Just cruising around, and it doesn’t get any better than this for a Serial Thrift Store Shopper …
Category Archives: Opinions
Basketball Playoffs
So, now that Stanford lost, taking the Pac-12 our of the playoffs, which lady team are cheering for?
Me? I’m for UCONN. I kinda was when they played Stanford, but couldn’t admit it then.
Now for the men … since both teams were low seeds, I’m happy for both of them. I loved it when Kentucky took out whoever it was they played against, but, for family reasons, I’m compelled to give my allegiance to UCONN. Truth is, I’m just a UCONN fan.
Since Diane and I are here in Las Vegas, I need to know which teams to bet on. Give me some hints so we can go home debt free.
Las Vegas
Today’s schedule called for us to leave for Las Vegas at 0900 and we made it right on time, at 1000. Around noonish, we decided it might be a good time to eat something so I asked my iPad to find us an IHOP. She did, and we checked in to a really busy one in Perris, California. We had to wait for about 15-20 minutes, and pretty much every seat was full, all the time, so we were confident the food would be hot, and good. We weren’t disappointed. The silverware they delivered was even still warm from the dishwasher. We were definitely a minority in the facility, but that didn’t matter. Everyone was extremely friendly and made us reaffirm our desire to learn Spanish. Or Mexican. One of those.
After lunch we joined a plethora of vehicles and re-established our position on I-215 North. It was all going well then it all fell apart when I saw a huge bill board advising everyone to re-elect Sheriff Stan Sniff. It made my mind whirl with possibilities of other interesting names in public offices. Unfortunately I can’t remember any of them right now, but you have to admit it’s an interesting name for a sheriff. Kinda makes you wonder what his wife’s name is and what they named their kids. How about Scratch Ann? That’s not nice, I know, but how can your head not go that direction? I’m over it, now, and if I ever meet Mr. Sniff, I’ll apologize. Honest, I will. He won’t know why, but I’ll do it anyway.
In Riverside the temperature soared to 80 degrees, then went up a couple more in San Bernardino. Then we started climbing, gently, to over 4000 feet. The speed limit concerned Diane most of the way because there wasn’t a lot of guidance provided by the highway department. We encountered a number of warnings that the speed limit was dropping to 60, then 55, but getting back up to 70 was kind of left up to the individual drivers. Then, 20 miles down the road there might be a sign approving the speed everyone had been driving all that time. More like 75, even though there was a very large police presence on both sides of the freeway.
About 60 miles from our destination, we encountered the only, got that?, the only rest area open on the trip. There were others, of course, but every one of them was closed. Feeling blessed, we stopped, along with an abnormal number of Oriental folks, all of whom seemed to be smoking, because Diane was getting tired and her bladder was apparently full.
Diane was tired because the cross winds for most of the trip were not subtle, sometimes jerking us quite severely. It was reasonable that I take over driving responsibilities, although I’m not normally assigned that task.
Problems started just as soon as I put the Buick in ‘R’. There were 4-5 Oriental people standing behind the car talking, and taking photos of something. I waited, patiently, revving the engine, even whistling out the window at one point, but they wouldn’t move. Finally, Diane got out and made them aware of my desire to run over them, and they dispersed. Apparently, they were feeding birds.
Finally they moved, and I carefully made my way from the parking spot, and on to the freeway entrance. Diane told me she had been cruising at 74 most of the time, so I should set my sights on that speed. I did, and blended right in quite nicely. Shortly after doing that, we noticed the southbound lanes slowing down and it wasn’t long before all 3 lanes were cruising along at bruising 13 mph. We know it was 13 mph because Diane looked at Waze, who knows all that stuff. This continued for almost 20 miles. It was pretty amazing. We had to have passed thousands and thousands of cars. Let’s see, cars are about 18′ long and in this instance were about 3′ apart, so call it 21′. Now, 5280 divided by 21, times 3 for the lanes, and times 20 for the distance covered is 15085.7142857142858 cars. Considering that some of the vehicles were semi trucks, I figure I can round that up to an even 15,085 vehicles we passed during that time. That’s a lot of vehicles.
Finally, we hit the end and I could let it go. There was a point in time where my Oregon upbringing almost caused me to get off the freeway and get in line on the southbound side. Logic intervened, however, and kept me heading North, to LV. Diane isn’t aware of that brief impulse and I’m pretty sure it would have upset her a great deal had I acted on it.
We arrived at our destination, 121 Karen Avenue, Las Vegas. I got us checked in and everything moved to the room, while Diane parked the Buick. When she got to the rooms, we made supper. She baked both the potatoes we had and I made salad. Additionally, I heated up the one remaining chicken breast and ate it with my salad.
After eating, I went back to the Buick to get some things we missed on the first effort, and I stopped by the concierge to order up tickets for The Jersey Boys at the Paris. It’s the first show Diane thought she would like to see, so I got them. It is, incidentally, our anniversary trip.
Now I won’t have to buy a card.
Here in Vegas, by the way, it’s a stunning 57 degrees. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be 70.
Go UCONN, Women and Men.
Port Hueneme to Oceanside
Today’s another banner day for me with regard to blog entries … this is #580 and I still haven’t run out of words. Go figure ..
The day started with a mostly calm journey down Highway 101, and ended the same on I-5 at the southern extreme of our intended journey. The middle, through the heart of Los Angeles was just as we remembered … about 20-85 minutes of dodging daring drivers driving very expensive cars. We noted that about 1 in 10 of the cars passing us were new. The obvious explanation is that they each had recently wrecked the last one they had and were out breaking in the new one.
Initially, as we neared Los Angeles, the amount of north-bound traffic seemed pretty normal for seven lanes of new cars. The number quickly increased making it quite evident they were all rushing to escape the city before the next earthquake hits.
Then, about the middle of the LA proper, the southbound lanes become the escape route and the real excitement begins.
The frenzy continues, and builds, as more and more new vehicles join the quest to seek safety, from severe seismic sensations, to the south. During the fray, most of the vehicles ricochet off one exit or another until only a few of us remain. We continue southward, to solace, in Oceanside … the number one liberty town for pretty much the entire Marine Corps. We don’t mind, however, because we’re well protected from invasion of any sort.
We arrived at our destination at 1430, or so, meaning we made the trip in 3.5 hours with only one stop. That was for donuts because Diane was hungry. I mean, really hungry.
So, before leaving the Port Hueneme area, we stopped at a small donut shop in Oxnard that I spied. They had awesome looking donuts, but they also had apple fritters which I happen to know Diane loves. They also had some good-looking cinnamon rolls. So, I bought one each, and away we went.
These pastries were not minor pieces. They were huge, so we had to wear our car bibs to keep from making pastry stains on our clothing. We washed them down with the semi-good coffee I purchased at the exchange before leaving the Navy base. This minor form of sustenance sustained us all the way to our destination which means we didn’t have to stop.
Once off the freeway, we made our way to 121 S. Pacific Ave in Oceanside. It’s an ocean front resort, right on the water, almost. Actually, separating the resort from the water is a very narrow road, a boardwalk, made out of cement, a fence and a wide area of sand. But, it’s still Oceanside, right?
Still, it’s nice. We got a parking place, opened all the doors, and loaded everything that fell on the ground onto a cart and took it to our room.
I’ll go back down tomorrow and get the rest of it. Shouldn’t take more than two trips.
We have a corner unit on the north end of the third floor of the Easternmost building of this two building complex. We have a really nice deck that has a terrific view of the wall of the Westernmost building, and it looks down on a very large patio area that forms the roof of the parking area between the two buildings. However, in our little corner, we have two windows that provide a pretty nice view of pretty much everything that’s going on.
Before …
… and at sunset
After the trip we simply enjoyed just sitting around doing nothing. Actually, we like sitting around doing nothing pretty much anywhere we go. That will change tomorrow. Diane already has a Costco trip planned, and I’m pretty sure she’s scoped out locations for all the thrift stores in the area. If not yet, I know she will. Diane was enjoying sitting around doing nothing that she recruited me to make dinner, which I did. We had tuna salad sandwiches. They were really good.
Tomorrow, we will try to connect with our friends, the other California Mike and Kathie, who are only about 40 miles away. After driving over 1000 miles, 40 miles is nothing, really. Besides, Diane will be driving.
Now I’ll share a couple of photos from Hearst Castle, then quit …
Colonoscopys, This & Next, Food, Softball, and Soup
Yesterday was another crappy day in paradise … it sprinkled a bit early on, then the sun came out and nearly blinded us when Diane drove me to my visit at the Gastroenterology Clinic in Portland. I was summoned, as a prelude to my need for a colonoscopy, in order to see how big my anus is. Apparently they have new HD cameras and needed to know if it was big enough to accommodate the new equipment. I found this interesting because things like that are generally getting smaller, not bigger. Fortunately, due to years of practice at ‘being’ an anus, it was determined that mine could, indeed, receive the probe. I heard someone say they thought they might even be able to insert two probes and take a 3D shot of my innards.
None of that’s true, of course. Truth is, since I will be unconscious during this procedure, they could shove a small chair in there and I’d never know it but I’m pretty confident they won’t because I’m not gonna sign the waiver.
Apparently the meeting went well because I was escorted to the lady who makes the appointments and they had one for next Monday, so I took it. The next available appointment was in May and I didn’t want to wait that long. I brought Diane in to ensure I’d made the correct choice and she assured me I had. So, the appointment Lady gave me a stack of instructions on what I had to do to prepare for this incredible experience. It starts next Friday and involves drinking gallons of Gatorade, water, and a couple of innocent looking pills. I’ve done this before so know what it’s all about. For those of you who haven’t had a colonoscopy, I’ll leave it at that in order to not spoil the ending for you. I will say, however, you will lose a bit of weight. Not much, and maybe only temporarily, perhaps, but you’ll lose it.
Sunday is my day for liquids only which makes enjoying Lydia’s 15th birthday celebration problematic, but I’ll make up for it on Monday. Maybe.
While writing about “next” Sunday, and “this” Friday, I’m compelled to share my belief about all of that, and why I think everyone else in the world is wrong about how those words are used in conjunction with identifying days of the week.
For example, if Diane were to tell me that I needed to do some “next Friday,” I would do it “this Friday” because, in this context, this=next to me. I mean, next Friday means the very next one I encounter. The word “this” shouldn’t even be allowed in the same sentence with days of the week.
Being slightly educated, however, I know that when Diane says “next Friday,” she really means the Friday “next week,” not the next one in sequence. In her parlance, that would be “this Friday.” Additionally, “a week from next Friday,” since today is Wednesday, actually means the third Friday from the day after tomorrow. Had the speaker meant that, however, they would have phrased it as “a week from Friday.” In this case, the “this” is silent.
All of this interpolation about which day is really being referenced makes my head hurt a little, so I’ve simplified the process by asking the speaker to clarify themselves. Normally I get an incredulous look that means, “surely you must be kidding?” I’m surely not. I need to know if “next” Friday is really the next one, or is it the Friday after next?
Conversations like this quickly deteriorate to the point where Diane explains that I’m a little bit mentally unstable and it’s not a good idea to continue the discussion. So, it ends. I admit that I’m totally aware of what the speaker means, but the play on words disturbs me and I find it necessary to do my part to educate the masses on how properly use the language. Jack and I practice this all the time, when we’re in close proximity, by doing what he calls “Correct Speak.” It’s all about taking everything literally, which is really simple for us.
I suppose there’s a lot of history involved with mixing ‘this’ and ‘next’ with days of the week, but I’m not going to bother doing any reasearch on it. Whatever it may be isn’t something I’ll agree with so I’ll just stick to my guns and do it the correct way, at least to me.
On the way home from the hospital, we stopped by Curtis Trailers and picked one out for future use. They had 2014 models, but we’ll need a 2016 version. That’s when we decided to buy one. We’ll wait.
Then we hightailed it to St. Helens to watch Lydia’s first high school softball game. She’s on the JV team so they played on the Campbell Park fields not far from our home. Diane dropped me off then went home to check on the dogs.
It was an exciting game that our girls, the Lady Lions, lost 9-7. Lydia played 3rd base and made a number of outs. She was the 2nd batter in the lineup and the coach had her bunt every time she was up. She moved runners around, but never got on base. Hopefully the next game coach will let her hit away. She can do that. Next game is next Friday, or ‘this’ Friday if you’re one of ‘those’ folks.
That ends yesterday.
Today I made phone calls to clarify ‘things’, made a trip to Comcast to change our programming package, a trip to CRPUD (Columbia River People’s Utility District) to get our billing on a program for equal monthly payments, and a visit to the local Chevrolet dealer to visit with my friend Steve.
When I got home, I discovered that Diane had been busy cooking, and treated me to another one of her wonderful concoctions. It was a stunning tuna, cheese, peas, and onion casserole. Just great! I love pretty much anything with noodles in it. Considering it had melted cheese in it, I asked Diane if, maybe, we could shape some of it into squares, let them cool down, and make sandwiches out of them, but she didn’t think it would work. Since she was the cook, I’ll leave it at that. I’m still curious, though. Bet it’d work. A tuna casserole sandwich …
After that, Diane and I sat face to face for a couple of hours but never once saw each other’s face. We’ve rearranged the computer room, pushing our desks together, so we’re no longer back to back. My 27″ iMac blocks pretty much everything in front of me so I’d have to stand up, or slide way right, to look Diane in the eye. She’d have to slide way left.
This evening we attended another Wednesday Lenten service preceded by soup and bread. Sandy made some excellent potato, ham, and cheese soup.
I’ve just used up my quota of words, so need to quit.
Crimea, The Bachelor, Taxes, Budgets, & Falling Down
So, I wonder. Why does our government have so much interest in Russia and the Crimean Peninsula? Do you think Russia would care if Texas wanted to abdicate and our lusty government didn’t think it was a good idea? Would Russia care if our government surrounded Texas and enslaved everyone in the state? Would any other country care?
OK. Maybe Texas is a bad example. I think they’ve already abdicated. How about if we decided to make the Baja Peninsula our 51st state? Would Russia think it was illegal? Would they care? Perhaps someone from Russia will look at this and let us know what they really think.
Thankfully, the romantic drama of The Bachelor has ended. My favorite part was when Claire gave Juan Pablo a pretty significant shakedown before leaving. It was pretty cool. Perhaps it’s evident that I’m not a fan.
I just filed our taxes. This is the first time, in a long time, that I’ve filed ahead of the April 15th deadline. Getting older, with a fixed income, simplifies taxes. Just send everything to the IRS and life is good.
Over the last week or so I’ve been working on a budget to see if we can figure out where all of our meager earnings go. The reason for this is because Daniel and Jennifer are working a budget and doing very nicely with it. Being the jealous type, I had to try it for myself. I printed off the first part of it so Diane can review it and let me know what’s wrong with it. I say that because, according to my computations, we’ll be debt free in 2016 and bazillionaires by 2020. I used Microsoft Excel to build it so could be some of my formulas are wrong. I’m counting on Diane to help me out.
Another aspect of the budget, that isn’t documented, is that we are divesting ourselves of all the “stuff” we’ve gathered over the past 46 years. Most significantly are the excessive four-wheeled vehicles we’ve accumulated as projects. OK, “I” collected them as projects. Those would be the ’73 Winnebago and the ’68 Chevy truck. I’m no longer motivated to work on them all by myself. There are too many other things that I find more interesting.
Like napping.
Speaking of naps … although I truly do like them, I mad a conscious decision this morning, at 0630, to stay up and be productive all day long. I accomplished 50% of that goal … I stayed up. Beyond that, the day is a blur.
Except for lunch. Lunch was good and it was really breakfast. I was out doing something when she got too hungry to wait and cooked her own. She was done by the time I got back so I had to cook my own. That’s OK. I’m actually pretty good at it sometimes. Diane had toaster waffles and a fried egg and that sounded pretty good so I decided to have the same and called it the “1-2-3-4”. That’s for 1 cup of syrup, 2 eggs, 3 waffles, and 4 sausage links. It was really good and I didn’t get any on me. That’s significant especially since I opted to dine without my bib, a choice upon which Diane frowns. She prefers that I wear my bib.
After that magnificent lunch, I remembered that I’d been to church this morning and cleaned all the leaves out of the cement ditch on the side of the building and that I needed to clean it up. Diane said we had to clean the church anyway, so she would go with me.
We picked up her Mom, Jean, on the way because it’s always good to get her out of the house once in a while. Though she wasn’t expecting us, she up for the ride so we wandered smartly out to the Buick. As always, I accompanied her to the vehicle, ensuring she was safely aboard, then I got in the back. Before we could get out of the driveway, however, she remembered that he had some laundry that needed to go back to the church. She always does the laundry.
So, I got out and opened the door for her and stood back to let her disembark. Sadly, I was on the wrong side of the door because she got her right foot tangled up in the strap on her purse which caused her to lose her balance and tumble gracefully to the driveway. I was able to get my left hand under her right arm to slow her descent, but there was no way I was going to stop it. The result, of course, was that my heart rate ascended to a dangerous clatter, making me wish I still had my monitor, and there was a brief moment when I also wished I had worn depends.
After sitting quietly, for about 15-20 seconds, Mom rolled over and got back on her feet unassisted which I found amazing. The only injury, at this time, is a skinned finger which was sustained when she stopped her fall with it on the cement. Tomorrow, I suspect, things will be a bit different because she landed hard on her left buttock. Knowing how prone she is to bruising, I have no doubt that she will be quite colorful tomorrow. I doubt if I will ever get to see it. Perhaps Diane can sneak a camera in when she checked it out.
For the record, Mom is 86 years old, and she bounces without breaking. Thankfully.
That’s about it for today.
Oh! If anyone is interested, we have a player piano and a Lowry organ that need to go away. The piano is a rebuild project that I don’t think I’ll ever get to, but the organ works perfectly. Anyone?
Vegetable Soup, Computers, and PT
Last Thursday Diane made the absolutely best Vegetable Soup I’ve ever had the pleasure of ingesting. It was so good that I ate two big bowls full. I also ate two pieces of toast with each bowl. Like normal, I asked her if she used a recipe and she said, “No.” Then I asked her if she could recreate this masterpiece and she said, “I don’t know.” These are pretty standard answers for those questions because Diane improvises most everything she cooks, and she doesn’t taste anything while she’s doing it. I’m the taster.
Now, having said all of that, I gotta tell you that she’s never given me a bad meal. They are all good, and it’s exciting because we can have the same meal multiple times in a row and they are all different. Take Sloppy Joe’s, for instance. Or Meat Loaf. Or Beef Stew. In subtle ways, they are different every time which always gives us at least one topic for dinner conversation … what’s different about this version? Always good, and always fun.
The soup? Including the three dishes mentioned above, it’s joined their ranks as one of my favorites. Now I have four of them. Life is good.
While the soup was cooking, I spent some time visiting with the MELCA guys over coffee at the Kozy Korner. Like normal, it was an eventful visit where we once again solved many of the world’s problems. Sadly, attempts to notify the appropriate authorities with these solutions were met with a disagreeable level of snickering and other forms of degrading noises, so we ceased our efforts.
Then we had some more coffee.
The rest of Thursday was a blur of un-memorable activity of one sort or another.
Friday morning I had a date with Pam’s computer because it had issues. It was a new one for me so, therefore, a challenge. I spent a couple of hours fiddling with it at her house and couldn’t resolve it so disconnected it and took it to the car so I could dismantle it at my house.
Then I went to Physical Therapy where Derek & Patrick teamed up on me to bend my right arm into positions I don’t normally bend it. The reason I don’t is because it hurts. For that reason, over the years, I discovered ways to do things, like comb my hair, without using the offending muscles. As a result, over those very same years, the offending muscle has lost it’s ability do the things muscles normally do. Like, move my arm in a specific direction. Now, in order to please my doctor, and the physical therapists she unleaded upon me, I find it necessary to work on resurrecting the offending muscle. The good news is that with a little bit of manipulation, Derek and Patrick were able to improve the function indicating there’s hope we can regain use of the muscle. I’d tell you which muscle it is, but I have no idea which one it is. All I know is it’s the one that doesn’t work when I hook a large yellow rubber band to a door knob and attempt to stretch it while keeping my elbow next to my body. I face the door with the doorknob on my left, my right forearm sticking straight out from my body, then moving my arm to the right, away from my belly button. That part doesn’t hurt, it just doesn’t work. I guess making it work will help resolve the pain problems. We’ll see how that goes.
After returning home, it became imperative that we rearrange all of the furniture in the living room. It was imperative because it’s what Diane wanted to do. Now the living room has a totally different, open look to it. But, it still has too much furniture in it, so there will be another evolution in the near future. I will be on alert.
Yesterday evening I attended my monthly American Legion meeting at the Moose Club on Old Portland Road in Warren. I know you probably don’t care where it’s at but I was compelled to add that bit of information. Now you know.
Since I didn’t have time to eat supper before rushing off to my meeting, I was hungry. Thankfully Diane had mixed up some tuna for a sandwich and there was enough left for me to have half a sandwich. She doesn’t use relish when making tuna salad, so I mixed some in the remaining tuna and slathered it on a piece of bread. On the way to my chair I felt it would be a good idea to wrap the sandwich in a paper towel to keep from dropping bits on the carpet. That’s a sure way to get into huge trouble in this house. Just ask Diane because it’s her rule.
I was near the counter top, a couple of steps away from the roll of paper towels, but there was one laying right there in front of me. Grabbing it, I wrapped it around my sandwich and sat down to eat it while we watched whatever Diane was watching on TV. As I was working my way through the sandwich, folding the towel out of the way, I noticed the paper towel had an odd texture. When the sandwich was gone, I folded the towel in half and wiped the residue from my lips. It was then that I detected a distinctly un-paper towel like aroma that caused me to give it a closer look.
There were some dark spots on it which, upon closer examination, revealed themselves to be spots of dust. Then I rechecked the towel’s texture and everything started clicking with regard to all the clues I had received.
Turns out the paper towel I grabbed was really a Swiffer sheet that Diane had used to dust all the furniture in the living room as we put it back in place. Then she conveniently tossed on the counter instead of into the trash.
After discovering what I had wrapped my sandwich in, I got the distinct taste of dust and, perhaps, Pledge, in my mouth that kind of ruined the sandwich for me. So I ate an apple.
I think she left it there on purpose to see what would happen.
Either that, or she knew the bread was dusty.
A 50’s Kid
I grew up with two older brothers who picked on me unmercifully, all the time. Because of this I learned very early that we’re not all created equal. It was pointed out to me fairly regularly that I was different. There were obscure references as to how I was different, but the references changed so I tended to either ignore them, or I simply believed them, taking them at face value. For instance, the reason my name is Jerrie, I was told, is because I was supposed to be a girl. That actually makes sense. I can see Mom, dealing with two boys 5 and 7, praying that I would be a girl. I was OK with that. And it justified my desire to wear dresses to school once in a while.
As I grew older it became apparent to me that I’m really not all that different. It was just the normal sibling rivalry which I always won because I was the baby. I always got my way so everything was right with the world. Topping that off in later years, I learned that my older brothers were named after a pair of mules our Dad used to have. I’m sure that’s not true, but it’s a good story and explains why they were named Gee and Haw.
Having said all that, I think I turned out pretty normal, as did my brothers. All of that was made possible, I believe, because of the strength we had as a family.
During those formative years, our parents were friends with a family who visited on a regular basis. I do not know the basis of the friendship, and I’m pretty sure we weren’t related in any way, but it seems like they visited on a regular basis, even more than relatives, and we saw our relatives pretty often. Normally they showed up when it was time for lunch. Perhaps that was it. Mom was a great cook.
This family had a young boy who I think was my age and we had a great deal of fun playing whenever they visited. Many years later it was revealed to me that my friend was mentally handicapped. I didn’t notice. I just remember that we had a lot of fun and I have absolutely no recollection of him being different from me. I think about that once in a while, and wonder why that was.
A recent discussion I had with a good friend revealed the answer to me – it just wasn’t important. It just didn’t matter. We had fun and that was what mattered. I do not recall anyone in our family ever commenting on this friend’s diminished abilities. Therefore, there was no predisposition for me to think of him that way.
I’m not relating all this in an effort to point out how special I think I am because I really don’t feel that way. I’m just your average 50’s kid. There are lots of us out here running around in public, unsupervised, and I don’t think I’m all that much different from any of them.
Another part of my growing up involved my best friend, Jimmy. We went through 12 years of school together as best friends. I went on numerous camping trips with him and his family, and he went on numerous outings with me and my family. We ran around together all the time and he’s the one who taught me to dance to Rock and Roll music in the eighth grade, 1957. I have nothing except great memories of growing up with Jimmy.
After graduating from High school, we went our separate ways. I joined the Navy and he went to college, I believe, got married and had a couple of daughters. After that he declared that he was actually a gay person. What a surprise to me. All that time we spent together, for all those years, and I didn’t have a clue. Apparently he didn’t either since he got married and had a family.
I guess the point of all this is that we are who we are. Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out. The fact that life takes us, and our friends, in surprising directions isn’t, in the end, really an issue. It’s how we deal with it “in the moment”. How we do that is pretty much the result of good parenting.
That, and I wasn’t exposed to a lot of graphic detail about issues like that throughout my childhood. Maybe I was just sheltered and very naive. Maybe I was exposed to those prejudices but they weren’t significant enough to impact my behavior. Maybe it’s because our entertainment consisted of the family gathered around the radio listening to Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny, The Whistler, and during Christmas, The Cinnamon Bear. Or, we stood around the piano singing while Mom played.
Who knows?
Maybe I’m really living in a matrix and all my memories are manufactured.
Whatever the reason, I’m content with them as they are. I just wish my Kids, and their Kids, could have had that same experience. But, you know? They are content in their own version of happiness, making their own memories, and they’re going to be just fine.
Spelling, In General …
OK, I admit I’m far from the best speller, and I probably couldn’t get very far in a Spelling Bee with a bunch of 7th graders, but I take a lot of pride in limiting the errors I make. So does Diane. I’ve recently learned that she needs to read everything I’m ready to submit before I Push That Button. She’s made that pretty clear. It’s really good for her to have my back, to help me correct potentially embarrassing errors from reaching the public’s eye balls.
Both Diane and I read news articles with a critical eye to spelling and errors jump out at us all the time. I bet most of you readers do the same thing. Maybe not intentionally, but errors do pop out, don’t they?
I was just reading an article on Fox Sports about Ritchie Incognito beating up his $300K Ferrari with a baseball bat in which they mentioned that a “neigbor” noticed damage to the vehicle. It’s understandable, in my opinion, that Ritchie released his rage on his car, but not so much when you learn he did it with a baseball bat. Why didn’t he use his Dolphins helmet? Oh, wait! He doesn’t have that any more, does he?
I guess I can forgive Fox Sports for spelling neighbor incorrectly because they obviously misunderstood the new rules regarding the use of “gh” in most words. In neighbor, it’s silent so why bother using them. It’s a waste of time and bandwidth to add them to words where they don’t make sense. It should simply be neibor. The new rules also apply to all words containing “ough”, like tough, and rough. They will simply be spelled phonetically, as all words should be in the first place.
I must admit that I’ve ignored the new rules myself and named one of my dogs Ghydeaux, and I’m not going to change it.
I could go on and on about spelling, but the longer I do that, the more prone I will be to error. So, I must get off that subject. Besides, why did God allow someone to invent spell checkers if he wanted us to be good spellers? Spellcheckers open up an entirely new arena for discussion regarding grammar, another favorite of mine.
I had coffee with the MELCA guys at the Kozy again this morning. In attendance was Larry, Larry, Jeff, and Jerrie. I know you knew I was there, but had to add my name so it rhymed. Once again we solved many of the problems threatening the world today, as we do every Thursday. Since I was missing last week, I don’t know what was solved last Thursday. They wouldn’t tell me and I wasn’t going to guess. Again. It gets me too excited, like Hammy in “Over The Hedge”. Remember him?
After all that coffee I went to our church to retrieve Diane’s Mom’s card table and clothes rack, and to change the sign board out front. It was still advertising the quilt show from two weeks ago. Now it isn’t.
While resting on the couch next to my lovely bride she asked, “guess what would be really good for dinner tonight?” With barely a pause I said, “Chinese food from the Safeway deli!” Her eyeballs lit right up like she couldn’t believe I was correct, but I knew I was. She mentioned that a couple of days ago, and I remembered! Now that is significant.
I offered to go get it, which she allowed. I drove down there, went in and hardly had a chance to look over the choices when a clerk popped up, like out of nowhere. I started rattling off what I wanted then reached for the wallet that wasn’t in its customary spot in my back pocket. Excusing myself, I went back home, getting the mail along the way, and delivered it to Diane, so she would have something to do while I went back to Safeway, retrieved my wallet and phone from my couch table and calmly walked away. Although it really didn’t need to be said, she did it anyway, asking if I “forgot my wallet.”
That was my chance to end the day on a positive note and I blew it. Forgot my wallet. Guess I need one of those biker wallets with a chain on it.
Arizona Shrugged
Yesterday I received a comment to one of my posts from a group of people who collectively call themselves “Spiritbath“. The post that got my attention was this one about a 12-year-old artist. I haven’t looked at any of the other posts, yet, but the gist of their entries are, oddly, spiritual in nature. Their posts are positive. They are uplifting. I think you will enjoy reading what they have to say.
Now you can either stop and go there, or stick around and see what’s going on in my world. I’ll tell you up front that what I’m going to enter here is far less interesting than Spiritbath. I’m guessing, of course, because I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen here.
Throughout the day I’ve heard news reports about things I thought would be interesting to share thinking, “I’ve got to remember that to share,” but I forget. Then, when I’m compelled to sit down at my computer and do this.
So there, I’ve said it. I don’t do this because I “want” to, it’s because I’m “compelled” to do it. I’m “forced”. So, here I sit.
I was cruising around in a web site the other day that sold T-shirts with tricky sayings on them. A lot of them caught my eye but I can’t afford all of them. But, I’m going to adding to my collection as soon as I get my allowance.
Here’s a few of them …
- “In my day we had 9 planets!”
- Two electrons talking to each other. One says “I lost an electron.” The other responds, “Are you positive?”
- “Either you like bacon, or you’re wrong”
- “Home is where the wi-fi connects automatically”
- “There’s a fine line between Numerator and Denominator”
- “I’m not crazy – my Mother had me tested”
I could go on, but I won’t. Diane buys stuff like that for me frequently and I just wear it so I’ve kinda got a reputation amongst our friends for both doing what my wife tells me to do, without back talk, as well as wearing some pretty neat laundry. The only shirts hanging in my closet are those kinds of T-shirts. I guess it’s a theme, now.
So, I’m not going to wear anything but T-shirts from now on. That means, of course, I’ll not be allowed to leave the house ever again. Or sit on the couch without a towel under me.
Today the Governor of Arizona vetoed a proposed law that would allow businesses to use religious beliefs as a reason for denying service to customers. I’m curious about that entire mess because it’s always been my understanding that businesses can deny service to anyone for no reason at all. I’ve seen signs in all my life stating exactly that … “We reserve the right to deny service to anyone”, no reason given.
As far as I know, this ‘problem’ is the fallout from an event in Portland, Oregon where a baker refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple. He cited religious reasons for not wanting to do it. It became a really big deal.
Most of the people I know had mixed feelings about the entire affair.
Some thought it was the baker’s right to deny the request, but perhaps not for religious reasons. He should have just said he didn’t want to do it.
Other folks wondered why the gay couple made such a big deal out of the baker’s refusal to make the cake. Why would they, for any reason, want the baker to make their cake after being told he didn’t want to make it? There are lots of bakers in town. I suppose it was all about the principle involved.
Then, about the baker, it was just a cake. Make the cake. Take the money. Let it go. What’s the big deal. So it’s got two brides, or two grooms on top. Get over it.
It’s. A. Cake.
Then some clever Arizona law-maker, a term I use loosely here, decides it would be a good law if any business could deny service to anyone based on religious beliefs. I can only guess that whoever submitted this brilliant bit of legislature isn’t getting enough attention, or that Arizona doesn’t have enough valid issues to deal with right now.
So, a little bit of unsolicited advice for everyone … if you run a business I’m betting that religious beliefs are not mentioned one time in your Statement of Purpose.
If you don’t want to sell your product to just anyone who pops through your door, post a note. Folks will think you apparently have enough money already and are just taking up store space just for fun until it’s time to retire.
If you are a customer who is denied service, in any kind of business, go somewhere else. I suspect your friends will too.
I know. That’s very simplistic, and I suspect there are a lot of other underlying issues associated with this newsworthy opportunity, but it all boils down to one baker who denied service because he doesn’t believe in gay marriages. From there it exploded into a huge problem that isn’t, I think, really a problem. In my opinion, t’s just a handy forum where loud people with an agenda see an opportunity to be heard on topics that won’t likely solve the obesity problem caused by fast food.
Oh, wait! There’re people using that as a forum, too. They’ve even sued fast food franchises for making them obese.
Perhaps Arizona should pass a law that only skinny people can eat at fast food restaurants. They could create a whole new industry for some guy in a barn who makes scales that will trigger the door locks only if a potential customer is proportional, height & weight. Those are rough numbers, of course. I can just see someone walking up to the door at Big Ed’s Giant Weiner Emporium, stepping on the scale, and the entire window next to the door lights up with the customer’s weight and height. If the ratio is correct, the door opens. If not, that’s another customer lost.
If a skinny person is deemed to be too skinny, their milk shakes could be made with Muscle Milk.
Not likely to happen, in a sane world, but who knows? Things get crazier all the time.
Temporary Sanity ... 