Ride, ride, ride...let it ride

I am planning on  Biking With Beanzie July 13

     Biking for Beanzie is a bike ride sponsored by the DeKalb Kiwanis Club.  There are a variety of distances, but I am opting for the 25 mile ride.  I think I have one person (Bob Z) who might be joining me....but the more the merrier.
    I have ridden Beanzie before....and it has been hot.
    I have a t shirt from Switzerland.  It is red with a white cross, because that is the Swiss flag.
    I wear it when I ride on the road because I think it has better visibility to motorists than a black, or dark shirt.
     Like many distance bike rides, Beanzie has rest stops along the way.  You can get some water, a snack, rest, talk to other riders and Kiwanis members, and then pedal on.
     So there I am, riding my bike in my red shirt with the white cross.  I pull into the first rest area and a lady looks at me and says, "Oh, you are on the medical staff."
     I know she has me confused with someone who can tell a tongue depressor from an enema, so I say, "No, you must be thinking of someone else."
    She replies, "Well, you are wearing a Red Cross shirt."
    I look at the shirt and say, "What color is the cross?"
    "Red, like in the Red Cross," she replies.
    "No," I said, "This is a white cross, as in the Swiss flag."
     She looks startled and laughs, realizing her mistake.
     We chat, I hop on my bike and pedal away, sweating profusely in the heat.
     I hit the next rest area and swear on a stack of Playboys, someone looks at me and says, "Oh you must be from the medical staff.  Are you with the Red Cross?"
     This time I cut to the chase, explain it's a white cross and it is representative of the Swiss flag.
     As we are sitting there talking, a bike rider comes in, looks at me and says, "Are you with the Red Cross?"
     Seriously???  Three people ask me the same question and I am wearing a white cross??
     I did offer to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation on a couple of female riders, but they pointed out there were not in distress.  "Besides," one said, "You are wearing a Swiss flag."
    Ok, I made that last part up.
     This year when I ride I will wear my yellow Tour de France shirt.
     I just hope they don't mistake me for one of the tour riders who may have gotten lost.   After all, we are very similar looking in our spandex shorts and shirts.

How many peas can a pea picker pick?

I spent two summers picking peas for Del Monte

     Yes, I was a pea picker.
     We worked long hours and were generally done around the Fourth of July.  Del Monte had lots of fields around Rochelle and several crews of pickers, many of them teachers earning extra money.
      There was a science to pea picking.  When we filled our hopper, we put on a yellow light and a dump truck would come and you'd drop your load into the dump truck, which would take the peas to Rochelle where they would be canned.
      The trick was to wait until the truck left the field to fill your hopper.  Sometimes it would be 15 or 20 minutes of downtime while you waited for an empty truck.  Most of the time that happened even if you didn't plan it, but a little planning earned some quick naps.
      I almost flipped a combine near Oregon.  The field had some small hills, and I took the wrong angle.  I felt like I was falling over, but I didn't.  Later the mechanic said he was watching and was surprised I stayed upright.
      I think it was that same field, heading south on River Road down the hill by Lowden Park.  I put the tractor in neutral as we started the descent.....and it was one wild ride!  While they don't go very fast on a road, put one of those babies in free wheel mode and they fly!
      Often times if you had to relieve yourself, it was easier just to stand next to the unit and let fly.  I did that once with lightning in the air, and during my relief a bolt hit somewhere and every hair on my head went straight up!  I don't know if I was any safer in the cab, but that is where I hustled.
     Mechanics were assigned to the crew.  There may be 6  or 9 combines and one mechanic.  Ours was Gerald.  He was from someplace South and chewed tobacco.
     My unit broke down one day and he came flying over to get me going again. After a couple of minutes,  he looked and me and said, "Ah need a sop rek. In the truck."  So I went over to the truck and stood there.  He yelled, "Ya see them sop reks"  I was still baffled.  One of the other drivers yelled out to Gerald, "What do you want?"  Gerald said again, "A damn sop rem!"  The other guy looked at me and said, "Shop rag."  I worked two seasons with Gerald and never understood a word he said.
    The benefit was money.  I had just started teaching and the extra cash helped.  The other benefit was it was three to four weeks of work and I was done,
    Sure, I had to get up early.  We would meet at the shed, climb into a van, and rattle off to a field somewhere.  Usually we started at 6, which meant we were in the van at 5:30.  Many mornings I watched the sun come up over a pea field.
     One field was near a pig farm.  As we passed, you could really smell the farm.  The driver yelled out, "Boys, that's the smell of money."  We worked that field for a few days, and I could actually fall asleep in the van and when we hit the smell I would be wide awake.
     My favorite part of the work day was when I was off by myself, my hopper full, no dump truck in sight, and a couple of cupfuls of freshly picked peas on which to feast.
     There are not many pea fields left in the area.  I think what do remain are Stokely or Green Giant.  It's too bad, really.  Del Monte provided a lot of jobs for a lot of people, I imagine many students went to college on their Del Monte money.
   

   

Oh deer, not tonight

I really like deer, not so much

     I like deer.  I love watching the little forest creatures browse in the meadow next to the house.
     I don't like deer, especially after I found they like cucumbers from my garden.
     I like deer.  They remind us all that we share the world with all of God's creatures.
     I don't like deer.  If I had a shotgun, I would blow those suckers away for chomping on my new heucheras.
     I like deer.  Their presence reminds us that there is still a bit of wild Illinois left in our lives.
     I don't like deer.   I haven't even seen the damn plant bloom, and now I won't because those little forest rats have striped it of leaves...and I am not talking heucheras!  I don't even know the name of this one!!
     I like deer.  They are like dainty ballet dancers.  As they spring away, their little white tail lifts up and almost seems to be waving good buy.
     Damn deer!!  Look at all these little pellets!!  Can't they crap in the park!!
     I like deer.  Their presence demonstrates how controlled hunting can help restore a species on the bring of extinction in Illinois.
     I swear, I am going to call my Aunt Pearl Burris.  I am going to call my Aunt Pearl and ask her to make me up a whole batch of her bitter pills......I mean business.....I'm as serious as a stroke.
     I like deer.  Watching them is relaxing.
     ASAAGh......I can't take it...this is driving me nuts.  Will they come back tonight?  Will they eat the rest of my flowers?  Will they like the beans??  Why am I using lines from the upcoming Greater Tuna show in my blog???
     I need to go to sleep.  Perchance, to dream.
     

Good fences make good neighbors

I have always been blessed with good neighbors

     We have lived in five different places in Rochelle, and we have always had good neighbors.
     Never any conflict, arguments, tiffs or disputes.....just nice people who put up with the Dickows.
     Our new neighborhood is the same way.  We talk to the people, they are friendly, everyone seems happy with each other.   That's a nice feeling.
     But I hear stories of other people in other areas who don't have it so good.  The lady who has a neighbor with a dog that barks all night, outside; the woman in the suburbs who lives next to a person with roosters that crow at all hours of the morning; the in-laws of my nephew who are dealing with a neighbor who has a compost heap that isn't a compost heap.  They put all food in it...meat, cheese, whatever, and the pile is attracting animals.  And they don't use the compost....they don't even have a garden.  The have lived next door to each other for years and this has suddenly become a problem.  Go figure.
     When we lived on Southview we had some people a couple of houses down who always waved, said hello, seemed OK.  When police raided their house and announced they had committed over 100 burglaries in northern Illinois, we started locking our doors.
     When I was a kid I lived in an apartment building owned by my grandmother.  My family was on the third floor in the front, Aunt Betty and granny were in the back.  I remember some of the other people who were in the building...the man who played saxophone, the salesmen who was Ward Bonds brother, the woman on the first floor who smelled funny but had butterscotch candies...but I don't remember their names.
     Across the street from the apartment was a threesome of 1890 Victorians.  We eventually moved into the middle one and the neighbors on both sides of us were, well, different, but nice.  The family on the alley side were rumored to be Romanian, and the people on the west side were Irish.
     Now I was not the most alert kid in the world.
     City kids play a game called Pinner.....or something like that.  You have steps and a rubber ball.  The batter throws the ball into the steps and the opposing player catches it.  If you hit the steps on the edge, usually it flies.  Concrete steps work best.
     Anyway, I was playing Pinner by myself (note....that is not a sexual reference) and noticed the grandpa of the Irish family was having trouble getting up the stairs.  He fell about half way.
      I ran across the street, helped him up, got him going and went back to my game, only to see him roll down the stairs a second time.
      I again went over, helped him up, got him going up the stairs, turned around and down he rolled.
      I think it was the first time I ever encountered someone really drunk.  I helped that old fart up four times, and he rolled down the stairs four times.
      After he hit the ground the last time, I just left him there.  I figured if I helped him any more, he could get hurt.
      Eventually one of the adults came home and hauled him inside.
      I like to think I was a good neighbor.  When I saw him the next day, he said nothing about what happened.....and he walked a little funny, like he maybe hurt himself rolling down some stairs over and over.
     But my intentions were good, because I was a good neighbor, despite my youth.

part two......oh say can you see....

I freak out whenever doctors say anything

     I live in constant fear of illness.  You know the ones.  I always have a fear that I am going to be stricken.  The worst will happen lingers deep inside me.
     So when I was told I was going blind in my right eye, (yesterday's blog)  I was pretty down.  Hell, I admit it, I cried.  I could not imagine life as a partially blind person.
     Emily said to go to a specialist.  I stewed for three days before I called Hauser Ross in Sycamore and scheduled an appointment with a retinal specialist.  That had one opening the following day.
     Things did not start off well.  When I checked in, they were surprised to see me.  Evidently I called that morning and cancelled because I was sick, so my slot was given away.  I told them I felt great and never called.
     So they got me in to see the retina specialist, who only comes there once a week.
     First, they dilated my eyes.  Then they did a pressure test.  Then I saw the doctor. Then he said the words that always scare me.  "We want to do a test where we inject dye into your arm and take pictures of your eye.  The young nurse who looks about 12 will carefully fill your veins with a fluorescent color.  It will be fun."   Or something like that.
     I did mention I did not like needles.
     They sat me down in a chair and asked which arm.  I looked left.  I looked right.  I looked left.  I looked right.  Another young thing asked what was wrong.
     "I am just trying to figure out which way I should fall when I pass out after you stick a huge needle in my arm."  They laughed.  They seriously thought I was joking.
     So they strapped me into the chair....or maybe they told me to sit still....and shot my arm full of fluorescent yellow or something.  Then we all sat back.  Soon, the dye was working it's way through my body.
        I  asked how long it took to get from my arm to my eyes.  She said, about 12 seconds.  I knew that because the colors in the room changed.  The lights became a purple hue, their faces lime green, their white jackets a buttery color.
     "Whoa dudes,"  I said, "I haven't seen colors like this since the 60s!"
     They put a search light in my eyes and took pictures of my right eye.  Several pictures.  Then they stopped and said, "Reload!" and did the whole picture thing again.
     Realize my eyes were dilated.  I was seeing yellow.  And they were shining a Boeing 727 landing light in my eye and telling me "don't blink" and "sit still."  They had to take a lot of pictures.
     When I returned to the doctor, he mumbled, pointed, mumbled, pointed.  I checked my zipper, but that was not what he was mumbling about.
     Long story short:  I have a condition that is similar to macular degeneration, but not the same.  It mimics macular degeneration and can only be detected by doing the dye in the arm test and looking at the back of the eye.  It will result in a diminishing of distance vision, but I will not go blind.  It generally does not get worse and it is what it is.
     But he also wanted me back in four months to do a recheck.
     The nurse who injected the dye warned me that going pee would be an experience.  I should not be worried if my color was "off"
     Off would be a polite word.  I don't know exactly how to describe it, only that if I had been lined up at a trough at Wrigley and peeing that color, they would have thought I was a visitor from space.
     The other side effect was pine trees were purple.  Vivid purple.
     But I could see them, and at that point color did not matter.

It's a catch 22....I think

I have to call an insurance company tomorrow

     This is going to sound like a whiner complaining about things he should be thankful for.
     But I gotta whine.
     I am on Medicare, and I have a supplemental coverage.  A Medicare Advantage type plan.  I also have vision and dental insurance through the state retired teachers.
     So when I got a bill from my eye doctor for $151, I was a little curious.  My vision insurance has always paid all but a copay for an exam and lenses.  I had gone to the eye doctor because I had blurred vision.
     A digression.  I go to the eye doctor yearly for an exam.  I have a potential for macular degeneration in my left eye....have had it for a few years and it is stable.  Sometime in March I broke my glasses.  Ordering them through the eye doctor took 7-10 days.  So I ordered them.
     I have seen the ads on tv for various places in Rockford where you can get a pair of glasses for as little as $59 in one hour.
     My plan was to get the cheapo glasses and use them until my replacement came.
     I walked into the first el cheapo place and there was no rhyme or reason about service. A technician near the front desk had to ask another technician for help in using the phone to call out.  She showed him.  I waited.  About 10 minutes later, they guy had to make another call.  He again asked for help, another person helped him.  I was still waiting.  When he had to ask the third time for help in using the phone, I thought perhaps I was not in the correct place.  But then a Young Thing came up and asked how she could help me.
     I explained my plight and my needs.  Cheap frames, cheap bifocals, one hour service.
     Young Thing said no problem.  We picked out some frames, and she went to the back to ask about wait time.  She returned and said it may be 3 hours because they were running behind, but the glasses would only be $69.  I said ok, I would come back in three hours.
     Young Thing went into the back again, and returned saying, ooops....three days, not three hours.
     So I left.
     Went to another not as el cheapo place and 65 minutes later had a new pair of glasses.
     But when I wore them, I got nauseous.  And I had a headache.  Matter of adjustment, I am sure.
     So I went a week with constant nausea and a constant headache.  The upside was, I actually lost 7 pounds in a week because  food made me sick.
     My new glasses come in, I happily put them on, and three days later, still nauseous, still head achy, unable to see distances clearly, I return to the eye doctor and ask to have the prescription checked.
     And they also checked my eyes.
     Turned out I had a fast developing macular degeneration in my right eye, causing a slight tear in a retinal layer and the cause of all my ailments.  Eventually, my eyes would adjust, but I would probably lose the vision in my right eye.
    So instead of having a brain tumor or cancer, I was merely going blind.
     And that is why I had a $151 bill.  My Medicare Advantage plan does not have my eye doctor "in network."  Since the blurred vision was a medical condition, they would not cover the cost.  Since they denied the claim, Medicare also denied the claim.
     Nice Person at the eye doctor's said she talked to insurance about this, that it made no sense, they said tough....no coverage.  In order to be covered, I had to have a referral from a medical doctor and preauthorization from insurance.
    So when I call I am going to ask this:  When I go to the eye doctor for an exam, and she finds a medical issue, do I have to say "Wait...don't do anything.  Let me call my medical doctor so he can write a referral and I can get preauthorization for you to treat my eyes?"  Or do I have to have a referral from my PCP (primary care physician, which is another complaint.  Tell us what the letters mean!) to go to the eye doctor in the first place?
     I should be thankful it wasn't more money.
     Tomorrow, in Paul Harvey's words, "The rest of the story."
   
     
   

Sigmund, I tink I found dat reason

I can't stop eating!

     I have an addiction to stuff going in my mouth. (Clean up your minds, people!)
     Yes, we have fresh fruits and vegetables to nibble on.  (on which to nibble, to be correct)
     So why have I attacked a Canadian chicken, a delicious molded milk chocolate filled with Canadian Skittles, which are like M and Ms in the US.  This poor Easter treat, brought all the way from Canada by Emily and John, has sat on the counter, unmolested (we are thinking dirty, aren't we?) until last night when I savaged it, ruthlessly.  Yes, I had chocolate smeared all over my mouth, lips and fingers....and yes, it tasted good.  Now that I think of it, it might even have been a rabbit, except there was an egg inside it...so it must have been a chicken.  Unless Canadian rabbits lay eggs.
     Pish posh to the fresh oranges and cherries.
     Faw to the grapes and apples.
     Really, what better taste is there than milk chocolate, made with real milk?  Wash it down with a graham cracker and you have half a s'more, actually the best half.
     And I did have strawberries...with a little short bread, but no whip cream because I finished that off last night.
     Phewey to the freshly sliced pineapple, for which I nearly cut my thumb off while coring, that is now sitting in the fridge, next to where the whip cream was.
     I once asked an esteemed psychologist (TC, for those who know him) and he said I eat because deep down inside I am unhappy about something.  He said I need to discover that inner unhappiness.
     I found it!  I am unhappy because I am fat.
     So...to assuage my unhappiness, I eat.  Because I eat, I don't lose weight.  Because I don't lose weight, I eat even more.
     I'm like a freaken' example of perpetual motion!  Or a giant rock rolling down a hill that can only stop rolling by slowing down, but when it rolls it goes faster and faster and faster.
     I have been drinking so much water, I slosh.  I also drink tea.  That makes me slosh and go to the bathroom more.  And 66 year old men don't need more water to hit the can, we have prostates....they make us go enough without help.
     So here I am, battling two addictions......snacking and spider solitaire.
     I need help.
     No, not mental....I can't get the new bag of pretzels open, dammit!

   

I've had it up to my......whatever

I have trouble remembering lines

     It's no secret.  Every director, every actor, I have worked with points that out to me.
     I get it.
     When Terry C and I did a Tuna show, I had a line:  "I've had it up to my ass with the sorry excuse for a town and some body's gonna pay."  I knew the line cold.  Come opening night, I can't remember what I have had it up to!
       The line became up to my neck and you'll be sorry; up to here and you'll see what happens, and a variety of other forms of the line.
     TC knew I was going nuts.  He said my eyes would roll up in my head and I would get a panicked look on my face whenever I had to do that line.  I just blanked.
     Another show I had to hide my two line entrance on the back of a couch in big letters because I could not remember it.  Six weeks of rehearsal, and those two words would not come out.
     I admit I used notes.  In an Escanaba show, I read a magazine on stage.  That had my lines in it and the cue lines.  Whenever we got to them, I'd close the magazine and deliver the lines.
     I had them pasted on a table once.  Not the entire line, but which character I was and which character I was talking to.
     I have put them on the walls back stage to read, hidden them in stage props....in other words, I have used every opportunity I can find to make sure I get the lines straight.
     In the Trib today they had an article about how actors memorize lines.  Angela Lansbury uses an earpiece, and someone tells her the line and she says it.  Of course, she is about 110 years old.
     Other actors keep reading the lines over and over and over and over.....until they get hem.
     One person sang their lines, and I had someone else tell me that was a good way.  But it doesn't seem to work with me.
     Another suggestion was to work on a line and take a nap.  That way the brain can absorb the material.
      I'm all for taking naps, but I have a lot of lines to learn!  I'd be like Rip Van Winkle by the time the play starts!
     So I am doing what seems to work for me.  I have Jackie read lines with me.  On some of the larger speeches I have been recording them and saying them as they play.  I have also done pure memorization and taking a nap, although the nap wasn't planned.
     In any case, I still have a ways to go.
     And miles to go before I sleep.
     Wait, I memorized that in eighth grade!!
      Holy crap it's gonna be a long July....

     
   

500 miles, 500 miles...

I have not ridden my bike much this year

     Two years ago I rode 600 miles, last year I rode 300 miles......and this year I have not hat the 100 mile barrier yet.
     Two years ago we lived close to the bike path and I would ride for an hour several times a week.  Living out in the country, I don't always want to toss the bike on the car and drive to the path, so I don't ride as much.
      Funny thing, I ride from my house to Shangri La and back, and it is less than riding the bike path!  Seems to me it should be more, but I think the bike path curves and twists a lot.
     Today I did ride 15 miles (actually it was 14.3) for the MS Ride Illinois Tour de Farm.  I may go back tomorrow, depending on temperature, weather and if my body hurts a lot.  I plan to ride into town one day a week every week, getting a rest and coffee at Cypress House.  I have not done any distance rides in a few years.
     But the MS ride is a huge fund raiser, over $1.5 million this year!  There were literally a thousand riders....my number was 1981..... and most rode with teams.
      I opted for the 15 because I am not in the best of shape, but neither were a lot of the other riders!
     I did not read the fine print on the pre-registration forms.....this is a fund raiser.  Riders have to raise $300 in order to register for the ride.  I did not know that.  So there I am, standing at the registration table, forms filled out, name and data entered in the computer, ride packet issued in my name in hand, and the nice lady says, "Are you going to pay today or are you filling out a promise to pay letter?
     I thought that was strange for a $10 entry fee, and so I said, "Oh, I'll pay now.  How much is it?"
     Let me just say, Jackie nearly shit when I got home.  She was a little irritated.  No, she was a lot irritated.  I think our vacation account just went down $310.
     But I am fine with that.  MS is truly an insidious illness.  No known cause, no known cure.  The only way to answer those two questions is to do research and conduct studies.  That costs money.
     It breaks my heart to see her increasingly struggle to walk and maintain balance.   It angers me, causes me to question my belief, worries me.....and depresses me.
     We know so many people who have MS.  Many of them are much worse off than Jackie, and for that I do count my blessings.  But there are a lot of MS patients, mostly women, which scares a dad with two daughters.
     Environmental?  A virus?  The water?  The air?
    Research will someday find an answer.  And that's why I would have written a check for even more today, and not regretted in one minute.
     Huh....this post took a strange turn.
     But then again, so did our lives.
   
     

I have strong feelings about some things

I hate MS

     I very seldom hate.  But I hate MS.
     Enough said.

Johnny B Goode.......

I saw a rock and roll legend

     First off, I want to say when I am 87 years old I hope I can do the Duck Walk, sing a rock song, and play a guitar just like a ringin' a bell.
     Chuck Berry was amazing.  The venue was great, the Loop District a fun place to party, the hamburger at Blueberry Hill was tasty.
     But time takes a toll on people.
     Chuck was hard to hear, and hard to understand.  His playing was a bit slow, and sometimes the band would have to wait for him to catch up.
     After doing School Days once, he did another song, then went back into School Days, evidently forgetting he had already done that one.
      Was it an outstanding rock and roll show?
      No.  But it was amazing, realizing this man had been there from the start of rock and roll and he was still rocking!  Not as fast, not as sure, but rocking anyway.
     Blueberry Hill is a treasure trove of rock and roll history.  The walls are lined with people who have visited the place in its 40 years.  The Duck Room, a room with a line of carved ducks running along the top, is in the basement.  The bare brick walls and exposed beams work together to create an intimate performing space.
     One veteran of shows there told us the room was once a lot shorter and you had to duck under headers and pipes to watch a show.  At some point, he wasn't sure when, the building was raised or the floor lowered....he wasn't sure.  Either one seemed a gigantic undertaking.
     Chuck Berry has performed there for years.  He does a monthly Wednesday night show and about 200-250 people attend.  There are maybe 75 chairs set out, and tickets are sold with the explanation that seating is limited, expect to stand.
     When the doors opened at 7, the line was already pretty long.  Luckily my buddy Dan and I were inside waiting, because it was damn hot outside.  Inside it was only darn hot.
     A local band named the Trip Daddys opened and did some rock, rock-a-billy, blues and sounded real good.  They had a bass player who had what looked like an aluminum cello.  He whacked the hell out of that during the whole show.
      We did not get mugged in St. Louis.  (Yes, that was a worry of mine.)
       The room did not have bed bugs.  (Yes, that was a worry of mine.)
       We rode the metro line without any problems.  (Yes, that was a worry of mine.)
        All in all, it was a good show.......
       At the end, Chuck sat down, grabbed the microphone and started reciting a poem.  He was  a little hard to hear, and understand.  He would speak into the mic, but then he would slowly move it away and you couldn't hear him.  At one point, a loud noise came from our part of the room.  Chuck looked up and made a joke about buying a chair since you broke that one.  But when he went back to his poem, he was pretty confused.  The audience helped him some, but the owner of the place was near us and he tapped Chuck's son and said, "We have to end this now."
      So they did.
     But that's not the picture I will have of Chuck Berry.  I see him in his red sequence jacket, wearing a white sailor hat, and doing the Duck Walk across the stage.  At that moment, he wasn't 87.  He was a rock and roll legend.  Live, and up close.


   
   

My bags are packed, I'm waiting to go

I am going to see Chuck Berry, live

     By the time you read this, I will be on my way to a Chuck Berry concert.
     Chuck Berry.  Live.  A legend performing hits from the 50s and 60s.  Maybe he'll sing My Ding a Ling or Maybelleine, or Roll over Beethoven, or Johnny B. Goode....I get excited thinking about it.
      He performs concerts about once a month at a place called Blueberry Hill in St. Louis.  Tickets sell out fast and when they went on sale two months ago, I bought two.
      Chuck is 87 years old.  He has been playing since the 1950s and is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
      Famous for his guitar work, I am not sure what to expect.  Will his hands and fingers still work magic on the strings?  Will his voice sound good and strong?
      So that is what I am doing today. ..... driving to St Louis, going to a concert that has no seating, reliving my youth and watching a rock and roll legend.
      It's going to be a blast.


     

Shake, rattle, and roll

I love music from the 50s and 60s

     I can't explain it.  I just love the music.  Maybe it's a simpler time, maybe it's because I was a kid and had no responsibilities.  I just like the tunes.
    Freddie "Boom Boom" Cannon gets me rocking with Palisades Park, Bill Haley gets me going with almost anything he and the Comets sing.  And how can you not tap your toes to Elvis, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly and Little Richard?  Good golly, Miss Molly, it is hard not to get moving when they start singing.
    We have vehicles with Sirius XM on them and I listen to about 5 stations, including the 50s and the 60s channels.  I also like Underground Garage, and they play lots of oldie rock and roll too.
     I don't think my parents liked the sounds, however.  I can remember my father telling me to "Turn that crap off " several times.  But I always found a way to listen.
     And I don't think Julia and Emily are particularly impressed by the music, every time one of them drives our car we have a hip hop station tuned in.  And I can hear my father in me when I say, "Turn that crap off."
      But for pure singing along music, the 50s and the 60s can't be beat.
      Don't get me wrong, I love the Beatles and the Stones too, but that is a different age, and a different type of music.
      I think it was the Drifters who sang Up on the Roof, and I remember as a kid thinking how cool it would be to go on the roof of our apartment building and watch the stars put on a show for free.  I never actually did that, but I can sing about it 53 years later.
      And who could not laugh at One Eyed, One Horn Flying Purple People Eater or Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. (Underground Garage played a version of that by a German band and it was absolutely amazing!) My favorite novelty song was done by a group who took bits and pieces of hit records and blended it into a news report of aliens landing.  And the legendary Stan Freeburg did a version of St. George and the Dragon in a Dragnet style.  Maybe that's where I got my love of comedy.
       Anyway, I love that period.  And tomorrow I am going to experience it....live and in concert.
   

Here's lookin at you, kid

I wish I watched more movies

     I have a Netflix subscription.  Red Box is only $1.20.  There are so many movies I want to see, but I just don't go or watch them.
     Godzilla.  Her.  Movies that looked good in previews, but I never made it to the theater or Red Box to see them.
     Saving Mr. Banks.  Twelve Years a Slave.  Movies that won awards, honors, praise....and I don't watch them.
     It's not that I never watch movies.  I have seen Casablanca probably 25 times....and can even do the dialogue in some scenes.  I love that movie!  Intrigue.  Humor.  Suspense.  A good message.  I can watch that every week and never tire of it.  But it has to be  black and white, not colorized.
     It's a Wonderful Life.  Watch it every Christmas and I never get tired of George talking about his dreams of travel, or goofy Clarence ordering a mulled win in Nick's Place.  Good stuff.
     So why don't I watch more?
     Maybe I spend too much time playing solitaire, or watching the Cubs, or checking Facebook, or writing my blog.
     Or maybe I spend too much time watching movies that I happen to be available without leaving the house.
     Whatever, I want to start watching movies more.
     So I am asking you:  What movies should I watch?   If you have some ideas, tack them on in the comment section and I'll get going.
      Just let me finish a game or two.  And the Cubs are on tomorrow at 6. So, after that.  Maybe.
   

A happy fathers day to all....a bit late

I don't remember much about my father

     When I was born, he was 58.  I don't remember doing a lot of things with him.  We went to Galena, and Springfield, and Dewey Lake.  But it's all kind of blurry.
     We never talked.  When I was in college, he started showing signs of what's now diagnosed as Alzheimer's.  I would come home from Northern and he would say hello, and the next morning he would be surprised I was home.
     In the great blizzard of 67, he insisted on going with me to the train station to catch the train back to DeKalb.  Transportation was a mess, and here was this 67 year old guy making sure I got to the train safely.  He even carried my bag.
     I am almost that age now.
     When ever I left the house for school he always asked if I had enough money.  We didn't have a pot to piss in, but he was worried I wouldn't have money for the train or food.
     He smoked like a chimney.  He had a bad temper.  He had fits of sneezing.  I too have fits of sneezing and I have a bad temper.  I am like him in many ways.
     He hummed when he walked, and he always walked along the curb in case there was money in the gutter.  He would pick up every penny he found, no matter how embarrassed I felt.
     He never graduated high school, I don't even know if he attended high school.  There was a period of maybe 13 years when he lived in California, working on a dude ranch.  I know he was in the US Army in the first world war, although while he was in basic training in Rockford the war ended.
     I don't think it's a family secret, but he may have been mentally ill.  He had very peculiar beliefs, and said some very peculiar things, and claimed some very peculiar happenings.
      I'd like to think I was a better dad to my girls than he was to me.
      I don't remember him reading to me, or playing catch with me, or taking me to a Cubs game.
      If I had it to do over, I would be a better son.  I didn't realize how tiring life can be when you are 58 and you have a 10 year old boy, a menial job, and maybe some issues that even he was unaware of.
     If I had it to do over, I'd be a better father.
     I'd be more of a hugger.  More of a reader.  More of a listener.  I'd be home more, instead of at work.  I'd take more time to get to know them.  I wouldn't get so upset at the messes they made, or the food they didn't eat.
     I'd pick up that suitcase and trudge through three feet of snow just to make sure they got on the train safely.
     He has been dead since 1977,  which means I have spent more of my life without him then I did with him.
     Yet, I do miss him.  Now I wish we had spent more time together. that I could have learned more about him.  Maybe helped him in some way.
      And while I think I did ok as a father, I know I could have done better.
      So any young dads reading this, realize this moment in time will disappear faster than you can imagine.  Create those memories, those bonds.  Don't let your kids grow up as strangers to you.
      That's it.

   
     

I can't believe it myself

Sometimes I astound myself with my stupidity

     OK, maybe stupidity is too strong a word.  But yet.....
     64 ounce Snapple tea drinks were on sale at Sullivan's.  I saw the tea with peach variety and bought one.
     It is diet tea!  Has a funny aftertaste in my mouth, and I have 64 (well, maybe 56 at this point) ounces left.  It's not like the word diet wasn't written three inches high on the label.  It is there as plain as day.
     I may have misread it because I might have been wearing my magnetic sunglasses in the store.  I may have.  When I went out to mow today, I could not find any of the three pair I have.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.
     I can't tell you how many times I have heard, "Sir, are these yours?" as I walk out of a store.
     I took a flashlight and looked through the cars, finding a couple of pairs under the seat and under the bags in the back seat.  I am still short one pair.  I know somewhere in my life's wanderings  I left them.  I wonder why I even take them out of the car....I should just put them in the car and never take them out.
     I mowed the back yard.  Put the mower away and realized I did not mow the area around our $872 raised garden, that seems to have four bean plants, three pea seedlings and some wilted tomato plants.  I do need to water tomorrow morning.
     And while being cute about the bear was fun for me, it was not so much fun when I dropped the little camera on the cement.  Now it does not work.  It is broken.  It is the second camera I have broken.  Maybe I should use the wrist strap.
     I drove into town today to do five errands, one of which was getting gas for the mower.  So, when I got to town would have not been the time to realize I needed to bring the gas can.
     I have one two gallon can.  So I bought another and filled it.  But it took me several tries (and looking at the directions was last on the list) for using the new gas can, which has a push down to get me to work instead of twisting the spout like crazy label.
     Life sometimes is too difficult for me.  I can't seem to get the easy tasks done.  Yes, I am working on lines for the play.  Yes, I clean house once a week.  Yes, I seem to play a lot of solitaire. Yes, I get easily distracted.
     But I miss so much of the obvious.  At the zoo the other day I was asked if I read the e-mail sent out to volunteers.  I did.  The first paragraph or two.  But paragraph three was pretty darned important and it would have been nice if I had read the  that one!  Then I would not have looked like such an idiot when the supervisor asked if I had any questions.
    I did.  But I didn't ask them because the questions didn't come to me until I went home and read the full e-mail.
    I suppose some day I will be better organized.  Better informed.  Better prepared.
    But then again, I am 66 and I've made it this long being me.
    But folks, it does get tiring.

Age old question soon to be answered

I think we will learn something pretty soon

     There have been numerous reports of a black bear on the move in Ogle County.  I guess we will get an answer to the rhetorical question:  Does a bear shit in the woods?
     Maybe Doug will find the answer!!
     I do know I am turning into a bear with a summer cold.
     Think I'll go hibernate.

Economics is driving me batty

Today I am obsessed with prices

    I really don't know what started it.  I was fine until I picked up the Puff's square box, specially priced at 99 cents.
    Now that seemed like a good deal.  We use Puffs because I think they are soft and gentle on my nose.  They are stronger than competing tissues, and they have an attractive package. (No, I am not being sexist.  Yes, the packages are attractive and the tissue strong.  Puffs will be sending me a check for this endorsement, I am positive.)
    There are 50 tissues in the package, which means, it costs almost 2 cents a tissue!  I never realized the true cost before!!  No wonder Napoleon had his men wear long sleeves....the cost of tissue back then must have been outrageous, leading generals to say to the troops:  "Use your sleeve, save the dollars. Charge.  By the way, I'll be at the rear, planning."
    Then I started thinking about other stuff I buy and its cost.  For example, my Honda gets 40 MPG with gas that is $3.79 a gallon, so I spend $.08 for every mile I drive.  Going into town....56 cents.
Our van gets about 23 (on a good day...wind blowing from the rear, no weight in the car, cruising at 60), which is about 17 cents per gallon, or $1.36 every time I go into town.  And I have to get back!
    The jeans I am thinking about.  They are $40 a pair.  If I wear them three days a week for two years, that is about 12 cents every time I wear them.
    The snack packs I bought.....50 cents each.  OK, it is worth it because I only eat 100 calories when I devour a snack pack.  If I had a whole box of Lorna Doone's, I would eat a whole box of Lorna Doone's.....and I have no idea what the cost per cookie is.
    I have tea every morning.  Lipton's is on sale at Walgreen's for $2.99 for 100 tea bags.  That's about 3 cents per bag.  If I have to drive there to get them, and blow my nose while wearing my new jeans,
 I have spent......$1.26!  Lucky think I have a coupon for a free Red Box rental, because that is right at Walgreen's so I can save $1.20....but now I have to drive there Saturday and return it, with a net cost to me of 8 cents for the free rental!
   Enough, says I.   I am not going to worry about the money any more.  Sure, I spend it like water. ($4.50 for a 20 ounce bottle at the ball park....or about 22 cents an ounce.)  But sometimes it is worth it to spend money on things you like and want rather than regretting it.
    But I am going to start some saving measures.
    So if you happened to stop in to visit, bring your own tissue, tea bag and snack pack.
    I will supply the wine however.  Some pleasures are worth the price.
   
   

Poppa needs some new jeans

I hate buying pants of any kind

     First off, they are expensive.  I don't like spending money on something I am only going to wear out.  (Get it....wear out?  As in outside??   I am too funny.)
     Since retiring, I have noticed my stock of pants is dwindling.  I have about 4 pair I wear when jeans are not appropriate.  Plus I have my zoo pants.  I actually have two pair of zoo pants, but I hate the one pair because they are the wrong size.  Yes, I bought them knowing they were the wrong size, but I thought they would shrink.
     I wear jeans 80 percent of the time.  I don't go many places where I need to wear "casual" pants instead of jeans.
    You may have noticed I have a little issue around my middle that has to be dealt with.  Yes, I could exercise more.  Yes, I could eat less.  Yes, I could go longer than 10 minutes without snacking.  But I have problems with all three.
     Eddie Bauer sells jeans I like, because they fit me.  They have slim, straight, traditional and  relaxed fit   ...all kinds of jeans.  I always get the relaxed fit, because they are a little roomier in the butt, thighs and waist.
     When I looked at them in the catalog today, I was stunned.
      EB describes them as good for men with "athletic builds and men who want a looser fit."
      Athletic builds?  Obviously they have not seen me!
      I buy them because they fit just under my tummy.  (Notice, I did not say little tummy.) I can actually fasten them and wear a belt.  I want a looser fit because  I am fat.
     And I am not the only person who has packed on a little extra weight.  I've been to Walmart folks, and it is not pretty out there.
     It would be nice if manufacturers made pants for us.  They could describe them as: "For the men who are unable to button a 36 but 38 is too big."   Or, "We say 36, but we mean 37."   Or:  ""Designed to fit under your enormous gut."
     I feel insulted.  Athletic build, indeed.  I have spent many hours on the couch watching TV.  I have spent many hours scarfing down doughnuts, chips and ice cream.  I resent being told I have an athletic body!
     Now when I put on my jeans I will have in the back of my head the athletic body description.
     What if that inspires me to exercise more?  What if I decide to eat less crap and healthier foods?  My whole world could be turned upside down.
      And the payoff would be, those jeans won't fit me anymore.  I'll have to buy the traditional fit.
    This is all too upsetting.  I think I'll finish Kathy's chocolate cake and have a lie down to think about all this.

Ka pow......that was a short fight

I don't believe in fighting...but I did, once


    And she was pretty tough.
    Her name was Josephine.  It was sixth, maybe seventh grade.  I don't remember them in the same class as me, but then again, it was a long time ago.  We lived about two blocks from each other, but we really were not friends.  We didn't hang around together, or anything.  She had a twin brother, Robert.  He was short, stocky, strong and a fighter.  We didn't hang around either.
     She started it.
     She had some perfume, and sprayed me, then ran away.  I continued being a boy, despite the smell.
     Josephine was very pretty.  Short dark brown hair.  Deep brown eyes that were huge.  She had a complexion that reminded me of a very light caramel, as if she worked in the sun constantly.  OK, maybe I liked her.  A little.
     After she sprayed me and ran away, I got distracted and she snuck up behind me and sprayed me again.  I turned to face her and told her to knock it off....right to her face I said it.  She sprayed me.
     I lunged and she took off.
     She was pretty fast, for a short girl.
     I was pretty slow, but eventually I caught her, grabbed her arm, took the perfume and swung her around, like we were doing some crazy dance.
    She landed in a puddle and started crying.
    I was sent to the principal's office.  He didn't really know what to do with me because I was a good kid and never got in trouble.  He decided to have me apologize to her.
     And so I did.
     She said the words I dreaded:  "Wait 'till my brother gets you."
     The rest of the afternoon was spent in a haze.  I knew Robert was a tough kid.  I was no match for him.  He was stronger, quicker, and he got in an occasional fight.  I was weak, slow, and by then had already developed the philosophy that violence doesn't solve anything.
     I left school and went home the same way I always did.
     I turned on to Greenview and there he was.  Waiting.
     "You had a fight with a girl?  My sister?" he accused me correctly.
      "Yes," I gulped.
     "You grabbed her arm and threw her into a puddle and she got all dirty?" he asked, with what I thought were mental visions of drop kicking me to the lake.
      "Yes.  I apologized,"  I gulped again.
      "Next time, hit her hard.  My parents won't let me hit her.  She gets away with murder.  Thanks for tossing her in the puddle."  And he walked away.
    And despite the fact we all went to school the same direction, I never really talked much with either of them again.

     
     
   

My first new car

I once bought a car with eight quarters

     Back in 72 or 73, we had one car.  I don't remember much about the car, but it was a used car with lots of miles on it.
     What I do remember is it had a kill switch under the dashboard.  This little toggle switch would kill the engine if you flipped it.  If you put it in the off position you could not start the car.   When Jackie was pregnant with Julia, we would stay at my folk's house in Chicago on weekends.  Our doctor was at Columbus Hospital and we wanted to be close.
     A friend of ours from Rochelle had a daughter in nursing school in Chicago.  Jackie and I thought it would be fun to fix friend John up with Janet, so we invited them over to my folk's house to play cards.  Jackie was 9 months pregnant.  During the card game she constantly complained of a back ache.  When she went upstairs to use the bathroom, her water broke.
     I sent John to get the car, which was parked on the next block over.  He raced over and tried to start the car, but I had thrown the kill switch, so it would not start.  He raced back, told me the car wouldn't start, so I grabbed the keys and raced back down the block, got the car, picked everybody up, drove to the hospital, gave John the car to take Janet home and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  That was Saturday night, about 11.   When the Bears kicked off Sunday at noon, she still had not delivered. But near halftime, my first darling daughter was born.
     They had to use a forceps to pull her out because she was turned.  Plus, she had had a BM prior to birth.
     The nurse came out and showed me this baby, covered with slime and poop and blood, with huge red marks around her head, and said, "Isn't she beautiful?"  I almost puked.
     Anyway, the car had served us well, despite the kill switch.  But I was working in Rockford and she might have been in school, I honestly don't remember.  But I know we needed another car. (I think I was working nights, and she was getting a ride from a neighbor to class.....but I am a little fuzzy on what happened over 40 years ago.  Hell, I can't remember yesterday.)
     So one day, on my way home from work, I stopped at Lou Bachrodt, which at that time was down near the Rock River by the west side.  I looked at a new Chevy Nova.  The salesman asked me if I wanted to take it for a spin, I said no, I was just looking.
     I sat in the car, smelled the new car smell, and decided this was the car for us:  new, safe, dependable.
     I told the salesman I would come back in a couple of days.  He was kind of pushy and asked me how much money I wanted to put down.
     I told him none, because all I had was 8 quarters.
   Before you could say plaid jacket, he had some papers, the keys, took my eight quarters and said to drive it home to show my wife.
    Understand, I puzzle over what toilet paper to buy, what cereal to have,  where to go to eat, what flavor of ice cream to have.  Yet I spontaneously bought a car.
    It served us well, but it was made pretty clear to me that I could never do something like that again.
     And if Jackie reads this, I am pretty sure she will correct my memory.......


   

ughhhhhh..... I can't decide!

I am looking for a motel in St. Louis

     I am going for one night.  I want a clean, reasonable, well located hotel/motel....and I can't make up my mind.
     My destination is a Chuck Berry concert.  I really want to hear "My Ding a Ling" and "Johnny B. Goode", or however it is spelled.  I also want to see how an 87 year old guy rocks.
     But I don't want to pay an arm and a leg for a room...and you know I am challenged when it comes to driving in a new town.
     I looked at the Parkway, which is where I am leaning.  But there is a Holiday Inn Express and a Clarion Inn that are also in the running.
     I have an issue with motels.  I don't like a lot of noise.  I hate dirty rooms.  I don't like street noise.
     One time I went to Alaska with a fellow teacher.  On the way back we drove late and found a motel.  We checked in.  I was tired, but still noticed the number of females that seemed to be in the lobby and around the front door.  The place was popular, people were in and out (of their rooms, don't be dirty) all night.  In the morning we noticed they also rented by the hour....for truckers who needed a few hours of shut eye. (wink, wink)
     Jackie and I stayed in a motel in Keokuk, Iowa, that was, well, dicey.  It seemed clean.  It looked clean.  But it was old, run down, and cheap.  We didn't know any better.
     We stayed in a chain motel one time coming back on vacation.  It had a continental breakfast.  Hungry me got up in the morning and went down to find ...... toast and coffee.  And the toast was not good.  No jam, mind you.  No butter.  Toast.
     Sometimes I prop a chair under the doorknob.  I don't want to be like Neal and Del in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" and have someone break in in the middle of the night.
     I also carry a little bottle of bed bug repellent (Walgreen's used to have them...have to check for a new bottle.)  I spray the bed and under the bed and the mattress and the floor and the chairs.  And I never leave clothing on the floor or on a chair, always on the luggage rack or on top of the dresser.
Bed bugs give me nightmares.
     When I went to Holland a few years ago, I stayed in a cheap hotel in Amsterdam.  It was in the red light district.  Across the street was a bar where the people kept chanting in a rhythmic fashion.  I saw the live sex show signs the next morning and realized what the cheering was about.  My room was 14.  It was odd, because it was on the third floor.  Room 24 was below my room.  The room was compact.  I could sit on the toilet and rest my head on the sink.  When I stretched my arms out to my side, I actually touched both walls at once.  It was a terrible experience.  But it was cheap.
     The neatest experience was in Germany, near Hitler's Eagle's Nest.  The hotel was taken over by SS troops.  There are photos of the building with the swastika hanging on the front and SS staff cars in the parking lot.  There were 18 rooms.  We had three of them the first night.  We were the only guests, because the woman did not like renting rooms to people.  It was spooky and very neat at the same time. Sleeping were evil slept.
    Anyway, if you have any suggestions....fire away.  The concert is in the West End area and the only hotel close was $392 a night....way out of my price range.
   
     
   

middle card...no wait, the right...no.....

I almost became a victim

     I'm just not sure of what!
     My cousin Sally and her husband Warren were in for a visit.  They travel in this really nice RV. (Ok, they get 8 mpg on the highway....less in the mountains.)  But an RV has to be drained of waste water.
     So that is how we ended up at the Petro waste dump station one afternoon.
     Now I have never dumped waste at a rest stop.  (Believe me, NEVER is the correct term.)  So I went along to watch.
     While we were dumping (sounds gross), a guy came up and started a conversation.  He seemed really friendly and when Warren mentioned they were traveling with a dog, he was very interested.  He said, "Follow me...you fellas won't believe this."
     So we wandered into the parking area for trucks.
     Semi tractor trailer trucks are big.  They look huge when I am in my Honda Civic and they are six inches off my bumper, but hey are even bigger when standing by them.
    So why were Warren, who used to be a deputy chief of police in Alaska, following this guy?  Same reason I was.
    We thought he had a neat dog to show us.
     He asked us if we had a CB in the camper.  Warren said no.  Then the guy said something about not hearing about the Canadian trucker giving away money.  Seems this guy won $189,000 and was giving it away.
     We weaved in and out of the trucks until we found the guy....and a couple of other gents.  They were in what might have been a room created by trailer trucks parking really close to each other.  There were small openings on each end.
     They said the dealer was the one giving away money....and sure enough, he had a handful of what looked like $100 bills.  One of the guys gave the dealer some money, the dealer shuffled three cards,  (two red and one black...or two black and one red....whatever) and the guy picked the right card.  The dealer gave him a bunch of money.
    "Just pick the right card and he'll give you double what you bet.  It's easy, watch," one of them said.  He again gave the dealer money, this time $100, and it was obvious which card was the black card among the three cards.  Bingo.  Guy wins, dealer gives him $200.
     These guys are working the same lines on Warren on one side, and me on the other.  We watch for a minute, but then the guys start shoving money in our hands and saying, "Go ahead, bet...you always win.  This guy is giving away the money!"
     We gave them their money and said we are out of here.  One guy grabbed my arm and tried to shove the money at me again so I would make a bet.  I turned, walked over to Warren, and we left.
     I know:  What were we thinking?  Why did we follow a complete stranger to an area where we could have been beaten and robbed?
      Sense of adventure, maybe?  Or stupidity.
     And no, we did not call the police.  A marked squad would have driven them into hiding.  Later in the day, much later, I did tell someone at Petro about the incident and they said they would keep an eye open for the scam....but by then I am sure they had left.
     It's called three card monte....a con game similar to the old "where is the pea under the shell" game.  Only these guys had upped the stakes  I am sure if we had bet their $200. we would have lost and they would have demanded payment....one way or the other.
   
   

70 years ago....lest we forget

I get emotional at times

     Sometimes I tear up.  Not ashamed to admit it.
     Jackie and I went to Omaha Beach on one of our early trips to Europe.  We had a chance to walk through the cemetery, read the names on the graves, and think.
     We also went to Pointe du Hoc, where 225 Rangers scaled a bluff to knock out German guns that were no longer there.  So the Rangers had to move inland, find the guns, and destroy them.  They did. I stood in a German bunker.  I stood in the "dent" of a shell hole. I looked over the edge of Pointe du Hoc.
    On a subsequent trip I had the chance to go down the bluff at Omaha Beach and to walk the beach.
    I tried to imagine what the boys and men felt that day.  Jumping of a landing boat in water that may be waist deep, or neck deep; carrying a 70 pound sack, facing German machine gun fire from the left, the right, the front.  The water is a long way from the bluffs.  The sheer terror that must have greeted them is hard to comprehend.
     We were able to visit with several British survivors of that day.  They were in the American Cemetery, just wandering and visiting with people.  A small crowd had gathered around them when I joined the group.
     This was in 2006 or so.  These guys were frail old men, one of them bent over, all of them with canes.  And stories to tell.
     One vet told of approaching a beach in a landing ship.  It wasn't Omaha, it may have been Gold or Juneau.  He said as they craft was approaching the landing  a shell hit the boat next to his.  The boat was destroyed and all of the men killed.  His friends.  His fellow countrymen.
      Another vet was asked his age.  I can remember the conversation.
      "I turned 21 five days before June 6,"  he told a fellow American in the cemetery.
       "21!  Weren't you scared?" she asked.
      He paused for a slight second, not long.   "By the time we hit the beach, I had been in Africa.  I fought my way across Italy.  Scared?  No, not by then."
     It was hard to imagine these gentle old souls in the fight for freedom's life.  But there they were, in their blue blazers and red berets.  Each one of them had a chest that was filled with medals.  They sobbed when they told of friends killed.  Or brothers.  Or cousins, uncles, townsmen.
     I don't believe in war.  I don't think violence is an answer.  But there are good wars.  And WW II was a good war, if war can ever be good.
     I've thought about the boys storming the beach, climbing the cliffs, dropping out of the sky in the dark of night.
      I have been to the American cemetery twice.  I have seen the seemingly endless rows of crosses and Stars of David.
     I have paused amongst the graves and said thanks to those who lie below those crosses and stars.
     And I do get teary.  These men, now grandparents or great grandparents, now finding themselves on the tail end of life.  These men, once boys serving their countries, truly were The Greatest Generation.

   
     

When you and I were young, Maggie

I have forgotten a lot of my youth

     My cousin Sally was in town for a few days.  She and her husband Warren, and dog Pal, drove down from Alaska to visit me and her brother and some others along the way.
     During the time together, we talked about a lot of things, things I had forgotten, or she had.
     She reminded me that I had a stack of comic books that I kept in my closet and NO ONE could read them.  We had fights over sharing my comics.  This would have been 1958, 1959 .... I bought comics every time one came out.  I wonder now how much they would have been worth today.
     But she forgot that when I went to her house, which was only two blocks away, I would bring my toy soldiers.  She would play with my soldiers while I would play with the dolls in her doll house.
     One aunt, but we could not remember which one, would constantly ask us if we needed to take Milk of Magnesia or some other gunk.  Sally said she used to follow us around with the bottle.  I don't remember that at all.
    Nor do I remember the bag of money we dug up.  Sally insists we were digging in the dirt in a corner area of her block when we dug up a bag of coins.  She said we took them to her house and then split them.  I don't remember, but that could explain all the comic books.
     We did remember riding bikes down to the Coca Cola plant and buying 5 cent bottles of Coke out of the vending machine inside the building.  These were the little glass bottles, and they were always cold and crisp.
     We talked about  not going to the Beatles at Comiskey Park even though she had tickets.   Funny thing.  She got the tickets from a roommate at the U of I.  There were two, and she asked me but I did not want to go.  She did not want to go alone, so she never used the tickets.  Years later, she told me, she was selling some stuff on e-Bay and checked out how much Beatles records were going for.  She spotted two ticket stubs for sale.....at some price like $50 each.  So she put her complete tickets on the site, and sold them for $800!  She made a nice profit, I think, in part, thanks to me.
    She remembered I would eat their dog's Milk Bones.  I remember eating them, and liking them.  Probably not the most nutritious snack.  Maybe that's why I growl so much.
    I had a crush on her next door neighbor, and when we were about 14 we were in Sally's front room.  Her mom had a collection of birds, ceramic birds.  Very delicate, very expensive, very breakable.  While Sally was eating dinner in the back with her mom and dad, Pam and I were having a pillow fight.  I don't remember which one of us threw the pillow, but I can still hear the sound that cardinal made when it hit the floor.  Pam and I were banished from the house....and we had to replace the cardinal.
    She doesn't remember the one time we double dated.  I was still in high school.  Her boyfriend was able to legally buy beer, and he gave me one while I was with my date in the back seat.  It was his dad's car, if I remember correctly, and I dropped the beer, spilling it all over the seat, floor, my date and me. it kind of messed up a fun night.
     We were close.  As the high school years passed, our relationship changed.  She went to the U of I, became a journalist, moved to Alaska while I stayed in Illinois, became a journalist, moved to Rochelle, and became a teacher.
      We hadn't seen each other in years.  Jackie and I visited her in 96, I had visited her in 88, and she was here a couple of times, but not for the last nine or ten years.
     It was a great visit.  I look forward to seeing her again next summer.  Maybe I can convince Jackie to go there.  I hear it's a great drive.
   
   
   

Duh...we all knew that, I think

I really have learned a lot in life

     Despite my less than stellar academic record, I have learned a lot in life.
     this actually started because of a FB post a former student had about what life skills do you teach a child?  Carly got answers like people should:  be able to balance a checkbook, know how to find joy, know how to change a spare tire.....commonsense issues no one really sat down and taught us.  At least in my family they didn't, and I didn't.
     Here are a few of the lessons I have learned, but not in school.  Feel free to add to them, if you'd like.
     Laughter is good, creating laughter is magical
     We need friends
     We need family, so heal your differences before it is too late
      Money doesn't buy happiness, but it is better than being broke and worrying about the rent
      Be able to recognize opportunity, so when it knocks you will answer
      Don't smoke
      Drier vents need to be cleaned regularly
      Don't waste your time on earth...contribute
      Either learn how to change a tire or join a motor club
      Playing an instrument as an adult is a very cool thing
      Success is overrated
      Avoid people who constantly complain
   
     I guess that's it for now.
     Sweet dreams

No, it's not about banjos

I got exposed to American Pickers today

     When I watch television, I pretty much watch a few kinds of shows.  I like comedies, English period pieces, House Hunters.  Did I mention comedies?  And Chicago sports.
     I had heard of American Pickers, but I honestly thought it dealt with banjo and guitar players.    Pickers.   People who play the guitars....  don't judge, that is what I thought.
     But my cousin Sal and her husband Warren are here from Alaska and she wanted to go see the American Pickers store/garage in LeClaire, Iowa.
     Now I have been in LeClaire.  We went to the Buffalo Bill Cody homestead about 20 years ago.  It was pretty neat, but the town was not much, as I remember.
     Dan, you will like this.  I missed the turn off of 88 onto 80.  So we ended up going through Moline, which turned out to be ok because we visited the John Deere Pavilion, which has a gift shop, equipment display, and very nice restrooms.
     If I had taken the right lane (literally, it is the lane on the right.  I was in the left lane), we would have missed the chance to spend American green on Deere green products.
     I saw a giant machine that was described as a walking insect.  It was a prototype but only two were produced.  (The lady giving me directions for the third time was telling me all this.)  It was designed to harvest trees and was supposed to be better for the land than the wheeled or track harvesters.  It would "walk" up to a tree, snap it off at the base, clean the branches and load it on a truck.  I think you could also program it to scratch your back and brew coffee, but I am only guessing.  It was way cool.
     We went to a wood working shop in Davenport.  There were hundreds of hand carved Santa Claus figures on display, but not one for sale!  They were all Santas collected by the owners, who may be related to Jackie in some way.  (She collects Santas.  If you knew that, I would not have to explain that.)
      We stopped at Lock and Dam 14, but Sally wasn't up to the walk from the parking area to the actual lock, so we putzed around the parking lot, taking pictures of the river.  I can see why it is the Big Muddy.
     Next stop:  American Pickers, AKA Antique Archaeology.   Conveniently located behind the BP station on the way into town.
     If you have not watched the show, it seems to be based on this premise:  A couple of guys travel the country and buy stuff that people don't want or need and bring it to LeClaire where they sell it to people who don't need it but want it.  And they make a profit.
     Some of the stuff is neat, like the giant Laurel and Hardy heads.  There are old motorcycles, old cars, old clothing, old postcards....you get the idea.  There is some really neat stuff, but there was also some.....how can I put it?  ....... junk.
     I did hear it takes 12 hours of filming to make one 15 minute segment.  There is another Pickers store in Savanna, Il.  No, they are not at the store today.  They are pretty neat guys and they are bringing fame to the area.
     And it shows.  Le Clair has a great looking downtown, with antique stores, specialty shops, a couple of coffee bars, a wine bar, a couple of ice cream shops and beautiful old buildings and houses.
     We stopped at the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum of Regional History.  There were video clips of the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show that were made by his company.  (For some reason, I thought the film industry started later than that.  But then I remembered seeing films of the Wright Brothers flying their plane at Kitty Hawk.)
       And Renee....you have a doppelganger!  I almost said hello to you, but you didn't look just exactly like you...but she laughed like you and could be your twin.
      Then we headed back to Rochelle.
      And I took all the right roads this time!

   

Poppa needs some new shoes

I may have become too specialized with shoes

     I'm a guy.  Guys don't generally have a lot of shoes.  We generally don't like to buy shoes.
     I think I may be an exception.
     I have several pairs of shoes:  good brown shoes to wear with my good pants, good black shoes to wear with dark pants, a pair of shoes to wear in the yard; a pair of gym shoes to wear in the house or while biking; a pair of shoes to wear when walking on the treadmill; a pair of shoes at Emily's to wear in the dog yard; a pair of shoes that I don't seem to wear but still have at the back door; my everyday shoes.
     It's my everyday shoes that are a problem.  I don't like them anymore as everyday shoes.  I bought them in 2011 and have worn them, well, almost every day.  They have a suede finish and I have no idea how to clean them.  They were the last new shoes I bought, with the exception of the shoes for in the house or riding my bike.
     I need to buy wide shoes because I have orthopedic inserts.  I have a hard time finding shoes I like.  I will go shoe hunting after my next zoo visit and will be looking for something like a chukka boot in leather with a wide width.
     I will visit at least 10 stores.  None of them will have what I want.
     I will look on line and find a pair that fits the bill, order them, wait a week, get them and find out I don't like them because they don't fit right.  I will send them back and continue my hunt.
    I will look at Red Wing shoes, because they are made in the USA.  I will look at Ecco because I like the fit.  I will pick up shoes made in China and complain that nothing is made in the USA anymore and not buy those shoes.   I will not find what I want and buy something that is close but will make me unhappy every time I put them on.
    Screw it.   I'll just wear what I have.  That will eliminate a lot of wasted time and effort.
    So, never mind.
   

How much is that doggie in the window?

I think some people make too much money

     And I wish I was one of them!
     The Chicago Tribune today listed 2013 salaries of executives in Illinois and the Chicago area.  The average pay was up over 5 percent.  The median for chief executives was $5.2 million.  That could buy some serious fun.
     Now I know, running a business takes expertise, tact, talent and knowledge.  When I am flying to visit Julia, the last think I worry about is the $23,263,562 reportedly paid to the CEO of Boeing.  And I know that pales in comparison to salaries star athletes can get just to endorse a show, or product, or whatever.
     But holy smoke!  The Tribune listed four executives of companies headquartered in Illinois and northwestern Indiana who made over $20 million last year.  That is some chunk of change.
     And owners of sports teams can claim a net worth of billions of dollars.  Granted, some don't seem smart enough to amass that much wealth, but they have.
     The Tribune list 96 executives earning $1 million or more.  I don't begrudge them that....... well, maybe a little.
     If there were 20 teachers at a Rochelle school making $50,000 each......one year's CEO salary would cover 23 years of teacher's salaries.  23 years.  Check my math, please.  10 teachers at $50,000 is $500,000, so twenty teachers would be $1 million per year.
     I was talking to a service technician the other day and he said he made $17.60 an hour.  That is a good wage, about $700 a week.  Plus he gets overtime.  I can't begin to divide $20 million into a per hour cost but my calculator says it's about $9,600 an hour.
     I wish I could get hired for that price and work only two hours.  By then they would know I was incompetent and fire me.  Actually, they would know the first hour but filling out the paper work would take another hour, so I'd be happy.
     What would I do with all that money?
     I'd buy a chaise lounge for the front porch, one with cushions and soft padding.  That way when I fall asleep reading, I won't get a still neck from my flopping back in a chair or falling forward onto the concrete.
      I'd take a trip to the redwood forest in California, stopping at the Prince of Wales hotel in Canada for high tea.
      I'd do whatever I damn please.
     I know we are basically the same.  I get up and get dressed just the same as a $20 million executive.  He may have better clothes, but I am very comfortable in my Brookfield Zoo "I am a member" shirt and jeans.  And of course his underwear is probably silk and his shoes made from hand rubbed merino sheep skin that was hand sewn to his exact specifications by an Italian shoemaker in Panzano, Italy.  But hey, we sill put those socks on one foot at a time.
     This rant has worn me out.  I'm going to go out on the porch and flop back in my chair.
     I just hope I don't get a stiff neck.