School Daze

(I had written this post THE FIRST TIME and blogger ate it. AARRGH)

I’ve read several posts recently that, directly or indirectly, referred to school. I’ve always thought my experiences to be unusual until lately. You can be the judge.

Kindergarten, 1^st & 2^nd grades – Kaiserslautern, Germany:

- I went a DoD school (department of defense) at Vogelweh Army base. (We lived on the economy.) We had a weekly class to learn german and the teacher used a felt board to put various characters and items on telling fairy tales (Cinderella, little red riding hood) in german. I was totally bored as I had learned german idiomatically playing with the kids in the neighborhood. I was our family’s translator. (just imagine being in a foreign country and having to rely on a 5 - 6 year old to translate everything for you.)

- I had to catch the school bus at the bottom of the hill, in front of a grocery store and across the street from a fruit stand. My bus driver was friends with the people who ran the grocery store. One day I was playing with the kids in the neighborhood, we were in the store’s basement. They went outside and I was sitting on a barstool reading a german comic book. I didn’t want to go out, so one of the kids spun the chair – and I fell out of it, landing on an empty bottle breaking it. I ran crying around to the front of the store, dripping blood. The lady running the store wrapped my hand and my bus driver took me home. I had to translate for the bus driver as he told my parents about my having a blood-soaked rag around my hand. I still have the scar on my palm.

- I once decided to go home from school with a friend because it was his birthday and he was having a party. My parents didn’t know where I was so my friend’s mother had to call them to come get me.

3^rd & 4^th grades – Biloxi, Mississippi:

- In 4^th grade I decided to use my middle name as there were two other kids in my class with my first name.

- one day I dropped my thermos running for the bus (breaking the glass liner). I asked the driver to wait a minute and I ran back (only 4 houses) where my mom met me at the front door with milk money. I was running back to the bus when he pulled away - just before I got to it. I ran down the street yelling for him to stop. (the bastard had to know I was running behind him, I could hear the kids on the bus yelling for him to stop). My mom was livid. She spent the morning giving the school all kinds of hell about it.

- My brother jumped off of some steps at school and broke something or another – all I remember is a cast on his lower leg and crutches.

- There were several bomb scares. (never any bombs). I remember being bored having to stand around outside, NOT being able to play, while the building was searched.

5^th grade – Blakely, Georgia:

- One of my teachers would tell us Jack tales – this boy named Jack who lived in the Appalachian mountains in NC and was always defeating giants by being smarter than they were.

- I remember a microwave oven being demonstrated – scrambled egg IN the shell. Another food related item – earthworm brownies.

- One of my teachers – Ms. Golden – was a distant cousin of some-sort. For years since, I was embarrassed at family reunions by her telling my mother and me how sweet and smart I was.

- We used to play kick-ball and dodge ball in P.E. – you could get back into the game if you would take a lick (a swat of the paddle) from the coach. You were jeered at if you didn’t have the courage to take the lick.

6^th grade – Biloxi, Mississippi:

- I had a friend named Francis, who had black curly hair. I remember thinking it was a bit weird that a boy had a girl’s name. Another friend was a girl nicknamed JackRabbit because she could outrun everyone in class. There was another kid, a bit of a jerk, who had a pet gerbil that he brought to class one day and it bit him. (his name might have been Larry……)

- My parents sent me to a child psychologist during this time. They had a hell of a time with me, they think it was because the previous year Dad had been gone overseas and I didn’t like his authority being reestablished over me when he came back. (I don’t remember why I was so unhappy – just me being me I guess.) I begged and begged to be allowed to go back to Georgia and live with my grandparents. They acquiesced and let me move back the following year. That had to have broken my mother’s heart. I still look back on that and wonder what the hell was going on in my 11-12 year old mind.

- I started playing trumpet – which I picked because I LOVED Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass Band. Still do.

7^th, 8^th & 9^th grades: Blakely, Georgia:

- I was put into the high school band because the middle school didn’t have a band program. The two schools were on opposite sides of the main street into town and there was a creepy tunnel under the street I had to use to get to band class. Seems like it was always wet down there.

- At that time, there was generally one high school per county, so football games were a few hours trip away. There was a mad scramble to sign up for bus seats in the back of the bus. The cool kids sat back there, as did the couples – so they could make-out during the long ride home.

- My band director at the time nicknamed me Porky. NOT because I did cartoon impressions. (You figure it out). I didn’t mind too much, I was 12 years old in a crowd of high school kids and I was happy to belong. But - it didn’t stop me from being in a kissing contest once out back of the band room one night after we got back from a game.

- In the 9^th grade I was nominated to join the Beta Club (kinda like the National Honor Society). We put on an air-band concert (with unplayed instruments, though) and I was a lead guitarist for Boston.

10^th grade – Austin, Texas:

- This was a huge change for me. The high school I attended had 3000 kids and was one of eight in the city. You signed up for classes just like it was college. You had a catalog of classes and a form to fill out with which to build your schedule. This happened 3 times a year.

- The band was equally huge – around 200 kids in the varsity band and over 100 in the junior varsity band. The varsity band played for varsity sports and competed with other bands/other schools. The JV band played for the JV teams – no competitions. There were regular tryouts for chair that required you to make a tape of some selected piece and the results were printed and put up on a bulletin board. I just wasn’t used to this kind of organization. I was used to small bands where you knew everyone. I don’t think I met most of the band. We practiced in small groups, the band director in a 3-story tower with a bullhorn to watch over a football field full of practicing kids.

- I couldn’t get into the school’s drivers ed course. Texas required the class to get your driver’s license at 16, so I took a commercial course in downtown Austin. I would take a city bus after school and return back to the school campus afterward where my folks would pick me up. One day I had a school band concert the same day as my drivers ed class, so when I got back I changed into my uniform and played in the concert. When I called my parents for a ride home, I found out they didn’t know where I was and had called the cops. I thought that they knew about it especially as my mom had specially taken me to school that morning WITH my band uniform.

11^th & 12^th grades – Columbus, Georgia:

- I was in all of the band classes offered – symphonic band, marching band, & jazz band. Our band director hated marching band, but since he had to do it, we were damned well going to do it right. We marched our asses off. Band camp start 2 weeks before school and was 10 hours a day. We always made 1’s in the contests we were in. We worked equally hard in the other band classes. I played trumpet, French horn and flugelhorn my senior year.

- It was an open-plan school. There were teaching teams for the major courses. There were 3 – 4 classes in one big room (in their own corners) and the teachers would rotate among them teaching the same lesson to each class. It could be distracting when the other class(es) were watching a film or had discussion and we were trying to listen to a lecture. Friday’s were test day. The room could be sectioned off using sliding dividers if needs be.

- At the end of my junior year I was selected (one of 4 from Georgia) to attend the Summer Scientific Seminar at the Air Force Academy. I had to get permission to miss all of my finals that year. The academy campus is gorgeous – on top of a mountain in Colorado. (I tried to run track while I was there and couldn’t breathe – lower oxygen concentration). It was a week of barely veiled recruiting for the academy, which I had no intention of attending. I enjoyed it though, and confirmed academy life was not for me. Despite getting to start and run a jet engine.

- When I was a senior I went to my first frat party and stayed out all night, getting in at 6 AM. My parents had called the cops and my dad was out looking for me. I was grounded for over a month. No dates, no nothing except school and work. (as you can see, me going my own way was a theme that goes back to my earliest days).

This has gotten long enough, so I’ll wrap it up now. My experience of going to many different schools was unusual – to the kids I went to school with. Maybe today it is different.

happy corporate greed day

My wife and I were talking this morning about valentine's day. My gift to her this year is to go home during lunch and bring in the citrus trees as the temperature is dropping. Actually, the way she put it is that my gift to her is that I'm doing her bidding. (I do that every day anyway.)

The last gift I recall buying her for valentine's day (we don't exchange valentine's gifts anymore) was an anatomically correct, life-size & weight chocolate heart. Occasionally when she is told of some piece of jewelry or bouquet of flowers so-and-so got she'll tell them of this. At minimum it causes a pause in the conversation, and not a few raised eyebrows. She reminded me of it last night with a chuckle and suggested that I share this "expression of my love".

Every kiss does NOT start with Kaye. or De Beers. or Hallmark.

Ole'

I was listening to NPR this morning and it was reported that some official of the government of Spain had the gall to suggest that the bull in a bullfight be allowed to leave the arena alive. (Apparently this is what is done in South America.) An end to bullfighting was NOT suggested, despite a poll that indicates that over 70% of Spaniards have no interest at all in bullfighting. However, there is a huge uproar in Spain – who has the audacity to suggest a change to this cultural rite? One young lady – a bullfighter in training – commented to the effect that it had been wrong of Spain to impose its cultural values on the new world during its colonization, so it is wrong for the world to impose its cultural values on Spain.

Now I expect that my reaction to this story was probably the same as most people – that bullfighting is a barbaric custom that is an affront to modern cultural values, is cruel to the bulls and it is about time that bullfighting is stopped. Another of the people interviewed in Spain made the observation that these bulls are treated better than cattle are here and have a relatively quick and painless death at the hands of an expert toreador. I have not been to a bullfight and cannot speak from any direct knowledge, but how can a bull’s death be relatively quick and painless when it is continually stabbed and bled, it is run until it is too tired to escape and the toreador can deliver the coup de gras. Seems to me that it would be painful to be continually stabbed by the picadors and the toreador.

Aside from ending bullfighting I also have an aversion to hunting. In this country, at least, there is no reason for people to go out to kill game to put food on the table. It is more expensive to hunt, factoring in the cost of a gun (or bow), ammunition, and the hunting license, than to buy meat in the supermarket. Ditto for fishing. This appears to be a growing sentiment as the state of Georgia felt it had to amend it's constitution to protect the right to hunt and fish. My aversion to hunting comes from the viewpoint that since it isn’t necessary, that we are killing animals for sport. Even if they are eaten – which is mostly the case – it isn’t necessary, Kroger down the road has reasonably priced meat. Hunters argue that they perform a service, thinning out the game population to the point where the game can continue to flourish. I.e. – there is an overpopulation of the game being hunted. And that is probably true, as we are continually destroying their habitat to build more subdivisions and malls, forcing the game to concentrate in smaller and smaller areas. They also argue that it is in the nature of things that we eat other (lower) animals. After all, don't lions eat gazelles, cats eat rodents, wolves eat sheep, etc? Natural.

I really LOVE a good steak. I enjoy chicken cooked in a variety of ways. In other words, I eat meat. So, how can I object to people who hunt (or bullfight) if I have no problems eating animals? In fact, I eat animals whose sole purpose in life is to be eaten by me. Hunters can argue that they are eating animals whose purpose was to live, to be part of the ecosystem, and that only a few of them wind up as food (or as heads on a wall). Which is a valid point. I mean, it is unmentionable what is done to put veal on the table, or to produce goose liver pate. With the amount of chemicals that are pumped into cows to get them to market I am surprised we haven’t grown extra limbs. Beaks of chickens are clipped and they are forced to live crammed into small cages beak-to-beak until processed for our tables.

I can’t say that I have thoroughly thought out the relationship between humans and the other animals on this planet. I tend to believe that they have as much right to survive on this planet as we do, so what gives humans the right to use animals to our benefit? We are sufficiently advanced as to be able to derive our protein from non-animal sources, so they aren’t necessary as a source of sustenance. Why is it wrong to experiment on chimpanzees if those experiments save human lives? Why is it wrong to test cosmetics on animals if it prevents harm to humans? Why is it okay for me to eat a cow who’s entire existence is dedicated to providing me with gustatory pleasure?

I can’t decide. If I follow through with the majority of my feelings regarding animals, then I should be a vegetarian. Or vegan. Why don’t I have the strength of my convictions?

How say you?

uhhhh....

I have had the worst time lately getting motivated at work. I can't concentrate for any length of time and am only sporadically productive. While this has given me time to be distracted by you-all (blogging) it is certainly not what I am being paid to do.

I am not excited about my work anymore. Not even my impending trips to the middle-east (which could be because they are being pushed back and pushed back) are lighting my fire. I am not sure why - but maybe we'll discover this together.

I have had a tough year. My mother-in-law went into hospice last March and died last December. Laura was gone for 3 months during that time, which had its own consequences. I missed her terribly. I also missed her paycheck. Our finances took a hit as she wasn't paid for the time she was gone. The constant background hum of her mother's condition, when was the end going to be, etc. was there and wore on us both.

Work hasn't been a fun place to be either. We exited a 2 year bankruptcy in August of 2005 being bought by another company. We have (before, during, and after the period of bankruptcy) closed @ 30 plants. That's approximately 13,000 people that have lost jobs. 5 of those plants are (were) in this small town I live in. This company manufactures textiles - sheets, towels, blankets & pillows. In 2000 (before any of these plant closings) we had almost 2 billion dollars in sales. I think last year we had @800,000 - 900,000 in sales. The Corporate offices have been moved from here to New York. 90% of what I do now is in support of sourcing already-manufactured goods from overseas (China, Pakistan, Turkey, etc.). My current project is to get ready for converting a plant we bought in Bahrain over to our systems. We are also installing systems in a plant in Pakistan - this is a joint-venture, not an outright purchase. Within a year or two we will be selling more sourced goods than manufactured goods.

It doesn't help either that the company that bought us has not been in manufacturing before. The man chosen to be our new CEO hates this town, has said aloud that he will never come back to this hick town (hence the move of the corporate function to New York). Almost all of upper management has been replaced with their people and I really think that the new management think we don't know what we're doing and are of no relative value to the company. I was told in no uncertain terms that when I reviewed those reporting to me that there WILL NOT BE anyone rated above meets-requirements. Nor will there be any promotions. "No one working for a company who lost $90 million last year is an above-average performer" and I guess then no one deserves a raise either.

I used to be proud of the company I work for. Everywhere I go, everywhere I shop I looked to see if our sheets/towels are being sold (or used - in hotels). If I saw them, I would point it out to people. I no longer do this. I am trying to be happy to still have a job after all of those who no longer do, but it doesn't do much for me. But, I can't leave in the middle of this huge months-long project either. The man I work for has been my boss (directly and indirectly) since I came to work here and I wouldn't do that to him.

I don't want to start a pity party here, I guess I'm using this to explore my feelings. I like where I'm living, it's a great little town and it's growing (we are getting a car manufacturing plant, it's currently under construction). But, I've often felt bad about not being closer to my wife's family. Her dad is in his 80's (but will probably outlive me) and all of her sisters live in KC (except one who lives 3 hours south in Springfield). The IT market up there isn't the greatest, though and the cost of living is a good bit higher. However - I love living in the south. My mom is from a few hours south of here and my most vivid memories growing up are from when we were here. I love the people, the accent!, the manners (which are disappearing), business with a handshake (when my daughter had her flat tire, I sent her to the place where I buy my tires at and they fixed her up immediately - I went by after work to pay the bill. This same business did me a big favor, I was in Louisiana and my wife called me upset - she had 2 flat tires. I called the tire place, they drove over, pulled her tires, fixed them and took them back to put them on. When I returned to town a week later I went by to pay them. They didn't charge me for all of the extra work they did to go get them and take them back - all based on a phone call from me 1000 miles away.) I see the proprietor around town (as I do for the other places I do business) at lunch or shopping after work and often arrange for things to get done. I have lived in a lot of places and haven't had that experience before living here.

What I really need to do is to find a way to deal with it. If I'm not ready to leave here, then I need to get motivated - they deserve to get 100% of my attention and work while I am accepting their salary. I can reevaluate whether to stay or go after this year when I'm finished with the current projects. Even though I love it here, I've always moved and I enjoy new places and new experiences. Who knows, maybe I will have made peace with the new company and will want to stay. Or maybe we will have gone under and I will be forced to change. Either way, that's the future and now is now.

gotta do what'cha gotta do.

Resolution

For those waiting with bated breath on the big camera project, it has reached a project milestone. The camera was selected and ordered. I decided on the Canon A710 IS. It was $45 more than my original choice - the Canon A630 - but even though the 710 has a 7.1 mega pixel image sensor (smaller that the 8 mega pixel sensor in the A630) it has image stabilization and a few more features. So, the camera is on it's way. I got a free Canon printer with it, and I bought a 1 gig memory card and a case too. They are due to be delivered next week.

(although this was originally intended as a birthday gift, my lack of fore-planning, imagination, whatever, combined with an unanticipated ailment makes this an out-of-the-blue gift. I don't know if it counts.)

In other news, last night my daughter Kris was coming home along a country road and had a blow-out. It was raining and she was worried about changing the tire, it being on the road-side of the car. I told her to pull the car into the next driveway so she could change it safely. I taught each of our children how to change a tire (along with other basic car maintenance) when they got their vehicles. I made each practice in our driveway. So - I was more worried about her having to change it in the cold rain more that anything else. My wife was getting off work at the same time so she rode out to meet her and to make sure everything was going okay. When my wife got there, a gentleman (in the full sense of the word) had stopped to help my daughter and was just finishing up with the tire. I have his card and am trying to come up with a small gift, some way of showing my (our) appreciation at his stopping in the rain and helping my daughter. Maybe a card with a gift certificate. I dunno, I don't want to insult the guy - I know he didn't do it for renumeration. Maybe just the card.


Chivalry is NOT dead!

off we go, into the wild blue yonder....

It was recently "gently" pointed out to me that I had pompously (my interpretation) suggested that I don't post here about inconsequential things, such as bronchitis and buying a camera. It brought me up short, reminding me that I should practice what I preach. While the following may be actually considered even more self-indulgent, as it is about me, my mea culpa is that it is in response to a request.


I spent 6 years in the Air Force as a cryptologic linguist. This is how the USAF describes this job:

Operates and manages operation of communications equipment. Operates radio receivers, recording equipment, typewriters, keyboards, computer consoles, and related equipment. Tunes receivers to prescribed frequencies or performs frequency search missions, or both, over specified portions of radio spectrums to locate and monitor stations and frequency use. Monitors and records communications, adding appropriate comments to assist in transcription and analysis. Performs preventive maintenance on mission equipment.

Transcribes and processes communications. Transcribes, translates, analyzes, and reports on assigned communications.

Translates spoken or written material from one language to another. Uses wording aids, and references. Recognizes essential elements of information for reporting activity. Assists analysts in identifying, analyzing, and reporting activities.

Maintains technical aids, logs, and records. Compiles and maintains operation records and statistics. Ensures logs, forms, and correspondence are properly completed, annotated, and distributed. Monitors and maintains handbooks, working aids, and analytical references to ensure applicability and currency. Reviews, updates, and compiles data for operational use.

Paraphrased, I listened to arabic communications, recorded and typed what I heard, translated it, analyzed and reported it.

I included the official job description because that is about all of the detail I can get into without disclosing potentially classified information. This job requires a top secret/sensitive compartmented information security clearance.

I joined the Air Force in March of 1983 because I didn't know what else to do. I was in college and was burned out - I tried to work full time and go to school full time and I just couldn't hack it anymore. I had had some idea that joining the military would give me a full-time job that would also help pay for college. I took the military entrance exam and scored well enough that I could request any job they had an opening for. Somehow or another I ran across the description for airborne cryptologic linguist - that really caught my eye as I've always been interested in flying. The job requires a facility for foreign languages, so I took the language aptitude battery and qualified for language school. So off I go to basic training. (The less said about basic, the better.) While there, I had to take 2 days worth of tests to determine which language type I had a propensity for (slavic, romance, inflected, etc). Once again, I scored well enough to be allowed to choose. I had no idea which I was interested in. We saw a film that described the locations the different languages were taught. At that time there were 4 (I think) - San Antonio, San Francisco, San Diego, and Monterey. Monterey sounded the most interesting place to be (I still don't know why San Francisco didn't top my list - although I remember pictures of Monterey including palm trees and the ocean) so I asked which languages were taught there. Arabic was among those that had current openings. So, come April, off I go to Monterey - to the Defense Language Institute, Foreign Language Center at the Presidio of Monterey, California. I spent the next year there 6 hours a day, 5 days a week learning arabic. This included written as well as oral training, with some cultural lessons too. Here is where I met Laura. She was a student at DLI too, learning chinese. We decided to marry. (Laura decided to leave the military.) Due to the "dangers" inherent in the airborne portion of the job, I opted for a ground slot instead - new wife, kid on the way, etc. In April of 1984 I graduated from DLI and in May we moved to San Angelo, Texas, for my next school - this time technical training. For the first time I was introduced to the fundamentals of being a cryptologic linguist. (see job description above) We were there for 3 months - during the middle of the summer. In September we moved to the island of Crete. Now began another 3 months of OJT to learn mission-specific skills (new equipment, targets, etc.) For the next 2 years there I worked a cycle of 4 swings (2:30PM to 10:30PM), 4 mids (10:30PM to 6:30AM), 4 days (6:30AM to 2:30PM) and 3 days off. Believe it or not, you get used to it. Anyway, in September of 1987 we moved back to the states, to Maryland. I worked at NSA (the National Security Agency) for the next two years doing primarily analytical work.

In late 1989 I had some choices to make. I was due to re-enlist in early 1990. I liked my job but it meant the distinct possibility of transferring to Crete every 2 years then back to Maryland. As much as we liked Crete, the biggest problem was that there weren't schools there for kids beyond elementary school - which they would reach during the next enlistment. If we were stationed on Crete when the kids were old enough for jr. high or high school they would have had to attend a DoD boarding school in Spain. That wasn't going to happen. So, my choices were to:

a) stay in, and when the kids were old enough, hope for an assignment to somewhere other than Crete,
b) stay in and go to Crete unaccompanied - Laura and the kids stay state-side,
c) change career fields giving me other assignment options
d) get out of the military.

Neither a nor b appealed to us. I tried option c but wasn't able to get a slot in the career field I wanted - computers. I could have re-enlisted and continued to try option c, but I was on the cusp of my next rotation to Crete and didn't feel confident that I would be allowed to transfer. So, I chose option d. My dad told me about this company whose computers he repaired that had a programming staff and I submitted a resume. They called me down for an interview and within a week I was offered a job. The next week I took terminal leave and we moved in with my parents here and I took this job.

I know that this doesn't tell you really anything about being a cryptologic linguist. The only other thing I feel I can mention is that there is (or was when I was in) a "crypto" portion of the job that involved codes & cyphers. What can I say, I like puzzles. If you are interested, there have been a few books written about NSA that might give a little more insight to their overall mission and imply a little more about what I did. For those that hung on all the way to here, you deserve a prize (that I don't have to give) and I hope it wasn't too boring. I am planning on a multi-installment post about our experience living on Crete and our kids being born there. Maybe that will prove to me more interesting.

cough, cough, hack, hack, *splat* - so that's what it looks like.

I think I am back in the world of the living. I won't commit myself until I make it the rest of the day. Except for Tuesday morning and another attempt Thursday morning, I have been either in bed or on the couch. I doubt I have any lungs left as I have been coughing them out for the past 10 days. The *official* diagnosis is viral bronchitis with a prognosis of "wait it out". (This is from a man with 12-14 years of training, x years of practice and a 6 or 7 figure income - an expert in the field. go figure.) I am still waiting, albeit from my desk now instead of the couch.

Laura is almost over hers, as she didn't have nearly as bad a case as I do. She only missed 1.5 days of work. She is back to planning for her trip. She's talking to her sisters about the pros & cons of buying a 14 day rail pass (@$330 per person) or renting a car (@$700) while they are there. They are beginning to talk about what they want to see, about Scotland vs. Paris for the weekend, etc.

I am back to shopping for cameras and hope to wrap it up soon. Thanks for all of your suggestions & advice - I still haven't quite made up my mind, though. Also, thanks for all of your well-wishes regarding my on-going cheating of death - I hope to continue to do so, but it is difficult with most of my lungs strewn about the house. Wish me luck.

T-minus 1 and holding

I have spent the last 3 days in bed with bronchitis. (well - I did go to work for a few hours this morning, but that was because I had to write my yearly eval and turn it in to my boss. My yearly eval of myself. I might find the strength later to go into this interesting management philosophy.)

Laura's birthday is tomorrow and NO PRESENT. ARGH.

I really appreciate the input on which camera. I had about settled on the Canon SD700 IS when the malady struck. The last time I had bronchitis it lasted for 3 months and I lost 25 pounds. I don't think I'll be able to sell anyone on this diet, efficient as it may be.

Anyway, just a quick update - I know everyone was on tenterhooks about the big decision. which hasn't been decided.

I might be up to catching up on all of you tomorrow.

Cheers.

smile and say "CHEESE"

Laura's birthday is coming up next week. I want to give her a digital camera to take with her to England. We have a 35mm Canon AE1 - it was given to Laura 25 years ago. It still works, but we have film from 10 years ago that hasn't been developed yet. Time to move into the modern age.

This request is a bit late, but I'm looking for advice on which camera to purchase. I'm leaning towards another Canon but there are so many out there I can't really differentiate between them and have no feel for which is better. (I love, but cannot afford, the Canon digital Rebel SLR.)

So - any last minute advice for this last minute request?

Over There, over there......

My wife has an irritating habit of starting conversations like "my sister called me today", or "My sister pissed off dad again." Laura has 4 sisters. So, which sister this time? Like I'm supposed to read her mind, or play 20 questions? argh.

Anyway, Jackie's (The sister in question here) husband Tony's sister is working in England, has a large house, and has invited Jackie & Tony over for a visit. The problem is that Tony is all "nope, ain't gonna do it. don't wanna. can't make me." So while we were up in Kansas City last December Laura and her sisters were talking and they decided that if Tony didn't want to go, he didn't have to go, his loss, we do - so let's go. They tossed around dates and 3 of the 5 - Jackie, Laura, and heretofore unmentioned Annie, are going.

Annie told Laura that she had researched flights and they (Annie & Jackie) were flying out of KC on the 5th of May arriving on the 6th at Gatwick. So I cashed in my frequent-flyer points and immediately found out that all of the frequent-flyer seats out of Atlanta direct to Gatwick were gone. Dammit. BUT the frequent-flyer lady, through 45 minutes of herculean flight-table mumbo jumbo found some non-Delta flights getting Laura there only 2 hours before her sisters - so we booked Laura's tickets. We then found out that Annie & Jackie HADN'T really bought tickets and confusion ensued. They, not being encumbered by frequent-flyer restrictions - paying actual money for theirs, got tickets fairly easily and wound up arriving just about the same time as originally stated. AND wonder of wonders, wound up on the same flight leaving Gatwick as Laura coming home on the 19th.

So, long story short, Laura and her sisters are going to England for 2 weeks in May. If there are any anglophiles out there cognizant of the south of England (Bramley, Hampshire) and environs please feel free to suggest any "can't miss" attractions providing, of course, they fit within a moderate budget.

I am sooooo jealous. I've always wanted to go to England. But - I have to travel occasionally on business and get to go to some neat places (this year will be Bahrain and Pakistan) so I'm not complaining by any means. She'll have a blast with her sisters - she's really excited about going. (Last night she stopped in the middle of being excited to tell me she wished it were me she were going with - and then continued being excited.) I'm excited for her. She's had such a rough time recently - 2006 was a bitch - she deserves this. And although I will have to work some big-time magic on our budget, I'll make it work.

drawing a null......

as it is almost a week's silence here, and nature (and bob) abhors a vacuum, and I can't think of anything noteworthy, I'm stealing a meme for blogfodder from MOI.

A) Four jobs I have had:

1. short order/pizza/dining hall cook
2. library assistant
3. cryptologic linguist
4. driver-helper for UPS

B ) Four movies I could watch over and over:

1) Mon Oncle
2) Blazing Saddles
3) McLintock
4) Wallace & Grommit - A Close Shave

C) Four places I have lived other than where you live now:

1. Biloxi, Mississippi
2. Gournes, Crete, Greece
3. Hilton, Georgia
4. Austin, Texas

D) Four T.V. Shows I like/liked to watch:

1. My Name is Earl
2. CSI
3. M*A*S*H
4. The Last of the Summer Wine

E) Four places I have been on vacation:

1.Perdido Key, Florida
2. Niagara Falls, NY (& Canada)
3. Santorini, Greece
4. San Francisco, California

F) Four Web sites I visit daily:

1. Daily Oliver
2. Joe Mathlete explains Marmaduke
3. Woot one day, one deal
4. The Onion

G) Four of my favorite foods:

1. Prime Rib
2. Barbecue from Arthur Bryant's in Kansas City
3. my wife's pot roast
4. everything on the table at our family reunions

H) Four places I would rather be right now:

1. on the beach
2. on a train crossing the northern rockies
3. in the meditation room in the B&B just up from the corner of Haight & Ashbury
4. helping my best friend in his furniture shop

Wishing

Last night as I tossed and turned I found myself once again wishing I could still sleep on my stomach. For years this is the way I lay down to go to sleep. But a combination of an old bed and my old back forces me to lay on my side. (For some weird reason, I cannot fall asleep on my back.) Anyway, as I tossed and turned I started thinking of other things I missed from the past.

• my kids when they were toddlers. Despite the day to day frustrations of raising two at one time, I sometimes really miss them sitting in my lap, smelling their hair as they nestled in my arms. the way all of their problems could be solved with a hug and a kiss.
• first kisses. We've been married 22 years so I have to reach WAY back, but I still remember the feeling I would get when kissing a girl for the first time. I can't describe it other than it was like a high current flowing through me looking for a ground. The nervousness, anticipation, not knowing if it would be returned or spurned. And the giddiness of knowing there would be a second kiss.
• my great-grandmother. Her house was right beside my grandfather's (of Hilton Grocery fame). Mama Smith always had time for us young-uns. There was always a cake or pie in the safe. She made the best biscuits - she kept a wooden bowl with flour in it, she would scoop a hollow and add buttermilk and oil and stir in flour with her hand until a dough was formed. She'd pinch off bits of dough and put them on a baking sheet and put them in the oven. no recipe, no measuring - I can't remember her ever having a cookbook out. I would sit on her back porch in a rocker helping her shell peas or butter beans, gather the eggs from the hen house, or get her a jar of pickles from the smoke house. She had fluffy white hair, wore simple dresses, her support hose rolled just below her knees, the blue veins in her strong hands stood out (missing the end of one of her fingers). And a cackle for a laugh - which she did often.
• my grandfather's barn. That barn was in turn a fort, a playhouse, a sanctuary. It had a hay loft and a tin roof. There was a lean-to on one side that sheltered his tractor and a bench full of old rusting tools and plow blades. He kept hogs in a pen around part of the barn and a trailer of corn to feed them. I loved to climb in the hayloft when it was raining for the sound of it on the tin roof. There was a corn crib which sometimes had corn, and always had spiders.
• Monterey California. I spent a year there learning arabic. I and a buddy would catch a bus Saturday mornings and ride over the hill to Carmel to go to the beach. We would stop at a shop, pick up some beer, bread & butter & cheese and stay the day catching the last bus back that evening. I met and married Laura while there. Our first apartment was one room with a divider that could be drawn across to close off the bed from the rest of the room. There was a little grocery store that made the BEST sandwiches, Laura and I would split one and bake a potato to go with it. There was a little bakery called Fifi's and the Dream Theater that down front instead of seats were pads on the floor with seat backs wide enough for two, you could stretch your legs out, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. I saw the Rocky Horror Picture Show there for the first time with Laura. I guess she and I had a lot of firsts in Monterey.
• my van. I have owned two VW vans (buses to be correct) - a '69 and a '71. I taught Laura to drive a stick shift in one. I rebuilt the engine of the other in our living room. ( I almost didn't get it out of the house, it wouldn't fit through the front door once reassembled.) Our first vehicle was the '69 and we drove it from Texas to Missouri, then to Georgia, then to New Jersey to send it to Crete. On my days off there we would often ride up into the hills and when we got hungry we would pull over, open the side door and have our picnic in the back of the van with the view of the valley in front of us. If the babies wouldn't sleep we could put them in the back of the van and ride them around - they'd be asleep in 10 minutes. I still can hear the unique sound of it's engine.

As you can see, I was awake for quite a while last night. I'm off to get another cup of coffee. Cheers.

Our Little Lion

Stripes died this morning. Technically it was of kidney failure and anemia, but generally it was old age. He had had a good life, relatively, and was loved. He died in Laura's arms.

Stripes was the cat equivalent of a mutt. He had long hair that was grey with darker stripes (hence the name). When he was younger he had tufts of fur surrounding his head somewhat like a lion's mane. He was certainly the alpha male of our pride of cats for a long time. He had survived being hit by a car (hip fracture), an infected ear (it grew to the size of a plum), and a few upper respiratory infections. He was a mean young tom up until he got hurt (the hip fracture). Laura dedicated herself to taming him and he became hers. Even when he was outside, he would come when she called. Also, all of our other cats liked him. Some cats will bristle at others and we have had to keep a few separated - but ALL of them would curl up with him for a good grooming. Weird.

I called the vet yesterday morning and got the news that he was dying. I went during my lunch hour and took him home. Laura was home early from work (slow days during the holidays) and she spent the rest of the day with him saying goodbye. He managed go hang on until this morning when it was obvious that he was suffering. We took him in and put him to sleep. He is buried in the back yard in a little alcove between some bushes. My daughter wants to do something - flowers, a stone, something.

If you have a number of pets, you love them all - but there's always a special one. Stripes was the one.

and to all a good night.

We had a good, if quiet anniversary. We did a little last-minute Christmas shopping and then went to dinner. Our kids treated us to our favorite japanese steak house. I could bearly move afterwards. Throughout the day we took our time and I was able to make Laura laugh every now and then.

I find that I have taken to blogging somewhat. the mechanics are difficult for me, my punctuation and grammar skills are atrocious. But I have met some new friends and am learning about life from others' prospective. I am also learning a little about myself. The process of writing these posts forces me to think through what I'm writing about.

In any case, I have enjoyed meeting you all and wish for you happy holidays and a Merry Christmas.

P.S. no call from the vet (surprise!). No news is good news, right?

'Tis The Season.......

First I would like to thank each of you for the sentiments expressed regarding Stripes and Laura. It means a lot to me.

Stripes: according to today's blood work, his numbers are a little better. He's eaten some. They have him on some kind of an I.V. treatment. BUT - he will have to stay over the holiday weekend. They won't be open but have promised to call Sunday to let us know how he is. I took Laura to see him today. He was happy to see her. It was hard to leave him there. I am afraid that this is the beginning of the end for Stripes. They are being extremely careful not to say that he will recover his kidney function or to give us much hope for his future. Right now they are hinting that if he stabilizes he will require some kind of treatment from now on.

Laura got off of work early and I have started my holiday vacation so we were going to try shopping for the kids. But by the time we got up with the vet and got to visit Stripes no one wanted to shop. On top of that tomorrow is our 22nd wedding aniversary and neither of us are acting real exited about it. We aren't doing much special, just going out to dinner at a nice restaurant and maybe a movie. I hope I can bring Laura out of herself and that she can be happy for a little while. I'm gonna try.

Crap, Crap, Crap, Crap, Crap

My wife asked me to take her favorite cat Stripes to the vet this morning 'cause he doesn't want to eat. He's been losing weight recently and been sneezing more than normal. The vet just called and said that blood tests indicate his kidneys aren't working - which is why he isn't eating. He suggested a certain treatment, but didn't sound optimistic about it working.

Stripes is 10-12 years old. (maybe a little more). For a good while he was an unapproachable tom. He ruled the roost for a while and we still have several of his offspring. Several years ago he got an injury and my wife had to win him over so she could treat him. Ever since he's been her baby. He is completely domesticated - he comes to her when she calls him.

I don't know what I'm going to do if he dies. Laura just lost her mother. She doesn't want to celebrate Christmas - we don't have a tree up and haven't bought gifts yet. On top of that she's got the never-ending crud. This will devistate her.

I haven't called her yet, I am dreading it.

update: I called to check on Stripes a few minutes ago, but the vet was in surgery. He did send a brief message: he will do bloodwork tomorrow morning to check the indicators for kidney function. I am waiting to tell Laura when I get home. Thanks for your support. Keep your fingers crossed.

Oops

We interrupt this program for an important announcement:

It was pointed out to me that, far be it from an IT type to make a mistake, I had turned off comments on my recent posts. Now I am admitting to nothing, but comments have been turned back on.

We now resume the previously scheduled programming.

Hilton Grocery

I was reading a blog post the other day that mentioned an old-fashioned country store. My grandaddy owned a country store, and portions of my younger years were spent there. Maybe I can paint a picture of it (as I have aboslutely no photos of it. I'll have to check with Mom to see if she does.)

It was situated at an intersection of a state road and two county roads on a gravel lot about 10 miles from town. Across the state road was the post office. (or post shack - it was tiny. My uncle ran it until it was closed.) The store was built of wood and had a front shelter where two gas pumps and a kerosene tank were located. You entered through the front screen door (with the Colonial Bread logo painted on it) or the side screen door - there was no air conditioning. I can still hear the slap of the screen doors closing. The wooden floor had worn where years of traffic had worn paths around the store. There were two windows across the front, one on either side of the front screen door behind one of which I would sometimes sit to watch for cars to pull up for gas. (I would race my brother to the pumps to see which of us got to pump the gas).

Just inside the front door in the left front corner were the drink coolers. When I first started going/working there there were no can drinks, you got either 8 or 10 ounce cokes (all soft drinks are coke in the South) and Pepsi had a 16 ounce-er. There was a crate beside one of the coolers to put your empties into. Along the left wall beyond the 2nd drink cooler was the milk cooler (with other dairy products, eggs, etc.) and then the gas heater with chairs around it - my grandmother used to sit by the fire during the winter and crochet (she taught me to crochet there) when there were no customers. This was where people would come to chat during all times of the year. There was almost always someone sitting there. Papa used to hitch one leg on the counter and talk with the current sitter(s). After the heater was the the wall phone (it was on a party line, so to make a call you picked up, listened to make sure folks weren't talking and dialed 4 digits for those on the same party line or 7 digits for town folks.). Next was the side entrance and finally a passageway to the back of the store.

Down the middle of the store from the front was a shelving display unit (bread on one side, odds and ends on the other) and at the end of the shelves was a place where bags of dog food as well as extra bales of sugar were stacked. (sugar came in 100 lb bales - 20 5lb bags or 10 10lb bags) (I used to sit at the top of the stack and pretend to be driving a stage coach.) After the sugar/dog food stacks was an aisleway in front of the meat cooler. Displayed in the cooler were souse meat, sausage meat, pork-chops, balogna, bacon, and a few sundries (now that I think on it, he didn't sell beef). The balogna, souse, and bacon were sliced to order. I can remember on weekday mornings when I would go with Papa to open the store I sliced a ton of balogna for lunch for the crews going to work on the nuclear plant being built nearby. They also bought a lot of potted meat and crackers, or vienna sausages. (both are uniquely southern comestables eaten on crackers with hot sauce). I would catch the bus from there to go to school.

On the right just inside the door was a passageway leading behind the right counters, first of which was the candy counter. Candy bars, bb's (they go together, right?) and a few candy-type items. Inside of a glass display case above the candy bars was where the penny candy was kept (some were 2-fer's). Next to the candy were 3 tall glass jars with heavy glass lids that held cookies. Behind the cookies was the cash register (that didn't work except for the cash drawer) and the hoop cheese cutter. The cutting of this cheese was reserved for Papa as he liked giving the customer ONE slice of cheese exactly the amount requested. The cutter had a flat round table on which the cheese wheel sat, it had a perpendicular handle that you pumped to and fro to move the cheese under the hinged cleaver used to cut the cheese (no jokes, please - this cheese cutting was a serious business!). Next to the hallowed cheese cutter was a brief expanse of counter, a passageway through, and then more counter at the end if which was the adding machine, complete with a handle to pull after each number entered. (I can still remember when it was upgraded to an electric model. Boy, were we in high cotton!) All behind these counters on the right were the shelves lining the wall from floor to ceiling where most of the groceries were. On these shelves also were cigarettes, loose-leaf tobacco (to roll your own) and snuff. (we sold a lot of snuff.) There were also the hanging displays of shoe strings, doan's liver/back/whathaveyou pills, plastic sunglasses, wallets, etc. A customer would come in, stand at the counter and would call out their order setting me or whoever else to fetch it. Their order was added up on the adding machine and bagged. Some folks were allowed to carry a "ticket" that was expected to be settled up at month-end. It was a big deal to me to be allowed to fill out the ticket.

Beyond the adding machine on the right was where the meat counter that ran across the back of the store met the right-side counter. Under the counter at this corner was where the cash box was kept - with a pistol on top. NOT TO BE MESSED WITH. Across the back of the store behind the meat counter was more floor to ceiling shelves. In the middle was a band saw to cut hams into slices, pork loins into chops and chickens in half. I was rarely allowed to do this, but I was always allowed to clean it. ugh.

Behind the store was a old burnham van body (off of the chassis) used for storage (sugar bales that didn't fit in the center, cattle feed and salt licks) and the outhouse. Yep - an outhouse. Although we were modern in that we kept toilet paper in it. During the summer Papa would send me home in his truck to get the tractor to bush hog behind the van body/outhouse to help keep the snakes and vermin away.

I would most often ride the bus down to the store after school and work there until closing at 6:00 PM. Sometimes during the spring and summer he would take me to the house, get out the tractor and start me plowing the field and then leave me to it while he went back to the store. (Papa also farmed corn and peanuts). Sometimes during the summer if I didn't go with him to open the store I would sleep in and then walk the railroad tracks the few miles to the store. Occasionally he would get up an order for someone and ask me to take his truck to deliver it - down a miriad of dirt roads that I knew by heart. Other summer days I would play with my brother and sister on his farm, frequently getting out his hunting jeep to ride around through the woods. Across the state highway beside the post office was a railroad siding. The train would stop there most days after switching and the crew would come over to get a coke & crackers. (I would go over and put coins under the engine's wheels to flatten them.) Empty boxcars would be left there for the papermill. Mr. Y.T. would come from town to clean them out. I would help him (in mid-summer heat) because he would let me drive his truck.

Papa's store is gone now, as is he. There are times I miss the hell out of him - and his store. In retrospect it was idyllic. Excepting those few years living with Papa (and Mama, and Mama & Papa Smith (great-grandparents) and my great-aunts & uncles, cousins, etc. etc. etc.) I was a city boy. My grandaddy was one of seven children all of which (but the one killed in WWII) lived within a few miles of each other. So living with him put me slap in the middle of a huge family. Despite spending most of my life moving from city to city I most often identify with these country roots - much more so than the years spent in suburbia. They are the clearest and most cherished memories I have of growing up.

Goin' to the movies

We were watching slides the evening after the funeral. Every so often one of my sisters-in-law would yell at the screen "look who's goin' to the movies!" and the other sisters would laugh. After hearing this two or three times I noticed that this was shouted out whenever someone in the slide was digging their underwear out of their nether regions. Afterwards my wife and I were talking and I asked her what was up with that. She told me that whenever her father would see one of them doing that he would ask, "Are you going to the movies?" There would be a puzzled look or a "no" and he would follow up with "Then why are you picking your seat?".

I wonder if my kids will remember the lessons I've tried to teach them. I didn't have this in my arsenal.

They do, however, remember about pulling my finger.....

Ellen Mae Woodford

Ellen Mae Woodford was born on October 28th, 1927. She had a difficult childhood, not only because she was raised during the depression, but also because she was from a broken home. I still don't know a lot of the details, but I do know that it fell on her to raise her younger siblings and that her sister Bev lived with her for some time after Ellen married.

I guess that the one thing that was discussed this past week was that she believed in family. In a big way. All told, she had 8 kids of her own (one of which was premature and did not survive beyond a few days).

She is survived by all but 2 of the eight children. They came in 2 batches with almost 10 years in between. There were 7 girls and one boy.

Some would say though that all of the kids in the neighborhood were hers too. She babysat for local families and ran the daycare at several churches. I'm sure you've all met someone who was great with kids, who could get them to behave and someone that they would listen to when all else failed. That was my mother-in-law.

I met Ellen in December 1984 3 days before I married her long-haired daughter. Before the day was out, she knew about my siblings, my parents, their siblings and parents; as well as how and where I was raised, etc. Her appetite for family history was voracious - and she remembered it all. If I mentioned someone was ill, the next time we talked (maybe months later) she would ask specifically about that person, their illness, etc. Her memory was amazing.

She rarely met a stranger. During a trip overseas to see us, she met a lady on the airplane that she had not seen since, but corresponded with for years afterward. When I was working swings and mids she would often get up early and walk on-base to get breakfast and would sit down with people (especially those with babies) and introduce herself and ask about them. For months after she left people would ask after my mother-in-law. Lee Greenwood came to Crete to put on a USO show while she was visiting us there. After the show MIL somehow managed to walk up and introduce herself to him and chatted for a few minutes. She didn't know who he was as she didn't listen to the radio and the only kind of music she professed any interest in was gospel, but she frequently mentioned in later years that she liked him and enjoyed the show. (I was in bed sleeping off a mid-shift at the time. She did this on her own.)

Her trip to visit us was an amazing thing unto itself. Ellen was a homemaker whose only income was her babysitting. But somehow she saved her money and made a trip to Crete to visit us after my daughter was born. She had made earlier trips to England and California, all by herself and all with her babysitting money. She did not have a driver's license as she was afraid to and had to be driven everywhere she went. My wife tells me that the only reason her dad bought her a car when she turned 16 was so that he could make her take Ellen everywhere she wanted to go relieving him of the chore.

Now I don't want to imply that she was a saint. I have mentioned elsewhere that I have had to mediate between my wife and my mother-in-law. Her magic with kids didn't always work with her own kids. Most of her kids have had some emotional problems of some sort and I believe that she did too. She also would often criticize the grandchild in her sight and praise the ones out of sight. (so, sometimes our kids were pariahs and sometimes they were saints!) Also, for many years if my wife complained about me to her mother, her mother would ask my wife what had she done wrong. My wife used to complain bitterly that she wished her mother would take her side in an argument instead of mine.

No one is perfect. I think that it is a mistake to deify someone after they pass away. You love someone despite their failings, knowing it takes all parts to make the whole. The wholeness of spirit that was Ellen lives on in each of us that knew her, and will continue to do so as long as we remember her. The following is quoted from the guestbook on Ellen's obituary in the Kansas City Star:

My family first met Ellen 3 years ago when we moved in next door to the Woodford's. At that time, our little girl was just turning 2 years old. We threw her a big birthday bash in our front yard and Ellen, who was joyfully being pushed over by Woody in her wheelchair, brought over a Fisher Price picnic basket full of magic markers to celebrate her birthday. Lauren was thrilled! To this day, she still talks about it and plays with the picnic basket nearly every day. Through the years, Lauren always got excited when we would see Ellen sitting outside on a pretty day and she would run up to her side and just gobble up the complements that Ellen would give her, telling her how pretty and smart she was. Most recently, Lauren and I dropped by to see Ellen when she came home from the hospital and Lauren didn't really know what to think of Ellen in her hospital bed. She asked me a lot of questions about why she was in bed and why she didn't talk to her like she use to. I did my best to explain to her about the stroke that Ellen had endured. Well, two days ago, after hearing of Ellen's passing, I had to find a way to tell Lauren the sad news. I decided just to tell her that Ellen had gone to heaven. Lauren's eye's lit up and she said, "Great, I'm so glad that she doesn't have to lay down anymore and that God gave her back her voice again!"

My wife broke down and cried for the first time since her mother died after having read that. So did her other sisters to whom she was reading it.

Ellen died on Monday, December 4th at 1:30 PM central. It has to be some comfort knowing she is no longer suffering and that (if you so believe) she is now where she can once more ask you about your kids and tell you about hers.

now we'll gather at the river...

I am hot and awake at 3 in the morning. I am hot because my wife insists that unless the room is 80 degrees it is cold. (This comes from a woman who just a few years ago would go out in 30 degree weather with short-sleeves on. I think the change must be a-happenin'. I digress). All the way up here she would jack the heater up and down, up and down. I had to take my sweater off and ride in my t-shirt. All I needed was a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve and a hound dog in the back to complete the picture. I am awake because we spent 15 hours on the road and even after 3 hours I can still feel it.

Here is Kansas City, icy and snowy. Here is where my in-laws live. Here is because my mother-in-law passed away yesterday afternoon. Some would say she lost the battle at last. I would prefer to think she finally won one.

I will be in the midst of family, making arrangements, buying a winter coat, listening to everyone tell their favorite stories as one does at a time like this. And as sometimes happens I will be escorting her to her final resting place for I have been honored to be asked to be a pall bearer.

I will try to absorb and maybe relate some of this sometime soon. I am not talented in that way and I don't have the words now anyway. I am tired and sad and....happy that she is no longer trapped in her failed body. I am not a religious person, but I know she was to her core. So I choose to think that she is where her belief promised her she would be. I take comfort in that.

.....yep, it was just me

I couldn't get anyone to argue with me, so time to move on.

Except for a few twinges here and there I've not had a problem with getting older. I am 44 years old. All it really means to to me is that for the next 11 months I will be able to remember how old I am without having to do the math. (Next year, back to subtraction). And except for when I look at old pictures of myself, as I will have you do just below, I don't really notice day to day the changes that time has wrought. Well - I do have ONE extremely visible sign of the aging process - a receding hairline.

Here is a picture of my family. I am 17 in this picture:



Notice the full head of almost shoulder length hair, parted down the middle. (For those who don't want to guess, I'm the one who didn't hear the guy say "say cheese".)

And here is a wedding picture from a few years later. I am 21 in this picture:



Notice the full head of hair, despite the military haircut. (for those who don't want to guess, I am the one without a clue. This is a life-long attribute of mine.)

And here is a picture from last Christmas. I am 43 here:



(for those who don't want to guess, I am the one thinking "take the damned picture already, I haven't opened my presents yet.")

As you can see, my hair line has moved significantly. The first picture has been in my wallet since it was taken. As you can also see, from that first picture, I come by this follicular impairment honestly. All I've had to do all of my life is look at my dad to see what I was going to look like at any given age in my future. I've had time to get used to it.

I've harbored a secret aspiration for much of my adult life. I think I've the makings of a damned good grumpy old man. The symptoms are starting to appear - I have no patience for some things that kids do (I HATE, with a passion I didn't know I was capable of, flip flops. Who in God's green earth decided it was okay to wear those damned things everywhere? I'm not talking about sandals, I'm talking about what folks a generation back from me called shower shoes. When I was a kid I wore them to the beach once a year and promptly lost them. But, I digress.) and actually I don't have patience for a lot of what anyone else does either. Right now I am tending toward the kind of grumpy old man like Walter Matthau in the movie Grumpy Old Men. When I was younger I thought it'd be kinda neat to be a grumpy old man like Gabby Hayes in almost every B western ever made - but I didn't want to play second fiddle to a cowboy nor do I want to pull all of my teeth. I enjoy chewing.

There is one thing that I wasn't really prepared for. It too is hair related. I have a single eyebrow hair that grows straight out of my face. IT is waaayyyy longer than the others. IT is currently 1 inch long. As my eyebrows aren't particularly thick people can't really see IT. The only other person that knows about IT is my wife. (At least she is the only one that has said anything about it. We won't mention what she said, though.) What the hell am I going to do with just one long eyebrow? I would really love to have Jack Elam's eyebrows. That would at least help me with the Gabby Hayes type of geezer. Thick and bushy, you'd need hedge clippers to cut 'em back.

But that isn't all. My lengthy eyebrow has a cousin. I have another, just like it, on my ring finger. The hair on my hands and fingers isn't thick, it is fair and somewhat sparse. Except for THE hair. IT redeux sticks straight up instead of lying down with the others. IT redeux is currently about 1 inch long.

(We won't even talk about nasal hair. I didn't realize they go grey and get longer too).

On the bright side, maybe this is only the first step on the road to geezerhood. It's a small one, but there's hope. Anyway, these are the only two I know of. I'm afraid to look anywhere else.

P.S. The vest I'm wearing in the Christmas Picture? I made it last year for the season (duh!). I am now going to publish this and go home to work on this year's vest. film at eleven.

....or is it just me?

I read a blog post the other day which contained the following:

In other news, the OJ book (titled something like IF I KILLED THEM, HERE'S HOW I MADE MONEY OFF IT IN SPITE OF THOSE PESKY OLD SON OF SAM LAWS) was pulled just DAYS before it was due to hit stores and I for one am having a weird little surge of hope for humanity in response. Good for us! YAY for people with souls, HUZZAH to good balky booksellers who just said no. Score one for decency. And maybe even another for good taste and even kindness.

to which I made the following comment:

I can't believe that Fox thought it a good idea in the first place.

But there's a lingering thought - what about the 1st amendment? Everyone has a right to a voice, not just the popular people - and even those with extremely bad taste and no morals. Let the book be published and then languish. (I understand that) the money goes to his kids, so excepting the publicity there wasn't any gain from him exploiting his wife's death anyway. There is a lot of crap out there that's been published. Should we as a people be able to prevent something from being published? Except for special circumstances (yelling fire in a crowed theater) free speech means free speech. let him have his book. In my opinion, it's just like anything else. If you don't like it, don't buy it or don't watch it. And - I am wary of anyone's criticism of a book or a movie if they haven't read it or seen it.

I am sorry if I seem sanctimonious, I try not to be. I wouldn't have read his book but I wouldn't have stopped it from being published either. I complain when preachers tell their congregation to not watch a movie or not read a book when they themselves haven't read or seen it. I try not to "preach" one thing and do another.

to which she replied:

Bob -- I repectfully disagree.

It's November. NaNoWriMo is on, and TENS of if not HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of novels will be completed this month. I predict that less that .001% of them will be purchased for 7 figures by a major New York Press and given a big media push, BUT I don't think NaNo-ers are having their first amendment rights violated.
The first amendment does not guarantee the right to a major publishing deal. No one has "silenced" him. He can EVEN NOW publish his evil pile of exploitative crap using Xlibris or Lulu. Heck, he can print it up on tracts and pass it out at the bus station or put it up on his My Space page. No one will arrest him...
...as long as he GIVES the story away, thank you. He may have legal problems if he DOES make dime one because I think the IF in the title is a BLATANT and ugly end run around the Son of Sam laws...
But my point is, he has the right to say or WRITE anything he likes, but no one has the right to front table space in B and N. And that's all he has lost.
I REMAIN GLAD!

I then followed up with:

point taken. revoking a publishing deal is not violating his 1st amendment right to speech. Spending the money to promote his book thereby preventing other people from being published is a bad thing.

This is obviously a sore point for you and I apologize for having commented in the first place.

(I should point out that this blog is written by published author.)

I was merely trying to stimulate a little discussion about an observation: with some public pressure Fox pulled a publishing deal and that smacked to me of a first amendment issue. The relative worth of his book vs. anyone else's is beside the point. Should the public be able to ban/stop/etc. unpopular speech. To me it is nit-picking to state that he could self-publish and therefore his rights haven't been abrogated. People complained, his book was stopped from being published. It isn't as if his publishing contract was cancelled during the initial phase of the deal, or that he was passed over for being published - the book had been sent to the printers and they had to stop the presses. Anyway, the blogger goes on to mention that O.J. could be in legal trouble with regard to the son of sam laws (the laws that prevent someone from profiting from an illegal act that they committed). Well, like it or not, whether you agree or not, O.J. was not convicted of killing his wife and her lover. (I have to admit that I don't know if his civil conviction counts here or not).

This blogger obviously has strong opinions/feelings about the O.J. case and the general difficulty of getting published. I didn't understand then, and I still do not understand, why people feel so strongly about this particular pair of murders. Whether people view it as a travesty of justice, or of the ability to buy a verdict by hiring top-gun lawyers or what. Or legal system may not be what it should or could be, but it is still the best we have. 12 of his, and our, peers decided that he wasn't guilty. I can also understand why an author would get worked up about the difficulty of getting published and the inequality of him being published over more deserving work - but it happens every day. I was taken aback by the vehemence of her response to my comments more than anything. I hadn't seen that in her blog before.

But - it is her blog and she is allowed to rant when the mood strikes. As you may can tell by my last comment to her, I was sorry I had said anything. I didn't get a discussion as much as I got a diatribe. I won't take as much pleasure reading her blog from this point forward. Maybe it is a bit immature of me, but I don't appreciate being yelled at. (even if she did respectfully disagree before she let me have it with both barrels). So, I am a bit confused. Am I justified in being a little upset about the exchange, or should I just get over it?

I will probably do both.

Happy Thanksgiving

We are doing the last few loads of laundry, getting things together for our trip to the gulf shore. My sister lives in Orange Beach. My brother, who lives in San Diego, flew in with his family last weekend. My parents went down ?last weekend - I can't keep up with them half the time? taking their truck and 5th wheel. Thanksgiving on the beach! This will be the first time the three siblings (me, my brother and sister), our families and our parents have been under one roof in 4 - 5 - 6 years? I am really excited about it. And I am really glad it isn't my house.

Actually my family (wife, kids - not brother, sister) have made a tradition of going to the beach over Thanksgiving. We usually leave from wherever we are having Thanksgiving dinner at and head down Thursday evening. It takes about 5 hours to get there, so we get 2 and half days to wander around. It is lovely. No people, no crowded roads, no 100 degree heat, and even though half of the restaurants are closed there are enough open to get some good food. It is quiet and peaceful - no sounds except the surf all day and all night (and the hotels rooms are at off-off-season rates). I have become convinced that anyone who goes to the beach during the summer is a loony. Don't get me wrong, I know from summer at the beach. We lived on a Mediterranean island for two years and the summer/tourist season and I are well acquainted. I don't miss it. Well, okay - maybe just a little. I used to be a sun-worshipper in my youth. I have matured.

So, Lucky is off to the kennel, the cats have clean (and extra) litter boxes and extra food/water (with a check-in from neighbors) and we are almost packed. My son has to work until just after midnight, so we are off tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM (just like any other work day!)

I wish anyone who reads this, and everyone else who doesn't, a very Happy Thanksgiving.

my first meme, and I stole it

in the spirit of one's blog giving others insight into the writer, I am posting this meme, borrowed from urban-urchin. Items in bold are ones I have done. I am amending the exercise to italicise those I really want to do. Those in red are those I am actively avoiding. Those in green I kinda-wanta try but can't make up my mind or haven't conquered that fear yet.

01. bought everyone in the bar a drink

02. swam with wild dolphins

03. climbed a mountain

04. taken a ferrari for a test drive

05. been inside the great pyramid

06. held a tarantula

07. taken a candlelit bath with someone

08. said “i love you” and meant it

09. hugged a tree

10. bungee jumped

11. visited paris

12. watched a lightning storm at sea

13. stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise

14. seen the northern lights

15. gone to a huge sports game

16. walked the stairs to the top of the leaning tower of pisa (is that allowed any more?) substitute the Statue of Liberty and I can highlight.

17. grown and eaten your own vegetables

18. touched an iceberg

19. slept under the stars

20. changed a baby’s diaper

21. taken a trip in a hot air balloon

22. watched a meteor shower

23. gotten drunk on champagne

24. given more than you can afford to charity

25. looked up at the night sky through a telescope

26. had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (I am tempted to italicise this one)

27. had a food fight

28. bet on a winning horse

29. asked out a stranger

30. had a snowball fight

31. screamed as loudly as you possibly can

32. held a lamb (lotsa newly born kittens, though)

33. seen a total eclipse

34. ridden a roller coaster (and will continue to do so every opportunity I get)

35. hit a home run

36. danced like a fool and not cared who was looking

37. adopted an accent for an entire day (does total immersive language school count?)

38. actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment

39. had two hard drives for your computer

40. visited all 50 states

41. taken care of someone who was drunk (and I don't mean myself)

42. had amazing friends

43. danced with a stranger in a foreign country

44. watched whales

45. stolen a sign (I thought it was a law that you had to steal any sign that has your name on it)

46. backpacked in europe

47. taken a road-trip

48. gone rock climbing

49. midnight walk on the beach

50. gone sky diving

51. visited ireland

52. been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love

53. in a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them

54. visited japan

55. milked a cow

56. alphabetized your cds (actually I should substitute vinyl records here)

57. pretended to be a superhero (when I was a kid we did this all of the time. I am assuming that this meme applies to adulthood - but I don't really know why)

58. sung karaoke

59. lounged around in bed all day

60. played touch football

61. gone scuba diving

62. kissed in the rain

63. played in the mud

64. played in the rain

65. gone to a drive-in theater (this is one of the definitions of summer)

66. visited the great wall of china

67. started a business

68. fallen in love and not had your heart broken (I wish I knew how to do this, seems to me you can't do one without the other - no one is perfect)

69. toured ancient sites

70. taken a martial arts class

71. played d&d for more than 6 hours straight (but not since that summer in college)

72. gotten married

73. been in a movie (I almost was, but I had to work the days they were doing the "cattle call" for extras.)

74. crashed a party

75. gotten divorced

76. gone without food for 5 days

77. made cookies from scratch

78. won first prize in a costume contest

79. ridden a gondola in venice

80. gotten a tattoo

81. rafted the snake river

82. been on television news programs as an “expert”

83. gotten flowers for no reason (I have a sweet wife!)

84. performed on stage (not since I was in the 5th grade when I was Santa)

85. been to las vegas (I've been to Reno - not vegas.)

86. recorded music

87. eaten shark

88. kissed on the first date (I don't remember, the last first date I had was almost 22 years ago. - but back then I would have if I could!)

89. gone to thailand

90. bought a house

91. been in a combat zone

92. buried one/both of your parents

93. been on a cruise ship

94. spoken more than one language fluently

95. performed in rocky horror

96. raised children

97. followed your favorite band/singer on tour

98. passed out cold (I have had an alcoholic black out - again during my college years)

99. taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country

100. picked up and moved to another city to just start over (I could probably write a book....)

101. walked the golden gate bridge

102. sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking

103. had plastic surgery

104. survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived

105. wrote articles for a large publication

106. lost over 100 pounds (collectively - then maybe)

107. held someone while they were having a flashback

108. piloted an airplane

109. touched a stingray

110. broken someone’s heart (see comment for #68)

111. helped an animal give birth

112. won money on a t.v. game show

113. broken a bone

114. gone on an african photo safari

115. had a facial part pierced other than your ears

116. fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol

117. eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild

sidenote where is 118?

119. had major surgery

120. had a snake as a pet

121. hiked to the bottom of the grand canyon

122. slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours

123. visited more foreign countries than u.s. states

124. visited all 7 continents

125. taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days

126. eaten kangaroo meat

127. eaten sushi

128. had your picture in the newspaper

129. changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about (I don't know, but I'm so damned opinionated and stubborn I might have just from sheer tenacity.)

130. gone back to school

131. parasailed

132. touched a cockroach (I didn't want to and hadn't planned to, but the roach didn't ask me first)

133. eaten fried green tomatoes

134. read The Iliad

135. selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read (I just have to get finished with the list of junk authors I read today first)

136. killed and prepared an animal for eating (technically I have, I used to hunt and fish with my granddaddy when I was in my adolescence - but since I stipulated at the beginning that this list supposes adulthood and adult choices, I have not highlighted it).

137. skipped all your school reunions (There aren't more than one or maybe two people I went to high school with I would care to see)

138. communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language (I need to pee in sign language is fairly easily understood by people in all parts of the world)

139. been elected to public office

140. written your own computer language

141. thought to yourself that you’re living your dream

142. had to put someone you love into hospice care

143. built your own PC from parts (for as many I have taken apart and put back together and for those I rebuilt for work you'd think I'd've done this for myself by now)

144. sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you

145. had a booth at a street fair

146. dyed your hair

147. been a dj

148. shaved your head (they are pretty big on that at basic training)

149. caused a car accident (it was only a fender-bender, but I was at fault.)

150. saved someone’s life

Lucky isn't the half of it.

I get up every day at 5:15 to walk the dog. This is so wrong on sooo many levels, had anyone suggested 3 years ago that I would be doing this I'd've laughed in their face.

I am a night person. I always have been. I can be ragged-out and fall asleep on the couch at 6:00 PM and wake up at 6:30 PM and be wide awake until 2 - 3 in the morning. When I was in the military my favorite shift was swings. Go to work at 2:30 PM and leave at 10:30 PM. Stay up for a few hours with wife and babies and go to bed at 2 -3 AM and STILL get 7-8 hours sleep. I get my body clock from my mom, she's 65 and still stays up till midnight.

2 summers ago we "acquired" a dog. My son, daughter and wife were driving down the interstate one afternoon and noticed that a puppy was poking it's head out of the open trunk lid of the car in front of them. To their horror, within a minute or two the puppy had wriggled out of the trunk and fallen out of the car! At 70 MPH. My son, who was driving, had been honking his horn trying to get the driver ahead's attention but it didn't work. They didn't slow down, nor did they stop when the dog fell out and the car. My son stopped, picked up the dog - who was scraped up but didn't appear to be too hurt, and took off after the other car. They couldn't catch it, gave up and took the dog to the vet. He had some road rash but no broken bones or any other injury. I called the police and let them know about it in case the other people called looking for the puppy. They didn't. So we now have a dog.

We got him a kennel, set him up a run in the back yard and named him Lucky - 'cause he's damned lucky to be alive after falling out of a speeding car. He's a mixed breed, but mostly pit bull. He's black with a few white markings. He's as sweet as he can be (he's @60 lbs of pure muscle!) - until he gets out on his walks. When we first got him, I would take him for a walk after work. But when we would meet other dogs or cars he would go ballistic. It's like he thinks he owns the road and these others hadn't any right to be there. So, in order to walk off of some of his energy and keep these meetings to the absolute minimum - I get up every day at 5:15 to walk the dog. We rarely see anyone else and maybe 1 or 2 cars tops. I've lost 35 lbs walking him about 1.5 miles every day, but I plateaued and haven't lost any in about a year. I've recently doubled that distance and it is kicking my butt something awful. I am sooooo tired. But maybe I'll start losing weight again.

My next door neighbor has a soft spot for dogs, and he loves to watch Lucky play in our yard. He's seen the ballistic act and our attempts to control it with various leashes, including a choke collar. Nothing worked. My wife couldn't control Lucky and I had a hard time. My neighbor couldn't stand the way Lucky would choke himself trying to get at (car or beast). So, last week he gave me a new device to try. It is a head collar that makes him behave. It isn't a muzzle, but it kinda-sorta looks like one. (see above, and here's a link to it) It includes a strap that goes around his snout and another that goes around his neck just behind his ears. I didn't think it would work (I hava a lead for him rated for 250 lb dogs because he's so strong) as the straps were so thin. BUT IT DOES! Believe it or not, when he sees a car, all I have to do is put gentle pressure on the lead and he stops lunging and stays beside me. It's something to do with the strap around his nose that pulls his head down when the leash is *gently* pulled. He can't stand it. It isn't painful, it just bothers and distracts him - makes him shake his head. Anyway, he doesn't take me for walks any longer, I get to take him.

If I can recover from being dog-tired. (sorry - it was so obvious, I had to.)

Love and ?hate?

I read a post this morning (here) that started me thinking. The post is about how the writer's parents behave towards each other and how she delt with it. In the comments someone mentioned their in-laws and the writer replied that in-law behaviour was up to the spouse to confront. That isn't always the case - or at least it wasn't in my case.

I can't say that my relationship with my parents has always been great. I started having problems with my dad early on - my parents had me start therapy when I was 11-12 and I wound up spending a year living with my grandparents. I know now, as a parent, how much that had to hurt them. My problems with depression stem from the relationship I had with my dad as I grew up. But - I digress. I have a great relationship with both of my parents now and this isn't about them. This is about my mother-in-law.

My wife has had a troubled relationship with her mom since.... well, all of her life. The stories I heard about MIL were bizarre - and troubling. They were such that when the kids were born and decisions were being made about where to live, we always decided it was better to be close to my parents rather than my wife's. Living apart made their relationship manageble but there were several instances where I had to step in and mediate - sometimes rather forcefully. I had resigned myself to this state of affairs and that it would remain so. But it didn't.

About 6 or 7 years ago MIL went through what we know now were a series of strokes. At the time, no one could figure out what was wrong with her. They were gradually physically debilitating and she wound up in a wheelchair. But the biggest change wasn't physical, it was emotional. All of the hatefulness was gone. She was loving and lovable. Although the past couldn't be forgotten, it could now be relegated to the past without fears of more of it in the future.

This past March she went through another series of strokes and heart problems. She was brought home under hospice care. No one could say how long she had, but no one gave her long. MIL could not move herself nor speak. She responded to yes or no questions with blinks. She's in there, hanging on, not ready to go. My wife took FMLA leave and spent 10 weeks caring for her mother 24 hours a day. Bathing her, turning her every 2 hours, changing her diapers, giving her her meds, reading to her. My wife made the hard decision to come home for mostly financial reasons, but knowing she was stable and needing to have a few weeks of FMLA left of leave for the end. That was in May. We went up in August, spending a week. This past weekend we heard that she's had a series of problems that makes everyone think that her time is coming. We expect the call at any time.

I look at my relationship with my parents and I see how I have been gifted. My wife didn't receive that gift until just a few years ago. When I think of it, it is my gift too. I've known MIL for almost 22 years. I had been seriously thinking for the last few years about trying to find a job closer so we could spend more time with her. What happened in March made it too late. And even though I've had since March, I'm not ready for the gift to be taken away yet. I guess it really can't be, the experience of the last 6 years cannot be un-experienced. The memory of the last 6 years will always be the clearest, even given the rose-tinted glasses of time. If nothing else, I have learned that despite how poorly we can be treated by those closest to us there can be love there. What was tolerance in the past is love now. I love you, MIL. I wish you peace.

Vote!

I called my daughter today and asked her if she were coming home to vote. She's a sophomore in college and lives about 45 minutes away. She said she was, and then asked where our polling place is. I described to her how to get there. She then asked me for a synopsis on who is on the ballot and what they stood for. I fobbed her off by telling her that there were too many races for me to discuss as I was at work and then told her to look up the paper on-line to see if it had the ballot printed in it. She told me she was coming by the house afterwards and we said our goodbyes.

My first reaction to her questions was the standard parent one - typical. Asking me whom to vote for as she didn't do her homework studying the candidates and the issues. I started to, then bit my tongue. I didn't want to be hypocritical. I voted this morning. As I drove to the polling station I reviewed the candidates and issues. I got my ballot and.......there were races listed I had no idea of, people running I'd never heard of, constitutional amendments I had no clue about, in general - I was almost as unprepared as my daughter was.

I like to think of myself as someone who knows what's going on, up on current events and knowledgeable about the issues. I listen to NPR every day. I read the local paper. But I guess I'm not. At least, not about local & state issues. I read the NY Times on-line. When I lived in Maryland I read the Washington Post (national news) not the Baltimore Sun (local). I listen to NPR where I get exactly 9 minutes of state news every hour.

I've now got to decide if I should expand my horizons and gen up on state issues, or be content with my current world view (see, world - not state or local!). This probably means subscribing to an Atlanta paper. (As if I don't have enough to read already.) As you can see, my inclination is status quo. Sir Isaac Newton is with me on this and who am I to contradict him?

I've also got to decide if I should own up to my daughter. I didn't say anything to her, but I did imply it was her job to find out about the election instead of admitting that I couldn't answer her question. But again - it IS her job to find out about these things and for her to make up her own mind.

Compromise - if she brings it up tonight, I'll fess up. If not, well - there's always other topics for me to not know anything about and admit to (or not) - next time.

promises, promises.

One of the main reasons I'm not a best-selling author (other than the obvious lack of talent) is that I don't have much I want to say. Well, that isn't really true, I read other blogs and often have so much to say that I tend to write essays instead of comments. What I mean to say is that I am terrible at finding subjects to write about. I can't imagine other people being interested in my random thoughts. I have always been a terrific collaborator. Give me a subject, feed me a thought and I am off to the races. Just don't ask me to get the ball rolling.

Despite that, and directly because I have received actual encouragement from several people, I will start posting here again. I will do my best not to bore the internet to death, but I make no promises. We shall see, we shall see.