Waldorf Salad

I want to go on record by saying that I think the apple is one of God’s greatest ideas. My personal favorite is the gala, but any apple or apple product will do just fine. As long as I can remember, I have loved apples, apple pie, apple butter, apple fritters, and apple sauce. One of the more creative ways to enjoy apples is in Waldorf Salad. From Simply Recipes:

According to the American Century Cookbook, the first Waldorf salad was created in New York City in 1893, by Oscar Tschirky, the maître d'hôtel of the Waldorf Astoria. The original recipe consisted only of diced red-skinned apples, celery, and mayonnaise. Chopped walnuts were added later to this now American classic. Some prefer their Waldorf salad made with yogurt, instead of mayo.

Knowing my love for the apple, my mother would serve Waldorf Salad as part of our family’s Thanksgiving tradition. As she would say each year; “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without Waldorf Salad, would it?” It would be helpful to insert here that I was the only one in our family who professed to like Waldorf Salad, although I think my sister dutifully consumed some. But maybe it wasn’t Waldorf Salad that the rest of the family didn’t like; maybe it was mom’s version of it.

My mom took great pride in her ability to cook. She also boasted that she seldom if ever used recipes. She cooked to taste. As a kid, I remember that mom was a fantastic cook. The combined girth of our family testified to that. But as she grew older and the effects of decades of smoking dulled her taste buds, cooking to taste took on an entirely new meaning. In her later years, everything she made was “over the top.” This included Waldorf Salad.

I may have enjoyed it when I was younger, but as the years progressed, the Waldorf Salad digressed. The last batch she made was probably 2 years before she died. It was a labor of love because she was really too weak to be peeling apples (though she probably made dad do it). But this was a sacrifice of love for her son because “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without Waldorf Salad, would it?”

With that as the background, I feel somewhat guilty writing about Waldorf Salad, but I am compelled to do so. Again, my therapist thinks this will be good for my recovery. I’m not sure if he is concerned about my recovery or about the book he’s planning to write, but I’ll take his advice. So now I will admit the naked truth: when we brought home the leftover Waldorf Salad from mom’s on Thanksgiving (and Christmas too, for that matter), I would package several samples and send them by courier to the CDC in Atlanta, the FBI in Quantico, and to Area 51 in the Nevada desert. Interestingly, I have never heard from any of them nor I have seen published test results of the material sent to them. From this I surmise that it has been classified “Eyes Only” and the results are known only to the President. Yes, the stuff was that toxic.

Since the Federal government has ignored my requests to publish the results of their testing, my conscience compels me to disclose this information for the sake of public safety. Since no recipe exists for mom’s Waldorf Salad, I will reproduce the formula to the best of my memory:

Mom’s Waldorf Salad – because it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it, for cryin out loud.

• 8-10 apples of any variety peeled (you have to peel them because the peels get stuck in your dentures).
• 1 to 2 cups of celery, chopped
• 1 cup of raisins
• 1 cup of walnuts (you could also use the black walnuts that fall from the neighbor’s tree because they are free and walnuts are so blamed expensive anymore. Black walnuts provide an interesting coloration to the formula, a sort of marbling effect that adds to the mystique of the dish).
• 1 – 55 gallon drum of Salad Dressing (some people use mayonnaise, but we have to watch the cholesterol intake).

Combine the ingredients in a mop bucket and add salad dressing until the ingredients float.

Allow the mixture to sit at room temperature for several days (this applies if you have made the salad several days prior to the meal because you have so much else to do).

As the salad dressing evaporates, add more dressing to maintain the buoyancy of the ingredients. Periodically break the skim that forms on the surface.

Just prior to serving, add paprika because that gives it a festive, holiday color.

Serves as many as will eat it.

I don’t know if those in heaven waste their time reading blogs, but if they do, I hope mom’s sense of humor is intact.

The Poverty Wheel

A few weeks ago I stupidly volunteered to help my friend and coworker move. Understand that by “help” I mean I drove the truck and carefully tended to the box-o-joe purchased for the movers. At this stage of my life, that is about as much as I intend to do. Besides, I was not needed for the heavy lifting as she had enlisted the help of her burly son-in-law and several of his friends. I knew that these guys could provide fodder for a story. I was not disappointed.


I have been part of many different moving crews over the span of my life. Some of the moves were as organized as a shuttle launch; some were as chaotic as the running of the bulls in Pamploma. This move was closer to Spain than to NASA.

The young men enlisted as movers had obviously never done this before. Their objective: cram as much stuff into the truck as possible without regard as to what might fit in what space, and to do this as quickly as possible. To maximize the use of their time, they removed a 2nd floor window, brought furniture out of the window and on to the garage roof and then deftly heaved said furniture into the truck below. Of course, someone had to be in the truck to catch the furniture. Usually it was Nick, Bethanie’s son-in-law. Sometimes it was me, for I failed to get out of the way in time. So imagine the sight: truck backed to the garage, 3 men walking to the edge of the garage roof with furniture and handing it to the waiting morons below.

We made 3 trips from the old 2 story farmhouse to a smaller 1 story ranch. I was there as it all was unloaded, but I am still perplexed as to how it all got into the house. I can’t say for certain, but I think lubricants were used to get the stuff through the doors.

Before we left the farm house with the last load, I was treated to an exhibition such as I had never before witnessed. The movers, lead by Nick (a trouble-maker if there ever was one), took turns on what Bethanie called “the poverty wheel.” A poverty wheel is simply an empty wooden spool that once held cable for utility crews. I must admit, I have never heard them called poverty wheels, but Bethanie is from southern California, so that explains a lot.

This was great fun as the guys straddled the middle of the wheel, and holding on for dear life, tried to see how long they could stay on as the wheel was rolled down the hill. Imagine bull riding without the bull and with much less class. I still don’t know what the winner gained. If he avoided being run over by the guys who pushed, he could look forward to projectile vomiting when the ride was over.

I have one question: who has one of these as lawn ornaments, for crying out loud? When I was younger, they made avant-garde tables for coffee shops. But picnic tables? Just who is the redneck here?

Strange but True?

This was sent in an email by a friend. I don't know if it is exactly true, but the more your get to know people, the more believable this becomes. Enjoy (and thanks to MJ).


Recently, when I went to McDonald's I saw on the menu that you could have an order of 6, 9 or 12 Chicken McNuggets. I asked for a half dozen nuggets.
'We don't have half dozen nuggets,' said the teenager at the counter.
'You don't?' I replied.
'We only have six, nine, or twelve,' was the reply.
'So I can't order a half dozen nuggets, but I can order six?'
'That's right.'
So I shook my head and ordered six McNuggets (Unbelievable but sadly true...)

TWO

I was checking out at the local Walmart with just a few items and the lady behind me put her things on the belt close to mine. I picked up one of those "dividers" that they keep by the cash register and placed it between our things so they wouldn't get mixed.

After the girl had scanned all of my items, she picked up the divider, looking it all over for the bar code so she could scan it. Not finding the bar code, she said to me, 'Do you know how much this is?' I said to her "I've changed my mind; I don't think I'll buy that today."

She said 'OK,' and I paid her for the things and left. She had no clue to what had just happened.

THREE

A woman at work was seen putting a credit card into her floppy drive and pulling it out very quickly. When I inquired as to what she was doing, she said she was shopping on the Internet and they kept asking for a credit card number, so she was using the ATM 'thingy.' (keep shuddering!!)

FOUR

I recently saw a distraught young lady weeping beside her car. 'Do you need some help?' I asked.

She replied, 'I knew I should have replaced the battery to this remote door unlocker. Now I can't get into my car. Do you think they (pointing to a distant convenience store) would have a battery to fit this?'

'Hmmm, I don't know. Do you have an alarm, too?' I asked.

'No, just this remote thingy,' she answered, handing it and the car keys to me. As I took the key and manually unlocked the door, I replied, 'Why don't you drive over there and check about the batteries. It's a long walk....' (PLEASE just lay down before you hurt yourself !!!)

FIVE

Several years ago, we had an Intern who was none too swift. One day she was typing and turned to a secretary and said, 'I'm almost out of typing paper. What do I do?' 'Just use paper from the photocopier', the secretary told her. With that, the intern took her last remaining blank piece of paper, put it on the photocopier and proceeded to make five 'blank' copies.

Brunette, by the way!!

SIX

A mother calls 911 very worried asking the dispatcher if she needs to take her kid to the emergency room, the kid had eaten ants. The dispatcher tells her to give the kid some Benadryl and he should be fine. The mother says, 'I just gave him some ant killer......'

Dispatcher: 'Rush him in to emergency!'

Word Games

I have long been fascinated with words and phrases. I admit that it is very annoying to my wife, but she did promise that “for better or for worse” stuff and a promise is a promise. But I love the absurdities of the English language. If I had been smarter, I may have studied linguistics.

Since I have no better way to occupy my time than to think of stuff like this, here is a list of interesting expressions that really require comment:

• Drive thru – Don’t you need to stop, at least once and maybe twice?
• Natural food – As opposed to what, unnatural or supernatural food?
• Final approach – So how many approaches did you make before the final one?
• "It was the in the last place I looked." – Of course it was. Would you keep looking once you found it?
• All-you-can-eat – Really? Don’t you want to put some time limits on this because I plan to eat for the rest of my life?
• Blazing inferno – Aren’t all infernos blazing? Firefighter #1: "Wow, it took a long time to put out that inferno." Firefighter #2: "Yeah, good thing it wasn’t a blazing inferno. We might have been here all day" (Note: Some brainiac will no doubt point out that inferno does not always need to refer to a fire like “the inferno of war.” But, who cares. Get your own blog).
• Rear view mirror – No, I’d rather have the one that lets me see in front.
• Paid vacation – Really? So why do vacations cost me a ton of money? Why do I have to save all year for a vacation? From now on, I want the one that pays me, for cryin’ out loud.

As I continue my research, I am sure that I will discover more language oddities. Your submissions are welcomed. I will give you credit for them so you too can be admired by this blog’s vast audience of 2 or 3.

I Was Conrad Birdie

I was Conrad Birdie! Yes, the story can now be told. My therapist said that it would be OK to admit this. He said that I must embrace the past if I ever want to chase the demons away for good.


For those who are unaware, Conrad Birdie was the lead character in the musical “Bye, Bye Birdie,” a story about an Elvis Presley-like person who was drafted into military service.

Our 9th grade music department presented this musical. I left my promising wrestling career behind to follow the lure of stage lights. How I got the lead is a mystery. Ours was a smallish junior high school, so the auditions for the part consisted of me, Scott and Greg. Scott was Conrad Birdie in real life. He had the hair, the pointed shoes with Cuban heels, and pegged pants (unfortunately, you have to be as old as I am to understand what these mean and how they were significant). Most importantly, he had his very own electric guitar! But, the gods of theater visited me and I got the part. Yes, I was a thespian!

I barely remember most of it. I had 3 singing parts, if I recall correctly. It was horrible. My terrible singing was outdone only by my even more terrible acting. I was too much a geek-wad to even try to be cool, for cryin’ out loud. I don’t think I pulled it off convincingly, although I got rave reviews from my mom and grandma, who both thought I was playing Slim Whitman. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t have any yodeling parts.

Wrestling

I was pumped for the 1st day of wrestling practice. As I said before, I knew I had an advantage on the other guys because of my long involvement with the sport. I doubt if many of my peers could match the time I invested watching professional wrestling on TV.

I had the famous holds and moves down pat. I could perform the sleeper hold, which would render an opponent unconscious; the coco butt, the trademark of Bobo Brazil which would end any match, and my favorite, the claw hold. Fritz von Erich would apply the claw hold to the mid-section of his opponent and it would instantly gain his submission. We hated Fritz von Erich. He the did the Nazi goose step before each match, intentionally stirring the patriotic feelings of every American. If Hitler was still alive, Fritz was on a mission directly ordered by der Fürher (I later found out that this "Nazi" was born in Jewett, Texas). 

Now, forget that I had never actually used the sleeper hold on anyone except maybe my brother (and I think he faked a loss of consciousness so I would leave him alone). And I never really tried the coco butt, but it seemed to work well for Bobo Brazil. Of course, I was mildly curious how he could smash heads with his opponent and the poor guy would writhe in excruciating pain, but Bobo never seemed to feel anything. I guess his head was that hard.

But I did try the claw hold. I used it on my dad, but he never lost consciousness like the guys on TV. I tried it on my brother, but he was too ticklish for it to work effectively. Nonetheless, I had faith in these holds. The wrestlers who used them were all of the “scientific” wrestling school, so how could they fail? They had science on their side for cryin out loud.

Imagine my surprise when I went to wrestling practice for the 1st time. The coach demonstrated something that he called wrestling but was completely foreign to me. Was this a Russian, Commie invention to make girlie-men out of red-blooded American boys? I soon learned that such effective holds like the sleeper hold, coco butt and claw hold were illegal and would get me thrown off the team. To make matters worse, they didn’t even use a ring! It was all done on a mat. How in the world was I expected to jump off the turn-buckle and land my elbow into the throat of my writhing adversary? I wasn’t sure about this namby-pamby stuff.

I lasted for most of the 1st season. I just couldn’t get the holds and moves quite right. Every time I tried to use one of the “scientific” wrestling holds, Jack Price, my best friend and who was in my same weight class, drove me to the mat and pinned me. I may have lasted all of 30 seconds against Jack. I thought I had an edge in information and technique; he had muscle, skill, and little tolerance for fools.

I quit before the wrestling season ended having never competed in an actual match. My athletic career was not going well. But, then, my true calling beckoned. That’s a story for another time.

My Sports Career

By the time I reached 7th grade, I had sufficiently healed emotionally to take another stab at sports. If you have ever been an adolescent boy, you know how important sports are to your developing manhood. So, I needed to find an activity that would satisfy my inner desire to play on a team, develop skill and coordination, and most importantly, make me popular with the girls – a strange breed in which I was beginning to take a curious interest.


Though I was psychically healed from the baseball experience, I had, nonetheless, learned a valuable lesson. Therefore, I was looking for a sport that did not involve a ball of any kind. Naturally, that eliminated football, soccer (though I did briefly try this until I discovered that it was mostly running), volleyball, basketball, tether ball, and catch (although I don’t think that this was a scholastic sport. I wasn’t taking any chances, though). To my surprise, in 7th grade, my Jr. High introduced a new sport to our school: wrestling.

This was the mother lode. It met my 2 basic criteria: it did not involve throwing, catching, kicking or coming into any contact whatsoever with a ball and; it was sure to impress those strange creatures that made us all act goofy when they came around. This was the perfect juxtaposition of circumstances. Wrestling was the ideal sport for me.

Part of Saturday ritual from as far back as I can remember involved watching professional wrestling on TV. Sometimes we would watch at home, and sometimes we were at my grandparent’s house. But we never missed. My family was really into wrestling. My grandmother would get so worked up over wrestling that she nearly became another person. The first time I visited a church when they spoke in tongues, it was no big deal. Grandma did that while watching wrestling.

Actually, professional wrestling or studio wrestling was the first infomercial. “Wrestlers” would show up at the studio and there would be one hour’s worth of matches ending with a plug to buy tickets for the big show at the Civic arena. But as far as we were concerned, this was real stuff.

These were our local heroes: Lord Ethyl Layton, a former wrestler of British nobility, now emcee of the program; Killer Kowalski, Dutch Schultz, Bobo Brazil, and the one I loved to hate, Fritz von Erich. Along with these luminaries, every now and again, local viewers would be given a special treat: midget wrestling.

Mom and grandma loved midget wrestling. Forget that it was presented like a freak show that could have been at the county fair. It was great fun. But for grandma, the only thing better than midget wrestling was women midget wrestling. This combined the best of all possible worlds: there was the gratuitous violence of professional wrestling, the curiosity of watching people who were “not normal,” and the the particular form of brutality that is associated with a “chic fight.”

So, with this wealth of information gleaned from years of careful observation, I was ready to take on wrestling. I knew I could excel. I had the advantage over the other guys who would try out for the team. I was a student of the sport. I could almost sense the admiration that would come my way by the 7th grade girls, who were strangely different from the 6th grade girls they used to be. I needed to practice my moves, wrestling and otherwise.

Football's Finished

It’s official; the football season for the Diminutive Native Americans is finally over. They were soundly defeated by the Miniscule Magenta Mythical Monsters (the fire-breathing kind) in their first playoff game on Saturday (note: I am using politically correct names for the teams involved at the advice of my legal counsel William F. (Bill) Perdieum). That game was ridiculous. Am I wrong, but aren’t game announcers supposed to observe a semblance of impartiality over the PA system? I know the guy had a kid in the game, but did he have to be the cheerleader (“Here we go mythical monsters, here we go…”)? And is it necessary to shout each time any kid gets the ball, “he-could-go all… the… way” in pathetic Chris Berman style? I swear, if I could have found some angry villagers, we would have burned down the concession stand where the announcer sat. Even my 11 year grandson said, “What’s with the announcer dude?” Insightful!


I for one am glad the season is over. I know that most parents were disappointed but not me. Maybe it has to do with my general apathy toward sports which I trace to my troubled childhood. Let me explain…

My first encounter with sports was little league baseball in the summer between 3rd and 4th grade. In those days, no one automatically made the team. Back then, people were not as concerned about damaging a kid’s fragile little psyche. Our team had 15 uniforms and 17 kids trying out. We knew from the beginning that 2 of us would not make the cut, but I never imagined it would be me. Sure, I couldn’t hit – in fact I nearly fainted the first time someone threw a ball at me. But I had a secret weapon – my arm. I could throw the ball far. I was in left field and I ingeniously figured out a way to keep from getting hurt, which was my primary goal. When the ball was hit to left field, I would allow it to drop safely in front of me so I would not get seriously injured if I tried to catch it. Imagine people purposely standing under a dropping ball! Then I would pick it up and, with my rocket arm, I would throw it to the infield so the play could be made at the plate. This, I thought, would increase the dramatic value of the game and make it more spectacular. I could throw the ball far and many times I threw it in the right direction and sometimes to the right person. I knew I was doing well because every time I let the ball drop and threw it in the infield, the coach would gesture some congratulatory body language in my direction.

I was one of the ones cut from the team. I was devastated. I vowed then and there to give up sports and pursue my hobby – comic book reading – with greater intensity. But then came 7th grade.

The Scouring of the Shire

In my small town, every Friday is like spring. Here’s why: on Thursday evening, we all set out our garbage to be picked-up during the wee hours of Friday morning. All the citizens disgorge their homes of sundry unwanted items, refuse and garbage. We set these things out at the curb as offerings for the gods of garbage. As the good folk of the town sleep, the garbage men descend upon the city to relieve the people of their burdens for another week.

I am amazed at the symbiotic underground economy that garbage day has created. It is an unwritten rule that we all place our detritus outside by dinner time, especially during the summer. Because in the evening hours, a new species of entrepreneurs scour the city looking for all manner of “stuff” – these are the junk men. They look for anything that may be recycled or reused. Now, I get the recycling part, but some of these people are really in need of help. Some junk men find items for their homes or (I cannot prove this but my spider-sense tells me it is so) to resell at yard sales and flea markets (I must admit that I have this illness in my family. I have seen items that have been proudly displayed as being found in dumpsters. This is a sickness that needs some kind of support group.)

There are several classes of junk men. There are the ones who spy a juicy prize, pull over and wipe off the spaghetti sauce, and place it in their truck. They will do their best to keep from disturbing the garbage pile. Another kind will see something they want and wrestle it from the pile of debris and place it on their truck, leaving a disheveled mess in their wake. This is so annoying. Some of us work hard at leaving our trash in such a way that the high priests of garbage can easily gather the sacrifices left for them. I don’t appreciate having to rake up coffee filters, spent packages of soy sauce, and ketchup covered corndog sticks.

And then there are those who come to your door and ask you before they take your items. These are the namby-pamby socialists. No capitalist would be that polite or thoughtful. I mean, the stuff is out at the curb for the trash. Do I need to give permission before you take it? If I wanted to keep it, it would still be in my basement growing mold! Do I expect the garbage men to knock on my door at 0 dark 30 and ask permission to collect my garbage? Just take it, for crying out loud.

I love garbage day and the cleansing it provides. It is cathartic when you see junk from your house hauled away. However, I have learned that there are some things that neither the garbage men nor the junk men will take. Here is a brief list of forbidden items:

• Anything heavier than 1 man can lift – yet most of that junk I hauled out of the basement by myself. It can be done. You just need to swear a lot.

• Branches or shrubs that are not tied together. Like I’m going to take the time to neatly organize my branches and tie them together. Hey, if I’m going to do that much work, I’m going to find some heretic to burn at the stake. Why not? The hard part’s done.

• Pets – Oh, come on. Like you haven’t ever thought about this.

• A 1986 Pontiac Fiero

• Paint cans – here’s the exception: lids must be off and the paint must be dried hard. Why would I set paint out that is usable? Some brain surgeon always fails to close the paint cans tightly so they always dry…, Oh, wait, that was me…Never mind.

• Children, either mine or the neighbors. I guess there is some lame city ordinance about that.

Dad's Injury

I want to thank my younger (and only) brother for this observation. I was so focused on the 8x10 glossy of Minnie Pearl (suitable for framing) hanging in my grandparent’s home, that I completely allowed another detail to slip my attention.

In this photo, dad, dressed in his Navy whites, is just 20 years old. He probably weighs 95 pounds soaking wet. If you look closely, you can see a bandage on his left hand. Now, dad was not wounded in action. The only action he saw, according to him, was in the bar fights he had with Marines. He was stationed in Virginia Beach as a clerk. No, this injury is from a completely different source.

Dad was injured on the night before his wedding day. You might call it a redneck bachelor party. Dad and some others (I don’t know if it was his brothers, friends or what) spent the evening before his wedding ‘coon huntin.’ For the non-redneck part of the world that would be hunting raccoons.

This raises some questions: why would you pick the day before your wedding to hunt ‘coon? Why do you even hunt ‘coon? What are you going to do with one if you got it? Were these guys planning the menu for the reception? I understand that there are some people who claim to eat raccoon, but I’ve never seen it on one of those snooty chef cooking shows. (Note: recipe for ‘coon at the end of this post.)

Back to the injury: I don’t know if he volunteered, or if the task was assigned to him, but his job was to hold on to the dogs (not any dogs, mind you. These were ‘coon dogs). When the unfortunate raccoon was spotted (or smelled, or whatever they do), the dogs took flight, fulfilling the inner mandate of years of scientifically precise selective breeding (“Hey Sonny, reckon your dog wants to hump mine? I’ll split the litter with you.”).Dad was true to his calling. He was to hold the dogs at all costs. The costs were that he was pulled through woods at night by a hyperactive pack of hunting dogs. All 95 pounds of my dad were flapping and whipping back and forth like a piece of duct tape holding together a 54 Chevy. The only obvious injury was to his left hand. The rest remains a mystery.

Grandma Rena’s Recipe for ‘Coon:

Take one medium sized ‘coon, skinned and dressed. Remove entrails for future use (we’re not made out of money, you know).

Place in an ungreased roasting pan with lid.

In a separate bowl, prepare the stuffing for the ‘coon: you will mix together 2 pounds of mushroom compost (this compost is made by mushroom producers from material such as hay, straw, corn cobs, poultry and horse manure – or any combination of organic material that is 1) inexpensive and 2) readily available) with salt, pepper, and cumin to taste.

Stuff the ‘coon with the mixture and place in a pre-heated oven at 450 degrees or on the pot-bellied stove and cook for 4 hours.

Remove from heat and let stand for 30 minutes.

Remove stuffing, discard the ‘coon and eat the compost. Serves 4 grown-ups and 12 young-uns.

Day-Off Diversions

So today I took the day off from work – although those I work with would admit that what I do strains the definition of the word “work” – and spent the day with my wife. It was a lovely fall day; 2 days past the autumnal equinox, a gentle breeze with sustained winds of 20-30 mph, and pleasant temperatures that hit 90 degrees. You read correctly. 90 degrees on Sept 24. Anyway, we spent the morning goofing off, taking a drive, buying apples, going to the library, etc. Of course, you might imagine that I would have some observations along the way, so here they are in random order.

• We had lunch at a very nice restaurant. It was our first time there. Two businessmen (note, businessmen, not business persons) were seated behind us. One of them asked the server, “Where are your restrooms?” to which came the reply, “Oh, you mean the men’s room? It’s through those doors.” Well, of course he meant the men’s room! What do you think? Was he looking for the ladies room to steal some lotion, for cryin out loud? Where’s Bill Engvall when you need him?

• I have no quarrel with homeschoolers. I know some great people who home school their kids and they have great kids. We may have homeschooled our own kids, but then we wouldn’t have teachers and a school system to blame for our kid’s failure to become brain surgeons. But, why do some home school people think that weirdness is required curriculum? While buying apples, we saw some homeschooled people on a “field trip” (I know some who consider a trip the gas station a field trip). These kids were totally under-stimulated. They were getting excited about a growth chart. They muscled each other out of the way to stand next to the height chart that was a cut-out of “the Apple Guy.” Really? That’s the high point of your day? I understand that little kids get a kick out of this; mine did when they were little. But at 12 years of age, you would think that the wonder of such mysteries would begin to fade. (note: the Apple Guy was really scary. He was a hybrid of a red delicious apple, Burl Ives, and Andy Warhol. An experiment in genetic engineering gone horribly wrong.)

• We went to the local library. I know that this is pure geekness – a warm day off and you go to the library, but I have long ago embraced my inner geeknees. If it wasn’t for the library, I wouldn’t have any place to go to catch up on my magazine reading. It’s not like I’m going to pay good money to subscribe to those things! Anyway, it is the middle of the day and what did we see at the library? Kids who should have been in school! There were just a few random Jr. High age kids at the library, so it wasn’t a field trip or a class excursion. I was impressed. I realized that I was in the presence of genius. Who would think to look in a library for a kid skipping school?

Now, I’m off to the stadium for Friday night high school football. It’s homecoming – my favorite event of all. Teen age girls dress up like supermodels on the runway and slather on more make-up than an Egyptian princess. Ya gotta love it. Is it a coincidence that homecoming is always close to Halloween? Is it a dry run for trick-or-treat? I sense another post in the making.

Down Home Folks

In 1999, my brother, sister, and I gave our parents a 50th anniversary party. As I write these words, I realize that that was 11 years ago! I think that makes me old enough to be my own father, but I digress. Dad and Mom were married in the office of Akron Baptist Temple by one of the associate ministers – who, by the way, was able to attend the anniversary bash. In those days, one would be married in a church office only if there was a shotgun pointed at the groom’s back. For my parents, that was not the case. They married in July on 1949 and I was born in December of 1950 (note to friends: significant birthday coming up; gifts are expected). They were married in such a modest ceremony for 2 reasons: first, Dad was on leave from the Navy; second, they were just down home people who couldn’t afford fancy weddings and such events would be equivalent to “putting on airs.”

Since it was a simple ceremony, there was no photographer hired. Instead, grandma snapped the only extant wedding photo of my parents. For the 50th celebration, we had it enlarged and put on display along with photos of various events in their lives. But, we were in for quite a surprise. When the photo was enlarged, for the first time we were able to see clearly the picture hanging on the wall in my grandparent’s house. We knew it was there, but it was so small we were unable to recognize the face. We assumed it was a relative.

Now, I don’t know if Dad and Mom were placed in front of that particular wall on purpose or for convenience. Did grandma intentionally place that wall picture in photo as a subliminal statement? Was it there to serve as a continual reminder of our roots?

If you look closely, you may be able to recognize the picture. In the upper left, hanging on the wall almost looking out at the handsome newlyweds is a picture of Minnie Pearl. I realize that some of you reading this who are under 50 and in possession of most of your teeth may have never heard of Minnie Pearl. She was a standup comic, a down home version of Kathy Griffin or Paula Poundstone. I can hear Jeff Foxworthy now, "If you have a picture of Minne Pearl hanging in your living room..."

That is our pedigree. As a cherished member of the family, Minnie Pearl, the “Queen of the Grand Ole Opry” occupied a prominent place in my grandparent’s home. That explains a lot.

Football - the Game of Life

Since the new season of the NFL began last night, I felt this old video from The Onion would be approriate. When I was a lad, there was a cheesy LP record called "The Game of Life," using football as a metaphor for real life (my, how original!) By the way, I am reminded how ancient I am. I have lived through records (45, 78, and 33 1/3 rpm's), 8 track tapes, cassettes, CD's and now Ipod's. Anyway, this is a great parody.

 

Correction

I was remonstrated today regarding my earlier post. In the scientific survey previously mentioned, 30% of those polled (ie. Bethanie) said that they would try the chocolate covered bacon again. I regret the dissemination of misinformation, however disgusting that may turn out to be. It should be noted, however, the the majority of those polled (my wife and I) still consider chocolate covered bacon to be yucky.

In my opinion, it may be a left-wing plot to corrupt the morals of today's youth. What's more American than bacon?  What says "I'm a patriot" better than fried bacon strips across a double cheeseburger or carefully placed beside eggs and home fries? Wake up America!

Observations From the County Fair

I have spent several hours at the Canfield Fair, the largest county fair in the state. By some reports, it is larger than the state fair. There are many reasons to visit the fair. Mine had to do with business and with a promise made to a grandchild who apparently did not get enough of deep-fried whatever and spleen-dislocating rides at Kennywood this summer.


Of course, one of the major reasons to attend any county fair is the opportunity to gawk at the strange people who always show up. For those who like to gawk, the fair is a target rich environment (thanks, Jim for the phrase). So, in the spirit of my very first post on this blog, I want to submit my observations from this year’s Canfield Fair (my observations in no way reflect the opinion of the Canfield Fair board, the city of Canfield, Canfield Township, the police and fire departments, the 4 H clubs, or various and sundry livestock exhibited, and sold only to be slaughtered and consumed by hungry carnivores).

• So how many bits of metal could one place in his lip before it begins to generate its own magnetic field? Just wondering.

• Who was the rocket scientist that came up with the idea of chocolate covered bacon? Really? Bacon needs no improvement, but if it did, chocolate is not the answer. I know this is true, because a scientific poll was taken in which 3 people who tried it thought it was disgusting. I was one of those included in the survey, as was my wife and our friend Bethanie who forced it on us (“force” may be a strong word, but what else do you call a triple-dog-dare)?

• Here is an aside on the bacon comment. As wife and I were having dinner, we sat near a couple from Pittsburgh. I began to regale them with the story of the chocolate covered bacon, and they did me a story better. It seems they were travelling in Northwest PA, when they saw an ice cream stand that advertized 40 flavors. One of them was “candied bacon” (my wife was there and she will vouch for this. I may lie from time to time, but she doesn’t). So the man ordered it – not a sample or a single scoop mind you, but a double scoop in a waffle cone! I immediately sensed a problem here. If you were to want to taste ice cream, say with liver, would you order the largest they had? Anyway, he told his wife, “You know, I did not think that those 2 things would taste good together, and I was right.” I didn’t ask if he ate the whole thing. As you can tell, there are so many layers to this conversation that it could be its own post some day.

• If the guy who guesses your weight stands there perplexed and scratching his head when he sees you, then don’t you think that you might ought to pass on that second round of deep-fried Moon Pies?

• Please tell me you didn’t pay good money for those jeans with rips and holes. If I would have tried to wear something like that, my mom would have plastered them with so many iron-on patches that the legs would be too stiff to move. Note to mom: it didn’t really make a difference that you ironed them on from the inside. They still looked like patches. I still got made fun of.

• What about the kid with the hat. How can I describe this hat? Words fail me – no, scratch that – the words have not yet been invented. The hat was a hideous mix of a babushka, Indian headdress, skull cap, and afghan. Speaking to his friend on his cell phone, he says, “I’ll wave my hand so you can see me.” Wave his hand? How about saying, “Find the hat?”

• I am sure that this guy wanted everyone to think he was from Texas, but who comes from Texas to the Canfield Fair in Ohio, for cryin out loud? Did he ride his horse up the interstate? He had a black cowboy hat, cowboy jeans and shirt, cowboy boots, and a cowboy belt buckle wide enough to interfere with the live TV feed from the local newscasts. His Texas drawl was so thick that you needed an interpreter. But, I really think he was some frustrated cowboy from the East side who began to talk like a cowboy when he dressed like one. Give me a break! There is nothing more ridiculous than a guy from Youngstown acting like he just came in from the Ponderosa.

• And finally, I know that this will reveal my “oldness,” but, what’s with the really short shorts the girls are wearing nowadays? Come on, they are shorter than the underwear that grandma used to hang out on the clothes line (which was such a site that local zoning inspectors showed up every wash day). I know I will never get this, but why wear shorts so short they are nearly obscene and then bundle up with a hoodie when you get cold? Simple physics would tell you that there are more square inches exposed than covered. How does that keep you warm?

So, next year, why not come to the Fair? If you do, bring a notebook. You will want to take notes.

Confessions, Part 3

Mom


My mother has been gone for 4 years now, and I miss her a lot. She was a devoted mother and wife and saw these roles as her most important calling in life. I will be forever grateful to God for a mother who sacrificed for her family.

Mom was the next-to-youngest of 4 children and the only daughter in the family. She and grandma were at the same time as close as mother and daughter could be and intense rivals for the attention of the rest of the family. When grandma died, mom had no rivals.

Though born in Ohio and having spent most of her life there, she was proud to claim the title of “country girl.” We never lived on a farm or even in the country, but, by virtue of the DNA that ordered our genetics, we were “down-home” people. In mom’s world, there were but 2 kinds of people: down-home people and “not our kind of people.” Down home people were those who were always welcome at your house and would welcome you in their house, even if unannounced. No visit would conclude unless food was exchanged. Adults would be lost in conversation about the major events of the day: “I can’t believe Sister Skinner would wear that new dress and sashay in front of the deacons like that.” Down Home people knew what was important.

Mom was fiercely defensive of her heritage and determined to raise her kids as down home kids. In later years, our favorite TV shows were The Beverly Hillbillies and Hee Haw. This was not entertainment in our home, it was indoctrination. These were not comedies; they were dramatic series or documentaries. We knew people like Elie May, Cousin Jethro, Junior Samples and Grandpa Jones.

The other class of people was those who were “not our kind of people.” This was a neat category in which were placed all sorts of ethnic and racial groups. Mostly, however, this group consisted of those who shared 3 major characteristics: they had stayed in school past the 8th grade, they had no experience with outhouses or chamber pots, and they were in possession of most of their teeth. Growing up, the only adult in my family that had all his teeth was my dad. Mom, grandma, grandpa, and my uncles (not to mention the aforementioned aunts in the previous post) all had dentures. Note: this was on my mother’s side of the family. My relatives on my father’s side of the family for the most part, did possess most of their teeth. However, our social interaction with that side of the family was severely limited by mother’s decree. The proximity of dad’s homestead to the West Virginia State Mental Hospital may have had something to do with mom insuring that we keep a safe distance from that part of the family.

The hardest thing that mom ever had to deal with was when I brought home the girl who was later to become my wife. Lois was from another city; her parents were college graduates, they had their teeth; they were not “our kind of people!”

Confessions, Part 2

1963 Ford Falcon

Vacations


Our family vacations consisted of pilgrimages to southwestern Kentucky to visit my mother’s family. We weren’t sure about dad’s family in West Virginia, but we heard that his dad was born in the same town that housed the state mental hospital. Somehow, a visit there held little attraction (according to my wife, this little bit of information explains a lot).

We once took a trip from Ohio to Kentucky in my grandfather’s 1963 Ford Falcon. He bought it brand new and loved that car. He would say, “I’m a Ford man.” I don’t recall that my dad accompanied us on the trip. He was either working or volunteered his seat to one of the kids. His selflessness knew no bounds. In this car, was loaded my grandfather, my grandmother (a large woman) my mother, and 3 children. The Falcon had no air conditioning (a luxury in 63), and mom and grandpa were chain smokers. But wait, there’s more…

On the trip (which my siblings and I called “The Bataan March, Part 2”), was another passenger. My grandmother insisted that we take their little dog, a Chihuahua mix named “Jigger” (this too, is absolutely true. My brother and sister will corroborate this). The dog got his name from my grandmother who, upon seeing him for the 1st time, remarked, “Why, he ain’t no bigger than a jigger.” It was years before I knew what a jigger was and I will guarantee that if Rena (grandma’s name, short for Vorena and pronounced “Reener”) ever swilled ‘shine, she didn’t measure it in ounces.

So, there we were: 3 adults, 3 kids aged 12, 10, and 8, and Jigger in what would be considered today a subcompact car by Avis & Hertz, on a 12 hour drive to southwest Kentucky. I could make that drive today in considerably less time, but I would not have to contend with 3 kids, grandma, and Jigger.

I blame this trip in general and Jigger in particular for my dislike of pets. This creature gave new meaning to the word obnoxious. First of all, to take a dog on a long trip like this was ridiculous. Come to think of it, to take a kid on trip like this was ridiculous. But, the idea of taking a Chihuahua rose to new heights of insanity. (I realize that I may offend Chihuahua owners with this, but I doubt if any of them read this blog. In fact, I don’t think anyone reads this blog, but it feeds my narcissism). The creature was so hyper that all he wanted to do was run around and bark. With all of us greased up and stuffed into the Falcon, there was no room for him to run, so he just barked and peed. To this day, when I hear a Chihuahua bark, I instinctively lift my feet from the floor.

When we visited Kentucky, Uncle Willie (no kidding), who was married to aunt Georgie, would don a mask and frighten the Yankee kids by becoming the boogey-man. However, in Kentucky there was no “boogey-man. He was “the booger man.” I guess “booger” means something completely different in northern folklore.

We were Yankee kids – or as our cousins called us “uppity” – and though we were not upwardly mobile, we did have indoor plumbing. Not so the family in Kentucky. One could write a book on the logic of outhouse design, and the ones we saw were diverse and intriguing. The standard 2 – holer had a small and large hole. Was it one size for adults and one for children? The more elaborate “privies” had 4 holers. I do not understand 4 holes unless it was a twisted variation of the ever present plaque, “The family that prays together stays together.” Our more well-to-do relatives actually had toilet seats affixed to the openings.

For nighttime use, there was the “chamber pot.” When one rose in the night to use the chamber pot, all modesty was lost. “The pot” was tucked away under the bed and it was expected to be used beside the bed and then replaced. In no time, we learned how it got its other name; the “Thunder Mug.” While on vacation, it was the responsibility of the oldest of the Yankee kids to empty the pot each morning so it could be ready for the next evening. This was my initiation into “down home” culture. There are definite draw backs in being the oldest.

As we drove around, mom would regale us with bits of history relevant to our family line. “I used to pick huckleberries in that field,” she would report. While the excitement was still heavy in the air, she would then say, “Uncle Willie would take me to pick paw-paws over there.”

If the vacation wasn’t enough, we had the return to trip to look forward to. Picture the 3 kids, 3 adults, endless cigarette smoke, and Jigger. But the return trip had added benefits that made the long hours simply fly past. The adults – particularly mom and grandma – would spend the entire trip constructively critiquing each of the families we visited.

Grandma: “I’ll Suwannee, Ivy’s put on 30 pounds since I last saw her.”

Mom: “And you know those kids of Noah’s (mom’s cousin pronounced “No-ee”) done forgot where they come from. They are too uppity for their own good.”

Grandma: “And what the #$@@&% does Charlie and Dulce (no clue, but I promise it’s true. Call my brother) think they’re going to do with all those $%&&#* cows, pardon my French!

Confessions

Jeff Foxworthy has made the equivalent of the GDP of a small nation poking fun at “rednecks.” He describes a redneck as one who has an uninhibited lack of sophistication (or something to that effect). Don Burleson  describes a true redneck as one who “does not feel the need to impress people with the outward trappings of superficial wealth and a real Redneck is perfectly comfortable in an Armani suit or a stained t-shirt.”


Now, I don’t know if I am a real redneck or if I am just passing. It is true that my father’s father was born in West Virginia and my mother’s parents were both born in Kentucky. Perhaps my fascination for Wal-Mart reveals some repressed issues about my heritage. However, I am sharing these vignettes about my family, perhaps as a way of dealing with the past; perhaps as a way of facing my personal demons. So, this will be my attempt at a serial. I will post these confessions over the next few days as my own personal catharsis.

Note: unlike other things that may have appeared on this blog, these are all actually true stories. Ask my sister, she’ll tell you…

Also note: I had my wife read this and she said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, “Yeah, it’s funny.” I was hoping for more but, as she reminded me, she has heard all of this before.

Grandma:

My grandmother dipped snuff. Not so uncommon, but she had a special brand that was available only in Kentucky (or at least not available in Ohio where we lived) and they came in tumblers that she used later as beverage glasses. I think it was called Broughton’s. Every time some family member visited Kentucky, grandma had them bring back several cases.

Grandma made the best sweet tea. Maybe it was the hint of Broughton’s in the glasses.

We had a special spit-jar for grandma to use when she visited us (I realize that “spit-jar” is much too indelicate. If the term offends you, please substitute “expectoration receptacle”).In case of emergencies she carried a prescription bottle (secondary expectoration receptacle) in her purse that could be used in more discreet situations. The SER was used in the car on the way to church, and I swear she used it during the sermon.

Grandma never cussed. She was a God-fearing woman. Instead, one of her favorite expression was “I’ll Suwannee.” Now, I have no idea what this means. I know there is a Sewanee Tennessee, but I have no information that would shed light on its expletive value. It was fun hearing grandma when she was perplexed utter a confused, “Well I’ll Suwannee!”

As I said, grandma never cussed. She was, however, very proficient in French. I know this because each time she would utter a word that I had never heard before, she would say, “Pardon my French.” My mother likewise became quite good at French. When, however, I began to pick up some French words, I was introduced to subtle nuances of Ivory Soap on the back of the palette.

Grandma’s sisters (my mom’s aunts) also dipped snuff. They lived in Kentucky and only came to Ohio for brief visits. There were 3 that I knew well – Georgia (pronounced Georgie), Beatrice (pronounced Beat) and Ivy. Of the 3, Aunt Ivy was an artist with her chew. She could hold a dip of snuff in her mouth and eat at the same time. I was made painfully aware of this talent when we visited them one summer and I was positioned across the table from her at dinner. That image is seared into my brain and still makes me queasy.

Strange but True?

This was sent in an email by a friend. I don't know if it is exactly true, but the more you get to know people, the more believable this becomes. Enjoy (and thanks to MJ).


Recently, when I went to McDonald's I saw on the menu that you could have an order of 6, 9 or 12 Chicken McNuggets. I asked for a half dozen nuggets.

'We don't have half dozen nuggets,' said the teenager at the counter.

'You don't?' I replied.

'We only have six, nine, or twelve,' was the reply.

'So I can't order a half dozen nuggets, but I can order six?'

'That's right.'

So I shook my head and ordered six McNuggets (Unbelievable but sadly true...)

TWO

I was checking out at the local Walmart with just a few items and the lady behind me put her things on the belt close to mine. I picked up one of those "dividers" that they keep by the cash register and placed it between our things so they wouldn't get mixed.

After the girl had scanned all of my items, she picked up the divider, looking it all over for the bar code so she could scan it. Not finding the bar code, she said to me, 'Do you know how much this is?' I said to her "I've changed my mind; I don't think I'll buy that today."

She said 'OK,' and I paid her for the things and left. She had no clue to what had just happened.

THREE

A woman at work was seen putting a credit card into her floppy drive and pulling it out very quickly. When I inquired as to what she was doing, she said she was shopping on the Internet and they kept asking for a credit card number, so she was using the ATM 'thingy.' (keep shuddering!!)

FOUR

I recently saw a distraught young lady weeping beside her car. 'Do you need some help?' I asked.

She replied, 'I knew I should have replaced the battery to this remote door unlocker. Now I can't get into my car. Do you think they (pointing to a distant convenience store) would have a battery to fit this?'

'Hmmm, I don't know. Do you have an alarm, too?' I asked.

'No, just this remote thingy,' she answered, handing it and the car keys to me. As I took the key and manually unlocked the door, I replied, 'Why don't you drive over there and check about the batteries. It's a long walk....' (PLEASE just lay down before you hurt yourself !!!)

FIVE

Several years ago, we had an Intern who was none too swift. One day she was typing and turned to a secretary and said, 'I'm almost out of typing paper. What do I do?' 'Just use paper from the photocopier', the secretary told her. With that, the intern took her last remaining blank piece of paper, put it on the photocopier and proceeded to make five 'blank' copies. (Brunette, by the way!!)

SIX

A mother calls 911 very worried asking the dispatcher if she needs to take her kid to the emergency room, the kid had eaten ants. The dispatcher tells her to give the kid some Benadryl and he should be fine. The mother says, 'I just gave him some ant killer......'

Dispatcher: 'Rush him in to emergency!'

More History with Comment

1429 - Joan of Arc makes a triumphant entry into Paris (which marks the last time a teen age girl went to Paris to do anything other than shop).


1920 - The 19th Amendment to the Constitution is ratified, giving women the right to vote ( even I do not have the guts to comment on this).

1957 - Ford Motor Company reveals the Edsel, its latest luxury car (Have you ever seen one of these? Last week I saw a perfectly restored Edsel station wagon.* It was so ugly it was cool. Little known fact: the Cold War escalated when the US accused the Soviet Union of infiltrating Ford Motor Co. and plotting to destroy American aesthetic values by the introduction of the Edsel. If the ’57 Chevy is a classic, the ’58 Edsel is a freak of nature).

*For those who may be unfamiliar with the term “station wagon:” station wagons existed before there were such things as vans, mini vans, and SUV’s. It was the original cross-over vehicle. They used to be used as ambulances (true story) and are still used today as hearses.

Jabberwocky

One of the greatest poems of all time, written by Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Improving Wal-Mart

A recent trip to Wal-Mart has prompted me to offer these unsolicited suggestions on how Wal-Mart gurus can make subsequent visits more pleasant for me:


1. Have special hours for adults with more than 1 child. If there is a plurality of children in tow, you will be invited to shop during special hours established just for you.

2. Eliminate the position of “greeter.” If I am visiting Wal-Mart, it is under duress in the first place. I do not want the first person I see to be cheery and wish me a good day. How can it be a good day? I’m at Wal-Mart, for cryin’ out loud!

3. Establish express checkout lanes for people with 5 tattoos or less. This should free up some checkouts for the rest of us. In fact, the “under 20 item” express lanes could then be eliminated.

4. Put the things that I want close to the front. When I go to buy motor oil, windshield washer fluid, or paint, why do I have to wade through sections of women’s clothing to get there?

5. Speaking of automobile supplies, why not put the oil change and tire repair waiting area in the same place as the flat screen TV’s? That makes way more sense than reading left over Jehovah’s Witness booklets on the cheesy coffee table.

6. Dump those little video advertisements hanging on the end of the aisles. I was on my way to the paint department when I passed one of those videos. I nearly jumped out of my skin! I was so frightened by that unexpected voice, they nearly had a cleanup in aisle 5.

Your initial impression might be to view me as someone who only thinks of himself. Not so. I feel these changes would not only benefit me, but would improve the shopping experience of many who find themselves in any of the thousands of Wal-Marts in the country. Sadly, I do not anticipate that my suggestions will be taken seriously.

Today in History

The events are real. The comments may or may  not bear any resemblance to fact.

•  1493 - Maximilian succeeds his father Frederick III as Holy Roman Emperor. (Unfortunately, by this time the Holy Roman Empire consisted of the Vatican, 3 Starbucks and a McDonald’s).
• 1587 - Sigismund III is chosen to be the king of Poland. (His brothers, Sigismunds I & II passed on the honor to pursue careers as accordion players in a polka band)
• 1692 - Five women are hanged in Salem, Massachusetts after being convicted of the crime of witchcraft. Fourteen more people are executed that year and 150 others are imprisoned. (Obviously, the state that elected Barney Frank has a long history of wacky behavior)
• 1772 - Gustavus III of Sweden eliminates the rule of parties and establishes an absolute monarchy. (To this day, the Swedes are not known to be good at parties)
• 1779 - Americans under Major Henry Lee take the British garrison at Paulus Hook, New Jersey. (The next day, Lee paid the British to take back Paulus Hook and the rest of New Jersey)
• 1812  - The USS Constitution earns the nickname "Old Ironsides" during the battle off Nova Scotia that saw her defeat the HMS Guerriere. (The fame of this ship would later be celebrated in a TV series starring Raymond Burr as a lawyer confined to a wheelchair! On what planet does that make sense?)
• 1914 - The British Expeditionary Force (BEF) lands in France. (Actually, they were headed for Denmark but were too stubborn to stop and ask for directions)
• 1934 - 38 million Germans vote to make Adolf Hitler the official successor to President von Hindenburg. (Little known fact: 57 million Germans voted for “none of the above.”)
• 1936 - Spanish poet Frederico Garcia Lorca is shot by Franco's troops after being forced to dig his own grave. (I’ve heard some bad poetry, but this is a bit extreme)
• 1942 - A raid on Dieppe, France by British and Canadian commandos is repulsed by the German Army. (The Allies were in agreement that the Germans had a repulsive army)
• 1944 - In an effort to prevent a communist uprising in Paris, Charles DeGualle begins attacking German forces all around the city. (Yeah, General. Let’s not be too hasty and take this resistance thing too seriously)
• 1957 - The first balloon flight to exceed 100,000 feet takes off from Crosby, Minnesota. (It was trying to find some warmth)

Household Rules

These were sent to me some time ago. I would credit the author, but who knows who that is? This came via the Good, Clean Funnies List:

Rules of This Household


1. If you are not here for dinner, too bad. This is not a fast-food place where the cook is on duty at all times. The cook works full time and does not need a second job.

2. If you make a mess, clean it up. The dishwasher is open 24 hours a day to service you as are the vacuum, broom, and sponge. Please help them to help you by using them. If you need assistance, ask the cook -- she will be happy to give you training on any of the equipment.

3. The taxi service for this household is not on call 24 hours. You must make reservations at least 12 hours in advance. You have two good legs, skateboards, and bikes that are somewhat operational; one of you has a vehicle that works. Use them. By the way, skateboards are to be used on the outside of this house and are never to be used in the living room just because the landing is softer when you fall.

4. We are not a bank and you have no collateral to offer us. Face it: We own everything you have and I have receipts to prove it, so don't ask us for loans. Get jobs! We have them. Try it and you might like it (not so much the work as the money).

5. Curfew is negotiable, but try not to be late too often because it could go either way.

6. Tell us where you are going. GOOD GRIEF! I am way older than you, and I still tell my mother where I am going when I am at her house. Leave us a note or try to form words describing where you are going while we are in the room with you. Honestly, we don't bite unless provoked.

7. You know how to use a phone. Some of you even have cell phones. We like to hear your voice if you are going to be late. You can use a phone to find out what's for dinner, to let us know you made it to wherever all right, or just to let us hear your beautiful voice.

8. No food in your room, the living room, the bathroom, or anywhere in the house other than the kitchen or dining area EVER! How many times do I have to say this?

9. You do not contribute financially in any way, shape, or form to this household, so try to pull your weight in other ways: Clean something, put something away, surprise us by doing it before we ask. Otherwise, you may find yourself financially supporting yourself on the OUTSIDE of this house.

Football

I meant to share this last week, but I was sidetracked by other concerns. There has been a 2nd game and a 2nd loss since that 1st Saturday. I may post regarding that this week.

A week ago Saturday, the Diminutive Native Americans played their 1st football game of the season. My grandson’s team came away with their 1st loss of the season. They got spanked! The guys and Jessica fought valiantly, but came up a bit short losing to the Little Leopards 48-0. We almost scored, but our guy looked back to gauge the size the kid who was about to slam him into the ground.

The other team was big. I thought this was for 6 grade students; I’m not sure about the age of some on the opposing team. Their running back sliced through our “defensive line” (which is a strain of vocabulary) like a redneck at a WalMart clearance sale. He didn’t look like he was in 6th grade, but I spoke to his wife and she assured me that he was.

Of course, the team was discouraged but not completely downcast. After all, the game was lost because the referees favored the opposing team. They are practicing hard and claiming dominion over their next opponents, the Little Red Dragons.

Who's On First?

The 1st time I saw this I laughed till I cried. The original with Abbott & Costello is still a classic, but the Shakespearean twist is masterful. I continue to be amazed at the timing. Enjoy.

Laws of the Father

As long as we are in an Elizabethan English context, I want to share this from Ian Frazier called, "Laws Concerning Food and Drink: Household Principles, Lamentations of the Father," in The Atlantic Monthly, February 1997, Volume 279, No. 2, pages 89-90. This is one of my favorites.

Laws of Forbidden Places


Of the beasts of the field, and of the fishes of the sea, and of all foods that are acceptable in my sight you may eat, but not in the living room.

Of the hoofed animals, broiled or ground into burgers, you may eat, but not in the living room.

Of the cereal grains, of the corn and of the wheat and of the oats, and of all the cereals that are of bright color and unknown provenance you may eat, but not in the living room.

Of quiescently frozen dessert and of all frozen after-meal treats you may eat, but absolutely not in the living room.

Of the juices and other beverages, yes, even of those in sippy-cups, you may drink, but not in the living room, neither may you carry such therein.

Indeed, when you reach the place where the living room carpet begins, of any food or beverage therein you may not eat, neither may you drink.

But if you are sick, and are lying down and watching something, then may you eat in the living room.

Laws When at Table

And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were.

Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me.

Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke.

Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away from my presence.

When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck: for you will be sent away from my presence.

When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed, and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within; verily I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister has done the same before you.

Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food; neither seize the table between your jaws, nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips. I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is.

And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker, draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, because we do not do that, that is why.

And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that, that is why.

Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away.

Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup.

And now behold.....even as I have said, it has come to pass.

Laws Pertaining to Dessert

For as we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert.

But of the unclean plate, the laws are these:

If ye have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then ye shall have dessert.

But if ye eat a lesser number of peas, and yet ye eat the potatoes, still ye shall not have dessert; and if ye eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, ye shall not have dessert, no, verily I say unto you, not even a small portion thereof!

And if thou tries to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear that thou hast eaten what thou hast not, ye will fall into iniquity.

And I will know, and ye shall have no dessert.

On Screaming

Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time.

If ye are given a plate on which two foods ye do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, and your voice rises up even unto the ceiling, while ye point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say unto you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct his transgression and peace shall prevail throughout the land.

Likewise if ye receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you and steeped in vileness, again I say, verily, refrain from screaming.

Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose.

For even as I have made the fish, and it is as it should be; behold, I eat it myself, yet do not die.

Concerning Face and Hands
Cast your countenance upward unto the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off.

For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, and there is rice thereon.

And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner beyond comprehension!

Only hold thyself still; hold still, I say.

Give unto each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb.

Lo, how iniquitous they appear.

What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go henceforth until I have done.

Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances

Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time.

Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of the bath water of any beast of the field, or any fowl of the air nor of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub your feet against cars, not against any building; nor eat sand.

Leave the cat alone, for what hath the cat done, that you should go forth and afflict it so and bindeth it with tape?

And hum not the humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book.

Verily I say unto you, you will drive me to madness.

Neither forget what I said about the tape.

The Law of the Festival

I wrote this last month, the day after the Mt. Carmel Festival. I had no outlet for it until now. Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect. If you can't take a joke, I warned you not to read this blog.

The Festival of Mount Carmel celebrates the patronage of the Virgin Mary particularly as this relates to the Carmelite order. This feast day is celebrated on July 16. There is a curious tradition among the Italian-American communities in some parts of the country to hold local church festivals in honor of our Lady of Mt. Carmel. The community where I live is one such. The Mt. Carmel Festival, sponsored by the Italian Fraternal Home, has just concluded. Little did I know that there is an ancient manuscript locked away somewhere in the Vatican Library that details how church festivals are to be structured. Its contents have recently been released to the public. What we have is a 1611 translation of the Latin manuscript:

Thou shalt hold sundry festivals; the festival of Our Lady of Mount Carmel shall be the chiefest of festivals to thee.

Thou shalt hold this festival over 3 days; yea, over 4 days. All people who reckon their lineage from Italy, from the leg, the toe or the heel, verily even from Sicily, unto the fourth generation may keep the festival.

If the land wherein it is held be not straitened, then thou shalt have rides. Nevertheless, thou mayest have games in abundance. All manner of games shalt thou have; there will be no upbraiding for thy games. Bingo shalt thou have, for what is a festival without bingo? All manner of skill games shalt thou have, even ring toss, basketball shot, and such like. Yea, and the dunking machine. Fail not to have the dunking machine where all manner of proconsuls, scribes, firemen and members of the alumni association shall receive their baptism.

This shall be the manner of attire for the festival; all males among you of Italian lineage shall wear jewelry such as a jeweler should make. They shall adorn themselves with chains of gold that entangle themselves with the hair of the chest. There is no limit on the chains that may be worn. However, should an ear ring appear in the lobe of the left ear, then thou shalt diminish the gold that encumbers thy neck. Why wouldst thou detract from thy ear?

The aged men among thy tribe, those descended from the nation of Italy, from the leg, the heel, or the toe; even those from Sicily; all men who no longer go in or come out and may not go to war; all these may wear upon their heads the strange miter. The strange miter may be worn during the festival and at all times wherein there are youth. The strange miter must be crafted of the same fiber, be it polyester or nylon and must have the appearance of hair. It may be combed or parted and worn upon thy head, even hanging over thy ears. Lo, it is not hair, nor has it the semblance of hair. It is the strange miter.

All manner of food may be eaten at the festival. These are the laws of the foods: of all that pertains to the animal realm, thou mayest eat. Verily, thou mayest eat all that passes through the deep fryer. Forget not the French fries for they shall be a delight upon thy tongue. Indeed when thy tongue cleaveth to the roof of thy mouth so that thou mayest play all manner of drums with thy palate, then shall thy desire be turned to the slushies. These are the foods that cheer the heart. Forget not funnel cakes.

Thy festival shall end with a noisome fire in the heavens, such as has not been seen in your days. The smoke of the fire shall rise to remind thee of its fury. There shall be a great noise in the heavens, such as shall cause the car alarms to sound with a sound that thy soul loatheth. The hoary head, even the aged among thee, shall speak of this noise for days and days. Yea, they shall find ought else to speak about. For they are old and they know not but to drone.

Amusement Park Musing

This is another post from my award winning blog. Since my last post concerned vacation week, I though it approriate to share what took place on one of those days:

This is vacation week, and as a dutiful grandfather, I was hustled into taking my grandchildren (aged 10 & 12) to an amusement park. Of course, we all know the etymology of “amuse.” “Muse” means to think or to become absorbed in thought. The alpha privative negates the word and renders it “to be distracted” or “not to think.” The idea of amusement and amusement parks in general, is to provide distraction from the normal routine of life. People do not go to amusement parks to “muse;” to think. However, I could not help but to muse on certain things as I spent the day at the great American pastime of amusementry (I know this is not a word, but if a president can make up words, why can’t I?)


Here are my thoughts, in no particular order:

• Don’t people own mirrors?
• Who came up with the idea of “funnel cakes?” Who would have thought that people would pay $4.49 for deep fried pancake batter? Does the American Heart Association know about this?
• I could be rich if I had figured out how to franchise tattoo and piercing parlors.
• I mean, really, don’t they have access to a mirror?
• Why do people get tattoos on parts of the body that nobody sees – then they show it anyway?
• Why is it that in order to drive to supermarket, my car must be equipped with airbags and antilock brakes; I and my passengers must be securely fastened in DOT approved seat belts; small children must be in approved car seats or booster seats and placed only in the back seat of the automobile – but to ride a coaster that reaches 65 miles an hour and pulls about 2 G’s, you only need to be 48 inches tall?
• Do you really need to be texting someone as you plummet down the hill of the “Vomit Comet?” Whatever happened to holding up your hands? OMG!
• Why is it that kids can ride rides that are so intense that they would make Jack Bauer crack, but get car sick on the way home?
• Where do people get those tee shirts?
• Do those kids leave home like that or do they sneak out? Surely, Mom or Dad would never let them out of the house wearing those loosely arranged fragments of material!
• I think it should be a law that people need to own mirrors.

Vacation Journal

I posted this last month on my other blog, All Purpose Grind, but it is more appropriate for here.

Vacation Journal:

Day 1 – What’s wrong with these people? This is the 1st day of my vacation. Why aren’t they catering to my every whim? How dare they carry on their routine as though I was at work! The most exciting part of this day is taking the Buick for an oil change.

Day 2 – Off to the amusement park. This was the wife’s idea, taking the grandchildren so that we could “make a memory.” What about the memories I will have of the whole ordeal? Do you want to know where the Vatican got the idea of Purgatory? Amusement Parks! I had to pay $30.00 a head to get in. At least with Purgatory, that amount of cash may have gotten me out.

Day 3 – Oh boy, I got to cut the grass today. And, I repaired a clogged drain in the bathroom sink. OK, I didn’t actually repair it. Actually, I have the handyman skills of Paris Hilton. I held the flashlight for the friend who did the actual work.

Day 4 - So whose idea was it to get a trampoline for the grand kids? Apparently not the one who had to actually go to the store and buy the dang thing and load it into the car. Do you realize that they can put a 14 foot diameter trampoline inside a box that hangs out of the back of your car? Did you know that it weighs approximately the same as a baby rhinoceros? I was so grateful for the guys at WalMart who loaded it for me. I thought they were going to follow me home and unload it from the Buick. They must have gotten lost. I can’t believe that we assembled the whole thing in just under 2 hours. It may have gone much more smoothly had I not tried to assemble the safety netting and attach it to the trampoline before the trampoline was assembled. My wife took over the direction part right after. For 1 day, we were the most popular house in the neighborhood.

Day 5 - This was swimming day. The kids invited 13 friends each to go to the pool with us. Get this; my wife couldn’t go because she had a “migraine.” The old “headache” ploy is once again put into play. So, me and the population of a small village crammed into the Buick and made the trek to the pool. Due to the skillful application of sunscreen, I managed to avoid sunburn everywhere except for my back, thigh, face, and abdominal areas.

Day 6 – The kids had sleepovers, so my wife and I had a day together, alone. We had the entire house to ourselves! You know the rest of the story…we went to WalMart. I got to pick out my Father’s Day gift - a new gas grill. I objected, saying that I didn’t need such an expensive gift. The wife protested; “But the kids are set on getting you a new grill for Father’s Day. They even promised to contribute toward it” (although I never learned the precise amount of the alleged contributions). So, I picked out the grill they wanted me to buy, and paid for it with my own money. Fortunately, it came with free assembly. They will call me when it is ready. I have no idea how I will get it home in the Buick.

Politically Correct Football

My grandson is playing football for the first time. He is in the older age group of the kid’s football league. Now the mascot in our town is an Indian, therefore he plays for the “little Indians.” You can see how pregnant this is with prejudice already. Now that we are enlightened, we know that such terms are pejorative. Maybe he should be playing for the “Little Original Peoples,” or the “Little Native Americans” or the “Little First Americans.”


But it gets worse. There are 3 levels divided by age group. The youngest and smallest are “The Squggies” (I would love to have been on the focus group that came up with that idea). The next group is called Pee-Wees, which I am sure was in place long before Pee Wee Herman (aka Paul Ruebens) gave the term pee-wee a negative spin. My grandson’s group is called the midgets. I am not kidding. They are the midgets. Picture the Munchkins in the Wizard of Oz, or the Oompa Loompah’s in Willy Wonka. How can an organization in modern America get away with such blatant hate language?

So, tomorrow he will play his 1st official football game as a member of the Horizontally Challenged Indigenous American Peoples. And I will be there cheering him on; “Go Indigenous Americans, beat those Leopards.”