The Michael Park Bark

Crazy Talk

2012-01-21T17:21:00.001-08:00

I know when I was growing up there was a guy who wandered around town carrying on a conversation with the air. Not that he addressed the air as such, but there was no one else around when he spoke. Seems like we called him Crazy something or other. Not that we included “something or other” when we referred to him it’s just that I can’t recall what we called him, other than the Crazy part.

Throughout the years I’ve seen and heard a few other crazies; people who talk to themselves, out loud. They don’t whisper or mutter, I mean, it’s like they’re using a conversational tone in their voice. I can’t say I heard them asking questions then answering those inquiries, but again, there’s no one they’re addressing their voices to. Now, I don’t generally really listen to what they’re saying. When I come across someone talking to their imaginary friend I tend to avoid them. You know, like walk to the other side of the street, turn my head, don’t make eye contact, make the sign of the cross with my fingers… I realize the cross is to ward off vampires but I don’t want anyone to suck away my sanity.

These days I’ve noticed a notable increase in the number of those crazy chatterers, especially at places like Costco. For example today, I had parked the cart next to the vitamin shelves while Jan went to look for something. She tells me to stay put so I do, I don’t want to wander off somewhere because then I get into all sorts of trouble. So, I’m leaning against the shopping cart looking around when this woman comes walking down the aisle chatting away. There’s no one around her. She’s talking about not finding calcium tablets and swearing she saw them in this aisle the last time she was here. She didn’t realize I was standing in front of the calcium tablets, blocking them with my cart, but she was a crazy, and I wasn’t going to move or acknowledge I knew where these were. After all, she wasn’t talking to me…

She kept on talking so I went into my self taught avoidance skills. I turned my head and avoided eye contact. She was sounding more irritated so I took my hands out of my pockets and made the sign of the cross. She stopped, turned toward me and said, “Oh, you say the calcium tablets are in aisle “T”? Thank you.” And off she went, turning her conversation back to herself.

I realized after she left she was talking through her cell phone hands free device. I hate these things when people use them in public places. I had one woman stand next to me as I was pulling canned chicken off the shelf.
“What do you want on your pizza?” she asked.

I was a little puzzled, “well, I guess Canadian Bacon and pinapple is my first favorite.”

“OK, I’ll go pick one up.” she replied. “So when are you coming over?”

My self esteem did puff a bit when she said she was taking my pizza topping advice but the when are you coming over part threw me.

“I don’t know you. I’m not really comfortable coming over. Of course I’d bring my wife, but I do love pizza. Couldn’t we just eat outside?”

She started to walk away, “OK, I’m giving Mandy a bath then putting her down for a nap.” she responded. “She’s worn herself out.”

I started to quiver as I realized she wasn’t talking to me. I’d just been lured into one of “their” worlds.

I really feel sorry for those who suffer with schizophrenic conditions. But, with more people talking to themselves out loud more frequently it’s difficult to tell who actually is just talking on the phone or really is a bit on the crazy side. It’s even more difficult for me. I find myself walking across streets to avoid people more often, not looking anyone in the eye, and if one more police officer tries to take me in because I’m making the sign of the cross with my fingers at everyone, I swear, I’ll just go crazy.

Happy Year!

2011-12-30T16:40:00.000-08:00

I know it’s been awhile since I did anything on this blog. I’ve been updating and reworking a favorite family Christmas story that I have plans for submitting for publication soon and just hadn’t felt creative in the blog sphere. Also I began coming off some medication I’ve been taking for several years and the withdrawals left me murky minded.

Which brings me all to this:

In November I passed my 30^th year of working at the newspaper. Now, that’s a long time and why anyone would work at the same place for that long is questionable. Our advertising staff is divided into three teams. Each team includes several sales people and an assistant. When it was mentioned I’d been here for 30 years several of my team mates quickly responded they hadn’t been born yet when I started. In fact, only one other sales rep of the five on our team was earthbound when I began my first day of work and he was in diapers. Am I really that old?

Getting older is funny; it’s something that happens to everyone else. Jan and I enjoy a daily comic strip named “Pickles.” The strip is described as: “Pickles tells the story of Earl and Opal Pickles as they enjoy their golden years surrounded by friends and family.” Yeah, that doesn’t sound funny but the comic can sometimes be hilarious. Jan and I used to think the characters acted like our parents. Now, we’ve recently discovered the characters are acting like us.

A few days ago Jan was sharing one of the strips with me. She read, “Opal says: “Earl, are you wearing your hearing aid?” Jan quips, “I don’t remember the man’s name but this character reminds me of your dad.” I quickly responded, “Do you mean you don’t remember Earl’s name? You just read it, Jan!” (It was very early in the morning and I was still half asleep, Jan explains.) It was my nature to rub that memory lapse wound deeply for the rest of the day.

Monday Jan, her sister Jeanne and I went to see War Horse. Standing in line I overheard one ticket buyer mention she was a purchasing tickets for two seniors. I don’t mind being older if it will save a buck so I wondered how old I needed to be to receive the discount. It was 62 so I’m still too young for some things.

The theater was filling quickly but we found seats in the last row. Soon after we sat down two teenage brothers came in and stated they needed 5 seats. So, one brother left the seat next to me open while he settled in next to it. His brother quickly pointed out that he needed to scoot all the way down. In his words, “Sit in the chair next to the old guy.” I turned and looked down the aisle toward the whippersnapper.

“Did you just call me an old guy?” I asked incredulously. Now, I had a smile on my face while I said this but the fact I called him out on his comment really flabbergasted the young ‘un. He almost crawled in humility toward me, begging for my forgiveness. “Did you know I asked if I could get the senior discount ticket and they wouldn’t even give it to me? How can I be an “old guy” when I don’t even qualify for the senior discount?”

He begged for forgiveness again, explaining he didn’t mean what he said and that he didn’t know what he was talking about. I guess my knife had plunged deep enough so I just shook my head and waved him off as I laughed.

I’ve decided to drop all age/time adjectives from my vocabulary. So, my holiday greeting for this weekend is “Happy Year!”

“How tweet it is…”(quote from Jackie Gleason, sort of)

2011-08-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

I just read the results of the Teen Choice Awards that aired last night (Sunday, August 7^th ). Apparently teens vote for their favorite singers, movies, actors, songs etc. I hope the winners don’t reflect actual teenage intellect. A couple of movies that won were “Bad Teacher’ and Hangover II”, both rated R and very nasty. Favorite TV show and several TV actor awards went to “Jersey Shore”; a reality show where those in it aren’t really even acting.

I don’t know much about Twitter but with all this technology it seems someone should have caught and corrected this category. Justin Beiber won for the Favorite Twit category. Maybe that was supposed to be “Tweet”. According to dictionary.com (one of my favorite places on the web; no, really!) a twit is defined as: an insignificant or bothersome person. I’ve used the word slanderously at times.

I think that’s the only teen choice they got right.

We just got home from our third trip to Utah this year. You know this is a 12 hour trip so there’s a lot of time to ponder significant subjects. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind.

Why do I always, and I mean always, have to honk the horn when going through a tunnel? I don’t remember Dad doing this. It’s not in the driver’s manual. I never hear the bleat of another horn in the tunnel. There’s no sign saying “When traveling deeply inside the depths of this tunnel make sure to honk your horn.” I haven’t figured that out yet.

We drive through several small towns on the trip; Denio, Beatty, Bly, Dairy, Adel. I don’t recall seeing a single person in any of these towns. None rocking on the front porch, no kids playing, no one backing out of a driveway. Absolutely no one. Maybe the rundown houses and stores are just movie props or the residents were sucked up by alien spacecraft. Or, there’s always the government conspiracy theory. Actually, they’re all probably tuned in watching Jersey Shore and listening to the music of that Twit Justin Beiber.

When Jan and I make these treks we pack supplies. We were taking Brittany and Maeli back to Utah so we brought significant provisions to get us through. We had carrots (two bags), grapes, a roll of Ritz Crackers, Mentos (both the fruity and mint kind), fruit snacks, boxed apple/pair juice, animal crackers (I still bite the heads off first), almonds, honey roasted peanuts, dried apricots (Jan’s), dried mangos, and several bottles of water-some frozen.

The grand marshal of the supply wagon is a 5 pound bag of peanut M&M’s. You can tell we’re prepared if we get stuck in snow drifts during August.

On the way home Jan was driving. I had an M&M crave so I reached for the bag on the back seat. The M&M’s came in a zip lock bag and Jan, having foreknowledge of her husband, also placed the bag of candy into another zip locked bag. Double bagged, double zip locked. I swear I grabbed the top of the bag but, like a piñata taking its last crushing blow, the bag exploded, sending blue, green, yellow, orange,red and brown egg shaped “melt in your mouth not in your hand” candy all over the interior of the car. Jan, startled by the detonation yelled “What are you doing?!!”

That was an appropriate question.

“I just wanted some M&M’s.” I explained sheepishly, “and something to do…” as I began to pick up a few of the spilled candies.

Jan gave further instructions, “You’d better pick ALL those up, and the ones you find are the ones you eat.”

I started shoving as many into my mouth as I could.

She added, “Why didn’t you pick them up by the top of the bag?"

“I thought I did... however, my last thought was, I hope I have these by the top of the bag because dumping them out would be….AHHHH!!”

I was able to save most of them due to quick reflexes.

I tried to put a positive spin on the accident: “sort of like confetti, wasn’t it? An exploding rainbow of color right here, right in the car. Magnificent, wasn’t it?”

She wasn’t buying it.

When we arrived home Jan brought in a bag that carried the spilled candy she’d picked up.

Holding the bag up she pointed at the candied shrapnel, “I picked up 120 of these. That’s not counting the ones you picked off the floor and stuffed in your mouth.”

I’m a little tired of eating 120 M&Ms; especially the ones with hair, carpet fuzz and dirt from who knows where. Hey, it’s not like you can wash them.

“Trite words are safe words”

2011-05-29T11:37:00.000-07:00

We’re all guilty of it. We use phrases that have become cliché and really make no sense if we stop and think about it. We rely on these worn out expressions primarily because we’re either too lazy or uncreative to think of a different way to communicate our thoughts. So, in my opinion, here are a few phrases that can be better conveyed. Some of my suggestions will make you appear brilliant, and others, may get you in trouble.

Worn out term: “It is what it is….”

Often used when we’re informed of some blunder that’s already occurred. Usually accompanied with a shoulder shrug and raised eyebrows when stated. Instead, try these:

”There’s no control over what did or what is about to happen”; “We can’t do anything about it now”; “We’re doomed”; “Oh well”; “So what?”; “Like I care”; “That’s the way it goes”; “We’re going to be staked out in the desert and consumed by fire ants because of this.”

Worn out term: “Do you know what I mean?

We used to ask “you know?” at the end of a sentence as a filler while we formulated our next words. We really aren’t seeking feedback or testing the listener’s knowledge. Usually a phrase condenses over time. However, this term has expanded. There are better ways to express “do you know what I mean?’ Here they are:

“Do you comprehend that which I’m speaking?”; “Have you any thoughts regarding my end of the conversation?”; “Do you understand my linguistically brilliantly developed commentary?”; “Do you have any clue what I’m talking about?”; “ Can I have some feedback?”; “Nod your head once in a while so I know you’re awake?”; “Are you dead?”; “Can you feel the whispered vibrations of airwaves issuing from my pursing lips?”

Worn out term: “think outside the box.”

In an effort to encourage us to expand our thinking and to come up with more creative ways of doing things we’re often told to “Think outside the box”. What’s funny is the suggestion to think beyond the box is so unimaginative we are actually confined inside the box. So, I’ve left the box and wandered around the perimeters. Here’s a few alternatives:

“Think beyond boundaries”; “We need to think beyond the endless space of imagination”; “Think past the end of our nose”; “We must conceive that which may appear to be unattainable”; “We must creatively ponder about endless possibilities”; “We need to scribble outside the lines”; “Embrace the idea that there are other answers past our own.” “We need to ponder beyond yonder.” (That’s my personal favorite. Conveys the idea with few words. And, it rhymes!)

Finally, I come to business corporate jargon. In October, 2010 President Obama signed into law the “United States Plain Writing Law.” It requires all federal agencies to write in plain English instead of using judicial and legal terminology. It would be great to expand that idea to presidents and CEO’s of major corporations. Below is a sentence that could be uttered in any boardroom or press release from business leaders. I haven’t heard these words strung together as I’ve done but many of these terms have been used in various meetings. To be straight up I’m not sure if some of these words actually exist but, you’ll get my point.

“Let’s segue into the inevitable crevasse of integrated solutions with a key enabler that is restructuring oblated circular nuances that environ colaterated attainment of focused astuteness forged to assay synergistically monetized core competencies.”

Meaning: all your jobs are being outsourced to India

Have a great day! And remember to think outside the box, if you know what I mean, because after all, it is what it is.

Sleepless in Medford

2011-04-14T07:10:00.001-07:00

It’s 2 am, Thursday morning. My fingers feel like slugs sliming across the sidewalk. My brain’s filled with cotton balls. My eyes sting because… they’re open. Later today I have one of those “procedures” I don’t usually discuss. Preparation for the testing requires me to be sleep deprived for my 12:30 appointment. By then I’ll be a zombie, bouncing off the hospital walls like a slow motion pinball.

The night is long so thought I’d watch some movies, search the web, run a few miles in my hooded sweatshirt. Probably not a good idea to be running through neighborhoods at 2 am in a hooded sweatshirt.

I turned to something easy. The TV. No wonder we sleep at night, there’s nothing on except paid programming, meaning hour long commercials selling products to the sleep deprived. I flicked through the TV listings provided by the Direct TV guide. Lots of these paid programs. I didn’t bother to look what the content of the program was so I drew my own conclusions from the titles. For example:

Magic Jack I thought was a story about an illusionist that makes your money disappear.

There were a few shows on babies; “Your Baby Can Read.” I think there was a recent article on this, declaring the commercial to be deceptive. Why do you want a baby to read? Don’t understand that one. If you have a problem with that there was the listing that was too long for the TV grid. It only stated, “Baby Bullet.” I was shocked at this one but discovered it’s an appliance that can make baby food. Why make parents whip up baby food? If baby can read have him review the instructions and puree the fruit and veggies.

Other programs taught “Kill Germs with Steam.” Steam works on ants too. I’ve done this one before. I could “Quit Smoking Today,” “Quit Your Job,” or have “Wealth Without Risk.

I could be instructed on “Cleaning Made Easy.” The “Spinning & Weight Loss” program was interesting. I wondered how twirling in circles in the living room can shed some poundage . I tried this. I only got dizzy.

I thought about developing brain functions by watching “New Math, New Mind” followed by “Stop Memory Loss.” I wanted to watch this one but couldn’t remember what channel it was on.

Personal communication problems can be resolved instantly by watching “1 Minute Miracle Make Up.” I can use this. If groveling for forgiveness can be done in only a minute I’m all for it.

I didn’t need to watch “Easy Hair Removal.” Think I got that one figured out.

I got winded reading listings for “Zumba Dance.” “Turbo Fire Workout” where your pants are torched and you jump around trying to extinguish the flames. It may prove interesting exercising with crazies during the “Insanity Workout.” Then there was “Carving Abs in Bed.” No comment.

There were shows that preyed on our physical self-esteem issues: “Summer Sexy Abs,” “Sexy Swimsuit Body,” and “Look Sexy in Jeans.” This was appropriately followed by “Stop Your Anxiety and Depression.”

The last program offered “Free Slippers.” That reminded me I was sleep deprived. I want a doughnut.

We’re All Losers

2011-04-02T08:51:00.000-07:00

Each March our family loves putting our brackets together for the NCAA Basketball Tournament. We trash talk, boast in our prognosticating abilities, and our overall college basketball savvy. That’s the boys anyway. An occasional “I told you so” outburst from one of the Smith family women folk goes viral after the men all chose a loser and she correctly named a winner on her bracket. Some of us read scouting reports, follow team stars and one of us even let a computer pick his list (who’s in your final four now, Jordan?) Some of us make several brackets; some of us more honorable only make one.

Now the final games haven’t been played yet. I believe the winner will come down to the score of the final game. (Mom. What were you thinking? 89 combined points is on the low side.) But usually the top winners in our pool are those who know the least about each team.

However, I take consolation that we aren’t the only ones who fail on choosing the final four and the ultimate winner.

An article reported that 99.9% of bracket makers worldwide had fallen out of the competition after the final eight teams played. Of the nearly 6 million who filled out brackets using ESPN’s Tournament Challenge only two picked all four teams playing in the finals. Of nearly 3 million who used Yahoo’s brackets only one- a school librarian chose the final quartet.

She’s from Salem, Oregon. This is her picking process. She likes the numbers seven and eleven so she leaned toward teams with that seed. She looked at mascots, the states the teams hailed from (some states she likes, others leave her underwhelmed.)

For the winner of the final four she likes UCONN because she and her boyfriend both had huskies as mascots at their respective alma maters. She also thinks UConn’s Huskie mascot resembles her 13 year old. I feel sorry for that kid.

Next year I’m revamping my selection method. Here’s a few of those things that will sway me in choosing one team over another:

I’ll take a look at the team’s cheerleaders. (I swear, Jan, this is for analytical purposes only.)

I’ll do a little research on the nationalities of the players on the teams and read to see if something is happening in their homeland that can cause distractions.

If players who were injured during the season and now sit in street clothes on the bench wearing white shirts and ties, I’ll give the team an edge.

I’ll choose letters from the Scrabble racks and see how many team names I can make. These will be favored.

And, if the school’s band has more tubas than trumpets I’ll lean towards them. Tubas are cool.

So, now’s the time to determine your winners for the 2012 tournament. You don’t even have to wait until those invited into the tournament are chosen. The only thing important in choosing a winner is not to include Ohio State in your final four. For some reason a Buckeye is not a team name that will win. On the other hand I’ll go with Delaware’s Blue Hens on any bracket.

The Real Hurt Locker

2011-02-26T09:08:00.000-08:00

Whipping the bed covers up to my neck Jan yelled, “Hey! You just hit my eye with the blanket! You need to be more careful.”

I begged forgiveness telling her, “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. You’re the last person I’d want to hurt.”

She again reminded me to be careful, but that got me thinking. I’d told her she was the last person I’d want to hurt. Which, in my mind, means there’s someone at the opposite end of the who "I’d want to hurt” list.

Throughout the night I sorted through names and injustices inflicted on me. I thought of grade school bullies who wanted a piece of me but I was too fast to catch. I remembered high school jocks (or jerks) that tripped me in the hallway sending books and papers flying across the breezeway. I’ve been accused of wrongs I had no part of, been called names that can’t be repeated, and embarrassed by those who made light of my sometimes lack of coordination. Blood pressure mounted as I thought of a manager who failed to promote me; insightful college essays that should have deserved A’s, and teachers who misunderstood my creative answers on multiple choice tests.

My anger focused on the phlebotomist who wrapped the elastic bandage so tight around my arm that hair ripped from the roots while taking off the bandage. I remembered the lady who hit me with her car, ruining my bike, and the many Irish people who’d slammed doors in my face.

I was so caught up in the list that I turned from who’s to whats. The dog that sank teeth into my back, keys that stayed in the car after I locked the doors, and an omnipresent weed that’s seized my front lawn.

But, at the top of my who or what I’d like to hurt most are:

Corporate America that outsources customer service calls to Frank and Jane in India.

Crashing hard drives that evaporate years of work in an atomic instant.

And finally, that dang piece of Jan’s carry on luggage that rolled under my foot and threw me to the ground in front of a crowd of people in the passenger pick up area at the Rochester New York Airport. When Jan’s gone I go out in the garage and slam it to the ground, stomp and kick it then place it back on the shelf. And Jan wonders why this bag is wearing out.

Wrap up

2011-01-28T19:22:00.000-08:00

I was scanning the obituaries in the paper as I ate lunch the other day with my best friend. I noted out loud to Jan that most obits included the hobbies and talents of the deceased. Knowing that there wouldn’t be much to write about me I asked her what she would say about my talents and interests in my obituary. She paused. I squirmed in my chair; if she had to think this long about my question it couldn’t be good.

Finally she said, “I’d say you were a devoted husband, father, and family man.”

“What? Did you just say that I voted? I said with astonishment. “Is that what you’d say, that I voted? Is that all that you could think of?"

She quickly restated that I was a devoted husband. Guess I didn’t hear clearly on that one.

It’s now become one of those jokes between she and I that make us giggle when I shake my head and say, “I voted. So, that’s all you can think of?”

This isn’t a very good transition but my A.D.D. has set in and I’ve gone off chasing balloons. So, now that the year is already 1/12 over I thought I’d take a moment and wrap up the past year.

It seems like there wasn’t much that happened during the prior year but Jan and I thought a little about that and discovered we actually did some great things. The year started with Jordan and family leaving after a great holiday season where all our kids came home. Jan and I took a quick trip to see Dad in the Bay area. In March Nicole and Noah came out for a visit. When Noah asked if we could wrestle, I felt I had arrived as a grandpa. I also felt a little bruised afterwards.

In April we struggled with career decisions and, looking back, for now any way, we made the correct choice. In June we visited Jordan and all the girls in Delaware. We went places we never had seen before and did things that helped us forget any struggles we had.

In June I also had a shift in church callings that required a lifestyle change.

In July we ate Crispy Cream donuts while sitting on blankets that lined the Provo 4th of July parade. We also brought Brittany and Maeli home to stay with us for a few weeks. At the end of the month Jan left with her sister Jeanne to take Brittany and Maeli home. That trip took nearly two weeks that included an extended expedition to Las Vegas and San Diego. It was memorable because Jan had fun, I didn’t. Later in September she took off again to Disneyland for a week. Jan had fun…I did not.

Not much more has changed.

The total ages of the cars we drive? 35

Total mileage for the two cars? 293,000

Total combined years of Jan and I? 85 (she claims she’s 29. I let her have this one.)

2011 will bring at least two grandsons joining the family this year. We have lots of plans.

What else will 2011 bring? What will be the combined years for Jan and I this new year? 86

Jan remains eternally locked in the age time warp.

I Got Physical

2010-12-14T14:15:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know…everyone has their own horrible stories to tell about their visit to dentist or doctor’s offices. You know what I’m talkin’ about; the dentist drilled so deeply into my tooth I thought he was trying to rescue Chilean miners. Or, the doctor probed me in places not even Homeland Security TSA’s would go.

I’ve even described some of my own experiences on this blog. Most based on truth but sometimes mildly seasoned exaggeration added. I sincerely apologize for the repeat performance but I thought what happened at my physical exam last week was pretty humorous, and, for the most part, absolutely true. That’s something you don’t get very often.

During my annual physical the doctor always leaves some time for me to share my little aches and body gripes. His usual response is, “That’s nothing to be concerned about.” I don’t know why I bother to share.

As some of you know I take a medication that’s purpose is to slow the electric impulses of the brain. I told the doctor I’d love to get off this stuff because I don’t know if my memory clog is a result of this medication or if it’s just me.

The doctor told me they could do a simple memory test that would only take a few minutes. I agreed to that along with a tetanus booster shot.

A few minutes later the nurse comes in, gives me the shot, then sits in front of the computer. In case I’d forgotten she again told me this was a simple memory test that would take just a few minutes, and some of the questions would be very mundane.

The test began:

Nurse: “What day is it?”

I moved me head a little forward, and then tilted it up, looking at the ceiling.” That’s a real good question”, I said, stalling until I could figure this one out. “Monday! It’s Monday!” I wanted to high five the nurse and give her a chest bump like excited football players do but I’m sure the test would then immediately be over.

The nurse continued as she stared at the computer screen, asking a barrage of questions about the year, what building was I in, my wife’s name…

Then came a little harder question:

“I’m going to tell you a word, she explained, “then I want you to spell it backwards.”

All my life I’ve had difficultly spelling words forward so this was going to be a challenge.

She said the word and after a brief hesitation I replied, “d…e…l…l..o…r”

“Please spell that again.” She sounded a little concerned.

Rolled wasn’t a difficult word so I spelled it backwards again.. “d…e…l…l…o…r”

She turned to me, and with a firm voice told me, “The word is world, not rolled. Spell world backwards.”

I rolled my eyes and felt like an idiot.

A few questions later she handed me a pencil and some paper. “Ok, this is the last thing I’ll have you do” she instructed, “I want you to draw me two intersecting pentagons.”

I stared at the paper for a moment and began to draw a ten sided geometric shape. “I’m a little embarrassed “ I admitted to the nurse. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had geography. How many sides does a pentagon have?”

The nurse’s forehead furrowed, “ I’m sure you mean geometry and a pentagon has five sides.”

I could feel my bald head turning hues of bright red as I focused on the drawing. My pentagons looked like the wheels on the Flintstone’s car.

I didn’t have the courage to ask the nurse how I did as she walked out of the room.

She returned a few minutes later with a bag of saline solution and a device that looked like a turkey baster. “The doctor wants your right ear irrigated.”

I’m sure the notes on my record read: Gave memory test, couldn’t tell if he has memory loss, hearing problems or if he’s a smart aleck.

I think I’m changing doctors.

The Fabric of Black Friday

2010-11-30T16:28:00.000-08:00

(The below incident is totally true, with no exaggeration or embellishment. At least, this is the way I see it.)

“Well, are we going to get up?"

I rolled onto my back and squinted to see the time.

Jan paused a few minutes and asked again, this time rephrasing the question but with the same intention, “Is there any place you want to go?”

“Jan, it’s 5 am. The only place I want to go is the bathroom. Do you really want to get up and hit the stores?”

On any normal day Jan wouldn’t be asking a question at five in the morning but this was the day after Thanksgiving, the day referred to as Black Friday. It’s become such a part of American tradition that the word black is even capitalized when this day is mentioned.

I sat up and turned toward her, “Where would you want to go?”

“We at least need to go to Fred Meyer for the sock sale.”

We always go to Fred Meyer on Black Friday. Hey, their socks are on sale for half price until 11 and, they give out free donut holes.

“And there are a few other places I’d like to go to.”

I again looked at the time. It was 5:05 and the sun wouldn’t even be up for another two hours.

I learned long ago to let Jan have her way. It helps solidify the marriage. We actually didn’t get out of the house until around 7:30. After scraping ice off the windshield I hopped into the car and started it up.

“OK, so where’s the first stop?”

Jan hesitated, then softly whispered “I’d like to go to JoAnn’s.”

I grabbed the steering wheel in a choke hold, “Noooo! Anywhere but there!”

JoAnn wasn’t a relative, it was a fabric store, and if you know me you know my feelings about fabric stores. Being locked in a fabric store for all eternity is my vision of hell. That’s why I try to be the best I can be in this life. I may even have mentioned to Jan once or twice that to prove my love for her I’d go to hell and back, if that’s what it took to hang onto her. But that was just symbolism, I didn’t mean it literally. But, like I said, to solidify the marriage we started off toward JoAnn’s.

JoAnn’s is in the same shopping center as Best Buy so after fighting off several other cars I won a parking spot. Jan jumped out of the car. I had to run to keep up with her. Then… I walked through the gates of hell. I wondered if Hades had automatic sliding glass doors.

The store was packed, mostly with women, some still in pajama bottoms and slippers. (*the previous description is not meant to indicate that the fire and brimstone place is only filled with women) It seemed like an Easter egg hunt, the ladies scurrying up and down the aisles looking for the prized sale items.

I passed one poor fellow, waiting in the fabric cutting line with his wife. I patted him on the shoulder, “You are a very brave man to be here.” I must have startled him back from the happy place his wandering mind had escaped to, “Yeah, how you doin’? Good to see you.”

I saw several other men with hypnotic glazed stares, being pulled by the unseen tethers of womanly wiles, up and down the aisles.

I pulled out my phone and began dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Jan asked suspiciously.

“I’m phoning a friend.”

Satisfied but still mystified she turned back to her search.

I was relieved when a voice answered. “Hey Dad, What are you doing?”

I had called Jordan since he was in the Eastern Time zone and I knew he would be up and about.

“Help me….”

“I can try. We’re in the car driving to get tickets to a movie.”

I held the phone closer to my mouth, “You need to help me get outta here.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“I’m being held captive in a fabric store.”

“Hey, what time is it over there?”

I glanced at my watch. “It’s 7:45.”

Jordan’s voice began to pitch higher in unbelief, “You mean, you guys got up early, on Black Friday, and went to a fabric store?”

At this time I could hear Christina begin to laugh.

“Yes,” I replied sheepishly.

Jordan saw I was down and took another punch, showing no sympathy. “How long did you camp outside the store waiting for it to open?”

I heard Christina and Jordan both laughing now.

I went silent as a woman walked closely by, checking items off the advertising pre-print she carried like a score card.

“Well Dad, what I do when Christina goes into a store like that I find somewhere else to go.”

“I’ve already been to all my happy places.”

“No, I don’t mean mentally. Like take off to Best Buy or somewhere until Mom finishes. We’re here, gotta go. Good luck, Dad.”

I hung up, losing hope in any help coming to my aid.

‘That’s it,” Jan popped. “Let’s get in the checkout line.”

I stood motionless for a moment in disbelief.

Jan tugged firmly on my arm, “Come on! The line isn’t getting any shorter.”

I counted 20 women waiting impatiently to check out. The line funneled everyone into one long chute. A woman in front asked about where else we’d been to. She rattled off several stores she’d added to her bargain conquest list.

I have to admit that JoAnn’s does have one of the best candy assortments displayed on shelves in the checkout line. Some classic candy bars I don’t see around much. The strategy was the candy was either a bribe or a reward for children and husbands who’ve endured to the end.

Women flocked to this store because of a coupon offering a large discount on all purchases. The cashiers loudly told those checking out how much they had saved.

“You just saved $30!” one cashier shouted.

“Wow, thank you!” one lucky customer excitedly answered.

The cashier then boasted, “One woman I checked out today saved $2,600.”

I turned to Jan, shaking my head, “How do you spend that much money to get a $2,600 savings?”

Finally one of the cashiers waved us over, “I’ll check you out.”

Once freed from the gates of perdition I paused, deeply inhaling the chilled morning air, relishing my emancipation.

A yank on my shirt sleeve startled me from my dream.

“Come on!” Jan said with breathless excitement. “Craft Warehouse has something I need to look at.”

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!”

The Scale of Pain

2010-10-22T12:23:00.001-07:00

The automatic doors of the emergency room opened as I stumbled into the lobby.“Hey! Hey! I need some help!” Slumping into a nearby chair, a nurse walked over with a clipboard.

“What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?"

“I fell and think I broke my arm."

"OK, wait here. I’ll bump you up in line."

Soon the nurse came pushing a wheel chair my direction. “Here, let me help.”She put her hand under my arm to help steady me.

“AHHH, that’s the arm that’s broken!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She moved to the other side and helped slide me into the chair.

“Let’s get you into an examination room.”

I sat in the wheel chair for several minutes before a doctor parted the curtain.

“So, what’s your problem?”

“I fell and think I broke my arm.”

“Which one?”

“The one I’m holding.. “

He took the arm and raised it slightly.

Aaaahhhh!

“Does that hurt?”

“No, I scream like that all the time in hospitals!”

“OK, I need to assess your pain level. On a scale of 1 to 10, what level is your pain?”

“What?”

“On a scale of…"

“I heard you, what does that even mean?”

“Well, if you think one is the lowest pain level, and ten is the most excruciating pain…”

“I don’t understand. I don’t know what a ten feels like. What’s a one supposed to be?”

“Maybe a pin prick could be a level one. It sort of depends on you.”

"OK, so, paper cuts make my entire hand throb. To me, that could be pretty high up the scale- Then a broken arm would be off the charts.”

“That’s not possible in this scenario. Pain can only register as high as a ten."

“So…what if I told you this was a level ten pain?”

“I’d give you more pain killer.”

“All right then, this is a ten. Now, bring on the drugs.”

“Before we do that there are a few questions I need to ask. Are you allergic to any medication? If so, on a scale of one to ten how severe is the reaction?"

“I die.”

“I’ll put that as an eight.”

“Wouldn’t death be a ten?”

“Not necessarily. It’s said there are worse things than death.”

“Oh, fine.”

“I need to have an MRI taken of the break. On a scale of one to ten, what’s your level of panic you experience when going through the coffin like tube?”

“I’d say that’s a five.”

“So, you experience average panic?”

“I guess so.”

“One more question before we proceed.’

“Promise me this will be the last one.”

“On a scale of one to ten, what is your level of embarrassment you experience walking through the office wearing one of these gowns that exposes your backside?”

“Where'd you learn about this one to ten scale business?”

“In medical school.”

“Well…on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate yourself as a doctor?’

“Based on comparisons with others, I’d say I’d be pushing a three.”

“A three? Are you crazy?”

“No, I’m a doctor.”

“On a scale of one to 10, what’s the likelihood of getting me outta here?”

“On a scale of one to ten, what’s your ability to pay for these services?”

“I’m at a ten in wanting to cinch your tie around your neck!”

“Hmm…you’re the tenth person who’s said that today.”

“Want to know on a scale of one to ten how I’d recommend this place to anyone in the universe! It’s a negative billion!”

“That can’t be sir. The scale only goes to ten.”

“Ahhhhhhh!”

Seriously Cereal

2010-09-14T16:14:00.000-07:00

To cut into the huge cold cereal market, generic major distributors, through testing various blends of grains and sugars, have tried to come as close to the originals as consumers will accept. Names of the original cereals have been trade marked so the counterfeit cereals need to be called something. I can imagine marketers sitting in sterile boardrooms with bowls of the copy cat cereal sitting in front of them trying to come up with an identity. Looking at the names they came up with I think they surveyed first graders.

So, to test your cereal savvy I’ve created a list of a few of these “off” brands. See if you can identify the real, original cereal that the mock cereal is trying to imitate. Some of the cereal names seem to have drifted into the “public domain” category such as Bran Flakes. I’ve made some of these pretty easy. So, test your skills. The original cereal brand is listed below. I don’t mean to ruin anything but my favorite name is “Apple Dapples.” It’s just fun to say. In fact I’ve been saying it over and over again…apple dapples, apple dapples, apple dapples…. Good luck, yeah good luck getting apple dapples out of your head.

1) Golden Puffs 2) Honey & Nut Blenders

3) Berry Colossal Crunch 4) Blue Berry Muffin Tops

5) Crispy Oat Squares 6) Cocoa Crunchies

7) Frosted Fruit Rings 8) Apple Dapples

9) Golden Corn Nuggets 10) Cini-Mini Crunch

11) Magic Stars 12) Crunchy Rice Squares

13) Crispy Berry Crunch 14) Crisp ‘n Fruity Rice

15) Chipmates 16) Cocoa Roos 17) Honey Crisp Medley

18) Nutty Nuggets 19) Frosted Mini Spooners

20) Crispy Rice 21) Active Lifestyle 22) Shining Stars

23) Alien 24) Hexa Grains 25) Fruit & Toasted O’s

26) Corn Flakes 27) Crispy Rice 28) Wheat Pockets

29) Rice Pockets 30) Oats & More 31) Oat Wise

32) Golden Puffs 33) Berry Crackles 34) Cinnamon Toasters

35) Tootie Fruities 36) Marshmallow Mateys

37) Dino Bytes 38) Honey Nut Scooters

39) Silly Circles 40) Frosted Flakes

41) Marshmallow Magic 42) Honey & Nut

43) Cocoa Nuggets 44) Cinnamon Crunch

1) Honey Smacks/Honey Puffs; 2) Honey Nut Cheerios; 3) Captain Crunchberries;

4) Blue Berry Muffin; 5) Life; 6) Cocoa Krispies; 7) Fruit Loops;

8) Apple Jacks; 9) Corn Pops; 10) Cinnamon Toast Crunch;

11) Lucky Charms; 12) Life; 13) Captain Crunch Crunchberries;

14) Fruity Pebbles; 15) Cookie Crisp; 16) Cocoa Puffs;

17) Honey Bunches of Oats; 18) Grape Nuts;

19) Frosted Mini Wheats; 20) Rice Krispies; 21) Special K;

22) Lucky Charms; 23) Combo of Lucky Charms and Trix;

24) Crispix; 25) Fruit Loops; 26) Corn Flakes, duh;

27) Rice Krispies; 28) Wheat Chex; 29) Rice Chex;

30) Honey Bunches of Oats; 31) Life; 32) Honey Crisp/Honey Smacks;

33) Captain Crunch Crunchberries; 34) Cinnamon Toast Crunch;

35) Fruit Loops; 36) Lucky Charms; 37) Fruity Pebbles

38) Honey Nut Cheerios; 39) Fruit Loops;

40) Frosted Flakes, pretty smart answer; 41) Lucky Charms;

42) Honey Nut Cheerios; 43) Cocoa Pebbles;

44) Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Hornets Nest

2010-09-09T10:02:00.000-07:00

It was Saturday morning and I needed to mow the lawns before the summer heat flared. After the grass catcher was taken off I wheeled the mower through the gate into the backyard. As I lifted the lid of the garbage bin to dump the grass out of the catcher hundreds of hornets shot from the inside of the bin and swirled around me like a buzzing yellow tornado. I whirled back through the gate with arms flailing, swatting and slapping at the enraged attackers.

The mail man slammed on his brakes as I ran into the street. Poking his head out the window he asked, “Hey! Are you ok?”

“They’re after me!” I screamed, “Hornets are after me!”

The mail man continued to stare, now with an inquisitive look on his face.

Wild eyed, I stopped and scanned the air.

“There were hundreds after me!”

“Sir, I don’t see anything. I uh..uh better get going on my route.”

I didn’t see any either. My incredible hornet martial arts defense must have taken care of them.

I crept back through the gate, crouching low to make myself a smaller target from the marauding stingers. I’d left the lawnmower next to the bin with the hornet hutch.

I needed to sprint, clutch the handle of the mower and shove it toward the back lawn. Because the path to the back was pot holed and pivoted, great care was usually taken in navigating the mower to the lawn. I would now need to make it fly.

A few hornets landed on the fence, watching me, their wings humming like electric wires.

I froze. The only movement was my eyes shifting from the hornets and back to the mower. Counting to three I leaped to the mower. The wheels pitched and rattled over the pivots as I tried to keep it straight.

The hornets launched from their perch and lunged toward me, bodies curled, stingers exposed.

With adrenaline pulsing I pushed the lawn mower to the trees. The hornets continued their pursuit. My arms slashed the air and wildly smacked my shirt to keep them off.

Even though I’ve been losing weight I keep my larger jeans for working outside. The problem with losing weight too quickly is that the once tight jeans now hung loosely on exposed hip bones, and I wasn’t wearing a belt to cinch the baggy jeans tight.

Leaping and running across the lawn, the loose jeans began to slip. I tried to grab them but it was too late. The pants dropped to my knees, throwing me to the ground like a bull hobbled by an Argentinean bolo. Somersaulting and rolling through the grass I came to a stop beneath the maple tree. I lay motionless, pants now down to my ankles.

Again I searched for signs of the assailants. None on the tree, none in the air, none on the fence, and most importantly, none on me.

I stumbled like a drunk as I tried to pull up my pants and walk toward the house.

Jan poked her head out the back door. “What are you doing?”

“Hornets, hundreds were after me!”

She scanned me up and down as I held my partially pulled up pants, shirt twisted around my body, and fear in my eyes.

She shook her head, rolled her eyes and plainly stated, “Just don’t let the neighbors see you.” Then she shut the door.

“OK!” I shouted back. “Maybe there were only two or three hornets, but they were fierce!”

I decided to leave the mower where it was. The lawn could wait.

Protesting Protesters

2010-09-03T07:29:00.000-07:00

As I was working in the conference room at the Mail Tribune the retail manager ran in and gushed: “We have protesters.”

I was crossing the street between the press warehouse and the business building when an unmarked police car drove up. Unmarked police cars are supposed to blend in with all the other vehicles on the road. The giveaway that this is actually a police car are the bars between the back and front seat. This could also be the car of a mother driving through town with 3 rowdy kids in the back seat.

A few minutes later a motorcycle officer pulls up. I was afraid the building was under siege and tried to remember my exit strategies. Then I remembered I was already outside which is the end result of my strategy of fleeing the building if the newspaper came under assault.

Once in the building one of the managers ran up to me and gushed, “did you see the protesters outside?”

“No, I hadn’t. What are they protesting?”

“We ran an editorial from the Oregonian that questioned the value of medical marijuana. They apparently didn’t like it.”

In Oregon it’s legal to possess or grow a small amount of pot if it’s used for medicinal reasons.

As I watched the protesters walk slowly in front of the building carrying their hand scrawled signs I wondered why those who protest an issue always seem to look like what I have in my mind they should look like.

For example, ultra conservative men seem to wear business attire with cowboy hats and drive gargantuan pickup trucks.

The liberal protester has long greasy hair, dresses in holey jeans and drives a VW van.

These pot protesters looked like they had been time warped from the sixties, or from Ashland, southern Oregon’s equivalent of Haight-Ashbury.

They were dressed in tee shirts and shorts that were too small. Body types were either very thin or very large. We watched as some of them had trouble walking a straight line or “marched” with an occasional stumble. But they did look blissful.

I think one of my coworkers put it best:

“I don’t think any of them had to take time off from a job in order to come protest…”

I began to think in marketing terms concerning these protesters. Their marketing was flawed. If they really wanted to have impact they shouldn’t exemplify what everyone sees as the typical pot smoker. If they had dressed in business attire people would relate more with their cause and perhaps pay more attention.

I’m always impressed when a guy who looks like a hippie or is highly tattooed or pierced and supports conservative issues. The same for a liberal in a business suit with a cowboy hat and pick up.

Those who passed by would then read the signs instead of reading the protesters.

Agent Orange

2010-08-02T17:52:00.001-07:00

Recently Mark Freeman, an outdoor sports writer ( he does have a desk inside) for the Mail Tribune, reported Oregon’s legislature is considering a law requiring big game hunters to wear what’s referred to as “Hunter Orange.”

The reasons for this are simple; when there are multiple people carrying rifles and shooting bullets in confined areas you do not want to be misidentified as game.
The legislature is considering many areas that could be included in the law, such as; what clothing should be worn that are orange, what percentage needs to be orange, and if orange will be only required for those under 18. The thought for dressing youngsters like creamsicles is explained by Chris Willard, the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife’s education services manager.
“The idea is like that of bicycle helmet and life jacket laws for kids — make hunter-orange part of their early routine and they'll be more likely to carry it through their hunting adulthood.”
Is Mr. Willard a parent? He should know that as soon as an 18 year old doesn’t have to do something he was previously required, the rebellion against continuing that practice begins.
The exact opposite needs to happen. Tell young hunters they’re not allowed to wear orange until their 18. Then it becomes a rite of adulthood when they can ceremoniously don the bright florescent cap and vest. Guaranteed there will be more orange on 18 year olds than seen in a Florida citrus grove.

Studies have determined big game, such as deer and elk, don’t distinguish orange. However this could be misinformation distributed by PETA. What if deer can really only see orange. The legislature is falling into their trap.

The best pro arguments used in enforcing sportsmen to wear orange are to apply the same benefits advocates for children wearing school uniforms detail.

Professional: a hunter in uniform would likely take stalking big game more seriously. The uniform evokes a greater sense of pride and hunters would be more concerned stewards of the forest. They would not only be more sophisticated in their stealthiness but, also look real sharp.
Promotes good discipline: Wearing hunter orange jump suits would diminish discipline problems associated with crawling around the woods spending long hours hiding behind rocks. There’d be fewer lewd jokes told around campfires and profanity would take a back seat to lucid conversation.
Reduces Fighting and Violence:
No more hunters fighting over who actually delivered the kill shot. They’d be more cooperative and use conflict management resolution skills to resolve such issues.
Distractions: Because every hunter would dress alike class boundaries would be nonexistent. All hunters would be fashion equals with no distinctions between poor and rich hunters, good shots and bad. No under privileged hunter would feel self conscious in not being able to keep up with current fashion trends. Most importantly, no hunter would be distracted checking out another hunter’s fashionable attire.
Low Cost: Since these are a one size fits all baggie jump suit Malaysian production lines can whizz these through, lowering the cost per suit.

Finally, the hunter uniform would promote hunter spirit. Since all are equals there’s a sense of belonging to a brotherhood and sisterhood of fellow hunters. Camaraderie would grow, hunter team flags would be created. On the first day of the hunting season fellow hunters will run into the woods, ripping through paper banners with the words scrawled across in bright paint, “Don’t shoot anything orange!”

If I was a deer, and a law is passed by the state legislature requiring the wearing of orange I’d steal me one of those orange vests that road construction workmen wear and strap it tight around my furry hide. After all, no hunter would ever shoot anything in orange, even if it has horns.

Things I learned on our trip to Utah 2

2010-07-11T21:23:00.000-07:00

Wow, two “what I learned” entries within one month. Generally I don’t do much, or learn much, so this is a treat for me to report on “”What I learned from our trip to…Utah Part II” (In case you missed it Part I was last year.) I didn’t look this up I’m just assuming there was a part I.
Our purpose in going to Utah was to kidnap (and daughter nap) Brittany and Maeli while Clay was at Air Force Field Training for a month. Sort of sounds like landscaping school but it’s a mini boot camp for Air Force cadets. He’s gone for a month so we offered Brittany the opportunity to come to Oregon for a few weeks.

Here are a few of the things I learned on our visit to the Beehive state:

When the 4th of July falls on a Sunday Utahans aren’t sure when to celebrate the holiday so the founding fathers are honored for three days; Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

Provo’s Freedom Festival is the largest celebration in the state and ranks up with other larger cities.

The main attraction is Stadium of Fire at BYU’s Levell Edwards Stadium. Apparently this year one of the fireworks mortar’s was knocked over and shot a volley toward the crowd. The new name for the event is now “People on Fire.”

Brittany and Clay had bought tickets for the show prior to knowing when he was going to field training. Brittany considered auctioning it off but instead took a good friend of hers, Camille Morris. Carrie Underwood was the main attraction at “SOF”. It would have been nice to see Carrie perform but it would have been way cooler to see the “People on Fire” portion of the program.

Brittany says Carrie sounds in person just like her DVD’s.

Another group in the show was “The Osmonds, Second Generation”. Do you get the feeling that in 200 years we’ll have “ The Osmonds, 20th Generation?”

Another part of the Freedom Festival was a pageant celebrating the beginnings of America. The music was primarily from the patriotic achieves. During the production, as actors swayed back and forth pretending to be on an immigrant ship crossing the Atlantic, they began singing a rousing rendition of Neil Diamond’s “Coming to America.” I thought that was a bit out of place-sort of like singing “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin in the Hill Cumorah pageant.

The fizzer and whizzer store bought fireworks sound like pea shooters compared to the percussion pounding bursting exploding stars shot from the stadium. However, those local bought pyrotechnics pop and crack throughout the night. And in Provo’s instance, all three nights.

Provo has one of the largest Independence Day parades around. So popular the city prevents reserving or camping along the parade route until 5 pm the night before.
People who camp along the parade route the night before are crazy.

The crazy campers had set ups that included tents, overhead tarps strung from trees, flashing Christmas lights and movies and video games shown on white sheets hung from tarp top to floor.
With all the extreme campers one couple simply sat on a blanket, looking out of place. I told them I thought they looked bored. I placed money with Mom that I didn’t think they’d last until morning.

One of my favorite demented parade watch campers was some guy pushing a shopping cart with all his belongings. I think he’d staked his claim along the route weeks ago. I told him he had quite a fancy motor home. Jan informed me she thought he was homeless.

Don’t celebrate in haughty tones toward those who’ve spent the night. It’s inappropriate to mock them because only 30 minutes before the parade starts you’ve been able to toss your blanket in the front row. Then you discover you’re on the sunny side of the street broiling while the campers are shaded and cool. Guess they know what they’re doing.

I learned anyone can be in the parade as long as you do your thing before the parade even starts. There were motorcycles, skaters, a few drill teams that marched down the route prior to the parade starting. Think I’ll do that next time.

Because schools out for the summer, bands are depleted of members. I think the 4th of July parade should be moved to October when all the kids are around.

When jet boat riders on the Rogue River shout, “Spin, spin, spin” at the boat driver it means he reverses the engine and swirls the boat around in an exhilarating maneuver. In the Provo parade when the crowd shouts, “Spin, spin, spin!” they want the holders of the Curious George balloon to run in a circle to spin the balloon around. Not so exhilarating.

Cold milk: $2.50; Two dozen Crispy Cream donuts: $10; seeing those sitting around us drool watching while we eat and drink: you got it-priceless!

No one cheered for the Democrat float entry. Except me, just to be different.

BYU had a float, Utah Valley University had a float. It would be great if the University of Utah had a float. It would probably be right behind the Democrats.

You never know who you will run into while stopped by a flagger due to road construction in the middle of the desert. The couple ahead of us was from Lincoln, Nebraska where Kevin and Nicole live. The four cars waiting behind us were cars I’d passed while I honked the horn and waved good-bye. I avoided making eye contact.

Only in Provo Utah would 12 pedestrians not cross a street against the “Don’t Walk” sign at the traffic signal. There were no vehicles in sight and our group didn’t cross until the “Walk” sign flashed.

BYU’s famous mint brownies are hard to find during the summer.

Eating lasagna and French bread on the 4th of July helps us remember the European immigrants.

Maeli’s already learned to say grandpa on demand. Unfortunately Maeli’s “grandpa” sounds just like her pronunciation of “doggie”.

Things I learned on my trip to Delaware

2010-06-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

1) Who vacations in Delaware?

2) Delaware was the first state but is only larger than Rhode Island. I’d think if you’re first you ought to be able to grab as much land as you want. It could have been the founders wanted to be nice and took just a small portion of land to let others have what they needed. I’ve done that with sharing dessert but my objective is deceit. Those who follow usually don’t want to look like pigs so they also take smaller portions. This eventually allows me to have a huge heaping dose of seconds. With Delaware, there apparently were no second helpings.

3) Driving through Delaware you see license plates from multiple states. In fact I think there are more out of state vehicles than actual Delawareans. (That’s their term for themselves, not mine; spell check even corrected my spelling so it must be true)

4) The Delaware license plate is yellow lettering/numbers on a dark blue background. There’s no colorful backdrop that depicts a facet of what Delaware is famous for. Perhaps that’s why there’s so many out of state plates; newcomers delay as long as possible putting those ugly plates on their vehicles. It could drive down resale prices. Again, first state, plainest plates.

5) The mascot for the University of Delaware is the “Blue Hens.” What? The Blue Hens? Now, that is creative. The football team with a feminine name? Why a hen and not a rooster? Makes me wonder…

6) I apologize for dissing on Delaware. After all, the state does have fireflies which delight Jan.

7) Sitting in Jordan and Christina’s (to be referred later as JC) living room, Tia ran down the hall toward her bedroom announcing she was going to “use her imagination.” She used that phrase a lot and she’s not kidding. She and Hayley changed up the story of Cinderella and played the parts of the wicked stepsisters for several days. Tia even occasionally addressed Christina as stepmother. The names of the stepsisters according to Tia were Grizella and Anastasia. I’m not sure if their names were ever mentioned in the original story but she was “using her imagination.” If I were in school I’d use that phrase as a politically correct term for daydreaming.

8) Hayley is a rough and tumble girl that has incredible speed for a six year old. Tia is demure who loves pink and princesses. However, both are sensitive, caring girls who love their Grandpa best.

9) I think we saw every museum in Philadelphia. The most impressive was the “Touch me Museum.” Children’s services could be concerned with that name. However, it was a museum for kids that included a river with running water that meandered while kids floated plastic boats and played with water wheels. There were rooms with large plastic crawl through hearts, science exhibits illustrating flight and electricity and even a kid sized grocery store where children could put as many plastic loafs of bread, fruit and cardboard bakery goods into a shopping cart. There was also a McDonalds where kids served up rubber meat on buns. Oh, I’m sorry. That’s what the Mac serves in their real restaurants.

10) Speaking of electricity…Jordan touched a metal ball at an exhibit explaining static electricity. He reached out his finger and touched Jan on the hand. The shock caused her to jump. However, electricity can use a body as a conductor. Jan was holding Tia’s hand at the time of the shock. It traveled though Jan and jolted poor Tia who was minding her own business. Tia’s little body jerked like it had been de-fibrillated. She thought twice before taking Grandma’s hand again.

11) There was also a room that allowed kids to try various facets of the world of sports. At one exhibit kids could throw a baseball through a pitching net while radar showed the speed of the ball. Of course, Jordan and I wrestled a baseball away from the clinched hands of a child to display our masculine prowess. Jordan’s pitch registered at 51 mph. My speed was 41 miles per hour but the ball took a sharp right shortly after leaving my hand. The kid next in line raised his eyebrows at this errant pitch. I turned to him and bragged, “Wow, I can still throw that curveball.” I also threw out several ligaments, joints and sockets.

12) To sample some of the native foods JC took us to Rita’s. Philadelphia has something they call “water ice” which resembles Hawaiian ice served out west. The only difference is the Philly ice is more “slurpy”. Rita’s adds a different dimension to their water ice they call a “gelati.” I’ve heard of the Italian ice cream named gelato. But this is your flavor of water ice with vanilla or chocolate custard layered at the bottom and top of the ice. I chose orange cream flavored water ice with vanilla custard. That was great and worth every freezer head ache.

13) Perhaps our most adventurous journey was to the place where taxes are born, Washington D.C. Driving through Baltimore we parked outside Washington and rode the subway to the National Mall. With all the tourists walking around with cameras clicking it resembled Disneyland more than the birthplace of the nation.

14) We toured the Smithsonian Natural History and Air and Space Museums. We saw the Hope Diamond, dinosaurs recreated from fossilized bones, and an exhibit on how forensics is used to identify bodies of some of America’s first settlers. That was at the Natural History Museum, not the Air and Space.

15) Jan and I really wanted to see the White House. As we walked down Pennsylvania Avenue we and many other tourists were stopped by security guards from going to the usual viewing point. I noticed a group of people gathered on a field some distance from the White House so we walked over to see if we could get a view. The move worked and we could see the columns on the front of this stately house. We zoomed the lenses to maximum to snap some photos. Soon after we heard the whooshing of helicopter blades slicing through the air. The crowd turned and we saw three marine helicopters flying toward the White House. This is why the streets were closed off. The President was coming home from buying a cappuccino from the nearest Starbucks. (Note for LDS readers: A cappuccino is a coffee drink)

16) Although we were feeling beat we stopped off at the Air and Space Museum. There was the Wright Brother first plane, not a replica, but the actual plane. It still had Orville’s nail marks scratched into the wood when he realized he was flying and didn’t know how to stop the contraption. There were several Gemini space capsules along with the first manned capsule that orbited the earth with John Glenn. Jordan and I couldn’t figure out where Glenn sat. The interior of the capsule was extremely cramped and I wondered what Glenn’s thoughts were as he hurdled through space in a chunk of metal. I think I saw his nail marks scratched into the window glass when he realized the only way to stop the contraption was by falling like a rock thousands of miles to earth.

17) I was sad when one young lady came out of an exhibit showing the aviation heroics of World War I and II pilots and announced to her friends, “Don’t go in, there’s nothing interesting there.” I’m sure thousands of air force pilots shed a tear in their graves.

18) In a past blog Christina wrote about a song by Taylor Swift that the girls would sing along with. When the girls hear the first few notes of “You Belong to Me” they join in, belting out the words along with Taylor. They are Grandma and Grandpa’s American Idols. By the way, Grandma now wants to buy the song.

19) Grandma and I enjoyed playing hide n seek, playing tag while chasing the kids through playground bars and swings, and getting a tour into the lives of the East Coast Smith family.

20) I have to mention we went to a farmers market on Saturday. Although those roaming the aisles didn’t look like some of Delaware’s finest, one of the first things I noticed was a Stoltzfus Bakery booth, just like what we saw at a market outside of Scranton, apparently owned and operated by the same Mennonite family. I wonder if this is a franchise. If so I want in. You know that baked goods created in a Mennonite kitchen are the best you can get.

21) Finally, JC and kids gave Grandpa an early Father’s day gift. It was a gray University of Delaware t-shirt. I’m honored and will wear the shirt with pride. Besides, I have the only University of Delaware t-shirt in Oregon.
Love you guys. Thanks for the adventure!

The Rise and Fall of the Gregory “Rump”ire

2010-05-12T19:11:00.000-07:00

“Hey, do you need some help?” I called out to the man who was backing up his stalled older Volvo by pushing against the driver’s side door frame with his right arm and attempting to steer the car with his left.

I was crossing the street between the Mail Tribune’s office building and distribution/press building. Since I don’t often see a man pushing his car backwards in the street I was quick to surmise that he probably needed a hand.

“I can’t get the car started, so if I can get it moving forward I can jump it,” he explained.

That made sense to me since I have seen toy trucks and cars that when revved backwards and then let go, zips across the floor. Same principle--

I walked over, dressed in shirt and tie, and pushed on the front grill. He backed the vehicle up several more yards, “That should be enough!”

Putting into practice my many years of Chinese fire drills, I ran to the back of the car and pushed on the rear door of the wagon while he pushed forward on the door frame.

Once the car started moving forward he jumped in the car and turned his key. Now, I’m not really sure how this works but I think it involves shifting and clutching. I was still pushing from the back when the car clunked and shuddered a few times, then fell silent.

“Hey, can we try it again?”he shouted.

‘Sure!” I answered confidently.

I’m sure he thought we were now best buddies. After all, I learned at a young age that “when you serve someone you add another friend.” (Mr. Brady; The Brady Bunch, episode 34, about half way through)

Again, I ran to the front of the car and helped push it backwards. We backed it up several more yards this time so we could really get it revved up.

He gave me a thumbs up and I ran to the back and again pushed the car forward.

As I pushed, I imagined hundreds of people staring in amazement out the windows of nearby office buildings and a restaurant across the street as they witnessed my magnanimous act of selfless service. Wearing a tie, while pushing a car, upped the sacrificial servitude points by the hundreds. I was thinking: this is such a great way to show the world how a true loving Christian serves the helpless and downtrodden.

I waved and nodded my head in acknowledgment to my fans who were now cheering me on behind the darkened windows of the buildings. I was their hero…their answer to all that is wrong in the world.

Believing I was the focus of everyone’s attention, I leaned even more into the car, digging into the pavement with feet made of steel and rippling muscles bulging through my smartly selected business attire.

My new found friend jumped into the car as it rattled and sputtered.

Like lightning, a thought briefly flashed through my mind: …if this car starts up, and I’m pushing mightily, I’m dea….

The car suddenly jerked to life, leaving me in mid air limbo as it pulled away.

I ran for several steps, leaning forward like a sprinter diving for the finish, arms flailing like windmills, hands grasping for anything solid, eyes closing, lips mouthing unintelligible misgivings. My right knee was first to make contact, then the hip, back and shoulder. I somersaulted, cart wheeled and threw in a few pirouettes through the gutter and onto the sidewalk.

I had hoped my supportive onlookers had turned their heads for a moment as their soldier tumbled. When my body stopped rolling like a hula hoop down a hill, I sprang to my feet and ran to the passenger side of the car. The driver thought I was dead.

“Are you OK?!”he shouted with concern. “Did you hit your head?!”

I started feeling my head to make sure it was still there. Then I grinned, told him I was fine, wasn’t hurt and sent him on his way.

Then…I started to laugh. I laughed loud. Out loud. With great gusto.

I wondered how that must have looked. Either no one was watching or they just didn’t care but no one came running to my aid. I heard no gasps as I went down. No screams of horror in seeing an old man rolling down the street.

I went into the restroom to check for damage. I had no scrapes, no rips, no visible sign of the catastrophe. I started to shake as adrenaline coursed through my body. I was relieved that no one had seen me.

Later, one of the van drivers called me over to his rolled down window.

“Hey, Greg!” he teased. “My van won’t start and I wondered if you could give me a push!”

He tossed his head back in laughter as I walked away, assaulted for a second time that day.

Things I Learned From 33 years of Marriage

2010-04-26T12:19:00.000-07:00

Friday, April 23^rd was our 33^rd anniversary. The 33^rd year is rather odd. Sort of right in the middle and doesn’t sound as impressive as 30 or 35 years. So, I thought this would be a good time to share my multi years of experience with fellow husbands. If these suggestions are followed you will have a happy wife and a happy life. I realize this could be suicidal but here’s what I’ve learned from being married for 33 years.

When your wife is in the middle of hard labor delivering one of your precious children, don’t tell her you are tired, hungry, or wish she’d hurry up.

If the impossible happens and you are right about something, never jump around the room shouting, “I am the man!” or “I just schooled you!”

When playing a neighborhood game of whiffle ball on the front lawn, if you are pitching, hold the ball until your wife passes. Realize that Whiffle balls are "radared" right to your wife’s head.

Never tell your wife the carpet needs vacuumed, the floor needs sweeping, the toilet needs scrubbing. Be prepared to be shown the vacuum, handed the broom and struck with the toilet brush.

When your wife is driving be sure to never offer any driving advice. Enough said…

Also regarding driving, always turn where she says to turn, stop when she says stop, and don’t complain no matter how far off course you might end up.

Always change the baby’s diapers, feed and bathe them. Your wife might need to do the same for you when you are older. That’s when you hope she remembers how gentle you were with your babies.

If the toilet seat is left up don’t blame the dog.

Always say “excuse me” after a burp. Better yet, don’t burp.

Always let your wife handle the money. But, take it back immediately after she’s done touching it.

Root for Mr. Darcy, cheer for Jacob the werewolf, and don’t tell her every good looking male movie star is gay.

Even if you didn’t hear her, don’t make up answers to your wife’s questions.

You will never need to make another decision when buying clothes. She will buy them all for you. After all, you are dressing for her.

Don’t leave your shoes in the middle of the living room. Her feet will trip over them.

When watching a movie, dab your eyes occasionally with a tissue during the tender parts. Yeah, you’ve got her then.

Finally, always love her, treat her like royalty and realize she really is the boss.

Flirt 101

2010-04-04T21:15:00.000-07:00

I usually take off to work a little earlier than Jan. I get up earlier than Jan. I eat breakfast earlier than Jan. I even go to bed earlier than Jan. Jan does beat me home from work since she gets off around noon.

I had taken my time getting ready the other day. I perused through our email. I browsed through a few news websites to verify I and the world were still alive, looked through some scores in the sports section of the morning’s paper.

I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast when Jan races out of the bedroom, “I gotta get going!”

Whoa, I guess I needed to get out the door too since it was a quarter to eight. Jan squirted by me through the doorway just before I locked the dead bolt. We jumped into our individual cars, revved the high octane motors up and squealed out of the driveway like street racers.

Even if I’m following Jan just a few feet she ends up hundreds of yards ahead of me. I eat her dust, road rubber, engine fumes or whatever. I don’t think she’s fast, just nimble.

This one morning I caught up with her at the light. I drove slowly up next to our little Toyota. People claim I drive with blinders on because I don’t notice when people I know wave at me as they zip by. But I think Jan drives with platters. Even next to her I had to put the glare stare on her to win her attention. Of course, it could be that she doesn’t want the other drivers to know she knows me.

At the light I wave vigorously at her like I was trying to stop a train speeding toward a car stuck on the tracks. She turns, smiles and raises her hand in a dainty wave. The light turned and we speed off again until we hit the next red light.

This time she turns my way and I pretend that I’m tipping my hat towards me. She flashes a smile as the light changes and off we go again.

At the next light I caught her again. She tries to ignore me so I roll down the window and wildly wave at her. Now she’s looking a little perturbed. Yeah, I learned how to flirt years ago. I got all the text book moves plus a few of my own.

At the next light I pull up next to the white Corolla and blew kisses as rapidly as machine gun fire. She wasn’t buying it. So, I doubled my efforts and began using two hands. Finally she turned and held up her cell phone to show me she was dialing 911. It was then I realized…it wasn’t Jan.

I whipped the sun visor to the side, and covered my face with my hands in peek-a-boo position and waited for the light to change. Mercy arrived as the light switched green and I banked hard right around the nearest street corner.

Pulling into a church parking lot I cowered as I waited to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

Like I said, I wrote the book on flirt.

St. Patrick’s Green Zone

2010-03-21T22:42:00.000-07:00

St. Patrick's Day was better before. When kids woke up and rubbed their eyes in disbelief as green pancakes were stacked on their plates. Irish music played throughout the day. The tricolor Republic of Ireland flag draped across the dining room wall along with several linens. Dinner included roasted potatoes and trifle for dessert. The day often ended with the family following Dad around the living room with arms straight by our sides and doing our best imitation of Lord of the Dance. Those were good days.
Last week I didn’t want to dig the flags and linens out of the box. I remembered at dinner we hadn’t heard any Irish music so I put a CD in with traditional fiddle and pipes. The fiddles seemed to screech and each number sounded the same so I pushed the reject button. Jan and I settled down to spaghetti and a green salad. For dessert I found a chocolate fudge cookie hiding in the cupboard.
The only thing close to an Irish jig was when I caught my foot on the side of the couch and jumped around on one foot yelping in a non-Irish brogue.
I did dye the pancake batter green. At least I hope it was the batter I’d put the food coloring in and not the container that’s been in the back of the fridge since Christmas.
Speaking of green…when Jan and I visit Dad at Baywood Court he often introduces us to a few of his neighbors. Sometimes he’ll share a little about the person then do the introduction. An example:
“This is Marge Curtis. She taught school for 50 years in Oakland. Marge, this is my favorite child Greg and his beautiful wife Jan” (I may have included the word “favorite”…or I may not have)
Then there were some he didn’t really want us to meet. We were walking toward the elevator after breakfast when a short white haired man pushing a walker pulled up along side.
“I saw this movie, “The Green Zone" last night. It was awful what Bush did to this country, getting us involved in a stupid (my word, this is a clean language blog) war without any evidence.”
“Greg and Jan, this is Dr. White.” Dad said as he tried to steer us away. “He’s been here for several years””
“I think Bush should be impeached for what he’s done to this country!” Dr White defiantly yelled as our elevator door closed.
“He used to be the head of Eden Hospital,” Dad explained. “Nobody likes him.
“Dad?” I asked. “Does he realize Bush isn’t the President anymore? And, did he know “The Green Zone” is a fictional movie starring Matt Damon?”
Ah… Another day at Baywood.

Are you a "Walking Billboard?"

2010-03-02T19:59:00.000-08:00

Jan bought a blue fleece Columbia jacket for me shortly before my birthday. It’s nice and snuggly. As I tried on the jacket I noticed small silver letters spelling out Columbia on the upper left breast.. At first I thought, “Well Columbia is a well known brand name. I can wear this fleece with pride. “

Then I started thinking. (This only happens sporadically). Why should I advertise Columbia when I wear this jacket? This marketing freeloading company should pay me to walk around exposing their logo to potential fleece buying customers.

Old Navy is notorious for this. The store sells t-shirts with “Old Navy’ emblazoned across the chest. People buy these because they believe Old Navy is cool.

These walking billboards don’t realize they are being used.

Not that I’ve done this but, I wonder if I walked to the cashier, with one of these tees in hand, and told her that I want this shirt free for walking the stores logo around town. In fact, the store should pay me to wear this.

I don’t know what the response would be but I’d be in the right.

I saw a news clip about a guy who puts on a different t-shirt with various logos each day and walks the streets of New York. He gets paid handsomely to do this.

Take a look at NASCAR drivers. (If anyone can tell me what NASCAR stands for please let me know) Sponsor logos cover the cars and jump suits of these drivers When drivers give interviews or make promotional appearances they wear the logo ensemble. I wonder what logos their houses, children, dogs or cats wear.

Why can’t I do the same? I traditionally wear slacks, dress shirt and tie to work. If I were to sell my personal space these are some of the sponsors I would hope to secure for various clothing parts:

Collar-Whisk

On the pocket-Hot Pockets

Down the left side of the shirt: Right Guard Deodorant

Down the right side: Applebee’s Ribs

Tie- Prego Spaghetti sauce since there’s usually tomato stains there already.

On my shirt sleeve I’d have Gold’s Gym on the right arm. Whenever I’d flex my mountainous bicep the logo would go 3D.

On the left sleeve would be a Robitussin imprint because when the nose runs and there’s no tissue…

Across my portly belly area: Firestone tires- when ever I sat down, the bulging spare tire, would make the logo go 3D

On the back of the shirt, Tyson Chicken would be imprinted vertically in yellow down my spine.

The seat of my pants: (this would be the largest logo) Depends

The bottom of my shoes would have a Wrigglies Gum logo, complete with squashed samples.

This leaves the pant legs open for suggestions.

So, the next time you put on those running shoes with the swoosh showing prominently, email the Nike marketing department and demand payment. All they can say is no, or get lost, or our lawyers are knocking at your door…

Lifeline

2010-02-06T16:35:00.000-08:00

Many years ago Jan and I gathered the young family and made a visit to Fred Meyers, our local “find it all in one stop” store. Heather was maybe three and a strayer. If we didn’t keep watch she would wander off the grid.

On this trip Jan and I were hustling the boys around when we realized Heather was MIA. When your child goes missing your heart plummets to your knees and your head whips back and forth trying to catch a glimpse of the offspring. We began to dash down the aisles when an announcement from a store employee came over the speaker system.

“We have a little lost girl. She has curly brown hair and wearing a white shirt with pink flowers and red shorts.” We turned and saw Heather only a few aisles away being held by the clerk describing our daughter. She was waving at us with a wide grin on her face. Funny Heather. From then on we leashed her. Some thought that was cruel but we felt it was more cruel to let her wander away from us and get snatched by overly aggressive store clerks looking for an excuse to use the PA system.

Whenever Jan and I go shopping she complains that I wander off but, it’s actually Jan who does the wandering. As soon as we enter stores she takes off like a kid busting through the gates of Disneyland. I’d like to put a leash on her but it would not be looked upon favorably by the public. Sometimes I grab her arm to hold her back but then people think Jan’s leading a blind man. If she wiggles away from my grasp she takes off, usually not telling me where she’s going. We spend more time looking for each other than the amount of time spent shopping.

However, I now have an electronic leash that keeps us attached. I’m grateful for cell phones. When we separate I can always call her to find out where she’s at; as long as she has it on, it’s not on silent mode, or stuffed in the sound proof pockets of her purse.

During one holiday shopping excursion at Wal Mart I stopped to look at something for a grandchild when I realized Jan was missing. I looked down several aisles without success. I thought about contacting a clerk to make an announcement that someone was looking for a lost wife. I’d have the clerk describe what she was wearing and her age. That would get her.

But, I remembered we had cell phones.

“Hey Jan. I lost you. Where are you?

“I’m at the aisle with the dolls.”

“OK don’t move. I’ll be right there.
I went to the doll aisle. No one there.

“Hey-I went to the doll aisle and no Jan. Where’d you go?”

“I’m looking at the books.”

“Don’t move.

Again, no wife.

“Hey! Are we playing hide n’ seek here? Stay on the phone until I find you.”

We continued in frustration trying to find each other. She’d tell me where she was but it was like we were in alternate realities.

“All right- where are you?” I was getting frustrated.

“I’m in the main aisle.”

“I’m in the main aisle!” I exclaimed. “What main aisle are you talking about?”

“The one that separates girl from boy toys.”

“Stop it! You are not here!”

I looked to my left then to the right. At the same time Jan glanced to her left.

“Oh, I see you now.”

We were only a few feet apart.

“Can we go home now?” I asked over the phone.

“Yes.”

We hung up and laughed.

The leash would be easier.