When you're weary, feeling small...

When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all (all)
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

1970.  It was the best of times.  Obviously, from the lyrics, for someone it was the worst of times.  It's a song about helping a person in need.  Sometimes that person is us.  Sometimes it's a friend or a loved one.

When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you (ooo)
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Paul Simon wrote the song, but insisted Art Garfunkel perform it.  When asked, years later, why he didn't sing too.. he admitted, "ya know, I wish I would have!"

Who/what/how puts the YUM in your yumME?  This could be about God.  It could be a tale for our bestest friend.  It could be simply, a self help thing.

Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
Oh, if you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Due to the era, many thought the 'Silver Girl' was about a needle, or herion.  Simon laughed at the thought - and admitted "no, it was in inside joke about my first wife. Right as she turned 30 she started getting Silver-grey hairs - started flipping out, so, I called her Silver Girl."

Similes...  An arm around.  A hand clasped.  A dog pet.  A cat a rubbin' agin'ya.  The bright, vibrant eyes of a child anxiously awaiting your answer to a question of life they'd just asked.

Tears, and they eventually dry up.  Times past, brought to the surface invoking smile.  A chance meeting with a lifelong friend on 'the other side', who you've since waged 'war' in 73 comment posts about DT, Nancy, Money, Trade, Global warming, yada - AND, that chance meeting reminds you of the glue between you - and again, a smile is invoked.

Smiles.  The best.  Chocolate.  What can't chocolate solve?  Dinner at your favorite joint.  You, the remote, no one else for a nice, calm, channel selfish evening.  You, your buddy, nestled up, chillaxin', catching up on Netflix until the wee hour.

A photo album.  An old yearbook.  A phone call - to, or from.  A simple "I love  you" text to simply remind someone you love them.

A genuine compliment..

Ya know, a beer with a buddy ain't a bad thing either.

Stolen:  

“You have to take the good with the bad, smile with the sad. love what you got, and remember what you had. Always forgive, but never forget, learn from your mistakes but never regret. People change, things go wrong, but just remember life goes on.”

The stepping stones mark the way.  The long trudge uphill lends one a hella fun bike ride down it.  Good follows bad.  Love wipes out hate.

Garfunkel was quoted recently:  “Well, here we are, years later, I’m still singing it from town to town, and it’s completely alive and fresh to me,” he said. “There is nothing dated, or any feeling of the past. I love doing it. Thank the Lord the feeling — the goose bumps — constantly checks in every time I do it.”

Goose bumps.  Ya gotta love goose bumps.

Down, struggle, depressed, upset, mad, I-give-up, tomorrow - I'll do that tomorrow.

All of the above, just a small piece of the wonderful, diverse, pie of life.

Peace out, so to speak.

Love, Victurd

Now what?

Mercy me....

The anticipation.  The preparation. The waiting, and s'more waiting.

Twas like a wedding.  Two weeks of 'photographs', and hunnerd kajillion pictures that some will look at once, the two of you mebbe a hunnerd times.  Then, the wedding itself.

Ring Bearer, Flower Girl... The tots in Mahomes, Kelce, Hill, Mahieu jerseys...  The newborns in KC Chiefs Onesie-regalia....

Debit, Credit cards used, maxed out by many to get the latest popular threads.  Ya don't wanna go to see the wedding (game) in an outfit (shirt) from 2012 do ya?

Pomp and Circumstance..  Groomsmen, Bridesmaids ushered in..(Players thru the tunnel).. Kickoffs, screens, runs up the middle, RPO's..  The Preacher man (Commentator(s)...

Half-time..  Singing, there's gotta be singing in a wedding (game.)

Finally then, the Commentator (preacher man) pronounces you Man and Wife (Super Bowl Champions of the World)..     "I do" akin to "We Are". Kissing. Turn to face the crowd (camera).. S'more kissing, and hugging.

Glee.  Bliss.  More pics. S'more hugging.

The reception (parade).  Alcohol flowed freely.  Couples were coupled.  The stars of the wedding (game/season) were applauded. Confetti.

People acted a fool, like... like the 'plumber' that climbed the tree.  People shooting beers, pouring champagne down the mouths of others.  Dancing, there's got to be dancing.  Laughter, applause, at-a-boys. Happy abounds. Congrats too.

Integral parties taking turns at the microphone, easy to grasp some with no speech preparation, but all heartfelt and sincere.

We go home.  We collapse.  We sleep hella good.  All the worry, "this will go wrong..that will happen" wiped away by a beautiful wedding (game.)  That stress ache in your neck will lessen and lessen in the coming days.

Monogrammed napkins (game report newspapers, pennants, etc) stowed away to one day rehash, relive the experience.

Now what?  We have been immersed in this wedding (game) for quite some time now.  Kinda forget what regular ole regular is.  Back in the swing of things, if I can remember what that is.

Life, gloriously, rolls on.  Soon, robins will come to see us here in the Midwest.  The color theme changes from "Red" to green.  Shorts. Dig out those shorts. Put the long sleeves in the extra bedroom closet - we're moving on baby.

Baseball Ray.  Oh boy oh boy oh boy!  Mebbe 162 days (games) until another beautiful wedding?

50 years was a long time, kinda.  The brain mebbe thinks along the same lines, the body performs not-so-much, a little more difficult to matriculate down the field now

Blessed thou - we've been blessed.  Blessed too that the youth of today have witnessed these moments so they too can one day share with their children.

O'er the land of the free and the Mahomes of the CHIEFS!!

Oh yeah, I just remembered what regular ole regular, the swing of things is:  I'm gonna take a nap!

Love, Victurd

From the 3rd seat of the station wagon.....

Are we there yet, are we there yet mom, dad.. huh?

1963.  Eleven years old.  The Chiefs are coming to  OUR TOWN!  Mr. Toma transformed the fields from OK, to pristine.  A thing of beauty.  Even the practice fields.  Goal posts were erected in Center Field of the baseball field at William Jewell for the kickers to use.

Hustle, bustle.  Us kids, galore.  The day and age when a Schwinn and leg muscles were all one needed to pedal up those dadgum big hills of William Jewell to Greene Stadium - this year, better known as GREEN Stadium.  The day and age where an 11 year old could gallivant across town without mom or dad's accompaniment.

The heat.  The sweat.  The popping of pads.  The thrill of Victor, the pounding of their feet.  Good Lord these men are huge.  "Can I have your autograph?"  We didn't care if they needed to shower, gulp a Big Gulp... was Gatorade even a thing back then?  We asked anyways, and 99 times outta a hunnerd the players (and coaches) obliged.

"Can I have your autograph Sir?"... Sure..   Oops, missed that guy, run up to the toppa the hill, "Can I have your autograph Sir?... Lemme see your page kid.. did.. see that right there?  That's me.. You just got my autograph down there 3 minutes ago.  Oops, sorry.

Living on a street across from William Jewell College was a thing of beauty.  When the fanciest of fancy cars drove by, we ran to the curb to wave - as we just knew is was either Buck, Mike Garrett, Lenny, Bobby Bell, Willie - one of 'em.

Night time.  5 minutes before curfew - up the 25mph hill the fancy dancy cars would screech at speeds estimated at 60mph - simply so they wouldn't miss curfew - get fined.

My cousins would come from Fulton, MO and Jeff City, MO... We'd take blank page after blank page, with pens - and go hunt them suckers out.  One cousin - he filled three pages with certainly more names than the 53 man roster held.. One small problem.  He had a (wonderful, but smartaleck) cousin (my beautiful sister) who loved to 'fun'. Whilst we were out in the yard pretending to be Otis Taylor making one handed catches - of Lenny The Cool floating a long bomb - she was inside writing on my cousin's page.

50 plus years later - he showed me two of those three pages.  Oh the names.  EJ Holub, Curly Culp, Jonnie Robinson, Emmitt Thomas, Hank himself, even Lamar...  THEN, he showed me the 3rd page with one autograph that really, really stood out.  "Orville Footstink."  My (now deceased) sister had done it.  She got one of us again.  When my cousin recently showed me the 3rd page with good ole Orville's name on it - I kinda got the feeling he'd changed his demeanor from upset 50 years ago, to "it's maybe my favorite autograph on the three pages" today.

The Super Bowl.  Ha, they picked our Senior year... January 11, 1970.  Champs of the World.

IT'S GONNA BE LIKE THIS EVERY YEAR!!!!!

Are we there yet mom, dad.. are we there?

Older now... in fact.. I was in the lovable old Corner Bar one night - ten or so of those big behemoths were in there too.. avoiding the 100 degree temps, replenishing their bods with perhaps the wrong kinda fluid to replenish -nonetheless, there they were - and we were glad they were.

Pete Beathard, QB, walked to the bar to get another beer.  "Hey Pete?... Get me some peanuts."  OK.. Did, and he got his beer.  Was walking back.. "Just throw 'em!"... "Nope, someone would probably intercept 'em."

The longhorns on EJ Holubs car.  Our dog Gabe, in the days before leash laws, EJ pounding away on the blocking sled, Gabe literally biting EJ in the butt as he did.. he'd hit the sled with his left shoulder and simultaneously attempt to flick Gabe off his buttocks with his right arm.

Racquetball in the old Brown Gym.  They let the City kids come play for free.  Knock on the door.  We'd open. "Mr. Stram would like to play now."  Gulp, OK.  We're gone.

Then years and years and years of almost.  Painful memories - perhaps none greater than that one year, Christmas Day, the longest game EVER in the NFL.

Mom?  Dad?  Are we there yet, are we there?

All the names.  All the different 'used car' quarterbacks.  Hand me downs from other teams.  Ill conceived draft choices.  Close, but never a cigar.

Much like the snotnoses (said lovingly) of today when the Royals won in 2015, "it's gonna be like this EVERY year!"   Oops.

Are we there yet are we there?

BBQ.  Expensive parking.  Tossing the football around in the parking lot at Arrowhead.  Thousands of us - all dressed up in Lanier, Bell, Lynch, Montana, Rison, Green, Holmes, Allen (Marcus or Jared), Shields, Lowery, Stenerud, Rudnay, Still, Cherry, Budde, Lewis, Smith, Thomas, Gonzalez, you name the jersey - we wore it.

We hate the Raiders (and the Broncos, and the Chargers).  We have Red Friday.  We put red dye in our fountains.

Are we there yet mom, huh, are we?

From Abdullah (Husain) thru Frank Zombo we've just about heard it all, seen it all. Three missed field goals.  A QB scoring a touchdown on a pass from him to himself.  4 inches offsides.

Mom?  Are we EVER gonna get there?

From the depths of 2012 and our 2 win, 14 loss season - something(s) changed.

Started with Clark cleaning the 'cabinets'.  Brought in Big Red.  (Thanks Philly... the hell were you thinking?)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy... No.. we can't.  We can't get our hopes up again..  Remember?  Didn't you learn ANYTHING in all those years?  It ain't gonna happen.  We're going to the grave with the "loved his 1969 World Champion Chiefs" inscription.

With the 10th pick in the 2017 draft, the Kansas City Chiefs select Patrick Mahomes II.

Be for real. Don't you remember Tony Adams?  Bill Kenney? Steve Fuller?  #1 pick Todd Blackledge?  Bono, Grbac (Grrrrr) Croyle.

It's been a minute.  MOM, it's been longer than that, are we EVER gonna get there?

Fast forward, as fast as moving 50 years later could be considered fast.

Welcome to Miami.

We've been knocked down, but we get up again, you're never gonna keep us down, we get knocked down, but we get up again, you're never gonna keep us down.

Ohhhh Danny boy...

Me thinks it's gonna happen.  This is different.  I doubted the Royals vs. Toronto, Houston.  I was wrong.  Please oh please don't lemme be wrong on this.

The pundits all seem to pick the 49'ers.  (Got 'em right where we want em). "Just look at all those #1 draft choices on the defensive line, redwoods, all of 'em..... sure, Mahomes is awesome, but clearly the 49ers have the best team."

Go to bed Fred, we're Big Red, led by Big Red.

The two weeks from our last game, leading up to this has seemed like the month as a child once December hits until the morning we finally get to tear into the gifts under the tree.

Mom, dad?  Are we there yet, are we there?

"We'll be there in two days.... it's a long trip to Miami."

That - is an understatement.  It's a two generation drive. A Johnson to Nixon to Ford to Carter to Reagan to Bush to Clinton to Bush to Obama to Trump long drive.

The Kansas City Times is no more - but it's Kansas City's time.

Screw Blanda, Bilitnikoff, Big Ben, Elway, Kelly, Manning, and anyone else that kicked our booty.

We're now f'real.

My sister and I spent many a mile, many an hour in the back seats of those station wagons in the day. Dad drove so slow, REALLY slow.. ... if by the oft chance he actually passed a car, we gave him a standing ovation.

Sunday.  Sunday.  We're there.  We're finally there.

50 years later, 100 million people will be watching.  We're gonna pass the San Francisco 49'ers - Standing Ovation.

It's been a ride.  A long, wonderful, occasionally miserable, ride.

Mom, dad?  Are we there yet?

We are.

Ain't it great?

Love, Victurd

Well I told you once and I told you twice....

But ya never listen to my advice
You don't try very hard to please me
With what you know it should be easy

Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time
I don't know
Oh no, oh no

The last time. Interesting concept. Saw the other day, it was asked "do you remember the last time in your life a neighbor kid knocked on your door and you went out to play?"

Was walking into the Community Center the other day... out walked a lady in not too great'a shape - walker, struggling. Just shoot me, my brain went to "I don't won't to be like that." Yeah I do, if there ain't no alternative.  It's like the guy saying "I don't wanna live to be 90!".. Well, ask him when he's 89 years, 364 days old if he still feels the same way...

My ex father inlaw. Good man. Loved golf. Played the big courses. As he aged, he drove 10 miles to a smaller, par three course. For a time he drove the Interstate. Then, as eyes, reflexes became challenged, he drove there via the less traveled 2 lane highway - but, he was still going. He's gone now. I wonder if before he passed he remembered the last time he played?

I repeat myself, apologies, know I've told this - but (to me) pretty gripping. Long ago after divorce, toes dabbled into the dating game. Just shoot me again, figuring out women, there ain't no last time. That could be looked upon as a good thing, as we male piggies are very easy to figure out. Anyways, long about the 4th or 5th person I dated - I finally thought to ask "just what are you looking for?" This gal, way too young for me, was hella brighter than I. She told me, "Well.. I'm a nurse. One night I was working in the ER, a frail elderly lady was having severe cardiac issues. In fact, she coded three times and we were able to revive her. Each time, the doctor would go to the waiting room to visit/communicate with her elderly husband. She coded again. This time we couldn't save her. The doctor returned to the waiting room, relayed the sad news to the husband. Without so much as a word, he got up, went into the room where she lay with the sheet pulled over her. He pulled the sheet down, kissed her cheek - covered her back up and was on his way. THAT. That's what I want." Wow, some last time.

As one ages, the more one sees things we no longer can do, will do, want to do. Running, for me, is an example. Buying, enjoying a 2 story house is another. High risk investing.

Many in our family tree - gone. Remember the last time you saw them? Kinda makes one want to pay greater attention to every detail in life - particularly with family, loved ones, longtime friends.

'The A table'. Twas a group of good buds (I wasn't a 'member', but I recall seeing them and the fun they had.) They would gather at the same pub, same time, same day of the week - for years. Recently, one of The A Team was in Hospice. His last desire (last time) was to play shuffleboard "just one more time." They propped him up next to the table - and play he did with a smile as big as the Mississippi. 

Another friend, her mom in hospice, helped her mother go/do many items on the bucket list. One 'last time' request was to ride a horse. Twas arranged. Twas filmed. Many helped her get on the horse. A last ride - with smile. Perty damn cool. Last times suck and are wonderful, if that makes sense.

We are reminded frequently "life is short, enjoy." Or, as Gwen Stefani said "Life is short and you've got to get the most out of it." 

I ain'ts no preacher - but I would love love love to emulate the bright-eyed vibrancy of a small child the remainder of my life. See everything with awe. Remind me it's OK that the lady in line aheada ya at the grocery store with enough food in her cart to feed a football team - didn't offer to let you go in fronta her and purchase your loaf of bread. The times we're in a hurry and there's an even more elderly person infronta you at the checkout of a store - and they want to share one more little story with the clerk. Maybe they are in that "bright-eyed vibrant" (this could be the last time) ilk of their life? We can learn from it.

I beg Oh Lord to ne'er again "read way too dadgum much" into something seemingly incomplete a friend, loved one has said. Bounce it off these feathers, lemme smile, have wide eyes - and peek for the next nifty little diddy in life.

I'm rambling, sorry. Main point(s). Life IS fleeting. Last times DO happen. Don't sweat the small stuff (unless you have lice... or crabs.. sorry... kinda.. not really.)

 A bit more hunched over. Running days behind me. No more 220+ yard golf drives. Still driving the Interstates - will try to remember to take it all in - as one day that will end. I do hereby promise to use that word love more. The words "I hate when...." less. And "it really bugs me when you...." less. Walk in the rain. Dig in the dirt, plant a flower. Fetch the colors of the sky with your eyes. See if you can count your smiles in a day until you reach fitty. Let things leak out like "you know, all my life I've really admired how you....." Yum. Bring it out. Shout it out. Smother others in happiness.

Don't be PO'ed you only hit a golf ball 180 yards, remember to know we're blessed in just being out there,  able to still be simply playing, enjoying.

Bright eyed, bushy tailed, vibrant.  Like a rock.  No, that ain't it.  Like a kid.  Like a kid in awe of all life.  I usedta love the heck outta teaching elementary PE.  Those dudes would walk in quietly in the neat, straight line their teacher had arranged.. but their eyeballs were huge, as was their smile - as they soon knew we'd be going wild and crazy, having fun.  Bright eyed, bushy tailed. Vibrant.  Thanks kids for teaching ME how to live.

Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time
I don't know
Oh no, oh no

Love, Victurd

It's 5 O'Clock somewhere........

For whatever reason, the number 5 has popped up in my life hella times of late.

Five, to me, is interesting. High Five. Hawaii 5 Oh... Fab 5.

There be 5 appendages on a starfish. Ditto, on our appendages. Cept', one time, no not band camp, one time, fraternity house. We always had a Haunted House for Halloween. We usually charged admission and pinpointed some charity, like Goodwill, the Red Cross, or a keg of Olympia. One of our fraternity brothers, he, 6'6" tall, and with proper suit, shoulder pads, looked just like Herman Munster. Anyways, it was dark in the room where he was posted. He held a flashlight, and one by one as the kids would walk by, he'd shine the flashlight on his face, say "Count the toes", then shine the flashlight on his feet, and yep, NOT 5, but 6 toes on each foot. I'm sure there's a name for that, but I ain't got 5 minutes to dig for it. Anyways, the kids would scream and head for another room.

It's been like 5 months since I've blogged. My puter is sick. Will get to it one day, just as soon as I go on a diet and quit smoking. So, I be at Library. Gotta new card. I haven't been here in like 5 times 5 years. Last time I was here, I remember owing $2.17 on past dues. I figured, when I told 'em my name, got a new card, there'd be like $5 in interest added to the $2.17 I'd have to pay. Nope. All old records wiped out, life is good, party on.

So...logged on with my library card number (which does have a 5 in it).. Then, I guess because they were worried I was a robot, they had to text me a 5 digit number for me to then enter, so I can use the puter for 5 (times 12) minutes. While I was typing all that crap, Cricket texted me notifying they'd automatically withdrawn $50 for my bill. It usedta be $45. Every month, roughly 5 days before time to pay bill, phone would get slow as molasses. Finally called 'em, said "what gives?" They said something about bites, and I didn't have enough.. when I reached so-and-so bites, it would be slow. I asked "Well how much for unlimited?" $5 extra. See? 5's allover the damn place.

Five Man Electrical Band... Maroon 5.. The 5th Dimension.. The Dave Clark Five.. A perfect 5th is the most consonant harmony, and is the basis for most western tuning systems. Wiki told me that, I ain't got no idea what it means.

Five second rule on food on the floor. High Five, today, replaced by the fist bump. Wonder what'll be popular in 5 years?

Church's Fried Chicken. I know I've told this story, probably 5 times before - so apologies. Virtually daily, when I was working, I'd go to lunch and buy the same ole same ole meal from Church's. Cheerful guy with Spanish accent on the order speaker thingy, each time would lemme know the amount... "Faiy-oh-five." I giggled to myself silently each and every time he did this, cause it made me wonder why he could say the second 5, but not the first one.. ($5.05) like "Five-Oh-Five." Been about 5 years since I've been to that Church's.

The Olympics, symbolized by 5 interlocked rings. Basketball, 5 on 5. In the numbering of players, 1 thu 5, the Center is 5. If you guard someone close, they gotta get ridda the ball in 5 seconds. Baseball, it's the 3rd baseman who is 5. Hockey, major penalty 5 minutes. Little kids, on a trip of 3 hours, asking every 5 minutes "How much longer?" Deep breath, delay response 5 seconds, then tell em.

On the landline (remember those?) the 5 key on the tele is associated with the letters J, K & L. Most manual transmissions have 5 gears. 

Interesting (to me anyways) thing happened this morning. Roughly 5 days a week, I swing thru Mickey D's, order the same ole same ole thing (OK damnit, count the calories, a Sausage Biscuit and a Sausage McMuffin, and a water.) "That'll be $2.71 sir." I roll to the window. One lady once told me "I recognize your voice now." Anyways, twas some dude this time, never seen him before. Handed him a $10, he gave me back $2 and the change, thus, he SHORTED me $5. Trying not to be the stereotypical grumpy old man, I immediately honked my horn, held the change and the receipt up, stared frantically. Hey, $5 is $5. Could not gain his attention, but lady who said she recognized my voice that one day, came to the window - I explained to her I was shorted $5. Quizzically, she pivoted to try to eyeball her manager. Manager lady came to the window, said something to new guy I'd never seen, he shook his head "NO".. she then punched something into the computer, then familiar lady came to the window and said "Would you mind pulling up into the reserved spot, she's going to count the drawer."

I thought this was pretty goofy, then I wondered what I woulda done had I been the manager. I am certain some people do this purposely so they'll have enough for a small flask of whiskey, but I hope I look honest, they know I come there all the time, yada.

So...I pull up. In my best 'don't be the stereotypical grumpy old fart' I practiced my defense on what to say if they come saying, "nope, drawer checked out, sorry." I would say, "I've lived in this darn (damn) town since 1952, I come to this darn (damn) Mickey D's 5 times a week, that's a lotta revenue, and you're going to wish (piss) it all away if you don't gimme my 5 dollars!" I'd already taken my blood pressure meds, but I was curious what it was at that point.

So............. I sit with my water, awaiting lady to walk up, bring my me biscuits AND $5, I would get outta their hair. Or, for the tussle we were gonna have should she say "Nope, sorry."

"You were right sir, the drawer was $5 long." Without saying "I knew that" I thought to myself "I knew that." She handed me the proper change, which included the $5 in question. She then walked away. In my sweetest, kindest, non-stereotypical old grumpy fart, sweet voice, I hollered out the window "HEY, what about my food?"

She came back, grabbed the ticket, soon fetched me the biscuits. Again, I don't know what I'da done had I been the manager. What struck me as weird, it took at least 7 or 8 minutes for them to count the drawer. As they did this, traffic in the drive thru lane was at a screeching halt. They had probably 5 other cash registers in there, but nope, this is the only one (I guess) they could use for the drive thru. I'm thinking, "those people in line are probably PO'ed... I'm kinda sorta getting thataway, I think if I were the manager I mighta simply dug $5 outta the drawer, taken the customer's word for it, apologized and kept the line flowing. I'm really not the stereotypical grumpy old fart, but I do remember practicing my "I'M NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN" line had they not given me my 5 dolla's.

I gotta go. Library only gives ya 60 (5 times 12) minutes. I only got 5 left. I still gotta click save, then check my damn spelling.

Five finger discount. Five o-clock shadow. Five, six, pickup sticks. FIVE GOLDEN RINGS. Times up, I'll have this posted in 5.

Love, Victurd

Extra Extra, Download All About It...

There is a God.. and we're wonderfully reminded daily.

That first ray of sunshine peeking thru the curtains.. The hound who sees your eyes opened, beating his tail in happiness as he knows food, fun, again ahead for another day.

The cat who has the very purrfect way to awaken you - rhythmic 'greetings' coupled with their tickling whiskers upon your cheeks, as if to say, "my damn bowl is empty again you slouch, feed me Seymore."

Ahhhh.. yet another day - thank you Lord.

Me? I like all of the above, plus one. The sound of the morning newspaper hitting the sidewalk is orgasmic to me. Excitement, thankful for a new day - with an eye tuned to reading all about yesterday.

Tradition. (As an aside, I Youtubed the whole dadgum soundtrack to Fiddler on The Roof recently. Yum. Tradition. Sunrise, sunset. If I were a rich man.)

The newspaper is family tradition here. Pretty sure it ends with me, but that's ok. One grandfather had a stint at the KC Star, another poured over the Sport's section to see what he'd missed, or, mebbe to relive, the St. Louis Cardinals game from the day before. My mother was the first paid employee of a local startup newspaper (The Liberty Shopper News). I've thrown a newspaper or 10,000 from my bike, car. I've seen, and contributed to, piles and piles of paper, not so neatly stacked on the floor.

Buddy 'o mine, he wrote music reviews for the Star. Good, hella good writer he is. While he'd magically review the mega stars that rode in, out of the Sprint Center, other venues - he kept a keen eye/pen on the local music scene, serving as a springboard to many.

Times change. In fact, they got ridda The TImes (the morning paper). Awhile back, ALL employees were forced to take two weeks of unpaid leave to keep the newspaper afloat. A couple years ago, my buddy was let go, NOT due to incompetency (he's the best writer I personally know) - but, due to changing of the times. There's still one music reviewer there, but gone are the stories on the local scene, replaced by syndicated articles that really ain't of much interest to me. From 'yes!' to 'meh.'

Where was I? Oh yeah, fondly remembering. If it tweren't for the newspaper, howintheheck could one start the BBQ grill a goin? Oh yeah, they came up with charcoal presoaked in lighter fluid, nevermind.

How could you sell a ballglove.. buy a bike.. learn about Henrietta and Earl Smith going to visit Edgar and Mable Jones last Saturday night - without, the newspaper?

Well.. I reckon Craigslist. Swap and Shop. Then there's Facebook for the Smith & Jones visit. Ohhhh we know many who broadcast their every move. Like you Victor? Bite me, may the ink from the waning days of the newspaper rub off onto your hands, so you'll then wipe your brow, only to get yeeeooouuuuwwwwccchhh eye irritation.

It is said, getting your news from the internet allows one to be the captain, the director, the editor - seek what you want, not what they want for you. Well, I do that too with the newspaper. Shooting on 39th street? Nuh uh, I flip past. Female lawyers forced to remove underwire bra's at the Courthouse because they set-off the metal detectors? Ok, I might read that one!

Gone are the classifieds. Gone are the box scores where ya usedta see if that rookie kept his 22 game hitting streak alive. "Night game", meaning you hadta wait until the next day to find out who won. Nuh uh, no more. We be, I want what I want, and I want it now.

I get it. I don't like it, but I get it.

In the short time I've sat here to compile this goofy blog, I've closed 7 pop-ups, clicked 4 times "I know, I know I don't have any protection installed to ward off malware, have u seen my bank balance of late?"

By the old age vested in me, I (nicely, mildly) grumped on a website dedicated to the folks of our city, about the ensuing headaches of making our entrance road from KC into our little suburb 6 lanes each way insteada 3 lanes. As I see it, we'll go from 3 lanes of really PO'ed folks, to 6 lanes of mildly irritated chums. Dude wrote in, "If you don't grow, change, you die." I rectum.

I got an email this morning from the KC Star, 'bragging' up how, on March something or other, they will have a spiffed up Friday paper, and an even spiffier Sunday paper. Oh, and btw, we're no longer going to have a hardcopy issue for Saturday, but it will be online.

So.. future Saturdays, if I don't hear the sound of the paper hitting the sidewalk, how will I know to say thanks to God for another day? Reckon I'll have to get a hound...or a cat. Lord knows women never stick around too long.

Damn weather, bursitis, Government. Back to Fiddler on the Roof. If I were a rich man. I coulda been. You hear that? I coulda been. Turn 'o the Century (1900'ish) our ancestors were THE biggest producers of buggies. Then that damn Henry Ford had to go and mess it up.

Tradition. Sunrise, sunset.

The Times, er, the Star, er, the Internet, are'a changin'. Don't stand in the way of regress, er, I mean progress.

Much written love, Victurd

Life... and Hunger Games........

I woke up, hungry. This should not come as such a surprise, as I do that daily. Old age, a 'growing' prostate, and the urge to pee led me past the fridge to the john. Went there, did that.

Standing infronta the door to the fridge, little does one know how the impending 'selection(s)' liken, life and its selections.

This particular day, I've got a slight pain in the tonsil area, and old age, probable shrinking brain cells remind me, "I don't even know if I have tonsils." Ma, pa, sis, departed some years ago, and I ain't got the foggiest if I ever had 'em out.

Where was I? Oh yeah, standing infonta the fridge. Hungry. Half nekkid, reminding myself to either turn up the furnace or put more duds on. That decision is easy.

Today's recipe... a smoothie. With personal blender cup in hand, the door opened.. I already have an Advil kinda crunched up in the cup - what to add to it. This is where yum and yuck moments happen. Red grapes, yum. Mostly black bananas, yuck. Grapes, pulled off the vine, dozen or so, into the cup. Hiding behind the yuck bananas were some yum ones more recently purchased from the Piggly Wiggly. Halfa banana, the smoothie is coming right along.

Let's see, what else looks good? A splash of 2% milk.. a couple strawberries. I need to add 'cold'. Hurt tonsils, of whatever is bugging me there, needs cold. No ice cream, no ice.. halfa ice cream sandwich will haveta do.

This is the part where I wake up the entire apartment complex by starting my blender at 6:10am... "Sorry, doesn't take long." Hehe.. I owe 'em.

Smoothie made, transferred to a regular ole regular cup - blender cup mostly washed, "I promise I'll wash it out better later."

Mostly dressed, I punch a couple buttons and jualah - my 'new to me' car starts. I ain't never had onea them remote start thingys. This car also has a CD player, ain't never had onea them either. "Victor, they don't even put CD's cars nowadays." Run away Debbie Downer, far, far away.

Through Mikey D's for $2.71 worth of breakfast sandwiches please, and a water. "What size water sir?" "The biggest free one you can get", I offer. Right turn, left turn, right turn, I'm at the City Park. Straw inserted, Sausage Biscuit undraped, car angled the best direction to catch the sunlight - I toss the front section, the prophylactic ad they drape it in, and the front section Part 2 (with the obits) to the side - ahhhhh, the Sport's page.

Long ago... "How long ago Victor?" I thought I got ridda you Debbie.. I'm 67.. I was 5, you figure it out. Long ago, I grabbed a flexible plastic bowl from the kitchen, a tennis ball - and went out back to toss the ball offa the 4' high retaining wall we had. My first "glove" (the plastic bowl), my introduction to my love for sports... Sorry, just setting the picture.

So, simularly to the way I peered after opening the fridge to select, I perused the four artcles on the front section of the Sport's page. "Chiefs cornerback Ward: from wheelchair to NFL star" stuck out much like the red grapes did. yum. I'll read it first.

Damn. Rough upbringing. Dad split the scene soon after his birth. Gunshots abound in the area where he grew up. Multiple siblings in a small house. On the 10th of the month (food stamps issued) there would be as many as 19 folks fed by his mom, soon after, they all huddled around a space heater in the living room for warmth.

A nasty fall in 2nd grade left KC defensive back with a cancer scare - 6 months on crutches, followed by 6 more months in a wheelchair. Bouts with anxiety, depression, reactions to meds for same, at times, left him wanting to hurt himself, give up, quit, yada. His mom was the constant. It hasn't been an easy ride, he knows the ride (with bumps included) ain't over, and he has a fonder, more gracious impression of life.

WHAT? He's an NFL star. He can't be a regular person like you or me, this stuff should be easy. You know, like how smoothly the blender blades crunch thru my smoothie conglomeration.

Article two. The meaning of the bracelets, wristbands of QB Mahomes. Patrick Mahomes is of Hank Stram 'matriculate the ball down the field', a George Brett line drive in the gap, Tom Watson chipping in on 17 to win the British Open ilk. He took KC by storm and he ain't looked back.

It ain't gone to his head. I don't see how he has time for the 187 TV commercials he's in, let alone throwing extra post pattern passes to receivers after practice. He does though, and more. More as in the article this morning. He did not toot his own horn, say, "hey, come see what these wristbands are all about" - he was approached about them.

The first wristband is from the son of a coach at the colege he went to. The coach's son, at age 13, had a horrific accident in a golf cart...leaving him unable to walk or speak. Damn. His dad had gone into a Gamestop to buy his son the Madden 2020 game.. he noticed a poster on the wall of Mahomes (on the cover of the game) and there it was on Patrick's wrist, the wristband his son had given him. Damn.

The second wristband was given to him by a 16 yr old named Sophia. They'd met at Children's Mercy. Patrick followed her progress through two back surgeries to treat the rare cancer she had (only 200 per year diagnosed with this type.) Sophie and her mom were watching the Chiefs/Raiders, and I'll be darned if they didn't see him wearing the wristband. They froze screens where they could detect it, took pictures. Yum. Red grape, fresh banana, ice cream sandwich yum.

The third belonged to Whitney, a 10 year old. She was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain, diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma. Residents of St Joe MO, they went to a practice there this summer, was able to personally give him the wristband (adorned with "You got this!"), and yep, a month later, season opener, there was Patrick wearing her band.

WHAT? The reigning NFL MVP, with enough commercials you could spend two months watching on Youtube, soon to sign a new contract to give that Bezos guy a run for the same money, ACTUALLY cares? He could be onea those "Don't you know who I am" kinda people, but, but, he has a heart?

The third article was about the death (and life) of Tom Watson's wife Hilary. The courage she had. Tom pointed out, in her battle with cancer, "She was dying to live, not living to die" through the whole ordeal. The 'damn' moment Tom and Hilary were shopping and they got the phone call with the cancer diagnosis - Tom's immediate crying. She was a yummy person, witness her love of animals, people, and unmatched thirst for/of life. Tom, of course, related to the article's author how much he missed her. "I know what you mean", the writer replied. Writer had just lost his mother, Tom took the time to console, counsel him, urging him to embrace the memories:

"Because the memories which will always remain as they leave indelible marks on our souls which we will never forget. She's still there. She's still there in your mind. Abolutely she's still there. They never leave. Maybe they're not there physically, but mentally is just as important as physicallly sometimes."

WHAT? One of the faces on the Mount Rushmores of golf, crying in a supermarket? Struggling, like we do with death, grieving? Yep.

By this point, after reading three articles in the SPORTS section, it's 8:30am and I feel like I've run a wonderful, tearful highly emotional marathon.

The 4th article on the front page of the sports "Royals will look for 'value' signings during the MLB Winter meetings." Nah, not right now. It's not blackened bananas so I won't throw it out, but I'm going home to write now..

Because sports is also life. Just like openinging the fridge, choices. Yum, but also occasion yuck. Stepping out the front door daily, choices. Just because they have glossy photos, are emulated, live in the limelight - they too are human. Stuggle, know struggle in these hunger games of life.

FYI, crunch up Advil REAL good before putting in a smoothie, I didn't. Be sure to remove ALL the vine off the grapes as it don't taste very good. Stike the idea of adding an ice cream sandwich to the smoothie - as no matter how many apartment residents the damn loud blender awakens, it can't handle mutiliating the outer coating.

I love sports, for it's like life, or so it seems.

Sorry this was long. Like life, long is a good thing, but sometimes bloggers get carried away. Life is good, love it. Even you Debbie.

Love, Victurd

Grandma's hand.... A blog for the family of Velma Bertie (Hall) Collins.

Our mother, grandmother, great grandmother, great great grandmother recorded many a diddie in her Bible. It was given to her in 1940 by daughter Elva.. returned to Elva upon Grandma's death in 1976, and is now kept (for all family to see) by granddaughter Joyce in Liberty, MO.

Grandma was born June 6, 1899 in Callaway County, MO to Thomas David Hall (B April 14, 1867 in Hams Prairie, Callaway Co MO and Rosa Etta Rose ((B October 28, 1874 in Callaway County, MO. She married Arthur Loren Collins on December 23, 1916 in Fulton, Callaway County, MO...

Arthur and Bertie had three children:
Elva Francis Collins, B February 9, 1918 in Fulton, MO
Velma Pearl Collins, B March 17, 1921 in Steedman, MO
Nelda Lorene Collins, B September 1, 1927 in Fulton, MO.

Among Grandma's loves.. God, family, friends, cooking, Holidays, crossword puzzles, doing the right thing, going to downtown Fulton daily (they would let their dog Skip out a few minutes before, and Skip, before the days of leash laws, would walk to town and go lay down and 'reserve' their same ole same ole parking place for when they'd arrive), and of course, Arthur.

On Mother's Day, May 12th, 1940 she was given a Bible by her daughter Elva. Little known at the time, this Bible, in addition to the Old and the New Testaments, would include a virtual day to day recap of highlights until her death 36 years later, July 10, 1976...

In addition to circling, underscoring her favorites verses, the Ten Commandments, and of course studying the verses - she wrote personal items of interest, recordings of the day, in the margins, on the blank pages, on the maps of Jersulem, Palestine, the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee.

It is believed she studied this Bible often, witness her handwritten entry "66 Books, 1189 Chapters, 31,173 verses, 773,746 words, 3,586,460 letters."

She recorded items of recall that happened prior to the gift of the Bible in 1940, such as "Tornado hit Callaway County, May 8, 1927, really was severe", "Lyman Collins died in a car accident in July of 1926". Titanic sank on April14, 1912.

Of family: These guys (Son in laws) came around:
Clifford Early McDaniel, B August 30, 1917
Edward Colby (Bud) Schultze, B August 5, 1922
Glenn Read Davis, September 22, 1925

These fine son inlaws would all become adept bowlers, particularly every Christmas Eve after they married...

They hitched up: Elva & Cliff, July 13, 1940 in St. Louis, MO
Velma and Edward 'Bud' on August 30, 1941 in Camdenton, MO
Nelda and Glenn on March 21, 1946 in New Orleans, LA
(A little Birdy, not "Bertie", told me Velma and Bud eloped, along with cousin/best friends/best man/maid of honor, Earl and Eileen Studebaker - and finances were such they shared a motel room that night.. the beds separated by a clothsline with blankets strewn over!)

Grandchildren:
Roger Dale Davis, May 6, 1947
Joyce Elaine McDaniel, June 13, 1947
Vanda Kaye Schultze, June 22, 1947
Victor Kendal Schulze, October 13, 1952
Darrell Kent Davis, October 13, 1955
Kevin Clifford McDaniel, February 29, 1956..

Sooooooooo.. in roughly 44 days, the Collins's went from having no grandkids, to having three, one by each daughter!

And then, entries on GREAT grandchildren:
Valerie Kaye Adair, B December 8, 1968
Kimberly Diann Davis, B November 16, 1969
Alison Lea Davis, B April 17, 1972
Lisa Smithmier, B August 5, 1974
Vickie Frantz B May 11, 1974
Erin Smithmier B March 6, 1978
Amy Davis B December 1981
Adam Davis February 14, 1984
Tyler Allan Davis B March 22, 1985
Dru Schultze B July 3, 1985
Whitney Davis, B December 16 1987
Hilary Davis, B December 22nd, 1988
Katlyn McDaniel B March 20, 1990
This and that:

Arthur went to Hospital on August 9, 1969, came home August 22, 1969 (Heart attack)...

Dog bit me on July 21, 1971, had 5 stitches

Arthur's parents: Jerome Fletcher Collins was born in Tennessee on March 1, 1862.. (died August 27, 1946) and mother Ida Flora (Wright) Collins was born East of Fulton on July 2, 1864 (Died Dec 29, 1931)

The Lords Prayer is circled..

No date: Only 6 white Christmas's in the last 20 years... 1913 to 1915, deep snow on these

Vanda and "Corky" were married July 26, 1966...Valerie Adair walked at 8 months... Developed Diabetes at the age of 3 1/2 years.. Valerie had the measles on April 11, 1970..

Kimberly Davis walked at 8 months.. Could say Pop Paw plain at 11 months.. Kimberly says "Tootie" for Cookie at 1 year..

Valerie can read her book by memory at 2 years, 3 months and can say her prayers and many other things so cute.

Roger Davis and Lynn Oestrich married April 5, 1969 at Fulton, MO..

Joyce McDaniel and Steve Smithmier married June 19, 1971 in Kansas City, MO..

Vanda and Dick Frantz married November 10, 1972..

Alison Lea Davis born April 17, 1972

73 Degrees in Jeff City on December 25, 1971

Alison Davis can say all her ABC's at age 1 year, 11 months and sings "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so."

5 below zero January 5, 1972.

33 children here for Trick or Treat October, 1971.

I was in Warwick NY when Kevin was born in 1956.

 Had 25 inches of snow there n March 20 of 1956.

Victor walked at 8 months.

Kevin had chicken pox in 1st grade.

MY PERSONAL FAVORITE ENTRY: Darrell Davis could dial his phone number (Rotary dial) at age 3 years, 9 months.

We went to Colorado Springs in October of 1956.

Lisa Smithmier born August 5, 1974.

Vickie Frantz born May 11, 1974.

Rained 22 days out of 30 days in June 1969.

Kimberly said "Eat, Eat, Eat" in Lane Meyer at age 10 months

(Mebbe my next to best favorite!) Alison Davis, our sweet little granddaughter told me "it was none of my business" when I asked her why she was in the sink in February 1975.!!!

83 degrees February 29, 1972

We sold 1404 Westminster in October of 1967 and moved to 212 W. 4th Street. Snowed on May 4, 1944. Christmas of 1969 was a white Christmas

Arthur went to work at Brick yard on Monday, October 20, 1924 and retired on April 28, 1961, was never laid off, not once in entire 36 and 1/2 years, and worked only twice on night shift, 3:30pm until midnight.

Our first freeze of 1965 was on November 13, yet it never killed florwers or castor beans, zero never hit all winter until January 28, 1966

Coldest in 25 years, 11 below zero on January 1, 1968.

Had only 3 inches of snow all winter in 1966 and 1967, hit zero twice.

Elva drove to Warwick, NY on Tuesday, February 21, 1967. Darrell Davis, Kevin McDaniel and I accompanied her.. we went to NYC on Saturday, to West Point on Easter Sunday March 26, also to Middletown to see Hospital where Kevin was born. Returned home Thursday, March 29, 1967.

Went to Hospital August 8, 1967, returned home August 18, 1967.

Roger's address in Viet Nam 1968: Sgt Roger D. Davis, US 56588124, Co, D. 11st Bn 36 Inf, 198 Inf Bde. A.P.O. San Francisco, CA 96219. Januery 1968 until February 1969.

Roger married Linda Pinkerton June 4th, 1984...

There is/was much, much more handwritten in the Bible. Names, birthdates, death dates of family members before us.. more tidbits about snow, heat, cold..visits from so and so, visits to so and so.. and so much more.

Grandma passed on July 10, 1976. Arthur (Grandpa) passed shortly after, January 11, 1977. Doctors said heart issues. We surmise, broken heart. Ends are never good. In this case, beginning to end was wonderful.

Life has learnt me..........

People are nice. Darn nice. Ya ever get in onea them "mad at the world" moods and someone comes along and sprinkles dadgum niceties allover the place? Uh huh, me too. Thank God for them.

Gingers are hardheaded. And blondes. And Brunettes.

Laughter helps. Laughing at one's self helps s'more. Having a friend who does something you can laugh at him/her for is THE BEST. Well, mebbe second place to great sex. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.

For every Mick Jagger 'Please allow me to introduce myself', it takes the other lads singing "doo - doo... doo-doo" to make it work. Same with Blue Suede's Hooked on a Feeling's "Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka." If there were no batboys, there'd be wood allover the damn field. Can a female be a mailman? If so, which restroom would they go into at Mickey D's?

Righty tighty ain't nuttin' without Lefty Loosey. Odds are 50% u plug the USB cord in the right way the first time.. the coin lands on heads.. you get divorced.. Ha. You can't live in Tahiti and sing "Baby it's cold outside." You can't gain warmth if you only rub one hand (although I do have a first cousin who can clap with one hand. Honest. It's quite entertaining.

If you live in Barrow, Alaska, from November 18 until January 22nd you can't blame darkness on her or the song "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone."

Right field. I am a lover of right field. As in, coming out of right field. Abby Normal. Imagine food with no spice.. Twinkies with no gooey junk.. a BL sandwich.. or a PB sandwich. (Actually, never was a fan of PBJ sandwiches.. PB and Banana, hell to the yes, but not PBJ. Band camp, basketball road trips long ago, when players were eager but meal money was meager - we had THE MOST hideous PB&J sandwiches. Patooey.)

Right field is where we parked after softball.  We'd play for two hours, then spend four hours laughing, making fun of one another, letting the kids run so they'd go to bed at 8pm, have a few beers and enjoy the heck outta life and each other.

Cold makes one appreciate warm. So does a $1 mini bottle of Hot Damn.

God purposely plants some people in your life, I know He does.  There was an older guy I worked with for years. Ya know the type of person, that no matter when you see 'em, they smile and it in turn makes you happy? That was him. Yeah, was. He's gone, but reminders abound. He gave me a Tony Gonzales Chief's jersey of the most different color Gold ya ever seen. Boo koo times I've worn in it public and it always brings a complement.

The other day, yep, the freezing day, furnace went out. 3am. Electricity, most, was out. This is where you promise to please not tell anyone how stupid I am. PROMISE? Thanks to my son, we found the damn fuse box. Only the outlets in the kitchen worked. In fact, the fridge light was the only damn light in the house that worked. My son had flipped all the fuses (two rows, 6 on top, 6 on bottom) one direction. I flipped 'em the other way to see if that would help. Nope, fridge light out, so, went back and flipped them the other way - yep, fridge light on. Furnace, all else, nuh uh.

Apartment maintenance dude came around 9:30-ish - showed me "you have half the switches wrong.. the top ones go up and the bottom ones go down." About that time, the damn furnace came on. Remember, you said you wouldn't tell. Well that was nice but we still didn't have any lights. "Gotta go to City to get a breaker, OK if I come back tomorrow?" Uh huh. He did. Put the new breaker in the box outside the house, barged in the door smiling, only to have his smile defrocked when he saw the damn lights were still out. Turns out, he replaced the breaker in Apartment #1 and I live in Apartment #2. The fact he be stupid too kinda made me feel better.

Sooooooooooooooooooooooo...... for two days I lived with 16' extension cords allover the damn house. Today, as I undid them, pushed, pulled everything back in place (including this computer/computer desk I'm using now), a wooden MU Christmas ornament was somehow on the floor. Uh huh, same old dude, my beloved buddy Leon, had given to me years ago. There is a God and he placed Leon in my life. Toes, smile, heart, warm now.

We are all, can be, grumpy. Which brings us back to those two things - best friends and sex. It's a wunnferful cycle ain't it?

This has nothing to do with that.. but I thought of it, so fingers moved. Family Fued. I ain't vomited in quite awhile, but whenever one of the team members shouts an answer and the 5 remaining family members, in unison, shout "GOOD ANSWER CHARLIE" I wanna vomit. Once, JUST once, I'd love to hear the guy shout his answer, and the 5 remaining family members chime in "Charlie you are a friggin' idiot, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Better ratings I bet.

I recently had a beloved family member living with me. Forty-two consecutive times I got up to go somewhere (pee, to put my coat on, to grab a Coke, yada) this beloved family member asked "Where ya going?" Solved that on time number 43.. "Where ya goin?" Crazy. I'm going crazy.

In my life time, work, play, yada, for years I've been around a few, only a few, folks that don't/won't/can't have fun. I usedta just think "Eh, that's the way it is." Now, I wouldn't care if they fell in the urinal and never surfaced - but then again, mebbe God planted them also so you'd have an example not to follow.

I'm rambling so I'd better go. Just had to type/write because I'm hooked on this feeling. Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka, Ooga-chaka-ooga-chaka.

Love... because it beats the alternative, and some folks can't do that - so, we needs to love.. and have fun. And laugh at yourself. And Charlie and his stupid answer. And love, like God and Leon demonstrate.

Victurd

I'm gonna wait 'til the midnight hour........

Went to WallyWorld.. Son living with me part-time, wanted soda pop... OK, can do. Like any trip there, interesting people.. Blinders on, "go straight to soda pop aisle, get the hell out" took me right past the Milk Duds... oh ok..can do... then damn if they didn't have rotisserie chickies on sale for $4.50... oh ok... Finally, pop loaded in cart. like any trip to WallyWorld, $7 intention turned into $13 checkout.

To/fro, I worried, searched, dreaded not finding a writing topic. The two mile or so trek home included like 34 lane changes due to construction, folks planted on the white lines w/turn signals on, begging to get over. Red Rover red rover, bring your Chevy on over, but perty please don't take all day..

Where was I? Oh yeah.. weaving, bobbing, driving, braking, greenlighting, redlighting...what scenery - I'm too busy trying to figure out which lane I should be in on this road I've driven for 51 years. Victor, you gripe too much.. Where was I?

Oh yeah, thinking of junk to write about. It was then, just then, as I traversed up the hill to The Square I saw the most beautiful lady I've seen in at least four hours... awaiting the line outside at a breakfast joint.. so... what's a pig to do? He drives around the Square, back down the hill.. makes a left turn, and traverses the road where the pretty lady was standing. I ain't waiting on the midnight hour any longer.

I know I know I ain't dead.. and I know I know I have hopefully some more trips around the sun... but what the hey ya know?

Much hasn't changed, but age has changed me. Uh huh, the bod takes it's toll, so why not accentuate the positive of aging?. Whilst aging can be, usually is saggy, wrinkly, leaned-over-walkingly - I ain't gonna wait til the midnight hour and the withering away within and all the while keeping positive thinking from being unleashed.

See a pretty face.. I might turn around in the aisle and go see it again. See a really nice smile.. don't walk past it Victor, let that person know "Hey, you've got a really cool smile." Come into contact with a couple that you can tell they are emotionally super glued to one another? Ask 'em how that all started.. "How did you guys meet, and where'd ya go on your first date?"

Among the answers I've gotten recently... "well, I was 19, her daddy lemme fish in their pond, she was 14, and I guess the rest is history" (this was a couple that played golf where I work on their 50th anniversary...oh, and they didn't wait until the midnight hour, they chagrinned a cart and walked the course instead!)... "Skating rink.. 42 years ago." "In a bar... like interests I guess.".. "Very small town, I was a teacher, she was a student, but there's more to explain." I smiled, it's all good, I don't needta know!

There be some truth about the dangers or retirement in that "if you don't move, you'll die." I very much wish that meant I've been going to the gym, I threw out my size 36" jeans and bought 34" jeans. To the contrary, I'm donating my 36's and am now in 40's... breathing room, but I needs 'em. My "if you don't move, you'll die" isn't necessarily the most constructive of ways - but it's been a nice awakening.. I've pretty much always written what I feel - but now, I verbalize that as well. Crap like "I really admire you"... "Thanks for coming to play golf"... "I'm really glad, at our age, we can still do this" - statements that for years went unsaid, are now creeping outta my, and my friends mouths. Hell, ya even hear the word love more nowadays.

Past arguments don't last until the midnight hour.. you fist bump, shake hands or hug, then say things like "you go ahead and sit up front, I'm good"... or, "how's your hip (back/knee, leg, pee/no pee, bursitis, arthritis, u get the drift.).. ya care. So ya doin't wait til midnight.

Are we now perfect? Hell to the no, but why not have your coffee, steak, garden, bed, car, outlook, attitude - how ya like it? 2020 is scary enough no matter which side you're on - don't wait til midnight, enjoy living in the now.

Victor, you preaching again? Nope, simply enjoying. Oh sure, life has it's moments - we couldn't suckup (and apperchiate) the good if life was easy.. there would be no uplift without downfall.

I like your car. That's a really cool top. If I had your clothes, I'd donate all mine to Immacolata Manor.. Your baby is so danged cute. You must be on drugs, you're always happy (< I strongly endorse this one, it ALWAYS brings a smile)..

' Live. Love. Don't wait. I guess if this is preaching, so be it. Preaching comes with 'pews', and sure, I've had bad breath, smelly pits, farts that slip out, that stuff.. I am human smell me roar, ha.

Like life whilst we can.. don't wait until it's likeable - regardless of what Wilson Pickett wrote.

Close your ears. I just emailed someone "You shoulda been/should be a movie star." Creepy? Mebbe. Stalker? NO. Odds stacked agin', but, worst case, if I can bring her one moment of comfort, 'feel-goodery' should she ever get down, why not? She knows how I feel. I ain't waitin' til midnight on nuttin' any longer.

Love, why not... Victurd

I never promised you a Rose Garden.....

As always, I ain't real sure why I'm here, why I'm writing.

If you remember, some by choice, some by personal inability, I wasn't a great student/studier. I kinda sorta had 'em fooled though. Our Senior year, those in the National Honor Society, were allowed to get up and go (wherever) the last 15 minutes of each class. I wasn't in the NHS, but I was on the Student Council, no one ever questioned me, so, I got up each and every day, every class, to galavant with those that are/were much smarter than I. I guess yldrawkcassab, this did make me smart. Ha.

Now, there are two things in life I do very much love to study. One, people. Two, my eyelids.

Poor longterm planning, coupled with more month than SS Check amount, led me to search for additional means to make a buck. Found on FB, a company asking for folks to assist in studies, "pretend juries", marketing research, yada, at perty decent pay. (First one I did awhile back was 8 hours for $200. I almost didn't make it through. The stern lectern lady running the study warned us in advance, basically, "you ain't goin' no damn where 'cause if you do, you ain't getting paid." Which, is in direct disconcert with my prostate pressing frequently upon my bladder. Long about three hours in, I raised my hand.. "What's the matter?" stern lectern lady asked, "My BLADDER", aging geezer replied. "Oh, OK, 5 minute bathroom break.") Whew, TY.

The one yesterday, only two hours, ha, I can do this. 15 minutes before the start of this study, I, and two other geezers, stood silently infronta the urinals awaiting whatever it is down there to click in to start a flow. TMI I know, just wanna make sure you get the drip, er, drift.

OH BOY, I getta study people today! Being one of the first ones in the room, I spotted a hotty. In a millisecond, I deducted gorgeous smile, oh baby lips, and very nice derriere (sorry, kinda, butt it's our secret right?) Normally, I'd go sit at the other sidea the room, but, being 67, not knowing how many more damn sunrises I'll get, I ran, kinda, to sit in the chair right beside her. Smalltalk. I suck at that. "Do you come here often" ain't gonna work, but "Have you done any of these studies" kinda did. She gave me her smile, and explained a study she'd done before - and all the while I thought to myself "I know you're too damn old Victor, but mebbe, just mebbe she's closer in age than you think."

One by one we strolled into another room to begin the session. 6 chicks, 6 dudes. Different sizes, economics, ages, geographics, races, and we'd soon learn, differing opines. This study was about a horrific accident resulting in a death (wrongful?) - and we, the 12 of us with differing faults, were to pretend to be jury to cipher who is at fault, or if shared, what percent fault of each. I, mebbe purposely, nestled in a chair betweengst the two very largest folks in the room. Better to be thought a fool than to be seen, speak up, remove all doubt.

The moderator looked like Bob Saget, but had the calm personality of Pete Buttigieg. The males included me and three other raisins, a young, quiet guy, and a very large man that was sitting next to me. When he finally spoke, I expected to hear James Earl Jones, but he more resembled a high pitched Pee Wee Herman's voice. Likeable man, spoke with conviction.

The chicks consisted of a 20-something, two 30-somethings, the Hotty/age unknown but hoped to be older, Broken Record lady, and.. Broomhilda (more, sadly, later on her.)

The details, and pictures, of the horrificness were shared - and one by one, in no particular order we went around the room, asked questions, spoke our peace, sounded "what if's, coulda this/that" happened.

Hotty was on the other side of the room, and damned if there wasn't a mirror where, when looking at the moderator, boom, it was focused right on her too. Being a pig, I snuck in a lotta peeks. Got caught a time or two, but scroll to "dunno how many sunrises left", who cares.

Broken record lady repeated her same sentiment/opine a hunnerd plus times. I'm sure the two 20-somethings felt the same way about her, but they ain't got the foggiest idea what a broken record is, so I wondered what they called her. "Damn pop-up" maybe?

Broomhilda, well, I spotted her that name because I kinda thought she was a witch. Life has learned me, there's just some people where you can tell in the first 30 seconds, huh uh, I'll never call you to go have coffee. Pour it on you mebbe, but never share. She was LOUD. Ultra loud. When she tried to make a point (which was sadly about 30% of our two hour study) she got louder. Once I thought she was done, I hadn't contributed much, so I started to speak, as she heard me, she got LOUDER and LOUDER and LOUDER. It was just then I said a prayer - for you see - I saw the wedding ring on her hand and I prayed for that little sucker. He had to have been intoxicated when she clubbed him on the head, awakened only to find a ring on her finger. Victor, that ain't very nice. Neither was she. Sorry. Kinda. Not really.

The other three raisin men. One was very talkative, in a good way, and I learned from him - he made me think. A very moral dude - who also possessed the capability to play devil's advocate. (No, not Broomhilda.. the devil.) The other two raisins were kinda like me.. listened more than talked - so, when they did talk, I highly valued what they said - their observations.

Long about that time, Hotty had the floor.. and she mentioned "just had a baby" and right then and there I absolutely knew I was the biggest idiot in the room. Aye yai yai.

The mirror actually turned out to be a one-way thingy, where lawyers were perched behind listening, as we were all being videotaped/recorded.

We had nameplates turned so Bob Saget Buttigieg could see, and once I heard "Victor, you've been pretty quiet, what have you to say?" I scooted up to immerge from in between the two very big people, wanted to say "Broken record lady, please stop.. Broomhilda, I think your house is on fire you oughta leave.. and Hotty, I'm sorry I "creepy-flirted." Instead, I said what I felt about the very serious topic, and hopefully it came across without too much salt, pepper and sugar adorned.

In the end, the 12 of us with differing faults, were given a piece of notebook paper, pen... and we were asked to write down the Plaintiff, Defendent's names.. and attach a percentage of fault. Whilst details, discussion, Broken Record, Broomhilda, Hotty, fellow raisins made me think - I pretty much was unswayed in my opine from the get go.

Two hours, a hunnerd dollars, and a trip to Piggly Wiggly for $36 of eats, I was back at my abode, ne'er again to see fellow "fault" folks. This life studying, even when involving death, is pretty interesting.

VICTOR???? WAIT? Huh? Wha'for? Rose Garden, whatinthehell does this have to do with Rose Garden? Oh yeah, each and every time Broomhilda spoke, it reminded me of having to listen to the Rose Garden. Sorry, kinda, slipped.

Like studies of people, so are the days of our lives.

BRB, going to study eyelids.

Love, Victurd

Friends of distinction.........

I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby

Ya gotsta love this quilt of life, sewn together by friends.

Friends = smiles.

Friends = Damnit darnit (said with smirk) I wish you would have forgotten I did that.

Friends = You need some help?

Friends = fist bump, handshake, hug.

Friends = demonstrated 'like' waythehell before Zuckerberg was born.

Friends like us, and we like them, whether they're broke, have a messy car/house/life, good mood, bad mood, have marital woes, bad breath, or even just farted (Grazin' in the grass is a gas [so to speak] can you dig it.)

I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby

Friends gulp, but say "yes"(somewhat meekly) when asking or asked they question "Hey, I'm moving Saturday, can you help?"

Friends get mad at you, and you them, make fun of you, and you them, tell jokes, borrow smokes, and laugh at other blokes.

Friends = road trips, whiskey nips, backflips (long ago), stupid quips.

Friends listen to every damn boring story you ever told, and vice versa.

Friends, both you/me, occasionally, don't text back, don't p/u the phone when you/I call, email back mebbe 3 days later. Reasons change, seasons change - but friendship never quivers.

Friendship rocks, it's give and take - whether asleep or awake. A busy body tells you "You're screwing up" - and it's instant denial. A friend says that, so you reflect "maybe you're right."

I don't know where I'm going with this blog... uncertain of my path in life.. with or without wife.. in, or outta strife.. grumpy, happy, tired, too damn much energy - the constant is friendship. Adobe turned to concrete, then steel. Bond, no not James, friendship bond.

I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby.

Friends say "Hey!", "Whassup?", "Let's", yes, no, maybe, I wish, we can't, we shouldn't, oh ok. Friends are the first to laugh when your golfball takes a swim in the pond, so, after, when your friend buys an $11 round and hands a twenty to the server, you harken "keep the change.' You get that look, and you laugh just as loud as they did when your golfball went swimming. Bastard = friendship.

I can dig it, he can dig it. Grazin in the grass is a gas can you dig it.

Same Bat channel. Same damn story you/they have told nine times (ya ain't allowed to say "yeah, you told me that" until the fifth time.)

Friend ends with 'end', but it never do. That's what friends do.

This is corny. I'm sorry. Love means never having to say you're sorry. Friends call BS, "sorry's ass."

I can dig it, he can dig it She can dig it, we can dig it They can dig it, you can dig it Oh, let's dig it Can you dig it, baby

Happy day, friend. Can u loan me fitty?

Love, Victurd

A little ditty 'bout Jack and Diane's weekend at Bernie's....

Friday night. He'd already put in 53 hours at his construction job, not to mention the additional 15 hours driving to and fro. One to wet the whistle, drive home, take the boots off, kick his feet up... only to fall asleep to Netflix.

Diane's head was ablazen from all the Monday thru Friday cubicle gossip whirling above and around her head. Susie's divorce... the new boss's arrogance.. and oodles and oodles of hard work put in to finally achieve her 3pm Friday deadline - completed. By the joint to stop for one to inaugurate the weekend.

Their eyes met across the bar. Well, that's not totally true.. Her eyeballs laid and stayed focused on his Wranglers as he got up and walked into the john. With much delight, and continued focus, she was doubly pleased as he returned to his barstool. His eyes. "Yum, his eyes" she thought - not to be outdone was his appealing smile, first take of thinking "a good, decent man."

For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, and it so happens he caught her eyes from across the room, "dreamy" crept into his brain - she smiled... like a tennis player, he returned same.

Soon, she too got up to use the restroom... "Would you look at her wonderful figure!" ran thru his brain. They both were in great shape, and to be frank, "bend me, shape me any way you want me" crossed his brain. We, all men, are/can be piggies. Just a gol durn minute, all women can be piglets too. She returned to her chair at the table, sitting by herself.

He sucked, or so he thought, on being the aggressor, coming up with something friendly, catchy to say as an introduction. Gulping the last drop of his jack and coke, he said to heck with it - walked over, announced, "Hi, I'm Jack." "Nice to meet you Jack" as she extended her hand, "I'm Diane." She felt the roughness of his hand - but it was Ok, a comfy "honest day's work" feel.

Somehow, words came with ease - they admired one another's smiles, eyes, conversation, all that. They each returned once to the restroom, they equally admired that. With visions of sugarplums, and "If the house is a rockin'" thoughts went thru their brains, she didn't hesitate one iota when he asked for her cell number.

He figured 9am Saturday she prolly would be up, so he called. "Hi Jack!" she exclaimed. "Careful," he cautioned, "don't ever say that to me getting on a plane." "Ha" she fired back, "how are you?" He was higher than a kite at the thought of a date with her, but fearing showing too much "oh baby oh baby" emotion, he answered calmly, "I'm very good, and you?" Small talk led to "hey, let's take a drive this afternoon to stare at the beauty of the trees changing>" "Great, let's do."

They did. There was comfort, ease in their conversation. Each felt the want to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake and it wasn't a dream. They took turns staring at the trees along the way, but in truth, they, again like a tennis match, took turns staring at the other when the other wasn't watching. Two hours expired in what seemed like 10 minutes.

"Hey," Jack threw out, "howabout a game of Parcheesi back at my place?" She couldn't have cared if he'd asked Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, Go Fish or Duck, Duck Goose - she was game. (Side note, "Parcheesi nicely spelled Victor." I know, thanks to Microsoft red underlining.)

He lost game one. "Two outta three? Loser cooks dinner?" "Deal" Diane fired back with a smile.

In between moments of however in the heck one plays Parcheesi, they dipped into their life histories, siblings, where they grew up, their parents, past jobs...whatever seemed worthy of sharing.

"Ha! One to One" Jack lipsmacked with a smile. "Game 3 on, I'm hankerin' for some spaghetti!"

Unlike the 'every time I lose a wrasslin' match, I got a funny feeling that I won,' she actually did win. "Got the ingredients for lasagna?" she fired. Strangely, he did.

Pandora blared in the background, with brief interludes of clanking pots and pans. An album later, "Dinner is served." Candlelit dinner. Diane was impressed, and after bite #1, doubly impressed.

They walked the dishes to the sink, and both dug into the warm water to wash and rinse the dishes. He felt the urge for a hug, their first, she willingly obliged. "I wish my hands weren't so wet" he thought to himself. "I wish his hands weren't so wet" she dreamed.

Out back, the air was as cold as what one thinks the air is in the Midwest when the trees change - thus, they nestled in around the firepit. Conversation, laughter, giggles, baby touches ruled the night. At one point, he used his sleeve to wipe the Hersheymellowgraham off her lip, then followed with a kiss. She no complained.

They went to the bedroom, doinked, and planned their second date. Don't be a dweeb and believe that..

She did spend the night, but no hanky panky. Si, hugs, kisses, laughter, mutual body heat to assist the furnace...a good time was had by all.

She awakened staring at a ceiling she didn't remember.. to the smell of coffee coming from the distance. "Sugar...sugar?" Jack asked. "Nope, black is perfect." They downed some biscuits and gravy, jointly worked the morning crossword puzzle, while her thoughts crept to "Man this guy can cook", which is fancy for "Damn he's cute, handsome, BUILT."

Like a good tennis player's return, similar thought transpired in his brain.

A nice, long hug at the doorway - she opened the closet door to retrieve her wrap - and there it was. His MAGA hat. "DEPLORABLE!" she screamed... long about that time he noticed peeking out from under her blouse her "Not me. Us" Bernie Sanders t-shirt. "SNOWFLAKE!" he returned in equal pissed off tennis match fashion.

Neither noticed "Why Can't We Be Friends" playing in the background on Pandora.

Fall is changing to Winter. There would be no shady tree and she kept her Bobby Brooks on.

Woosh, she was gone, fastern' a scroll thru an opponent's posting on Facebook. "Eh, it's hunting season anyways" Jack told himself.

Oh yeah, life goes on... long after the thrill of living is gone.

A little ditty, 'bout Jack and Diane. And us, in America today.

Love, Victurd

Mice and Men... M&M's... Mahomes not home on the range......

The deer and the antelope are oblivious.

And the beat goes on............. or doesn't.

Screeching halt.  Words, reactions like OMG...   Holy mackerel..  or my personal fav "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"  (I wasn't a very good high school basketball shooter.  I think I played mainly because I hustled.  Our Coach, whenever I'd take a shot, hollered "NOOOOOOO!!!")

Life disruption.  Down goes Frazier.  Wally Pipp lost his job to some chump named Lou Gehrig.  Chicken Little reminds us the toast is burnt regarding our QB, the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Divorce.  Death.  Injury.  Affliction.  Much happens, or doesn't.  The end, usually, ain't great.

Cope can lead to hope or mope.   We're all different.  I'm unique, just like you.

I know of a lad, good guy.  Fun.  Divorce back in the 80's, maybe even the 90's, I don't recall.  Life, as he knew it, OVER.  Friends worried he would harm himself.

Whilst no one has solved "the chicken or the egg" question, history tells us Humpty was beyond repair.

Happy to report, this lad is the happiest I've ever seen him - with a great gal who's just as happy - life it be good.

So Victor, you're now divorced twice - been single since whenever the last divorce was (2005) - are you gonna head to the pulpit and tell us the tale again about life repair, duct tape and bailing wire?

Nope, ain't.  I'm here to observe.  Have fun.  People watch.  Then, open my big trap (keyboard). 
Chantilly lace and a pretty face, a pony tail, hanging down - that wiggle in the walk, and giggle in the talk, makes the world go round - there ain't nothing in the world like a big eyed girl, that makes me act so funny, make me spend my money, make me feel real loose like a long necked good...like a girl, OH BABY that's what I like.

Sorry, the song slipped out.  Felt it, dealt it.  My bad.

Life smacks us right in the face sometimes - we all respond differently.  Humpty took the omelette route, Pipp gave way to Gehrig (Lou then set the record for playing in 2,130 consecutive games), Pipp ultimately got traded.  Even sweet Lou - was smacked in the face.  ALS.  How'd he respond?  Certain you've heard his speech "For the past two weeks you have been reading about my bad break, yet, today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

The late, great Buck O'Neil, denied the opportunity to play in the Major Leagues because of his color - with smile, related "I was right on time."

Some go the bottle. Otis.  Uncle Tom. (Uncle Tom was an actual uncle, had drinking problem, never knew his history or why, like Santa Claus clockwork, he showed up each and every Christmas, the only time we ever saw him.)  The guy with the beard that sits at the bar on "The Ranch."  Who knows their life interruption...


What is the name of the bird that can't land?  Emu?  Albatross?  Hell I dunno, but it's fun to watch the video of them trying to land.   Sad too. 

Edith Fore was credited as portraying Mrs. Fletcher.  Although a stunt person performed the fall itself, Fore said she created the "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up" line while discussing the accident with LifeCall.

OMG.  Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!

I've bored you with this before, but, it's my blog, my computer, my fingers that shout "People let me tell ya bout my best friend."  My mom.  Age 57, a massive stroke.  Her life smack in the face. Father as witness.  Life change.  This had a wonderful end.  (I'm of course, biased.)  Dad immediately quit his traveling sales job, got "D tags", used our alleyway to fix up and sell old clunkers, so they could eat, live and be happy. And they were.  Dad sang old showtunes as he cooked, cleaned.  Mom had her 'nest' (as dad called it.)  Newspapers, Kleenexes galore.  I have framed, and 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper, where, due to her stroke, had written completely on the right hand side "The secret to success is how you deal with plan B."  Far, frigging out.

Most...ok, all of us - go thru "I'm a chocolate mess" times.  Do we leave it on our hands and get it all over - or, do we wash it off and figure out how to make a candy that "Melts in your mouth, not our hands."

I love you, I'm sorry you've struggled.  We all struggle.  Sometimes we struggle ugly - which, reminds me of one of my alltime favorite quotes that has absolutely nothing to do with this blog.  Kareem Jabbar, in advance of coming to play the Kansas City Kings in basketball, would shout out to Sam Lacy, our center, "I'm coming to town and I'm gonna knock some of the ugly off your face."

Fly high, or jump off a small wall, we'll figure out the landing later.  Holler like Wally "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play, today - look at me (Since Lou is now at first base) I can be, Centerfield.
Have an occasional beer.  A good cry.  Wade your toes in self pity as you cross the creek, but don't take up permanent residence there. Have an omelette.

By all means, smile.  Laugh, love.  Life goes on - it's our call how to respond.

"To The Outhouse" by Willie Makeit, better known as our backup QB Matt Moore. Mice and Men... M&M's... Moore & Mahomes. Will this melt in our mouth, or on our hands? Time, life will tell. 20 years from now, those of you that will still be alive will ask "Whatinthehell was the name of that guy that came in for Mahomes? Something or other Pipp wasn't it?

OMG.  Holy Mackerel. NOOOOOOOOO!

Love, Victurd

Continuing Education

Sure, I'd like to try to swat a line drive, round first base and try to stretch it into two.

Full court basketball might be nice.

6am to midnight traversing Highway 76 and all therein in Branson.

Instead, here I sit.  Older.  Mebbe too old for all that.  I'm at peace with that.

Three loads of laundry stare at me from the bedroom.  In my best single voice, "Honey, I'll get to that soon."

Soon after I sit and kill 3 hours listening to Classic Rock on youtube.  No lights on.  Quiet.  This is mebbe better than the high blood pressure meds I take.

Knock, knock, knock.. 'Ahm, you've got three, THREE loads of laundry needing to be done."

Stones, Eagles, Rod Stewart, The Beatles. "I'll get to them soon."

Leave me alone, I'm old, I'm tired - I don't work but Uncle Sam (er, Social Security) pays me anyways.  I choose time out.

I find listening more fun as I age. I find, when someone tosses a line at me, I have less and less urge to bite the bait (argue).  I find, if the urge hits me to make a smartass comment that will invoke a smile, I'm kinda sorta unleashed, and OK with that.  What better than laughter with whatever time is left?

It all usedta be about "what's next?"... What to wear to work.  Path to work.  Who's at, or not at, work.  What within that mess upon my desk would my boss like for me to do first?  Next?  Does the kid have anything today?  Need I hurry home from work?  Our plans?  Will we make it to payday?

Now, I sit.  And listen.  No hustle.  No bustle.  Damn, it's nice.

BRB, the 7 minute version of "You can't always get what you want" just came on.

Rome, Paris, London, St. Thomas, Cancun...even Cooperstown, DC, San Diego - sure, all would nice.  For now, I sit.  Sometimes you get what you need.

Today, it kinda feels good to get caught in the rain.  I don't even cuss (much) if the Newspaper guy forgets to deliver my paper two days in a row now.  Uh huh, no fun paying $2.50 + tax today at the Piggly Wiggly for today's edition that ya already paid for - but it is what it is, scroll back to the high pressure point.  Not worth it.

I have no idea who is here, what you are wanting, or even more, what I want to say.  I think what I'm trying to say is this getting old ain't bad.  We're born a 78 speed record, morph into a 45 - then ride it out as a 33.  You tailgate, stress, hurry, no looky at the scenery, mile a minute, regret blurts, bury your head in your Dayplanner....

Nomme.  I'm chilaxin'.  I stress, less stress.  Your check engine light is gonna come on.  Your back (shoulder, hip, knee, foot, yada) is gonna hurt.  This life palette infronta us, it ain't always gonna pan out as we wish.  It is what it is.  Age teaches not flipping out, flipping the lights off instead.  Breathe deep.  Chilax.

Bowie and Mercury are singing "Under Pressure."  Nice song, but huh uh, no more.  The mirror tells me these lines on my face are deep enough.  When I shave and swipe the shaving cream off, it takes two swipes as much is left in the crevices.  Tis OK.  Earned em. You too.

I do wholeheartedly subscribe to the advice "If you don't move, you die," but like the laundry, there's a time and a place for that.

No takey this the wrong way, but much of our life is spent in doing for others.  (ie, no pats on the back, we all, as parents, workers, yada, do that.)  Today, this age, is just damn peachy to think of one's self occasionally and spoil the hell outta your own bad self.  Grab that cinnamon roll, I'll treadmill it later.  Search, play that one song where the gosh darn sax 'talks to you.'  Close the eyes.  Smile.  Relax.  Chilax.

I ain't no preacher - but I wanna tell you I'm finding complementing others is better than sex.  OK, maybe that's a stretch, but damn it feels good, TO EACH.  One can forget much that goes on in a day, but when we're complemented, we smile as we groan our old bones to bed - remembering how good what was said made us feel. how thankful we are for the person saying that.  So, I try to, more.

Life is a continuing education, but with old age, what better, there ain't no lesson plans, no curriculum.  OUR. OWN. PACE.  Again, I no profess to be a professor or a preacher or a look at me, do as I say - I'm simply finding, as I age, the stuff important to me now is:  treating others nicely, treating one's self nicely, no getty in a huff... have smiles, make smiles.

I gotta go.  Laundry Victor?  No..  pee.  There are still little tidbits of stress even with aging.

Have a fun day.  Catch someone doing good.  Have smile.  Make smile.  Be a smartass.  Chilax.  Buy yourself something (and your grandkids two things).

Go to Motel 6-teefivesomething.  We don't leave the light on, we turn it off.  Close our eyes.  Meditate.  Feel. Feel good.  Chilax. Thrive in how good this learning to be old is.

Love, Victurd

And we'll have fun, fun, fun 'til her daddy takes her T-Bird away......

Life, sometimes, is just boring.  Time to spiff the joint up.

Ideas? (I Googled)

"Shake up your morning routine"  and "please your palette." OK, so, my daily drive to McDonalds.  Insteada going the same, mundane, fastest way.... I drove under the ole' one-lane 'honk bridge'.  That's always fun.  Past "around this inexhaustible spring, Liberty was founded."  Do do do do, take you back.  And it did.  THEN, insteada ordering a Sausage Biscuit and Sausage McMuffin, I ordered a Sausage McMuffin and Sausage Biscuit.  Confused the hell outta Window #1's Shirley..  "It IS you" she exclaimed as I pulled up.

"Make a bucket list," and "Rearrange your furniture."  The suggestion was to 'move your armchair to where the sofa is, and vice versa.'   I'm too old for that.  So, instead, the first bucket list item was "To attend a Rolling Stones concert."  They were in Denver recently, but oh baby the tickets (and the altitude) were high. So.................  I went to Youtube, entered "Rolling Stones Live", turned my TV 180 degrees so it was facing the wall (Hey, the only tickets I saw I could afford were BEHIND the stage), cranked and pretended I was there, AND rearranged furniture - two birds, one stone.  Well, several Stones.  I had a blast...you can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.

"Go on a scavenger hunt."  Cinchy.  First, I drove to Best Buy, my goal was to simultaneously watch the 33 TV's displayed and see how fast I could find 4 commercials that didn't have Patrick Mahomes in them.  Took awhile, but did it.  Over the new bridge to Wally World where the quest was to find 4 people older than me.  Again, took awhile, especially since they axed all the Greeters - but I eventually saw two, then went and sat on the bench by the pharmacy ("Excuse me ma'am, what year did you graduate?" - aha, a little over an hour.  Last trip/scavenge  To Dollar Tree.  Bought me a "Get well soon" mylar balloon, stood in line with 12 other people for the one cashier whilst 7 other DT employees silently stocked nearby for fear of hearing "Myrna, Register 2 please."... Road trip with balloon to find the very first roadkill i could find to attach the balloon to.  I was hoping it was a raccoon (long story, but you'd agree with me).. hoped it wouldn't be a squirrel cause the helium might bring it off the ground and toward Heaven, and hey, that ain't my call.  Maybe Bambi? It was a squirrel, but he was a fat one, hadn't been run'd over 12 times.  Swatted the flies away, tied the balloon - one scavenger hunt in the books!

"Cut a rug":

 Thus, grabbed my boombox, back to Dollar Tree to buy 15 D batteries from Myrna.. to the Rancho Grande where I played "Macarena" and danced away on the sidewalk in front.  Didn't see anyone I knew, but I wasn't worried, that's why I went and did this before they opened.

Down the parking lot to my personal bank.. Plopped the box down in the middle of the lobby, put in my favorite John, Paul, George and Ringo's "The best things in life are free, but you can keep them for the birds and the bees, Now give me money (that's what I want), now give me money (That's what I want.)" Teller Michelle kinda looked at me funny, but she knew from experience I like stupid jokes so she never dialed 911.

A real quick Fast Food array of 2-stepping (Mickey D's "you deserve a break today"...Pizza Hut "putt putt, the pizza hut".. and ah chihuahua Taco Bell for "Go to... taco taco taco taco taco taco Bell.'  I was gonna swing by Arbys "We have the meat" but I had the runs, so... home.

"Shake up your sex life."  Ahm.... next suggestion please.

"Do that one big thing.  Is there one big action you've been holding back on that could turn your life from boring to amazing?  Maybe it's a job change, a move, a proposal, a change of scenery, a new relationship in your life.  Whatever it is, take that first step. Action creates momentum, and momentum builds excitement."

With all that said, I took that first big step to the bathroom. (Remember?  I got the runs.)

This is maybe the worst blog ever, but it's kinda like Bill Self said after Snoop Dog shot dollar bills at KU players from an Adidas gun recently at their "Late Night at the Phog", "Even bad publicity is better than no publicity."

Thinking on my own, I watched CNN for 30 minutes (In Spanish), then, Fox News for 30 minutes (In French.)

Nap time.  Me no likey Dr. Laura, but I do like her "No go take on the day."

I'd love to hear how you spiff up life.  Call me, text me, message me, but gimme 42 minutes (average length of my naps.)

Happy day,

By Henry 'Spiff' Gibson

Love,  Victurds - pun mebbe intended