Life brings, or at least it seems to me, round pegs, square holes.
You know the kids wooden hammering toy. Goldilocks-like. "Too big", "too small", "too hot", "too cold." JUST RIGHT. Where does one fit in?
I ain't sure I've ever found just right.
We hear "dare to be different" all the time. Yet we seemingly thirst for fitting in.
I enjoy Classic cars. I sometimes put an eye on Nascar. I know "lefty loosy righty tighty" but I have no desire to be a mechanic, or a gearhead, or, to follow the yellow brick road to the Indy 500.
I like golf, I do, but it doesn't consume me. I frankly enjoy swinging by the Corner Bar, but if I didn't go for three months, I'd be ok.
I really enjoy the newspaper, but if I never ever pickup a paperback book I'd be fine and dandy. It just ain't for me. Read away if you like, I guess I'm weird. My obsession with the newspaper must be about 80% because if I go on vacation I've got the option to "hold and deliver all" newspapers missed, or, "simply begin again" on such and sucha date. I do the latter.
Virtually every school, community center, airport, yada, have "Lost and Found"s. They ain't never empty. So, some things, like me I guess, stay lost forever.
Witness the fact I could never be a Jehovah Witness. All consuming ain't me.
Would I then be lost? Or, am I found?
I'm ok if I never place my butt on a Harley. Many would go ape if that feeling ever existed within for them.
Can I still be unique if I never get a tattoo? I've long joked about getting a tattoo. "down there".. in teenie tiny letters that spell "Morticians suck". You know, you gotta go down makin' 'em laugh.
But, am I weird because I enjoy laughter too much? I can be serious, but I know folks who would look at me and scoff because I rejoice in frivolity mebbe a tad too much.
It's said there is no "I" in team, but can one occupy the bench, mebbe play centerfield if he/she has a "mind of their own?"
I don't fish. I don't eat fish. WHAT? Nope, not even crustaceans. I will one day be sieved into my urn, and I'll be fine with the fact there ain't a speck of salmon within.
There are folks that fit into amusement parks. They literally travel the world to experience the newest, fastest, biggest turned rollercoasters of the land Nomme. All I see is my taught neck wondering exactly which steel girder will ultimately take me down. Man at work - there is no such thing as perfection - as in, what if the guy folding the parachute into place is hungover? Got bronchitis? Going thru relationship strife? What if Rosie or Ronnie the riveter, forgets to tighten a critical bolt on the Zambezi Zinger? Drop me off here Uber.
Yes, I realize this blog is weird, nonsensical, but mebbe that's my fit. My porridge. It's my bed, but I rarely make it.
I truly admire passion. Mind outta gutter, yes, I enjoy that passion, but I'm ok with life if I don't fit sometimes, don't have the equal passion another has about important things in their lives. I can name maybe two Civil War battles, but some make a life of it. All good, just not for me.
Round peg, square hole.
Older I get, less I give a rats.
Awhile back /i was sitting in new hire orientation at Home Depot. Me and a little friendly gal all of 20, a new mom I'd learned in our conversation before the trainer got there. Trainer got there. Put us thru a solid hour of (boring, sorry, it's just me) things about what we can/can't/should/shouldn't do under their employ. "Are there any questions?" trainer asked upon completion. "Yes, I have one" the new mom, 20 yr old lass piped up with. I'm thinking she's gonna ask about "what if my kid is sick?" or, "what kind of shoes should we wear?" and she comes with "Can I have pink hair when I work the checkout?"
Her thing. Her just right porridge.
I love much. Basketball, grandkids, driving with my top down, weekly Happy Hour with lifelong townie friends, the KC Star, Royals/Chiefs, golf, many trades, but master of none. Consumed a hunnerd percent of the time by none.
Older I get, the more I'm ok if I don't necessarily fit, ain't pigeon holed.
If I had a hammer.. I'd hammer in the morning.. but probably not at night.
Love, a wierdo
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Monday, May 27, 2019
Karen Jacobsen musta been on vacation.
A few years back, I was driving South in good ole Missouri to a wedding outside a very small town, in a barn @ someone's house. GPS told me it was roughly 38 minutes to get there. I drove the 'assigned' "Turn left in a quarter mile", "veer right at the intersection" commandments for well over an hour. Uh oh. Uh huh, I was lost, WITH GPS. Finally I came to a T at a fence line - and "You have reached your destination." Not a bride, a groomsman, flower girl, crying mom, or even a cow in sight.
I'd never had that happen. I was actually 20 miles into Kansas when the wedding was in Missouri. Victor, whotheheck is Karen Jacobsen? Glad you asked. She is the calming voice of Garmin/GPS.
Oft times I will drive somewhere (be it known I hate hate hate tailgaters.. I get very nervous in filled to the gills traffic) - so, I will rebel against GPS instructions, purposely make a turn against the grain, and will hear "Recalculating." Karen had to be on vacation that day for she guided me as if I had entered "Middle of nowhere" as my destination.
I pinched Karen that day, she awakened, I reentered my destination - she recalculated (correctly this time) how to get me there, i made it to the wedding in time, all was good.
The bride, two kids of her own partially grown, he, three kids mostly grown, and age difference between bride/groom - happy to report, they recalculated life and it's worked out very well.
Life - it seems to frequently throw us in those (oh shit...uh oh.. NOW WHAT) moments of recalculation. Sometimes due to our own error, but oft times, beyond our control. It don't come with no GPS (wouldn't it be groovy if it did?) so we're left to navigate ourselves "turn left here", "in a quarter mile get in the middle lane" and wouldn't it be nice to hear "pullover at the next exit, you need a break, a cup of coffee, and maybe a cig if you smoke."
OH the recalculations of life. Marriage. NOW WHAT? Children. WHERE'S THE MANUAL? Divorce - "entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after me" HUH? Whar'd ya go? That tweren't on our GPS plan?
Eating too much. Recalculating sizes in Kohls, or, on Amazon. I cannot believe what my 'friend' just said to me. Recalculating.
You name it, life recalculates it. Weather. Financial woes or yippees. Health. Death. The remote control mid a boring show. Writing a blog and you've had too much coffee and all of a sudden it hits you and you have to get up and go to the............ oh, sorry. Shoulda left that one out. Hey, recalculating and #2 seemingly have a lot in common.
I'm a bit envious of "Karen." She probably drives an Audi, selects/cooks any cut of beef she desires, has dessert on toppa that, still maintains a size 4 dress, AND gets laid five times a week. Her kids are undoubtedly in the church choir, and never get lost at the swimming pool or park. Things are well planned, and if something is amiss by golly, her vocal cords have the recalculation on the tip of her tongue.
I'd never had that happen. I was actually 20 miles into Kansas when the wedding was in Missouri. Victor, whotheheck is Karen Jacobsen? Glad you asked. She is the calming voice of Garmin/GPS.
Oft times I will drive somewhere (be it known I hate hate hate tailgaters.. I get very nervous in filled to the gills traffic) - so, I will rebel against GPS instructions, purposely make a turn against the grain, and will hear "Recalculating." Karen had to be on vacation that day for she guided me as if I had entered "Middle of nowhere" as my destination.
I pinched Karen that day, she awakened, I reentered my destination - she recalculated (correctly this time) how to get me there, i made it to the wedding in time, all was good.
The bride, two kids of her own partially grown, he, three kids mostly grown, and age difference between bride/groom - happy to report, they recalculated life and it's worked out very well.
Life - it seems to frequently throw us in those (oh shit...uh oh.. NOW WHAT) moments of recalculation. Sometimes due to our own error, but oft times, beyond our control. It don't come with no GPS (wouldn't it be groovy if it did?) so we're left to navigate ourselves "turn left here", "in a quarter mile get in the middle lane" and wouldn't it be nice to hear "pullover at the next exit, you need a break, a cup of coffee, and maybe a cig if you smoke."
OH the recalculations of life. Marriage. NOW WHAT? Children. WHERE'S THE MANUAL? Divorce - "entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after me" HUH? Whar'd ya go? That tweren't on our GPS plan?
Eating too much. Recalculating sizes in Kohls, or, on Amazon. I cannot believe what my 'friend' just said to me. Recalculating.
You name it, life recalculates it. Weather. Financial woes or yippees. Health. Death. The remote control mid a boring show. Writing a blog and you've had too much coffee and all of a sudden it hits you and you have to get up and go to the............ oh, sorry. Shoulda left that one out. Hey, recalculating and #2 seemingly have a lot in common.
I'm a bit envious of "Karen." She probably drives an Audi, selects/cooks any cut of beef she desires, has dessert on toppa that, still maintains a size 4 dress, AND gets laid five times a week. Her kids are undoubtedly in the church choir, and never get lost at the swimming pool or park. Things are well planned, and if something is amiss by golly, her vocal cords have the recalculation on the tip of her tongue.
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come, easy go
A little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me.
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come, easy go
A little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me.
Moose, Hos, Cain, Esky, Vargie... oops, free agency, smalltown market, "recalculating, bring up 4 kids from Omaha, two from Northwest Arkansas." Recalculate, cause there's no crying in baseball - Ray.
Sorry.. I gotta go. No, not that again. I gotta go to work. You see, Karen/GPS weren't invented until I was well into "it's too damn late now to worry about a 401K"... I haven't the foggiest idea how long or how short I'll live. So.. a day or twelve before Social Security payday I've found myself recalculating, transferring funds from Savings to my gotta spend Checking account.
Thus, I'm outta retirement, working a few hours a week at my fun little golf course. And, I needs to get my butt going, shower, and be there by 10.
Mama, truly, always said "The secret to success is how you handle plan B."
"Victor, to get to the golf course in Kearney, you need to merge onto I-35 and continue for 7 miles." Screw that Karen, and oh BTW, your slip is showing. I'm heading up Highway 33. More scenic. Barns, cows. Green acres is the place to be.
May your ventures in life go well, and if you wander off the suggested path, hey, it's what we children of the 60's do. To every "Why" it's "Why not?" To every thing, turn, turn, turn. Sorry, that was kinda corny.
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
The back nine......
Life really likens golf. If you've never played, well yeah, ya really have.
The front nine.....great concern for score, do good, pass others... Your attire is well thought out, and you just busted open a 'sleeve' (box of 3 balls) of Pro V-1's, the most desirous ball in golf. So, life, I'm ready... I wanna win.. I'm dressing to keep up/surpass the Jones's... My golf ball (car/house/neighborhood) is the best there can be.
I am so intent on the front nine, I don't notice the Canadian geese on the pond by the first hole. I did catch a glimpse of that doe on #4, but I'm eyeballing where my ball is in relation to the green, the wind, my lie, what club to use, so the doe isn't on the radar.
I check my score after every hole, don't wanna be embarrassed in this thing called golf (life).. Must keep up.. must surpass.. blinders.. full steam ahead. My concentration is such, I hear the others in the foursome talking, I pleasantly grin, but my mind ain't there. I'm all about 'winning.'
The 9th hole is a tough one, so in spite of what they say about keeping a loose grip, I hold the club tightly. A few shots later, we tally the halfway score.. work to do.. some good, some bad.. but I must do better.
We stop in the clubhouse for a beer, a diet coke, a hot dog.. a bag of Fritos. Not standing on the green green grass gives me the capability to listen more closely to my buddies. They're enjoying, I'm semi frantic, more worried about later getting in my car to "I won" or "I lost."
Driving to the 10th tee, something comes over me. I look at my playing partners.. i remember being on the same little league team with him. That one, he and I were in the 8th grade play "Robin Hood" together. The 4th guy, he was a jovial as the day I'd met him 50+ years ago. i don't know how he does it, what, losing his mate after all these years.
I'm tired. Golf/life does that to you. I can't hit the ball near as far on the back nine. My body doesn't have the energy it did on the 1st hole. For some reason, I'm more concerned that my buddies do well, and how I play is of little significance.
I hit one in the woods. A few holes ago, that woulda really bugged me, but, my buddy hollered out right after we watched it go into never-never land, "Cpme on Vic, you're gonna hit this one right on the green!" And I did. Two holes later he bonked one in the woods and I got to play the role of supporter.
I realized it'd been at least four holes since I peeked at the scorecard.
I finally laid my eyes on that doe again. This time, she was accompanied by the buck and the yearling. My eyes following in amazement, and in thanks for nature. I barely heard "Vic, you're away, it's your turn," I'd learned a little bit from the front nine of golf (life) so it didn't take long to pick the hopeful right club. Older, but much more relaxed than i was on the front, a fairly decent shot followed.
I paid a lot more attention to conversation on the back nine. Buddies came close to being tearful as they discussed ailing relatives, hip and knee replacements, cataracts, and the price of tea in China (ha!)..
I heard things. Nature. Friends. The sound of the ball off the club. I saw things. The geese, my buddies smiles, the afflictions that slowed them down but were accompanied by smiling faces.
The tune of winning changed. We all were winning. I'm so very glad golf (life), my buddies, moved me to "stop and smell the roses/fertilizer/Ben Gay/geese droppings, yada." The front nine of golf left me in such a hurry, I didn't make time for that. I was climbing the ladder, or trying to, when I shoulda been putting buckaroos away as the day would finally come, needing a ladder for a job, I could say "there are people we can pay to do that."
I recall my score that day, but it didn't control me, make me sad, make me happy, on the way home. I very much though, recall the hugs, goodbyes, laughter, as we departed. Recognition of being blessed.
We made plans to one day do it all again.. and yes, /i think I remember hearing "The Good Lord Willing."
The back nine of golf (life) is so enjoyable, even if I am not near as physically able as I/we were in our youth.
Band camp, a couple years ago, my buddy Rick called me to relate "Spring Softball is about to begin, we're having practice at the City Park at 3pm on Sunday." I truly was thankful of Rick's call, what, me being the eldest on our team. In fact I related to him, "Rick, I keep waiting for the day, year, when my phone doesn't ring regarding softball." Quickly, Rick shot back "But Vic, if I didn't ask you, then I would be the oldest one on our team." Ha.
I appreciate every phone call, text, email, instant message, smile, hug, "Love you", "love you too", high five, knuckles..laugh.. so much more today than I did on the front nine of golf (life.)
I can't hit it as far today, I buy boxes of recycled golf balls (24 for $9.99) insteada those $39.99 a box of 12 Pro V-1's... Somehow, that's ok, and all the more enjoyable.
Sure, "hitting them straight", staying outta the rough/woods matters to me today, but thanks to old age (and mebbe high blood pressure and anti anxiety meds) it really, really doesn't bug me. Besides, it's only fitty cents a ball.
May you enjoy the back nine of life.
Love, Victurd
The front nine.....great concern for score, do good, pass others... Your attire is well thought out, and you just busted open a 'sleeve' (box of 3 balls) of Pro V-1's, the most desirous ball in golf. So, life, I'm ready... I wanna win.. I'm dressing to keep up/surpass the Jones's... My golf ball (car/house/neighborhood) is the best there can be.
I am so intent on the front nine, I don't notice the Canadian geese on the pond by the first hole. I did catch a glimpse of that doe on #4, but I'm eyeballing where my ball is in relation to the green, the wind, my lie, what club to use, so the doe isn't on the radar.
I check my score after every hole, don't wanna be embarrassed in this thing called golf (life).. Must keep up.. must surpass.. blinders.. full steam ahead. My concentration is such, I hear the others in the foursome talking, I pleasantly grin, but my mind ain't there. I'm all about 'winning.'
The 9th hole is a tough one, so in spite of what they say about keeping a loose grip, I hold the club tightly. A few shots later, we tally the halfway score.. work to do.. some good, some bad.. but I must do better.
We stop in the clubhouse for a beer, a diet coke, a hot dog.. a bag of Fritos. Not standing on the green green grass gives me the capability to listen more closely to my buddies. They're enjoying, I'm semi frantic, more worried about later getting in my car to "I won" or "I lost."
Driving to the 10th tee, something comes over me. I look at my playing partners.. i remember being on the same little league team with him. That one, he and I were in the 8th grade play "Robin Hood" together. The 4th guy, he was a jovial as the day I'd met him 50+ years ago. i don't know how he does it, what, losing his mate after all these years.
I'm tired. Golf/life does that to you. I can't hit the ball near as far on the back nine. My body doesn't have the energy it did on the 1st hole. For some reason, I'm more concerned that my buddies do well, and how I play is of little significance.
I hit one in the woods. A few holes ago, that woulda really bugged me, but, my buddy hollered out right after we watched it go into never-never land, "Cpme on Vic, you're gonna hit this one right on the green!" And I did. Two holes later he bonked one in the woods and I got to play the role of supporter.
I realized it'd been at least four holes since I peeked at the scorecard.
I finally laid my eyes on that doe again. This time, she was accompanied by the buck and the yearling. My eyes following in amazement, and in thanks for nature. I barely heard "Vic, you're away, it's your turn," I'd learned a little bit from the front nine of golf (life) so it didn't take long to pick the hopeful right club. Older, but much more relaxed than i was on the front, a fairly decent shot followed.
I paid a lot more attention to conversation on the back nine. Buddies came close to being tearful as they discussed ailing relatives, hip and knee replacements, cataracts, and the price of tea in China (ha!)..
I heard things. Nature. Friends. The sound of the ball off the club. I saw things. The geese, my buddies smiles, the afflictions that slowed them down but were accompanied by smiling faces.
The tune of winning changed. We all were winning. I'm so very glad golf (life), my buddies, moved me to "stop and smell the roses/fertilizer/Ben Gay/geese droppings, yada." The front nine of golf left me in such a hurry, I didn't make time for that. I was climbing the ladder, or trying to, when I shoulda been putting buckaroos away as the day would finally come, needing a ladder for a job, I could say "there are people we can pay to do that."
I recall my score that day, but it didn't control me, make me sad, make me happy, on the way home. I very much though, recall the hugs, goodbyes, laughter, as we departed. Recognition of being blessed.
We made plans to one day do it all again.. and yes, /i think I remember hearing "The Good Lord Willing."
The back nine of golf (life) is so enjoyable, even if I am not near as physically able as I/we were in our youth.
Band camp, a couple years ago, my buddy Rick called me to relate "Spring Softball is about to begin, we're having practice at the City Park at 3pm on Sunday." I truly was thankful of Rick's call, what, me being the eldest on our team. In fact I related to him, "Rick, I keep waiting for the day, year, when my phone doesn't ring regarding softball." Quickly, Rick shot back "But Vic, if I didn't ask you, then I would be the oldest one on our team." Ha.
I appreciate every phone call, text, email, instant message, smile, hug, "Love you", "love you too", high five, knuckles..laugh.. so much more today than I did on the front nine of golf (life.)
I can't hit it as far today, I buy boxes of recycled golf balls (24 for $9.99) insteada those $39.99 a box of 12 Pro V-1's... Somehow, that's ok, and all the more enjoyable.
Sure, "hitting them straight", staying outta the rough/woods matters to me today, but thanks to old age (and mebbe high blood pressure and anti anxiety meds) it really, really doesn't bug me. Besides, it's only fitty cents a ball.
May you enjoy the back nine of life.
Love, Victurd
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
Heroes in a half shell....
TMNT. The little fellas first came on the TV screen in 1987. Many a spin around the living room watching back then, several bags of candy attained thanks to Michelangelo at Halloween time.
The old man says, "When you're driving down a country road and you see a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle. You know he didn't get up there by himself. He doesn't belong there; you wonder who put him there; he can't get anything done while he's up there; and you just want to help the poor, dumb thing down."
Going full circle, now, my grandson spins around the room, watches, and has a trunk full of TMNT toys. Sitting down one day to enjoy with him, many similarities, but they've added a little hip-hop to the music in keeping with the times. Cool.
Interspersed, and stolen from Google, a kid walks into the library and asks the librarian for a book on turtles. Librarian replies, "Hard back?" The kid replies, "Yeah, with little heads."
This morning, someone posted a video of a turtle on its back. Nowhere, no way to run, hide. Immobile. Life is all about trying to be Pollyanna, but sometimes, we all get this feeling I reckon, stuck on our back, howintheheck, whatintheheck do I do now?
Kinda reminds me of the Hank and Harley story. There were camping, found themselves awake, on their backs, staring at the stars. "What are you thinking Harley?"... "I'm thinking someone stole our tent." See? You too can blog, all ya gotta do is steal crap.
Back to the turtle on its back. Thankfully, there was a husband turtle too, and he pushed, shoved, until momma turtle was finally upright, and off they went. Then again, it very well coulda been a wifey turtle that was trying to upright a hubby turtle, but then again folklore would have "Why would she wanna do that?"
Feel free to make any assumptions you like: An old rancher is talking about politics with a young man from the city. He compares a politician to a "post turtle". The young man doesn't understand and asks him what a post turtle is.
The old man says, "When you're driving down a country road and you see a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle. You know he didn't get up there by himself. He doesn't belong there; you wonder who put him there; he can't get anything done while he's up there; and you just want to help the poor, dumb thing down."
The longest trip I ever took was to St. Thomas. I think Branson was 2nd longest, ha. Whilst there, got to go on a snorkeling cruise. Sea turtles are amazing creatures. They've been around for 110 million years. (Editor's note: Really? Howinthehell do they know that?)... They can migrate as far as 1400 miles, but they always go back to where they were born. Kinda like growing up in Liberty I guess.
After hatching, it may take a week for them to dig themselves out of the nest. They emerge at night, move to the ocean and remain there, solitary, until it's time to mate. Sea turtles live about 80 years. Holy crap, I could move to the ocean and remain there, solitary, until it's time to mate, but I don't think I got 80 more years in me! I'm done! Go ahead, flip me on my back...
What do you call a turtle with an addiction to pastries? Donutello.
There are differing statistics on how long a sea turtle can stay under water without emerging. I think it was the guy who claimed they were 110 million years old that came up with "months and months." One place said "30 minutes".. another "5 hours, though a feeding dive is usually 5 minutes or so." The lady in charge of the snorkeling cruise thingy, she would tap us on the shoulder when she saw a sea turtle, and it was usually like 5-7 minutes they'd stay down and feed, then surface to the top. Pretty cool to observe.
What kind of pictures do turtles take? Shelfies. (Thus, the name, snapping turtles.)
One time, band camp, I heard a story about a man and his wife that had separated. She moved in with her sister. Once, she put the remnants of an ashtray in the trash bag, set it in the garage, and uh huh, it caught on fire. Holy crap. Victor, what's this got to do with turtles? Hang on. Anyways, fire department was called. Hear tell there was pretty severe damage, but thankfully, it was reported "all ok, everyone got out, no one was burned." A couple days later, hubby went to pickup his child at the sister's place, and his wifey came to door... she had a huge hickey on her neck. Laughing on the inside, he pretended to be frantic on the outside "OMG. OMG. I THOUGHT YOU SAID NO ONE GOT BURNED?!!!".. Moral, she shoulda worn a turtleneck. There, there's your turtle correlation.
OK. I'm turtled out. May your life be lived rightside up. I'm moving to the ocean and will remain there, solitary, until it's time to mate.... Seeya what.. 2064 or so?
Cowabonga,
Love, Victurtle
Friday, May 17, 2019
I'm going to Kansas City... Kansas City here I come....
It's vacation time - so, reckon that's what I'll do....
Self described "Lover of levity from Liberty."
The great divide. Repub/Dem? Pro Life/Pro choice?. Wall/No Wall? 100,000 troops to Iran/Hell No We Won't Go? Early riser/Night Owl? Coffee black/Creamer and two cubes of sugar please? Innie/Outtie?
Nope, Liberty/Kansas City.
The great divide, the 152 Highway bridge over I-35 is set to be blown up (purposely) on May 31 of this year.
This bridge separates "Founded in 1822 around this inexhaustible spring" and progress/hustle-bustle/borrowing from Butch Cassidy "Who are these guys?"...
I hear (thank God I can still hear...some old farts lose that capability long about this age.., some long term marrieds purposely lose that as well).. anyways, I hear all the time "Traffic sucks, I'm glad I don't live in Liberty any more" - or, "It just ain't the same any more." Well... well... . duh.
I don't care. I still love Liberty. I love every one way street, prestigious Oak tree, old-fashioned street light, church bells that remind me the hour (and the 1/4 hour, 1/2 hour, 3/4 hour, yada).. The Corner Bar.. the High School Junior High Heritage Middle School Cougar Mellencamp. Who needs theme parks, roller-coasters, bumper cars, ski ball, games of risk... one here can take a perilous walk around the old Square and ya just never know when you might get hit by a falling brick - or maybe even an entire falling wall.
On a sunset hill of glory there sits the HS/JR HS/Middle S/Mellencamp.. WJC.. the old Methodist Church/Whatever it's called now. and Nebo Hill.
Stuff here, on this side of the bridge... is cool. Back when architects cared more about pleasing to the eyes than the pocketbook. The other side of the bridge is all new. Right angles. Lenexa beige, for lack of a better term. Yuck, patooey (just my take.)
Nope, won't stand in the way of progress, but then again, it wouldn't upset me if they never built that wall, er, I mean bridge, back again.
I even kinda look forward to filled byways. Filled byways where long ago, one waived to every other car 'cause even if you didn't know their first name, you knew the family name, where the dad worked and what subdivision they lived in. Yeah, now, when it's imploded, there will be even more boo koo traffic like yain't never seen, KC folks caught on this side to mix in with the bonified townies - and I anticipate the waves will be replaced by "flipping off" every other car. Might as well, hell, it's the way of our world now.
I vote keep 'em out, just kidding, kinda sorta. Do do do do take me back. Take me back to 19sixtysomething, population 8909 to when/where people drove old Ramblers and even cattle trucks to the Ku Ku.
We don't need no stinking WalMart...We've got a Dollar Store, Dollar General, a Five Dollar Store - and a Piggly Wiggly. The only slice missing in this piece of heaven is maybe a smalltown Casey's, but hell, we've got 24 places to buy pizza and a few places to buy donuts, so we're good.
I honestly do love this City, but I ain't never understood why, in general, all the kids on the KC side go to Liberty High School, and the kids on this old side go to Liberty North. We'll haveta figure out some way to fjord their Homecoming Floats across the Divide - but we've got some time to plan for all that. Mebbe them Clay County Deputy horses can pull 'em across.
Vacation? Victor, whatsup with that? Well... I was thinking Cancun.. Vegas.. i ain't never been on a cruise..
Then I thought, well, i could take an old fashioned drive the station wagon somewheres.. maybe I'd pack a boatload of clothes, a cooler full of goodies - and make the 4 day trek from Liberty to WalMart where I could simply people watch all them People of Walmart folks. I could camp by the Flintlock Flyover, take my turns flippin off people... I love nice, long drives.
Then again. Maybe I'll stay right here. Whadda they call it? Staycation? Yeah, that works, I'll splurge for a 300 burger, try the batting cages, spin around town and think back to what was where, who lived there... I've got all I need here. Franklin and China to remind me of when we moved here. The HS, The College, and even Church Archer for a later date.
Besides, I'm a ginger, Cancun would sunburn me, Vegas would bankrupt me, a cruise by my lonesome would be no fun - and I hear tell you can't even fit two in onea those showers, so that ain't no fun. We've got a Hallmark city right here anyways..
I'll just stay here. GPS, take me to McBowl...er, I mean Retro Bowl.
Whatever attachment you might have to 64068, have a Happy Day.
Love, Victurd
Self described "Lover of levity from Liberty."
The great divide. Repub/Dem? Pro Life/Pro choice?. Wall/No Wall? 100,000 troops to Iran/Hell No We Won't Go? Early riser/Night Owl? Coffee black/Creamer and two cubes of sugar please? Innie/Outtie?
Nope, Liberty/Kansas City.
The great divide, the 152 Highway bridge over I-35 is set to be blown up (purposely) on May 31 of this year.
This bridge separates "Founded in 1822 around this inexhaustible spring" and progress/hustle-bustle/borrowing from Butch Cassidy "Who are these guys?"...
I hear (thank God I can still hear...some old farts lose that capability long about this age.., some long term marrieds purposely lose that as well).. anyways, I hear all the time "Traffic sucks, I'm glad I don't live in Liberty any more" - or, "It just ain't the same any more." Well... well... . duh.
I don't care. I still love Liberty. I love every one way street, prestigious Oak tree, old-fashioned street light, church bells that remind me the hour (and the 1/4 hour, 1/2 hour, 3/4 hour, yada).. The Corner Bar.. the High School Junior High Heritage Middle School Cougar Mellencamp. Who needs theme parks, roller-coasters, bumper cars, ski ball, games of risk... one here can take a perilous walk around the old Square and ya just never know when you might get hit by a falling brick - or maybe even an entire falling wall.
On a sunset hill of glory there sits the HS/JR HS/Middle S/Mellencamp.. WJC.. the old Methodist Church/Whatever it's called now. and Nebo Hill.
Stuff here, on this side of the bridge... is cool. Back when architects cared more about pleasing to the eyes than the pocketbook. The other side of the bridge is all new. Right angles. Lenexa beige, for lack of a better term. Yuck, patooey (just my take.)
Nope, won't stand in the way of progress, but then again, it wouldn't upset me if they never built that wall, er, I mean bridge, back again.
I even kinda look forward to filled byways. Filled byways where long ago, one waived to every other car 'cause even if you didn't know their first name, you knew the family name, where the dad worked and what subdivision they lived in. Yeah, now, when it's imploded, there will be even more boo koo traffic like yain't never seen, KC folks caught on this side to mix in with the bonified townies - and I anticipate the waves will be replaced by "flipping off" every other car. Might as well, hell, it's the way of our world now.
I vote keep 'em out, just kidding, kinda sorta. Do do do do take me back. Take me back to 19sixtysomething, population 8909 to when/where people drove old Ramblers and even cattle trucks to the Ku Ku.
We don't need no stinking WalMart...We've got a Dollar Store, Dollar General, a Five Dollar Store - and a Piggly Wiggly. The only slice missing in this piece of heaven is maybe a smalltown Casey's, but hell, we've got 24 places to buy pizza and a few places to buy donuts, so we're good.
I honestly do love this City, but I ain't never understood why, in general, all the kids on the KC side go to Liberty High School, and the kids on this old side go to Liberty North. We'll haveta figure out some way to fjord their Homecoming Floats across the Divide - but we've got some time to plan for all that. Mebbe them Clay County Deputy horses can pull 'em across.
Vacation? Victor, whatsup with that? Well... I was thinking Cancun.. Vegas.. i ain't never been on a cruise..
Then I thought, well, i could take an old fashioned drive the station wagon somewheres.. maybe I'd pack a boatload of clothes, a cooler full of goodies - and make the 4 day trek from Liberty to WalMart where I could simply people watch all them People of Walmart folks. I could camp by the Flintlock Flyover, take my turns flippin off people... I love nice, long drives.
Then again. Maybe I'll stay right here. Whadda they call it? Staycation? Yeah, that works, I'll splurge for a 300 burger, try the batting cages, spin around town and think back to what was where, who lived there... I've got all I need here. Franklin and China to remind me of when we moved here. The HS, The College, and even Church Archer for a later date.
Besides, I'm a ginger, Cancun would sunburn me, Vegas would bankrupt me, a cruise by my lonesome would be no fun - and I hear tell you can't even fit two in onea those showers, so that ain't no fun. We've got a Hallmark city right here anyways..
I'll just stay here. GPS, take me to McBowl...er, I mean Retro Bowl.
Whatever attachment you might have to 64068, have a Happy Day.
Love, Victurd
Sunday, May 12, 2019
I feel ya kid.......
As old age forced me to limp across the parking lot of the Community Center (going in to workout).. up ahead there was a young lad and his father walking out.
This lad was about a year or so past 'fit pitching age', but, he was doing that anyways. Crying, LOUDLY, and walking with BOTH hands covering his ears. I think many in my shoes woulda thrown a look of scorn, a few might even'a said something... I.. well, I kinda giggled - as I thought of the many times I've felt just like this little guy. Maybe it was in part the fact he was a ginger too that influenced my giggle insteada scorn.
Not long ago, in keeping with my diet, I had a craving for a Wendy's Vanilla Frosty... Driving across 152 Highway in Liberty is in and of itself enough to make one want to cry and put both hands on one's ears.
"I'm sorry sir, but our Frosty machine is broken." So... I pulled thru, crying, with both hands on my ears. I didn't, but felt it.
Over the years, I've become quite adept at driving, having both hands doing something else, and steering with my thighs. Just ask one former girlfriend who usedta scream, holler, grab my hands and place them back on the wheel.
7th inning, Phillies 7, Royals 0. Crying, hands covering ears, straight ahead.
Tyreek Hill.. amidst the crying, muttering "Please say it ain't so", hands on ears.
There are, times in our lives, we just feel like we should cry and cover our ears. Crap is gonna happen, so why not cover our ears when it does?
That one guy. The guy who gives speeches with all the red baseball hat wearing folks behind him. I'm crying, hands over my ears.
Divorce, death(s), health woes, peeking down at the scale after one waddles on....... much, makes one want to cry and place both hands over the ears.
Oh yeah, being in WalMart, having to pee, but finding oneself 612 yards away from the restroom makes ya wanna cry, throw both hands over my ears. At least thataway, it mebbe it would camouflage the pee pee dance en route.
One still has to cry sometimes whenya peek at caller ID, but at least ya ain't gotta cover the ears.
As I age, I find myself in more and more situations where I simply wanna forecast my own 'weather', thus, I cry and throw my hands over my ears. Akin to a spaghetti strainer, or, maybe even turning hearing aids off.
I can't 'act'. I come from a family of folks that were in plays, plays and more plays. Me, not so much. Stage fright mebbe. "Oh come on Victor, it'll be fun, you'll love it." So, finally, they were doing a play, there was a part for a deaf mute. "I'll do it!"
I love acting in real life though. In many times when I wanna cry, place both hands over my ears, instead, I simply throw a S-eatin' grin and maintain silence. I think I ran many off here by occasionally dropping F-bombs and the like..oh well. But... wanting to cry, throw both hands over the ears - but smiling instead is basically like thinking "F-you very much." I so love old age.
I don't know what was wrong with the kid in the parking lot at the community center.. probably didn't wanna leave..dad said "no" to "can we go get a toy"", or, he was hungry, tired, and maybe it was because the wind was coming outta the East, who knows with little ones.
Formulating my own future, one fit throwing cry, hands over the ears at a time.
Love, Victurd
This lad was about a year or so past 'fit pitching age', but, he was doing that anyways. Crying, LOUDLY, and walking with BOTH hands covering his ears. I think many in my shoes woulda thrown a look of scorn, a few might even'a said something... I.. well, I kinda giggled - as I thought of the many times I've felt just like this little guy. Maybe it was in part the fact he was a ginger too that influenced my giggle insteada scorn.
Not long ago, in keeping with my diet, I had a craving for a Wendy's Vanilla Frosty... Driving across 152 Highway in Liberty is in and of itself enough to make one want to cry and put both hands on one's ears.
"I'm sorry sir, but our Frosty machine is broken." So... I pulled thru, crying, with both hands on my ears. I didn't, but felt it.
Over the years, I've become quite adept at driving, having both hands doing something else, and steering with my thighs. Just ask one former girlfriend who usedta scream, holler, grab my hands and place them back on the wheel.
7th inning, Phillies 7, Royals 0. Crying, hands covering ears, straight ahead.
Tyreek Hill.. amidst the crying, muttering "Please say it ain't so", hands on ears.
There are, times in our lives, we just feel like we should cry and cover our ears. Crap is gonna happen, so why not cover our ears when it does?
That one guy. The guy who gives speeches with all the red baseball hat wearing folks behind him. I'm crying, hands over my ears.
Divorce, death(s), health woes, peeking down at the scale after one waddles on....... much, makes one want to cry and place both hands over the ears.
Oh yeah, being in WalMart, having to pee, but finding oneself 612 yards away from the restroom makes ya wanna cry, throw both hands over my ears. At least thataway, it mebbe it would camouflage the pee pee dance en route.
One still has to cry sometimes whenya peek at caller ID, but at least ya ain't gotta cover the ears.
As I age, I find myself in more and more situations where I simply wanna forecast my own 'weather', thus, I cry and throw my hands over my ears. Akin to a spaghetti strainer, or, maybe even turning hearing aids off.
I can't 'act'. I come from a family of folks that were in plays, plays and more plays. Me, not so much. Stage fright mebbe. "Oh come on Victor, it'll be fun, you'll love it." So, finally, they were doing a play, there was a part for a deaf mute. "I'll do it!"
I love acting in real life though. In many times when I wanna cry, place both hands over my ears, instead, I simply throw a S-eatin' grin and maintain silence. I think I ran many off here by occasionally dropping F-bombs and the like..oh well. But... wanting to cry, throw both hands over the ears - but smiling instead is basically like thinking "F-you very much." I so love old age.
I don't know what was wrong with the kid in the parking lot at the community center.. probably didn't wanna leave..dad said "no" to "can we go get a toy"", or, he was hungry, tired, and maybe it was because the wind was coming outta the East, who knows with little ones.
Formulating my own future, one fit throwing cry, hands over the ears at a time.
Love, Victurd
One more.....
One more bowl of Spanish rice please mom....
One more......
Game of catch?..
An hour long visit on the porch swing?..
One more dialing 781-4398 to hear "How's my Victor?"...
One more time, going to bed, to say "Good night mom, I love you, you're the best mom in the world,"
One more trek across the Booneville bridge to hear you say "I always feel like I'm home here,"
One more trip to your office at William Jewell...
One more clever newspaper article to read that you've written, huh mom?
One more ballgame...
One more bus trip to Macy's downtown to shop for Christmas...
One more time just to see/hear you holding your breath until I caught mine after I coughed.
One more Kodak pic of you and dad at Christmas..
One more across Missouri trip to that slice of heaven, The Mill.
One more trip to see Santa on Court Street....
One more hour watching you sit in the window seat looking for dad's car when he gets home from a sale's trip...
One more smile...
One more hug.....
Embrace, before there are no more......
Happy Mother's Day...
One more......
Game of catch?..
An hour long visit on the porch swing?..
One more dialing 781-4398 to hear "How's my Victor?"...
One more time, going to bed, to say "Good night mom, I love you, you're the best mom in the world,"
One more trek across the Booneville bridge to hear you say "I always feel like I'm home here,"
One more trip to your office at William Jewell...
One more clever newspaper article to read that you've written, huh mom?
One more ballgame...
One more bus trip to Macy's downtown to shop for Christmas...
One more time just to see/hear you holding your breath until I caught mine after I coughed.
One more Kodak pic of you and dad at Christmas..
One more across Missouri trip to that slice of heaven, The Mill.
One more trip to see Santa on Court Street....
One more hour watching you sit in the window seat looking for dad's car when he gets home from a sale's trip...
One more smile...
One more hug.....
Embrace, before there are no more......
Happy Mother's Day...
Saturday, May 04, 2019
Like the back of my hand.......
I call bullshit.
I was laying in bed the other day.. (Forgive me Mrs. Isley, I ain't sure if that should be 'laying' or 'lying.'?)
Anyways, I was in bed. I was pleased to awaken to yet another day on this planet. I glanced at my phone laying/lying beside my bed to attain exactly what time it was, so I could relay to myself "yes, you got enough sleep, get up,", or "no, you idiot, lay/lie back down."
I sincerely didn't know exactly when I would get out of bed... what the prompt would be... and I was reminded "I guess really don't know me."
Much.. much happens in life to where we draw the conclusion "I'm not really sure I know anyone."
On the back of one of my hands is a very small growth that's been there forever and a day..yes, I think since 10/13/1952. Without feeling for it, I never really know which hand it's on, thus, the "BS" quote.
We don't know ourselves, how can we know another?
Blue skies, smiling at me.. nothing but blue skies, do I see.
Camouflage.
See the funny little clown....he's laughing on the outside...
A mask of happiness.
Robin Williams.
Two, VERY beloved, in my lifetime. "I had no idea, and I'm literally shocked."
We all struggle. We neatly sweep it under the rug to hide from friends, loved ones - or, we let newspapers accumulate on the rug, don't let anyone in, and then one day pickup one of those newspapers and it's from early March.
Ya just never know.
Trusted Dave. Trusted Dave was my car mechanic when I worked in Grandview, MO. He wasn't necessarily the cheapest (nor the most expensive).. but ya just knew, if you took him your sickly car, it would be fixed. After years of taking one clunker after another to him for him to rescue, I asked "Dave, have you ever found anything you can't fix?"... He paused for a long moment.. then said "No.. no, I haven't."
Brakes, struts, coils, engine codes, power windows, you name it, he can fix it.
Depression/anxiety, not so much.
I hesitated writing this blog because it deals with the most precious thing we have - life.
Who am I to give answers? Well, who is Google.. or Bing.. or Wiki.. ? There are, though, some pretty good suggestions on "what to say, and what NOT to say" and Heaven knows I know from personal experience my foot doesn't taste very good.
Most, I think, "conceal and carry." You'd never know it. Some, out rightly ask for help - and of course that HAS to be taken with great sincerity.
Some hint.
What do you do then?
Dave?
I don't have answers either.
A friend once shared that a close friend (I didn't know this friend's friend) told them "and I have severe panic attacks about it."
I was disturbed, because I didn't know what to do, what to suggest. Yes, Google does have a wealth of information - and it should certainly be kept in your toolbox because it can be helpful.
Ideas I do have. Be there. In sickness and in health.
I ask myself "What makes me feel good? What perks me up?"
Lots, thankfully. A good friends "Merry Christmas" text. A longtime friend asking "How's your health?" I'd never been asked that. I appreciated it and it was a damn good question, because sometimes we forget to stop and ask our self that.
Examples. Examples of people we really respect makes me feel good. Know one, or twelve? What is it about them?
My sister is deceased. No, cancer, not that. My niece (her daughter) recently told me "I never heard her say a bad word about anyone." That's an example. A very good one. REMIND me of that.
Any time "it shines" on me.. By shine I mean things like a buddy recently messaging me "I've got four tickets to the Royals and I know you're a big fan, wanna go?" I had grandkid duty, but oh if he only knew how good that made me feel. Another recent message from a buddy in Dallas I haven't seen or talked to since college "Hey, the Royals are here on such-n-such date, get yourself here, I'll take care of the rest." Again, I am pretty sure I'm not going to be able to - but OH how good that made me feel. So, 'including'. It's really nice to be included. (and uh huh, OF COURSE, vice versa.)
People caring. So.. if I could get off my selfish butt and do things that show my care, concern for others - that'd be a good start.
Back to camouflage, blue skies smiling at me, see the funny little clown. Those are the ones that put the greatest fear in me. We never know.
Logic tells one "pay it forward" (whatever makes you feel good, do to others,) Be there, ALL/ANY time. Use words like love, appreciate, you'll-never-know-how-much-you-really-mean-to-me.
Be a good person, and no, I don't preach, I remind myself. The world is full of enough shit, don't add to it.
I've found, the most helpless feeling in the world is not knowing how to help. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing where to go. Not knowing who to ask.
We must rely on fellow man, woman, our God - and certainly professionals. If we'd all try to take care of our own selves too in doing that, it'd be a good start.
I just felt. The growth, wart like thing is on the back of my left hand, but I really don't know the back of my hand.
Love to you. If you have answers, ideas, suggestions, I'm of the listen more talk less ilk.
I was laying in bed the other day.. (Forgive me Mrs. Isley, I ain't sure if that should be 'laying' or 'lying.'?)
Anyways, I was in bed. I was pleased to awaken to yet another day on this planet. I glanced at my phone laying/lying beside my bed to attain exactly what time it was, so I could relay to myself "yes, you got enough sleep, get up,", or "no, you idiot, lay/lie back down."
I sincerely didn't know exactly when I would get out of bed... what the prompt would be... and I was reminded "I guess really don't know me."
Much.. much happens in life to where we draw the conclusion "I'm not really sure I know anyone."
On the back of one of my hands is a very small growth that's been there forever and a day..yes, I think since 10/13/1952. Without feeling for it, I never really know which hand it's on, thus, the "BS" quote.
We don't know ourselves, how can we know another?
Blue skies, smiling at me.. nothing but blue skies, do I see.
Camouflage.
See the funny little clown....he's laughing on the outside...
A mask of happiness.
Robin Williams.
Two, VERY beloved, in my lifetime. "I had no idea, and I'm literally shocked."
We all struggle. We neatly sweep it under the rug to hide from friends, loved ones - or, we let newspapers accumulate on the rug, don't let anyone in, and then one day pickup one of those newspapers and it's from early March.
Ya just never know.
Trusted Dave. Trusted Dave was my car mechanic when I worked in Grandview, MO. He wasn't necessarily the cheapest (nor the most expensive).. but ya just knew, if you took him your sickly car, it would be fixed. After years of taking one clunker after another to him for him to rescue, I asked "Dave, have you ever found anything you can't fix?"... He paused for a long moment.. then said "No.. no, I haven't."
Brakes, struts, coils, engine codes, power windows, you name it, he can fix it.
Depression/anxiety, not so much.
I hesitated writing this blog because it deals with the most precious thing we have - life.
Who am I to give answers? Well, who is Google.. or Bing.. or Wiki.. ? There are, though, some pretty good suggestions on "what to say, and what NOT to say" and Heaven knows I know from personal experience my foot doesn't taste very good.
Most, I think, "conceal and carry." You'd never know it. Some, out rightly ask for help - and of course that HAS to be taken with great sincerity.
Some hint.
What do you do then?
Dave?
I don't have answers either.
A friend once shared that a close friend (I didn't know this friend's friend) told them "and I have severe panic attacks about it."
I was disturbed, because I didn't know what to do, what to suggest. Yes, Google does have a wealth of information - and it should certainly be kept in your toolbox because it can be helpful.
Ideas I do have. Be there. In sickness and in health.
I ask myself "What makes me feel good? What perks me up?"
Lots, thankfully. A good friends "Merry Christmas" text. A longtime friend asking "How's your health?" I'd never been asked that. I appreciated it and it was a damn good question, because sometimes we forget to stop and ask our self that.
Examples. Examples of people we really respect makes me feel good. Know one, or twelve? What is it about them?
My sister is deceased. No, cancer, not that. My niece (her daughter) recently told me "I never heard her say a bad word about anyone." That's an example. A very good one. REMIND me of that.
Any time "it shines" on me.. By shine I mean things like a buddy recently messaging me "I've got four tickets to the Royals and I know you're a big fan, wanna go?" I had grandkid duty, but oh if he only knew how good that made me feel. Another recent message from a buddy in Dallas I haven't seen or talked to since college "Hey, the Royals are here on such-n-such date, get yourself here, I'll take care of the rest." Again, I am pretty sure I'm not going to be able to - but OH how good that made me feel. So, 'including'. It's really nice to be included. (and uh huh, OF COURSE, vice versa.)
People caring. So.. if I could get off my selfish butt and do things that show my care, concern for others - that'd be a good start.
Back to camouflage, blue skies smiling at me, see the funny little clown. Those are the ones that put the greatest fear in me. We never know.
Logic tells one "pay it forward" (whatever makes you feel good, do to others,) Be there, ALL/ANY time. Use words like love, appreciate, you'll-never-know-how-much-you-really-mean-to-me.
Be a good person, and no, I don't preach, I remind myself. The world is full of enough shit, don't add to it.
I've found, the most helpless feeling in the world is not knowing how to help. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing where to go. Not knowing who to ask.
We must rely on fellow man, woman, our God - and certainly professionals. If we'd all try to take care of our own selves too in doing that, it'd be a good start.
I just felt. The growth, wart like thing is on the back of my left hand, but I really don't know the back of my hand.
Love to you. If you have answers, ideas, suggestions, I'm of the listen more talk less ilk.
Friday, May 03, 2019
MatchDogCom.....
In a perfect world, I'd be a dog.
I'd go to the Doggy Park, and I wouldn't have a care in the world as to whether or not fellow Fidos drove up in a Caddy, a beat up ole Rambler, in a jeweled or spiked collar, or none.
I, the person, walk into any gathering now...tepid, and emphasis on walk. Doggies, nuh uh. Ya ever go to a doggy park and observe a new arrival at the gate displaying "Ah.. do I have to?, My mate drug me here.".. Nuh uh. It's Katy bar the door, "outta my way, I'm here to win friends and influence and/or ignore people."(Dogs, they do that.)
Bits and pieces of this story I've mebbe blogged about before. Sorry, I know that's 'ruff', but, you're kenneled with it, ha, or, don't let the door hit you in the tail.
I had a 'loaner'. No, not a rescue. No, not a foster. A loaner, I was dating...ok, living in sin, with another. She had this wonderful little miniature Schnauzer named Nascar. (Really though, he had her.) I once, semi jokingly, told said 'another', "If we ever breakup, I get visitation rights to Nascar." Ha, happened, and while I haven't done too awful much with Nascar since that split up - I have 'borrowed him' a few times.
Back to 'the perfect world I'd be a dog' - he, Nascar, remembers me. When I initially see him, he still takes off as if he's hit a triple in the gap, and he's gotta run his damn fastest to make it to third base - back to me. It's akin to a toddling grandbaby holding up his/her arms for you to lift them up.
I ain't gotta dog. I wish I hada dog. Where I live, nope, can't have 'em. Sucks, cause dogs are better neighbors than people.
Scrolling backwards, in preparation for "Trip #1 to Doggy Park", Nascar underwent formal obedience training. The day came for the first class, we were all prepared - he with his head out the window to suckup the fresh air, we, with our poop-picker-upper bag, and two pockets full of bribery treats.
Seven PM sharp, we were pulled..yes, pulled, into the Community Center Doggy Behave class. A nine pound dog pulling a 200+ pound (don't ask) man, with 'another' following close behind. 'Another', said lovingly, was guiding the 200+ pound man with "Make him heel, don't let him pull you." My thought was, "Pull away buddy, Doggygarten hasn't started yet, you're a free mongrel still."
Yip. Yip pretty much describes small dogs. That kinda sorta correlates to smaller people. Ya know folks, all skinny and stuff, that go go go? Uh huh, me too. Whereintheheck does that energy come from cause they don't eat enough Kibbles and beef to even stand upright? Back to yip.
We walk in. There were 20-some dogs of various sizes, shapes, and they owned people, of various sizes and shapes. Nascar only knew his own yard and the occasional squirrel that he'd chase up a tree. He never caught one, but I always wondered what he'd do if he did.
Predictably, yip (aka Nascar) was flipping out, barking, pulling, frothing, excited, heart assuredly beating fitty more times a minute than whatever is a normal miniature Schnauzer heartbeat. Anticipation was a room full of yip..ROOF (that's "bass" for BIG dog) and a scene from Don's Barking Dogs.
It wasn't that. It was serene - except for Nascar. Seated, yes, seated, in a circle, we dogs of all sizes, accompanied by people they own, of all sizes. Calm. They just sat there. They seemingly gave this "Be for real" glance Nascar's way. The hell? No barks, no yips, no "ROOFS." The people they owned, equally sedate. Finally, lady with a British accent (shouldn't every dog trainer 'av a British accent") walks up to us and says "Ahhmm, 'av you been here before?" Nope. "Wehl, this is the ahdvanced class.. they are all 'service or suhpport' dogs.. the beginner obedience clahss started at 6pm." Oh. Sorry. Never mind our red faces and yippy dog, we'll be back next week.... at 6. (I butchered translating a British accent, sorry, my first bloody attempt at it.)
We were, did. Much better this time. In addition to Nascar, yip, pull, froth, there were dogs of all sizes, accompanied by the people of all sizes they owned, and they too were yipping, pulling, frothing, and several were sniffing, peeing, growling, that stuff.
Nascar flunked the class. He did wonderful on sit, stay, heel, come. it was the interpersonal "I can't control myself because I've never seen a full room of dogs and I like you all and I want to walkup and be your friend, NOT ignore you like I'm sposeta." I was proud of the little dooger, and in my book he was Valedogtorian.
So, with ambition to one day to ger his dogGED, we were off to the doggy park. Head out window, check. Plastic poop bag, check. Pockets full of treats, check, We pulled in. With excitement like a junior high schooler attending his first "no parents allowed" dance, Nascar pulled me to the entrance gate.
This is the 'check in', but it more literally is the 'check out' spot for Spot. We, we humans, we hop on a bus, and it's boring as hell. If a dog hopped on a bus, all the other dogs would jump up, run to the door to checkout "hi, how ya doin', I'm Tank", "hey, I like you", "Grrr, I don't like you", "Will you be my friend?", "Will you leave me alone?" Dogs are like that, yeah they are.
After the official entrance into the DoggyMarriott, individualization happened, or didn't. Some were glued to their friends. Some friends didn't wanna be glued to - so they would put up with it for awhile, then maybe snap-snarl as if to say "leave me the hell alone,"
I was proud of Nascar. Whenever a bigass Shepherd, St Bernard, Lab, whatever, would pick on a smaller Yorkie, fellow Schnauzer, or Rat Terrier -Nascar would stand up for his little friend, size be damned and fend off the big oaf. Fortunately, he eventually went home with all four limbs still intact.
As time passed, dogs, like people, went their own way at the park, or didn't. Some were inseparable, some didn't stray (ha ha) far from the people they owned. Some, Poodle properly sipped from the doggy water bowl, some slovenly laid in the mud whilst they slobberly lapped. Some chased tennis balls, some showed off by catching Frisbies, some, like people, had no interest in doggy sports.
Future CEO's, politicians, sales reps, jumped up on the doggy benches as if to proclaim, "ha, look at me." Others could give a rats. After ahwile, many dogs took on the characteristics of teenagers, as in "Come here" and they wouldn't. The ones that did immediately "come here" to the people they owned, well, it made me wonder howintheheck are they gonna make it one day on their own if their owner was no longer around. Trust me, i love my God, but I often wonder if He got it backwards, and people should live the short life of a dog, and dogs would be there forever and ever to teach us humans how to make it thru life.
Time to leave. Winded. Satiated. Happy. Yeah baby, let's do this again happened. We did, we would. Eventually, when he heard "Doggy Park?" he knew it was yeah-baby, off to the junior high dance.
This week's local paper announced "Plans for a (2nd) Doggy Park, this one in the North end of town considered." Northern Liberty is mebbe more affluent than Southern, wonder of the dogs would notice? Hell to the no, they wouldn't. Just hop on the bus Gus, we'll sniff, yip, froth, love, follow, chase any race, religion, gender, size, socio-econmic sized doggy there is.
I shoulda been a dog. Anyone wanna go chase a squirrel?
Love, Dogturd.
I'd go to the Doggy Park, and I wouldn't have a care in the world as to whether or not fellow Fidos drove up in a Caddy, a beat up ole Rambler, in a jeweled or spiked collar, or none.
I, the person, walk into any gathering now...tepid, and emphasis on walk. Doggies, nuh uh. Ya ever go to a doggy park and observe a new arrival at the gate displaying "Ah.. do I have to?, My mate drug me here.".. Nuh uh. It's Katy bar the door, "outta my way, I'm here to win friends and influence and/or ignore people."(Dogs, they do that.)
Bits and pieces of this story I've mebbe blogged about before. Sorry, I know that's 'ruff', but, you're kenneled with it, ha, or, don't let the door hit you in the tail.
I had a 'loaner'. No, not a rescue. No, not a foster. A loaner, I was dating...ok, living in sin, with another. She had this wonderful little miniature Schnauzer named Nascar. (Really though, he had her.) I once, semi jokingly, told said 'another', "If we ever breakup, I get visitation rights to Nascar." Ha, happened, and while I haven't done too awful much with Nascar since that split up - I have 'borrowed him' a few times.
Back to 'the perfect world I'd be a dog' - he, Nascar, remembers me. When I initially see him, he still takes off as if he's hit a triple in the gap, and he's gotta run his damn fastest to make it to third base - back to me. It's akin to a toddling grandbaby holding up his/her arms for you to lift them up.
I ain't gotta dog. I wish I hada dog. Where I live, nope, can't have 'em. Sucks, cause dogs are better neighbors than people.
Scrolling backwards, in preparation for "Trip #1 to Doggy Park", Nascar underwent formal obedience training. The day came for the first class, we were all prepared - he with his head out the window to suckup the fresh air, we, with our poop-picker-upper bag, and two pockets full of bribery treats.
Seven PM sharp, we were pulled..yes, pulled, into the Community Center Doggy Behave class. A nine pound dog pulling a 200+ pound (don't ask) man, with 'another' following close behind. 'Another', said lovingly, was guiding the 200+ pound man with "Make him heel, don't let him pull you." My thought was, "Pull away buddy, Doggygarten hasn't started yet, you're a free mongrel still."
Yip. Yip pretty much describes small dogs. That kinda sorta correlates to smaller people. Ya know folks, all skinny and stuff, that go go go? Uh huh, me too. Whereintheheck does that energy come from cause they don't eat enough Kibbles and beef to even stand upright? Back to yip.
We walk in. There were 20-some dogs of various sizes, shapes, and they owned people, of various sizes and shapes. Nascar only knew his own yard and the occasional squirrel that he'd chase up a tree. He never caught one, but I always wondered what he'd do if he did.
Predictably, yip (aka Nascar) was flipping out, barking, pulling, frothing, excited, heart assuredly beating fitty more times a minute than whatever is a normal miniature Schnauzer heartbeat. Anticipation was a room full of yip..ROOF (that's "bass" for BIG dog) and a scene from Don's Barking Dogs.
It wasn't that. It was serene - except for Nascar. Seated, yes, seated, in a circle, we dogs of all sizes, accompanied by people they own, of all sizes. Calm. They just sat there. They seemingly gave this "Be for real" glance Nascar's way. The hell? No barks, no yips, no "ROOFS." The people they owned, equally sedate. Finally, lady with a British accent (shouldn't every dog trainer 'av a British accent") walks up to us and says "Ahhmm, 'av you been here before?" Nope. "Wehl, this is the ahdvanced class.. they are all 'service or suhpport' dogs.. the beginner obedience clahss started at 6pm." Oh. Sorry. Never mind our red faces and yippy dog, we'll be back next week.... at 6. (I butchered translating a British accent, sorry, my first bloody attempt at it.)
We were, did. Much better this time. In addition to Nascar, yip, pull, froth, there were dogs of all sizes, accompanied by the people of all sizes they owned, and they too were yipping, pulling, frothing, and several were sniffing, peeing, growling, that stuff.
Nascar flunked the class. He did wonderful on sit, stay, heel, come. it was the interpersonal "I can't control myself because I've never seen a full room of dogs and I like you all and I want to walkup and be your friend, NOT ignore you like I'm sposeta." I was proud of the little dooger, and in my book he was Valedogtorian.
So, with ambition to one day to ger his dogGED, we were off to the doggy park. Head out window, check. Plastic poop bag, check. Pockets full of treats, check, We pulled in. With excitement like a junior high schooler attending his first "no parents allowed" dance, Nascar pulled me to the entrance gate.
This is the 'check in', but it more literally is the 'check out' spot for Spot. We, we humans, we hop on a bus, and it's boring as hell. If a dog hopped on a bus, all the other dogs would jump up, run to the door to checkout "hi, how ya doin', I'm Tank", "hey, I like you", "Grrr, I don't like you", "Will you be my friend?", "Will you leave me alone?" Dogs are like that, yeah they are.
After the official entrance into the DoggyMarriott, individualization happened, or didn't. Some were glued to their friends. Some friends didn't wanna be glued to - so they would put up with it for awhile, then maybe snap-snarl as if to say "leave me the hell alone,"
I was proud of Nascar. Whenever a bigass Shepherd, St Bernard, Lab, whatever, would pick on a smaller Yorkie, fellow Schnauzer, or Rat Terrier -Nascar would stand up for his little friend, size be damned and fend off the big oaf. Fortunately, he eventually went home with all four limbs still intact.
As time passed, dogs, like people, went their own way at the park, or didn't. Some were inseparable, some didn't stray (ha ha) far from the people they owned. Some, Poodle properly sipped from the doggy water bowl, some slovenly laid in the mud whilst they slobberly lapped. Some chased tennis balls, some showed off by catching Frisbies, some, like people, had no interest in doggy sports.
Future CEO's, politicians, sales reps, jumped up on the doggy benches as if to proclaim, "ha, look at me." Others could give a rats. After ahwile, many dogs took on the characteristics of teenagers, as in "Come here" and they wouldn't. The ones that did immediately "come here" to the people they owned, well, it made me wonder howintheheck are they gonna make it one day on their own if their owner was no longer around. Trust me, i love my God, but I often wonder if He got it backwards, and people should live the short life of a dog, and dogs would be there forever and ever to teach us humans how to make it thru life.
Time to leave. Winded. Satiated. Happy. Yeah baby, let's do this again happened. We did, we would. Eventually, when he heard "Doggy Park?" he knew it was yeah-baby, off to the junior high dance.
This week's local paper announced "Plans for a (2nd) Doggy Park, this one in the North end of town considered." Northern Liberty is mebbe more affluent than Southern, wonder of the dogs would notice? Hell to the no, they wouldn't. Just hop on the bus Gus, we'll sniff, yip, froth, love, follow, chase any race, religion, gender, size, socio-econmic sized doggy there is.
I shoulda been a dog. Anyone wanna go chase a squirrel?
Love, Dogturd.
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Slow down, ya move too fast....
I'm biased. My grandson, a kindergartner, is a cute little dude. The kinda cuteness, that you/I, as a grandparent, see 'em across the room and ya just wanna go hug 'em. His smile melts. His missing teeth remind "this is temporary, watch me, remember me, cause I ain't always gonna be this size, age, person."
Roomba. Lord knows my apartment needs a Roomba. My disdain for cleaning my house ranks up there with the thought of donning an MAGA hat. Kendal, my grandson, reminds me of Roomba. He gets in his 'charger' (bed), awakens, and then it's go go go. I usedta coulda done that, huh uh, not now.
,
Roomba, my grandson, not the bouncing vacuum, sometimes forgets in school he ain't supposedta Roomba. If I were an old person, ha, I would say "Why back in my day, every desk was the same, but we were relegated to a specific row, chair, and I was pigeonholed somewhere between Savage and Smith. I knew where I was supposedta sit, and I did that."
Nowadays, they've got 23 different kinda chairs (could be a stool, a bright red chair, a green milk crate, a yellow bucket with a blue, soft bean bag top, yada.). Point is, ya know which one's yours, where to go, where to sit. Roomba, my beloved Grandson, in his excitement, zest for life, sometimes forgets that.
Thus, thanks to Pavlovian ways, Roomba, er I mean Kendal, oft times finds himself in a detour to the 'safe room'. Time out as we usedta call it. There's nothing venomous in his pursuit, he simply goes, goes and goes, and it must be learned, sometimes ya just gotta sit sit sit.
Preschool helped him quite a bit, but there's still, and always has been, an exploratory mode inside him. We'd go to the park, whilst his sister galavanted between the swing, the slide, the climbing thingy, Kendal was jumping over the 3 foot tall retaining wall encircling, running with angst to discover what lays beyond. His wimpy grandfather, while not a fan of "the slot car way of life", would run, gather, and very wimply say "ya can't do that buddy, ya gotta stay over here."
I know he will 'iron out', and I bless patient teachers, administration who haven't decided to force feed Ritalin down him. He's a good, good kid.
Recently, and I know I've got a big mouth, keyboard and I've already shared this dirty laundry - recently, my car shot craps. So I found this (to me) adorable looking Silver PT Cruiser with a black convertible top. It ain't been a Roomba. Four days after purchase, the computer went out....short story long, some TWENTY days later, after mailing my new computer from NY, sending it back cause it didn't work, finally getting the 'new one', an added trip to the transmission shop - I can now drive in excess of 25 miles per hour. (Ever drive 7 miles to the Piggly Wiggly, plan said route to where you won't hold up traffic by going top end 25 mph? Uh huh, I have. WalMart, across the highway, was outta question for most of April.)
Where was I? Oh yeah, Kendal. Touching on more bias, I love this little guy. Many a time I've gone to visit my three grands, and first thing I know he's up in my lap, content to put up with this old man. He's Roomba quick to reply "love you too." One day, long after I'm dead and gone, he will probably hate me for this - but he looks like the cutest damn turtle you ever did see, cept it's a smiling turtle! (OK Victor, enough doting,,, right you are, sorry.)
So....... when the cold of winter was finally behind us... when the April showers had subsided enough I could finally put the top down on my car that finally goes 40+ mph, I picked up my grands from school one day.
Kendal had never been in a convertible. Aubrie, my 2nd grade granddaughter said she hadn't either, and I was relieved to hear that because when she was between one and two years old, I had a convertible then too - and I proudly strapped her into the backseat one day to Roomba around town and damn daddy if it didn't start raining, she started crying, it was a mess, and again, glad she forgot that.)
There was an even added pep in the step to Kendal that day. Jumping in the convertible revved that up even more. They raised their arms in exhilaration, opened their mouths and let the wind give them funny faces - it was fun.
Halfway home Aubrie announces "Kendal got Student of the Month." Sheepishly, I was amazed because he does/has spent an inordinate time in "the safe room." (Smart as a whip, I NEVER doubted his capability).. As I was pulling into their driveway, I extended my arm to the backseat for a high five - and as the smiling, cute little, temporarily missing a tooth, turtle Roomba'ed out of the car - he raised his fist and shouted to the world "BEST. DAY. EVER!"
Being the middle kid is tough. His older sister is an A student, and don't even get me started on the cuteness, incredibly positive attitude of his 2 year old sister. Oft times, the attention is, by natural course, elsewhere. It's hard to rein attention on a Roomba.
That day, it did.
Slow down, you move to fast,
Got to make the morning last,
Just kicking down the cobblestones,
Looking for fun and feeling groovy.
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy.
Love, a biased grandfather
Roomba. Lord knows my apartment needs a Roomba. My disdain for cleaning my house ranks up there with the thought of donning an MAGA hat. Kendal, my grandson, reminds me of Roomba. He gets in his 'charger' (bed), awakens, and then it's go go go. I usedta coulda done that, huh uh, not now.
,
Roomba, my grandson, not the bouncing vacuum, sometimes forgets in school he ain't supposedta Roomba. If I were an old person, ha, I would say "Why back in my day, every desk was the same, but we were relegated to a specific row, chair, and I was pigeonholed somewhere between Savage and Smith. I knew where I was supposedta sit, and I did that."
Nowadays, they've got 23 different kinda chairs (could be a stool, a bright red chair, a green milk crate, a yellow bucket with a blue, soft bean bag top, yada.). Point is, ya know which one's yours, where to go, where to sit. Roomba, my beloved Grandson, in his excitement, zest for life, sometimes forgets that.
Thus, thanks to Pavlovian ways, Roomba, er I mean Kendal, oft times finds himself in a detour to the 'safe room'. Time out as we usedta call it. There's nothing venomous in his pursuit, he simply goes, goes and goes, and it must be learned, sometimes ya just gotta sit sit sit.
Preschool helped him quite a bit, but there's still, and always has been, an exploratory mode inside him. We'd go to the park, whilst his sister galavanted between the swing, the slide, the climbing thingy, Kendal was jumping over the 3 foot tall retaining wall encircling, running with angst to discover what lays beyond. His wimpy grandfather, while not a fan of "the slot car way of life", would run, gather, and very wimply say "ya can't do that buddy, ya gotta stay over here."
I know he will 'iron out', and I bless patient teachers, administration who haven't decided to force feed Ritalin down him. He's a good, good kid.
Recently, and I know I've got a big mouth, keyboard and I've already shared this dirty laundry - recently, my car shot craps. So I found this (to me) adorable looking Silver PT Cruiser with a black convertible top. It ain't been a Roomba. Four days after purchase, the computer went out....short story long, some TWENTY days later, after mailing my new computer from NY, sending it back cause it didn't work, finally getting the 'new one', an added trip to the transmission shop - I can now drive in excess of 25 miles per hour. (Ever drive 7 miles to the Piggly Wiggly, plan said route to where you won't hold up traffic by going top end 25 mph? Uh huh, I have. WalMart, across the highway, was outta question for most of April.)
Where was I? Oh yeah, Kendal. Touching on more bias, I love this little guy. Many a time I've gone to visit my three grands, and first thing I know he's up in my lap, content to put up with this old man. He's Roomba quick to reply "love you too." One day, long after I'm dead and gone, he will probably hate me for this - but he looks like the cutest damn turtle you ever did see, cept it's a smiling turtle! (OK Victor, enough doting,,, right you are, sorry.)
So....... when the cold of winter was finally behind us... when the April showers had subsided enough I could finally put the top down on my car that finally goes 40+ mph, I picked up my grands from school one day.
Kendal had never been in a convertible. Aubrie, my 2nd grade granddaughter said she hadn't either, and I was relieved to hear that because when she was between one and two years old, I had a convertible then too - and I proudly strapped her into the backseat one day to Roomba around town and damn daddy if it didn't start raining, she started crying, it was a mess, and again, glad she forgot that.)
There was an even added pep in the step to Kendal that day. Jumping in the convertible revved that up even more. They raised their arms in exhilaration, opened their mouths and let the wind give them funny faces - it was fun.
Halfway home Aubrie announces "Kendal got Student of the Month." Sheepishly, I was amazed because he does/has spent an inordinate time in "the safe room." (Smart as a whip, I NEVER doubted his capability).. As I was pulling into their driveway, I extended my arm to the backseat for a high five - and as the smiling, cute little, temporarily missing a tooth, turtle Roomba'ed out of the car - he raised his fist and shouted to the world "BEST. DAY. EVER!"
Being the middle kid is tough. His older sister is an A student, and don't even get me started on the cuteness, incredibly positive attitude of his 2 year old sister. Oft times, the attention is, by natural course, elsewhere. It's hard to rein attention on a Roomba.
That day, it did.
Slow down, you move to fast,
Got to make the morning last,
Just kicking down the cobblestones,
Looking for fun and feeling groovy.
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy.
Love, a biased grandfather
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Have fun... wouldya?
Alex Gordon's (leftfielder for the Kansas City Royals) baseball career has been a roller-coaster. He came up to the Bigs in 2007 with the unreasonable expectations of "George Brett's heir apparent."
As a square peg, he was forced into the round hole of 3rd base, with basically "take your boyish looks, sweet lefthanded swing, and go be George."
Didn't work. Over time, and trips back and forth to the minors, he made himself into one of the best outfielders in the history of baseball. His work ethics are second to none - and in this unfortunate day and age of 'great yuck' of sport's news here in Kansas City, he is THE example of what you want in a person, a teammate, a husband, father, etc.
Doubt surfaced again the last couple years as he struggled with injuries that were at least partly responsible for not playing as well as he did early in his career. "The Royals are stuck with him contractually" many would say. Thankfully, he hasn't listened.
He's off to the best start in his career - but (as most who like to write but we can't spout out) the main message here is, he's having fun - while he still can.
Stolen from KC Star this morning "He is 35, but his 35 is a lot different than a lot of other people's 35 because of the way he takes care of himself" says teammate Whit Merrifield.
The stuff I really enjoy seeing: his ever present (pardon my French) shit-eaten grin... him, pregame, knocking the glove out of a rookie pitcher's hand.. coming up behind a youngster (Ryan O'Hearn, hitting sub .200, obviously with the weight of the world on his shoulders) and Gordo body bumping him from behind after O'Hearn finally managed to hit a double in the gap. Psychological stuff like that tells O'Hearn "lighten up big boy, you got this.. take a deep breath, smile, let your hair down and enjoy." Valuable stuff like that ain't in his contract, but it's in his heart, his way, his being.
Yes, he sees light at end of tunnel, again quoting from the Star "I know as you get older you start to realize that you might not be playing this game as long as you want to. At times, you just want to go out there and have fun and enjoy it,"..
Ain't that kinda like life?
Over time I watched my father inlaw play golf. He was pretty decent. His skill level, of course, waned with age, but undeterred he moved from the blue tees (furthest back) to the white tees (closer to hole, reserved for those 60 and up), to taking the backroads (he knew Interstate was out of his reach age wise) to a small par three course - until the day he never played again. He enjoyed. He appreciated. He had fun.
Golf tournament yesterday. The "Bubba Boys" tourney. The Bubba Boys is a group of, mostly old codgers who've run off more than one woman due to our own flub-ups, so we gather at Happy Hour to bad-mouth 'em! Three or four times a year we organize a tourney to butcher golf courses, tell war-stories, give to a charity, and live in the moment.
I suck at golf. I will never be the heir apparent to Tom Watson. I also know that "you might not be playing this game as long as you want to."
We pick golf courses ya ain't gotta drive the Interstate to get to. Scorecards are gathered after the 18th hole, briefly perused, then just as quickly tossed in the trash.
Whatever in life (cooking, gardening, reading, needlepoint, Nascar, classic cars, yada) floats your boat, don't stop sailing. Go. Do. Enjoy. Take the backroads if ya haveta.
Fun is out there and it's basically free. I just texted my playing partner "I had a blast, thanks for playing, fun, until we forget each other's name."
Have fun, wouldya?
Love, Victud
As a square peg, he was forced into the round hole of 3rd base, with basically "take your boyish looks, sweet lefthanded swing, and go be George."
Didn't work. Over time, and trips back and forth to the minors, he made himself into one of the best outfielders in the history of baseball. His work ethics are second to none - and in this unfortunate day and age of 'great yuck' of sport's news here in Kansas City, he is THE example of what you want in a person, a teammate, a husband, father, etc.
Doubt surfaced again the last couple years as he struggled with injuries that were at least partly responsible for not playing as well as he did early in his career. "The Royals are stuck with him contractually" many would say. Thankfully, he hasn't listened.
He's off to the best start in his career - but (as most who like to write but we can't spout out) the main message here is, he's having fun - while he still can.
Stolen from KC Star this morning "He is 35, but his 35 is a lot different than a lot of other people's 35 because of the way he takes care of himself" says teammate Whit Merrifield.
The stuff I really enjoy seeing: his ever present (pardon my French) shit-eaten grin... him, pregame, knocking the glove out of a rookie pitcher's hand.. coming up behind a youngster (Ryan O'Hearn, hitting sub .200, obviously with the weight of the world on his shoulders) and Gordo body bumping him from behind after O'Hearn finally managed to hit a double in the gap. Psychological stuff like that tells O'Hearn "lighten up big boy, you got this.. take a deep breath, smile, let your hair down and enjoy." Valuable stuff like that ain't in his contract, but it's in his heart, his way, his being.
Yes, he sees light at end of tunnel, again quoting from the Star "I know as you get older you start to realize that you might not be playing this game as long as you want to. At times, you just want to go out there and have fun and enjoy it,"..
Ain't that kinda like life?
Over time I watched my father inlaw play golf. He was pretty decent. His skill level, of course, waned with age, but undeterred he moved from the blue tees (furthest back) to the white tees (closer to hole, reserved for those 60 and up), to taking the backroads (he knew Interstate was out of his reach age wise) to a small par three course - until the day he never played again. He enjoyed. He appreciated. He had fun.
Golf tournament yesterday. The "Bubba Boys" tourney. The Bubba Boys is a group of, mostly old codgers who've run off more than one woman due to our own flub-ups, so we gather at Happy Hour to bad-mouth 'em! Three or four times a year we organize a tourney to butcher golf courses, tell war-stories, give to a charity, and live in the moment.
I suck at golf. I will never be the heir apparent to Tom Watson. I also know that "you might not be playing this game as long as you want to."
We pick golf courses ya ain't gotta drive the Interstate to get to. Scorecards are gathered after the 18th hole, briefly perused, then just as quickly tossed in the trash.
Whatever in life (cooking, gardening, reading, needlepoint, Nascar, classic cars, yada) floats your boat, don't stop sailing. Go. Do. Enjoy. Take the backroads if ya haveta.
Fun is out there and it's basically free. I just texted my playing partner "I had a blast, thanks for playing, fun, until we forget each other's name."
Have fun, wouldya?
Love, Victud
Sunday, April 21, 2019
If only....
If only:
We could put time in a bottle.
We had tails. I watched a short video this morning of a man who had dreamed all his life about having a dachshund.. Christmas evening, his wife brought him a box with a lid... he popped it off, and yep, there it was, a dachshund pup. He picked the pup up, it crawled up his body so it could lick his face - and the pup's tail was wagging the entire time. Happy. It was real happy. We all could learn from dogs. If only we had tails to let our friends, loved ones know how we genuinely feel about them. I reckon we have to have alternative means.
We.....ok, many.. spend the vast majority of our lives trying to be rich. If only.. if only, we could recognize we already are.
If only, daily when we awaken - we could tell ourselves first thing "ya know, this could be my last day here - ever." I think it would lend to many more texts, phone calls, visits to tell those we love, just that. The hair wouldn't raise on our arms. "What's important?" would take on an entire new meaning. Life could be Kodachrome, they'd give us those nice bright colors, the greens of summer, make us think all the world is a sunny day,
I want a parrot. If only. I want a parrot of great wisdom to perch upon my shoulder. I would name her Alexa, but she'd be proactive insteada reactive - as in, "Victor, think twice, you're about to screw up." Or, "Victor, think about it.. is this really worth getting all bent outta shape about?" (Would come in very handy for us old farts who drive at night, in the rain, snow, ice.."You've got food in the fridge -get ur butt home NOW.")
If only we could wipe out hesitation of saying certain things. Good things. Why hesitate to say "You've been my friend for over 50 years, God I love you." Or, "You REALLY look nice today." Or, "Just know, I admire (this, that) about you, you should be proud." (Conversely, when we're prompted to say "You idiot", we wouldn't. Scroll to Alexa above.)
If only.. If only we had a 'pause button.' "Hold that thought, I gottta pee." "Don't move, I wanna take a picture." "THIS moment makes me very, very happy. I wanna freeze it, and remember it for as long as I can."
If only.. life came with a rewind button. Could back it up, erase blurts that hurt. On a personal note, mebbe change some "I do's" to "Let me think on it, baby baby let me think on it.. I''ll give you answer in the morning." Rewind, holler at Ned Yost, "Damnit, pinch run Gore or the game is OVER." Rewind for sharts. Sorry, pun mebbe intended but I was 'running' outta things, but, you gotta admit, rewind would be good for sharts too.
The ability to zoom in, as well as scroll thru. Alexa could help with this too - but FOCUS, focus on the yummy. Scroll thru the ick.. Zoom in on what's really happy, what really matters.
If only.. if only blog readers had the wherewithal (or an Alexa parrot) to say "Victor, wrap it up."
OK, will, if only you'll have a Happy Easter...
Love, Victurd
We could put time in a bottle.
We had tails. I watched a short video this morning of a man who had dreamed all his life about having a dachshund.. Christmas evening, his wife brought him a box with a lid... he popped it off, and yep, there it was, a dachshund pup. He picked the pup up, it crawled up his body so it could lick his face - and the pup's tail was wagging the entire time. Happy. It was real happy. We all could learn from dogs. If only we had tails to let our friends, loved ones know how we genuinely feel about them. I reckon we have to have alternative means.
We.....ok, many.. spend the vast majority of our lives trying to be rich. If only.. if only, we could recognize we already are.
If only, daily when we awaken - we could tell ourselves first thing "ya know, this could be my last day here - ever." I think it would lend to many more texts, phone calls, visits to tell those we love, just that. The hair wouldn't raise on our arms. "What's important?" would take on an entire new meaning. Life could be Kodachrome, they'd give us those nice bright colors, the greens of summer, make us think all the world is a sunny day,
I want a parrot. If only. I want a parrot of great wisdom to perch upon my shoulder. I would name her Alexa, but she'd be proactive insteada reactive - as in, "Victor, think twice, you're about to screw up." Or, "Victor, think about it.. is this really worth getting all bent outta shape about?" (Would come in very handy for us old farts who drive at night, in the rain, snow, ice.."You've got food in the fridge -get ur butt home NOW.")
If only we could wipe out hesitation of saying certain things. Good things. Why hesitate to say "You've been my friend for over 50 years, God I love you." Or, "You REALLY look nice today." Or, "Just know, I admire (this, that) about you, you should be proud." (Conversely, when we're prompted to say "You idiot", we wouldn't. Scroll to Alexa above.)
If only.. If only we had a 'pause button.' "Hold that thought, I gottta pee." "Don't move, I wanna take a picture." "THIS moment makes me very, very happy. I wanna freeze it, and remember it for as long as I can."
If only.. life came with a rewind button. Could back it up, erase blurts that hurt. On a personal note, mebbe change some "I do's" to "Let me think on it, baby baby let me think on it.. I''ll give you answer in the morning." Rewind, holler at Ned Yost, "Damnit, pinch run Gore or the game is OVER." Rewind for sharts. Sorry, pun mebbe intended but I was 'running' outta things, but, you gotta admit, rewind would be good for sharts too.
The ability to zoom in, as well as scroll thru. Alexa could help with this too - but FOCUS, focus on the yummy. Scroll thru the ick.. Zoom in on what's really happy, what really matters.
If only.. if only blog readers had the wherewithal (or an Alexa parrot) to say "Victor, wrap it up."
OK, will, if only you'll have a Happy Easter...
Love, Victurd
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Raindrops on roses
And kisses on noses,
I'm easily quite smitten,
Amazon packages, sunshine and yep, hot wings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
My Liberty cronies, and mutts, not poodles,
'Oh hell's and 'howdy' yells, all kit and caboodle,
Grandkids asking 'why', such joy it does bring,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Ladies in yoga pants, showing their nice .........'s,
Visions that stay, ain't much that surpasses,
Silver haired ladies, the beauty they bring,
These are a few of my favorite things..
When my prostate bites,
When my pee stings,
When I'm feeling mad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
The Stones, not Guns and Roses,
Again, kisses on noses,
Still smitten, but twice bitten,
Crank the music, karaoke, all sing
These are a few of my favorite things...
Frat brothers, our guts, they now certainly extrude(l)
Moving like we once did, attempts all futile,
"We're a bunch of bastards" we'd once, all sing,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Drive slower now, the cars they all pass us,
Wonder if that one frat, is still full of such asses,
The stories still fly, brotherhood always rings,
These are a few of my favorite things..
Popups on websites,
When my undies cling,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
Brushing dentures blows
But I won't have halitosis,
Jeans I put on, and they're still fittin',
Cute little packages, fit for us kings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Cream in my coffee and yes, apple strudel,
Mundane's not for me, I like the unusual,
Eight hours of sleep and the snores that it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
CNN and Fox News when they don't harrass us,
Make love, not war, we say to the masses,
All Silver quarters, the memories it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things..
Itching from oak mites,
Grimy bathtub rings,
When I feel that I've been had,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
Love, Victurd
I'm easily quite smitten,
Amazon packages, sunshine and yep, hot wings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
My Liberty cronies, and mutts, not poodles,
'Oh hell's and 'howdy' yells, all kit and caboodle,
Grandkids asking 'why', such joy it does bring,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Ladies in yoga pants, showing their nice .........'s,
Visions that stay, ain't much that surpasses,
Silver haired ladies, the beauty they bring,
These are a few of my favorite things..
When my prostate bites,
When my pee stings,
When I'm feeling mad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
The Stones, not Guns and Roses,
Again, kisses on noses,
Still smitten, but twice bitten,
Crank the music, karaoke, all sing
These are a few of my favorite things...
Frat brothers, our guts, they now certainly extrude(l)
Moving like we once did, attempts all futile,
"We're a bunch of bastards" we'd once, all sing,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Drive slower now, the cars they all pass us,
Wonder if that one frat, is still full of such asses,
The stories still fly, brotherhood always rings,
These are a few of my favorite things..
Popups on websites,
When my undies cling,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
Brushing dentures blows
But I won't have halitosis,
Jeans I put on, and they're still fittin',
Cute little packages, fit for us kings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
Cream in my coffee and yes, apple strudel,
Mundane's not for me, I like the unusual,
Eight hours of sleep and the snores that it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things...
CNN and Fox News when they don't harrass us,
Make love, not war, we say to the masses,
All Silver quarters, the memories it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things..
Itching from oak mites,
Grimy bathtub rings,
When I feel that I've been had,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel, so bad..
Love, Victurd
Monday, April 15, 2019
Star light, star bright....
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight.
Kinda wishy washy, but, wish I wish is kinda hard to say.
Like, 'Unique New York" THREE TIMES, REAL FAST. Go ahead, I dareya.
You "Norked it" didn't you?
She sells seashells down by the seashore. When you think about it, seashells are allover the seashore, why would you buy one?
Lightening struck Chery's she shed and she wants a new one. A simple wish, she said.
Ned Yost wants a relief pitcher, not a belly itcher. The itchy itchy rash lady wants relief, but not a pitcher.
"Life is too short to be scared and not take risks. I'd rather be the person that's like 'I messed up' then, 'I wish I did that.' " Justin Skye
And I wish it would rain (said Ned after 5 innings and the lead... and The Temptations...)
Blow out the candles... see a falling star.. find a heads up penny... grab that wish bone.. throw a coin into the wishing well.. Genie in a bottle...
Google told me the top ten things people wish for....Good Health.. Money.. Basic needs... Love... To change ourselves... Fame.. Sex... (not necessarily in this order)... Peace.. Freedom.. Happiness... Eh, only a few that are selfish..
Wishing won't wash dishes. Be careful what you wish for.
"Never wish that life were easier. Wish that you were better." Jim Rohn. Damnit Jim, I likes that (wish i had thought of it... oops)
STOLEN from the Internet:
These six statistics about human beings will make you wish you were a gerbil:
1) Babies who develop language skills early have a risk of becoming heavy drinkers later in life.
2) A 2011 study from the Netherlands showed that people who are good at holding their pee are also good at long-term money management. (No wonder!)
3) Human beings are the only animals on the planet that enjoy spicy foods and no one really knows why.
4) According to a study published by Schizophrenia Research Journal, 50.6 percent of people who developed schizophrenia during their adult life reported owning a cat during their childhood.
5) Studies show that people with a higher number of moles tend to live longer than those with less.
6) Almost 69 percent of those who reported having committed violent crimes also reported eating candy daily at the age of ten.
I told a buddy the other day "I've never seen you get mad." (Reply was short, with a smile, "doesn't do any good to get mad.") Wish I was like that, damnit!
I wish for a cure for cancer, ALS, and any others that presently stump us. I wish for peace.. beds, safety for all.. to wipe out hunger.. healthcare for all... happiness for those sad... uplifting friends for those depressed..
Dorothy wished to go home, tinman a heart, scarecrow a brain, lion wanted courage.
I wish you a happy day.. and a Merry Christmas... (My children [son and stepson] assuredly hated me years ago.. I rearranged the words a tad, would sing "we wish you weren't here at Christmas, we wish you weren't here at Christmas.)
Wish I could stay longer, but I have GOT to pee. (Can I borrow $20?)...
Best wishes......
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
I love life, but.....
not when I sneeze.
Love nature too, but not April Freeze...
Can someone explain, pretty pretty please....
Where we came up with the saying "bee's knees"?
You cannot write a poem using the same word to rhyme twice...
Bosh, keyboard breath, watch me, I'll do it with ease...
I like animals, neighbors, fun, laughter, all things nice.......
Doors held, "hi, hello, howareya, thank you" and "PLEASE."
What did you do? Google words that rhyme with 'ease'?
I did, I did, go ahead and say it, I know ya wanna,,, "geez"...
Where'd we go wrong - the day and age of sleaze.......
Makes one wanna getup and gone, "the hell are my keys?"
Love lakes, rivers, oceans... oaks, elms, walnuts, virtually any kind of trees...
A hand held, a compliment, sunshine, rain, along with gentle breeze...
Utter shock when I step on the scale, I've GOT to be siamese...
Must be the penchant for Fritos, and burgers with cheeze..
Some love travel, Venice, Cancun, learning Burmese...
Familiarity perks me, creature of habit, here, I likes what I sees...
I coulda used other places, Delhi, China, Bahamas, anywhere overseas (like Belize)...
Gimme Main Street, Mill Street, DQ, Franklin School, in spitea the traffic, ahhh, memories..
Not really a fan of appease, fleas, displease, disease, pleas and unease...
Home cookin', family banter, pass the biscuits please...
Give me Liberty, then give me death, freedom to do is spiffy, don't care if none agrees..
Retirement's the bomb, cept for clipping toenails, expanding waistline, bout ready for Z's....
Come, take my keyboard, have a good sieze....
Death and taxes, yes...but good blogs? No guarantees.
Victor you're a weirdo, what with your ABC's...
Geez, how'd you reach that, you, your conferees?
Time to go, silly attempt at journalese...
What'd you expect? Expertise?
By Henry Gibson and Miguel de Cervantes,
Love, Victurdeze
Love nature too, but not April Freeze...
Can someone explain, pretty pretty please....
Where we came up with the saying "bee's knees"?
You cannot write a poem using the same word to rhyme twice...
Bosh, keyboard breath, watch me, I'll do it with ease...
I like animals, neighbors, fun, laughter, all things nice.......
Doors held, "hi, hello, howareya, thank you" and "PLEASE."
What did you do? Google words that rhyme with 'ease'?
I did, I did, go ahead and say it, I know ya wanna,,, "geez"...
Where'd we go wrong - the day and age of sleaze.......
Makes one wanna getup and gone, "the hell are my keys?"
Love lakes, rivers, oceans... oaks, elms, walnuts, virtually any kind of trees...
A hand held, a compliment, sunshine, rain, along with gentle breeze...
Utter shock when I step on the scale, I've GOT to be siamese...
Must be the penchant for Fritos, and burgers with cheeze..
Some love travel, Venice, Cancun, learning Burmese...
Familiarity perks me, creature of habit, here, I likes what I sees...
I coulda used other places, Delhi, China, Bahamas, anywhere overseas (like Belize)...
Gimme Main Street, Mill Street, DQ, Franklin School, in spitea the traffic, ahhh, memories..
Not really a fan of appease, fleas, displease, disease, pleas and unease...
Home cookin', family banter, pass the biscuits please...
Give me Liberty, then give me death, freedom to do is spiffy, don't care if none agrees..
Retirement's the bomb, cept for clipping toenails, expanding waistline, bout ready for Z's....
Come, take my keyboard, have a good sieze....
Death and taxes, yes...but good blogs? No guarantees.
Victor you're a weirdo, what with your ABC's...
Geez, how'd you reach that, you, your conferees?
Time to go, silly attempt at journalese...
What'd you expect? Expertise?
By Henry Gibson and Miguel de Cervantes,
Love, Victurdeze
Saturday, April 06, 2019
Smoothies.....
Upon occasion, between double-cheeseburgers, I'll fix me onea them healthy smoothies. Mebbe a banana, a peek in the freezer to grab some apricots, strawberries, pineapple chunks, raspberries, a dash of 2% milk, and a bit of whey. (That's the whey, uh huh uh huh, I like it.)
Life, me thinks, is a smoothie....... or not.
I think ya gotta have sunshine or else you'll feel sunshine go away today, don't feel much like dancin.'
Toss in a partner into the blender, because with or without the mistle toe, we all can be in a Holiday mood..
A pet (or six).. Me and you and a dog named Boo, travelin' and livin' off the land. (Shelter pets make the best pets - don't fall for the how much is that doggie in the window line.. shelter pets have waggly tails too!)....
Don't forget mom, dad, sis, bro, cousin, uncle, aunt, grandma, grandpa, niece, nephew 'cause we are family, I got all my sisters with me... we are family, get up ev'rybody and sing.
I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I can't, because I'm horrible, but who cares, toss that song in the blender... sing in the shower, at the stoplight.. sing.. sing a song. make it simple, to last your whole life long.
Fun. Of course. And we'll have fun, fun, fun....... (Do they still make T-Birds?).. Oh girls they want to have fun.. oh girls, they want to have fun....you make lovin' fun.
Smile. Yep, we're almost ready to push that blender button, but how can we forget smile? When you're smiling (No, not in a Rambler...well, scratch that..they last made 'em in 1983, so if you're still rollin' in your Rambler, by all means smile.),,, when you're smilin, keep on smilin', the whole world smiles with you.. and when you're laughin' (Victor, we already did laughter) keep on laughin', the sun (did that too) comes shinin' thru...
Git yo' butt up and dance. Watch me whip, watch me nae nae. Dance to the music...dance to the music.. all we need is a drummer, for people who only need a beat.. I'm gonna add a guitar, and make it easy to move your feet.....Well.. you know you make me want to (Shout), Kick my heels up and (Shout), Throw my hands up and (Shout), Throw my head back and (Shout).. Come on now (Shout).. Put another nickel in, in the Nickelodeon, all I want is having you and music, music, music.
To each his/her own, but I'm tossing a little baseball in Ray. Take, me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd... Put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today, put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today.. put me in coach, look at me, I can be, Centerfield. (There's no crying in baseball).. I'm talkin' baseball, Kuzuski, Campanella, talking baseball, The man and Bobby Fella, The Scooter, the Barber and the News..
Weirdness. Probably just me, but I'd like a splash of weirdness. I can dig it, he can dig it, she can dig it, we can dig it, they can dig it, you can dig it... scaramouch scaramouch will you do the fandango.. they're coming to take me away, ha-haaa. they're coming to take me away ho-ho hee-hee-ha-haaa.
I think we're just about ready to push the button. If you start me up, if you start me up I'll never stop, you can start me up, you can start me up I'll never stop.
I've aways liked mutts. Canardlys, ya know. Canardly tell what they are.... I think once or twice in our lives we've all been to the 7-11 and tried that God-awful press every type of soda there is... dated me a gal that usedta go to the Piggly Wiggly where you could ground your own coffee.. she'd grab a bag, ground somea this, somea that, until she had pulled every handle to fill her bag, make her coffee smoothie.
This is nonsensical. Sorry, kinda. For me though, how else do you describe life? It don't come with no recipe or 'structions.. you can't forever follow the yellow brick road.. the straight and narrow...
Screw the village, life takes a blender. Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your booty. (it's a real cutie!)
Love, Victurd
Life, me thinks, is a smoothie....... or not.
I think ya gotta have sunshine or else you'll feel sunshine go away today, don't feel much like dancin.'
Toss in a partner into the blender, because with or without the mistle toe, we all can be in a Holiday mood..
A pet (or six).. Me and you and a dog named Boo, travelin' and livin' off the land. (Shelter pets make the best pets - don't fall for the how much is that doggie in the window line.. shelter pets have waggly tails too!)....
Don't forget mom, dad, sis, bro, cousin, uncle, aunt, grandma, grandpa, niece, nephew 'cause we are family, I got all my sisters with me... we are family, get up ev'rybody and sing.
I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I can't, because I'm horrible, but who cares, toss that song in the blender... sing in the shower, at the stoplight.. sing.. sing a song. make it simple, to last your whole life long.
Fun. Of course. And we'll have fun, fun, fun....... (Do they still make T-Birds?).. Oh girls they want to have fun.. oh girls, they want to have fun....you make lovin' fun.
Smile. Yep, we're almost ready to push that blender button, but how can we forget smile? When you're smiling (No, not in a Rambler...well, scratch that..they last made 'em in 1983, so if you're still rollin' in your Rambler, by all means smile.),,, when you're smilin, keep on smilin', the whole world smiles with you.. and when you're laughin' (Victor, we already did laughter) keep on laughin', the sun (did that too) comes shinin' thru...
Git yo' butt up and dance. Watch me whip, watch me nae nae. Dance to the music...dance to the music.. all we need is a drummer, for people who only need a beat.. I'm gonna add a guitar, and make it easy to move your feet.....Well.. you know you make me want to (Shout), Kick my heels up and (Shout), Throw my hands up and (Shout), Throw my head back and (Shout).. Come on now (Shout).. Put another nickel in, in the Nickelodeon, all I want is having you and music, music, music.
To each his/her own, but I'm tossing a little baseball in Ray. Take, me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd... Put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today, put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today.. put me in coach, look at me, I can be, Centerfield. (There's no crying in baseball).. I'm talkin' baseball, Kuzuski, Campanella, talking baseball, The man and Bobby Fella, The Scooter, the Barber and the News..
Weirdness. Probably just me, but I'd like a splash of weirdness. I can dig it, he can dig it, she can dig it, we can dig it, they can dig it, you can dig it... scaramouch scaramouch will you do the fandango.. they're coming to take me away, ha-haaa. they're coming to take me away ho-ho hee-hee-ha-haaa.
I think we're just about ready to push the button. If you start me up, if you start me up I'll never stop, you can start me up, you can start me up I'll never stop.
I've aways liked mutts. Canardlys, ya know. Canardly tell what they are.... I think once or twice in our lives we've all been to the 7-11 and tried that God-awful press every type of soda there is... dated me a gal that usedta go to the Piggly Wiggly where you could ground your own coffee.. she'd grab a bag, ground somea this, somea that, until she had pulled every handle to fill her bag, make her coffee smoothie.
This is nonsensical. Sorry, kinda. For me though, how else do you describe life? It don't come with no recipe or 'structions.. you can't forever follow the yellow brick road.. the straight and narrow...
Screw the village, life takes a blender. Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your booty. (it's a real cutie!)
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, April 03, 2019
Take a load off.....
I'm back, sorry kinda, not.
I often ask myself whyintheheck do I do this, "aren't you embarrassed to put yourself out there?". No.. not really.
I liken it to gas. If you have gas, you gotta let it out. Imagine the belly if you didn't. So, have thoughts, let 'em out. A buddy once said "sometimes you type things we think, but don't say." I've never known a sad, disgraced peacock - but had he not said that I woulda astalavista'd long ago. (I also recently heard "I enjoy your blog, except when you're wrong!")
Writing somehow makes me calm. Calm, (along with smile, happy, nice, equality, self-depreciation, humility, humanity, dog, cat, love, like) - is/are onea/somea my fav-o-write words. (I ain't sure grammatically how I shoulda done that last sentence, but that's the beauty of your own blog. Who cares?)
Take a load off. What makes you feel calm?.. Yes, of course, you're stuck listening to mine. Well, you ain't really stuck. You could Snagglepuss left. "I'll be back" Arnold. Maybe even Apprentice "You're fired." You could click that little X in the upper right hand corner and be gone - and I'd be cool with that.
I likes watching ducks on the water, and even Fred Flintstone riding down the road - in spite of knowing each of them are frantically moving their feet where we can't see. "I am gonna portray calm, happy, grace, even if you can't see me toiling."
Of course, easy chair, feet up. All things where we ain't gotta balance our own dang weight. Laying down to sleep at night. What better? Relive the day, but, whenya ain't running, hurrying, lifting, fretting, sweating - yada. Excite for tomorrow. Ya sink into that mattress. Ever have a water bed? Oh baby, it's some dang number above any number bed. Ya sink. Ya take a load off. It's warm in the winter, cool in the summer. And, ya float, so to speak.
Back porch. Or, front porch. Storm is pretty close to the opposite of calm, but yum, to take one in on the porch is pretty awesome. Relaxing. Nature. The colors, the sounds, the temps (and dressing accordingly to make one calm).. If ya ain't never had a screened in porch, ya oughta.
Children. I know the type exists that have absolutely no interest in being around kids until the age where "their brain is ripe." Nomme. I love love love watching little ones...try to put my feet in their teenie tiny shoes to try and think as they do. They ain't been common core'd, dewey decimal'd, you'll shoot your eye'd out,.. Curiosity = calm.
Gettin' caught in the rain. The abrupt change in emotion from "ho hum" to "oh crap" to "aahhhhhh" is downright heavenly...not to mention fun. It's like clothing - what better than to get out of 'em?... Really... have you EVER seen anyone come in from an unexpected downpour that DIDN'T have a huge ole smile once they'd escaped? Me neither.
"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm." Willa Cather
Pets, and petting pets. Also, watching the interaction of others with their pets. Fierce loyalty. Calm. Yum, but with an occasional poop scoop. Gump happens, scroll to 'ya gotta let it out.'
Familiarity. Cars, streets, signs, neighborhoods, towns, kids, grandkids, siblings, parents, grandparents, schoolmates, neighbors, good friends - all things happy, all things calm. Just the assuredness of reaching over in bed, feeling "yep, still there" affords calm. (Blogspot red-underlined 'assuredness', but that don't upset me cause I assure you, if it ain't a word, should be.)
The last bite. That satiated feeling one gets after a good meal. Yeah, maybe a tad bit of discomfort, but yes, calm. You're where ya wanna be. You're gonna suck up that moment. Appreciate the calm, before you gotta get up, do the dishes, or pay the bill, get up and finish this wonderful 'taking a load off.'
Take a moment. That calms me. Taking a moment to pray, be thankful. A moment to appreciate. Your moment? When i finish playing golf at my little par three course, first thing I do it sit in the shade overlooking the 18th hole, actually overlooking the entire course - and, reflect, take a moment. Bodies don't work forever. Old farts don't drive cars forever. Injury, illness, infection happens. When it ain't, ya gotta take a moment to be thankful for the calm. The more I make myself sit, look out at the trees, the lakes, the blue sky, the wind blowing, God's creatures running around (yes, even the dadgum bugs) - the more I appreciate calm.. and God.
Oh there's tons more (for me anyways... the morning paper, that sound when the coffee ain't no longer percolating, Ray Charles, Louie Armstrong, Eric Clapton...Ellen.. a fan going, screened windows open, the top down on a car., A CANOE....dawn, dusk..) but then again, pain happens - and pain can happen in the form of "you've gone on and on about this, now is the time to astalavista."
And right you are.
I wish you calm. There ain't much better. Well, I guess I can think of a thing or two, but last time I reached over there tweren't no one there!
Don't really like Pina Coladas any more... not into yoga.. I hope I have halfa brain.. but I love, love love getting caught in the rain.
Love, peace and soul.... Have calm,
Victurd
I often ask myself whyintheheck do I do this, "aren't you embarrassed to put yourself out there?". No.. not really.
I liken it to gas. If you have gas, you gotta let it out. Imagine the belly if you didn't. So, have thoughts, let 'em out. A buddy once said "sometimes you type things we think, but don't say." I've never known a sad, disgraced peacock - but had he not said that I woulda astalavista'd long ago. (I also recently heard "I enjoy your blog, except when you're wrong!")
Writing somehow makes me calm. Calm, (along with smile, happy, nice, equality, self-depreciation, humility, humanity, dog, cat, love, like) - is/are onea/somea my fav-o-write words. (I ain't sure grammatically how I shoulda done that last sentence, but that's the beauty of your own blog. Who cares?)
Take a load off. What makes you feel calm?.. Yes, of course, you're stuck listening to mine. Well, you ain't really stuck. You could Snagglepuss left. "I'll be back" Arnold. Maybe even Apprentice "You're fired." You could click that little X in the upper right hand corner and be gone - and I'd be cool with that.
I likes watching ducks on the water, and even Fred Flintstone riding down the road - in spite of knowing each of them are frantically moving their feet where we can't see. "I am gonna portray calm, happy, grace, even if you can't see me toiling."
Of course, easy chair, feet up. All things where we ain't gotta balance our own dang weight. Laying down to sleep at night. What better? Relive the day, but, whenya ain't running, hurrying, lifting, fretting, sweating - yada. Excite for tomorrow. Ya sink into that mattress. Ever have a water bed? Oh baby, it's some dang number above any number bed. Ya sink. Ya take a load off. It's warm in the winter, cool in the summer. And, ya float, so to speak.
Back porch. Or, front porch. Storm is pretty close to the opposite of calm, but yum, to take one in on the porch is pretty awesome. Relaxing. Nature. The colors, the sounds, the temps (and dressing accordingly to make one calm).. If ya ain't never had a screened in porch, ya oughta.
Children. I know the type exists that have absolutely no interest in being around kids until the age where "their brain is ripe." Nomme. I love love love watching little ones...try to put my feet in their teenie tiny shoes to try and think as they do. They ain't been common core'd, dewey decimal'd, you'll shoot your eye'd out,.. Curiosity = calm.
Gettin' caught in the rain. The abrupt change in emotion from "ho hum" to "oh crap" to "aahhhhhh" is downright heavenly...not to mention fun. It's like clothing - what better than to get out of 'em?... Really... have you EVER seen anyone come in from an unexpected downpour that DIDN'T have a huge ole smile once they'd escaped? Me neither.
"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm." Willa Cather
Pets, and petting pets. Also, watching the interaction of others with their pets. Fierce loyalty. Calm. Yum, but with an occasional poop scoop. Gump happens, scroll to 'ya gotta let it out.'
Familiarity. Cars, streets, signs, neighborhoods, towns, kids, grandkids, siblings, parents, grandparents, schoolmates, neighbors, good friends - all things happy, all things calm. Just the assuredness of reaching over in bed, feeling "yep, still there" affords calm. (Blogspot red-underlined 'assuredness', but that don't upset me cause I assure you, if it ain't a word, should be.)
The last bite. That satiated feeling one gets after a good meal. Yeah, maybe a tad bit of discomfort, but yes, calm. You're where ya wanna be. You're gonna suck up that moment. Appreciate the calm, before you gotta get up, do the dishes, or pay the bill, get up and finish this wonderful 'taking a load off.'
Take a moment. That calms me. Taking a moment to pray, be thankful. A moment to appreciate. Your moment? When i finish playing golf at my little par three course, first thing I do it sit in the shade overlooking the 18th hole, actually overlooking the entire course - and, reflect, take a moment. Bodies don't work forever. Old farts don't drive cars forever. Injury, illness, infection happens. When it ain't, ya gotta take a moment to be thankful for the calm. The more I make myself sit, look out at the trees, the lakes, the blue sky, the wind blowing, God's creatures running around (yes, even the dadgum bugs) - the more I appreciate calm.. and God.
Oh there's tons more (for me anyways... the morning paper, that sound when the coffee ain't no longer percolating, Ray Charles, Louie Armstrong, Eric Clapton...Ellen.. a fan going, screened windows open, the top down on a car., A CANOE....dawn, dusk..) but then again, pain happens - and pain can happen in the form of "you've gone on and on about this, now is the time to astalavista."
And right you are.
I wish you calm. There ain't much better. Well, I guess I can think of a thing or two, but last time I reached over there tweren't no one there!
Don't really like Pina Coladas any more... not into yoga.. I hope I have halfa brain.. but I love, love love getting caught in the rain.
Love, peace and soul.... Have calm,
Victurd
Tuesday, April 02, 2019
Dirty Laundry... Part 2
As in, hopefully the last chapter.
Victor? Why are you doing this?
Cause I feel like an idiot. I posted the following on FB yesterday:
"Dirty laundry. Last week, transmission out on Grand Prix, junked it. Bought used PT Cruiser, 4 days later engine computer out. This morning, video kaput on big screen TV. (Toshiba, no buy one.) Do you think one of those axe throwing places would give me chump change for the Cruiser and/or the TV? (Today's trip to Ameristar postponed!)"
Honest to goodness, the purpose was to hopefully gain a laugh, what with the searing popularity of the axe throwing joints popping up.
Just know, I'm like Lou, as in Gehrig.."Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the planet."
I am blessed, and please know I'm aware of that.
Aside from all the ":hang in there, hope things get better" postings, I had an offer for a free flatscreen.. and even two that said they would pray. People. Are. Nice.
The rest of the story:
The 2008 Pontiac I junked? I paid $3000 for it. Was in a minor fender bender last year at a stoplight. Guy's foot slipped off the brake, hit the gas. Insurance totaled it, gave me $106 more than I paid for the car, AND the title. I bought a trunk, a bumper guard and a taillight for $100 at junk yard, good as new. I sold it for $400 when tranny was going out, so... ain't nuttin' wrong with that deal!
The PT Cruiser and it's computer going out? In spite of mechanic's advice "get it fixed, sell it" I LOVE IT. Even after purchasing new computer, the total is less than a grand of what I thought I'd pay. As an aside, it's a convertible. Years with grandkids are precious and few. I know their excitement will one day wear off, BUT, they really dig riding in it. And I dig that they dig it!
The TV? I'd bought it on Black Friday for a piddly amount. I bemoaned probable having to pay double, maybe triple to get a replacement. Lo and behold Wally World now has their own damn brand and it was only $28 more (and it's an inch bigger!).. Oh, and yeah, I paid $23 for a 3 year warranty. The damn things just don't last.
So see? :Life is good, and sorry if it came across I was bitching, i really wasn't. Life is good.
Further down in that Facebook posting was a post from a gal who basically said "And I thought I had it bad because last night when I opened the fridge, the light went out."
Mine too, and this is the only part that still bugs me! $8 for a single light bulb that's said to last 9 years. Hell, will I even live that long?
So, color me blessed, and sorry if it came across as bitchy. I love life and all it offers.
Gotta go do laundry, it's dirty.
Love, Victurd
Victor? Why are you doing this?
Cause I feel like an idiot. I posted the following on FB yesterday:
"Dirty laundry. Last week, transmission out on Grand Prix, junked it. Bought used PT Cruiser, 4 days later engine computer out. This morning, video kaput on big screen TV. (Toshiba, no buy one.) Do you think one of those axe throwing places would give me chump change for the Cruiser and/or the TV? (Today's trip to Ameristar postponed!)"
Honest to goodness, the purpose was to hopefully gain a laugh, what with the searing popularity of the axe throwing joints popping up.
Just know, I'm like Lou, as in Gehrig.."Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the planet."
I am blessed, and please know I'm aware of that.
Aside from all the ":hang in there, hope things get better" postings, I had an offer for a free flatscreen.. and even two that said they would pray. People. Are. Nice.
The rest of the story:
The 2008 Pontiac I junked? I paid $3000 for it. Was in a minor fender bender last year at a stoplight. Guy's foot slipped off the brake, hit the gas. Insurance totaled it, gave me $106 more than I paid for the car, AND the title. I bought a trunk, a bumper guard and a taillight for $100 at junk yard, good as new. I sold it for $400 when tranny was going out, so... ain't nuttin' wrong with that deal!
The PT Cruiser and it's computer going out? In spite of mechanic's advice "get it fixed, sell it" I LOVE IT. Even after purchasing new computer, the total is less than a grand of what I thought I'd pay. As an aside, it's a convertible. Years with grandkids are precious and few. I know their excitement will one day wear off, BUT, they really dig riding in it. And I dig that they dig it!
The TV? I'd bought it on Black Friday for a piddly amount. I bemoaned probable having to pay double, maybe triple to get a replacement. Lo and behold Wally World now has their own damn brand and it was only $28 more (and it's an inch bigger!).. Oh, and yeah, I paid $23 for a 3 year warranty. The damn things just don't last.
So see? :Life is good, and sorry if it came across I was bitching, i really wasn't. Life is good.
Further down in that Facebook posting was a post from a gal who basically said "And I thought I had it bad because last night when I opened the fridge, the light went out."
Mine too, and this is the only part that still bugs me! $8 for a single light bulb that's said to last 9 years. Hell, will I even live that long?
So, color me blessed, and sorry if it came across as bitchy. I love life and all it offers.
Gotta go do laundry, it's dirty.
Love, Victurd
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