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
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