Coffee.. the morning news.. and hunger led me to McDonalds this morning. I know I know, but I've eaten fairly healthily this week, it's time to splurge.
As I sat drinking coffee... then as I drove to McDonalds,..my mind ventured on writing a blog about "being 60-something.. how things "roll off me" now like rain on a duck's feathers.. ie, I don't/won't, get bent outta shape any longer. Yeah, that's what I'll write about...
"Welcome back, may I take your order?" Ahem. How does she know I've been here before? What if I never have? VICTOR, remember... "roll off me." Oh yeah.. k.
"Yes, I'd like a sausage biscuit, a sausage McMuffin and a cup of water please."
"So... do you want both sandwiches?"... Me.. brief silence..
Simmer down old codger, remember, this person is trying their best at minimum wage. "Yes, please." Forgive me Father, I thought internally "WHY would she ask that? I would never ask that." As I pulled to the window, I wondered what she looked like.
I got to the window, a dude handed me my sandwiches. I giggled internally, as this goes against everything the young man had been trained to do. "Get the money first." I contemplated driving off, but it ain't hard to spot a beat up silver PT Cruiser with a black convertible top and a redheaded old man that has a porn-star mustache (that's what my son says I look like.) So I paid.
Then, the "so do you want both sandwiches" lady appears, without looking me in the eyes, hands me the water and says "have a nice day" and before I could shout out "You as well" the window was closed and she was off to argue with the next chap in line. VICTOR! Water off a duck's feather! Oh yeah, sorry.
In as much as the order taker needs to get it right the first time, so do I, the grumpy old man need to get it right. I AM convinced, the older I get, the less things bug me - but I gotta admit I slip. The get it right first, to me, applies to one's reaction. I think we all have instant reactions (we discussed horn honking at an intersection) - but, relaxing, asking "Does it really matter human?" helps us get to the point of "nope, grand schemea things, it don't."
As I drove to the City Park to chomp down on my "yes both please" sandwiches, I'd remembered a recent visit with a loved one going thru chemo. This person's attitude, approach is so, so wonderful. I gulped further into guilt for allowing the short order lady to upset me.
Sport's page first. Always been that way, Believe it or not there are usually more life lessons there than in the front section of the paper. The front section carries shootings, accidents, embezzlements, Left/Right argument and ends with the obits. Getting it right would be to have the Sport's page first.
Wonderful lead article about our Chief's 2nd round draft pick that had zero to do with touchdowns, 40 yd dash speed, ego, yada... it was about his love for assisting special needs children. Started in 6th grade and has been devoted to help ever since. So Victor, how are you feeling about now about getting bent outta shape at Mickey D's?
Then, an article about our local girl's soccer team that recently won the Missouri State Championship. In leading up to the long path, they were to play the crosstown rival who had beaten them earlier in the year.. The day before the game, the Liberty coach's brother committed suicide. Geez. I can't imagine. He didn't tell the girls before the game...
After, he did. In times when there are no answers as to "why", we all react in different ways. This coach preferred to seek any good from it, and he stated "We talk about these pillars that I want the girls to learn.. and one of the major pillars that I talk about is being able to handle adversity..I said 'Ladies, a lot of things will knock you down. You have to be able to pick yourself up." Wow. Four wins later, State Champs - way to go coach!
Yes, the Sport's page has a box score, results of Nascar, World Cup, Golf, who's injured, who's signed, who's cut.. who's fined.. but it also has things that matter to humans.
Dave Parker was/is, a vibrant personality. Dave was in town to be inducted into the Negro Leagues 2019 Hall of Game. He was Mr. Baseball in the 70's, and the Godfather of the "We are family" Pittsburgh Pirates. While the smile is as huge as ever, the heart maybe even bigger - 7 years ago Dave developed a tremor... Tests would reveal he has Parkinsons. So, what's Dave do? He's devoting the vast majority of his remaining life to raise funds for Parkinsons' research. Dave got it right the first time, and the second time. A human that matters.
Stephen Piscotty, star baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals, had the world by a string. In the opening series of 2017, the Cardinals signed him to a 6 year $33.5 million dollar extension. At some point in the season, he learned his mother (living near Oakland, CA) had ALS. He skipped some games to go spend time with her. Yes, baseball is a business, but thanks to two GM's with an eye on the books - but a hand on their heart, a trade was arranged and Stephen (with contract) was dealt to Oakland - where he got to spend a great, great deal of time with his mother before her passing in 2018. They got it right, humans matter.
One more before I go. Atop the leaderboard at the current PGA golf tourney is a gentlemen named Nate Lashley, I am in his court rooting for him today. Nate turned pro in 2005.. has played on mini tours, the LatinAmerica tour.. and has sold real estate on the side to make ends meet. He FINALLY got his PGA tour card in 2018, then a knee injury shelved the remainder of the season. He's made some OK money, but a win today would earn him more money than he's made in 14 total years as a pro. Victor? Why you rooting for him?
I'm rooting for him because he probably doesn't get all bent outta shape at the drive thru window in McDonalds. You see, worse stuff has happened. His junior year in college, his parents and his girlfriend had flown to watch him golf in the NCAA golf tournament. As they flew home from Oregon to Nebraska, their plane crashed and all three expired in the crash. Imagine. I can't. I'm not certain I could ever deal with that kind of adversity, would have trouble picking myself up. Go Nate. Even if you don't win today, from my shoes, you've won. Kudos.
So if you've ordered ketchup and mustard only and you bite into a big old pickle, don't be like Victor. Water on the feathers. Scrape it off, go find a shade tree, park.. read the Sport's page. You, like me, may learn a lesson - and - find an idol to root for that has nothing to do with touchdowns, home runs, driving distance or penalty kicks.
Love, Victurd
Sunday, June 30, 2019
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
Jesus loves me this I know.......
Because the Bible tells me so.......
Some other stuff I know... simply because observation, experience, 'been there' tells me so.....
If I have to pee, really REALLY bad, the light will turn yellow.
If I'm out driving, see an Aldi's, thus swerve into their parking lot - I will have 17 cents in change in my pocket.
The automatic flusher thingy at Wally World ALWAYS works when I exit the bathroom and there ain't no one in there. The time that it doesn't work, and I exit... uh huh... "Ahm, hi...howya doin'?"
40 pounds ago, i had this wonderful notion, "I know, I'm gonna try, really hard, to workout 100 consecutive days." Long about day 91, I was feeling perty darn proud of myself. Snowed that morning. Lots. Neither rain nor snow nor heat nor dark of night.. hell or highwater. Four blocks to gym. Twenty-seven minutes to start car, get snow off, scrape windows. Another, roughly 18 minutes to traverse those 4 blocks to the gym. It was closed.
(Day 92, severe case of bronchitis. Ha)....
Gloom, despair and agony on me....
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner (awhile back) of 1999 Grand Marquis. Proudly drove to watering hole to show my UAW townie friends.. "Oh, nice car - that will run forever." "I know," I tossed in, "my dad always drove (the sister cars) Lincoln Continentals..200K miles on each and every one." Next day, same UAW buddies, same watering hole. Uh huh. Won't start. "Hey, can you guys help me push this across the highway to the mechanic joint? " Did. "Well sir, it's your fuel filter." Whew, that can't be bad can it? "It's inside the gas tank, all in all, it will be $547 to fix." Gulp.
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner of 2008 Chevy Uplander Van. Nice. All grandkids fit in it, wonderful trip to Omaha 3rd day I had it. 5th day I had it, radiator bad ($500+). Inside first month, "Nah, I didn't pay that much for it.. I'll just get liability." Dropped a cig, leaned down to p/u, uh oh, overcorrected, drove into a fence. Engine caught fire. Totaled. Gulp.
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner of 2005 (CONVERTIBLE!) PT Cruiser.. Day 4, (NO VICTOR, please stop this!).. uh huh, engine computer out. Day 12, tranny probs. Some couple $K's later, all is good. Gulp.
Not all too long ago, I very quickly turned $100 into $200 (in like 5 minutes) playing blackjack. If you ever hear "I always win", huh uh, they speaky with forked tongue. On this day, I did, and had the good sense to get up, get out. Next day to Wally World to splurge, buy some fattening stuff I shouldn't, dropped phone on the ground. Uh huh, ruined. To Cricket, phone kaput. Uh huh, $100 for a cheapy replacement.
I have found... situations happen.. Relationships end.. Trivial stuff that seems large happens.. Just when the inclination to shout "Why me Lord?" I look around.. see REALLY crappy stuff happening to others - and I'm ridden with guilt.
Now, when "uh oh" happens, I'm ok. I laugh. It's really all one can do. Were it not for misfortune, I'm not certain one would appreciate fortune.
With age, loss seemingly happens with more frequency. Loss is sad. Yellow light having to pee.. no quarter for a grocery cart.. snow.. bronchitis.. radiators.. engine fires. engine computers.. trannys.. cracked phones.. a relationship ending - ain't loss (in the true sense of the word).
Victor, (trivial) gump happens. Sure, take a quick sigh, but then laugh at it. Love others/all. 'Cause one day others might not be here. Never fear using that word 'love', for one day you might not be able to. Have fun along the way, and remember how blessed each and every one of us is.
Got the runs. Er, I mean, gotta run. Swinging by WallyWorld to poop. Then off to buy a 'new' car. JK.
Gloom, despair, agony happens. Don't forget to Hee Haw about it. Laugh and love along the way, If you're here, I love you. If you're not, please know I love you and miss you.
Love, Victurd
Some other stuff I know... simply because observation, experience, 'been there' tells me so.....
If I have to pee, really REALLY bad, the light will turn yellow.
If I'm out driving, see an Aldi's, thus swerve into their parking lot - I will have 17 cents in change in my pocket.
The automatic flusher thingy at Wally World ALWAYS works when I exit the bathroom and there ain't no one in there. The time that it doesn't work, and I exit... uh huh... "Ahm, hi...howya doin'?"
40 pounds ago, i had this wonderful notion, "I know, I'm gonna try, really hard, to workout 100 consecutive days." Long about day 91, I was feeling perty darn proud of myself. Snowed that morning. Lots. Neither rain nor snow nor heat nor dark of night.. hell or highwater. Four blocks to gym. Twenty-seven minutes to start car, get snow off, scrape windows. Another, roughly 18 minutes to traverse those 4 blocks to the gym. It was closed.
(Day 92, severe case of bronchitis. Ha)....
Gloom, despair and agony on me....
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner (awhile back) of 1999 Grand Marquis. Proudly drove to watering hole to show my UAW townie friends.. "Oh, nice car - that will run forever." "I know," I tossed in, "my dad always drove (the sister cars) Lincoln Continentals..200K miles on each and every one." Next day, same UAW buddies, same watering hole. Uh huh. Won't start. "Hey, can you guys help me push this across the highway to the mechanic joint? " Did. "Well sir, it's your fuel filter." Whew, that can't be bad can it? "It's inside the gas tank, all in all, it will be $547 to fix." Gulp.
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner of 2008 Chevy Uplander Van. Nice. All grandkids fit in it, wonderful trip to Omaha 3rd day I had it. 5th day I had it, radiator bad ($500+). Inside first month, "Nah, I didn't pay that much for it.. I'll just get liability." Dropped a cig, leaned down to p/u, uh oh, overcorrected, drove into a fence. Engine caught fire. Totaled. Gulp.
Proud, PROUD 'new' owner of 2005 (CONVERTIBLE!) PT Cruiser.. Day 4, (NO VICTOR, please stop this!).. uh huh, engine computer out. Day 12, tranny probs. Some couple $K's later, all is good. Gulp.
Not all too long ago, I very quickly turned $100 into $200 (in like 5 minutes) playing blackjack. If you ever hear "I always win", huh uh, they speaky with forked tongue. On this day, I did, and had the good sense to get up, get out. Next day to Wally World to splurge, buy some fattening stuff I shouldn't, dropped phone on the ground. Uh huh, ruined. To Cricket, phone kaput. Uh huh, $100 for a cheapy replacement.
I have found... situations happen.. Relationships end.. Trivial stuff that seems large happens.. Just when the inclination to shout "Why me Lord?" I look around.. see REALLY crappy stuff happening to others - and I'm ridden with guilt.
Now, when "uh oh" happens, I'm ok. I laugh. It's really all one can do. Were it not for misfortune, I'm not certain one would appreciate fortune.
With age, loss seemingly happens with more frequency. Loss is sad. Yellow light having to pee.. no quarter for a grocery cart.. snow.. bronchitis.. radiators.. engine fires. engine computers.. trannys.. cracked phones.. a relationship ending - ain't loss (in the true sense of the word).
Victor, (trivial) gump happens. Sure, take a quick sigh, but then laugh at it. Love others/all. 'Cause one day others might not be here. Never fear using that word 'love', for one day you might not be able to. Have fun along the way, and remember how blessed each and every one of us is.
Got the runs. Er, I mean, gotta run. Swinging by WallyWorld to poop. Then off to buy a 'new' car. JK.
Gloom, despair, agony happens. Don't forget to Hee Haw about it. Laugh and love along the way, If you're here, I love you. If you're not, please know I love you and miss you.
Love, Victurd
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Dlog.....
If only.....
Take a bow... wow...
We "get it." You humans. Sometimes you forget how fleeting life is. Nuh uh, not us. Hell to the yeah, when every year is actually seven, we're gonna go, do, WITH excitement.
That relationship that's going stale? Well... if you TOO would run to the door when your mate comes home, each and every time, wag your tail with the excitement like they just came home from Iraq, or Afghanistan, or any kinda vacation, then mebbe your coupledom would again be spiffy. Be like me, a 'woof woof', an anxious, loving look out the window - then, when the door opens, I'm allover ya. . Jumping up, trying to lick your face, tail wagging faster'n lightning.
We are ALWAYS up for go, do. The jingle of those car keys? I'm ready. Lemme ride shotgun. June bugs, cicadas be damned, my head is out the window. Faster, Faster! That rush one gets when the hair is blown back! Yum!
Game'a catch? Throw that sucker, I'll make Adalberto Mondesi look like a Little Leaguer.. Sure, I may need to lap up a quick drinka water now and then, but bet your bottom dollar you will tire out before I do.
I mean, come on, there's so much to be happy about. I ain't never gotta put on clothes. Gotta pee? Poop? No problem. Hey, don't get mad - wait a week or so and see how dadgum green the grass is where I pooped.
If you do tire out first, all good. I'll just practice fetching sticks, or maybe give a squirrel a heart attack scurrying him up a tree. I could stop and communicate with all my friends in the neighborhood. Ain't gotta text, email.. we simply bark hello. Gotta check occsionally and make sure it's all good in the doggyhood.
That backscratcher you bought at Dollar General? Ha! All I needta do is rollover on my back, twist, turn - presto, the acorns and baby sticks help.. and carpet, yum, carpet works too (dang I miss shag carpet though)...
Offended that I maybe didn't like what you offered up for dinner? Not too worry, I just might wait a bit, but it's a promise when I'm hungry, I'll eat it (and be thankful.)
I'm happy. Why not? I live a dog's life. Yum. Door open, I'll run like someone left the gate open. And what's with this negative connotation to 'dog ears'. (His homework was 'dog-eared').. I LOVE my ears. See? I put 'em up at attention when you talk to me. Just behind the feel of that backscratchin' on my own is when you rub my ears. Mesmerize me, I'll tap my tail to your beat. And I would NEVER eat your homework!
I love getting dirty. I ain't no prissy-sissy. Mud, ponds, rivers, lakes, creeks - I'm in, and all-in. You won't need no Tide Pods, just hose me off.
Your side of the bed? The other's side of the bed? BORING! Let's snuggle all night. I'll lay next to ya, on toppa ya, simply to show my love - and maybe too so I'll be sure to wake up when you wake up.
I like easy chairs, sofas, loveseats, even the floor. Ya ain't gotta run off to Nebraska Furniture Mart every time you paint the living room, get bored with 'same ole' - I'm happy with whatever we have in the room. I even like jumping up on the coffee table.
Red, blue, Trump, Trump-hater, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist, big, small, fat, skinny, pretty, pretty ugly, white, yellow, red, black? Take me to the doggy park - I'll teach you a lesson on how to get along with those that are differn't. We are family, I got all my Sitters (and Beagles, Labs, Canardlys) with me. Get up every doggy and sing.
Ya know how you bought that gym membership, but you drive right past it on the way to Piggly Wiggly all the time? Don't waste your money any longer. Buy a leash, let's go. I'll pull, lead, smell stuff on this side, that side (just to make sure the path is safe for you) and I'll happily go, any, every time.
Don't mind me staring at you. It's what I, we, dogs do. I adore you, even if you ain't perfect. I look past that. I know too there will be times I don't getta go with you.. and you may be gone for a bit. It's ok. I'll listen for you. I'll watch for you. And, back to Iraq, Afghanistan, vacation, I'll love you each and every time you come home and never get mad at you.
And when I, old Yeller, get all old and gray - don't worry. I won't gripe about the weather, the Government, "Pups nowadays." My love for you is constant. Eternal. I may trudge about a bit slower, but the tail will always wag at 78 speed. I am loyal, hear me snore.
All I ask in return is that you crank up a little Bach or Beethoven come 4th of July time. Oh, and the pound. That's the only place I ain't gonna tag along with you. The Vet? Ah, Ok, but not to the pound.
I love being a dog. Mostly, and more importantly, I love you, whoever you are.
Love, Dogturd
Take a bow... wow...
We "get it." You humans. Sometimes you forget how fleeting life is. Nuh uh, not us. Hell to the yeah, when every year is actually seven, we're gonna go, do, WITH excitement.
That relationship that's going stale? Well... if you TOO would run to the door when your mate comes home, each and every time, wag your tail with the excitement like they just came home from Iraq, or Afghanistan, or any kinda vacation, then mebbe your coupledom would again be spiffy. Be like me, a 'woof woof', an anxious, loving look out the window - then, when the door opens, I'm allover ya. . Jumping up, trying to lick your face, tail wagging faster'n lightning.
We are ALWAYS up for go, do. The jingle of those car keys? I'm ready. Lemme ride shotgun. June bugs, cicadas be damned, my head is out the window. Faster, Faster! That rush one gets when the hair is blown back! Yum!
Game'a catch? Throw that sucker, I'll make Adalberto Mondesi look like a Little Leaguer.. Sure, I may need to lap up a quick drinka water now and then, but bet your bottom dollar you will tire out before I do.
I mean, come on, there's so much to be happy about. I ain't never gotta put on clothes. Gotta pee? Poop? No problem. Hey, don't get mad - wait a week or so and see how dadgum green the grass is where I pooped.
If you do tire out first, all good. I'll just practice fetching sticks, or maybe give a squirrel a heart attack scurrying him up a tree. I could stop and communicate with all my friends in the neighborhood. Ain't gotta text, email.. we simply bark hello. Gotta check occsionally and make sure it's all good in the doggyhood.
That backscratcher you bought at Dollar General? Ha! All I needta do is rollover on my back, twist, turn - presto, the acorns and baby sticks help.. and carpet, yum, carpet works too (dang I miss shag carpet though)...
Offended that I maybe didn't like what you offered up for dinner? Not too worry, I just might wait a bit, but it's a promise when I'm hungry, I'll eat it (and be thankful.)
I'm happy. Why not? I live a dog's life. Yum. Door open, I'll run like someone left the gate open. And what's with this negative connotation to 'dog ears'. (His homework was 'dog-eared').. I LOVE my ears. See? I put 'em up at attention when you talk to me. Just behind the feel of that backscratchin' on my own is when you rub my ears. Mesmerize me, I'll tap my tail to your beat. And I would NEVER eat your homework!
I love getting dirty. I ain't no prissy-sissy. Mud, ponds, rivers, lakes, creeks - I'm in, and all-in. You won't need no Tide Pods, just hose me off.
Your side of the bed? The other's side of the bed? BORING! Let's snuggle all night. I'll lay next to ya, on toppa ya, simply to show my love - and maybe too so I'll be sure to wake up when you wake up.
I like easy chairs, sofas, loveseats, even the floor. Ya ain't gotta run off to Nebraska Furniture Mart every time you paint the living room, get bored with 'same ole' - I'm happy with whatever we have in the room. I even like jumping up on the coffee table.
Red, blue, Trump, Trump-hater, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist, big, small, fat, skinny, pretty, pretty ugly, white, yellow, red, black? Take me to the doggy park - I'll teach you a lesson on how to get along with those that are differn't. We are family, I got all my Sitters (and Beagles, Labs, Canardlys) with me. Get up every doggy and sing.
Ya know how you bought that gym membership, but you drive right past it on the way to Piggly Wiggly all the time? Don't waste your money any longer. Buy a leash, let's go. I'll pull, lead, smell stuff on this side, that side (just to make sure the path is safe for you) and I'll happily go, any, every time.
Don't mind me staring at you. It's what I, we, dogs do. I adore you, even if you ain't perfect. I look past that. I know too there will be times I don't getta go with you.. and you may be gone for a bit. It's ok. I'll listen for you. I'll watch for you. And, back to Iraq, Afghanistan, vacation, I'll love you each and every time you come home and never get mad at you.
And when I, old Yeller, get all old and gray - don't worry. I won't gripe about the weather, the Government, "Pups nowadays." My love for you is constant. Eternal. I may trudge about a bit slower, but the tail will always wag at 78 speed. I am loyal, hear me snore.
All I ask in return is that you crank up a little Bach or Beethoven come 4th of July time. Oh, and the pound. That's the only place I ain't gonna tag along with you. The Vet? Ah, Ok, but not to the pound.
I love being a dog. Mostly, and more importantly, I love you, whoever you are.
Love, Dogturd
Sunday, June 23, 2019
On the 12th Day of Christmas my true love gave to me.... (I was bored, sorry)
You forgot didn't you....
Twelve drummers drumming....
Dozen. The dime was introduced in 1795. Tweren't too long after, vendors started advertising all kinda food goodies (apples, peaches, eggs, oranges) as "Dime a dozen." Sure, dime went a lot further back then, but, still meant abundent in quantity and/or very cheap, something that's easily acquired.
I was gonna share the 'why' as to eggs are sold as a dozen, but it really ain't very interesting. Oh, ok damnit: "Under a system that came to be known as English units, which was a combination of old Anglo-Saxon and Roman systems of measurement, eggs were sold by the dozen. It made sense to sell them that way because one egg could be sold for a penny or 12 for a shilling, which was equal to 12 pennies. " Seez? Toldya. You just wasted 12 seconds of your life reading that. Sorry (but it was your call.)
I read the news today oh boy - and I came to my Horoscope, Libra. First thought was "Is/are 1/12th of the folks on the planet suspected/supposed to have a day just like me?" Why 12? Something about the position of the planets and the sun and the moon on the Ecliptic at the moment of birth, Earth, Wind and Fire mighta been in the definition too, but then again, I think mebbe that's a musicial group and it was actually Air, Fire, Water and Earth and me and you and a dog named Boo.. The difference in Astronomy and Astrology? Who cares. Kinda like soccer. Least to me anyways.
"In all my work, I try to say - 'You may be given a load of sour lemons, why not try to make a dozen lemon meringue pies" That "Maya" lady.....
Clock on the wall has 12 hours. We gots 12 months a year. Twelve inches in a foot. (Band camp, long ago, friend of mine worked in the ER at a local hospital. "COME HERE COME HERE" she said loudly in the breakroom. "YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!! Ok, the patient had a ruler tattooed on his uh huh. And no, I didn't ask if an inch really equaled an inch. Just thought bizarre. 12 dozen is gross BTW.
In that one song, George Thorogood orders a total of 12 bourbons, scotches and beers.
Jacob has 12 sons, Jesus 12 disciples, Twelve tribes were started after Moses led his people out of Egypt. Twelve is also XII. The largest number with one syllable? Yep, twelve. Under British law, one can buy at pet at 12. (I wish they'd do the same and make kids wait for cell phones here until 12.)
"If there are nine guys auditioning and they're all gorgeous, I have an advantage, because gorgeous guys are a dime a dozen. But if they need someone else - like a goofy guy with bad hair who is just okay - then that's me. And finally, the other 2 percent who audition are geniuses that I could never touch. " Tom Hanks
Twelve men have walked on the moon. The Beatles had 12 studio albums. Our bodies have 12 cranial nerves, 12 ribs, and 12 systems. Twelve knights were seated at King Arthur's roundtable. On the color wheel, there are 12 basic hues.
"Man who bring home a dozen roses has ulterior motive." Victurd
Carpenter's ruler has 12 subdivisions, pharmacists and jewelers use the 12 ounce-pound, miners divide shillings into 12 pence, and bakers who dropped outta school in 4th grade give out one too many a donut.
"People have asked me a lot of times, because I didn't hit a lot, how long a dozen bats would last me. Depending on the weight and the model I was using at the time, I would say 8 to 10 cookouts." Bob Uecker.
Sold as 12: Beer. Pop. Condoms. I just report it, i don't write it. Oysters. Golf balls (6 for Saturday, 6 for Sunday). 12 face cards in a deck. In bowling, a perfect game is, uh huh, 12 strikes.
Almost twelve o'clock, I'm outta here.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..... uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, otcho, nueve, diez, once, doce.
By Henry Gibson the XII-th....
Love, Victurd
Twelve drummers drumming....
Dozen. The dime was introduced in 1795. Tweren't too long after, vendors started advertising all kinda food goodies (apples, peaches, eggs, oranges) as "Dime a dozen." Sure, dime went a lot further back then, but, still meant abundent in quantity and/or very cheap, something that's easily acquired.
I was gonna share the 'why' as to eggs are sold as a dozen, but it really ain't very interesting. Oh, ok damnit: "Under a system that came to be known as English units, which was a combination of old Anglo-Saxon and Roman systems of measurement, eggs were sold by the dozen. It made sense to sell them that way because one egg could be sold for a penny or 12 for a shilling, which was equal to 12 pennies. " Seez? Toldya. You just wasted 12 seconds of your life reading that. Sorry (but it was your call.)
I read the news today oh boy - and I came to my Horoscope, Libra. First thought was "Is/are 1/12th of the folks on the planet suspected/supposed to have a day just like me?" Why 12? Something about the position of the planets and the sun and the moon on the Ecliptic at the moment of birth, Earth, Wind and Fire mighta been in the definition too, but then again, I think mebbe that's a musicial group and it was actually Air, Fire, Water and Earth and me and you and a dog named Boo.. The difference in Astronomy and Astrology? Who cares. Kinda like soccer. Least to me anyways.
"In all my work, I try to say - 'You may be given a load of sour lemons, why not try to make a dozen lemon meringue pies" That "Maya" lady.....
Clock on the wall has 12 hours. We gots 12 months a year. Twelve inches in a foot. (Band camp, long ago, friend of mine worked in the ER at a local hospital. "COME HERE COME HERE" she said loudly in the breakroom. "YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!! Ok, the patient had a ruler tattooed on his uh huh. And no, I didn't ask if an inch really equaled an inch. Just thought bizarre. 12 dozen is gross BTW.
In that one song, George Thorogood orders a total of 12 bourbons, scotches and beers.
Jacob has 12 sons, Jesus 12 disciples, Twelve tribes were started after Moses led his people out of Egypt. Twelve is also XII. The largest number with one syllable? Yep, twelve. Under British law, one can buy at pet at 12. (I wish they'd do the same and make kids wait for cell phones here until 12.)
"If there are nine guys auditioning and they're all gorgeous, I have an advantage, because gorgeous guys are a dime a dozen. But if they need someone else - like a goofy guy with bad hair who is just okay - then that's me. And finally, the other 2 percent who audition are geniuses that I could never touch. " Tom Hanks
Twelve men have walked on the moon. The Beatles had 12 studio albums. Our bodies have 12 cranial nerves, 12 ribs, and 12 systems. Twelve knights were seated at King Arthur's roundtable. On the color wheel, there are 12 basic hues.
"Man who bring home a dozen roses has ulterior motive." Victurd
Carpenter's ruler has 12 subdivisions, pharmacists and jewelers use the 12 ounce-pound, miners divide shillings into 12 pence, and bakers who dropped outta school in 4th grade give out one too many a donut.
"People have asked me a lot of times, because I didn't hit a lot, how long a dozen bats would last me. Depending on the weight and the model I was using at the time, I would say 8 to 10 cookouts." Bob Uecker.
Sold as 12: Beer. Pop. Condoms. I just report it, i don't write it. Oysters. Golf balls (6 for Saturday, 6 for Sunday). 12 face cards in a deck. In bowling, a perfect game is, uh huh, 12 strikes.
Almost twelve o'clock, I'm outta here.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..... uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, otcho, nueve, diez, once, doce.
By Henry Gibson the XII-th....
Love, Victurd
Monday, June 17, 2019
The eyes have it......
I thought maybe I was a goner. Band camp, awhile back, I was at an establishment with fellow Bubbas (again, that's our group of po' po' pitiful me men who've run off every mate we've ever smooched due to our own oopsies, so, we gather with good frequency to berate them. HA).
Anyways, I hadta pee. So, without looking, I jumped up (well, as close to 'jump' as a 66 yr old can) and I was immediately (accidentally) clobbered by a biker dude headed the opposite direction. He was roughly 6'4", two-fitty, and I am thinking "uh oh, he's gonna eat me faster'n a chocolate donut hole")... Just then it was "SIR, SIR.. I'm sorry!" Only it wasn't me that said it, it was him.
I smiled, muttered, "I'm sorry too," went on my way and cussed myself for being judgmental all the way to the John.
On this day, a biker dude was kinda close behind me... road was a four lane 30mph road, alluvasudden he pulls around me to pass - only he backs off the gas to equal the speed limit I was going. Then, he gestures the ole "roll down the window" gesture. Gulp. Victor, you judgmental basta', remember bumping into that guy on your way to the John? Uh huh. Then it'll all be ok. OK. As I complied and got my window down, I heard, "Hi sir.. just wanted to let you know your blinker is on." I giggled, felt 66 years old, wrote it off to wrinkles, said "thanks" with a smile and continued my 5mph under the speed limit we old farts drive with.
Twelve years ago, I sat in the office of an optician. I've been to church before. I've even been to Hawaii, and yes, Wrigley Field too - but I ain't never been in an optician's office. After nearly 30 minutes of silence, eye doc looks at me and says "Victor, how old are you?" 54. "Well, you've got cataracts in both eyes."
So, a few weeks later, I'm back in his office (I've been to church more than once, to Hawaii twice, but Wrigley Field only once) and he takes some kinda tool, whacks out my left eye lens (I'm left looking at egg whites, that's all I saw.. and that's prolly what my eyeball looked like.).. Then, he puts in a new, fake lens, and wow, clear. Very clear. Ain't been thataway in awhile. Same procedure on the right eye. Wow, even clearer. THANKS Doc!
So... I walked in the grocery store, saw real life colors like I ain't seen in years... not to mention greater clarity, definition of the derrieres of female shoppers (sorry, kinda, not).. And I spent the next few days rejoicing, throwing away the 8 pairs of $1.49 'readers' I've compiled over the years.. You see, I now see, and life is very good.
I no longer read the paper using my extended Olive Oil arms. I can now look in the mirror and say things like "Damn, you've aged" and "Victor, that ear hair is prolly three-quarters of an inch long, geez." All good.
I got onea them 'close up' lenses.. and one for seeing far away. Not many years after, this coincided with retirement from softball, cause, haveya ever tried to catch a pop-up with one eye that now sees close-up, and one that sees from a distance? It ain't an easy thing. (Neither is navigating tweezers to pull an ear hair when one eye is closeup, one is for distance - kinda like life, the struggle is real.)
Victor, you're rambling..is there a point to all this? Well mebbe. Yes? And that point is?
It's kinda that I find myself liking to use the close-up eye the most. You know, like 'waking up and smelling the roses' that are in the garden now, not the ones you wanna plant and see years from now. It's today, not five years from now, not when I'm maybe 80..it's today. Tomorrow ain't promised, so use that 'see far away' eyeball for when you're at a stop sign, ya gotta squint (close the close up eye) to see things at a distance.
I've never been any good with compound interest anyways - but my focus now is on today, Monday.. not Friday, or July, or 2020.... Live the day. Today. See it close up. Appreciate.
I''ve wandered from the Bubba table a time or two to visit, get to know somea them biker dudes. Nice, nice folks. Damn me. I even appreciate their 'burn-outs' now, and I can even read all the patches on their jackets.
I'm enjoying grandkids that are 2, 6 and 8. Sure, I think of them one day in high school, college, married, as a parent - but today is yummy. Close up. Worry later about "I do" and treasure today and hearing "papa" as one of the first ever said words. Save that far away eye for when you're at the stoplight and ya gotta see traffic in the distance.
I've lived a life where I ain't had very good long range planning. That's ok, I can live with that. At 9:28am Central, my long range planning is lunch today.
I may go to church Sunday. Might even plan for Hawaii, or a train ride to Wrigley - but now, right now, I'm gonna jump in my car and head for the hot tub at the Community Center.
In my late 40's, I found myself alone, soon to be divorced. I joined the Community Center, figured I'd lift some weights, ride the elliptical for a bit, sit in the sauna, then head to the Jacuzzi where I'd be met by a score of beautiful, fit, perfect, scantilly clad gorgeous women. I did all that (lifted weights, the elliptical, the sauna, and headed for the Jacuzzi).. Minutes after i got there, the 70-something age women's arthritis class was making their way out of the pool, and to, uh huh, the Jacuzzi. Ha.
Today, hey, mebbe somea them women won't look too bad to me! I'm going, today, now, 9:37am Monday, 6/17/19.
Victor, your blinker is on. I know, my checkenginelight too.
Band camp, I'd bought an ole Mercury clunker from the daughter of the owner who'd passed. Nice car. The code to punch in on the door to get in was his birth date, 07-06-1920. I didn't change it. Also, his checkenginelight was on - BUT, he'd covered it up with electrical tape so it wouldn't bug him. I like your style Mister. Me too. I'll worry about that.... tomorrow. I'm gonna live today.
Happy today,
Love, Victurd
Anyways, I hadta pee. So, without looking, I jumped up (well, as close to 'jump' as a 66 yr old can) and I was immediately (accidentally) clobbered by a biker dude headed the opposite direction. He was roughly 6'4", two-fitty, and I am thinking "uh oh, he's gonna eat me faster'n a chocolate donut hole")... Just then it was "SIR, SIR.. I'm sorry!" Only it wasn't me that said it, it was him.
I smiled, muttered, "I'm sorry too," went on my way and cussed myself for being judgmental all the way to the John.
On this day, a biker dude was kinda close behind me... road was a four lane 30mph road, alluvasudden he pulls around me to pass - only he backs off the gas to equal the speed limit I was going. Then, he gestures the ole "roll down the window" gesture. Gulp. Victor, you judgmental basta', remember bumping into that guy on your way to the John? Uh huh. Then it'll all be ok. OK. As I complied and got my window down, I heard, "Hi sir.. just wanted to let you know your blinker is on." I giggled, felt 66 years old, wrote it off to wrinkles, said "thanks" with a smile and continued my 5mph under the speed limit we old farts drive with.
Twelve years ago, I sat in the office of an optician. I've been to church before. I've even been to Hawaii, and yes, Wrigley Field too - but I ain't never been in an optician's office. After nearly 30 minutes of silence, eye doc looks at me and says "Victor, how old are you?" 54. "Well, you've got cataracts in both eyes."
So, a few weeks later, I'm back in his office (I've been to church more than once, to Hawaii twice, but Wrigley Field only once) and he takes some kinda tool, whacks out my left eye lens (I'm left looking at egg whites, that's all I saw.. and that's prolly what my eyeball looked like.).. Then, he puts in a new, fake lens, and wow, clear. Very clear. Ain't been thataway in awhile. Same procedure on the right eye. Wow, even clearer. THANKS Doc!
So... I walked in the grocery store, saw real life colors like I ain't seen in years... not to mention greater clarity, definition of the derrieres of female shoppers (sorry, kinda, not).. And I spent the next few days rejoicing, throwing away the 8 pairs of $1.49 'readers' I've compiled over the years.. You see, I now see, and life is very good.
I no longer read the paper using my extended Olive Oil arms. I can now look in the mirror and say things like "Damn, you've aged" and "Victor, that ear hair is prolly three-quarters of an inch long, geez." All good.
I got onea them 'close up' lenses.. and one for seeing far away. Not many years after, this coincided with retirement from softball, cause, haveya ever tried to catch a pop-up with one eye that now sees close-up, and one that sees from a distance? It ain't an easy thing. (Neither is navigating tweezers to pull an ear hair when one eye is closeup, one is for distance - kinda like life, the struggle is real.)
Victor, you're rambling..is there a point to all this? Well mebbe. Yes? And that point is?
It's kinda that I find myself liking to use the close-up eye the most. You know, like 'waking up and smelling the roses' that are in the garden now, not the ones you wanna plant and see years from now. It's today, not five years from now, not when I'm maybe 80..it's today. Tomorrow ain't promised, so use that 'see far away' eyeball for when you're at a stop sign, ya gotta squint (close the close up eye) to see things at a distance.
I've never been any good with compound interest anyways - but my focus now is on today, Monday.. not Friday, or July, or 2020.... Live the day. Today. See it close up. Appreciate.
I''ve wandered from the Bubba table a time or two to visit, get to know somea them biker dudes. Nice, nice folks. Damn me. I even appreciate their 'burn-outs' now, and I can even read all the patches on their jackets.
I'm enjoying grandkids that are 2, 6 and 8. Sure, I think of them one day in high school, college, married, as a parent - but today is yummy. Close up. Worry later about "I do" and treasure today and hearing "papa" as one of the first ever said words. Save that far away eye for when you're at the stoplight and ya gotta see traffic in the distance.
I've lived a life where I ain't had very good long range planning. That's ok, I can live with that. At 9:28am Central, my long range planning is lunch today.
I may go to church Sunday. Might even plan for Hawaii, or a train ride to Wrigley - but now, right now, I'm gonna jump in my car and head for the hot tub at the Community Center.
In my late 40's, I found myself alone, soon to be divorced. I joined the Community Center, figured I'd lift some weights, ride the elliptical for a bit, sit in the sauna, then head to the Jacuzzi where I'd be met by a score of beautiful, fit, perfect, scantilly clad gorgeous women. I did all that (lifted weights, the elliptical, the sauna, and headed for the Jacuzzi).. Minutes after i got there, the 70-something age women's arthritis class was making their way out of the pool, and to, uh huh, the Jacuzzi. Ha.
Today, hey, mebbe somea them women won't look too bad to me! I'm going, today, now, 9:37am Monday, 6/17/19.
Victor, your blinker is on. I know, my checkenginelight too.
Band camp, I'd bought an ole Mercury clunker from the daughter of the owner who'd passed. Nice car. The code to punch in on the door to get in was his birth date, 07-06-1920. I didn't change it. Also, his checkenginelight was on - BUT, he'd covered it up with electrical tape so it wouldn't bug him. I like your style Mister. Me too. I'll worry about that.... tomorrow. I'm gonna live today.
Happy today,
Love, Victurd
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Who the heck is Ramjit Raghav?
Patience my friend!
As always, vast majority of the below is plagiarized.
When Sonora Louise Smart Dodd was 16, her father became a widower and was left to raise Dodd and her five younger brothers alone. In 1909 she was listening to a Mother's Day Sermon and she realized the need for a day to celebrate fathers.
She drew up a petition for the first Father's Day to be celebrated in early June on her father's birthday. It was signed by only two, and presented to local clergy in the Spokane, Washington area. They liked the idea, but convinced her they needed more time, thus, it's celebrated later in June to give them more time to prepare. Happened, finally, on June 19th, 1910 at the YMCA in Spokane.
Dodd spent the better part of the next 62 years traveling the US, campaigning for it to become a national holiday. Finally, it was formally proposed in 1970, but it took Tricky Dick's signature (wouldn't you know it) in 1972 to become a formality nationwide.
"My dad is my hero." Harry Connick, Jr.
Ramjit Raghav? Glad you asked. He's the oldest known man to sire a child. He was 96 years young when his SECOND child was born. He first became a father much earlier when his first child was born when he was 94. Bless him and the cradle he robbed.
The, as always, long and winding road tells us Don Messick was the voice of Papa Smurf (as well as Scooby Doo, Ranger Smith on Yogi Bear, as well as Astro and Rudi on the Jetsons.
The ONLY #1 single recorded by father-daughter was Frank and Nancy Sinatra's "Something Stupid" in 1967.
"My dad's not here, but he's watching in heaven," Bubba Watson
If she can do it, so can I. The male seahorse carries the eggs and gives birth to the babies.
In 1950, after a Washington Post music critic gave Harry Truman's daughter Margaret's concert a negative review, he came out swinging. "Some day I hope to meet you and when that happens you'll need a new nose, a lot of beefsteak for black eyes and perhaps a supporter below." Mebbe this is where "Give 'em hell Harry" originated?
A.A. Milne created Winnie the Poof for his son, Christopher Robin. Pooh was based on Robin's teddy bear Edward, a gift Christopher had received on his first birthday. Father/son visits to the London zoo led to Christopher's favorite bear Winnie. Pooh comes from the name of Christopher's pet swan.
Stevie Wonder's song "Isn't she lovely" is about his newborn daughter Aisha, and if you listen carefully, you can hear her crying in the background.
Dick Hoyt has pushed and pulled his son Rick, who has cerebral palsy, through hundreds of marathons and triathlons. Rick cannot speak, but using a custom-designed computer he has been able to communicate. They ran their first five-mile race together when Rick was in high school. When they were done, Rick sent his father this message: "Dad, when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
Next time you take a swig at a drinking fountain, please know the drinking fountain was invented by Halsey Taylor in 1912 as a tribute to her father who succumbed to typhoid fever after drinking contaminated public water in 1896.
"I've never been jealous. Not even when my dad finished 5th grade a year before I did." Jeff Foxworrthy.
Dad is believed to have originated because it's most often the babies first syllable(s) "Da-da"... Mom is believed to have originated from the sound of baby suckling on mom's breasts. I don't write tit (er, it) I just repor tit, er, it.
(Moms, don't get mad!) "My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mom would come out and say "You're tearing up the grass!" Dad would reply "We're not raising grass, we're raising boys." Harmon Killebrew.
By virtue of this being my own blog, you're stuck with a note about my father. He was fair, fun, smart, handsome and enjoyed the heck outta life. A very good father, husband, person. My sister and I were raised by our folks take "If we can afford it, if you won't get hurt, or hurt others, then sure, it's ok for you to do."
Happy Father's Day.....
Love, Victurd
(I also owe thanks, i think, to my father for mostly silently mostly under the breath creating the name Victurd.)
As always, vast majority of the below is plagiarized.
When Sonora Louise Smart Dodd was 16, her father became a widower and was left to raise Dodd and her five younger brothers alone. In 1909 she was listening to a Mother's Day Sermon and she realized the need for a day to celebrate fathers.
She drew up a petition for the first Father's Day to be celebrated in early June on her father's birthday. It was signed by only two, and presented to local clergy in the Spokane, Washington area. They liked the idea, but convinced her they needed more time, thus, it's celebrated later in June to give them more time to prepare. Happened, finally, on June 19th, 1910 at the YMCA in Spokane.
Dodd spent the better part of the next 62 years traveling the US, campaigning for it to become a national holiday. Finally, it was formally proposed in 1970, but it took Tricky Dick's signature (wouldn't you know it) in 1972 to become a formality nationwide.
"My dad is my hero." Harry Connick, Jr.
Ramjit Raghav? Glad you asked. He's the oldest known man to sire a child. He was 96 years young when his SECOND child was born. He first became a father much earlier when his first child was born when he was 94. Bless him and the cradle he robbed.
The, as always, long and winding road tells us Don Messick was the voice of Papa Smurf (as well as Scooby Doo, Ranger Smith on Yogi Bear, as well as Astro and Rudi on the Jetsons.
The ONLY #1 single recorded by father-daughter was Frank and Nancy Sinatra's "Something Stupid" in 1967.
"My dad's not here, but he's watching in heaven," Bubba Watson
If she can do it, so can I. The male seahorse carries the eggs and gives birth to the babies.
In 1950, after a Washington Post music critic gave Harry Truman's daughter Margaret's concert a negative review, he came out swinging. "Some day I hope to meet you and when that happens you'll need a new nose, a lot of beefsteak for black eyes and perhaps a supporter below." Mebbe this is where "Give 'em hell Harry" originated?
A.A. Milne created Winnie the Poof for his son, Christopher Robin. Pooh was based on Robin's teddy bear Edward, a gift Christopher had received on his first birthday. Father/son visits to the London zoo led to Christopher's favorite bear Winnie. Pooh comes from the name of Christopher's pet swan.
Stevie Wonder's song "Isn't she lovely" is about his newborn daughter Aisha, and if you listen carefully, you can hear her crying in the background.
Dick Hoyt has pushed and pulled his son Rick, who has cerebral palsy, through hundreds of marathons and triathlons. Rick cannot speak, but using a custom-designed computer he has been able to communicate. They ran their first five-mile race together when Rick was in high school. When they were done, Rick sent his father this message: "Dad, when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
Next time you take a swig at a drinking fountain, please know the drinking fountain was invented by Halsey Taylor in 1912 as a tribute to her father who succumbed to typhoid fever after drinking contaminated public water in 1896.
"I've never been jealous. Not even when my dad finished 5th grade a year before I did." Jeff Foxworrthy.
Dad is believed to have originated because it's most often the babies first syllable(s) "Da-da"... Mom is believed to have originated from the sound of baby suckling on mom's breasts. I don't write tit (er, it) I just repor tit, er, it.
(Moms, don't get mad!) "My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mom would come out and say "You're tearing up the grass!" Dad would reply "We're not raising grass, we're raising boys." Harmon Killebrew.
By virtue of this being my own blog, you're stuck with a note about my father. He was fair, fun, smart, handsome and enjoyed the heck outta life. A very good father, husband, person. My sister and I were raised by our folks take "If we can afford it, if you won't get hurt, or hurt others, then sure, it's ok for you to do."
Happy Father's Day.....
Love, Victurd
(I also owe thanks, i think, to my father for mostly silently mostly under the breath creating the name Victurd.)
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Thank you for being a........
Teacher........
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow.
Impact. To me, that's the first word I think of when I think of 'teacher.'
When we, as parents, long to hire a baby sitter for escape.. or.. have both eyes focused on The Voice, GOT, the playoffs... CNN... Fox, whatever... and that youthful interruption comes - I certainly admit there were times I didn't handle it well. Tried, but admittedly, occasionally slipped.
Why did you say all that Victor? Because it makes appreciation for someone choosing to be a teacher all-the-more sweet. You mean, they CHOSE to work with, be with, kids? Nice.
I believe suffice to say we've all been impacted by teachers. The yummy ones that were "demanding but supportive... caring.. interested in us.... excited about what he/she taught.. had a good sense of humor..."
As with any field.. then there were the ones that could be demeaning, boring, dull, intimidating, not interested in us... seems to me, these types didn't stick around too long.
The really good ones that can detect little things like shyness.. and how they'd never embarrass in front of the entire class, but would pull aside at another moment and challenge/converse in a more comfortable setting.
Reinforcement of self-esteem - which, in turn leads to increased motivation and learning. Once heard an elementary school principal tell the teachers "catch 'em being good" and OH does that go a long way. I enjoyed when a teacher would read your essay and then take the time to add a comment like "I really enjoyed this..I'd love to see you take it even further and maybe add (enter suggestion here):".. Versus, maybe denoting "B-" at the top of the page - and that's it. (It's probably known I can occasionally be a wise-acre, particularly in writing, and I once had a boss tell me in a salary review "You need to work on your emails." HA! And that was IT, the end. )
We all have our favorites.. unique styles they had.. I'll never forget the teacher who would be reading to us, it became clear our minds were elsewhere, and she would continue to read but raise her voice to ULTRA LOUD in (successful) effort to get us back on track....
Smiles. So important not only in life but in education. Another favorite teacher would take a reasonably long path to make a point, teach the lesson - and finish with (a smile and asking) "Dig?" That was 45-50 years ago that was said, and to this day I remember how it was fun, provoked "yes.. no".. asking for more explanation.. yada.
Goofily, as a kid I remember when I'd see a teacher in the grocery store and I''d think to myself "WHAT? You mean they're a PERSON too? They have lives outside of the schoolhouse?" Special, special they are/were.
Of course the long arm of the law. Pushups, setups, and uh huh, back then, paddles. Detention, "We don't do that at Fulton High School." <-- that was the edict my cousin the teacher/administrator laid down - and it must have worked as they named the gym after him. His brother continued in his ways, and that too musta worked as they named the baseball field in his honor. Back then, we didn't live in fear, but we cared about what our teachers related about us (and our performance) back to our folks.
I was lucky to have taught for a total of six years. Stupid I was to get out. With a growing family, costs therein associated (and an admitted dummy who got behind in his continuing education) I ran... I went to load airplanes for $10,000 more a year. I repeat, I left to go load airplanes for $10,000 more a year. I'm reminded of the pictures teachers would hand us, and we're left to deduct "what's wrong with this picture."
Teacher = special. Many of us are fortunate to stay in contact with teachers we had. Respect, thanks, and still maybe a little "better be on my best behavior around him/her."
We lost a really really good one yesterday. MMO. I was fortunate to work with MMO for five years. She took on educating children with behavior difficulties. Her choice. Those were the types that made me wanna run. Not her. EASY to tell she was caring. Easy to tell she didn't let up. Easy to see her catching them doing good. Consistent. Dedicated. Smiling. Special.
I hope you too have memories of your favs.. Teachers = special. Folks who WANNA be with kids.
Thank your for being a teacher.
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow.
(The 'pal' part, at first, didn't seem to fit.. but with age, comes becoming a pal with former teachers. I think that's ok. You? Dig?)
Love, Victurd
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow.
Impact. To me, that's the first word I think of when I think of 'teacher.'
When we, as parents, long to hire a baby sitter for escape.. or.. have both eyes focused on The Voice, GOT, the playoffs... CNN... Fox, whatever... and that youthful interruption comes - I certainly admit there were times I didn't handle it well. Tried, but admittedly, occasionally slipped.
Why did you say all that Victor? Because it makes appreciation for someone choosing to be a teacher all-the-more sweet. You mean, they CHOSE to work with, be with, kids? Nice.
I believe suffice to say we've all been impacted by teachers. The yummy ones that were "demanding but supportive... caring.. interested in us.... excited about what he/she taught.. had a good sense of humor..."
As with any field.. then there were the ones that could be demeaning, boring, dull, intimidating, not interested in us... seems to me, these types didn't stick around too long.
The really good ones that can detect little things like shyness.. and how they'd never embarrass in front of the entire class, but would pull aside at another moment and challenge/converse in a more comfortable setting.
Reinforcement of self-esteem - which, in turn leads to increased motivation and learning. Once heard an elementary school principal tell the teachers "catch 'em being good" and OH does that go a long way. I enjoyed when a teacher would read your essay and then take the time to add a comment like "I really enjoyed this..I'd love to see you take it even further and maybe add (enter suggestion here):".. Versus, maybe denoting "B-" at the top of the page - and that's it. (It's probably known I can occasionally be a wise-acre, particularly in writing, and I once had a boss tell me in a salary review "You need to work on your emails." HA! And that was IT, the end. )
We all have our favorites.. unique styles they had.. I'll never forget the teacher who would be reading to us, it became clear our minds were elsewhere, and she would continue to read but raise her voice to ULTRA LOUD in (successful) effort to get us back on track....
Smiles. So important not only in life but in education. Another favorite teacher would take a reasonably long path to make a point, teach the lesson - and finish with (a smile and asking) "Dig?" That was 45-50 years ago that was said, and to this day I remember how it was fun, provoked "yes.. no".. asking for more explanation.. yada.
Goofily, as a kid I remember when I'd see a teacher in the grocery store and I''d think to myself "WHAT? You mean they're a PERSON too? They have lives outside of the schoolhouse?" Special, special they are/were.
Of course the long arm of the law. Pushups, setups, and uh huh, back then, paddles. Detention, "We don't do that at Fulton High School." <-- that was the edict my cousin the teacher/administrator laid down - and it must have worked as they named the gym after him. His brother continued in his ways, and that too musta worked as they named the baseball field in his honor. Back then, we didn't live in fear, but we cared about what our teachers related about us (and our performance) back to our folks.
I was lucky to have taught for a total of six years. Stupid I was to get out. With a growing family, costs therein associated (and an admitted dummy who got behind in his continuing education) I ran... I went to load airplanes for $10,000 more a year. I repeat, I left to go load airplanes for $10,000 more a year. I'm reminded of the pictures teachers would hand us, and we're left to deduct "what's wrong with this picture."
Teacher = special. Many of us are fortunate to stay in contact with teachers we had. Respect, thanks, and still maybe a little "better be on my best behavior around him/her."
We lost a really really good one yesterday. MMO. I was fortunate to work with MMO for five years. She took on educating children with behavior difficulties. Her choice. Those were the types that made me wanna run. Not her. EASY to tell she was caring. Easy to tell she didn't let up. Easy to see her catching them doing good. Consistent. Dedicated. Smiling. Special.
I hope you too have memories of your favs.. Teachers = special. Folks who WANNA be with kids.
Thank your for being a teacher.
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow.
(The 'pal' part, at first, didn't seem to fit.. but with age, comes becoming a pal with former teachers. I think that's ok. You? Dig?)
Love, Victurd
Monday, June 03, 2019
I shoulda just asked Holzhauer,,,, or Google,,
I'm kinda reminded of John Wayne... as always, my blog is seemingly nonsensical, but there really is a madness to my method.
Forgive me, for I said "Bullshit."
OK, after that line, I've probably run off a few, but that's ok, I happen to think bullshit is/can be, a fun word.
Band camp, I went with two sisters (I was dating one of them) to a Balloon Festival in Northern Missouri. Said sister's father is a wonderful man, he truly is. the kind that literally ain't gonna hurt a flea.
He does, though, tend to admonish. I was welcomed with open arms by the other sister's boyfriend, because for several years HE had been on the receiving end of "Pops"s storytelling. Now, it was me.
As happens with age, we oft times repeat stories thinking each and every time it';s the first time we'd told the story.
As happens with age, we oft times repeat stories thinking each and every time it';s the first time we'd told the story.
Pops was that way as well.. and with pretty decent frequency. There was a story, mostly true I'm certain, where Pops (and wife) were in a boat that suffered some pretty severe mechanical issues. It was headed out-of-control and believe the original, true, story was it was a non-event, and the boat was under control in no time.
Seeing that I'd never heard this story, Pops had told it to me a few times prior to the trip to see the Balloons. The first time I heard it, it was "And I could see the Captain had passed out, so I ran to the front of the boat, pushed him aside and took control." BULLSHIT, the sisters chimed in. Have you ever been in a situation where you really really wanted to laugh but circumstances said "Nuh uh, ya can't."? I was.
The second time I heard this story, Pops had taken over the wheel to guide the boat, "I got it to go to shore and I swear to goodness, and I ended up maneuvering it into a nearby swimming pool." BULLSHIT, the sisters offered. OK, I couldn't help it any longer, I laughed. Not at him, with him.
The third time I heard this story, yes, the Balloon trip, it was "and there we were, the boat was out of control headed for shore.. just about that time, two natives ran out of the jungle, they both knew what to do, how to guide/stop the boat" and BULLSHIT! I wanted to rollover, but I was driving, so couldn't.
Victor, whothehell is Holzhauer? Ah, just hold your horses life-preserver-breath, we'll get there.
Enough about Pops. Enough, except just know he's a cool dude, has a truly affectionate smile, never met a stranger, and yeah, the flea part.
Recently, my car shot craps. Junked it, bought another. Four days after purchase, the engine computer went out. I didn't know what was wrong at the time...............so,
I went online. I found a site, for a one-time fee of $5, I could directly ask a question to a bonafide Chrysler mechanic. (Word red-underlined 'bonafide', again, but I went to Google, asked, and that's how they say it's spelled, so I call BULLSHIT red-line.)
So, I asked my $5 question, I admittedly got really good, IMMEDIATE advice on what the problem might be, so immediate, in fact, I thought it had to be a bot. But, I took the advice, ran, and the mechanic I took it to confirmed the result of my $5 question, and after paying them to fix it, life was again good.
The other day, I was at Happy Hour with lifelong friends.. and onea my buddies said "First thing I do every morning is look at my bank account." Victor, the hell does this have to do with your story, and whointhehell is Holzhauer?
Glad you asked. After hearing my buddy say that about his account, I started doing the same. Last week there were four $9.99 movie rentals on my account. Fixed that problem. This morning, there was a $34 payment to a company called 'Just Answer dot com." I did that on porpoise so them dudes wouldn't track me down!
Apparently, prior to me asking my $5 question, there was a 'terms and conditions' part that was longer, bigger'n the Sunday Kansas City Star. Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm an idiot, I don't/won't read those things, so I scrolled down, clicked "yes" I agree... "it's $5, all that for $5, but I agree."
The $34 payment on my bank account, had an 800 #, yes, it was the Just Answer dot com folks, i called... and I hadn't taken my high BP meds yet, ha. I've pulled the "Let's pretend I'm irate, I'm not, but let's pretend" statement outta my pockets a few times in life - but this morning, I prefaced with "I'm not gonna cuss" to let them know I was angered by their $34 fee.
Turns out, they sent me an email asking me how I thought the $5 question/answer went, was I satisfied, all that... I don't read those things, don't answer, and thought to myself "yeah, yeah, yeah."
I guess, with me ignoring the way-too-long terms and conditions and the email, I'd unwittingly signed up for the monthly membership of $34 to be able to ask any question on any subject to Just Answer Dot Com. In their defense, I read reviews, good reviews, folks who'd had car questions, legal/lawyer questions, yada.
Along side all those rave reviews were MANY from folks like me who thought they'd received their $5 answer, all was well and good, then, they too got the membership fee taken from their bank account.
Where was I? I think you were gonna tell us who Holzhauer is Victor. Oh yeah, he's the guy on the Jeopardy streak that's won over a million and is set to break the alltime record tonight. That, him, he's who I shoulda asked.
So, again, I'd told the friendly customer service rep "I ain't gonna cuss" so he'd know the severity of my mood. He was pretty good in that he acted like he'd never heard a complaint like mine, ever. I bet he goes home at night and says "Oh honey, it's been a rough day, I had 276 pissed off customers in a row today."
He told me "well, we sent you and email, you didn't cancel, so your membership started." I tend to believe all people are good. It's bit me in the butt on more than one occasion. He agreed to cancel my membership, but would not refund my $34.
Just then.......
Two natives ran out of the jungle, tapped me on the shoulder, said "Sick him Victor!!" and I slipped. Forgive me, I cussed. "THIS is BULLSHIT! I agree your company has/gives good advice, but the membership thing, from my stinky feet, is deceptive, bad business, unscrupulous, etc."
Thanks to Pops, two natives, and BULLSHIT, he begrudgingly agreed to refund my $34.
So... I shoulda asked Holzhauer... or Google.. or Sherwin Williams.. somebody.. just not Just Answer Dot Com.
Victor, you mentioned John Wayne, whatsup with that? Oh come on, I call bullshit. You gotta remember his line in the movie.. "I'm not gonna hit ya.. the hell I'm not."
By Henry BS Gibson,
Love, Victurd
Forgive me, for I said "Bullshit."
OK, after that line, I've probably run off a few, but that's ok, I happen to think bullshit is/can be, a fun word.
Band camp, I went with two sisters (I was dating one of them) to a Balloon Festival in Northern Missouri. Said sister's father is a wonderful man, he truly is. the kind that literally ain't gonna hurt a flea.
He does, though, tend to admonish. I was welcomed with open arms by the other sister's boyfriend, because for several years HE had been on the receiving end of "Pops"s storytelling. Now, it was me.
As happens with age, we oft times repeat stories thinking each and every time it';s the first time we'd told the story.
As happens with age, we oft times repeat stories thinking each and every time it';s the first time we'd told the story.
Pops was that way as well.. and with pretty decent frequency. There was a story, mostly true I'm certain, where Pops (and wife) were in a boat that suffered some pretty severe mechanical issues. It was headed out-of-control and believe the original, true, story was it was a non-event, and the boat was under control in no time.
Seeing that I'd never heard this story, Pops had told it to me a few times prior to the trip to see the Balloons. The first time I heard it, it was "And I could see the Captain had passed out, so I ran to the front of the boat, pushed him aside and took control." BULLSHIT, the sisters chimed in. Have you ever been in a situation where you really really wanted to laugh but circumstances said "Nuh uh, ya can't."? I was.
The second time I heard this story, Pops had taken over the wheel to guide the boat, "I got it to go to shore and I swear to goodness, and I ended up maneuvering it into a nearby swimming pool." BULLSHIT, the sisters offered. OK, I couldn't help it any longer, I laughed. Not at him, with him.
The third time I heard this story, yes, the Balloon trip, it was "and there we were, the boat was out of control headed for shore.. just about that time, two natives ran out of the jungle, they both knew what to do, how to guide/stop the boat" and BULLSHIT! I wanted to rollover, but I was driving, so couldn't.
Victor, whothehell is Holzhauer? Ah, just hold your horses life-preserver-breath, we'll get there.
Enough about Pops. Enough, except just know he's a cool dude, has a truly affectionate smile, never met a stranger, and yeah, the flea part.
Recently, my car shot craps. Junked it, bought another. Four days after purchase, the engine computer went out. I didn't know what was wrong at the time...............so,
I went online. I found a site, for a one-time fee of $5, I could directly ask a question to a bonafide Chrysler mechanic. (Word red-underlined 'bonafide', again, but I went to Google, asked, and that's how they say it's spelled, so I call BULLSHIT red-line.)
So, I asked my $5 question, I admittedly got really good, IMMEDIATE advice on what the problem might be, so immediate, in fact, I thought it had to be a bot. But, I took the advice, ran, and the mechanic I took it to confirmed the result of my $5 question, and after paying them to fix it, life was again good.
The other day, I was at Happy Hour with lifelong friends.. and onea my buddies said "First thing I do every morning is look at my bank account." Victor, the hell does this have to do with your story, and whointhehell is Holzhauer?
Glad you asked. After hearing my buddy say that about his account, I started doing the same. Last week there were four $9.99 movie rentals on my account. Fixed that problem. This morning, there was a $34 payment to a company called 'Just Answer dot com." I did that on porpoise so them dudes wouldn't track me down!
Apparently, prior to me asking my $5 question, there was a 'terms and conditions' part that was longer, bigger'n the Sunday Kansas City Star. Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm an idiot, I don't/won't read those things, so I scrolled down, clicked "yes" I agree... "it's $5, all that for $5, but I agree."
The $34 payment on my bank account, had an 800 #, yes, it was the Just Answer dot com folks, i called... and I hadn't taken my high BP meds yet, ha. I've pulled the "Let's pretend I'm irate, I'm not, but let's pretend" statement outta my pockets a few times in life - but this morning, I prefaced with "I'm not gonna cuss" to let them know I was angered by their $34 fee.
Turns out, they sent me an email asking me how I thought the $5 question/answer went, was I satisfied, all that... I don't read those things, don't answer, and thought to myself "yeah, yeah, yeah."
I guess, with me ignoring the way-too-long terms and conditions and the email, I'd unwittingly signed up for the monthly membership of $34 to be able to ask any question on any subject to Just Answer Dot Com. In their defense, I read reviews, good reviews, folks who'd had car questions, legal/lawyer questions, yada.
Along side all those rave reviews were MANY from folks like me who thought they'd received their $5 answer, all was well and good, then, they too got the membership fee taken from their bank account.
Where was I? I think you were gonna tell us who Holzhauer is Victor. Oh yeah, he's the guy on the Jeopardy streak that's won over a million and is set to break the alltime record tonight. That, him, he's who I shoulda asked.
So, again, I'd told the friendly customer service rep "I ain't gonna cuss" so he'd know the severity of my mood. He was pretty good in that he acted like he'd never heard a complaint like mine, ever. I bet he goes home at night and says "Oh honey, it's been a rough day, I had 276 pissed off customers in a row today."
He told me "well, we sent you and email, you didn't cancel, so your membership started." I tend to believe all people are good. It's bit me in the butt on more than one occasion. He agreed to cancel my membership, but would not refund my $34.
Just then.......
Two natives ran out of the jungle, tapped me on the shoulder, said "Sick him Victor!!" and I slipped. Forgive me, I cussed. "THIS is BULLSHIT! I agree your company has/gives good advice, but the membership thing, from my stinky feet, is deceptive, bad business, unscrupulous, etc."
Thanks to Pops, two natives, and BULLSHIT, he begrudgingly agreed to refund my $34.
So... I shoulda asked Holzhauer... or Google.. or Sherwin Williams.. somebody.. just not Just Answer Dot Com.
Victor, you mentioned John Wayne, whatsup with that? Oh come on, I call bullshit. You gotta remember his line in the movie.. "I'm not gonna hit ya.. the hell I'm not."
By Henry BS Gibson,
Love, Victurd
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
If I had a hammer.....
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
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
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.
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