Killing the Rat

OK, I gave it the worst title to get your attention. The story plays out better than it seems.

We lived in Beverly, Massachusetts from 1989 until1994. We lived in a wonderful 1917 house that looked out on a park, playground and beach. We actually looked out at the water, except for the fact that there was a street in front of our house, so we had to cross the street to get to the beach.

Our house was both a year round home and our place at the beach without having to have two properties.

One day, early in our tenure there in Beverly, I went to the garage to get something and I heard a bad noise! I didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t make me happy. In a large trash can there was a large water rat! He was stuck at the bottom of the can and was running around trying to find a way out.

I was dumbstruck, and had no answer to solve his problem or mine! I wanted him dead (or gone)!

I thought about all the logical answers to this never before experienced problem, which included calling an exterminator, but I than thought that it would cost a bunch of money to exterminate the rat, and I should be able to do this myself!

I looked around the garage for a sharp instrument of death, and found some sort of gardening thing with a long handle and a sharp point. If I hit the mark, he would be dead. If I missed, he would climb up and attack me! I could end up with rabies, and be scared to death besides! This was not a smart move.

I thought and I thought what should I do?

The answer was as clear as the nose on my face (and the rats nose as well).

I kicked over the can, the rat ran away, and I didn’t have the smell of death clinging to me…….

A Canadian Tire credit card...

It’s an ugly business! Credit card companies try and tell us that we can save the environment by using ebills and they don’t have to pay postage and use paper. This will. of course, save the world for our kids!

I wish it were so! But it doesn’t always work that way.

I have a Canadian Tire credit card with a very low percentage rate, and I will admit to not paying it off every 30 days, and dealing with the monthly fees. However, when they asked me to use ebill I ponyed up to it and tried to save the world. It was fine for a while because I paid them some money when I could and I paid it no mind, and always paid enough not to call my credit into question. A month ago I received the notice of my ebill telling me I was overdue in payment. I called and complained and they assured me I must have done something wrong.

I paid them some money and they went away. Sure enough, on Friday they wrote and said my ebill was ready and when I went there they would not show me what I owed them. They demanded an immediate payment! I went ballistic!

I called and we had a heart to heart conversation where they assured me nothing was wrong as long as I made a payment (which I did) and gave me a phone number for ebill. I was supposed to tell them they were wrong and were not sending my ebills on time, which was true.

I called and spoke to a guy who looked up my phone number, my login name, my credit card number and finally told me he had never heard of me, and I was not in their system!

He said the credit card company was wrong. I asked how come I was receiving emails about ebills if I wasn’t in their system and he said it must have been through some other bank other than the major Canadian banks. What in the hell was wrong was that they are all idiots! Everyone points at the other guy and no one fixes the system.

I logged on to my on line account and moved myself (I hope) back to snail mail billing, regardless of the environmental impact I create. My credit rating is more important than the piece of paper I create.

This is the last chance. If this does not work I will pay off the card and dump it! I have more than enough credit cards in my arsenal already.

Teachers Meeting - 1968

A bunch of teachers gathered at the end of the year at the home of one of our colleagues for our annual barbeque, party and drink fest, to celebrate the end of another year at the Junior High School. We normally did this every year at a nearby home, as we were “hot to trot” for beer and chips at the end of a long day.

That year the new principal decided to evaluate us all on the last day, a normally annual event, but his decisions were made after his first year. He did these without the “benefit” of looking at the previous year’s reviews. He felt, and understandingly so, that he could make his decisions based on his own review and not be affected by previous years occurrences. We all had a blank slate on which to start.

This was a noble exercise, and one that should have been rewarded or rewarding. However, as these noble experiments have the possibility of backfiring, this one “took the cake”.

It was the last day, a very bad move because people had no time to respond. Secondly, he told us all we didn’t have to agree with his review, but before we left we had to sign that we had seen it, a nerve racking experience only done in prison camps etc.

He hadn’t counted on most of us gathering immediately afterwards; angry, together and drinking, to plot his demise.

The events rolled out and escalated from general anger to death threats, to action. At least cooler heads prevailed and between us, with many unhappy senior teachers available, and the addition of a Supervisor, also a bit drunk, we called the superintendent who was willing to see us. Thankfully he agreed for a later time and not in our current drunken mood. (He didn't say that, I did.) Even the superintendent was wise enough to recognise a situation he could easily diffuse by putting it off for a weekend.

The next week he met with representative teachers, the principal, and it was cleared up the following fall. A noticeably quieter principal redid all the forms to correspond more directly to the former teacher evaluations we all had received in the past.

He was probably correct to do what he thought was best, but he did get his comeuppance on this one, He was well meaning, just not very practical.

Zinc Burger

I know it’s another story I think I’ve written before but can’t find on this site, so if I did I’ll do it again! If not, or if you don’t remember, it’s fine!

In 1981 I was invited to Miami, Florida to adjudicate a University project with the University of Florida at Miami‘s Architecture Department. This project was sponsored by the Zinc Institute of America, and their local consultant in Detroit knew me and invited me to participate.

I was Dean of the then Center for Creative Studies, College of Art and Design. While I was an unpaid member of the team, I was invited and the Institute paid my expenses, which was as good as cash given a free December Miami trip.

The other members of the adjudication team were representatives of the zinc industry as I remember, and the Zinc Institute seemed to regularly sponsor a large, post secondary design event using zinc.

In this case, the students were designing buildings using zinc as an accent element in the design and construction. I remember little of the event itself, but I remember having a fun time.

The story is less about the event, as with any field trip, the thing the kids (or me) remember most was the bus breaking down, or anything that didn’t work out just right.

In my case it was the arrival at the first night “meet and greet”.

I knew no one but the consultant, and we came to Miami on separate flights as he had to be there early working with the students on their presentations. He was a Detroit area art teacher and was an unlikely candidate to get me a trip to Florida, but I loved his style! I had no idea who I would be meeting, what the scope of the project was to be, and where we were to meet.

When I arrived at the appointed hotel, I just had time to get to my room, put down my bags and get ready to go to the event. I went to the desk and asked if there was a message for me and there wasn’t. In these days before all the instant communication, messages were few and far between. I asked if the Zinc Institute meeting was scheduled in a specific room, and while they had no idea, they said the meeting rooms were down a corridor and all I had to do was go and look for my meeting. Of course, I had no idea what I was looking for!

Down the hall I strolled, and I walked into a wondrous party in progress. There was a large ballroom, with hundreds of people in attendance, all dressed nicely, many with name tags and all having drinks and hors d'oeuvres. I was in heaven. At best it was an all University thing with lots of funders and development opportunities, and at worst I’d get a drink and something to eat as I was promised this by mail.

I got a drink, took a plate and some food and began to wander around looking for some familiar face or type, none of which appeared. I finally asked someone if they knew who the Zinc Institute representative was and he looked at me with wonder. He had no idea what I was talking about, and clearly I was lost.

What I had wandered in to was the Miami based Burger King new franchises cocktail party. The food and drinks were fine, and I took them with me. I wandered much further down the hall and lo and behold, in a small meeting room, I found a congenial group of Zinc Industry guys and my friend from Detroit plus a couple of the University Faculty members. The evening was fine, and I enjoyed the next few days, but I may have missed my big chance to become a Burger King franchisee.

and then my pants fell off…..

Starting with the punch line is a difficult way to write but it catches your attention right up front.

On May 16 I wrote “I’m putting my foot down” and if you read this you’ll understand about the large pieces of concrete I now have. If you also read the April 19 post about my being “Clumsy”, plus “Clumsy, Part 2”, you’ll know about my weak right arm.

Put these two together and here’s what happened on Monday.

Monday was a holiday in Canada, Victoria Day. We celebrate a dead Queen’s birthday by not working, a good policy! I had some large mounds of concrete to get rid of and I had a perfect dumpster lined up to dump it in. All I had to do was transfer the concrete to my car and get it to the dumpster.

I opened the rear hatch of my car, which was parked in the driveway. It was, of course, a quiet day with some traffic coming by but not bad. I went through the garage to the side yard where the concrete was lying in a wheel barrow, but because the tire was flat on the wheel barrow because of the weight of the concrete, I was going to carry the pieces. I placed an old cardboard box in the car so the concrete would not leave me residue. Being weak in the right hand, I lifted the largest piece in my left hand, a less weighty piece in my right and hurried with short choppy steps toward the open car hatch. These were very heavy and I didn’t want to lose them on the way, so I rushed, knowing the problem was at hand, as I could feel it coming!

I made it to the hatch and deposited the concrete in the box while simultaneously; my pants fell down around my ankles!

The traffic, though slower than usual, kept coming, and I could hardly stop laughing long enough to grab my pants and pull the up. And yes mother, I was wearing clean underwear!

Dinner from a bygone era.......

The Restaurant from the Holiday inn, Carbondale.

I was watching Robert Irvine’s Show, “Restaurant Impossible”, in which he attempts to save America’s most desperate restaurants from impending failure in just two days with a budget of $10,000. One of the facts that became clear after watching a number of these shows was that the “good old days” are not good, just old. Clearly, customers and chefs alike hate the trappings of the past. Old fashioned ideas and dishes are clearly not often available in successful restaurants nor not often desired.


I know as well as anyone that food trends change, and today’s popular places are gone as soon as something new comes along. They make fun of styles that look like the 70’s or 80’s even though for some of us who were adults in those times, the food or service was what we got used to and can, in fact, sometimes miss.

The most glaring example for my wife and I was the disparaging way they treated chateaubriand (for two) and Caesar salad made at the table, declaring that a waste of time for the server and the diner.

I was reminded of a time many years ago (sometime in the 90’s), when I went with my old friend John Slorp, the then President of either the Memphis College of Art or the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, depending on when we were there together on an accreditation visit to Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, IL. I was either the Dean of CCS or President of one of the schools, but I do know we were together at SIU and it was a NASAD accreditation visit.

We stayed in an old hotel, my first guess was that it was a Hilton, but I checked and they have a Holiday Inn Conference Center so that must have been it.

After the visit had ended, and we were finished our work, we decided to have dinner together in the hotel restaurant. It was dated, it was quiet and we were among a few diners that evening. The waiters were tuxedoed, a far from “normal” thing, but it was a bit of faded elegance they were trying to achieve.

John and I, while kidding around before dinner and having drinks, decided to have everything they could make at our table for dinner. The menu therefore was spelled out in simple terms. We had a Caesar salad, Steak Diane and Cherries Jubilee!

The waiters were delighted, as they got to show off their best server qualities, and they all participated as these three dishes tool the expertise of all the staff. As well, we were big diners who left a large tip because of the beautiful service we received.

Dinner was great, the salad fresh and garlicky, the steak was tender and delicious and the dessert was “over the top”!

Yes, it was a one time display of gluttony, but it harkened back to a bygone era of elegant service and charming meals.

I know Robert Irvine attempts to save America’s most desperate restaurants from impending failure by bringing them out of the past, but sometimes a look at the past is a wonderful thing.

The Big Important Lunch

I learned a lot from so many people in my life, not all of which was good stuff. I may have passed this one on before, but I can’t find it so I may assume it’s never surfaced. It’s a learning experience but I’m not sure what the lessons was, or if I care to even ponder it. But the exception to this is that the stereotype is often quite close to the reality.


I had a lunch arranged with a very important man. He was the International Vice President of a major corporation. There were a bunch of people going to this lunch, in Detroit, in about 1980.

A reporter from the Detroit News business section called me and begged a spot at lunch so he could get to interview this important gentleman. This was the “big leagues”.

His driver brought him, and he was quite “nattily attired”. I seem to remember a very high stiff starched collar on his shirt and quite an expensive tie to boot. The rest of us seemed like peons, but we had business to attend to, and money was at the root of this event.

This particular restaurant had a salad bar (this was the 80’s) and the guest of honor would have no part of such a proletariat action, so he had the waitress prepare his salad. I was next to him at lunch so I watched the action.

The waitresses in those days were dolled up in short skirt costumes with frilly bodices to match. As he explained his salad order to her, he grabbed her ass! I was stunned! She quickly moved away from his grasp and continued taking orders having had such an experience, I guess, before.

The rest of the lunch and the conversation is a blur. The staying power is this story. How this was possible is beyond me, but I was, as usual, a “babe in the woods”.

The Business Card

As a boy my best friend Alan lived down then street from me. We were together in elementary school and remained friends through high school. But the closest part of our friendship was when we were in grade school.

His father had a printing shop, and he had given Alan a printing press. This was a small hand press, and he could get type set at the shop on the weekends, and we could set the type in the press and sell stuff to other kids.

Now what enterprising idea did we come up with but making business cards.

No kid ever had a business card, and if we produced such an item we could make a lucrative business out of it, and , it would be cool.

We started slowly with cards of our own, for ourselves. We could put what you wanted, and as pubescent boys it was clear that we needed cards, as did our friends, to impress the girls.

We’d have our names, addresses and phone numbers of course, and than we had tag lines that functioned just as business men would have, with our “product” or specialty showing. We had such “cool” things as:

Drinking and Smoking a Specialty,

Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em,

The 4 F’s club (never written out of course, this was the 50’s) Find them, Feel them , F**k them, Forget them

and other tidbits too hard to remember.

We were in the 6th grade and our big business was with Junior High School boys.

A few more “normal” boys wanted magic shows presented, or dog walking done but most of it was adolescent claptrap for sure.

I don’t know what happened, but we just stopped and went on to other things, and there are none left I know about, and I’m not going to find Alan in New Jersey to see if he has any left.

BTW, I don’t think any girl ever ordered any cards.

My old friend called last night .....

My old friend called last night and we had a conversation. I will try and repeat it, leaving out some details so as not to embarrass him. He doesn’t use a computer so he can’t see it but it could get back to him.
“Arthur, how are you?” etc. We go on……….. ”I keep hearing about Canada on the news. It’s very controversial. All that stuff about the oil shale…….”No, I say, you mean oil sands.” Oh yeh, that’s it, oil sands. What’s all that about? It’s all we hear about here (in the states).” (He must be listening to NPR news, because it’s a liberal cause and he listens to the radio a lot.)

“I don’t know, it’s not much of a controversy here. I mean there are those opposed to it, but lets look at how the Mid East gets its oil out of the ground. Do they use slave labor? Is it clean? Who knows?” I say.

He is confused by all this as it’s not a big thing where I live (it may be in Alberta among both liberals there). He has asked me about this for four consecutive phone calls so I’m less than amused by the need to respond.

“The real reason I called was to tell you that Andrew is dead”, he says.

“I know”, I say,” because I’m the one that told you about it the last time you called. You had asked me if I knew where he was, as you called up his phone number and his wife told you he had a disease but you couldn’t remember the name of it”. “Alzheimer’s”, I said, “and you said “that was it.” (I never met Andrew but that was a hard concept). I Googled his name and told you that he had dieg two weeks ago.

“I just got a book about the school history and it was awful boring”, he said. This was the third time I had heard that book story so I wasn’t that interested.

I got a call from my son as we were talking and thank God, I was able to take it on call waiting after excusing myself.

Next week he will call me to tell me about oil sands, school history and probably about Andrew’s death.

I feel the need to respond, and I am concerned about my growing hostility toward these conversations. I don’t know if I’m irritated by his memory loss, or fearing my own.

This is not new for him, and is caused as much by life long drinking rather than recent dementia.

So, in some ways it makes me laugh, and some times it makes me very sad. I am ambivalent about my response.

I hope I remain coherent. If you don’t understand this post, I may be losing it myself.

I’m Putting My Foot Down!

Not actually our stairs, but close enough for a descriptor.

On Saturday I was waiting for some guys to come over to give us an estimate on some house repairs. It was raining, and when they rang the bell, I peaked out the door ,and rather than take the chance of Max escaping because they didn’t deal with the vestibule door correctly, I simply told them I’d meet them outside and they should go through the side gate.

I went through the garage door from the laundry room to the back, and that door is closing slowly, causing Max to run by me, through the garage door to the side yard, and he rushed out to the backyard. He jumped on the guys and was a bit of a nuisance, but after they were finished I yelled at him, promised him a cookie to get in, and he returned.

I needed to do something else and went out back a few minutes later and Max escaped again. My daughter realized what had happened as I went downstairs to use the computer; she yelled at me and at him and ran out to round him up.

My daughter went ballistic at me, screaming terrible things at the top of her lungs in the back yard as she yelled at Max to return. He was not going to do it.

She was insane out there and I knew I better do something so I came up and yelled at Max to return, which he did running all the way. All this happened as it was pouring, of course.

My angry and upset daughter stomped into the house, and as she reached the laundry room door from the outside, her foot went completely though a precast concrete step and it self destructed!

As she stood there in the rubble, in the midst of a hundred and fifty pounds of broken concrete, she was stunned!

I have never seen it happen, but clearly what we had was 27 years of water damage at work! She had not “done it”, she was simply the last straw!

My poor angry daughter was so upset I could only work at calming her down, something I was not the one to do that day. It really had to wait for Mom to come home and deal with her upset daughter. I simply shoveled the disaster into a wheel barrow and figured I’d take care of it today.

My right arm is 3” longer than when I started!

When I wrote about my arm and shoulder being crunched (Clumsy and Clumsy Part Two) I still continued to use the arm and continued with therapy. This morning I took Max the Wonder dog out for a walk as usual, and after a nice romp I returned home. I realized he hadn’t “gone” and figured I’d go back out again and see if he could relieve himself.

We walked up the street when we ran into his former best friend, a large German shepherd who decided at some moment in time that Max was no longer his best friend and tried to kill him. Max immediately took off trying to “slay the dragon” with fierceness and aggression while the shepherd returned the aggression trying to pull loose from his master.

I was scared for Max, as well as me if she couldn’t hold the shepherd. Max, a Cairn terrier who only weighs 19 pounds although it’s all muscle, and he can’t really move me and I can handle him. I was able to pick him up if needed. The shepherd must weigh about 75 pounds or more and his owner weighs in at about 100 pounds, thus the dilemma.

After the problem moved on Max deadheaded for the lawn of his attacker and deposited his morning dump with vigor.

As we worked our way home so I could get to work, with my tired self worn down by trauma, on our lawn stood, “The Rabbit”! Max was off trying to remove my right arm by force!

Of course he couldn’t do much except go horizontal through the air, be stopped by his collar and what’s left of my arm.

My shoulder hurts and my right arm is 3” longer than when I started!

My daughters say I have a different relationship with technology than they do

The image is my new computer

My daughters tell me I have a different relationship with technology than they do. I have a blog, a Facebook account, Twitter and they say I don't know how to use them. They feel I am misplaced in a digital age. I am baffled of course, as it was invented by the old guys originally, people of my generation. I am doing very well, Thank You, at my assigned tasks, and I don't have the same relationship with media they do. My fingers and my eyes are not as fast, I just know so much more than they do but they won't see that for a few years yet. I hope I get to be there when they discover their father was a lot smarter than they thought.


AARP said,” Baby boomers have a unique relationship to technology — different from any generation before or since — and they are actively shaping the devices, software and services of tomorrow by the choices they are making today, according to a new research report from AARP and Microsoft.

Curious to understand more clearly how baby boomers view and use technology, AARP and Microsoft decided to ask. In May 2009, the two organizations sponsored a series of focus group-like discussions with baby boomers in four U.S. cities: San Francisco, Phoenix, Chicago and New York. Author and futurist Michael Rogers led the sessions as the baby boomers shared their technology-related experiences, insights and expectations — and how their personal values shape the way they choose and use technology. The result is “Boomers and Technology: An Extended Conversation” a report that offers fresh insights into a generation whose influence on technology is often overlooked, and creates a compelling picture of how boomers and other consumers will use technology in the near future.

“Baby boomers are savvy consumers who expect technology to be safe, easy to use and flexible enough to adapt to their individual needs,” said Rob Sinclair, director of Accessibility at Microsoft, who notes that many baby boomers came of age before most of the software applications and devices we now consider essential were invented. “When new technology products enter the market — products that are well-designed and can help create the life baby boomers want — they are enthusiastic early adopters who help lead the way.”

Baby boomers have the numbers and the economic clout to make their technology choices matter.

By 2010, one-third of the U.S. population will be over 50. “That’s close to 106 million Americans controlling 50 percent of the country’s discretionary spending, and outspending younger adults by $1 trillion in 2010,” Rogers wrote in the report. “Consumers in their 50s show the highest intent to purchase consumer electronics among any age group.”

Yet, it is baby boomers’ values and ideals, more than their checkbooks, that are shaping the future of technology, according to Adam Sohn, director of Integrated Communications for AARP, a membership and advocacy organization for people age 50 and older.

“Baby boomers want technology that reflects their values and helps them express those values with greater purpose, meaning and impact,” Sohn said. “While boomers are heavy users of technology today — for everything from entertainment and news to online banking and social networking — what’s most exciting is the technology-assisted world they are helping to create.”

Rogers, a futurist, agrees: “Baby boomers see technology as a gift, not a given, so they are less likely than younger consumers to take it for granted. At the same time, baby boomers aren’t dazzled by every new gadget that comes along. Yet by embracing innovative new services and devices, and using them in unexpected ways to enhance their lifestyles and values, baby boomers are having a tremendous influence on emerging technologies.”

Based on his discussions with baby boomers, and his ongoing research into the relationship between society and technology and what’s currently in development, Rogers offers an exciting view of that world in 2019, just 10 years hence, when the youngest boomers will be turning 55 and Generation X will begin crossing the 50-year mark.

Within the decade, Rogers forecasts that some baby boomers and other consumers will be wearing sensor-equipped exercise clothing and GPS-enabled running shoes during workouts to monitor their physical condition, track the calories they burn, and upload the information automatically for storage and analysis. Other boomers will have prescription glasses that connect wirelessly to the Internet or other networks and display information in the lower half of the lens, or carry mobile devices that can function as electronic wallets, offer full telepresence and project large-format images on the wall.

Increasingly, baby boomers will use technology to help them care for their aging parents — employing sensors that alert them to changes in behaviors or routines that could signal problems — and to manage their own health with tools ranging from low-cost gene scans to implanted microchips that contain their health records. Boomers also will use computers to control energy use in their “green” homes and to redefine when, where and how they work. (For the complete forecast, see the full report and executive summary.)

“Baby boomers appreciate cool software and devices as much as anyone, but they also believe technology has the power to help bring about positive social change, and they want to make that happen,” Sohn said. “Boomers care deeply about social justice and individual freedoms, and they see technology as a tool that people can use to improve their lives and make the world a better place — from making society more democratic to helping all of us participate more fully and more directly in the decisions that affect us.”

The Art Entrepreneur

I met a young man many years ago who was a former art student turned professional. He was a man with an unquenchable entrepreneurial spirit and made himself indelible in my mind. I do not remember his name but I have used his story for years.


Let me start with the idea that this was a long time ago, the late 60’s or early 70’s and the money will sound like very little, but if you multiply the numbers by 10 you will have a better picture by today’s standards.

He was a painter, and I can’t remember the work but I do remember it was skillfully done and probably somewhat realistic in nature. He had developed a following which is the basis of our story.

His work was selling for about $200-$300 for a small painting and he was doing well. He decided, as an artistic dream, that he would love to live in Italy for a year or two. This, of course, required funds. This was at a time when the US dollar was high and Europe was still a pretty cheap place to live.

Here is what he dreamed up, and I loved it. He went to see all his patrons, people who had purchased art work from him over the past few years and made a pitch.

If they would give him $15 a month for at least a year, he would guarantee a small painting to them every year they participated. The cosst to them was a mere $180.

This was a win/win situation for everyone, as the supporters each year had a new painting shipped to them from Italy, and the artist received enough income deposited in his US account to keep him living in Italy with a mandate to paint enough to fulfill his obligation.

My guess, based on the money of the time, was that he would need at least 10 people to support him and he would have $150 a month in order to live. So, multiply by 10 and it would work today, at a ten person minimum. My assumption was that he had more than that and it was a great idea!

Mothers Day Story from my Aunt Hilda (601st post)

My Mother's family. L to R, row 1, my Grandparents. Row 2, my Aunt, my Uncle and my Mother. (circa 1957)

I called to wish my Aunt a Happy Mothers Day, as she is the closest relative I have left. She was my mother’s younger sister and half raised me anyway.

She has been reading this blog and noticed that my girls are always giving me grief about everything. She noted that my boys would never do that and I agreed. She told me my Grandmother always said,”You should have boys!”

She said that when she gave birth to her second child, her daughter, my Grandmother had everyone convinced that it would be a boy. My Grandmother was preparing gefilte fish for the briss (ritual circumcision) that was sure to come

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Gefilte fish (from the Yiddish and German: Gefüllter Fisch "stuffed fish") (Yiddish: געפֿילטע פֿיש, Hebrew: דגים ממולאים‎ dagim memula'im, literally "filled fish") is a poached fish mince stuffed into the fish skin.


Everyone believed her because she was seldom wrong.

When my cousin Marge was born, my Aunt was in disbelief. She asked the Doctor if he were sure of the sex, the Doctor said, “We have ways of telling…..”

it was just a matter of those little lights….

My first wife went to the University of Maryland in College Park for several years as a graduate student and a commuter. We were married with children at the time and it was a very long ride on a regular basis.

She had a Datsun 510 sedan which was great on gas mileage, which she used for the trip.

We purchased the car when we moved to Kansas City for a year, as the result of our VW bus needing too much repair work to make it sensible to take to Missouri with us. So I am guessing it was a 1974 Model.

One night she was returning home, a trip of close to 40 miles, when the gauges showed she was overheating. Now, I loved the fact we had gauges in that car as opposed to little lights, because I had an actual picture of what was going on inside the engine.

What I didn’t know was she would have responded better to the little lights, the thing I found out about too late.

As she entered the highway she noticed the engine was running hot. Her immediate reaction was to drive fast down then highway making the cold air rush over the hot engine and cooling it off. This of course, in hindsight, was a big mistake. She talked about it afterward and explained that if we had little lights she would have stopped.

In those days before cell phones, it was much more difficult to stop as there was no way of knowing that some “normal” person would stop and help you.

She continued until she reached the city and stopped at the first service station she saw.

The car was fried! The radiator, it turned out, had melted it’s welds and the engine finally seized. It was hot beyond hot and it was amazing she made it that far.

I had a friend from teaching who was involved with the shop areas of a high school, and the car took a trip to a local high school, and after a few weeks it came back repaired at a reasonable cost.

I am not clear on all the details; it was just a matter of those little lights….

A Call To Mama

My mother with her grandsons in the 80's.

On Monday evening my older daughter and my wife and younger daughter all arrived home from Montreal after picking up my wayward child. It was a homecoming, sort of, because my older daughter was gone in 30 minutes to go see her friends.

On Wednesday evening we all were home and had dinner together.

I must have been feeling good (the booze helped) but it was an all right with the world kind of feeling, even Max the Super dog was happy.

As dinner was over and we were sitting there, I reached for the phone to call my mother to tell her my daughter was home and all was fine.

I know this sounds like a nice gesture, but my mother passed away in 1997!

I caught myself doing this as I went to do it so I never even got to the phone. Unfortunately, I called my mother every day, at least once, from the time I was about 20 until she passed.

Old habits die hard……..

Clumsy Part Two (He Keeps On Falling!)

On April 19 in the post “Clumsy” I wrote:

“While I have never been known for my clumsiness, it is somewhat evident in my life. Now that I have aged, it gets thrown in my face as if it just came about and is caused by some aging process, probably a brain dysfunction. As nasty as the accusation is, I need not defend myself although that’s usually the position I’m in. I feel threatened, and have to remind myself that I fell out of an amusement park ride at the age of 12 and I tripped in the garage and broke my ankle eleven years ago. All that happens now is more of a life long pattern rather than new events.


In a world where we all look at our elderly with a questioning glance (are they OK? Do they hear? Do they understand?) it is hard to have a perceived weakness. The kindness of strangers is not always appreciated, especially if we see it as their perception of our weakness. I will readily admit to a bit of paranoia, but I’m doing fine.


I’m just, as always, a bit clumsy!”

Today I went to my temporary office to pack a few things awaiting tomorrow’s movers. I was alone packing boxes and when I had finished my office, I looked next door and in the closet I had a number of items, some of which were in a very large broken box. I looked through the items and decided to move them to other boxes, and there was one small item at the bottom that was hard to reach. I leaned way over to get to the object when the box broke, I tumbled forward and landed head first into the box, into the closet and banged my head into the wall and my knees onto the ground. My arms, including the one with the damaged rotator cuff were splayed out to save me and ended up hurting lots!

I stayed very still and surveyed the damage to me. Nothing seemed top be broken, the building was still. Only one person knew where I was and she didn’t necessarily expect me to return. I guessed it would be late tonight before my wife started to look for me and I would be very ill, and have peed in my pants by the time they found me. Clearly, I had to move. There were neither usable phones in the house nor any computers.

I began to crawl around a bit, trying to get to a place that was safe and would let me get out of there. My knees were hurting, and don’t work well on a good day so I was toast! I worked my way out of the box, and onto my butt! I scooted around to find a place I could get a hand hold to help me get up with my bad knees and bad arm. I worked my way over to a railing and was able to get up.

I had been scared! I needed to sit quietly (and drink) and catch my breath.

I was already on my way to physio, so I kept on going, and they understood and treated me gently.

I am sore. The situation was laughable, and the fact that I survived once again is good, and the story is funny, as long as I has no disastrous long term problems attached to it.

The Teddy Part Two

Again, not the model, it's just the teddy I'm talking about.

If you remember I wrote and the teddy on April 15. I said in part,


“Cool guys, when I was a kid, would brag about how they could remove a girl’s bra with a snap of the fingers, just a snap and the little hooks would open. Now I’ve lived a long time but as far as I’ve ever seen, even with complete cooperation, this was not possible.

No matter how hard I worked at it, there was a degree of skill developed over time, but no instant snap worked.

The Teddy was another thing indeed! I had no idea where to start. Even in long ago hind sight, I was dumbfounded. As I remember, I had to ask her to remove it as I didn’t know where to start. I was over 40 year’s old (she wasn’t) and this was too much for me!

I have no more stories to tell as the rest is lost in memory. Let’s just say the rest of the night was magic! It probably wasn’t, and the woman would remember this a different way, but let me put myself in the best perspective! I guess that may border on bragging”.

The mysterious woman described sent an email that said, “I remember I had one of those years ago”.

I sent an email to her, who was the impetus for this story, and I said,

“The story is about you!

All names are removed of course, and the fact you didn't remember it is good. You are memorable to me. I didn't have to be to you. We all remember different things anyway but I loved the idea that you didn't notice it right away.

I didn't answer on Facebook because it's public”

She responded,

“OMG! Now I remember. I'm snickering. Fond memories. Yes in deed ….”

I replied, “The story is so memorable. The teddy was red I think, and you looked great!...”

The Teddy is the gift that kept on giving……..