There is a God.. and we're wonderfully reminded daily.
That first ray of sunshine peeking thru the curtains.. The hound who sees your eyes opened, beating his tail in happiness as he knows food, fun, again ahead for another day.
The cat who has the very purrfect way to awaken you - rhythmic 'greetings' coupled with their tickling whiskers upon your cheeks, as if to say, "my damn bowl is empty again you slouch, feed me Seymore."
Ahhhh.. yet another day - thank you Lord.
Me? I like all of the above, plus one. The sound of the morning newspaper hitting the sidewalk is orgasmic to me. Excitement, thankful for a new day - with an eye tuned to reading all about yesterday.
Tradition. (As an aside, I Youtubed the whole dadgum soundtrack to Fiddler on The Roof recently. Yum. Tradition. Sunrise, sunset. If I were a rich man.)
The newspaper is family tradition here. Pretty sure it ends with me, but that's ok. One grandfather had a stint at the KC Star, another poured over the Sport's section to see what he'd missed, or, mebbe to relive, the St. Louis Cardinals game from the day before. My mother was the first paid employee of a local startup newspaper (The Liberty Shopper News). I've thrown a newspaper or 10,000 from my bike, car. I've seen, and contributed to, piles and piles of paper, not so neatly stacked on the floor.
Buddy 'o mine, he wrote music reviews for the Star. Good, hella good writer he is. While he'd magically review the mega stars that rode in, out of the Sprint Center, other venues - he kept a keen eye/pen on the local music scene, serving as a springboard to many.
Times change. In fact, they got ridda The TImes (the morning paper). Awhile back, ALL employees were forced to take two weeks of unpaid leave to keep the newspaper afloat. A couple years ago, my buddy was let go, NOT due to incompetency (he's the best writer I personally know) - but, due to changing of the times. There's still one music reviewer there, but gone are the stories on the local scene, replaced by syndicated articles that really ain't of much interest to me. From 'yes!' to 'meh.'
Where was I? Oh yeah, fondly remembering. If it tweren't for the newspaper, howintheheck could one start the BBQ grill a goin? Oh yeah, they came up with charcoal presoaked in lighter fluid, nevermind.
How could you sell a ballglove.. buy a bike.. learn about Henrietta and Earl Smith going to visit Edgar and Mable Jones last Saturday night - without, the newspaper?
Well.. I reckon Craigslist. Swap and Shop. Then there's Facebook for the Smith & Jones visit. Ohhhh we know many who broadcast their every move. Like you Victor? Bite me, may the ink from the waning days of the newspaper rub off onto your hands, so you'll then wipe your brow, only to get yeeeooouuuuwwwwccchhh eye irritation.
It is said, getting your news from the internet allows one to be the captain, the director, the editor - seek what you want, not what they want for you. Well, I do that too with the newspaper. Shooting on 39th street? Nuh uh, I flip past. Female lawyers forced to remove underwire bra's at the Courthouse because they set-off the metal detectors? Ok, I might read that one!
Gone are the classifieds. Gone are the box scores where ya usedta see if that rookie kept his 22 game hitting streak alive. "Night game", meaning you hadta wait until the next day to find out who won. Nuh uh, no more. We be, I want what I want, and I want it now.
I get it. I don't like it, but I get it.
In the short time I've sat here to compile this goofy blog, I've closed 7 pop-ups, clicked 4 times "I know, I know I don't have any protection installed to ward off malware, have u seen my bank balance of late?"
By the old age vested in me, I (nicely, mildly) grumped on a website dedicated to the folks of our city, about the ensuing headaches of making our entrance road from KC into our little suburb 6 lanes each way insteada 3 lanes. As I see it, we'll go from 3 lanes of really PO'ed folks, to 6 lanes of mildly irritated chums. Dude wrote in, "If you don't grow, change, you die." I rectum.
I got an email this morning from the KC Star, 'bragging' up how, on March something or other, they will have a spiffed up Friday paper, and an even spiffier Sunday paper. Oh, and btw, we're no longer going to have a hardcopy issue for Saturday, but it will be online.
So.. future Saturdays, if I don't hear the sound of the paper hitting the sidewalk, how will I know to say thanks to God for another day? Reckon I'll have to get a hound...or a cat. Lord knows women never stick around too long.
Damn weather, bursitis, Government. Back to Fiddler on the Roof. If I were a rich man. I coulda been. You hear that? I coulda been. Turn 'o the Century (1900'ish) our ancestors were THE biggest producers of buggies. Then that damn Henry Ford had to go and mess it up.
Tradition. Sunrise, sunset.
The Times, er, the Star, er, the Internet, are'a changin'. Don't stand in the way of regress, er, I mean progress.
Much written love,
Victurd
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Sunday, December 08, 2019
Life... and Hunger Games........
I woke up, hungry. This should not come as such a surprise, as I do that daily. Old age, a 'growing' prostate, and the urge to pee led me past the fridge to the john. Went there, did that.
Standing infronta the door to the fridge, little does one know how the impending 'selection(s)' liken, life and its selections.
This particular day, I've got a slight pain in the tonsil area, and old age, probable shrinking brain cells remind me, "I don't even know if I have tonsils." Ma, pa, sis, departed some years ago, and I ain't got the foggiest if I ever had 'em out.
Where was I? Oh yeah, standing infonta the fridge. Hungry. Half nekkid, reminding myself to either turn up the furnace or put more duds on. That decision is easy.
Today's recipe... a smoothie. With personal blender cup in hand, the door opened.. I already have an Advil kinda crunched up in the cup - what to add to it. This is where yum and yuck moments happen. Red grapes, yum. Mostly black bananas, yuck. Grapes, pulled off the vine, dozen or so, into the cup. Hiding behind the yuck bananas were some yum ones more recently purchased from the Piggly Wiggly. Halfa banana, the smoothie is coming right along.
Let's see, what else looks good? A splash of 2% milk.. a couple strawberries. I need to add 'cold'. Hurt tonsils, of whatever is bugging me there, needs cold. No ice cream, no ice.. halfa ice cream sandwich will haveta do.
This is the part where I wake up the entire apartment complex by starting my blender at 6:10am... "Sorry, doesn't take long." Hehe.. I owe 'em.
Smoothie made, transferred to a regular ole regular cup - blender cup mostly washed, "I promise I'll wash it out better later."
Mostly dressed, I punch a couple buttons and jualah - my 'new to me' car starts. I ain't never had onea them remote start thingys. This car also has a CD player, ain't never had onea them either. "Victor, they don't even put CD's cars nowadays." Run away Debbie Downer, far, far away.
Through Mikey D's for $2.71 worth of breakfast sandwiches please, and a water. "What size water sir?" "The biggest free one you can get", I offer. Right turn, left turn, right turn, I'm at the City Park. Straw inserted, Sausage Biscuit undraped, car angled the best direction to catch the sunlight - I toss the front section, the prophylactic ad they drape it in, and the front section Part 2 (with the obits) to the side - ahhhhh, the Sport's page.
Long ago... "How long ago Victor?" I thought I got ridda you Debbie.. I'm 67.. I was 5, you figure it out. Long ago, I grabbed a flexible plastic bowl from the kitchen, a tennis ball - and went out back to toss the ball offa the 4' high retaining wall we had. My first "glove" (the plastic bowl), my introduction to my love for sports... Sorry, just setting the picture.
So, simularly to the way I peered after opening the fridge to select, I perused the four artcles on the front section of the Sport's page. "Chiefs cornerback Ward: from wheelchair to NFL star" stuck out much like the red grapes did. yum. I'll read it first.
Damn. Rough upbringing. Dad split the scene soon after his birth. Gunshots abound in the area where he grew up. Multiple siblings in a small house. On the 10th of the month (food stamps issued) there would be as many as 19 folks fed by his mom, soon after, they all huddled around a space heater in the living room for warmth.
A nasty fall in 2nd grade left KC defensive back with a cancer scare - 6 months on crutches, followed by 6 more months in a wheelchair. Bouts with anxiety, depression, reactions to meds for same, at times, left him wanting to hurt himself, give up, quit, yada. His mom was the constant. It hasn't been an easy ride, he knows the ride (with bumps included) ain't over, and he has a fonder, more gracious impression of life.
WHAT? He's an NFL star. He can't be a regular person like you or me, this stuff should be easy. You know, like how smoothly the blender blades crunch thru my smoothie conglomeration.
Article two. The meaning of the bracelets, wristbands of QB Mahomes. Patrick Mahomes is of Hank Stram 'matriculate the ball down the field', a George Brett line drive in the gap, Tom Watson chipping in on 17 to win the British Open ilk. He took KC by storm and he ain't looked back.
It ain't gone to his head. I don't see how he has time for the 187 TV commercials he's in, let alone throwing extra post pattern passes to receivers after practice. He does though, and more. More as in the article this morning. He did not toot his own horn, say, "hey, come see what these wristbands are all about" - he was approached about them.
The first wristband is from the son of a coach at the colege he went to. The coach's son, at age 13, had a horrific accident in a golf cart...leaving him unable to walk or speak. Damn. His dad had gone into a Gamestop to buy his son the Madden 2020 game.. he noticed a poster on the wall of Mahomes (on the cover of the game) and there it was on Patrick's wrist, the wristband his son had given him. Damn.
The second wristband was given to him by a 16 yr old named Sophia. They'd met at Children's Mercy. Patrick followed her progress through two back surgeries to treat the rare cancer she had (only 200 per year diagnosed with this type.) Sophie and her mom were watching the Chiefs/Raiders, and I'll be darned if they didn't see him wearing the wristband. They froze screens where they could detect it, took pictures. Yum. Red grape, fresh banana, ice cream sandwich yum.
The third belonged to Whitney, a 10 year old. She was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain, diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma. Residents of St Joe MO, they went to a practice there this summer, was able to personally give him the wristband (adorned with "You got this!"), and yep, a month later, season opener, there was Patrick wearing her band.
WHAT? The reigning NFL MVP, with enough commercials you could spend two months watching on Youtube, soon to sign a new contract to give that Bezos guy a run for the same money, ACTUALLY cares? He could be onea those "Don't you know who I am" kinda people, but, but, he has a heart?
The third article was about the death (and life) of Tom Watson's wife Hilary. The courage she had. Tom pointed out, in her battle with cancer, "She was dying to live, not living to die" through the whole ordeal. The 'damn' moment Tom and Hilary were shopping and they got the phone call with the cancer diagnosis - Tom's immediate crying. She was a yummy person, witness her love of animals, people, and unmatched thirst for/of life. Tom, of course, related to the article's author how much he missed her. "I know what you mean", the writer replied. Writer had just lost his mother, Tom took the time to console, counsel him, urging him to embrace the memories:
"Because the memories which will always remain as they leave indelible marks on our souls which we will never forget. She's still there. She's still there in your mind. Abolutely she's still there. They never leave. Maybe they're not there physically, but mentally is just as important as physicallly sometimes."
WHAT? One of the faces on the Mount Rushmores of golf, crying in a supermarket? Struggling, like we do with death, grieving? Yep.
By this point, after reading three articles in the SPORTS section, it's 8:30am and I feel like I've run a wonderful, tearful highly emotional marathon.
The 4th article on the front page of the sports "Royals will look for 'value' signings during the MLB Winter meetings." Nah, not right now. It's not blackened bananas so I won't throw it out, but I'm going home to write now..
Because sports is also life. Just like openinging the fridge, choices. Yum, but also occasion yuck. Stepping out the front door daily, choices. Just because they have glossy photos, are emulated, live in the limelight - they too are human. Stuggle, know struggle in these hunger games of life.
FYI, crunch up Advil REAL good before putting in a smoothie, I didn't. Be sure to remove ALL the vine off the grapes as it don't taste very good. Stike the idea of adding an ice cream sandwich to the smoothie - as no matter how many apartment residents the damn loud blender awakens, it can't handle mutiliating the outer coating.
I love sports, for it's like life, or so it seems.
Sorry this was long. Like life, long is a good thing, but sometimes bloggers get carried away. Life is good, love it. Even you Debbie.
Love, Victurd
Standing infronta the door to the fridge, little does one know how the impending 'selection(s)' liken, life and its selections.
This particular day, I've got a slight pain in the tonsil area, and old age, probable shrinking brain cells remind me, "I don't even know if I have tonsils." Ma, pa, sis, departed some years ago, and I ain't got the foggiest if I ever had 'em out.
Where was I? Oh yeah, standing infonta the fridge. Hungry. Half nekkid, reminding myself to either turn up the furnace or put more duds on. That decision is easy.
Today's recipe... a smoothie. With personal blender cup in hand, the door opened.. I already have an Advil kinda crunched up in the cup - what to add to it. This is where yum and yuck moments happen. Red grapes, yum. Mostly black bananas, yuck. Grapes, pulled off the vine, dozen or so, into the cup. Hiding behind the yuck bananas were some yum ones more recently purchased from the Piggly Wiggly. Halfa banana, the smoothie is coming right along.
Let's see, what else looks good? A splash of 2% milk.. a couple strawberries. I need to add 'cold'. Hurt tonsils, of whatever is bugging me there, needs cold. No ice cream, no ice.. halfa ice cream sandwich will haveta do.
This is the part where I wake up the entire apartment complex by starting my blender at 6:10am... "Sorry, doesn't take long." Hehe.. I owe 'em.
Smoothie made, transferred to a regular ole regular cup - blender cup mostly washed, "I promise I'll wash it out better later."
Mostly dressed, I punch a couple buttons and jualah - my 'new to me' car starts. I ain't never had onea them remote start thingys. This car also has a CD player, ain't never had onea them either. "Victor, they don't even put CD's cars nowadays." Run away Debbie Downer, far, far away.
Through Mikey D's for $2.71 worth of breakfast sandwiches please, and a water. "What size water sir?" "The biggest free one you can get", I offer. Right turn, left turn, right turn, I'm at the City Park. Straw inserted, Sausage Biscuit undraped, car angled the best direction to catch the sunlight - I toss the front section, the prophylactic ad they drape it in, and the front section Part 2 (with the obits) to the side - ahhhhh, the Sport's page.
Long ago... "How long ago Victor?" I thought I got ridda you Debbie.. I'm 67.. I was 5, you figure it out. Long ago, I grabbed a flexible plastic bowl from the kitchen, a tennis ball - and went out back to toss the ball offa the 4' high retaining wall we had. My first "glove" (the plastic bowl), my introduction to my love for sports... Sorry, just setting the picture.
So, simularly to the way I peered after opening the fridge to select, I perused the four artcles on the front section of the Sport's page. "Chiefs cornerback Ward: from wheelchair to NFL star" stuck out much like the red grapes did. yum. I'll read it first.
Damn. Rough upbringing. Dad split the scene soon after his birth. Gunshots abound in the area where he grew up. Multiple siblings in a small house. On the 10th of the month (food stamps issued) there would be as many as 19 folks fed by his mom, soon after, they all huddled around a space heater in the living room for warmth.
A nasty fall in 2nd grade left KC defensive back with a cancer scare - 6 months on crutches, followed by 6 more months in a wheelchair. Bouts with anxiety, depression, reactions to meds for same, at times, left him wanting to hurt himself, give up, quit, yada. His mom was the constant. It hasn't been an easy ride, he knows the ride (with bumps included) ain't over, and he has a fonder, more gracious impression of life.
WHAT? He's an NFL star. He can't be a regular person like you or me, this stuff should be easy. You know, like how smoothly the blender blades crunch thru my smoothie conglomeration.
Article two. The meaning of the bracelets, wristbands of QB Mahomes. Patrick Mahomes is of Hank Stram 'matriculate the ball down the field', a George Brett line drive in the gap, Tom Watson chipping in on 17 to win the British Open ilk. He took KC by storm and he ain't looked back.
It ain't gone to his head. I don't see how he has time for the 187 TV commercials he's in, let alone throwing extra post pattern passes to receivers after practice. He does though, and more. More as in the article this morning. He did not toot his own horn, say, "hey, come see what these wristbands are all about" - he was approached about them.
The first wristband is from the son of a coach at the colege he went to. The coach's son, at age 13, had a horrific accident in a golf cart...leaving him unable to walk or speak. Damn. His dad had gone into a Gamestop to buy his son the Madden 2020 game.. he noticed a poster on the wall of Mahomes (on the cover of the game) and there it was on Patrick's wrist, the wristband his son had given him. Damn.
The second wristband was given to him by a 16 yr old named Sophia. They'd met at Children's Mercy. Patrick followed her progress through two back surgeries to treat the rare cancer she had (only 200 per year diagnosed with this type.) Sophie and her mom were watching the Chiefs/Raiders, and I'll be darned if they didn't see him wearing the wristband. They froze screens where they could detect it, took pictures. Yum. Red grape, fresh banana, ice cream sandwich yum.
The third belonged to Whitney, a 10 year old. She was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain, diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma. Residents of St Joe MO, they went to a practice there this summer, was able to personally give him the wristband (adorned with "You got this!"), and yep, a month later, season opener, there was Patrick wearing her band.
WHAT? The reigning NFL MVP, with enough commercials you could spend two months watching on Youtube, soon to sign a new contract to give that Bezos guy a run for the same money, ACTUALLY cares? He could be onea those "Don't you know who I am" kinda people, but, but, he has a heart?
The third article was about the death (and life) of Tom Watson's wife Hilary. The courage she had. Tom pointed out, in her battle with cancer, "She was dying to live, not living to die" through the whole ordeal. The 'damn' moment Tom and Hilary were shopping and they got the phone call with the cancer diagnosis - Tom's immediate crying. She was a yummy person, witness her love of animals, people, and unmatched thirst for/of life. Tom, of course, related to the article's author how much he missed her. "I know what you mean", the writer replied. Writer had just lost his mother, Tom took the time to console, counsel him, urging him to embrace the memories:
"Because the memories which will always remain as they leave indelible marks on our souls which we will never forget. She's still there. She's still there in your mind. Abolutely she's still there. They never leave. Maybe they're not there physically, but mentally is just as important as physicallly sometimes."
WHAT? One of the faces on the Mount Rushmores of golf, crying in a supermarket? Struggling, like we do with death, grieving? Yep.
By this point, after reading three articles in the SPORTS section, it's 8:30am and I feel like I've run a wonderful, tearful highly emotional marathon.
The 4th article on the front page of the sports "Royals will look for 'value' signings during the MLB Winter meetings." Nah, not right now. It's not blackened bananas so I won't throw it out, but I'm going home to write now..
Because sports is also life. Just like openinging the fridge, choices. Yum, but also occasion yuck. Stepping out the front door daily, choices. Just because they have glossy photos, are emulated, live in the limelight - they too are human. Stuggle, know struggle in these hunger games of life.
FYI, crunch up Advil REAL good before putting in a smoothie, I didn't. Be sure to remove ALL the vine off the grapes as it don't taste very good. Stike the idea of adding an ice cream sandwich to the smoothie - as no matter how many apartment residents the damn loud blender awakens, it can't handle mutiliating the outer coating.
I love sports, for it's like life, or so it seems.
Sorry this was long. Like life, long is a good thing, but sometimes bloggers get carried away. Life is good, love it. Even you Debbie.
Love, Victurd
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Grandma's hand.... A blog for the family of Velma Bertie (Hall) Collins.
Our mother, grandmother, great grandmother, great great grandmother recorded many a diddie in her Bible. It was given to her in 1940 by daughter Elva.. returned to Elva upon Grandma's death in 1976, and is now kept (for all family to see) by granddaughter Joyce in Liberty, MO.
Grandma was born June 6, 1899 in Callaway County, MO to Thomas David Hall (B April 14, 1867 in Hams Prairie, Callaway Co MO and Rosa Etta Rose ((B October 28, 1874 in Callaway County, MO. She married Arthur Loren Collins on December 23, 1916 in Fulton, Callaway County, MO...
Arthur and Bertie had three children:
Elva Francis Collins, B February 9, 1918 in Fulton, MO
Velma Pearl Collins, B March 17, 1921 in Steedman, MO
Nelda Lorene Collins, B September 1, 1927 in Fulton, MO.
Among Grandma's loves.. God, family, friends, cooking, Holidays, crossword puzzles, doing the right thing, going to downtown Fulton daily (they would let their dog Skip out a few minutes before, and Skip, before the days of leash laws, would walk to town and go lay down and 'reserve' their same ole same ole parking place for when they'd arrive), and of course, Arthur.
On Mother's Day, May 12th, 1940 she was given a Bible by her daughter Elva. Little known at the time, this Bible, in addition to the Old and the New Testaments, would include a virtual day to day recap of highlights until her death 36 years later, July 10, 1976...
In addition to circling, underscoring her favorites verses, the Ten Commandments, and of course studying the verses - she wrote personal items of interest, recordings of the day, in the margins, on the blank pages, on the maps of Jersulem, Palestine, the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee.
It is believed she studied this Bible often, witness her handwritten entry "66 Books, 1189 Chapters, 31,173 verses, 773,746 words, 3,586,460 letters."
She recorded items of recall that happened prior to the gift of the Bible in 1940, such as "Tornado hit Callaway County, May 8, 1927, really was severe", "Lyman Collins died in a car accident in July of 1926". Titanic sank on April14, 1912.
Of family: These guys (Son in laws) came around:
Clifford Early McDaniel, B August 30, 1917
Edward Colby (Bud) Schultze, B August 5, 1922
Glenn Read Davis, September 22, 1925
These fine son inlaws would all become adept bowlers, particularly every Christmas Eve after they married...
They hitched up: Elva & Cliff, July 13, 1940 in St. Louis, MO
Velma and Edward 'Bud' on August 30, 1941 in Camdenton, MO
Nelda and Glenn on March 21, 1946 in New Orleans, LA
(A little Birdy, not "Bertie", told me Velma and Bud eloped, along with cousin/best friends/best man/maid of honor, Earl and Eileen Studebaker - and finances were such they shared a motel room that night.. the beds separated by a clothsline with blankets strewn over!)
Grandchildren:
Roger Dale Davis, May 6, 1947
Joyce Elaine McDaniel, June 13, 1947
Vanda Kaye Schultze, June 22, 1947
Victor Kendal Schulze, October 13, 1952
Darrell Kent Davis, October 13, 1955
Kevin Clifford McDaniel, February 29, 1956..
Sooooooooo.. in roughly 44 days, the Collins's went from having no grandkids, to having three, one by each daughter!
And then, entries on GREAT grandchildren:
Valerie Kaye Adair, B December 8, 1968
Kimberly Diann Davis, B November 16, 1969
Alison Lea Davis, B April 17, 1972
Lisa Smithmier, B August 5, 1974
Vickie Frantz B May 11, 1974
Erin Smithmier B March 6, 1978
Amy Davis B December 1981
Adam Davis February 14, 1984
Tyler Allan Davis B March 22, 1985
Dru Schultze B July 3, 1985
Whitney Davis, B December 16 1987
Hilary Davis, B December 22nd, 1988
Katlyn McDaniel B March 20, 1990
This and that:
Arthur went to Hospital on August 9, 1969, came home August 22, 1969 (Heart attack)...
Dog bit me on July 21, 1971, had 5 stitches
Arthur's parents: Jerome Fletcher Collins was born in Tennessee on March 1, 1862.. (died August 27, 1946) and mother Ida Flora (Wright) Collins was born East of Fulton on July 2, 1864 (Died Dec 29, 1931)
The Lords Prayer is circled..
No date: Only 6 white Christmas's in the last 20 years... 1913 to 1915, deep snow on these
Vanda and "Corky" were married July 26, 1966...Valerie Adair walked at 8 months... Developed Diabetes at the age of 3 1/2 years.. Valerie had the measles on April 11, 1970..
Kimberly Davis walked at 8 months.. Could say Pop Paw plain at 11 months.. Kimberly says "Tootie" for Cookie at 1 year..
Valerie can read her book by memory at 2 years, 3 months and can say her prayers and many other things so cute.
Roger Davis and Lynn Oestrich married April 5, 1969 at Fulton, MO..
Joyce McDaniel and Steve Smithmier married June 19, 1971 in Kansas City, MO..
Vanda and Dick Frantz married November 10, 1972..
Alison Lea Davis born April 17, 1972
73 Degrees in Jeff City on December 25, 1971
Alison Davis can say all her ABC's at age 1 year, 11 months and sings "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so."
5 below zero January 5, 1972.
33 children here for Trick or Treat October, 1971.
I was in Warwick NY when Kevin was born in 1956.
Had 25 inches of snow there n March 20 of 1956.
Victor walked at 8 months.
Kevin had chicken pox in 1st grade.
MY PERSONAL FAVORITE ENTRY: Darrell Davis could dial his phone number (Rotary dial) at age 3 years, 9 months.
We went to Colorado Springs in October of 1956.
Lisa Smithmier born August 5, 1974.
Vickie Frantz born May 11, 1974.
Rained 22 days out of 30 days in June 1969.
Kimberly said "Eat, Eat, Eat" in Lane Meyer at age 10 months
(Mebbe my next to best favorite!) Alison Davis, our sweet little granddaughter told me "it was none of my business" when I asked her why she was in the sink in February 1975.!!!
83 degrees February 29, 1972
We sold 1404 Westminster in October of 1967 and moved to 212 W. 4th Street. Snowed on May 4, 1944. Christmas of 1969 was a white Christmas
Arthur went to work at Brick yard on Monday, October 20, 1924 and retired on April 28, 1961, was never laid off, not once in entire 36 and 1/2 years, and worked only twice on night shift, 3:30pm until midnight.
Our first freeze of 1965 was on November 13, yet it never killed florwers or castor beans, zero never hit all winter until January 28, 1966
Coldest in 25 years, 11 below zero on January 1, 1968.
Had only 3 inches of snow all winter in 1966 and 1967, hit zero twice.
Elva drove to Warwick, NY on Tuesday, February 21, 1967. Darrell Davis, Kevin McDaniel and I accompanied her.. we went to NYC on Saturday, to West Point on Easter Sunday March 26, also to Middletown to see Hospital where Kevin was born. Returned home Thursday, March 29, 1967.
Went to Hospital August 8, 1967, returned home August 18, 1967.
Roger's address in Viet Nam 1968: Sgt Roger D. Davis, US 56588124, Co, D. 11st Bn 36 Inf, 198 Inf Bde. A.P.O. San Francisco, CA 96219. Januery 1968 until February 1969.
Roger married Linda Pinkerton June 4th, 1984...
There is/was much, much more handwritten in the Bible. Names, birthdates, death dates of family members before us.. more tidbits about snow, heat, cold..visits from so and so, visits to so and so.. and so much more.
Grandma passed on July 10, 1976. Arthur (Grandpa) passed shortly after, January 11, 1977. Doctors said heart issues. We surmise, broken heart. Ends are never good. In this case, beginning to end was wonderful.
Grandma was born June 6, 1899 in Callaway County, MO to Thomas David Hall (B April 14, 1867 in Hams Prairie, Callaway Co MO and Rosa Etta Rose ((B October 28, 1874 in Callaway County, MO. She married Arthur Loren Collins on December 23, 1916 in Fulton, Callaway County, MO...
Arthur and Bertie had three children:
Elva Francis Collins, B February 9, 1918 in Fulton, MO
Velma Pearl Collins, B March 17, 1921 in Steedman, MO
Nelda Lorene Collins, B September 1, 1927 in Fulton, MO.
Among Grandma's loves.. God, family, friends, cooking, Holidays, crossword puzzles, doing the right thing, going to downtown Fulton daily (they would let their dog Skip out a few minutes before, and Skip, before the days of leash laws, would walk to town and go lay down and 'reserve' their same ole same ole parking place for when they'd arrive), and of course, Arthur.
On Mother's Day, May 12th, 1940 she was given a Bible by her daughter Elva. Little known at the time, this Bible, in addition to the Old and the New Testaments, would include a virtual day to day recap of highlights until her death 36 years later, July 10, 1976...
In addition to circling, underscoring her favorites verses, the Ten Commandments, and of course studying the verses - she wrote personal items of interest, recordings of the day, in the margins, on the blank pages, on the maps of Jersulem, Palestine, the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee.
It is believed she studied this Bible often, witness her handwritten entry "66 Books, 1189 Chapters, 31,173 verses, 773,746 words, 3,586,460 letters."
She recorded items of recall that happened prior to the gift of the Bible in 1940, such as "Tornado hit Callaway County, May 8, 1927, really was severe", "Lyman Collins died in a car accident in July of 1926". Titanic sank on April14, 1912.
Of family: These guys (Son in laws) came around:
Clifford Early McDaniel, B August 30, 1917
Edward Colby (Bud) Schultze, B August 5, 1922
Glenn Read Davis, September 22, 1925
These fine son inlaws would all become adept bowlers, particularly every Christmas Eve after they married...
They hitched up: Elva & Cliff, July 13, 1940 in St. Louis, MO
Velma and Edward 'Bud' on August 30, 1941 in Camdenton, MO
Nelda and Glenn on March 21, 1946 in New Orleans, LA
(A little Birdy, not "Bertie", told me Velma and Bud eloped, along with cousin/best friends/best man/maid of honor, Earl and Eileen Studebaker - and finances were such they shared a motel room that night.. the beds separated by a clothsline with blankets strewn over!)
Grandchildren:
Roger Dale Davis, May 6, 1947
Joyce Elaine McDaniel, June 13, 1947
Vanda Kaye Schultze, June 22, 1947
Victor Kendal Schulze, October 13, 1952
Darrell Kent Davis, October 13, 1955
Kevin Clifford McDaniel, February 29, 1956..
Sooooooooo.. in roughly 44 days, the Collins's went from having no grandkids, to having three, one by each daughter!
And then, entries on GREAT grandchildren:
Valerie Kaye Adair, B December 8, 1968
Kimberly Diann Davis, B November 16, 1969
Alison Lea Davis, B April 17, 1972
Lisa Smithmier, B August 5, 1974
Vickie Frantz B May 11, 1974
Erin Smithmier B March 6, 1978
Amy Davis B December 1981
Adam Davis February 14, 1984
Tyler Allan Davis B March 22, 1985
Dru Schultze B July 3, 1985
Whitney Davis, B December 16 1987
Hilary Davis, B December 22nd, 1988
Katlyn McDaniel B March 20, 1990
This and that:
Arthur went to Hospital on August 9, 1969, came home August 22, 1969 (Heart attack)...
Dog bit me on July 21, 1971, had 5 stitches
Arthur's parents: Jerome Fletcher Collins was born in Tennessee on March 1, 1862.. (died August 27, 1946) and mother Ida Flora (Wright) Collins was born East of Fulton on July 2, 1864 (Died Dec 29, 1931)
The Lords Prayer is circled..
No date: Only 6 white Christmas's in the last 20 years... 1913 to 1915, deep snow on these
Vanda and "Corky" were married July 26, 1966...Valerie Adair walked at 8 months... Developed Diabetes at the age of 3 1/2 years.. Valerie had the measles on April 11, 1970..
Kimberly Davis walked at 8 months.. Could say Pop Paw plain at 11 months.. Kimberly says "Tootie" for Cookie at 1 year..
Valerie can read her book by memory at 2 years, 3 months and can say her prayers and many other things so cute.
Roger Davis and Lynn Oestrich married April 5, 1969 at Fulton, MO..
Joyce McDaniel and Steve Smithmier married June 19, 1971 in Kansas City, MO..
Vanda and Dick Frantz married November 10, 1972..
Alison Lea Davis born April 17, 1972
73 Degrees in Jeff City on December 25, 1971
Alison Davis can say all her ABC's at age 1 year, 11 months and sings "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so."
5 below zero January 5, 1972.
33 children here for Trick or Treat October, 1971.
I was in Warwick NY when Kevin was born in 1956.
Had 25 inches of snow there n March 20 of 1956.
Victor walked at 8 months.
Kevin had chicken pox in 1st grade.
MY PERSONAL FAVORITE ENTRY: Darrell Davis could dial his phone number (Rotary dial) at age 3 years, 9 months.
We went to Colorado Springs in October of 1956.
Lisa Smithmier born August 5, 1974.
Vickie Frantz born May 11, 1974.
Rained 22 days out of 30 days in June 1969.
Kimberly said "Eat, Eat, Eat" in Lane Meyer at age 10 months
(Mebbe my next to best favorite!) Alison Davis, our sweet little granddaughter told me "it was none of my business" when I asked her why she was in the sink in February 1975.!!!
83 degrees February 29, 1972
We sold 1404 Westminster in October of 1967 and moved to 212 W. 4th Street. Snowed on May 4, 1944. Christmas of 1969 was a white Christmas
Arthur went to work at Brick yard on Monday, October 20, 1924 and retired on April 28, 1961, was never laid off, not once in entire 36 and 1/2 years, and worked only twice on night shift, 3:30pm until midnight.
Our first freeze of 1965 was on November 13, yet it never killed florwers or castor beans, zero never hit all winter until January 28, 1966
Coldest in 25 years, 11 below zero on January 1, 1968.
Had only 3 inches of snow all winter in 1966 and 1967, hit zero twice.
Elva drove to Warwick, NY on Tuesday, February 21, 1967. Darrell Davis, Kevin McDaniel and I accompanied her.. we went to NYC on Saturday, to West Point on Easter Sunday March 26, also to Middletown to see Hospital where Kevin was born. Returned home Thursday, March 29, 1967.
Went to Hospital August 8, 1967, returned home August 18, 1967.
Roger's address in Viet Nam 1968: Sgt Roger D. Davis, US 56588124, Co, D. 11st Bn 36 Inf, 198 Inf Bde. A.P.O. San Francisco, CA 96219. Januery 1968 until February 1969.
Roger married Linda Pinkerton June 4th, 1984...
There is/was much, much more handwritten in the Bible. Names, birthdates, death dates of family members before us.. more tidbits about snow, heat, cold..visits from so and so, visits to so and so.. and so much more.
Grandma passed on July 10, 1976. Arthur (Grandpa) passed shortly after, January 11, 1977. Doctors said heart issues. We surmise, broken heart. Ends are never good. In this case, beginning to end was wonderful.
Thursday, November 14, 2019
Life has learnt me..........
People are nice. Darn nice. Ya ever get in onea them "mad at the world" moods and someone comes along and sprinkles dadgum niceties allover the place? Uh huh, me too. Thank God for them.
Gingers are hardheaded. And blondes. And Brunettes.
Laughter helps. Laughing at one's self helps s'more. Having a friend who does something you can laugh at him/her for is THE BEST. Well, mebbe second place to great sex. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.
For every Mick Jagger 'Please allow me to introduce myself', it takes the other lads singing "doo - doo... doo-doo" to make it work. Same with Blue Suede's Hooked on a Feeling's "Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka." If there were no batboys, there'd be wood allover the damn field. Can a female be a mailman? If so, which restroom would they go into at Mickey D's?
Righty tighty ain't nuttin' without Lefty Loosey. Odds are 50% u plug the USB cord in the right way the first time.. the coin lands on heads.. you get divorced.. Ha. You can't live in Tahiti and sing "Baby it's cold outside." You can't gain warmth if you only rub one hand (although I do have a first cousin who can clap with one hand. Honest. It's quite entertaining.
If you live in Barrow, Alaska, from November 18 until January 22nd you can't blame darkness on her or the song "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone."
Right field. I am a lover of right field. As in, coming out of right field. Abby Normal. Imagine food with no spice.. Twinkies with no gooey junk.. a BL sandwich.. or a PB sandwich. (Actually, never was a fan of PBJ sandwiches.. PB and Banana, hell to the yes, but not PBJ. Band camp, basketball road trips long ago, when players were eager but meal money was meager - we had THE MOST hideous PB&J sandwiches. Patooey.)
Right field is where we parked after softball. We'd play for two hours, then spend four hours laughing, making fun of one another, letting the kids run so they'd go to bed at 8pm, have a few beers and enjoy the heck outta life and each other.
Cold makes one appreciate warm. So does a $1 mini bottle of Hot Damn.
God purposely plants some people in your life, I know He does. There was an older guy I worked with for years. Ya know the type of person, that no matter when you see 'em, they smile and it in turn makes you happy? That was him. Yeah, was. He's gone, but reminders abound. He gave me a Tony Gonzales Chief's jersey of the most different color Gold ya ever seen. Boo koo times I've worn in it public and it always brings a complement.
The other day, yep, the freezing day, furnace went out. 3am. Electricity, most, was out. This is where you promise to please not tell anyone how stupid I am. PROMISE? Thanks to my son, we found the damn fuse box. Only the outlets in the kitchen worked. In fact, the fridge light was the only damn light in the house that worked. My son had flipped all the fuses (two rows, 6 on top, 6 on bottom) one direction. I flipped 'em the other way to see if that would help. Nope, fridge light out, so, went back and flipped them the other way - yep, fridge light on. Furnace, all else, nuh uh.
Apartment maintenance dude came around 9:30-ish - showed me "you have half the switches wrong.. the top ones go up and the bottom ones go down." About that time, the damn furnace came on. Remember, you said you wouldn't tell. Well that was nice but we still didn't have any lights. "Gotta go to City to get a breaker, OK if I come back tomorrow?" Uh huh. He did. Put the new breaker in the box outside the house, barged in the door smiling, only to have his smile defrocked when he saw the damn lights were still out. Turns out, he replaced the breaker in Apartment #1 and I live in Apartment #2. The fact he be stupid too kinda made me feel better.
Sooooooooooooooooooooooo...... for two days I lived with 16' extension cords allover the damn house. Today, as I undid them, pushed, pulled everything back in place (including this computer/computer desk I'm using now), a wooden MU Christmas ornament was somehow on the floor. Uh huh, same old dude, my beloved buddy Leon, had given to me years ago. There is a God and he placed Leon in my life. Toes, smile, heart, warm now.
We are all, can be, grumpy. Which brings us back to those two things - best friends and sex. It's a wunnferful cycle ain't it?
This has nothing to do with that.. but I thought of it, so fingers moved. Family Fued. I ain't vomited in quite awhile, but whenever one of the team members shouts an answer and the 5 remaining family members, in unison, shout "GOOD ANSWER CHARLIE" I wanna vomit. Once, JUST once, I'd love to hear the guy shout his answer, and the 5 remaining family members chime in "Charlie you are a friggin' idiot, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Better ratings I bet.
I recently had a beloved family member living with me. Forty-two consecutive times I got up to go somewhere (pee, to put my coat on, to grab a Coke, yada) this beloved family member asked "Where ya going?" Solved that on time number 43.. "Where ya goin?" Crazy. I'm going crazy.
In my life time, work, play, yada, for years I've been around a few, only a few, folks that don't/won't/can't have fun. I usedta just think "Eh, that's the way it is." Now, I wouldn't care if they fell in the urinal and never surfaced - but then again, mebbe God planted them also so you'd have an example not to follow.
I'm rambling so I'd better go. Just had to type/write because I'm hooked on this feeling. Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka.
Love... because it beats the alternative, and some folks can't do that - so, we needs to love.. and have fun. And laugh at yourself. And Charlie and his stupid answer. And love, like God and Leon demonstrate.
Victurd
Gingers are hardheaded. And blondes. And Brunettes.
Laughter helps. Laughing at one's self helps s'more. Having a friend who does something you can laugh at him/her for is THE BEST. Well, mebbe second place to great sex. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.
For every Mick Jagger 'Please allow me to introduce myself', it takes the other lads singing "doo - doo... doo-doo" to make it work. Same with Blue Suede's Hooked on a Feeling's "Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka." If there were no batboys, there'd be wood allover the damn field. Can a female be a mailman? If so, which restroom would they go into at Mickey D's?
Righty tighty ain't nuttin' without Lefty Loosey. Odds are 50% u plug the USB cord in the right way the first time.. the coin lands on heads.. you get divorced.. Ha. You can't live in Tahiti and sing "Baby it's cold outside." You can't gain warmth if you only rub one hand (although I do have a first cousin who can clap with one hand. Honest. It's quite entertaining.
If you live in Barrow, Alaska, from November 18 until January 22nd you can't blame darkness on her or the song "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone."
Right field. I am a lover of right field. As in, coming out of right field. Abby Normal. Imagine food with no spice.. Twinkies with no gooey junk.. a BL sandwich.. or a PB sandwich. (Actually, never was a fan of PBJ sandwiches.. PB and Banana, hell to the yes, but not PBJ. Band camp, basketball road trips long ago, when players were eager but meal money was meager - we had THE MOST hideous PB&J sandwiches. Patooey.)
Right field is where we parked after softball. We'd play for two hours, then spend four hours laughing, making fun of one another, letting the kids run so they'd go to bed at 8pm, have a few beers and enjoy the heck outta life and each other.
Cold makes one appreciate warm. So does a $1 mini bottle of Hot Damn.
God purposely plants some people in your life, I know He does. There was an older guy I worked with for years. Ya know the type of person, that no matter when you see 'em, they smile and it in turn makes you happy? That was him. Yeah, was. He's gone, but reminders abound. He gave me a Tony Gonzales Chief's jersey of the most different color Gold ya ever seen. Boo koo times I've worn in it public and it always brings a complement.
The other day, yep, the freezing day, furnace went out. 3am. Electricity, most, was out. This is where you promise to please not tell anyone how stupid I am. PROMISE? Thanks to my son, we found the damn fuse box. Only the outlets in the kitchen worked. In fact, the fridge light was the only damn light in the house that worked. My son had flipped all the fuses (two rows, 6 on top, 6 on bottom) one direction. I flipped 'em the other way to see if that would help. Nope, fridge light out, so, went back and flipped them the other way - yep, fridge light on. Furnace, all else, nuh uh.
Apartment maintenance dude came around 9:30-ish - showed me "you have half the switches wrong.. the top ones go up and the bottom ones go down." About that time, the damn furnace came on. Remember, you said you wouldn't tell. Well that was nice but we still didn't have any lights. "Gotta go to City to get a breaker, OK if I come back tomorrow?" Uh huh. He did. Put the new breaker in the box outside the house, barged in the door smiling, only to have his smile defrocked when he saw the damn lights were still out. Turns out, he replaced the breaker in Apartment #1 and I live in Apartment #2. The fact he be stupid too kinda made me feel better.
Sooooooooooooooooooooooo...... for two days I lived with 16' extension cords allover the damn house. Today, as I undid them, pushed, pulled everything back in place (including this computer/computer desk I'm using now), a wooden MU Christmas ornament was somehow on the floor. Uh huh, same old dude, my beloved buddy Leon, had given to me years ago. There is a God and he placed Leon in my life. Toes, smile, heart, warm now.
We are all, can be, grumpy. Which brings us back to those two things - best friends and sex. It's a wunnferful cycle ain't it?
This has nothing to do with that.. but I thought of it, so fingers moved. Family Fued. I ain't vomited in quite awhile, but whenever one of the team members shouts an answer and the 5 remaining family members, in unison, shout "GOOD ANSWER CHARLIE" I wanna vomit. Once, JUST once, I'd love to hear the guy shout his answer, and the 5 remaining family members chime in "Charlie you are a friggin' idiot, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Better ratings I bet.
I recently had a beloved family member living with me. Forty-two consecutive times I got up to go somewhere (pee, to put my coat on, to grab a Coke, yada) this beloved family member asked "Where ya going?" Solved that on time number 43.. "Where ya goin?" Crazy. I'm going crazy.
In my life time, work, play, yada, for years I've been around a few, only a few, folks that don't/won't/can't have fun. I usedta just think "Eh, that's the way it is." Now, I wouldn't care if they fell in the urinal and never surfaced - but then again, mebbe God planted them also so you'd have an example not to follow.
I'm rambling so I'd better go. Just had to type/write because I'm hooked on this feeling. Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka.
Love... because it beats the alternative, and some folks can't do that - so, we needs to love.. and have fun. And laugh at yourself. And Charlie and his stupid answer. And love, like God and Leon demonstrate.
Victurd
Saturday, November 09, 2019
I'm gonna wait 'til the midnight hour........
Went to WallyWorld.. Son living with me part-time, wanted soda pop... OK, can do. Like any trip there, interesting people.. Blinders on, "go straight to soda pop aisle, get the hell out" took me right past the Milk Duds... oh ok..can do... then damn if they didn't have rotisserie chickies on sale for $4.50... oh ok... Finally, pop loaded in cart. like any trip to WallyWorld, $7 intention turned into $13 checkout.
To/fro, I worried, searched, dreaded not finding a writing topic. The two mile or so trek home included like 34 lane changes due to construction, folks planted on the white lines w/turn signals on, begging to get over. Red Rover red rover, bring your Chevy on over, but perty please don't take all day..
Where was I? Oh yeah.. weaving, bobbing, driving, braking, greenlighting, redlighting...what scenery - I'm too busy trying to figure out which lane I should be in on this road I've driven for 51 years. Victor, you gripe too much.. Where was I?
Oh yeah, thinking of junk to write about. It was then, just then, as I traversed up the hill to The Square I saw the most beautiful lady I've seen in at least four hours... awaiting the line outside at a breakfast joint.. so... what's a pig to do? He drives around the Square, back down the hill.. makes a left turn, and traverses the road where the pretty lady was standing. I ain't waiting on the midnight hour any longer.
I know I know I ain't dead.. and I know I know I have hopefully some more trips around the sun... but what the hey ya know?
Much hasn't changed, but age has changed me. Uh huh, the bod takes it's toll, so why not accentuate the positive of aging?. Whilst aging can be, usually is saggy, wrinkly, leaned-over-walkingly - I ain't gonna wait til the midnight hour and the withering away within and all the while keeping positive thinking from being unleashed.
See a pretty face.. I might turn around in the aisle and go see it again. See a really nice smile.. don't walk past it Victor, let that person know "Hey, you've got a really cool smile." Come into contact with a couple that you can tell they are emotionally super glued to one another? Ask 'em how that all started.. "How did you guys meet, and where'd ya go on your first date?"
Among the answers I've gotten recently... "well, I was 19, her daddy lemme fish in their pond, she was 14, and I guess the rest is history" (this was a couple that played golf where I work on their 50th anniversary...oh, and they didn't wait until the midnight hour, they chagrinned a cart and walked the course instead!)... "Skating rink.. 42 years ago." "In a bar... like interests I guess.".. "Very small town, I was a teacher, she was a student, but there's more to explain." I smiled, it's all good, I don't needta know!
There be some truth about the dangers or retirement in that "if you don't move, you'll die." I very much wish that meant I've been going to the gym, I threw out my size 36" jeans and bought 34" jeans. To the contrary, I'm donating my 36's and am now in 40's... breathing room, but I needs 'em. My "if you don't move, you'll die" isn't necessarily the most constructive of ways - but it's been a nice awakening.. I've pretty much always written what I feel - but now, I verbalize that as well. Crap like "I really admire you"... "Thanks for coming to play golf"... "I'm really glad, at our age, we can still do this" - statements that for years went unsaid, are now creeping outta my, and my friends mouths. Hell, ya even hear the word love more nowadays.
Past arguments don't last until the midnight hour.. you fist bump, shake hands or hug, then say things like "you go ahead and sit up front, I'm good"... or, "how's your hip (back/knee, leg, pee/no pee, bursitis, arthritis, u get the drift.).. ya care. So ya doin't wait til midnight.
Are we now perfect? Hell to the no, but why not have your coffee, steak, garden, bed, car, outlook, attitude - how ya like it? 2020 is scary enough no matter which side you're on - don't wait til midnight, enjoy living in the now.
Victor, you preaching again? Nope, simply enjoying. Oh sure, life has it's moments - we couldn't suckup (and apperchiate) the good if life was easy.. there would be no uplift without downfall.
I like your car. That's a really cool top. If I had your clothes, I'd donate all mine to Immacolata Manor.. Your baby is so danged cute. You must be on drugs, you're always happy (< I strongly endorse this one, it ALWAYS brings a smile)..
' Live. Love. Don't wait. I guess if this is preaching, so be it. Preaching comes with 'pews', and sure, I've had bad breath, smelly pits, farts that slip out, that stuff.. I am human smell me roar, ha.
Like life whilst we can.. don't wait until it's likeable - regardless of what Wilson Pickett wrote.
Close your ears. I just emailed someone "You shoulda been/should be a movie star." Creepy? Mebbe. Stalker? NO. Odds stacked agin', but, worst case, if I can bring her one moment of comfort, 'feel-goodery' should she ever get down, why not? She knows how I feel. I ain't waitin' til midnight on nuttin' any longer.
Love, why not... Victurd
To/fro, I worried, searched, dreaded not finding a writing topic. The two mile or so trek home included like 34 lane changes due to construction, folks planted on the white lines w/turn signals on, begging to get over. Red Rover red rover, bring your Chevy on over, but perty please don't take all day..
Where was I? Oh yeah.. weaving, bobbing, driving, braking, greenlighting, redlighting...what scenery - I'm too busy trying to figure out which lane I should be in on this road I've driven for 51 years. Victor, you gripe too much.. Where was I?
Oh yeah, thinking of junk to write about. It was then, just then, as I traversed up the hill to The Square I saw the most beautiful lady I've seen in at least four hours... awaiting the line outside at a breakfast joint.. so... what's a pig to do? He drives around the Square, back down the hill.. makes a left turn, and traverses the road where the pretty lady was standing. I ain't waiting on the midnight hour any longer.
I know I know I ain't dead.. and I know I know I have hopefully some more trips around the sun... but what the hey ya know?
Much hasn't changed, but age has changed me. Uh huh, the bod takes it's toll, so why not accentuate the positive of aging?. Whilst aging can be, usually is saggy, wrinkly, leaned-over-walkingly - I ain't gonna wait til the midnight hour and the withering away within and all the while keeping positive thinking from being unleashed.
See a pretty face.. I might turn around in the aisle and go see it again. See a really nice smile.. don't walk past it Victor, let that person know "Hey, you've got a really cool smile." Come into contact with a couple that you can tell they are emotionally super glued to one another? Ask 'em how that all started.. "How did you guys meet, and where'd ya go on your first date?"
Among the answers I've gotten recently... "well, I was 19, her daddy lemme fish in their pond, she was 14, and I guess the rest is history" (this was a couple that played golf where I work on their 50th anniversary...oh, and they didn't wait until the midnight hour, they chagrinned a cart and walked the course instead!)... "Skating rink.. 42 years ago." "In a bar... like interests I guess.".. "Very small town, I was a teacher, she was a student, but there's more to explain." I smiled, it's all good, I don't needta know!
There be some truth about the dangers or retirement in that "if you don't move, you'll die." I very much wish that meant I've been going to the gym, I threw out my size 36" jeans and bought 34" jeans. To the contrary, I'm donating my 36's and am now in 40's... breathing room, but I needs 'em. My "if you don't move, you'll die" isn't necessarily the most constructive of ways - but it's been a nice awakening.. I've pretty much always written what I feel - but now, I verbalize that as well. Crap like "I really admire you"... "Thanks for coming to play golf"... "I'm really glad, at our age, we can still do this" - statements that for years went unsaid, are now creeping outta my, and my friends mouths. Hell, ya even hear the word love more nowadays.
Past arguments don't last until the midnight hour.. you fist bump, shake hands or hug, then say things like "you go ahead and sit up front, I'm good"... or, "how's your hip (back/knee, leg, pee/no pee, bursitis, arthritis, u get the drift.).. ya care. So ya doin't wait til midnight.
Are we now perfect? Hell to the no, but why not have your coffee, steak, garden, bed, car, outlook, attitude - how ya like it? 2020 is scary enough no matter which side you're on - don't wait til midnight, enjoy living in the now.
Victor, you preaching again? Nope, simply enjoying. Oh sure, life has it's moments - we couldn't suckup (and apperchiate) the good if life was easy.. there would be no uplift without downfall.
I like your car. That's a really cool top. If I had your clothes, I'd donate all mine to Immacolata Manor.. Your baby is so danged cute. You must be on drugs, you're always happy (< I strongly endorse this one, it ALWAYS brings a smile)..
' Live. Love. Don't wait. I guess if this is preaching, so be it. Preaching comes with 'pews', and sure, I've had bad breath, smelly pits, farts that slip out, that stuff.. I am human smell me roar, ha.
Like life whilst we can.. don't wait until it's likeable - regardless of what Wilson Pickett wrote.
Close your ears. I just emailed someone "You shoulda been/should be a movie star." Creepy? Mebbe. Stalker? NO. Odds stacked agin', but, worst case, if I can bring her one moment of comfort, 'feel-goodery' should she ever get down, why not? She knows how I feel. I ain't waitin' til midnight on nuttin' any longer.
Love, why not... Victurd
Friday, November 08, 2019
I never promised you a Rose Garden.....
As always, I ain't real sure why I'm here, why I'm writing.
If you remember, some by choice, some by personal inability, I wasn't a great student/studier. I kinda sorta had 'em fooled though. Our Senior year, those in the National Honor Society, were allowed to get up and go (wherever) the last 15 minutes of each class. I wasn't in the NHS, but I was on the Student Council, no one ever questioned me, so, I got up each and every day, every class, to galavant with those that are/were much smarter than I. I guess yldrawkcassab, this did make me smart. Ha.
Now, there are two things in life I do very much love to study. One, people. Two, my eyelids.
Poor longterm planning, coupled with more month than SS Check amount, led me to search for additional means to make a buck. Found on FB, a company asking for folks to assist in studies, "pretend juries", marketing research, yada, at perty decent pay. (First one I did awhile back was 8 hours for $200. I almost didn't make it through. The stern lectern lady running the study warned us in advance, basically, "you ain't goin' no damn where 'cause if you do, you ain't getting paid." Which, is in direct disconcert with my prostate pressing frequently upon my bladder. Long about three hours in, I raised my hand.. "What's the matter?" stern lectern lady asked, "My BLADDER", aging geezer replied. "Oh, OK, 5 minute bathroom break.") Whew, TY.
The one yesterday, only two hours, ha, I can do this. 15 minutes before the start of this study, I, and two other geezers, stood silently infronta the urinals awaiting whatever it is down there to click in to start a flow. TMI I know, just wanna make sure you get the drip, er, drift.
OH BOY, I getta study people today! Being one of the first ones in the room, I spotted a hotty. In a millisecond, I deducted gorgeous smile, oh baby lips, and very nice derriere (sorry, kinda, butt it's our secret right?) Normally, I'd go sit at the other sidea the room, but, being 67, not knowing how many more damn sunrises I'll get, I ran, kinda, to sit in the chair right beside her. Smalltalk. I suck at that. "Do you come here often" ain't gonna work, but "Have you done any of these studies" kinda did. She gave me her smile, and explained a study she'd done before - and all the while I thought to myself "I know you're too damn old Victor, but mebbe, just mebbe she's closer in age than you think."
One by one we strolled into another room to begin the session. 6 chicks, 6 dudes. Different sizes, economics, ages, geographics, races, and we'd soon learn, differing opines. This study was about a horrific accident resulting in a death (wrongful?) - and we, the 12 of us with differing faults, were to pretend to be jury to cipher who is at fault, or if shared, what percent fault of each. I, mebbe purposely, nestled in a chair betweengst the two very largest folks in the room. Better to be thought a fool than to be seen, speak up, remove all doubt.
The moderator looked like Bob Saget, but had the calm personality of Pete Buttigieg. The males included me and three other raisins, a young, quiet guy, and a very large man that was sitting next to me. When he finally spoke, I expected to hear James Earl Jones, but he more resembled a high pitched Pee Wee Herman's voice. Likeable man, spoke with conviction.
The chicks consisted of a 20-something, two 30-somethings, the Hotty/age unknown but hoped to be older, Broken Record lady, and.. Broomhilda (more, sadly, later on her.)
The details, and pictures, of the horrificness were shared - and one by one, in no particular order we went around the room, asked questions, spoke our peace, sounded "what if's, coulda this/that" happened.
Hotty was on the other side of the room, and damned if there wasn't a mirror where, when looking at the moderator, boom, it was focused right on her too. Being a pig, I snuck in a lotta peeks. Got caught a time or two, but scroll to "dunno how many sunrises left", who cares.
Broken record lady repeated her same sentiment/opine a hunnerd plus times. I'm sure the two 20-somethings felt the same way about her, but they ain't got the foggiest idea what a broken record is, so I wondered what they called her. "Damn pop-up" maybe?
Broomhilda, well, I spotted her that name because I kinda thought she was a witch. Life has learned me, there's just some people where you can tell in the first 30 seconds, huh uh, I'll never call you to go have coffee. Pour it on you mebbe, but never share. She was LOUD. Ultra loud. When she tried to make a point (which was sadly about 30% of our two hour study) she got louder. Once I thought she was done, I hadn't contributed much, so I started to speak, as she heard me, she got LOUDER and LOUDER and LOUDER. It was just then I said a prayer - for you see - I saw the wedding ring on her hand and I prayed for that little sucker. He had to have been intoxicated when she clubbed him on the head, awakened only to find a ring on her finger. Victor, that ain't very nice. Neither was she. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.
The other three raisin men. One was very talkative, in a good way, and I learned from him - he made me think. A very moral dude - who also possessed the capability to play devil's advocate. (No, not Broomhilda.. the devil.) The other two raisins were kinda like me.. listened more than talked - so, when they did talk, I highly valued what they said - their observations.
Long about that time, Hotty had the floor.. and she mentioned "just had a baby" and right then and there I absolutely knew I was the biggest idiot in the room. Aye yai yai.
The mirror actually turned out to be a one-way thingy, where lawyers were perched behind listening, as we were all being videotaped/recorded.
We had nameplates turned so Bob Saget Buttigieg could see, and once I heard "Victor, you've been pretty quiet, what have you to say?" I scooted up to immerge from in between the two very big people, wanted to say "Broken record lady, please stop.. Broomhilda, I think your house is on fire you oughta leave.. and Hotty, I'm sorry I "creepy-flirted." Instead, I said what I felt about the very serious topic, and hopefully it came across without too much salt, pepper and sugar adorned.
In the end, the 12 of us with differing faults, were given a piece of notebook paper, pen... and we were asked to write down the Plaintiff, Defendent's names.. and attach a percentage of fault. Whilst details, discussion, Broken Record, Broomhilda, Hotty, fellow raisins made me think - I pretty much was unswayed in my opine from the get go.
Two hours, a hunnerd dollars, and a trip to Piggly Wiggly for $36 of eats, I was back at my abode, ne'er again to see fellow "fault" folks. This life studying, even when involving death, is pretty interesting.
VICTOR???? WAIT? Huh? Wha'for? Rose Garden, whatinthehell does this have to do with Rose Garden? Oh yeah, each and every time Broomhilda spoke, it reminded me of having to listen to the Rose Garden. Sorry, kinda, slipped.
Like studies of people, so are the days of our lives.
BRB, going to study eyelids.
Love, Victurd
If you remember, some by choice, some by personal inability, I wasn't a great student/studier. I kinda sorta had 'em fooled though. Our Senior year, those in the National Honor Society, were allowed to get up and go (wherever) the last 15 minutes of each class. I wasn't in the NHS, but I was on the Student Council, no one ever questioned me, so, I got up each and every day, every class, to galavant with those that are/were much smarter than I. I guess yldrawkcassab, this did make me smart. Ha.
Now, there are two things in life I do very much love to study. One, people. Two, my eyelids.
Poor longterm planning, coupled with more month than SS Check amount, led me to search for additional means to make a buck. Found on FB, a company asking for folks to assist in studies, "pretend juries", marketing research, yada, at perty decent pay. (First one I did awhile back was 8 hours for $200. I almost didn't make it through. The stern lectern lady running the study warned us in advance, basically, "you ain't goin' no damn where 'cause if you do, you ain't getting paid." Which, is in direct disconcert with my prostate pressing frequently upon my bladder. Long about three hours in, I raised my hand.. "What's the matter?" stern lectern lady asked, "My BLADDER", aging geezer replied. "Oh, OK, 5 minute bathroom break.") Whew, TY.
The one yesterday, only two hours, ha, I can do this. 15 minutes before the start of this study, I, and two other geezers, stood silently infronta the urinals awaiting whatever it is down there to click in to start a flow. TMI I know, just wanna make sure you get the drip, er, drift.
OH BOY, I getta study people today! Being one of the first ones in the room, I spotted a hotty. In a millisecond, I deducted gorgeous smile, oh baby lips, and very nice derriere (sorry, kinda, butt it's our secret right?) Normally, I'd go sit at the other sidea the room, but, being 67, not knowing how many more damn sunrises I'll get, I ran, kinda, to sit in the chair right beside her. Smalltalk. I suck at that. "Do you come here often" ain't gonna work, but "Have you done any of these studies" kinda did. She gave me her smile, and explained a study she'd done before - and all the while I thought to myself "I know you're too damn old Victor, but mebbe, just mebbe she's closer in age than you think."
One by one we strolled into another room to begin the session. 6 chicks, 6 dudes. Different sizes, economics, ages, geographics, races, and we'd soon learn, differing opines. This study was about a horrific accident resulting in a death (wrongful?) - and we, the 12 of us with differing faults, were to pretend to be jury to cipher who is at fault, or if shared, what percent fault of each. I, mebbe purposely, nestled in a chair betweengst the two very largest folks in the room. Better to be thought a fool than to be seen, speak up, remove all doubt.
The moderator looked like Bob Saget, but had the calm personality of Pete Buttigieg. The males included me and three other raisins, a young, quiet guy, and a very large man that was sitting next to me. When he finally spoke, I expected to hear James Earl Jones, but he more resembled a high pitched Pee Wee Herman's voice. Likeable man, spoke with conviction.
The chicks consisted of a 20-something, two 30-somethings, the Hotty/age unknown but hoped to be older, Broken Record lady, and.. Broomhilda (more, sadly, later on her.)
The details, and pictures, of the horrificness were shared - and one by one, in no particular order we went around the room, asked questions, spoke our peace, sounded "what if's, coulda this/that" happened.
Hotty was on the other side of the room, and damned if there wasn't a mirror where, when looking at the moderator, boom, it was focused right on her too. Being a pig, I snuck in a lotta peeks. Got caught a time or two, but scroll to "dunno how many sunrises left", who cares.
Broken record lady repeated her same sentiment/opine a hunnerd plus times. I'm sure the two 20-somethings felt the same way about her, but they ain't got the foggiest idea what a broken record is, so I wondered what they called her. "Damn pop-up" maybe?
Broomhilda, well, I spotted her that name because I kinda thought she was a witch. Life has learned me, there's just some people where you can tell in the first 30 seconds, huh uh, I'll never call you to go have coffee. Pour it on you mebbe, but never share. She was LOUD. Ultra loud. When she tried to make a point (which was sadly about 30% of our two hour study) she got louder. Once I thought she was done, I hadn't contributed much, so I started to speak, as she heard me, she got LOUDER and LOUDER and LOUDER. It was just then I said a prayer - for you see - I saw the wedding ring on her hand and I prayed for that little sucker. He had to have been intoxicated when she clubbed him on the head, awakened only to find a ring on her finger. Victor, that ain't very nice. Neither was she. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.
The other three raisin men. One was very talkative, in a good way, and I learned from him - he made me think. A very moral dude - who also possessed the capability to play devil's advocate. (No, not Broomhilda.. the devil.) The other two raisins were kinda like me.. listened more than talked - so, when they did talk, I highly valued what they said - their observations.
Long about that time, Hotty had the floor.. and she mentioned "just had a baby" and right then and there I absolutely knew I was the biggest idiot in the room. Aye yai yai.
The mirror actually turned out to be a one-way thingy, where lawyers were perched behind listening, as we were all being videotaped/recorded.
We had nameplates turned so Bob Saget Buttigieg could see, and once I heard "Victor, you've been pretty quiet, what have you to say?" I scooted up to immerge from in between the two very big people, wanted to say "Broken record lady, please stop.. Broomhilda, I think your house is on fire you oughta leave.. and Hotty, I'm sorry I "creepy-flirted." Instead, I said what I felt about the very serious topic, and hopefully it came across without too much salt, pepper and sugar adorned.
In the end, the 12 of us with differing faults, were given a piece of notebook paper, pen... and we were asked to write down the Plaintiff, Defendent's names.. and attach a percentage of fault. Whilst details, discussion, Broken Record, Broomhilda, Hotty, fellow raisins made me think - I pretty much was unswayed in my opine from the get go.
Two hours, a hunnerd dollars, and a trip to Piggly Wiggly for $36 of eats, I was back at my abode, ne'er again to see fellow "fault" folks. This life studying, even when involving death, is pretty interesting.
VICTOR???? WAIT? Huh? Wha'for? Rose Garden, whatinthehell does this have to do with Rose Garden? Oh yeah, each and every time Broomhilda spoke, it reminded me of having to listen to the Rose Garden. Sorry, kinda, slipped.
Like studies of people, so are the days of our lives.
BRB, going to study eyelids.
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, November 06, 2019
Friends of distinction.........
I can dig it, he can dig it
She can dig it, we can dig it
They can dig it, you can dig it
Oh, let's dig it
Can you dig it, baby
Ya gotsta love this quilt of life, sewn together by friends.
Friends = smiles.
Friends = Damnit darnit (said with smirk) I wish you would have forgotten I did that.
Friends = You need some help?
Friends = fist bump, handshake, hug.
Friends = demonstrated 'like' waythehell before Zuckerberg was born.
Friends like us, and we like them, whether they're broke, have a messy car/house/life, good mood, bad mood, have marital woes, bad breath, or even just farted (Grazin' in the grass is a gas [so to speak] can you dig it.)
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby
Friends gulp, but say "yes"(somewhat meekly) when asking or asked they question "Hey, I'm moving Saturday, can you help?"
Friends get mad at you, and you them, make fun of you, and you them, tell jokes, borrow smokes, and laugh at other blokes.
Friends = road trips, whiskey nips, backflips (long ago), stupid quips.
Friends listen to every damn boring story you ever told, and vice versa.
Friends, both you/me, occasionally, don't text back, don't p/u the phone when you/I call, email back mebbe 3 days later. Reasons change, seasons change - but friendship never quivers.
Friendship rocks, it's give and take - whether asleep or awake. A busy body tells you "You're screwing up" - and it's instant denial. A friend says that, so you reflect "maybe you're right."
I don't know where I'm going with this blog... uncertain of my path in life.. with or without wife.. in, or outta strife.. grumpy, happy, tired, too damn much energy - the constant is friendship. Adobe turned to concrete, then steel. Bond, no not James, friendship bond.
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby.
Friends say "Hey!", "Whassup?", "Let's", yes, no, maybe, I wish, we can't, we shouldn't, oh ok. Friends are the first to laugh when your golfball takes a swim in the pond, so, after, when your friend buys an $11 round and hands a twenty to the server, you harken "keep the change.' You get that look, and you laugh just as loud as they did when your golfball went swimming. Bastard = friendship.
I can dig it, he can dig it. Grazin in the grass is a gas can you dig it.
Same Bat channel. Same damn story you/they have told nine times (ya ain't allowed to say "yeah, you told me that" until the fifth time.)
Friend ends with 'end', but it never do. That's what friends do.
This is corny. I'm sorry. Love means never having to say you're sorry. Friends call BS, "sorry's ass."
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby
Happy day, friend. Can u loan me fitty?
Love, Victurd
Ya gotsta love this quilt of life, sewn together by friends.
Friends = smiles.
Friends = Damnit darnit (said with smirk) I wish you would have forgotten I did that.
Friends = You need some help?
Friends = fist bump, handshake, hug.
Friends = demonstrated 'like' waythehell before Zuckerberg was born.
Friends like us, and we like them, whether they're broke, have a messy car/house/life, good mood, bad mood, have marital woes, bad breath, or even just farted (Grazin' in the grass is a gas [so to speak] can you dig it.)
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby
Friends gulp, but say "yes"(somewhat meekly) when asking or asked they question "Hey, I'm moving Saturday, can you help?"
Friends get mad at you, and you them, make fun of you, and you them, tell jokes, borrow smokes, and laugh at other blokes.
Friends = road trips, whiskey nips, backflips (long ago), stupid quips.
Friends listen to every damn boring story you ever told, and vice versa.
Friends, both you/me, occasionally, don't text back, don't p/u the phone when you/I call, email back mebbe 3 days later. Reasons change, seasons change - but friendship never quivers.
Friendship rocks, it's give and take - whether asleep or awake. A busy body tells you "You're screwing up" - and it's instant denial. A friend says that, so you reflect "maybe you're right."
I don't know where I'm going with this blog... uncertain of my path in life.. with or without wife.. in, or outta strife.. grumpy, happy, tired, too damn much energy - the constant is friendship. Adobe turned to concrete, then steel. Bond, no not James, friendship bond.
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby.
Friends say "Hey!", "Whassup?", "Let's", yes, no, maybe, I wish, we can't, we shouldn't, oh ok. Friends are the first to laugh when your golfball takes a swim in the pond, so, after, when your friend buys an $11 round and hands a twenty to the server, you harken "keep the change.' You get that look, and you laugh just as loud as they did when your golfball went swimming. Bastard = friendship.
I can dig it, he can dig it. Grazin in the grass is a gas can you dig it.
Same Bat channel. Same damn story you/they have told nine times (ya ain't allowed to say "yeah, you told me that" until the fifth time.)
Friend ends with 'end', but it never do. That's what friends do.
This is corny. I'm sorry. Love means never having to say you're sorry. Friends call BS, "sorry's ass."
I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby
Happy day, friend. Can u loan me fitty?
Love, Victurd
Monday, October 28, 2019
A little ditty 'bout Jack and Diane's weekend at Bernie's....
Friday night. He'd already put in 53 hours at his construction job, not to mention the additional 15 hours driving to and fro. One to wet the whistle, drive home, take the boots off, kick his feet up... only to fall asleep to Netflix.
Diane's head was ablazen from all the Monday thru Friday cubicle gossip whirling above and around her head. Susie's divorce... the new boss's arrogance.. and oodles and oodles of hard work put in to finally achieve her 3pm Friday deadline - completed. By the joint to stop for one to inaugurate the weekend.
Their eyes met across the bar. Well, that's not totally true.. Her eyeballs laid and stayed focused on his Wranglers as he got up and walked into the john. With much delight, and continued focus, she was doubly pleased as he returned to his barstool. His eyes. "Yum, his eyes" she thought - not to be outdone was his appealing smile, first take of thinking "a good, decent man."
For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, and it so happens he caught her eyes from across the room, "dreamy" crept into his brain - she smiled... like a tennis player, he returned same.
Soon, she too got up to use the restroom... "Would you look at her wonderful figure!" ran thru his brain. They both were in great shape, and to be frank, "bend me, shape me any way you want me" crossed his brain. We, all men, are/can be piggies. Just a gol durn minute, all women can be piglets too. She returned to her chair at the table, sitting by herself.
He sucked, or so he thought, on being the aggressor, coming up with something friendly, catchy to say as an introduction. Gulping the last drop of his jack and coke, he said to heck with it - walked over, announced, "Hi, I'm Jack." "Nice to meet you Jack" as she extended her hand, "I'm Diane." She felt the roughness of his hand - but it was Ok, a comfy "honest day's work" feel.
Somehow, words came with ease - they admired one another's smiles, eyes, conversation, all that. They each returned once to the restroom, they equally admired that. With visions of sugarplums, and "If the house is a rockin'" thoughts went thru their brains, she didn't hesitate one iota when he asked for her cell number.
He figured 9am Saturday she prolly would be up, so he called. "Hi Jack!" she exclaimed. "Careful," he cautioned, "don't ever say that to me getting on a plane." "Ha" she fired back, "how are you?" He was higher than a kite at the thought of a date with her, but fearing showing too much "oh baby oh baby" emotion, he answered calmly, "I'm very good, and you?" Small talk led to "hey, let's take a drive this afternoon to stare at the beauty of the trees changing>" "Great, let's do."
They did. There was comfort, ease in their conversation. Each felt the want to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake and it wasn't a dream. They took turns staring at the trees along the way, but in truth, they, again like a tennis match, took turns staring at the other when the other wasn't watching. Two hours expired in what seemed like 10 minutes.
"Hey," Jack threw out, "howabout a game of Parcheesi back at my place?" She couldn't have cared if he'd asked Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, Go Fish or Duck, Duck Goose - she was game. (Side note, "Parcheesi nicely spelled Victor." I know, thanks to Microsoft red underlining.)
He lost game one. "Two outta three? Loser cooks dinner?" "Deal" Diane fired back with a smile.
In between moments of however in the heck one plays Parcheesi, they dipped into their life histories, siblings, where they grew up, their parents, past jobs...whatever seemed worthy of sharing.
"Ha! One to One" Jack lipsmacked with a smile. "Game 3 on, I'm hankerin' for some spaghetti!"
Unlike the 'every time I lose a wrasslin' match, I got a funny feeling that I won,' she actually did win. "Got the ingredients for lasagna?" she fired. Strangely, he did.
Pandora blared in the background, with brief interludes of clanking pots and pans. An album later, "Dinner is served." Candlelit dinner. Diane was impressed, and after bite #1, doubly impressed.
They walked the dishes to the sink, and both dug into the warm water to wash and rinse the dishes. He felt the urge for a hug, their first, she willingly obliged. "I wish my hands weren't so wet" he thought to himself. "I wish his hands weren't so wet" she dreamed.
Out back, the air was as cold as what one thinks the air is in the Midwest when the trees change - thus, they nestled in around the firepit. Conversation, laughter, giggles, baby touches ruled the night. At one point, he used his sleeve to wipe the Hersheymellowgraham off her lip, then followed with a kiss. She no complained.
They went to the bedroom, doinked, and planned their second date. Don't be a dweeb and believe that..
She did spend the night, but no hanky panky. Si, hugs, kisses, laughter, mutual body heat to assist the furnace...a good time was had by all.
She awakened staring at a ceiling she didn't remember.. to the smell of coffee coming from the distance. "Sugar...sugar?" Jack asked. "Nope, black is perfect." They downed some biscuits and gravy, jointly worked the morning crossword puzzle, while her thoughts crept to "Man this guy can cook", which is fancy for "Damn he's cute, handsome, BUILT."
Like a good tennis player's return, similar thought transpired in his brain.
A nice, long hug at the doorway - she opened the closet door to retrieve her wrap - and there it was. His MAGA hat. "DEPLORABLE!" she screamed... long about that time he noticed peeking out from under her blouse her "Not me. Us" Bernie Sanders t-shirt. "SNOWFLAKE!" he returned in equal pissed off tennis match fashion.
Neither noticed "Why Can't We Be Friends" playing in the background on Pandora.
Fall is changing to Winter. There would be no shady tree and she kept her Bobby Brooks on.
Woosh, she was gone, fastern' a scroll thru an opponent's posting on Facebook. "Eh, it's hunting season anyways" Jack told himself.
Oh yeah, life goes on... long after the thrill of living is gone.
A little ditty, 'bout Jack and Diane. And us, in America today.
Love, Victurd
Diane's head was ablazen from all the Monday thru Friday cubicle gossip whirling above and around her head. Susie's divorce... the new boss's arrogance.. and oodles and oodles of hard work put in to finally achieve her 3pm Friday deadline - completed. By the joint to stop for one to inaugurate the weekend.
Their eyes met across the bar. Well, that's not totally true.. Her eyeballs laid and stayed focused on his Wranglers as he got up and walked into the john. With much delight, and continued focus, she was doubly pleased as he returned to his barstool. His eyes. "Yum, his eyes" she thought - not to be outdone was his appealing smile, first take of thinking "a good, decent man."
For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, and it so happens he caught her eyes from across the room, "dreamy" crept into his brain - she smiled... like a tennis player, he returned same.
Soon, she too got up to use the restroom... "Would you look at her wonderful figure!" ran thru his brain. They both were in great shape, and to be frank, "bend me, shape me any way you want me" crossed his brain. We, all men, are/can be piggies. Just a gol durn minute, all women can be piglets too. She returned to her chair at the table, sitting by herself.
He sucked, or so he thought, on being the aggressor, coming up with something friendly, catchy to say as an introduction. Gulping the last drop of his jack and coke, he said to heck with it - walked over, announced, "Hi, I'm Jack." "Nice to meet you Jack" as she extended her hand, "I'm Diane." She felt the roughness of his hand - but it was Ok, a comfy "honest day's work" feel.
Somehow, words came with ease - they admired one another's smiles, eyes, conversation, all that. They each returned once to the restroom, they equally admired that. With visions of sugarplums, and "If the house is a rockin'" thoughts went thru their brains, she didn't hesitate one iota when he asked for her cell number.
He figured 9am Saturday she prolly would be up, so he called. "Hi Jack!" she exclaimed. "Careful," he cautioned, "don't ever say that to me getting on a plane." "Ha" she fired back, "how are you?" He was higher than a kite at the thought of a date with her, but fearing showing too much "oh baby oh baby" emotion, he answered calmly, "I'm very good, and you?" Small talk led to "hey, let's take a drive this afternoon to stare at the beauty of the trees changing>" "Great, let's do."
They did. There was comfort, ease in their conversation. Each felt the want to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake and it wasn't a dream. They took turns staring at the trees along the way, but in truth, they, again like a tennis match, took turns staring at the other when the other wasn't watching. Two hours expired in what seemed like 10 minutes.
"Hey," Jack threw out, "howabout a game of Parcheesi back at my place?" She couldn't have cared if he'd asked Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, Go Fish or Duck, Duck Goose - she was game. (Side note, "Parcheesi nicely spelled Victor." I know, thanks to Microsoft red underlining.)
He lost game one. "Two outta three? Loser cooks dinner?" "Deal" Diane fired back with a smile.
In between moments of however in the heck one plays Parcheesi, they dipped into their life histories, siblings, where they grew up, their parents, past jobs...whatever seemed worthy of sharing.
"Ha! One to One" Jack lipsmacked with a smile. "Game 3 on, I'm hankerin' for some spaghetti!"
Unlike the 'every time I lose a wrasslin' match, I got a funny feeling that I won,' she actually did win. "Got the ingredients for lasagna?" she fired. Strangely, he did.
Pandora blared in the background, with brief interludes of clanking pots and pans. An album later, "Dinner is served." Candlelit dinner. Diane was impressed, and after bite #1, doubly impressed.
They walked the dishes to the sink, and both dug into the warm water to wash and rinse the dishes. He felt the urge for a hug, their first, she willingly obliged. "I wish my hands weren't so wet" he thought to himself. "I wish his hands weren't so wet" she dreamed.
Out back, the air was as cold as what one thinks the air is in the Midwest when the trees change - thus, they nestled in around the firepit. Conversation, laughter, giggles, baby touches ruled the night. At one point, he used his sleeve to wipe the Hersheymellowgraham off her lip, then followed with a kiss. She no complained.
They went to the bedroom, doinked, and planned their second date. Don't be a dweeb and believe that..
She did spend the night, but no hanky panky. Si, hugs, kisses, laughter, mutual body heat to assist the furnace...a good time was had by all.
She awakened staring at a ceiling she didn't remember.. to the smell of coffee coming from the distance. "Sugar...sugar?" Jack asked. "Nope, black is perfect." They downed some biscuits and gravy, jointly worked the morning crossword puzzle, while her thoughts crept to "Man this guy can cook", which is fancy for "Damn he's cute, handsome, BUILT."
Like a good tennis player's return, similar thought transpired in his brain.
A nice, long hug at the doorway - she opened the closet door to retrieve her wrap - and there it was. His MAGA hat. "DEPLORABLE!" she screamed... long about that time he noticed peeking out from under her blouse her "Not me. Us" Bernie Sanders t-shirt. "SNOWFLAKE!" he returned in equal pissed off tennis match fashion.
Neither noticed "Why Can't We Be Friends" playing in the background on Pandora.
Fall is changing to Winter. There would be no shady tree and she kept her Bobby Brooks on.
Woosh, she was gone, fastern' a scroll thru an opponent's posting on Facebook. "Eh, it's hunting season anyways" Jack told himself.
Oh yeah, life goes on... long after the thrill of living is gone.
A little ditty, 'bout Jack and Diane. And us, in America today.
Love, Victurd
Friday, October 18, 2019
Mice and Men... M&M's... Mahomes not home on the range......
The deer and the antelope are oblivious.
And the beat goes on............. or doesn't.
Screeching halt. Words, reactions like OMG... Holy mackerel.. or my personal fav "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!" (I wasn't a very good high school basketball shooter. I think I played mainly because I hustled. Our Coach, whenever I'd take a shot, hollered "NOOOOOOO!!!")
Life disruption. Down goes Frazier. Wally Pipp lost his job to some chump named Lou Gehrig. Chicken Little reminds us the toast is burnt regarding our QB, the greatest thing since sliced bread.
Divorce. Death. Injury. Affliction. Much happens, or doesn't. The end, usually, ain't great.
Cope can lead to hope or mope. We're all different. I'm unique, just like you.
I know of a lad, good guy. Fun. Divorce back in the 80's, maybe even the 90's, I don't recall. Life, as he knew it, OVER. Friends worried he would harm himself.
Whilst no one has solved "the chicken or the egg" question, history tells us Humpty was beyond repair.
Happy to report, this lad is the happiest I've ever seen him - with a great gal who's just as happy - life it be good.
So Victor, you're now divorced twice - been single since whenever the last divorce was (2005) - are you gonna head to the pulpit and tell us the tale again about life repair, duct tape and bailing wire?
Nope, ain't. I'm here to observe. Have fun. People watch. Then, open my big trap (keyboard).
Chantilly lace and a pretty face, a pony tail, hanging down - that wiggle in the walk, and giggle in the talk, makes the world go round - there ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl, that makes me act so funny, make me spend my money, make me feel real loose like a long necked good...like a girl, OH BABY that's what I like.
Sorry, the song slipped out. Felt it, dealt it. My bad.
Life smacks us right in the face sometimes - we all respond differently. Humpty took the omelette route, Pipp gave way to Gehrig (Lou then set the record for playing in 2,130 consecutive games), Pipp ultimately got traded. Even sweet Lou - was smacked in the face. ALS. How'd he respond? Certain you've heard his speech "For the past two weeks you have been reading about my bad break, yet, today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
The late, great Buck O'Neil, denied the opportunity to play in the Major Leagues because of his color - with smile, related "I was right on time."
Some go the bottle. Otis. Uncle Tom. (Uncle Tom was an actual uncle, had drinking problem, never knew his history or why, like Santa Claus clockwork, he showed up each and every Christmas, the only time we ever saw him.) The guy with the beard that sits at the bar on "The Ranch." Who knows their life interruption...
What is the name of the bird that can't land? Emu? Albatross? Hell I dunno, but it's fun to watch the video of them trying to land. Sad too.
Edith Fore was credited as portraying Mrs. Fletcher. Although a stunt person performed the fall itself, Fore said she created the "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up" line while discussing the accident with LifeCall.
OMG. Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!
I've bored you with this before, but, it's my blog, my computer, my fingers that shout "People let me tell ya bout my best friend." My mom. Age 57, a massive stroke. Her life smack in the face. Father as witness. Life change. This had a wonderful end. (I'm of course, biased.) Dad immediately quit his traveling sales job, got "D tags", used our alleyway to fix up and sell old clunkers, so they could eat, live and be happy. And they were. Dad sang old showtunes as he cooked, cleaned. Mom had her 'nest' (as dad called it.) Newspapers, Kleenexes galore. I have framed, and 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper, where, due to her stroke, had written completely on the right hand side "The secret to success is how you deal with plan B." Far, frigging out.
Most...ok, all of us - go thru "I'm a chocolate mess" times. Do we leave it on our hands and get it all over - or, do we wash it off and figure out how to make a candy that "Melts in your mouth, not our hands."
I love you, I'm sorry you've struggled. We all struggle. Sometimes we struggle ugly - which, reminds me of one of my alltime favorite quotes that has absolutely nothing to do with this blog. Kareem Jabbar, in advance of coming to play the Kansas City Kings in basketball, would shout out to Sam Lacy, our center, "I'm coming to town and I'm gonna knock some of the ugly off your face."
Fly high, or jump off a small wall, we'll figure out the landing later. Holler like Wally "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today - look at me (Since Lou is now at first base) I can be, Centerfield.
Have an occasional beer. A good cry. Wade your toes in self pity as you cross the creek, but don't take up permanent residence there. Have an omelette.
By all means, smile. Laugh, love. Life goes on - it's our call how to respond.
"To The Outhouse" by Willie Makeit, better known as our backup QB Matt Moore. Mice and Men... M&M's... Moore & Mahomes. Will this melt in our mouth, or on our hands? Time, life will tell. 20 years from now, those of you that will still be alive will ask "Whatinthehell was the name of that guy that came in for Mahomes? Something or other Pipp wasn't it?
OMG. Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!
Love, Victurd
And the beat goes on............. or doesn't.
Screeching halt. Words, reactions like OMG... Holy mackerel.. or my personal fav "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!" (I wasn't a very good high school basketball shooter. I think I played mainly because I hustled. Our Coach, whenever I'd take a shot, hollered "NOOOOOOO!!!")
Life disruption. Down goes Frazier. Wally Pipp lost his job to some chump named Lou Gehrig. Chicken Little reminds us the toast is burnt regarding our QB, the greatest thing since sliced bread.
Divorce. Death. Injury. Affliction. Much happens, or doesn't. The end, usually, ain't great.
Cope can lead to hope or mope. We're all different. I'm unique, just like you.
I know of a lad, good guy. Fun. Divorce back in the 80's, maybe even the 90's, I don't recall. Life, as he knew it, OVER. Friends worried he would harm himself.
Whilst no one has solved "the chicken or the egg" question, history tells us Humpty was beyond repair.
Happy to report, this lad is the happiest I've ever seen him - with a great gal who's just as happy - life it be good.
So Victor, you're now divorced twice - been single since whenever the last divorce was (2005) - are you gonna head to the pulpit and tell us the tale again about life repair, duct tape and bailing wire?
Nope, ain't. I'm here to observe. Have fun. People watch. Then, open my big trap (keyboard).
Chantilly lace and a pretty face, a pony tail, hanging down - that wiggle in the walk, and giggle in the talk, makes the world go round - there ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl, that makes me act so funny, make me spend my money, make me feel real loose like a long necked good...like a girl, OH BABY that's what I like.
Sorry, the song slipped out. Felt it, dealt it. My bad.
Life smacks us right in the face sometimes - we all respond differently. Humpty took the omelette route, Pipp gave way to Gehrig (Lou then set the record for playing in 2,130 consecutive games), Pipp ultimately got traded. Even sweet Lou - was smacked in the face. ALS. How'd he respond? Certain you've heard his speech "For the past two weeks you have been reading about my bad break, yet, today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
The late, great Buck O'Neil, denied the opportunity to play in the Major Leagues because of his color - with smile, related "I was right on time."
Some go the bottle. Otis. Uncle Tom. (Uncle Tom was an actual uncle, had drinking problem, never knew his history or why, like Santa Claus clockwork, he showed up each and every Christmas, the only time we ever saw him.) The guy with the beard that sits at the bar on "The Ranch." Who knows their life interruption...
What is the name of the bird that can't land? Emu? Albatross? Hell I dunno, but it's fun to watch the video of them trying to land. Sad too.
Edith Fore was credited as portraying Mrs. Fletcher. Although a stunt person performed the fall itself, Fore said she created the "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up" line while discussing the accident with LifeCall.
OMG. Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!
I've bored you with this before, but, it's my blog, my computer, my fingers that shout "People let me tell ya bout my best friend." My mom. Age 57, a massive stroke. Her life smack in the face. Father as witness. Life change. This had a wonderful end. (I'm of course, biased.) Dad immediately quit his traveling sales job, got "D tags", used our alleyway to fix up and sell old clunkers, so they could eat, live and be happy. And they were. Dad sang old showtunes as he cooked, cleaned. Mom had her 'nest' (as dad called it.) Newspapers, Kleenexes galore. I have framed, and 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper, where, due to her stroke, had written completely on the right hand side "The secret to success is how you deal with plan B." Far, frigging out.
Most...ok, all of us - go thru "I'm a chocolate mess" times. Do we leave it on our hands and get it all over - or, do we wash it off and figure out how to make a candy that "Melts in your mouth, not our hands."
I love you, I'm sorry you've struggled. We all struggle. Sometimes we struggle ugly - which, reminds me of one of my alltime favorite quotes that has absolutely nothing to do with this blog. Kareem Jabbar, in advance of coming to play the Kansas City Kings in basketball, would shout out to Sam Lacy, our center, "I'm coming to town and I'm gonna knock some of the ugly off your face."
Fly high, or jump off a small wall, we'll figure out the landing later. Holler like Wally "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today - look at me (Since Lou is now at first base) I can be, Centerfield.
Have an occasional beer. A good cry. Wade your toes in self pity as you cross the creek, but don't take up permanent residence there. Have an omelette.
By all means, smile. Laugh, love. Life goes on - it's our call how to respond.
"To The Outhouse" by Willie Makeit, better known as our backup QB Matt Moore. Mice and Men... M&M's... Moore & Mahomes. Will this melt in our mouth, or on our hands? Time, life will tell. 20 years from now, those of you that will still be alive will ask "Whatinthehell was the name of that guy that came in for Mahomes? Something or other Pipp wasn't it?
OMG. Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
Continuing Education
Sure, I'd like to try to swat a line drive, round first base and try to stretch it into two.
Full court basketball might be nice.
6am to midnight traversing Highway 76 and all therein in Branson.
Instead, here I sit. Older. Mebbe too old for all that. I'm at peace with that.
Three loads of laundry stare at me from the bedroom. In my best single voice, "Honey, I'll get to that soon."
Soon after I sit and kill 3 hours listening to Classic Rock on youtube. No lights on. Quiet. This is mebbe better than the high blood pressure meds I take.
Knock, knock, knock.. 'Ahm, you've got three, THREE loads of laundry needing to be done."
Stones, Eagles, Rod Stewart, The Beatles. "I'll get to them soon."
Leave me alone, I'm old, I'm tired - I don't work but Uncle Sam (er, Social Security) pays me anyways. I choose time out.
I find listening more fun as I age. I find, when someone tosses a line at me, I have less and less urge to bite the bait (argue). I find, if the urge hits me to make a smartass comment that will invoke a smile, I'm kinda sorta unleashed, and OK with that. What better than laughter with whatever time is left?
It all usedta be about "what's next?"... What to wear to work. Path to work. Who's at, or not at, work. What within that mess upon my desk would my boss like for me to do first? Next? Does the kid have anything today? Need I hurry home from work? Our plans? Will we make it to payday?
Now, I sit. And listen. No hustle. No bustle. Damn, it's nice.
BRB, the 7 minute version of "You can't always get what you want" just came on.
Rome, Paris, London, St. Thomas, Cancun...even Cooperstown, DC, San Diego - sure, all would nice. For now, I sit. Sometimes you get what you need.
Today, it kinda feels good to get caught in the rain. I don't even cuss (much) if the Newspaper guy forgets to deliver my paper two days in a row now. Uh huh, no fun paying $2.50 + tax today at the Piggly Wiggly for today's edition that ya already paid for - but it is what it is, scroll back to the high pressure point. Not worth it.
I have no idea who is here, what you are wanting, or even more, what I want to say. I think what I'm trying to say is this getting old ain't bad. We're born a 78 speed record, morph into a 45 - then ride it out as a 33. You tailgate, stress, hurry, no looky at the scenery, mile a minute, regret blurts, bury your head in your Dayplanner....
Nomme. I'm chilaxin'. I stress, less stress. Your check engine light is gonna come on. Your back (shoulder, hip, knee, foot, yada) is gonna hurt. This life palette infronta us, it ain't always gonna pan out as we wish. It is what it is. Age teaches not flipping out, flipping the lights off instead. Breathe deep. Chilax.
Bowie and Mercury are singing "Under Pressure." Nice song, but huh uh, no more. The mirror tells me these lines on my face are deep enough. When I shave and swipe the shaving cream off, it takes two swipes as much is left in the crevices. Tis OK. Earned em. You too.
I do wholeheartedly subscribe to the advice "If you don't move, you die," but like the laundry, there's a time and a place for that.
No takey this the wrong way, but much of our life is spent in doing for others. (ie, no pats on the back, we all, as parents, workers, yada, do that.) Today, this age, is just damn peachy to think of one's self occasionally and spoil the hell outta your own bad self. Grab that cinnamon roll, I'll treadmill it later. Search, play that one song where the gosh darn sax 'talks to you.' Close the eyes. Smile. Relax. Chilax.
I ain't no preacher - but I wanna tell you I'm finding complementing others is better than sex. OK, maybe that's a stretch, but damn it feels good, TO EACH. One can forget much that goes on in a day, but when we're complemented, we smile as we groan our old bones to bed - remembering how good what was said made us feel. how thankful we are for the person saying that. So, I try to, more.
Life is a continuing education, but with old age, what better, there ain't no lesson plans, no curriculum. OUR. OWN. PACE. Again, I no profess to be a professor or a preacher or a look at me, do as I say - I'm simply finding, as I age, the stuff important to me now is: treating others nicely, treating one's self nicely, no getty in a huff... have smiles, make smiles.
I gotta go. Laundry Victor? No.. pee. There are still little tidbits of stress even with aging.
Have a fun day. Catch someone doing good. Have smile. Make smile. Be a smartass. Chilax. Buy yourself something (and your grandkids two things).
Go to Motel 6-teefivesomething. We don't leave the light on, we turn it off. Close our eyes. Meditate. Feel. Feel good. Chilax. Thrive in how good this learning to be old is.
Love, Victurd
Full court basketball might be nice.
6am to midnight traversing Highway 76 and all therein in Branson.
Instead, here I sit. Older. Mebbe too old for all that. I'm at peace with that.
Three loads of laundry stare at me from the bedroom. In my best single voice, "Honey, I'll get to that soon."
Soon after I sit and kill 3 hours listening to Classic Rock on youtube. No lights on. Quiet. This is mebbe better than the high blood pressure meds I take.
Knock, knock, knock.. 'Ahm, you've got three, THREE loads of laundry needing to be done."
Stones, Eagles, Rod Stewart, The Beatles. "I'll get to them soon."
Leave me alone, I'm old, I'm tired - I don't work but Uncle Sam (er, Social Security) pays me anyways. I choose time out.
I find listening more fun as I age. I find, when someone tosses a line at me, I have less and less urge to bite the bait (argue). I find, if the urge hits me to make a smartass comment that will invoke a smile, I'm kinda sorta unleashed, and OK with that. What better than laughter with whatever time is left?
It all usedta be about "what's next?"... What to wear to work. Path to work. Who's at, or not at, work. What within that mess upon my desk would my boss like for me to do first? Next? Does the kid have anything today? Need I hurry home from work? Our plans? Will we make it to payday?
Now, I sit. And listen. No hustle. No bustle. Damn, it's nice.
BRB, the 7 minute version of "You can't always get what you want" just came on.
Rome, Paris, London, St. Thomas, Cancun...even Cooperstown, DC, San Diego - sure, all would nice. For now, I sit. Sometimes you get what you need.
Today, it kinda feels good to get caught in the rain. I don't even cuss (much) if the Newspaper guy forgets to deliver my paper two days in a row now. Uh huh, no fun paying $2.50 + tax today at the Piggly Wiggly for today's edition that ya already paid for - but it is what it is, scroll back to the high pressure point. Not worth it.
I have no idea who is here, what you are wanting, or even more, what I want to say. I think what I'm trying to say is this getting old ain't bad. We're born a 78 speed record, morph into a 45 - then ride it out as a 33. You tailgate, stress, hurry, no looky at the scenery, mile a minute, regret blurts, bury your head in your Dayplanner....
Nomme. I'm chilaxin'. I stress, less stress. Your check engine light is gonna come on. Your back (shoulder, hip, knee, foot, yada) is gonna hurt. This life palette infronta us, it ain't always gonna pan out as we wish. It is what it is. Age teaches not flipping out, flipping the lights off instead. Breathe deep. Chilax.
Bowie and Mercury are singing "Under Pressure." Nice song, but huh uh, no more. The mirror tells me these lines on my face are deep enough. When I shave and swipe the shaving cream off, it takes two swipes as much is left in the crevices. Tis OK. Earned em. You too.
I do wholeheartedly subscribe to the advice "If you don't move, you die," but like the laundry, there's a time and a place for that.
No takey this the wrong way, but much of our life is spent in doing for others. (ie, no pats on the back, we all, as parents, workers, yada, do that.) Today, this age, is just damn peachy to think of one's self occasionally and spoil the hell outta your own bad self. Grab that cinnamon roll, I'll treadmill it later. Search, play that one song where the gosh darn sax 'talks to you.' Close the eyes. Smile. Relax. Chilax.
I ain't no preacher - but I wanna tell you I'm finding complementing others is better than sex. OK, maybe that's a stretch, but damn it feels good, TO EACH. One can forget much that goes on in a day, but when we're complemented, we smile as we groan our old bones to bed - remembering how good what was said made us feel. how thankful we are for the person saying that. So, I try to, more.
Life is a continuing education, but with old age, what better, there ain't no lesson plans, no curriculum. OUR. OWN. PACE. Again, I no profess to be a professor or a preacher or a look at me, do as I say - I'm simply finding, as I age, the stuff important to me now is: treating others nicely, treating one's self nicely, no getty in a huff... have smiles, make smiles.
I gotta go. Laundry Victor? No.. pee. There are still little tidbits of stress even with aging.
Have a fun day. Catch someone doing good. Have smile. Make smile. Be a smartass. Chilax. Buy yourself something (and your grandkids two things).
Go to Motel 6-teefivesomething. We don't leave the light on, we turn it off. Close our eyes. Meditate. Feel. Feel good. Chilax. Thrive in how good this learning to be old is.
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, October 09, 2019
And we'll have fun, fun, fun 'til her daddy takes her T-Bird away......
Life, sometimes, is just boring. Time to spiff the joint up.
Ideas? (I Googled)
"Shake up your morning routine" and "please your palette." OK, so, my daily drive to McDonalds. Insteada going the same, mundane, fastest way.... I drove under the ole' one-lane 'honk bridge'. That's always fun. Past "around this inexhaustible spring, Liberty was founded." Do do do do, take you back. And it did. THEN, insteada ordering a Sausage Biscuit and Sausage McMuffin, I ordered a Sausage McMuffin and Sausage Biscuit. Confused the hell outta Window #1's Shirley.. "It IS you" she exclaimed as I pulled up.
"Make a bucket list," and "Rearrange your furniture." The suggestion was to 'move your armchair to where the sofa is, and vice versa.' I'm too old for that. So, instead, the first bucket list item was "To attend a Rolling Stones concert." They were in Denver recently, but oh baby the tickets (and the altitude) were high. So................. I went to Youtube, entered "Rolling Stones Live", turned my TV 180 degrees so it was facing the wall (Hey, the only tickets I saw I could afford were BEHIND the stage), cranked and pretended I was there, AND rearranged furniture - two birds, one stone. Well, several Stones. I had a blast...you can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.
"Go on a scavenger hunt." Cinchy. First, I drove to Best Buy, my goal was to simultaneously watch the 33 TV's displayed and see how fast I could find 4 commercials that didn't have Patrick Mahomes in them. Took awhile, but did it. Over the new bridge to Wally World where the quest was to find 4 people older than me. Again, took awhile, especially since they axed all the Greeters - but I eventually saw two, then went and sat on the bench by the pharmacy ("Excuse me ma'am, what year did you graduate?" - aha, a little over an hour. Last trip/scavenge To Dollar Tree. Bought me a "Get well soon" mylar balloon, stood in line with 12 other people for the one cashier whilst 7 other DT employees silently stocked nearby for fear of hearing "Myrna, Register 2 please."... Road trip with balloon to find the very first roadkill i could find to attach the balloon to. I was hoping it was a raccoon (long story, but you'd agree with me).. hoped it wouldn't be a squirrel cause the helium might bring it off the ground and toward Heaven, and hey, that ain't my call. Maybe Bambi? It was a squirrel, but he was a fat one, hadn't been run'd over 12 times. Swatted the flies away, tied the balloon - one scavenger hunt in the books!
"Cut a rug":
Thus, grabbed my boombox, back to Dollar Tree to buy 15 D batteries from Myrna.. to the Rancho Grande where I played "Macarena" and danced away on the sidewalk in front. Didn't see anyone I knew, but I wasn't worried, that's why I went and did this before they opened.
Down the parking lot to my personal bank.. Plopped the box down in the middle of the lobby, put in my favorite John, Paul, George and Ringo's "The best things in life are free, but you can keep them for the birds and the bees, Now give me money (that's what I want), now give me money (That's what I want.)" Teller Michelle kinda looked at me funny, but she knew from experience I like stupid jokes so she never dialed 911.
A real quick Fast Food array of 2-stepping (Mickey D's "you deserve a break today"...Pizza Hut "putt putt, the pizza hut".. and ah chihuahua Taco Bell for "Go to... taco taco taco taco taco taco Bell.' I was gonna swing by Arbys "We have the meat" but I had the runs, so... home.
"Shake up your sex life." Ahm.... next suggestion please.
"Do that one big thing. Is there one big action you've been holding back on that could turn your life from boring to amazing? Maybe it's a job change, a move, a proposal, a change of scenery, a new relationship in your life. Whatever it is, take that first step. Action creates momentum, and momentum builds excitement."
With all that said, I took that first big step to the bathroom. (Remember? I got the runs.)
This is maybe the worst blog ever, but it's kinda like Bill Self said after Snoop Dog shot dollar bills at KU players from an Adidas gun recently at their "Late Night at the Phog", "Even bad publicity is better than no publicity."
Thinking on my own, I watched CNN for 30 minutes (In Spanish), then, Fox News for 30 minutes (In French.)
Nap time. Me no likey Dr. Laura, but I do like her "No go take on the day."
I'd love to hear how you spiff up life. Call me, text me, message me, but gimme 42 minutes (average length of my naps.)
Happy day,
By Henry 'Spiff' Gibson
Love, Victurds - pun mebbe intended
Ideas? (I Googled)
"Shake up your morning routine" and "please your palette." OK, so, my daily drive to McDonalds. Insteada going the same, mundane, fastest way.... I drove under the ole' one-lane 'honk bridge'. That's always fun. Past "around this inexhaustible spring, Liberty was founded." Do do do do, take you back. And it did. THEN, insteada ordering a Sausage Biscuit and Sausage McMuffin, I ordered a Sausage McMuffin and Sausage Biscuit. Confused the hell outta Window #1's Shirley.. "It IS you" she exclaimed as I pulled up.
"Make a bucket list," and "Rearrange your furniture." The suggestion was to 'move your armchair to where the sofa is, and vice versa.' I'm too old for that. So, instead, the first bucket list item was "To attend a Rolling Stones concert." They were in Denver recently, but oh baby the tickets (and the altitude) were high. So................. I went to Youtube, entered "Rolling Stones Live", turned my TV 180 degrees so it was facing the wall (Hey, the only tickets I saw I could afford were BEHIND the stage), cranked and pretended I was there, AND rearranged furniture - two birds, one stone. Well, several Stones. I had a blast...you can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.
"Go on a scavenger hunt." Cinchy. First, I drove to Best Buy, my goal was to simultaneously watch the 33 TV's displayed and see how fast I could find 4 commercials that didn't have Patrick Mahomes in them. Took awhile, but did it. Over the new bridge to Wally World where the quest was to find 4 people older than me. Again, took awhile, especially since they axed all the Greeters - but I eventually saw two, then went and sat on the bench by the pharmacy ("Excuse me ma'am, what year did you graduate?" - aha, a little over an hour. Last trip/scavenge To Dollar Tree. Bought me a "Get well soon" mylar balloon, stood in line with 12 other people for the one cashier whilst 7 other DT employees silently stocked nearby for fear of hearing "Myrna, Register 2 please."... Road trip with balloon to find the very first roadkill i could find to attach the balloon to. I was hoping it was a raccoon (long story, but you'd agree with me).. hoped it wouldn't be a squirrel cause the helium might bring it off the ground and toward Heaven, and hey, that ain't my call. Maybe Bambi? It was a squirrel, but he was a fat one, hadn't been run'd over 12 times. Swatted the flies away, tied the balloon - one scavenger hunt in the books!
"Cut a rug":
Thus, grabbed my boombox, back to Dollar Tree to buy 15 D batteries from Myrna.. to the Rancho Grande where I played "Macarena" and danced away on the sidewalk in front. Didn't see anyone I knew, but I wasn't worried, that's why I went and did this before they opened.
Down the parking lot to my personal bank.. Plopped the box down in the middle of the lobby, put in my favorite John, Paul, George and Ringo's "The best things in life are free, but you can keep them for the birds and the bees, Now give me money (that's what I want), now give me money (That's what I want.)" Teller Michelle kinda looked at me funny, but she knew from experience I like stupid jokes so she never dialed 911.
A real quick Fast Food array of 2-stepping (Mickey D's "you deserve a break today"...Pizza Hut "putt putt, the pizza hut".. and ah chihuahua Taco Bell for "Go to... taco taco taco taco taco taco Bell.' I was gonna swing by Arbys "We have the meat" but I had the runs, so... home.
"Shake up your sex life." Ahm.... next suggestion please.
"Do that one big thing. Is there one big action you've been holding back on that could turn your life from boring to amazing? Maybe it's a job change, a move, a proposal, a change of scenery, a new relationship in your life. Whatever it is, take that first step. Action creates momentum, and momentum builds excitement."
With all that said, I took that first big step to the bathroom. (Remember? I got the runs.)
This is maybe the worst blog ever, but it's kinda like Bill Self said after Snoop Dog shot dollar bills at KU players from an Adidas gun recently at their "Late Night at the Phog", "Even bad publicity is better than no publicity."
Thinking on my own, I watched CNN for 30 minutes (In Spanish), then, Fox News for 30 minutes (In French.)
Nap time. Me no likey Dr. Laura, but I do like her "No go take on the day."
I'd love to hear how you spiff up life. Call me, text me, message me, but gimme 42 minutes (average length of my naps.)
Happy day,
By Henry 'Spiff' Gibson
Love, Victurds - pun mebbe intended
Tuesday, October 08, 2019
Much ado about nothing.. peed in the pool..... sorry, kinda.
The yearn to write, to me, is kinda like "Oh a beer would taste good now", or, "my Kingdom for a 300 cheeseburger", or, "I really don't have anything to say, but I'm gonna talk anyways." Sorry, kinda.
So..... Whilst I could think of nothing to write about, I grabbed a beer, munched on a 300, and, am writing anyways.
About:
Nothing. Nothing in particular. Feel free to take the next exit if it doesn't appear to be your thing.
When texting, dependent upon my mood, I will (or will not) use correct punctuation. My buddy Tom will recognize/understand "Id go if you wld.".. or, "Isnt he Bills friend?" Then again, don't text as I do, text as I say 'cause I scrutinize every single one I receive for said punctuation, spelling errors. Must be my id, Id like to know. (I do redfacedly admit to texting a very nice lady "Wanna play Scrable? I'll kick your butt!" Geez)
Old age tells me, anywhere from 6 to 7 days before Uncle Sam's monthly SS direct deposit, something you need, breaks. I just returned from Wally World with a new coffee maker. Coffee is a need eh? Last month it was the battery light on my car coming on. Battery is a need yeah? "Ahm, Mr. Schultze, I'm sorry, both your battery and your alternator are bad." To the tune of almost $700. 40 years ago I woulda prolly cussed, ran to the bathroom, pretended to punch the sheet rock... now, I meekly replied "OK, do what ya gotta do." Never understood those that actually do punch sheet rock, since there are studs spaced every 16-24".. Guess I was never a stud.
Op Ed. To everyone who falls into the discrimination of Hispanics, vamanos. We had a mass shooting in KC, KS. 4 killed, 9 total shot in a bar that is essentially a Hispanic hang out. So..very..sad. I had the pleasure of carrying mail for two years in this neighborhood and I'm here to relate the folks living there are among the happiest, friendliest, hardest working people I've ever witnessed and friended. Yes, the neighborhood is not affluent. Yet, during the NALC Stamp Out Hunger National Food Drive, these folks filled my vehicle THREE times. I also got seedlings in terracotta pots, veggies from gardens, Christmas presents, thank you cards, and many, many a smile and warm greeting. F* discrimination. Sorry, scroll to Id.
Speakinowhich, you know when you go in retail joints and they have a bowl fulla suckers? Am I the only 66 yr old that delights in glee (and grabs one) when I see this? Kudos to establishments that, on their own dime, basically say "Have a nice day." Musta been hippies, or kids/grandkids of hippies. I reckon 'nice' is learned. And, mebbe excitedly grabbing one keeps one a kid at heart.
To all the girls I've loved before... no, that ain't it. To all you single old farts like me: (Victor, is this where you preach? Mebbe, but I moreso consider it "talking to/reminding me, hitchhikers welcome") A new goal of mine is to try to do one social thing a day. Be it the gym, church, the library, etc., or, heaven help us, a Happy Hour. Socializing is kinda like water... oxygen.. . or coffee.. or a battery, or an alternator - needed.
I am C+ when it comes to grammar. Lotta words fool me. Like, hitchhiker. Why ain't it simply hitchiker? Id know what it means. Or, granddaughter. Bookkeeper. A waste of ink, my opine. Sapphire? Big? Bigger.. Biggest. Hard to diggest. Hehe. Or, hehhee Id assume.
I was 8 years old and running with a dime in my hand.. In my hometown.. In my hometown. Sing it Bruce. I love my hometown. You? Businesses that have been here since Harry Truman was in office. HUGE tree lined Historic District streets. Cool, ever changing artwork on every corner on the Square.. Flowers, greenery, on each corner too. Fall Festivals, Homecoming, Friday night lights, Little League, dance studios where kids do move, buddies with similar mems within a ten minute drive. I ain't goin' nowhere. Unless, there is a 60-something, rich, divorced blonde that has a condo on The Gulf - or even Scottsdale would work. Message me as I ain't really got anything planned until April 2020.
Tis that time of year. I fall into the category of "that grumpy old man never turns on his porch light at Halloween." (Would that be porchhlight? And why ain't it Hallowween?).. Anyways, I liken all parents who say "I would never eat any of my kids candy" to those that say "I ain't never peed in the pool." Bonzi, you lie. Now, as grandparents, it's considered a no no. Forgive me Father, for I have peed in a pool - and I have an affinity for Milk Duds and Baby Snickers. My take, I want my grandkids to have nice teeth!
This blog, if you could see from my view, has 21 words above that are underlined in red. I tend to rebel on some things. I wish I could meet whomever it is at Microsoft that wrote the rules, is the IT person behind the scenes that does the red-underlining and exclaims "Bailiff, whack his pee pee." (Or would hat be Bailliff?).. Maybe Judy from Leave it to Beaver's class? Assuredly, this person never went to prom. Bitter. Probably a former hall monitor too. Like my old buddy Zeke I worked with at United Airlines. Come time to clock out, he took a magic marker and emphatically wrote a BIG "X" on that specific calendar day, as if to say "Take that you SOB." It ain't underlined, but shouldn't that be emphattically? Or, emphaticcally?
Other quick diddies of nothingness, coupled with old age: is it just me or do you ever get a song from an old TV show stuck in your head and you think for days about whatinthehell show it was from?... Do you too consistently make the same noise when you get up from the chair, or bed, or the squatter? I am a pirate, mine is "Arrrrrr". Yours?
Have you unfollowed someone on Facebook due to "I'm old, this person really gets on my nerves, I don't HAVE to do/see this?" Liar. You peed in the pool too didn't you? I think someone (the Microsoft soup nazi, or Judy maybe?) should invent something that, when someone pees in a pool, the urine will turn a sparkly neon color so everyone in the pool would know. Side note, country club where I work, they tell us to take the water sample from the deep end. I take that to mean', "kids pee in the shallow end, false reading." (Oh, except for you liars that say you've never peed in the pool.)
I'm out. Sorry this was boring and really pretty nonsensical. Boring and nonsensical kinda come with age I've noticed.
May you have a Happy day.. Unfollow "Judy's", spend ten minutes in line at the store buying twelve different kinds of lottery tickets (just to upset whippersnappers), go to drive up at Mickey D's during the lunch hour and respond "Can I have a minute to study the menu?"
Hug your grandDaughters and grandsons. Remember their teeth.
Don't pee in the pool.
Love, Victurdd
So..... Whilst I could think of nothing to write about, I grabbed a beer, munched on a 300, and, am writing anyways.
About:
Nothing. Nothing in particular. Feel free to take the next exit if it doesn't appear to be your thing.
When texting, dependent upon my mood, I will (or will not) use correct punctuation. My buddy Tom will recognize/understand "Id go if you wld.".. or, "Isnt he Bills friend?" Then again, don't text as I do, text as I say 'cause I scrutinize every single one I receive for said punctuation, spelling errors. Must be my id, Id like to know. (I do redfacedly admit to texting a very nice lady "Wanna play Scrable? I'll kick your butt!" Geez)
Old age tells me, anywhere from 6 to 7 days before Uncle Sam's monthly SS direct deposit, something you need, breaks. I just returned from Wally World with a new coffee maker. Coffee is a need eh? Last month it was the battery light on my car coming on. Battery is a need yeah? "Ahm, Mr. Schultze, I'm sorry, both your battery and your alternator are bad." To the tune of almost $700. 40 years ago I woulda prolly cussed, ran to the bathroom, pretended to punch the sheet rock... now, I meekly replied "OK, do what ya gotta do." Never understood those that actually do punch sheet rock, since there are studs spaced every 16-24".. Guess I was never a stud.
Op Ed. To everyone who falls into the discrimination of Hispanics, vamanos. We had a mass shooting in KC, KS. 4 killed, 9 total shot in a bar that is essentially a Hispanic hang out. So..very..sad. I had the pleasure of carrying mail for two years in this neighborhood and I'm here to relate the folks living there are among the happiest, friendliest, hardest working people I've ever witnessed and friended. Yes, the neighborhood is not affluent. Yet, during the NALC Stamp Out Hunger National Food Drive, these folks filled my vehicle THREE times. I also got seedlings in terracotta pots, veggies from gardens, Christmas presents, thank you cards, and many, many a smile and warm greeting. F* discrimination. Sorry, scroll to Id.
Speakinowhich, you know when you go in retail joints and they have a bowl fulla suckers? Am I the only 66 yr old that delights in glee (and grabs one) when I see this? Kudos to establishments that, on their own dime, basically say "Have a nice day." Musta been hippies, or kids/grandkids of hippies. I reckon 'nice' is learned. And, mebbe excitedly grabbing one keeps one a kid at heart.
To all the girls I've loved before... no, that ain't it. To all you single old farts like me: (Victor, is this where you preach? Mebbe, but I moreso consider it "talking to/reminding me, hitchhikers welcome") A new goal of mine is to try to do one social thing a day. Be it the gym, church, the library, etc., or, heaven help us, a Happy Hour. Socializing is kinda like water... oxygen.. . or coffee.. or a battery, or an alternator - needed.
I am C+ when it comes to grammar. Lotta words fool me. Like, hitchhiker. Why ain't it simply hitchiker? Id know what it means. Or, granddaughter. Bookkeeper. A waste of ink, my opine. Sapphire? Big? Bigger.. Biggest. Hard to diggest. Hehe. Or, hehhee Id assume.
I was 8 years old and running with a dime in my hand.. In my hometown.. In my hometown. Sing it Bruce. I love my hometown. You? Businesses that have been here since Harry Truman was in office. HUGE tree lined Historic District streets. Cool, ever changing artwork on every corner on the Square.. Flowers, greenery, on each corner too. Fall Festivals, Homecoming, Friday night lights, Little League, dance studios where kids do move, buddies with similar mems within a ten minute drive. I ain't goin' nowhere. Unless, there is a 60-something, rich, divorced blonde that has a condo on The Gulf - or even Scottsdale would work. Message me as I ain't really got anything planned until April 2020.
Tis that time of year. I fall into the category of "that grumpy old man never turns on his porch light at Halloween." (Would that be porchhlight? And why ain't it Hallowween?).. Anyways, I liken all parents who say "I would never eat any of my kids candy" to those that say "I ain't never peed in the pool." Bonzi, you lie. Now, as grandparents, it's considered a no no. Forgive me Father, for I have peed in a pool - and I have an affinity for Milk Duds and Baby Snickers. My take, I want my grandkids to have nice teeth!
This blog, if you could see from my view, has 21 words above that are underlined in red. I tend to rebel on some things. I wish I could meet whomever it is at Microsoft that wrote the rules, is the IT person behind the scenes that does the red-underlining and exclaims "Bailiff, whack his pee pee." (Or would hat be Bailliff?).. Maybe Judy from Leave it to Beaver's class? Assuredly, this person never went to prom. Bitter. Probably a former hall monitor too. Like my old buddy Zeke I worked with at United Airlines. Come time to clock out, he took a magic marker and emphatically wrote a BIG "X" on that specific calendar day, as if to say "Take that you SOB." It ain't underlined, but shouldn't that be emphattically? Or, emphaticcally?
Other quick diddies of nothingness, coupled with old age: is it just me or do you ever get a song from an old TV show stuck in your head and you think for days about whatinthehell show it was from?... Do you too consistently make the same noise when you get up from the chair, or bed, or the squatter? I am a pirate, mine is "Arrrrrr". Yours?
Have you unfollowed someone on Facebook due to "I'm old, this person really gets on my nerves, I don't HAVE to do/see this?" Liar. You peed in the pool too didn't you? I think someone (the Microsoft soup nazi, or Judy maybe?) should invent something that, when someone pees in a pool, the urine will turn a sparkly neon color so everyone in the pool would know. Side note, country club where I work, they tell us to take the water sample from the deep end. I take that to mean', "kids pee in the shallow end, false reading." (Oh, except for you liars that say you've never peed in the pool.)
I'm out. Sorry this was boring and really pretty nonsensical. Boring and nonsensical kinda come with age I've noticed.
May you have a Happy day.. Unfollow "Judy's", spend ten minutes in line at the store buying twelve different kinds of lottery tickets (just to upset whippersnappers), go to drive up at Mickey D's during the lunch hour and respond "Can I have a minute to study the menu?"
Hug your grandDaughters and grandsons. Remember their teeth.
Don't pee in the pool.
Love, Victurdd
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Riders on the storm....
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm
Today's forecast: Calm... with wind gusts up to 50mph.
Ya gotta love life. Well, ya ain't gotta, but it helps.
Every Friday afternoon in the Summer, families pack stuff in their SUV's, add screaming kids, suntan lotion - and they leave the God awful frenetic traffic of Suburbia - to plant themselves at the Lake of the Ozarks, where, they will get out on the water in the God awful frenetic lake traffic. Hurry, let's go. Hurry, let's ride. I get tired just watching that.
The old hands, the ones who done raised their termites, the ones who sold their 2 bedrooms too many abodes in Suburbia - purchased a small cottage and a dock slip - will stay the hell off the water from Friday afternoon, until Monday morning.
Then, and only then - calm. Calm waters. No hustle, no bustle, no young punks, showing muscle.
I ain't prejudiced, I enjoy both. Calm. Hustle bustle. There's a time and a place for each. There's a time and a place for a nap. Ariicle in paper this morning about a nearby college building 'sleep pods'. They're there for snotnose college kids (said lovingly) to use between 3pm and 8pm should they need a nap. Just a shade bigger than the twin bed inside, sounds like a good idea to me. Won't it be just a gathering place for hanky panky? Whointheheck will wash the sheets? Ewwwwww. "Only one person at a time allowed. Rooms are cleaned, sheets are changed after each usage." OK, thanks. Calm. Mebbe even youngsters need calm.
The sale of pills are at an all time high, young folks walking round with their heads in the sky, the cities ablaze in the summer time.... and oh, the beat goes on.
Evolution, revolution, gun control, sound of soul, shooting rockets to the moon, kids growing up to soon, politicians say more taxes, will solve everything.... and the band played on.
Life, yep, it's a Ball of Confusion.
Calm. A Sunday drive. Two hours with a friend and a cup of coffee on the front porch. The easy chair with a good book (or, in my case, a handheld with a Sudoku game.) Youtube, punch in your favorite artist, layback, let them dudes decide which song to play next.
Then again, I love rock and roll, put another ($5 bill) in the jukebox bayyyyybeee. I LOVE LOVE LOVE watching 3 grandkids run around like crazy, having a blast - for two hours. Then, need calm. I love a T Ball game, or a kids soccer match, where the coach repeats every instruction at the top of his/her lungs, TWICE. <-- Don't believe me? Listen next time. Parents up to the edge of the bleachers with their buttcracks and humility exposed. Yeah baby. I (sometimes) like hustle bustle.
Then, time for a nap.
Thunderstruck.. followed by Wonderful World. ZZ Top... then, Leonard Cohen.... Iron Maiden (did u see where the Senior Citizen couple was sued by neighbors because they wouldn't turn down Iron Maiden? God Bless 'Em!).... followed by Willie Nelson.
The Zoo on 152... Richfield Road. Calm. Storm. Storm. Calm.
Pullin up next to ya a Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 with a 700 HP engine.. an ole' Lincoln Continental on the open road with the cruise set at 64mph.
Life requires both.
The family 4th of July party. Hearing the warfare of neightbors some 12 blocks away, creating your own mostly permanent roman candle driveway stains. Followed by telling all, "loveya, drive safe." Exhaling. Opening door. Sitting on sofa. Once frightened hound jumps up in your lap, Classical music somewhat cranked in the background... ahhhhhh, peace. Calm. Preceded by frenetic. Fingers counted. Yep, ten. Time for bed. No hanky pank tonight, exhausted.
7 seconds left, 2nd overtime. Their ball... or... the excitement of curling. Ha.
Up, down. Hurry. Wait. OMG. Calm.
Black Friday, "The doors are opening!".. getting what you need at WalMart, at 4am.
I mundanely drove into the bank drive up window the other day to cash the check from my part-time job. "Hi.. howya doing. Cash please, $20's will work." Versus, the familiar voice of a fraternity brother who didn't see me in the next lane.. "HEY HEY HEY, HOWYA DOIN?!!" To the teller. Both work. Mine was boring. Eh, is ok, sometimes calm is nice - but too, I loved his excitement for life.
Waking up in the easy chair, the show you were watching long gone. Waking up from a night fulla visions of sugar plums, "What day is it?".. Waking up from a nap, "Is that AM or PM?"...
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Life is kinda like dancing. Both the slow and the fast are good. Just as long as both entail hugging.
Peace out... or not..
Love, Victurd
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm
Today's forecast: Calm... with wind gusts up to 50mph.
Ya gotta love life. Well, ya ain't gotta, but it helps.
Every Friday afternoon in the Summer, families pack stuff in their SUV's, add screaming kids, suntan lotion - and they leave the God awful frenetic traffic of Suburbia - to plant themselves at the Lake of the Ozarks, where, they will get out on the water in the God awful frenetic lake traffic. Hurry, let's go. Hurry, let's ride. I get tired just watching that.
The old hands, the ones who done raised their termites, the ones who sold their 2 bedrooms too many abodes in Suburbia - purchased a small cottage and a dock slip - will stay the hell off the water from Friday afternoon, until Monday morning.
Then, and only then - calm. Calm waters. No hustle, no bustle, no young punks, showing muscle.
I ain't prejudiced, I enjoy both. Calm. Hustle bustle. There's a time and a place for each. There's a time and a place for a nap. Ariicle in paper this morning about a nearby college building 'sleep pods'. They're there for snotnose college kids (said lovingly) to use between 3pm and 8pm should they need a nap. Just a shade bigger than the twin bed inside, sounds like a good idea to me. Won't it be just a gathering place for hanky panky? Whointheheck will wash the sheets? Ewwwwww. "Only one person at a time allowed. Rooms are cleaned, sheets are changed after each usage." OK, thanks. Calm. Mebbe even youngsters need calm.
The sale of pills are at an all time high, young folks walking round with their heads in the sky, the cities ablaze in the summer time.... and oh, the beat goes on.
Evolution, revolution, gun control, sound of soul, shooting rockets to the moon, kids growing up to soon, politicians say more taxes, will solve everything.... and the band played on.
Life, yep, it's a Ball of Confusion.
Calm. A Sunday drive. Two hours with a friend and a cup of coffee on the front porch. The easy chair with a good book (or, in my case, a handheld with a Sudoku game.) Youtube, punch in your favorite artist, layback, let them dudes decide which song to play next.
Then again, I love rock and roll, put another ($5 bill) in the jukebox bayyyyybeee. I LOVE LOVE LOVE watching 3 grandkids run around like crazy, having a blast - for two hours. Then, need calm. I love a T Ball game, or a kids soccer match, where the coach repeats every instruction at the top of his/her lungs, TWICE. <-- Don't believe me? Listen next time. Parents up to the edge of the bleachers with their buttcracks and humility exposed. Yeah baby. I (sometimes) like hustle bustle.
Then, time for a nap.
Thunderstruck.. followed by Wonderful World. ZZ Top... then, Leonard Cohen.... Iron Maiden (did u see where the Senior Citizen couple was sued by neighbors because they wouldn't turn down Iron Maiden? God Bless 'Em!).... followed by Willie Nelson.
The Zoo on 152... Richfield Road. Calm. Storm. Storm. Calm.
Pullin up next to ya a Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 with a 700 HP engine.. an ole' Lincoln Continental on the open road with the cruise set at 64mph.
Life requires both.
The family 4th of July party. Hearing the warfare of neightbors some 12 blocks away, creating your own mostly permanent roman candle driveway stains. Followed by telling all, "loveya, drive safe." Exhaling. Opening door. Sitting on sofa. Once frightened hound jumps up in your lap, Classical music somewhat cranked in the background... ahhhhhh, peace. Calm. Preceded by frenetic. Fingers counted. Yep, ten. Time for bed. No hanky pank tonight, exhausted.
7 seconds left, 2nd overtime. Their ball... or... the excitement of curling. Ha.
Up, down. Hurry. Wait. OMG. Calm.
Black Friday, "The doors are opening!".. getting what you need at WalMart, at 4am.
I mundanely drove into the bank drive up window the other day to cash the check from my part-time job. "Hi.. howya doing. Cash please, $20's will work." Versus, the familiar voice of a fraternity brother who didn't see me in the next lane.. "HEY HEY HEY, HOWYA DOIN?!!" To the teller. Both work. Mine was boring. Eh, is ok, sometimes calm is nice - but too, I loved his excitement for life.
Waking up in the easy chair, the show you were watching long gone. Waking up from a night fulla visions of sugar plums, "What day is it?".. Waking up from a nap, "Is that AM or PM?"...
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Life is kinda like dancing. Both the slow and the fast are good. Just as long as both entail hugging.
Peace out... or not..
Love, Victurd
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
If you're Happy and you know it - don't read this.....
I'm not Happy.....
Then which one are you?
Doc? Oh heavens no, but I do admit to Googling my symptoms upon occasion... Dr. Google can be skeery.. I Googled 'headache' and learned I could have had a stroke, or brain cancer... My shoulder was hurting, Doc Google told me it could be Lyme disease.. My chest hurt, and yep, he said "heart attack or pulmonary embolism." I actually did cipher (correctly) once I had PAD. Rooto rootered leg (twice) and away goes blood down the vein (or artery).. Bottomline, to be Happy (and healthy), go see a real Doc.
Are you Grumpy? NO I AM NOT GRUMPY, why would you ask? OK, sometimes I am. I can't help it. (Victor, you can, trust me.) OK, mebbe. I don't wanna be Grumpy, hence, the search today for Happy.
Are you Sneezy? Well, sometimes. Mom said long ago "shoulda had your adenoids taken out." Close your ears, I hate to blow my nose. It's gross. I know it's the best thing to do, I just can't bring myself to do it. So, instead I more aesthetically pleasing rub my nostril with the exterior of my index finger (EWWW) until my nose gets so red I Google red nose and learn I may have Lupus. VICTOR! Sorry, kinda. Victor, please learn to blow your nose. OK...........mebbe.
Are you Bashful? Perhaps. In a large group around the table, at conversation end someone might getup and say "Who was that quiet guy and whatsup with him?" But, gimme a damn keyboard and mouse and I'm a loudmouth. Yes, I said it. If you talk, there's no backspacing. Yes, I know 'hitting send' is akin to no backspacing, and occasionally I do that, then quickly rethink, DELETE it, then worry for four years about who'd read it before I erased it.
Are you Sleepy? ALL. THE. TIME. I Googled that (VICTOR!) and learned I might be depressed, or have the beginning of Alz.. I dunno. Thinking more positively though, I approach it as, "I'm retired, I'll take a dadgum nap whenever I wanna." In fact, kinda sleepy now... brb......
Thanks for waiting. Victor, are you Dopey? HOW? HOW did you see my transcript from my first semester at NWMSU? YES, I had a 1.6, but I thought I'd burned that when I burned my first marriage certificate???????????????????
OK, not to belittle, or dwarf the conversation, but I seriously Googled, today, how to be happy, what makes one happy ,how to be happier, yada. There were a lot of nifty suggestions.
Much. Much today is/can be very depressing. Shootings (we've lost 89 in Kansas City this year, many of those under 15 years of age.). Politics. Smooth as silk eh? Facebook. Sure, fun, for awhile, or, some of it, but lots makes one wanna vomit. I ain't bashful to vomit like I am to not blow my nose. When it comes to upchuck, there ain't no hesitation.
What then Victor? What makes one Happy?
I am (can be) Grumpy, I am (can be) Bashful, I am (can be) Dopey, I am Sleepy, Like Popeye "I can't be's no's Doc 'cause I'm losing my patience."
Happy? Here's what this thing called life has taught me. I DO NOT profess to be an expert, it's all simply lifelong observation.
Happy people smile. A lot. Happy people ain't pigeonholed... ie, they come from all walks. All colors. All religions (or no religion). All countries. All heights, weights. Money (or not) don't matter.
Happy people tend to compliment others. Happy people generally don't share their woes. Happy people don't talk about coworkers. VICTOR!!! I know, but all she does is sit in that chair while I.. VICTOR!!! Ok, sorry... dangit.
Happy people ask if you need help. And... they mean it. Happy people care (and ask) how you are doing (and mean it.) In general, people of faith are happy. Sure, you don't have to be religious to be happy. Happy people, generally, love animals. If by chance they're allergic to cats, they still love their persnickety-ness. They may hate dog hair, but let 'em lay allover the sofa, then DustBust at evening's end.
Happy people go, do. Happy people laugh, even if they might sound like Horshack when doing so.
Happy people instinctively know the right thing to say........or not say.
Oft times, they are coupled. Lucy/Ricky. Kevin/Winnie. Edith/Archie. George/Louise. Homer/Marge. Ain't a prerequisite to happiness, but can shake and bake help.
Happy people are good listeners. I have no idea howinthehell one judges "good listening", but, they just are.
Happy people enjoy fountains more than drains.
Happy people love, without exception,
Happy people can be Grump, Bashful, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy (usually internally)...or even a Doc.
Not much phases them............... or so I've noticed.
If you're happy and you know it................... rub your head and pat your belly. Or... say "UNIQUE NEW YORK" THREE TIMES.. REAL FAST!
You tried it and you laughed at yourself didn't you?
Happy people don't preach, and please know I ain't. If I professed to know all the answers I wouldn't have Googled "how to be happy", "what makes one happy."
I'm learning happiness is a choice. And, that it can be learned.
I'm off to the Dollar Tree to buy some Kleenex. I'm gonna try blowing my nose for the first time ever. God that's gross.
Don't worry, be happy......
Love, Victurd
PS: I Googled unhappiness and Doc Google told me anti-depressants can help.
PSS: VICTOR!!!!!!!!!!!
Then which one are you?
Doc? Oh heavens no, but I do admit to Googling my symptoms upon occasion... Dr. Google can be skeery.. I Googled 'headache' and learned I could have had a stroke, or brain cancer... My shoulder was hurting, Doc Google told me it could be Lyme disease.. My chest hurt, and yep, he said "heart attack or pulmonary embolism." I actually did cipher (correctly) once I had PAD. Rooto rootered leg (twice) and away goes blood down the vein (or artery).. Bottomline, to be Happy (and healthy), go see a real Doc.
Are you Grumpy? NO I AM NOT GRUMPY, why would you ask? OK, sometimes I am. I can't help it. (Victor, you can, trust me.) OK, mebbe. I don't wanna be Grumpy, hence, the search today for Happy.
Are you Sneezy? Well, sometimes. Mom said long ago "shoulda had your adenoids taken out." Close your ears, I hate to blow my nose. It's gross. I know it's the best thing to do, I just can't bring myself to do it. So, instead I more aesthetically pleasing rub my nostril with the exterior of my index finger (EWWW) until my nose gets so red I Google red nose and learn I may have Lupus. VICTOR! Sorry, kinda. Victor, please learn to blow your nose. OK...........mebbe.
Are you Bashful? Perhaps. In a large group around the table, at conversation end someone might getup and say "Who was that quiet guy and whatsup with him?" But, gimme a damn keyboard and mouse and I'm a loudmouth. Yes, I said it. If you talk, there's no backspacing. Yes, I know 'hitting send' is akin to no backspacing, and occasionally I do that, then quickly rethink, DELETE it, then worry for four years about who'd read it before I erased it.
Are you Sleepy? ALL. THE. TIME. I Googled that (VICTOR!) and learned I might be depressed, or have the beginning of Alz.. I dunno. Thinking more positively though, I approach it as, "I'm retired, I'll take a dadgum nap whenever I wanna." In fact, kinda sleepy now... brb......
Thanks for waiting. Victor, are you Dopey? HOW? HOW did you see my transcript from my first semester at NWMSU? YES, I had a 1.6, but I thought I'd burned that when I burned my first marriage certificate???????????????????
OK, not to belittle, or dwarf the conversation, but I seriously Googled, today, how to be happy, what makes one happy ,how to be happier, yada. There were a lot of nifty suggestions.
Much. Much today is/can be very depressing. Shootings (we've lost 89 in Kansas City this year, many of those under 15 years of age.). Politics. Smooth as silk eh? Facebook. Sure, fun, for awhile, or, some of it, but lots makes one wanna vomit. I ain't bashful to vomit like I am to not blow my nose. When it comes to upchuck, there ain't no hesitation.
What then Victor? What makes one Happy?
I am (can be) Grumpy, I am (can be) Bashful, I am (can be) Dopey, I am Sleepy, Like Popeye "I can't be's no's Doc 'cause I'm losing my patience."
Happy? Here's what this thing called life has taught me. I DO NOT profess to be an expert, it's all simply lifelong observation.
Happy people smile. A lot. Happy people ain't pigeonholed... ie, they come from all walks. All colors. All religions (or no religion). All countries. All heights, weights. Money (or not) don't matter.
Happy people tend to compliment others. Happy people generally don't share their woes. Happy people don't talk about coworkers. VICTOR!!! I know, but all she does is sit in that chair while I.. VICTOR!!! Ok, sorry... dangit.
Happy people ask if you need help. And... they mean it. Happy people care (and ask) how you are doing (and mean it.) In general, people of faith are happy. Sure, you don't have to be religious to be happy. Happy people, generally, love animals. If by chance they're allergic to cats, they still love their persnickety-ness. They may hate dog hair, but let 'em lay allover the sofa, then DustBust at evening's end.
Happy people go, do. Happy people laugh, even if they might sound like Horshack when doing so.
Happy people instinctively know the right thing to say........or not say.
Oft times, they are coupled. Lucy/Ricky. Kevin/Winnie. Edith/Archie. George/Louise. Homer/Marge. Ain't a prerequisite to happiness, but can shake and bake help.
Happy people are good listeners. I have no idea howinthehell one judges "good listening", but, they just are.
Happy people enjoy fountains more than drains.
Happy people love, without exception,
Happy people can be Grump, Bashful, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy (usually internally)...or even a Doc.
Not much phases them............... or so I've noticed.
If you're happy and you know it................... rub your head and pat your belly. Or... say "UNIQUE NEW YORK" THREE TIMES.. REAL FAST!
You tried it and you laughed at yourself didn't you?
Happy people don't preach, and please know I ain't. If I professed to know all the answers I wouldn't have Googled "how to be happy", "what makes one happy."
I'm learning happiness is a choice. And, that it can be learned.
I'm off to the Dollar Tree to buy some Kleenex. I'm gonna try blowing my nose for the first time ever. God that's gross.
Don't worry, be happy......
Love, Victurd
PS: I Googled unhappiness and Doc Google told me anti-depressants can help.
PSS: VICTOR!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, August 18, 2019
That was the week that was......
The wrap:
In sports, the I-70 Series happened. Box score for the Royals: 0 Speeding tickets, 0 Distracted Driving Citations, 0 Runs.
Chiefs lost preseason game #2 to the Steelers. QB Totals: Litton 9 completions, Henne 7, Schurmer 4, Mahomes 3 completions/12 commercials. In one of the Commercials, Mahomes threw three errant passes to the West, when he shoulda thrown East, completely destroying the picnics of three neighbors, including one that eerily looked like Jeffrey Epstein. Mahomes and HyVee didn't leave the neighbors hanging as he went online and ordered replacement groceries to be delivered to all.
Ten US teams, including Hawaii, Louisiana, Rhode Island, Virginia, the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Chicago Cubs and 8 International teams descended upon Williamsport, PA for the Little League World Series. Vegas actually has odds on these games, and the US final is projected to be Louisiana vs the Pirates. Joe Madden, Cubs manager, was overheard mumbling something about "unfair pitch count limits."
A recent political rally was interrupted with the singing of Meridith Wilson's "Go You Chicken Fat Go"..
Kansas City got some much needed rain. And s'more mostly needed rain. And then some kinda needed rain. And then, a little bit too much rain. Hail yes.
In Wisconsin, Jerry Cosby, a 29 year old man who stole the credit card of a KFC drive thru customer was arrested by Racine Police Department's Colonel HD Sanders. DNA samples obtained from the finger licked card matched those of Crosby.
Not a good week for RoundUp (cancer causing agents Class Action Suit) and several winemakers - crazy high levels of arsenic discovered within.
Of course, we celebrated the 50 year anniversary of Woodstock. Remembering: Woodstock was originally cancelled due to angry residents of Wallskill complaining the toilets weren't up to standard. Farmer Max Yasgur came to the rescue renting his 600 acre dairy farm for $50,000 for the event. Promoters sold 100,000 $7 tickets in advance, but the hords, coupled with insufficient infrastructure, saw 300,000 (of the 400,000 total) see the concert for free. The throngs (albeit with no ill intent) broke down barriers and fences, and the cows were left to simply intermingle with concert goers.
The band Sweetwater was scheduled to open the concert, but traffic made that impossible so the task was left up to Richie Havens. Havens, taken back and feeling somewhat like a motherless child, perfectly delivered "Freedom." Sweetwater arrived by helicopter soon after. Attendee behavior was mostly exemplary, 'ceptin when a food shortage happened and concert goers strayed to nearby fields to munch on corn and other produce ("Whew" for the cows).
The pacifist vibe continued until the end. Upon the completion of Jimi Hendrix's Monday set for a dwindled crowd of 25,000 folks, one of the promoters took it all in via helicopter. To his amazement, the trash collecters had fashioned a humongous peace symbol with what trash remained from it all.
I was bored. Sorry. Don't shoot anyone, watch for cow patties, treat your lawn (DIY mix of Borax, Dawn and Vinegar), take an umbrella, keep score (unless it's anything political), get your exercise in, fork it over and buy bottled wine (vs Box wine), and have a nice week.
Love, Victurd
In sports, the I-70 Series happened. Box score for the Royals: 0 Speeding tickets, 0 Distracted Driving Citations, 0 Runs.
Chiefs lost preseason game #2 to the Steelers. QB Totals: Litton 9 completions, Henne 7, Schurmer 4, Mahomes 3 completions/12 commercials. In one of the Commercials, Mahomes threw three errant passes to the West, when he shoulda thrown East, completely destroying the picnics of three neighbors, including one that eerily looked like Jeffrey Epstein. Mahomes and HyVee didn't leave the neighbors hanging as he went online and ordered replacement groceries to be delivered to all.
Ten US teams, including Hawaii, Louisiana, Rhode Island, Virginia, the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Chicago Cubs and 8 International teams descended upon Williamsport, PA for the Little League World Series. Vegas actually has odds on these games, and the US final is projected to be Louisiana vs the Pirates. Joe Madden, Cubs manager, was overheard mumbling something about "unfair pitch count limits."
A recent political rally was interrupted with the singing of Meridith Wilson's "Go You Chicken Fat Go"..
Kansas City got some much needed rain. And s'more mostly needed rain. And then some kinda needed rain. And then, a little bit too much rain. Hail yes.
In Wisconsin, Jerry Cosby, a 29 year old man who stole the credit card of a KFC drive thru customer was arrested by Racine Police Department's Colonel HD Sanders. DNA samples obtained from the finger licked card matched those of Crosby.
Not a good week for RoundUp (cancer causing agents Class Action Suit) and several winemakers - crazy high levels of arsenic discovered within.
Of course, we celebrated the 50 year anniversary of Woodstock. Remembering: Woodstock was originally cancelled due to angry residents of Wallskill complaining the toilets weren't up to standard. Farmer Max Yasgur came to the rescue renting his 600 acre dairy farm for $50,000 for the event. Promoters sold 100,000 $7 tickets in advance, but the hords, coupled with insufficient infrastructure, saw 300,000 (of the 400,000 total) see the concert for free. The throngs (albeit with no ill intent) broke down barriers and fences, and the cows were left to simply intermingle with concert goers.
The band Sweetwater was scheduled to open the concert, but traffic made that impossible so the task was left up to Richie Havens. Havens, taken back and feeling somewhat like a motherless child, perfectly delivered "Freedom." Sweetwater arrived by helicopter soon after. Attendee behavior was mostly exemplary, 'ceptin when a food shortage happened and concert goers strayed to nearby fields to munch on corn and other produce ("Whew" for the cows).
The pacifist vibe continued until the end. Upon the completion of Jimi Hendrix's Monday set for a dwindled crowd of 25,000 folks, one of the promoters took it all in via helicopter. To his amazement, the trash collecters had fashioned a humongous peace symbol with what trash remained from it all.
I was bored. Sorry. Don't shoot anyone, watch for cow patties, treat your lawn (DIY mix of Borax, Dawn and Vinegar), take an umbrella, keep score (unless it's anything political), get your exercise in, fork it over and buy bottled wine (vs Box wine), and have a nice week.
Love, Victurd
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