Give piece a chance....

 A piece of my mind... we all do that, road rage kinda stuff.. someone pulls out infronta ya.. .someone makes you wait and wait and wait and then they turn right onto the street you are parked on and had they used their dadgum signal you coulda left ten minutes ago....

So... we give 'em a piece of our mind..  with the windows rolled up... but loudly... with tinted windows. Ha, showed them...

A piece of cake.  Or pizza.  Cut into four pieces, it really ain't much if you only eat a piece... or two.

Janis wants a piece of one's heart...The Dave Clark Five is in Bits and Pieces, not to be confused with Five Easy Pieces.  Don't call Patsy Crazy or she will Fall to Pieces.

Symbolism?  I once seen a company (I know that's not proper English, but, with a blog you can use any damn piece of language you want.)  I once seen a company.... light bulb... bright idea...  Every single employee was given a piece of a puzzle...it was a nice blow up pic of the company logo... Roughly a hunnerd employees, pieces. One by one folks found where their piece went...added it to the puzzle. Deadline approaching, gonna take a nice pic, have a little article about it in the company newsletter. Xceptin', one person didn't turn in, place their piece.  A piece was missing. Mebbe symbolic, dunno.

The H. B. Reese Candy Company merged with The Hershey Company in 1963. Took 'em a piece to come up with that one candy...1978 in fact..  but really, no one phoned home about  Reese's Pieces until some movie came out involving them in 1983.

Much.  There is much delight in being a grandparent.  Load 'em up with pieces of sour candy, Skittles, break 'em off a piece of that Kit Kat Bar.. then, - take 'em to the park to play on all the playground pieces - then, last stop apiece down the road to get an ice cream cone, only to dump them at their folks.  That.  Much delight in that.  THE BEST though, is, after all the pieces of Christmas paper are sacked in a trash bag, Leggo pieces, Barbie pieces, Mr. Potato Head pieces... and a huge vehicle or something similar with 684 pieces, and the joy of watching your child have to assemble it for your grandchild. Piece of mind, payback.

Small pieces make the big picture.  As long as you have all the puzzle parts. All the King's horses and all the king's men couldn't do it.

Do not try to figure me out. I'm a puzzle with missing pieces.

To play pin the tail on the donkey, it requires a piece of tail. VICTOR!

"On Earth there is no Heaven, but there are pieces of it." Jules Renard

Writing this should be a piece of cake but it's not.  Life can be hard without a companion piece. At what age does lady start to wear one piece swimsuit?  Before or after they need an eye piece? 

Dame Trot and her cat lead a peaceable life,

When they were not troubled with other folks' strife.

When Dame had her dinner, Kitty would wait, 

and was sure to receive, a nice piece from her plate.

Opine, a piece of one's mind.  NRA, no takey my piece.

Artistic creation.. like a Painting, sculpture, musical composition, literary work - a piece.

Five piece band, three piece suit, down the road a piece.

Noun: bit, fraction,fragment, scrap.

Verb: Assemble, build, construct, erect, fabricate.

This specific blog is a piece of junk.

Agreed.  At first, I thought it would make a nice conversation piece.  I was off a piece.

Piece out.

By Henry Gibson and ET.

Love, Victurd pieces.

Dateline FULTON, MO: 2016, 2020, 2024 Elections.. Masks, Afghanistan, Economy, Global Warming, Insurrection yay, nay.....

 Well this ain't about none of that.  I know that's a double negative, but I'm doubly negative about all that junk, sorry, kinda, not.

I forgot one more dog story.

My grandparents dog.

Skippy.

1950-60-something.

Fulton, MO

THE THING for retired folks to do in Fulton, MO in those days was, to drive to town, park on Court Street, visit other retired folks who drove to town, parked on Court Street. Court Street is/was the main commercial drag in Fulton.

Same Bat time, Same Bat Channel, EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Grandma, Grandpa, oh, 7 or 8 blocks from downtown Fulton, MO.

Every day.......

They'd let Skippy out about thirty minutes before driving to Court Street.

By the time they got ready to go, drove to Court Street... 

They would get there and.........

Skippy was laying in the exact same parallel parking spot on Court Street, every single day, reserving their space for them. 

I kid you not.

Every. Single. Day.

Thanks Skippy, we'll Skip over all that other yucky stuff.

Happy Sunday,

Love, Victurd

My dog's better than your dog......

But of course that's not true...but besides paying people, catchy titles are about the only guarantee people will read this blog. (Victor... who said it was catchy?.. I know, I know.. it's like when someone says "I've got a funny story."  I always stop them, "Wait...you tell it, we'll decide if it's funny."  Where was I?)

Oh yeah, my dog's better than your dog.  Of course not.  All of our dogs are better than other people's dogs. Spice to our life.

I was laying in bed..  Drowsing on and off whilst playing Sudoku, trying to get my total sleep hours up to 8.. dogs entered my head.  No use trying to sleep, all I could think of was pets.  I've had some wonderful pets.   Oh yeah Victor?  You tell us, then we'll decide if they are/were wonderful or not.

OK.

Brownie. He wasn't the biggest, but he was (close your ears) the baddest ass dog in town.  I ain't kiddin.  In the days before leash laws, he garnered more trips to the vet to get stitched up from altercations (he'd won) than any hound, to any vet in our small town.

Brownie had patterns.  When morning came, of course he looked at the door relating "time for me to go."  So, we'd open the door and off he went.  We really never know where he went until a bit later. We learned, Snoozy was fond of Brownie.  Some of you may remember Snoozy from Co-op, a gas station/feed store six blocks from our home.  Nice, nice man who worked there for a long, long time.....

Daily, Brownie would walk to Co-op where Snoozy would then go to the candy machine and purchase (I think a dime back then) a Snicker's bar for Brownie.  I know, I know, you ain't supposed to give a hound chocolate, but I'm here to tellya, Brownie was ok with it.  Of course he didn't demand it, but he expected it.

If it was OK weather, Brownie would eventually come back home. If it was hotter than the dicken's, mid-afternoon we'd get a call from the manager at Safeway, "Mr. Schultze, you're gonna have to come get Brownie again... he's laying between the entry way doors so he can get cool due to the air conditioning, but people are having to walk around him." True. So we'd go get him.

My dog's better than your dog. OF COURSE not.  Brownie was unique though. Every summer, EJ Holub, Buck Buchanon, Willie Lanier, Len Dawson, Otis Taylor, et al, would invade our fine City, park at William Jewell to prepare for the upcoming NFL season.

After Brownie had munched down his Snickers, he'd wander to William Jewell and delight at the noise from the blocking sled. At times, my friends would tease me about Brownie.  Dude would follow me to High School.  He'd follow me to the City Park.  And he'd occasionally follow me up to WJC. Band camp, the noise of 7 immense 300 lb plus men blasting the blocking sled, accompanied by yells, grunts, etc..  perked Brownie's attention.  I will never forget the day, EJ... EJ Holub, was in the center of the blocking sled, going at it..  He'd hit it, back up, yell out his Texas "Yee-haw" and he'd hit it again.

Scroll to Brownie being the baddest ass dog in town.  EJ was one-upping him with all the noise.  So... Brownie decides he'd like a chunk outta EJ's hiney.  EJ hit the sled with his left shoulder/arm, Brownie would bite his butt (repeatedly) and EJ would swat at Brownie with his right arm all the while.  I really don't remember how it ended, but I know I was summoned to get Brownie and take him back home. I was a mess... proud, embarrassed, and full of laughter as I tugged at his collar on the way home.

Gabe.  Gabe, was like Brownie in that he was a mutt... a Brown mutt, just like Brownie.  Except Gabe was a pacifist.  Until.  Until he got in the car.  He loved going on rides.. he'd stick his head out the window, and EVERY time a car approached, he'd snap at it. It got to the point my friends would say "Vic, let's take Gabe for a ride to watch him snap!"

That was Gabe's claim to fame.  Well, his first claim.  His second claim. Band camp, ie, Sorority party in our detached garage... some kind of hard liquor was being scarfed down.  One teenie tiny sorority sister had one too many, soon, the liquor, and whatever she'd eaten for three days was spewed all over the floor of the garage.  My buddy SWEARS to this day it was me that got sick.  Wasn't. But I do remember him being with me that day and I said "Tip, watch this." I then let Gabe inside, and cleanup detail was cinchy. For some reason the girls left soon after.  Sorry.  Kinda. Guess you had to be there. I thought funny.

Smokey.  Smokey Butterball.  The only purebread I ever owned.  My sister inlaw, who has had more dogs, fosters, rescues, tile floored houses than any person I know - would go to dog auctions simply to purchase dogs to get them the hell away from breeders and a new lease on life.  Smoky was a Yorkie, deemed "too large to breed, undesirous."  Right up my SIL's alley to get him outta there.  $25. Money well spent.

Smokey spent the first year at our house sleeping under the bed, fear of anything outside of a kennel.  Finally, finally he came around, got more and more relaxed.  Enough so, we'd take him on walks - by now leash law in place - but we'd go the to the Cemetary to walk... we'd let him off his leash and he'd run like the wind happily.  He always stayed close to us.

Until.  We'd walk Smokey at all different hours.  For night time, we bought him a nifty collar with a a battery operated red blinking light.  Twas easy to see him, and he loved it.

Until, one night he ran and he ran and the red light was outta sight.  We were still of the age we could run and run, so we ran and ran.  Nope, couldn't find him.  We were on our third lap around the Cemetary when some kids approached...  my ex yelled "HEY, HAVE YOU SEEN A LITTLE DOG....." and the kids interupted and said "YEAH, RUNNING WITH A RED BLINKING LIGHT?"  YES!  They had.  They pointed us in the right direction.  We garnered Smokey - happy ending.

Sadie and Scruffy.  I do not remember where we got these hounds, but assuredly, probably from my SIL.  Sadie was a big, beautiful, white lab mix.. Scruffy was just that.  Scruffy. I've loved every dog I've ever owned, but Scruffy was about a 4 on a scale of 10.  He'd always get in your face.  His face was always soaked, dirty, nasty, disgusting...but he was a dog, so we loved him.

Truthfully, in retrospect, I kinda felt sorry for Scruffy.  You see, for ten long years, Scruffy, a short, wirey, some type of terrier mix, adored Sadie, a very tall, beautiful lab mix.  This was before the days of Match.com, PlentyofFish, Tinder, etc.  Scruffy was stuck for ten long years in our fenced back yard, trying to get 'stuck' with Sadie.  He'd try and he'd try, yet he was always about ten, twelve inches too short, wasn't gonna happen.  He never gave up though.  Sadie was gentle, but when Scruffy persisted and persisted, she'd snap at him and their 'date' was then formally over.

See?  My dog's better than your dog.  Of course I know not, but I've loved each and every one, just as I'm sure you have.

That's all.

Tune in tomorrow when we switch to cats.  My cat's a bigger B than your cat.

By Henry Gibson, Lassie, Marley and me.

Love, Victurd

(Oh and I lied, this is my last posting today.)

3:00 am, I hate/love you.....

So, you're lying there.  Eyes are open, but are they open for awhile?  You have to pee.  Do you get up and stay up, or, do you go back to sleep?  Well, I hope you at least get up so you don't pee the bed.

This morning, coffee and insomnia won out. Strange bedfellows.

So.... drive to the gym, walk around the block a couple times until they unlock the doors at 5:30am?  Be for real.  We're talking retirement here.

Maybe a present dose of celibacy, yet, one gets up and does the dirty - as in, a spin thru Facebook.

Ahhhhh...NICE PIC! Their hounds turned one, cool!  Look at those damn paws though.. They might have to refinance to pay for the next year of dog food.

Let's see.. ohhh, there's Ray Kinsella and a host of White Sox/Yankees walking out of a corn field onto a ballfield. Nice!  Heaven and Iowa, synonymous.

Ok, this one is talking Politics...  hmmm...  "Intelligence? (When referring to half of the US, doesn't really matter which half.:) "I think not." Ohhh, take a ride on the Reading, if you pass GO *DO NOT* collect $200 as you're headed to snooze for a 30 day stay, s'il vous plaît?  Enter wiping hands here, dust flying off, a job well done.

A teacher friend posted "When I was young, I considered becoming a monk/"  "What happened?"..."I never got the chants."  THANKS!  I was nodding off and the coffee ain't even brewed yet, I needed that!

What's with teachers and humor?  Another pal, former teacher coach.. posted "Lance isn't a common name these days, but in midievil times, people were named Lance a lot." That specific teacher coach, won over 900 games.  He's the only soul I know with their own Wikipedia page. Well, Lucille Ball and I had a 5 second conversation once, but since she never said a word I don't count that.

An ad for a water activated hat to cool one's self down. I play golf. I'm a ginger. I get hot.  My neck/face gets sunburned.  I guess at one time I searched for a hat to buy.. How does Zuckerberg know?

I'm sorry, I won't bore you with any more FB stories. When I typed "I'm sorry", I guess I had my left hand off one key.. and instead I typed "I'm Dotty." Hell, nowadays ya never know ya know? I've felt dotty, er, I mean sorry for Johnny Cash ever since he sang that Sue song...

So, what do you do at 3am?  I suppose it depends on if you are retired or not.  I usually try to go back to sleep, but, that's difficult for me.  I am a huge fan of breakfast out, so, if money in bank account, I go back to bed after coffee with visions of sugarplums, scrambled eggs and sausage (close ears here, hoping constitution happened as that's em bare assing at a restaurant.).

And, since I'm retired, I CAN NAP.  Me and T pity the fool that has insomnia AND has to be at work at 8.  Dolly, not dotty, always sings 9 to 5. All those years I worked 8 to 5, NOT FAIR she gets a paid lunch. What does big boobies have to do with it?  Sorry, kinda.

So..... when I go back to bed.. my phone, an extension cord, and the charger accompany me. It has to be charged for the alarm to go off.  Just kidding, you forget I'm retired, there is no alarm.  Sorry for those still working. Take a 5 minute nap on your smoke break.

And on my phone I play some Sudoku.  Hi, my name is Victor and I'm an addict. I am. Usually after once around FB, I play Sudoku on my laptop.  When the eyeballs start having trouble distinguishing 6's from 9's and 8's, I head back to bed.

Strange things happen. I still play Sudoku. I virtually always fall asleep. USUALLY though, through the miracle of science and the genius of Alexander Graham Bell I will somehow call someone inadvertently at 4am. For whatever reason it's usually my boss, Andrew. A sleep dial, not a butt dial, but, same result I guess. He politely has gotten used to it.  My plan A was to create a contact named AAAAA so, when I inadvertantly called the first alphabetical name on my contact list, it was AAAAA insteada Andrew. I think I used Spectrum's phone number, they never have a live human answer the damn phone anyways.

In my slumber, whilst snoozing with phone on and Sudoku opened, I've also somehow changed the language in my phone to Chinese. (It wasn't me who messed with your tariffs you basta's!).. I've instant messaged my granddaughter, sorry, mistake. And I've somehow created a search on Amazon to where once I finally do awaken I search my email to make sure I didn't order anything.

Do you slobber in your sleep?  Yeah, I know it's gross, but it's natural and a great cause to me for the insomnia bit.  Usually I flip the pillow over, but sometimes, if it's happened several times during the night, I flip it and end up getting a side that's still soaked.  Eww.  Sorry, slipped. Slobbered.  I wonder what/where/how people who sleep on their back slobber? It's a wonder they don't choke. Do you change pillowcases as frequently as undies?  If not, why not? Nonea my beeswax, just curious. Have you ever had a conversation about slobber?  Me neither.  Till now anyways.

SEE what 3am does to one? I always look at who is online at 3am.  Left coasters, are they a goin' or a comin'?  I have buddies who DAILY are online at 3am.  WHY? I mean, I get insomnia a few times a week.  But, daily? To each his, her own.  Maybe the first slobber repudiates 'em and they can't go back to bed.

SEX.  You haven't asked why I don't include sex to 3am talk.  Ahm, hello. I got divorced in 2005 ya know. THERE WILL BE NO PILLOW TALK HERE!

Ahm, Victor, you already had pillow talk. Remember?  Slobber? Intelligence? I think not.

Yeah, right you are.  Ok, I've managed to stall nap until now, 5:44am. If I head back now, I usually sleep an hour.  Perfect, breakfast ain't served until 7. Time for a shower, shave, and off I go. (That's a lie. A quick dose of deodorant, a spray of cologne, and ten times thru the bedhead with a wet hairbrush, I'm as good as yesterday.  Shower later.

Insomnia. Eggciting eh?

By Henry Gibson and Mr. Pillow

Love, Victurd 

The deep end....

For whatever reason, the phrase 'the deep end' has been bouncing around my brain for a few days.  Scary, I know.

My first recollection of the deep end was a place called The JFK Pool.  Most pools have a deep end and a shallow end.  This place had two pools.  A shallow one, and a deep one, strictly for jumping/diving off the boards.  Who knows how deep it was.  Back then I weighed a hunnerd pounds less and couldn't threaten even reaching the bottom now matter how hard I tried.  OK, you're correct, 150 pounds less.

There were several goals.  One, just getting up the damn nerve to even go off the high dive (there were two boards, one regular, and one very high.) Once one had sustained the courage and demonstrated going off the high dive, now, number two, to dive off the high dive.

Wow.  I remember jumping that first time, as my feet hit the water and I went down, down, down... I briefly envisioned my funeral, for I never thought I would go up, up, up.  Flail, as in all out flail with the arms.  Please Lord, give me the breath to make it to the top. Please Lord, let these skinny arms propel me to the top. Please Lord, I promise I'll be good for mom and dad, forever!

Made it.  Whew.

"Allright, now ya gotta dive off it."  You're nuts, I whispered to myself. This was just about the age of noticing girls... so finally, when there was one there that I'd noticed on more than one occasion, I tried.

Three steps, plant both feet on the board, spring up.  Contort body 180 degrees to the diving posiition, cinchy.... BOOM.  All mother of all get out.  MY HEAD!  All the kings horses and all the kings men could never put my skull back together again! Excedrin headache before it was ever invented.

I surfaced. I was just sure my head was seven times larger.  I knew I needed to get to the side before the lifeguard whistled and drew attention to me with "HURRY UP AND GET OUT."  Before Freddy Mercury was ever born I thought to myself "I gotta be cool...relax.. get hip.. and get on my tracks."  You know, pretend like you've been here before, even though your timbers had been shivered.

One and two done, now was the fun stuff. Number three was going off the board, hoping/praying you could make a splash to reach and soak the lifeguard (one of those that 'you'd noticed' before).. however you could do so. Cannonball was the best for the biggest splash.  Sure, it'd make your butt red, but being a ginger, so what, just added to the fray.

Then, one gets their driver's license, does even stupider things - things like finding a cliff with a water hole beneath it. First, you and your buddies spend an hour in the pool of water making sure there are no huge boulders beneath the cliff that would cause immediate dismemberment.

Yes, that was fake news.  Remember?  You're 16, you do stupider things, like, find cliff, jump off, no idea how deep the water is, no idea if Plymouth rock it hidden below. So we did. "You go first Schultze".  Damnit. The double-dog-dare-ya movie hadn't come out yet, but, being 16 and being challenged was impetus enough.

It was much like the initial jump off the high dive but with added degree of difficulty like, you're going down probably 13 feet further, the water is black, you ain't seeing nothing, and, there are wonderful potential critters to eat you on the way up..  fish with teeth, cottonmouths, water moccasins, you name it.  I had been given the instructions "it's cinchy, after you jump, just say the alphabet and you'll hit the water in no time."

So I did. I reached Z and I was still mid-air. NOW WHAT? Just about when I thought of NOW WHAT - KABOOM. I hit.  I surfaced, ultimately, but like the jump off the high dive, there were frantic arm movements downward, coupled with more promises to never again be a pain to my folks, provided I made it to the top safely.

That's about all the deep end water stories I got.  Well, I do remember my nephew, when he was two or three - we were in the backyard pool, we couldn't find him, allofa sudden I see him under the water..he was actually standing upright.. his eyes were open.. he wasn't panicked, but he wasn't moving upward either - eerily just suspended there in water  Whew. Got him.  Got him to the top.  A moment neither of us will ever forget.

I saw that again the other day at the Community Center.  Little kid, mom, family walking by.. mom turns head to talk to an older child, kid walks right into the water (3 feet over his head).. panic.  Pulled out. Fine, but geez Louise, we gotta pay attention with little ones around water.

The other kinda deep end would be 'going off the deep end.' We've all seen it.  What makes one do that?  Demonstrating "you behavior" all your life, then, allofasudden, whammo, one goes off the deep end, it's a trip.

I like to think I'm calm. I do remember though, allowing a certain person to really get on my nerves, several times. One night, after about the seventh flip my lid moment when something was said that really got under my skin - I went off the deep end. In my brain I opened a can of spinach, said to myself "I've had all I can takes and I can't takes no more." I really don't remember what I said, but it was about a two minute rant on every thought I'd had coupled up in my brain for months. Loudly. Accompanied by facial expressions.  Probably arm, hand expressions too.  Close your ears, it was kinda orgasmic.

Anyways, after the rant, another person, a friend/observer to all this..  all I remember is this person saying "Wow!!!! A side to Vic we're never seen!"  Yeah, well, yeah. I went of the deep end.  I hope, pray I ain't the only one to ever do so..  but memory tells me I ain't the Lone Ranger.

Last deep end thought, I promise. Had a professor.  Good professor. Reasonably stern, very rarely smiled, smart, all business, did the job well.  Not perfectly like we woulda liked, but, who's perfect ya know?

Anyways, somewhere between Freshman, sophomore or junior year (I forget which, and college took me six years so there coulda been a couple Fresh/soph/jr years.. doesn't matter)..  this professor went mountain climbing. This professor fell...fell a loooong ways.  Damn near died, truly.  Months and months of rehab, professor was back at it, teaching class.  The body looked the same. It really really resembled the professor, but this person was an extrovert.  Laughing, smiling, having fun, yet still, teaching. It was a human change we'd never seen.  Off the deep end, in a very good way. I liked 'both' professors.

I hope life is going well for you. I hope you don't fall off the deep end, unless that is, you are an introvert and you desire to be an extrovert.. or.. you're of the age you 'notice' a hotty lifeguard your age and you wanna splash them. Of, you're simply perked by the deep end.

Like grandpa said every time he dropped us kids off at the local pool. "Don't get your feet wet."

Love, Victurd

Walk a mile.......

 I'd walk a mile for a smile (A song by Ferlin Husky, never heard of him, the song, but Ilikes the idea.)

I'd walk a mile for a Camel. (So said the 1966 commercial, the times they are a changing, now it's the Camel who walks a mile telling everyone what damn day it is.)

I'd walk a mile for:

Mom's Spanish Rice

To hug her, her, her and her again.

A Christmas with us six cousins all around the tree one more time.

A 300 Burger. (You'd have to live in Liberty.)

The smell of a new car, as in mine, minus the damn sales tax and comprehension payments).

A seat to a Rolling Stone's concert.

I'd walk many miles for a fenced in backyard with three, count 'em three, dogs of my own inside it.

To see 211 Liberty Bluejay Class of 1970 folks from that day with tassled hats. (Of course we'd all run up to the ones that are no longer here, but, how, what, would you say?  You couldn't let them know they're departing early...or would a simple hella long hug communicate that silently?)

An ice chilled Modelo Negra.

To beat John McAdams again in golf... we bet $1each time and he's won the last 32 times I think it is.  Feels like it anyways.

OK. The real reason behind "Walk a mile."  A commenter VERY nicely stated her enjoyment for this blog because "we feel like we lived that life with you" and "We may not have been friends back then, lived in the same neighborhood or did all of the same things, but we can always relate in one way or the other."

Ok, first things first, backflip. Thank you.

Secondly, you walk mile in these size 11's you are guaranteed to have stinky feet. You see, I hate socks (Ceptin' the ones hung by a fireplace at Christmas time.)

You've been divorced?  TWICE?  Oh Lordy Lordy we've got some talking to do. That means you too said "Til death do us part"... TWICE?  Reincarnate much?

You too spent six wonderful years getting your Bachelor's Degree?  Ain't mom proud? Hehe.  I shoulda been shot.  My mother worked in the same building as my college Registrar, and it was touch and go, nailbite to the very end to see if I would FINALLY make it.  Shame on you, you person walking in same shoes, you should have studied harder... you should not have gone all those times to The River, to Kansas, to Bachelor's III (oops), to Royal's games, keggers in the Country, to Padre Island driving non-stop for 24 hours with 27 similar crazy young men.  SHAME ON YOU FOR HAVING SO MUCH FUN IN LIFE!

You actually spent time at work on Facebook?  You REALLY fell asleep in your cubicle too?  The 6th night of your child's life, at 3am when you and your spouse were smoking a cig in the living room because whatshisname had awoken 7 times already, and then, on the 8th crying time, you had the gall to look across the room at your spouse and say ("My cigarette is longer.") You REALLY said that?

You too had a waterbed, and on her 8th month, you refused to help her out of bed unless she promised to cook meatloaf that night?  SHAME ON YOU!

THAT.  That happened to your underwear too?  You REALLY ARE disgusting!

Seriously?  You drive the speed limit?  If someone tailgates you actually slow down more? I can't believe you.

And that one time.  That one time you lost $400 at the blackjack table and you dejectedly went home and told your spouse you "lost a hunnerd."  I hope you went to church the following Sunday, geez Louise.

(Former students, former players I coached, all relatives, turn left here, sorry.)  You really usedto torch your farts in college?  Come on man!

God saw you.  That time, your mom dropped you off at Antioch Shopping Center in 1961... she gave you $5 to buy your cousin a Christmas present.  You STOLE a bottle of Brut and then went and bowled two games with the 5 bucks?  Well you'll be go to hell too!  For shame!

I guess I could go on, and thankfully I have for 68 years. Forgive me Father for I have sinned, but, reckon most of us have.

Derelict could be would be a pretty good definition of me sometimes in the past. Really though, I'm harmless (unless you're a bug in the house on the floor, then I'll kill you, even barefooted.  Eww, sure, but worse if you let 'em go knowing 'they are out there.'

You too leave the lid up?  Criminy!

You too can fall in love within three minutes of meeting, seeing someone? You are nutso!

I love friends.  Smiles. Dogs. Cats.  Family. Inlaws. Laughter. Children. The ability to pull it out and pee on a tree on the golf course. Sports. The TV Show Naked and Afraid - please don't tell. Making fun of those I love who I know would never swat me.  Being made fun of by those I know who know I would never swat them. German Chocolate cake, butter pecan ice cream, Fritos, a good steak, medium (I know, I know).. SUDOKU <-I am an addict.

Coworkers  (eh, 76% at least over the years.)  Bosses. (eh 63% at least over the years.)

Hate?  Huh?  Do I? I much prefer the word abhor. I abhor fish, yes, that includes shrimp and any other crustacean. I abhor when folks refer to a general grouping of people with the word "them."  Patoooey. I abhor Political fights on Facebook and yes, forgive me again Father I unfriended one.  Ok, three.  

I love life, rarely take it seriously and that's probably good cause why I'm divorced, live in an apartment insteada a house and have an IRA the size of a thimble.  Or a needle.

Thank you, all, very much for walking a mile in my shoes. I hope you brought some deodorant so your feet won't stink. Of course you could torch a fart and that would make the smell not nearly as bad.  I'm sorry.  I'll go.

Oh happy day.... oh happy day.

Love, Victurd

When I was a kid.....

Best Buy was 5 Pixy Stix for a nickel at Mattingly's.

A pop-up was worth a hunnerd if you caught it, minus a hunnerd if you dropped it.

If you couldn't sleep at 2am, there weren't 712 channels to choose from, only the test pattern, made going back to bed easy peasy.

Time for school?  Two options, walk or ride the bus.

To be cool, you had to have baseball cards affixed with clothespins to the spokes of your bike... or, a box of 64 crayons (with a sharpener)...

To get cool, one had to come inside, sit in front of the fan in the window, or, for a brief moment, go stick your head in the freezer of the fridge..

Position was huge in life. The oldest kid got the biggest non-parent bedroom, or, was the only kid to have their own room.  If there were kids aplenty, the oldest choice of position was bottom or top bunk. Calling shotgun wasn't a thing yet, but, getting the very back section of the station wagon all to yourself was.

Right field meant your little league years were numbered. Shortstop was generally also the quarterback and point guard. Nuclear bomb drill?  One assumed the position under the desk.

In a tiff at recess?  Caught passing a note to Suzy? Seen tossing a green bean at Smitty? Off to the Principal's office, and again, you assumed the position.  Ouch.

Ice cream was a reward - IF you had it in your arm to turn the crank for 23 straight minutes. The dishwasher was a position, and, whether or not that was you depended on your day(s) of the week to do so, otherwise, you dried them.

Bugs were either kilt by onea them mosquito fog trucks, collected in mason jars, or, wiped off the windshield by the attendant at the gas station.

Left the ballglove out in the rain? Laces busted next time you used it? Nope, no trip to Dicks, Academy, Scheels... it was off to Mace Shoe Repair, but only after you'd collected and turned in enough pop bottles to pay for the repair.

We'd never heard of Minecraft, Madden, Mortal Combat or Mario Kart, but we did play Operation until the battery went dead or, we lost all the dadgum bones somehow in transport. Mr. Potato Head was our backup, but again, small pieces in a large world. Eh, so we don't have the nose.. whoever gets alla the parts even without the nose wins.

Roll your own was at least a generation away, but Grandpa has been doing it for decades what with his papers and Red Man tin.

"I'm bored" was met with "Go outside and count to 10,000", or, "If you like, you can stay inside and help me clean the bathroom."

Thirsty?  Just Whistle.. or, grab a pitcher, sugar, a packet of Kool-Aid and make your own... no such thing as a quick Capri Sun or a cool kid Kool-Aid Jammer. Two liters tweren't invented yet, and one litter meant the Jones's had 7 kittens, again.

Hand-me-down shoes usually didn't fall off your feet the second summer.. and, it was cinchy for dad to punch another hole in your belt so big brother's jeans would stay up on you.

Twas fun to meet and greet the mailman, the milkman, the trashman - all by first name, and even funner to hand them the warm chocolate chip cookies mom had made for them.

It was a few years before Aretha would sing R-e-s-p-e-c-t to us, but we learnt to pay it to our folks, our teacher, the preacher, virtually anyone, especially adults.  "Or else" was semi-threatened to us but we never crossed that line simply for fear of the unknown.  Friends... friends had taught us about the raunchy taste of Lifeboy, and the feel of being on the wrong end of a weeping willow branch.

Weather, especially in the Midwest, was a celebration. Sun, we'd bask in it and make fun of gingers like me who wore T-shirts at the public pool. Storms, we'd all put on ballcaps and see who the last one to still be wearing theirs was. Snow was hopes of no school, sledding and hot chocolate. Brutal cold was neat as it meant indoor blanket forts. Fall was for watching, helping Mr. Irvng burn up his brush pile - maybe even getting mom to let you have the bag of marshmellows - weeping willow branches had more than just the one use.

Oh sure, we all had our grumps our groans and our fears.. mine was the feel of Merthiolate, all heck breaking loose if a june bug or a cicada landed on my shoulder, and the dread of walking up to let Mrs. Taylor know it was me that hit the baseball through her window.

We could tell time by the church bells, the mailman's arrival and, the street lights.

Yeah, yeah yeah... we heard the older folks say "Why, back in my day......"  Then, we too got old and we said it.

It's tough to be a kid nowadays. "Go play on your phone" is the easy get-out-of-my-hair answer. Some kids, all they have known is masks at WalMart, and school, and a virus.

In spite of the many modern day conveniences...heck, even a car that can drive itself... it was still somehow an easier day and age.

We can only Pray they'll have smidgets of  "back in my day."

Love, Victurd

Dreeeee-eeeee-eeeee-aaaammmmm, dream dream dream....

 A quick one.

2021 Olympics. (Or, some called it the 2020 Olympics... Kinda like KC Chiefs Super Bowl in 1970 <-- the game was in '70 anyways.. they called them the 1969 Super Bowl Champs.... Chiefs won again in February 2020, known as 2019 Champs since season ended in 2019.  This, ain't about that though).

The Olympics, to me, are always interesting, entertaining, ya never know what's next. Big Counties, Small Countries, HUGE athletes, teeniee tiny athletes. All colors, walks, religions, yada.  Watched, literally by Billions.

Dreams, they do come'a true.  SOOO many athletes from Missouri this year.  Moscow Mills, Nixa, Florissant, St. Charles, Ballwin, Lee's Summit, Parkville, Ladue, Marshall, Grain Valley, Chaminade to name a dozen or so, apologies if I missed any Show Me's.

As kids, wonder how they dreamed?  They musta been willing to put the 5 to 8 years of 20 to 30 hours a week into that dream. Dreams of the thrill of Victory, the agony of the feet in those weeks and weeks and years. Making sacrifices of every day kid kinda things that not every kinda kid would make.

All with hopes of being on that medal stand... the USA flag draped around one's shoulders..

Fast forward to me, my fat body, relaxing in the jacuzzi at the local Community Center.  A birds eye view of the diving board to the pool. I love to watch the variety of braveness (or not) of children on that board.  Some, run to the end of the board and jump as high and as far as they can.  A few, tip toe to the end, finally get the courage to shove off, and of course, grab their nose so water doesn't get inside it. You can tell a first timer.

There are even those that climb the steps, and in spite of encouragement from moms, dads, grannies, etc.. will not jump off and turn around and back down when the lifeguard says "you're gonna have to go or get off." Non-Olympians, but hey, that's the vast majority of us.

Just as I had slid down in the jacuzzi to where that jet was pounding (wonderfully) that specific crick in my neck... relaxation, 'hurt good' feeling.. SHE went. A gal estimated around 8 years old. She didn't run hurriedly, she didn't hold her nose, she didn't back down. In fact, she didn't even jump, she dove.  Not even a regular ole regular forward dive, and really not a regular back dive - she did a backflip.  PERFECTLY.

Where did this kid come from? I'm not really good at much, besides losing rapidly at the blackjack table.. besides virtually always having a 2nd job to make ends meet.. but, being a PE major, I think I have a fairly keen eye for talent physically.  I was amazed by this kid.

I now had sat up to where the jet was missing my achy part, but that's ok, I was excited to watch this talented kid in action.  A jumper would go, then a noseholder's turn.. finally Ms. Natural, a forward flip this time, perfectly folding and unfolding her body, perfectly entering her body vertically into the water with nary a splash.  Time and time again she did this, never too far, too short - always perfectly.  I assumed she was a pre-Olympian just starting her 20 to 30 hours a week for years and years.

Twas then I noticed, across the way, mom and dad sitting in chairs on the side, watching. It was time for my 'pool walking', monotonously back and forth across the width of the pool. Please don't scoff at lack of athletic, lack of aerobic style of my exercise - at least I'm out there hot chocolate breath!  Sorry, kinda.

Soooooooo... As I was making my way back to the start side of the pool, I found mom and dad seated there. I hate the verbiage "like I said", but, "like I said" I was excited by the kid's talent.  I was just sure she'd been to the Overland Park Kansas Olympic Diving Guru trainer for a few years now. Surely she has.

"Hi... I just want to let you now I think you're kid is really, really talented."

"Really?"   "Yes, really.  I usedta teach gymnastics back in the dinosaur days and I can't believe how incredibly talented she is."

"Well, thank you!.. We were sitting at home watching diving on the Olympics and she said 'I wanna try that...will you take me somewhere where I can try'?.. so, we came here."

"You mean she hasn't had oodles and oodles of instruction before?"

"NO.  this is her first time ever on the diving board."  Had I been in the deep end and heard this, I probably woulda drowned and my last blog woulda been my last blog - but thankfully I could touch on my tippy toes.. and I answered:

"NUH UH!  REALLY?"  "Yes, first time ever."

My mind raced forward, I glanced at the High School Record Board that was just above them, envisioned her name there, and then even further, seeing her in 2036 in the Los Angeles Olympics or wherever they will be then.

Turns out, she did have 5 years of gymnastics, but she honestly had never ever been on a diving board.  They have a jewel in this child.

I've never really known an Olympian. To my knowledge, we've never had one from our hometown.  All across the land, kids deam.  They get up and they go. Many don't stay at it.  Many choose Prom or cheerleading or becoming a parent or a nurse, a car mechanic or just about anything besides the dream to be an Olympian.

Of course it's unknown if this kid will ever make it, or even try to make it.  To me though, it was exciting to see the beginning of a dream.

Dreeeee-eeeee-eeeee-aaaammmmm, dream dream dream....

Love, Victurd

Help...we need somedody... help, not just anybody..

 America is like a couple immediately after breaking up - great disdain for other....

The hell?  We usedta be father and mother...

We're a teeter and a totter - once happy, now scoff...

Just for 'fun', one side jumps off...

We'd formally visit, depart to "seeya soon, so long."

Now, one school of thought, the other is wrong.

Usedta use every single leaf, one bigass table...

"Huh uh, can't sit there, he's got that label."

Formal tugs of war, our leaders we send..

Pull this way, that way, there is no end...

From afar and close up, this is really, really sad...

"Their fault, not ours, they're breaking bad.."

Holler, yell, dig up 'proof', counter, debate, it's a damn ugly sight...

Humane out the window, it's now all about who's 'right'....

High fives usedta be after homers, three pointers, a way to extoll..

Now it's reward, embrace for profanity laced vitriol..

Where are we, how'd we get here.. can we GPS back, thru the mud and the silt?

It's all but impossible until we all recognize it's an American shared guilt.

Can we Google, ask Alexa, find a way?

We're deep in dog do.. at present, no answers to say...

Wouldn't it be great if we somehow washed hatred away, at least kept it inside?

Recognize old friends as James, Robert, John.. Mary, Patricia, Jennifer -instead of the label, this or that side...

A shuffled deck of cards no more, we now must sort.. sort, sort sort...

Pow wows, Congressional sessions haven't worked, they all end in thwart..

I don't believe any of us, this side, that side, want to live the rest of our lives this way...

How friggin' flippin' bad is that to have to say?

We must return to our old ways.. mutual agreements, not always getting our result, being wholly right..hugs, fist bumps, hand shakes

We're all in this together America, for Heaven sakes...

I ain't got no answers, I lean on you...

Someone weave us back together, the Red, White and Blue..