Technology continues to baffle me
I wanted to get a print of a picture I have on the computer. I took the picture. I downloaded it from my camera. I have looked at the picture several times.
So tonight, when I am tired and in a hurry because to do it otherwise would take some form of planning and I don't plan, I clicked on the picture and dragged it to my photo folder. I found another picture. I clicked on it and dragged it to my photo folder.
Then I went to the Walgreen photo site to order two prints. Clicked on the photo folder and there was only one picture. I don't have any idea where the other one is. I clicked on the one photo and get the message: photo file empty.
Huh, saiz I to myself. I go back to the photo library, find the photo, look at the photo, click on it and drag it to the photo pholder. (A little dig at the English language for making it so darn hard to spell sometimes.) Click on it in the photo folder and get the message: photo file empty.
Huh, saiyz I, a second time. So I go back to the photo library, click on the photo and get a black screen. Totally black. Like space. Only smaller. And not expanding.
Click back on the picture, there it is. Click on the edit button, black screen. Click on.....you get the drift.
Why is the photo file empty where there is clearly a photo in it?
Why is the photo black when I edit where there is clearly a photo?
Why isn't it physh instead of fish?
A process that should have taken 5 minutes is now going onto 15. I am tired. (Don't give me that crap I am retired and should be plenty rested because I don't do anything all day.) I am frustrated and I want to get it done.
So I again open the photo in the photo library and drag the damn thing unedited to the desktop, where it is easily uploaded (or downloaded, not sure. Know it's not sideways loaded) to the Walgreen site where I can order a print.
I find the second photo, which tried to run away but only made it back to the photo album, move it to the desktop, down/up/side load it to the Walgreen site and order prints.
That was 25 minutes I'll never get back.
Now, I am going to bed. What prints, prince.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Out of my element in the elements
I do not like talking about my religion
I really don't like talking religion with people. How and what people believe is really none of my business.....and what and how I believe is none of theirs.
That said, I do go to church on a fairly regular basis. I take part in worship services, I attend church functions, I do my best to be a good church member. And in the words of the Monkees, I am a believer.
I don't need to tell people that.
Some religions send people door to door to convert or recruit people. I have been known to be a little sarcastic/obnoxious when they show up at the door. I guess inviting those people into the house to join me in a ritual goat slaughter in the back yard was a bit much. But they never came back.
But I also test myself, push myself to do something beyond what I am comfortable doing.
Today was one of those days.
The Episcopal Church of St. Paul in DeKalb is where Jackie and I attend church. In fact, we were married there back in the dark ages.
A few years ago we started a program to re energize the church, connect more with our neighbors, reach out to those in need.
That's why I was standing out in the rain in front of the church on Normal Road today.
The event is called Prayers 2 Pass. We have done it for three years now. Basically simple. We have water and a snack and we give it to students and residents as they walk past. There is a poster board for students to write a prayer; a secret box for them to write a prayer and deposit it in and have it read only by God; and an offer to have Rev. Stacy pray over them. They can pick one, all or none.
We had two stations and worked in pairs........I suggested that as a safety measure.
"Um, do you realize you are having an older guy who is a stranger offering candy to young girls?" I asked during a planning session.
In the past, we have talked with students who were Jewish, Muslim, or Hindu. We have talked to students who were graduating, and some who were still not sure. We have talked to students who were admittedly gay or lesbian.
We often hear tales of terror from university campuses. Hazing parties, drunken initiations, assaults are commonly reported in newspapers covering campuses.
But we don't often hear about the kids who are just plain scared. Or lonely. Or troubled. Or worried that they won't do well on the two finals they have next Tuesday.
One young man stopped by and said, "I am not a Christian, but I appreciate what you do. You were out here last year and I really appreciated talking to you. I'll take a water, and thanks again for what you are doing."
It's not a high pressure approach. But it is a chance for a young person to hear a friendly voice, or a chance to talk to someone, or just to grab a snack or drink.
And although I am out of my comfort zone, when it's done, I always leave feeling very happy and content.
I really don't like talking religion with people. How and what people believe is really none of my business.....and what and how I believe is none of theirs.
That said, I do go to church on a fairly regular basis. I take part in worship services, I attend church functions, I do my best to be a good church member. And in the words of the Monkees, I am a believer.
I don't need to tell people that.
Some religions send people door to door to convert or recruit people. I have been known to be a little sarcastic/obnoxious when they show up at the door. I guess inviting those people into the house to join me in a ritual goat slaughter in the back yard was a bit much. But they never came back.
But I also test myself, push myself to do something beyond what I am comfortable doing.
Today was one of those days.
The Episcopal Church of St. Paul in DeKalb is where Jackie and I attend church. In fact, we were married there back in the dark ages.
A few years ago we started a program to re energize the church, connect more with our neighbors, reach out to those in need.
That's why I was standing out in the rain in front of the church on Normal Road today.
The event is called Prayers 2 Pass. We have done it for three years now. Basically simple. We have water and a snack and we give it to students and residents as they walk past. There is a poster board for students to write a prayer; a secret box for them to write a prayer and deposit it in and have it read only by God; and an offer to have Rev. Stacy pray over them. They can pick one, all or none.
We had two stations and worked in pairs........I suggested that as a safety measure.
"Um, do you realize you are having an older guy who is a stranger offering candy to young girls?" I asked during a planning session.
In the past, we have talked with students who were Jewish, Muslim, or Hindu. We have talked to students who were graduating, and some who were still not sure. We have talked to students who were admittedly gay or lesbian.
We often hear tales of terror from university campuses. Hazing parties, drunken initiations, assaults are commonly reported in newspapers covering campuses.
But we don't often hear about the kids who are just plain scared. Or lonely. Or troubled. Or worried that they won't do well on the two finals they have next Tuesday.
One young man stopped by and said, "I am not a Christian, but I appreciate what you do. You were out here last year and I really appreciated talking to you. I'll take a water, and thanks again for what you are doing."
It's not a high pressure approach. But it is a chance for a young person to hear a friendly voice, or a chance to talk to someone, or just to grab a snack or drink.
And although I am out of my comfort zone, when it's done, I always leave feeling very happy and content.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Some days are just....weird
I was trapped in a time warp today
I taught for 28 years. If you figure 20 kids in a class per year, that is 560 youngsters I had in my career. Double that and that accounts for the other fifth grade, which I had for social studies.
So pardon me if I forget a name or two.
But today was unreal. It was like a look into the past and the future both, at the same time.
I am a Rotarian, and we have been volunteering to read in the elementary schools this year. I read in two first grade class rooms at Lincoln School.
First off...the school is beautiful. Bright halls and classrooms, an amazing media center (which is what we used to call the library), a drop dead gorgeous art room and a great bunch of teachers and kids.
So I went to my first class, which was taught by a former student! We spent a great half hour reading stories and talking. Then I went to another first grade that was taught by the mother of a former student.
I wandered the halls and peeked in a fourth grade room, taught by another former student. He didn't see me, and his class was pretty quiet, so I just tiptoed away. I saw another former student who works as an aide at Lincoln. I skipped the fifth grade taught by a former student......there may be a trend here.
I exercised, then stopped at Sear's. Despite my past history, I gave them another chance and bought a spreader that I can hitch to my riding lawn mower. Sure it took two days to assemble, but it looks good. Problem is, the little trap door shuts, but does not open. I thought the staff could give me a pointer.
I walk in and am greeted by another former student! Now it is starting to get a little eerie. I have seen former students before, but like eagles and snowy owls, usually just one or two at a time. I was now up to five.
After there, I went to the library and bingo......another former student who was on his way in to return a book.
Last stop, Do It Best Hardware (sorry Stan) and at the front counter is another former student!
All of them in my homeroom, and all but one I recognized. When you spend a year with a 10 year old, sometimes it is a little hard to recognize them as an 18 year old. Hell, I can't recognize people I met yesterday.
And I saw four parents of former students......
I went home a little surprised. I felt maybe I had time traveled from fifth grade to the future and was due to go back.
But Emily and John came over to borrow some wheels. .... and realized, she's another former student!
That's why the wine bottle is half empty. Or is it half full. I can never figure it out.
I taught for 28 years. If you figure 20 kids in a class per year, that is 560 youngsters I had in my career. Double that and that accounts for the other fifth grade, which I had for social studies.
So pardon me if I forget a name or two.
But today was unreal. It was like a look into the past and the future both, at the same time.
I am a Rotarian, and we have been volunteering to read in the elementary schools this year. I read in two first grade class rooms at Lincoln School.
First off...the school is beautiful. Bright halls and classrooms, an amazing media center (which is what we used to call the library), a drop dead gorgeous art room and a great bunch of teachers and kids.
So I went to my first class, which was taught by a former student! We spent a great half hour reading stories and talking. Then I went to another first grade that was taught by the mother of a former student.
I wandered the halls and peeked in a fourth grade room, taught by another former student. He didn't see me, and his class was pretty quiet, so I just tiptoed away. I saw another former student who works as an aide at Lincoln. I skipped the fifth grade taught by a former student......there may be a trend here.
I exercised, then stopped at Sear's. Despite my past history, I gave them another chance and bought a spreader that I can hitch to my riding lawn mower. Sure it took two days to assemble, but it looks good. Problem is, the little trap door shuts, but does not open. I thought the staff could give me a pointer.
I walk in and am greeted by another former student! Now it is starting to get a little eerie. I have seen former students before, but like eagles and snowy owls, usually just one or two at a time. I was now up to five.
After there, I went to the library and bingo......another former student who was on his way in to return a book.
Last stop, Do It Best Hardware (sorry Stan) and at the front counter is another former student!
All of them in my homeroom, and all but one I recognized. When you spend a year with a 10 year old, sometimes it is a little hard to recognize them as an 18 year old. Hell, I can't recognize people I met yesterday.
And I saw four parents of former students......
I went home a little surprised. I felt maybe I had time traveled from fifth grade to the future and was due to go back.
But Emily and John came over to borrow some wheels. .... and realized, she's another former student!
That's why the wine bottle is half empty. Or is it half full. I can never figure it out.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
It's not work if it's fun
I love being a zoo volunteer
Today we had the annual zoo volunteer appreciation dinner. Awards were given out for various years of service. A couple of people were honored for volunteering 40 years!
They started volunteering in 1973....and they are not the first group of volunteers still active at the zoo.
I think I heard there were six active volunteers over the age of 90!
My zoo friend Donna will get an award next year for 40 years of service.....at the dinner when she received her 35 year pin, she said she had volunteered at the zoo for almost half her life!!
I will be an even 100 when I get a 40 year pin......but we know what the odds of that are. The Cubs will win a World Series before then, I hope.
I know a lot of people think I am a bit goofy for driving 160 miles round trip to spend four hours at the zoo, but I really enjoy it.
I only wish I had started doing that earlier.
So here's a bit of friendly advice: volunteer your time somewhere, doing something you love. I'm guessing if someone asked those 90 year old volunteers about a secret to long life, they would answer: "Do something you love."
And I am always willing to carpool.....
Today we had the annual zoo volunteer appreciation dinner. Awards were given out for various years of service. A couple of people were honored for volunteering 40 years!
They started volunteering in 1973....and they are not the first group of volunteers still active at the zoo.
I think I heard there were six active volunteers over the age of 90!
My zoo friend Donna will get an award next year for 40 years of service.....at the dinner when she received her 35 year pin, she said she had volunteered at the zoo for almost half her life!!
I will be an even 100 when I get a 40 year pin......but we know what the odds of that are. The Cubs will win a World Series before then, I hope.
I know a lot of people think I am a bit goofy for driving 160 miles round trip to spend four hours at the zoo, but I really enjoy it.
I only wish I had started doing that earlier.
So here's a bit of friendly advice: volunteer your time somewhere, doing something you love. I'm guessing if someone asked those 90 year old volunteers about a secret to long life, they would answer: "Do something you love."
And I am always willing to carpool.....
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Let's just keep this between ourselves, please
"All are men, (Italian tourists arrested annually in New York City for public urination) not only young ones, but the more mature as well, who behave in New York as if it were any typical Italian city --they go off in a corner and take care of their needs." You can read the full article at Don't Smoke (Or Urinate) in Public...An Italian Lawyer's Tips for Visitors to the U.S. at worldcrunch.com
I quoted that to set the stage.
I could have caused an international incident
Last fall we were in Italy. We had a great time. To be extra cautious in the telling of this tale, I will be as ambiguous as possible.
John, Kathy and I were driving to a walled city of some renown in Italy. It was a long drive. I start every morning with a huge helping of hot tea and am good for about an hour before nature enters the scene.
We were in the targeted town and looking for the 300 car parking lot mentioned in every guide book about this highly preserved world heritage site. I felt nature calling. I knew we were minutes from the parking lot. But the traffic was bumper to bumper. And barely moving. There was a traffic light every 50 feet. They were all red.
I was getting antsy. The traffic crawled. The parking lot did not appear. There was no relief in sight.
I could not sit. Sweat started beading down my forehead. I started to drive while standing up, no easy task. Tears were streaming down my face. I was sweating. (Which is another form of bodily waste, to be blunt.) Besides us loomed the huge, solid wall of the town. Suddenly....an opening in the wall...a gate! I parked (well, actually stopped) and jumped out, hoping to find a tree just around the corner, or a cafe, or a bathroom.
I raced through the opening....nothing but walls. No people, no cars, no camera.
So I urinated in a corner in the alley.
Mind you, I was not proud. But I was relieved.
As I hurried back to the car I saw three men. I asked where the parking area was, and they said it was closed today, but there was a lot just up the street and to the right. (In hindsight, I would think one of the guidebooks would mention it closes every Tuesday for the market....that is kind of important.)
That lot had toilets. But I didn't have to go then.
After that, for the next 10 days I assumed the tradition of Italian men. While the group thought I was in the vineyard taking photos, I was peeing.
Under the stairway to the outdoor parking lot? Marked my territory.
Walking through the grapevines to get a look at the view? You guessed it.....relief au natural!
Now I am not particularly proud of any of this. (Ok, the fact no one knew I was peeing when taking pictures was a pretty cool ruse. And it was tricky,,,so maybe I am a little proud of that one.)
But it is comforting to read that that can be typical behavior in Italian towns. And it was pretty convenient.
I did choose to ignore the other articles that cited fines, jail, and possible social ostracism for urinating in public.
And I live in fear that there was a camera, and somewhere there is a wanted poster with my face on it.
So when you see me next, I may be wearing a wig and have a false moustache.
Then again, I may be the guy peeing on the tree next to the tollway.
I quoted that to set the stage.
I could have caused an international incident
Last fall we were in Italy. We had a great time. To be extra cautious in the telling of this tale, I will be as ambiguous as possible.
John, Kathy and I were driving to a walled city of some renown in Italy. It was a long drive. I start every morning with a huge helping of hot tea and am good for about an hour before nature enters the scene.
We were in the targeted town and looking for the 300 car parking lot mentioned in every guide book about this highly preserved world heritage site. I felt nature calling. I knew we were minutes from the parking lot. But the traffic was bumper to bumper. And barely moving. There was a traffic light every 50 feet. They were all red.
I was getting antsy. The traffic crawled. The parking lot did not appear. There was no relief in sight.
I could not sit. Sweat started beading down my forehead. I started to drive while standing up, no easy task. Tears were streaming down my face. I was sweating. (Which is another form of bodily waste, to be blunt.) Besides us loomed the huge, solid wall of the town. Suddenly....an opening in the wall...a gate! I parked (well, actually stopped) and jumped out, hoping to find a tree just around the corner, or a cafe, or a bathroom.
I raced through the opening....nothing but walls. No people, no cars, no camera.
So I urinated in a corner in the alley.
Mind you, I was not proud. But I was relieved.
As I hurried back to the car I saw three men. I asked where the parking area was, and they said it was closed today, but there was a lot just up the street and to the right. (In hindsight, I would think one of the guidebooks would mention it closes every Tuesday for the market....that is kind of important.)
That lot had toilets. But I didn't have to go then.
After that, for the next 10 days I assumed the tradition of Italian men. While the group thought I was in the vineyard taking photos, I was peeing.
Under the stairway to the outdoor parking lot? Marked my territory.
Walking through the grapevines to get a look at the view? You guessed it.....relief au natural!
Now I am not particularly proud of any of this. (Ok, the fact no one knew I was peeing when taking pictures was a pretty cool ruse. And it was tricky,,,so maybe I am a little proud of that one.)
But it is comforting to read that that can be typical behavior in Italian towns. And it was pretty convenient.
I did choose to ignore the other articles that cited fines, jail, and possible social ostracism for urinating in public.
And I live in fear that there was a camera, and somewhere there is a wanted poster with my face on it.
So when you see me next, I may be wearing a wig and have a false moustache.
Then again, I may be the guy peeing on the tree next to the tollway.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Is that why I can't use public toilets??
I avoid using public toilets
I don't like them. Men's rooms are always filthy. My advice: If going to a urinal, check the floor. Find the driest spot and then spread your legs so you have two dry spots.
Call it a wide stance, which got a congressman in trouble. (Ok, he was in a stall at the time and his foot went under the wall into the next stall. Now that is a wide stance! Big news at the time, but who remembers his name now?)
Many times in Europe there are attendants at the entrances. They collect change, usually about 50 cents to use the bathroom. It is worth it. Most European bathrooms are clean. Plus they have doors that go all the way to the floor, like a little room. Using the facilities there is so much nicer.
(Again, a digression. Jackie and I were on a bus from St. Moritz to Lugano in Switzerland. We stopped for a comfort break. Jackie had to use the facilities, but she did not have to go bad enough to straddle the hole in the floor while holding on to the grab bars. Yes, some toilets are stand uppers with a hole in the floor.)
Going to the troughs at Wrigley is an experience. You have to be desperate (I was) and not bashful at all as total strangers will line up next to you. Some of them even bring their beers in and set them on the ledge above the trough! How gross is that? And some even talk to you.....pardon me, but I can only do one thing at a time well and it would be smart of you to not encourage my turning toward you when I am draining my body of morning tea, water and maybe some coffee.
But now I know why I don't like public bathrooms.
It goes back to Leave it to Beaver. In 1957 they had an episode where the boys bought a little alligator and decided to keep it in the toilet tank so Ward and June didn't find it. Censors refused to put the show on because they showed a toilet!!
The network and the censors battled back and forth, with the concession being they could edit the story to show only the toilet tank and not the toilet itself.
I was almost 10. I loved Leave it to Beaver. But deep down, in my sub-sub-subconscious, I must have realized that if you could not show it on television, it must be bad.
Sure, cigarettes were everywhere. It was ok to smoke, but not to use the bathroom!!
All those formative hours spent in front of the new electronic marvel exposed me to smoke but not toilets. So when I got older, I naturally had a fear of toilets. I also had a fear of cigarettes, since my father seemed to set a record for cancerous parts in a body.
To this day I still avoid using a public bathroom.
Tomorrow I will tell you how one can overcome that fear in a foreign country.
PS....This is my 117th post. I have only missed one day, but I did two entries the following day. There have been 4,976 page views so far......so if you are reading this, you may be the person that puts it over the 5,000 mark. Thank you for your support and your comments. And when you use a bathroom, please wash your hands when finished.
I don't like them. Men's rooms are always filthy. My advice: If going to a urinal, check the floor. Find the driest spot and then spread your legs so you have two dry spots.
Call it a wide stance, which got a congressman in trouble. (Ok, he was in a stall at the time and his foot went under the wall into the next stall. Now that is a wide stance! Big news at the time, but who remembers his name now?)
Many times in Europe there are attendants at the entrances. They collect change, usually about 50 cents to use the bathroom. It is worth it. Most European bathrooms are clean. Plus they have doors that go all the way to the floor, like a little room. Using the facilities there is so much nicer.
(Again, a digression. Jackie and I were on a bus from St. Moritz to Lugano in Switzerland. We stopped for a comfort break. Jackie had to use the facilities, but she did not have to go bad enough to straddle the hole in the floor while holding on to the grab bars. Yes, some toilets are stand uppers with a hole in the floor.)
Going to the troughs at Wrigley is an experience. You have to be desperate (I was) and not bashful at all as total strangers will line up next to you. Some of them even bring their beers in and set them on the ledge above the trough! How gross is that? And some even talk to you.....pardon me, but I can only do one thing at a time well and it would be smart of you to not encourage my turning toward you when I am draining my body of morning tea, water and maybe some coffee.
But now I know why I don't like public bathrooms.
It goes back to Leave it to Beaver. In 1957 they had an episode where the boys bought a little alligator and decided to keep it in the toilet tank so Ward and June didn't find it. Censors refused to put the show on because they showed a toilet!!
The network and the censors battled back and forth, with the concession being they could edit the story to show only the toilet tank and not the toilet itself.
I was almost 10. I loved Leave it to Beaver. But deep down, in my sub-sub-subconscious, I must have realized that if you could not show it on television, it must be bad.
Sure, cigarettes were everywhere. It was ok to smoke, but not to use the bathroom!!
All those formative hours spent in front of the new electronic marvel exposed me to smoke but not toilets. So when I got older, I naturally had a fear of toilets. I also had a fear of cigarettes, since my father seemed to set a record for cancerous parts in a body.
To this day I still avoid using a public bathroom.
Tomorrow I will tell you how one can overcome that fear in a foreign country.
PS....This is my 117th post. I have only missed one day, but I did two entries the following day. There have been 4,976 page views so far......so if you are reading this, you may be the person that puts it over the 5,000 mark. Thank you for your support and your comments. And when you use a bathroom, please wash your hands when finished.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
I am a rebel....maybe even an outlaw
I have two sets of Lawn Jarts
For those too young to remember, Lawn Jarts were about one foot long. They had a steel head with a pencil like point. The shaft was a plastic arrow. They were big darts that you would use in the yard.
People would spread out two circles. You would alternate throws between the red darts and the blue Jarts. (Note: I use both terms...darts and Jarts. I capitalize Jarts, because it is a brand name. Like Kleenex. But then again, I may be confused and just like capitalizing it because it is such a neat word.) You could play one on one or teams.
Back in the 80s these were real popular games....the bags without the bags.
Then one day a youngster got killed playing with them. While it was a tragic death....as all deaths of young people are....it caused a lot of people to jump up and down and say, "Ban the darts!! Ban the darts!!"
So they were banned.
In 1988 the consumer Product Safety Commission banned them. You can import parts to repair the darts, but you can not buy complete lawn Jart sets because they are too dangerous. (At least according to Wikipedia, the final say on almost everything.)
You have to love our government......each weekend dozens of people are shot in Chicago, some fatally. Cigarettes kill thousands directly or indirectly every year. Riding lawnmowers, ATVs, snowmobiles all have deaths.....but they don't get banned. And I won't even mention atomic weapons.
But lawn darts?
Anyway, I have some. If anyone is up for a game this summer, let me know. I have not played since a particularly rowdy golf tournament post party several years ago.
But you have to bring your own beer....and promise not to stand to close to the circle or to near the thrower in case he has had too much wine.
For those too young to remember, Lawn Jarts were about one foot long. They had a steel head with a pencil like point. The shaft was a plastic arrow. They were big darts that you would use in the yard.
People would spread out two circles. You would alternate throws between the red darts and the blue Jarts. (Note: I use both terms...darts and Jarts. I capitalize Jarts, because it is a brand name. Like Kleenex. But then again, I may be confused and just like capitalizing it because it is such a neat word.) You could play one on one or teams.
Back in the 80s these were real popular games....the bags without the bags.
Then one day a youngster got killed playing with them. While it was a tragic death....as all deaths of young people are....it caused a lot of people to jump up and down and say, "Ban the darts!! Ban the darts!!"
So they were banned.
In 1988 the consumer Product Safety Commission banned them. You can import parts to repair the darts, but you can not buy complete lawn Jart sets because they are too dangerous. (At least according to Wikipedia, the final say on almost everything.)
You have to love our government......each weekend dozens of people are shot in Chicago, some fatally. Cigarettes kill thousands directly or indirectly every year. Riding lawnmowers, ATVs, snowmobiles all have deaths.....but they don't get banned. And I won't even mention atomic weapons.
But lawn darts?
Anyway, I have some. If anyone is up for a game this summer, let me know. I have not played since a particularly rowdy golf tournament post party several years ago.
But you have to bring your own beer....and promise not to stand to close to the circle or to near the thrower in case he has had too much wine.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Let's play two today!
I love going to Wrigley Field
Was at my first game of 2014 today, along with buddies Dan and John and we had a great time for 8 innings!
Seriously, the only thing wrong with a Wrigley trip is the bullpen. The Cubs had the game in the bag. I sat there in the bottom of the eighth clutching my large W flag. John decided to beat the crowd home and left. Dan and I sat in the freezing cold, reveling in the Cubs win on Wrigley's 100th birthday.
A three game winning streak... only three outs away.
The first series win since last fall..... only three outs away.
A win for Samardzija.... only three outs away.
And the bull pen self implodes. Pedro throws at least 30 pitches before getting an out. Error at short. Bad hop at second. Great attempt at a fly to right that injures the right fielder while the ball falls out of his glove.
Runners crossing the plate in an endless line. Five of them.
The cheers turn to boos.
We have seen this many, many times.
But a day at Wrigley is still special. the Reuben hot dog, one of the decade dogs on sale all year, was actually good. We were there early enough to get the give a way Federals jersey and the Jewel cup cake, both of which could be found on E-Bay hours after the game.
Which raises some questions: Who would buy a cupcake on eBay? Who would sell a cupcake on eBay? How much would it bring? Why didn't I think of it?
Evidently several people would sell one. There were three listed, one for $75, one for $100 and one for $4.99. I gave mine to Jackie. I am hoping to convince she will eat a $100 cupcake!
The free Federal jerseys were on sale all over eBay for anywhere from $49 to $81. Mine is still in the bag.....I won't be selling it. Unless I get a great offer.
I missed the Wrigley Cake by Carlos the world renowned cake maker. I did see pictures.
We walked around the outside of Wrigley after the game, looking at the mural pictures, watching the crowd,
We almost saw a triple play. We watched people drink $8.50 beers and wondered how they can afford three or four beers at a game.
We listened as the bleacher fans chanted back and forth to each other. Obviously, the both can't suck, so one of them is wrong.
I smelled the ball park. The spilt beer, the gamey trough bathrooms, the dogs cooking, burgers sizzling. All that was missing was the cigar smell that I remembered from my youth.
No Frosty Malts today. Hot chocolate was a big seller.
In the end, no W flag flying, no Steve Goodman song, and no happy ending.
But a day at Wrigley is priceless. Regardless of the outcome.
Was at my first game of 2014 today, along with buddies Dan and John and we had a great time for 8 innings!
Seriously, the only thing wrong with a Wrigley trip is the bullpen. The Cubs had the game in the bag. I sat there in the bottom of the eighth clutching my large W flag. John decided to beat the crowd home and left. Dan and I sat in the freezing cold, reveling in the Cubs win on Wrigley's 100th birthday.
A three game winning streak... only three outs away.
The first series win since last fall..... only three outs away.
A win for Samardzija.... only three outs away.
And the bull pen self implodes. Pedro throws at least 30 pitches before getting an out. Error at short. Bad hop at second. Great attempt at a fly to right that injures the right fielder while the ball falls out of his glove.
Runners crossing the plate in an endless line. Five of them.
The cheers turn to boos.
We have seen this many, many times.
But a day at Wrigley is still special. the Reuben hot dog, one of the decade dogs on sale all year, was actually good. We were there early enough to get the give a way Federals jersey and the Jewel cup cake, both of which could be found on E-Bay hours after the game.
Which raises some questions: Who would buy a cupcake on eBay? Who would sell a cupcake on eBay? How much would it bring? Why didn't I think of it?
Evidently several people would sell one. There were three listed, one for $75, one for $100 and one for $4.99. I gave mine to Jackie. I am hoping to convince she will eat a $100 cupcake!
The free Federal jerseys were on sale all over eBay for anywhere from $49 to $81. Mine is still in the bag.....I won't be selling it. Unless I get a great offer.
I missed the Wrigley Cake by Carlos the world renowned cake maker. I did see pictures.
We walked around the outside of Wrigley after the game, looking at the mural pictures, watching the crowd,
We almost saw a triple play. We watched people drink $8.50 beers and wondered how they can afford three or four beers at a game.
We listened as the bleacher fans chanted back and forth to each other. Obviously, the both can't suck, so one of them is wrong.
I smelled the ball park. The spilt beer, the gamey trough bathrooms, the dogs cooking, burgers sizzling. All that was missing was the cigar smell that I remembered from my youth.
No Frosty Malts today. Hot chocolate was a big seller.
In the end, no W flag flying, no Steve Goodman song, and no happy ending.
But a day at Wrigley is priceless. Regardless of the outcome.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
How much is that doggie earning?
I like learning what people earn
No, I am not that creepy guy who tries to sneak a look at your paycheck. I am just curious about what other occupations make.
Which is why I am always interested in the Parade magazine section with the What People Earn edition. I was not disappointed.
One guy makes $12,000 a year as a stadium beer vendor. He does say it is a part time job. I have watched beer vendors hauling those filled trays up and down stairs and I say that is a well earned $12,000!
Beyonce makes an estimated $57 million.......while Heather Proctor is a short order cook bringing in $19,000 a year.
The list is full of those examples.....Sandra Bullock makes $61 million, Bob Jensen makes $29,000 as a glazier. (Those are the people who fix broken windows.....in case you were not sure.)
But Jeanie Forrester of Meredith NH stood out. She is a state senator. Duly elected by the people of her state to represent their interests.
As a point of reference, Illinois lawmakers earn a base salary of $67,836....plus a per diem of $111. This is among the highest in the country. A couple of people, I won't mention names because you can guess who they are, earn over $90,000.
Jeanie Forrester does the same job our guys do....passes laws, makes sure the state is in good financial shape, provides leadership, makes sure roads, schools, parks are up and running. Uh, wait a minute. They don't do all that in Illinois. But I digress.
Her salary: $100. Period. No thousands. No millions. Just $100. That is what the state constitution sets the salaries at because the people in New Hampshire view this job as a public service.
What an idea! Public service!! Doing it because it is good for the state, which makes it good for all of us.
I know what I am getting from a beer vendor, and from Sandra Bullock, and from Beyonce....but I can't figure out what our people in Springfield are doing for me!
No, I am not that creepy guy who tries to sneak a look at your paycheck. I am just curious about what other occupations make.
Which is why I am always interested in the Parade magazine section with the What People Earn edition. I was not disappointed.
One guy makes $12,000 a year as a stadium beer vendor. He does say it is a part time job. I have watched beer vendors hauling those filled trays up and down stairs and I say that is a well earned $12,000!
Beyonce makes an estimated $57 million.......while Heather Proctor is a short order cook bringing in $19,000 a year.
The list is full of those examples.....Sandra Bullock makes $61 million, Bob Jensen makes $29,000 as a glazier. (Those are the people who fix broken windows.....in case you were not sure.)
But Jeanie Forrester of Meredith NH stood out. She is a state senator. Duly elected by the people of her state to represent their interests.
As a point of reference, Illinois lawmakers earn a base salary of $67,836....plus a per diem of $111. This is among the highest in the country. A couple of people, I won't mention names because you can guess who they are, earn over $90,000.
Jeanie Forrester does the same job our guys do....passes laws, makes sure the state is in good financial shape, provides leadership, makes sure roads, schools, parks are up and running. Uh, wait a minute. They don't do all that in Illinois. But I digress.
Her salary: $100. Period. No thousands. No millions. Just $100. That is what the state constitution sets the salaries at because the people in New Hampshire view this job as a public service.
What an idea! Public service!! Doing it because it is good for the state, which makes it good for all of us.
I know what I am getting from a beer vendor, and from Sandra Bullock, and from Beyonce....but I can't figure out what our people in Springfield are doing for me!
Monday, April 21, 2014
I may be unfaithful
I fell in love in Italy
Jackie knows. She is not happy, but will accept it as long as it does not get out of hand.
We met on a sunny afternoon in Panzano. She was dark, great legs, an aroma of fruits and flowers wafted from her mouth. When my lips touched her, I could taste the Tuscan sun, and the sandy soil that nurtured her and cultivated her.
Her name? Chianti Classico.
I have had Chianti wine....but this was my first involved experience with Classico.
Classico. More than a name. It is a brand.
In many areas of Europe, certain names are sacred. Champagne comes from a region in France. If it does not come from that region, it is just sparkling wine. Parmesan is a cheese from a specific region in Italy. Gruyere cheese comes from Gruyere in Switzerland. Countries and producers don't like it when someone markets a product implying the product comes from that region while in fact it does not.
In Italy, we learned many regions make a Chianti. But Chianti Classico comes from the Tuscan region. Each bottle has a little rooster on the label, designating it as authentic.
US Customs regulates the amount of wine you can bring back. I brought as much as I could, but quickly ran out. I found some in DeKalb, but it was quite expensive. I found some in Woodman's in Rockford, and it was a good price. I bought several bottles and it was a very good wine. Sipping it brings back fond memories of our two weeks in Tuscany.
So when I walked into Aldi's and found their wine display, I was amazed. First, because Aldi's sells wine and Walgreen does not. But mainly because there was some Chianti Classico, with the rooster, for only $6.99 a bottle! Less than half the cost of a bottle from Woodman's!!
I bought two bottles.
I know ham pairs with white wine, but I don't like white wine as much. So I reconnected with my love.
I caressed her neck. I helped her out of her cork. I gave her time to breathe. Then I tilted her, gently allowing her juices to fill my glass of love. And I took a sip.........
If someone tells you you can find happiness in a $6.99 bottle of wine, laugh in their face.
Because sometimes a cheap bottle of wine, is just a cheap bottle of wine.
Jackie knows. She is not happy, but will accept it as long as it does not get out of hand.
We met on a sunny afternoon in Panzano. She was dark, great legs, an aroma of fruits and flowers wafted from her mouth. When my lips touched her, I could taste the Tuscan sun, and the sandy soil that nurtured her and cultivated her.
Her name? Chianti Classico.
I have had Chianti wine....but this was my first involved experience with Classico.
Classico. More than a name. It is a brand.
In many areas of Europe, certain names are sacred. Champagne comes from a region in France. If it does not come from that region, it is just sparkling wine. Parmesan is a cheese from a specific region in Italy. Gruyere cheese comes from Gruyere in Switzerland. Countries and producers don't like it when someone markets a product implying the product comes from that region while in fact it does not.
In Italy, we learned many regions make a Chianti. But Chianti Classico comes from the Tuscan region. Each bottle has a little rooster on the label, designating it as authentic.
US Customs regulates the amount of wine you can bring back. I brought as much as I could, but quickly ran out. I found some in DeKalb, but it was quite expensive. I found some in Woodman's in Rockford, and it was a good price. I bought several bottles and it was a very good wine. Sipping it brings back fond memories of our two weeks in Tuscany.
So when I walked into Aldi's and found their wine display, I was amazed. First, because Aldi's sells wine and Walgreen does not. But mainly because there was some Chianti Classico, with the rooster, for only $6.99 a bottle! Less than half the cost of a bottle from Woodman's!!
I bought two bottles.
I know ham pairs with white wine, but I don't like white wine as much. So I reconnected with my love.
I caressed her neck. I helped her out of her cork. I gave her time to breathe. Then I tilted her, gently allowing her juices to fill my glass of love. And I took a sip.........
If someone tells you you can find happiness in a $6.99 bottle of wine, laugh in their face.
Because sometimes a cheap bottle of wine, is just a cheap bottle of wine.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
seriously, we did not know
I am walking against MS May 4
I am walking on the Lane's Ladies team. Lane Hollenbeck is a young man from Rochelle who was diagnosed with MS several years ago. His wife, Mary, organized a team to walk to raise money for MS.
Here is our story.
Emily was at Drake. We all went to visit her one summer day. It was hot. Jackie had been spending a lot of time laying on the couch at home. She did not want to go out. She did not want to play cards. She did not want to do anything but watch tv and sleep.
We thought she was depressed. I kept dragging her out as much as possible, sometimes not being very nice about it.
But the outing in Des Moines was the worst. We went to the zoo. Jackie would walk 10 feet, then complain she was tired. We would drag her to the next bench. She would sit and complain she was tired.
We all thought she was having a mental problem.
We went to a doctor, who sent us to a neurologist in Rockford. He did an MRI and we went to review the results.
I remember him looking at the images, going into another room, making a call, and coming back into our room. His first question was, "Does your insurance allow you to go to out of state medical facilities?" I said, "Do you mean Mayo Clinic? If you do, yes it does."
He then said he had a strong hunch she had MS, but he was not an expert and suggested Mayo. They made the arrangements and soon we were making the drive to Rochester MN.
If you are not sick, Rochester is a great place to visit. And if you are sick, then Mayo is a great place to visit. They did tests: blood draws, MRIs, a spinal tap.
We went home and gave them time to look at the results.
We had a follow up appointment with a doctor who coincidentally was from Geneseo. We talked about football, the rivalry, life in Illinois....then he got down to business.
The diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis hit us like a ton of bricks. Truthfully, much of what he said after that was a blur. I remember him saying hers was not advanced and that in all probability she would not be confined to a wheelchair or lose bladder control.
I have never been so scared in my life. Yet in a sense, we were relieved that we knew what was causing her problem.
We went to Rush because the doc at Mayo said go to a teaching hospital, they are on the cutting edge of advancements. We told family. We told the staff at school. We told our friends.
The doctor at Mayo Clinic said MS affects something like 1 in 100,000 people, mostly women, mostly in the northern tier of states. But again, he may have said 1 in 10,000....my mind wasn't focused on statistics at that point.
Either way, we can count at least 20 people we know who have MS. If it is 1 in 10,000, then we live in a world of 200,000 people. We don't.
We have learned about MS since that day. We know heat is terrible for MS patients. We know various agencies are investigating pockets of MS in Rochelle, Paw Paw, DeKalb....where the rates are higher than expected. We know there is no known cause. Maybe it's environmental. Maybe it's a virus. We know some people become completely disabled, unable to walk or dress themselves without assistance.
We know it is a terrible disease.
Truthfully, I am still scared. I do scream and yell. And cry. It's heartbreaking seeing someone you love lose the ability to walk to the mailbox without help. Or climb a driveway in Switzerland. Or hear that she had to pick herself up off the floor because she lost her balance, and no one was home to help.
I also live with another fear. We had no idea. How do we protect our children? How do our friends protect their children?
Jackie does a weekly shot, developed by the first doctor we saw at Rush. People always ask does it help? I don't know. If she stops taking it and gets worse, that would be an answer. But we don't want to find out that way.
This is my third MS walk. It should be my 15th. For too many years I did not do my part to help find a cure, or a cause, or a relief.
I like to believe I can make a difference. Maybe not for Jackie, but for the Lanes of the world, and the future victims of this debilitating illness. Someday, there will be a cure. Until then, research has to be done to find its cause and the best preventative and treatment options.
Here is a link to the donation site: http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR
I am walking on the Lane's Ladies team. Lane Hollenbeck is a young man from Rochelle who was diagnosed with MS several years ago. His wife, Mary, organized a team to walk to raise money for MS.
Here is our story.
Emily was at Drake. We all went to visit her one summer day. It was hot. Jackie had been spending a lot of time laying on the couch at home. She did not want to go out. She did not want to play cards. She did not want to do anything but watch tv and sleep.
We thought she was depressed. I kept dragging her out as much as possible, sometimes not being very nice about it.
But the outing in Des Moines was the worst. We went to the zoo. Jackie would walk 10 feet, then complain she was tired. We would drag her to the next bench. She would sit and complain she was tired.
We all thought she was having a mental problem.
We went to a doctor, who sent us to a neurologist in Rockford. He did an MRI and we went to review the results.
I remember him looking at the images, going into another room, making a call, and coming back into our room. His first question was, "Does your insurance allow you to go to out of state medical facilities?" I said, "Do you mean Mayo Clinic? If you do, yes it does."
He then said he had a strong hunch she had MS, but he was not an expert and suggested Mayo. They made the arrangements and soon we were making the drive to Rochester MN.
If you are not sick, Rochester is a great place to visit. And if you are sick, then Mayo is a great place to visit. They did tests: blood draws, MRIs, a spinal tap.
We went home and gave them time to look at the results.
We had a follow up appointment with a doctor who coincidentally was from Geneseo. We talked about football, the rivalry, life in Illinois....then he got down to business.
The diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis hit us like a ton of bricks. Truthfully, much of what he said after that was a blur. I remember him saying hers was not advanced and that in all probability she would not be confined to a wheelchair or lose bladder control.
I have never been so scared in my life. Yet in a sense, we were relieved that we knew what was causing her problem.
We went to Rush because the doc at Mayo said go to a teaching hospital, they are on the cutting edge of advancements. We told family. We told the staff at school. We told our friends.
The doctor at Mayo Clinic said MS affects something like 1 in 100,000 people, mostly women, mostly in the northern tier of states. But again, he may have said 1 in 10,000....my mind wasn't focused on statistics at that point.
Either way, we can count at least 20 people we know who have MS. If it is 1 in 10,000, then we live in a world of 200,000 people. We don't.
We have learned about MS since that day. We know heat is terrible for MS patients. We know various agencies are investigating pockets of MS in Rochelle, Paw Paw, DeKalb....where the rates are higher than expected. We know there is no known cause. Maybe it's environmental. Maybe it's a virus. We know some people become completely disabled, unable to walk or dress themselves without assistance.
We know it is a terrible disease.
Truthfully, I am still scared. I do scream and yell. And cry. It's heartbreaking seeing someone you love lose the ability to walk to the mailbox without help. Or climb a driveway in Switzerland. Or hear that she had to pick herself up off the floor because she lost her balance, and no one was home to help.
I also live with another fear. We had no idea. How do we protect our children? How do our friends protect their children?
Jackie does a weekly shot, developed by the first doctor we saw at Rush. People always ask does it help? I don't know. If she stops taking it and gets worse, that would be an answer. But we don't want to find out that way.
This is my third MS walk. It should be my 15th. For too many years I did not do my part to help find a cure, or a cause, or a relief.
I like to believe I can make a difference. Maybe not for Jackie, but for the Lanes of the world, and the future victims of this debilitating illness. Someday, there will be a cure. Until then, research has to be done to find its cause and the best preventative and treatment options.
Here is a link to the donation site: http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR
Saturday, April 19, 2014
life can be such a picnic
My family had picnics in strange places
Maybe it was the age in which I was raised. Pops wasn't much of a family guy, at least for me. He was 48 when I was born. That means by the time I was 10, he was tired. He worked hard at a pretty menial job. He was a mail boy in a large office, Curt Teich, world's largest post card manufacturer.
Their offices were on Irving Park, just a few blocks from our house.
Dad did not have a high school education. At various points he owned a small grocery store, then worked for Belknap and Thompson, a huge mail order business. When they announced plans to move to Ohio he opted to find new work. So he went to work for Curt Teich.
I firmly believe that Mr. Teich hired him out of compassion Dad was in his mid 50s, lacked a high school education, had three kids. Not a lot of opportunity.
But we did go on picnics. And we visited family on these picnics.
One of the parks we used to picnic in was at the corner of Clark and Irving. If you have ever gone to a Cubs game, you probably walked past it.
You may not have noticed it was a park, because on the outside it clearly states: Graceland Cemetery.
But for us it was a park.
We would pack a lunch, walk the two blocks over, then wander down to where my mom's clan was gathered, spread a blanket and have lunch.
I remember a little island near in a small pond near the Kohler family plot. I would cross the bridge and play there.
There were some drawbacks. One huge copper statue on the way in gave me nightmares. It was a green shade and featured a man in a robe, partially hiding his face. Later in life, I would learn it was done by Lorado Taft. Some of the other memorials were frightening, bizarre, and even funny to a little kid.
But it was quiet. Peaceful. Not a lot of picnicking people around.
After I was married, and we had Julia, we were at my folks house and someone (me) suggested we go on a picnic. We made plans, I would go to the store and get lunch meat and bread, Jackie could make sandwiches, Mom had an old blanket we could use.
Jackie said, "Terry, you said we were going to walk. But I have never seen a park around here."
"Park?" I laughed. "No, we are going to the cemetery!"
Needless to say, we didn't.
Turns out, some people are a little squeamish about picnics in cemeteries.
I argued the good points: quiet, peaceful, plenty of trees, no body around (they were all underground!). Plus there were plenty of places to sit, so we didn't need to bring lawn chairs.
She didn't buy the argument.
By the way, my dad's side also had a special place. I remember passing it on IL 20 coming out of Elgin. It too was a cemetery, but it had windmills. We have family photos showing his side picnicking there.
I drove past it, saw the windmills and had a brief flashback. That had to be 20 years ago.....and now I even wonder if the windmills are still there.
Maybe it was the age in which I was raised. Pops wasn't much of a family guy, at least for me. He was 48 when I was born. That means by the time I was 10, he was tired. He worked hard at a pretty menial job. He was a mail boy in a large office, Curt Teich, world's largest post card manufacturer.
Their offices were on Irving Park, just a few blocks from our house.
Dad did not have a high school education. At various points he owned a small grocery store, then worked for Belknap and Thompson, a huge mail order business. When they announced plans to move to Ohio he opted to find new work. So he went to work for Curt Teich.
I firmly believe that Mr. Teich hired him out of compassion Dad was in his mid 50s, lacked a high school education, had three kids. Not a lot of opportunity.
But we did go on picnics. And we visited family on these picnics.
One of the parks we used to picnic in was at the corner of Clark and Irving. If you have ever gone to a Cubs game, you probably walked past it.
You may not have noticed it was a park, because on the outside it clearly states: Graceland Cemetery.
But for us it was a park.
We would pack a lunch, walk the two blocks over, then wander down to where my mom's clan was gathered, spread a blanket and have lunch.
I remember a little island near in a small pond near the Kohler family plot. I would cross the bridge and play there.
There were some drawbacks. One huge copper statue on the way in gave me nightmares. It was a green shade and featured a man in a robe, partially hiding his face. Later in life, I would learn it was done by Lorado Taft. Some of the other memorials were frightening, bizarre, and even funny to a little kid.
But it was quiet. Peaceful. Not a lot of picnicking people around.
After I was married, and we had Julia, we were at my folks house and someone (me) suggested we go on a picnic. We made plans, I would go to the store and get lunch meat and bread, Jackie could make sandwiches, Mom had an old blanket we could use.
Jackie said, "Terry, you said we were going to walk. But I have never seen a park around here."
"Park?" I laughed. "No, we are going to the cemetery!"
Needless to say, we didn't.
Turns out, some people are a little squeamish about picnics in cemeteries.
I argued the good points: quiet, peaceful, plenty of trees, no body around (they were all underground!). Plus there were plenty of places to sit, so we didn't need to bring lawn chairs.
She didn't buy the argument.
By the way, my dad's side also had a special place. I remember passing it on IL 20 coming out of Elgin. It too was a cemetery, but it had windmills. We have family photos showing his side picnicking there.
I drove past it, saw the windmills and had a brief flashback. That had to be 20 years ago.....and now I even wonder if the windmills are still there.
Friday, April 18, 2014
it says blah, blah, blah, blah
No, that is not what the fox says!
I have trouble understanding insurance documents
I am a college graduate. I am not a stupid person. (Well, sometimes I am......but if you have read much of these blogs, you realize that!)
But I don't understand things!
For example, we have insurance on our house. (Which I think is odd...people will insure their property, and their cars, but not themselves....oh, well.)
I received a notice of "important endorsement changes for your policy." Their words.
Among the changes: Fungi or bacteria must occur on the insured premises and be caused by or result from a cause of loss other than fungi or bacteria covered by this policy.
Anyone explain what that means? Is there a fungi hanging around that I have not met? What is his name? Does he like the Beatles? Will he tolerate my terrible jokes?
Is there a fungus among us? We want to know.
I guess I have to go ask. It seems like the fungi isn't covered if caused by a fungi. If it ever happens, maybe they bring in little fungi police to find the first fungi and arrest him, thereby not covering the other fungi.
And why is fungi the plural? It's not rhinoceri, (rhinoceros) or croci. (crocus) Why fungi?
I won't even begin to talk about what cutting a brown grocery bag into four rectangles and 6 squares can do to a person's self esteem. Even with a template I could not do it! It looked so easy......7 paper bags later I was still trying to figure it out.
Now I am tired. Too much thinking for this old guy.
I have trouble understanding insurance documents
I am a college graduate. I am not a stupid person. (Well, sometimes I am......but if you have read much of these blogs, you realize that!)
But I don't understand things!
For example, we have insurance on our house. (Which I think is odd...people will insure their property, and their cars, but not themselves....oh, well.)
I received a notice of "important endorsement changes for your policy." Their words.
Among the changes: Fungi or bacteria must occur on the insured premises and be caused by or result from a cause of loss other than fungi or bacteria covered by this policy.
Anyone explain what that means? Is there a fungi hanging around that I have not met? What is his name? Does he like the Beatles? Will he tolerate my terrible jokes?
Is there a fungus among us? We want to know.
I guess I have to go ask. It seems like the fungi isn't covered if caused by a fungi. If it ever happens, maybe they bring in little fungi police to find the first fungi and arrest him, thereby not covering the other fungi.
And why is fungi the plural? It's not rhinoceri, (rhinoceros) or croci. (crocus) Why fungi?
I won't even begin to talk about what cutting a brown grocery bag into four rectangles and 6 squares can do to a person's self esteem. Even with a template I could not do it! It looked so easy......7 paper bags later I was still trying to figure it out.
Now I am tired. Too much thinking for this old guy.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
boy, I feel dizzy, oh so dizzy
I sometimes get confused by words that look alike
First off, I am not violating any HIPA law here....I am talking about myself.
I take a lot of medications. I take pills for cholesterol, blood pressure, heart maintenance drugs, vitamins, eye meds......pills for every occasion.
A few years ago I had part of my left ear lobe removed.
I had retired. Volunteered for a field trip and had a pimple on the ear flap that keeps the air from rushing right into your ear, and a couple of kids noticed. OK, it was pretty red and pretty ugly. Family doctor said, "Oooooh.....looks like a basil cell melanoma...that has to come off."
So I went to a plastic surgeon because, well, it was my ear. His assistant came in, looked at it and said, "Oooooooh, looks like skin cancer. Doctor will want to take that off."
Doctor comes in, looks at it, says, "Oooooooh, that needs to come off."
We schedule a day. Outpatient. In by 7, out by 9. Well, I also have a little mole above my right ear, and a quarter size cyst on my back.....so he agrees to do them all at once.
Surgery time comes and the doctor comes in and announces, "We are going to give you locals,"and after about 25 questions, he changes his mind and they put me out.
All comes out well....it is not a cancerous growth, just an ugly looking pimple.
I get a prescription for Norco, a pretty powerful pain reliever.
At about 12 the pain kicks in, so I hobble down the stairs and find the script and pop one.
At 1 I am still in pain, and it is getting worse, so hobble downstairs and pop a second.
At 3 I had no relief. I was hurting. (Yes, I am a wimp.) So I took a third.
Then I read the label. Norvasc is a blood pressure medication. I have now taken four of them, counting my regular one pill in the morning dose. But hey, they both start with NOR......
I call Emily, who works in a pharmacy, and pose this question: If I take an overdose of Norvasc, what problems will I encounter.
There is a pause, then she said, "Don't tell me you took Norvasc because it started with Nor, just like the Norco?"
Which I had, so I fessed up.
I like it when a family member enjoys a good joke, especially a relative that has constantly told me to read the labels.
The only side affect seemed to be....I was really dizzy for a couple of days.
But I was able to take the Norco and the pain went away. I also learned to take only one, despite the prescription saying I could take two, because the only time I took two I saw the strangest colors and creatures roaming around the house....you'd have thought I was on drugs!
First off, I am not violating any HIPA law here....I am talking about myself.
I take a lot of medications. I take pills for cholesterol, blood pressure, heart maintenance drugs, vitamins, eye meds......pills for every occasion.
A few years ago I had part of my left ear lobe removed.
I had retired. Volunteered for a field trip and had a pimple on the ear flap that keeps the air from rushing right into your ear, and a couple of kids noticed. OK, it was pretty red and pretty ugly. Family doctor said, "Oooooh.....looks like a basil cell melanoma...that has to come off."
So I went to a plastic surgeon because, well, it was my ear. His assistant came in, looked at it and said, "Oooooooh, looks like skin cancer. Doctor will want to take that off."
Doctor comes in, looks at it, says, "Oooooooh, that needs to come off."
We schedule a day. Outpatient. In by 7, out by 9. Well, I also have a little mole above my right ear, and a quarter size cyst on my back.....so he agrees to do them all at once.
Surgery time comes and the doctor comes in and announces, "We are going to give you locals,"and after about 25 questions, he changes his mind and they put me out.
All comes out well....it is not a cancerous growth, just an ugly looking pimple.
I get a prescription for Norco, a pretty powerful pain reliever.
At about 12 the pain kicks in, so I hobble down the stairs and find the script and pop one.
At 1 I am still in pain, and it is getting worse, so hobble downstairs and pop a second.
At 3 I had no relief. I was hurting. (Yes, I am a wimp.) So I took a third.
Then I read the label. Norvasc is a blood pressure medication. I have now taken four of them, counting my regular one pill in the morning dose. But hey, they both start with NOR......
I call Emily, who works in a pharmacy, and pose this question: If I take an overdose of Norvasc, what problems will I encounter.
There is a pause, then she said, "Don't tell me you took Norvasc because it started with Nor, just like the Norco?"
Which I had, so I fessed up.
I like it when a family member enjoys a good joke, especially a relative that has constantly told me to read the labels.
The only side affect seemed to be....I was really dizzy for a couple of days.
But I was able to take the Norco and the pain went away. I also learned to take only one, despite the prescription saying I could take two, because the only time I took two I saw the strangest colors and creatures roaming around the house....you'd have thought I was on drugs!
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
2 to 1 Chicago gets a casino
I love going to the boats to gamble
Actually, I like going to any casino.
Please understand, I am not some raving gambler who can't control himself.
I get a couple of dollars worth of nickels and maybe $10 worth of quarters and I am good to go.
I think the $12 is a cheap night. I get a thrill at the slots. I love pulling the arm and watching the symbols go around.
My Uncle Ernie used to have a slot machine in his basement. It took nickels. Whenever there was a family gathering at Uncle Ernie's, I would grab a handful of nickels and head straight toward the basement.
He also had a big old Wurlitzer juke box down there. That played for free, but if you wanted to play the slots you had to have nickels.
It was a big machine. The arm was big and it made a creaaaak thump when you pulled and the symbols started spinning. Three cherries across gave a jackpot.
I never won, but it seemed Uncle Ernie took a lot of trips to Ireland, homeland of his wife, my Aunt Nora. I may have even paid for one of those trips....traveling on my nickels, I guess.
But Chicago should have a casino. It's a big city, gets lots of tourists, is an international destination and would be a good fit.
And there will be plenty of oversight, so there will be no possibility of corruption. No aldermen taking a campaign donation for a yes vote, no city officials overlooking fire violations, no state senators and representatives dipping their hands into the honey pot of mega dollars....because the state is on top of it.
I have not gone gambling for a couple of years. Rumor is a trip to the Quad Cities and the comedy club is in the works, but that rumor started a few months ago and nothing seems to have happened, yet.
Until then, I will just save my nickels and quarters so I am fully prepared.
Actually, I like going to any casino.
Please understand, I am not some raving gambler who can't control himself.
I get a couple of dollars worth of nickels and maybe $10 worth of quarters and I am good to go.
I think the $12 is a cheap night. I get a thrill at the slots. I love pulling the arm and watching the symbols go around.
My Uncle Ernie used to have a slot machine in his basement. It took nickels. Whenever there was a family gathering at Uncle Ernie's, I would grab a handful of nickels and head straight toward the basement.
He also had a big old Wurlitzer juke box down there. That played for free, but if you wanted to play the slots you had to have nickels.
It was a big machine. The arm was big and it made a creaaaak thump when you pulled and the symbols started spinning. Three cherries across gave a jackpot.
I never won, but it seemed Uncle Ernie took a lot of trips to Ireland, homeland of his wife, my Aunt Nora. I may have even paid for one of those trips....traveling on my nickels, I guess.
But Chicago should have a casino. It's a big city, gets lots of tourists, is an international destination and would be a good fit.
And there will be plenty of oversight, so there will be no possibility of corruption. No aldermen taking a campaign donation for a yes vote, no city officials overlooking fire violations, no state senators and representatives dipping their hands into the honey pot of mega dollars....because the state is on top of it.
I have not gone gambling for a couple of years. Rumor is a trip to the Quad Cities and the comedy club is in the works, but that rumor started a few months ago and nothing seems to have happened, yet.
Until then, I will just save my nickels and quarters so I am fully prepared.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Oh, the places I could go
I get bothered by money, lots of money
First off, I am not a Communist. I don't want to seize the assets of rich people.
I just wish they were not so rich.
I don't know why it bothers me. We all take a course in life, we choose. I could have been a little bigger, and stronger, and learned to throw a curve ball and made millions. But I didn't. I could have learned about investments and bonds and trading and earned millions. But I didn't. I could have put my great looks to good use and been a star of stage and screen. But I didn't.
(Point of honesty.....never would any of those scenarios really happen, no matter how much effort I put into it.)
And none of my family did either. Or my friends. Or people I know, with maybe one or two exceptions.
Yahoo had a story on a new Porsche hybrid, the 918 Spyder that sells for......$848,000. A car. Yes, it is a hybrid.....but I drive a hybrid that does not cost anywhere near that.
And most of us heard about the Connecticut mansion that just sold for $120 million. It was decreased from $190 million.
Never in my life could I even imagine living in a 13,000 square foot house. Hell, I can't even find stuff in our house, which is 6 times smaller.
In looking up an artist's work, I read about some Van Gogh paintings that sold for 70, 80 and 100 million to private collectors. For a guy who sold one painting in his life, knowing that would probably make him turn over in his grave and start painting again. And how much money do you have to have to buy a 100 million dollar painting?
Ball players get bigger and bigger contracts and the average fan discovers it costs too much to take the family to a game.
A kid in Texas gets involved in a multi death accident, and the judge buys the argument that he was raised rich and didn't understand that driving drunk could kill innocent people, so he gets a slap on the wrist.
Warren Buffet has a son who lives near Decatur. Warren gave him $1 billion, BILLION, to do good in the world. He has set up programs in this country and in Africa to improve living conditions. Spent tens of millions of dollars. Since being given the money, it has grown to over 2 BILLION.
I don't even know how many zeros a billion has. More than 6.
I am not complaining about being poor...because we are not. We live a comfortable life. We take a yearly trip. We drive newer cars. We have a good life.
We are not rich people.
And I can not comprehend the world a rich person lives in, their lifestyle, their spending habits.
Sometimes I wonder, how much is too much?
Like I said, I don't want to seize the assets of rich people. I don't want government to take away their property or their businesses.
I just wish they were not so rich as to be able to buy $848,000 cars and $100 million paintings and homes. That's all I ask.
First off, I am not a Communist. I don't want to seize the assets of rich people.
I just wish they were not so rich.
I don't know why it bothers me. We all take a course in life, we choose. I could have been a little bigger, and stronger, and learned to throw a curve ball and made millions. But I didn't. I could have learned about investments and bonds and trading and earned millions. But I didn't. I could have put my great looks to good use and been a star of stage and screen. But I didn't.
(Point of honesty.....never would any of those scenarios really happen, no matter how much effort I put into it.)
And none of my family did either. Or my friends. Or people I know, with maybe one or two exceptions.
Yahoo had a story on a new Porsche hybrid, the 918 Spyder that sells for......$848,000. A car. Yes, it is a hybrid.....but I drive a hybrid that does not cost anywhere near that.
And most of us heard about the Connecticut mansion that just sold for $120 million. It was decreased from $190 million.
Never in my life could I even imagine living in a 13,000 square foot house. Hell, I can't even find stuff in our house, which is 6 times smaller.
In looking up an artist's work, I read about some Van Gogh paintings that sold for 70, 80 and 100 million to private collectors. For a guy who sold one painting in his life, knowing that would probably make him turn over in his grave and start painting again. And how much money do you have to have to buy a 100 million dollar painting?
Ball players get bigger and bigger contracts and the average fan discovers it costs too much to take the family to a game.
A kid in Texas gets involved in a multi death accident, and the judge buys the argument that he was raised rich and didn't understand that driving drunk could kill innocent people, so he gets a slap on the wrist.
Warren Buffet has a son who lives near Decatur. Warren gave him $1 billion, BILLION, to do good in the world. He has set up programs in this country and in Africa to improve living conditions. Spent tens of millions of dollars. Since being given the money, it has grown to over 2 BILLION.
I don't even know how many zeros a billion has. More than 6.
I am not complaining about being poor...because we are not. We live a comfortable life. We take a yearly trip. We drive newer cars. We have a good life.
We are not rich people.
And I can not comprehend the world a rich person lives in, their lifestyle, their spending habits.
Sometimes I wonder, how much is too much?
Like I said, I don't want to seize the assets of rich people. I don't want government to take away their property or their businesses.
I just wish they were not so rich as to be able to buy $848,000 cars and $100 million paintings and homes. That's all I ask.
Monday, April 14, 2014
I hope I make it
I plan to see the blood moon tonight
I know it is snowing. I know I have to wait till the wee hours of the morning. I know I have to get up early.
But this is the first in four lunar events between now and September 2015. They only happen about every 400 years....so I am not going to be around for the next one.
Or will I?
Sometimes I believe in reincarnation.
I think I have been alive before, but in another time and in another form.
That explains many of my likes and fears.
I don't like heights, but I love WW II history. So maybe I was a paratrooper going into France (which I love) but died on the way down. That would explain my WW II connection and my fear of heights.
Or maybe I was a victim of the Black Plague that almost wiped out Europe on the mid 1300s. It was spread, in part, by rats. That would explain my fear of anything fury that isn't in a cage and my near death experiences whenever I get a cold. And since it may have originated in the Middle East, it could explain my fondness for Chinese take out.
I love the artwork of Van Gogh and other impressionists. So maybe I was a failed art student or art critic in the 1880s. I have been in Paris several times (yes, I am bragging) and feel very at home there. Van Gogh did work in Paris, as did Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec. They loved baguettes and croissants and I love baguettes and croissants! I can speak some French, enough to order croissants and red wine, so there has to be a connection.
My father was in the Army during The Great War. (Although he was German, he was in the U.S. Army. It was only for a couple of weeks and then the war was over, but I am counting it.) Lately I feel that connection strongly. Could it be I was a young German soldier in the trenches along the Western Front? Do I like cold because I was actually stationed on the Eastern Front during the siege of Russia?
And other connections run through my mind. I love flowers, was I a bee? I never know the words to all of a song, so was I a humming bird? I love the smell of grass, does that mean I was a cow in an earlier life? (No comment needed, Beth.)
There are times when I feel I have been in a place before. I know exactly where to turn, what the street is. Where to find the bus. Reincarnation? Or a Garmin, that helps too.
But I am hedging my bets. I will try to watch the eclipse tonight.
And if in 400 years some young lad living under a dome with robotic parents looks into the sky and sees the moon disappear, maybe, just maybe, he'll think, "Huh....that seems familiar."
I know it is snowing. I know I have to wait till the wee hours of the morning. I know I have to get up early.
But this is the first in four lunar events between now and September 2015. They only happen about every 400 years....so I am not going to be around for the next one.
Or will I?
Sometimes I believe in reincarnation.
I think I have been alive before, but in another time and in another form.
That explains many of my likes and fears.
I don't like heights, but I love WW II history. So maybe I was a paratrooper going into France (which I love) but died on the way down. That would explain my WW II connection and my fear of heights.
Or maybe I was a victim of the Black Plague that almost wiped out Europe on the mid 1300s. It was spread, in part, by rats. That would explain my fear of anything fury that isn't in a cage and my near death experiences whenever I get a cold. And since it may have originated in the Middle East, it could explain my fondness for Chinese take out.
I love the artwork of Van Gogh and other impressionists. So maybe I was a failed art student or art critic in the 1880s. I have been in Paris several times (yes, I am bragging) and feel very at home there. Van Gogh did work in Paris, as did Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec. They loved baguettes and croissants and I love baguettes and croissants! I can speak some French, enough to order croissants and red wine, so there has to be a connection.
My father was in the Army during The Great War. (Although he was German, he was in the U.S. Army. It was only for a couple of weeks and then the war was over, but I am counting it.) Lately I feel that connection strongly. Could it be I was a young German soldier in the trenches along the Western Front? Do I like cold because I was actually stationed on the Eastern Front during the siege of Russia?
And other connections run through my mind. I love flowers, was I a bee? I never know the words to all of a song, so was I a humming bird? I love the smell of grass, does that mean I was a cow in an earlier life? (No comment needed, Beth.)
There are times when I feel I have been in a place before. I know exactly where to turn, what the street is. Where to find the bus. Reincarnation? Or a Garmin, that helps too.
But I am hedging my bets. I will try to watch the eclipse tonight.
And if in 400 years some young lad living under a dome with robotic parents looks into the sky and sees the moon disappear, maybe, just maybe, he'll think, "Huh....that seems familiar."
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Oh, the books I would write
I wrote a book
I finished it several years ago. I sent it to a publisher. I received in reply.....an empty envelope!
I was crushed. I do have a very fragile ego. A large ego, but fragile none the less.
Getting a rejection letter is upsetting.....but getting an empty envelope is worse!! Was the book so bad they did not want to waste time and paper sending me a rejection?
I went on line and read about getting a book published....finding an agent, finding a market, sending out dozens of copies of the manuscript. I did none of those. I sent the manuscript. Period. One publisher. One manuscript.
Now I have a book, extremely well written, I may add, sitting in my desk drawer. So here is the dilemma: do I photocopy it and send it to several publishers? Do I try to find an agent who will deal with an unknown author? Do I consider self publishing a book? Why is Moscato wine so sweet??
By the way, self publishing a book does not make you an author. It makes you a person with some spare change who found a printer to print the book. I read a self published book once and it was so terrible I actually stopped reading everything for hours on end once I finished the self published book. It was excruciating, like having a teacher drag their nails over a chalkboard.
(OK, explanation: A chalkboard was usually a black writing surface, sometimes green, that hung in classrooms. Early chalkboards were made of slate. Teachers, and students, would use the chalk board to teach math, science, art....everything. They used these little pieces of Tums like material squeezed into a tube shape called it chalk. On the second day, they rested.)
This "book" (feel free to use air quotes) had improper punctuation, subjects did not agree with verbs, some words were spelled wrong, sentences were run on. Or incomplete. It was like watching the Cubs bullpen in the ninth inning of a close ballgame.....horrible.
And here is another problem. I write when I am upset, depressed, worried, bored, not playing solitaire or not checking Facebook. I have three novels I am working on. Three. I work on one for a while, then get bored and switch to a second. Then I get bored and go back to the first, or the third. Actually, the third I have all but abandoned at this point. All but.
At some point I will finish one of them. Maybe both. Then what do I do?
By completing them I have increased my chances of rejection several fold. If I send out 20 copies of three books to publishers, that is 60 rejection notices. I CAN'T HANDLE THAT MUCH REJECTION!!!!
After I am dead, someone will find them and send them to a publisher. I will be noted as a famous author, who died before anything was published. The books will sell millions of copies world wide and my ego will be sufficiently stroked.
But I won't know any of that, will I?
So, pardon me if I go back to the second novel for a while. Or maybe the third. I can't decide if my character is going to save the chicken family from the fox or fry them up for supper.
I finished it several years ago. I sent it to a publisher. I received in reply.....an empty envelope!
I was crushed. I do have a very fragile ego. A large ego, but fragile none the less.
Getting a rejection letter is upsetting.....but getting an empty envelope is worse!! Was the book so bad they did not want to waste time and paper sending me a rejection?
I went on line and read about getting a book published....finding an agent, finding a market, sending out dozens of copies of the manuscript. I did none of those. I sent the manuscript. Period. One publisher. One manuscript.
Now I have a book, extremely well written, I may add, sitting in my desk drawer. So here is the dilemma: do I photocopy it and send it to several publishers? Do I try to find an agent who will deal with an unknown author? Do I consider self publishing a book? Why is Moscato wine so sweet??
By the way, self publishing a book does not make you an author. It makes you a person with some spare change who found a printer to print the book. I read a self published book once and it was so terrible I actually stopped reading everything for hours on end once I finished the self published book. It was excruciating, like having a teacher drag their nails over a chalkboard.
(OK, explanation: A chalkboard was usually a black writing surface, sometimes green, that hung in classrooms. Early chalkboards were made of slate. Teachers, and students, would use the chalk board to teach math, science, art....everything. They used these little pieces of Tums like material squeezed into a tube shape called it chalk. On the second day, they rested.)
This "book" (feel free to use air quotes) had improper punctuation, subjects did not agree with verbs, some words were spelled wrong, sentences were run on. Or incomplete. It was like watching the Cubs bullpen in the ninth inning of a close ballgame.....horrible.
And here is another problem. I write when I am upset, depressed, worried, bored, not playing solitaire or not checking Facebook. I have three novels I am working on. Three. I work on one for a while, then get bored and switch to a second. Then I get bored and go back to the first, or the third. Actually, the third I have all but abandoned at this point. All but.
At some point I will finish one of them. Maybe both. Then what do I do?
By completing them I have increased my chances of rejection several fold. If I send out 20 copies of three books to publishers, that is 60 rejection notices. I CAN'T HANDLE THAT MUCH REJECTION!!!!
After I am dead, someone will find them and send them to a publisher. I will be noted as a famous author, who died before anything was published. The books will sell millions of copies world wide and my ego will be sufficiently stroked.
But I won't know any of that, will I?
So, pardon me if I go back to the second novel for a while. Or maybe the third. I can't decide if my character is going to save the chicken family from the fox or fry them up for supper.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Ah....the lure of a good pie
I sometimes have mental meltdowns
We were downtown on Thanksgiving weekend.....the whole family. We were going to meet John and Kathy for pizza at Gino's East. Julia was still here, so it had to be before 2002.
Gino's East, on Superior, is one of the premier pizza places in Chicago. It's ratty looking on the inside, crowded, noisy, and full of people eating pizza. Or so I have been told.
We were all going to meet at the restaurant. It was cold. A little moist. Jackie had a cough. Kathy could not make it so it was John, Julia, Emily, Jackie and I. Count em....five people.
When we got to the restaurant, there was a large group ahead of us, a couple, a group of four, then us (the group of five). They seated the large group. They seated the couple. A man came out and said we would be next, or soon to be next. We had been waiting about 20 minutes at this point.
Meanwhile, the line had grown considerably longer. It was now drizzling. And getting colder. We were all tired and just wanted to sit down and eat.
So when the hostess came out and yelled, "Table for six," I protested.
"What about us? We've been here a long time and these people just walked up. We were told it was going to be soon."
The girl looked at us and said, "You are a group of five. We have a table for six."
I disputed her logic.
"A table for six is just a table for five with an extra spot. We should be seated next."
Her reply: "You are a table of five."
Now in the first place, I don't know of any table made for five. Yes for tables for 2, 4, 6, 8, 10.....but 5? It's either a table of four crammed tight for 5, or a table for six with a little more room for 5.
That's when I uttered the words I wish I could take back: "I bet if I had an AK 47 we'd be sitting inside eating pizza by now!"
She did look a little startled. John said, "Time to go."
I turned to the people behind us, who were also a group of 5.
"Don't 5s deserve justice? We shouldn't be treated this way! Justice for 5s!"
And by the way, I was yelling at full voice.
The girls had already started wandering back toward the car. John was lightly tugging my sleeve and repeating over and over: "Time to leave. Let's go. Time to leave. Let's go."
I kept yelling, "Justice for 5s! Justice for 5's! Fives have the same rights as 4s and 6s," as John pulled me down the street.
They say the pizza is great at Gino's East. I've been told it's a neat restaurant in which to sit and talk and eat.
But I've never been in it. And I don't think I will until they make a table for 5.
We were downtown on Thanksgiving weekend.....the whole family. We were going to meet John and Kathy for pizza at Gino's East. Julia was still here, so it had to be before 2002.
Gino's East, on Superior, is one of the premier pizza places in Chicago. It's ratty looking on the inside, crowded, noisy, and full of people eating pizza. Or so I have been told.
We were all going to meet at the restaurant. It was cold. A little moist. Jackie had a cough. Kathy could not make it so it was John, Julia, Emily, Jackie and I. Count em....five people.
When we got to the restaurant, there was a large group ahead of us, a couple, a group of four, then us (the group of five). They seated the large group. They seated the couple. A man came out and said we would be next, or soon to be next. We had been waiting about 20 minutes at this point.
Meanwhile, the line had grown considerably longer. It was now drizzling. And getting colder. We were all tired and just wanted to sit down and eat.
So when the hostess came out and yelled, "Table for six," I protested.
"What about us? We've been here a long time and these people just walked up. We were told it was going to be soon."
The girl looked at us and said, "You are a group of five. We have a table for six."
I disputed her logic.
"A table for six is just a table for five with an extra spot. We should be seated next."
Her reply: "You are a table of five."
Now in the first place, I don't know of any table made for five. Yes for tables for 2, 4, 6, 8, 10.....but 5? It's either a table of four crammed tight for 5, or a table for six with a little more room for 5.
That's when I uttered the words I wish I could take back: "I bet if I had an AK 47 we'd be sitting inside eating pizza by now!"
She did look a little startled. John said, "Time to go."
I turned to the people behind us, who were also a group of 5.
"Don't 5s deserve justice? We shouldn't be treated this way! Justice for 5s!"
And by the way, I was yelling at full voice.
The girls had already started wandering back toward the car. John was lightly tugging my sleeve and repeating over and over: "Time to leave. Let's go. Time to leave. Let's go."
I kept yelling, "Justice for 5s! Justice for 5's! Fives have the same rights as 4s and 6s," as John pulled me down the street.
They say the pizza is great at Gino's East. I've been told it's a neat restaurant in which to sit and talk and eat.
But I've never been in it. And I don't think I will until they make a table for 5.
Friday, April 11, 2014
I didn't think this one through
I took a lot of pictures while teaching
I took a lot of pictures when I was teaching school.
If we did a project, I took pictures. If we went on a field trip, I took pictures. Halloween. Christmas. Valentine's Day. All were photo ops.
I should have thought about what I would do with those pictures.
Here I am, 6 years after retirement, and I have hundreds of pictures. Some in photo albums, some rubber banded together, some just tossed in a box.
I recognize most of the kids, but their names don't always come easy to me. Some class photos are labeled, some are not. I spend a lot of time looking at the pictures and remembering the fun times I had teaching.
Field trips to Brookfield Zoo with kids standing near the giraffe or bear to compare sizes, trips to the wind farm near Paw Paw to learn about wind energy. Overnight camp outs at the Conservation club, where we caught frogs and tadpoles, did crafts, cooked hot dogs over an open fire and sat round a campfire acting silly. Old Stone School visits, when the kids dressed in 1890s fashion and learned readin', riten' and rithmatic', taught to the tune of a hickory stick.
Now I look at the pictures and wonder where the child is, and what are they doing. Some I know about, connected via Facebook or just by seeing them around town. Others I just wonder about, how their lives turned out.
When I work with the kindergartners, their teacher always makes a point to tell me which ones are sons or daughters of former students.....amazing how many Tilton kids now have Tilton kids.
But I can't keep the pictures. So now I am just weeding through the boxes and the albums. Some people I see around town and I am putting pictures aside for them.
Maybe they'll look at them and smile at a more innocent time, a time of learning and hopefully a time of having fun.
I know I smile at their faces.
I took a lot of pictures when I was teaching school.
If we did a project, I took pictures. If we went on a field trip, I took pictures. Halloween. Christmas. Valentine's Day. All were photo ops.
I should have thought about what I would do with those pictures.
Here I am, 6 years after retirement, and I have hundreds of pictures. Some in photo albums, some rubber banded together, some just tossed in a box.
I recognize most of the kids, but their names don't always come easy to me. Some class photos are labeled, some are not. I spend a lot of time looking at the pictures and remembering the fun times I had teaching.
Field trips to Brookfield Zoo with kids standing near the giraffe or bear to compare sizes, trips to the wind farm near Paw Paw to learn about wind energy. Overnight camp outs at the Conservation club, where we caught frogs and tadpoles, did crafts, cooked hot dogs over an open fire and sat round a campfire acting silly. Old Stone School visits, when the kids dressed in 1890s fashion and learned readin', riten' and rithmatic', taught to the tune of a hickory stick.
Now I look at the pictures and wonder where the child is, and what are they doing. Some I know about, connected via Facebook or just by seeing them around town. Others I just wonder about, how their lives turned out.
When I work with the kindergartners, their teacher always makes a point to tell me which ones are sons or daughters of former students.....amazing how many Tilton kids now have Tilton kids.
But I can't keep the pictures. So now I am just weeding through the boxes and the albums. Some people I see around town and I am putting pictures aside for them.
Maybe they'll look at them and smile at a more innocent time, a time of learning and hopefully a time of having fun.
I know I smile at their faces.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
who wouldn't buy a mower from me?
I really did not like Sears
I always used to shop there when I was a kid. Going up to the Sears on Lawrence Avenue in Chicago was a thrill, even though it was a long walk. But that changed.
Growing up, I always mowed the yard using a rotary blade push mower. I loved the sound it made as you pushed and it cut.
When Jackie and I moved into our first house in Rochelle, I bought a rotary push mower. OK, the yard in Chicago was 10 by 15 on the side and 3 by 12 in the front. Our yard was at least 5 times that size at our first house.
I got it all cut once with the rotary push mower. The second time, it got hot and I only got the front cut. I waited until the next day and started cutting the back. It took two days to cut the back, and by then the front needed to be cut.
So we bought a mower from JC Penny (yes, they sold mowers) and used it for a long time.....seven or eight years, at least. But it died one September, and I bought a mower at Sears.
I mowed once or twice, then put the mower away. When I used it in the spring, the handle became loose. Eventually, the support for the handle broke off.
The mower at this time was maybe seven months old. I loaded it in my car and took it back to the store in Rockford where I bought it. I unloaded the mower and pushed it into the store.
When the man asked me if he could help, I explained that the mower was coming apart. He explained that the warranty on the mower was for six months. I said, yes, but no one mows in December, January, February and not much in March and November, so basically the mower is only three months old.
I politely, stressing at this point I was being polite, asked to speak to the department manager. He informed me he was the department manager and there was nothing they would do about it.
I noted that if I took the mower home now, and used it and somehow cut my foot, I would sue the store for mega bucks.
He countered that since I knew the handle was broken, I would have to be pretty stupid to use it in a way that would cut my foot.
They were pretty busy that day and he said he had to go on to other customers.
So I helped him.
I rolled my mower to where the other mowers were and waited. Pretty soon a guy came up.
"Looking for a good mower?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "What do you recommend?"
"I recommend you go somewhere else, because the stuff they sell here is crap." I showed him the handles, explained the warranty, and he left.
My third customer were (or is it was?) a couple. I said, "Looking for a mower? Here's one that Sears says is one of their bests." I showed them the broken handle, explained that my previous mower lasted 8 years and this one barely made it one, and that was counting winter months.
The manager came over, and asked, "Can I help you?"
I replied, "No, I've got it taken care of. I recommended a different brand."
At that point he asked me to leave, said he was calling security, so I left.
I don't think Jackie appreciated my voice level as I was leaving. "Sears sucks," was repeated several times in a shrill scream.
I ended up having both rear supports welded on by Don, a friend who worked for the city.
The welds lasted the life of the mower. He was a better craftsman than Sears.
Following the mower, and the dresser, it took me several years before I could walk into a Sears store without yelling "Sears sucks." Buying stuff there took even longer.
I always used to shop there when I was a kid. Going up to the Sears on Lawrence Avenue in Chicago was a thrill, even though it was a long walk. But that changed.
Growing up, I always mowed the yard using a rotary blade push mower. I loved the sound it made as you pushed and it cut.
When Jackie and I moved into our first house in Rochelle, I bought a rotary push mower. OK, the yard in Chicago was 10 by 15 on the side and 3 by 12 in the front. Our yard was at least 5 times that size at our first house.
I got it all cut once with the rotary push mower. The second time, it got hot and I only got the front cut. I waited until the next day and started cutting the back. It took two days to cut the back, and by then the front needed to be cut.
So we bought a mower from JC Penny (yes, they sold mowers) and used it for a long time.....seven or eight years, at least. But it died one September, and I bought a mower at Sears.
I mowed once or twice, then put the mower away. When I used it in the spring, the handle became loose. Eventually, the support for the handle broke off.
The mower at this time was maybe seven months old. I loaded it in my car and took it back to the store in Rockford where I bought it. I unloaded the mower and pushed it into the store.
When the man asked me if he could help, I explained that the mower was coming apart. He explained that the warranty on the mower was for six months. I said, yes, but no one mows in December, January, February and not much in March and November, so basically the mower is only three months old.
I politely, stressing at this point I was being polite, asked to speak to the department manager. He informed me he was the department manager and there was nothing they would do about it.
I noted that if I took the mower home now, and used it and somehow cut my foot, I would sue the store for mega bucks.
He countered that since I knew the handle was broken, I would have to be pretty stupid to use it in a way that would cut my foot.
They were pretty busy that day and he said he had to go on to other customers.
So I helped him.
I rolled my mower to where the other mowers were and waited. Pretty soon a guy came up.
"Looking for a good mower?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "What do you recommend?"
"I recommend you go somewhere else, because the stuff they sell here is crap." I showed him the handles, explained the warranty, and he left.
My third customer were (or is it was?) a couple. I said, "Looking for a mower? Here's one that Sears says is one of their bests." I showed them the broken handle, explained that my previous mower lasted 8 years and this one barely made it one, and that was counting winter months.
The manager came over, and asked, "Can I help you?"
I replied, "No, I've got it taken care of. I recommended a different brand."
At that point he asked me to leave, said he was calling security, so I left.
I don't think Jackie appreciated my voice level as I was leaving. "Sears sucks," was repeated several times in a shrill scream.
I ended up having both rear supports welded on by Don, a friend who worked for the city.
The welds lasted the life of the mower. He was a better craftsman than Sears.
Following the mower, and the dresser, it took me several years before I could walk into a Sears store without yelling "Sears sucks." Buying stuff there took even longer.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
I didn't mean to be cold
Sometimes I don't hear what people really say
We bought Julia a white bonnet bed and dresser when we lived on Southview Drive. Because we didn't have a lot of money, we watched for sales. When the dresser we wanted went on sale for $49 instead of the $89, we decided to buy one.
But the Rockford Sears stores did not have any at that price. Evidently the sale was only in Chicago.
So we loaded up Julia in the Chevy Nova and went to Woodfield Mall and bought a dresser. Of course, Jackie's parents lived in Rolling Meadows, so we also worked in a free meal at her parents' house.
I had car top carrying racks. We put the racks on and loaded the dresser on top of the car, making sure it was secure.
We got home and gently unloaded the dresser. We took it out of the box, and much to my distress, one of the legs was broken.
I called the salesman on Monday. He apologized. I asked if I could bring it back to the local Sears store instead of going all the way back to Woodfield.
He said he would check. Let's give him a name: Bill. He was a nice guy, mid 50s, very genial and pleasant to deal with. He thought we could return it to the local store, but he wasn't positive. He even said he would see if they could send out a new dresser at the sale price. He promised to call back on Tuesday with an answer.
Tuesday came and went, no call.
Wednesday came and went, no call.
So I called on Thursday. Bill was not there. I gave my name and phone number and asked that he call me.
A few days passed. No word from Bill. So I called and ask to speak to Bill and was told, and this is to the word: "He's no longer with us." I said ok, let me speak to the manager. The man said the manager would have to call me back.
Repeat that paragraph on Sunday. Repeat it on the following Wednesday. Finally, I get the manager. I explain the problem, the manager asks who the salesman was, I say Bill. He replies, "He is no longer with us."
That was all I needed to hear.
So I say something to the effect of, "I have heard that sorry excuse more than once. I have a broken dresser that is of no use to me, you guys have been ignoring my calls for two weeks, I know Bill is no longer there and truthfully, I don't give a crap. I am tired of dealing with you. I am bringing the damn dresser back Saturday and I expect a full refund because I am tired of your shit! This is lousy customer service and it's no wonder Bill's not with you anymore."
I was a little mad.
Saturday comes, we load the white bonnet dresser on top of the Nova and drive to Woodfield. I go to customer service and give the man the receipt and say, "I am bringing this damn dresser back. It has a broken leg. Someone needs to get if off the roof of my car because it is now your problem."
The man looks at the receipt and says, "Oh. Bill was your salesman. He's no longer with us."
The absolute wrong thing to say to me at this point.
"I don't give a crap where he is, just take the dresser."
The guy looks at me with a pained expression and says, "He had a heart attack and died on the sales floor ."
I was stunned. "He died?"
"Yes," said the guy behind the counter. "He was really a nice guy."
By now Jackie had come in the store. I looked at her and said, "Jackie, Bill's no longer with us."
She said, " I know, they have told us that before."
"No, he's not with us. He's not with anyone....he's dead!"
We both very meekly watched the men take the dresser off the car and do the paper work to credit our account.
Somewhere in the Sears' sale force there are a couple of people who probably think I am one cold hearted SOB.
We eventually got a dresser through the local store and they delivered it. I think it was even cheaper then when it was on sale.
And no one died.
We bought Julia a white bonnet bed and dresser when we lived on Southview Drive. Because we didn't have a lot of money, we watched for sales. When the dresser we wanted went on sale for $49 instead of the $89, we decided to buy one.
But the Rockford Sears stores did not have any at that price. Evidently the sale was only in Chicago.
So we loaded up Julia in the Chevy Nova and went to Woodfield Mall and bought a dresser. Of course, Jackie's parents lived in Rolling Meadows, so we also worked in a free meal at her parents' house.
I had car top carrying racks. We put the racks on and loaded the dresser on top of the car, making sure it was secure.
We got home and gently unloaded the dresser. We took it out of the box, and much to my distress, one of the legs was broken.
I called the salesman on Monday. He apologized. I asked if I could bring it back to the local Sears store instead of going all the way back to Woodfield.
He said he would check. Let's give him a name: Bill. He was a nice guy, mid 50s, very genial and pleasant to deal with. He thought we could return it to the local store, but he wasn't positive. He even said he would see if they could send out a new dresser at the sale price. He promised to call back on Tuesday with an answer.
Tuesday came and went, no call.
Wednesday came and went, no call.
So I called on Thursday. Bill was not there. I gave my name and phone number and asked that he call me.
A few days passed. No word from Bill. So I called and ask to speak to Bill and was told, and this is to the word: "He's no longer with us." I said ok, let me speak to the manager. The man said the manager would have to call me back.
Repeat that paragraph on Sunday. Repeat it on the following Wednesday. Finally, I get the manager. I explain the problem, the manager asks who the salesman was, I say Bill. He replies, "He is no longer with us."
That was all I needed to hear.
So I say something to the effect of, "I have heard that sorry excuse more than once. I have a broken dresser that is of no use to me, you guys have been ignoring my calls for two weeks, I know Bill is no longer there and truthfully, I don't give a crap. I am tired of dealing with you. I am bringing the damn dresser back Saturday and I expect a full refund because I am tired of your shit! This is lousy customer service and it's no wonder Bill's not with you anymore."
I was a little mad.
Saturday comes, we load the white bonnet dresser on top of the Nova and drive to Woodfield. I go to customer service and give the man the receipt and say, "I am bringing this damn dresser back. It has a broken leg. Someone needs to get if off the roof of my car because it is now your problem."
The man looks at the receipt and says, "Oh. Bill was your salesman. He's no longer with us."
The absolute wrong thing to say to me at this point.
"I don't give a crap where he is, just take the dresser."
The guy looks at me with a pained expression and says, "He had a heart attack and died on the sales floor ."
I was stunned. "He died?"
"Yes," said the guy behind the counter. "He was really a nice guy."
By now Jackie had come in the store. I looked at her and said, "Jackie, Bill's no longer with us."
She said, " I know, they have told us that before."
"No, he's not with us. He's not with anyone....he's dead!"
We both very meekly watched the men take the dresser off the car and do the paper work to credit our account.
Somewhere in the Sears' sale force there are a couple of people who probably think I am one cold hearted SOB.
We eventually got a dresser through the local store and they delivered it. I think it was even cheaper then when it was on sale.
And no one died.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Just like Fantasia
I once majorly embarrassed myself at a family function
I have debated telling this story. There's a variety of reasons why.
First, it involves family.
Next, it is truly embarrassing.
Finally, there is a clown involved.
We were at a christening party. (Don't judge me!) The event was catered, and food was to be delivered at about 2 or so.
Brother in law Bob made me a rum and coke. We sat, talked, visited with our fairly new in laws, and Bob made me another rum and Coke.
I had not eaten lunch, but it was almost 2 and the food would be there any minute.
At 2:30 Bob made me another rum with a hint of Coke. Sure the food was a little late, but the rum was filling.
At 3:30 Bob made me another rum and a dash of Coke. The caterer had car trouble, but found someone to deliver the food.
That's when it got weird.
A Volkswagen Beetle pulled up and a slightly pudgy clown, complete with the red ball nose and huge shoes, got out.
When she carried in the food, Bob and I circled like vultures. Any clown joke you can imagine we used. The more we talked, the faster she moved.
We sat down to eat and the food was quite good.
But after all the drink and all the food, I started to feel a little, shall we say, uncomfortable.
There was a little bathroom off the family room and when it became vacant, I occupied it.
Turning on the fan, I noticed the porcelain bowl suddenly seemed like an excellent spot to lean over. You know, because I was uncomfortable.
But the family room was right outside the door, so I turned the water on in the sink and began to, politely putting it, regurgitate. Several times. Loudly.
I kept my head over the bowl, though, and did not miss, flushing often.
After my third self relief, a drop of water hit my head. Puzzled, I looked up.
It was like that scene in Fantasia with the flood. Water was literally rolling over the side of the bowl in waves, cascading down the front of the sink onto the carpeted floor. Whitecaps had formed in the sink!!
I desperately tried to get up, but ended up puking again. And again.
By now my knees were getting wet. I could hear that music playing as Mickey hustles with the buckets and the brooms keep multiplying.
I finally got up and turned off the water. The floor was a sopping mess. The only thing I could find was a face cloth.
I blotted and squeezed, and blotted and squeezed, and blotted and squeezed.......I was in there quite a while. I think people started knocking on the door.
The carpet was damp, but no longer squishy. I washed my hands and face, opened the door and found several people staring at me.
Jackie said, "I think we better go now."
I nodded yes, said thank you, and left.
On the way out we saw Bob. He was bent over in the street. His wife was trying to get him in the car and make an escape. It was too late to make a clean get-a-way...if you get my drift.
There were many other family gatherings at the house. We were not invited.
Years later, I did apologize. They were very kind and laughed about it, but I'm not sure they meant it.
I have debated telling this story. There's a variety of reasons why.
First, it involves family.
Next, it is truly embarrassing.
Finally, there is a clown involved.
We were at a christening party. (Don't judge me!) The event was catered, and food was to be delivered at about 2 or so.
Brother in law Bob made me a rum and coke. We sat, talked, visited with our fairly new in laws, and Bob made me another rum and Coke.
I had not eaten lunch, but it was almost 2 and the food would be there any minute.
At 2:30 Bob made me another rum with a hint of Coke. Sure the food was a little late, but the rum was filling.
At 3:30 Bob made me another rum and a dash of Coke. The caterer had car trouble, but found someone to deliver the food.
That's when it got weird.
A Volkswagen Beetle pulled up and a slightly pudgy clown, complete with the red ball nose and huge shoes, got out.
When she carried in the food, Bob and I circled like vultures. Any clown joke you can imagine we used. The more we talked, the faster she moved.
We sat down to eat and the food was quite good.
But after all the drink and all the food, I started to feel a little, shall we say, uncomfortable.
There was a little bathroom off the family room and when it became vacant, I occupied it.
Turning on the fan, I noticed the porcelain bowl suddenly seemed like an excellent spot to lean over. You know, because I was uncomfortable.
But the family room was right outside the door, so I turned the water on in the sink and began to, politely putting it, regurgitate. Several times. Loudly.
I kept my head over the bowl, though, and did not miss, flushing often.
After my third self relief, a drop of water hit my head. Puzzled, I looked up.
It was like that scene in Fantasia with the flood. Water was literally rolling over the side of the bowl in waves, cascading down the front of the sink onto the carpeted floor. Whitecaps had formed in the sink!!
I desperately tried to get up, but ended up puking again. And again.
By now my knees were getting wet. I could hear that music playing as Mickey hustles with the buckets and the brooms keep multiplying.
I finally got up and turned off the water. The floor was a sopping mess. The only thing I could find was a face cloth.
I blotted and squeezed, and blotted and squeezed, and blotted and squeezed.......I was in there quite a while. I think people started knocking on the door.
The carpet was damp, but no longer squishy. I washed my hands and face, opened the door and found several people staring at me.
Jackie said, "I think we better go now."
I nodded yes, said thank you, and left.
On the way out we saw Bob. He was bent over in the street. His wife was trying to get him in the car and make an escape. It was too late to make a clean get-a-way...if you get my drift.
There were many other family gatherings at the house. We were not invited.
Years later, I did apologize. They were very kind and laughed about it, but I'm not sure they meant it.
Monday, April 7, 2014
It has to be done
I hate cleaning house
Years ago, when we were young, Thursday was the house cleaning day. I would do the bathrooms, Jackie would do the rest of the house.
Oh don't roll your eyes. We didn't have any furniture in one room. The dining room only had a table. I would do the vacuum thing. (By the way, this is a word I have to look up every time I use it. Who thought of spelling it this way? Unnatural.)
Once the MS was diagnosed, it became clear there were more important things in life for her than cleaning. So we hired a person to come every other week to clean.
That ended about six weeks ago. Now I clean. She tries to dust, but sometimes it is just too difficult for her. She can get a lot of the great room dusted. It takes a while.
I start by doing the bathrooms. Today I was cleaning the spare bathroom and I was dusting the doors, so decided to do the other bedroom door, then the closet door, then the den door, then I dusted the other bedroom, and the pictures in the hall.
I finally got back to the bathroom. After I dusted that, listening to the Beatles all the while because it makes the work more fun. (OK, sometimes I end up playing air guitar and pretending I am 20 and rocking with the boys in Liverpool.) And when I say dusted the bathroom, I took all the stuff out of the drawers, wiped them out; emptied the medicine cabinet and dusted the shelves; emptied the vanity and dusted the inside of the vanity.
I don't do an extensive cleaning every week. Thank heavens. Because by the time I vacuumed the two rooms, mopped up the floor, it was time for lunch.
I realized then I don't have a friendly work schedule. I was up at 8, but worked on the Trib crossword, read the paper on line, had tea and granola, played a couple of games of solitaire.....my usual morning.
I take a Swiss lunch by the way. Two hours. Gives the food time to digest.
Then I tackled the master bath. Emptied the drawers, cleaned out the bottom, (the vanity's, not mine), remembered the bathroom door squeak wakes me up when Jackie hits the can in the middle of the night. Found some spray lubricant. Popped the hinges to get the spray inside. Checked the other doors, dusted the bedroom furniture, and decided it was time for a coffee.
It was now pushing 4. Luckily most of the work was done by then and all I had to do was mop up the laundry room, finish the master bath, do the half bath, vacuum....and I was getting tired.
At some point my favorite Illinois daughter called and invited us out to dinner. Good idea, because I don't think we had any thought of food.
So I finished the bathrooms and laundry room and managed to dust the dining room furniture.
The only thing left is cleaning the floors, which I will do tomorrow.
I like a clean house, but I don't like cleaning.
I also think I am getting the short end of the deal. If I am doing the cleaning that we paid someone to do, then shouldn't I get the money? I am doing the work, although it does take me a little longer than it should.
My argument fell on deaf ears. Which is funny, because I am the one hard of hearing.
Years ago, when we were young, Thursday was the house cleaning day. I would do the bathrooms, Jackie would do the rest of the house.
Oh don't roll your eyes. We didn't have any furniture in one room. The dining room only had a table. I would do the vacuum thing. (By the way, this is a word I have to look up every time I use it. Who thought of spelling it this way? Unnatural.)
Once the MS was diagnosed, it became clear there were more important things in life for her than cleaning. So we hired a person to come every other week to clean.
That ended about six weeks ago. Now I clean. She tries to dust, but sometimes it is just too difficult for her. She can get a lot of the great room dusted. It takes a while.
I start by doing the bathrooms. Today I was cleaning the spare bathroom and I was dusting the doors, so decided to do the other bedroom door, then the closet door, then the den door, then I dusted the other bedroom, and the pictures in the hall.
I finally got back to the bathroom. After I dusted that, listening to the Beatles all the while because it makes the work more fun. (OK, sometimes I end up playing air guitar and pretending I am 20 and rocking with the boys in Liverpool.) And when I say dusted the bathroom, I took all the stuff out of the drawers, wiped them out; emptied the medicine cabinet and dusted the shelves; emptied the vanity and dusted the inside of the vanity.
I don't do an extensive cleaning every week. Thank heavens. Because by the time I vacuumed the two rooms, mopped up the floor, it was time for lunch.
I realized then I don't have a friendly work schedule. I was up at 8, but worked on the Trib crossword, read the paper on line, had tea and granola, played a couple of games of solitaire.....my usual morning.
I take a Swiss lunch by the way. Two hours. Gives the food time to digest.
Then I tackled the master bath. Emptied the drawers, cleaned out the bottom, (the vanity's, not mine), remembered the bathroom door squeak wakes me up when Jackie hits the can in the middle of the night. Found some spray lubricant. Popped the hinges to get the spray inside. Checked the other doors, dusted the bedroom furniture, and decided it was time for a coffee.
It was now pushing 4. Luckily most of the work was done by then and all I had to do was mop up the laundry room, finish the master bath, do the half bath, vacuum....and I was getting tired.
At some point my favorite Illinois daughter called and invited us out to dinner. Good idea, because I don't think we had any thought of food.
So I finished the bathrooms and laundry room and managed to dust the dining room furniture.
The only thing left is cleaning the floors, which I will do tomorrow.
I like a clean house, but I don't like cleaning.
I also think I am getting the short end of the deal. If I am doing the cleaning that we paid someone to do, then shouldn't I get the money? I am doing the work, although it does take me a little longer than it should.
My argument fell on deaf ears. Which is funny, because I am the one hard of hearing.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
I think I see the problem
I miss Johnny, Andy, Carol, Lucy and other TV legends
I claim not to watch a lot of TV, but in reality, I do. And tonight I am wondering why.
Contrast the sexual references on I Love Lucy with the HIMYM, or Two and a Half Men, or even Big Bang Theory.
Ricky and Lucy slept in separate beds! Little Ricky was conceived asexually....they never touched each other in the bedroom! It was a funny show. Sex jokes are the main humor in my three favorite shows, but even I am getting tired of the Two and a Half Men routine. It's not funny any more. It's sad.
And remember when Andy investigated a crime in Mayberrry? Someone might have stolen a chicken, or maybe the town drunk (now referred to as the person with an alcohol dependency issue) put himself in the clink. Turn on a crime show today and you'll see at least one bloody, or even decapitated body, in the opening scenes. No wonder we are buying guns in record numbers.
I loved watching Alfred Hitchcock's shows, both the half hour and the hour ones, and I don't think I ever saw more than a trickle of blood on any of the victims. And he was the master of suspense. Watch Rear Window, or Vertigo and tell me you aren't on the edge of your seat. And guess what? No blood.
Of course I wouldn't take a shower or stay in a motel for months after seeing Psycho the first time. And no, my parents weren't permissive. I didn't watch it until I was in my 30s. I still get tingly when that squeeeee, squeeeeee, squeeeee music starts and the knife flashes.
But even that pales in comparison to what is on TV today.
Tonight I saw a commercial for a series based on the Salem witch trials, and thanks for debuting during a holy season. What better entertainment than watching a group of narrow minded ignoramuses determine if you are a witch or not by killing you!
Concerned about violence in the middle school group? Than the new drama on Lifetime should really hit a nerve. Based on the previews, it looks like a group of girls involved in a romantic triangle with each other kill one of the three and then cover up the crime. That should make junior high parents' imagination run wild.
And are there really maids that look like the ones on Devious Maids? If there were, I would have worked harder in life accumulating wealth just to have to one around.
My favorite Johnny Carson bit was the tomahawk throwing episode with Ed Ames. If you have never seen it, do a You Tube search and you can find it. Without making a comment, and he could have done several, he let the audience create their own humor and then he got the big laugh with a line not sexual at all. It was/is priceless.
I am no prude. If you have ever seen one of our Exit 99 adult shows, you know I can be a bit on the foul side.
But now it just seems too much.
A fart in church may make me giggle, but if everybody does it all the time, it's not funny.
It's disgusting
Much like many of today's shows.
I claim not to watch a lot of TV, but in reality, I do. And tonight I am wondering why.
Contrast the sexual references on I Love Lucy with the HIMYM, or Two and a Half Men, or even Big Bang Theory.
Ricky and Lucy slept in separate beds! Little Ricky was conceived asexually....they never touched each other in the bedroom! It was a funny show. Sex jokes are the main humor in my three favorite shows, but even I am getting tired of the Two and a Half Men routine. It's not funny any more. It's sad.
And remember when Andy investigated a crime in Mayberrry? Someone might have stolen a chicken, or maybe the town drunk (now referred to as the person with an alcohol dependency issue) put himself in the clink. Turn on a crime show today and you'll see at least one bloody, or even decapitated body, in the opening scenes. No wonder we are buying guns in record numbers.
I loved watching Alfred Hitchcock's shows, both the half hour and the hour ones, and I don't think I ever saw more than a trickle of blood on any of the victims. And he was the master of suspense. Watch Rear Window, or Vertigo and tell me you aren't on the edge of your seat. And guess what? No blood.
Of course I wouldn't take a shower or stay in a motel for months after seeing Psycho the first time. And no, my parents weren't permissive. I didn't watch it until I was in my 30s. I still get tingly when that squeeeee, squeeeeee, squeeeee music starts and the knife flashes.
But even that pales in comparison to what is on TV today.
Tonight I saw a commercial for a series based on the Salem witch trials, and thanks for debuting during a holy season. What better entertainment than watching a group of narrow minded ignoramuses determine if you are a witch or not by killing you!
Concerned about violence in the middle school group? Than the new drama on Lifetime should really hit a nerve. Based on the previews, it looks like a group of girls involved in a romantic triangle with each other kill one of the three and then cover up the crime. That should make junior high parents' imagination run wild.
And are there really maids that look like the ones on Devious Maids? If there were, I would have worked harder in life accumulating wealth just to have to one around.
My favorite Johnny Carson bit was the tomahawk throwing episode with Ed Ames. If you have never seen it, do a You Tube search and you can find it. Without making a comment, and he could have done several, he let the audience create their own humor and then he got the big laugh with a line not sexual at all. It was/is priceless.
I am no prude. If you have ever seen one of our Exit 99 adult shows, you know I can be a bit on the foul side.
But now it just seems too much.
A fart in church may make me giggle, but if everybody does it all the time, it's not funny.
It's disgusting
Much like many of today's shows.
oops....but with a good reason
We attended a wedding Saturday and I did not post
In the first place, I forgot my computer. We were in a hotel that had free wifi, and I could have used John's......but it's a password thing. I don't know what password I use for the blog account.
That's why I missed a post...the first one, but the way.
The wedding was nice. Watching a kid you have seen since day one of his life grow, find love, and marry is kind of an emotional thing. We changed his diapers! So it's hard to believe he is old enough to marry....and yet he has graduated college, gotten a good job, bought a nice house and found a wonderful girl.
Again proving the old truth that life passes too quickly.
At least at this wedding I didn't stand up and walk into the aisle before the bride and groom did. Jackie stared at me as I was standing in the aisle as Hank and Britta approached from behind. I calmly stretched, hitched up my pants and sat back down. I don't think anyone noticed.
We were married at St. Paul Episcopal Church in DeKalb. The church was fairly new and the concrete floors were, well concrete. We had a runner going down the middle aisle that seemed to unroll forever. I think they could have gone to Malta with it and still had room.
And when Jackie threw the bouquet, the guy with a broken leg, and no interest at all in marriage, pushed everyone out of the way and grabbed it. We have proof, in pictures.
We were young. And poor. Jackie chose a wedding march that seemed to go on forever. I remember standing up in the front, watching the back of the church and waiting and waiting and waiting for the music to end. It finally did, and we got hitched.
Jackie poked me yesterday at Steven and Rachel's wedding and said, "This one's as long as ours!"
Marriage is like an Illinois highway: There are smooth stretches, but there are also potholes, ruts, bumps and detours. It's all part of the journey a couple takes in life. And it is true, getting there is half the fun.
In the first place, I forgot my computer. We were in a hotel that had free wifi, and I could have used John's......but it's a password thing. I don't know what password I use for the blog account.
That's why I missed a post...the first one, but the way.
The wedding was nice. Watching a kid you have seen since day one of his life grow, find love, and marry is kind of an emotional thing. We changed his diapers! So it's hard to believe he is old enough to marry....and yet he has graduated college, gotten a good job, bought a nice house and found a wonderful girl.
Again proving the old truth that life passes too quickly.
At least at this wedding I didn't stand up and walk into the aisle before the bride and groom did. Jackie stared at me as I was standing in the aisle as Hank and Britta approached from behind. I calmly stretched, hitched up my pants and sat back down. I don't think anyone noticed.
We were married at St. Paul Episcopal Church in DeKalb. The church was fairly new and the concrete floors were, well concrete. We had a runner going down the middle aisle that seemed to unroll forever. I think they could have gone to Malta with it and still had room.
And when Jackie threw the bouquet, the guy with a broken leg, and no interest at all in marriage, pushed everyone out of the way and grabbed it. We have proof, in pictures.
We were young. And poor. Jackie chose a wedding march that seemed to go on forever. I remember standing up in the front, watching the back of the church and waiting and waiting and waiting for the music to end. It finally did, and we got hitched.
Jackie poked me yesterday at Steven and Rachel's wedding and said, "This one's as long as ours!"
Marriage is like an Illinois highway: There are smooth stretches, but there are also potholes, ruts, bumps and detours. It's all part of the journey a couple takes in life. And it is true, getting there is half the fun.
Friday, April 4, 2014
are all adages old?
I get confused on old adages
Is it March comes in like an lion and goes out like a lamb, or vice versa? March seemed to go out kind of lion like this year....but I don't remember how it came in.
Do I feed a cold and starve a fever, or starve a cold and feed a fever? This one is kind of important, because I have a cold. I have been eating like a hog gone crazy....anything that is sweet I have devoured. Now I need salt. Maybe I should have been going hungry because I don't have a fever. Should I be starving myself or feeding myself?? And why don't we have any pudding in the cupboard??
Why shouldn't people in glass houses throw stones? I would think people who live in glass houses should invest in good sets of blinds or curtains, because they don't want peepers passing by peering in. Maybe they can toss an occasional stone, or get stoned for all I care.
And the world is not getting smaller. It's still a long way to Tipperary and I don't know if that's in Ireland or not.
I spent the majority of the day sleeping. That means I won't be able to sleep tonight. The cold is still there, but it isn't as bad. I can breathe. Something tells me that wine and cough syrup are not a good combination.
I slept through much of the Cubs home opener...and apparently, so did he Cubs. I admit whenever I see Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Fergie Jenkins and Ryne Sandberg, I get the chills. Too bad Ronnie wasn't there with them, although I think everyone feels his spirit at the park.
And early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise is not all true. I go to bed late and get up late and look at me!
On second thought.......maybe that one is true.
Is it March comes in like an lion and goes out like a lamb, or vice versa? March seemed to go out kind of lion like this year....but I don't remember how it came in.
Do I feed a cold and starve a fever, or starve a cold and feed a fever? This one is kind of important, because I have a cold. I have been eating like a hog gone crazy....anything that is sweet I have devoured. Now I need salt. Maybe I should have been going hungry because I don't have a fever. Should I be starving myself or feeding myself?? And why don't we have any pudding in the cupboard??
Why shouldn't people in glass houses throw stones? I would think people who live in glass houses should invest in good sets of blinds or curtains, because they don't want peepers passing by peering in. Maybe they can toss an occasional stone, or get stoned for all I care.
And the world is not getting smaller. It's still a long way to Tipperary and I don't know if that's in Ireland or not.
I spent the majority of the day sleeping. That means I won't be able to sleep tonight. The cold is still there, but it isn't as bad. I can breathe. Something tells me that wine and cough syrup are not a good combination.
I slept through much of the Cubs home opener...and apparently, so did he Cubs. I admit whenever I see Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Fergie Jenkins and Ryne Sandberg, I get the chills. Too bad Ronnie wasn't there with them, although I think everyone feels his spirit at the park.
And early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and wise is not all true. I go to bed late and get up late and look at me!
On second thought.......maybe that one is true.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
The things my mother never knew
I almost died on vacation
I was a sophomore in high school. I flew up to Bangor, Maine, to visit my brother Dennis, who was in the Air Force. He was coming home on leave, and it seemed like a good time to go visit him.
Three of us went fishing, Dennis, me and a friend of Denny's whose name could have been Dave. He was married and had three kids and was also an airman stationed at the Bangor base.
Dave had a little flat bottom scow with a small motor on the back. We went to a man made lake and put the boat in the water. We fished for several hours and spent the last hour in a cove on the far, desolate side of the lake.
It was time to go, so Dave fired up the motor and headed out into the main body of water. That's when we noticed the sky. It was black. Very black. A stiff wind began to blow. A very stiff wind.
The waves grew in size until they breached the top of the scow. I remember clear as day Dave turning into one wave, then back into another, then stopping, taking off his glasses, killing the motor and saying, "Boys, we are going in."
The water quickly swirled around my feet and the boat went down. I had a life jacket on, but it was backwards and not tied. Dennis and Dave were wearing wet suits, which were quickly filling up with water, dragging them down.
I can remember looking up and seeing the bottom of the boat. Someone grabbed me and threw me onto the boat, which was bobbing upside down, buoyed by a trapped air pocket.
Then Dennis was dragging David up to the other side of the boat. We floated that way, me on one side, David across from me, Dennis on the stern, for lord knows how long. The shore was only about 100 feet away, but the wind was blowing us parallel to land. Dave could not swim, and Dennis said if I left, the boat would be unbalanced and would flip.
So I hung on.
It was cold. And wet. Eventually we reached shore. There were no houses, so we began tramping along the shore until we found a house. The man living there was surprised to see three soaking-covered -with-mud, shivering guys on his front step asking for a ride.
He gave us one, despite the fact he had just finished cleaning the white interior of his Mercedes. But he was a good guy and drove us back to the marina where we started.
The guy running the marina looked at us and said, "Flipped again, huh?"
I stayed in the marina while Dave and Dennis borrowed a boat and went to retrieve Dave's boat.
The weird part comes next.
Later that night I thanked Dennis for grabbing me and pulling me onto the boat.
He looked at me and said he didn't. He went after Dave, because he was married with three kids. He swore he never touched me.
I know there was only three of us there.
But somehow, I was tossed unto the boat. Tossed. With a force. Read what you want into that.
We never told Mom. We figured why worry her about something that already happened.
Dennis and I never really talked about it after that night either.
I just know I was one lucky guy.
Or maybe, blessed.
I was a sophomore in high school. I flew up to Bangor, Maine, to visit my brother Dennis, who was in the Air Force. He was coming home on leave, and it seemed like a good time to go visit him.
Three of us went fishing, Dennis, me and a friend of Denny's whose name could have been Dave. He was married and had three kids and was also an airman stationed at the Bangor base.
Dave had a little flat bottom scow with a small motor on the back. We went to a man made lake and put the boat in the water. We fished for several hours and spent the last hour in a cove on the far, desolate side of the lake.
It was time to go, so Dave fired up the motor and headed out into the main body of water. That's when we noticed the sky. It was black. Very black. A stiff wind began to blow. A very stiff wind.
The waves grew in size until they breached the top of the scow. I remember clear as day Dave turning into one wave, then back into another, then stopping, taking off his glasses, killing the motor and saying, "Boys, we are going in."
The water quickly swirled around my feet and the boat went down. I had a life jacket on, but it was backwards and not tied. Dennis and Dave were wearing wet suits, which were quickly filling up with water, dragging them down.
I can remember looking up and seeing the bottom of the boat. Someone grabbed me and threw me onto the boat, which was bobbing upside down, buoyed by a trapped air pocket.
Then Dennis was dragging David up to the other side of the boat. We floated that way, me on one side, David across from me, Dennis on the stern, for lord knows how long. The shore was only about 100 feet away, but the wind was blowing us parallel to land. Dave could not swim, and Dennis said if I left, the boat would be unbalanced and would flip.
So I hung on.
It was cold. And wet. Eventually we reached shore. There were no houses, so we began tramping along the shore until we found a house. The man living there was surprised to see three soaking-covered -with-mud, shivering guys on his front step asking for a ride.
He gave us one, despite the fact he had just finished cleaning the white interior of his Mercedes. But he was a good guy and drove us back to the marina where we started.
The guy running the marina looked at us and said, "Flipped again, huh?"
I stayed in the marina while Dave and Dennis borrowed a boat and went to retrieve Dave's boat.
The weird part comes next.
Later that night I thanked Dennis for grabbing me and pulling me onto the boat.
He looked at me and said he didn't. He went after Dave, because he was married with three kids. He swore he never touched me.
I know there was only three of us there.
But somehow, I was tossed unto the boat. Tossed. With a force. Read what you want into that.
We never told Mom. We figured why worry her about something that already happened.
Dennis and I never really talked about it after that night either.
I just know I was one lucky guy.
Or maybe, blessed.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Another milestone!!
This blog has over 4,000 views!!
Wow! I never expected that many people to read it. I also never expected to be in the first week of April and still finding things to write about.
Well, usually. But tonight isn't one of those days. My mind is kind of foggy, my thoughts are not very clear. I think I even had a hallucination that the Cubs scored some runs and actually came back to tie a game.
I spent some time today cutting out pictures for the zoo......mind numbing work that I seemed to handle very well. The pictures are used when kids do craft projects.
Other than that, I did not do anything or even think.
Another hallucination. Rizzo hit a home run for a Cubs lead. That can't be true. Must be the cough syrup.
Anyway, thank you all for reading and commenting on the posts.
Now I'm going to have some tea with honey and go to bed.
Wow! I never expected that many people to read it. I also never expected to be in the first week of April and still finding things to write about.
Well, usually. But tonight isn't one of those days. My mind is kind of foggy, my thoughts are not very clear. I think I even had a hallucination that the Cubs scored some runs and actually came back to tie a game.
I spent some time today cutting out pictures for the zoo......mind numbing work that I seemed to handle very well. The pictures are used when kids do craft projects.
Other than that, I did not do anything or even think.
Another hallucination. Rizzo hit a home run for a Cubs lead. That can't be true. Must be the cough syrup.
Anyway, thank you all for reading and commenting on the posts.
Now I'm going to have some tea with honey and go to bed.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
where is the Puffs tissue?
I am a baby when I am sick
First, I have to point out it is April 1. That means I have gone the entire winter without being sick. No cough. No sniffles. No sneezing. No sore throat.
I even went walking outside on Monday because it was warm. It was a little windy, but it was warm. (I did see a house fly past and watched it land on a little green witch. Oh wait!!! I am hallucinating!!! That is the next VCCT show in the summer.)
When I got home I was hot, then cold; hot , then cold. Even the lentil soup I had for supper didn't hit the spot. (Come to think of it, it was lentil soup with beans and probably would never hit the spot.)
When I woke up Tuesday I was tired. My throat was scratchy. I was coughing.
I have a cold.
I don't like it when I have a cold. Julia has these great tissues in Switzerland. They have menthol in them so when you blow your nose it is soothing. I am going through those like water.
I have made tea with honey. I have had lots of liquids. I decided on a grape product tonight and it proved quite tasty washing down my spinach pizza. (Do you see a trend here? Lentil Soup?? Spinach pizza? I am sick, I tell you.)
Tonight I will lather on some Vick's Vapo Rub to keep my sinus packages open and productive. (Word of caution. If you must use a Vaseline type ointment on your derriere in the middle of the night, turn on the light. The Vick's jar, with it's soothing Mentholatum ingredient, is quite similar in size to the Vaseline jar. Different use, folks. Different use.)
I have had some cough syrup. OK, it expired in November, but it should still have some potency. So maybe I should double the dose.
My head hurts. I have a headache every time I cough. I won't take any Tylenol, but I will take some ibuprofen. (Generic from Walgreen Drugs, of which I am a stockholder and hear-by publicly commend them for continuing to sell cigarettes because that creates profits. Have you seen how much a pack of smokes cost? Yikes. And people still smoke.......)
And tomorrow, instead of cleaning house, I think I am going to make some tea with lemon, snuggle up in a sleeping bag downstairs, and watch tv all day. I am sick.
But please, don't send flowers, or candy, or young, beautiful (but of legal age) scantily clad nursing students who will insist my temperature and pulse must be taken regularly.
Holy crap, I must be sick!
First, I have to point out it is April 1. That means I have gone the entire winter without being sick. No cough. No sniffles. No sneezing. No sore throat.
I even went walking outside on Monday because it was warm. It was a little windy, but it was warm. (I did see a house fly past and watched it land on a little green witch. Oh wait!!! I am hallucinating!!! That is the next VCCT show in the summer.)
When I got home I was hot, then cold; hot , then cold. Even the lentil soup I had for supper didn't hit the spot. (Come to think of it, it was lentil soup with beans and probably would never hit the spot.)
When I woke up Tuesday I was tired. My throat was scratchy. I was coughing.
I have a cold.
I don't like it when I have a cold. Julia has these great tissues in Switzerland. They have menthol in them so when you blow your nose it is soothing. I am going through those like water.
I have made tea with honey. I have had lots of liquids. I decided on a grape product tonight and it proved quite tasty washing down my spinach pizza. (Do you see a trend here? Lentil Soup?? Spinach pizza? I am sick, I tell you.)
Tonight I will lather on some Vick's Vapo Rub to keep my sinus packages open and productive. (Word of caution. If you must use a Vaseline type ointment on your derriere in the middle of the night, turn on the light. The Vick's jar, with it's soothing Mentholatum ingredient, is quite similar in size to the Vaseline jar. Different use, folks. Different use.)
I have had some cough syrup. OK, it expired in November, but it should still have some potency. So maybe I should double the dose.
My head hurts. I have a headache every time I cough. I won't take any Tylenol, but I will take some ibuprofen. (Generic from Walgreen Drugs, of which I am a stockholder and hear-by publicly commend them for continuing to sell cigarettes because that creates profits. Have you seen how much a pack of smokes cost? Yikes. And people still smoke.......)
And tomorrow, instead of cleaning house, I think I am going to make some tea with lemon, snuggle up in a sleeping bag downstairs, and watch tv all day. I am sick.
But please, don't send flowers, or candy, or young, beautiful (but of legal age) scantily clad nursing students who will insist my temperature and pulse must be taken regularly.
Holy crap, I must be sick!
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