Replacement........

Usedta could run, even hop a hurdle....... Now I stumble, on something called Wordle

Oh to be young, we all had that power........ Now, we take baby steps, in and outta the shower...

Twas fun to 'get up for the game', thought we'd never lose...... Now, we sleep through it, hitting snooze and snooze....

Run to the store, actually meant 'running to the store'.... Now, park as close as we can, can't takes it no more....

Hey, do ya wanna....... Nah, thanks though, not gonna.....

But..but.. but, we could go...  Eh, mebbe tomorrow, ya know.

Haircut, new outfit, pick me, pick me, I'm a good hire!   Now, the only energy we gots, is bitching 'bout the bill from Spire.

When you're alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go.. Downtown..   Petula, thanks. I'm old now, you're 89, we MIGHT later take the OATS bus, sorry if that makes you frown.

Hey, this Friday - The Sock Hop!  We'll dance to 'do-wa-dooo'...... Hell, I hop putting on my undies, staying home if it's all the same to you....

Money's tight.. maybe a part-time job?    GREAT IDEA, but wait, can't find my fob.

Now we're together nearly every single day, singin 'Do wah diddy dum diddy do'.....   A-we're so happy, pee alot, and that's how we're gonna stay, drinking coffee, prune juice, eating probiotics just a hopin' we'll doo too.

Snappin' her fingers and shufflin' her feet, singin' 'Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do', She looked good (Looked good).. She looked fine (Looked fine)... She looked good, she looked fine, ain't seen my glasses in three months, and I've nearly lost my mind...

Before I knew it she was walkin' next to me, singin' 'Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do', holding my hand shakin' xactly like me... singing'Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do'..  we walked on.. (Walked on).. to my door (My door).. We walked on to my door, then we kissed a little more...  tennis ball caught in a crack, now we're both a layin' on the floor...

Whoa-oh, I knew we was falling (in love too).. Yes, I did.. And so I told her all the things I'd been dreamin' of......

Arizona or Florida?   Geritol or Ensure?... Cemetery plots or Extra Crispy?...  

A-we're so happy and that's how we're gonna stay, singin' 'Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do', well I'm hers, (I'm hers), She's mine (she's mine), I'm hers, she's mine, Wedding bells are gonna chime.....oh Hell No but can't think of a rhyme.

And then she mentioned, "Were you aware elks have sex 6 times a day?"  "HOLY CRAP, and I just joined Knights of Columbus" - so, instead, we've decided on 'try weakly'.  Singin ''Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do' we'll look for those parts and see if they still move.....

Victor, this is dumb, tiresome, nonsensical......

Just like old age eh?

Reflections.......

Life is a forever documentary of people watching. Our brains, eyes, observe - then, it's within our given right to forget what we just saw, color it mundane....  Remember what we just saw, be incensed, enraged, indifferent, repulsed, etc.

My personal fav, is when we're amazed, that's where we write down what we've seen in indelible ink.  I am a biased sort, and don't fear stating so.  I have always easily been amazed by my sister.  She's gone now (since 1999), nonetheless, the memories are forever embedded.

She worked in day care. Started as a teacher, climbed the ranks.  After three or four promotions, pretty much spearheading the fourfold growth of this National Chain of Day Care - all eyes would be upon her, and she'd turn it around to where if it wasn't for so-and-so, and them-and-those, and this-and-that, it never woulda happened.  While we all knew the changes wouldn't have taken place without her, she was very convincing.  And wonderful.  Sorry, not sorry to say so.

Reflection:  "the throwing back by a body or surface of light, heat, or sound without absorbing it."...."the reflection of light"

So, we take all these 'notes' over the years, formulate our opines, and play teacher where we give out grades without actually giving out grades.

Liberty has long been a Community where hearing something has happened, spreads like wild fire. Yesterday afternoon, longtime William Jewell Basketball Coach Larry Holley passed away unexpectedly.  He was, and has been, one of Liberty's great lights.  News does travel fast, I've had 5 texts, four instant messages and a couple phone calls sharing the extremely sad news.

A very much so earned place of stature in our Community.  All of us have a story to tell about our dealings with Coach Holley, and one by one they're showing up on Facebook - proud all, to be able to share "how I knew Coach."

Mid 1960's.  I didn't know Coach, but I'll tellya what - he was an idol to me.  2nd only perhaps to Pistol Pete Marivich.  I grew up 200 paces from Brown Gymnasium at William Jewell.  I went to every WJC basketball game I could afford with my 'pop bottle route.'

While he certainly wasn't the only really good player on the team, he was by far the most dynamic, entertaining.  (Special kudos to Pee Wee Summers here.  Pee Wee could jump out of the gym, and in my years of people watching, he's in the top 5 as far as 'wonderful smiles'.)

Larry Holley wasn't built like a basketball player.  Please don't let him know that.  The 5'7"(?) guard, would throw up jump shots from darn near Daviess County where he grew up, and they would go in with a lot more frequency than missing. Unselfish, just when a defender thought "ha ha, you ain't shooting this one over me" he'd sling a nifty pass to Wence Cunningham, Homer Drew, or Pee Wee for an easy bucket.

Around our area, the biggies were, one Harry S. Truman (our family would drive to Independence just to try to find he and Bess out walking)... and then maybe by then Lamar Hunt.  As a punk teenager, Larry Holley, to me, clearly ranked ahead of those two.

My sister, the reflecting one, had graduated from Liberty, was now enrolled at WJC, and she was quite braggadocios when she told me "I know Larry Holley."  "DO NOT!".. ."DO TOO!".. "PROVE IT!"

A day or so later, a carload of Jewell kids pulled up in front of our house.  Came in.  Lo and behold, THERE... right there in MY living room... Larry Holley.  He had a smile on his face.  He always did.  Another one of my lifelong people deductions.  (Of course, as did my sister.)  So, I got to shake his hand, probably said something stupid, but dang it, my sister DID know Larry Holley.

Those.  Were.  Some.  Of. The. Funnest. Days. Of. My. Life. - watching WJC basketball with the wonderful, wonderful team they had back then. 

Over the years I got to know Larry a little bit better - but not like most of you.  He was a REFLECTOR.  Whenever you came in contact with Larry Holley, the urge came to tell him what a wonderful person, player, coach he was - BUT... BUT... he always turned the table and made it about you.

In the 70's, early 80's, I had a cup of coffee as the Women's Basketball Coach at Jewell.  Years later I'd be sitting in Rancho Grande in Liberty, and hear "COACH SCHULTZE!"..  Yep, Larry.  The wonderful smile, the upbeat conversation.  I was thankful to be probably one of over 10,000 names stored in his telephone

S'more people watching of Larry over the years.. he'd post a photo of his 1st team at Central Methodist....   The Senior Captains of one of his teams at Northwest Missouri State.  Pictures of him running into a former WJC player out and about.. .the player AND Coach, grinning ear to ear.

He always turned things around and made the reflection about whomever he was with.

Over the years, watching him post of Facebook has been fun.  Very fun.  His family. Numero Uno. (Another one of those things to check off as we people watch in our life.)  And we've mentioned all his students, players.  Former players turned coach - that was huge for him - and there have been many, and many good ones.. and guess why?  Uh huh, they learned from Larry Holley.  Of course the in's and outs of basketball... but also, how to be a good teammate, whatever your role may be.  How to be a good person. A good student.  It was all about giving your best.  So they did.  And have.  And benefited from him.

I'd be remiss if I didn't include humor.  "What would Larry do with all that time once Basketball ended?"  Thankfully, he uplifted us very often with a joke or a pun on Facebook.  He was a lover of levity from Liberty (via all those roads to Jameson.)  From people watching, that's simply another ingredient to add to the recipe of a remarkable person.

50 years ago, Title IX happened and Women's Sports grew at William Jewell.  First ever for many sports.  "Vic, call me."  I did.  The theme this year for William Jewell's Hall of Fame event is to be completely centered around Women's sports.  What's that got to do with Larry you may ask?   Lots.  #1, is love for WJC.  #2, his love for ALL WJC students.  I suspect, this might have even been his idea.

I was a gym rat (and WJC student) that first year of Women's Basketball in the 1972-73 school year.  So much so, the Director of Women's sports asked me to help coach the first team.  Which is fancy for, you live at the gym, you're not really good enough to play on the men's team, since you're always in the gym, you might as well put it to good use.  Hehe.  So I did.  Twas fun.  Lots.

"Vic, let me know as much as you can about that first year, who scored the first basket, first win against who/where at.."  We visited by phone.  Emailed back and forth.  Told him I'd go to the Clay County Archives and peek through old Liberty Tribunes to see what I could find.

Disappointment in that I only found two articles on the whole season. Ahm, 743 articles about the men's team...two about the women's team.  Hey, our uphill battle had just began.

So... I emailed Larry the two articles.. and one more.  I told him on the phone it was an article about a Jewell alum coming back to coach against his alma mater and spoiling WJC's day.  When I told him, there was a pause.. then a deep belly laugh because it was easy to figure the article was about him.  And then, reflection happened. "You know Vic, I think I was like 2 and 10 against Jewell in my career."  Coach, you can't fool me.  You were good.  Damn good. Not only as a coach, but as a person.

His unexpected death has been a total shock to us all.  We all, fall into one of life's beliefs "they'll be around forever."  Larry's death snuck up on us. He was SO full of life.

So very sad.

Upon life's people watching, Larry Holley had one of the best reflections ever.  Period.

It's a sad day, but Larry would reflect, "It's a great day to be a Cardinal."

Blame it on Wordle......

A couple days ago, I flunked Wordle.  You get, I think, like 6 tries with letters/position hints to come up with the 5 letter word they seek. It's spreading across the land faster'n herpes and Roe/Wade arguments.

This morning, I tried Wordle again, and will, for every day I awaken on this side of the sod. Imagine my surprise when I got the word on THE SECOND try.  I peeked at FB, a buddy also got it on the second try.  I was gonna write something, addressing my/his luck like "even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days."

Which....

Of course leads to a blog about butts.  I actually have researched butts all my adult male pig life.  Victor, you heap big pig.

Oink. Si.  See?

So........ some interesting research......

"Women have bigger butts than men."  I'm just the messenger.  Sposedta be because of hormones. Women have more fat in the lower part of their body whilst us fellas have more fat in the upper part of the bod.

Before anyone gets mad at me about the statement above, please don't forget Freddie Mercury said "Fat Bottomed Girls you make the rocking world go round."

And smarts.  (Smarts, not farts... yet anyways.)

In a study of 16,000 women it was deemed those with a greater hip-to-waist ratio had higher IQ's than less curvy women.  Same thing for their children "perhaps because the fat stored around the buttocks is high in omega 3 acids, which helps the baby's developing brain."

Surgeon Glute in a Suit. "The rate of butt lift surgery rose 252 percent from 2000 to 2015."  "The most popular rear-end procedure is buttock augmentation with fat grafting, known as Brazilian butt lift."  Insteada implants, Dr. Glute in a Suit takes fat from the abdomen and thighs and inserts it into the butt.  Eww.

This is all so educational.  "Farts are a mixture of swallowed air and bacterial byproducts - and most are stink free."  I don't research it, I just report it. Yes, farts are flammable.  There ain't a fraternity boy in the land that didn't know that one. Many a scorch mark on Levis.  Most people fart, on average, 10 to 18 times a day.

Victor, stymie halt.  I call BS on the "most farts are stink free."  OK.  "Even though farts have a reputation for smelling bad, 99% are actually odorless. The sneaky 1% that stink it up are thanks to hydrogen sulfide."  Can you just see that study group?  Man, woman on the street gathered for potential studies. "OK, now, we're going to do a study on whether or not farts stink... Volunteers?"  Oh to be a people watcher in that room to watch for hands raised and combined facial expressions.

There is no logical reason we have butt hair.

Back to Dr. Glute in a Suit.  For $3000 to $6000, as many as 25 butt dimples can be treated in one hour by Cellfina, a device that cuts away cellulite under the skin with no bleeding and minimal bruising.

Twerking does not involve the glute muscles.

Some turtles breathe out of their butts. (Imagine me and you, I do, I think about you day and night, it's only right, to think about the girl you love and hold her tight... Oops, sorry.)

Will end with two more quick butt stories, one PG, the other R or X.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

Ex girlfriend's 4 year old granddaughter. Constipated for 3 days. Yeouwwch. Several home remedies tried, more fluids, less fiber... FINALLY, she went. Basically in tears, "Hurt grandma, hurt. Band-aid. I need a Band-aid." So, granny found a long one.  Affixed it across from one cheek to the other, life was again good.

Same ex-girlfriend.  Worked in a hospital ER. They see all kinds of weird stuff.  Quarters, nails, screws swallered, things inserted. eww... you name it.  In this case, a table leg. "Doc, can you remove this table leg, I can't get it out."  Eww. CAPITAL EWW.  Doc did.

Two weeks later, feller returned.  "Forgot to grab my table leg."  EWW.  DOUBLE EWW EWW.

May you sleep past the buttcrack of dawn... May your day be all it's cracked up to be. Should you find yourself in a high-rise, don't believe the "they don't smell", otherwise, you'll be stuck in a Smelevator.

By Henry Gibson       Forward by Fanny May and Chester Keister

Love, Victurd

Pockets........

Dated a gal that wanted (pretty much 'had to have') pockets in any dress she purchased, wore.

Men.  We men, we generally clean out pockets when we go to the washing machine to pull the load of clothes out to switch to the dryer.  Sadly, I guess, true.

Today, when I think of lasses, I think of young gal wearing jeans, big ole phone tucked away in one of the two back pockets.  Ya hardly ever see men with phones in the back pocket, and, if ya stop and think about it, doesn't make sense we put em in the front pocket because 'there's stuff in the way' up there. Trivial.

Butt.  For years, we men did keep our wallets in one of the back pockets.  I'm guessing, some chiropractor somewhere finally figured out "ya know, you wouldn't have these back, hip, sleep deprivation problems if you simply didn't keep your wallet back there. Looks weird to keep in the front pocket.  There's stuff up there.  Is what it is, trivial - but, butt, at least now your back doesn't hurt, you don't need an alignment, or Sominex or a gummie to snooze.

Most men.  Scroll 40 years ago, yes, a perty decent chunk of working men wore suit coats.  Ain't the way now.  Thus, I have one nifty suit coat hanging in my closet. Weddings and funerals, that's what it's reserved for.  I save the literature from each, in the inside pockets of my suit. Sometimes a sad reminder, sometimes a needed reminder, sometimes "heck, he/she is on his/her second mate since that wedding."

Arnie.  Arnie was a really good dude. Pretty good athlete.  Back in the day, he'd have a ballgame where he'd get three hits in four at bats, but what stuck out to him was the time he overthrew first base and the runner advanced all the way to third on accounta him.  Victory or defeat, Arnie would trudge home a little heavier.  As if he were putting lead BB's in his pocket.  Weighted him down.

Arnie was actually a very good student.  Graduated third in a class of 275 students.  He won all kindsa honors in debate, two spelling bees and was delighted when he was selected to help grade school kids with their beginning reading. Arnie admittedly sucked in science.  Eh, some do.  Some don't.  What Arnie remembered from school though, was, in his junior year, being handed back a Biology test with a D- grade on it, and the Biology teacher kinda-sorta mentioning under his breath Arnie would never amount to much in life.  Over the years, when strife would happen, he'd hear that again, and put more BB's in his pockets.

Arnie met Angie, head over heels he was. She too. Fast forward 18 months, 250 people at their wedding, a kajillion wedding picks, and enough money from the bride 'dollar-dances' to fly to Costa Rica for their honeymoon.  Yum.  Life, it be good. Fast forward anudder 120 months, a curly headed 6 year old daughter, gorgeous dimples, and a right nifty bouncing baby boy, almost two. Been awhile since Arnie put anymore BB's in his pockets.

Then.  The company where Arnie worked got bought out.  He, and half of the workers at the plant, were told 'Sayonara.' Years of never having arguments were now encased in argue on a regular basis.  It can get kinda stressy when unemployment nears an end, the mortgage is a month late and the fridge ain't got much in it. Sold their home so as not to lose it, moved into a 2 bedroom apartment. Ne'er a moment to sit in the living room by one's self, have a beer on the back porch without all the noise, banter of every day life.  Arnie, and Angie, filled their pockets to the gills with BB's.

Arnie was wonderful in math, but, he/Angie didn't think much ahead when they separated, he got an apartment too when they couldn't even afford the one Angie and the kids were living in. Try as he might to remember exactly where/when/why (the happy stuff) they fell in love - the burden of the BB's drug Arnie down.

Arnie's brother Archie was a wonderful basketball player.  A so-so student, Arch had to work very hard to finally make the Honor Roll as a sophomore. He knew what Arnie's Biology teacher had said - and he tried helping Arnie, "heck Arnie, they all think I'm really something on the basketball court, I can't even dribble to my left and make a lefthanded layup." Arnie appreciated the thought, yet still, more BB's in his pockets.

Archie's junior year he won both the Hustle Award and the Most Improved Player Award in basketball.  The coach he had as a sophomore, now off coaching in another city, had told Arch "you'll struggle to ever start on the basketball team here."  Kinda drove Arch. He outworked everyone.  It was as if he was putting helium in his pockets to rise above.

Arch met Amy, head over heels. Eventually he got on a knee, proposed.  Amy said "heck yeah", and her folks said "hey, it's completely your call, but we'll pay for a huge wedding and not be able to give you any funds to start your marriage, or, pay for a very small, mostly family wedding and we'll give you $15,000 to get a leg up." Small wedding it was, big ole celebration (BYOB AND food) at the City Park for all after they returned from the honeymoon.

Three kids, boom, boom, boom... Arch teased "Honey, let's have a basketball team"... "Well, that could be 'V' for Victory, but I'd really rather see 'V' for vasectomy.  And so it was, viva la deferens.

Arch/Amy had many of the same problems along the way that Arnie and Angie did. It was all kinda sorta how they outwardly handled them, choosing helium in their pockets insteada loading their lives down with BB's.

(Blogger's note.. it's 6:55am.  I was supposedta work at 7:30, but, text last night "Supposed to rain, you have the day off".  So, just now, told "if you can't make it, all good, but it's not supposed to start raining now until 4pm or so, we're planning on opening at 8am."  So, blog writer need to finish NOW!)

Moral of the story.  Forget hot air, BB's.  Chose helium along the way.  Rise up.  Shit (sorry) happens.  To all of us. At some time, or another.  Smile. Laugh. Love.  Especially love the mirror.  Not to the conceited point, but to the point where "yeah, I can handle this."

If that don't work, cut a damn hole in your pocket so the BB's will roll out.

Love, Victurd

Clock on the wall........

When the clock on the wall says "time to get up... and go", then, and if, you're a young sprite, reckon ya better. Hope ya wanna, kinda helps making everything happier, easier.  DO question much, including clock on the wall telling you time to get up 'cause wall clocks don't do that, alarm clocks do...  and whatever kinda fancified things they got nowadays to awaken one.

When the clock on the wall says 5pm Friday, go... frolic... squeeze as much as you can into them two days and be sure it includes a dose of R&R, a heapin' helpin' of family, and a pinch of friendship.

Clock on the wall tells you you're 65.  Run, don't walk.  Get the heck outta there. OK OK.  I know things have changed, age for SS has changed. I hate when old people tell me what to do BUT get the heck out if you can. If it makes economic sense, you have health insurance, yada. It is literally one the best feelings in the world to have very, very few 'haveta's'.......

Clock on the wall says it's a friend on the call... answer.. go.. do.. rejoice. Friends are like oxygen, sunshine and coffee.  Hell to the yeah.

The clock on the wall WAY UP THERE tells you there's a young'n, way down there a tuggin' on your shirt.  Listen, go, do. Trust me, I can (and have at times) been onea the most selfish folks there ever was... sometimes a young'n will tug and you immediately think "oh man, I was gonna take a nap, go sit in the jacuzzi, sauna.. grab a 300 burger.. do what I wanna, no 'haveta's', well.. ya gotta.  It's easier to tell your hound, as you walk to the door, "sorry, next time...I promise".. or your honey.. ."Babe, it's the grandkids."  But ya can't, ya can't disappoint them little ones. They grow too fast.  We age too fast.  The combo ain't great, but it's what we're faced with.  Go, do.  No regrets. Grands are like oxygen, sunshine, coffee, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and vanilla ice cream, WITH a cherry on top.

Clock on the wall says "hey, don't forget YOU!"  And, we shouldn't. It's a perfectly good recipe to have a cup or ten of selfish.  Them soles on the bottoma the shoes belong to our souls, follow Nancy Sinatra's advice... are ya ready boots?  Start walkin....

Fido... or Figaro..  Sure ya can't forget 'em. Rub a head.  Pet a belly. Throw a ball. Tease with a feather. They're on your lap?  Then don't be so all-fired in a hurry to get up..  let 'em sink in. Time, no regrets.

Clock on the wall says "no forgetty great music".... wonderful spirits... a dark chocolate kiss.. a regular kiss!..  heck, if it's them little tuggers, make a big ole s'more!

The clocks a spinnin'..... keep on grinnin....

Watch out for poop!

Huh?  Yeah, poop. Pets have troubles sometimes... grands too... heck, even us old farts sometimes ain't so sure it was an old fart...  But... or, is that Butt...

But, the poop I'm talking about is yuck. Unhappy, bad mood, in too bigga hurry to see/smile, there ain't no 'gottas' in such a hurry we can't keep smiling, composed... the line at Mickey D's takes 20 minutes?  So, it takes 20 minutes.  Think about the last time you had.. VICTOR!  Hey, I wasn't finished. I was gonna say a scrumptious, fall off the bone BBQ rib.. yeah, that's it.

Poop happens everywhere.. real life.. home.. work.. in retail stores... on the phone.. on Facebook... even on the car windows as they sit beneath the walnut tree. Clock on the wall says baby smirk, that's all. No letty poop drive you down the brown brick road. Sorry. Kinda.

Clock on the wall.  Ya just never know when it will stop. Cheap batteries at the $1 Tree, er, I mean at the $1.25 Tree?  Electric cord plugged in with onea them fancified generators to backup should the power go out? Seen diesel?  Uh huh, over $5 a gal... We never, ever know when the clock will stop.

Ain't preachin', just reachin', for the best life. Hopscotch around little turds on the walk... Keep the reservoir fulla that blue stuff so youewindshield wipers can remove it in a millisec... No fall victim to 'wanna rassle' about politics, religion, this, that, other stuff?

Yes, we are human, but we get but one chance. I vote yummy, or at least try.

I've got a dance, I ain't got no steps, no
I'm gonna let the music move me around
I've got a dance, I ain't got no steps
I'ma gonna let the music move me around

Will it go 'round in circles?
Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?
Will it go 'round in circles?
Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?

The clock WILL stop.  Estate sales will happen.  Any remaining monies handed out, eventually gone. We're in the ground, or atop if ashed. At this point, it's too late.  We're but left to hopefully cross through the brains of those we oh so loved in our given time.

I know I've tucked that little 3"x5" card into my suit pocket more than a time or fifty as I leave a service.  Traversing from the chapel to the car... thoughts always turn to... summation of that life.  It is so, so wonderful to remember things like "I don't think I ever saw her without a smile on her face."  "He was so calm, I don't ever remember him getting bent outta shape."  "Wow... the love of children, loved ones.. friends..."

We're human, we'll slip, clock on the wall says "happens to all."  Living, loving, laughing, smiling while the clock ticks is the best.  Friends, loved ones, coworkers, acquaintances, and them little tuggers make it so much easier.

"Excuse me...  do you happen to have the time?"

Love, Victurd