Everyone misplaces something sometime, but people in The Home can misplace things right it front of their eyes. I’m not talking about imagination or in a stack, under something or in a drawer or cupboard. I mean right in front of your eyes. An item lying right where you are sitting or standing or appear to be looking. Right where you always leave it.
We got into a discussion this morning about items we lose. It seems that the more important it is the harder it is to find. The mind runs in circles and closes the eyes, or something like that. Maybe we are thinking of the item being somewhere else while staring at it. No, we are not blind, nor is our eyesight fading. We just can’t see. It’s a cloud or something.
One told the story of setting her keys down on the small table at the door like she always does. The difference was she set her purse in her bedroom when she normally sets them down together. She looked at the table and her purse was missing. Then she remembers she put her purse in the bedroom. She finds the purse and totally empties it (probably a good thing anyway) to find the keys. Panic sets in. She looks under the bed. She goes back to the small table. She looks under the table, in her kitchen, in the sides of her favorite chair, and on the floor following her trail. She calls her neighbor. Would you please come and help me find my keys. Her neighbor walks in and immediately sees the keys where they are always placed. How embarrassing! Almost everyone had a similar story.
Another lost her cell phone. Several of us we asked to call her phone. She could not hear it in her apartment. A friend had to come to the apartment and keep calling until it was found under a pile of clothes at the bottom of her closet. She had left it in the pocket of a pair of slacks.
The most dangerous thing for me is to put something in a safe place. Unfortunately I have never established a consistent “safe place.” Because it varies from item to item and the things that are put in safe places are seldom used. As a result I cannot remember where I put them. The last item I did that with was my passport. Obviously it should go in a safe place. But where! I knew where my expired passport was. It was not in a safe place. It took a lot of digging. I am not a fully organized human being. Just partially organized. I have always hated filing and retirement has not improved that one bit. I file in piles (Hey, great title for an organization book on filing)
I once lost a pay cheque (for my Canadian friends, and because I lost it there). I had already signed all four checks (for my American friends). When I got to the teller, I only had three. Naturally, like any normal human being. I panicked, and attempted to retrace my steps. I was sure I walked into the bank with it. But where was it? Maybe I signed it on my desk at my office. Off to the office I ran. Nowhere. After extensively searching my office and nearly cleaning it by filing my stacks, I gave up and decided to go to the bank and cash my other three for a total of $45. When I got to the teller I sheepishly asked if anyone had turned in my paycheck. Shock of all shocks, my signed check had been turned in and was deposited in my account. Thank you God for honest people. I had dropped it on the floor while in line for the teller. Yikes! That was my mortgage, groceries, utilities and all my monthly bills. I was already fearful for how I would manage. Worst of all, how was I going to tell my wife that I had lost our monthly check! What a dork. What an idiot. How could you do that? Don’t you ever pay attention to what you’re doing? That was all we had. How will we get through the month? I had given a great deal of thought to what my answer would be. “I don’t know.”
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
POPULARITY
I wasn’t as interested in being popular in high school as I was being accepted. I had gone to grade school with basically the same kids for nine years. We knew each other as well as any kid really knows another.
I was the “drawer” and the daydreamer. If teams were being picked for anything, I was always picked near the last. I wasn’t totally uncoordinated and I wanted to be good at baseball, softball, dodge-ball football and anything else where teams were picked. I hated being near the end of the line. I couldn’t even get picked near the beginning for spelling games. I wasn’t terrible, just average.
The only organized sport I ever played was little league football. I am sure I was allowed to play because they needed one more player. No one sat or the bench — ever. I was a hero only once. We were lined up at the enemy’s goal line and they were going to try and kick their way out of a pickle. Several on my team were yelling get the ball, get the ball. I was at right tackle, a position I did not play very well. It doesn’t matter. No one believed I played any position very well. On offence I was a receiver, but I never received anything. The ball was snapped and I rushed in like I was supposed to and I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks, and dropped to the ground holding my nose. The dust cleared and bodies unpiled and I was still on the ground. My nose is now bleeding and my team began cheering. They picked me up hoisted me on to the shoulders of a couple of guys and ran me to the sidelines. Apparently when I stopped the ball with my nose (no helmets in those days) I had also fallen on the ball for a touchdown. My nose hurt and I wanted to cry, but the guys were so happy so I tried to enjoy my one moment of football glory.
I was a “C” student in high school. I did a little better in art and mechanical drawing even though I erased a great deal. I had a choice of two high schools and chose the college prep school. Most of my classmates went to the Technical school where all my siblings attended. Told you I was different. I didn’t fit anywhere. I took a girl from grade school to the first school date. She informed me that we could dance the first song, but after that we should mingle. She mingled, I played wallflower with a few guys I had recently met who came alone and were there only to laugh at people.
My girl, and I use the term loosely, came near the end of the dance and announced she had met a senior and was going home with him. I already knew how to handle rejection. Grade school taught me that. I accepted it. A while later the guys asked if I wanted to go get a soda. It was that or leave alone. As we were leaving, she came and apologized and said she would go with me. With a nasty streak that raises its ugly head in my life occasionally, I said, no thank you. I’m going out with the guys. Can you imagine — we never spoke again! Boo, hoo, ho.
Skip to the present. I had a reasonable successful career and was generally well accepted. I had leadership positions so there was always someone who wanted me gone. But, like I said, I had been prepared for rejection.
What I was never trained for or prepared for was being the most popular guy in the crowd. I had to come to The Home get that honor. In a way it is no honor at all. There are only three guys here who will mix and socialize with the women. Of the three, I am the most outspoken and for some reason have become the class clown, a role I never played historically. Harlow has a small harem that is pretty consistent. He works puzzles in the other building with most of them. Chas has one woman in particular who is chasing him. Chas weighs over 500# and is wheelchair bound. She has been bold enough to tell him she could teach him a few sexual tricks. While he rejected that, he has not rejected her. That leaves me. I am fairly consistent about the time I go to coffee. Five to eight women show up when I do. If people want a group event or activity, I am always invited. I have become the life of the party, the jokester, the funny guy, and the one who will remove tension. I am happy with the role when it stops conflict, but mostly I just want to be the average guy that blends into the woodwork. Why did popularity have to come in The Home? Oh, I know— I have a van that seats seven.
I was the “drawer” and the daydreamer. If teams were being picked for anything, I was always picked near the last. I wasn’t totally uncoordinated and I wanted to be good at baseball, softball, dodge-ball football and anything else where teams were picked. I hated being near the end of the line. I couldn’t even get picked near the beginning for spelling games. I wasn’t terrible, just average.
The only organized sport I ever played was little league football. I am sure I was allowed to play because they needed one more player. No one sat or the bench — ever. I was a hero only once. We were lined up at the enemy’s goal line and they were going to try and kick their way out of a pickle. Several on my team were yelling get the ball, get the ball. I was at right tackle, a position I did not play very well. It doesn’t matter. No one believed I played any position very well. On offence I was a receiver, but I never received anything. The ball was snapped and I rushed in like I was supposed to and I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks, and dropped to the ground holding my nose. The dust cleared and bodies unpiled and I was still on the ground. My nose is now bleeding and my team began cheering. They picked me up hoisted me on to the shoulders of a couple of guys and ran me to the sidelines. Apparently when I stopped the ball with my nose (no helmets in those days) I had also fallen on the ball for a touchdown. My nose hurt and I wanted to cry, but the guys were so happy so I tried to enjoy my one moment of football glory.
I was a “C” student in high school. I did a little better in art and mechanical drawing even though I erased a great deal. I had a choice of two high schools and chose the college prep school. Most of my classmates went to the Technical school where all my siblings attended. Told you I was different. I didn’t fit anywhere. I took a girl from grade school to the first school date. She informed me that we could dance the first song, but after that we should mingle. She mingled, I played wallflower with a few guys I had recently met who came alone and were there only to laugh at people.
My girl, and I use the term loosely, came near the end of the dance and announced she had met a senior and was going home with him. I already knew how to handle rejection. Grade school taught me that. I accepted it. A while later the guys asked if I wanted to go get a soda. It was that or leave alone. As we were leaving, she came and apologized and said she would go with me. With a nasty streak that raises its ugly head in my life occasionally, I said, no thank you. I’m going out with the guys. Can you imagine — we never spoke again! Boo, hoo, ho.
Skip to the present. I had a reasonable successful career and was generally well accepted. I had leadership positions so there was always someone who wanted me gone. But, like I said, I had been prepared for rejection.
What I was never trained for or prepared for was being the most popular guy in the crowd. I had to come to The Home get that honor. In a way it is no honor at all. There are only three guys here who will mix and socialize with the women. Of the three, I am the most outspoken and for some reason have become the class clown, a role I never played historically. Harlow has a small harem that is pretty consistent. He works puzzles in the other building with most of them. Chas has one woman in particular who is chasing him. Chas weighs over 500# and is wheelchair bound. She has been bold enough to tell him she could teach him a few sexual tricks. While he rejected that, he has not rejected her. That leaves me. I am fairly consistent about the time I go to coffee. Five to eight women show up when I do. If people want a group event or activity, I am always invited. I have become the life of the party, the jokester, the funny guy, and the one who will remove tension. I am happy with the role when it stops conflict, but mostly I just want to be the average guy that blends into the woodwork. Why did popularity have to come in The Home? Oh, I know— I have a van that seats seven.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
MY WEEKEND
I love the weekends. There are no expectations. I cleaned my bathroom then headed upstairs to do my laundry. While it was spinning I pulled a 500 piece puzzle to see what I could accomplish while the machines do their work. Maria was the first to show. Why did you get such a small puzzle? Here we go again. Because I thought I might finish it while my laundry was going. I wanted to do that one closer to the Fourth of July. That’s only a month away. You should have waited. I didn’t wait, so what to you want me to do. Oh, go ahead. I guess it won’t hurt anything. I didn’t think it would.
A couple of other women came along and they all took off for the day. I didn’t even ask were they were going. It may be heartless, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be invited. I didn’t want to know and I don’t want the details the next time I see them. The weekend is mine.
Chas arrived a little later and began to talk while I picked away at the puzzle. We got talking about teen years. Apparently he spent some time in jail – a state facility. That’s usually major. He talked more about life in the jail and never mentioned what he did. He made it sound like fun. I have never thought of prison as fun. I always joked it would give me free board and room for the rest of my life (and there were times I needed that), but I never really wanted to try it out. At the time he was incarcerated the state was very active in training the inmates for future occupations. It was definitely a different day or a minimum-security prison as they were offering classes in auto shop, woodworking, plumbing, and sheet metal. I gulped. These all have dangerous tools. He laughed that even with the training they still could not get jobs in any of those industries when they were released because they were felons.
I had arrived in the puzzle area about 11:00 a.m. When Chas and I finished talking, it was 4:00. No wonder I was hungry. Chas deals with a lot of depression. I was worried that he was upset because Maria seemed to take over the care of his gardens. In fact she was bragging this morning about all the people she was helping by watering their plants. So I asked if they requested her help. No, I was just being helpful. She then gave a number of reasons why each of them needed her help. She never asked, or offered the service. She just did it. That should bring us to garden wars by Monday.
Not only did my clothes get dry, I finished the puzzle and connected with Chas on a deeper level. Now I brace myself for accusations that I didn’t leave any of the puzzle for others to work on.
No I didn’t. I guess I better be sent to my room for the rest of the weekend. However, I plan to sneak out for church.
A couple of other women came along and they all took off for the day. I didn’t even ask were they were going. It may be heartless, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be invited. I didn’t want to know and I don’t want the details the next time I see them. The weekend is mine.
Chas arrived a little later and began to talk while I picked away at the puzzle. We got talking about teen years. Apparently he spent some time in jail – a state facility. That’s usually major. He talked more about life in the jail and never mentioned what he did. He made it sound like fun. I have never thought of prison as fun. I always joked it would give me free board and room for the rest of my life (and there were times I needed that), but I never really wanted to try it out. At the time he was incarcerated the state was very active in training the inmates for future occupations. It was definitely a different day or a minimum-security prison as they were offering classes in auto shop, woodworking, plumbing, and sheet metal. I gulped. These all have dangerous tools. He laughed that even with the training they still could not get jobs in any of those industries when they were released because they were felons.
I had arrived in the puzzle area about 11:00 a.m. When Chas and I finished talking, it was 4:00. No wonder I was hungry. Chas deals with a lot of depression. I was worried that he was upset because Maria seemed to take over the care of his gardens. In fact she was bragging this morning about all the people she was helping by watering their plants. So I asked if they requested her help. No, I was just being helpful. She then gave a number of reasons why each of them needed her help. She never asked, or offered the service. She just did it. That should bring us to garden wars by Monday.
Not only did my clothes get dry, I finished the puzzle and connected with Chas on a deeper level. Now I brace myself for accusations that I didn’t leave any of the puzzle for others to work on.
No I didn’t. I guess I better be sent to my room for the rest of the weekend. However, I plan to sneak out for church.
Friday, June 4, 2010
ONE UPMANSHIP
Everyone probably knows someone or has a friend who loves this game. I remember playing it as a kid. The only way I could win was to lie. I suspect that is how most winning is done. How could one person have a big, better, more exciting, more frightening, more unusual story than anyone else regardless of the size of the group. I can accept that everyone can at some time have a better life experience than another, but not all the time. After the story teller has said too much, one never knows what to believe.
I have a friend like that. To start with she served in the Navy and has done a lot, been a lot of places and experienced more of life than most. In any enjoyable conversation, she will have the biggest conversation-ending story. No one can top her. No one tries anymore, but they give each other the look behind her back. Everyone knows the look: rolled eyes, snickers or a circled finger near the ear. We have all seen it, and probably done it at some time.
I am getting good at expressing serious doubt with my eyes and signals. So is my upstairs neighbor. There is a great deal of communication between our eyes. Our friend has eaten at every restaurant in the area and has a decided opinion about the food and a recommendation to the rest of us less experienced people. Usually we should not. eat there. The food is bad, the help lousy, and the cost too high.
If you grocery-shop with her she will check your basket and find you a better alternative to one or more items in your basket. In fact, if you shop anywhere with her she will find something you want that should be changed and will be forceful enough that many women change what they want so she will not be mad.
Spreading my questions over multiple trips, I have asked about dozens of restaurants we have passed. It may be hard to believe, but I have never asked about a single one where she has not had a meal. I figure that based on the number of questions I have asked she eats out 2-3 times a week. Unless someone takes her out and pays for her meals, she does not have enough money. She says she has friends who own some of these restaurants so they gave her free meals. I have asked if we could go there sometime and maybe get another free meal. Would you believe it, they don’t own the place any longer.
Today I was telling her that our family usually traveled by rail free, twice a year because dad worked for Union Pacific. This may be had to believe, but her uncle worked for Southern Pacific and they traveled all across the south making trips once a month. Wow! Southern Pacific was very generous. I took the contest a step further telling her my absolute favorite eating-place of all time is La Habatant. She had eaten there and thought it was terrific. So I asked, have you been to Canada? Yes, I’ve traveled all across the country. In which city did you visit La Habatant? Toronto! I didn’t know it was a chain. Yes, it’s in every major city in Canada. Even in the prairies? No not there. Oh! — It’s not a chain and it is in Regina. So there! I didn’t say that, but I rolled my eyes at myself.
I plan to tell her about my trip to the moon with NASA next. I’m sure she has been to mars. I do feel like stealing Jackie Gleason’s line to Alice as he doubled up his fist and leaned toward her, “To the moon, Alice, to the moon.”
I have a friend like that. To start with she served in the Navy and has done a lot, been a lot of places and experienced more of life than most. In any enjoyable conversation, she will have the biggest conversation-ending story. No one can top her. No one tries anymore, but they give each other the look behind her back. Everyone knows the look: rolled eyes, snickers or a circled finger near the ear. We have all seen it, and probably done it at some time.
I am getting good at expressing serious doubt with my eyes and signals. So is my upstairs neighbor. There is a great deal of communication between our eyes. Our friend has eaten at every restaurant in the area and has a decided opinion about the food and a recommendation to the rest of us less experienced people. Usually we should not. eat there. The food is bad, the help lousy, and the cost too high.
If you grocery-shop with her she will check your basket and find you a better alternative to one or more items in your basket. In fact, if you shop anywhere with her she will find something you want that should be changed and will be forceful enough that many women change what they want so she will not be mad.
Spreading my questions over multiple trips, I have asked about dozens of restaurants we have passed. It may be hard to believe, but I have never asked about a single one where she has not had a meal. I figure that based on the number of questions I have asked she eats out 2-3 times a week. Unless someone takes her out and pays for her meals, she does not have enough money. She says she has friends who own some of these restaurants so they gave her free meals. I have asked if we could go there sometime and maybe get another free meal. Would you believe it, they don’t own the place any longer.
Today I was telling her that our family usually traveled by rail free, twice a year because dad worked for Union Pacific. This may be had to believe, but her uncle worked for Southern Pacific and they traveled all across the south making trips once a month. Wow! Southern Pacific was very generous. I took the contest a step further telling her my absolute favorite eating-place of all time is La Habatant. She had eaten there and thought it was terrific. So I asked, have you been to Canada? Yes, I’ve traveled all across the country. In which city did you visit La Habatant? Toronto! I didn’t know it was a chain. Yes, it’s in every major city in Canada. Even in the prairies? No not there. Oh! — It’s not a chain and it is in Regina. So there! I didn’t say that, but I rolled my eyes at myself.
I plan to tell her about my trip to the moon with NASA next. I’m sure she has been to mars. I do feel like stealing Jackie Gleason’s line to Alice as he doubled up his fist and leaned toward her, “To the moon, Alice, to the moon.”
Thursday, June 3, 2010
TURN RIGHT! GO NOW!
The old habit is back again and in full force. Maria cannot see up close and things at a distance are somewhat fuzzy. She still knows when I should turn, when I should pull out in traffic and when and where I should turn.
I have been parking rather wide the past few weeks for our participation in Bread Wars. But it was raining yesterday and I wanted in close to the garage door so neither the bread or us would get soaked. I should have known it would come.
It starts with Jeezs. Then some cringing and finally “there’s no room for the pickup to get in. I am unable to answer without a snide remark. My wife had nearly cured me of that habit, but since her passing and with the quantity of stupidity around me, the old family trait is crawling back. I’m sorry to say, but I kind of like it. Why am I sorry? If I was really sorry, I could stop. The truth is I’m having a blast.
If he really can’t get in, he can park way over there and carry his breadboxes like we usually do. My backseat helper snickered and the recommendations ceased. When the pickup arrived, he twisted right in between the shrubbery and my van. He’s a very good driver and is often crowing about his prowess in backing up big rigs and trailers. I believe him so I want to test his ability from time to time, especially when it’s raining.
The third of the month is payday for old people. Social Security checks arrive. I usually do some shopping on the third or fourth of the month. Had to go out today. I was out of milk and I am a milk drinker. Also, my van was running on fumes. I often take a few people shopping with me who have no transportation. Maria was in my entourage. We need to go back to the Arco on the east side to get gas. It’s only 2.69 over there. I don’t know if I can make it. I have been running on empty for three days now. But it’s cheaper. Cheaper will mean nothing to me if I have to walk. I’m going to Safeway and see what there price is. They are the closest gas station to The Home.
It was slightly higher, but I always get a 3¢ per gallon discount so the price would be close. After I entered my cards I learned I had spent enough to get a 10¢ per gallon discount today which meant it beat the Arco price. Naturally I mentioned that when I got back in.
On the way to the gas station we passed Maria’s bank. She wanted to stop. I told her I would come back after getting gas. But you are driving right by it. Don’t worry. I’ll come back. It’s only a block to Safeway and I would have to cross traffic. Quiet, thankfully. We came back and left for our next stop to pay our cable bills. I pulled onto the main road and made a quick left (not the normal route) then swung onto a small road behind Walgreen. Do you have to pick something up? No this is the wrong way. It’s a short cut. No it isn’t. This is a parking lot. I know but it will open onto the road we need. No it won’t. You are going to have to come back. By that time I was at the cross street into the parking lot for the cable company. It was Quiet. There was one more direction coming. After we purchased our groceries, and I needed to pull across the busy street to head to The Home. Now! Now what? You could have made it. You’re kidding. No, just pop a wheely. You can’t be serious. You want me to take all our lives in my hands. No way. The on coming traffic will hit me first. Now if you were going to get it…. Don’t even think that. I was advised twice more to go when I doubted the wisdom of the move. Where you going in such a hurry? (I learned that from a policeman.) Nowhere! Right, and you have nothing to do but get home alive. That is my plan. OK, we can take out time.
OK! That sounded like victory to me.
I have been parking rather wide the past few weeks for our participation in Bread Wars. But it was raining yesterday and I wanted in close to the garage door so neither the bread or us would get soaked. I should have known it would come.
It starts with Jeezs. Then some cringing and finally “there’s no room for the pickup to get in. I am unable to answer without a snide remark. My wife had nearly cured me of that habit, but since her passing and with the quantity of stupidity around me, the old family trait is crawling back. I’m sorry to say, but I kind of like it. Why am I sorry? If I was really sorry, I could stop. The truth is I’m having a blast.
If he really can’t get in, he can park way over there and carry his breadboxes like we usually do. My backseat helper snickered and the recommendations ceased. When the pickup arrived, he twisted right in between the shrubbery and my van. He’s a very good driver and is often crowing about his prowess in backing up big rigs and trailers. I believe him so I want to test his ability from time to time, especially when it’s raining.
The third of the month is payday for old people. Social Security checks arrive. I usually do some shopping on the third or fourth of the month. Had to go out today. I was out of milk and I am a milk drinker. Also, my van was running on fumes. I often take a few people shopping with me who have no transportation. Maria was in my entourage. We need to go back to the Arco on the east side to get gas. It’s only 2.69 over there. I don’t know if I can make it. I have been running on empty for three days now. But it’s cheaper. Cheaper will mean nothing to me if I have to walk. I’m going to Safeway and see what there price is. They are the closest gas station to The Home.
It was slightly higher, but I always get a 3¢ per gallon discount so the price would be close. After I entered my cards I learned I had spent enough to get a 10¢ per gallon discount today which meant it beat the Arco price. Naturally I mentioned that when I got back in.
On the way to the gas station we passed Maria’s bank. She wanted to stop. I told her I would come back after getting gas. But you are driving right by it. Don’t worry. I’ll come back. It’s only a block to Safeway and I would have to cross traffic. Quiet, thankfully. We came back and left for our next stop to pay our cable bills. I pulled onto the main road and made a quick left (not the normal route) then swung onto a small road behind Walgreen. Do you have to pick something up? No this is the wrong way. It’s a short cut. No it isn’t. This is a parking lot. I know but it will open onto the road we need. No it won’t. You are going to have to come back. By that time I was at the cross street into the parking lot for the cable company. It was Quiet. There was one more direction coming. After we purchased our groceries, and I needed to pull across the busy street to head to The Home. Now! Now what? You could have made it. You’re kidding. No, just pop a wheely. You can’t be serious. You want me to take all our lives in my hands. No way. The on coming traffic will hit me first. Now if you were going to get it…. Don’t even think that. I was advised twice more to go when I doubted the wisdom of the move. Where you going in such a hurry? (I learned that from a policeman.) Nowhere! Right, and you have nothing to do but get home alive. That is my plan. OK, we can take out time.
OK! That sounded like victory to me.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
OLD WIVES TALES
I got a bar of soap in the mail today. I am supposed to unwrap it and put it at the foot of my bed to relieve problems with nervous feet. I have not had time to do it yet. But I will try that to night. I may have a hard time knowing if it works as I don’t have nervous feet every night and if my feet sweat will my feet get soapy. I also wonder if I need a bar of soap for each foot. Am I to put soap bars at the bottom for when I am stretched out and maybe a little further up for when I go into the fetal position? So, I am still a little uncertain, but am willing to try it.
I know a lot of old wives here, and am wondering if I should take all their old wives tale advice. If this works maybe I should listen to the rest. I know I am supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever, but I’m not hungry when I have a cold and want chicken noodle soup when I have a fever. Everyone tells me chicken noodle soup is good for you when you are sick. I prefer Campbell’s at that time, but can’t stand noodle soup at any other time.
I never went in swimming until and hour after eating. Mom wouldn’t let me. Come to think of it she wouldn’t let me go in the water unless my navy trained older brother was with us. I would drown. Of course, I would have drowned. I didn’t know how to swim. And I am not likely to drown now, as I don’t really like the water. I like to be beside it, but not in it.
I totally disliked coffee, as a child so never drank it and guess my growth wasn’t stunted. I am the tallest member of my family. A sister was the second tallest and she hated it, but married a very tall guy so got over feeling bad when she eloped. My mother never forgave he for eloping. I didn’t care. When she got married I got my own bedroom and no longer had to share that tiny room and the three quarter bed with my little brother. He kept crossing over to my half so I had to keep hitting him. He hit back and so it went until one of us cried. That was usually me. He was little but tough.
I didn’t know what to do about chocolate as I loved chocolate and was horrified to learn it caused acne. Boy did I have acne. I promised God that if He would clear up my acne I would give up chocolate. Mother said it worked the other way around. Stop and your face will clear up. So I tried that. I stopped for a week and not one pimple disappeared. So I bought a whole bag of Hershey kisses and ate them all in one sitting. I didn’t get more pimples either. Boy was I confused.
I never liked spicy food so never worried about getting ulcers for eating it. However, I learned that stress also causes ulcers. I’ve had lots of stress in my life, but still no ulcers. Hasn’t stopped the doctor from finding something new at each visit that requires another prescription.
I didn’t like carrots, which are supposed to improve my eyesight. I guess that’s why I wear glasses now. I got my first pair at age 49 and the optometrist was surprised I had lasted so long without them, but he was just being nice. I probably still would not wear glasses had I ate carrots.
I was always confused about not going outside with my hair wet because of all the people who went swimming and never seemed to worry about catching a cold. Maybe it was really all about the weather and not the wet head.
We only had dim light at our house. Usually only one light on a cord with a chain hanging from the center of the bedroom, but I still used that light to keep tabs on the Adventures of Superman. TV was also bad for my eyes. We didn’t have TV, but Monday to Friday I went down to Irene’s for one hour to watch Howdy Doody and The Mickey Mouse Club. When we finally did get a TV I watched Gunsmoke on Saturday night with dad. Had to. Dad would fall asleep and he needed me to tell him what happened. I could not cross my eyes so they never stuck that way. That one worried me because I tried to cross my eyes but would get dizzy.
And finally, I am thankful I never went blind. I was a bad teenage boy. I do hope the soap cures my restless feet, but have no idea how I will know if it works.
I know a lot of old wives here, and am wondering if I should take all their old wives tale advice. If this works maybe I should listen to the rest. I know I am supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever, but I’m not hungry when I have a cold and want chicken noodle soup when I have a fever. Everyone tells me chicken noodle soup is good for you when you are sick. I prefer Campbell’s at that time, but can’t stand noodle soup at any other time.
I never went in swimming until and hour after eating. Mom wouldn’t let me. Come to think of it she wouldn’t let me go in the water unless my navy trained older brother was with us. I would drown. Of course, I would have drowned. I didn’t know how to swim. And I am not likely to drown now, as I don’t really like the water. I like to be beside it, but not in it.
I totally disliked coffee, as a child so never drank it and guess my growth wasn’t stunted. I am the tallest member of my family. A sister was the second tallest and she hated it, but married a very tall guy so got over feeling bad when she eloped. My mother never forgave he for eloping. I didn’t care. When she got married I got my own bedroom and no longer had to share that tiny room and the three quarter bed with my little brother. He kept crossing over to my half so I had to keep hitting him. He hit back and so it went until one of us cried. That was usually me. He was little but tough.
I didn’t know what to do about chocolate as I loved chocolate and was horrified to learn it caused acne. Boy did I have acne. I promised God that if He would clear up my acne I would give up chocolate. Mother said it worked the other way around. Stop and your face will clear up. So I tried that. I stopped for a week and not one pimple disappeared. So I bought a whole bag of Hershey kisses and ate them all in one sitting. I didn’t get more pimples either. Boy was I confused.
I never liked spicy food so never worried about getting ulcers for eating it. However, I learned that stress also causes ulcers. I’ve had lots of stress in my life, but still no ulcers. Hasn’t stopped the doctor from finding something new at each visit that requires another prescription.
I didn’t like carrots, which are supposed to improve my eyesight. I guess that’s why I wear glasses now. I got my first pair at age 49 and the optometrist was surprised I had lasted so long without them, but he was just being nice. I probably still would not wear glasses had I ate carrots.
I was always confused about not going outside with my hair wet because of all the people who went swimming and never seemed to worry about catching a cold. Maybe it was really all about the weather and not the wet head.
We only had dim light at our house. Usually only one light on a cord with a chain hanging from the center of the bedroom, but I still used that light to keep tabs on the Adventures of Superman. TV was also bad for my eyes. We didn’t have TV, but Monday to Friday I went down to Irene’s for one hour to watch Howdy Doody and The Mickey Mouse Club. When we finally did get a TV I watched Gunsmoke on Saturday night with dad. Had to. Dad would fall asleep and he needed me to tell him what happened. I could not cross my eyes so they never stuck that way. That one worried me because I tried to cross my eyes but would get dizzy.
And finally, I am thankful I never went blind. I was a bad teenage boy. I do hope the soap cures my restless feet, but have no idea how I will know if it works.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
THANK YOU
Obviously my odor has drifted quite away from home. It went all the way down to California. It’s not that I’m not grateful. I’m always grateful for any gift, especially if is a replacement for something I might have to spend money on personally. I’m already convincing my family that Christmas gifts should be extremely practical. No more ornaments. Nothing to display, please! I would only have to dust it, but I don’t have room anyway. If I must receive a gift card (which I like) make it to the grocery store. However, a movie card or theater tickets are always nice. Cards for a dinner out are cool. So not every7things needs to be 10-0% practical. I like ink for my computer, stamps, or a half-gallon of ice cream (although there is no half gallon any more – the price went up and the size went down.)
So, I am grateful for the bar of soap. I only have one left. But as you know, soap can last me a very long time as I bath so seldom. There was no note encouraging a greater frequency of bathing, so I can only guess they knew an extra bar might be useful. Since that need is being met, I will expect another at Christmas. I should be ready for another bar at that time. Because it’s Christmas, how about some homemade soap – say oatmeal. I like the smell and the feel. It should be a little fancier for the holidays, but Ivory is nice.
If others need shopping tips, I would gladly pass them on. Begging is no longer beneath me. See what the government has done to me. They taught me to beg – BEG for my own money. You may argue, ah – you are not getting your own money. And I would say, yes that’s true. You are right. I’m getting my children’s money. THEY ALREADY SPENT MINE! Please, please. I’m not bitter — just old and grouchy. Begging is not beneath me. Since I am turned down on the first request for assistance with food, housing, medical, etc. I have become quite good at going back on hands and knees to get my piece of the American Dream. That is the American Dream it is not — welfare?
OK, so I’m a drain on the American people, just as they were a drain on me when I was putting thousands of dollars into someone else’s pocket. I admit I feel bad about taking my children’s money, but I either get It back from them through the government or I get it out of their pocket, I spent a fortune on my lovely daughter. She owes me. At the time I was raising my daughter the expected total one would spend on child rearing was $120,000 through high school. Yes, I skimped on my portion. I blame that on my wife. She was excellent at bargain hunting always finding the best deals. We made our daughter buy her own first car (she was good at saving) but she was on my insurance policy. I also paid for college, the wedding (we made as much as we could. I would have sewn the dress had she trusted me) and hundreds or thousands of dollars helping her get a start in married life. I spoiled her, but what else could I do. I loved her and she has those brown puppy dog eyes, and licking my hands all the time (no she didn’t do that). How could I say no. She never asked or begged like I do.
I’m not naïve. Her family will cost so much more to rear than mind. She has three bright children who may all want to go to college and marry and two girls whose weddings will cost a fortune (tell them elope). I know it’s worse – more costly. Plus the government threatens there will be no money for them at retirement. It sucks since they are collecting it from them anyway. I wish I were going to be here when the public sues the government to get all their money back that was invested “for them” in social security. Our kids will not be happy campers. Nor should they be.
So, I am grateful for the bar of soap. I only have one left. But as you know, soap can last me a very long time as I bath so seldom. There was no note encouraging a greater frequency of bathing, so I can only guess they knew an extra bar might be useful. Since that need is being met, I will expect another at Christmas. I should be ready for another bar at that time. Because it’s Christmas, how about some homemade soap – say oatmeal. I like the smell and the feel. It should be a little fancier for the holidays, but Ivory is nice.
If others need shopping tips, I would gladly pass them on. Begging is no longer beneath me. See what the government has done to me. They taught me to beg – BEG for my own money. You may argue, ah – you are not getting your own money. And I would say, yes that’s true. You are right. I’m getting my children’s money. THEY ALREADY SPENT MINE! Please, please. I’m not bitter — just old and grouchy. Begging is not beneath me. Since I am turned down on the first request for assistance with food, housing, medical, etc. I have become quite good at going back on hands and knees to get my piece of the American Dream. That is the American Dream it is not — welfare?
OK, so I’m a drain on the American people, just as they were a drain on me when I was putting thousands of dollars into someone else’s pocket. I admit I feel bad about taking my children’s money, but I either get It back from them through the government or I get it out of their pocket, I spent a fortune on my lovely daughter. She owes me. At the time I was raising my daughter the expected total one would spend on child rearing was $120,000 through high school. Yes, I skimped on my portion. I blame that on my wife. She was excellent at bargain hunting always finding the best deals. We made our daughter buy her own first car (she was good at saving) but she was on my insurance policy. I also paid for college, the wedding (we made as much as we could. I would have sewn the dress had she trusted me) and hundreds or thousands of dollars helping her get a start in married life. I spoiled her, but what else could I do. I loved her and she has those brown puppy dog eyes, and licking my hands all the time (no she didn’t do that). How could I say no. She never asked or begged like I do.
I’m not naïve. Her family will cost so much more to rear than mind. She has three bright children who may all want to go to college and marry and two girls whose weddings will cost a fortune (tell them elope). I know it’s worse – more costly. Plus the government threatens there will be no money for them at retirement. It sucks since they are collecting it from them anyway. I wish I were going to be here when the public sues the government to get all their money back that was invested “for them” in social security. Our kids will not be happy campers. Nor should they be.
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