Just to get this down B/4 I fergit

A POME fer the New Year. by Byron Johnston

Hope springs eternal,
so leave the infernal
where it belongs
in the bowl by the urinal.

Grandpa Jobe's handcart

I don't know why our Grandpa had this thing. I never saw him use it. It stood in the corner of the added on back-porch of their house in Platte near the pullring for the cellar door. It was metal and had two wheels on one end and a curved handle at the other. It was about a foot and a half wide and four feet long. We had been given no specific instructions about this handcart, so it seemed fair game.
I had seen my Dad use a similar thingee at his clothing store and I knew that it worked by the wheels overcoming friction and the handle to lay back the bed of it and one could thus move a larger weight than one could by carrying. Grandpa's was previously blue, but rust had nearly removed all of its paint leaving it a dull, flakey red-brown.
One day, Mikey, Diane, and I decided to see if we could work that ol' handcart to push each other around Grandpa's yard. As the oldest, I got to be first. This meant I got to be the pusher and show off my boyhood manliness before the others. Diane was a girl and, therefore a special case and will be discussed later. (Note the word discussed is made up of TWO words, "DIS" and "CUSSED").
Since Mike was the youngest of us all by two years and the lightest, I got him to step on the metal plate welded near the wheels. I tipped the cart backwards to a 45 degree angle and began pushing. I know now, that the Co-efficient of Friction and so on came into play, but we just PLAYED not thinking of all that stuff. He held on with his arms down near his knees and his butt tucked nicely between the iron pipes of the sides. Even then, I knew this handcart was a good thing and worthy of a boy's interest. Diane ran along side as I pushed and we got up a good head of steam (a word we all knew from the local train station).
At first it was nothing but fun>>>run>>>push>>>>>run faster>>>push faster>>> turn>>> try not to tip the cargo out (Mickey). He seemed to be having as much fun as Diane and I judging from his laughter.
Since Platte was on the flat South Dakota prairie, there was little to stop our progress. I ran as fast as a chubby kid could and Diane kept up easily. She was then, very svelt (skinny) and stayed the same even after 7 Mormon kids. Pretending to be a racecar driver, I made a rather strange assortment of roaring and grinding gear shifting sounds. This was SO much fun I forgot to pay attention and ran into the street. Now, the word street in a tiny town like Platte is sort of a misnomer. There were only about a thousand people in the whole place and of these, there were only about 300 families and of these, only about 250 owned cars and of these, only about a fourth would be driving around in town during a weekday (which this was). Also, there were only about ten streets anyhow..So----there was ONLY about 60 or so cars that COULD have been on our street at the time I am discussing. There were other mitigating circumstances, such as the time of day, and so on and so on, but what ten year old thinks of this stuff???
Anyhoo, I pushed Mike on the handcart out into the street with Diane running alongside behind right into the path of the worst person there could have been driving at the time. Yep!!! It was the ONE AND ONLY CONSTABLE (Small town policeman) in his black and white "COPCAR"!!! He slammed on his brakes and the sound was horrible---kind of like a pig being slaughtered.
Diane screamed the sort of high-pitched scream only a pre-pubesent girl can do which tends to peel the skin off anyone's eardrums. Mike inhaled so hard it seemed he was trying to imitate a bagpipe. I was so scared, I dropped the handle of the cart and peed my pants right there in the middle of the street. Micky fell off and both he and Diane started crying and I peed some more. Fear is a powerful diuretic!! I knew it was a BAD thing to run in front of a car. Grandpa gave me a stingbat again; the final one in the series of two and sincerely desired that I "Quit getting into trouble, whatever you do!" I promised I would try, but these things just sort of happen. He DID realize in his wisdom, that I was really a good boy and never looked for trouble---it just seemed to sort of find me. The constable was nice though, he put an itchy wool blanket around me to cover up the pee marks then he kicked dirt from the street onto the damp spot. That was nice.

The DREADED "Stingbat"

Hey, thanks for the reminder. Our Grandpa was a large man. He and his brother, Warren, were among the tallest men in South Dakota . Both over 6 feet-Jobe at 6'4" and his brother at 7'2''. I never met him, but everyone said he was the tallest person they had ever met. This was much easier when the average man was only 5'7". It MAY have seemed that these given heights were a bit of fanciful folklore, but it makes a great story. I can say with certainty that My Grandpa Jobe was huge to me. He towered over everyone and had hands and arms so big he had to add two more inches of length to an ordinary expansion watchband. His fingers looked like a handful of German sausage. He was an auto mechanic and his arms were nearly too big for his shirtsleeves. I watched him have to tug the sleeves up over his bulgy muscles. It was good that such a large man was not the angry type. As a matter of fact, as a 1/8th Lakota Sioux, he was an animist in religion and a pacifist by nature. I never saw him loose his temper, but when he was upset, you knew it. When Mike, Diane and I visited Platte for the summers, he never said he was happy to have us, but he did treat us kindly. However, if we got too wild and loud, especially when he was doing the NEW YOUR TIMES crossword (in pen with NO erasures!), he would stop, put the paper down and just stare at us. If this failed to get our attention, he would cough a special cough from deep in his chest that sounded like a lion getting ready to charge. It THAT failed to make us settle down, he would say, "Come here and stand in front of me." OH, MAN!!! That was Trouble with a capital T. I can only remember this happening to me twice. I must have been dumb, because none of the other kids needed more than once.
I came to his chair where he had the paper on his lap, the pen in his pocket and fire in his eyes.
"Stand still for the Stingbat!" he said quietly. Then he closed his giant fist with only his forefinger curved outward like a hammer head. I closed my eyes and WHAM!!! I got tapped on the forehead right between my eyes. Now tapped is not the right word---it was more like a bolt of lightening if the lightening had been a solid chunk of steel. It hurt so bad, I fell to the floor and saw stars, canaries, and heard a great roar as if being overcome by a rushing flood. It was awful!!! The stingbat must have been invented by Torquemada for the Inquisition. I would have confessed to ANYTHING!!!
I opened my eyes. Grandpa had gone back to his crossword (funny how he never uttered a "cross word" to us). I got up and staggered toward the kitchen where Grandma held sway so she could comisserate with me and tell me how mean Grandpa was and so on. I moaned a bit for effect and waited for her kind words.
"You brought it on yourself."



eyes an

Fireworks and Demolitions

In Platte, Grandpa Jobe held that there was nothing wrong with blowing stuff up. I don't mean real stuff; just garbage and things that would be thrown away anyhow. I was born in 1941, therefore too young to remember the "WAR YEARS" when very little was thrown away, but by the time I was ten and up, there was a surplus of stuff just begging to get itself blown up.
In those days, just after the war, demolitions experts in the form of young kids were plentiful and fireworks were really SOMETHING!!! Not like the wimpy crap that they call fireworks today. We had M-8Os which we knew for sure had the explosive power of an eighth of a stick of dynamite. They could do some REAL damage and were fun. There were a wide assortment of lesser firecrackers, but the M-8O was the desire of every kid. Why go halfway?
Grandpa seemed to know a LOT about detonations for an avowed pacifist. He had missed WW1 by one day. He was actually on a ship in New York harbor when the war ended. AN officer took it upon himself to hollar out, "War's over, men! Get off this boat and go home." Grandpa says it looked like rats jumping off a sinking ship. It was years later that Grandpa got his discharge papers. He was too old for WW2.
He taught us a very valuable lesson in science--water can't be easily compressed. He got a metal basin and filled it halfway with water. On this he floated a soup can lid. While Mike or I held an inverted coffee can, Grandpa lit an M-8O, quickly placed it on the floating soupcan lid and then the coffee can was hurriedly set over this so the bottom of it rested on the bottom of the basin under the water. BLAMMMMM!!!!!!!!!! That coffee can shot up so high it nearly disappeared. Water sprayed out in all directions, and the neighbor dog forgot how to not pee in the house. What a glorious sight!! We chased after the coffee can as it fell split wide open and the end rounded perfectly by the explosion. Grandpa called this Kaiser Bill's hat.
Needless to say there was a great scavenger hunt for coffee cans and soup cans and whatever others we could adapt.
Another thing we did, and all these years later, I still think I thought it up, but memory is strange. We searched out a half-inch black metal pipe in Grandpa's basement. We could use any length from 12-16". As he was a mechanic, he had every tool known to man. Putting the pipe in his vise, we bent it at a right angle at one end forming a handle and had a pistol shape. We then flattened the handle end with a hammer against his vise. If truly inspired, we would wrap this flat handle with duck tape to form a fist fitting handle. Yes!!! It was called DUCK tape!!! Only goofs and sissies called it duct tape. This flattening also served to avoid the dreaded "blow-back" which cut down on the force transfered to the projectiles.
Then we used a metal drill bit to make a 3/8 inch hole in the long end near the handle. Next was the tricky part. we had to drop an unlighted
firecracker fuse first down the "barrel" and try to fish the fuse out the hole we had drilled. This took a lot of effort and messing around. A lesser person would have given up! Finally!! Then we had to drop in the "ball" just like in a muzzle-loader gun. What fit perfectly and every boy had a bunch of was marbles. It was too hard to come by "steelies" which were ball bearings, so we decided to use "glassies". They fit perfectly when rolled down the barrel coming to rest against the back end of the firecracker.
I held the firecracker gun straight out for safety, Mike would approach reverently with the glowing punk and light the fuse. WHOOOMPP!! The glassie shot out, hit one of the Elm trees removing a nice chunk of bark and making a very satisfying thunk.
"WOW!!!" That was great!! My turn now." Mike hollared. We repeated the routine, but this time the glassie shattered into thousands of particles and merely imbeded themselves in the tree. About nine of ten shots were like that, but the one in ten that ripped off bark was fantastic. Unfortunately, our Grandpa, while praising our ingenuity, violently (for him, the pacifist), spoke of nature's best work being destroyed. Something about Joyce Kilmer and a famous tree poem. I did learn how to carve away damaged treebark, apply a dressing of thick tar, and suffer the ultimate punishment from grandpa--the dreaded "STINGBAT." Remind me sometime to tell you about them.

Overcoming Adversity for Kids

When my brother, Mike, and I were about ten and eight, we had lived in a bunch of small towns in the Upper Midwest. There seemed to be a never ending variety and location of them so that, now at age 67, I tend to forget exactly which town held which adventures. I guess it really isn't the town but the adventure that were important, so I am just getting these down on paper ( OOOPPPSSS!!! this is not paper, is it??)---I am getting these adventures down on ones and zeros in this wonderful electronic age in my fantastic computer. Don't ask me how this works, exactly, but it seems to and that is good enough for me. I never really understood the workings of the radio--All I know is you turned it on and it magically sucked words out of the air and you could hear all these great shows. I just now thought--How come they were called "shows" when we weren't actually SHOWN anything? We heard stuff and had to make up the visuals in our own minds.
One thing about the radio is that a kid could be transported to far off places and not have to sit watching a screen like with TV. Kids now a days are trapped into sitting and gaining weight, whereas those of us of a certain age could do other things while listening. A lot of us DID sit and stare at the radio, but it wasn't really necessary. The best thing of all was the PORTABLE radio (BATTERIES!!) which we could take with us and still be in contact with the world while doing our own thing as THEY say.
I did gain a lot of weight as a kid, but that was from the necessary sitting while reading books which were my drug of choice; much more fun for me than listening to the radio, though I did more than my fair share of radio listening, and in the early '50s when TV came to our house, I also did more than my fair share of TV watching, too. No wonder I got fat!!!
But, I digress....Mike and I both had "new" bikes (new to us but really just refurbished into some sort of working condition). BIKES rhymes with Mikes. Some silly people tried to tell me that a nickname for Byron is BIKE, but I never accepted this goofiness. Later on as an adult, I met a man whose real name was Myron. He told me that he had been called Mike as a nickname when he was young. This was very odd to me, as my brother Michael was Mike or Mickey (like Walt's mouse). Try to bend you mind around this: Michael==Mike. Byron==Bike. Myron==Mike. Wrong!!!
I digress again. So Mike and I had a rite of passage. There were no lions to hunt, outback to walkabout in, and other such growing up things to do, but we had the sinister and foul smelling local "RENDERING PLANT". Never heard the term?? OK. A rendering plant is a place where dead farm animals that were too ill or too diseased to turn into edible products, were sent after death (or we suspected they were actually killed there) to be RENDERED into less desirable products. This ment glue from hoofs and bone, cat and dog food, hide for shoes, blood for vampires, and so on.
To make all these "products" my Dad told us that rendering meant changing from one form to another and the terrible smell issuing forth from this place was due to the slaughtering and removing the guts with their contents then boiling (rendering down) the hoofs, bones and cartilage to make the other stuff. Man!!! Was it TERRIBLE!!! This is why the place
was three miles out of town on the downwind side. Of course the wind changed directions now and then, and the town remembered the place very easily, but generally it was forgotten--except by the young boys in town. This was OUR rite of passage. We had to ride our bikes as close to the place as possible before being overcome by the horrid stench.
At that time, I never thought that there had to be actual human beings who worked INSIDE that pit of damnation, but there had to be. Dead cows and horses just don't skin and boil themselves.
Anyhoo, it was easy to get to the two mile marker outside of town, but there the smell became really noticible with just one mile to go. We could see straight down the gravel road to the two story grey brick building with its hazy smoke pooting out a tall chimney. I think they thought it would smell less if the smoke came out way up in the air and the wind that usually scoured the flat prairie would take it away. It didn't work.
This particular Summer day, Mike and I decided it was TIME!! We easily got to the last mile. Another interesting thought-- the last mile is the distance a convict walks to the CHAIR. We each knew the rules of engagement, rendering plant-wise, as we had often heard this discussed by older boys. The closer one got to the plant, the worse the smell and the "Winner" was the most manly man in any group. No-one ever would do this alone. There is no winner if there is no looser. We sat there on our bikes silently staring into the eyes of the beast as if the place were a dragon to be conquered or a castle to storm to save a damsel in distress. We liked saying
damsel, because it was as close to swearing as we could get without getting into trouble.
"GO!!!"Mike shouted and we took off like a bat-outa-Hell (MORE fun swearing) and sped up side by side. The air swirled dust around and the sun burned down. I had decided that to win I would hold my breath. Mike was huffing and puffing as he was younger than me and his bike had smaller tires so he had to work harder. It may not have really been fair, but that's the way life is sometimes. On and on we raced and even without truly inhaling, I could tell the smell was getting nearly thick enough to cut with a knife. Rotten, horrible, crappy, smell. Worse than anything I had ever encountered. God!!! I looked over at Mike and he was still going, but seemed to have slowed a bit. All I had to do was keep holding my breath and get ahead of him when he had to stop. I wanted to win SO badly it ached.
He gagged and I nearly fell off my bike. It sounded bad. I realized then that the ache I was feeling was really my body beginning to scream for air. Biking in the hot sun, as fast as a guy can is not conducive to good breath- holding. The smell was becoming overpowering seeping into every pore in my body. I thought that I may have made a bad mistake and that Mike was getting his lungs used to the smell breath by breath and I had set myself up for disaster. What would it be like when I HAD to breath??? Would it be my downfall?? It could see a literal downfall coming in which I woull slid off my bike in agony. I had fooled myself. Mike gagged and really slowed down as we had reached the halfway point. He began to swerve. I had to go onto the grass to avoid him.
"HEY!!!" I shouted at him letting out the last bit of saved air in my lungs, but then to replace it meant inhaling. I needed air!! Oh, damsel!!!
I opened my mouth thinking it would be less toxic if I avoided using my nose which is where the smell cells are located. I gasped a huge gasp and found out that my plan was no good. The smell hit me like a blivet ("Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag") as I once heard an old man say. My eyes burned, my skin burned and my lungs burned like a gas attack on a World War One battlefield. I fully expected the blue paint on my bike to start blistering and peeling. Mike fell over and lay gagging beside the road as I continued on. I was the BIG WINNER!!!! It was only about three blocks to the plant. None of the kids we had listened to had ever been able to actually reach the place and touch the bricks. I didn't just want to get close, I wanted to be the Olympic champion of rendering planting.
"Ronnie!! Mike yelled. "Stop. You'll die!!!" He turned to his side and ejected his peanut butter and jelly sandwich mixed with orange juice we had had for breakfast. I raced on, but it was absolutely horrible. The air was green and thick and getting worse. There was no grass left. The toxic odors had killed it all. I slowed more and more leaving Mike behind and then had to stop. I couldn't pedal any more. I could hardly see to steer my bike. I dropped it and walked. Only a block to go. I closed my watery eyes put my hands out in front of me and pushed on. I would touch that building if it killed me and then I had the unbelievable thought. If I did get there, I would have to turn around andgo back before all my skin melted off leaving me just a pile of bleached bones on the sand. My God, what had I done?? I started to whimper as my nose began to run and a pulsating hum ran in my head. Then I felt a roughness!!! I opened one eye a bit and saw my right hand touching the grey brick of the RENDERING PLANT. God!!! I had made it!!! I was still alive!! I gagged and made a deposit of my pb and j just as mike had, but mine splashed onto the brick like champagne baptizing a new ship. I turned and staggered back toward my fallen bike and brother. He was green and lay on his back facing backwards eyes closed and barely breathing. He moaned slightly like a nauseated puppy.
"I did it. I DID it!!! I touched the brick. I beat you...I'm the winner!" I forgot for a moment the terrible odor in my frenzied joy. He opened one eye, looked up at me and said, "I don't believe you. I didn't see you do it.
Do it again while I watch." Now, there was no way in God's green earth that I could have gone back there. I wanted to kick him. Loosers are supposed to KNOW they are loosers. Later in my life, a hole in one seemed much less important than touching the brick of that rendering plant, but like that accomplishment, no one saw it so it didn't count. Poop!! Blivet!!! and Damsel!!!

It's COMING!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGGHHHHH!!!

I mean my knee surgery. Got a call that an opening had developed at an earlier time (two days only) and would I like to move up? Sure, I said but how about letting my other two docs know so I can get all the pre-op stuff done? Sure they said. It's good that docs calling docs can get things moved when it in nearly impossible for patients. It's getting quite stresssful, as I had all the prior infection in the same knee we are going after this time and I've had three bowel operations for obstructions and subsequent infections of the incision and 14 months of treating those. As mentioned B/4 all seems OK now. We just have to hope for the best. This surgery can cure my knee pain and bring me to nearly normal OR kill me by MRSR, C- Diff, or some other rotten germ that is resistant to nearly everything.
On balance, even though it is driving me a bit nutty, I guessw I HAVE to get it fixed. Other than that and the healing bowel incision, I am in good shape. My Internist is amazed how good my heart seems after all the problems, but at least something works. If all is OK afterwards, I might be able to be a normal human being and leave off the constant health discussions.
When I was young and got to stay with Grandpa and Grandma in Platte, I must have been a whiner as Grandma called me "Poor, sensitive Ronnie." and Grandpa seemed to be constantly asking, "What set him off, NOW?"
I mentioned this to my LSW and said I was sure glad I had outgrown those tendencies. I wonder why she gave me such a prolonged and odd look when I said it? She didn't say anything, but...............

Fall is supposed to be over and Winter here!!!

BUT, NOOOOOOOO!!!! Just heard via the "fambleen" grapevine that Tom got a dislocated shoulder belaying Tone at the Brickyard. Heard just a very few days ago the Tom fell about 15 feet and was saved (belayed) by Tony.
I am now about as athletic as a nightcrawler, but it is getting a bit nerve- wracking to keep hearing that someone you love is apparently getting closer and closer to a serious fall. Actually it " isn't the fall that kills you: it's the sudden stop at the end of the fall." Someone famous enough to be allowed quote marks around his sentences said that, but I don't remember who---or is it WHOM? Anyhoo, the dau of the belayer got on the horn to the sister-in-law of the belayer for aid in sorting out where to send the belayer hospital-wise and assistance in what to do next, because the belayer, (TOM) kept Tony from serious injury but dislocated his shoulder doing so. I wondered if it was the same shoulder which TOM hurt and got a fractured clavicle several years ago during a bike race accident.???
Some folks need the adrenalin and testerone, but I am really beginning to be concerned that it is starting to look like hormone-reining-in time in the ol' ranch-house. Of course, no person ever likes to hear that they should be a bit less active---I myself am wondering who I would have to shoot (This is just a metaphore and poetic license, folks!!!! I DO NOT need counseling or to be locked up)' if I could not drive without hitting the stray hog or getting lost in a one mile trip in town. This isn't exactly the same, but causes loved ones concern never-the- less.
I know others read my BLOG now and then and hope that this one is taken in the most respectful and kind way in which it is offered. Love can be soft and love can be tough, and sometimes it can be hard to sort out the various kinds, but the base and main fact is the LOVE> This has and will always be there ever since the line-up with the applause on meeting him the first time.

More news from St. Cate's College

According to the newspaper today, St. Catherine's College got a new, two million dollar endowment for their College of Health Sciences which is where our Elizabeth will be going. Perhaps this great news is one of the reasons she will get a nice scholorship. I prefer to think that she got it due to her hard work, fine musicianship, church work, and placement in the top five of her HS class. They will be lucky to get her and they know it. Wait until they see what she can do!!!!!!!!
Other fambleen news is that last night we went with Anne's family of Jeff and Sylvie to hear grandson, Steven, play violin and wear soldier costume for Turtle Lake's School Winter Concert. It was fine, but two schools combined and there weren't enough chairs and many had to stand. Fortunately it was only an hour. Heard from Anne that Steven and Elizabeth plan to play their violins together for our fambleen X-mas get together. I can't wait. Love those kids!! Sylvie is gathering herself for auditioning for her middle school play, THE MUSIC MAN, soon. She was good as a "n'orphan" in ANNIE. Good voice!

We went to Winona, cultural center of the Universe

The LSW and I were invited once again to the smallish southwestern town of Winona on the mighty Mississippi river. We always get invited to hear and watch the latest concerts of our fantastic grandaughters. Elizabeth, a senior in HS, plays the violin as she has since about age 8 and has gotten so good she is first chair in the Winona HS string orchestra, and twice in the MN orchestra. She also plays for fun in the great group called the Winona Fiddlers which is all done by menory and is so much fun to hear and watch. She also got accepted with a very fine scholorship to St. Catherine's College in St. Paul for Nursing. What a girl---and such a good person, too.
The other one, Claire, who is a Sophmore is a Dancer (with a capital D). She has taken about four lessons a week for years in ballet there in Winona and we got to see her in The NUTCRACKER BALLET on that same weekend. She was a snowflake, a Russian Baba, and a Chinese dancer,soloing in two dances! She is so slim and beautiful, it nearly always brings tears to my eyes to watch her. Good thing the house lights are down and the music is loud enough to cover a proud Grandpa's sniffling. If caught, I just say it's the Winter weather. It WAS only 11 degrees.
Their parents have done such a good job of raising these two wonderful girls, that I don't think the LSW and I could have done any better!!! My wife did remind me that we had had a large hand in raising their mother and she was sort of just following through. True, but there is much more of Margaret and Tom in the girls. Without great parents who love and nuture, a child can turn out to be a skunk. I am positive we will never smell a bad odor from either of our Winona "Grands"!!!

Christmas Story (continued)

I looked from my hand to his face and back a few tmes before I realized his dark wool pants hid steel leg braces. I had to get on with it or this line of visitors would go on forever.
"So, tell me what you want for Christmas." I looked up into his mother's face hoping she was listening, but she seemed too tired to care. Even if she did hear, she may not have been able to get it for him. She sure hadn't spent much on their clothes.
He put his hand on top of mine and smiled for the first time. It seemed that the whole place had gone quiet and it seemed warmer too. Then the store was gone and the sky shone where the roof should have been. He turned to face me completely and I didn't even feel the pain in my leg.
He said, "I want you to be happy and to not hurt. I forgive you."
I could almost swear that a troop of angels started in singing. He slid down off my lap, picked up his crutches, smiled up at his Mother, and left me bewildered. What had just happened? How come I didn't hurt anymore?
Next thing, Mr. Hardie was standing there holding ared and green envelope. We were alone. He put his hand on my shoulder and actually beamed at me. "Great job, Santa! I've never seen such a display. They all loved you and you have a permanent job every year and in between, too, if you want. I don't know how you changed so much, but it's been a blessing to watch."
I just shook my head and headed for the door. I had a taxi cab to catch and pay for two trips. Looking into the envelope, I saw the pay I expected plus a note. It was from Mr. Danvers, the store owner. It said, "Thank you for helping make our Christmas so merry. Please come to the Utopia Inn tonight. I have a room saved for you. I"ll come talk to you tomorrow morning. Man! What a deal! I suddenly realized I didn't hurt and had left the hospital's crutches behind the tree.

Santa's Boo-boo

A Christmas story I made up just for fun.

"Good God, Man! What happened to your leg? How can you work with all the lap sitters that wiggle so much?"
"Well, Mr. Hardie, It's really looks worse than it is. The pain, well, pain is to be expected. Life, you know?" I couldn't quit. It was the first money I'd earn in months, the store was nice and warm, and I could even eat in the employee cafeteria for FREE. They had great chicken soup.
"Show me how you can get around and not make a scene. We can't have a scene. Scare the kids and all. At least you're not inebriated and smelling like a distillery like that guy we had to fire last year."
I leaned the crutches the hospital had lent me against the wall behind the lighted tree and sort of jumpety- limped the six feet to the Santa Throne. "See! Piece of fruitcake!" I could be so clever with words. Not so
clever in avoiding that darn car that ran me down and left me in the gutter.
"O.K. but how's it going to feel with a kid bouncing up and down? You'll hurt and probably drop one and the store will get sued." His face showed the strain of the season and I could comisserate, but I couldn't just leave and go "home." It was too cold and too far. Besides, I had to get in at least a couple hours to pay the cabbie I had told, "You can trust ol' Santa. I get paid every day and I promise to repay you when you pick me up here at eight-thirty."
I put on my most winning smile hoping it showed through the itchy white beard. "Please, Mr. Hardie. I promise to do it right. No lawsuits."
He rubbed his hands together sort of like Herod washing the whole matter away. "If I see one unhappy kid or parent, you're out. Hear me?"
"Yes. Yes. I hear you. Thank you for the chance." I meant what I had said but wasn't too sure I could deliver. But, heck, I was Santa and he could really deliver. The pain pills the nurse had given me at the ER after the stitches had helped some. I had four more, but knew I was in for some serious pain later. I didn't want to take too many of them and act goofy, remembering what had happened to last years Santa.
I steeled myself noting the increasing line of "Visitors". There were dozens. The littlest ones each had an adult herding them. "Lord," I prayed (which I never did). Who prays now-a-days? "Please help me get through this and I promise to help somebody else; maybe even Louie who stole my blanket when I was out panhandling." Now that was a real promise. No one could refuse to answer such a sincere petition.
This was a real small time operation, meaning there were no Elves or anyone else to help the little lids up and down from my lap. The bigger ones had to stand. No professional photographer either. Any pictures had to be taken by the adults who may have thought to bring a camera. Just as well. Even with the "disguise" I was wearing, I felt exposed. What if somebody from the olden days recognized me?
I had passed the required Santa Clause Course and had practiced "the VOICE"--not too hearty and loud enough to let the listening parents what their little dears wanted. We were told to repeat everything in case they kids couldn't be heard by his attending adult. The mirror had shown a too tall, too slim, too old, and too tired homeless man in a poorly fitting and kind of smelly red and white suit. With the "Waistline Ajustment Device strapped on under the jacket, I looked a bit more Santa-ish. Good enough to fool most kids and if they weren't, who gives a s--- (I mean "darn!" Have to watch the language, too. I need the job.
At precisely four PM, Mr. Hardie re-appeared, pulled the fake evergreen garland off the candycane posts and said, "And here he is everyone, Santa Clause brought to you by Danver's Department Store. Step right up and visit." He glared at me in warning and stepped over near the tree. The first kid was a girl of about four. Her Mother helped her sit on my lap. Darn! so this is what it's going to be like? The pain flared in my left knee. I wiggled to get it into a better position, she wiggled to stay on my lap and Mr. Hardie and the Mom wiggled toward us in a sort of odd dance. I gritted my teeth and, using "The VOICE" asked, "And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" She stared into my face and then whispered, "A doll that does real
people stuff and clothes and a big candy cane." She smiled and I nearly did, too, but the knee wouldn't let me. She got down and I sighed.
Only four hours and about a thousand more kids. I felt like I was in Hell or at least Purgatory. Man! I hadn't thought of purgatory since I ot kicked out of St. Francis Ctholic School years ago.
Evidently I had hidden my pain and been O.K. as Mr. Hardie turned and walked away with only one last small glare. The next few kids were too big for the lap and I relaxed. It became a little easier as the line moved along. Next there was a little boy on crutches. He swung toward me, then stopped and stared behind the tree. I had forgotten the crutches I had put
there, but it was evident that he saw them. He had such a serious look on his face. I wondered if this would be any fun for him at all. He was followed by a lady who looked like life had used her hard and had nearly given up on her. Guess the kid was tough on her. He spoke. "Hey, you're supposed to let me sit on your lap."
"Well, sonny, you're right. Let's see how that works out." He bent over and placed his crutches on the floor and the lady helped me hoist him up. WOW!!! Right onto the sore knee. It seems that the pain pills had totally worn off and it was like someone had driven a sharp, hot,serrated knife into the joint.
"You got bad legs, too?" he asked, "Ain't Santa 'posed to be perfect?"
"Um, yeah, kid. Just sit still and say your piece." I had deviated from the "Acceptable Phrases", but this was no time for the niceties. All I wanted to do was to get the little cuss off me and take a pain pill break. I put my hand down on his leg trying to hold him still and felt an unexpected hardness.

WOW!! I got an unsolicited request to turn my BLOG into a real memoir and even a real book!!!

The request was from my dau, ANNE (with an E). I know she respects my writing abilities and it's not just that she wants something to remember me after I'm gone--JEEEZZZZ!! What a bad thought that is!! Anyhoo, I started thinking about it and decided to look up the word memoir so I could do it right and got sidetracked by the phone then getting the mail. In glancing at the new Readers' Digest, there was an article about memoire writing!!
Our local paper-St. Paul Pioneer Press-- has a local write-in section aptly called BULLETIN BOARD. It often has people telling about recent and very satisfying BMs they have had.. Originally I thought this really strange, until I found out the letters BN don't stand for what most people think they do---- BM in the BULLETIN BOARD means a Baader/Meinhoff Experience; explained as the occurrence within a 24 hour period of reading (or seeing or hearing or sensing in some way) a factoid, license plate, word or whatever that is totally NEW to you and within the original 24 hours of chancing upon that same fact, cord or whatever AGAIN!!. It's rather like a Deja Voodoo (Now, folks, I just made up this word combination so don't go trying to steal it BUT if any of you hear it in the next 24 hours, let me know for a BIG prize and we can both send it in for a truly satisfying and mystical BM. I also just got to wondering if a person should begin to carry little plastic bags around with them to collect these BMs so we can leave them later on the doorstep of the Pioneer Press and run away after we ring the bell. Speaking of which, remind me sometime to tell you about the fish guts in Platte.

And yet again? Will it never end??

I just LOVED getting together with my cousin, Diane Foster, and my brother Mickey in Platte. Mickey was two years younger than I and Diane was in between. It was a simpler time if one forgets about the Korean War (or police action as the exalted leaders would rather call it). This period in my life ran from about 1948 through 1957 0r thereabouts.
During this time I aged from seven to sixteen and then there were more important things to do in the Summertime like work and save for college; and it was farther to travel; and Grandpa Jobe and Grandma Leola were "getting on" as they say.
We had free rein of the entire town which was quite tiny by anyone's standards, but to us it was a magical, mystical wonderland. No worries. No jobs other than helping our Grandma in her fantastic half-acre vegetable and flower garden. At one time she was in THREE garden clubs in Platte though I don't know how come there were so many women in that small town that they really needed so many clubs. Possibly many of the same ladies (NO MEN ALLOWED!!!) were overlappers and each club took on a specific type of gardening. Not sure, but our Grandma had the best of everything in her garden. I loved being there in August to help (?) pick the red ripe huge strawberries. Some of them even made it into the basket and into the house!
Our Grandpa was rather odd about food we thought. He actually put SUGAR on his sliced tomatos. I found out later that some other folks did this, too, but it seemed weird at the time when we ate ours warm from the bushes and only put salt on then if we could sneak the shaker outdoors.
One day Mickey glanced over at me and Diane as we were picking tomato bugs off the bushes. Grandma was way ahead of her time ecologically. No "darn poisons" for her garden---just hard work and plenty of nice warm free vitanin D from the sunshine. Mickey waited until Grandma had her back turned, winked at me and tossed a tomatoat Diane. He really had a good arm for a young boy and it hit her smack on her forehead. It was a nice ripe and perfectly juicy tomato that dripped like blood down her surprised face. She was too astonished to hollar, but soon she hurled one back at him. Not to miss the fun, I threw one at Mickey, too and it took on the aspects of a real war. No Koreans here,but enemies none the less.
We, of course, only threw when Grandma wasn't looking which was most of the time as she was a real nose to the grindstone gardening machine. We also took care not to make any sounds or she would catch on and stop the fun. It wasn't long, however, for the fickle finger of fate to catch us. Grandma was right between Diane and me when I made a particularly hard throw of a tomato I had squeezed enough to soften it perfectly without breaking the skin. Grandma picked the wrong time to stand up facing me and got hit dead center on her sweaty forehead. Deathly silence prevailed for what seemed an eternity. No one moved and no one breathed until all h--l broke loose. It seemed impossible that an old lady Grandma could run as fast as a ten year old boy, but she sure did!! Even faster, because she caught up to me before I even exited the tomato patch. She grabbed the collar of my shirt and threw me down like a ragdoll onto the ground. Standing over me she reached into the large pocket that extended clear across her apron and mashed tomato after tomato into my face until I thought I would never breathe again. Diane and Mickey looked on in delight; thankful that THEY had not been the ones to hit Grandma. She either tired or ran out of tomatos and breathing hard, said; "Hitting a person with a tomato is NOT what nice boys do. Is It?" I didn't know the term rhetorical question at that time, but realizing she really didn't want an answer, I kept my mouth shut. This was also to keep smashed tomato from running down my throat. They sure taste different when mashed up on your face than they do when eaten from your hand with a little salt.
Grandma raised her colorful apron and wiped her face then told me very coldly to get up and go wash off at the hose and get back to my job. I spent the next several hours picking tomato bugs, getting sunburned by all that great vitamin D, and praying that Grandpa wouldn't also get into the punishment act when he came home and Grandma told him. I could almost feel that stingbat coming.

More Great Grate stories from childhhood

So we had all this money and decided we had to pool it and buy something. You have heard about money burning a hole in one's pocket? Well, we had a five alarm fire going and thoroughly discussed (argued about) what to buy. Of course, Diane, thought she had the most say, as she had been the one who first contributed the dime for the bubble gum and she HAD pulled up the most coins. This was true, but she was just a GIRL and easily out-argued by a coulple of BOYS. Later in life she took charge and showed that ol' husband who really wore the pants in their family.
We traipsed (an old-timey word for sauntered or moseyed) into Eastman's Drug and walked up and down each and every aisle checking for the BEST thing we could find to buy. Diane wanted paper dolls and after Mickey and I nearly puked (another good word I was not allowed to say at home) we finally decided on food--always a big winner with us especially having thought of puking before.
Eastman's drug had a medium sized soda fountain and three or four tables with four twisted metal chairs. We had to order at the counter, wait for our treat to be made up, then carry them to our table. I recall being a wonderful boy and told Dianer to sit and I would pick up the banana split she wanted. I still am the best at impressing girls--just ask any of them!!
I wanted a hot fudge sundae as I was then and still am a HUGE choc-o-holic. For the first time, I got to order and felt like a big man. I watched the attendant fill the tulip shaped dish with icecream then reach for the hot chocolate dipper (no squirter here!!). I darn near fell over in delight when I read the name of the chocolate painted on the outside of the electric, plug-in dispenser of hot chocolate. It said MY last name, Johnston!!!!!! I hollared at Mickey and Diane to look and they were also impressed, though Diane less so as her last name was Foster, and not Johnston. I loved that feeling and never forgot it. One day far into the future, my other brother David called me and said he had somehow heard that Eastman's Drug was going out of business and everything in the 50+ year old store was up for auction on a certain date and mail bids would be accepted. He told me he had bid on a table and four of those chairs. I hurriedly bid $100 on the Johnston Hot Fudge Dispenser with lust in my heart and I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!!! It is now in my home in White Bear Lake, MN and one of my most prized antiques. It was over 50 years old when Eastmans closed and I've had it for nearly 25 years. It will be passed down to my son, Christopher--- the only one of my three children with enough sense to keep the last name of Johnston. The other two kids are both married girls; guess I can't blame them.. To not get married just so one has a chance to inherit a Hot Fudge Dispenser seems a bit goofy to me. I love them and will be sure each will inherit some great thing from my past. How about a piece of black inner tube formerly used for shooting rocks?

Another TRUE childhood story

Another time when our cousin, Diane, and Mickey and I were abandoned in Platte SD with The Maternal Grandparents, I recall that we three got to pretty much wander about doing whatever we wished. This was LONG ago when folks never worried about child abduction, and other bad things that could happen. Now-a-days, everyone worries so much, children are being bent all out of shape mentally even though the true statistics show there Is ACTUALLY LESS KIDNAPPING THAN THERE WAS BACK THEN!! I am positive the 24 hour a day news coverage is the reason for all the fear as no-one can get away from it, so it insidiously affects the thinking processes. Anyhow, as I was saying about Platte, it was a tiny little prairie town of slightly over a thousand people and many of then Dutch who came over to freely practice their religion which we knew as Dutch Reformed. They were and ARE good people and watched out for everything in their town. "It takes a village" was never truer than in this wonderful place of my childhood.
One day as we three MOUSE-KETEERS (taken from the fact of brother Mickey having the same name as the famous Disney mouse) and WE MADE THIS UP LONG BEFORE THE TV SHOW OF THE SAME NAME BUT WALT NEVER EVEN OFFERED TO PAY US FOR IT!!!
Anyhoo, we had wandered down town which consisted of four blocks of stores on both sides. A unique thing to us was that there were TWO drugstores right next to each other (or there MAY have been one other type of store between--memory fails). Eastman Drug and ????? Drug both had those old- fashioned basements that had windows opening out into a dank pit with a metal grate over it. I found out many years later that these grates could be lifted off and supplies could thus be delivered directly to the storage area in their basements. However, as kids these pits were merely animal traps on the African veldt and held great promise for maybe seeing a lion or a wildebeast or, at least a hyena. We never failed to lie down on our stomachs and peer through the metal grates and dream.
One day Diane poked me in the side with her very bony elbow and said "Look there by the silvery gum wrapper? Is that money?"
"Holy cow! It looks like a quarter, but could be a nickle." Any money to three kids who lived from parental largesse and did not get a regular allowance like kids today was wonderous. Since we didn't know then that the grate lifted off and would have been too heavy even if we tried to do that, we put on our thinking caps, put our heads together, and tried to design a method to reach the aforementioned coin.
Mickey, who was the youngest of we three, but who often had the best ideas, said, "We need a stick--a sticky stick."
"Yeah. Let's go into Eastmans and buy some bubble gum and chew it and put it on a stick." Diane shouted. While she, the only one with any money as Grandpa had given her a dime for picking up all the loose sticks and driveway rocks in the yard before he mowed went for the gum as my brother and I ran to the lunmberyard. We loved this place with the planks, boards, and sticks! It smelled like a primeval forest to us and had great hidey-holes in all the separated lumber sorting cribs. We got the longest sticks we could being sure their diameter was such that they would fit through the grate openings These were just trimmings from other lumber and would be thrown away anyhow. I very politely asked the lumber man if we could have them.
"Fer whut?"
Thinking fast, Mickey said. "Ah, we want to play Africa and try to spear a giraffe."
"Huh! Well, I guess it's OK, but don't make me call your Grandpa that you kids have been throwing these sticks at each other. You'll put your eye out!" I swear to God that is what he said.
So the three of us met up again at the Drugstore grate and Diane removed a well-chewed wad of gum from her mouth. "I chewed three so we'd have enough. They only cost a penny each."
Now three kids lying face down on a city street may have caused a good deal of conversation in some places, but not in Platte and not as far as those Barada grandkids were concerned. We stuck the sticky bubble gum on the longest stick, mashing it on securely so we were sure it could even pick up an anvil . Unfortunately, the stick was too short by a foot or so to reach the bottom of the pit.
"Poo!" I cursed, using what was the worst word I knew at the time. "What do we do now?"
Diane, being a very resourseful girl (more like a boy), said, "Pull it up and we can tie two sticks together. She would have made a great chimpanzee in the Primate Intelligence Test I read about many years later. Mickey pulled one of the laces from his Redball Jets tennis shoes, and then we could reach the coin. Diane pulled up that old coin---IT WAS A QUARTER--not a nickle and we felt like treasure hunters. Man!! What a feeling of power over the forces of nature and being God's greatest creations. I'll never forget that feeling.
We moved leaves and small pieces of paper and dirty stuff around seeking more money, but this only made the gum un-sticky. We were positive there were many more coins down there and this was just one of several store front sidewalk grates. Diane went into Eastmans and bought gum with the last seven cents she had left from her pay from Grandpa. we all chewed two pieces and Diane got three again since it was her work that had earned it.
Tying more sticks together and using all our shoelaces, each of us took over his own grate and had a contest. As I recall, Diane won with that quarter plus a nickle and a penny. I was next with a dime and three pennies, and Mickey only got a nickle. We calmed him with the fact that he was the youngest and had many more years of life than us to find money.
There's more to this story but you have to wait for me to remember the details.

Oops!! Forgot to tell Steve Person's story

In prior post I mentioned the funeral director for my folks burial in Plattte, SD. He was a young man and only out of Morturary School a short time and was quite personable but hadn't fully achieved what I would call the typical Funeral Director Mein. He had bought out the Kool funeral home business which a Dutch man and his family ran for nearly a hundred years in Platte until they ran out of sons and daughters who wanted to go into the family business.
As we three sons stood in the chill wind, our heads bowed, Mr. Persons stood respectfully off to the side. As we walked to the car afterward in great sadness, I asked Steve why he had retained the Kool name on the funeral home. He told me it was in respect to the century-long service from the Kool family. He paused then said, "Sometimes the original name is kept and the new owner is added, but we thought somehow it wouldn't sound right to call the place the Kool-Person's Funeral home."
If you have ever seen the Mary Tyler Moore show where the whole crew from the TV station is at the funeral of Peanuts the Clown and Mary gets the giggles thinking of Peanuts getting "shelled" by an elephant during a parade, you can imagine the uproarious laughs Steve Persons got by teling this tale. I know my Mom and Dad would have died laughing right there on the spot if they hadn't already been dead. All three of their sons nearly joined them laughing, chuckling, chortling, and gasping.
Steve Person may not have been the typical funeral guy, but no-one could ever have made a family enjoy a funeral more. I SWEAR on my parent's grave that this is true!!
.

And still another chapter?!!

More true stuff from when I was a kid. Sometimes our cousin, Diane was "left off" with the grandparents for a Summertime visit in Platte at the same time as Mikey and I. She is the daughter of Alice and we were the sons of Enid. It seems there was some sort of collusion or conspiracy in this timing. Neither of the mentioned Moms had a reputation of being the World's Greatest Mother or would't have even showed up on that list.
Not that they were bad mothers, but they seemed to need more space that many women of that era who stayed barefoot and pregnant and loved to cook and clean and talk about their "Little Dears!" Diane was more of a Dear than Mickey and I were. As a matter of fact when the three of us boys (David came later--he was nearly 11 years younger than me and 9 years younger than Mickey), were all grown up and having one of our very few heart to heart talks with our Mom--and this was after she went into the hospital with lung cancer and never came out. She got us all to hold hands with her in the hospital bed and she whispered, since her lungs were so bad she couldn't make more than that---She said "when you boys were young, you were totally incorrigible and I hated your rotten guts!" This didn't really take us by surprise, as we had become rather fond of being known as "those D--- Johnston boys!" Our Mom had a VERY strong personality and raised three sons just the same as her and it is true that opposites attract and likes repel. Dad was completely opposite from her and they TOTALLY ATTRACTED. He gave everything to her and she took it. I can't say that he got much in return, but after she died at age 60, he was so alone and sad for the next 7 years until he died that he kept her ashes in a ceramic jug with a cork (Yep! It was an antique liquor jug he had found in her parents cellar) It was incised with her name and dates and so on. He used to pull the cork out and talk to her. When asked how come, he said--"We made a vow to always be together and I think she can hear me better with the cork out." Both their ashes were put into the same hole after his death when we three boys followed his instructions. I played my harmonica and Steve Persons was the funeral director at Platte where they were burried.
My wife of 46 years and I plan on this same dealie. Whomever is still around will have the other's ashes kept (but "NOT IN A LIQUOR JUG!" says the LSW). Our three children (not an incorrigible one in the bunch) have been told to cremate the other one when it's time and MIX the ashes together in a suitable container and put it aboveground in a nice columbarium for visits. Funny word>>> COLUMN- BARY- 'UM, isn't it??

More true tales of Byron's childhood

Some folks seem to believe that I am a dirty rotten LIAR; though they phrased their stoopid comments in a slightly nicer way like, "You are a smelly, evil teller of non-truths!!
You can't please everyone all the time. As President A. Lincoln once said, "You can't fool all the people all the time." and things like that. I find it really hurts to not be taken seriously even when I tell the ABSOLUTE truth. Another goofy person once said something about the boy who cried wolf. What I write has nothing to do with wolfs---- so THERE!!!
Another true tale of my childhood follows: My brother, Mike--(whom we all called Mickey probably because of that mouse cartoon) were abandoned at our maternal grandma and grandpa's home in Platte SD for at least two weeks every Summer evidently so our Mom could get a break from us. We seemed to be able to get into more trouble than a dozen regular (non-adventurous) kids. I now recall that there were three or four fine, tall Elm trees on the lot. With the leaves off they all had a vase-like branching structure and looked to me like a giant slingshot. Mike agreed, so we begged Grandpa for a few old non-usable innertubes from the garage and auto dealership he owned.
"Sure." he said. "Just don't get into any trouble." Of course, we assured him, trouble was the farthest thought from our minds. After all, who goes looking for trouble when it can find a person so easily by itself.
The small town weekly newspaper headlines read MYSTERIOUS STONES FALL TO EARTH SHATTERING HIGH SCHOOL WINDOWS.
The report was very incomplete, failing to state that only windows on the Barada side were broken and that Mike and I were visiting again Grandpa and Grandma whose house was three whole blocks from the school. We never told and never spent a single day in jail, but Grandpa sure looked at us in a strange way. This is true!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who cares about Snow??

Well, I guess the LSW and I both do. We rassled the darn heavy snow blower into the back of my mini-van and drove it to the small engine repair place as we do every Fall. This time it cost us a bit over $200, but it runs great. Now we have to decide the EXACT RIGHT TIME to take the lawn mower into the same shop for its usual winterizing dealie. Too soon and the grass still needs a last mowing and too late and we have to push it out into the utility shed through snow. Not pretty. Life can sure get complicated trying to co-ordinate two machines, but it's better having them than like in the olden days when my brother, Mike and I had to cut our grass thusly>>> He or I would flip a coin to determine who was the fanner and who would be the clipper. The fanner would crawl along the ground fanning the grass with a bamboo Chinese fan Mom got from somewhere and the clipper would quickly snip off the grass that was sucked into an upright position by the fan using Mom's bandage scissors (She was an LPN). After this 11 hour job, we both had to go over the entire lawn and rake up the cut parts and haul them to the garden for mulch. This part took about 3 hours. we ABSOLUTELY HATED GRASS CUTTING AND RAKING!!! Over and over we begged for a reel-type mower so we could at least take turns pushing the thing and not have to do the hands and knees thing.
Now, don't try to even suggest that this story is NOT true and is just the rantings of an old man who has forgotten what it was really like. I will never forget the abuse we felt and why we found out that that pouring gasoline on the yard and setting it afire is no better at clearing the long grass. Also Mom got really mad when her garden and just a little bit of the carport was charred. True!!!!!!!!!!!
If you want to hear more, just let me know and I'll tell you what is is like to walk three miles to school, at 25 degrees below zero, through four feet of snow, AND uphill both ways. Also true!!!!!!! I think I had a rotten childhood and it just amazes everyone how well Mike and I turned out. Mom said "Adversity builds character" about thirty times a day.

HAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So my guy DID win as the LSW and I both expected. It sure is gratifying to have a wife who is so agreeable and that we are nearly 100 percent in concert on most things. It's that irritating remaining 1-2% that can cause the problems. How come one can't be happy with the 98% and even has to mention the rest?? I guess it's just human nature, but one on us is sure lucky that the other either gives in graciously or drops the subject before rancor sets in. Rancor is a LOT less troubling than Rigor Mortis. Words are fun.
Has anyone noticed that it seems hard to pronounce President Obama?
It seemed hard to say President Bush at first then as time went on and we saw his true colors, it was even harder for me to use those two words together. Not symantically but symbologically. I want a President I can truly respect and thus his title and name will flow gently off the tongue as though it was meant to be. My wife and I are in the 70% who have no respect for Georgie and can't wait to get him gone and get the problems of our country settled--at least to get started on them. GO-BAMA!!!!!!!!!

FINALLY it comes to an end

Of course I mean all the mean commercials (those things the candidates call "messages") that they approve of but I sure don't!!!!!!!!!! I will be so glad to get back to the normal erectile dysfunction ads rather than the ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION ones we have all been subjected to for all these months. I sort of even look forward to the new type of feminine products ads. One MUST keep up with the latest trends.
I am so positive our guy is going to win, that I had made up a HUGE email with just one word to send to my Republican relatives most of whom seem sincere (though misguided). It just says HAH!!!
I promise never to run for office. Never ever, never, never, never, and so forth. No one could stand it if I won.

Rake the Leaves save the good ones

The LSW and I spent about 50 minutes yesterday raking up some of the leaves (see prior post) in our backyard, bagging some, dumping some under the tall pines, and then she found two or three that had lost much of their green color leaving a fine tracery of yellowish gold and took them into the house placing them under the glass desptop, VERY effective as a fall decoration. I'm glad all the rest of the devils remained outside as it would be extremely messy to have a half-acre of leaves from our very heavily wooded lot inside. I never truly counted, but we ourselves have planted over a dozen trees since we bought and built on this lot 11 years ago ==I think there are nearly 50 trees. Pine needles are harder to rake than deciduous trees leavings, but mowing short after most fall helps.
Had only 13 (scarey number!!!!) Tricky Treaters this year. A lot of the kids in our neighborhood are getting past that and I sort of miss seeing them, but life goes on. We also missed seeing the Great Pumpkin rise out of the patch to bring toys to all the good children. Sorry, Mr. Schulz..

Leafs are leaving

I am firmly convinced that the things falling off the trees (Thus the term Fall instead of Autumn which has one too many syllables for us lazy folks to pronounce) are called LEAVES because they are the things the trees LEAVE all over my yard. I would much rather call them leaves than droppings which has a HOLE different connotation. Did you notice the ill conceived and poorly stated pun (in caps) in the prior sentence?? "Very humerous!" he said as he broke a bone in his upper arm patting himself on the back. WOW!!! Another attempt at PUNNY humor. And even yet another if you see the word PUNNY as funny. I can't believe myself sometimes. Can you??? Try harder---it makes me feel good or well as the case may be. And just how does one determine the proper usage in the GOOD/WELL controversy? Feel GOOD? Feel WELL?? I am GOOD? or I am WELL? Too much trouble to contemplate?? OK just forget it and read on.
See how good (WELL?) I am doing in my attempt to avoid mentioning health issues? I will leave (drop) you with this final word---DENTIST!!!

Put your money where your mouth is

Crikey!!! (as the late and great Steve Irwin used to say until he got his heart injected by the tail stinger of a manta ray). I have also been dealing with my dentist and having had poor, dentition (bad teeth to you, Gomer) since childhood, I had to have a tooth pulled. This was the 5th one in my life and I am now having to have the left lower two tooth partial changed to a three toother. Costly, but I DO want to continue to look more like Paul Newman in his fifties rather than the entire front row of a Reba concert. Sorry, Reba.
Anyhoo, things are sure looking up incision healing-wise and it should be a GO for the ol' left knee surgery in January. The Ortho doc had told me that things had inmproved greatly since my last one 13 years ago and he could almost guarantee a bend of 90 degrees and NO PAIN> This would be SOOOOOOOOOO wonderful because I have had pain and a definite lessening of bend in that knee since I first hurt it playing basketball at age 14. Funny how things can carry over and affect ones whole life isn't it?
Fortunately God made it up to me with a wonderful wife of nearly 45 years, two absolutely sweet and kind daughters, and a son who gets better all the time. Not many Grandpa's can say they have 7 ot the greatest grandkids in the world ( those others who may try to encroach on my prideful assertions, are just a bunch of goofy prevaricators>>I learned these words from our current bunch of politicians in their campaigns for office). "What are their names?" You ask? Wife is Virginia, Daughters are Anne and Margaret, son is Christopher, Grands (in order of birth) are Elizabeth, Claire, Sylvie, Steven, Lucy, Thomas, and Edward (Ned).
A finer bunch of bananas never hung upon the tree of life and I'm not just making this up. Well, there he goes again!!

So, yesterday I saw my surgeon and he is also very impressed with the job the LSW is doing keeping my incicion clean and non-infected by changing the dressings sterilly two or three times a day. He told me that he had run into my Ortho doc and discussed me with him. It seems that they agree that I am currently non-infected and the fact of an open small bowel fistula is NOT a reason to hold up my knee surgery. However, it is getting so close to the Holidays (I told you all this before--weren't you listening?) that I want to a wait until January.
I will call the ortho doc and talk to him to get things set up as he desires so when I do get the knee replaced, there is a good chance that all will be well and should be ready for the Tour de France.

Great phone call

My infection doc called with the fantastic news that my recent blood tests show NO SIGN of infection but he still wants me to wait and do as discussed before in prior post. Here's the deal in my mind>>> Eat yogurt every day, wait until after the holidays and re-see that Doc in Jan for final blood tests and THEN schedule surgery with my Ortho Doc at time and place of my choosing. I hope to have it by the end of Jan and be in good walking shape by April Fool's Day. I often use holidays to align my thoughts with the spinning of the world and my place in it. No reason for the April Fool's Day date, but it is easy to remember and I will sure be hoping that Mother Nature doesn't play any practical jokes on me (such as having my knee surgery get infected!) all we can do is the best we can do and hope for no DOO-DOO when what we do is done.
Spent last evening at dau, Anne's house with her husb and two kids and dau, Margie and her two girls. It was so fine sitting around the modern day equivalent of a campfire in a metal fire pit talking, toasting marshmallows and just enjoying the heck out of each other. Simple pleasures, but wonderful. I love my fambleen!!!!!!!!

More medical stuff?

It sure bears on one's mind when one has "health issues" as they say. I saw my Inf. Control doc yesterday. He took a blood test to see if infection cleared, but wants me to wait and eat yougurt for at least three to six months before knee surgery to be assurred as much as possible that the bad germ (ESBL) is replaced in my bowel where it hides by GOOD bacteria and therefore a lot less chance of infection of total knee after surgery. Long sentence both semantically and mentally. This past year has shown me that I could NEVER be incarcerated in a jail or prison. Ii would go absolutely NUTS!!!!! When I want to do something, my health had me trapped and now I feel so much better off the antibiotics!! I even regrouted all my kitchen tile, pruned a few small branches, and am thinking of some other small tasks to do soon. Freedom!!!!!!!!!!

WOW!!! PLUS MORE

JUST HEARD A PRACTICALLY MIRACULOUS OCCURRENCE!! Dau, Margie just informed us that her dear Marco will be returned to dust at a facility located on St. Francis Avenue in the Twin Cities. How many times are we so skillfully informed that we are being cared for by our Creator??
It is now 12 days since I went off the high priced IV antibiotics with no sign of return of the infection. This is very good as it means that I MAY be cured and can go ahead and get my left knee replacement replaced. I have definitely decided to do that one first and see if that will stop the darn pain and let me walk without stressing the right so much that it, too, may need a total knee replacement. I dont want to be hurting during the Holidays, so I plan on knee surgery in early January so I can be pain free by my birthday on February 14. This advanced notification will give me a good shot (OOOOPPPSSS---bad word!!!) at having the surgery exactly when and at which hospital I want it to be. Closer hospital saves the LSW all the driving to visit me, but surgery stays are a LOT less than they used to be, so we'll see.
Also this longer notice can give my fambleen a chance to look for monkey cards ala Margie. One of the best and funniest I ever got.

FAMILY NEEDS

LSW and I went down to see our middle daughter in Red Wing (MN) for support because her great and wonderful pet died suddenly on St. Francis Day. They had Marco the gentle, loving and sweet Golden retriever for eight years and were looking for many more when he got sick and died! Autopsy showed a tumor in his heart. So sad for all of them. He was much more than just a pet and Iwill miss having my wrist nibble whenever we saw the great beastie. Even the non-dog cat loverr I am married to said to him last time we visited, "For a dog you're a great houndie!" Superb praise coming from her.
Kind of nice to know that St. Francis was there to welcome Tom, Margie, Elizabeth and Claire's friend to dog heaven.

So far so good!

No signs yet of the aforementioned Sx. The Diflucan I was prescribed for three days to Rx the yeast infection (AKA diaper rash) on my abd. wall is clearing well. Yeasty fungi are so darn itchy. No wonder some women go insane and kill their off spring before they get Monostated.
I feel a bit less tired, too, being off the IV antibiotics. I actually got a shovel and transplanted four raspberry vines and trimmed a few branches off our American linden trees. They look good except fot the most Easterly one which will catch up in 4-5 years with the proper pruning which I did after talking to out tree guy. A REAL, honest to God Arborist who went to college and knows this stuff.
I will now get off the surgery and illness postings and try to have my next post be about my writings.

Goodbye PICC line

Well, the IF doc pulled the PICC line and all we have to do now is wait to see if all the expensive IV antibiotics worked. If so, no problems. If NOT, I will start having symptoms of infection flare-up such as pus, hot and cold spells (AKA chills and fever) swelling and reddness. Sounds like fun, No???
At least we have a break now and the LSW doesn't have to hook up my antibiotics three times a day. NOW all she has to do is change my abdominal dressing twice a day--which is SO much fun for her. I told her that without her tender loving care, I could not have handled this and don't know what I might have done. Please let it be OVER, God!!

No Ho, but the winds DO blow!

The damn thing is fistulated again!!!!!!!!! My doc says he feels really bad for me, but the fact of it re-forming shows that this is NOT THE TIME to operate again. Since the lower tract is working well and I can handle the abdomonal leakage with dressings, we "Should let it alone and see if it will heal by itself which is possibly. This waiting for scar tissue to fill in and close the abdominal surgical incision might include growing over and closing the fistula also.
We can also handle the severe bilateral knee pain with Lidocaine patches my surgeon prescribed. They really work pretty good. 12 hours of greatly decreased pain and then 12 hours of Aleve when patches not on. I can do this, but the LSW and I should not have to--it's just not fair!! We don't deserve the punioshment, but maybe it's a blessing considering that some folks don't even have legs and bowels. More later. Is anyone even reading this blog??

OH, damn!!!! Now what?

Well folks, it seems that the term "The right hand of God" must really mean something as this morning I am experiencing the left hand.
"What do you mean?" you may ask. Well, two days ago everything was good and it seemed that the end was in sight. No I did NOT observe my backside in a mirror. That would be silly. The end I mean was the travail of having bowel surgical problems over and over. Now this AM, I had to strain and suddenly there was a small tooting sound (AKA mini-fart) from my open abdominal incision. This is NOT a good sound considering that the only air I initially thought of was that from my bowel which WAS open and which you can read about in prior postings. My LSW checked it out---she heard the sound and saw a few tiny bubbles (Don Ho, what are you doing in my insides?).
We agreed to call the surgeon and miraculously, he was on call this Sunday. He told me, after several questions, to see him first thing Monday so he could evaluate the phenomenon. In the meantime, our stress level increased several humdred-fold. I checked for gas forming bacteria on the 'net and found one new article about gas forming bacteria mimicing hollow organ air sounds. All we can do is wait til tomorrow and I'll let you know.

The tide is out and the oysters are free

ALREADY the water gain I had is gone and I am back at 38" waist. Amazingly fast! My doc is very surprised i am doing so well so fast. I told him I am a tough guy and this soft tissue pain is not too bad and easy to handle --bone pain is MUCH worse. I wish i hadn't just said that, as i am looking forward to bilateral knee replacement surgery when this abdominal stuff is done.
The whole family will be happy for me when i can walk and not have pain and the LSW will probably be the most happy as she has had to put up with me by listening to moans, groans and whimpers as she changes my dressing twice a day and runs my antibiotic thrice a day--wonder what the word is for FOUR TIMES A DAY???? Quice?? Not able to compute.
This past ten months has been one of the toughest times in my life, but i am sure I could never have made it through with out my darling--so much more than an ordinary wife and the best nurse on the planet.

Crap!!!!!!!!!! Literally!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well folks, I just got out of the hospital after a 4 day "Same day surgery operation"----My surgeon got inside lovely old me and found that there was indeed a fistula from the subcu tissue into the bowel . This meant more surgical time--2 whole hours rather than the 20-30 minutes he had originally told me. Since the bowel was open, he had to keep me in the hospital until I had a "good and decent movement" showing that the bowel was working---4 days of waiting for crap is not my idea of fun, especially if the surgical incision had to be re-done cleaning out the infection and having the usual pain and ensuing weight gain from water in the tissues. MY LSW had to take me to Savers to get a couple pair of used size 46 pants to tide me over until the water left dehydrating me to normal which is a 38" waist. Note the inadvertent but extremely well done pun in the prior sentence--having to do with water, dehydration and "TIDE" me over.
Now I'm home doing that world famous dance called the "MOVEMENT"
while waiting for my kidneys to get rid of the water that expanded my waist from 38 to 46"----UNBELIEVABLE, isn't it? Good thing that water didn't collect on my brain.

More Incisional fun and games

Saw an internist today for pre-op physical exam with blood work and EKG> All is good to go for same day surgery on the 8th to open and clean out the remaining "Pus-Pockets"<<< esoteric medical terninology meaning sac of infection . Hope that this will be bringing the end nearer. It's been 10 months and I'm getting tired of having to have my LSW change my dressing daily and plug in my IV antiobiotic, too. MAYBE I can be cured by the end of October and can look forward to having my very sore and crappy<<< medical term for sh----y left knee fixed. Halloween Please hurry.
If you are tired of reading about MY medical problems, either quit reading this blog OR think of how I feel about the whole thing!!!!!!!

NOW WHAT???

And now THIS time, my two docs say things seem to be at a standstill and the surgeon wants to re-open the incision after we get the culture report in a day or two from the germ doc. It seems the bug is fighting back and con possibly only be killed with exposure to air and the incision allowed to heal in from the bottom up by itself. This can take weeks and I REALLY wanted to have my knees done, but the ortho doc wont until all incisions are closed and there is no sign of infection anywhere in my body ......RATPOOP!!! It's enough to piss off the Pope.

Saw my surgeon today. He says things are healing very well judging by the decreasing length of the sinus tract and the minimal amount of drainage coming from them (2). He thinks I may have complete healing by the end of September which is 10 days, but I see the sinus tract as half full which is the opposite of the pessimistic's "glass is half-full". 'nother words, I think it will be not until the end of October.
After no more drainage and total closure of tracts, I get to go off my IV ertapenum (IVANZ) antibiotic and IF the bloodtests after those two weeks are OK, I can safely have my knees fixed. Both hurt like HELL< but I will press for having the left one done first to remove and replace the total joint which is wornout after nearly 12 years and maybe the right will hurt less if the left is working better. Just a shot of Cortisone in the right may help, too. Well see. At any rate, things are coming along.

Waiting is irritating

I am waiting for a whole lot of things--some good some bad and some both.
The best "both" is waiting for the infection in my abdominal incision to heal properly so I will be considered germ-free so I can go have MORE surgery--I have pain in both knees varying from 4 to 9 on the "OUCH SCALE".By the way, the Acronym OUCH stands for OH YOU (U) CAN HURT. This was invented at the University of Hard Knox by Perfesser Boithaturts and his staff when when their studies over many years proved that some pains hurt worse than others:
Pimple on nose
Punch on nose
Smash on head with punch bowl
Smash on toe with bowling ball
Bowling ball sized cannon ball through abdomen
Any how you get the idea. Their main contribution to the medical world was to quantify these pains so nurses and doctors would know how much sympathy to show on their faces and possibly how much pain relieving drugs to give Many care3 givers seem to think that every single pill or shot for pain is personally coming out of their own pocket and it must be wrong to not have pain anyhow. A secondary component of this "OUCH SCALE" is known as the "How turrible is the verbal"--meaning how loud the patient is mentioning, yelling, screaming, bawling, and so on. This can also be quantified on a scale of 1-10. The best results can be gained by combining BOTH scales.
A small collarary to the two scales is the difference if the pain is YOURS or some other guy. Yours is ALWAYS WORSE BY AT LEAST TWO STEPS THAN ANYONE ELSES.
So the abdominal pain is only 1 or so now and the post-op knee surgery pain will be up to 8 or 9, but I am hoping I get a surgeon who has had surgery before and has good sympathy so It can be brought down to 3 -4 which is tolerable as that is where the pain in my left knee has been for aver thirty years. I also hope after the surgical pain is gone,I will be pain-free and can bend the knee to 90 degrees so I don't have to sit on the aisle all the time with the leg stuck out. I'd like to try riding a bike again and to be able to do the Walk For The Cure once. We'll see.

Rarities of disease-a family connection??

Grandson Steven just got out of the hospital after being diagnosed with viral pancreatitis. This is a very rare occurrence in a kid. He had a stomach ache and pain over both kidneys and a fever. The doc at Children's Hospital in St. Paul had it diagnosed in less than two hours when the internet suggests it may take up to 6 days to do so due to the rarity. WOW!! Nice going Doc.
In the family, Sessa (Steve's Grandpa) has had over 34 operations and the oddest thing he had once was Tolosa-Hunt Syndrome (Vasculitis of the blood vessels behind the eyes in the brain)---severe pain in head treated with Prednisone for 9 months and cured with NO re0currence.
Steve's Grandpa's Brother naned Michael had a rare form of TB and got cured and ten years later, he got Wegeners Granulomatosis which is a rare auto immune disease that killed him after two years of fighting it.
Sessa and Mike's Mother died from malignant melanoma and their Dad of stomach cancer. Everyone else is healthy and now that Steve has had the pancreatitis and is OK again, this should be the end of it (God willing-and the creek don't rise). We are all sure glad our prayers for Steven and his family worked out and the sigh of relief was immense.

Where are all the Publishers when you want one?

I am getting tired of jumping thru the multitidinous hoops set up in a series seemingly designed to entrap a burgeoning author. I have sent query letters to over one hundred publishers and received only four replies. None of them wanted any of my stuff. Thanks ahyhoo for the courtesy of a reply!. I KNOW publishers are busy, but what sort of other business would ever make a living NOT talking to their customers? Biting the hand that feeds them as it were (great phrase, No?).
I have a bunch of children's stories, short stories, a MASS of poetry, and essays done and ready to go. I EVEN have a completed novel that is timely and well done. The novel was CLOSE TO ACCEPTANCE, but no cigar. BUT-----NO response from them after they received and read the first three chapters.
Now I am looking for an agent so I can just write and let the agent do the selling. 10-15% is a small amount to spend to make SOMETHING?
After you read this, get me into an agent that will sell for me and I will give YOU 5% of first royalty check.

Where are all the Publishers when you want one?

Where are all the Publishers when you want one?

Post 4th letdown -"my rocket has fizzled"

All the Grands have gone home and the Daus, too. The LSW and I are empty-nesting again. Fortunately as I mentioned B/4, they are all close so we don't have to wait long to re-connect. This is good!!!!!!!!
We shot off the required number of costly (buy one get one free????) celebratory devices and ohhhhhed and ahhhhed appropriately. It was uneventful as far as any loss of life or even any decent maimings, which is good, too. I still sort of miss the olden days when a 4th wasn't fun without a few four foot deep craters in the lawn and someone's house getting an unespected visit by the local fire brigade. Times change.
Now the weathwer is absolutely BEAUTIFUL here in GOD'S COUNTRY (MINNESOTA)--72 degrees, light NW wind after last night's good rain. Low humidity and everyone seems happy enjoying a great Summer. We all feel sorry for those who live where the rivers rise, the ground shakes, the forests burn, and places where there are 11 year droughts. Please don't all move here!!!

So--------------here we are at another July 4th- The birthday of our country and the LSW is in the kitchen whipping up a "FEW" goodies to take to dau Anne's house. World's BEST potato salad, rhubarb pie, and "a surprise". Some familys have everyone come for a reunion. I used to get really upset that our family didn't get to do that!! I finally got it into my skull that living as near as we all do and that there are so few of us comparatively, we have a constant and never-ending reunion. What could be better than living in a free country fought for by our predecessors so we, their dependents could get together in peace, eat like hogs, and blow stuff up? Signed by a contented man.
P.S. "IF YOU WANT TO BE ALIVE ON THE FORTH, DON'T DRINK A FIFTH ON THE THIRD."

THE GRILLING GRINGO -Ecologically correct use of propane

I have done my share of outside cookery having first been introduced to this sub-set of food preparation in Boy Scouts many years ago. Since I have always had a heightened sense of hunger, it came easy to me.
As is usual in most homes I am aware of, the male quit cooking the moment he married and let the wife do it all. I guess it is related to the
"Hunter/Gatherer Plan" of family life. Men go out and knock off a beast and the women go pull a few roots. Then the men get to sit and drink beer while the wife cleans, prepares and then cooks the meat. Makes sense.
After awhile, as the man ages, he realized he is having more and more trouble finding, chasing down and knocking off a beast. He slowly begins to feel just a tiny bit of guilt about the wife doing stuff while he sits. He looks up from his beer and thinks, "I wonder what is the least I can do to make it look like I'm still helpful around here?" Of course, this guy picks up on the activity that seems the least apt to raise a sweat---cooking!! After all, the little woman can cook!! How hard could it be!!! It's better than cleaning the toilets and vacuuming..
Now, we have all heard that cooking is an art and should not be taken lightly. Anyone can cook on an inside stove and oven (WOMEN) We great hunters must go hunt down the SONIC BLASTER 5OOO with more power than the space shuttle and get cooking!!! Standing if front of this $3000 beauty brandishing our new stainless steel grilling tools brings back memories of the spear and arrows actually used to kill ravenous and terrible beasts. Not quite the same, but adequate.
Now he throws on store-bought-meat some of which is almost recognizable and tries to get it to a palatable state. Occasionally he will call for a beer (which his wife who is extremely happy to help) will bring out to him from the refrigerator as soon as she can while making the desert, fruit compote, potato salad, setting the table and so on.
See how much fun it can be in YOUR marriage--get a wife first, get a grill and get cooking!!! And remember to smile sweetly when gathering in the many compliments on the great meal by saying, " ah, shucks! It wasn't nothing!!"

Changing the subject

Although I know a lot of stuff and have truly tried to always be correct, and at the same time, tried to offer my brand of correctness to the rest of the poorly informed world, it seems that occasionally (RARELY) I am NOT totally correct. See prior BLOG in which I discuss the world shattering "I and Us and We" controversy. I say that the use of the various pronouns depends on their position in the sentence. Others try to say it is somewhat more esoteric having to do with verbs, recipient of action and other English major-type stuff.
All that is well and good, but oneself (See prior BLOG again) cannot help but think and FEEL what seems right to Himself. I cannot--no matter how often I try to see it the other way, my way seems totally correct. I know about the two faces and the wine glass optical illusion and Rorshach testing and all that stuff, but verbal is NOT visual. Maybe a blind person could sort this out, but there are many more important tnings in life so I plan to drop this like a hot potato (e?).....Now why the heck did THAT expression get into our lexicon?
On of the more important things I refer to are health. I have had over 34 operations and am exceptionally level-headed and not insane through all these FUN trips. Everyone says so. Guess it's true. I was just released form the hospital after the third go round for an bowel--incisional infection and was feeling kind of sorry for myself until I heard a good friend was in the same hospital ICU having just had a brain operation for metastatic carcinoma in the meninges of her brain.
I was allowed to leave my room and visit her in ICU for five minutes and was very impressed that she could smile. She was white as a ghost and her speech was slightly slurred, but she seemed to be clear in her mind, even asking about MY health. She is a wonder. All the surgery, chemo and radiation and she is still thinking about others. Sharon is an example to us all. Pray.

Again X 4---(Will it NEVER end?)

Anyhoo, I guess there are still things swimming around in my brain like Koi picking at the tasty bits of plankton and rushing toward the shadows of the people who come to see their pretty colors. How good of you to enjoy the fish in the pond to errant thoughts in my brain simile!! You must be highly educated and possibly even erudite!! If one can't use similes and big words in one's own BLOG, where can one?
I got to thinking about this strangely old fashioned manner of referring to "Oneself" and the Koi came to life at this shadow that might mean brainfood!!! Could it be that we humans have a problem referring to ourselves in a straightforward way that may seem too "ME-ISH" to others, or we may suspect it thus, and take a verbal step back (or a mere flip of a fin---so as not to loose the wonderful fish simile) and use a somewhat lesser form of "ME--NESS."
This MAY be why people who want to be liked as "just one of the boys" will often use the term Myself rather than the tougher style word "I". We've all heard commentators on TV--who really deep down know they are a LOT smarter than their listeners who probably don't understand what the heck is really being said get into this self deprecating "Myself" business.
It is EXTREMELY IRRITATING TO WE LISTENERS WHO ACTUALLY DO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON AND TRULY "KNOW THE SCORE". Now
I have to stop and try to explain about the use of WE in the previous (or foregoing, if you'd rather) sentence. "It ALL depends on position." said the Missionary. "Some positions are Godly and correct and others are Pagan and therefore dirty and must be stamped out and the perpertrators of same (Thank God, Myself is not one of these!!!) must be either prayed over or burned at the stake or both until they come to their senses!!"
But I digress (Not two ways of getting out of a situation--see P.T.
Barnum's famous sign in his Museum directing people toward the exit which in those days was spelled EGRESS--This will be explained in a later posting.
Now to undigress---IF THE PRONOUN US WERE USED IN THE AFOREMENTIONED AND ALL IN CAPS SENTENCE RATHER THAN THE CORRECT PRONOUN, WE, IT WOULD CAUSE DEEP EMBARRASSMENT AND BLUSHING OF THE MISSIONARIES AS THE POSITIONING WOULD BE ALL WRONG. WE IS CORRECT BECAUSE WE KNOW THE SCORE. Do you get the idea?? Can I make it any clearer or am myself on top in this educational position?? More later when I have finished digesting this plankton. By the way did you know that fish sticks are cut up fish planks??

I AM NOT THAT OLD!!!!!!!!!!

After reading my latest post about the nasties and SEX on my TV, LSW told me she thought I sounded ninety years old. I MAY be that age in Curmudgeon Years (CUYRS), but feel far from ninety in Chronological Years (CHYRS).
I REALLY do miss the earlier years when one took off his hat in an elevator when LADIES were present. I recall a story --probably in the READERS' DIGEST about a man who got onto an elevator, and removed his hat when he noted several females present in the car. As the car rose, the females continued their conversation with many "salty" words. The man silently replaced his hat.
I wish that men still wore hats so we could respond to the continued emergence of "salty" language and nasty things that are coming upon us more and more each day. Now we even have young girls on YOUTUBE beating up other girls. When these same girls get older they can show off on "GIRLS GONE WILD". Where will it end?? Do we have to look forward to the men staying home to care for the kids and the NEWLY TOUGHENED women being sent to Iraq or other stupid wars?? Thanks, George.

Now what? More nasties??

I just can't seem to get over the fact that the world is changing and NOT always for the good. I miss the good old Andy Griffith show, the Petries, Mary Tyler Moore and Lawrence Welk. Nostalgia waxes my skis.
I also miss girls one could not mistake for boys. I liked the poodle skirts and the pleated plaid school uniforms. The boys seemed to all wear chinos and decent shirts with collars and were clean and belts were at waist level. Nowhere could one see t-shirts with depictions of animals procreating and innuendo frolicking in plain sight attempting to be "CUTE".
Now one can't find a TV show that doesn't have Sex in it and each tries harder to tittilate (odd word for this connotation) us. The FCC is now allowing the F-word to be said-- surpassing the euphemisms Friggin' and Freakin'. I don't like Porn, soft Porn, corn Pone (Hillbilly barn sex stories) and am ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE the lessening of morality is one of the reasons gas prices are so high, Republicans are so self-centered and
people are angry so much of the time. It is time we got back to twin beds, girls who wore panties and people apologized for even mentioning a "SWEAR" word. Call me a radical, but you know this is true as I do!!!

Tornado sharing the World

You all know the old saying, "It's a small world." The Walt Disney company even wrote a song and has a section of one of their parks called that. I have run into quite a few instances of small world-ism or what I oftimes (or it it betimes? Shakespeare would know) call Baader-Meinhoff--another co-incidental happening in which one has apparently never heard of or seen anything and then suddenly he see that thing everywhere. When these sort of things happen, people usually allude to the occurrence as "Wow!! Small world isn't it?" I have never heard anyone actually come out and say "Wow!! Baader-Meinhoffie isn't it?" They aren't really the same, but close enough for me! If you want to argue about it go somewhere else, because I'm too Jung and aFreud and I don't want my brain to get all Adlered. The foregoing is my form of free association--I would do it for money if anyone wised to offer me some--Never turn down money--it's not comfortable to sleep on--it russles too much. One should turn down sheets as they are more comfortable to sleep on. And how come so many people use the euphemism "To sleep with" when everyone knows that they are far from sleep and deep into that other bed activity?? By the way, has anyone aver heard of the gullable birdwatcher who has spent years keeping a lookout for the very elusive "Double Breasted, Round-heeled Mattress Thrasher?""
And now to the point!! "AH, finally--the POINT!" Memorial Day 2008-- We had a tornado north of White Bear Lake where I live and a child was killed in Hugo MN, his sister is in critical condition and the Dad is hospitalized, also as well as about 20 others. Now for the small world part,
on that same day there was a tornado starting in Aplington, Iowa where my wife's brother's wife and two boys live. Their tornado proceeded East hitting Parkersberg, Dunkerton and New Hartford. Parkersberg had half the town (1900 people) destroyed 6 dead and as many as fifty injured.
This is a WHOLE LOT CLOSER THAN SIX DEGREES OF KEVIN BACON. What next? I guess the underlying rule in all this is that the longer one lives, the more chances he has for co-incidences to turn on him.

Medical Dusting and Cleaning

Used to be that Dusting and Cleaning to us older nurses meant only one thing-- D & C-- a dilatation and curettage( Podden Mah French!!) which is a medical procedure to remove the contents of a uterus (WOMB) after the opening of the cervix is dilated. This could be a GOOD thing or a BAD thing, but the results were the same---a nice clean uterus ready to go for the next thing that those organs do.
I got into the habit of using Dusting and Cleaning for myself (totally male) as any form of a medical "tuning up" such as lab tests, X-rays, body part manipulations, and surgery. As a retired CRNA (CERTIFIED REGISTERED NURSE ANESTHETIST). I consider myself an expert on surgery. MANY OF US CRNAs JOKED THAT OUR JOB CONSISTED OF SITTING ON A STOOL ALL DAY LONG AND PASSING GAS!!!!! So, don't laugh---it's funny to us.
Another aspect of my expertness is that I have had over thirty (30) major opertions and an uncounted number of minor ones, SOOOOOOOOOOOO I can talk about my own D &C's. Not fun, but all were absolutely necesssary. Catch me in a verbose, garrulous and loquacious mood sometime and I'll tell you all about all of them.
Today I went to see a new (to me) orthopedic surgeon at Summit Orthopedics. At their office I was offered and given a darn near perfect cup of coffee in the waiting area, and was treated with the complete respect any patient should get. Not that I was mad or upset about the care I had received before, but at age 67 this was GREAT!!
I have had left knee pain since a basketball injury at age 14 that caused my OSGOOD-SCHLATTER'S DISEASE (look it up) to cause the insertion of the quadriceps tendon to completely tear away from the tibia. THAT WAS A WHOLE LOT OF FUN--- The only treatment available in those days was to have my left leg casted straight from the groin to the toes hoping the tendon would grow back and be OK. As the leg lost its muscle strength (atrophy) and movement, each time the Doctor sawed off the old cast and tested the aforementioned sore spot on the front of the tibia, he then applied a new, smaller cast until he thought it was OK at 371 days. By this time the thigh was only 5 1/2 inches around halfway between the knee and the hip and there were hairs 14 inches long!!! It took me months to be able to bend that knee to 90 degrees and three whole years to get the left leg muscle looking somewhat like the right. It never got there, but who could really tell the difference of 2 1/2 inches? I don't blame the doctor--this was a small town in South Dacota in 1954-55. The speciality of Orthopedics (Straight Child) hadn't even been thought of. The doctor said,"Well, it's cured, but someday you'll have a lot of trouble with that knee." Prophetic---I could never kneel on that knee(bad for a Catholic altar boy--The LOOKS I got!!). Also pain in varying degrees, but never completely gone.
Total knee re-placement at age 55 with severe infection, pain and more pain followed by pain. Worn out replacement at age 67. Increasing pain, deformity, swelling and no good sleep for weeks on end. Thank God for Codeine.
Back to the free coffee. I had more X-rays (not free) and then the doctor came in exactly on the scheduled time. He had a great rep but looked 16. He said, "Man, you sure have had problems with that knee!" He then proceeded to gently examine me, then asked ME what I expected from him. First time I had been asked that question by a doctor in my whole life. I said,"Less pain and just a little bit more bend so I can sit straighter and maybe even get some sleep."
He told me that he felt he could operate and get my 57 year old terrible knee to bent to 90 degrees with no pain, but with no guarantees, of course.. I had not realized just how much my damn sucker of a knee had affected me. I actually started to cry and Dr. Daniel Hoeffel grabbed me and hugged me!!! I was so overcome by this sincere act of kindness that I would have let him operate on me right then and there even without anesthesia. NOW THAT IS MY IDEA OF A DOCTOR!! IF he can do as he said, it would be the first time in my whole adult life that I could sit in a theater and NOT to the right of an aisleto stick my left leg out and in a car for more than 30 minutes at a time and maybe even walk without a cane and not fall over for no reason at all and most importantly, kneel at Mass and say a pray of thanks.