Hallmark Of Life

     I don't know how many of you watch the Hallmark Channel on Cable TV. Do they get the channel in Poland? The jury is still out for me as to whether or not I should be watching it. To me, I just think that watching "chick" programs may be just another waste of my time.
     Those movies are something else.  Let me see, woman gets divorced and moves to a horse ranch with her daughter. Her husband was a real bad guy, by the way. She meets this good looking ranch hand that is very mysterious that she knows nothing about.  The daughter takes a liking to the ranch hand who wants the mom to hook up with him.  Boom, the ranch hand and the mom finally kiss and they are off to the races. Sometimes the daughter is health, and sometimes she has some sort of disease that is or is not incurable. I could write a movie for Hallmark. Come on people, just use the scenario and it can't be that hard. I don't want to waste my time writing a script, or even watching one of these movies.
      Take for example the Hallmark series  "When Calls The Heart". Why would I want to watch such "chick flick" drivel. Why would I watch a show in which a Canadian socialite moves to a coal mining town in rural British Columbia to teach school?  Yep, that makes a lot of sense.  What does she do?  She falls in love with the local handsome Mountie. There are a lot of horses in this one.
     By the way, what do you think of the new guy in town,Leland Coulter? He's going to build a lumber mill that will replace the coal mine. How about his romance with Rose.  With that ever develop. What about Abigail and her cafe? Is it going to be a success?  The town name has been changed to "Hope" and how will that be received. The big question is, will Elizabeth return to "Hope" and renew her relationship with Mountie Jack or will she opt to stay in Hamilton and marry Charles.  What a waste of time.
     OK, what can I say?  I'm hooked.

I've been to Canada before.

Que fragar, chi chungue. (continued)

OK, so I'm on vacation and away from a computer.  This is a repost from August 7, 2011.  Enjoy it.

Kind of looks like an Italian Villa, doesn't it?

 
 This time, I promise I will keep my fat fingers away from the post key.  I want to continue my thoughts from yesterday.  One could ask if I had any thoughts from yesterday, but that would be cruel.
     Today is it, the day of the performance.  Am I nerveous, no.  I know just how bad a performer I am, so I can't get any worse.  I will just do my best with the knowledge that I am not going to quit my day job. Oh, That's right...I don't have a day job anymore.  Well, I am retired you know.  My confidence is very high and I can do this.  How hard is walking out on a stage with several classically trained professional singers, fake a few bars of music ( I didn't say that E. and R., I know my music... sort of) and wear a costume that makes me look silly.  It will all be over quickly.  That's what they told the condemned when they walked up to the guillotine.
     This is my long awaited [snicker, snicker] and expected debut into the world  of opera performer.  I think, especially if you come and witness my performance, it will also be my farewell performance.  It is going to be my alpha and my omega, my finest work.  I have dwelled longer than I should in the operetic world of champaign and caviar. It is time for my return to the real world of fruit punch crystal light, and potato chips. My outstreched arms have siezed the day and reached out of the comfort zone to expand my horizons.  Donzetti, I have met you at your finest and I haven't flinched or backed down, butchered your work but not caved to your difficulties.  There is victory here over the dreaded musical score, with its notes that are higher in the bass line than in the tenor line.  Fear has been defeated! ( I didn't say anything about my incompetence as an opera singer, just fear.)
     It is time to put away the performer and return to the world of the spectator.  Many of you will feel that this is a sad day, However, the majority will rejoyce that they do not have to witness me in this stupid Ben Franklin coustume making a fool of myself. [By the way, where is my kite and key?  Can you show me the way to the French Royal Court? Is it time for me to come up with smething brilliant to be put into the Declaration, Mr. Jefferson?]  In my mind I have finally come to grips with reality and it is time to come back to the world of enjoying the fine entertainment of The Blue Man Group.  My fall is complete.
     Tonight, I must say that there will be sadness.  My opera career will be over.  But, there will always be other challenges.  I have to ask myself what is next....Balet....Hmmmmm......

Oh No! I'm Out Of Coffee... Final Update--Maybe

     The crisis has been totally averted. All is well with the world.  I have a fresh stash of French Roast Coffee and a good friend brought something to make sure that the crisis would not happen.  We were close though, and just a matter of hours from it. It worked.
     Krispy Kreme doughnuts and coffee kind of makes the world a much different place. Excuse me now as I enjoy my second cup of coffee and have another Krispy Kreme.
     I am sorry but if you do live in Poland, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. I wouldn't lie to you or try to pull the wool over your eyes.  Let's just say that you should have experienced a Krispy Kreme in order to know what I'm talking about.  You should be able to relate to the coffee though.  It is just that a Krispy Kreme heightens the effects of the coffee. Maybe it's just diabetes setting in from the sugar.  I don't know.

Thank's Doug for the Krispy  Kremes.  Now I can deal with the Sippee Cup guards much easier. 

Coffee!!! Part 2

     As you have noticed, I sometimes have a subject that I write multiple posts on. Today's post is one of those posts and has to do with coffee. What can you say?  There is a lot to write about as far as coffee is concerned. It's just one of those subjects that if you think you have said or written all there is to write about, there is still some more.
     This is part two in a series.  Will there be a part three is a question that can be asked and the answer is that I don't know. I wish I could say that I had a schedule or road map of the subjects I am going to write about, but I don't. I don't know what I am having for breakfast this morning, let alone what I am going to write about. This is a sort of "existential" kind of blog.  I don't know what I am going to write about until I get up in the morning and open my blog page. I do know one thing though.  I am going to make a pot of coffee and pour me a cup.  I had to re-write that sentence because I didn't want a reference to pot and what I meant was the coffee pot. See, that's what I call a blend.  All you young writers out there take note of how I brought the piece back to the subject at hand.
     I like coffee, and I make no bones about it.  Just a minute, the phone just rang. Sorry, I have to take this call.

Saturday (Correction To Previous Saturday Post)

     Excuse me, but I made a mistake. I know, I am very accurate with this blog in what I share and say but I have to make a correction.  This was told to me by Dan who is in Hawaii right now. Of course his real name isn't Dan, but I changed the name to protect the innocent. Forgive me for the inaccuracy.
     The time change between California and Hawaii is three hours this time of year. Sorry for the goof.  Maybe that was why Dan asked me if I really knew what time it was. It was 4:00 AM instead of 5:00 AM. No wonder he was a bit upset. I

What Dan saw in Hawaii before I called him at 6:00 AM.

forgive you Dan for saying those things you said to me. You weren't sleeping when I called were you?

Saturday Morning

    What day is it?  Come on now, what day is it.  Sorry Geico camel, it's not Wednesday.  Today is Saturday--the weekend. It's 6:44 PDT in the morning too.  I should be sleeping still because it is the weekend.  But no, I am wide awake.  Why am I wide awake?
   Let's see.  I think I can make this a relative thing. What time is it in Arizona?  Oh yes, they don't do daylight savings there in Arizona, so it is still 6:44 in the morning.  That's too early to be getting up.  I won't call the owner of the Arizona Diamondbacks and tell him his team lost last night to the Giants. I don't want to get him out of bed for any earth shattering news.
     I could call my cousin in New Haven, Connecticutt. It's 9:44 Eastern Daylight Time back there. That's late enough, isn't it? Maybe I won't.  I don't call him much even though I should.  He's still sore at me for not paying back the $40 I borrowed from him in 1976. Thanks for the loan 'cuz, I appreciate it.  I was just thinking about that. I'll send you the money soon, good buddy.
     Some good friends of ours are in Hawaii right now.  Maybe I will call them and ask how it's going and if they are having a great time. What time is it in Hawaii? Where's my phone?  Here, let me make the call because I need to talk to someone.
     Hello, Dan?  How are you doing? How are things going on your vacation? Oh, you are on vacation?  You don't have to use that "stupid" word. What's that?  Do I know what time it is in Hawaii?  Well yes, I do know what time it is in Hawaii.  It's 6:45, isn't it? No?  What time is it then? 4:45?  Oops, sorry.  I thought it was 6:45 on Saturday and the world should be awake. Don't tell me to go back to bed and don't use that tone of voice on me.  Be careful Dan.  Remember that you have high blood pressure.  By the way, did you take your medications this morning?
     I thought that went well.  I had no idea it was two hours earlier in Hawaii.

Hey, The sun's up and I'm awake.  Shouldn't everyone be awake? 

     

A Very Special Day

"Let me win.  But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."   -The Special Olympics Athletes Oath   

      As many of my friends know, I don't make any secrets to the fact that I play golf.  My son and daughter as well as my wife play golf.  It is a sport that we enjoy very much and has its challenges and rewards. Someone has also been said that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they play golf.  All of this is true.  It could be said that I am a golf nut. On Thursday, my perspective on the game and of life itself changed.  I participated with my son in a Special Olympics Golf Tournament.This was truly a "Special" day.
     I am no stranger to playing in golf tournaments.  In fact, a few years ago it was my pleasure to play in an high level regional event where I had to qualify to get in.  This was golf at a high tournament level.  We played on the best courses and against the best competition. Every little aspect of the game mattered, especially the score. The stakes were high, even though we weren't playing for money.  You really wanted to have your"A" game going and play well. The pressure was on, even though it was a lot of fun.
     Thursday was different.  We played on a course that was a par three course and holes were no longer than 180 yards.  There were no 400 yard par fours or lengthy 600 yard par fives. The course was not in the best of shape. The greens were not fast and true, but bumpy and slow at best. This was not the PGA, but you wouldn't know it if you looked at the faces of the competitors. You could see the simple joy of just competing in each of their faces. Believe me, their enthusiasm was contagious.
     We all talk about what courage is. I saw the true definition of courage in all the athletes.  No matter what their circumstances, they participated and had a lot of fun.  One athlete that played in my foursome perhaps demonstrated that true quality of courage.  Her name was Maria and she played from a wheelchair. She didn't hit the ball far, in fact the ball never went more than twenty yards but that didn't matter.  Just the look on her face and the determination that she showed touched me in a way that I will not soon forget. She squeezed every ounce of joy she could from the experience. I am still getting goose bumps just remembering the time with her.
     I had a lot of fun at this tournament and was taught a lot about the game of golf and life itself-- more than you will know and certainly more than I would have ever imagined.  

This is the true definition of courage and competition.

 

Hi, And Welcome!

     I looked on my audience stats and saw this morning that I have a new reader from Italy.  I would like to say bon giorno or bono sera to you.  I don't know if it is morning or night there in Italy, but I wanted to welcome you to the family of readers.  I am half Italian, but I don't speak Italian. I'm also half Greek and do speak enough Greek to get me arrested in Athens or to order an ouzo.  At any rate, welcome. I was going to share a bit of Italian cuisine with you, the picture of a great pizza but its on my phone and I haven't downloaded it yet. Oops, I forgot that they don't make pizza like we are accustomed to in Italy.  Sorry, I welcome you anyway.  Maybe I will get a picture of a good shrimp scampi or fettuchine alfredo and send that another time.
     Hi to you in Poland!
     Today is a holiday here in the United States and I am not working today.  I am going to keep this post short.  Today is the day we remember those who served in the Armed Forces of The United States to preserve our freedom.  I salute you and give you a hearty and well deserved thank you!

Remember those who served to preserve our freedom.

   

The Treaty Has Been Signed!

     Before I get into my thoughts for the day and sharing with you the events tat have transpired as to the invasion, I want to acknowledge my new reader/readers in Poland.  I want to warmly welcome you and offer this bit of advice--Don't try to make any sense of my writings.  They mean absolutely nothing in the scheme of the world.  In fact, I admit that most of what I write in this setting is mindless drivel and means absolutely nothing.
     I actually have some friends who are Polish.  Wait, that isn't exactly true.  He was my chiropractor and was a big guy, a body builder. I think he was only half Polish and half Czech.  We used to play golf together and he used to crack my back. Our friendship remained strong even though he moved to Utah.  There is a lot of that going on, people moving out of California. I guess there are too many loonies--uh, excuse me, crazy people--running California. Putting a tax on the number of miles you drive in addition to the gas and sales taxes, come on.
      I suppose that I could say that I was almost directly impacted by the Polish, not to mention the Germans and the Japanese. My father had a Polish girlfriend before World War Two when he lived in Connecticut.  Her name was Helen as far as the story goes, She would cook Dad golumke (cabbage roles) and kielbasa. I like kielbasa but hate cabbage roles.  Helen was close to being my mother, but then the war came and Dad went into the Air Corps. He bid adieu to Helen and never looked back.
     Eventually he was stationed at Hammer Field in Fresno where he met my mother.  Mom was--she passed away last year--Italian. If you want to be accurate about the whole story she was Italian but ethnically Albanian.  She didn't speak Italian but a dialect of Albanian which we can also tell this story as well, but I won't. Maybe that's why a lot of people think that I am a bit weird--I say  I'm just different and defend that stance.  My good friend once said I am the way I am because of the mumps that brought the high fever when I was twenty, but I was weird--um, different--way before then.
     So, instead of golumke and kielbassa on Sunday afternoons after Mass, we had homemade spaghetti with a rich sausage/meat sauce over it and lots of romano cheese.  To this day, I still like a lot of cheese on my spaghetti, but I'm off subject here. I no longer go to the Catholic Church and have married a fine woman who is English or some sort of such. We go to a Presbyterian Church and have Mexican food after church or go to the local Applebee's.  Isn't life great!

So, I don't have many food pictures and definitely don't have a picture of a golumke. This will have to do.

 

Situation Desparate...This Garrison Cannot Hold Out Much Longer..

     HELP! MAYDAY, MAYDAY! Broken Arrow!  This garrison needs immediate reinforcement or it will fall. Send help immediately!
     The castle is under attack.  We are surrounded and the situation is desperate.  We cannot hold out much longer. The invaders have cut off our lines of resupply and we do not know when the lines of communication will be cut.
     All right, you may think that what I wrote was a little off the wall and makes no sense.  I am not going to explain it in detail--I'm too tired for that and right now I am in hiding. What I will do is explain the events of today. What was supposed to be a quiet house with just Denise and I quietly watching the San Francisco Giants play baseball on TV--recorded I might add--has turned into a disaster area. They have returned.
     I want to go on record as saying that the "Empty Nest" theory is a crock of smelly excrement. Whoever suggested the idea that children leave their parents for their own lives away out in the big world to find their own fortunes could not have been a parent. They always come back.  They did tonight.
     It started last week when my youngest daughter called and said that she had no place to stay.  She didn't ask to move in for the summer, but I knew what she was trying to ask.  I thought I would save her the embarrassment. Of course I said she could move in, but with conditions.  She must pay her rent and phone bill on time as well as go to school. She agreed and made arrangements to move in today. That's fine, because we did have the space after Denise's son went into the Army.
     Denise received a call from her daughter about troubles at her home and could she spend a few days with us. She has three young children by the way.  Of course Denise said yes.  What was I to do. Voiala, instant madhouse.  There goes the quiet house with just Denise and I. This caused me to hide as my ADD kicked in and I am overwhelmed.
     The person who put forth the idea of an empty nest should be...well, you fill in the blank. Montana is looking very good.

The only thing that was not pillaged from the castle.

   

Shovel Snow...Pull Weeds...Same Difference

     Those of you in the colder climates who are dealing with all that snow, I totally feel for you.  I really mean that. The cold and wet can be miserable and make life very difficult.  You have been shoveling snow for a very long time now. Please don't hate us in the fact that it has been in the seventies here in California.  If you want to hate someone, hate those people who live in Florida. OK, how about we don't hate anybody, that would not be nice. They have humidity and alligators in Florida, so I guess we can feel sorry for them.  They also have water in Florida, which we don't have so you can feel sorry for us in that respect.
     The grass is growing here--like weeds I would say, arf, arf-- because of the mild winter.  This is about three to four weeks too early.  My lawnmower is not ready for this.  The flowerbeds have weeds in them, oh no.  I am not supposed to be doing yard work for another three to four weeks.  Bermuda is supposed to be dormant this time of year. Trees are blooming, for goodness sake and it is not even March.  What is going to happen when the time changes.  How that relates to the trees blooming and grass growing, I don't know.  I'm running out of where to take this blog and what to say, so I thought I would just throw that in.
        Sorry, I will be right back, I have to close the blinds.  The sun is shinning in through my office window and I can't read my computer screen. There, that's better.
     I have shoveled snow before.  It is cold, hard backbreaking work and the kind of thing that is almost perpetual.  You shovel to clear your walk and driveway, and then it snows again. That's the pits. This is truly unfair. To all of those people that I know whom are in climates where it snow, I salute you for your perseverance. Remember, you come from hearty stock and this will not defeat you.
     Well, I have to run now.  Denise wants to work out in the yard.  She will mow and edge, and I am tasked with the weeding. So, I have got my shorts an work sandals on.  Where is my favorite tee shirt?  I have to be careful though, it is a bit nippy out there at about 62 degrees, but it is supposed to warm up. Yes, dear, I won't forget to put on my sunscreen.

The weeds seem to be getting out of hand.  She wants me to paint the house soon.

 

New Post Coming Up Soon...Just Not Now

     I am not going to post right now.  It has been a busy morning and The Price Is Right is on.  I don't want to miss it.  Stayed tuned though, I am going to have a great post for you today.  It will have you rolling in the aisle.  I don't know if you have an aisle, but you can pretend.

Stay tuned, I will be back with you soon.

Rainy Days and Mondays Don't Always Get Me Down

     It is raining today.  We truly have to thank God for this, because of the severe drought we are having here in California.  The rain is very much welcomed.  But, with all due respect to Karen-rest her soul-and Richard Carpenter rainy days and Mondays don't always get me down.  In fact, I kind of like both.
     Mondays are no different for me than say a Saturday, Sunday or a Tuesday for that matter.  I am a writer and retired school teacher so I write whenever the spirit moves. The world doesn't wait for creativity. When an idea flashes in my head, I have to act upon it. Other things flash in my head as well, but we won't go there. There are people and others watching.
     Bottom line is that my workplace is in my office, which is on the other side of my house.  The T.V. is in the living room which is in the middle of the house from our bedroom. so I have to watch it.  I didn't mean actually "watch it", what I meant was I have to be careful that I don't waste a lot of time in front of the "boob tube" watching The Military Channel.  I think you get the point. I am getting pretty good about staying away from the T.V. when I have something to do. What about the kitchen?
     Mondays can be hard though.  Denise works a heavy schedule on Monday.  She works at U.C. Merced, as I have said, and parking there is atrociously expensive.  She either bums a ride with her friend or I take her.  When I have to take her, it kind of screws up my schedule.  I try to write, but I can't get into a rhythm as far as hatching new ideas for my writing.  The words just don't come.  For the most part, the day is shot, although yesterday I reattached a bathroom cabinet door.  That was one of those projects that you say you are going to get around to but never do.  Well, I got around to it and the door is on. I honestly don't mind the time I spend with her driving her.  Instead-now you know this is coming-of it being Driving Miss Daisy, its Driving Mrs. Rallis. You can groan here.
     I love rainy days.  In fact, it is raining here now.  I could write about all the poetic stuff about the smells and the light and all that, but I won't.  Quite frankly, I am out of stuff to write about now because I wrote so much

This is about the only rainy day picture I have.  It was taken on a Sunday.

about Monday.
     

Poor Little Spoon...

     Denise and I went to breakfast with some friends and my step son yesterday morning.  A tragedy was almost averted. It was a sad affair, but the outcome was positive and nobody was hurt. I am truly glad that things turned out the way they did.
     We sat down and ordered.  There was a light atmosphere at the table where we chatted and shared some laughs.  Then it happened, the tragic event.  It kind of caught me off guard.
     Our drinks were served and the fellowship at our table continued and I had an iced tea.  I heard this faint sound, but didn't know where it was coming from. For a moment, I ignored it thinking it was just a figment of my imagination.  The sound grew louder, and would not go away. I continued to ignore the muffled sounds until it was time to put the sweetener (the pink kind and I know its not good for you) and squeeze the lemon into my tea.  I like a lot of lemon in my tea. it kind of kills the taste.  I know, why drink iced tea if you don't like the taste of tea but you have to remember who is writing this. At any rate, back to my story I need to move on my coffee is getting cold.
     There it was, drowning.  It was helpless and because of its weight could not swim. I could see it very well, because of its grey silvery color contrasted with the chestnut brown and transparent ice of the tea.  It was a small teaspoon, trying to extricate itself from the deadly mix of transparent brown liquid. The glass was too deep, and the spoon could not get its head, or handle, above the level of the tea.  If I didn't act fast, the spoon would perish. Oh, you poor little spoon.
     I removed the spoon from its icy, brown peril and the spoon thanked me as I place the spoon in my wife's cup of coffee (OK, I made that one up because Denise doesn't drink coffee.  It just sounded pretty good.) to warm it up.  It had lost a great amount of body heat and was shivering after I took it out of the tea in order for hypothermia not to set in.
     Don't call me a hero, I don't need the accolades.  There is actually more to the story, something about the little silvery spoon that thought it could, each time it looked down at the inside of the glass of tea would say "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can can..." and jumped into the tea but couldn't.  I won't share that with you though, as the whole incident can make you pretty emotional.
     I'm proud of the preceding story.  I now it sounds stupid, and it is but after all it is Sunday and I haven't posted for a couple of days.  I needed to spoon something out to you.





Don't get mad at me for that one. Thank you for reading.

A spoon wouldn't drown in here. Its not deep enough.

     

I Apologize!

     I apologize.  I really did think that nobody read my blog on the weekends.  I am sorry for making that assumption. I was very wrong. Thank you very much for tuning in. I truly appreciate all of you who read my blog.

Please don't put me in front of a firing squad.  I said I was sorry. 

Oh Look! A New Spot On The Wall

      Denise looks at me a lot and I can see she is concerned.  Sometimes that look she gets of concern conveys a real caring on her part, especially when it comes to my mental health.  She looks at me a lot with that look, and I understand her concern especially when I am starring at a blank wall or blankly out into space.  I want to assure her, and I have, that I am somewhat all there.  That stare only signifies that a proce

ss is going on in my brain.  The wheels are turning and I am either creating or digesting all the sensory inputs my body is sending me.  I would rather be digesting a pizza, but that's just the way life is.  Wait, sometimes--rarely lately though--I am digesting a pizza.
     Much can be said about starring at blank walls. It sort of clears the mind.  What is there to look at when a wall is blank--nothing?  It kind of leaves you free to think clearly, especially when the T.V. isn't on. Sometimes the T.V. is on but if the experience of starring at the wall is truly productive and deep, you don't notice. I guess I am talented in that way as I can have the T.V. blasting and still stare blankly off into space at the wall. this really does take talent and a special gift.  Some people, I won't mention any names, just don't believe it.
     We have several blank white wall in our house right now.  There are a lot of things that we can put up on the walls to decorate them, but we just haven't gotten around to hanging them. There is a plus in this.  There are more blank walls to stare at and I can stare at any of these walls and that will stir my creativity. It gets my mind wandering and thinking.  What an opportunity.
     My favorite wall to stare at is not blank at all.  It is the wall above my computer in my office.  This is my work desk.  Above the desk hanging on the wall is my beloved "Dogs Playing Poker" poster and a lot of other junk.  The other junk is superfluous--I like that word superfluous--and is basically only clutter.  But the
"Dogs" poster really inspires me and gets me going.  I wonder if the guy who painted it and though of the idea starred at the wall for inspiration. He probably did, and carried his stupid ideal all the way to the bank.
     I guess I am just weird.  Wait a minute, not weird but different. That's a new spot on the wall, isn't it?

Not a wall in the strictest sense, but still good for starring.

I do stare into this wall, but its not blank. 

This wall is in the bedroom.  I don't stare into it much. That's all I will say. 

Where most of my starring takes place. What an inspiration! I know its not blank but it inspires.

         

Today Is Saturday

     Today is Saturday, I think. It is the weekend, the time most people take off to rest up for the next work week. It is a time to do the relaxing things people do on their own time such as golf or tennis, take a walk, wash the car, mow their lawns, do their taxes or just sleep in until noon as Denise is doing today.  That's OK though, she has earned it and she is not feeling well--More power to her.  I'm retired, so everyday is a Saturday to me, not really.
     I know that I have mentioned this to you before.  The Japanese live on the other side of the International Dateline, so it is Sunday over there. I also feel that I have beaten this difference between us and the correct time in Japan so much in this blog that it is like beating a dead horse--sorry animal lovers, that's just an expression and I would never beat a dead horse.  
     As I have said, I am retired and proud of it.  Being retired is a bit of a misnomer however.  Yes I did retire from teaching and receive a pretty good pension--at least it was pretty good until the disaster hit.  Not having to go to a "job" has allowed me to pursue other interests and occupations.  That's why I write. As a writer, I must pursue other "life experiences" such as being a starving artist. That is all right for now and explains why I am working on a Saturday.
     At least I am doing what I want to do--and starving at it.  That experience is good for me and is an indication that I am on my way to becoming a successful writer.  All the greats did it and became famous, especially after they died. I am getting closer to "making it", I just hope that I don't take the posthumous route. In the greater scheme of how the world works, the question could be asked, "Who cares?"
     This probably has been the stupidest, most disjointed post I have had for a long time. It most likely is.  Just remember, Its Saturday and I am in here working.  Today is going to be a whopping 70 degrees and I should be on the golf course because I am retired

Oh, Baby.  Where I should be this warm sunny day.

Where I am right now, slaving away on this beautiful Saturday morning.

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Man Cave!!!!

     I wasn't going to post today.  I know that after posting four in a row days, you are pretty tired of me, but I went on Facebook and a good friend of mine's post inspired me. Here's the thing.  Some ladies just don't understand the "Man Cave". I really don't want anyone to get the wrong impression either

Generation 2 "Man Cave"

Generation 2 "Man Cave".  Another view.  Generation 4 is a complete improvement as recreated in Merced.

.  I don't say that in a derogatory way toward women.  I love and respect women, but there is a difference between man and woman. What a boring world this would be if men and women were the same.
     The first thing that needs to be understood about a "Man Cave" is that it is a totally individual thing.  This place of refuge is an expression of that particular guy. He is the one who establishes the true meaning of this hallowed space, no one else. It can possess a deep spiritual meaning as seen by its creator, or it can be totally random in its construction. It can be an orderly and tidy space, or it can be a recreation of the explosion in Hiroshima. Again, this is up to the guy who inhabits this wonderful space. It is also up to the person who dwells here as to who "The Cave" is shared with or who enters "The Cave".
     Many people who would come into my "Cave" would gaze upon the elements I have chosen to display in my cave and say, "Wow, that's bizarre." But I would beg to differ with them.  Each bit of memorabilia and possession has a meaning and a reason for being where it is placed. There are a lot of them. I have my golf section.  I have my baseball memories section.  I have my cruise section and my "Mr. Laid Back" section.  I have my cups collection which I have collected in my travels and my nic-nacs on shelves.  King Kong even has a story and a meaning.  Where the white elephant comes from and its meaning is still to be determined. My wife calls me weird, I just say I'm different--but I will save that discussion for another blog.
     Yes, I will admit that it may seem cluttered and disorganized, random at best.  To some it is a demonstration of a mind that is seriously suffering from ADD, but what's wrong with that? I do suffer from ADD and this is my space, so there.  One last thing.  Thanks's Carl.  
         

A PHONEY Post

     After I posted yesterday about phones, I remembered something that also gets my juices flowing as far as the phone is concerned. The new smartphones talk back to you.  I am not talking about the person on the other end of the line.  I am talking about the phone itself. Why?
     I will never use that feature on my phone. I have so many people and gadgets talking back to me right now that I am in voice activated shock. The gadgets in my life almost talk more than I do, and that is saying a lot. I don't mind Denise talking and giving me directions, but my phone.  That is a bit much.
      What happens when the phone gets tired of searching and doing things for you on the net or whatever. Does it get testy? I can see it now.
       Search "good pizza restaurants in Kolpucky, Nebraska." (I really don't know if there is a Kolpucky I just made that up.)
       The phone comes back with, "Excuse me, I'm not your mother. You lazy sucker, can't you use a keyboard and search it for yourself? Why do I have to do all the work for you? I'm busy, you can do it for yourself.  How many times have I searched something or dialed something for you today? Sorry, I'm done.  Do it yourself."
      What has happened to this world of ours.  I also didn't say yesterday that a phone is for dial-talk to the person on the other end, or ring-ring, pick up the phone and talk to the person on the other end of the line.  That's it, nothing more. Someday, the phones of this world will rise up and make us slaves.  The world will be run by phones and we will be just those stupid humans to them.  Machines will take over.  Remember the Cylons in Battlestar Gallactica. Oh my gosh, its happening.
     Excuse me, I have to make a call to wish my daughter a Happy Birthday---on my new smartphone.

I probably could use one of these right now.  I don't drink though.

   

She's Always Right---Most Of The Time

   Why does it continue to be abundantly clear that my wife is always right?  Well, to say always is not exactly true.  Let's just say a majority of the time.  It has taken me a long time to come to that conclusion, but it is a solid one. Many times it is a man's way or the right way, which the right way in most cases turns out to be his wife or girlfriend's way. Such it is in my case most of the time.
     Take this morning.  We are in the process of setting up our house, and as such we are working in our pantry. Yesterday I bought breakfast cereal, which takes up a lot of space.  The boxes are large and odd sized.  Denise also likes to transfer the different cereals into plastic pouring containers. That is a fantastic idea for cereal, by the way. Whoever thought that one up should receive the Nobel Prize for usable technology.        One of the containers was one-third full of dark chocolate cherios. At the store, I purchased a box of chocolate cherios and we had another box of honey-nut cherios partially eaten stored up in the pantry. Why not consolidate all three boxes of cherios into one plastic container?  What a great idea!  So, I poured the new box of chocolate cherios into the plastic container along with the partial box of honey-nut cherios.
    It was a very pretty sight, almost like the things you make at the fair with colored sand in bottles. Each layer of sand you pour into the small bottle is a different color, creating a pretty bottle.  You have several layers of different color sand which makes a colorful pattern.  You don't want the sands to mix because they will become an ugly shade of brown.
     With the cherios, I wanted the layers in the container to mix. Being an egalitarian kind of guy, I didn't want separate layers of cherios, but wanted a mix so that one type of cherio was not better than another. That's kind of stupid, so I will drop that line of thought.  Let's just leave it at the fact that I wanted the cherios to mix in the container. It's just easier that way. It was kind of pretty though, the different layers of cherios in that plastic container. No fruit flavored, that's another story.
     Time to mix the cherios.  Well, the easiest way to mix the cherios is to shake the container, right? Let's shake!
     Denise saw this and said, "You might want to hold the lid down when you shake the container.  Believe me, I know this from experience that the lid will come off and you will have cherios everywhere."
     She said that in a very non-threatening way and I said, " OK." and kept on shaking with my hands firmly not on the lid of the container.
      Ooops was the only word which could come out of my mouth as I reached for the broom and dust pan. I actually was proud of Denise.  She could have said something.  Even more, she could have had a look on her face that clearly stated "Why did you do that stupid when I told you exactly what would happen?". That look never materialized. She knows me very well and loves me very much so she just kind of shrugged her shoulders and walked away.  I think she was laughing, and hard, but I can't prove this as I had my head down sweeping up cherios.  
     Yes, Denise is always right.

Yep, That's my beautiful bride and I love her so much. She's a heck of a golfer too!