Animal House.... of Representatives...

I pledge allegiance to the Lands of the Unified Types of Animals, and to PETA, The Humane Society, and the ASPCA for which they stand, thanks Noah, under God's sky, with free range and fruits, berries and leaves for all.

"It's well known I'm smarter than the average bear," Yogi started, "thank you for electing me Top Dog (so to speak) and I call this meeting to order....Boo Boo...if you could catch the door please."

Roll call...

Bugs Bunny... "Whatsup?"  

Donald Duck.. "Aw Phooey!.. oh, sorry, I tweaked my beak on this desk."  

Mickey Mouse.. "M-I-C...." We know Mickey, 'Present' or 'Here' will work..... 

Tweety Bird.. "I'm here, but can I trade places with someone so I don't have to sit next to Sylvester?"... 

Sylvester..."Sufferin' Succotash, darn crybaby bird."

Woody Woodpecker... "Heh-Heh-Heh-HEHHH-Heh, ahm, Here"

Porky the Pig... "Am I the last one?  That's all folks!"  No Porky, we have several more.

Pepe Le Pew.... "I am Pepe Le Pew, your lover... Tweety, you can come sit by me?"   Odor-able offer, but no thanks.

Bullwinkle.... "Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat."  Ah, Rocky didn't get re-elected, sorry Bull....

Winnie the Pooh...  "Oh ,bother."  Sticky situation Pooh?  "Nah, thanks Yogi, say, did I ever tell you that if you live to be 100 I want live to be 100 minus one day so I never have to live without you."  Nope, you never did.  Cute, kinda cheesy, but cute.

Nemo...... (crickets).. NEMO?... Can anyone find Nemo?   Tweety "I tawt I saw him in the lobby, I did, I DID see him in the lobby... "I'm here!  Just had to dry off first."

Scooby.. Scooby dooby doo, where are you? ("No remarks from the peanut gallary Tweety.") I'm here Yogi, sorry, ruff night last night.

Pink Panther....  I'm here too, but why do I always hear saxophone music when I'm introduced?

Dumbo...  (Raises front leg to acknowledge presence.) Dumbo is the first and only protagonist in a Disney animated feature film to have no spoken dialogue.

Last but not least, Bambi...    I'm here deer... 

OK, thanks.  Now on to the meat of the meeting.  First subject to address, masks.  The speaker recognizes Bugs .."I don't want no stinkin' mask!  How am I supposed to get that short string over my big ole ears?"   Dumbo chimes in, "You think YOU got problems,"  Yogi asks, "Hey, I thought you couldn't talk?"..."Well, I've always been able to, Walt just didn't lemme."  Tweety "If it weren't for Pepe Le Pew, I'd make a motion to scrap the whole mask idea."

Woody "Why I'd accidentally tear a hole in that mask in no time"... Donald, "Can you see me getting that thing over my beak?"

Yogi.. "OK, OK, we'll scrap the mask idea. But I reserve the right to institute it should I see fit."

Next order of business....  We've GOT to do something about these humans.  They're all so angry...and at each other.. which sometimes makes 'em take it out on us animals."

Winnie.. "We could always give them a hug, a hug is always the right size."  Yeah yeah Winnie, but, see, they have this thing now called open carry.. they'd make bear stew outta you in a heartbeat.

Sylvester .."What say we make up some dandelion wine and throw 'em a big party?"   Mickey "Yeah!  I could see about getting a big ole room for our party in Orlando!"... Bugs.. "Sounds like a wonderful idea.. we could meet 'em all in the lobby, feed 'em the wine, get 'em pellet-faced, they'd come in and have a blast.. they wouldn't know party, race, religion, yada.. perfect!"

Yogi "Done.  Howabout 2nd week in November?"  Bambi raises hoove "Ahm, that's hunting season."  "Yeah, you're right, we'll have it the first week in December then, so they still got money to travel..planes are empty, fares are cheap. Done.  Mickey, reserve that big ole room.  Sylvester, you're in charge of food and drink.. "  "Succotash and suds it is then sir!"

Yogi... "OK, from our last meeting.  It was noted, that with the humans all mad at everyone, increasingly they are shooing us off their lands. So, Donald volunteered to help organize and setup a list of VRBA's (Vacation Rentals By Animals) across the land.  Donald?

Donald, "Aw phooey, I left my speech in the car.".. So, Scooby entertains with Sit, Fetch, Stay tricks.. Dumbo does some stupid elephant tricks.. Donald returns.  "Yogi, your wish is my command, anything for you you big palooka!.. We now have 1,274 Nest and Breakfasts, 364 abandoned barns and farm homes, and 712 Tea in the Treehouses."  Round of applause for Donald please...(different clacking, clawing, clucking heard.)  "Aww shucks, it was nuthin'"

Hey Boo Boo... is there anything I'm forgetting for the meeting?  "Yeah Yogi, remember, we were gonna try and organize an Anicare so us animals could have easy access to the VA (Vets for Animals) without having to tag along with a human."  Oh yeah, thanks Boo Boo.. Does anyone see a need for this?

Bugs, "My ears need cleaned"... Dumbo "I could use some help from a dietician".. Tweety, "Hells bells I need to add some weight." Woody "I could stand to have my pecker sharpened, mind outta gutter, I'm talkin' beak here."  Pepe "Would they give us access to shampoo, body wash, cologne?"..   Porky "Well, I could use some he-he-he-he-help toning up.  Weight rooms? Treadmills?"

Yogi:  "By the power vested in me, I nominate a committee of Tweety, Sylvester, Scoob, Nemo and Porky to meet next week, gather ideas, schedule someone to talk to the American Veterinary Medical Association - and report back next month."

Yogi.. closers, please come to the stage to prepare to end the meeting.

Mickey?  "Now it's time to say goodbye... to all our company...."

Winnie?  "Some people care too much.. I think it's called love.  Remember, a hug is always the right size."

Porky?  "Th-th-th-that's all, folks!"

Always be kind to humans..  most are trying the best they can.

By Henry Gibson and Jack Hanna

Love, Victurd

The old dog.....

 Wise - from experience.  Endeared by every pup that crosses his path.  The pups - in no time rack up 10,000 plus steps on their 'fit-bit' - the old dog's route is planned, calculated, learned, the best way to get from A to B. No wasted energy. Occupying in the background is just fine with old dogs.

Don't let the gray confuse you - the tail still wags at mega speed, they've, over the course of a long time - have developed a deep sense of trust.  While their body may act 12, 15, 17, deep inside there is still a puppy. In many respects, they're just like us.

Over the years, the moments where the hair on their back is raised, the teeth are shown, legs bent ready to pounce - things have changed.  Wanton aggression has been replaced by wisdom.  It takes a good bit to get a rise out of them.. Oh yes, that rise still happens with the USPS guy, the UPS man, the FedEx feller - and of course now the Amazon dude. Intrusion, protection. Much the same as a mother or father defending their children.

Such intrusions, the pup with certainty will wear a path on the carpet from sofa to front window (and back, and back, and back) - the old dog easily senses when alarm is over - and one trek back to the resting spot.

Old dogs still love to eat.  Much like us, they do.  Also much like us, they don't expend as much energy as yesteryear.  Thus, the pounds add up, of course, like us.  Some would call it fat and happy.

Puppies, thanks to their rip roaring, garner attention.  That's just fine to the old dog. Whilst never forgotten the times of front and center are reduced over the years.  Not exactly taken for granted, but kinda sorta. They seem cool, ok by that....but are they?

It's when we notice problems..  they're not eating as frequently.. lethargic..  staring at walls..  unexplained barking or whining.. sleeping more, and more and more.  Then, and just then, do we put two eyeballs on them, giving the sufficient attention they need.  Kinda like old folks, I guess.

Please don't read into this "I'm talking about me" - I'm talking about us, how we coexist with not only hounds, but people in general too, the aging society - not taken for granted, but perhaps not included as often, not communicated with as frequently.  Very, very much loved, just kinda morphed, without intent, to back burner stuff.

With aging, oft times trips to/fro the vet increase.  It's then, and sometimes only then, immense feelings come over us... selfishness is usually first... "I want you, that puppy, back!"  It's then and usually only then we are silently slapped silly into guilt.  Life has 'mandated' cycles.. we, all too frequently, are on auto-pilot, and don't stop and smell the roses, count the geriatric tail wags.

We are human.  Dogs are too in a sense.

Life is wondrous, beautiful. We misstep.  Everyone does. Doesn't mean we can't try to do better, or, old dog new tricks if you prefer.

Be kind.  Pet an old dog.  Call, go see an old person.  To repeat, I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome.

It's an old saying, so to speak, but we can do better,

Love, Victor

Nuh uh..... really?

As a kid, our comeback would be "No, Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina..."

I just returned from breakfast.  Whilst at breakfast, I noticed my cigarette tasted funny. (Yes, you can still smoke in some places around KC)...  Of course, I'd lit the wrong end. Not the first time, and won't be last time to ever do so.  That made me think, "What other really stupid stuff have I done in my life?"

Which, I can read the brain of at least one person I know, maybe twenty, and they're thinking "You ARE NOT really going to share this stuff are you?"   Uh huh, am.

"WHY?"  Why not?  I think it's a good thing to occasionally make fun of ones self. "Yes, but WHY on the internet so everyone can see?"  Frankly my dear....

Night club.  Tap on shoulder.  "Victor, your shirt is on inside out."

6:30am, I walk out of apartment #2 in my undies, 20' or so to grab newspaper.  As I pick it up, female resident in apartment #3 comes out to go to work.  "Good morning, how are you?"  (What else could I say?)

A minimum of 17 times, I've forgotten to zip back up.  All men have.  Gamblers never lose right?  If one tells you that, trust me, they have - just like those who say they've never left the barn door open.  Fortunately, I never stuck out.  Thinking on that, maybe that's unfortunate.

I returned home from a softball tournament around midnight.  As I opened the door, my father asked "What are you doing here?"  He was correct in doing so, you see, I'd gotten married two weeks prior.  Geez.

I have gotten out of bed, made coffee, and realized it was 11pm.

I awakened from a slumber, looked at clock, "oh crap, I"m late." Skipped shower, dressed, jumped in car. Driving to airport for 8am start, it started getting dark.  Uh huh, did that.

As a kid, young adult, my greatest wish was to teach/coach in Liberty. I interviewed, DID NOT get the job. Turns out, at another school, the longtime PE teacher was not very happy to have a female principal.  He quit.  They called me.  I'd never done a backflip, did so.  I overslept the second week of my employ.  Yes, I did. Never again, but I did.

Names changed to protect the innocent. I once called Sally, Sue.  There's no undoing that one. (And no, it wasn't during...  ahm..  church, yeah, church)

Driving to a wedding in a barn in Raymore, Missouri.. I GPS'ed it.  It took forever and an hour to get there. Finally, "your destination is on the right."  It was a pasture, not a house in sight, 20 miles into Kansas.

The gal at Dog N Suds was a real cutey. With purpose, I went thru the drive thru. I recognized her voice.  I ordered, then, I asked her out for the upcoming Friday night.  Little did I know the speaker was so loud you could hear it even in the lobby.  When I got to the window, there was one very red-faced cutey, as well as 7 co-workers staring out the small window to see who the idiot was.

Age 15. Mowed grass for school district.  Old High School.  Sat on a humongous hill.  They gave me a real tractor to mow it. I'd never been on a real tractor.  Driving horizontally was perilous, so, I decided to drive up, turn around, drive down.  That took too long, so, I decided to drive up, NOT turn around, but press in the clutch and coast back down the hill.  As I neared the bottom, I let the clutch out. IMMEDIATE HALT, front end lifted off the ground - I came EXTREMELY close to tipping the tractor over on toppa me. I no do that again. Don't tell anyone.

18 yr olds, three of us. Lake of the Ozarks.  Got motel room, paid for two adults.  Owner musta seen three of us walk in.  Knock on door. "Oh crap."  I crawled under bed. Buddies opened door.  I had to breathe, and as I did, it was so tight the bed would raise up and dive, own.  Motel owner caught that, booted us, we didn't even get our money back.

Craps dealer for a short back in the day.  In a craps game, the dealers rotate positions every so often.  It was my turn to be the stickman.  The stickman has that long stick, curved at the end. To start the game, he 'grabs' seven dice, slides them out to the player whose turn it is to roll the dice, they select two from the seven, you scoop up the other five, draw them back to you, and the feller then tosses the dice.  Large man, very large, as in 6'7", maybe 350, 375 lbs.  His turn to throw.  I roll the seven dice out, draw my stick back to me so he can select two.  He did so, in a millisecond, SO, I reach my stick across in front of him to grab the remaining five dice. As my stick came down to grab them, his arm/hand violently threw the two dice. Ahm, except.  Except I was too slow (actually he was too fast) and his hand banged the stick, HARD, very HARD I could tell he was hurt, the two dice went off the table.. he looked at me as if wanting to kill.  I was reciting "Our Father, who art in Heaven...." Thank goodness for casino security. I went home with two arms, two legs, breathing still.

And there I was.  Asleep at my desk in my cubicle.  Phone rings. I answer.  It was my boss. "ARE YOU SLEEPING?" Honesty best policy, "yes".  "Someone came to my desk and told me you were sleeping."  WHY?  WHY would someone do that?  Why wouldn't they simply tap me on the shoulder?  I fabricated a story (please don't tell) that my girlfriend's colicky grand baby spent the night with us and we had no sleep.  Story bought, hand slapped.  Whew.

Thanks (or no thanks) to a template, I sent 3,000+ pounds of freight from Seattle, WA to Lumberton, NJ (Philly area.)  Problem was, the freight was supposed to go to San Antonio, TX.  Told boss. "That's not good." Gulp, $2000 plus to fix.

Basketball coach.  We were wearing our 'even' number uniforms.  I neglected to double check manager's work in filling out the roster in the scorebook.  Seems she copied the prior game's names/numbers, which happened to be the 'odd' numbers - meaning, all of our players were illegal.  The game started with 5 technical fouls, and each time someone new substituted into the game, it was a technical foul.  Oops.

Some "not me's", but thing I found people had done:

Took the bus home from work, 45 minutes.  Thought someone had stolen my car, then remembered I'd driven to work.  ("Not first time I've done this.")

"I once tried to get my toast out of the toaster with a fork."

I once put a cup of water in the microwave but the cup was too tall. I poured some water out thinking this would make it fit.

A girl in my class had a cool shirt on with a bunch of little watermelon slices on it.  I really did mean to compliment her shirt, but said "Nice melons."

When I waw 8, I was walking home from school, picked up some pink fairy floss (cotton candy) off the ground and put it in my mouth.  It was insulation.

Someone once asked me what time it was. I lifted my arm, rotated it to see my watch, forgot I was holding a full glass of iced tea.  Uh huh, allover my lap.

4th grade, the teacher asked a math question. I immediately raised my hand and shouted "poop".  No idea why I did this.  I was in detention for a week.

Too lazy to drive to his girlfriend's house, a man ties helium balloons to his lawnchair and ends up at 15,000 feet, closing the LAX airport. 

A gang of Norwegian thieves carefully uses explosives to open a safe only to find the safe is filled with dynamite.

---------------------------------------

And of course, I've looked for my hat...  looked for my shorts..  looked for my phone..  uh huh, on head, on me, in hand.. 

Please don't trip and fall,

Love, Victurd

Don't dance... like everybody is watching....

Dateline:  Kansas City... Knuckleheads Saloon, Sunday afternoons.. free jam sessions.

In 1887, a railroad boarding house was built in the East Bottoms.  Adjacent was an amusement park, Electric Park. Fast forward a hunnerd and ten years (that's 1997 for those of you that suck at math like I do).. and one of the buildings housed a body shop. The body shop folks opened a Harley dealership - they'd have street parties, give away free beer. Became so popular, owner gotta liquor license.  Then, even more popular - owner closed the Bike shop - opened Knuckleheads.

Even with all these letters on the keyboard, Knuckleheads is hard to describe.  There's a small "Gospel Lounge"... annuder inside lounge/stage... a very interesting outside stage that includes a caboose for VIP seating, a U-shaped upper deck, bleachers seats, tables and even some old seats from Royal's stadium.

If this tweren't enough, in 2009, the body shop was converted into Knuckleheads Garage (for big crowds to see/hear) - thus, four venues/stages for bands to play, and sometimes music happens at all four stages at once. There's a huge mural on the sidea the garage that sports wonderful paintings of Elvis, Stevie Ray, Hank Williams Jr, Hendrix, Buddy Holly - and many more. Electric Park (complete with a performing stage) converted to Eclectic Park (complete with performing stages).

There's posters all about of everybody and anybody who's performed there (among em, Leon Russell, Edgar Winter, Keb' Mo', Ray Price, Delbert McClinton, Ray Price, Merle Haggard, Samantha Fish, and many, many more.)  If you were to go pee, you'd find more posters, bumper stickers and signed autographs on the wall from us plain ole folks spanning from Massach.. ahm, Masachoo...er, Massahchoo... a, from Maine to Hawaii.

There's still some catering to the Harley folks.. specialized upfront parking (be careful, you tip one, you tip over a hunnerd.)

Leave early to get there, otherwise you'll get stuck awaiting one of the very many train crossings surrounding the joint. There is a back way to avoid 'em, but I've yet to learn that way. "Alexa, guide me around these damn trains."

The train whistles/horns, add to the uniqueness of the joint. In fact, singer-songwriter Joe Ely was playing his hit song Boxcar - and spectacularly, right when the song called for it, onea them train whistles sounded.  "I've been waiting 20 years for that to happen."

Sunday afternoons. If you were a young punk in 1960/70-something in KC and you drove to KCKS to a bar serving young punks (beer was sold to 18 yr olds then) - it's the exact same people that were in KCKS that now attend Sunday afternoons, but now complete with belly fat, bigger butts, dyed (or no) hair.. some hideous outfits (who cares), but most importantly, ever present smiles.

On the walk from the parking lot to the venue, you might see someone carrying a guitar case, a set'a drums, a horn case..  hells bells, last week some dude even played a 'saw'.  Thinka him waking up that day, "I think I'll take my saw down to Knuckleheads and play."  There are a few pros, but for the most part, it's "hey, we need a bass guitar for this set".. .or, "next drummer, you're up." It's always amazing to see the piecemeal on the stage perform like they've been together for years - it truly is.

I learned from Little League, you can either catch or you can't.  Same goes for dancing.  Good Lord.  First, lemme say, and quote my stepson "Not no's, but hells no's" that I would never step foot on the dance floor  (I can catch, but I CAN'T dance.) I feel sheepish/guilty then (not really) describing really sucky dancing, but you needta go one time to see it. It's kinda like you're out somewhere, maybe in a car, or maybe even at home, and someone starts singing that really shouldn't be singing.  Amazingly, they don't grasp that, but it's twue, it's reawwy twue, on they go, gyrating (I think), stepping (awkwardly), bouncing (some really shouldn't) and even more amazingly, an occasional glimpse to the crowd to 'see who's watching me'.

One lady, all she did was 360's. Reminded me, as a kid, you'd spin around and around and around, then everyone would laugh at you as you walked away, lost your balance and fell down.  She never did though.  Forgive me Father, I was kinda wishing she would, but she didn't.  Musta been good genes, good jeans, the alcohol, or sumpin.

Mixed in, mebbe one outta fitteen, those that can dance. Yum, fun to watch. I don't think 'relationship' is a goal of the dancers as 70-somethings oft times dance with 40-somethings.  There's tons of single women dancing - and even upon occasion a single dude. People watching here is more fun than even Bourbon Street in Nola or Fremont Street in Vegas.

All this, for free (not to mention cheap beer.)  Time's up at 6pm, so we, the dock worker, the retired dudes/dudettes, the executive, the real estate lady, the hairdresser, a wonderful mix of folks who don't care whatintheheck you do or did for a living - we just enjoy fun, music, people watching, and even some dancing - must return to our humble abodes.

If you ain't never been, you oughta.

There'll be swinging, swaying, music playing, dancing in the street.  Oh it doesn't matter what you wear, just as long as you are there.. So come on ev'ry guy (except me) grab a girl..... Dancing in the street.

By Henry Gibson (Dance ensemble arranged by Fred Astaire and Thelma Threesixty)

Love, Victurd

Living thanks to the past.....

 There is the saying "It's hard to drive forward looking in the rear view mirror."  I certainly understand what's being said there -  and trust me, people have told me "Victor, you live in the past too much"... So, perhaps I'm wrong, but I find great value in the rear view mirror when used properly.

The person you are today... the hurdles you've overcome.  The people you've loved, raised.  The work you've done.  The positive outlook you've ingrained upon yourself. Growth in the processes of tossing out things that used to really bug you - seeing the triviality of those on the road behind you as stepping stones to the better you.

Since February or March of 2020. From observing who periodically comes by to read this blog - it's well noted most of you are old farts like me. There is not a one among us that hasn't been affected by loss in the last couple of years.  Certainly other bastard afflictions in addition to Covid.  I believe there's absolutely nothing wrong with looking in the rear view mirror, remembering what it was like with those friends, loved ones on this planet - and how their void really hurts.  "Never ever (here on Earth) again" is so very hard to swallow. Loss sneaks up on you - I see nothing wrong utilizing the rear view mirror to remind us, in the windshield of where we're headed is precious time, precious people. Minutes, thoughts actions we can't waste.

We've forgotten so much of yesterday, the rear view mirror reminds us "put this good stuff in the 'Cloud portion' of you brain." We can live with a recognition of how glorious each and every moment it.

Today, tomorrow, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by loved ones.  Little ones at play.  Older ones relating a story or memory.  Quietly, with smile and 'notation' we can take it all in, AND with greater appreciation. Loss truly, truly sucks - but it can serve as great impetus into the windshield of our future.

Springsteen's Glory Days reminds us of the wrong way to use the rear view mirror... few though I've run across that 'never graduated from high school.'

If you feel desperate, stuck living (sadly) in the rear view mirror - help is out there. 800#'s, physicians, counselors, loved ones. It is absolutely OK to get help when looking ahead out the windshield is so difficult. God Bless you if you're there.. and I should have mentioned your pastor as another means to help. You would be surprised how much you mean to so many, truly.

I truly didn't mean for this blog to be morose.   Like much - a McDouble, a sip of good brandy, gaming, exercise - within reason - OK.

Assessing the positives - the rear view mirror help us in remembering loved ones.  It helps us in seeing, reminding the incredible steps you've taken in life to be who you are.  It reminds us how precious every morsel of life is - and that can go a very long way in helping us with our disposition daily. Yes, happy lives in the rear view mirror - and that should play a role for us with clarity today, tomorrow.

So, not "living in the past"... moreso, "living with much thanks to the past."

Have a great day today.... and tomorrow, Victor

When boredom sets about................... Paul Harvey

The phrase "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream" crossed my brain.

So.........

I Googled "where in the hell did that phrase come from?"

Christian Kent Nelson, a Danish immigrant, was a teacher in Onawa, Iowa. He taught math, Latin and psychology at Onawa High School.  After school, he would run to the store he co-owned with a feller named Mustard, thus, the Nelson-Mustard Cream Company.  It was mainly a candy store, but they also sold ice cream.

Legend tells us, a young boy came into the store in 1919, could not decide between a chocolate bar or ice cream. Nelson asked the boy "Why don't you buy both?" "Sure, I know I want them both, but I only gotta nickel." Enter "Light Bulb" here.

Nelson set about experimenting dipping ice cream bars into melted chocolate.  He was having trouble getting the chocolate to adhere to the ice cream, so, a 'bon-bon' salesman suggested "confectioners add cocoa butter to chocolate to get it to adhere."  Gwalla, Gualah, or jualah, hualah, however you spell it. (As an aside, I tried to look up the correct spelling, verifying with the definition.  First word I looked up was "Gwalla", and no, that ain't it.  Gwalla is of West Indies origin, and it means "a female who receives large quantities of penis for personal gain, eg, money, jewelry, bill payment."  No, that ain't it.  Howabout we use the term Shazam instead?  Deal?  Deal, thanks.

So, Nels finally figures how to get the chocolate to stick... He calls this dandy 'Temptation I-scream Bar' and it sold well in the shop, and at the Onawa Fireman's picnic.  It is said, this is where Nelson came up with the saying "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream." (Some say it was from a song of the same name written by someone else in 1927, but, Nelson invented it in 1919, so I say "No, fake news", besides, it's my blog anyways.)  .

Mr. Nelson traveled to Omaha, NE to consult with a patent lawyer. Whilst in Omaha, he happened upon a guy, the superintendent of a local ice cream plant, named Russell Stover. (Ripley's believe it or not.) They, Nelson and Stover, recognized the potential mutual benefit should they form a partnership - thus they did.  Stover didn't like the I-scream name, and Nelson too worried if the song didn't stick, maybe the ice cream bar wouldn't either.........

So, they batted heads, surveyed dinner guests, the name Eskimo was mentioned, gwalla, I mean shazam, their new name, "The Eskimo Pie."  It sold kajillions and they lived happily ever after.

No, that ain't it.  It did grow amazingly. The product singlehandedly rescued the world cocoa market from a depression. Nelson changed the way ice cream was distributed by using dry ice.

After World War I there were so many imitators (such as the Klondike bar), tons of money was spent defending the patent, coupled with them having difficulties collecting royalties from licensees - Stover pulled out, sold his share back to Nelson for $25,000, moved to Denver and opened the Russell Stover Candy Store.

Nelson was swimming in headaches with copyright, overpaid salesmen, collections, yada, he met RJ Reynolds (uh huh, one in the same) and they cut a deal.  Reynolds got 80% ownership, Nelson collected off the royalties.  This arrangement worked well once Nelson stepped aside, but he got the itch to go back to work - did, for Reynolds, finally retiring at age 61. Nelson passed away in 1992 at the age of 99.

So now you know the origin of I scream you scream we all scream for ice cream, and I lovingly remember as a child singing it as the ice cream truck bell rang as it came down the road.

Paul Harvey, good day.

No, that ain't it, yet.

Tune in tomorrow where we'll study the move from Denver to Kansas City and the amazing success of Russell Stover. My cousin loved Russell Stover chocolates.  Not all of them, but most of them. 

So...........

He'd pick one up out of the dainty crinkled cup it lay in, turn it over, stick his thumb in it.. if it was one of the ones he determined "yummy", he would eat it.  If not, he'd place it back in the crinkled wrapper right side up and the joke was on you.  Or, me.

By Henry Gibson, forward by Paul Harvey.  No, that ain't it.  End by Paul Harvey.

Good day,

Love, Victurd

For Real, as in, It getsya to the END

Which, if you kinda sorta look at the capital letters (or is that capitol, no, that ain't it) is F-R-I-E-N-D.

Friend = comfort. Fun. Laughter.  Care. Concern. Telling you "you're an idiot" when you're really an idiot.

Friends sometimes, outrace relatives to find the right way to help you 'when something is wrong.'  There is  a wonderful uniqueness of being a blood relative, truly. Love is always there, it's just the way. 

Ya don't.  Ya don't pick your relatives - but you love the heck outta them.

Friends, you pick - or, they pick you.

There is something about the word 'share' in friendship. Shared time.  Shared admiration. Oft times, shared beliefs, likes, wants - but, notta hunnerd percent - which keeps friendship intriguing.

Friends are people you never wanna hurt and vice versa. Friendship can involve butt dials at 3am, texts unanswered (not purposely) for 17 hours, sometimes them saying "nah, I don't wanna", but lotsa times saying "Let's", a two word contraction for Let Us.  As in, quoting Austin Powers, "yeah baby."

Family reunions happen once a year.  Friend reunions usually are weekly. Sometimes more, sometimes not as much.

Friends are an exit ramp off the Interstate of everyday life.  Once you pull off onto that exit, fun, love happens. Friends are living, breathing forms of Prozac, Wellbutrin, Xanax, Valium, yada. Friends are the impetus for the hair coming down, the corners of the lips going up. Laughing until it hurts way outpaces any plank, elliptical, treadmill, lap swim as far as 'good for the heart'.

Sometimes we, as friends, spat.  That's ok.  Maybe for the next time, or few times, insteada taking that damn ramp off Interstate we choose to sidestep via the roundabout - but, in due time we'll hop back off onto that ramp, and BOTH be glad we have done so.

Friends are the Dewey Decimal System (ok damnit, the Google) in remembering things from long ago you'd forgotten. You can forget some of the memories all of the time, all of the memories some of the time, but if you really fuck up (sorry, for impact purpose only) friends never allow you to forget. 

A friend will recount a story, sometimes twenty, thirty times - and each time, stopping mid-sentence to "enter laughter here", and it's a way to look back on life, things done, that were maybe more fun that we even imagined.  The word treasure comes to mind.

Friends = sanity, as well as insanity, if that makes any sense.

Four friends golf.  Friend #1 virtually always wins.  Friend #2 has very good days, and some not-so-good days.  Friend #3 is improving to the point he oft times now comes in 2nd place.  Friend #4 is the worst golfer, loses more golf balls than Carter has pills. I Wiki'ed to see how many pills Carter has, couldn't find it - but, #4 loses so many golf balls he goes to WallyWorld to buy them for $5.99 a dozen. (For non-golfers, that's cheap as hell.) So.........

No one cares who wins.  Well, #1 does care so much he's very hard on himself, to the point of cussing at himself (continually) after a bad shot, to which his friend says "Don't you talk to my friend like that." #2 will hit a bad shot, offer up a slow, deep huffaw in laughing at himself.  #3 remains mostly quiet after a bad shot, but earlier this year he became so frustrated he threw his club in the trees after hitting a ball outta bound.  This is where friendship comes in.  We laughed our ass off at him. We brought and wore bike helmets to protect ourselves from him the next time we played (which, is a lie, we wore them so he'd know how stupid he was to have done that, he earned it, and yep, it reminded him "we're here for fun, screw what anyone shoots, scores... there's beer after.")  #1, #2 and #3 ALL have to be careful, because #4 loves to write/blog.

Bottomline - time with friends, be it golfing, wine club, a movie out, bunko (we know you don't really play bunko), yada - is yummy.

Life is very much for living - but when friends gather, it's kinda like an eraser wiping away all the shitty chalk that accompanies real life.  (Don't you dare say 'rock chalk', patooey!)... 

Friends cause wrinkles, introduce you to a different kinda love, yet still very deep, emotional.  When any friend happening happens (be it a text, a visit, a party, a golf game, wine club, bunko, ugly sweater, whatever) - on the way home, we create imaginary thank you cards to send.

My take, friends very definitely contribute to the longevity of life.

There are burps, coughs, snorts, belly laughs, farts (sometimes on purpose), pop/beer coming out one's nose, tears... you know, stuff you couldn't do gathered with the normal man (or woman) on the street. Thank God friends are not normal.

"It's one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." Ralph Waldo Emerson. (Tell it on the mountain Ralph, YOU DA MAN!)

Pandemic. Mask, no mask. Vaccine, no vaccine.  More month than money. You and the old lady (or old man) arguing? Weather not to you liking? Fellow commuters cut you off, flip you off, piss you off? Knee, hip, shoulder pain?  Insomnia? Oversleep, late to work, a meeting, a ball game? Tire of talking to yourself about how crummy recent events have been?  Belly churning?

Have a friend. Gather.  Laugh. Enjoy.  Forget. Elevate.

Winter spring summer or fall.. .all you've got to do is call.

Next best thing to having a dog. Kidding.  Kinda sorta.

Your friend, Henry Gibson

Love, Victurd

Here's the pitch... and it's a single!

As in, single person.

Oh the stories one could tell as to exactly how, why, what, when one became single.

A tad about single life... at least, what I've found:

Yes, we converse 'with ourself' as to "whadda you want for dinner tonight?  I dunno, whadda you want?"

There is no remotely.  The dadgum remote belongs to us, me, yours truly.  Bug off.

Be careful on benches. You know, the type that consist of simply 2 by 4's flat... wooden legs beneath.  When two sit on it, it is balanced.  When one sits on the end of it, it tips over. (Yes,  Jimi Hendrix, I am experienced.)

There is no one to tell you how to drive, so hit as many curbs as you wanna, miss turns, get gas when the arrow is all the way pointing to the E, that stuff. Why just the other day, I was perfectly on time driving on I-35 to Kearney, MO to golf with a buddy.  The exit was upcoming, but, there was a WalMart truck trudging slowly up the hill toward the exit. I have a friend, married to a WalMart driver, she say "Their trucks are rigged so they can't speed... max, 65 mph." So, I go around.  I no makey exit.  Being single saved an argument. "You stupid idiot, what are you doing?"  It was only 6 miles up to the next exit to turn around, and I laughed for at least 4 of the 6 miles.

There are no "things that go bump in the night."  A single dude (or dudette) controls the temp, the blankets, whether or not you wanna lay across at 45 degrees, 90 degrees... and as a bonus, when a single person sleeps, they can't hear snoring.

Meals out.  There's no "my credit card or yours?"  It's hella cheaper. There are no distractions like "Did you see what that one lady is wearing?... How many more times do you think our server will say 'absolutely'?...or, "we really can't afford dessert this week." I'd likea piece of apple pie with TWO scoops of vanilla ice cream on top please.

It's ok if you got halitosis.

Flip the undies, no one will ever know.

From the get go, you only gotta worry about 50% less of the relatives.

You never, no gotta, ever, answer "Is something wrong?"

It's a 4-0-One K, notta 4-0-Two K.

Alarm, whenever you wanna..  meal, no set time. A night out? It's your pleasure. A night in?  Same same.

Work crazy?  Friends arguing? Sirens blaring? Political Facebook posts driving you bonkers?? Turn off lights.  Sit in easy chair. Listen.  Ahhhhhhhhh yes.  I've told this before, we old people do that, so turn left here if you wanna...  the old TV show Room 222.  It was forever hectic. If it wasn't, they'd have no use to have a show, so every episode was chaotic.  Once.. it was so chaotic, the Principal stated "I'll never forget April 7th."  Puzzled, a teacher piped up "Why?  What happened on April 7th?"  "Nothing, absolutely nothing."  Being single, by nature, brings about a whole lotta nothing.

Now the truth.  99.9% of us single folks would rather not be single. I poop you not (sounds more kosher than 'I sh*t you not.')

We'd rather risk:

Arguing.  The room temp unbearably hot or too damn cold. Are you really gonna wear that? Hubba hubba,  'not tonight honey'. Snore all you want. An alarm clock going off two hours prior to when you gotta get up.  Ahhh, clean undies, we take turns doing laundry. I'm brushing my chops for a nice old kiss.  Dinner tonight, my treat! "OK honey, I'll (speed up, slow down, watch what I'm doing, not look at my phone, stop singing, not fart, put two hands on the wheel, turn wherever you want me to... your wish is my Tesla.")

Conversation, hell to the yes.  On a serious note - I remember, long, long after my mother had passed - my father got a female friend.  Selfishly, it stung a little bit. Without ever saying so, dad offered "Victor, there are times I'll go 3 days without talking to anyone." Deep swallow (by me) followed by "you stupid idiot Victor, be happy for him." And I was.

Of course most of us would rather be mated, but, life is all about making the error of trying to put a sheet metal screw when it's required you have a machine screw.  Inotherwords, wrong screw, you're screwed, kinda.  Like the little turds and their play games where they learn to find the proper item (triangle, square, oval, rectangle, yada) into the proper receptacle - sometimes it just doesn't work.

But like Madonna said, "Don't cry for me Argentina".. well, or anyone. Life, even when one is single, is perty darn yummy. Being single means being thankful for what one has - and truthfully, we're all blessed. Life is vely vely good as a Mr. or Miss... and quite honestly, a single person's outlook (I think I can speak for many) is "Hey, I'll be good either way." You know, "till death, since we parted."

I'm going to watch TV now.  "Whadda you wanna..." Oh, nevermind.  I'm gonna watch "Life Below Zero", it's one of my favs. Then, I'll have a beer.  Then, I'll fall asleep in my easy chair.  Then, I'll pee at 1am, go to bed (fan on setting #2). Wake up and do it all over again, the Good Lord a willin'.

G'day mate (kinda)....

By Henry Gibson, with forward by Cordell and Cordell.

Love, Victurd

Whadda ya wanna be when you grow up....or, give me Liberty....

I'd like to be... under the sea... in an octopus's garden, in the shade....

No, that ain't it...

I'd like to own McBowl where I could announce "We had a nice game on lanes 11 and 12 by so-and-so, 279." Then, run and grab a 300 burger.

I'd love to commandeer an Atkinson Taxi in 1960-something, drive from Wilshire to Glenaire to Birmingham Rd to the old wooden Bridge, to BlueLight, past the Dari Joy... at Christmas time. Get paid to do that?

I'd like to snooze for a week in the Press box at WJC back in the day... watch George manicure the grounds.. Hank holler encouragement, linebacker Bobby throw the football 75 yards, Jan a kickin' on the baseball field with goalposts in the outfield... then I'd announce Liberty's Friday night trouncing for the Dueling Pistols, Saturday's annihilation by Billy Jewell over Mo Valley, wakeup Sunday to Gano Chapel's bells... then go have coffee and a huge omelette at Trail's Inn.

I'd like to wear a shirt and tie, smoke cigs and sell TV"s, stereos, washers, dryers at Woody's in October AND give 'em free peanuts and Pepsi as we watch the World Series on BRAND NEW color TV's!

I'd like to be "the Mattingly's greeter" and smile, point the little snotnoses (said lovingly) to "Downstairs is where the toys are!" 

I'd like to be a dog back then... run from Billy Jewell to the old High School.. up to Nashua.. back to the Square.. around the Cemetery, LEGALLY before them leash laws.

I'd like to visit with Bert and the resta the trash collectors as they go door to door trying to drum up business before the days of bid/force fed collection.

I'd like to take a nifty $5 bill, go to Halliseys and see if I could do my Christmas shopping. I'd Doodle (perhaps pun intended) and check it all out, taking my sweet time.

I'd run to Dairy Queen, buy me the tallest Peanut Buster Parfait from back in the day before they cost more than a six pack.

I'd get me a part-time job working for Mr. Mace stringing kid's ballgloves at night.

I'd take my allowance, go the both D'Agee's and Fischer's to buy my mom a rose.

I'd run to every schoolyard in Liberty (before they locked 'em all with gates/fences), climb the monkey bars, race around the dodge ball circle, and, if there weren't any girls a watchin', I'd do me a hop scotch or two.

I'd go see if Chief Collins would letme ride around with him for an hour or so, then, I'd knock on Sheriff Haye's door to see if I could shine all those nifty Junior Sheriff badges before he handed them out.

I'd go to the City Park, but first get me a clothespin to put on my nose so I wouldn't smell all that dog poop, then, I'd go stall to stall looking to find the prettiest horse.

Another day, I'd go to the City Park, no clothespin this time, but, ballglove on my handlebars. a game or seven of Indian ball... then, challenge the fellers to look under the bleachers to see who could be first to find a wheat penny.

Once I got my license, I'd grab my swimsuit, drive up and down the road infronta Repperts a waitin' for the flag to be raised, yippee/swim if it was.. .if it wasn't, we'd head to Holly Lake and see who could swing out on the tree rope the farthest into the lake. It it tweren't a school night, we might do both!

I'd grab me a tube sock, walk ALL THE WAY around Claycrest Golf Course a huntin' golf balls in the woods.. then, I'd setup shop at the bottom of the hill and sell frustrated golfers their balls back.  Gotta be easier than finding pop bottles, rollin' 'em in the red wagon to Safeway without breakin' 'em.

Fast forward to today, heck, I get winded walking from the car to the house - but, take me back in the day, 5-6 inches of snow on the ground. we'd make 63 trips up the hill to sled down the Jewell Hall hill before we went and feasted on hot chocolate.

I'd like to crawl in bed to that yummy smell of the sheets mom just put on straight from the clothesline.

I'd like to play smartypants (No Victor, not you?!) and run into Boggess.. see if I could fool the ladies into openin' the wrong drawer when I asked 'em for a #4 penny nail, 12 gauge, inch and a half long. DANG! They never goof!

Walk to Breipohls. get my cinnamon oil for my cinnamon stick fix... catch the matinee at The Plaza Theater, and scadoodle home before the streetlights come one.

THEN, then, we'd have the biggest game of kick the can you ever seen. I loved growing up next door to a family with nine kids!

"Mr Brant?  Do you have any size medium of those surfer shirts?....oh, no, sorry, not the red, that's another class.. our class wears the light blue ones.. got any of those?"

If I woke up in a bad mood... I might go to school and see how many fruit loops I could collect by day's end.

First high school class I'd sigh up for would be Mr. Franck's speech class, just so I could watch, hear him and his wonderful laugh.  He had too much fun in life!

OK, I'm "Liberty-ed out", but, doesn't seem like a bad place..  I may stay here until I'm fitty, sixty, seventy.. the Good Lord a willin'. 

By Henry (not to be confused with Henry Stanley Motors) Gibson

Love, Victurd

(BUT VICTOR! You didn't even make it to JFK?... . tomorrow.. hopefully the sun'll come out tomorrow.. we'll go... then we'll go get a Pat Price Ku Ku burger and see who all is loitering in his parking lot.)

This specific blog is for Larry Holley's request regarding information about the origin of women's basketball at William Jewell...

Larry....

I found this in Wikipedia regarding Missouri State (Girls) High School Basketball Championships:

"Girls basketball in Missouri started as early as the 1920s, but was played by schools mostly in the rural areas north of current U.S. Route 36. Few if any schools in the larger metro areas or central and southern Missouri schools offered organized basketball for girls until many decades later.^[2] A series of regional tournaments were held in Monroe City, Missouri from 1927 to 1933.^[2] Considering the lack of girls basketball elsewhere, these regional tournament winners could be considered state champions de facto, if not de jure. A state-sanctioned tournament was held during the 1939–40, and 1940-41 seasons in Clarence, Missouri.^[2] However the advent of World War II and gas rationing caused their discontinuation.^[2] Regional girls basketball tournaments did not resume in Missouri until 1972." (I know this to be generally true - but also, I know in Central Missouri in the late 1930's they had girl's basketball too as my own mother played in Fulton, MO.)

Title IX happened... Barbara Macke was very capably at the helm of the Women's Physical Education Department.  If she ain't in the WJC HOF, she oughta be! It was almost single highhandedly through her efforts the programs of Basketball, Field Hockey, Tennis (and I mighta missed one or two) got off the ground.

John Schoonover, Senior football captain at Jewell, was selected as the first head coach. I was a below average high school basketball player, but a PE major, gym rat, who virtually lived in Brown Gymnasium - thus, Barb asked if I would be the Assistant Coach.

We had tryouts.  Truthfully, it was like PE class... more demonstrating the very, very basic skills than looking ahead for any techniques to be used in team situations.  A few girls had played in high school. Mostly from smaller schools in Northern Missouri.  Tarkio College ended up being our nemesis, as they profited off many girls from Iowa who had played 6-"man" basketball. It was called 6-man then, which assuredly would draw complaint today, but that's what they called it.

Oklahoma also had 6 "man."  I was so excited once we had a gal enroll that was Defensive first team All State in Oklahoma. She came out and her skills (defensively) were truly remarkable.  Offensively, she was very much a beginner.. she gave up hope and quit (or transferred, don't remember.)

Title IX gave us, supporters of Women's athletics, that eye, thirst for equality.  Truthfully though, I don't remember if we alternated practice times with the men... and I don't recall any discrimination toward our team.  John Hickman, and team, welcomed us in every way.

With the exception of Tarkio - the rest of our mix (Graceland, Ottawa, Baker, Central Methodist, Mo Valley, Benedictine, Avila, SW Baptist, Evangel, Drury, even UMKC before D1 classification) were all about the same and the competition was good and fairly even.

There weren't many regular (female) refs for women's basketball then, so you got the same pair (females, older ladies, good refs) many times. If that wasn't the case, then it was basically some men coaches from the college you were playing that reffed.. including us and our own Fred Flook often.

Barb oversaw everything.  Incoming student athletes, game schedules, referees, game day setup, yada.  A very capable group of ladies (Edith Dale, Nancy Skillman and Mary Sterling) assisted with our travel (team vans, motel accomodations, meals - the dreaded sack lunches, all).. All we had to do was coach, thus, a great appreciation for these folks.

The crowds weren't large - but the fans were extremely loyal.  Along the path of our treks to Lamoni, IA or Tarkio, MO.. parents, fans from small towns would gather with signs, horns honking as we rolled through Mound City, MO.

We all grew to appreciate, but also hate, those dreaded sack lunches.  The annual treks to Springfield, MO were awesome in that we finally got a decent meal on the road - usually some type of buffet dinner.  Due to very tight budgeting, the Springfield run was tiring.  We'd land in Boliver, MO on Friday afternoon, play SW Baptist that evening..drive to our motel in Springfield after the game... awaken Saturday morning, a quick breakfast, then we'd play Evangel College at 11am or so... go have a meal.. rest in the van.. drive to Drury, and play them Saturday night, then drive home that night with a group of sleepy ladies. Yes, three games in two days.  I'm sure we had to be thankful for team managers/laundrymats, but truthfully I don't even remember.

After Schoony left, I became the head coach through my own graduation at WJC (73 to 76)..coached one more year (I think) in 77... then left to teach/coach girls basketball at Platte County... Tom Dunn became the head coach, did a remarkable job not only in coaching, but recruiting as well.  By this time, high school girls basketball was commonplace all over the state.  Tom left after a couple of years.. I came back to coach for I think two years and greatly benefited from the ladies Tom recruited to play at Jewell.

In nine short years, the excellence of play for girls/women had advanced dramatically.  I truly believe the high school girls team I coached in 1978 could have competed evenly (or even beat) with the very first women's team we fielded at Jewell - that how dramatic and amazing the growth was.

Thanks to the suburban and rural advancement of girls high school basketball, by the time 1980 rolled around, thanks to some stellar high school athletes from Blue Springs (Sally Merrell), Boonville (Carol Frieling), Clinton (WJC HOF, former all time leading scorer, Donna Brock), Excelsior Springs (Robin Gorham), Kearney (Terry Watson), Polo (Diane and Rene Easter) and Truman (Laurie Brown) we were finally able to catch and defeat Tarkio College to win the Missouri Small College State Championship.. Larry I can't even remember the initials.. MIAW maybe?  I hesitate to mention names from early years for fear of omitting some - but they are there on the 'boards' in the gym...especially that very first team.

In a very short time, women's basketball advanced from "My left arm, it's that thing that goes in the other sleeve" to spin moves, no look passes, long range jumpshots, behind the back dribbles, changing defenses from sagging man to full court zone pressure at the drop of a hat.

For years I refereed little kids basketball.  One year we had a guy who had twins - a boy and a girl.  He coached both teams.  I asked him one day "which is more fun, easier to coach?"  "The girls, far and away, they listen better."  I found this to be true as well.  I had nothing but wonderful experiences at Jewell.  In the beginning, working for 30 minutes on a pick and roll, and just when you'd looked in their eyes, thought "they get it", one would raise their arm and ask "Coach, are we talking about offense or defense?"....to, the advancement of having players do amazing things on the court we'd never taught in practice.

Some interesting (to me anyways!) diddies (JUST BETWEEN YOU AND ME!)...

One, Baker. We disliked Baker.  Their old gym.  EVERY time we'd line up to shoot a free throw on the end by the stage, the light on the stage would magically turn off just before the ball was set to leave our free throw shooter's hand.

Two,  With the male coaches, female athletes, we'd always give them a couple moments after a game before we'd come in and address the team. Never failed, after a bitter loss, the same gal would forget we were in there and she would take her jersey off.  It was just as embarrassing for us as it was for her.

Three. One day a gal ran up to me frantically "COACH, COACH.. DO YOU HAVE TWO NICKELS FOR A DIME?"  I dug in my pocket to give her the nickels, but I thought to myself "whatintheheck would she need two nickels for?"..  Ahhh the aspects of coaching women's basketball!

Four... I learned to always double check manager's work entering names, numbers in scorebook BEFORE the game statts.  Yes, even numbers entered for our odd number wearing team.  5 technicals to start game, and, each time a 'new' player went in.

Five.  Playing Haskell.  We used to play them every year.  The very first time we played them our coach (me) had the bright idea we were going to play man to man full court.  I do not mean this in a discriminatory way, but they all really looked alike, long, black hair, very similar in height.. our players were so confused I think we were down 15 points before I realized my error and we changed thing.

Six. i got a wife outta the deal (don't forget, I was in college too).. Folks figured she would get special treatment from me.  She was as bad a player as i was coach, no way special treatment!  She wised up and left some 8 years or so later!

I dunno if any of this is what you were looking for... If you need more my number is 816-394-1662.

You continue to be my idol!  My sister was in Jewell (graduated HS in '65) for a very short time.  Once, she, you and a bunch of others came to our house (across the street from Melrose).. I thought it was so cool Vanda knew Larry Holley!  The only person I know with their own Wikipedia page!

Keep on keepin on!

Vic ( vicschultze@hotmail.com )

PS: My assistants over the years, Mark Middleton, Dwight Bruening, Joseph Carr and Dan Soltys

Pollyanna has momentarily left the building....

I am human. I am imperfect. I have done things i'm not overly proud of. That doesn't mean I can back my F-150 up to the landfill, broom them all out and be done.  No, errors live with us.  I/we have to strive for better.

I am bothered by when one is judged as 'butt-hurt'.  Is it a bad thing to want good? If I must color myself thin-skinned, huffy, touchy, so be it.  I make no apologies for seeking good.

Nelle Belles Diner. A trip back to 1960-something.  I have smoked too long, shouldn't, I know, scroll to human.  Ostracize if you must, puff puff. Nelle Belles is a real place, in a real small suburban town, and if you walked into the place, I swear you'd look for James Dean, John Wayne or Red Skelton.  In a sense, they're there.

Smoking is allowed, puff puff.  As I downed my same ole same ole breakfast - two old ladies (my age, ha) were sitting, gabbing, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and watching Captain, Kangaroo.. ok, no, they weren't watching CK, but, it instantly drew me back to as if it were my mother and her sister sitting there. A simpler time.

The Depression had come and gone - but forever not forgotten.  Coin purses served as a reminder - as did the noisily scraping, cleaning of the plate as the fork gathered up every last tidbit. Every time I eat, I do the same, and the noise is as if I were sitting next to my grandfather and his delight with encapturing the last morsels.

Nelle Belles is 1960.  Oldies 94.9 plays in the background inside, Oldies 101 the Fox in the Parking lot. Double the chances to catch one really fine, fun song.  Everyone knows first names.  Last names unimportant, ceptin' when visitations and weddings happen.  Regular's personal coffee cups are washed and put away on a shelf until the customer's next visit.

Laughter dominates. Business transactions happen - tree limbs to be chopped, a cracked section of sidewalk to be fixed, boards replaced on a deck, yada - all, 'notarized' with a handshake. Tenderloins are bigger'na football, omelettes are outta this world and I'll be darned if your coffee cup, water glass ever gets less than half filled.

People are nice. To anyone.  To everyone. It's 1960, again.

"In the nineties, everybody wants to talk about their rights and privileges.  Twenty-five years ago, people talked about their obligations and responsibilities."  Lou Holtz

At Nelle Belles, fairly close to the door (within 'thieving distance') is a taped up gallon jar with a slot on top for seeking donations for one down on their luck.  I meant to read it on the way out, forgot. Probably an assist to aid a customer and their medical bills.  It's 1960, no one will ever swipe it.

Us.  We 'kids of the 60's', yes, questioned much.  "Why?" we replied when asked to do something.  Good and bad came from this.  Parental authority questioned, in the 50's, brought a belt or a switch.. in the 60's, that changed to squirming of mom and pop. Sure, there are probably hippies somewhere still in their parent's basement playing pong with hair by now certainly to the floor - but, at least the mortgages are surely paid, and there's no great threat to society.

Much good 'work' was done against racism, for elderly parents, for those in poverty, Native Americans, equal work equal pay for women.

"Thanks."  (One of Nelle Belles employ just filled up my water glass.  One has to watch it.  Once I became so entranced with my newspaper, i hadn't noticed that my almost empty milk glass had been refilled, I tiltled it fastly for the 'last swig', and unwittingly drenched myself, the newspaper, the entire booth by taking 'a sip'. Lesson learned.)

Back to now.  Not wholly, but somehow, the question of authority in the 60's has slipped, transitioned into assault authority.  Not all, sure, but some.  This past weekend, at the Fall Festival of our small town, young gents in the back of a pickup truck road around and around "The Square" with a 6 foot by 4 foot flag expousing "F*CK (enter political figure here.)" AND, trust me, I know this can and does happen by both parties.  How did we get here though? The moral fibers of our flag are in dire need of a Betsy Ross restitch.

I was on the back deck at work with a female coworker.  A gent who'd never been to the clubhouse was visiting with us, and I bet 7 times he dropped F-bombs.  Color me butt-hurt if you like. I felt sorry for the coworker. He did apologize, but that's kinda like spitting in one's face, saying "sorry" and wiping it off with a washrag. (Victor? You've dropped F-bombs in your blog. Very true, so I guess I need to apologize. When done, it's moreso for impact, but your message is very well taken.)

I'm complaining and I hate that. I'm sorry.

""You know what makes me sick to my stomach? When I hear grown people say that kids have changed. Kids haven't changed. Kids don't know anything about anything. We've changed as adults. We demand less of kids. We expect less of kids. We make their lives easier instead of preparing them for what life is truly about. We're the ones that have changed." Frank Martin, South Carolina Basketball Coach.

So, I guess in many aspects, we are to blame.

I miss honesty.  I  miss "self-reported" wrong.  I miss the child, parent teacher conference where the folded arms, furrowed brows and toe-tapping are pointed at the child.

Pollyanna still lives at Nelle Belles.  1960 is not so far detached to have wonderful memories.

"Another cup of coffee?"... "No thanks, but mebbe could I get a cup to go?  It can be kinda brutal out there."  "Sure."

Again, I'm far, far from perfect, but I'm also not afraid to admit my butt hurts.  It's my butt and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to, you would cry to if it happened to you. (And again, I don't fear being called butt hurt one simply due to the sometimes sad state of society.)

Before 'foul' is called and a penalty flag thrown, yes, I'm very aware and fully support Freedom of Speech.  Is it a crime to add "please use discretion?"  I hope not.

There is MUCH good out there.  1960 good.  2021 good. May good win out.

Love, Victurd

4am. Hello darkness my old friend....

The reasons are many... MANY reasons why one is up at 4am.  You?  I've noticed:

Colicky baby....  Gotta pee....  Shoulder hurts..   Hungry..  Unfinished worrying..  Went to bed too early...  Gotta pee, again... The eyes open, by the time one can find a clock to see whatintheheck time it is, you gotta pee again, so now you're awake.. so might as well get up.

Wall Street Journal says "Most people who wake up at 4 a.m. do it because they have to—farmers, flight attendants, currency traders and postal workers. Others rise before dawn because they want to."  Then, it says they want you to subscribe to read the rest so ix-nay that one.

A study by the University of Westminster finds that people who get up early have higher levels of stress hormone than those who have a leisurely morning.  I'm sorry, howinthehell do they study that? "Excuse me there Jane in Scranton, Pennsylvania.. we see that you are up.. could you take a moment, put on your robe and let us come measure your stress hormones?"

CEO's wake up at 4am.  Probably to check their bank account, my guess. 

Some guy decided to wake up at 4am for thirty days straight, then write an article about it. Color me a skeptic.   "While automatic reminders are the rage, I found setting the alarm the night before was an active reminder that I was getting up early to accomplish x, y and z. It didn't take long before I was actually looking forward to it (yes, really!) so I could plan my day." Sure, but it's a safe bet your alarm/stool flushing woke up three people in the house that wanted to sleep.. you have halitosis.. a nifty Cheerio stain on your PJ shirt because you can't focus that damn early, and.. you likely fell asleep in the 3rd inning of the Royal's game that night. (I speak from experience.)

"By waking up early, I was able to accomplish a lot. Once I had gotten certain tasks out of the way in the early morning, I had a renewed focus during the workday and didn't get as overwhelmed."  I bet so, but I also bet your cubicle mate Chuck had to tap you on the shoulder with a pencil every dadgum time you nodded off in the afternoon, and WE SAW YA.. we saw your 5pm commuter butt drift over darn near a full lane on the way home, almost cause a MASSIVE wreck had it not been for the lady in the Toyota behind you that honked and flipped you off. Your positivity reeks of a brown noser seeking an entry management position. Patooey.

FINALLY you realized "Shifting my schedule to account for an earlier wakeup time was a good reminder that “having it all” wasn’t worth it. Yes, there were days where I was able to wake up at 4 a.m., have a productive workday, and then go out at night– but without the recovery time my body needed, my performance suffered the next day."  Uh huh, what I said. There's a lot to be said for watching the 10pm news, downing a glass of wine, catching 30 minutes of Jimmy Kimmel, finally hitting the hay, then rolling over to tap Margaret on the shoulder with 'wanna fool around baby?' Also, the mouth is bigger at 6:45am and you can't miss getting the spoon of Cheerios in that thing.

4am, to me, in the real world means... what if the newspaper delivery guy oversleeps?  Howabout the school guy that schedules subs for the sick teachers of the day?   What time do donut-makers go to bed?  My Facebook friends on the West Coast with the 'green light on."  Are they goin' or comin'?  A 4am unexplained house noise is hella scarier than a 7am house noise.  It's dark at 4am. One can go get the newspaper in their undies (provided the paper guy hasn't overslept.)

4am is a very good time to write a very stupid blog.

4am, when retired, is also a very good time to set ones alarm to.. oh, let's say December 24th, then, hop back in bed for a long, long nap.

And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

Cheerio... and love, Victurd

I remember.......

Sitting on the back deck.  Calm.  Serene. Then, a horrendous shrieking noise coming from the woods.  Continued. It was a horrendous sound for some time.  Really difficult to listen to from afar, imagine being in the center of it all. Then, silence.  Nature had happened.  That bastard.

Traffic.  Traffic whirls.

Loss.  One less car.

Traffic still whirls.  Nature, that bastard.

Loss affects us all.  I cannot, however, fathom the loss of a spouse.. I cannot fathom the loss of a child.

Traffic still whirls.  Nature, that bastard.

Life is seemingly about love and hurt, with day-to-day in between.  Life rolls pretty darn good, day-to-day with love front and center.  Loss can and does happen, then it's day-to-day with a large dose of hurt.

There are certainly those way more qualified than I on how to respond to that, how to assist.. The preacher, the counselor, God, the Bible, a best friend... I know of nothing more than one foot in front of the other.

When loss has happened, for the short term, we, in traffic, may pickup the phone and call that loved one we shoulda called long ago. We make that promise to remind our self "it can all change in a heartbeat", make plans on how we're gonna do this, do that, differently. We do, then day-to-day can get in the way.

We absolutely don't take people for granted, we just forget the day will come they're no longer there any more.

We cannot beat ourselves up when loss happens.  "I should have told them..... I wanted to tell them how much I valued them and never did..."  Sometimes even "we were kinda on the outs, I feel HORRIBLE" happens.  Can't allow it to make you feel horrible.  Life, nature happens. There is no perfect man or woman.

Yesterday, someone was basically pleading online "my child had a wreck, they're fine, but the car's frame is bent and we didn't have collision, what can we do?"  Not much.

Same in life.  We get bent out of shape.  WHY?  I allow much, to bend me out of shape.  When half of America spews hate for half of America (and yes, I'm aware that goes both ways.)  Arrogance.  I allow that to bend me out of shape.

Typing down a stupid road, but it's a road that happens nonetheless.  Yeah, traffic.

I have a buddy. A good friend, but I can't tellya his middle name, what year he graduated, his mom or dad's name, all of his sibling's names.. yada.  Still, a good buddy.  EVERY time he sees me, or any of the gang where we occasionally gather, it's "I love ya man"

Traffic whirls.

I should have this on 'auto-paste' (for ease of copying and pasting) because I've typed it hundreds of times - I am not preaching.  I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome.

We can certainly tell people how thankful we are they are our friend... your friendship means so much... We can also forget to.

All too often we hear "I never told him/her I love 'em."

Well, now we can.

Day-to-day with hurt will go on to infinity, and yes, seemingly day-to-day with love will never end.  Sadly, it does.  Nature can be a bastard.

Traffic would go smoother.  Waking up would be a tad easier... if we simply knew, the last thing we said to someone was "I love ya."  It's "you'll never know how much I appreciate your friendship"...."I feel so honored to be your friend"... "I'm glad we're together and got to do this today" ALL ROLLED UP INTO ONE.

I am aware, saying "love" is very difficult for some, and that's ok.  Simply express it the best you can with your smile.. your eyes.. your handshake... fist bump..

Love ya

Watch him folks, he's a thoroughly dangerous man...

Which translates to, turn left here if you still have one iota of respect for me, cause sometimes, I get a little carried away.

The following is a mish mash, mainly because I can't think of one dadgum topic to write about, so, below is everything that's crossed my brain, hence, the above warning.

Haven't blogged for over a week for two reasons, one, no ideas as mentioned above, and two, I spilled coffee on my laptop, thereby eliminating the use of the entire row qwertyuiop..... hch maks lannng v dffcl ...

hch maks lannng v dffcl , btw, is "which makes planning very difficult" when you try to type without using the letters from the row qwertyuiop.

So, is this where I enter "a needle pulling thread Victor?". No.  Ain't.  So, I dug DEEP DEEP into my savings account and purchased a Chromebook ($44.99, shipping included), life, be peachy again.

Mish mash, not to be confused with "splish splash" cause I ain't even got a tub.

I awakened to what I wore in a dream.  I was on the golf course.  With, a former co-worker, a fraternity brother, another i couldn't identify, and me...wearing only a t shirt and boxer briefs.  It was the 3rd hole before I realized it.  I just hit my driver, actually inbounds, something I rarely do, when I looked down and realized I'd forgotten to put on my shorts.  The former co-worker was female, I was embarrassed like crazy, tossed my driver, ran, hollered to fraternity brother "Hey _____, grab my driver for me I'll be right back" and I prayed that my boxer briefs weren't 'streaky' so to speak.  Got home, put on shorts, realized I guess I haven't gone to church enough of late, oh well, happens.

Breakfast out this morning.  Mom and pop place I adore.  It's an old house, converted.  The bad part is, if you gotta use the restroom, you have to go outside, enter the back door, go THROUGH the kitchen, down the stairs, and do it in reverse to return.  So, needle?  NO.  So, needless to say, one has to ANNOUNCE "Hey I'm going to pee (or poop)" so they don't think you walked out the front door and they toss your plate away that has one full sausage patty and a halfa piece of toast on it. And, we all know, women are the only ones that ever announce when they have to pee, or otherwise.  Ever notice that?  It's twue, it's reawwy twue!

So, AND NO, not a needle pulling thread.  So, I had to go kinda bad this morning.  Gobbled food fast, paid, did the ole buttocks squeeze out the door (don't tell me you ain't never done the buttocks squeeze).  To QT. QT has 4, court em, 4 stalls, ALWAYS an open one.

Got there, wasn't. So, what does one do in that case?  You lean against the wall, combine the buttock squeeze with the pee pee dance, and you (pray and) await an open stall.

FINALLY, one opened.  So, AND AGAIN NO, are you like me in that you feel the noises one's body makes while you-know-ing are disgusting?  I am.  Oh, sure, I'm ok at home where it's just me and me... but put me amidst four folks who are also #2'ing, it's embarrassing.  So...one awaits for someone to enter the main door (then push/grunt). Or,  a urinal flushes (then push/grunt). Or, your neighbor unrolls some TP (push/grunt)

And, one prays gut noise don't slip out.  I'll take half a damn hour to poop, timing the grunts with normal bathroom noises, so as not to be embarrassed by "Hey, did you hear that guy grunt in the 3rd stall, he musta had a big ole bowl of chili!!!!"..which, actually happened to me once when a couple smartalec teenagers were just outside, and I guess I earned it.

Done with that, I flush... Open the door and there is some guy up agin the wall doing the pee pee dance, buttock squeeze.  Poor feller.

Let's start at the very beginning
A very good place to fart
When you read you begin with A-be-see (not qwertyuiop)
When you sing you begin with do-re-mi

Do-re-mi, do-re-mi
The first three notes just happen to be
Do-re-mi, do-re-mi

Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti
Let's see if I can make it easy

Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun
Me, a name I call myself
Far, a long, long way to run
Sew, a needle pulling thread (YAY, you did it!)
La, a note to follow Sew
Tea, a drink with jam and bread
That will bring us back to Do (oh-oh-oh)

Or, as Homer Simpson would say "DOH" as in , "Victor, this has been a really shitty blog."

I agree and humbly apologize, but don't say I didn't warn ya.

Love, Victurd, which, has nothing to do with QT, grunts or skid marks.

De fence.....

Fence.. interesting (to me anyways).

Honestly, when I opened this page, started writing... .well actually, before that.  From 4am until 4:30am my eyes weren't wholly open, so... around 4:32am, I was perusing Facebook - and was reading a post - thought to myself "that person has a fence around their life.. in some ways they share their life, in others, there's a security fence around it."

I do the same I guess.

Many more happy ways to think of a fence.  Street curbs?  Huh?  Yes, our 'professional whiffle ball league' as a 9 year old.  The curb (far side)on the street infronta our yard served as the left field fence.  We even usedta use a tape measure to attain the distance, write it on the curb with chalk (not to be confused with rock chalk, patooey.) Over the 'fence', homer.  bounces over?  Play it, and watch out for Chevys and Fords in the meantime.

The pristine fence of Municipal Stadium, waaaay back in the day.  Green, green and s'more green. (Is that all there is?)  Yes, that's all there was.  Wowza, you go to Kaufman Stadium today, there's one teenie tiny 'greenspace' within the fence so batters can see the ball better.  Otherwise, there's ads for lawyers, beer, bbq sauce, more fancy colored lights than the Mayor's Christmas tree... etc.... etc.  My uncle would literally rollover in his grave were he to see baseball fences nowadays.

Fences keeps doggies, cattle, much, safe.  We scoff our noses at "Gated Neighborhoods", but truth be known, had we hella money too, we'd be right there with 'em.

Band camp. Farm, golf course.  Fence between.  Many cattle, many golfers.  Peaceful. Then, somehow the fence was broken through.  The cattle experienced freedom, and they chose to use it on the green of hole #2, wondering all the time "what's so damn interesting about this place?"//  They wrecked it.  Bad. Vely deep holes.  Ever tried to putt over a three inch deep impression from a cow hoof? 

So. Recourse.  As in, let's fix this course. Well, fence first, then the course.

Investigators weren't sent in, but had they been, they maybe woulda interviewed six or eight cows.  Agnes the Angus, Henry the Hereford, Charlie the Charolais. That's bull you say?  No, he's in the adjoining pasture, stronger fence, he didn't get out.

Anyways, they cud not get straight answers from the cows. They would not moove, show their hand, er, hoof. Steaks were too high, lotta damage. Still, golf course guys had a beef about this.

So, a needle pulling thread...no, that ain't it.  So, golf course guys sent Farmer Ducky a bill for $1,500, the amount it cost them in labor  to repair the golf green. Farmer Ducky, upon receipt of this bill, had a cow. Well, lotsa cows.  Farmer said to himself "well, them a-holes, with all their Benze's, Audi's, thousand dolla golf bags, they think I'm a simpleton, HA.  Soon after, he penned his own bill, mailed it.

Golf course uppities opened the letter from Farmer Ducky "Fertilization Service to golf course, fee $1,500, payable upon receipt." Pissed they were, just Ducky the farmer thought. The end. I enjoyed Farmer's answer, no off fence.

"There must be some kind of way out of here" said the joker to the thief.  Of course, we all recognize this as Jimi Hendrix's All Along The Watchtower." WHAT? Hendrix didn't write that, Dylan did! "There's too much confusion."  No, had Dylan sung it, THEN there woulda been confusion.  We've NEVER been able to understand his lyrics, it's as if they're blowing in the wind.

The hour is getting late.  Well, this blog idea is anyways, it's still only 5:24am.

Tune in tomorrow.  Farmer Ducky is contemplating erecting a gate 'tween, allowing cows to go steal golf balls so they could later fence them on Facebook Swap and Shop. Golf course guy counters with Reefer Madness, as he brings in an empty fitty-three foot frozen food trailer where he will hock the following (so as to scare the damn cows from ever setting hoof on the course again:

Chuck (on sale to all who feel like throwing their golf clubs.)  Ribs, especially for you high handicappers.  Shank, for all you golfers that enjoy hitting balls in the woods. Rump, for all of you that always finish last in your foursome.

Fences.  Because man, woman, prisoners, pedophiles, lower class folks, cows and golfers can't be trusted. We can't let them in.  We can't let them out.

Fences, the dog's nemesis.  Cat says, hold my catnip and watch this. Time to go, we've reached Wilson Pickett Fence's Midnight Hour.  Sally doesn't want to play golf anyways... all she wants to do is ride around..

Don't let the door hitya in the rump, and be sure to close the gate.  That'd be ducky of you.

Love, Victurd

Give piece a chance....

 A piece of my mind... we all do that, road rage kinda stuff.. someone pulls out infronta ya.. .someone makes you wait and wait and wait and then they turn right onto the street you are parked on and had they used their dadgum signal you coulda left ten minutes ago....

So... we give 'em a piece of our mind..  with the windows rolled up... but loudly... with tinted windows. Ha, showed them...

A piece of cake.  Or pizza.  Cut into four pieces, it really ain't much if you only eat a piece... or two.

Janis wants a piece of one's heart...The Dave Clark Five is in Bits and Pieces, not to be confused with Five Easy Pieces.  Don't call Patsy Crazy or she will Fall to Pieces.

Symbolism?  I once seen a company (I know that's not proper English, but, with a blog you can use any damn piece of language you want.)  I once seen a company.... light bulb... bright idea...  Every single employee was given a piece of a puzzle...it was a nice blow up pic of the company logo... Roughly a hunnerd employees, pieces. One by one folks found where their piece went...added it to the puzzle. Deadline approaching, gonna take a nice pic, have a little article about it in the company newsletter. Xceptin', one person didn't turn in, place their piece.  A piece was missing. Mebbe symbolic, dunno.

The H. B. Reese Candy Company merged with The Hershey Company in 1963. Took 'em a piece to come up with that one candy...1978 in fact..  but really, no one phoned home about  Reese's Pieces until some movie came out involving them in 1983.

Much.  There is much delight in being a grandparent.  Load 'em up with pieces of sour candy, Skittles, break 'em off a piece of that Kit Kat Bar.. then, - take 'em to the park to play on all the playground pieces - then, last stop apiece down the road to get an ice cream cone, only to dump them at their folks.  That.  Much delight in that.  THE BEST though, is, after all the pieces of Christmas paper are sacked in a trash bag, Leggo pieces, Barbie pieces, Mr. Potato Head pieces... and a huge vehicle or something similar with 684 pieces, and the joy of watching your child have to assemble it for your grandchild. Piece of mind, payback.

Small pieces make the big picture.  As long as you have all the puzzle parts. All the King's horses and all the king's men couldn't do it.

Do not try to figure me out. I'm a puzzle with missing pieces.

To play pin the tail on the donkey, it requires a piece of tail. VICTOR!

"On Earth there is no Heaven, but there are pieces of it." Jules Renard

Writing this should be a piece of cake but it's not.  Life can be hard without a companion piece. At what age does lady start to wear one piece swimsuit?  Before or after they need an eye piece? 

Dame Trot and her cat lead a peaceable life,

When they were not troubled with other folks' strife.

When Dame had her dinner, Kitty would wait, 

and was sure to receive, a nice piece from her plate.

Opine, a piece of one's mind.  NRA, no takey my piece.

Artistic creation.. like a Painting, sculpture, musical composition, literary work - a piece.

Five piece band, three piece suit, down the road a piece.

Noun: bit, fraction,fragment, scrap.

Verb: Assemble, build, construct, erect, fabricate.

This specific blog is a piece of junk.

Agreed.  At first, I thought it would make a nice conversation piece.  I was off a piece.

Piece out.

By Henry Gibson and ET.

Love, Victurd pieces.