“The heat was hot and the ground was dry, but the air was full of sound…” So go the words to Horse with No Name by America. The band was trying to capture the essence of the desert and its honesty. Their use of language and unique chords (There are only three basic chords) bring the song down to a level that almost anyone can sing and understand. Out here in Arizona, it keeps me on an even keel every time I hear it, and I get lost in its machinations.
Big words for a blog, I know. I came out here to get away from my small town roots and to try and get a feel for big city life. I could have gone to Chicago or St. Louis, but they have one ingredient I no longer desire---snow. After 50 some odd years of putting up with snow and ice and slipping, falling, and shoveling it, I wanted to get out and experience the desert.
The old adage is, "Be careful what you wish for." I got my wish for the heat this week. It is always warm out here; there are no bones about that. When Christmas Day means outdoor meals, shorts and flip flops, it is always warm. Weather people out here do not even use the term “Hot” until the temps get above 110. And when it does rain during the Monsoon Season, it is a major event akin to the developing snowstorm back in the East and Midwest.
I have become more laid back out here. I don’t get excited about too much anymore, except maybe the Cubs and the Bears (the Dbacks have yet to win me over). And bad drivers (people don’t believe in turn signals out here). And the state government (makes me long for Rod Blagoyevich and Pat Quinn). And the price of gas (we need a special blend out here). Guys wearing guns on their hips used to upset me, but I went out and got a license to carry a gun myself, so old 00Don may be packing heat, but the crazies can’t tell that. I don’t display my gun much, though, the holster brings down my pants below a protrusion I have developed around my middle.
Nope, out here as I dry out, I have begun to remember my name, and I have begun to recall my childhood in Central Illinois. Not all of it, mind you, because the selective perception I have developed has altered my recollection of events and people. I have begun to write down the events as I remember them back in the humidity of the Midwest. And soon, those memories will be put out there for the world to see.
The old TV series, Dragnet used to start with, “The story you are about to hear is true, the names have been changed to protect the innocent.” I can’t vouch for the veracity of the tale, nor can I tell you that names are real. Most names are not, and some events have been changed to make me look good. After all, it is my book!
Doughnut
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
My 80 pound Lap Dog
Growing up, I never had a large dog. I had a Pekinese named Buffy that was really my mom’s, and I had to terriers we called Mr.Chips. But large dogs were not supposed to be dogs that city people kept, these breeds were reserved for farms and people with large houses and yards. I did have a German shepherd for about a month when I lived in Morning Sun, Iowa in a house that would now fit in my front room. I got the dog when it was a puppy, never realizing that he would get so big, he would take over the kitchen. Great dog, though, just too big at the time.
My daughter bought a dog when she moved into Shields Hacienda West in Phoenix about four years ago. When she approached me about it, I told her that she would have to take care and not get anything that would tear up the house, or dig in the yard. She was responsible for getting it trained. I also expressed that her work schedule of ten hour days and a busy social schedule would not necessarily be conducive to bringing a dog into the household. I likened it to a child. She said she wanted a dog for protection and companionship and she promised she would take good care of it. All that was left was to convince her mother. Here I got myself between a rock and a hard place. Knowing full well that Mom did not want an animal in her house (we had flushed multiple goldfish); I encouraged my adult daughter to convince her mother. I should have known better. I should have taken a break there and eaten a Twix.
To make a long story short, it is better to apologize out of ignorance.
Enter Akkadian, a lonely little Doberman, AKC registered puppy from Indiana. He was sent to my daughter via his own airplane ticket about four months after he was born. Shipped in what is now his toy box, he arrived at Sky Harbor crying, but he had made many friends on the plane who thought it was their duty as flight attendants to keep him company. AK immediately took to Debi, and he became a fixture in our home. When Debi came home for a visit in November of 2006, he came with her. This once hold-me-in-the-palm-of-your-hand- puppy no was about two feet tall and had paws the size of baseball gloves! Our house in Paxton was not big enough. When he went outside, he had never seen or felt grass, and he the snow and rain he felt was totally foreign to him. It was fun to watch.
When we moved to Phoenix permanently a year ago, Akkadian and I became fast friends. He went everywhere with me and he often cried outside my door at night. I became his master; my daughter was second to me. My wife was ambivalent. She had to warm up to a dog that could stand on his hind legs and be taller than she was. But, she warmed. He became her “grand dog” and now we “dog sit” during the day and when Debi is away.
Akkadian has his own bowl here, his own bucket of toys; his bed must be brought to our house for extended stays. And believe it or not, she puts a blanket over the couch in the family room so he can sit with her and watch TV at night. She has been converted, at least to an Akkadian lover.
Grand dad, though, still gets the royal treatment. Whenever our Dobie comes home for a visit, he immediately runs to my chair. If I am not there, he runs to my room and looks in my bed. Since he loves a good game of hide and seek, I often hide in the bathroom. Once he discerns I am in there, he will lie on the floor until I appear. When he finds me, he gently takes my hand in his mouth, leads me to the couch, and then jumps up onto it next to me and stares in my face until I acknowledge him by rubbing his butt.
What a relationship. I wonder if that would work with my wife and me?
Doughnut
My daughter bought a dog when she moved into Shields Hacienda West in Phoenix about four years ago. When she approached me about it, I told her that she would have to take care and not get anything that would tear up the house, or dig in the yard. She was responsible for getting it trained. I also expressed that her work schedule of ten hour days and a busy social schedule would not necessarily be conducive to bringing a dog into the household. I likened it to a child. She said she wanted a dog for protection and companionship and she promised she would take good care of it. All that was left was to convince her mother. Here I got myself between a rock and a hard place. Knowing full well that Mom did not want an animal in her house (we had flushed multiple goldfish); I encouraged my adult daughter to convince her mother. I should have known better. I should have taken a break there and eaten a Twix.
To make a long story short, it is better to apologize out of ignorance.
Enter Akkadian, a lonely little Doberman, AKC registered puppy from Indiana. He was sent to my daughter via his own airplane ticket about four months after he was born. Shipped in what is now his toy box, he arrived at Sky Harbor crying, but he had made many friends on the plane who thought it was their duty as flight attendants to keep him company. AK immediately took to Debi, and he became a fixture in our home. When Debi came home for a visit in November of 2006, he came with her. This once hold-me-in-the-palm-of-your-hand- puppy no was about two feet tall and had paws the size of baseball gloves! Our house in Paxton was not big enough. When he went outside, he had never seen or felt grass, and he the snow and rain he felt was totally foreign to him. It was fun to watch.
When we moved to Phoenix permanently a year ago, Akkadian and I became fast friends. He went everywhere with me and he often cried outside my door at night. I became his master; my daughter was second to me. My wife was ambivalent. She had to warm up to a dog that could stand on his hind legs and be taller than she was. But, she warmed. He became her “grand dog” and now we “dog sit” during the day and when Debi is away.
Akkadian has his own bowl here, his own bucket of toys; his bed must be brought to our house for extended stays. And believe it or not, she puts a blanket over the couch in the family room so he can sit with her and watch TV at night. She has been converted, at least to an Akkadian lover.
Grand dad, though, still gets the royal treatment. Whenever our Dobie comes home for a visit, he immediately runs to my chair. If I am not there, he runs to my room and looks in my bed. Since he loves a good game of hide and seek, I often hide in the bathroom. Once he discerns I am in there, he will lie on the floor until I appear. When he finds me, he gently takes my hand in his mouth, leads me to the couch, and then jumps up onto it next to me and stares in my face until I acknowledge him by rubbing his butt.
What a relationship. I wonder if that would work with my wife and me?
Doughnut
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Fox is in the henhouse.
The old adage is “Spare the rod and spoil the child”, right? I remember getting many a spanking when I was young for doing something that my parents thought was not acceptable. My crime could have been anything. If it upset them, it was wrong, and I was told to “go get me a switch.” Even schools had used paddling (corporal punishment) to correct major defects in my character. Soon all forms of corporal punishment may be gone.
Let me go on record here and say that I am in favor of corporal punishment, including paddling and swats in school. As a “victim” of such nasty behavior, I certainly learned that doing things outside the norms of society come with consequences. When I hit Mr. Keller in the sixth grade with that snowball, I knew I was going to get a swat, I just did not expect it to be publicly administered in front of the entire class! But, I learned my lesson, and I have not thrown a snowball at my principal since. (I was tempted to save some from winter and then throw them at my boss, but the fear of the paddle kept me from it.) I was also known to whack my own kids a couple times when they got out of line. This stopped when they got as big as me.
A board of some sort that was convened to suggest changes in Arizona schools has suggested that schools do away with paddling. I thought this was done years ago! But, apparently, Arizona is one of two dozen states that still allows it. So, this group which consists of mostly child psychologists and social workers, and educators from the ivory towers of academia (people who do not deal with students day in and day out, but rather sit and think of ways to deal with students) has made suggestions on how to better discipline and correct students. That is like someone who has no kids, and is never around kids telling me how to parent. Better yet, why don’t I tell the pilot of my 747 how to do his job, or maybe let me work on the Hubble. After all, I did sleep in a Holiday Inn last night….
Dorothy works as an aide in a local school about three blocks from us. She attended a meeting the other day so Human Resources could go over the rules of the work place. I was astounded and amazed at some of their rules. They do not want people to put in extra time, especially the aides and non salaried people. One rule says that aides cannot go to their rooms ahead of time, nor can they stay late. They cannot clock out and then go back and volunteer their time helping the teacher. No volunteering in an area where they help! If an aide is going to be gone and knows it ahead of time, the aide must find someone to take their duty THEMSELVES. They may not miss their lunch hour and they must leave the room or the situation to take it. The teachers and aides cannot go to their rooms on weekends and put in any extra time creating an educational environment for the kids. They are not allowed to be there over the summer or holidays.
The people who wrote this rule book are obviously people who have not been in a classroom.
The point to these to stories is this: If people who have only “paper” expertise and little or no practical experience keep running things, education in America is going to have deeper problems with significantly fewer positive results. Public education as we know it is going to go by the wayside.
The Fox is in the henhouse.
Doughnut
Let me go on record here and say that I am in favor of corporal punishment, including paddling and swats in school. As a “victim” of such nasty behavior, I certainly learned that doing things outside the norms of society come with consequences. When I hit Mr. Keller in the sixth grade with that snowball, I knew I was going to get a swat, I just did not expect it to be publicly administered in front of the entire class! But, I learned my lesson, and I have not thrown a snowball at my principal since. (I was tempted to save some from winter and then throw them at my boss, but the fear of the paddle kept me from it.) I was also known to whack my own kids a couple times when they got out of line. This stopped when they got as big as me.
A board of some sort that was convened to suggest changes in Arizona schools has suggested that schools do away with paddling. I thought this was done years ago! But, apparently, Arizona is one of two dozen states that still allows it. So, this group which consists of mostly child psychologists and social workers, and educators from the ivory towers of academia (people who do not deal with students day in and day out, but rather sit and think of ways to deal with students) has made suggestions on how to better discipline and correct students. That is like someone who has no kids, and is never around kids telling me how to parent. Better yet, why don’t I tell the pilot of my 747 how to do his job, or maybe let me work on the Hubble. After all, I did sleep in a Holiday Inn last night….
Dorothy works as an aide in a local school about three blocks from us. She attended a meeting the other day so Human Resources could go over the rules of the work place. I was astounded and amazed at some of their rules. They do not want people to put in extra time, especially the aides and non salaried people. One rule says that aides cannot go to their rooms ahead of time, nor can they stay late. They cannot clock out and then go back and volunteer their time helping the teacher. No volunteering in an area where they help! If an aide is going to be gone and knows it ahead of time, the aide must find someone to take their duty THEMSELVES. They may not miss their lunch hour and they must leave the room or the situation to take it. The teachers and aides cannot go to their rooms on weekends and put in any extra time creating an educational environment for the kids. They are not allowed to be there over the summer or holidays.
The people who wrote this rule book are obviously people who have not been in a classroom.
The point to these to stories is this: If people who have only “paper” expertise and little or no practical experience keep running things, education in America is going to have deeper problems with significantly fewer positive results. Public education as we know it is going to go by the wayside.
The Fox is in the henhouse.
Doughnut
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Toy
This morning, I had an epiphany. You know, one of those sudden ideas where the world and its meaning becomes infinitely clearer. I am a toy, a pawn, something that is worth nothing more than amusement to someone or something. I am an object that the Fates seem intent on using as a means to teach others.
How and when did I come to this sudden realization of my life? At breakfast, as I was looking through the sports page while eating my high fiber toast and low cholesterol eggs. Life became infinitely more succinct when I looked at the National League Central Standings. The Cubs are nine (9) games out of first place, and seven (7) games from being a wild card. It is almost September, and unless I have time traveled to 1969 and they are the “Miracle Mets”, it is over. Bob Brenly and Len Casper are bemoaning next year already. Once again, my hopes and dreams were elevated with talk of “the best pitching staff” in baseball, with conversations about great hitters and golden glove fielders. I went out and bought a new hat and the MLB television package so I would never miss a game.
And now, as usual, they are foundering. My dreams are shattered like a girl whose prom date does not show up to her door, but goes with another girl to the dance. The pitching has gone down the tubes AGAIN! And the hitters have struggled, the fielding has been awful and decisions made on the field are terrible. I would have been better off getting the Little League TV pass. At least then, there is drama, and the kids are trying their best without egos. I would just have had to listen to the parents whine there.
Who do I blame? Alfonso Soriano with that little hop….Milton Bradley who has trouble keeping track of outs…Fukodome who has trouble swinging while in the batter’s box…Kevin Gregg who has thrown more homerun balls than outs…Larry Rothschild who has once again sent more pitchers to the disabled list than any other pitching coach in baseball…Lou Pinella who can’t make a decision… WHO? Who do I blame…
The Bears are now beginning to play with me as we move to football season. That team finally went out and got what they believe to be a quarterback. They couldn’t coax Bret out into the orange and blue, huh? NO, but I helped fund the NFL package on my kids satellite dish so I could watch every miserable game on Sunday. I am hopeful, yet I know my heart will be broken by midseason.
All of these teams that I adore and live for (including the Illini) are like Lucy, and I am Charlie Brown. “Come on, Don, Kick the ball!” Then I know it will be pulled out from in front of me and I will be left gazing into the heavens as I lay on my back. Like Charlie, I am too trusting, and I still kick at the ball….The Big Dipper is pretty this time of year, you know…
But, who am I going to root for out here in Arizona, the Coyotes? They will soon be gone. The Diamondbacks? Lately, they have been an average Triple A team. The Cardinals? No, sounds too much like that heartbreaker from St. Louis. (Wait, they did start out in Chicago, moved to St.Louis, then to here.) The Suns? Amare, show me the way! The only team worth rooting for out here right now is the Phoenix Mercury. But stories on them are buried on page eight of the sports section of the Arizona Republic. I barely get my the first page…
No, I have always been a Cubs fan, so unless they move to Florida for Spring training like I hear they might, I will remain a Cubs fan. BUT…if they move to Florida, all bets are off.
I will no longer be their toy.
Doughnut
How and when did I come to this sudden realization of my life? At breakfast, as I was looking through the sports page while eating my high fiber toast and low cholesterol eggs. Life became infinitely more succinct when I looked at the National League Central Standings. The Cubs are nine (9) games out of first place, and seven (7) games from being a wild card. It is almost September, and unless I have time traveled to 1969 and they are the “Miracle Mets”, it is over. Bob Brenly and Len Casper are bemoaning next year already. Once again, my hopes and dreams were elevated with talk of “the best pitching staff” in baseball, with conversations about great hitters and golden glove fielders. I went out and bought a new hat and the MLB television package so I would never miss a game.
And now, as usual, they are foundering. My dreams are shattered like a girl whose prom date does not show up to her door, but goes with another girl to the dance. The pitching has gone down the tubes AGAIN! And the hitters have struggled, the fielding has been awful and decisions made on the field are terrible. I would have been better off getting the Little League TV pass. At least then, there is drama, and the kids are trying their best without egos. I would just have had to listen to the parents whine there.
Who do I blame? Alfonso Soriano with that little hop….Milton Bradley who has trouble keeping track of outs…Fukodome who has trouble swinging while in the batter’s box…Kevin Gregg who has thrown more homerun balls than outs…Larry Rothschild who has once again sent more pitchers to the disabled list than any other pitching coach in baseball…Lou Pinella who can’t make a decision… WHO? Who do I blame…
The Bears are now beginning to play with me as we move to football season. That team finally went out and got what they believe to be a quarterback. They couldn’t coax Bret out into the orange and blue, huh? NO, but I helped fund the NFL package on my kids satellite dish so I could watch every miserable game on Sunday. I am hopeful, yet I know my heart will be broken by midseason.
All of these teams that I adore and live for (including the Illini) are like Lucy, and I am Charlie Brown. “Come on, Don, Kick the ball!” Then I know it will be pulled out from in front of me and I will be left gazing into the heavens as I lay on my back. Like Charlie, I am too trusting, and I still kick at the ball….The Big Dipper is pretty this time of year, you know…
But, who am I going to root for out here in Arizona, the Coyotes? They will soon be gone. The Diamondbacks? Lately, they have been an average Triple A team. The Cardinals? No, sounds too much like that heartbreaker from St. Louis. (Wait, they did start out in Chicago, moved to St.Louis, then to here.) The Suns? Amare, show me the way! The only team worth rooting for out here right now is the Phoenix Mercury. But stories on them are buried on page eight of the sports section of the Arizona Republic. I barely get my the first page…
No, I have always been a Cubs fan, so unless they move to Florida for Spring training like I hear they might, I will remain a Cubs fan. BUT…if they move to Florida, all bets are off.
I will no longer be their toy.
Doughnut
Monday, August 24, 2009
Doga
I have lived a good many years and my knowledge of the world is, I think, somewhat large. I have not seen it all, but a good many strange things. I mean, county fairs aside, I have been many places and viewed many things. The two headed pig, the cow with a window at its stomach, the bearded lady, the big water spicket suspended in air with water flowing are all sights which have amazed and astounded me. Heck, I’ve even been to Roswell alien hunting and visited "The Thing" in New Mexico. But the article in the Arizona Republic the other day about a new service that is being offered to dog owners just astounded me. Surely it is a sign of the Apocalypse.
Doga….Yes, Doga…Yoga for dogs. A new service that helps owners relax their dogs. Doga hopes to make the dogs less excitable, more in shape, and more fun. Utilizing Doga helps dogs become civilized, more compatible and accepting of other dogs. Having a Zen dog is the “in”thing. Apparently just playing with man’s best friend and his favorite squeeze toy in the back yard is not enough. Dogs should not get the paper and your slippers, they should strive to a higher purpose.
Backyards and public parks are outdated. Disciplining a dog with a newspaper passé’. People actually pay to take their dogs to a storefront in a strip mall where they get in a big circle with other dogs and then each owner helps the dogs into a pose and holds them there for a period of time. These poses are natural to animals and promote good circulation and mental discipline, while the dog breathes in through its nose and out through its mouth.
Imagine if you have a large dog, say a Doberman, or a dog like Marmaduke. How does one hold them in a position? These dogs would be more likely to hold you in a position! My daughter’s Dobie has trouble controlling himself when I go over there. He is so happy to see me. I immediately grab his nose out of my crotch and move him into Warrior One where he pants in my face and tries to hold his nose about an inch from my face. When we work our way to the couch, he takes on the doggie lotus position and stares blankly at me until I rub his ear and coax him into dead dog where his head is extended off the couch, chin up; his paws straight up I the air and his eyes rolled back in his head as he waits for me rub his belly, This is discipline.
As I read the article, I wondered if these people really have so little to do that they have to resort to paying someone to tell them how to play with their dogs. Then I realized, it was not for the dogs, they were using the animals as an excuse to start a social club! Their poor animals were nothing more than conversation starters, a way to get a relationship started with another human being. Man’s best friend was nothing more than piece of meat that could be bribed with a treat and a smile, and then discarded to the back yard when the real action begins.
Doggone…..
Doughnut
Doga….Yes, Doga…Yoga for dogs. A new service that helps owners relax their dogs. Doga hopes to make the dogs less excitable, more in shape, and more fun. Utilizing Doga helps dogs become civilized, more compatible and accepting of other dogs. Having a Zen dog is the “in”thing. Apparently just playing with man’s best friend and his favorite squeeze toy in the back yard is not enough. Dogs should not get the paper and your slippers, they should strive to a higher purpose.
Backyards and public parks are outdated. Disciplining a dog with a newspaper passé’. People actually pay to take their dogs to a storefront in a strip mall where they get in a big circle with other dogs and then each owner helps the dogs into a pose and holds them there for a period of time. These poses are natural to animals and promote good circulation and mental discipline, while the dog breathes in through its nose and out through its mouth.
Imagine if you have a large dog, say a Doberman, or a dog like Marmaduke. How does one hold them in a position? These dogs would be more likely to hold you in a position! My daughter’s Dobie has trouble controlling himself when I go over there. He is so happy to see me. I immediately grab his nose out of my crotch and move him into Warrior One where he pants in my face and tries to hold his nose about an inch from my face. When we work our way to the couch, he takes on the doggie lotus position and stares blankly at me until I rub his ear and coax him into dead dog where his head is extended off the couch, chin up; his paws straight up I the air and his eyes rolled back in his head as he waits for me rub his belly, This is discipline.
As I read the article, I wondered if these people really have so little to do that they have to resort to paying someone to tell them how to play with their dogs. Then I realized, it was not for the dogs, they were using the animals as an excuse to start a social club! Their poor animals were nothing more than conversation starters, a way to get a relationship started with another human being. Man’s best friend was nothing more than piece of meat that could be bribed with a treat and a smile, and then discarded to the back yard when the real action begins.
Doggone…..
Doughnut
Friday, August 21, 2009
Phoenix sales pitch
The Valley of the Sun, I have found, is a great place to live. Yes, it is hot, and yes, it is crowded at times during the winter when the "snow birds" roll into the valley. But it has a great deal to offer and it feels like a many small towns all put together in a design that amazes and astounds me. Is it cheap to live here? Cheap is a relative term.
The time of year that Valleyites call "The High Heat" is during July-September. The temps do get above 100 regularly, but I have found that it is not all that uncomfortable. One does have to make adjustments, like being sure one puts up the sunshade when parked in a lot or driveway so the steering wheel does not achieve branding iron temps. Very little goes on outside during the middle of the day from about noon to five, as folks take to swimming pools and air conditioning. Little outside work goes on during this time, also, as most people start early in the morning around five and end around one. A great deal of construction goes on at night under floodlights. The heat is sometimes oppressive, but if you can drink plenty of water, cover up, and pace yourself, it is fine. Think of the high heat as akin to winter in the Midwest, but sunshine is not hard to shovel!
Snowbirds can be a problem out here. Most are elderly drivers that are not used to driving on our vast expressways and roads. The Valley is a well marked grid that follows a pattern. This pattern is interrupted by mountains, though, making it seem somewhat confusing to the directionally challenged. Snowbirds, however, pay no attention to the grid, trying to get by on the their lowered instincts for direction and low visual acuity. This leads them to often turn at the last moment, or from the center lane. Once the swallows go back to Capistrano,things get back to normal, whatever that is.
I live in "North Phoenix" which is on the very top part of the city when looking on the map. I can, however, get to almost any place in the metro area via the expressways within 45 minutes. Seems like a long time doesn't it? When I lived in Illinois, I had to drive 45 minutes to just about everywhere. If I wanted a hamburger, it was a 15 minute drive to town; pizza? same thing. Groceries were the same for vitals, but a heavy shopping that required a trip to Sam's Club would take 40 minutes one way. Here, I can get groceries that are relatively the same price as "back home" within 5 minutes, Sam's is another 5. Anywhere else I want to go, like to see professional baseball, is 20 minutes. Visitors who fly in are a mere 20 minutes away from my house after I pick them up at Sky Harbor. All our professional sports teams are witin easy drive times of twenty minutes or less. During baseball's Spring Training, I have 14 major league parks within a half hour. Is this heaven, or what?
I have talked about sports, but what about the arts? I looked in the paper yesteday and found no fewer than fifteen theatres with live plays, several art museums, and of course, downtown Scottsdale that has many galleries. There are more movie theatres within fifteen minutes than there was in all of Central Illinois. The advantage there is I can get in for a reduced price. First run movies are only five dollars on weekends before noon, and showings start at 9:00AM! I can get to a movie, maybe two, then get into line at Old Country Buffet before senior citizens prices go up.
I want to move all my friends out here. I am convinced that once they do get out here and spend time, they will be convinced that shoveling snow in winter, breathing water filled air in the summer is not for them. We could get a cul de sac and have our own neighborhood. They will probably rethink the idea of living next to me, though. They know me too well.
Doughnut
The time of year that Valleyites call "The High Heat" is during July-September. The temps do get above 100 regularly, but I have found that it is not all that uncomfortable. One does have to make adjustments, like being sure one puts up the sunshade when parked in a lot or driveway so the steering wheel does not achieve branding iron temps. Very little goes on outside during the middle of the day from about noon to five, as folks take to swimming pools and air conditioning. Little outside work goes on during this time, also, as most people start early in the morning around five and end around one. A great deal of construction goes on at night under floodlights. The heat is sometimes oppressive, but if you can drink plenty of water, cover up, and pace yourself, it is fine. Think of the high heat as akin to winter in the Midwest, but sunshine is not hard to shovel!
Snowbirds can be a problem out here. Most are elderly drivers that are not used to driving on our vast expressways and roads. The Valley is a well marked grid that follows a pattern. This pattern is interrupted by mountains, though, making it seem somewhat confusing to the directionally challenged. Snowbirds, however, pay no attention to the grid, trying to get by on the their lowered instincts for direction and low visual acuity. This leads them to often turn at the last moment, or from the center lane. Once the swallows go back to Capistrano,things get back to normal, whatever that is.
I live in "North Phoenix" which is on the very top part of the city when looking on the map. I can, however, get to almost any place in the metro area via the expressways within 45 minutes. Seems like a long time doesn't it? When I lived in Illinois, I had to drive 45 minutes to just about everywhere. If I wanted a hamburger, it was a 15 minute drive to town; pizza? same thing. Groceries were the same for vitals, but a heavy shopping that required a trip to Sam's Club would take 40 minutes one way. Here, I can get groceries that are relatively the same price as "back home" within 5 minutes, Sam's is another 5. Anywhere else I want to go, like to see professional baseball, is 20 minutes. Visitors who fly in are a mere 20 minutes away from my house after I pick them up at Sky Harbor. All our professional sports teams are witin easy drive times of twenty minutes or less. During baseball's Spring Training, I have 14 major league parks within a half hour. Is this heaven, or what?
I have talked about sports, but what about the arts? I looked in the paper yesteday and found no fewer than fifteen theatres with live plays, several art museums, and of course, downtown Scottsdale that has many galleries. There are more movie theatres within fifteen minutes than there was in all of Central Illinois. The advantage there is I can get in for a reduced price. First run movies are only five dollars on weekends before noon, and showings start at 9:00AM! I can get to a movie, maybe two, then get into line at Old Country Buffet before senior citizens prices go up.
I want to move all my friends out here. I am convinced that once they do get out here and spend time, they will be convinced that shoveling snow in winter, breathing water filled air in the summer is not for them. We could get a cul de sac and have our own neighborhood. They will probably rethink the idea of living next to me, though. They know me too well.
Doughnut
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Happy Birthday to Me!
Today is my 56th birthday. Hard to believe that I am getting so close the big Six-O. My brother has already reached it, and now I am faced with rounding my age to that number. Rounding is not allowed in most cases, and I usually have to just put in the proper number in the age block.
I can also no longer lord over my wife the fact that she is older than I am. Just six weeks separate us in age, but for a while I get to treat her like a cougar who robbed the cradle. I get to strut like a rooster and pretend that she coerced me with her feminine wiles. But that is lost today.
I received many emails and Facebook congratulations. It was fun watching my inbox fill up as I was notified by Facebook that people had written on my wall. I was able to send thanks to a lot of them, but most will have to be content with the fact that I did read each and every message. I laughed at some, smiled at most, and was amazed that people remember little ol’me. I even received phone calls from a few friends and family, and even one from the place I bought my car.
The house was empty as Dorothy had to work, and the children did too. So, I got up late, had coffee at my leisure, went out to eat for lunch at Chick-Fil-A, then sat on my butt and watched three hours of “The Closer”. I love Kyra Sedgewick…and Holly Hunter in “Saving Grace.”
There were no fireworks, no candles (for which I received a Thank You from the Phoenix Fire Department). I spent a peaceful day all to myself. I did not delve into introspection, did not take an accounting of my life. I just was mindless and somewhat uneager to put on pants of any kind. I mean, I have only really put on long pants once since February, and that was for a job interview. I could see no reason to put on anything since I was alone. My house was my man cave for a day!
I wish I could impart some great knowledge to my readers; some epiphany that would really rock their world, but there is none. A guy with a big belly and in his underwear has a rough time seeing his feet, let alone the big picture. So, I got nothing….
Thanks to all of you who called, sent notes, and generally made my day. My wife tells me I am getting my birthday present later tonight. I am truly a rich man!
Doughnut
I can also no longer lord over my wife the fact that she is older than I am. Just six weeks separate us in age, but for a while I get to treat her like a cougar who robbed the cradle. I get to strut like a rooster and pretend that she coerced me with her feminine wiles. But that is lost today.
I received many emails and Facebook congratulations. It was fun watching my inbox fill up as I was notified by Facebook that people had written on my wall. I was able to send thanks to a lot of them, but most will have to be content with the fact that I did read each and every message. I laughed at some, smiled at most, and was amazed that people remember little ol’me. I even received phone calls from a few friends and family, and even one from the place I bought my car.
The house was empty as Dorothy had to work, and the children did too. So, I got up late, had coffee at my leisure, went out to eat for lunch at Chick-Fil-A, then sat on my butt and watched three hours of “The Closer”. I love Kyra Sedgewick…and Holly Hunter in “Saving Grace.”
There were no fireworks, no candles (for which I received a Thank You from the Phoenix Fire Department). I spent a peaceful day all to myself. I did not delve into introspection, did not take an accounting of my life. I just was mindless and somewhat uneager to put on pants of any kind. I mean, I have only really put on long pants once since February, and that was for a job interview. I could see no reason to put on anything since I was alone. My house was my man cave for a day!
I wish I could impart some great knowledge to my readers; some epiphany that would really rock their world, but there is none. A guy with a big belly and in his underwear has a rough time seeing his feet, let alone the big picture. So, I got nothing….
Thanks to all of you who called, sent notes, and generally made my day. My wife tells me I am getting my birthday present later tonight. I am truly a rich man!
Doughnut
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
First Day of School
I feel their pain, the teachers on the first day of school. I was one of them. The summer had come to an end two days earlier, and now the little curtain climbers are back through the door.
It is funny how retirement and getting away suddenly gives one perspective. I always hated that first day because that day set the tone for the rest of the year. In a small school like PBL, we had meetings with the entire classes to let them know that this was their school and they created the atmosphere. The students are the life blood of the school, and their attitudes often determine whether the place was heaven or hell. Oh, teachers and administrators are important, but not as key as how the students perceive the flavor of the school. If they feel empowered, and important and wanted, then it will go well. If teachers and administrators emanate a feeling of not caring about the students as people, but rather numbers, then the year will be long and hard.
New clothes are abundant. Some of them not appropriate for school. Thongs and underwear stick out, boobs show, and educators cringe. Guys have to prove their manhood, girls have to argue about boys. It never ends. It used to be that teachers had to worry about belts and tucked in shirts. Now they fight with lowcut blouses, pants that are kept around the knees by a belt, and if Charlie is texting messages instead of paying attention. Fashion changes, but good taste should not. Students have to treat the school like a job and they should dress like they are going to work.
The cafeteria line was always important. Students act like the cafeteria will run out of food before they get to eat. There is more pushing and shoving for this serving than there is trying to get on a line in Disneyland. Once they do get their food, and they eat, they leave their tables looking like a dump and expect the "hired help" to clean up after them. It makes one wonder what their home kitchens look like.
Schools have developed an "Us versus Them" mentality. Students and teachers do not collaborate, they deal with each other for the time they are together. It used be that the mutual respect between the two allowed for an exchange of ideas, for free thinking. But now, teachers and administrators must pay close attention to the bottom line both financially and educationally. This leads to little interaction and students learning drops, so test scores do too.
Parents seemt to think that they know more about education than the schools. I mean, after all, they did go to school and little Johnny is a perfect angel at home. Parents no longer stand behind the schools, but rather see them as an extension of the government that is easily accessible and so they can be more vocal with them. Gone are the days of "What you get at school, you get twice as bad at home". Parents now run to school to defend and point fingers at teachers, instead of backing the teacher and telling Johnny to learn to read, to get his or her butt in gear. Parents would never think of barging into a doctor's office and telling them how treat their child, or tell the judge how to do something in his courtroom, why would they do it in a classroom? If they wanted to be teachers, they should have gotten a degree and done it. Let the professionals do their jobs, I say.
Ahhhhhhh, the first day of school, how I don't miss it.
Doughnut
It is funny how retirement and getting away suddenly gives one perspective. I always hated that first day because that day set the tone for the rest of the year. In a small school like PBL, we had meetings with the entire classes to let them know that this was their school and they created the atmosphere. The students are the life blood of the school, and their attitudes often determine whether the place was heaven or hell. Oh, teachers and administrators are important, but not as key as how the students perceive the flavor of the school. If they feel empowered, and important and wanted, then it will go well. If teachers and administrators emanate a feeling of not caring about the students as people, but rather numbers, then the year will be long and hard.
New clothes are abundant. Some of them not appropriate for school. Thongs and underwear stick out, boobs show, and educators cringe. Guys have to prove their manhood, girls have to argue about boys. It never ends. It used to be that teachers had to worry about belts and tucked in shirts. Now they fight with lowcut blouses, pants that are kept around the knees by a belt, and if Charlie is texting messages instead of paying attention. Fashion changes, but good taste should not. Students have to treat the school like a job and they should dress like they are going to work.
The cafeteria line was always important. Students act like the cafeteria will run out of food before they get to eat. There is more pushing and shoving for this serving than there is trying to get on a line in Disneyland. Once they do get their food, and they eat, they leave their tables looking like a dump and expect the "hired help" to clean up after them. It makes one wonder what their home kitchens look like.
Schools have developed an "Us versus Them" mentality. Students and teachers do not collaborate, they deal with each other for the time they are together. It used be that the mutual respect between the two allowed for an exchange of ideas, for free thinking. But now, teachers and administrators must pay close attention to the bottom line both financially and educationally. This leads to little interaction and students learning drops, so test scores do too.
Parents seemt to think that they know more about education than the schools. I mean, after all, they did go to school and little Johnny is a perfect angel at home. Parents no longer stand behind the schools, but rather see them as an extension of the government that is easily accessible and so they can be more vocal with them. Gone are the days of "What you get at school, you get twice as bad at home". Parents now run to school to defend and point fingers at teachers, instead of backing the teacher and telling Johnny to learn to read, to get his or her butt in gear. Parents would never think of barging into a doctor's office and telling them how treat their child, or tell the judge how to do something in his courtroom, why would they do it in a classroom? If they wanted to be teachers, they should have gotten a degree and done it. Let the professionals do their jobs, I say.
Ahhhhhhh, the first day of school, how I don't miss it.
Doughnut
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
News on the Novel Front
The wind whistled through the crack in the door and the dog howled at the open window.
Not a bad start for a mystery story, you think? Has all the elements: gains and captures the attention, inspires some hair on the back of the neck to rise. Makes the reader want to read on and see what see what happens. All great novels and stories do this.
I am presently working on a novel, but it is not a mystery novel. It is what is called a creative non-fiction novel. This means that it is fiction based on fact. I deal with living in a small town in Central Illinois during the 60s and 70s. Some of the incidents happened to me, but some happened to others, and I attach them to my personna. It makes me seem a lot more interesting than I am. But it tries to attain a certain simplicity that was those times.
From time to time, I will give you updates on the book. To get ahead of the curve, though, you might want to look up Hoopeston, Illinois. Those of you that live in Central Illinois know about Cornjerkerland already, those that don't are in for a surprise. Oh, and look up doughnuts...it will make your mouth water.
I hope to have the book done by the end of September. I should be on track unless I do something like get a real job.
Doughnut
Not a bad start for a mystery story, you think? Has all the elements: gains and captures the attention, inspires some hair on the back of the neck to rise. Makes the reader want to read on and see what see what happens. All great novels and stories do this.
I am presently working on a novel, but it is not a mystery novel. It is what is called a creative non-fiction novel. This means that it is fiction based on fact. I deal with living in a small town in Central Illinois during the 60s and 70s. Some of the incidents happened to me, but some happened to others, and I attach them to my personna. It makes me seem a lot more interesting than I am. But it tries to attain a certain simplicity that was those times.
From time to time, I will give you updates on the book. To get ahead of the curve, though, you might want to look up Hoopeston, Illinois. Those of you that live in Central Illinois know about Cornjerkerland already, those that don't are in for a surprise. Oh, and look up doughnuts...it will make your mouth water.
I hope to have the book done by the end of September. I should be on track unless I do something like get a real job.
Doughnut
Sunday, August 16, 2009
One Night Stand
The house was quiet last night, except for the cricket that seems to have invaded my kitchen. All the family was gone for the evening, so I was able to sit with a frosty iced tea and catch up on the 12 hours of TV that I am behind.
Seemed strange not having my "peeps" around. (I have always wanted to use that slang term in a blog, I was just waiting for the right time.) Debi was painting a vanity in her house, Jim was at work, and Dorothy was in Flagstaff at a concert. The house was now my man cave.
What does a 56 year old fat man do when he has the house to himself? He surrounds himself with chips, pop, and plenty of sandwich meat and has at it. I sat for four hours and delved into TV. I watched the Bears lose miserably while I yelled at them, and I sat and enjoyed a show called "Mental". I like that show because the main character bucks the system, yet lives within its boundaries.
When I wanted to get in the pool I did; when I wanted to get out, I did; I ate what I wanted. I adhered to no schedule and let no schedule adhere to me. I was the wind.
For one evening, I was a bachelor and lived the good life, but without the strip clubs. And it felt good. No one to bug me, no one to ask me, "Hey, Daddy" questions, no one to press me to do floors, or hang pictures. I felt like Al Bundy.
When I finally went to bed early in the morning hours, I did what every man who is married does when he is in bed. I slept.
In reality, I missed the hubbub which is my family. They always make me laugh, even when they are laughing at me. Too much silence is a not a good thing, because dirty dishes in the sink seem to scream at me.
My mom (read here, Dorothy) comes home this afternoon, better have the floors done and the pictures hung.
Doughnut
Seemed strange not having my "peeps" around. (I have always wanted to use that slang term in a blog, I was just waiting for the right time.) Debi was painting a vanity in her house, Jim was at work, and Dorothy was in Flagstaff at a concert. The house was now my man cave.
What does a 56 year old fat man do when he has the house to himself? He surrounds himself with chips, pop, and plenty of sandwich meat and has at it. I sat for four hours and delved into TV. I watched the Bears lose miserably while I yelled at them, and I sat and enjoyed a show called "Mental". I like that show because the main character bucks the system, yet lives within its boundaries.
When I wanted to get in the pool I did; when I wanted to get out, I did; I ate what I wanted. I adhered to no schedule and let no schedule adhere to me. I was the wind.
For one evening, I was a bachelor and lived the good life, but without the strip clubs. And it felt good. No one to bug me, no one to ask me, "Hey, Daddy" questions, no one to press me to do floors, or hang pictures. I felt like Al Bundy.
When I finally went to bed early in the morning hours, I did what every man who is married does when he is in bed. I slept.
In reality, I missed the hubbub which is my family. They always make me laugh, even when they are laughing at me. Too much silence is a not a good thing, because dirty dishes in the sink seem to scream at me.
My mom (read here, Dorothy) comes home this afternoon, better have the floors done and the pictures hung.
Doughnut
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Rainy Days Let Me Down
I guess I really should not complain about the weather. After all, this is about the third day this summer out here in Arizona that there has been rain. Up until today, we have had nothing but sunshine and hot temps, and I have gotten a nice farmer's tan playing golf.
But today, of all days, it rains. And not just in patches, but all over the desert state! The sand box is wet and it smells. I could go out and bask in the heavenly goodness that is water, but I am going to go to a movie with my bro instead.
We planned today to go to the Grand Canyon, as in Grand Canyon State. The weather at the big ditch up north was a balmy fifty-five degrees at seven this morning, but was going to warm up to a wet sixty-five. The four and a half hour drive up there was to be done in rainy, blustery conditions also, so we decided to stay home and go to a movie of his choice. He is going home to the humid climate that is Illinois on Saturday, and we wanted to do some sightseeing outside of the Valley of the Sun. So much for the best laid plans.
While he was here, we did go to a Diamondbacks game at "The Chase." We fulfilled my summer destiny of never seeing the 'Backs win. I have gone to four games this summer, and they have lost all of them miserably. I guess with their record, that is really not saying much as they tend to lose a great many this year. But the day at the park is always better than working, and being with my big brother (although I am now the bigger of the two) is fun.
I feel bad that he won't get to go to the GC this trip. It is a great vista with some breathtaking views. The quiet there is astounding. And when one stops to try to listen to the tourons (tourists who are acting like morons) the sound of their voices are baffled by the expanse of the canyon.
The next trip he makes we are going to there first. All else will seem small, even me.
Doughnut
ps..Some of you know I have been working on a book about growing up in Hoopeston. I should be ready for a publisher by October. If anyone knows of a good one, contact me.
But today, of all days, it rains. And not just in patches, but all over the desert state! The sand box is wet and it smells. I could go out and bask in the heavenly goodness that is water, but I am going to go to a movie with my bro instead.
We planned today to go to the Grand Canyon, as in Grand Canyon State. The weather at the big ditch up north was a balmy fifty-five degrees at seven this morning, but was going to warm up to a wet sixty-five. The four and a half hour drive up there was to be done in rainy, blustery conditions also, so we decided to stay home and go to a movie of his choice. He is going home to the humid climate that is Illinois on Saturday, and we wanted to do some sightseeing outside of the Valley of the Sun. So much for the best laid plans.
While he was here, we did go to a Diamondbacks game at "The Chase." We fulfilled my summer destiny of never seeing the 'Backs win. I have gone to four games this summer, and they have lost all of them miserably. I guess with their record, that is really not saying much as they tend to lose a great many this year. But the day at the park is always better than working, and being with my big brother (although I am now the bigger of the two) is fun.
I feel bad that he won't get to go to the GC this trip. It is a great vista with some breathtaking views. The quiet there is astounding. And when one stops to try to listen to the tourons (tourists who are acting like morons) the sound of their voices are baffled by the expanse of the canyon.
The next trip he makes we are going to there first. All else will seem small, even me.
Doughnut
ps..Some of you know I have been working on a book about growing up in Hoopeston. I should be ready for a publisher by October. If anyone knows of a good one, contact me.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Retirement, Not On Your Life!
Retirement is wonderful. Lots of people say that they are bored stiff, but I wonder how they can even begin to be bored. Routine, that's what they miss in their lives. They can't give up the work attitude and get into a constant vacation mode. I have had no trouble so far. Retirees say they will miss their friends. I ask which ones? The friends at work; the social friends; the friends as church; which ones?
I retired more than one year ago. I know that seems like not a long time to be able to comment on retirement as a whole, but as of right now, retirement is my life, and I accept that. I have tried to get a job, even interviewed for one yesterday. But so far, according to interviewers, I have too much experience; would not be comfortable in their setting; and, I have been the boss too long!
Where they get this notion of me being the boss is beyond me. I was only a head coach for six years, and then I was more of an organizer and motivator. My teams were good enough that they could win without me getting in the way. At home, my wife lets me think I am in charge, but she signs all the checks. I did not even get to see my paycheck for 30 years, she signed it and deposited it. The school secretary put my check stub in with hers and sent it to her school! The one time she did let me sign it, the bank called to be sure that someone else besides Dorothy had not gotten my check and then signed it! Imagine, calling to be sure someone did not give me money and sign my name to it...
I am a warm, giving, loyal employee. Ask my wife. I arrive early, I stay late and I rarely ask for a day off. I am conscientious and honest. I love to get my hands dirty and I am not afraid to take the blame when things go wrong, and I stand in the background when they go right. Matter of fact, I have used the primary pronoun more in this article than I have in all the years teaching and coaching.
But I digress...
If retirees need to feel that old sense of routine. They need to develop one.
(1) Get up
(2) Morning constitutional
(3) Breakfast and paper reading in reading room.
(4) Catch up on TV shows from previous night.
(5) Lunch
(6) Pool time and nap
(7) Go to WalMart to look for bargains and flirt with checkout girls.
(8) Clean pool and yard.
(9) Fix delicious high fiber dinner
(10) Watch Cubs game.
(11) Nap 3-7 innings.
(12) Shower and go to bed.
Occasionally, there can be a substitution at (7) for a round of golf, but really, if one pays attention to each item and utilizes about one hour per item, there is ample time for interaction with other adults, private time, and the occasional trip to the Sizzler or Hometown Buffet around 4 pm.
Retirement... the next best thing to being there.
Doughnut
I retired more than one year ago. I know that seems like not a long time to be able to comment on retirement as a whole, but as of right now, retirement is my life, and I accept that. I have tried to get a job, even interviewed for one yesterday. But so far, according to interviewers, I have too much experience; would not be comfortable in their setting; and, I have been the boss too long!
Where they get this notion of me being the boss is beyond me. I was only a head coach for six years, and then I was more of an organizer and motivator. My teams were good enough that they could win without me getting in the way. At home, my wife lets me think I am in charge, but she signs all the checks. I did not even get to see my paycheck for 30 years, she signed it and deposited it. The school secretary put my check stub in with hers and sent it to her school! The one time she did let me sign it, the bank called to be sure that someone else besides Dorothy had not gotten my check and then signed it! Imagine, calling to be sure someone did not give me money and sign my name to it...
I am a warm, giving, loyal employee. Ask my wife. I arrive early, I stay late and I rarely ask for a day off. I am conscientious and honest. I love to get my hands dirty and I am not afraid to take the blame when things go wrong, and I stand in the background when they go right. Matter of fact, I have used the primary pronoun more in this article than I have in all the years teaching and coaching.
But I digress...
If retirees need to feel that old sense of routine. They need to develop one.
(1) Get up
(2) Morning constitutional
(3) Breakfast and paper reading in reading room.
(4) Catch up on TV shows from previous night.
(5) Lunch
(6) Pool time and nap
(7) Go to WalMart to look for bargains and flirt with checkout girls.
(8) Clean pool and yard.
(9) Fix delicious high fiber dinner
(10) Watch Cubs game.
(11) Nap 3-7 innings.
(12) Shower and go to bed.
Occasionally, there can be a substitution at (7) for a round of golf, but really, if one pays attention to each item and utilizes about one hour per item, there is ample time for interaction with other adults, private time, and the occasional trip to the Sizzler or Hometown Buffet around 4 pm.
Retirement... the next best thing to being there.
Doughnut
Monday, August 10, 2009
Buffets
Buffets seem to be a fat guy's friend. I mean, I love a good buffet and it loves me back. Places like Old Country Buffet, and Home Buffet and all pizza buffets lose money when I roll up to their front door and belly up to the bar. They are a study in American over-indulgence.
Buffets at casinos blind side people. Gamblers expect to get excellent food, and there it is. All kinds of food. American, Spanish, Italian, even Thai and Chinese. Once they have lost money at the tables and the one armed bandits, waist lines can be expanded by paying one price and tasting many different dishes from many different lands. Pizza buffets usually give patrons one to three different kinds, then expect then to fill up salads. I bypass the salad section in favor of the doughy delights covered with meats and even some vegetables. To hell with fiber and dietary concerns.
People act like they are participants in eating contests, and eating can become a full contact sport. I have seen people push others in line out of the way just to get that whisp of potatoes. And heaven forbid that the meat carver should take a break!
One thing I have always noticed about buffets. Large people get tables close to the line so they don't have to walk so far. This is probably out of fear of losing a rib on the way to the table or dropping a hunk of dressing and knocking someone out with it. Smaller people tend to be farther away and always start at the salad bar. They load up on lettuce and fresh veggies so they won't overfill with the goodness of the fatty foods. Why does one go to a place like Sweet Tomatoes, though, which only salads and salad fixings. To be sure, though, even there the number of large people fooling themselves into thinking they are thin is abundant.
One last thing to ponder and observe at buffets. My children noticed at a young age that invariably when ever they see someone at a buffet who has difficulty sitting in just one chair, that person leaves and gets into a compact car to drive away.
Surely the government could make money not by charging cash for clunkers, but requiring that every town have a buffet.
Doughnut
Buffets at casinos blind side people. Gamblers expect to get excellent food, and there it is. All kinds of food. American, Spanish, Italian, even Thai and Chinese. Once they have lost money at the tables and the one armed bandits, waist lines can be expanded by paying one price and tasting many different dishes from many different lands. Pizza buffets usually give patrons one to three different kinds, then expect then to fill up salads. I bypass the salad section in favor of the doughy delights covered with meats and even some vegetables. To hell with fiber and dietary concerns.
People act like they are participants in eating contests, and eating can become a full contact sport. I have seen people push others in line out of the way just to get that whisp of potatoes. And heaven forbid that the meat carver should take a break!
One thing I have always noticed about buffets. Large people get tables close to the line so they don't have to walk so far. This is probably out of fear of losing a rib on the way to the table or dropping a hunk of dressing and knocking someone out with it. Smaller people tend to be farther away and always start at the salad bar. They load up on lettuce and fresh veggies so they won't overfill with the goodness of the fatty foods. Why does one go to a place like Sweet Tomatoes, though, which only salads and salad fixings. To be sure, though, even there the number of large people fooling themselves into thinking they are thin is abundant.
One last thing to ponder and observe at buffets. My children noticed at a young age that invariably when ever they see someone at a buffet who has difficulty sitting in just one chair, that person leaves and gets into a compact car to drive away.
Surely the government could make money not by charging cash for clunkers, but requiring that every town have a buffet.
Doughnut
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Me? Lose Weight? Not On My Head!
Ever lost weight? I have, thousands of pounds. Everytime I do, I tell myself that I will keep it off, but I don't. Those nasty pounds come back with a vengenance and take over my middle again. I go from looking like a stick figure to a balloon that might appear on the Macy's Parade at Thanksgiving.
I mention all this because my brother, Jim, has come out to see us for a week. He and his wife have lost massive amounts of weight over the last six months, and I am really proud of them. They have accomplished a lifestyle change. So has my good friend and former student, Sarah. They are really improving themselves and they look great.
Over the years, people have seen me thin, thick, and everywhere inbetween. Right now, I am hovering at a wealthy 240 pounds, thanks to a bout with the flu this week. If you are driving down Arizona 93 between Laughlin and Wickenberg, don't stop for the little piles of Shields along the road. I have to say that my first experience with wretching along side the highway was not pleasant. I do not regret the fact that I was a virgin when it came to puking my guts out in a cactus.
Weightloss is an input output thing. Eating right, exercising, and getting plenty of water are essentials. Why then, can't I lose weight like I used to do when I was wrestling in high school, or during my younger, leaner years when I would run? The answer is easy. I am lazy and I have become accustomed to my sedate world where running involves only those steps needed to catch something falling from the refrigerator. I have not had to buy clothes in a long time, and I wear the same pants and shirts I did three years ago. Besides, the health club membership I have will get used eventually when I get the occasional impulse to see other humanoids and outfit myself in spandex.
For now, my refrigerator will have to get accustomed to the healthy food that is in it from Jim. The spinach (You can get it without the can?), fruit, and other vegetables that it doesn't normally get to stand guard over will fill it for a week. My neighbors will see him walking and think it is me, and when I start after he leaves, they will think I have been doing it all along.
I just hope, though, that I do not lose weight where he did. When he first came into my house and took off his hat, I noticed that his head was considerably smaller. I don't think I can afford a smaller head.
Doughnut
I mention all this because my brother, Jim, has come out to see us for a week. He and his wife have lost massive amounts of weight over the last six months, and I am really proud of them. They have accomplished a lifestyle change. So has my good friend and former student, Sarah. They are really improving themselves and they look great.
Over the years, people have seen me thin, thick, and everywhere inbetween. Right now, I am hovering at a wealthy 240 pounds, thanks to a bout with the flu this week. If you are driving down Arizona 93 between Laughlin and Wickenberg, don't stop for the little piles of Shields along the road. I have to say that my first experience with wretching along side the highway was not pleasant. I do not regret the fact that I was a virgin when it came to puking my guts out in a cactus.
Weightloss is an input output thing. Eating right, exercising, and getting plenty of water are essentials. Why then, can't I lose weight like I used to do when I was wrestling in high school, or during my younger, leaner years when I would run? The answer is easy. I am lazy and I have become accustomed to my sedate world where running involves only those steps needed to catch something falling from the refrigerator. I have not had to buy clothes in a long time, and I wear the same pants and shirts I did three years ago. Besides, the health club membership I have will get used eventually when I get the occasional impulse to see other humanoids and outfit myself in spandex.
For now, my refrigerator will have to get accustomed to the healthy food that is in it from Jim. The spinach (You can get it without the can?), fruit, and other vegetables that it doesn't normally get to stand guard over will fill it for a week. My neighbors will see him walking and think it is me, and when I start after he leaves, they will think I have been doing it all along.
I just hope, though, that I do not lose weight where he did. When he first came into my house and took off his hat, I noticed that his head was considerably smaller. I don't think I can afford a smaller head.
Doughnut
Thursday, August 6, 2009
The Real Story Behind My Marriage
It has been a while since I wrote. I apologize. I went to Laughlin, Nevada, for an anniversary weekend with my lovely wife. Notice there are no quotation marks around lovely, because she truly is that. In all aspects, she is really a beautiful person. Afterall, who could put up with me for 34+ years and still have such a sunny disposition?
Not many know the story about how I met her. We were both students at Eureka College in Eureka, Illinois back in the 1970s. Well, she was. I had quit to try and become a broadcaster in Roswell, New Mexico, but was going to return to EC after a failed attempt at the real world outside of college life.
I went to campus the week before school was out there in May of 1973 and went to a party where I spied this gorgeous brunette wearing a pair of hip huggers that swished when she walked and mesmerized me. She also had hair so long that she could sit on it and that made her seem Godiva-like. I talked her into leaving the party for the evening, and her boyfriend who was drunk, and we went for a slow ride on a fast motorcycle around the lake. We were two crazy kids getting to know each other. I dropped her back off at her dorm and promised to meet her at breakfast.
The following morning, I was getting ready to bike it out and back home, and I stopped at the mess hall to see her. She was sitting with her boyfriend. We exchanged pleasantries and I eventually had to get on the road. As I was leaving, I turned to him and said, "You better treat her right, or she is going to be mine in the fall." Little did I know how prophetic that was.
During the summer, Dorothy and I exchanged letters, and finally she told me that she and her boyfriend had broken up. I rode my Honda 750 immediately up north to Des Plaines, braving the dreaded TriState Tollway to see her. Her parents and I hit it off well, and they invited me to stay with them for the weekend. By the time Dorothy and I returned to campus in the fall, we were pretty tight. I knew she was the one for me, but I had not asked her yet for her hand.
One night in October, while we were sitting in my room, I asked her to marry me. Shockingly, she said she would have to think about it! I was crushed; at least for about 20 minutes. When she said, "Yes." I asked her, "Yes, What?" And she hit me and said she would marry me.
So, on Parent's weekend, dressed as the Eureka College Red Devil (makeup and all), I asked permission of her parents to marry her. They grudgingly agreed since I told them that being a devil was not my intention for the rest of my life, but rather becoming a teacher was.
The next weekend, we went home to Hoopeston to tell my mother. As we were sitting at dinner in the Pizza King there on Route 1, I noticed smoke around the lights and people milling around outside of the building. As I went to open the door, flames shot in. We were the only customers in the place and there were only about four people working, so we scurried out the back door. As Dorothy, Mom and I got around to the front, the ceiling of the restaurant collapsed. I knew then that Dorothy and I were made to be together.
I tell this story to let you know that our relationship started out hot and remains so, thirty-six years later! Marriage is full of little problems, but we avoided the big one...not getting together at all.
Happy Anniversary, my love.
Doughnut
Not many know the story about how I met her. We were both students at Eureka College in Eureka, Illinois back in the 1970s. Well, she was. I had quit to try and become a broadcaster in Roswell, New Mexico, but was going to return to EC after a failed attempt at the real world outside of college life.
I went to campus the week before school was out there in May of 1973 and went to a party where I spied this gorgeous brunette wearing a pair of hip huggers that swished when she walked and mesmerized me. She also had hair so long that she could sit on it and that made her seem Godiva-like. I talked her into leaving the party for the evening, and her boyfriend who was drunk, and we went for a slow ride on a fast motorcycle around the lake. We were two crazy kids getting to know each other. I dropped her back off at her dorm and promised to meet her at breakfast.
The following morning, I was getting ready to bike it out and back home, and I stopped at the mess hall to see her. She was sitting with her boyfriend. We exchanged pleasantries and I eventually had to get on the road. As I was leaving, I turned to him and said, "You better treat her right, or she is going to be mine in the fall." Little did I know how prophetic that was.
During the summer, Dorothy and I exchanged letters, and finally she told me that she and her boyfriend had broken up. I rode my Honda 750 immediately up north to Des Plaines, braving the dreaded TriState Tollway to see her. Her parents and I hit it off well, and they invited me to stay with them for the weekend. By the time Dorothy and I returned to campus in the fall, we were pretty tight. I knew she was the one for me, but I had not asked her yet for her hand.
One night in October, while we were sitting in my room, I asked her to marry me. Shockingly, she said she would have to think about it! I was crushed; at least for about 20 minutes. When she said, "Yes." I asked her, "Yes, What?" And she hit me and said she would marry me.
So, on Parent's weekend, dressed as the Eureka College Red Devil (makeup and all), I asked permission of her parents to marry her. They grudgingly agreed since I told them that being a devil was not my intention for the rest of my life, but rather becoming a teacher was.
The next weekend, we went home to Hoopeston to tell my mother. As we were sitting at dinner in the Pizza King there on Route 1, I noticed smoke around the lights and people milling around outside of the building. As I went to open the door, flames shot in. We were the only customers in the place and there were only about four people working, so we scurried out the back door. As Dorothy, Mom and I got around to the front, the ceiling of the restaurant collapsed. I knew then that Dorothy and I were made to be together.
I tell this story to let you know that our relationship started out hot and remains so, thirty-six years later! Marriage is full of little problems, but we avoided the big one...not getting together at all.
Happy Anniversary, my love.
Doughnut
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