Category Archives: Opinions

68 for the last time …

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A few days ago I decided to start parting my hair, now that’s it’s grown back, on the right side instead of the left. I wanted everyone to think I was left-handed now. Oddly, parting it on the left side, as most right-handed people do, required me to use my left hand, and the opposite is true for parting it on the right side.

Doesn’t matter, I guess, because no one noticed. I’m just a transparent human shaped object. People walk around me without realizing I’m there. I’ve therefore decided that I’m at least mostly invisible, as long as I don’t talk, make loud noises, or move too quickly.

Today started out looking pretty grim, but ended with warmth and sunshine. Tomorrow is supposed to be the nicest day of the week so I’m going golfing for the first time in a while. Doug called to invite me and Diane said I could go. I’ll let you know how I did, but I’ll probably lie about it.

We went to church, like normal for Sunday, taking Diane’s Mom, Jean. Since today was the last day for Sunday School for the duration of Summer, the kids hosted our coffee hour. So, before lunch, I had a rootbeer float. I coulda had an orange float, but declined.

On the way home, Diane drove through a random fast food drive thru and ordered a large container of dead chicken for lunch. She got mashed potatoes and coleslaw, too. And biscuits with honey. The container held 2 drumsticks, 2 wings, two thighs, and two bresatesses. Diane got the drumsticks, Mom got the wings, and I got the thighs. The breastesses went home with Mom a short while ago. We’ll never see them again.

For dessert, Diane baked a cherry pie. It was totally awesome. Since it’s my Birthday Pie, I made a semi-complaint that it didn’t have a candle on it. She retorted, saying that tomorrow she’s going to put a candle on eveything I eat. I don’t see how that’s possible because I’m pretty sure we don’t have enough candles to handle the bowl of cheerios I plan to eat in the morning. PLUS, she won’t even be up before I leave, I bet. And that’s OK because she’s earned the right to sleep as long as she wants because both the cat and our little fake dog sleep on her bed ensuring that she remains in one position all night. At the appointed time, each morning, they wake me to let them out, allowing Diane freedom to relax and actually rest.

Don’t forget to ask me how well I golfed. Since I’m going to lie about it anyway, I could tell you how awesome I am now, but that would ruin it.

Tomorrow, about this same time, life insurance, if decided to get some, will be impossibly expensive because I’ll no longer be 68.

Now I’m going to go eat redvines until it’s time for bed.

Voting & Ballot Counters

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I know this person who is essential to successful elections in Columbia County Oregon. I’ve known this person a long time and this person, and her semi-sister-in-law, are vital to the successful completion of any ballot issues submitted to Columbia Counter voters for resolution.

The group of people surrounding this person, and her SSIL, are very supportive of them, allowing them to return for all the voting events. Actually, they insist they return for all the events. It makes me wonder if they are the only two who can count. I know that’s not true, of course.

This person went to count ballots today and I was required to make and deliver lunch at precisely 12:30 pm. With that clue you have no doubt surmised that you probably know this person, too. You do. It’s Jack’s first wife’s brother-in-law’s first wife. That’s a true statement.

I put the lunch, consiting of a tuna sandwich, chips, cheese, a cookie, apple juice, and a little note, into a small paper lunch bag on which I wrote her entire name in purple crayon so no one could steal it.

It either worked, or ballot counters are simply honest people.

Let’s hope so.

The bag was returned to the house once this person … oh, heck! It’s Diane. You know that, so no more pretense …

Here’s the bag. I covered her last name because I don’t use last names here and also so those who are unaware won’t know who she really is. The nose is for Nelda …

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Perscriptions & BO

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Today was cold enough that Diane invoked her feminine rights to crank up the heater a bit. I admit, it was a lot cooler than it has been the last few days. Today was about 60 degrees after 4 days in the 80’s, up to 88. I didn’t think I was going to ever quit sweating, but I had no choice because Diane insisted that I do “stuff” even though I was perfectly OK with just sitting quietly on the couch with my book.

Consequently, over the course of the last 4 days, I had to take about 8 showers. That’s just a huge waste of water, don’t you think? Her tactic for making me head for the showers is to tell my deodorant quit. Very subtle, huh? That’s good that she has a sensitive nose, I guess, because it’s rare when I notice when my deodorant quits. It’s not like something goes dark, like when you switch off a light, when your deodorant quits. It’s a nose thing. I think I’ve seen her nostrils flare just before she tells me that which I find odd because you’d think they would shut down a little if the odor is that offensive. Instead, they flare, as if to gather in as much of my manly aroma as possible before making be go wash it off.

Contradictory, if you ask me …

… but no one ever does. It’s just, “your deodorant quit.”

Makes you wonder if eye-glass prescriptions have a terminal date like other prescriptions. You know, like all the pills you take have a warning on the bottle telling you to “renew before 3 August, 2018,” or something similar. That’s the only warning you get. With eye-glass prescriptions, however, there is no warning. One minute you’re walking down the street admiring all the pretty people, your prescription runs out, and everything goes blurry. It would be especially bad if you were driving at the time, or navigating crowds on your Segway, or water skiing, flying a plane, watching TV … one of those important things. What would you do?

That’s happened to me. Honest. The first thing I did was tentatively say, “Diane?” because she’s always lurking around nearby, and she would hear the question in my voice.

She said, “yes, dear, what now?”

“I can’t see,” I responded.

“You can’t see what,” she queried back.

“I can’t see the TV.”

“Is it on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing your glasses?”

“Yes”

“Are they right side up, like the little nose pads are actually touching your nose?”

“Yes.”

“Are they yours?”

“I think so.”

“Well look at them!”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t see.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so before?”

“I did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And you know where that goes.

Finally, she tore herself away from American Idol and came to see what was going on. Turns out I fell asleep and the cat was laying on my face. I was hallucinating in my sleep during the entire conversation.

It’s good to know that I can carry on a conversation when I’m unconscious because that might come in handy one day. Maintaining control of what flies out of my mouth might be a concern, you think, but that’s never been one of my worries, awake or asleep.

Like at Lydia’s game last night. The umpire, Pete, has his own version of a strike zone and it’s different for every game. I say things throughout the game regarding what I believe are blatant bad calls and I hear Jennie in front saying, “Dad …?” which means don’t do this, while Diane is beside me doing the wife version of the same thing. They are, of course, afraid I’ll get kicked out and embarrass Lydia, or them.

Pete ignores me, so it’s really not a problem.

I think that’s it for now … it’s 10:36am and time to get started with my day now that I’ve shed the weariness of the night, and my morning 3-hour nap.

I’m Right!

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I’m here to share with everyone that Diane has finally  come to her senses and admitted that I’m right. Right at this moment in time, I’m not sure what she was referring to, but that’s not relevant. She said, right out loud, in front of her Mother, who may or may not corroborate this incident, “you’re right, Jerrie.” She may not have said it directly to me, but I think she was leaning my direction. Either way, I’m apparently right about something.

That’s a rare event in this house … that I’m right, or admissions that I’m right.

I know … that sounds a little contradictory, but I suspect everyone knows what I’m talking about here. Even when I’m right, which is actually quite often, I’m deemed to be wrong. The topic doesn’t matter, even though I’m pretty much an expert of many things about which I know nothing.

Go ahead. Ask me anything.

While I’m waiting I’ll tell you about today, Mother’s Day 2013.

First thing this morning both Jeff and Jennifer communicated with Diane to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. That was a great way to start the day for Diane. Cheered her a lot and she made the morning coffee for me. That’s the last thing she did today.

Except drive us to church. And count all the church’s money. And drive us home. I did everything else, even though she’s not really my Mom.

Once we got home I cooked the lasagna, made the salad, baked the bread, and set the table. Really. I did all that. It was Stoufer’s frozen lasagna, semi-baked french bread that only needed browning,  That salad was all me, lettuce, tomatoes and everything. I even cut up 2 lbs of strawberries last night and mixed in a whole bunch of sugar for the strawberry short-cake we ate for dessert.

Jennifer, Cedric, Lydia, and Jeran appeared about the time we were sitting down for dinner, so the kids headed for the Man Room to watch TV, and we sent Jennifer to bed with some random meds to help with her migraine. After we ate, all the kids chose to have root beer floats instead of short-cake. That was a good choice, too.

About the frozen part … Diane chose all of that and it was my choice to cook everything.

Now we’re sitting here watching TV while the girls, Diane and Jean, munch on apples.

It’s been a really good day. How was yours?

Tid Bits

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It’s 8:40 pm. I finished mowing the yards about 20 minutes ago. Took me 2 hours and it was fun because I could go really fast since it hasn’t had time to grow out much. Just enough to make the grass catcher useful. The jarring round hurts my hip and back, but I have meds for that. Tomorrow, before it starts raining, I need to suit up and run around the place with the weed eater. This device wrecks my shoulder which has a terminal problem that may, at some point, require replacement.

Diane has an orthopedic appointment for her knee, after visiting the doc today. If we sell a couple of cars she can get a new one. I’ve decided that I’ll get my new shoulder at the same time so we can convalesce together. Actually, selling cars won’t do it because they cost so much so we’re just going to wait for either a sale at Wal*Mart, or a surprise influx of Chinese knees and shoulders at Costco. You just never know.

Or, we can just gimp along on what we have and call it good.

Jeff came by today to re-borrow the drill he recently returned. While he was here we went over the list of tools he’s still got. It’s not a long list. We mainly went over it so I can quit looking for those items in the house. He told me that the girls, Gilligan and Bailey, want a puppy like Panda who passed away a couple of years ago. They’ve already named the puppy Scraps. I love that name and think I’ll start calling myself Scraps whenever I’m introduced to someone new. That’s really not a problem because the only people I know are old. If I was introduced to a new person, they wouldn’t understand what I was saying anyway. Because they’re too little to communicate properly.

After this morning’s nap Diane and I drove to Scappoose to visit with Wynette for a short time before she had to leave for the Senior Center. For some reason she has to check in with them pretty much every Friday. I think it has something to do with volunteering.

On the way home we stopped at Burgerville, which are only in Oregon & Washington (mostly Oregon) for takeout lunch. I normally have a Tillamook Bacon Cheeseburger with a large chocolate shake, but today I just had a double cheeseburger with extra secret spread. Great stuff. Too bad for all you people who live someplace else.

Actually, it’s just a hamburger. There are tons of hamburger joints all over the world, but Burgerville is a local thing. We also have Burger King, and McDonalds, like normal places, but we prefer local cows vs. foreign ones. Really. Almost everything they use for the burgers are home-grown. Some Burgervilles have pastures out back where the cattle graze until they’re ready, then they are herded into a barn and just never come back out. It’s like magic. At the other end of the barn is the Burgerville. No one would have ever known that had I not brought it to your attention.

That is, of course, a lie. The same number of cows that go in the barn always come back out of the barn. But, are they the same cows? One may wonder.

Now I’ll end with this, for those of you who don’t normally venture on to Facebook, or cruise the internet looking for odd things. I want one of these …

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Vacation – Day 13 Still in Reno

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It’s 0900 and we’ve been up for an hour. I know that’s true because I asked the boss. But, what she doesn’t know is that I was awake long before that. It was still very dark outside the first time I stumbled to the bathroom and I’m guessing it was about 0600. I didn’t look because I didn’t want to add a bright light to an already dangerous situation caused by me bumping into things in the dark. It was a long trip to the bathroom and I’m sure I’ll be able to identify all the pieces of furniture by the location of the bruises. You’ll all be proud to know that I didn’t utter a sound during that round trip.

Turns out is all for nothing because she was already awake, too. I suffered for no reason.

Today we plan to visit as many second hand stores as humanly possible in the 4-5 hours we allow ourselves to be outdoors in areas with a rarefied atmospheres.

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Now I am compelled to make a shameless plug for our friend, Cindy A, who owns Pearl Fiber Arts in the heart of Portland’s blooming Pearl district. I’m going to go there and buy something to make a pretty doily. Yes, I really do that stuff …

 

 

 

 

 

And, here’s something from our friend, Kat B, who still lives in Minnesota. Voluntarily …

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Us? It’s going to be 75 here in Reno today. I think.

Now it’s time for breakfast – Cheerios, toast, and my 4th cup of coffee. Just used the last of my creamer so we’re either going to have to leave for home today, or find a second-hand store that sells it.

It’s OK To Be A Slug

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slug  |sləg|

noun

1 a tough-skinned terrestrial mollusk that typically lacks a shell and secretes a film of mucus for protection. It can be a serious plant pest. See also sea slug.

[Order Stylommatophora, class Gastropoda.]

2 a slow, lazy person; a sluggard.

3 an amount of an alcoholic drink, typically liquor, that is gulped or poured: he took a slug of whiskey.

The title of this brief entry refers to choice 2 above, although, I suspect slugs are happy campers being who they are as choice 1. Unless, of course, they live in the vicinity of a family who has curious young minds who wonder if it’s really true that slugs dissolve when covered with salt, which is just a mean thing to do because it causes the slug to secrete itself to death in self-defense. So I’ve heard. Just saying…

The #2 choice is something I’m really getting good at. So is Diane, but I do not consider her a slug. No siree. Not me. She’s Queen of the Hop, Top of the Heap to me.

I’m the slug, and I think that’s really OK, considering my advanced age. I can still walk, but I move slow. I’m get more wrinkly all the time. And, although I do not secrete a film of mucous for protection, it drips out of my nose all the time. Regarding that, I’ve learned to love my mustache because it keeps the mucous off my lips, and the mucous in my mustache works nicely to keep my whiskers in place when I comb them. Diane is not a fan of this new attraction I have for my face. She’s always telling me, “quit petting your face!”, or “put that comb away!”, in a very stern voice. I don’t see the problem.

Perhaps some of you may see other benefits of being a slug of sorts, and would like to share them with the world. I’m always up for learning new ‘stuff’.

Regrets

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I have a few of those. I normally don’t dwell on them because most involve situations about which I can do nothing. Take yesterday, for example ….

All day Diane and I were driving up and down the California Coast, absorbing the incredible grandeur of the area, blissfully unaware of the horrific events transpiring in Boston. We didn’t know anything about it until late afternoon when we turned on the TV upon our return.

At first we thought it was some horrible accident, maybe a collapsed grandstand, or something like that. As we watched, the pieces came together and we learned of the bombs in Boston and the carnage they caused.

Now for my regrets …

I regret that there are people in the world who feel the need to use violence as a tool to make a point. It’s such a cowardly way of doing things. I know … bullies use violence, but at least they directly participate in the process.

I regret that so many people got hurt in Boston. I also regret that so many people were killed, and hurt, in Viet Nam, Korea, the South Pacific, Europe, the Middle East, Japan, China, Africa, South America … the list goes on. It’s not that I typically think about those things, because I don’t. Having something like this happen so close to home, so close to loved ones, just brings all the other atrocities in the world to the surface.

I regret that there is violence all around us, every day. We just don’t see all of it. It’s about power and the willingness to exert that power over someone else. We long for a peaceful world but that isn’t likely to happen as long as someone has something someone else wants and ignores some pretty basic rules to get it. Take football, for example. Both teams want it, but there are rules one must follow to either keep it or get it back. Referees are assigned to enforce the rules because both teams forget them quite often. Actually, part of the game, in my opinion, is for players to break the rules and see if they can get away with it. Yes, it would be nice to live in a world where everyone got along without the need for referees, but we need them to contain the chaos that would erupt without those guys and their whistles and flags. The vast majority of us know the rules, too, and we applaud when our team gets away with breaking one of them … if our team wins, does that make it OK?

I find my head going in circles on this. The sports & war comparison isn’t new. It’s just not something I’ve ever tried to comprehend beyond the obvious. We all know what’s right and wrong at the basic level of existence but those beliefs are further defined by our experiences … this could go on, and on.

This is one of those philosophical exercises that has no end and I apologize for subjecting you to my wonderings. It’s not my normal way of relating events, but having this on my mind kinda takes the humor out of things. At least for a while.

News Reporters & Sports Announcers

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Reporters

Am I the only one who thinks live reporters ask some pretty dumb questions, and report from some pretty dumb places? Actually, I know I’m not because Diane and I agree. Also, I realize that these reporters are given directions from some folks tucked away in a cozy trailer somewhere, but the questions they ask are, sometimes, really, really stupid. For instance, reporters into the wake of hurricane Sandy to ask residents of destroyed towns “what are you feeling right now since you just lost everything you own and probably don’t have insurance to cover your loss…” or words to that effect. That’s pretty brutal. What’s this person going to say … really? And the reporters who interviewed 8-year-olds at the scene of school shooting in Connecticut. Two points on that … what were they thinking? and why did their Moms allow it? Forever imbedded in my brain is the vision of Ginger Z standing in water as hurricane Sandy worked it’s way north along the east coast. She was always in the water, either in the ocean, or in a flooded parking lot. Always! OK, we get it … it rains a lot during a hurricane.

Reporters are always after the emotional impact from victims which I think is wrong. Leave them alone … they have enough problems to deal with instead of taking time to answer dumb questions. And the questions don’t change, just the victims. I think reporters are taught to ask a specific set of questions for selected disasters, and that’s all they need to know to get the job. That, and be attractive. I suspect reporters would disagree with me, but that’s OK. Opinions are allowed.

Enough of that …

Sports Announcers

Sports announcers are kinda like reporters, but they have live action “stuff” going on most of the time. What they do that annoys me is keep up a running commentary on what’s going on right there before my eyes. I can see it going on, but they insist on telling me what I’m seeing, then letting me know why a particular formation didn’t work, or that a basketball team needs to make more shots if it’s going to win. Really? Make more baskets? I think that’s what the team’s coaches are yelling at them, too. Like the players forget what they’re supposed to be doing. You’d think multi-millionaire players would be able to focus and keep that in mind.

Sorry … that’s been bugging me for a while and I just had to unload it.

Jeran and Lydia spent last night with us. Lydia has a virus that’s clogging her lungs and the meds she’s taking caused her to sleep about 18 hours of the visit, but that’s OK. She really needed the rest. The upside is that she only threw up 3-4 times this morning. She’s normally got a weak stomach and I have to watch what I ask her, and how I ask. You’d think I’d learn, huh?

While Lydia slept yesterday afternoon, Jeran and I took his electric powered Air Hog out back and tried to get it airborne. I have the height and distance record for crashes. Once on the roof, and again way over the trees in the front of the house. I had to claw my way through hundreds of strands of black berry vines to get the last one. I was a mess and decided to quit while I was ahead. It’s fun to fly, but it wears me out getting it out of trees and other peoples’ yards. Jeran has a great time with it. He let Lydia fly it this morning which perked her up a lot. Made her forget about puking for a while, anyway. Actually, she does that because her lungs get full of gunk because she refuses to cough it up. Then, when it does come up it’s a mess and makes her sick. Knucklehead. She’s fun to have around.

Gonna quit now. Sorry I wasted your time with this.