What is the reasoning on this?

I am frustrated by the spell checking function on computers

     Don't get me wrong.  I use it.  I just don't always understand it.
     For example:  Yesterday in the blog I typed the word electrician.  Only I spelled it eletircian.  Now these were the options offered by the spell check function:  optician, Aleutian, politician, Elysian, elision.   Seriously, do any of those even look like electrician?
     Another time I meant to spell brought.  Instead I spelled brough.  I got as suggestions borough, bro/ugh (seriously the slash was theirs) brought, Abrew and Aubree.  Aubree?  What the hell!
    I typed their as thier.  And their was the first option, but second was Thieu and Thor was third.
(It was the last night of a Roman orgy involving all the gods and several young women.  In the middle of the night, one of the girls got up to use the bathroom and stepped on a sleeping god.  ""Damn you woman!  Can't you see I was sleeping.  I am Thor!" thundered the Roman god.  The girl looked and him and hissed, "You're Thor?  I'm tho Thor I can hardly pith.")
   And when I forgot the e in were, typing wer, I got several alternatives including, wear, wee, weer, weir and we.  Aw was given as a correct spelling for was when I missed the s.
     If you are still reading this, you probably are saying:  "Terry is a terrible speller."  But not true.  I am a terrible typist.  And yes, I failed typing in high school.  Back then you had the old manuals and correcting was not possible.  I had to type 40 words a minute with 5 or less mistakes.  The best I could do was 42 words a minute, but with six mistakes.  The teacher was very apologetic when she told me I was flunking, but I really did not care because I could type.  For someone who was going to win a Pulitzer prize for writing, that was important.
     But I digress.
     Another problem with spell check is it only hits the obvious.  Take this sentence:  Your about two read a sentence witch maid no cents.  Not one spelling mistake.  Huh.

Let the battle begin

I can't seem to find the right temperature

     I swear, I am going to wear out our thermostat.
     I am wearing shorts and a sweatshirt.  A heavy sweatshirt.  The house is set at 75 and I am freezing.  If it was set at 75 in the winter, I would be sweating.
     So tell me:  Why is it comfy at night at 63 degrees in the winter, but way too cold at 70 in the summer?
    Our thermostat should be named Otis......like the elevator, because it goes up an down so much.
     We have not found our comfort temp.  71 is too cold, 72 is too cold, 73 is too cold, 74 is too cold, 75 is to...hot!  Holy crap!  I must be having hot flashes!!
     The house stays nice until about 8....then it gets colder than a witch's behind on Halloween.  ( I did clean up the expression, just so you know.)  And we have not touched the thermostat.  The sun must really heat us up in the afternoon.  When it starts getting less sun, we cool down noticeably.
     We need a smart thermostat...one that reads our minds.  It should change at 6 a.m., 8 p.m., and again at 11 p.m......or maybe even sometime during the morning.
     And maybe it can brew a cup of tea and start the washing machine.
    One of the first tradesmen we met in Rochelle was an electrician named Turk...you may remember him.  He told us to set the thermostat where you are comfortable, don't worry about numbers because they are not that accurate.
     Problem is, I can't find that comfort zone.
     In the winter, I like sleeping in a cold room.  In the summer, I don't.  I can't explain it, no matter how many times someone points out my seasonal inconsistencies.
     In the summer, I like sleeping under a sheet.  In the winter, I like sleeping under a polar bear.  The heavier the blanket, the better.
     (Notice, please, I did not turn this into a frat boy rant about sleeping under a Scandinavian super model named Helga Cavorestacken, who has a weakness for pot bellied out of shape old guys.)
      Is it wrong to go outside to warm up?
     Maybe I will go out tonight and sleep on the porch.  No, it's not the temps.  Our bushes arrived today and I don't want anyone to steal them.  (As highly improbable as that is, a pick up truck did stop in front of the house about 15 minutes ago and just sat there with its lights on.  When I looked out, they left.  Coincidence??)
      It's going to be a long night.

I was going for the sweep....

I had a push broom in my car  three days

     I had intended to sweep Emily's garage floor, so I put the broom in my Honda.  That was Monday.  I took it out today, because I have a zoo day tomorrow.
     I just thought it might look funny to have a push broom in my Civic.  The broom is kind of big, and my Honda is kind of small.
     But there is another issue going on here.  Why do I take such lousy care of my cars?
     I have had the Honda since November and have not washed it or vacuumed it yet.  I should have waxed it, but I have not.  Tonight I pulled out napkins, notes, receipts, an empty coffee cup....and the broom.
     I opened the trunk and took out the mower gas container carrier.  Ever since the unfortunate 2 gallon spill in my last Honda, I have carried the gas can in a Tupperware container.  I don't want to make the same mistake as last year, which ended up in a new car.
     I went to DeKalb today and could not see out the windshield.  There was a film on the inside, and the outside must have a bug magnet.  I cleaned it....maybe for the first time.  Hopefully tomorrow the glare won't be bad and I'll see the road better.
     I left the shoe (I am sure there are two, but I only saw one), shorts, bike helmet, water bottle, and six pens that seem to have accumulated.
     I know I am bitchy....but I don't understand how I can have messes like that!  My car, the garage, my basement storage area, computer desk...all look like some kind of paper/dust monster regurgitated on it, or in it, and walked away.
     This weekend I have a a goal:  vacuum my Honda.  It's not a big goal, but it's a start.
     Understand I clean bathrooms every week and they are spotless.  I dust regularly, clean the floors several times a week, keep the kitchen fairly neat.....but other areas just get ignored.
     Like the car.
     I need to show that baby a little love.

I'm leaving on a jet plane...I wish

I get jealous when people go places

     I have done a lot of traveling, but it is not enough.  If I could, I would leave tomorrow and visit places I have only dreamed of.
     And I can do that, time wise.  Money is a little iffy, but I have plenty of time.
     When I hear of people going places, I get a little envious and ask myself, "Why can't I go there?"
     Julia has a friend that stays at a resort near the Philippines.  It looks totally awesome from the pictures he posts.  Clear lagoons, nifty houses, sandy beaches.  Every time I see a picture, I want to go there.
     When friends talk about Las Vegas, I have a desire to just get on a plane and go.  I have never been there, and it sounds amazing.
     It happens all the time.  I see a picture of downtown Havana, Cuba, and I look for a trip through an approved agency.
     Floating down a river in Europe?  I go to a cruise line web site and sign up for e mails.
     I dream of going to the Price of Wales hotel in Canada.  I want to have the $40 high tea in the grand hall.
     Wanderlust.  I am filled with it.  I was born with it.  I have tried to control it, but it is no use. I get consumed with traveling.  Costa Rica, the Bahamas, upstate New York, Yosemite National Park, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Alamo, WW I battle fields, underground tours in Berlin......
     My mind races with the places I would love to go.
     But unless I win the lottery, I don't think all those plans will come true.
     At the same time, I have been to Europe a lot.  Most people go once in their lifetime.  I go once a year.
     I have had more opportunity to travel than I ever dreamed of....and yet, I still have a yearning for more.
     I guess I should have been a travel writer or photographer.  Maybe I could have made a living doing what I love.
     Maybe there is a tv show in the making called "Old People Travel the World" and I could be the host.
     Jackie is quite content to stay close to home.  She enjoys the visits to Julia.  She enjoyed them much more 10 years ago when mobility was not such an issue.
     Such is life.  I'll continue buying lottery tickets.  And I'll continue dreaming.  Someday, I may actually win....and I'll be prepared.

I really think it's funny.....

I have a new favorite author

     And Molly, if you read this, sorry but it's not you.  I mean, you are a favorite author, but I am not into romance books..... But Jackie does read your books.
     Anyway, I go through stages.  William McCall Smith and the Number One Ladies Detective Agency was on my must read list a couple of years ago.  Donna Leon, who does a series of mysteries set in Venice, is another on my favorites list.   She is an American by birth, but has lived in Venice for ages.  She has done maybe 20 books in the Venice setting.  Carl Hiaasen. a columnist for maybe the Miami Herald.  He writes mystery novels with very bizarre plots and characters.  One eyed former Florida governors who are now environmental extremists, for example.    He became my favorite one summer when he had a villain who lost an arm and replaced it with a battery operated weed-whacker.
    Understand, I still like them.  I read their new works, and in the case of Donna Leon, I plan to start with her first book in the series and read them in order.  I can watch characters grow and develop in a way that I can't by reading books out of order.
     Which brings me to Christopher Moore.
     I read a book by him called "Sacre Bleu" and was hooked.  Amazing plot line, great characters, a lot of history, and plenty of humor.  It was based on the premise that Van Gogh was murdered.  The descriptions of Paris made me want to go back there with the book and see the areas he wrote about.  Next I read "Bite Me" and hated it.  But I gave him a second chance and read "Fool."  I laughed so hard at the bawdiness, I decided to gift the girls with Christopher Moore books for Christmas.  They were not impressed.
     Anyway, today I picked up "The Serpent of Venice."   It was just published, and the local library had a copy....and I don't think anyone else has checked it out.  Strangely enough, Carl Hiaasen has a quip on the cover:  "Shakespeare and Poe might be rolling in their graves, but they're rolling with laughter.  Moore is one of the cleverest, naughtiest writers alive."
     Bear in mind, this is not children's literature.  One of his favorite words only has 4 letters and rhymes with luck, and his characters are always committing various acts of debauchery.  But he is funny.
     And informative.  Before Fool, I never new what a codpiece was.  Now I do.
    This book has two characters with similar names.  Salanio, described as a young friend of Antonio; and Salarino, "also a young friend , interchangeable with Salanio, may have been born of a typo."
     Freewheeling, funny and a little irreverent.
     Just what I need to while away an afternoon or two on the porch.

I can see clearly now....

I might have been an aloof snob in high school

     At graduation from high school, I actually met people I had never seen before. There were a lot of kids in the class, but you would think I would have at least seen some of these people.
     One girl, I think her name was Daryl, actually opened her blouse and asked me if I thought she had a hickey.
    Two thoughts ran through my mind:  What the hell is a hickey?  A girl opened her blouse for me!
    She was tall and good looking, so you would have thought I would have seen her someplace around school.  It marked the first time I had seen a hickey and a bra...and it was almost the last day of high school.
     I spent most of my high school days going to class and seldom talking to anyone. I was shy.  I was quiet.  If I knew you, that was a different story....and it still is.  In a crowd, I become a fly on the wall, hardly making anyone notice me.
    But in high school I had a different problem.  Up until sometime during my senior year, I never wore glasses.  As a matter of fact, I never remember going to an eye doctor.  Sometime between senior pictures and graduation, I got glasses.
     I don't think I recognized people in the hall.  My close friends I could spot a mile away, but people who I was in class with?  They were blurs.
    Then the glasses came and I could recognize people.  I knew most of their names.  But it was too little, too late.  We were almost done with high school and the time for bonding was past.
     At least that is my story and as far as I can see, it is the truth.
   
   
   

Crazy is as crazy does

I may have been a pain in the (cl)ass

     This is a follow up to yesterday's stroll down memory lane.  Specifically those golden high school days.
     Miss L.  one day moved me to the back of the room.  She thought this would discourage my talking to the people around me.  It did not.
     "Who are you talking to?" she asked me one day.
     Not wanting to get Connie or anyone else in trouble, I said, "No one, Miss L."
     She looked at me and said, "Well, you looked like you were talking, so one of us must be crazy."
      "Don't look at me!" I replied.  I thought it was an incredibly clever retort.
      We had a fire drill.  Our class was on the second floor and she had a hard time negotiating stairs.  So she appointed a line leader to take us out of the building and then return.
       Once we got outside someone suggested we relocate eastward on Irving, past the school and out of danger.  It was like someone let the monkeys free at the zoo.  We walked all the way to Southport, about two blocks.  Then we turned north and walked one block, then headed back to school.  We were gone almost the entire period.
     We walked back into the school, up into class and sat down just as the bell was ringing to end the period.  She never once questioned why we were gone almost 40 minutes.  No other teacher or administrator missed us, and those who saw us come back into the building never questioned why we were out 30 minutes longer than the rest of the student body.
     Long about mid-May, John reminded me that I had a paper to do and I still had not bought the mandatory workbook to go with the outdated books.
     So I bought the workbook and spent the next few weeks filling in the answer blanks.  Notice, I did not say answering the questions.  I did do that on the first couple of pages, but then I just wrote stuff.
    I also had a paper due on the Mississippi River, it's importance to the US for transportation, economics and development.
    In those days we did not have computers, so it was hand written.
    My first page went something like this:  The Mississippi River winds through the heartland of the United States.  It is 2,226 miles in length from it's beginning in Minnesota to its end in the Gulf of Mexico.  The river has many large communities, St. Louis, Minneapolis, New Orleans, that depend on the river for transportation and jobs.
    The river also supports much wildlife.  There are ducks that live on the river.  The ducks go quack.  Sometimes they go quack, quack.  Often you will hear quack, quack, quack.  The ducks love the river.  The ducks are fun to watch.  They go quack.
    I filled three fourths of a page up with crap about the ducks going quack.
    And being the daring person I was, I copied page one for 3, 5, 7, 9, 11 and 13.  Same language.  Same garbage.  I threw in a map, a couple of pictures, ended up with a 20 page paper.  I got an A.
     I knew she would only read the first paragraph, which was as factual as I could be without doing any work what so ever.  Then I knew she would look at the pictures and count the pages.  I don't remember what I put on the even pages....it is possible I actually found out some information and sandwiched it in among the tripe.
     I saved that paper, but somehow in the last 50 years it got misplaced.  A shame really, because it is hard to believe there could be a teacher as terrible as she was.  Or a student as uncaring as I was.
    Oh yes, I know what you are thinking.  I should have taken the high road and done it correctly.  I should have produced work that I was proud of.
    Yeah, you are right.
    And so you know, there were 700 kids in my graduating class. (John will correct me, I am probably way off...I don't always remember numbers well.)
    And I made the upper half of class by 5 kids........  Sure I was 345 in my class, but hey, it was the upper half!
   

 

   

And now what???

I was once a high school graduate

     I graduated from Lake View High School in Chicago.  It could be the oldest high school in the state, it was built in 1886.  My mother and her sisters and brothers, my two brothers, my cousins....all of us went to Lake View.
     It was not easy.   I had to walk to school every day.  And walking that half block in the rain and snow was sometimes difficult.
     I also had some of the worst teachers in education.  Ever.
     Mrs. L taught geography.   It was a course college bound seniors took  mainly to boost GPA the last year.
     She used geography books from 1948.....I swear!  There was one set of books.  When a class was over, you left the book on the desk for the next class.
     There was also a workbook that we had to complete, plus a term paper, and I think some regular assignments.
     I was not a good student, but then again, she was not a good teacher.
     She only had two dresses.  She was about 90 years old and a candidate for weight induced diabetes.  She waddled.  And every day, at the beginning of class, she would send Miss Vicky down to the cafeteria for a piece of cake, generally yellow cake with white frosting.  Then she would eat it in front of the class, sometimes getting frosting on various parts of her dress, or face.
     When she was absent, we speculated it was to wash her dresses.
     This was a year long class and over Christmas break, custodians refinished the desk tops:  Sanded, varnished, cleaned off all the dirty words.
     One day after  break, we were working and she actually got up and waddled around the room.  As she waddled, she got visibly mad, then madder, then fuming.
     Obviously and openly upset, she sat down with her arms folded and tried to bore through us with her x ray vision piggy eyes.
      Miss Vicky was the one who asked.
      "Miss L., what is wrong?  You look mad."
      The teacher continued to stare, then answered.  "I don't think you are being nice.  I don't like that you have to advertise that I have a piece of cake in class.  It's not nice to tell everyone I have cake."
       We were confused.  We had no idea what she was talking about and became convinced she had finally flipped.
     Miss Vicky asked again, "Miss L., what do you mean?"
      Still fuming, Miss L. answered, "Just because I have cake doesn't mean you have to advertise it.  These desks were cleaned over vacation and now several of you have written 'L eats it' on them and I don't think you have to tell everyone I have cake."
      We did not know how to respond.  Some of us laughed, some were stunned she did not know the x-rated meaning behind the message.
     I know she did not like me.  And to be fair, I was a bit of a behavior issue.
     One day we were reading about the ancient Greek cultures when she looked at me and said, "You, Terry, what's a Greek urn."
      I turned to Connie, who had a last name so long it sounded like a bazooka going off when you said it.  Connie happened to be Greek.  Everyone knew that.
     "Hey, Connie, " I said, not too quietly, "How much does your dad make every week?  Miss L. is asking me, and I have no idea."
     That was the day I learned that straws sometimes break camels backs.  Even heavy set camels.
     Tomorrow...the rest of the story.


   

Are the stars out tonight, I don't know if it's cloudy or bright

I will once again attempt to experience nature's phenomena

     I know there is a meteor shower tonight.  I know the best viewing is between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m.  I know someone is coming tomorrow at 7 a.m. to spray for weeds.  I know that.  But I will still try to stay awake long enough to see the incredibly difficult to pronounce meteor showers.
     Nothing good ever comes of this.
     Blood red moon eclipse?  Clouds at the last second.
     Perseid meteor showers?  Rain.
     You name an astronomical event in the past 5 years and I have either missed it because I fell asleep or it was crappy weather.
     But tonight is going to be good.  Had some high octane coffee on the way home from the zoo, to start with.  Although I have to admit I am a little tired now.  And frustrated, after listening to San Diego build a 7-0 lead in the third inning.  The caffeine has not worn off, just taken a break from causing me to lay (lie?) awake in bed until who knows what time in the morning.  However, I seem to have become sullen and morose in the past hour, which could be the lull before the storm.
     And the weather is perfect.  No clouds.  Not a bright moon.  Great for viewing shooting stars.
     I even have grass to lay (lie?) down on and stare upwards.  If I do that in the front yard, I run the risk of being seen by neighbors, who may think the old guy on the block has either collapsed after yard work or drunk himself into a stupor.  Star gazing may not be a consideration.  Funny, how I think the first two would be possibilities thought by my neighbors.
     If I lie (lay) in the back yard, I run the risk of becoming food for ravaging coyotes who will feast on my body because I fell asleep despite the high octane beverage.  Or I may be mistaken as a shy doe by some raving buck who has all the antlers but none of the questions.
     In either case, I will try.
     I happen to notice that 5,974 page views have been registered....so one of you could be the 6,000 person to read (read?) this blog.
     Congratulations on your intelligence!!
   

Where in the hell are my......

I often can't find things

     Glasses.  Keys. Wallet. Pencil.  At some point during the day, I will lose them.
     This morning, for example, I lost my glasses.  I generally take them off to read.  So I looked in all the reading places:  next to the bed, breakfast spot, bathroom.  I also take them off when I work on the computer.  Looked there, but nothing.
   I looked at Jackie and said, "Have you seen my glasses?"
   Her reply, "No, I can't help you on that one."
    As I went back to recheck all the places, I realized, I had them on!!!  On my nose.  Over my ears.  Covering my eyes.  They were in plain sight and neither one of us could find them.
     So here is a little quiz.   Read the statement.  Then decide if it is me or Jackie who said it.

1.     Have you seen my keys?
2.     I dropped my pills.
3.     What's for dinner?
4.     What did you do with all the money you took out last week?
5.     Why is the light on in the closet?
6.     Where is that thing  I left over there?
7.     What time does Emily work?
8.      I dropped some crackers.
9.     Where is my lens cap...I thought I left it on the counter.
10.    What do you mean it doesn't work?

     OK, me is: 1, 3, 5, 9
     Jackie is:  2, 4, 6, 8, 10

     Both of us:  7

     If you got 8 right, you might as well move in with us because you know us like family!
     If you only got three right, we'd love to have you come over and spend a day with us, maybe do a little yard work or window washing.
     And if you thought I was totally odd, then I guess you know us better than most.


   

I hear that train a comin', a comin' down the line

I love riding trains

     One of the reasons I love visiting France and Switzerland is the amazing rail networks in those countries.  Other European countries also have great rail, but the ones I am most familiar with are in France and Switzerland.
     Service is fast.  I was on a Spanish train last year that hit about 140 mph.  Yet the ride was smooth, the coach roomy, the food service good, and the overall experience excellent.
     If I took Amtrak from Chicago to Washington DC, it would take 23 hours.  I could drive it in 10, according to Google maps.
     Let's put our train travel in perspective with France's.  To go from Paris to Geneva, about half the distance of Chicago to Washington, takes 3 hours and 5 minutes.
     Of course there can be problems.
     My friend Dan and I were on a train from Geneva to the south of France.  We had a connection to make for our next train.  When we ground to a halt after leaving a station, I started to worry.  We waited.  We waited.  People were getting off the train and wandering the tracks.
     So I got off the train to see what was going on.  In the car ahead of us, two feet stuck out of the door.  They were not moving.  "Morte," hissed a woman behind me.  That means dead. And when someone dies on a French train, it does not move until a complete investigation is made.  That can take hours.
     While Dan and I discussed the situation, it was more out of concern for missing our connection than for the loss of a total stranger.
    And in fact we did miss our connection.
     But the ever accommodating French found a taxi for the six of us who missed the train and drove us to the next destination.  It was a wild ride.  The driver spoke a little English and the info I got was the cab was on its last legs and he hoped it would make it.
     When Sheri, Jackie and I were coming back from Milan, we almost missed our connection in Switzerland.  Jackie does not move real fast....and we only had a few minutes to cross the tracks and board the next train.
     In Switzerland, the conductor blows a whistle and that means get on board or get left behind.
     So I went ahead and got half on the train and half on the platform.  Conductors kept blowing that whistle, but I wasn't moving.  Finally Sheri and Jackie came into view and everyone realized why our progress was so slow.
      I don't know for sure, but I think most of the freight service in Europe runs at night.  I very seldom see a freight train over there.  There are few grade level crossings.....running trains at 100 mph and above means you don't let automobiles on the tracks...ever!
     And someday I would like to take the train west.....getting off in a couple of towns along the way and exploring.   Jackie and I would then fly home, because it would be way to much time on a train to take it round trip.

   

I cast my fate to the wind today

I have a hard problem making decisions

     I always have.  I try to measure each action, or outcome, and mentally balance it against the costs.
    And trust me, everything has a cost.
     The trick is weighing the merits of every decision, looking at what is best today and what is best in the long run and what will not irritate She Who Must Be Obeyed.
     Tomorrow, Wednesday, is one of those days.
     I love the Sound of Music.  The Lyric Opera is presenting the Sound of Music at a Wednesday matinee......for less than $30.  But it is only through this week.    I can take the train, catch the 1:30 show, be home by 7 and spend less than $50 to do all that.
     Or, I could go watch the Cubs.  Discover Card holders can buy upper deck box seats for $19.99 this week.  For less than $40, I can go watch the last Wrigley Field appearance of Derek Jeter and perhaps see a four game winning streak.
     What to do, what to do.
      Then fate intervened.
     The dirt I ordered for the garden was delivered. Now I have to move it from the driveway to the raised garden and plant the raised garden.  It should take me half a day to do that.  (Oh who am I kidding, it is a two day project with plenty of breaks!)
     So maybe tomorrow morning I work in the garden, take my bike into town after lunch, get a haircut, ride the bike path, relax with a coffee at Cypress House (About 3 p.m. Pat, if you are free.) then go home and take a shower.
      Now that I read that, it is a little depressing.
      Jeter?  Maria?  Garden dirt?
     I tell ya, I just can't decide.
     Maybe a good night's sleep will help....or maybe it will be rainy tomorrow....or maybe a friend will call and say they have game tickets....or maybe ........
     The hills are alive........
     Go Cubs Go!  Go Cubs Go!  Hey Chicago what  do you say, the Cubs are gonna win today....
     Maybe fate will intervene again.
   
   

For the lack of a nail, a kingdom was lost

I often miss the obvious

     For the past several days, and nights, I have been checking water throughout the house.
     My well seems to be pumping about every 35 minutes.  (Yes, while playing solitaire on the computer I can hear the well kick on and I write down the time.  Anal?  Quite possibly.)
      I was confused.  The pump kicks on when we use enough water to have to draw from the well. If no water is running, we should not be drawing from the well.  Simple?  I think so.
      Or thought so.  I checked the bathrooms.  I checked the basement.  Walked around outside.  Nothing was running, leaking, dripping, or whatever.  Nothing.  All faucets off.  All toilets quiet.
     It could be the water filter is running, but no sound was coming from it.
     So I just figured it was a quirk of the house....maybe the well pump is extra sensitive.  Maybe the water filter or the ice maker is really running and I can't hear it, because my hearing is getting lousy.
     You can imagine my surprise today when I got the mower stuck in mud on the east side of the house.
     Mud.  Oozing, gushy, squeezey mud right below where the hose attaches to the outside hydrant.  Evidently that hydrant was not off entirely.  There was a little dripping...enough to set the pump off every 35 minutes or so.
     And enough to create a quagmire.  A swamp.  A mess.
     I didn't notice it at first, it just looked wet, but when my mower started to go backward when I was going up the little slope, I thought something was wrong.
     Then it got stuck.  The mower deck was set at three inches, and got buried in the mud on one side.  The big back tires were buried about one fourth of the way.  It would not go forward.  It would not go backward.  I was stuck.
     I got Jackie outside, grabbed some cardboard, some straw, my wife and went to the mower.
     Now getting Jackie on a mower is no easy task.  One leg doesn't work right, balance is an issue, her shoes were getting muddy, and she got on backwards.
     Eventually she got in the seat, facing front.  I put the straw and cardboard under the rear wheel and we started the mower.
    With her steering and me push/pulling, the machine edged slowly out of the muck.  She drove back to the driveway and I helped her off.
     Then I finished mowing and washed off the tractor.
     But now there is a huge rut or two next to the house.  There are some footprints in the muck and I am not exactly sure how to repair the damage.
     But I played solitaire for an hour....and didn't hear the well pump once.
     I should have known there was a dripping faucet.  I should have checked the outside hydrants more carefully.  I should have avoided the wet area.
    In other words, I missed all the obvious clues.
    But, no more running water on the hose connection.
    I guess every disaster has a silver lining.

Forbidden fruits just taste better

I was part of a watermelon stealing gang

     Now part of this story may be corrected by certain family members.....my cousin Sally has a better, more vivid memory of this than I do.  She reminded me of this just the other day.
      Our  Aunt Kay and Uncle Jim had a cottage on Dewey Lake, near the city of Dowagiac, in Michigan.  I should say cottages, because there were two of them.
     These were summer cabins.  Kay and Jim stayed in one, my family stayed in the other.
     The cottages could have been rented out, but my memory tells me Jim very seldom let non family members stay, and sometimes did not even let family members use the cottage.
     The cabins were simple.  Front porch sleeping room, living room, bedroom, kitchen,  back porch and bathroom.  Sort of.  There was a sink and a toilet.  No tub, no shower.  We were expected to cross the road and take a bath in the lake....using Ivory soap because it floated.
       I remember a sign Uncle Jim had put in the bathroom:  If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down.  That always cracked me up.
     The lake was a highpoint of my life from early childhood to my teen years.  I think the last time I stayed in the cottages  I was about 15.  Frequently cousins or friends joined us.  That was usually fun, but sometimes we would fight.  Cousin Jodi buried my tin soldiers somewhere near the hill behind the cottages and I never did find them.  Cousin Sally would fight me over my collection of comic books, actually wanting to read them.  My brothers would torment me with scary stories about snakes, spiders and monsters that lived under the porch.  These were the best times of my youth.
     A little past our cabin was a road that lead to Cable Lake.  We sometimes would wander up that way.  We had to pass the home of the lady I was convinced was a witch, even though I never really knew her.
     One day as we were trooping up to the lake, Carl, Dennis, Rob, Sally, me, we passed the witch's garden and noticed the watermelons were about ripe.  I was eight or nine at the time.  We took one.  We did not want to take it all the way to Cable Lake, so I went back to the cottage with the melon.
     Now Sally may have been with me, we are younger than the rest.  And maybe Sally wasn't with me, I honestly don't remember.
     I do remember getting caught with the stolen watermelon.  Sally says my mother looked at it, I imagine with disappointment about our sinful shortcomings, and told me I had to take it back.  But she did it in the way many parents do, making me feel like I was making the choice to take it back, therefore earning redemption and avoiding hell.
    "Well, if you think that stolen watermelon is going to taste so good and so sweet, then go ahead and eat it." seems to have been directed my way.
     So I did what any self respecting boy would do.  I ate the watermelon.  The whole thing.  And it was one of the sweetest, juiciest watermelons I have ever tasted.
     Of course that registered disappointment with my mother, anger with the gang because I ate the whole thing, embarrassment at being so weak and a major stomach ache.
      According to Sally, after my mother found my bloated body behind the cottage, slightly damp from eating a watermelon by hand, we were made to go to the witch's house and apologize.
     I really don't remember going, but I do remember going.  That probably doesn't make sense.
     But I have a distant memory of slowly walking to the door, knocking and confessing to the crime.
     I also have a dim memory of a very sweet, understanding woman who didn't cast a spell on me, or turn us into toads.  A woman who seemed to understand that watermelons act like a magnet for young kids with a taste for something sweet.
     A forbidden fruit, for sure.


   

Perchance to dream...

I love lobster!

     I had lobster tonight for the first time in a year.  Fresh bread, pasta salad, pinot grigio and that crusty crustacean made for a great meal.
     I only had one problem.  I could not find my lobster eating kit!  It has a couple of claw crackers, some long pokers for getting the meat out; tiny forks.....  When you make two moves, sometimes things disappear.  I know I had them last year for lobsters and I put the kit someplace where I would find it this year.
     Obviously, that did not work.
    But the lobsters were tasty.
     I go to church at St Paul, the Episcopal Church in DeKalb.  We have been selling lobsters since 1969!  Live pickup at 4, cooked pickups at 5, 6, 7 p.m.
     the number was down a little this year, but it is a great event. Most of the money goes back to community groups, the parishioners have fun, and people get a cooked lobster to dine on that night.
     I saw a lot of Rochelle people come through the line.....so thank you very much.  Hopefully next year I will have my claw crackers out and ready to go.
     One man even took some time to explain how to tell male lobsters from female ones.  After his explanation, we looked at several and could not tell the difference.
      But that's ok....it's not important for us and I am pretty sure the lobsters know!

I think that I shall never see....

I love trees

     We have a new house.  We have one tree in the front yard.  One.  I don't even know what kind it is, except it is a tree.  A maple, of some sort.
      At our old house, we had a lot of trees.
       There was a pine tree named Martha.  Emily got Martha in third grade and we planted it in the yard on Mill Pond.  When we moved in 1992, Emily insisted we take Martha with.  So we did.
       I planted a bur oak in our old back yard.  A bur oak is one of the slowest growing trees around.  It has a tendency to have branches that hit the ground.  It can produce acorns, and it can get very big.  It will probably be 100 years before it is a fully formed tree.  It will then live for centuries.  I named it Dennis.
      I had a pin oak on the side of the house.  That was Carl.  It was also a nut producer and grows at a much faster rate.  I love the oaks.
      Julia and Emily were the sugar maples in the front yard.  Each fall they would turn a brilliant red.  I actually went out one year and painted my feet on the road.  Then every day during October I would go out as close to 8 a.m. as I could and take a picture of the front of the house with the two trees.  I always thought I would make a flip book.....flip the pages and watch the trees change color and lose their leaves.   I never did, but I still have the pictures.
      Jackie was the first of the apple trees, but Mom and Dad were added.  They went the first four or five years hardly producing anything because the deer seemed to like the little apples a lot.  This year they are loaded with blossoms, now it is up to the bees to make them produce.
     We have always had a blue spruce.  I have talked to two landscaper types who both cautioned about planting them now because of a blight or something that is affecting their growth.  I loved putting lights on them, and now have about 20 strands I may need to get rid of because I have no use for them.  I don't think I will be around long enough to have a blue spruce grow to the height where 20 strands are needed.
      I don't remember naming the spruce, or all the other trees that were in the yard.  I know I always thought of them as my friends.
      Hopefully in the next couple of weeks we will have some sugar maples in the front....and I will call them Julia and Emily, as I did before.
      Eventually I will plant a bur oak, if I can find one, and a red oak or two.  I will give them names of people who are, or were, important in my life.
     And I have to plant a hickory, since we live in Hickory Ridge.  Seems appropriate.
      Jackie once asked me why I would plant a bur oak, knowing they are slow growing and I will never see it become a full grown tree.
      I semi-remember an expression:  We don't plant a tree for ourselves, we plant it for our children.  Or something like that.  It could have even been:  We don't plant a tree for today, we plant it for the future.
Whatever.
     Trees are my friends, they are friends of all of us, and we can never have too many friends!
     
     

Good bye, old friend

I just bought two new shirts

     I know, big whoop.  Understand, I never buy shirts.  When I received two for presents last year, it was the first time in a long time I actually added shirts to my closet line up.
     I am not talking t-shirts either....I have a million of them. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)
     I am talking shirts that are a little more dressy but are basically summer shirts:  no collars, no buttons, just a summer shirt.
     I had to buy extra large.  (Beth, don't laugh.)  The larges stretched too tightly across my belly, giving me the appearance of a slightly pregnant man.    (A slightly pregnant appearance is a literal description.)  I seem to have a belly that will not go away.  It is getting larger, as if an alien was alive inside me.
     Maybe it's a tapeworm....I eat constantly.  Oops, dripped a little sauce on the keyboard.
     I make bad food choices.  I had Ollie's for lunch.  But, that's not really a bad food choice.  It tasted very good.
     I eat potatoes in all forms:  chips, fries, baked, chopped, diced, stewed, fried.  And if you happen to put a loaf of fresh baked bread near me, watch out!
     I live for carbs....but they are the worst for me, so I need to start cutting down on them.  Excuse me, some pretzel crumbs just hit the floor.
     I am exercising.  But I don't think I do the best exercises, so maybe I need to contact a personal trainer and have them give me some routines I can ignore.
     TC told me once I eat for a reason, and as soon as I find that reason, I will be able to control my eating impulse.  I have been like this for my entire life.  Seriously.  When I had a paper route in sixth grade, there was a little restaurant down the block that made a nice half way grab a snack spot.  They always had doughnuts and fresh french fries, and I think I ate that combination three times a week.
I haven't been able to discover the reason yet.
      But back to the shirts.  I bought two, so I need to get rid of two.
      Like an old friend, Yeller has been with me for many years.  I looked at a 2007 photo album and I seem to be wearing that shirt.  I like it.  It fits. The belly stretches.
      But the neck area is frayed.  The sleeves are frayed.  It's time to part.
      I will miss it.
      But two came in, two must go out.  Now I have to find the shirt to toss, an old friend to relegate to  the trash.  I'll look for one that's frayed, or has little tiny lint balls all over, and one that preferably doesn't fit me as well as it did a few years ago.
      That last attribute will not be hard to find.

   

Why does it have to be so hard?

I had a terrible day today

     It started out fine....but about 2 p.m., it quickly descended into a hell on Earth.
     I was cleaning the bathrooms.....and was almost done when someone could not find the checkbook.
    I looked everywhere....in coats and sweatshirts, between cushions on the chairs, under the numerous piles of paper, in the recycle bin, in my car (twice) in her car (twice) and after 25 minutes, we had no idea where it was.
     She had dropped it Sunday getting out of the car.  I picked it up and remember tossing it on the front seat.  But I looked in the car twice...no checkbook.
     She determined what checks were missing and called the bank, placing a stop order on the checks.  I had to go in to sign the paperwork.
    Standing in the garage, I took a scene out of NCIC....I reenacted the crime.  I stood by the car, tossed the checkbook.....then looked between the seat and the console and, voila, there it was.
     Now we had to contact the bank and stop the stop order.  
     Figuring it was easier to do that in person, and since I had to go to the store, I left.  Did the bank thing, went to Sullivan's, stopped at Cypress House for a yummy coffee, then headed home to the unfinished bathroom.
     Which I finished...90 minutes after starting.
     Then I dusted and cleaned the wood floors.
     When I was done, it was 5:30 and she made pancakes and bacon....which I love because of the Canadian Maple Syrup John and Emily brought me.
      As I was walking to the chair to catch Big Bang, I tilted my plate and left a trail of syrup across the floor and a puddle on the end table.   And on the chair.  And on me.
       So for the next 15 minutes, while the pancakes cooled to room temperature, I re cleaned the clean floor and discovered it is really dusty, even after cleaning!  I used polish on the table and cleaner on the chair.
      As I worked, I ached.  I had used the treadmill this morning, walking two miles.  Then I came home and went to Emily's to let out the dogs and decided to ride my bike...into the wind....both directions.
My legs felt like rubber.
      But I finished the floor again. I ate my cool supper of pancakes drenched in genuine Maple Syrup and washed down with strawberry Quik.   I got the dishes washed.  Jackie did the last two loads of laundry. (Well actually one load had to be washed twice because something fuzzy in the load got fuzzies all over the rest of the clothes.
     And I now realize how tired I truly am.......but I still have one little job to do.
     But then, it's bed!

   
     
   

Naked, young, and female....what more could I ask?

I met a young,, naked, blond girl at Skare Park

     To be honest, every red blooded American male (or any male who is alive) has a fantasy about meeting a young, attractive, naked woman in the woods.
     My fantasy actually came true.
     Granted, I did not expect her to be stoned and attending our end of the year school picnic, but she was young and naked.
     We had fourth, fifth and sixth graders out at Skare Park.  At some point, a couple of boys came running to me and said, "Mr. Dickow, there's a naked lady in the park."
     Since I knew they had a terrible sense of humor, I told them I wasn't going to fall for that one.
     Then I looked over to where they were pointing ...and yup, naked as a new born babe from the waist down.  In fact, she was twirling her underwear over her head.
      Those little boys were staring in wide eyed amazement, or fear, I am not sure which.
      The young girl proceed to sit on one of those wooden posts used to separate the parking area from the grass.  She might have been having sex with it, because she was gyrating and moaning quite loudly.  I honestly thought:  Isn't she getting splinters??
     So I went over and talked to her...but it was a one sided conversation.  She was very incoherent.
     In those days, we did not have mobile phones.  So I went to one of the bus drivers and asked him to call the bus garage and have them call the sheriff.
     In the meantime, I told the kids to ignore her as much as possible.  Try getting 10 year old boys to ignore a naked woman.....especially one yelling "F--- Me" at the top of her lungs. I also told the kids we needed an emergency plan.   If she came across the parking lot, we were all to run up to the large shelter and wait for the police.
     Not only did she cross the parking lot, she cornered two boys and asked them if they wanted to, well, you know.
     So I told the kids, "Go to the shelter. Run now."
      I forgot we were ready to start the three legged race.
     Fifth graders began running and falling over each other, a massive tangle of bodies and legs as they fell and more runners fell over them.
     "Untie your legs.  Untie your legs!"  I yelled and they finally got the message.
      After 20 minutes, we left the picnic early and went back to school.  The sheriff's department never came.
      By the time I left school that night, I heard that:  I was attacked by a woman with needles hanging out of her arm; I was hit by a pair of dirty underpants; I was slapped by a girl who wanted to fight (evidently some f words sound the same to 10 year olds) and other wild stories.
     I called the sheriff's department and asked to speak to the sheriff.  I told him how mad I was that this woman terrorized kids and ruined their picnic and no officer responded.
     He checked into it and called me back.   The report from the bus garage was just a naked woman in the park.  No mention of kids, or a picnic.  If there had been, he would have called Rochelle to come out and handle the situation as his men were tied up in some sort of incident.
     Detectives came and questioned me.  I remember the girl had a name...Kristen or something.  Also, although she was blond, she was not a natural blond.....  And her legs and thighs were covered with black and blue marks.
      Within one day of the incident, they arrested a 17 year old Rockford girl.  She told deputies she had been drinking (illegally, obviously) in a bar in Rockford and doing cocaine with two guys.  She remembered a school bus, and some kids yelling, but she did not remember or know how she ended up in the park in Rochelle.
       We talked about it several times over the next two days.  I asked them if they were scared, and they were.  I asked them if they would ever do something like that, and they to a student said no.  I then told them about the girl, her arrest, and her involvement with drugs and alcohol.  They understood that the drugs caused her to do things she would never  normally do, and if it happened to her, it could happen to them.
       I still wonder if that lesson followed them thorough life.
      I have been back in that park countless times since then, and never met another naked woman.  And to be clear,  the fantasy still exists.
     

Sometimes a guy has to do what a guy has to do

I bit a dentist

     I must have been five or six years old.  He had an office on the second floor of a building on Irving and Lincoln, just a few blocks from our home.
     He had these pressed board cut outs of nursery rhyme characters all over this waiting room.  I think he may have been a specialist for children.
     He was not nice.  He hurt me.  We would go to the dentist as a group, my two brothers and me.  Sometimes my cousins Bob and Sally would go.  We all had the same complaint:  he hurt.
     Dentistry was different then.  I swear, they used Black and Decker drills to work on cavities and any teeth that had to be pulled brought out a Vice Grips.  Anesthesia?  For get it.
     Even having him examine our mouths hurt.
     So one day, when he was examining me, I chomped down on his thumb.  Hard.  He yowled.  Theh\n he marched me out of the examining room and took me to my mother.
     "Your son bit me!  Look at my thumb!  He is through as a patient here...find another dentist for him to attack."  (I have an amazing good memory for conversations that took place over 60 years ago...just saying)
     I became an instant hero.  Suddenly, my older brothers liked the moxie of the kid.  My cousins thanked me.
     We had all endured pain and suffering from this guy and no one complained or did anything about it...until I tried to bite off his thumb.
      It was a long time before I would go back to a dentist....I was deeply scarred. But when I did, we went to one of the gentlest, kindest dentists.  His wife was his assistant and office manager.  I went to him until somewhere around 1982, when on a Fourth of July weekend I broke a tooth and my dentist was out of town.
      We would drive in from Rochelle, visit the doc, visit my parents or friends, then go home.  Julia and Emily even went to him.....I think.
       I haven't bit a dentist since then....because I haven't had to.
       But I do put them on notice.

Once upon a time, long, long ago....

I often learn through stories


     So here goes.
     Once upon a time, a little boy was born.  He was a beautiful baby:  intelligent, bright, happy; born of loving parents.
     In time, this boy grew up and made his way in the world.
     One time, near his birth celebration of three score plus, he committed a sin.
     He did not mean to, but he did.
     He got so caught up in aging, and the problems and fun that come with it, he was overcome with happiness-moroseness and sinned.
     The sin began with a simple request.
     "Let's us venture north to procure vital foodstuffs," said his wife, the Queen.
     "Wonderful.  I have a Groupon for an Italian restaurant in the land of Rocks," he said.
     So on a Wednesday, they ventured to the land of Rocks and ate at a restaurant owned by Sam, the knight from Rocks.
     A copious amount of a fettuccine with a cream sauce, sprinkles of  mushrooms, bacon and ham was served.  He ate himself full and proclaimed the food good.  Not all the food was consumed, and what was left was put in reserve until Thursday. Then they shopped.
     They bought some ground pork in a casing made in Vienna and dined on them Friday night.  He loved the taste of the stuffed all meat sausages with no animal byproducts served on a poppy seed bun, with mustard, pickle and relish but no ketchup.  Do to an error in procuring goods, no tomatoes either, but he ate himself full, and proclaimed the food good.
     On Saturday, the day before the anniversary of his birth, he supped a fine meal at a Beacon in the darkness, or on the Green, with friends and allies.  The slices of naked meat from a distant city, the largest in the realm, was tasty and the wine leggy.  He ate himself full and proclaimed the food good.
    Sunday was a day he shared with the Queen in being honored by decree sealed with a Hallmark.
    Their daughter, Lady Emily,  and her knight , Sir John, took them to a feast in a yonder community named Daysville, where a small restaurant had a table for four in a cramped corner.  But all was made well when the serving wench brought bread stuff, and wine, and soup made with clams.  A baby cow, tenderly nurtured by caring farmers and fed milk soaked corn to create a tender, juicy cut of meat was sacrificed to make this person happy.  As his royal pants with the expandable waist began to expand, the wench returned with a custard like dish with a hard crust that had originated in France.  He ate himself full and proclaimed the food good.
     But wait!!  Upon returning to his castle in the royal chariot, he discovered another dessert, made by a regional Queen of he Dairy.  This cake, in celebration of his birthday, must be eaten also. So he ate himself fuller, and proclaimed the food good.
     By now, his expandable waist pants had become greatly expanded.  He roamed his castle with his belt undone, his pants unbuttoned, and his shirt half off.
     He retired to his personal pharmacy and procured some Tums to ease the clam chowder-veal parmigiana-creme brulee-cookie dough ice cream cake concoction abrew in his stomach.
     And as he sat on his royal chair, he realized he had committed the sin of gluttony.  Over eating, over indulging, over celebrating.
      And he proclaimed himself full and the sin worth it.
The end.
     
   

To shred, or not to shred..that is the question

I am paranoid about people getting my personal information

     When I get credit card applications in the mail, I put them in the shred box.  I have a nice little box that I can take out to my personal shredder...oh wait, that hasn't worked since I dropped it during move two.
      I have a nice little box that I can carry to First National Bank for their spring shred day.  I fill it up and take it to another bank in the fall on their shred day.
      (Digression.....First National Bank goes with the FN Bank logo.  I like it.  But when you hear it on the radio, it isn't F N Bank is Fn Bank.....which I pointed out to a couple of people at the bank.  People shouldn't be saying, "Yeah, I do my banking at the Fn bank."  Sounds crude.)
      I also shred credit card purchase receipts.  Gas purchase receipts.  Financial statements.  Catalog labels.  Catalog order forms.  Donation request pages with our name already on them.  And I may have shredded a gerbil.....but I don't remember if we had them as pets, ever.
      I sometimes think I shred too much.  Maybe because I am paranoid.  I don't want someone to steal my identity based on something they found in the trash.
      Truthfully, I also get a little paranoid when I use a CC in a restaurant and the server takes it, disappears, and reappears with the card a couple of minutes later.  In France, they bring a card reader to your table...your credit card never leaves your sight.  I like that a lot more, and wish businesses here would operate that way instead of walking away with the card.  What's to prevent them from running a photo copy of it while they are out of view?  Or writing down the numbers?  Or ordering porn from a West Coast web site and having it sent directly to their PO Box in a large metropolitan area, rendering the renter virtually unknown and sticking me with a $14.95 bill for "Little Women, Big Boobs."  Not that that isn't a reasonable explanation for a charge of that type.
     When we applied for personal loans to buy a TV or a bedroom set and they asked for my Social Security number, I wouldn't give it out.  Some places went ahead with the missing information, and if they didn't, Jackie would give them her number without hesitation.  Now my number is my Medicare number and every time I go into a doctor's office, or hospital for tests, everyone can see my number and probably can access it.
     I have a fear of identity theft.  Someone will be out there being me.  And worse, they will be having more fun than me!
     So a big thank you to the banks who offer a shredding service for customers like me.
   
   

Baby, I got wood

I seem to have a stockpile of lumber

     And that is not what you expected to read, is it?  (Many of my friends are closet perverts.  They would take the wood comment in a sexual way.  But you, who are extremely intelligent and sophisticated, as evidenced  by your reading this blog, are different.  My hat is off to you.)
      We have lived in this house for 16 months.  I seem to have collected a lot of odds and ends in the wood line.
     There are three 4 x 8 sheets of plywood in the grass.  Been there since we moved in.  This week, I am going to cut them up and get rid of them.
      In the garage, I seem to have a little bit of everything that has no use.
      I have some 2 x 4 material, none of it longer than two feet.  And some 1 x 6, which I think I used to hang my bike from the ceiling.....at least I will use it for that some day.
     When they put in the wood floors, I asked that they save the trimmings.  It was unfinished oak, so I thought it would be hot to burn it at night in the fall, when the stars are out and the bugs are gone.  Fall came and went, but the wood didn't.
     When I cut wood for bird houses, I ended up with a garbage can full of weird sizes of 1 x 6...none of them longer that 5 inches.  I think I will use that in the fall burn.  I can imagine sitting outside, having a hot tea, watching the fire and the stars.
      Maybe I can put it all on the pallet I have inherited from someplace.  The problem with burning that is the nails...but every upside  has a downside.
     In the basement I have a really nice piece of trim......not sure where it should have gone.  Plus some 1 x 3 boards, again no longer than two feet.  Burn it, you say?  Of course.
     I have two dead trees....small ones, to be sure....but I think I will burn those also.
     So this fall, if you look out to the west and see a huge orange flame, don't panic.
     It'll just be me, getting rid of my wood.

   

Pull my chains, please

I love my cuckoo clock

     It was a Christmas present several years ago.  Every half hour, the little birdie comes out, and a chimney sweep pops up from the chimney. It is a genuine Bavarian cuckoo clock.
     A few months ago it stopped working.  It would run for a few seconds, then stop.  It was a sick cuckoo.
     So I took it to the clock shop in Sycamore.  Two months ago.
     Since then we have missed the middle of the night cuckoos, the early morning cuckoos, the afternoon cuckoos that would tell me when it was time to get up.  (From my nap!)
     I would walk past its honored place on the wall and instinctively try to pull the non existent chains that give the clock life.  But the chains were gone.
     A little oil, a little adjustment and my clock is working again!  It is back in its rightful place, I have yanked its chains and the chimney sweep is once again making an appearance.
     But the whole experience got me thinking.  The guy at the clock shop (or shoppe, if you are into that) is maybe my age, possibly older.  I have only seen him there, never a helper.
     Who takes over when he decides too much time has passed for him to work?
     So, I thought clock repair person might be a good job for a young person mechanically inclined and patient might get into.
     Then I thought of other occupations that seem to be vanishing:  shoe repair person, tailor, TV repairman, and wondered if these jobs become nonexistent, who will fix the shoes or clocks of the future?
     Will we be doomed to replace our beloved loafers instead of wearing them because a seam ripped?  And if my clock stops, will I be able to find another person to repair it?  (Chicago Clock Co does, but they are in the suburbs....a little drive.)
     I wonder what other occupations people could make a decent living in, if they only knew about the opportunities.
    But then again, things change and now we don't need as many blacksmiths, or telephone operators, so maybe I am just like my clock....a little cuckoo.

Things I don't understand ..... part two

Sometimes I can't help myself

     I am a secret stock facer.  For those of you who worked in a grocery store, you know what I mean!.  When I worked at a National Tea store (gone, but not forgotten), we had a specific job to do every Tuesday and Friday night.  We would restock shelves, then go down the aisles and pull products to the front of the shelf so it looked as if the shelf was full.  That was called facing.  We had to pull it forward and be sure the label showed.
     Why Tuesday and Friday?  Because Wednesday and Saturday were big grocery shopping days and the managers wanted to have the shelves appear full.  So the truck would come in, get unloaded, and sorted, and we would restock the shelves.  Sometimes we worked past midnight on Tuesdays, which made it hard for the next day at school.
     We have a shelf full of pop in the pantry.  I make sure all the labels are facing the front, and the product is toward the front.
     A minor issue, I am sure.
     God knows what makes me do that in a grocery store.  If I am looking for peanut butter, I will face the section.  When I am done, it looks full.  I did that three times tonight at Woodman's....so if you are in the peanut butter, V - 8 section, or in the Post cereals, you can thank me for the nice looking shelves.
     I have also done it at Sullivan's, Jewel, HyVee and almost any store I go in.  I can't help it.
     I wonder if someone is watching me ... and thinking I am a shoplifter because I hover in a section, or just a wacko.  I am the latter.  I like doing it.
     Another obsession.  I will spend several minutes debating the merits of packs of toilet paper.  Does the 18 roll family pack offer a better deal than the 24 roll mega roll?  Why do people buy toilet paper one roll at a time?  Don't they ever use the toilet?
     I have a fear we will run out of TP.  I have two 24 packs of the mega rolls in the basement, and two packs stashed under sinks and in closets upstairs.  You can never have enough toilet paper.
     Why do I save nails and screws?  I must have 15 boxes of nails and screws.  I have a organizer with 8 zillion drawers and they all have nails or screws in them.  I have jars with screws and nails.  I have more than enough nails to build two houses.
      Some of them have one or two of a kind....why can't I just toss them?  Same with the screws, odd nuts and bolts.......washers.....strange metal objects that seem to have a life of their own in my basement.
      Why?  The fear that I may need it and not have it.  That's what keeps me from tossing them.  Which strangely, is also the reason I keep buying toilet paper.
   
   
   

Things I don't understand

I really get confused by some things

     When a foul ball goes in the stands at Wrigley, everyone scrambles to get it as a souvenir.  But when the opponent hits a home run, the fans yell "throw it back."  And most of the time the poor schmoe who caught it feels he/she has to toss it back.  Sometimes fans have even been physically threatened if they kept the ball.  It's a ball.  It's a game.  Get a grip.
     Fans paid $400 to have their pictures taken with Avril Lavigne.  Now call me crazy, but for $400 I want more than a picture.  And not to show my age, but who the hell is Avril Lavigne??  And how much would people pay to have their pictures taken with me?  Name the amount...I am game.
     Plastic bags.  They are all over the roads, farm fields, on trees, in ditches.  Why not switch to reusable bags?  They are stronger, last a long time, are better for the environment and help conserve petroleum.  Yes, I know, sometimes we forget our bags.  Stores frown on stuffing the goods in your pockets, so once in a while I end up with a plastic bag.  In Europe, they charge you for a bag.  Paper or plastic, you pay about 25 cents for a bag.  You can reuse it, but most people have cloth bags.  The amount of paper bag litter over there is a lot less than here.  We don't need a law to do this, just a commitment by the people!
      How come so many people can't sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game?"  During the Cubs' seventh inning stretch, the singers have ranged from just terrible (Ditka and Ozzie) to barely tolerable.  If you know you are going to sing, learn the words, practice the song, watch a couple of games to get the drift of the thing and channel Harry's tirips, which is spirit spelled backwards.
       Why do so many people toss McDonald's bags onto the rural roads?  Picture this:  You are driving down the road eating a Big Mac and fries, washing it down with a diet pop.  You finish.  Looking around, you suddenly discover you are in the country so you toss the garbage on the road!  These people are either too lazy or too stupid (which is my guess) to hold the bag until they can properly dispose of it.  You say it's too messy?  Then don't eat your damn food in the car!!
     And finally....why do I keep watching!!!!  The Cubs need a lot of Alka Seltzer because they need some relief.

   

My sentiments exactly, Mr. Obnoxious guy

I can't remember when the Cubs won with me there

     It seems everyt time I go, they lose.  I carry my Cubs W flag, I root, root for the Cubbies but it doesn't seem to work.  I did go to a game in Pittsburgh when they won....but that was two years ago.  Or maybe 3.
     I have seen them drop balls, miss cut off men, get picked off, walk in runs.  I went to a playoff game when they committed five errors in one inning!
     Maybe I am the goat!  True, that doesn't explain all the years since the last Series appearance, but could explain the period from 1960 to now.
     I am used to it.
     Last night when leaving the ball game, we were behind a group of three younger men.  One of them said he was sick of seeing losing teams in Chicago.  He said he followed the Bears, the Cubs, The Sox, the Bulls....but he did not mention the Blackhawks.  I am sure he followed them as well.
     He described the teams with a certain common verb, that sounds a lot like duck.  Duckin' Cubs, Duckin' Bears...you get he idea.
     He must not have been around for the golden years of Michael Jordan, or the middle success of the Bears, or the White Sox World Series win.
     But it is frustrating to be a Cub fan, and maybe a White Sox fan this year, and last year.
     But I'll go back...maybe to see the Yankees when they come to town.
     Because of the people.
     Last night we met a man who actually had a talking dog!  It was a little brown guy with a white muzzle and the man was standing on a street corner with a sign offering to sell the dog for only $200.
     We stopped and asked him him if the dog really talked and to prove it to us.
     "Ask it a question," he said.
     So, I asked, "How does sandpaper feel?"
      "Ruff," went the dog.  I was skeptical.
     "What's over your head ?" I asked.
     "Roof," barked the dog.  I think he was just lucky.  I was thinking sky.
     "Who is the best ball player ever?" I asked.
      "Ruff.  Ruff," went the dog.
      I walked away.  I knew it was DiMaggio.

   

'Twas a fine day for a walk

I participated in my third ever MS walk today

     My good friend Sheri and I took part in the MS walk in Rockford this morning.  We walked on Lane's Ladies team, and it was a nice stroll through Klehm Arboretum.
     Last year we had a group of six who walked in St. Charles, along the Fox River.  That day was hot and sunny.  Parts of the course last year were closed due to flooding along the Fox.   There must have been several thousand walkers last year, and the huge parking lots were full.
     The Rockford walk seemed a little less crowded.  There was plenty of parking at the arboretum on South Main Street and the walking trail did not seem as packed.  But it was a shorter walk.  I think we started about 9:05 or so and were finished at 9:40.  All times are approximate.....my sense of timing is pretty crappy.
      We met a lot of people from Rochelle, not only on Lane's team but Karen H.'s team.  Former students, current Rotarians, their relatives and friends.....all joining for a cause.
     I appreciate all the donations that have come my way.  It's great to know people are thinking about Jackie and other MS sufferers and are willing to help in the battle to find a cure, or at least a cause, for this disease.
     Now it's on to Chicago to watch the Cubs sweep the Cards......hopefully.  I will be packing my W flag to fly in the upper deck along the first base line.....and I will do a goofy dance during the Cubs win song.
     If I am not frozen, asleep, driven out by the rain, or have left early because it's a hopeless cause.

         
     

When you walk with the ladies, you have to dress like one!

Mary, Mary, quite contrary....

We are planting a garden this year

     After five years without a garden, we are planting one this summer.
     It will be a raised garden.  When you get old like us it is hard to bend over, so we are creating a raised garden.   It will be about 24 inches high...so Jackie and I can sit on my little garden scooter and weed without stressing our backs.  (Not at the same time, it's not that big a scooter.)
      We bought a raised garden "kit" from an on line company.
      We bought four corners and two side brackets.  The concept is you place a board in the slots for the end pieces, then the middle, then the end and you have a garden that stays together in one place.
       Those are not expensive.
       Oh, I will need some soil.  And peat moss.  And compost.  And fertilizer.  And seed.  And tomato cages.
       I figure this puppy is going to bring us $200 tomatoes.  But they will be sweet and juicy, not the massed produced ones you buy in the store.
      Actually, we could have bought a lifetime supply at a farmer's market, but we want to grow our own tomatoes and peas, and beans, and cucumbers.
     No carrots.  I planted carrots several years and got nada, zilch, nothing.  Who can't grow carrots?
     And no zucchini.  On general principal, there are enough people in the world giving it away, why pay for it?  (If that argument sounds familiar.....never mind.)
     An broccoli is out too.  We grew it once, but it got little worms.  Jackie did not eating it with the little worms.  Yes, they came off when you  boiled it, but she did not like the idea of little worms living on the broccoli.
     No Brussel sprouts.  I don't like them.
      Green peppers....a couple of plants.  We used to freeze the peppers, and have stuffed peppers, so that is fine.
     No watermelon, cantaloupe, or sweetcorn.   Not enough space for pumpkins.
     Our last garden fizzled.  When I planted it, there were no trees.  After 17 years, trees grew and shaded it out.  This garden will be in full sun.
     I am making a lasagna garden.  My friend Chris told me about them, and it sounds like it will result in a great soil bed.  I build it with layers....as the layers break down, the soil becomes loamy and never needs tilling.....plus the worms love the mixture.
      All I need is some top soil, or black dirt.  Maybe some leaves.  A little horse manure......
      I forgot gardening is a lot of work.....but it's my goal this week to get it going!
      Feel free to stop out and lend a hand.....and if I happen to be napping, just go ahead without me.  The tomatoes won't care.
     

Here comes the sun....

I am getting depressed
     

     Tom Skilling, our favorite meteorologist, is getting me depressed.  He said we have only had three hours of sunshine since Monday.
     Or something like that.  To be honest, I am so tired of this weather, I hardly listen to the forecast.  I know I am the only person in the state to feel that way.
     This is starting to affect me.  And not in a good way.
     Chocolate is disappearing at a fast rate in my house.
     I drank muscat wine. Or muscato.  A whole bottle.  OK, it was a four ounce bottle.  But I finished it!
     I thought I got locked out of a room at church because the door would not open.  I pulled and pulled.  It was a push.
     I did a blog full of bad jokes.
     (By the way, why did the dirty turtle cross the ocean?  He needed to get the other Tide!)
     I didn't buy a cookie after the zoo.
     I forgot where I put my sunglasses, it has been so long since I wore them.
     (Why did the turtle cross the road?  To get to the Shell station!)
     I did not sing Go Cubs Go after the win today.
     I didn't even sing the stretch.
     Bring out the sun!  Warm up the temps!
     I always got terribly irritable in January.  And tired.  I think it was seasonal affective disorder.  Yes, I was SAD during those winter months.
     I didn't even order my usual chocolate monkey coffee today at my zoo coffee shop.  I ordered a candy bar latte but it did not have the same zing as the chocolate monkey.
     Sigh.  Maybe a good night's sleep will lead me to a land of sunshine and warmth.  If only in my dreams.
   

   

Did you hear the one about......

I sometimes tell not so funny jokes

     One of the problems in being in education is you sometimes lose the ability to speak to adults.  My mind spent 18 years with 10 and 11 year olds.  Most adults don't have the same stream of conversation I had with students in school.
      So in honor of the almost end of the school year, here are some of my favorite funnies.
Knock, knock
Who is there?
Yah.
Yah hoo?
I didn't know you were a cowboy.

If April showers bring may flowers, what do may flowers bring?   Pilgrims!!

What goes 99 thump, 99 thump?  A centipede with a wooden leg!

Why did the pirate have trouble reading?  He only knew arrrrr!

What's the last thing to go through a bug's mind when he hits a windshield?   His butt!!

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Boo
Boo hoo?
Don't cry, I'll tell you.

What month is a pirate favorite?   Maaaarch!!

Whats black and white and red all over?  A sunburned zebra.  An embarrassed penguin.  A newspaper.  A nun in a blender.

You are locked in a windowless room.  All you have is a piece of chalk. How can you get out?  You break the chalk in half.  One half plus one half make a hole and you can crawl out that!

Railroad crossing.  Can you spell it without any rs?  IT!!!!

Why did Silly Sam throw a clock out the window?  He wanted to see time fly!!

Oh....my sides are aching.  Time for bed.
If you have a funny favorite, put it in the comment line!!