E Street Band......... and The Chicks

Exciting.  Exasperating. Exhaustion.  Expression.

What the eff? <-- Just one of 44 three-letter words that start with E.

Hear me?  Ear

Emu Emu - kinda dread those commercials.  Can one hunt Emu?

Eat Emu?

The Elf's ewe had an ego. In his era, he would sidestep the elk and go to the elm. ETA noonish,  Egg-citing eh?  When the tide would ebb, he'd eat eel eyes.  Eew.

Four.  Earl, they say, was Easy on the Eyes.  He met, and befriended, Mary Anne and Wanda, Each.  There was Eros with Earl and Wanda.  They married, at the Elks lodge. Had Eats for guests and them Each. 

At first, it was Epic.  Earl did Edit his resume', but never really worked.  He sent Wanda East to Earn. She worked for Eons, Eked enough to make Ends meet, buy their Eats, Eggs. Lazy Earl was the Envy of his buddies.  As the days piled up, Wanda would ask, Each day, "why can't you Earn? We're living on the Edge.  Emit a little effort." Earl wouldn't answer. "Is there an Echo in here?" Egad.  Earl got Edgy.  Battling Egos. It wouldn't Ease.  Earl got mean, twas Eery. Mary Anne noticed Wanda's bruises, Ebon and blue.  Time for Ends.  Enuf. Earl had to die.  Goodbye Earl. They thought maybe by an Epee. Eeew.

Five.  Early, would die Early. Mary Anne's Edict. Twas Eerie. Mean from the day of their Elope. Eager to 'off him, Wanda got out her Ebook for ideas. Epees, had to be.  Tied him to the Easel, he tried to Elude. Eight swift stabs. The Epees caused Edema. Would be Earl's. the Elder of five brothers, last day on Earth. Tossed him in the car. Wanda, in the backseat with Earl, would be the Easer. Into the ditch with her Elbow to Earl, she did Eject. Eased things. 

Six. These Chicks were good.  Life now Easier. A great team Effort.  Done Easily.  Before the epees, they'd given Earl an Earful. No more Edicts. As they were listening to the Eagles, each with an Earbud, Eating an Eclair, they actually hung Earl in Effigy for Effect. Emotes.  They Earned it.  Earl had Earned it.  Earl had to die.  Goodbye Earl.

Seven.  They'd taken their Earplugs outta their Earhole. (Forgot to add in the 6 letter paragraph above, they used a Q-Tip to get ridda their Earwax.)  Put back in their Earrings. Baby Earache, each. Ensured no Earwigs within Earshot. Upper Echelon of things they'd done.  But, if Earl was found, they'd get Earfuls. They Eagerly jumped in the car, headed in an Eastern direction. They'd Earlier left an Earmark where Earl was.  What to do with Earl that would not disturb the Ecology or their ability to again be Earners for their own Economy. They got there. Thought in Earnest. What was the Easiest solution. 

Eight.  Their Eardrums, which had Earflaps over their Earholes, were hurting. To figure something out, at the Earliest.  To dispose of Earl's body, Easement for all.  It was no use.  To no avail.  They'd used every Earthily 8 letter E word they could think of..  so.... 

They ate him.

Earl had to die.  Goodbye Earl.

By HenrE Gibson                ....   Edited by Emilio Estevez

Love, Victurd

Don't tell.........

Men cry.

Men cry happy AND sad. Those that don't, wanna.

Men occasionally also feel the need to ask for help.  Most won't admit it.  Most won't ask.  They all feel it though.

Men like having female friends.  Don't tell.

Men like sappy movies. Don't look.

Men are all for equal pay, equal right to promotion.  Yes, this could be an ultimate roadblock personally, but all men feel this way. Or should.

Of course, men do not carry children to birth.  But, if you ask any man, he will tell you the greatest feeling he ever has had is from when his child was born.

We men are slowly learning, it's way ok for their son (or daughter) to become a carpenter, a Social Worker or an  IT whiz, insteada a defensive back in college on a scholarship. We men are slowly learning it's OK if their child doesn't shoot baskets better than we did, hit a baseball farther and with more frequency than we did.  They say the only time you can change a man is when he's a baby.  Not so.  It's happening.

When a woman observes another couple, summarizes "I cannot believe she's stays in that relationship with him", men see it as well, and agree.  Of course, that goes both ways.

Men are proud when a woman takes charge on a project, a belief, an improvement.  Or should be.

Practice with three tennis balls as much as we may, we know we will never juggle like a women. (Jiggle either, sadly, we'll probably never change the desire to observe that one. Oink, I guess.)

We men, most I venture to say, DO NOT LIKE OCCUPYING THE PASSENGER SEAT IN A CAR. We tense up.  We wanna suggest, scorn, 'teach', perhaps cuss, yada, but we're OK because we know we are equal, thus, we cede.

We also know, there are instances when we are not equal, and that's OK and women will play hell ever trying to change that..  Like, when we're both walking through a doorway, it's OK (and right) for her to have top priority, go first..  Of course we know she can open her own car door, but sometimes it just feels right to do so.  Yes, when walking side by side down a sidewalk, we take the position inside, closest to the road - just in case. We think that highly of our mate.

Of course I am single.  Many reasons.  Mostly my error.  Still, I hold the beliefs above as right.

A good man will tell his mate "you complete me."

If only we could get men everywhere to agree, admit, abide by the above, it might go a long way in sewing back the fabric of our society. (And that includes DC as well.)

Caving in?  Sucking up?  I don't think so. I, we, love women.  Don't tell. OK, tell if you wanna.

Love, Victurd

Paradise by the Check Engine Light.... Paul Harvey - good day

I couldn't take it any longer
Lord I was crazed
And when the feeling came upon me
Like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother's grave                                                                      That I would love you to the end of time

Yeah yeah yeah, we remember all that, but what we don't know is how the remainder of their life went.

I thought you'd never ask.

While the song never addressed it.. we are under the assumption Meatloaf got down on his knees.... and.... proposed.  (For shame, for shame! YOUR MIND is TRULY in the gutter!)

She said yes. "We must go shopping for a ring.  I wanna go to that one store that advertises "Now you have a friend in the jewelry business."  "OK, I'll GPS it."  "No, no, no, I know how to get there, just trust me."

"Hi sir, we're gonna be the Meatloafs, and as an appetizer (ha ha ha) we're engagement ring shopping."  "Great, come on over to this display."

Pulling her arm back, whispering in her ear "Honey... did you see? The cheapest one is $3299.  That's not a friend in the jewelry business, that's a rapist!  These are funds I've accumulated for my Harley!"

"We'll address your Harley.... after...  we pay for the ring... the wedding... put a down payment on The Meatloaf Manor... a living room set... dining room...  bedroom.. and we can't forget to start on a college fund for the kiddos."  "What kiddos? We only had that one time in the song!"

"I saw how you looked at that guy.... batted your eyes.. are you sleeping with him?  You've been here before huh? THAT's why you wanted to come here.." "GOOD LORD MAN!  I have been with you every night for 7 months since that night at the Drive In.  When would I have had time to sleep with Ernie?"  "AHA, SEE, you know his name."   "Ahm, yes Meat, I do.  It's on his nametag."

"Honey, your mom has been to our house now, 22 consecutive days to plan our Meatloaf wedding.  I mean, I love her and all, but don't you think that's a bit much?  I haven't seen my own dad since last Christmas."  "MY FOLKS are the ones paying for the wedding.  All your folks have to do is pay for the rehearsal dinner - and from observing  your culinary habits, that probably means that'll be at Sonic or Arbys." "Hey, not a bad idea!  Roast beef prices are crazy right now though."

"THANK GOODNESS that's over."  "That's a fine attitude, our wedding was beautiful.  The best Meatloaf concoction EVER."  'Yeah, I guess it really was nice... except for maybe that 8 minute, 42 second dance I had with your mother... Say, I get paid Friday, OK to put a couple hundred in savings for the Harley?" "HA! That's a good one!  If we didn't have to pay for the pictures of me, us, at the wedding, we could certainly do that." (Meatloaf thinking under the breath "Criminy, what's that gonna cost, he took enough pictures we could look at a new one every day until we're 53.")

"Honey... you are awesome, and I can see that there's a little baby bump showing! Just 4 and a half months until Mini Meat gets here!  Hey, I was thinking.  For our reveal - howbout we invite everyone to my softball team's practice.. I go to the plate, and CRUSH one, and BOOM, out comes the blue (or the pink.)? "Oh contraire, I've already arranged with Sally at the Lush Life Spa, I'm going to get a massage, manicure, pedicure and facial, then, we'll invite everyone to the Courtyard in back of the Spa.. .it'll be a Pinata, and I will crush it. I'm praying for pink."  "Let me think on it."  "Catchy, but that won't work."

"Look, I got up with this kid at 1:20am, 2:35am and 3:13am, it's YOUR turn to rock him back to sleep." "Did you just forget all the trauma I went thru having this child?  Now go upstairs and get him."

'I just now got back from the Parent Teacher Conference for Mini Meat... she says he's really struggling with Math."  "Oh baby, don't worry about it.  I did too.  i can tellya though, once i got the job at the Harley Dealer working the counter, the computer does all that addin' and subtractin' fer ya.  He'll be fine."

"I cannot believe Prom night is already here.  We're going for pictures in about 30 minutes."  "We ain't using that guy from the wedding that put us in hock for the first three years of our marriage are we?"  "No, my cousin Janet is going to take pics."  "Whew."

"Honey, here's a 2 one-hundred dollar bills.  You take Jen someplace really cool to eat for prom, and please, be careful with the car. Precious cargo."  "Thanks mom, and i will."  "Yain't going to the Drive In areya?"  "Daddddd.. it's Prom, NO."  "Whew."

"Baby, I was thinking.  We've got three kids now - we both agreed, that's all we're going to have.  I know you though (ever since that night at the Drive In", so, that skeers me.  I don't trust the rhythm method, and there's a gal I work with that got preggo WHILE she was on the pill.. I'd like for you to get a vasectomy."  Meatloaf, ghostly white by now.  "Ahm, I've made (and kept) all these promises I've made to you... caved in and got you the engagement ring, wedding ring, from that jewelry feller you were eyeballing..  the reveal you wanted.. a kajillion pics, got the Manor, the furniture, yada (and no Harley) BUT, we're talking about the family jewels here.  Let me think on it."  'DO YOU NOT REMEMBER ME SCREAMING IN PAIN DURING LABOR?  How do you think one little snip snip can compare to that?"

"I tell ya what. I'll barter with you.  I will consent to this little snip snip you speak of, but ONLY if (and here's where I apologize to blog readers for this approaching R rated).. ONLY if, when it comes time, pun mebbe intended.. for a sample a month after the snip snip, that's you'll assist me in obtaining the specimen"  "Let me think on it.:  "Ha ha ha, funny, not."  "OK, I'll do it."

"Ya know, that little snip-snip wasn't really as bad as what I thought.  Of course I walked bow legged for three weeks and missed four softball games while the jewels recuperated.  Say, speaking of which, today is the day I'm supposed to get the sample to take to the Doc, come up to the bedroom with me baby." 'Nope, changed my mind."  "WHAT?  After me promisin' 'till the end of time, 15,784 wedding pictures (not to mention your mom's halitosis when we danced).. you getting your pinata... all the colicky early morning hours I spent rocking Mini.. AND, getting my family jewels cut on, you're REALLY saying no?" "Yes. I mean, YES, I'm saying no. Now go up the the bathroom and get your sample, we've got to be at Doc's office in 30 minutes."

A bit later.  Meatloaf, looking quite sheepish, walks down the stairs holding his little sample in the baggy Doc gave him. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Meatloaf looked up and asked,

"Do you feel like a cigarette now" (There's an unwritten rule, you never LOL at your own jokes, but she was LOL'ing.)

In spite of the doubters, they just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. For the occasion, Mrs. Meat got him that Harley Heritage Softtail Classic he's always dreamed about.  He's in heaven, they're out near the West Texas town of El Paso, seeing the USA.

"Honey?  For old timesake, wanna go to the Drive In tonight?"  "Sure Meat... but remember, we're on the motorcycle."  "OK, I won't make no moves. I promise."

Paul Harvey, good day.

By Henry Gibson.. .   Forward by whoever it was that wrote that 50 Shades thing.

Love, Victurd
.

It was a typical, normal ole normal Wednesday morning in Liberty, MO........

5:02 am, the phone to the Liberty Police non-emergency line rang.  "Liberty Police Department, how can I help you?".....  "Hi, this is Phil, manager or the Starbucks over here on Star Drive.. Some kid, probably a high school or college student, flip-flopped our "Entrance" and "Exit Only" signs.. cars are lined up for three blocks, no one dares to go the wrong way... we looked at surveillance tapes, there was a guy dressed up in a maroon sweatsuit, maroon ski cap, driving an Amazon van... that's the only thing we saw.. and he dropped all these business cards that say "Ernest T. Bass."  The heck do i do?"  "I'll send an officer right there sir.. "

Shortly after this prank, at 4:45am, under the bridge on Missouri Street where EVERYONE honks when they go under, an Amazon van was seen (and heard honking).. sure enough, Ernest T Bass business cards allover.  Police and Starbucks employees grab wrenches, switch the signs back, life, at Starbucks is again good.  An Amazon van was reported as missing - but it was found later that day abandoned at Apco, no fingerprints, anything to connect the prankster, car thief.  Surveillance confirmed red sweatsuit, red ski cap, dude on foot leaving at 5:02am.

Friday morning, 9:00am.  Ring, ring, "Liberty Police non-emergency line, how can I help you."  This is Charlotte, manager of Aldi's.. Some clown used gorilla glue to glue all our carts together, folks are lined up 20 deep and there ain't no way for 'em to put a quarter in to get the cart.  I saw a man in a green sweatsuit, green ski cap, driving an OATS bus, that jumped out, looked like he (she?) might have done it.  There were a lot of Ernest T. Bass business cards left on site. Can you help?"  "I'll send an officer now, thanks," OATS bus was reported missing, was seen (and heard) at 8:53am going under the bridge on Missouri street, honking loudly - but it was found back in it's place later at the Community Center.  Police helped to un-wedge the carts, bargain hunters, Charlotte, again happy.

Bizzare events, all.

Sunday morning, 5:42am.  Ring, ring.  Non-emergency line again, other end:  "Hi this is Charlie, custodian here a the 2nd Baptist Church, I've got a mess a goin' on.  Some wiseguy took all our "Second Baptist Church" signs and set 'em in fronta the Corner Bar.. and, now we've got all the Corner Bar signs here, complete with Neon Miller Lite, Bud, etc, lit up signs.  You think you can take prints so we can catch this guy?  Please hurry, Church starts in  a few hours and i wanna get the mess straightened up before the Pastor gets here."  Cops come. Bring a truck. Signs are returned to their correct respective places, video shows a person in an orange sweatsuit, orange ski cap, driving a 2nd Baptist mini van, Ernest T Bass cards allover.  Van now back in place (but was heard/seen, you got it, going under the Missouri Street bridge honking at 5:54 am today.

It's all the talk, rage of the senior citizens that gather for morning coffee daily at Hy Vee, McDonalds, and Hueys on the Square. "He ain't doing dangerous things, but it does disturb me he's stealing vehicles" Fred said. "Yeah, but he puts 'em back" noted Harvey, "I think it's kinda funny."

Tuesday morning, 4:43am.  Ring, ring.  "Hi this is Hank.  I'm the guy that sweeps all the streets around the shopping center by Hy Vee, Lowes, Dicks, Ross..  well, I think that "funny ha ha guy" has struck again.  Ya know that huge pole with the store signs across 152 by our Shopping Center, you know, the one that usedta say "Lowes, Dicks, Hy Vee, Ross"?  Well this clown stole some other signs, now it says Hy Vee Staples Dicks, GM Peters and Elaine's Colossal Cookie.  Whadda I do?" Surveillance cameras actually showed a suspect driving Hanks sweeper at 3:22am, he was dressed in a teal sweatsuit, teal ski cap, changing the signs, Ernest T. Bass business cards allover the place.  The mess was straightened out, hopefully signs made commuter's day.  Sweeper seen, heard, honking at 3:45am under the Missouri Street bridge.

Wednesday morning, 9:05am. "This is Betty at the Clay County Historical Museum.  I'm afraid to tell you someone has take the infamous Dueling Pistols they usedta give to the winner of the Liberty, Excelsior Springs football game.  I'm not ever sure if they'd shoot again, but, figured I'd better call you just in case.  We did see a guy in a grey sweatsuit, grey ski cap riding an old Schwinn bike, he dropped some Ernest T. Bass business cards." The City, especially those living by the Missouri Street bridge, all keen now in lookout for this prankster.  Someone did report a ringing bell, like the kinda ringing bell the old bikes usedta have, around 7:43am that morning.  Ernest T. Bass cards. No bikes reported missing. 

Friday, wee hour of 2:12am. Ring, ring. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"  "I am okay, but rattled after being robbed at the gas station this morning. After it was over and my heart stopped racing, I'm ok, but I was separated from a lot of money." Police dispatcher, "Oh, I'm so very sorry, do you have any idea who did this?" "YES, it was Pump # 5.... HA HA HA HA, It's me it's me, it's Ernest T, catch me if you can!" With that, QT employees were quick to find on camera, a dude in a white sweatsuit, white ski cap, on a crotch rocket, yep, Ernest T. Bass cards allover. There was a man in a white sweatsuit that had paid $5 cash for gas on pump #5, but, he had onea them N95 masks on so they didn't get a good look. Immediately after the call, the dispatcher sent an officer to the Missouri Street bridge, yep, you guessed it, the crotch rocket did what crotch rockets do, he went down Missouri (honked under the bridge) around 45mph, then, once on 291, he upped that to 105 mph, cop lost him shortly into the chase.

Saturday morning, early, Hy Vee cafe, guys drinking coffee. "You know, it's beyond funny now," Lou offered, "this guy has a gun now, two guns in fact, he's stolen cars, motorcycles, they gotta catch him. I'm worried, especially today what that reenactment they're doing on the Square of ole Jesse James bank robbery." "Ah, he's harmless" Fred tossed in. "He ain't done anything serious yet. Or she, whatever it is."

The parade on the Square, and the Bank Robbery reenactment. Both Liberty and Clay County supplied extra officers in case this Ernest T. Bass clown emerges. Sure enough, right on cue, just as ole Jesse pulls his gun out to enter the bank, a crotch rocket, dude wearing a Liberty Blue Jay Blue sweatsuit, LBJ blue ski cap, breaks thru the police traffic barriers, runs RIGHT BY Jesse... in fact, he runs OVER HIS TOES. Jesse goes down in a huff. 50 and 60 year old cops huff and puff to get to their vehicles. Ernest T. is now armed - the chase is on. Possible attempted manslaughter charges.

Spike strips hurriedly placed on Missouri Street. "Yep, "Got him!" he's on foot now, running North on Missouri, past the Second Baptist Church, er, I mean the Corner Bar."

9-1-1- what's your emergency? "Hi. I'm at 412B North Missouri, some crazy person just barged in our back door. It's me, my husband and our two teenagers here. He's got two old guns, but, still, they look pretty scary." "Ma'am, stay on the line if you can, I'll get officers en route. Does he by chance have a BLue sweatsuit on?" "Yes, how'd you know?".. "Long story.. Whatever you do, don't try to stop him when he's got those guns." "OK" the lady whispers.

THIS, is big stuff for Liberty, Missouri. The Swat Team and the Swat vehicle are called. They worried the battery might be dead since it hadn't been driven, needed in a long time, but, fired right up. Eleven cars total (Liberty, Clay County) headed to 412B North Missouri. Liberty also called the Highway Patrol sniper, arranged with St. James Church for him to go up into the steeple to set up shop.

"All patrol" Captain said. "We don't want anyone hurt. There's a family with two kids in there. Please use discretion." "Aye Aye sir."

"Liberty Unit 202 to Missouri Highway Patrol sniper." "Yessir, sniper here." "You got a beat on him? He keeps looking out that window just to the right of the front door." "Yes, I see him. I'll do my best to make sure no one is hurt."

Seconds later two, almost simultaneous shots rang out, one on either side of the big curtain in the window. By luck, the two shots completely knocked the valance off of the curtain rod.. the Dad was able to grab both guns, the two teenagers wrapped the valance around Ernest T. Mom ran to the door to let the Swat team in. It was all said and done. Ernest T. was nabbed. He would no longer prank, mess with the Community.

Exactly one month later, a Ceremony was held in front of City Hall. The Highway Patrol sniper was deemed a hero. As the mayor was ready to hand him the Key to the City for his bravery, he commented "Everyone heard two shots ring out, a shot made the Valance fall
The man who shot Liberty's Valance, he shot Liberty's Valance
He was the bravest of them all.
The man who shot Liberty's Valance, he shot Liberty's Valance
He was the bravest of them all.

Sorry, kinda, but not really. It's me it's me, it's Ernest T..

By Henry Gibson Forward by Agatha Christie

Love, Victurd

Training wheels to tennis ball walkers......

I've only just a minute, Only sixty seconds in it.  Forced upon me, can't refuse it.  Didn't seek it, didn't choose it.  I must suffer if I lose it.  Give an account if I abuse it.  Just a tiny little minute, but eternity is in it.

Who are you?

How did you become you?

When you struggled, erred, who was there to help you?

When they did, did they affront you, or, help you up and offer affirmation?

In the times of your struggle, your error, and no one was nearby - and you figured it out yourself - who prepared you for that?

Family.  What does that mean to you?  

Education, Rama Lama, Rama Lama Ding Dong - is seemingly funneled, focused upon us when we are children. We are led by parents, educators, many.  Does learning continue for you as you age?  If so, how so?  Reading?  Watching?  Listening? Trial and error?  

Strangers.  Your take?  Can live without them?  Intrigue you?

Friends.  We all have them.  Some closer than others.  Some, not nearby, but always a friend.  Why is your friend your friend?  Why would they say you are their friend?

The quilt of a person you are, ethically, and also regarding equality,. Who sewed that quilt?  When your time has come, will that quilt be unchanged - or, have their been occasions where you might have changed your view - and reworked part of the quilt of you?

You're with three friends at a table, on your free time.  Would you be the most talkative, the least talkative, somewhere in the middle?  Why so?

We all get mad at ourselves, sometimes don't live up to our expectations, have regrets.  When that happens, is it like the movie Ground Hogs Day and you can't shake it - or moreso, Gone With the Wind and there's no dwelling.  Are you comfy with whichever method you are?

Is saying "I'm sorry" difficult?  Which is easier to say, "I'm sorry" or "Nice job!"?

Is it easy for you to love?  Is it easy for you to use the word love?  Where'd you learn that, either way?

I struggle with how to communicate when other's suffer a loss.  I have a great fear of not saying the right thing.  Anyone like that?  I truly marvel at those that know just what to say.

Is asking for help difficult?

Are there any "I wish I woulda's" that it's still possible you could?

Is alone time important for you?  If so, why?

Your take on the youth of today?

Is it difficult to swallow pride and learn from someone younger?  Have a boss that is younger?

We all have people from our lives we wish we could call, but it's no longer possible to do so. Do you ever have whims where you pickup the phone and call someone you are thinking about? If not, why not? (Me, for example, I sadly have developed the attitude of "I really don't like the phone" and I would say that's probably not a good thing.  Anyone like me?)

You've decided to host a dinner for everyone near (proximity-wise) and dear. Do numbers, place settings come to mind - or, would you somehow find the extra chairs, tables to ensure people aren't left out?

If you knew your time would be up very soon, how would you capsulize your life?  What do you feel others would say?

I add this only because it helped me, and if it helps others, great.  I recently had a very good friend who was terminal, one, maybe two weeks to live and this person wanted me to come visit (and I very much so wanted to do so.)  There was great fear for me in this.  What should I say?  What if I cry?  I called my buddy who is a preacher.  His advice really really helped me.  "Doesn't matter what you say, being there is the important thing, and yes, it's ok to cry."

Lotta questions I know.  A lot of this stuff goes through my brain with pretty decent frequency.  I know with my Doctor, if I'm in needs of getting a prescription filled, the answer is "No, you need to come in for a checkup first."  Do you mentally play the role of your doctor, give yourself a self checkup from time to time, or, do you prefer the que sera, sera method?

I would love if you would comment, simply on life.  What's helped you. What's hindered you.  Folks you learned from. Regrets and how you handle.  Good stuff, and how you rejoice. Tricks of the trade that have helped you along the way PLEASE feel free to share - life is all about digging through the molasses, and any suggestions or ideas on things that have helped you - by all means, please tell us too. Thanks.

FYI, WalMart has tennis balls on sale for the remainder of March.

By Henry Gibson                          Forward by Serena Williams

Love, Victurd

2, etc for a lifetime

I don't think I was a hellion, but mebbe I was as my folks registered me for kiddygarten at age 4. I wasn't ready for school, but, reckon no one is. But there I was, a little dab of Brylcreem, 'frankles' galore (as one of my kiddygarten friends called em.) Musta flown by, don't remember much about it.

Same with 1st grade. Nose to the grindstone, learned the letters in kiddy, now, putting a few of them together.  Enda the year, reading, albeit with the speed of a snail.

Finally, 2nd grade.  We knew it all. Weren't the fastest readers - but, of the age, where, unlike Kiddy and 1st where you read something and you simply can't think about what it is you're reading, you're too busy simply ensuring the words are right - 2nd grade, you kinda read and it kinda makes a little bit of sense. Vested in recess education by now, we've graduated to the pick and choose mode.  Where some were once 'all in' EVERY recess to play kickball, you might find Johnny chasing Susy, Rita and Sally sitting on a bench discussing whatever it is 2nd graders discuss, Rose and Shirley playing hopscotch, then skipping rope. Branching out, we were, did.

Fast forward to high school.  Where I went, freshmen weren't top dog (ie, grades 7-9), we were literally freshmen, in a grade 9 thru 12 setting. Scared you-know-what-less. We'd learn by observation and astonishment. Goals were never ever going to the principal's office, as well making it to lunchtime without some Junior or Senior talking us out of our lunch money.

Sophomore. Yeah baby, that's what I'm talking about. The shoe fits.  We're believed to be goofy, so be it, happy with that. Tease, prank, joke.  A wonderful, wonderful time of life - in spite of the fact, come October 31st, you wished you were out there with 'em, but something, because you were sposeta, kept you home thinking about "what do I want to do with my life." Fancy for, I'd rather be chasing Susy, or playing kickball, Hill Dill, or Red Rover Red Rover send Billy on over, or, finding out who/where were handing out full the sized Snickers.

Sophomores were flatbellied, mostly boobless, but if there was one in your History class that was booby-blessed, it's for sure you'd flunk the quiz at the end of the hour because you had nothing but boobies on your brain from staring.

Being a sophomore was right up my alley. There are, were, some - who didn't crack a smile until age 65.  They're the ones that now snowbird, or at least annually vacation in Tahiti or Maui, have two and a half pissers for your spouse and you - and a kitchen with one of those stand alone counters that would hold enough food for the Kansas City Chiefs. Some, some learned to mix fun with seriousness, they ended up with one pisser for each, two walk in closets, and a detached kitchen counter with room enough to feed a basketball team. We sophomoric types, grow up having a lifetime of going to fun to have work, then at age 65 we have the house where we think "whereinthehell are we gonna put the microwave, there's no room, and it's our main source of cooking food."

Somehow, we make it to being a Junior, then Senior.. and some, enter college. Mousse' has replaced Brylcreem, we're clean behind the ears, our folks have assisted us in having enough essentials that we could live in a fallout shelter until age 42. Much, much time is spent watching others, seeing how "this is how a college kid is supposed to do it." Talk less, listen more. Be on time, watch your dime.

There's that number again.  2.  We've made it to our 'Sophomoric' year, and our GPA's mostly are 2-something. The tuition bills come in the mail, those of us in the "I'll pay you back I promise" ilk are given not so keen stares when the Grade Point printout and 'college pay-me bill' are looked at simultaneously.

Oh, but sophomoric. I loved me some sophomoric.  It's been my detriment to a lifetime of hella fun. Nuttin' to show for it now, but baby I earned these wrinkles laughing so hard, peeing a bit, not really taking life seriously at all.

As an example.  You might tell Mr. or Mrs. All-too-Serious, "I love your hair that way." To which they would reply, "So, you hated it the other way?" Catastrophic thinking, Fear. Unknowingly on guard. Must have serious view on life and what could go wrong.  "No, no, it looked good the other way, I just prefer this style."

I call BS.  The sophomoric answer would be "Yeah, I've been wondering for years when you're gonna change that hairstyle."  Mundane, replaced with humor, which leads to one day "whereinthehell are we gonna find counter space to put this microwave."

I so enjoyed my sophomoric year in college, I did it a second time. "HONEST, I'll pay you back, it was just a rough year."

Then, continued on as a 2nd year Sophomoric, doing the typical sophomoric fun-seeking things that college fraternal lads do.  You seen the fliers for colleges advertising themselves with the two coeds sitting on a bench studying on the Quad?  Well, that wasn't us. For instance.  We'd have races to see which Freshman pledge was the fastest. No, no, no, not a foot race.  A relay race.  You take two blocks of ice, place them 25' feet apart, the pledges (clad in gunnysack, itchy shirts and jockstraps) must run from one block to the other, pickup the large marble that's atop the block of ice at the other end (or course without using hands) and run it to the other block of ice, place it, to where your teammate could then 'grab' it, and so forth and so forth.

So, while Mr. Serious and friends were at the library having communal engagement on theorems, analytics, common mediums and themes, we were busy laughing our ass off at red butt cheeks.

"It's your outlook on life that counts. If you take yourself lightly and don't take yourself too seriously, pretty soon you can find the humor in our everyday lives, and sometimes it can be a lifesaver."  Betty White.

Betty friggin White, hell to the yes.

"Life is far too important a thing to ever talk seriously about."  Oscar Wilde 

No, I'l never have a Wiki page about me. I will continue to buy (economics dear boy) clunkers without collision insurance where the check engine light serves as a light source to read stuff at night.  Unless I ever go to work for an airline again, I'll probably never see Maui again (Hey, I took the road to Hana once, wow, fun. So much fun, that George Harrison lived at the top.)

AARP letters come in the mail at age 50. (I tore the basta up. The next year though, I peeked to ascertain the discounts.)  Social Security/Medicate come at age 65 if you so desire, hell to the yes, get me outta here.  Then, at age 66, you're a sophomore again.

Bought an 18" by 24" table at a garage sale to put my microwave on.

Of course there are times for seriousness, but I have no regrets for living a life where the modus operandi leans toward sophomoric.

"Everything is changing.  People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke."   Will Rogers

Burma Shave, with a little dab of Brylcreem.  Is it envy induced when I say screw a buncha counter space?

Love, Victurd

Spire........

The continuation of a tree trunk above the point where branching begins, especially in a tree of tapering form.

Or, it could be an energy company that provides natural gas to customers in Alabama, Mississippi and Missouri. Shortly after the cost of a roll of toilet paper quadrupled, and a plain ole 2 by 4 tripled  - this energy company more than doubled their rates, leaving us folks in the "You have got to be kidding" mode, so, Spire caused perspire, which in turn caused us to freeze our watoosies off 'cause there ain't nobody that can afford to pay their damn bill anymore, thus, "Honey, turn that thermostat down to fitty-nine wouldya?"

Aspire.  I love love loves me some aspiration. I sit, and will one day 'dust', in this good ole place of Missouri.  It's me.  It's what I aspire to do.  Friends.  It's so amazing to watch the lives of friends, and what has transpired in their lives.

You're in the Army now.  Many friends. Lived in more towns than are in Johnny Cash's "I've been everywhere" song. The aspiration to serve as well as the inspiration that comes with seeing the World. Spin the wheel, "Honey, we're moving to................... Germany, England, Korea, Japan, Iceland, Spain, Italy, Texas, California, South Carolina, Florida."  Adventure. Amazement.

Then, there's thems that conspire.  Conspire with their mates. Maybe the 'breadwinner' says "Baby, I've got a chance at promotion, let's move to Cincinnati." Or San Diego.  Or Spokane. Or Phoenix.  Causes one to respire, take onea them dry 'gulps' and squeak out "OK."  (Breadwinner, btw, supposedly originated in England in the 1820's, and was the person who brought home the bulk of the money, thus, bringing home the bread.)

Then there's thems that wanna be reinspired.  "Honey, it's getting old living here in Misery, let's strike out."  "Well, OK.. where to?"..  "Whadda ya think about Idaho Falls, ID?  Or, mebbe Austin, TX? What about Eureka Springs, Arkansas?  We could live on Tulsa time? Reno, Nevada, or even Minden. Colorado Springs, I've always loved Colorado, and, we could go anytime to a dispensary to get goodies to help with my neuropathy."

Exciting, to me, to observe. Follow, admire your journeys. You done aspired, perspired, conspired, were inspired, had to stop from time to time to respire - then you continued life, just above that tree trunk where it starts branching out.

Even got friends who just returned from a 6 month snowbird in Puerto Penasco Mehico - and the plan is to one day be a bird there fulltime, not a snowbird.  Yummy, far out. Friend says "Vic, you can come here, get a small place ON the beach, $400 a month, includes rent, utilities, yada.. dine out on meals $6, haircut $5, I know you love Modelo Negra, they're only $2 here."  Brb, packing my bags.  JK.  I have six beautiful blue eyeballs here that I must enjoy, see, frequently, in this "Winter" of life - but, sure, tempting.

We all are, still, connected to this Center of the US place. Fun though, to stare at the huge ole map of the USA (and now Mehico) and put sticky pins in places where a piece of our heart now resides.

I live here by Choice.  (Poor joke.  I live two blocks from a Fraternity brother, last name Choice.) But I do, I choose to live here.  Just me.  Many of us still do.  Many don't as well.

In a 1952 (coincidentally the year of my birth, many of you too I'm sure) interview, Red Skelton was talking about TV, and it's the first time for this expression.  "Don't worry about TV.  It's the greatest thing since sliced bread." Thanks Red for penning 'the greatest thing since sliced bread.'

Then there's ole Otto Frederick Rohwedder. Who? Otto was born in Davenport, Iowa in 1880.  After formal schooling, he began work as a jeweler.  Eventually, he owned three jewelry stores.  But, he, like many above, aspired for more.  He was an inventor at heart. He tinkered with much.  He wanted to invent a bread slicing machine.  With a leap of faith, he sold all three stores, created a promising prototype - then devestation happened, his factory burned to the ground and along with it his blueprints and his prototype.

He still aspired.  He respired.  Sighed (suspired).  And lo and behold, by 1928 he'd done it.  He then sold his machine to a feller named Frank Bench or Missouri.  Making a short story long, in 1928, the Chillicothe Constitution-Tribune, where the Chillicothe Baking Company was located, published an ad "Sliced Bread is made here." The first reference to sliced bread, and yes, that is Chillicothe, Missouri.

So, it took me great perspiration to get here, where I must announce, Missouri is the greatest thing since sliced bread, and it was made here first!

I forgot to ad a map and a stick pin of France. You see, we have a friend from our hometown, she aspired, and did it, to move to France, and become one of the top breadmakers in all of the World. She teaches others the tricks to her trade now. She aspired, she rose to the occasion, sorry, poor joke #2.

Life, like bread, is so very wonderful, no matter how, where, you cut it. I love watching your adventures and am proud to say we came from "the same tree." If you're ever in town, holler, we'll break bread. 

By Henry Gibson             Forward by Rand McNally

Love, Victurd

I'm up on a tight rope... one side's hate and one is hope....

 Rope.  I believe the relationship of man/woman (ok, boy/girl) begins on the playground.  With rope.  As in skipping.  In the late 50's, you might have seen two classmates turning the rope.. anudder, jumping the rope, and saying:

Johnny game me apples                                                                                                      Johnny game me pears                                                                                                                    Johnny gave me 50 cents                                                                                                                To kiss him on the stairs..

 I gave him back his apples..                                                                                                         I gave him back his pears..                                                                                                           I gave him back his 50 cents                                                                                                       And kicked him down the stairs.. 1,2,3,4,5 (and the rope is turned faster and faster)... 

Now, when you think about it, maybe not a wise choice as it takes a lotta pop bottles turned into Safeway to make 50 cents.

Rope easily entertained us.  Tug of war.  You pick teams, you place the very largest human being on the very end of the rope.  And tug.  And tug.  Sometimes, one of the teams planned for funny-ha-ha and when a specific word was said, the entire team let go of the rope sending the other team, all, flat on their backs.

Jump the brook. Two ropes and a jumper.  Ya start out with an easy distance to jump and then you gradually move the rope further and further back. If you missed you were out.  if you by chance won, you'd walk back to class with pride being the best brook jumper.  You land on the second rope, fall backwards, your tailbone will spend the next five days reminding you how much that hurt.

We skipped rope.  With tricks.  Double under (the rope goes under ya feet twice while you're in the air.) Double Dutch. One jumper, two turners, two ropes, turned in opposite directions.  How the heck did we do that?

And recently we talked about the climbing rope to the ceiling and "it's a wonder no one fell from the top" and then I saw a guy report he did... his head hit one of the old metal heater things that usedta stick out.. concussed.. cut up pretty good, but turned out OK.  To think, he coulda had the school named after him.

Knots.  I wasn't a Boy Scout. I've lived my entire life with just the square knot.Years ago, next door neighbor lady, I no likey her.  She talked badly to neighborhood kids.  So, once an 8' section of my wooden fence fell down - I used my square knot skills to hitch it back up. Looked horrific, and for that very reason I left it up several months for her to stare at.

Holly Lake.  The rope swing. Hands would get muddy, would slip off.  Fun. Cheap fun.

Roped into.  All our lives we're left to either avoid, or, get roped into something. "Say, I'm moving next Saturday, is there any way......."  "Ah, No Hablo Engleshe' ".... or something to that effect.

Carnival barkers.  They try to rope you in.  They hate being called 'barkers', much prefer 'talkers'. 

Amway, Nu Skin.. Herbalife.. Avon.. Mary Kay (Seen them pink Caddys?).. Scentsy.. Shaklee.. Time shares, much, many.  Perhaps the 'greatest' ever, Bernie Madoff.  Bilked investors outta billions and billions of dollars.  They shoulda changed his name to Madeoff.

Sorry, kinda, you're stuck with rope today.  If bored, I ain't gonna tie you up to stay here.. slide on off the rope outta here, I won't get mad, promise.

George Foreman. "They call it the rope-ad-dope. Well, I'm the dope. Ali just laid on the rope and I, like a dope, kept punching until I got tired.  But he was probably the most smart fighter I've ever gotten into the ring with."   It's OK George, I just walked through the small appliance aisle at Wally World, there's like fifteen different sizes of your grills.  You ain't too bigga dope.

"When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on."  Franklin D. Roosevelt    Me thinks we've all seen that end.  Children. Finances. Mean people. Managers that ain't too spiffy.

History.  Wiki say "The use of ropes for hunting, pulling, fastening, attaching, carrying, lifting, and climbing dates back to prehistoric times. It is likely the earliest 'ropes' were naturally occurring lengths of plant fibre, such as vines, followed soon by the first attempts tat twisting and braiding these strands together to form the first proper ropes in the modern sense of the word.  The earliest evidence of thtrue rope making is a very small fragment of three-ply cord from a Neanderthal site dated 50,000 years ago." Pardon me boys, howtheheck do they know it's 50,000 years old?

Adding more to the total boredom of this blog, I found a site with '27 genius uses for rope around the house.  Mind outta gutter perverts, but yeah, I guess that one too.  Among them making flip flops, rope sign, home shelving, pet toys, cat scratching posts, rope drawer handles, dog leashes, napkin rings, end of boring list. 

"I'd go to Coney Island to hang out, and I saw a magician doing a rope trick on the boardwalk. I was fascinated.  I guess that's how it started."  David Blaine

Victor, you started with the Leon Russell song, was he a tight rope artist?  No, but glad you asked.  The Wallenda were, and are.

High wire acts with with no safety net. Actually, there was supposed to be a net, but it was lost in transit, so, they went with it. (We could do a whole nuther blog on safety nets in our lives). OK, I won't The Flying Wallendas began in the 1920's. Many impressive tricks, among them the seven person chair pyramid. 

-Tragedies much.  1944, Wallendas with the Ringling Brothers.. Hartford, CT, a fire broke out in a tent, no Wallendas hurt but 168 people died in the fire. Geez Louise.  1962, the front man on the wire faltered, the pyramid collapsed, sending four to the ground.  Two died, Karl Wallenda broke his hip and his adopted son was paralyzed from the waist down.  

Karl's sister-in-law fell to her death in 1963, and in 1972 his son-in-law was killed after touching an electrical wire whilst high above. Undaunted, the act continued. In 1978, at the ripe age of 73, Karl fell in Puerto Rico during a promotional act and succumbed.  Still, today, several branches of the family still perform around the World.

"Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope."  George Burns

And finally, a friend we grew up with, Stephen Webb, his, great nephew (?), who started roping cows at age 6, won the National High School tie down roping in 2021, and this year, is one of four to qualify for a chance to win Two Million Dollars in the RFD-TV's The American the richest one day rodeo event ever. (I think he took third).  Stephen, kept everyone updated on Facebook, and after a family member commented "how cool" Stephen, in Stephen fashion wrote "Everyone in the family should go - unless they're all tied up!"

That's way more about rope than I should have written.  Giddyup, watch for rope burns, not George Burns.

Love, Victurd
.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales......

Life is full of moments.

Fun moments. Blah, mundane moments. Joyous moments. Proud moments. Shiver me timbers moments.

Shiver me timbers. This saying found fame in the 1950 adaptation of Disney's Treasure Island. Long John Silver uttered it in his native west country accent to exclaim shock and surprise.

The word 'shiver' is defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as "to break into small fragments or splinters" while the "timbers" refers to the wooden support frames of old ships.

So, the saying 'shiver me timbers' was most likely alluding to the shock of a large wave or cannonball smashing into the ship and causing the hull to shudder or split asunder. (or, so says historyextra.com)

Impactive.  Wake up, did you hear that? Oh mercy NO.  I can't believe it.  My eyes are open, as are my ears.

Of late, we've had all too many of those damn moments. 

Covid.

The large wave or cannonball smashing into the hull of the ship known as the people of the United States, ie, Democrat, Republican. et al.

Presently, Putin's unconscionable destruction of Ukraine and the people therein. 

On a more personal level, at least for me, there have been two others of late.  After the first, I did a blog "It took me 69 years..." (to basically say I'm sorry.)  It was in response to a question I'd asked on our High School graduating class site.  "Who among us went to school in Liberty every year, ie, K thru 12?".. Many answered, "I did".. "Moved here in 3rd grade" etc.  But one girl answered "I couldn't as Liberty wasn't integrated, but I did go 1st grad thru 12."  A shiver me timbers moment.  I tried, as best I could, to respond in that blog.  We 'saw' the unequal treatment back then, but really never said anything.  For sure our bad.  There's no going back,  but it's never too late to say "I'm sorry."  It truly tears me up that others, for that specific reason, don't have as fond of memories of my hometown - but I most certainly understand.

Then, the other day, I did a blog where, when we changed the clocks for Daylight Savings time, 'what if' we woke up, and we were temporarily taken back to our Senior year in High School.  I truly don't like when someone tells a story and they preface it with "I've got a fun story to tell" - as my take is, "first you tell the story, then we'll decide if it's fun or not." That said, for me anyways, it was kinda fun to 'go back' and relive those times.

But then...

One of the responses was "If only... to be in with the popular kids and they'd be ok with that." Shiver me timbers. How does one respond to that?  I'm not really sure.

Children, are a work in progress. Yes, some of the behavior of youth will be written off as "Kids will be kids" - things like magic marker on the walls, caught cheating in school, getting caught sneaking out, etc, etc.  Yes, some, much of what happens n the lives of children will go through the necessary filtration between youth and adult - so future errors, poor behaviors, unequal treatment, are hopefully corrected, wiped out.  Exclusion in life, is certainly not very progressive.

All the more reasons for us earthlings to make love, not war. Another reminder, wake up call that we simply never know what's going on in the lives of others.

Life, truly, can be oh so hard.  Hard can be reduced by us all being kind.  Nice.  Smiling. Checking up on friends, loved ones, "are you ok?" And of course, having the ability to overstep pride and say "I'm sorry."

I am very sorry this person feels that way.  Love should be abundant. Exclusion sucks, big time, and perhaps keeping that in our forefront can make us better down the road. Worse, is exclusion with intent.  It's sad but it still goes on today. We must teach our children better.

When you need sunshine and you get rain, don't give up.

We should all be believers that we can do better.. Said, I'm a believer, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (I'm a believer) Said, I'm a believer, yeah (I'm a believer)I said, I'm a believer, yeah (I'm a believer)

Peace out,

Love, Victurd

A day in the life.....

Much in life we take for granted.  Freedom is probably the biggest. The present War shakes us to remember thanks.  Thank you thank you thank you.  We don't see so many WWII ball caps any longer - but thank you.  The Korean War, Vietnam War, Desert Shield/Desert Storm, Operation Enduring Freedom. Thank you, thank you, thank you.  It cannot be said enough.

Can you imagine stepping on a train (those lucky enough to avoid bombings to get to the train.)  Leaving what life you knew, perhaps forever.  Leaving fighting men, 18-60 behind.  All the belongings you have are now in one suitcase.  Four dresser drawers and four closets, all compacted into one suitcase.

I, and we all, perhaps slovenly, sit at home with the remote in hand.  Sports?  CSI?  Documentary?  Reality TV?  Mayberry RFD? National Geographic?  Discovery? Perhaps we're bored and we try one, then another, and yet another.

Then we tune to CNN or Fox or MSNBC.  Good Lord.

The train.  The children of men who are widowed.  Who helps them, takes them, cares for them? Those unable to travel on their own - children in a hospital, elderly in retirement homes.  Who cares for them now?  Surely medical personnel have families too.  How can they sleep, knowing any moment they too, and their loved ones, might become a bombing victims? God, please Bless them.

We can turn the channel, and I admit I do as it gets so, so very depressing to watch.  Unimaginable. 

Arriving (hopefully) in a Country where you are safe, but you don't have employ, a bed, a son, a husband, a father.  You must find a way to communicate without speaking the language of the Country you are now in.  Can you trust these people?

The banks.  Is the credit card any good. my child needs shoes? There's not much in Savings, but can I even get to it, and if so, is it any good? I wonder what will happen now to Charlie, our 4 year old golden retriever, and Sam, our 14 year old Maine Coon.  It was heart-wrenching to leave them.

My phone is my communication to all.  How will I charge it?  Will it still work?  How will I pay for it?  I have to have it so we, family, all, can continue to know our outcome.

We change the channel but it does not leave our mind.  Imagine being there.

Everything is uprooted.  Your home.  Your neighborhood.  The children's schools.  Your employ. Your extended family.  Your own nuclear family.

Worse, why?  Destroying a Country, a people.  People who will not want to live there under your helm. Infrastructure that will never be built back sufficiently in your (Putin's) lifetime.  Why?  What end?

Get those damn reporters out of there!  Pray for them, I cannot imagine.  We don't need them there. It's not right to send them there.

Change the channel.

Can't, we're there. There is blood. There are bodies.  So, so many unaccounted for.  Are there police, firemen - or are they gone?

Is it possible to relate, have, say, Kansas City being bombed?  Jefferson City - are my relatives there OK?  If I take this train ride to Canada to be free, will I ever see you again?  How will I know my son, grandchildren are safe? Will any know English or is where we are going French speaking only? Where will I sleep tonight?  Next week?  Next month?

They are closing in on DC?  It's over, it's really over.  Life, as we knew it, no more.  It's only a matter of time now before our Country is at the hand of a madman.  Sure we'd love to live in our own homes, have our old jobs, drive the cars we had, have our husbands, fathers, grandfathers back.  We can't.  Leaving is the only option.  Praying, we, husbands, wives, fathers, children, grandparents, grandchildren will all be safe - hopefully united - even if it's in a foreign land where we land with nothing, only to hopefully start anew.

It is impossible to fathom.  I, we are so thankful for our free land. 

God Bless those now, and those before, fighting, keeping our freedom intact. It can't be taken for granted any longer.

If only we could change the channel, wake up and have it all be a dream, but it's real, and it's real, real sad.

I leave my outside light on all night.  Every morning I go turn it off, turn the living room light on.  I just did. i will never ever take that I'm able to do that for granted again.

One man, uprooting the World. It's got to end.

"The Boy Did It!" (The fat boy that is.)

There's Homer... the ancient Greek poet, believed to have walked the Earth somewhere around the 7th or 8th Century BC.

Then there's Homer Simpson, one of my favorite Homers. Homer was named after Max Groening's father Homer, who was named after the Greek poet above.  Groening (the Simpson creator) even named his own child Homer.

When I Wiki'ed "Homer Simpson" I really thought it was an autobiography of me as they described him as obese, immature, outspoken, aggressive, balding, lazy, ignorant, unprofessional, and addicted to beer, junk food and watching television. 

Of course Homer is known for his "Doh!", but I love him more for "The Boy did it!" - I don't remember the episode, but it could have been one of many where Ned Flanders knocked on Homer's door after a baseball through Flander's window, maybe a section of Flander's picket fence had been burned down, only to be met with "The Boy did it!"  That''s all.  One of my favorite Homers.

You're stuck, sorry kinda, learning of my favorite homers.  Next on the list, Homer Drew.  We, in Liberty, MO, got to see Homer play basketball for William Jewell College from 1963 to 1966.  He was good.  An All-American.  He is famously known though, for his coaching career (he's in the College Basketball Hall of Fame.)..  In 1998, Homer led, coached Valparaiso University, a small, private college with 2,900 students - in the NCAA Tourney to The Sweet 16, giant killing Ole Miss and Florida State along the way.  Homer's sons are Bryce Homer Drew and Scott Homer Drew. Both followed in Pa's footsteps to coach at Valpo, and just last season, son Scott led the Baylor Bears to the NCAA Championship.  A Homer for sure.

Little League homers.  Ya gotta love Little League homers. Even I had a couple!  You hit a measly ground ball to the pitcher's left.. you sprint down the line, pitcher overthrows first base, ball sails into right fields, one mom, two grannys, 200 spectators rise on their feet hollering, runner heads for second, right fielder grabs ball, overthrows second base, the cheering gets louder, the look of determination on the runner gets more instense, the 3rd base coach waves him around 3rd to go home, left fielder heaves it to the catcher, a slide into  home, a cloud of dust, "SAFE!" hollers the ump.  A HOMER!  A Little League Homer.

Now before you get off belittling Little League homers, were you aware that until 1931 in Major League Baserball, any ball that bounced over the fence was deemed a Home Run?  I didn't know that either.

To the other extreme, the year The Babe, (surely even any ladies reading would know we're referring to the great Babe Ruth) the year he hit 60, there was a rule that the ball, of course had to leave the playing field in fair territory, BUT, it also had to LAND in fair territory. Today, many balls hook around the foul pole and land in fout territory, still, deemed a home run - NOT SO in 1927, and it was estimated Babe lost FIFTY MORE HOME RUNS due to this rule.  Holy smokes.

Ted Williams, the great Ted Williams. Ted, the last man to bat .400, of course known for that, but - still, he also had 521 Homers in his career.  One of them, among my favs.  Ted was nearing the end of his career.  On the mound a scared, left-handed rookie pitching. Lo and behold, the rookie strikes out Ted. It was said, Ted could be pretty cantankerous, grumpy, but, can't we all be!  Anyways, said rookie pitcher was so excited, he took the baseball he'd struck out Ted with to the Red Sox lockerroom, approached the great Ted and asked "Mr. Williams, would you be so kind to sign the ball?"  Teammates were kinda aghast, they thought maybe Ted might deck the kid with a right hook, but to their surprise, he swallowed his pride, took the pen, and signed the ball.  tbcb (to be continued below).

A couple weeks later - at the park of the Rookie pitcher, he was to face Ted again.  Different result.  Ted hits one so far, and so long, it goes completely out of the ballpark.  He returned to form as he rounded first base he yelled out to the rookie, "Now, if you can find that GD ball I'll sign it too."

Then there's Bartolo.  Bartolo Colon. In 2014 at age 40, the New York Mets signed Bartolo to a two year contract for $20 million.  The baseball world snickered.  Mets fans groaned. You see, Bartolo, even though nicknamed "Big Sexy" was not a physical specimen. His weight approached 300 pounds, he was, basically, rotund.  tbcb

In his book about Bartolo, author Devin Gordon penned "Five pitches into Bartolo Colon's first start in a Mets uniform I was smitten.I had simply failed to account for the visceral joy of watching a man shaped like a large ball throw a much smaller ball. Colón bulged like a human bouncy castle.  One time, he took a line drive to his gut, barely flinched, just picked up the ball and tossed it to first with a big grin."

Mets fans, too, started coming around to root for the guy.  Colon, a Dominican American, was a clubhouse favorite too for his fun disposition. He helped players with translation and was loved by all.  His pitching coach had fun with Bartolo too. “On the days he was to pitch, he’d come out of the locker room,” according to Warthen, “and I’d be hiding. I’d have a tarp over me; I’d hide behind walls. I was in garbage cans, linen baskets. And he would always find me, and he would give off this belly laugh. Sometimes I’d jump out at him from inside a closet.”

Bartolo had spent the vast majority of his career thus far in the American League, thus, with the Designated Hitter, he didn't bat.  So, in Spring Training, he would.  In addition to hitting, a coach, during a sliding drill, told Colon he was next up. "Bartolo no slide."  While he was large, rotund, he was suprisingly flexible.  He could stand in the dugout and kick his leg up and touch the ceiling of the dugout.  His batting was not quite as pretty.

He'd swing, his helmet would fall off.  As his helmet fell off, his butt would go in the other direction. Fans enjoyed it to much he asked the equipment manager for a bigger helmet so it would happen more often.  That first season, in 69 at bats, he had two hits and struck out 33 times. In 234 career at bats, Bartolo had 20 hits, an .085 lifetime batting average. Then, one day....

Colon's pitching skills made him a fan favorite.  On May 7, 2016, Bartolo was 42 years old.  Nary a homer. San Diego. 

Gordon narrated in his book "The Mets’ traveling road-show fan collective, the 7 Line Army, was there at Petco Park in San Diego, a few hundred strong, meaning they outnumbered the Padres fans. And so was Colón’s wife, Rosanna, Mrs. Sexy, plus lots of family and friends. It was already a big day for Bartolo. For the rest of us, though, it was the textbook definition of a lazy afternoon snoozer. Until, with two out and one on in the top of the second inning, Mets up 2–0, James Shields on the mound for San Diego, Big Sexy waddled up to the plate. Gary and Ronnie were chit-chatting away as Shields went into his windup for his third pitch, a fastball that he left up and out over the plate. Big Sexy took a big cut, and this time he blasted the ball toward the upper deck in left field. "

Gary Cohen, the voice of the Mets - "He drives one!  Deep left field!"  His voice was cracking, "Back goes Upton!  Back near the wall!  It's... OUTTA HERE!  Bartolo has done it! The impossible has happened!"

Bartolo became the oldest MLB player to hit a home run. His teammates went bonkers.  So bonkers, in fact, the did the ole "the entire team ran into the tunnel", thus, leaving poor Bartolo to return to an empty dugout after his first homer.  Of course, moments later they mobbed him.

I was fortunate to be watching that live that day. Maybe my favorite homer, next to Simpson.

Welcome back baseball.  Love Victurd 

(Bartolo's home run below, you might have to copy and paste, hope you do, it's kinda fun)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVFsq9FQBlc

Setting the clocks ............

It'd be a fine ole thing if we could set our clocks back Sunday to our Senior year in high school.  Eh, why not dream?

What would you do?  First thing we could do is make us a list, a list of those that today, it's impossible to see, talk, visit with them. We could run up and lay a big ole hug on 'em.  They might say "Whatsup with that?"   Can't tellya, just know, we REALLY love you!

The next Friday night.  After dinner, we could go sit on the sofa.  At some point, our parents might ask "Aren't you going out tonight?  You always go out on Friday and Saturday nights?"   Nope, I want to spend it with you. Hey, please tell me what life was like when you were a Senior in High School....... Hey dad, if you smoke your pipe, would you use that Cherry tobacco?  That was, er, I mean, that is my favorite!

Then we should go jump, because we could again!  Then, run....run a hunnerd yards because we ain't done that in awhile.  A pull-up, hell to the yes, a pull-up. 

We could go grab the phone book.  WOW.  Look at this!  All our friends are in here!  It doesn't matter if we break our phone, lose it, drop it in the pool, No cause for alarm, we've still got all my friends numbers. We can call 'em one by one (and there ain't no chance of losing the phone 'cause the cord is hooked to the phone which is hooked to the wall!) Thank goodness we didn't graduate when AOL hogged all the phone lines!

Me? I'd go run to the mirror.  The full length mirror.  Damn you look good!  (Editor's note, not saying I, me, I'm saying 50+ years has changed all of us just a tad, OK, much.  Refreshing to see the you, looking good.)

You? I'd run to the backyard and play fetch for hours with my hound Gabe.  I won't tell him either.

Then, we could fill our cars up for $4.80, meet up on the Hill of the Methodist Church. Just sit up there for a while to lookout at God's handiwork - and say thanks.  Yeah!  And we could make shadows when it gets dark! Then, I think one of us should say, "Ya know, I think we all realize we were 70 or thereabouts and we set the clock back to age 18 or thereabouts - what would you do, workwise, the rest of your life? I'm certain some would say "nothing different", others maybe "I'd be more concerned to find a labor of love, so to speak, and smile my way to 'Winter'. "  Yeah, me too.

We could all save 10% for the resta our lives and no touchy!

We'd drive up to Billy Jewell, avoiding the 'squirrels' and hunt down Lenny, Buck, Bobby, EJ, Hank, et al, and high five 'em in advance of their 1970 Super Bowl win!

We could run get me a mug of root beer at Mug's Up for a nickel....  cross the street and snatch a Peanut Buster Parfait at Dairy Queen, "Hey, they don't cost $4.72"!

Toss our swimsuits in the car, swing by Repperts to see if the flag is up...if it ain't, we'd drive by The KuKu, then the Square, then the KuKu, then the Square, you get the idea.  It's gonna be so great to honk and wave at every other car again!

OH!  I forgot!  I'd run, hop on the scale!  YEAH BABY, that's what I'm talking about!

Maybe  snow ski again?  Or go sledding.  Or, play a game of FULL COURT basketball!

You know.. .all them gals.. all them gals you, we thought, 'man, you're a pretty thing' but never told 'em.. we oughta run up to them at school and tell 'em!

We should run up to Grundy, Mr. Franck, Mr. Stevick, Mr. Dawkins, Ms. Allen, (or whoever were your favorites) tell 'em just how great they were in our lives as a role model. Don't think we ever told 'em.

Nap?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  We've got all this energy!  Let's hop in the trunk and go to the Drive In!  Hey, it's only 50 cents.. oh yeah, right, we'll jump in the backseat then.  I still ain't buying one of those hamburgers that's been under the heat lamp for three days though.

Oh yeah.. we could walk around the Square.. grab a vanilla phosphate at Beggs, some some cinnamon oil from Breiphol, then, run in Boggess.  Hey, I'll bet you a quarter if I ask the lady in there to grab a 1 1/2 inch carriage bolt, she'll look at the hunnerd plus drawers behind her and march right to the correct one.  I won't bet a quarter, but a dime sounds good... you're on!    DANG!   Toldya!

Hi Woody!  Hi Mr. Bortko!  Hi Mr. Mace!

GRANDMA AND GRANDPA!  GOT to make a road trip while we still can!  Can only hope she's got a piece of banana cream pie on the stove in the living room.

Hey, wanna go see the Royals?  Man, I dunno, they're not very good.  Yeah but.. it's cheap to get in.  We can park in a yard for $2.  Do they still have the rabbit that brings the balls up outta the ground to the umpire?  BRYANTS!  Before or after, doesn't matter to me!

We'd better get back home. I mean home home, 2022.  Eh, spoil sport, but you're right, maybe we oughta.

HEY!  You guys never even kissed anyone?

Ahm, this is just a brief outline of SOME of the things we did when we went back in time.  Remember, ya ain't sposedta kiss and tell, either before or during the days of social media.  Our lips are sealed.  Eh, ok.

I call shotgun!

When we get back, I sure hope cancer is cured... Ukraine is safe.. both political parties work together..  the pandemic is in the past.. 

WAIT!  I forgot to get a 300 burger!  They are STILL open today, 2022, you can get one when we get back.

By Henry Gibson..       Forward by P. Casper Harvey... Photos by Marcel.

Love, Victurd

We need more lime and coconut......

Ifn's I was Captain Kangoroo, I might start with:

Good morning boys and girls.  Today, we're gonna talk about struggle.  Do you, boys and girls, know anyone that struggles?

Yes Mr. Moose.. I see you have your paw raised, please tell us of your struggles...

"Well Cap'tn, for many, many years you've helped me with those Ping-ping knock knock jokes - you know, I'd say knock-knock, you or Mr. Greenjeans would say who's there, and I would somehow work into the punchline 'ping pong', and outta the sky a kajillion ping pong balls would drop. It was kinda funny. Now, though, I'm older.  I can't help pickup all those ping pong balls.  I kinda feel more like I should maybe be doing 'Moose walks into a bar' jokes instead.. but ya know, dropping beer cans outta the sky wouldn't be prudent, and, besides, I can't fit my dadgum antlers through the bar door anyways.  If you have any suggestions on where I should turn, I'm all antlers."

Wow Mr. Moose, I'm sorry, please give us some time with that one.   Yes, Mr. Greenjeans?

"Well, I've never said anything before, but it's getting really old wearing nothing but green.  I mean, that's my name, so I really can't change, but, the only time I'm really cool is St. Patty's day.  Sorry to come outta my green closet and share this, but I'm struggling."

Wow, I'm very sorry Mr. Greenjeans. Again, we'll think on that one. Yes bunny?

"Cap'tn, I loves me them big pockets  you keep my carrots in, but a couple things. One, I'm sick of 'em, and two, I can't control my eating.  I eat a hare too much.  I've been wondering if we could gather and say a little prayer, you know like "Lettuce pray for rabbit...there's no bunny we'd rather help."

Wow, we can do that!

Oh, Oh, I see in the audience someone raising their hand.  Yes Victor?

Thanks Cap'tn.  You see, I work at a golf course.  Everyone EXPECTS me to be real good in golf.  Well, I guess I'm ok, but I kinda struggle with my woods... and, I almost always shank my irons.  Chipping, pitching, huh uh, real bad.  I got the yips putting,  I feel like I'm in a hole for one."

Wow, that is unfortunate, any other struggles Victor?

Brb, getting my list.......... ahem.  I suck at money.  I spend it before I even get it sometimes. Banks no likey that.  All them Facebook posts where they list 40 different foods, "which ones don't you like" well, usually there's only about three that I really like.  Fish, patooey (and that includes shrimp, crustaceans I think they call 'em.) My friends make fun of me.

Wow, that it?

No, I'm getting fat(ter). I drop things on the floor and I hate (ok, have trouble) bending down, so they stay there for several days. My dating life is "Crickets".  My ear hairs grow faster'n I can pull 'em. The Check Engine Light is on in my 2006 Caddy.  And, there's some things I prefer not to share with kids this morning.

OK.  Enough funnin', that is, if deemed that was fun.

Struggle is real.  Over the years, in talks with good, good friends, I've admitted struggle in many aspects of my life. Often, to my surprise, good friends will then share something they've struggled with, and I swear to goodness I always think "No, not you!  You are SO together!" And they are, but the point is:

We all struggle. Some, more than others.  Some, won't admit it.  Some, get help.  Some, don't. Life, while richly rewarding, is indeed a struggle. We see all the time, reminders "we never know the struggle of others" - and we don't. 

I struggle because I don't wanna sound like a preacher, again, I'm here for me, others are welcome here.  Or, as I might say to a young sapling, "I hate when old people give advice, BUT......"

We can be as beautiful to people as a rose, without the thorns.  We can stall for a moment, in reply. It's been noticed, smiles bring smiles.  We can do that.  We can walk with the knowledge "everyone struggles with something" - and simply treat them as we desire to be treated.

If it was as easy as putting the lime in the coconut and drinking it all up, we'd buy more limes and coconuts. (I would suggest a lime with your Corona though, yum.)

"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths."  Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Well said Elisabeth.  Many, most of us, still might be working on, or needing help with, finding the way out of those depths. 

May we walk with a handshake, a fist bump, a smile, a hug and show love.

Oh, Cap'tn.. we never asked about your struggles?

I'm SO GLAD you asked.  See, I have an image problem. People STILL think of me as Clarabell the Clown from Howdy Doody.. and sometimes, people can say mean things.. like one time someone said if I dyed my hair brunette I'd look like Moe.  Disconcerting, all.

Hang in there big fella, you're a good man.... as all are.

Love, Victurd

Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do... whatcha gonna do when they come for you.......

War.  What is it good for, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.........

So, golf.  For now, yeah, that'll work.

When I find myself in times of trouble, 18 holes they come to me,                                                  Speaking words of disdain, let it be, let it be.

Golf is my "go to hell world, at least for 3, 4, 5 hours."  I'm out here in the green, with the blue above, with the buddies next to me. Animals. Most I ain't skeered of, but, hit one in the woods, yep, there's a copperhead or two. Thus, I don't go after 'em.  My take, "Fitty cents at WalMart" (I buy really cheap golf balls.)

I've a buddy.  My buddy has done really really well in keeping his dollars in his billfold over his lifetime. I ain't. He has. So, bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when it's time for you (to tee off).  Basta looks for broken tees.  I turd you not.  He's too dadgum cheap to buy tees. (Some, $1.69 a bag in the clubhouse, lastya a month or so.)  I find humor in this. Kinda.

The progression of life. Usedta be, when you had to pee on the golf course 'no parking by the sewer sign, hot dog, my razor's broke, water drippin' up the spout, but I don't care, let it all hang out.'  You go anywhere, anytime. Now, you pee pee in public, yep, you're at risk of being charged with indecent exposure, up to six months in jail, and it can possibly be turned into a felony (I ain't kidding) and you could be put on a sexual offender list.

Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when the bladder's about to unglue....... Well. I find a tree. Hopefully a wide one. Hopefully no one will see.  All of us old farts do.  You see, if you're an old man, and you're in WalMart, on the East side of the building, and the restroom is on the West side, you in heap big trouble.  Leak a bit at the very least. Maybe even go quite a bit, so, you quickly buy something, hold the plastic bag infrtonta ya so no one sees, and you scurry home.

Women.  What do women do?  Bad girl bad girl, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when it's pee time for you?  Well... most will drive up to the clubhouse. I don't see how they can be on the hole the farthest away, and make it to the clubhouse.  Some can't.  There's a wooden shack on our course where the pump house is, you can even drive through it.  It's kinda stinky there.  I'm thinking that's where all the female sexual offenders go.

Although, there was one recently.  A gal. I feel fairly certain alcohol was involved.  18th hole, RIGHT next to the clubhouse. Bad girl bad girl whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna to if there's not enough time for you..... well, this one 'hid' behind a 6 inch wide tree and let 'er rip.  Right infronta God and all fifteen of us watching from the deck. Victor, are you really writing about this?   Reader, are you really reading about this?

I've even got a buddy that keeps a small roll of TP in his golf bag.  You're kidding.  Nope.  Ain't. Golf is funny that way, sometimes you just have some crappy rounds.

When. Where. Bad boy bad boy where you gonna go, where you gonna go when you gotta let go..... Hopefully, outta eyesight of houses.  Outta eyesight of women, children. Nowadays, cops.  

In this gentleman's game of golf, when a player in your party is getting read to tee off, no noise, it's unwritten, but you don't get out a club, risk a clanking noise as he swings.  You don't light a cig, pop a beer.  Worst of all, you don't talk.  To be continued.

Other day, buddy of mine hit a really really bad shot.  So what's bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna say, whatcha gonna say when the ball goes astray. "Well, I thought I had everything under control, then just as I started to swing I HEAR THIS WATERFALL"... so, yep, that's added to the list.  No pee pee when they swingy.

Over the years, the eyeballs see a lot.  One leg on grass, one in the sand, swing, fall down. Cart in pond. Yep, twice since I've worked at our course.  Guy hit ball from white tees, ball hit small, red, circular marker on the ground where women tee off from, ball come RIGHT back at his head. He ducked, luckily, in time.  We 'sex offenders' peed a bit in our pants laughing at him. I can't tell you Nubert's real name though.

Thrown clubs. Profanity.  Broken clubs in fit of anger. Hole in one. Hole in twelve, thus, we enforced the 'triple bogey is the worst you can score' rule.  Geese chasing golfer.  Golfer chasing geese. Beautiful blue heron RIGHT in the way on the 18th tee box.  Wait. Wait. Wait. Finally he leaves.  We see momma and poppa goose, guarding their hatching nest. You come close, they squawk at you LOUDLY, as if, say, it's midnight, you were supposed to be home at 8, and your spouse meets you at the door.  That loud.

We've seen, said geese, goose, have duckings.  Cute as can be.  Mom, pop, 7, 8, 12 ducklings in a row.  Off they walk. In they swim. In order.  Always.  In a millisecond (say, 6, 8 rounds), baby geese turn into regular regular big ole geese, and off they go.  Forever.  So you sit and wonder.  Why, why Lord do we have to wait until they graduate from college, or, finally decide to get off the couch, quit playing Play Station 2, get a job and move out.  The geese.  They born.  They follow. For a short. Shazam. They gone.

Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do, golfed for three hours, now whatcha gonna do?  Well, back in the day, we'd gather around a table out in the pretty blue, talk Camero's, Mustangs, the hated Yankees, the endowment of a specific lass (sorry. Kinda.  Remember?  We're sexual offenders now that we pee by tree. Won't happen again. Promise.)  But today, since we're now of legal age to bitch about the Government, we do.  And we talk of knee replacements, hip replacements, the new $80 vibrating massage tool we bought at WallyWorld so we can use it on our neck just to enable us to go, play, pee behind trees, and of course, the endowment of a specific lass. (scroll to sex offenders).  The times they are a changin'. And, we all have two or three Cokes, then go home.  Cokes make one pee a lot.  Old men keep cups in car for that specific reason.  You ride with one, no drinky from any cup laying around.

Apologies, kinda, for this blog.  Respite from real world was needed though.

Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when you pee behind a tree, they see, and they come for you.

You were seen 'going to the restroom in public' behind a tree on hole #7.... You have the right to remain silent....... Now, put your hands behind your back."  But officer, I gotta go bad, can I keep one hand..... NO!

Love, Victurd

Today you... tomorrow me.

Thanks for stopping by.  I really haven't felt like being here (this keyboard, this blog.) This, this is the third consecutive year of heartbreak. It's been established, I'm not a very good golfer.  Recently, I've played the best two rounds of my life. It caused smile, and feel good.

Then I got home and watched the news.  The horror of war.  Since 2020, people getting sick, dying, hibernating, depressed, mad, on this side of the line or that side of the line - fangs exposed like two dogs passionately prepared to fight.   War breaks out and hopefully it causes us a little shame for our actions. (I don't speak of all, but I admit to walking that line a time or two.) How can happy be with all that is going on in our Country, in the World?

I found an article where a clinical psychologist noted that about a third of his clients expressed guilt for feeling good what with the pandemic and all. "The 'staying home' has allowed many to spend more time with their families but they share those joyful moments in a hushed tone that says 'I would only share this with my therapist.' "

The theme of the article was certainly to not feel guilt.  One lady, who'd lost her husband to cancer, related "You see in those experiences just how necessary it is to find those moments of joy and laughter.  Joy is the only way to honor the lives we've lost."

It is suggested in times like that (starting to feel guilt for being happy)  to turn outward and think of other people.  Again, I ain't preaching, only trying to help me, if others are helped, so be it.  Not my words, words of wiser folks I'm stealing from.  Or, borrowing I guess would be a better term.

The article was written a couple of years ago, but they had this foresight to write about sharing your joy, but to do so wisely, especially in thought to '"What else is going on around the world." So, i guess never have guilt for being happy, but we should use discretion in how shared.  For example, if you just rang the bell in riddance of cancer, absolutely share - people want (and need) to hear news like that.

Below is an article, verbatim, from Reddit.  The idea behind, when things are going our way, why not spend a few extra minutes or dollars lifting up the less fortunate people who cross our paths.  IT has some pretty rank language, apologies, but I didn't change it for effect only.  The article:

"Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?

Just about every time I see someone I stop. I kind of got out of the habit in the last couple of years, moved to a big city and all that, my girlfriend wasn't too stoked on the practice. Then some shit happened to me that changed me and I am back to offering rides habitually. If you would indulge me, it is long story and has almost nothing to do with hitch hiking other than happening on a road.

This past year I have had 3 instances of car trouble. A blow out on a freeway, a bunch of blown fuses and an out of gas situation. All of them were while driving other people's cars which, for some reason, makes it worse on an emotional level. It makes it worse on a practical level as well, what with the fact that I carry things like a jack and extra fuses in my car, and know enough not to park, facing downhill, on a steep incline with less than a gallon of fuel.

Anyway, each of these times this shit happened I was DISGUSTED with how people would not bother to help me. I spent hours on the side of the freeway waiting, watching roadside assistance vehicles blow past me, for AAA to show. The 4 gas stations I asked for a gas can at told me that they couldn't loan them out "for my safety" but I could buy a really shitty 1-gallon one with no cap for $15. It was enough, each time, to make you say shit like "this country is going to hell in a handbasket."

But you know who came to my rescue all three times? Immigrants. Mexican immigrants. None of them spoke a lick of the language. But one of those dudes had a profound affect on me.

He was the guy that stopped to help me with a blow out with his whole family of 6 in tow. I was on the side of the road for close to 4 hours. Big jeep, blown rear tire, had a spare but no jack. I had signs in the windows of the car, big signs that said NEED A JACK and offered money. No dice. Right as I am about to give up and just hitch out there a van pulls over and dude bounds out. He sizes the situation up and calls for his youngest daughter who speaks english. He conveys through her that he has a jack but it is too small for the Jeep so we will need to brace it. He produces a saw from the van and cuts a log out of a downed tree on the side of the road. We rolled it over, put his jack on top, and bam, in business. I start taking the wheel off and, if you can believe it, I broke his tire iron. It was one of those collapsible ones and I wasn't careful and I snapped the head I needed clean off. Fuck.

No worries, he runs to the van, gives it to his wife and she is gone in a flash, down the road to buy a tire iron. She is back in 15 minutes, we finish the job with a little sweat and cussing (stupid log was starting to give), and I am a very happy man. We are both filthy and sweaty. The wife produces a large water jug for us to wash our hands in. I tried to put a 20 in the man's hand but he wouldn't take it so I instead gave it to his wife as quietly as I could. I thanked them up one side and down the other. I asked the little girl where they lived, thinking maybe I could send them a gift for being so awesome. She says they live in Mexico. They are here so mommy and daddy can pick peaches for the next few weeks. After that they are going to pick cherries then go back home. She asks if I have had lunch and when I told her no she gave me a tamale from their cooler, the best fucking tamale I have ever had.

So, to clarify, a family that is undoubtedly poorer than you, me, and just about everyone else on that stretch of road, working on a seasonal basis where time is money, took an hour or two out of their day to help some strange dude on the side of the road when people in tow trucks were just passing me by. Wow...

But we aren't done yet. I thank them again and walk back to my car and open the foil on the tamale cause I am starving at this point and what do I find inside? My fucking $20 bill! I whirl around and run up to the van and the guy rolls his window down. He sees the $20 in my hand and just shaking his head no like he won't take it. All I can think to say is "Por Favor, Por Favor, Por Favor" with my hands out. Dude just smiles, shakes his head and, with what looked like great concentration, tried his hardest to speak to me in English:

"Today you.... tomorrow me."

Rolled up his window, drove away, his daughter waving to me in the rear view. I sat in my car eating the best fucking tamale of all time and I just cried. Like a little girl. It has been a rough year and nothing has broke my way. This was so out of left field I just couldn't deal.

In the 5 months since I have changed a couple of tires, given a few rides to gas stations and, once, went 50 miles out of my way to get a girl to an airport. I won't accept money. Every time I tell them the same thing when we are through:

"Today you.... tomorrow me."

tl;dr: long rambling story about how the kindness of strangers, particularly folks from south of the border, forced me to be more helpful on the road and in life in general. I am sure it won't be as meaningful to anyone else but it was seriously the highlight of my 2010.

**edit: To the OP, sorry to jack your thread, this has nothing to do with Hitch Hiking. I sort of thought I could just get this off my chest, enjoy the catharsis and watch the story languish at the bottom of the page. Glad people like hearing the tale and I hope it moves you to be more helpful in your day to day. **

(This story reminded me of a time, 2011, major snowstorm in KC. I got stuck TWICE going home.  First time, paid someone $9 (all I had in my billfold) to help me out.  Second time, two Hispanic men, driving around for the expressed purpose of simply helping others.  After they got me out, I dug in my front pocket and found a one and a five, offered it to them, "Oh no Senor', but thank you.")