at present.
Imagine how much worse off we'd be without moms...
No matter your age, you always need your mom. If you are one, please take a deserved pat on your own back.
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
Go away little girl............
Admiration.
Article this morning "Science Explains.. What happens if you never leave your hometown?"
I'm of the onion there's no right answer, generically anyways (I was proofreading, noticed 'onion' insteada 'opinion', left it, cause it kinda fits. Some likey, some no likey onions, moving, staying.) To each his/her own.
Whilst many can't stand Facebook (and again, no right answer) I kinda like it for the quilt it is. I admire reading about friends (Dave, Maureen, Phyllis, Rex, Ron, Sue, etc) who had the wherewithal to Horace Mann it West for that occasional, or often view of the mighty Pacific. There are the Texans.. been there long enough now to proclaim so.. and frankly, folks scattered allover this great US of A.
Color me skeered, mebbe, to strike out. Yesterday there was a thing on FB asking how far from home are you.... Interesting, the answers were. Answers ranged from "Same House!" to 7,880 miles (Where was that Terry Hahn?).. Jim Greer, a close 2nd at 6,511 miles (I'm guessing it was somewhere you were serving our country, and thanks for that!) Where was that as well?
4,661 miles.. 2.4 miles.. 1,609 miles... 22 miles.. Back yard... 14.6 miles.. 10/250/600 from the three places we lived.. 750... 7.1.. 2.6... 940 miles (This was from Sault Ste. Marie, MI, WAY up there - brrrrr, funny though, know two from Upper P, both miss it.),,, 400 feet.. less than 5... 1,557.8 and 1,613.7 <-- Sue/Phyllis, those sounded kinda homesick!.. 1,226... 6 miles.. "too far".. 1208 miles and 37 feet <-- he's a captain for an airline, God Bless his measurement capabilities.. 65.5... 2 miles.. 15 miles.. yada..
The general idea, mixed. Some strike out, some never leave.
Article states "The immigrants that made their way across the ocean.. the cultures that clashed in the bustle of NY or Boston.. the pioneers and cowboys who settled in the Wild West.. and the prospectors who traversed treacherous country in search of gold - we, as people, idolized them all" and I find that true. That's oldstyle though, howabout today? (And Elaine, Randy, Ron, never forgetting those that were trampled upon.)
"We can all name a half a dozen movie, television, or book characters off the top of our heads who are "townies" or "losers" or just plain lazy for not ever having left the town they grow up in, right?".. Eh, mebbe, mebbe not. Fun, we called all the Jewell kids that disrupted, interrupted our homey town "Squirrels."
"People that grow up in densely populated areas of blue states are less likely to get married young..".. "Growing political divide - convincing people to stay home where they're surrounded by like-minded thinkers." Eh, ain't sure about that one. "Wanna move honey?" "Nah, I'm a Democrat (or Republican), let's stay."
"Highly active personalities are more likely to move, and extroverts will migrate to urban location with tons of social opportunities." I think one can see that in peeking at some friends. Boring I reckon I am. I resemble that.
"70% of Midwesterners still live in the state they were born... Californians being the most likely to move away from mom and dad."
My own personal experience. VICTOR, WHO ASKED YA? Sorry, my blog, nanny nanny boo boo. I've never really ventured. Oh, there was that brief respite 11 miles away for a few years in Kearney, MO - but, a snowstorm where I/we were honkered in for four days made me feel like I was in Saskatchewan - so, moved back, ain't never left 64068 again.
Again, skeered maybe. I likes familiarity. I too like reading the "Remembering Old Liberty" thingy on Facebook to get a bird's eye view of what folks, since moved, remember. It seems to be mostly positive, but, I know too there are probably many who don't/didn't give a rats ass about their hometown.
HS Graduation. Oh hell, now what? I gotta do something? Be somebody different? Go somewhere else? Again, me personally (AYE YAI YAI) - my mother worked for William Jewell College. Her pay tweren't great, but her title afforded her to be formally considered "Administration" so I coulda gone free. Gimme right?
Nope. When one is 17 (yes, I was a young punk) in the back of your mind you have this stupid idea "I can't be on the same campus where my mom works." So... I passed up free schooling to drive to Maryville, MO so I could drive home every weekend to see my then girlfriend. Duh. A 1.6 GPA (I'd leave on Thursdays, "Screw Friday class.", I lasted a semester.) Went to Maple Weeds for a couple three semesters, finally caved into the free school idea.
Man was that dumb (worrying about seeing my mom on campus). Turns out, it was my dog that was my embarrassment. Yep. In the days before leash laws, we lived across the street from Jewell. I would go to class, and whoop, there he was, Gabe (my hound.) Following my footsteps. Not cool (at least when you're 19.) I'd get outta class, uh huh, there he was, sitting/waiting. I'd walk to the next class, accompanied of course by my hound.. I'd sneak out the back door for my next class, somehow he figured it out, and again, there "we" were.
Looking back, I was lucky. I loved that dog. I remember the Chief's training camp, and I was so proud of Gabe when the offensive line was blocking on the 7-man sled, and yep, there was Gabe, barking, growling, taking a chunk of hiney outta Center EJ Holub's butt (EJ hitting sled with right arm, swooshing Gabe away with left.) Or, the times the manager at Safeway would call "ahm, it's 95 degrees, Gabe is sitting between the automatic doors so he can take in the AC, we can't get him out, can you help?" (This was all after he'd walked to Co-op and Snoozy bought him a candy bar outta the machine daily.. funny.. no one knew about chocolate/dog/bad, but, it never hurt him.)
I'm getting windy, sorry. Again, I dunno if I'd call it envious, but I do so admire those that struck out for greener pastures, certain wonderful experiences. They say now, with all the dot.com jobs, one can live anywhere. I IMMENSELY admire those that followed the military, transient life, be it as a child or as a young adult. Lord knows I coulda used a cup of that discipline.
I kinda like where I'm at. There is no place like home, right Dorothy? Back in the day I could 'get away from home' but still be minutes away from mom's Spanish Rice.. or... The $5 loan for 'textbooks' so I'd have enough gas to drive to Sammy's bar in Kansas 6 or 7 times. (Hey, it was a VW and gas was under a quarter at the time.)
Anyways, I'm happy with my decision. You?
Go away little girl.. if you wanna. I'm personally, a lover of levity from Liberty. Not bragging at all, it's simply me, where I ended up.
Love, Victurd.
Article this morning "Science Explains.. What happens if you never leave your hometown?"
I'm of the onion there's no right answer, generically anyways (I was proofreading, noticed 'onion' insteada 'opinion', left it, cause it kinda fits. Some likey, some no likey onions, moving, staying.) To each his/her own.
Whilst many can't stand Facebook (and again, no right answer) I kinda like it for the quilt it is. I admire reading about friends (Dave, Maureen, Phyllis, Rex, Ron, Sue, etc) who had the wherewithal to Horace Mann it West for that occasional, or often view of the mighty Pacific. There are the Texans.. been there long enough now to proclaim so.. and frankly, folks scattered allover this great US of A.
Color me skeered, mebbe, to strike out. Yesterday there was a thing on FB asking how far from home are you.... Interesting, the answers were. Answers ranged from "Same House!" to 7,880 miles (Where was that Terry Hahn?).. Jim Greer, a close 2nd at 6,511 miles (I'm guessing it was somewhere you were serving our country, and thanks for that!) Where was that as well?
4,661 miles.. 2.4 miles.. 1,609 miles... 22 miles.. Back yard... 14.6 miles.. 10/250/600 from the three places we lived.. 750... 7.1.. 2.6... 940 miles (This was from Sault Ste. Marie, MI, WAY up there - brrrrr, funny though, know two from Upper P, both miss it.),,, 400 feet.. less than 5... 1,557.8 and 1,613.7 <-- Sue/Phyllis, those sounded kinda homesick!.. 1,226... 6 miles.. "too far".. 1208 miles and 37 feet <-- he's a captain for an airline, God Bless his measurement capabilities.. 65.5... 2 miles.. 15 miles.. yada..
The general idea, mixed. Some strike out, some never leave.
Article states "The immigrants that made their way across the ocean.. the cultures that clashed in the bustle of NY or Boston.. the pioneers and cowboys who settled in the Wild West.. and the prospectors who traversed treacherous country in search of gold - we, as people, idolized them all" and I find that true. That's oldstyle though, howabout today? (And Elaine, Randy, Ron, never forgetting those that were trampled upon.)
"We can all name a half a dozen movie, television, or book characters off the top of our heads who are "townies" or "losers" or just plain lazy for not ever having left the town they grow up in, right?".. Eh, mebbe, mebbe not. Fun, we called all the Jewell kids that disrupted, interrupted our homey town "Squirrels."
"People that grow up in densely populated areas of blue states are less likely to get married young..".. "Growing political divide - convincing people to stay home where they're surrounded by like-minded thinkers." Eh, ain't sure about that one. "Wanna move honey?" "Nah, I'm a Democrat (or Republican), let's stay."
"Highly active personalities are more likely to move, and extroverts will migrate to urban location with tons of social opportunities." I think one can see that in peeking at some friends. Boring I reckon I am. I resemble that.
"70% of Midwesterners still live in the state they were born... Californians being the most likely to move away from mom and dad."
My own personal experience. VICTOR, WHO ASKED YA? Sorry, my blog, nanny nanny boo boo. I've never really ventured. Oh, there was that brief respite 11 miles away for a few years in Kearney, MO - but, a snowstorm where I/we were honkered in for four days made me feel like I was in Saskatchewan - so, moved back, ain't never left 64068 again.
Again, skeered maybe. I likes familiarity. I too like reading the "Remembering Old Liberty" thingy on Facebook to get a bird's eye view of what folks, since moved, remember. It seems to be mostly positive, but, I know too there are probably many who don't/didn't give a rats ass about their hometown.
HS Graduation. Oh hell, now what? I gotta do something? Be somebody different? Go somewhere else? Again, me personally (AYE YAI YAI) - my mother worked for William Jewell College. Her pay tweren't great, but her title afforded her to be formally considered "Administration" so I coulda gone free. Gimme right?
Nope. When one is 17 (yes, I was a young punk) in the back of your mind you have this stupid idea "I can't be on the same campus where my mom works." So... I passed up free schooling to drive to Maryville, MO so I could drive home every weekend to see my then girlfriend. Duh. A 1.6 GPA (I'd leave on Thursdays, "Screw Friday class.", I lasted a semester.) Went to Maple Weeds for a couple three semesters, finally caved into the free school idea.
Man was that dumb (worrying about seeing my mom on campus). Turns out, it was my dog that was my embarrassment. Yep. In the days before leash laws, we lived across the street from Jewell. I would go to class, and whoop, there he was, Gabe (my hound.) Following my footsteps. Not cool (at least when you're 19.) I'd get outta class, uh huh, there he was, sitting/waiting. I'd walk to the next class, accompanied of course by my hound.. I'd sneak out the back door for my next class, somehow he figured it out, and again, there "we" were.
Looking back, I was lucky. I loved that dog. I remember the Chief's training camp, and I was so proud of Gabe when the offensive line was blocking on the 7-man sled, and yep, there was Gabe, barking, growling, taking a chunk of hiney outta Center EJ Holub's butt (EJ hitting sled with right arm, swooshing Gabe away with left.) Or, the times the manager at Safeway would call "ahm, it's 95 degrees, Gabe is sitting between the automatic doors so he can take in the AC, we can't get him out, can you help?" (This was all after he'd walked to Co-op and Snoozy bought him a candy bar outta the machine daily.. funny.. no one knew about chocolate/dog/bad, but, it never hurt him.)
I'm getting windy, sorry. Again, I dunno if I'd call it envious, but I do so admire those that struck out for greener pastures, certain wonderful experiences. They say now, with all the dot.com jobs, one can live anywhere. I IMMENSELY admire those that followed the military, transient life, be it as a child or as a young adult. Lord knows I coulda used a cup of that discipline.
I kinda like where I'm at. There is no place like home, right Dorothy? Back in the day I could 'get away from home' but still be minutes away from mom's Spanish Rice.. or... The $5 loan for 'textbooks' so I'd have enough gas to drive to Sammy's bar in Kansas 6 or 7 times. (Hey, it was a VW and gas was under a quarter at the time.)
Anyways, I'm happy with my decision. You?
Go away little girl.. if you wanna. I'm personally, a lover of levity from Liberty. Not bragging at all, it's simply me, where I ended up.
Love, Victurd.
Monday, April 09, 2018
Perfection Plus.....
Them there be words that maybe cause one to raise an eyebrow. You know. It's kinda like countin' on ten fingers to get to 110%. (When a varmint says "I'm gonna give it 110%" it causes me to vomit varmint.)
Oh, I/we understand commercialism, and good intent. A quick Google of "Perfection Plus" led me to hair salons, Porsche repair shops, boat varnish, decorative concrete, auto detail shops, yada. The Brits awakened to the idea first, tugging on the sleeve of godaddy.com to honker in on THE perfectionplus.com to peddle their dental products.
I just kinda sorta think there ain't no such thing among us humans as perfection plus. Who among us ain't had skidmarks?
Yes, sure, sure sure - we awaken with good intent. We we read self help diddies on how to be a better person, friend, mate, cook, gardner.. we read the Bible.. we set goals.. we monitor our progress.. our intent is perfect, but shut the door Mable, we're gonna stupidly blurt, take a day off from exercising, and burn the damn potatoes. We be human, hear us error.
I've never really been in a fistfight, ain't ashamed of that, it's just never happened. Sure, boxed in gym class, rassled with neighborhood kids about "out/safe", had my veins popping out over things friends have said - but I ain't never struck anyones jaw - and again, perfectly fine with all that. (There's that word again.)
That said, I've beat the crap outta myself all my life. "Bad parent... dumb thing to have said... shoulda studied more for that anatomy/kinesiology test insteada gone to the River with friends.. could/should get a better job.. I don't like you mirror... ashamed, I should be ashamed."
No more. Eh, I say that, thinking I will be perfect (oops) in not belittling myself - but I do think I won't be, haven't been so harsh as the wrinkles add up.
I absolutely think "striving to be the best" is really really nifty... perfection though, it just ain't real. Mebbe "striving to be the best I CAN BE" yeah, but not "striving to be the best (always, in everything)"... "Striving to be the best I CAN BE" hell to the yes, right on, go for that..(as the song says "I can go for that, oh oh oh".. perfect. (Damnit darnit.)
Me thinks we all know people who THINK they are perfect. Victor? You ain't gonna start talking politics areya? Nope. That ain't trump in this blog...
I ain't gonna name names, oh hell, why not.. Patrick Reed.. just won the Masters.. He's exhibited behavior that he's pretty damn proud of himself. Victor, were you rooting against him because he is one of those that kinda sorta thinks they're perfect? Mebbe. Eh, he wins out anyways, marching to the bank to deposit his $1.98 million dollar check.
You know the ones.. the perfect ones. never their fault. Braggadocios without preliminary exhibition of same. NEVER make a mistake. PERFECT. (Pardon me while I throw up the burnt potatoes.) Even ole' Patrick had ELEVEN bogeys en route to his big payday.
The older I get, the less I beat myself up. Probably has more to do with "hell, I can't reach everywhere to beat me up anymore" but I'd like to think it's mebbe I'm more of a realist, and perfection is a bit unrealistic.
You gotta love those with high expectations - but too ya gotta pick 'em up, prop 'em up when failure happens - and failure happens to all us folks.
WHAT are you trying to say here Victor? Is there a perfect message? Ahm, if you were to peek at the name of this blog, 'checkenginelight', it's all about how life just ain't perfect, but that's ok. To me, it really helps to understand that for when the lows happen, and, to put my butt back into place when the chest-puffing-out moments happen.
Victor that's perfect.
GWACK@#%OERWROIUGHTYHA#@$^......oops, sorry, one last sliver of potato snuck out.
Have a perfect day. Your hair looks perfect Donald.
Just kidding, love, Victurd
Oh, I/we understand commercialism, and good intent. A quick Google of "Perfection Plus" led me to hair salons, Porsche repair shops, boat varnish, decorative concrete, auto detail shops, yada. The Brits awakened to the idea first, tugging on the sleeve of godaddy.com to honker in on THE perfectionplus.com to peddle their dental products.
I just kinda sorta think there ain't no such thing among us humans as perfection plus. Who among us ain't had skidmarks?
Yes, sure, sure sure - we awaken with good intent. We we read self help diddies on how to be a better person, friend, mate, cook, gardner.. we read the Bible.. we set goals.. we monitor our progress.. our intent is perfect, but shut the door Mable, we're gonna stupidly blurt, take a day off from exercising, and burn the damn potatoes. We be human, hear us error.
I've never really been in a fistfight, ain't ashamed of that, it's just never happened. Sure, boxed in gym class, rassled with neighborhood kids about "out/safe", had my veins popping out over things friends have said - but I ain't never struck anyones jaw - and again, perfectly fine with all that. (There's that word again.)
That said, I've beat the crap outta myself all my life. "Bad parent... dumb thing to have said... shoulda studied more for that anatomy/kinesiology test insteada gone to the River with friends.. could/should get a better job.. I don't like you mirror... ashamed, I should be ashamed."
No more. Eh, I say that, thinking I will be perfect (oops) in not belittling myself - but I do think I won't be, haven't been so harsh as the wrinkles add up.
I absolutely think "striving to be the best" is really really nifty... perfection though, it just ain't real. Mebbe "striving to be the best I CAN BE" yeah, but not "striving to be the best (always, in everything)"... "Striving to be the best I CAN BE" hell to the yes, right on, go for that..(as the song says "I can go for that, oh oh oh".. perfect. (Damnit darnit.)
Me thinks we all know people who THINK they are perfect. Victor? You ain't gonna start talking politics areya? Nope. That ain't trump in this blog...
I ain't gonna name names, oh hell, why not.. Patrick Reed.. just won the Masters.. He's exhibited behavior that he's pretty damn proud of himself. Victor, were you rooting against him because he is one of those that kinda sorta thinks they're perfect? Mebbe. Eh, he wins out anyways, marching to the bank to deposit his $1.98 million dollar check.
You know the ones.. the perfect ones. never their fault. Braggadocios without preliminary exhibition of same. NEVER make a mistake. PERFECT. (Pardon me while I throw up the burnt potatoes.) Even ole' Patrick had ELEVEN bogeys en route to his big payday.
The older I get, the less I beat myself up. Probably has more to do with "hell, I can't reach everywhere to beat me up anymore" but I'd like to think it's mebbe I'm more of a realist, and perfection is a bit unrealistic.
You gotta love those with high expectations - but too ya gotta pick 'em up, prop 'em up when failure happens - and failure happens to all us folks.
WHAT are you trying to say here Victor? Is there a perfect message? Ahm, if you were to peek at the name of this blog, 'checkenginelight', it's all about how life just ain't perfect, but that's ok. To me, it really helps to understand that for when the lows happen, and, to put my butt back into place when the chest-puffing-out moments happen.
Victor that's perfect.
GWACK@#%OERWROIUGHTYHA#@$^......oops, sorry, one last sliver of potato snuck out.
Have a perfect day. Your hair looks perfect Donald.
Just kidding, love, Victurd
Thursday, April 05, 2018
Hell no, we won't go!
This phrase originated during a 1967 parade at the Armed Forces Induction Center in New York City. Protesters participated in a week long, nationwide "stop the draft week" demonstration.
Number one, please, VietNam vets, know we love you, we bless you and we thank your for your service. We're all ashamed at the treatment, "no thanks" you received for this horrific war. Please bear with me here, as that "hell no" isn't meant to align with this blog - it's more the mindset of the age.
I've been waiting forever (it seems) for the movie "Leisure Seeker" to make it to local theaters.. it finally has. It includes two of my alltime favorites - Donald Sutherland, a retired English professor suffering from dementia, and Helen Mirren, his wife who has recently learned she has Stage 4 cancer. They jump into their old RV in Boston, bound for a trip she's proudly arranged to show him Ernest Hemingway's home in Key West, FL.
The film, admittedly, isn't getting great revues.
I'm an intense lover of emotion - and what better than two people, in their closing moments of life. I figure a tear will happen, and I'm really really ok with that.. in fact, I kinda look forward to it.
I do not have any idea where the phrase "bone to pick" came from - but I have one with Mick Lasalle, a film critic for the San Francisco Chronicle.
I know, in the past, I have spouted about things, then I might reread later and thought to myself "Victor, you need to shut the hell up, for you have no idea what you're talking about.. there is absolutely no way you can put yourself in that person's shoes." Yes, I've been guilty.
Lasalle said the movie has a beginning and an end, but can have no middle. "There is no possibility for development in their relationship - he's pretty much gone. THERE'S REALLY NOWHERE FOR THE MOVIE TO GO, BECAUSE THERE IS NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTERS TO GO."
This is where I insert "Hell no, we won't go!"
I wonder, if Mr. Lasalle would answer "No" to the question "Do you want to live to be 90?".. Well, if so, how would he answer that if he were asked that at age 89 years, 364 days old?
We've all witnessed, firsthand, the love and emotion of family dealing with dementia, cancer, ends. Those of us with parents/loved ones gone, I believe would mostly answer hell to the yes when asked "would you take your parent (loved one) back even if it meant they had dementia?" I know I would.
72 days in a row to St. Lukes Hospital, my sister lay terminally ill with cancer. NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTER TO GO. Patooey. Those were some of the most precious days of my life - and I believe they were for many others.
I honestly don't write this in dislike of Mr. Lasalle, know he didn't mean anything personal, and he's certainly entitled to his opinion - I just believe some things can't be learned without aging.
What better than conversations in the bottom of the 9th inning of life?
Throw out the Royals, the Chiefs, Repubs, Dems, crossword puzzles, "did you see Roseanne?", memorized recipes, light bills, mowing the grass.. TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN IMPORTANT IN YOUR LIFE.. WHAT CAN YOU TEACH ME? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU? WHAT ARE AMONG THE FAVORITE MOMENTS OF YOUR LIFE? YOU WANNA SING?
Hell no, we won't go.. because it's perhaps the most important time in life to listen.. to be.. to share.. to enjoy.
"There's a beauty here - Virzi (the Director) is too humane to make a movie without beautiful moments. But the scattered eight or ten minutes of splendor just aren't worth the almost two-hour investment of time."
Mr. Lasalle do me this favor.. come back to this in the winter of your life and re-visit (Much like my admitted egg on my face from above.) Aging/dying and sweeping under the carpet simply don't go together.
Maybe I'm too emotional. Hell no, I don't care.
Love, Victurd
Number one, please, VietNam vets, know we love you, we bless you and we thank your for your service. We're all ashamed at the treatment, "no thanks" you received for this horrific war. Please bear with me here, as that "hell no" isn't meant to align with this blog - it's more the mindset of the age.
I've been waiting forever (it seems) for the movie "Leisure Seeker" to make it to local theaters.. it finally has. It includes two of my alltime favorites - Donald Sutherland, a retired English professor suffering from dementia, and Helen Mirren, his wife who has recently learned she has Stage 4 cancer. They jump into their old RV in Boston, bound for a trip she's proudly arranged to show him Ernest Hemingway's home in Key West, FL.
The film, admittedly, isn't getting great revues.
I'm an intense lover of emotion - and what better than two people, in their closing moments of life. I figure a tear will happen, and I'm really really ok with that.. in fact, I kinda look forward to it.
I do not have any idea where the phrase "bone to pick" came from - but I have one with Mick Lasalle, a film critic for the San Francisco Chronicle.
I know, in the past, I have spouted about things, then I might reread later and thought to myself "Victor, you need to shut the hell up, for you have no idea what you're talking about.. there is absolutely no way you can put yourself in that person's shoes." Yes, I've been guilty.
Lasalle said the movie has a beginning and an end, but can have no middle. "There is no possibility for development in their relationship - he's pretty much gone. THERE'S REALLY NOWHERE FOR THE MOVIE TO GO, BECAUSE THERE IS NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTERS TO GO."
This is where I insert "Hell no, we won't go!"
I wonder, if Mr. Lasalle would answer "No" to the question "Do you want to live to be 90?".. Well, if so, how would he answer that if he were asked that at age 89 years, 364 days old?
We've all witnessed, firsthand, the love and emotion of family dealing with dementia, cancer, ends. Those of us with parents/loved ones gone, I believe would mostly answer hell to the yes when asked "would you take your parent (loved one) back even if it meant they had dementia?" I know I would.
72 days in a row to St. Lukes Hospital, my sister lay terminally ill with cancer. NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTER TO GO. Patooey. Those were some of the most precious days of my life - and I believe they were for many others.
I honestly don't write this in dislike of Mr. Lasalle, know he didn't mean anything personal, and he's certainly entitled to his opinion - I just believe some things can't be learned without aging.
What better than conversations in the bottom of the 9th inning of life?
Throw out the Royals, the Chiefs, Repubs, Dems, crossword puzzles, "did you see Roseanne?", memorized recipes, light bills, mowing the grass.. TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN IMPORTANT IN YOUR LIFE.. WHAT CAN YOU TEACH ME? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU? WHAT ARE AMONG THE FAVORITE MOMENTS OF YOUR LIFE? YOU WANNA SING?
Hell no, we won't go.. because it's perhaps the most important time in life to listen.. to be.. to share.. to enjoy.
"There's a beauty here - Virzi (the Director) is too humane to make a movie without beautiful moments. But the scattered eight or ten minutes of splendor just aren't worth the almost two-hour investment of time."
Mr. Lasalle do me this favor.. come back to this in the winter of your life and re-visit (Much like my admitted egg on my face from above.) Aging/dying and sweeping under the carpet simply don't go together.
Maybe I'm too emotional. Hell no, I don't care.
Love, Victurd
Monday, April 02, 2018
Dearly beloved... we are gathered here.....
A.R. Smith-Wesson had absolutely zero intention of getting hitched - that is, until he went to protest the protest march early Spring.
From 'a duel's pace' (approx. 35 to 45 feet) he laid his eyeballs on Ova Mi Dedbody and immediately felt a twitch. Inspita' the fact she was toting a "Grab America Back" sign - his heart was a thumpin' faster'n any semi-auto sold down at the Buford County Gun Show.
He barreled his way a lil' closer so he could see if his eyes were gauging correctly. They were, she was hella nice caliber... he was a derriere man, and she had a hiney better'n the butt of any Derringer he owned. She was already in his heart, and in his crossbows.
Long barrel made short - they met, she too ended up being smitten with Smith-Wesson..he put the hammer down, and BOOM, there they were - a love that no John Birch Society member or Change.com person could muzzle. Left right, left right, hup 2, 3, 4.. to the alter they were destined.
"When shall we trigger this union?" AR tossed... "Oh, I dunno, howabout March?" Ova lofted back.. "Why's ever-thing gotta be about'a GD (gosh darn) march"? AR replied... "Oh," Ova replied, "I don't care then, you pick, and I promise no recoil from me."
Over time they colluded on the event - oh sure, baby tiffs here/there... you know.. "I want a huge wedding" Ova would say... "Honey, please downsize that thought, we gotta put some high brass back in our pockets to be ready for when AR Jr comes along."... "Perish that thought AR, I don't want no AR Jr, 'cause then we'd have ARI, ARII, ARIII, and ifn's our family really really growed, that would one day get us up to AR15, and can you imagine how he'd be bullied at school?.. and I STILL want a large wedding.. should we do a GoFund me thing?"
"My dress.. I've dreamed and dreamed about my dress... wanna come with me to Betty's Bridal to check 'em out?"... "Can't you just order one on Amazon so we ain't gotta pay an arm and a leg in taxes?".. they worked thru it...
"Let's have an open bar!" "Shiver me timbers, Theodore is'a rollin' over in his grave - we can't afford to buy whiskey for every snowflake in the village!~"..."OK, OK mid-way, we'll meet mid-way. Howabout, on the wedding invite, we suggest "BYOB"?".... "Yeah, that'll work, but let's phrase it anudder way... howabout "Flasks welcome, please conceal and carry."... "Whatever AR"....
MUSIC... we need MUSIC! I kinda like "We are the world"... Criminy, I was thinking more along the lines of Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.. or, God Bless the USA.. and I've always loved Tammy - whatabout Stand By Your Man?
So...since they couldn't really come to an agreement, they decided to pick some, they'd play onea Ova's, one of AR's, etc...:
Taxman/The Beatles.. 9 to 5/Dolly.. Sweet Home Alabama/Lynyrd.. Imagine/John Lennon.. Won't Get Fooled Again/The Who.. Goodbye Earl/Dixie Chicks.. Government Cheese/The Rainmakers.. Ohio/Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young... Janie's Got a Gun/Aerosmith..
The settled upon the barn at Nelson's Registered Angus Ranch (NRA Ranch for short)... Ova reminded AR "now, remember my cousin Tony is gay and I don't want no one hecklin' him... AR thought, then replied, "Oh hell, Nelson's only got one outhouse anyways."
With one hand on the Bible, the other on the Constitution - their marriage was blessed. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Wesson".. at first there were some groans, but eventually, all stood and cheered.
Off they ran. Friends, both sides, had gussied up their truck. "Hot Springs tonight!".. Twine tied to the gun racks, streaming off behind with PBR cans tied to clink/clank down the road.
This is a stick up! Boom shacka lacka lack boom. One in the oven soon.....
In spite of the lump from the inner tube on the left front tire of their '73 F-150 causin' some bumps, it was a mostly smooth life. The wedding will be recounted in both the Benton County Fox Bugle, and the Weber City Wishlander - and they both pray for a decent account, nothing fake.
The end.
Henry Gibson
From 'a duel's pace' (approx. 35 to 45 feet) he laid his eyeballs on Ova Mi Dedbody and immediately felt a twitch. Inspita' the fact she was toting a "Grab America Back" sign - his heart was a thumpin' faster'n any semi-auto sold down at the Buford County Gun Show.
He barreled his way a lil' closer so he could see if his eyes were gauging correctly. They were, she was hella nice caliber... he was a derriere man, and she had a hiney better'n the butt of any Derringer he owned. She was already in his heart, and in his crossbows.
Long barrel made short - they met, she too ended up being smitten with Smith-Wesson..he put the hammer down, and BOOM, there they were - a love that no John Birch Society member or Change.com person could muzzle. Left right, left right, hup 2, 3, 4.. to the alter they were destined.
"When shall we trigger this union?" AR tossed... "Oh, I dunno, howabout March?" Ova lofted back.. "Why's ever-thing gotta be about'a GD (gosh darn) march"? AR replied... "Oh," Ova replied, "I don't care then, you pick, and I promise no recoil from me."
Over time they colluded on the event - oh sure, baby tiffs here/there... you know.. "I want a huge wedding" Ova would say... "Honey, please downsize that thought, we gotta put some high brass back in our pockets to be ready for when AR Jr comes along."... "Perish that thought AR, I don't want no AR Jr, 'cause then we'd have ARI, ARII, ARIII, and ifn's our family really really growed, that would one day get us up to AR15, and can you imagine how he'd be bullied at school?.. and I STILL want a large wedding.. should we do a GoFund me thing?"
"My dress.. I've dreamed and dreamed about my dress... wanna come with me to Betty's Bridal to check 'em out?"... "Can't you just order one on Amazon so we ain't gotta pay an arm and a leg in taxes?".. they worked thru it...
"Let's have an open bar!" "Shiver me timbers, Theodore is'a rollin' over in his grave - we can't afford to buy whiskey for every snowflake in the village!~"..."OK, OK mid-way, we'll meet mid-way. Howabout, on the wedding invite, we suggest "BYOB"?".... "Yeah, that'll work, but let's phrase it anudder way... howabout "Flasks welcome, please conceal and carry."... "Whatever AR"....
MUSIC... we need MUSIC! I kinda like "We are the world"... Criminy, I was thinking more along the lines of Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.. or, God Bless the USA.. and I've always loved Tammy - whatabout Stand By Your Man?
So...since they couldn't really come to an agreement, they decided to pick some, they'd play onea Ova's, one of AR's, etc...:
Taxman/The Beatles.. 9 to 5/Dolly.. Sweet Home Alabama/Lynyrd.. Imagine/John Lennon.. Won't Get Fooled Again/The Who.. Goodbye Earl/Dixie Chicks.. Government Cheese/The Rainmakers.. Ohio/Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young... Janie's Got a Gun/Aerosmith..
The settled upon the barn at Nelson's Registered Angus Ranch (NRA Ranch for short)... Ova reminded AR "now, remember my cousin Tony is gay and I don't want no one hecklin' him... AR thought, then replied, "Oh hell, Nelson's only got one outhouse anyways."
With one hand on the Bible, the other on the Constitution - their marriage was blessed. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Wesson".. at first there were some groans, but eventually, all stood and cheered.
Off they ran. Friends, both sides, had gussied up their truck. "Hot Springs tonight!".. Twine tied to the gun racks, streaming off behind with PBR cans tied to clink/clank down the road.
This is a stick up! Boom shacka lacka lack boom. One in the oven soon.....
In spite of the lump from the inner tube on the left front tire of their '73 F-150 causin' some bumps, it was a mostly smooth life. The wedding will be recounted in both the Benton County Fox Bugle, and the Weber City Wishlander - and they both pray for a decent account, nothing fake.
The end.
Henry Gibson
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