This is it. My last daily post on my blog. Feels weird.
I'd like to tell you about how this particular post came to be:
Last night I was watching "Super Size Me" on MSNBC, an entertaining documentary I'd heard about for a couple of years, but hadn't seen. (Oh, before I go on, if you get MSNBC at your house and you're not going out partying tonight, you might want to watch it. It's on again at 8:00 p.m. EST. Its certainly worth the time.) My mind kept wandering to what I'd write this morning.
I debated a few different ideas, a couple of which perhaps I'll write about over the next few weekends, but I felt like today's post ought to be special, ought to reflect the importance this blog has come to have for me, and perhaps it ought to, in some way thank the people who've read this "thang" on a regular basis, some of whom have become very special to me.
I thought about telling the story of a friend of mine from High School named Randy, the King jock, whose future, back then, looked so very bright to the rest of us, and how running into him with a bunch of friends a couple of years ago, and seeing what had become of him, made me feel.
Thought about telling a far more personal story, as yet incomplete.
Considered writing a final phone conversation with Jesus, having him bring up people with whom I've become close, and having him ask me if I've treated them with the gentle love and kindness they deserve. I, of course, would pointlessly protest my innocence to his knowing ears.
I woke up three times during the night. Each time I came in here, sat down, and made a stab at starting this post. The ideas wouldn't gel. Finally, around three in the morning, it dawned on me that explaining how difficult it has been to figure out to end this - because of you folks, my friends - might be the most appropriate thing I could do.
So I went back to sleep, and restfully slept for almost five more hours. It's 9:30 a.m. now.
Before starting this paragraph, I poured some coffee, looked outside to see if any deer were straggling at the corn pile - just a squirrel, (recently named "Corny," by the way) - smoked a cigarette and thought a little more about you folks who've commented, tmailed me, and become my friends.
You've allowed me to use this blog to chronicle the strange ride my life has been over the past few years; fawn over my kids, lament the end of my 24 years of marriage to a woman I still miss daily, tell strange stories from my past, and, can you believe it? -even pretend I'm close personal friends with Jesus, whom I've tried to portray as a brilliant and loving man who loves Chinese All-You-Can-Eat buffets and thinks I make great coffee.
Most mornings, during the time I've set aside to write these posts the last couple of years, I'll be working on a novel. Pretty sure I'm also going to rewrite my last one a fourth time in an effort to take out a few of the incidents that are simply too close to true and have kept me from trying to get the thing published out of fear of hurting people I love.
Oh. One more thing: I've looked. This is still the best place to blog on the web, in my humble opinion.
God Bless tBloggers!
So... thanks! See you all next weekend, probably Saturday.
Fell asleep to the news that Saddam had just been executed and then woke up this morning with the lyrics of the Eric Idle's "The Galaxy Song" from the end of "The Meaning of Life" running through my head...
"Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour,
That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned, A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see Are moving at a million miles a day
In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour, Of the galaxy we call the 'Milky Way'.
"Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars. It's a hundred thousand light years side to side.
It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick, But out by us, it's just three thousand light years wide.
We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point. We go 'round every two hundred million years,
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions In this amazing and expanding universe.
"The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding In all of the directions it can whizz
As fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know, Twelve million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure, How amazingly unlikely is your birth,
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space, 'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth."*
(Thanks to the "official unofficial Monty Python web site" for the lyrics.)
And that silly song reminds me that in the grand scheme of things, and in the scope and scale of all creation, we're not all that important. God can try the whole thing all over again any time he/she wants, anywhere in the universe.
Hell, let's invade some more countries. So what if lots of people are killed that wouldn't be if we didn't. We'll just claim we're "right." ...And, of course that the lives of our people and our precious nation mean far more to the creator than the collateral garbage killed either by us, or indirectly because of our actions. Many of them have the temerity to believe something different than us anyway. It's us or them! There is NO way to to get through to those hateful people. We must hate them more effectively than they hate us.
I'm sorry God, that's just the way it is. Fuck 'em. We don't really even care what Jesus had to say about living on this planet. We only like the magic twist we put on his words.
Excuse the sarcasm, but I think there should be a litmus test for having one's opinion put out there for public consumption. Mine would involve asking people if they consider themselves first and foremost citizens of the earth and universe, or of a country. If they put the country first, over humanity and the planet, they don't get to make decisions about things that affect people outside their country.
Now it's time I go pour coffee and figure out what to do with day number 364 of the year 2006.
Hey, today is PastorDave's Birthday. He's 50. Now we're the same age. Hah. Poor devil.
Started seeing the annual "Did you spend too much on Christmas? Why not roll all your debt into a Home Equity Loan?" ads already.
Took three days.
I expect I'll start seeing Valentines Candy in the stores this next week.
What do you want? A sampler? A big ol' chunk of dark?
Anyone remember Cadbury's dark chocolate fruit and nut bar? Kind of like a slightly higher quality Chunky made with dark chocolate? I saw them for a year or two and started buying one every couple of weeks, but now, they've disappeared and I resent it. You can't set up a junkie like that and then cut off his supply. It's just wrong.
Loved-'em cuz a little piece would satisfy my craving for a day or two.
I see Saddam's going to the gallows sometime in the next few days. Pretty hard to feel sorry for the guy even though I still think killing him is no more right than the killing he did, also under the auspices of the state.
'06 has been a decent year for me all in all. I'm still not rich, but I'm diligently working up a plan to chemically turn salt into gold, and I'm getting closer.
I've purchased the salt.
Have some wonderful friendships I didn't have when the year began and I like living here at Wildlife Ridge, now the official designation of this homestead, far more than my little apartment.
The little town near here has all the charm of small town America, though it's not all that small. Its High School Football Team was second in the State for the second or third year in a row, and you'd be amazed at the number of high-end sweatshirts, caps and other paraphernalia they sell to the adoring public.
Rockford's most famous resident, now deceased, was Dick York, Darren #1 from Bewitched, who came here to live out his life years after leaving the show. I've been meaning to find out where he lived... Thought I'd stand outside town and sell maps to the stars' home(s) to the tourist(s).
I wonder if he has relatives still living here? Might make for a fine interview, don't you think? Imagine my side of that conversation...
"Um, yes... That's right... I'd like to ask you a few questions about Mr. York if that'd be okay. ...Uh huh. Right. ...My publication? Oh, it's just an online thing. It's a column I write most days... ...Uh huh. ...The name of my publication? Well, it's kind of... ...I see. ...Its called "Jesus Reporting by surrogate..." ...No. I'm not kidding. ...Yes... surrogate, that's right. ...What's it about? Well see, I had this idea where I'd write about the world the way I thought Jesus might see it... ...Right. ...Yes... AS Jesus. ...Now I don't think name calling is necessary, I mean... ...Now wait a minute, I am most certainly not a filthy son-of-a-" (click)
Swear I've written about this before, but I couldn't find it in the archives, so, should you decide to read on, Jim, you're stuck with it, ya know, before the post self-destructs ten seconds after you've closed the window.
Grandma died about fifteen years ago. Until then, Christmas on that side of the family was always celebrated Boxing Day, the day after Christmas.
Back then, the family was growing by leaps and bounds. I was the oldest of the grandkids, and my children, youngish teenagers by then, were the oldest of the great- grandchildren. I just tried to count the number of great-grandkids in my head and can't figure it out... A bunch, anyway. A gaggle? A flock? A litter? To Grandma? -a pride.
We'd long before stopped trying to buy gifts for everyone, but the young kids were always well strapped with presents to open, and of course, everyone got something for my Grandma, and somehow, she got something for everyone, even then, well into her eighties.
The day before, either my wife or I had opened a Dirt Devil Hand Vac. I don't remember if I gave it to her, her to me or whether it was a gift from one or the other of our sets of parents. Doesn't matter. We got the thing.
Later Christmas day, I was looking for a box to wrap a "Worlds Greatest Grandma" type gift for my beloved Grandmother. I don't even remember if it was something I made, or picked up somewhere, but it did have some heft to it. Maybe it was one of those little molded ceramic or clay statuettes you can pick up by the dozen at dollar stores these days, and even then were widely available at Hallmark stores for twenty times the money. I don't know.
You have to understand that gifts for Grandma were, by then, pro forma, and other than fulfilling our need to make sure she knew in some symbolic way that we loved her, were quite pointless. She "needed" nothing, nor did she want anything, really.
So anyway, I wrapped this oversized trinket in the Dirt-Devil Box.
I sat across the large living room during the gift opening frenzy Boxing Day, but was caught up watching the kids or something and missed Grandma opening her gift from us. She did thank me and kiss me a little later and thanked me for her gift, telling me it was just what she wanted. Cool. Guessed right again!
Fast forward one year.
My brother John, nine years younger than me, sits with his wife along with the rest of us, some twenty-five or thirty people, amid the rubble left by the children's present opening which has just been completed, and they now play with their new toys loudly en masse all over the place, running, screaming...
When it's his "turn," John opens his present from Grandma, and is thrilled! Look! -a fine new Dirt Devil Hand Vac! He's truly happy with this gift, and goes the extra mile, opening the outer box, and, of course, takes out a lovely little lump of newspaper wrapped statuette made of crushed pecan shells and resin, or sand and glue, or whatever it was; it is adorned with the words "Grand-mommies Make the Sun Shine!" or some other such syrupy sentiment.
Grandma, not wanting or needing a Dirt Devil, had never completely opened the thing the year before, having assumed that's what was in the box.
Once I realized what had happened, which took me a few seconds, I never laughed so hard in my life.
Worse, or better, depending on whether you were John or me at that moment, he didn't get it right away and my wife and I were laughing too hard to explain it. He looked at me, head cocked like a confused puppy, not understanding the gift OR why we thought it was so damn funny, making us laugh all the harder.
Re-gifting Rule 1.a. Make sure you KNOW what's in the box!
2.a. No. Really. Make sure.
Be good to everyone! Oh, and thanks to akelso for the idea to tell this tale.
I live just outside Grand Rapids, Michigan, hometown of Gerald Ford, who died last night. He was 93.
Never a huge fan of the man, in retrospect, I don't know of anyone who could have done a better job with the situation into which he was thrown. -Had to be an incredibly tough thing to live through, being the only person ever to serve as Vice-President and President without being elected to either office, and to take office under those rotten conditions with which he had to deal.
As a twenty-year old, during my first two year stint living on this side of the state, when President Ford was running against Jimmy Carter, (whom I supported,) one of the dealerships I worked for at the time was supplying automobiles for a campaign motorcade. There was the official five or six car parade thingy and then another six or seven cars to take the rest of the campaign workers, reporters and hangers-on from the airport outside of town to a large venue downtown for whatever the campaign event was.
I'd become friendly with the dealership owner's son during the few months I'd been doing work there and when this came up, he asked me if I'd like to drive one of those "extra" cars. I said "Sure. Cool." I was surprised to be asked since (a.) I didn't really work there, (b.) I was a long-haired freak and (c.) I was probably - if the sun had come up that morning anywhere in the world - in a bit of an, um... altered state due to some sort of THC ingestion. (Hey... it was 1976... That's just the way it was for my friends and me back then.)
Well, for some reason - one I never found out - a couple of minutes after the official cars left the airport, all black sedans full of secret service guys and honcho politicos, I sat in line at the little terminal - which is all the airport had back then - to take stragglers, reporters or whoever hopped in the Suburban I was driving to the place downtown, Ron Nessen, who was president Ford's press secretary, and someone I recognized not only from press conferences, but from his having hosted Saturday Night Live a few months earlier, got in and rode up front with me for the half hour ride. I was shocked. Why wasn't he with the mucky-mucks? He WAS a mucky-muck!
I remember he was friendly, but we didn't talk much except that I answered a few questions about where we were in relation to a couple of other local landmarks. He spent half the time rummaging through papers on his lap and most of the other half talking to a reporter in the back seat about upcoming events.
Can you imagine that sort of lax security today for the likes of Tony Snow? No one interviewed me, no one checked my background or anything. I just drove AND got a hundred bucks and dinner for my trouble.
The local coverage here is really something this morning. He was truly a favorite son.
I, being a kid who's introduction to politics WAS the Watergate scandal, with which I became enthralled and obsessed, never truly forgave the guy for the quick pardon of Nixon.
Perhaps it's time I do.
Be good to everyone.
Twas the day after Christmas, and even the Energizer Bunny was all tuckered out...
A couple of round trips the last couple of days. Two hundred thirty miles Christmas Eve and three hundred miles yesterday... I'd be a lousy truck driver! I'm pooped!
Got home from a quick there and back to Detroit last night about 8:30 and was asleep an hour later. Ran over to spend a few hours and exchange a few gifts with my kids yesterday. That was fun. Told them I didn't want or need anything, but nevertheless drove home listening to "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," on my new tiny little iPod Shuffle, one of three unabridged books they'd preloaded on the thing.
Pretty cool. I just measured it. An inch by an inch and a half, and less than a quarter inch thick, or about two thirds the size of a standard small match-book. It looks to me like it couldn't be any smaller whatsoever and still have manageable switches and a headphone jack. With it clipped, as it's made to be - hell, the whole thing is just one small spring-clip - on the collar of a shirt, (I clipped it inside my sweater on my t-shirt collar) it's invisible and has no discernible weight to it and yet, if I did my calculations correctly, it holds roughly 83 hours of audio. Thanks Andi and Ryan!
Ryan and I splurged a bit and together gave Andi a laptop, which thrilled her and is something she needs for school anyway. Boring Dad, I got Ryan a ladder I know he's needed for gutter cleaning and the like and a re-cut of the early 80's "Superman 2" that, even at 28, he'd been looking forward to seeing. Evidently, it's a big thing to people who loved the first Superman movie but not the last few - at least until this recent one, which Ry says is great. I haven't seen it.
I'm looking forward to a few fun projects this week to finish off my year, though I'm not planning on doing too much regular work except for maybe a full day tomorrow. I'd guess I'll work no more than a half a day today, Thursday and Friday.
Okay...
This will be the final week I write daily posts on this blog. I won't kill it or anything, and I'm not disappearing - hell, I couldn't if I wanted to, I've come to love this place and so many of you - but I'll be writing far less often, perhaps once a week or so. The blog has become far to much about "me" the last few months, and yet I find I don't have the energy to write about serious things every day.
Originally, as the title implies, I wanted to write about the world the way I think Jesus - (the historical man, not the magic deity many have turned him into) might see it. Well, first of all, it was obviously foolhardy. That much I knew going in. But even so, it also got damn depressing if I took the work even the least bit seriously. So, slowly at first, it turned into "surrogate's Blog," and once it had, I found that when I did try to do something serious, it just didn't work very well.
Too often, in the effort of trying to satisfy the other half of my rationale for spending as much time as I have working on these posts - which has been, perhaps, a slightly more successful aspect of the exercise, (to force myself to learn to write something at least marginally readable most every day, something that, were they still alive, my English Teachers from high school would be most proud of me for finally attempting, by the way) I've done what's come more easily, which is, to write silly stuff about myself.
Well, by now, even I know more about me than I want to. Hell, I'm sick of me!
So, after this week, I'm going to go the more sane route of posting far less frequently, while trying to make what I do post, more worthy of reading.
I have this cool little halogen desk lamp that sits next to my computer. I paid eight bucks for it at Ikea, but I know they've gone on sale for as little as five.
Uses one of those powerful little halogen bulbs and is bright as can be. I have to keep it aimed slightly away. The adjustable lamp-head is made so that, from it's lowered position, it can extend up about 18 inches on two stainless steel antenna like supports.
It's one of my favorite "things." Mine is black, but they come in white as well.
Sometimes I look at it and wonder how they made its dozens of parts, (I just took the time to count the ones I can see - 29) assembled it, boxed it, shipped it from China to L.A., then got it to the Ikea Store in Chicago for what? Four or five bucks tops? - if they regularly retail it for eight?
Well, we know the answer, don't we? -economy of scale and labor so cheap, it may as well have been made by slaves - or prisoners. May have been, in fact, I don't know.
That little machine I talked about that I bought a little while back that's so efficient and inexpensive, so much cheaper than the ones from a few years ago? Also made in China. This computer? My televisions? DVD players? My Walkman? Most all of the Christmas gifts I've purchased this year? All, made in China.
Ever frequent a dollar store and been surprised what your dollar will buy?
I'll bet that if you opened a dollar store and tried to stock it with domestically made goods, you'd end up selling candy bars, some paper products and little else. Maybe some greeting cards - printed on machinery made in China.
I have nothing whatsoever against the Chinese. But, man, they have our economy by the short hairs, don't they?
We don't think enough about how the things we buy are made, and at what true cost. We worry about the price, but not the real cost of things. Hell we don't even really want to know, I don't think. I don't. I should want to know, but then I'd have to accept the fact that, though my life is made nicer by the things I have, there probably isn't anywhere near a corresponding benefit to the folks who made my having it possible.
I'm not naive. Business isn't fair. Life isn't fair - and besides, I really like my little light. Good enough I guess. And it's not like I could decide not to buy products made in China or other countries where workers in general aren't treated well. Hell, try to buy a U.S. made DVD player. Don't even think it's possible to do so, is it?
But... But...
Something's gotta give I think, for them and for us.
I'd love to see a dollar store that sold stuff made by workers who are paid a living wage... even if it means it has to be a two dollar store.
Merry Christmas Eve.
Be good to everyone.
The meaning of Christmas and marriage, discovered at the diner...
I try not to do too many cut-and-paste posts here, but sometimes I receive something so...
Well, I decided to share this wonderful story.
It was Christmas Eve at the diner.
The old man thanked the waitress as she placed the plain hamburger, french fries, small coke and an extra plate in front of him at the centermost table between the counter stool seating and the set of booths along the front windows.
He carefully cut the burger in half and placed one half on the spare plate. He then carefully counted out the French fries, dividing them exactly evenly and placed half of them too onto the spare plate and then slid it over to his wife who sat across the small table from him.
He took a sip of the drink, his wife took a sip and then set the cup down between them. They smiled at each other. As he began to eat his few bites of hamburger, people around them began whispering between themselves. The gist of their whispers were probably something like, "That poor old couple - all they can afford is one meal to share."
As the man began to eat his fries, a young man slid out of his booth and approached their table. He apologized for interupting their meal, but said he couldn't help noticing that they were sharing the single meal, and as politely as possible, he offered to buy them another.
The old man thanked him, but said they were just fine - they were used to sharing everything. The young man went back to his booth.
A few minutes later, people noticed that the old woman seemed to be just sitting there - not eating at all. Occasionally, she'd take a turn sipping the drink.
Again the young man came over and begged them to let him buy another meal for them. This time the old woman spoke. "No, thank you. We're used to sharing everything. We're just fine. Honestly."
By now, the old man had finished and was wiping his face neatly with the napkin, the young man spoke again. He asked the little old lady, who had still not eaten a single bite of food, "But, you're not eating! Whatever are you waiting for?"
Friday, December 22. Foggy, cold-ish, but not too bad.
My last regular work day of the year, I'd imagine. Have a couple of projects to do between the holidays, but I'm going to be a lazy bum a bit too.
I didn't leave for work yesterday till almost 10:30 and was done by 4:15, so not exactly a killer work day, right? -and yet I fell asleep at 9:00 and just woke up a half-hour ago, just before 6:00 a.m. Weird.
Funeral visitation tonight after work. A friend's Mom died a couple of days ago. Understandably, he's really broken up, as are his kids. She was 75 with Alzheimer's and heart problems, though I haven't heard what exactly did her in. Guess it doesn't matter, does it?
A lousy time of year to lose someone.
So, I tend to have MSNBC's Imus in the Morning on as background noise most mornings, and most nights at 11:00 I watch the Daily Show and as much of the Colbert Report as I can stay awake through. Well, with all three shows on Hiatus through the 8th of January, I'm already having withdrawals. I need a fix!
Which reminds me...
I thought I offended a gal at work the other day. She was standing outside smoking - which all smokers must do these days when they need one, as the whole idea of smoking in businesses has become verboten, and here, illegal.
I said, "Ah yes, another addict, getting a fix." (You'll see that using the word "fix" above reminded of this story, of course...)
"Yep" I said, taking out my own little packet of death and retrieving and lighting a filter-tipped partially mentholated tobacco-filled incremental suicide device. "These things," I said raising it and looking at the smoke coil, "are two and a half times more addictive than heroin. We're addicts." I said lightly.
"I am NOT a drug addict." She shot back tersely, and I was worried I'd upset her with my standard pathetic, if flippant, joke.
Well now. After the heady experience of landing on top of the Hot Blogs list the day before yesterday, I've slipped. Number 6 yesterday, and 11 this morning.
Evidently the edicts I'd planned on making after a couple of weeks in the top spot will have to remain the evil fantasy of a mad-man, safely tucked away encased in a web of rarely used synapses over in the back of my brain's right lobe.
It's been pointed out to me that being number one on the hot blogs list doesn't actually carry the power I thought it did anyway, which, I have to tell you, was a real blow. I thought it was a monarchy to which one ascended by virtue of the hand of God tweaking the calculations in favor of the one of us he's decided ought rule over this world-wide cyber domain.
Guess it's not so.
I understand that, in reality, it's simply a list resulting from applying an algorithm to a couple of columns in the database and has been concocted by the management to give an as accurate as possible measure of the most active and popular bloggers - just as it says at the top of the page.
How disappointing.
I had just scheduled the fitting for a crown and scepter in London late next month. Hope there's no cancellation charge, or if there is one, that it's deductible.
I'd planned on being a War King. Initially, I was hoping to ruthlessly annex a couple of smallish blog sites while simultaneously building up and training our forces before eventually going after Blogger and MySpace.
The resulting single monolithic blog entity was to be called "MytBlogger" and I was going to be it's king.
Me.
surrogate.
MytBlogger would have lasted a thousand years, and what with the available hard drive space I've got on this little Mac? I, or more accurately, a benevolent cyber version of me (which was to be named I-surro-bot,) could have ruled the realm as far off into the future as I-surro-bot and his cloned advisors felt was necessary.
Ah, dreams.
They come, they go.
Be good to everyone. -Easy for me to say that NOW, ya know, from down here, way below the summit, looking up.
So... we're gonna' get "a larger military, overall, to "help fight the war on terror."
Oy.
um... Okay.
How about this:
Let's set up a two year term of service for every single American between high school and college, a draft... no deferments. Unless you're deemed incapable to do any of the hundreds of tasks available from a comprehensive list of things needed to be done in this country and/or around this planet, everyone serves.
Surely all those rich Democrat and Republican patriots in Congress could see that this would be a fairer way to bolster our numbers in the military, which would, of course, be among the many choices available to young people as they perused the list.
Think about it. Compensation including pay and residual benefits could be based on a flexible sliding scale and changed from year to year depending on what sorts of services are needed at any given time. This information would be posted to help young people make their decisions. The requirements for some positions might be tougher than others, and a system of testing could be implemented to help ensure that people are placed as effectively as possible. I'm thinking kids might be asked to choose three or four positions and rate them as to preference.
Here's an off the top-of-my-head list of choices and, perhaps the sort of remuneration packages that might be offered - 10 being the highest pay, and 1 being the lowest. (I'm showing the pay grades simply as an example and are simply snatched from the ether...) Hopefully, higher pay and better benefits will help steer people into positions where congress feels the need is greatest, and would therefore end up being a constantly changing balancing act...
Army, Marines - 10 (huge bonuses for learning and speaking certain languages...) Navy - 9 Air Force - 9 Reserves - 7 Border patrol - 5 Geriatric Care - 3 Urban Clean-up - 4 Container Inspection at International Ports - 5 Forestry - 2 Hospital volunteer - 3-5 United nations humanitarian service - 4 (pay might determined by location) Domestic humanitarian service - 3 Road Repair - 3 Data Entry for some government agency - 1 National park tour guide - -6 (you pay to play.)
Get the idea? There'd be tons of categories and subcategories, and I'm sure and it would take a few years to get it right, but damn it, it could certainly work and, in fact does in many other countries.
Oh, and everyone goes through basic training and, in emergencies must serve at the pleasure of the president.
We need to do something to make sure EVERYONE participates in this country, and do away with the situation we have today where, like it or not, MOST who choose to serve ARE, indeed, the poor and people for whom other opportunities, or at least ones obvious to them, are quite limited.
No one has ever given me a legitimate reason this wouldn't work or why we shouldn't do it.
It's time.
Be good to everyone.
Hey BooBoo! No more Pic-a-Nic- baskets - ever again!
I have this new toy, well okay, "piece of equipment," I bought for my business about six weeks ago. Without going into the details, it's just another example of how technology has improved by leaps and bounds over the past ten years or so. Just a decade ago, a similar item, or one as similar as you could get, cost about ten times as much, worked at a tenth the speed and was so much less versatile, I'm leery to put a fraction on it. Oh, and, it's a third the size, too.
So, anyway, the first week or two I was at it every night, trying to figure the thing out, working the learning curve. My son came over for a weekend and helped me, shaking his head in wonder at a fossil trying to operate hyper-drive in a star-fighter, but with trial and lots of error, over the next couple of weeks, I got so I could bring the damn thing into the space station without causing catastrophic damage. Then, when just a couple of weeks later, I started seeing little inroads that showed up on my invoices as slight increases due to the purchase, I felt good about the decision.
But now? Now I've gotten to the point where, for me to move forward, and really make the thing pay off, I have to learn a couple of programs that will cost more than the machine to buy, and, I'm sure, will take me months, instead of days, to master to the point where using them is second nature; ya know, when in combination they've become simple handy tools as opposed to something I have to think about, sometimes with dread, fearing I'll spend hours working on something only to have whatever it is come out looking like something on which I've spent many patient hours carefully f-ing up.
Must take this leap of faith. Simply... must.
......................................
Just saw that Joseph Barbera died overnight, he of Hanna-Barbera (Scooby-Doo, the Jetsons, the Flintstones, Tom and Jerry, Yogi Bear, and dozens of others.)
Always got the impression the folks at Hanna-Barberra went about their work with smirks on their faces, knowing they weren't the greatest animators in the world, or the greatest writers, but they knew their job was simply to entertain kids without pissing off parents too much, and that interesting voices would make up for any deficiencies in the rest of their work.
As someone pretty sure I'd enjoy life being blind far easier than I would being deaf - a creature of audio - I always thought they made the right call in that regard.
............................
Anyone notice that gas prices have eased up each week since the election? I predict $3.00 a gallon here in the U.S. by Easter, not that those of you in other countries will feel sorry for us, and not that we deserve to be felt sorry for, but it will be more proof to me that gas prices are manipulated as easily as the fear level within the populace here, and for exactly the same reasons.
So long Mr. Barbera.
Be good to everyone.
Follow the cow pies, then push on the cross to hear a snippet from one of Billy's favorite sermons.
Shopping left to do? For me? Not much. A few little things and some letters to send out that I've not taken the time to write.
I don't send many Christmas cards anymore. For many years we made interesting ones that the whole family would help design. We'd all bring ideas to the table and combine and twist and eventually come up with something we thought we could reproduce by hand fairly well, usually incorporating at least one feature from each of us. That was always fun, but I haven't done the mass-mailing thing since I became single a few years ago.
Wow, speaking of Christmas cards, just heard on the news that today is the peak mailing day for the season. Over 900 million pieces of mail will be sent today, up from the usual measly 600 million.
Imagine how many pieces of mail there'd be each day had email and faxes not taken root. I keep waiting for the day when when they'll be able to send physical items over the web... Open your email inbox, click a virtual a button and BAM! -a little door opens in the side of your computer, and your new fleece vest from L.L. Bean slides out onto your desk pretty as you please.
I see that Franklin Graham, over the objections of just about everyone else in the family (including, evidently, his Mother and Father) has made the decision to have the as yet unfilled graves of Rev. Billy Graham and his wife (Ruth, isn't it?) the feature attractions at a roadside tourist trap in Charlotte, NC complete with talking animatronic cow and a gift shop.
Some people are appalled. Not me. I think the most dignified evangelist to ever speak the gospel over the airwaves deserves to be made a fool of as penance for his worst mistake in life - which has been, of course, fathering Franklin Graham.
I have a few bumper sticker ideas for Frankin to sell in the gift shop:
• "Oh yeah? You try being his kid."
• "My teeth are bigger and better than Dad's ever were."
• "I hate my Dad."
and, of course...
• "Revenge is best gained by waiting till your parents are old and feeble and then planning to place their graves in a tourist trap complete with animatronic cow."
Oy.
Be good to everyone, except today, let's make it, "make fun of Franklin Graham Day," for being either stupid, or insensitive - or both.
In high school, my first real girlfriend was a great girl named Laura. She had wonderfully full long hair; almost black but with a red cast when the light was just so. Always loved that hair. Very nice gal.
We were each other's first "steady," though it was the seventies so we didn't use the term. We spent the better part of high school roaming the halls as one of those annoying "What? -do they think they're married or something?" couples.
Thought about her briefly on my drive home last night because of something my daughter Andrea had said while we were talking just before I left.
Laura had this strange fatalistic outlook on life. She was the youngest of three kids, though she only got to know one of her older twin brothers, the other having died at five years old when she was an infant.
Cliff, already off at collge when we were together, came home a lot on weekends and some semesters must not have had Friday classes, because once in a while - and always on a Friday as I remember it - he'd really "get" us.
We'd often go to her house after school with the intention of fooling around. We'd always check the house to make sure no one was around, and then we'd do what kids did...
More than once, Big Brother Cliff, who was a very nice guy really, had hid somewhere in the house, where, we never figured out. He'd wait until we were comfortably in the midst of our shenanigans and then "BANG, BANG, BANG!" He'd pound on the door. In an affected basso-profundo, he'd yell, "What ARE You Kids Doing In There?!" -scaring the hell out of us. Then we'd hear him laughing his ass off, walking away into another part of the house. To his credit, he never walked in on us...
Funny, but that's not what made me think of Laura...
Laura, for some reason always thought hers would be a very short life. She thought she'd be dead by twenty. When I'd ask her why she thought this was so, she'd go into a strange explanation that seemed to make her; a very bright gal and excellent student - I think she ended up number eight in our class of 800 graduates (I ended up down in the 600's by virtue of my not going to class much as a senior); sound a little nutty.
"I just know it. It came to me in a dream when I was very young and I have the same dream once a month or so. I'm not sure how it will happen, but I KNOW it."
....................
My Daughter, who quit drinking about ten months ago after admitting a problem to herself that I, frankly, had no idea existed, had just told me about the difficulty she's had and is still having remaining close to some of the folks she's been friends with for many years, because alcohol remains the centerpiece of their lives and because of the problems a couple of them have that she, now, sees as directly related to their drinking. I'll paraphrase.
"I see it so clearly. I don't mind being the designated driver. I don't mind them having a good time. But it's hardly ever just a good time. They don't know when to stop and most of the time they couldn't even if they wanted to, and I've got too much to do to put up with dealing with the aftermath. They simply cannot see that the problems in their lives are directly related to the way they spend their time."
It's a toughie. How and why it reminded my of Laura's dream I don't know, especially since, as far as I know, Laura's still doing just fine. I ran into her a number of years ago and she was healthy and happy, having raised two kids about the same age as mine.
Maybe it was simply the sad tone of their voices when they talked about their situations.
Perhaps it was the similar sureness of their knowledge of their own circumstances, even though, thankfully, either Laura was completely wrong about her dream foretelling her own future, or something happened along the way to alter her dream.
I had no wisdom to offer my Daughter. Either way it's a hard thing. Do you cut yourself off from people you love to, hopefully, make your own life less stressful -or do you tolerate the intolerable and leave yourself vulnerable to their constant antics?
I didn't have any wisdom to offer, but I do know what I hope she'll do.
Can't write a real post this morning as time is short and I'm supposed to be 2/3 of the way to Detroit in about two hours and I haven't showered yet nor packed my overnight bag. However, I just pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer and it struck me, as I cleaned the filter, why is all lint grey? It doesn't matter whether you're doing a white load or a dark one, or one that's all lime green - as mine is when I do my two super-hero costumes - which I wash separate from the bright yellow capes. It doesn't matter, does it? The lint is always the same damn shade of wet-cement-grey.
Why?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Be good to everyone.
Don't show surrogate a pretty night sky. He'll get all fill-ee-sof-i-cal, n' stuff.
Been asleep since around 10:00. Long day and I was irritable when I got home, caused, most likely by simply being over-tired.
Funny, as the world spins toward the holidays, I expected work to be slow this month; one of the reasons I figured I could justify my trip. Since returning though, it's been pretty darn steady with a few really busy days. Suppose some of it's due to the fact that I was gone and some stuff piled up, plus I pretty much took one day off last week, but who knows. Maybe after tomorrow there won't be anything to do till the first of the year. The way I felt when I got home, tonight? -that would be fine with me.
3:24 a.m.
Just stepped outside. One of the neat things about living here, a few miles farther from city lights than I've lived in the past twenty-five years, is that when it's as clear as it is tonight, you get to see a couple more layers of stars, and the sky appears a bit more three dimensional than it does in the more urban areas, reminding me of the vastness of the universe and our little real, though so very temporary, place in it.
That's a good thing for me. It makes it easier for me to remember that, though we struggle on every day, and get caught up in our own little routines, and understandably place extraordinary importance on what we're doing, who we're seeing, why we think we do what we do, about the only thing we can ever do that really matters is to appreciate what we've been given, and do our best to show that appreciation in the way we spend our days.
God, keep me as free as possible from allowing any ambitions I may have from ever becoming corrosive. Please help me ensure that the way I spend my time, process my thoughts, interact with other people - or anything else I do - never causes even the slightest negative ripple in whatever sort of connection there is between all of us, and all of...
..."it."
Wow. 4:17 a.m. -Writing in fits and starts here, huh?
Gonna try to sleep for a couple more hours.
Be good to everyone.
P.S. To anyone who read this between 4:00 and 7:00 this morning? Sorry about all the errors. I tried to read this piece when I woke up, and it took me twenty minutes to figure out what the hell I'd been trying to say, and another twenty trying to say it a little better.
Advice: Never write when you're half asleep, or if you do, don't publish it on the web till you've spent some wide-awake time editing.
At the tBlog Christmas sing-along last night, much to my happy surprise, things never got close to ugly.
I didn't know everybody there, but I knew enough about many of the people there to be an effective usher, which was my job. Nickster rented a nice auditorium and ballroom in the old Hyatt in Chicago and got there early, though he asked me not to tell people he was there till afterward. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many people were showing up!
Most everyone was in a good mood even before the event started. I'd coerced my kid to put together a bunch of Christmas music on a CD which I'd planned on playing while people filed in. I hadn't previewed it very well though and when "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" started playing on the heels of "The Little Drummer Boy," I realized I hadn't been specific enough in my request. Both akelso and doeeyed gave me dirty looks while I trotted up to the where we'd set up the audio equipment, and turned down the sound.
PastorDave, who seated himself up toward the front at Nick's behest stood and smiled, welcomed everyone and just started! "Joy to the World" he sang with that pleasant accent of his, casually urging everyone else into song by raising and pointing at page one of the little songbook he'd put together for Whisper and I to hand to people as we sat them.
We all got the idea and began to sing along. At some point Devon started yelling for PastorDave to sit down, but lindy grabbed his arm and whispered something harshly into his ear, and that was the last we heard from him all night, except, of course when ruined got up to play his cool layered arrangement of "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" and there was a loud belch from that section of the seats. I think we all assumed it was him, but we couldn't be sure. Alms was sitting over near them behind Cutter and she cracked up.
A little problem started later. There was a large contingent of non-English speaking tBloggers sitting together on the left side of the room who seemed increasingly frustrated that we hadn't planned better to include songs in the many languages they spoke, and every now and again we'd hear unintelligible mutterings from one or more of them. We all felt bad about it, but we just hadn't thought it through very well.
akelso was in charge of scheduling a few people to speak in between every third carol or so, and she started off the rotation speaking briefly but beautifully on the need to remember that the Christmas spirit ought to include justice for all, cleverly and deftly crossing the line between the separation of church and state, but from the opposite direction we're used to seeing.
mimi spoke about hope and love and made a few folks tear up with her sincere admonition that we must remember that we're not alone, and that angels watch over us every day. I'd have probably scoffed at other times, but it was so beautifully said, that even I was a little choked up.
After a rousing version of "We Three Kings," Kurt Maddox, who I think we were all a little surprised to see, stood and talked about the profound effect we can have on others by becoming "heroic." It was interesting, though to me, it was a little off topic and long winded, but it was great to hear him nevertheless.
One of the Bloggers from India spoke too and, and though I'm sure it was wonderful, I didn't understand a word.
After a few more songs, Finalyfree stood and thanked everyone for coming, smiling that wonderful smile of hers and asked everyone to adjourn to the banquet room across the hall from the little auditorium.
Oh my. Walking in there was really something. Art covered the walls, with paintings, I later discovered, from BrownlynJ, and DanielMacdonald, Devon and many other tbloggers.
ChikalooKate had a bunch of wonderful photographs displayed and some of the treats were in her cool L.P. bowls. LadyG had more beautiful flower arrangements spread around than you could shake a stick at, and later she encouraged everyone to take a blossom as we left!
The tables were lavishly prepared, with gorgeous edible centerpieces designed and made by lorischuster, whom JudyPatoote told me had a creative streak even as a little girl. Inspector outdid herself with food that was exactly perfect for the occasion. Delicious finger-foods that were perfect to eat at the table or to carry around with us as we gabbed.
I talked to so many people - even some I'd never had a kind word with before. OttomanPrang was there, as was Thoolou, both of whom I'd fought with for years. Ottoman gave me a copy of a CD of his guitar playing which I listened to as I drove home... Amazing. I had no idea.
At one table, Bria, idiotbubble, supremeanna and seochris were busy trying to figure out why so many people have left us over the past year or two, especially since things have been running so smoothly the last few months.
Toward the end of the "official" part of the evening, Bawdy made a sort of benediction, reminding us that, though we hoped we'd see each other again next year, perhaps we ought to treat each other as well as we could as often as we could until then, just in case. I felt like he'd simply paraphrased my usual post-close and I razzed him about it afterward.
A lot of us stayed and stayed, till around one, they told us they simply had to start getting the room ready for today. A bunch of us, DrForbush, ggirl, Breakouttheglass and I walked around downtown enjoying the the city night. Later, we ran into a bunch of other tBloggers at a little 24 hour coffee-shop who'd had the same idea. Irles and Taboo were carrying on a conversation in an booth about some obscur author that I'm pretty sure only they understood. I don't think anyone wanted the evening to end.
Maybe I'll write more about the evening another day, but now? I've got to sleep! It was a long drive home.
Sort of warm here. Snow's melting like crazy outside, water dripping off the deck with patches of dormant grass popping up through slushy snow.
Haven't heard how long it's supposed to last, but I doubt it'll go on for more than another day or two. Yesterday afternoon felt like spring, a friend pointed out. Yeah, but without the new growth, I retorted.
This is "pass out the silly business gifts" week for me. This year it's trays of Baklava. I passed out a few last week and they seem well received. I like to say a tangible "thank you" to my clients, but it's always a challenge to find something that people will like without it coming across as either too cheap or too extravagant. Since I won't give out booze, and I simply don't have time to shop for people individually, it's usually easily-shared food of some sort.
For years it was bags of high quality pistachios, but they're so easily available these days in grocery stores that they'd stopped being fun to give. I'm ashamed to say where I'm buying the Baklava (starts with an "S" and ends with "Club,") but they're good sized trays with a nice variety of shapes, seem to be of very good quality, and they're not all that expensive... Problem solved, I hope, for this year.
There is one exception to the Baklava thing. That's my best client, where I spend at least one full day a week where I've gotten to know just about everyone, and where I feel quite at home. They get a simple pizza and salad dinner this Wednesday, a late work night and my usual day to be there. Tried it last year and they seemed to like it a lot, so I'll do that again.
I'm thankful for my customers, and if I could, I'd do more for them than my silly little gifts, but I guess they'll have to be satisfied with knowing I'm such a sweet guy...
Went to the mall yesterday to ask Santa for my Christmas gifts.
He was not pleased when I sat on his lap, and while using his index finger to push in on mine, pointed out that my belly rivaled his, something I thought was both unnecessary and, frankly, a rather rude thing to say. I told him so in no uncertain terms AFTER I got his promise that my wish list would not be affected by anything I said after that point in the conversation.
He'd already told me I'd been a relatively good boy for most of the year though he did have a thing or two to say about a couple of minor things that came up when he'd perused my file.
Evidently, for instance, screaming at a meter maid while she's writing you a parking ticket does indeed show up on the list as "a naughty."
Also, a few months ago, over near Detroit, after waiting for about ten minutes for a coffee at a McDonalds drive-through, when I could see it sitting there waiting for me right on the shelf of the pick-up window, I pulled over into a parking spot and walked in and, annoyed, asked for the coffee. I wasn't overtly rude about it, but I wasn't especially polite either.
I never did find out where the carry-out person had gotten off to, but after finally getting my coffee, I left in a bit of a huff. Santa explained that he'd looked into the matter. The gal, he explained, had been pregnant at the time and had to run to the john to deal with a bout of morning sickness. My impatience during the incident had been noted in his information on me.
I shrugged off these minor infractions and asked him if anyone had had a "perfect year." He said that yes, there had been many who had, and that my indifference to my own shortcomings could very well be seen as enough to push me onto the "other" list. To this I responded by deliberately shifting my weight on his thigh and knee till he begged me not to move any more.
I thought about grabbing the beard and giving a tug, but he seemed to get the message from a simple sneer from me, and swore I had nothing to fear as far as him "forgetting" to get me what I'd just asked him for. I thanked him, but also reminded him that I know where he lives and that if my new Powerbook isn't under the tree, and if my kids don't get every damn thing they've asked for, his winter rest period after Christmas may very well be interrupted by the sound of a borrowed Arctic Cat Snowmobile blazing toward his little pansy-ass North pole dealy. And, if that happened, he could count on hearing a few rounds from my Grandfather's deer rifle which I inherited many years ago but as of yet, have never fired.
"Don't look all that complicated to me." I said. "You chamber a round, click off the safety, aim, and badda-bing! Prancer's a bunch of unfinished jerky. Another shot? Blitzen's ready for the crock-pot. -That about right Santa?"
"I... I think so." He said, a little tremble in his voice."
"Yeah. And up close like that, I'm not too likely to miss, am I?"
"I wouldn't think so, but..."
I stood up, slid down the little slide, and started to walk away, stopping to pay the little high school girl dressed like Christmas Carol for the snapshot of me sitting on Santa's lap, both of us smiling to beat the band. I tipped the girl five bucks and winked while inserting a toothpick into the side of my mouth.
By then another person, some little kid this time, was with Santa blathering on, but Santa looked up at me as I swaggered away, and we caught each other's eye. I slowly drew my right index finger across my throat. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Then, to make things a little clearer for him, I took the candy-cane out of my pocket that Christmas Carol had given me when I'd paid for the picture. I lifted it in front of me and snapped it in half within the cellophane wrapper.
I saw Santa jerk visibly and the little boy now occupying my spot was almost spilled onto the floor.
I'm pretty sure we understood each other.
Be good to everyone - 'specially if that's your friggen job - and you only work one stinkin' night a year.
Dry throat, foggy mind. Lot's to do. This morning's ambition factor?
Low.
Maybe writing this post will brighten my outlook.
The more I see on the news about GWB's reaction to the Baker - Hamilton report, the more obvious it becomes that he doesn't really care what anyone else has to say about much of anything. I find it curiously maddening. At the little White House ceremony where he accepted the first printed copy from the two of them and the others who helped put the thing together, he went out of his way to talk about how important it was that the report had been a bipartisan effort, and then had Tony Snow spend the next few days obfuscating in response to every meaningful question from reporters about whether the official response would include implementing the ideas contained in its 97 pages.
James Baker has been taped on numerous occasions since emphasizing how important it is that, if the recommendations are to have any positive effect, that they can't be separated into into columns; "We like this one, but we'll pass on this one... Oh this one looks good if we tweak it a bunch..."
Tony Snow, who's better at lying with a smile than anyone I've ever seen, (and remember, I work around car salesmen) has talked about the need to "parse" the report while calling some of the most important recommendations "non-starters,' meaning of course that the whole thing will have been rendered into a pile of uselessness.
Bush should have said from the outset, "Look you guys, I don't care if you ARE Daddy's friends, either you come back with a report telling me what a good job I've done so far, or I'll ignore your wrinkly old asses."
Bush doesn't care what the electorate says. He doesn't care what his own appointed commissions say, and he certainly doesn't care about what the members of congress say, unless they already agree with him.
Far be it from me to call the guy evil, since I can't see into his converted dry-drunk's heart, but by now, as evidenced by his stubbornness and inability to listen to those he governs, it's easy to call him stupid, stupid, stupid. ("Stupid, stupid, stupid" comes from seeing part of the movie made from John Grisham's book "The Rainmaker" yesterday.)
And, ya know what? -if Laura has so little influence over his actions, or has decided that trying to talk him out of anything just isn't worth it any longer, I don't think much of her either. Let her biggest problem be going to a "do" where a couple of other women wear the same dress.
I'm ashamed of us putting up with them. He reminds me of the ex-brother-in-law that won't quit with the screw-ups, but also won't go away. He is proof of the problems with our representative democracy, as wonderful as is the concept.
Before I conclude my dumb little story, a reminder. Today is December 7th. For the first 46 years of my life, this was the day we celebrated "Pearl Harbor Day." This was the day we looked back in reverence and sadness to the day Japan, unprovoked in any direct way, and during a time in which they were in negotiations with the U.S., attacked the Pacific Fleet on that Hawaiian Island, dragging the United States into WWII and killing some 2600 hundred men, women and children in the process. It was a cowardly attack, and, as it turned out, a foolish one. And, it solidified our country's long standing policy of NEVER preemptively attacking another nation.
I grew up knowing I lived in a country that would never make such a move; that I lived in a country that, having learned its lesson in Korea and Viet Nam as far as getting into situations we didn't know enough about, would never do that sort of foolishness again either.
I miss celebrating Pearl Harbor Day; a day that will, for me, anyway, truly live in infamy.
(The story is combined below. Didn't kill the post completely so I wouldn't erase the comments folks have made.)
I've combined this little story into a single read if anyone's interested...
On a Thursday this past October, Fredrick Green, 46, of Peoria, Illinois, walked to his car in the morning, backed out of his driveway and slowly began the the seven mile drive to his office, being careful of the many children out waiting for their school busses and good-naturedly goofing around as they did so.
He stopped at a Starbucks along the way and stood in line for a few minutes reading the headlines and skimming some of the articles on the first couple of pages.
Upon arrival at a National Life Insurance Company's Peoria Office, where he worked as an agent, he parked in his numbered spot, walked in and sat down at his desk. He checked his inter-office mail, his email and then after checking his watch, began to read through some material for a meeting with his boss and the other agents scheduled for a few minutes later.
At issue in the morning's meeting was a change in the commission plan. Long rumored and dreaded, it seemed that his company was finally making good on the unofficial promise to eliminate the bulk of residual commissions on future sales, meaning the easily attained early retirement enjoyed by just about all long-term agents of the company up to that point would now, instantly, go the way of the dodo with a single simple edict from on high.
Fredrick Green hadn't smiled in weeks. He knew this was coming and it made him mad, though as was his way, he hadn't shown much emotion even the day before when his boss, a twenty-three year old recent graduate of the University of Illinois who'd been brought in a few months earlier in to shake things up, told him to expect this change in policy soon.
Very soon, as it turned out. It wasn't an hour later that he received an email informing him of this morning's meeting and the topic to be discussed.
Already angry, Fredrick did not see his own firing coming. It happened unceremoniously. As the meeting started, with the twelve agents seated around the conference table - a mug of coffee in front of most of them and a blue folder in front of all of them - the young manager greeted his troops and walked around to Fredrick's place at the table and slipped him a note. Fredrick read it, twice, and without a word gathered his folder and coffee mug up and rose to leave the room. He walked back to his office where he waited as instructed by the note.
A half-hour later his boss came into his office and shut the door.
"Fred, I've decided to let you go."
Fred nodded and stared at his boss, expecting an explanation to be forthcoming.
"Look, do you want me to go through my reasoning? I guess you're entitled to that if you want it."
Fred looked away toward his computer's monitor. "No." he said. "Should I leave now?"
"Probably. I think that would be best," And on that cue, two security guards who'd obviously been standing just outside the door, entered the room and both helped and supervised Fred as he packed up his things. They then escorted Fred out of the building and watched his things as he got his car and pulled over to the building's entrance where they helped him load up the four boxes full of his personal items.
He was home by ten-thirty a.m. He didn't unload his car. He walked into his house and went to the den where he sat down in his favorite chair and clicked on the T.V. After a few minutes of an infomercial, Fred rose, walked into the bathroom and ran warm water into the tub.
Fred undressed and started to climb into the tub, but the phone rang just before he stepped in.
"Hello?'
"Hello. May I speak to Mr. Green?"
"This is Fredrick Green. And who are you?
"Mr. Green, I'm Steve Hurley. You sold me a couple of life policies over the years. Me and my wife, I mean."
"Oh yes. I remember you. It's been a while now hasn't it?"
"Three or four years. I just looked up your number in the phone book after calling your office. They said you were no longer working there?"
"Wow... Yes. That's true.... I guess. That sure didn't take... What can I help you with Mr. Hurley? Is there a claim matter? I can..."
"No. Oh, I'm sorry. No. We're all fine. I just wondered if you could point me in the right direction. My wife and I have decided to do something different for a year or two, and I wanted to make sure that either our current life and homeowner's policies would cover us or, if there's a question as to whether they will, I think we need to get some rider or maybe another policy or two altogether to make sure our kids are provided for just in case something happens to us."
"I see." Fredrick walked toward the bathroom to grab a towel. He was getting cold standing there naked on the phone. "Well... I suppose you should call the office and see who's taking over my clients. Or, I could do that, I guess. Other people will be wondering I'm sure," he said, thinking aloud. "I just left an hour ago," he said, and half chuckled for the first time in ages.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Oh... So you didn't re..."
"I was fired."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't..."
"It's fine. What exactly are you and you wife planning on doing?"
"Well, it's kind of hard to explain. We're going to... See, we were watching television last week, like we do almost every night,"
"Uh huh."
"..and on this sitcom, there was a joke about starving people... not a bad one, really, just pointing out that one of the characters had lost so much weight, that she looked like she was one of those kids you see pictures of during the commercials where they try to get you to send money. -You know, where they say you can feed a kid for a penny a day, or something ridiculous."
"Okay..."
"Well, we started talking about it. It was funny, The joke hit us both the same way. It wasn't meant to be anything more than a toss-off line I don't think, but it was so glaringly... awful, really, that we started talking about all the things we said we were going to do as teenagers and young adults - to make the world a better place. And so far? Like everyone else we know I guess, we've done... NOTHING."
"Uh huh. So you're going to be what? Missionaries or something?"
"No. Not really. It's not a religious thing... We're... How do I put this?" Steve Hurley said, "We're not exactly sure what we're going to do yet. We're going to either volunteer with one of the existing groups - maybe even join the Peace Corps - or we're going to find a small problem we feel we can think through and work at helping resolve all by ourselves. Something. We're getting brochures from all over the world right now. Our coffee table looks like the reception area from a travel agency specializing in tours of hungry lands."
"And this was triggered by a line from a T.V. show?" Fred Green walked into the bathroom and got into the tub carefully, making sure not to get the phone wet.
"Well... That's what got us thinking aloud. I think we've both been feeling dissatisfied with our lives, but we haven't been able to put our finger on what it was. We've become, well, not selfish exactly, but... Remember how you felt the last real day of school before summer when you were a kid? Watching the clock? Knowing what waited for you was going to be whatever you wanted it to be?"
"Sure. That was a neat feeling. I haven't felt that way in years."
"Well, we hadn't either. And we wanted it back. And since we're not kids anymore, it wasn't especially playing every day or the freedom to do nothing we were itching for, but just the opposite. We wanted to be free to do something instead. So... Man, here I am rambling on and you just got fired. Today? Do I have that right?"
"An hour ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry. My timing..."
"No. It's alright. I think I knew it was coming. I deserved it really. Had for years. It just took this punk kid to come in and be given the job to really look at the office and see who was producing and who wasn't. I'd been there for nineteen years and I've been living off my residuals for half that time."
"Residuals?"
"Oh, They're the small commissions paid on policies held by long-time customers. They're not as large as the initial commissions, but they do add up, and I had some really good years early on. I'll be okay. They have to keep paying me those, or at least most of them, I think."
"Wow. So you'll still be getting paid even though you got fired?"
"Some. Yeah." Fred cupped water over his shoulders, which were getting cold. "It's funny. I knew this had to be coming. But I was just numb to it. I haven't felt anything at all about it, really. I'm angry, I guess, but more because I think I'm supposed to be angry than because I'm really feeling it all that much. This is the first time I've even talked about it."
"Sorry for prying, I..."
"No. No problem. I just haven't processed it all I guess."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Do? Wow. No idea. Guess I'll have to think about it."
"A lot to mull over. I should let..."
"I'll call the office and find out about your policies and what needs to happen - put you in touch with someone there."
"That'd be great. Thanks."
"Better call me back later. I can't take your number right now and I don't know that I'll be allowed to get it from work. Maybe later this afternoon?"
"Thanks Mr. Green."
"Fred."
"Fred then. Thanks. I'll call you later."
"Great."
(click)
Fred stared at his toes. He stared at the tile. He stared at nothing, and found himself smiling. Then, after a few minutes, inexplicably, he started laughing. And then laughing harder. Eventually tears rolled down his face and he sat there for a long while, till eventually the water temperature dropped and he noticed himself getting cold.
He sat up quickly, splashing water over the side of the tub, having, he realized, reached a decision he didn't even know he was trying to make.
He shook his head, and reaching back, he pulled the plug, stood, and reached for a towel.
Went to sleep last night at 8:30 and awoke this morning at 3:00 a.m.
Outside, though it was cloudy, the blanket of snow and the moonlight working its way through the clouds made it look as though it was no more than dusk outside. I could see clearly for hundreds of yards. Quite pretty out there.
Went back to sleep around 4:00 for another couple of hours. Hoping I got enough rest to wash away the rest of the road shakes and get back into the swing of things today. For sure I won't even try to go to work till around noon since everyone at the places I work will be dealing with the weekend's snow. That'll go on all morning long and the last person they'll want to deal with is yours truly.
Suppose a nicer guy would show up and help them for an hour or two, something I used to do after a big snow, but haven't for years, minor prima-donna that I must think I am.
No, instead, this morning I'll get some things done around here that should have been done yesterday and, once I do get going, I'll probably work later than usual tonight.
Boy, this is an interesting post huh?
...and then I'll clean the bathroom, and unload the Jeep, and fold my laundry... and...
Yipes! BOOOORRRR-ing.
How about a mildly dirty Irish joke then?
Got it this morning from my friend Cathy in Ontario who, along with supplying me with 90% of the good jokes I get via email, says the amount of snow we get here is paltry and we should quit bitching. Speaking of bitching, she can be a bit of a... oh, never mind.
Okay. Here you go:
John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, between the ample legs of me wife!"
That won him the top prize at the pub for the best toast of the night!
He went home and told his wife, "Mary darlin, guess what? I won the prize for the best toast of the night down ta'the pub."
She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?"
John paused a second, furrowed his brow slightly, and then, relaxing and smiling, said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me fair wife."
"Aw, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said, and kissed him.
The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking buddies on the street corner. The man chuckled leeringly and said, "So Mary, did ye hear? John won the prize the other night at the pub with a toast about you, Mary."
She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit surprised myself. You know, he's only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."
I know, I know. It sounds more Scottish than Irish. Oh well.
Snowy and cold here. The birds, who studiously ignored the new bird feeder on the rail of the deck for the entire first week after it went up have suddenly decided it's a nice amenity to have available to them now that the ground is snow-covered, and three little finch-looking things; chickadees maybe?; have been taking turns eating and standing guard, rotating their positions like a volleyball team after winning the serve on a side-out. Looks like whichever one of them is eating gets to stay there till one of the other two gets pissy and cries foul.
More bird stuff.
Late yesterday afternoon, North of Indianapolis along US-31, as I approached a red light, I caught a white movement to my right just the other side of the shoulder. Thought maybe it was a deer and as I stopped the car for the light, I looked to see what it was. A huge golden eagle stood there staring at me. It's body was very large, and twice it opened its wings briefly, stretching its muscles. I swear it was making eye contact with me and it remained in place, not fifteen feet from me, when the light changed and I reluctantly pulled away.
In my rearview mirror I saw it rise and fly away a few seconds later, using just a few flaps of its powerful wings to raise itself up before starting to glide back over the road. -One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
The trip was nice. Perhaps I'll write a bit more about it another day, but I've got road fatigue today and I'm not sure I'm thinking straight. My head's spinning with random thoughts and interspersed memories that haven't even begun to settle into place enough for me to work through them.
Just now I thought of my friend Tom laughing at my choice of a six iron on a 150 yard hole into the wind last Monday afternoon. He'd hit an eight and was short. I hit the six full and knocked it six feet from the hole, then sank the putt for my only birdie of the day, which at least allowed me to return the tease for the next couple of holes. Alas, he beat me by a stroke when I choked on an easy chip on the seventeenth hole.
The top of my head is somewhat tanned as are my face, arms and the area between my ankles and my lower thighs. Wonder how long that'll last back here in the state that calls itself "Winter Wonderland" and more specifically here at Wildlife Ridge, where even though six or seven inches of perfect snow covers everything, the sun shines though in that ever-so-beautiful specially diffused winter way.
Just realized the most important thing I need to do today is waterproof my boots. Ah, winter.
Good morning Boys and Girls!