For most of the year, I am very conscience about my health. I'm no expert, but I honestly believe that the mind and the body are one; and that if you take care of one, the other will follow. I exercise, attempt to eat right, and really attempt to be a good example for my children.
But the period between Thanksgiving and New Years Day is the time of year when all thoughts of exercise and eating right hit the back burner....
Ok, who am I kidding? It's not even on the stove.
I be eatin', I be drinkin', and I be merry...And, oh boy, am I merry!!!
I'm no different than anyone else when it comes to the holidays. If I were to ask everyone I meet to make a list of their fondest holiday memories; I'm willing to bet that food makes well over ninety percent of those lists.
I certainly know that food is at the top of my holiday list, and during this festive time of year I don't even bother holding back. I eat tons of crap that I wouldn't normally consider the rest of the year. Pumpkin pie, for example, gets eaten on Thanksgiving day and that's it. I never eat another piece of pie the rest of the year. But for that one day I eat it as if I were told that the world has run out and that I will never see another pumpkin pie for the remainder of my life.
Hell, I'm not even all that wild about pumpkin pie. I have to bury a small piece of if under about a half a container of Cool Whip before I deem it edible. But, it's tradition dammit; I gotta eat it....Om nom nom nom.....
And I normally don't eat a whole lot of cheese, but my brother-in-law has a gift for smoking the stuff.
And....It....Is....Freaking.... Awesome!!!! Add that to the sausage log and crackers that I only eat during the holidays and I can't stay out of the kitchen. Just throw it in a trough, Dave, this ol' boy is gonna do some piggin'!!! Oink.
Water? What in the Hell is that? Pass me a beer!!!
It really is a small wonder that I don't end up in the hospital with concrete block sitting in my lower intestine. Upon removal the whole room would smell of pepper jack.
And, of course, many boxes of chocolate are consumed. I'm sure my teeth, along with the rest of my body, absolutely hate me right now.
It's crazy to think that I can be so super disciplined through out the calendar year just to go stark raving, ape shit, nuts the last six weeks. In a way, it's kind of disappointing.
It would be kind of like running nine/tenths of a marathon (not that I would, you marathoners are nuts) and then saying, "Shit on it, I'm calling a cab." when I can clearly see the finish line off in the distance.
I mean, really, why do I do this every year?
Perhaps it's to give me a greater appreciation of what it means to be healthy? (Snort) Yeah, that's it.
I simply can't describe how miserable I feel by New Years Day. In fact, you should have seen me trying to put on a pair of pants a couple of days ago.
It went something like this: Jump -- Suck in gut --- Pull up hard -- attempt to button pants.
Add some grunts and squawks into the equation and I feel as if I looked like some pot bellied, flightless dodo in the midst of some bizarre mating ritual dance.
Buh-GAWK!!!
Eventually I just said shit on it and got another pair of pants to wear. I don't know why, but I can always get my carpenter pants on.....The regulars, however, will just have to wait until February.
And tying my shoes? Man, when I bend down it feels as if a I have a small medicine ball in my stomach. One should never grunt while tying his shoes.
And I do this every year......
Don't get me wrong. I don't eat 24/7 and it's not like I transform into a sumo wrestler --- I just feel like I do. During the spring and summer months I stay really busy and don't eat that much; and what I do eat is fairly light. But in the winter time, especially during the holidays, it seems like food is everywhere. And it's heavy and salty food on top of that.
And the pants I attempt to put on are either a 32 or 33 inch waist -- not possible shortly after the holidays, but more than manageable by spring.
I just worry that a day will come when I won't be able to work off the weight that I put on over the holidays. I'm going to be forty three in May and, up to this point, I have been blessed with a very good metabolism. It takes me six weeks to reach the point of misery, and it takes me about six weeks to get back in shape. But, like all things, I'm sure there will be a time when that will come to a screeching halt. I mean, after all, just how many times can you stretch and snap a rubber band before it starts to lose it's elasticity?
And when it does.....My gluttonous annual holiday binging will have to come to an end. I just pray that I'm disciplined enough to control myself when that time comes.
Oh well,.....time to get back in shape.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Snow Day...
My hair was still wet from just getting out of the shower. The coffee was brewing (yes, I have failed yet again in my attempt to go caffeine free -- but that is perhaps a story for another time) and I was ready to relax for a couple of hours before the Chiefs game came on.
Tera, however, had other ideas.....
Over night we were hit with about three inches of snow and, despite the fact that it was only eighteen degrees outside, Tera was bound and determined to go frolic and play in the frozen white stuff.
Initially, I wasn't terribly excited about going outside. In fact, the older I get the less I like winter. Of late I have been dreaming of a winter home perhaps in Playa Del Carmen or Cozumel......
Just remember, I told myself as I layered up, you're creating memories.
I was almost ready to go when Tera brought me this:
It was originally supposed to be a lion's mane for a school play that Tera was in. When Karla made it and asked me what I thought of it, I answered the question with ill-advised brutal honesty. "It looks more like a deranged beaver than a lion"....Bad move, Otis.
So, Tera did not wear the mangy beaver for her play....But she did keep it and scribbled "Go Cubs" on the inside of the fuzzy head piece. Apparently in Tera's eye's it was a bear's head. She even went so far as to tell me, "Dad, when you take me to Wrigley Field you can wear this to the game!!"
Yeah, I don't see that happening....But I was ok with wearing it outside to go sledding....Especially since I let Toby borrow my ear muffs before he left to spend the night at his cousin's house.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are certain situations when a beer tastes really good. Now, while I love partaking of a bottle of suds after mowing the lawn on a hot day, it simply doesn't compare to the taste of a beer after it has sat out all night in the snow.....Man, my mouth just started watering. Anyway, I made sure to grab a brew before we got rolling.
Tera and I hit the hill with our runner sled and we were having a ball:
Without a wind swirling around it actually didn't feel too bad outside and, what do you know, the bear hood was doing a fairly decent job of keep my ears warm.
About twenty minutes into our frolicking in the snow, Karla came out to join us.
Now when Tera and I see snow we think: sledding, snow forts, snow balls, and snow angels.
Karla, Miss Workaholic, sees the winter wonderland in a very different light. She stepped out the door, put her hands on her hips, and surveyed the situation.
"Ah, shit," I said.....I knew what was coming.
"It looks like we need to clear out the patio, sweep, shovel, and throw salt down on the stairs. Then we need to clean off the cars and scrape them off. After that we need to dig out a path for the dogs so they won't be be going to the bathroom right by the front door."
That's it, dear.....Just drop a turd in our winter wonderland punch bowl. Thanks.
But, growing up on a dairy farm and being the daughter of a workaholic father, she comes by it naturally. We could be on a beach in Hawaii and while I'm enjoying the sun and drinks with little umbrellas in them, she would be talking about work....That's just the way Karla is --- and it occasionally drives me crazy. Like now, for instance.
"Really, Karla?"
"Well, do you want to do it now or tomorrow morning before leaving for work?"
(SIGH) "Shit...."
It wasn't that I didn't agree with her about the need to take care of some things around the yard, but couldn't she at least sled for five minutes or make a small snowman before making up her work list?
Quite simply, no. Karla was raised with a work first mentality, and that is never going to change. So, grumpy and mumbling under my breath, I grabbed a broom and got to work.
I do have to admit, though, that Karla's workhorse mentality is the perfect compliment to my "it can wait 'til tomorrow (or next week, or month, or if I ignore it long enough it will take care of itself)" attitude.
Yes, the grasshopper had married the ant.....and I'm alive and very, very, very, very, very well prepared.......
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As soon as the work was finished, Tera and I talked Karla into going to the park with us, where there is this really cool slide that, when covered in a sheet of ice, is really fast.
Then I watched the Chiefs game....and it sucked really bad...Man, we should have stayed outside.
Tera, however, had other ideas.....
Over night we were hit with about three inches of snow and, despite the fact that it was only eighteen degrees outside, Tera was bound and determined to go frolic and play in the frozen white stuff.
Initially, I wasn't terribly excited about going outside. In fact, the older I get the less I like winter. Of late I have been dreaming of a winter home perhaps in Playa Del Carmen or Cozumel......
Just remember, I told myself as I layered up, you're creating memories.
I was almost ready to go when Tera brought me this:
 |
| Bear....Sort of... |
"You can wear this, Dad." Tera said as she skipped across the house with, well, whatever you wanted to call this thing.
It was originally supposed to be a lion's mane for a school play that Tera was in. When Karla made it and asked me what I thought of it, I answered the question with ill-advised brutal honesty. "It looks more like a deranged beaver than a lion"....Bad move, Otis.
So, Tera did not wear the mangy beaver for her play....But she did keep it and scribbled "Go Cubs" on the inside of the fuzzy head piece. Apparently in Tera's eye's it was a bear's head. She even went so far as to tell me, "Dad, when you take me to Wrigley Field you can wear this to the game!!"
Yeah, I don't see that happening....But I was ok with wearing it outside to go sledding....Especially since I let Toby borrow my ear muffs before he left to spend the night at his cousin's house.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are certain situations when a beer tastes really good. Now, while I love partaking of a bottle of suds after mowing the lawn on a hot day, it simply doesn't compare to the taste of a beer after it has sat out all night in the snow.....Man, my mouth just started watering. Anyway, I made sure to grab a brew before we got rolling.
 |
| Bear.....with Beer.... |
Without a wind swirling around it actually didn't feel too bad outside and, what do you know, the bear hood was doing a fairly decent job of keep my ears warm.
About twenty minutes into our frolicking in the snow, Karla came out to join us.
Now when Tera and I see snow we think: sledding, snow forts, snow balls, and snow angels.
Karla, Miss Workaholic, sees the winter wonderland in a very different light. She stepped out the door, put her hands on her hips, and surveyed the situation.
That's it, dear.....Just drop a turd in our winter wonderland punch bowl. Thanks.
But, growing up on a dairy farm and being the daughter of a workaholic father, she comes by it naturally. We could be on a beach in Hawaii and while I'm enjoying the sun and drinks with little umbrellas in them, she would be talking about work....That's just the way Karla is --- and it occasionally drives me crazy. Like now, for instance.
"Really, Karla?"
"Well, do you want to do it now or tomorrow morning before leaving for work?"
(SIGH) "Shit...."
It wasn't that I didn't agree with her about the need to take care of some things around the yard, but couldn't she at least sled for five minutes or make a small snowman before making up her work list?
Quite simply, no. Karla was raised with a work first mentality, and that is never going to change. So, grumpy and mumbling under my breath, I grabbed a broom and got to work.
 |
| Bear does work.....Dammit..... |
Yes, the grasshopper had married the ant.....and I'm alive and very, very, very, very, very well prepared.......
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As soon as the work was finished, Tera and I talked Karla into going to the park with us, where there is this really cool slide that, when covered in a sheet of ice, is really fast.
There was something about hearing Tera giggle, scream, and laugh as she flew down the slide that was infectious. Karla and I just had to get in on the fun:
 |
| WEEEE!!! |
 |
| Bear on slide.... |
We had a blast. The time flew and before I knew it, it was only about twenty minutes before the Chiefs game. We called it a day, Tera got hot chocolate, I got coffee, Karla was working again, and all was right with the world.
Then I watched the Chiefs game....and it sucked really bad...Man, we should have stayed outside.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Christmas Tidbits...
When Toby was just a little guy, around five or six, he asked for a Nerf gun for Christmas. The very instant my mom read that on Toby's wish list, she was more than happy to get it for him. However, I was expecting some little single shot pistol or perhaps a double barrel shotgun. Having not had a Nerf gun since I was little, I had no idea how much the toy makers at Nerf had evolved.
This is what Toby ended up with (Grandma was pleased):
Yes sir, times had certainly changed. This little piece of bad-ass plastic had a 25 round belt designed for a quick reload and a tripod for improved accuracy. I actually found myself a little envious. Toby was over joyed.
The morning after Christmas started out peaceful. Karla and I slept in which, for parents of an early riser, meant we got up around 7:00.
Karla was the first to get up. I lay in bed and listened as she slowly and quietly got up and left the bed room.....Once she crossed over from the bedroom and into the kitchen, all peace and tranquility was completely, and irrevocably, shattered.
I have no idea what time Toby got up or how long it took him to recon and set up the ambush site. But he did his job well, the surprise was complete.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
"Ah!!! Toby!!! Stop!!!"
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
I took the ensuing chaos as my cue to roll over and go back to sleep.....There would be no cavalry on this day.......Karla was on her own.
When Tera was getting cookies and milk out for Santa, I suggested that perhaps Santa was tired of milk and may, in fact, prefer a beer.
Tera went from jitterbugging about the house and joyfully singing Christmas songs to stone cold silence. All joy was sucked out of the room and I could sense that I had just committed an unforgivable holiday faux pa.
I never knew a four year old's eyes could grow so cold as she glared at me....I could feel the ice daggers ripping through my body.
"Dad, you know Santa can't drink and drive."
For a brief moment I thought about telling her that Santa didn't actually drive the sleigh. That it was Rudolph that did the driving.
I then thought about telling her that too much milk is not healthy and that it can bound up the jolly old elf.....My word, you wouldn't want to not get your presents because Santa's in the hospital with impacted bowels would you?
But, concerned for my own well being, I wisely let the matter die. If Tera would have had a bat in her hand, I fear she may have used it. Thus ensuring that Santa would skip our house for years to come.
How dare I even suggest that Santa partake of an alcoholic beverage? Heathen......
"You're right, pumpkin.....Go get the milk."
"Ok." Tera was happy again as she skipped into the kitchen and resumed singing.....
Whew.....Crisis averted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm just not a big fan of putting up Christmas lights. I tried to be, but it just didn't work out. It wasn't them, it was me....No, really.
Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas lights. I'll walk around the neighborhood and check out all the cool displays. But that's where the fun stops. Usually, I procrastinate and end up putting up the lights a week into December. Of course, it's always miserably cold and I'm shivering on the roof as I reflect on the wisdom of putting them up sooner.
This year, Karla and Toby put them up; and I was not about to deter them from partaking in such mirth and merry making.....Fa la la la la.......
Taking them down usually happens around late February, early March....And that's only because the not so subtle hints I'm getting start to become louder and more frequent.
In fact, if not for Karla, I would be one of those chowder heads that would always have an excuse to not take them down. (Assuming I put them up at all.)
Spring: it's too wet out...I don't want to slip on the roof.
Summer: It's too hot out....It's not worth heat stroke just to take down a few lights.
Fall: Hell, it's only four months until Christmas....We may as well leave them up.
But worse than the house lights is one particular inflatable Frosty that just drives me up a wall.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot get this stupid thing to stand upright. Karla even went so far as trying to tie it down to the house, to no avail. (Ok, I'll admit....I didn't put that much effort into it)
Aggravated, I gave up and set a cheap bottle of whiskey next to him:
Yeah.....When life hands you lemons......
This is what Toby ended up with (Grandma was pleased):
The morning after Christmas started out peaceful. Karla and I slept in which, for parents of an early riser, meant we got up around 7:00.
Karla was the first to get up. I lay in bed and listened as she slowly and quietly got up and left the bed room.....Once she crossed over from the bedroom and into the kitchen, all peace and tranquility was completely, and irrevocably, shattered.
I have no idea what time Toby got up or how long it took him to recon and set up the ambush site. But he did his job well, the surprise was complete.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
"Ah!!! Toby!!! Stop!!!"
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
I took the ensuing chaos as my cue to roll over and go back to sleep.....There would be no cavalry on this day.......Karla was on her own.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Tera was getting cookies and milk out for Santa, I suggested that perhaps Santa was tired of milk and may, in fact, prefer a beer.
Tera went from jitterbugging about the house and joyfully singing Christmas songs to stone cold silence. All joy was sucked out of the room and I could sense that I had just committed an unforgivable holiday faux pa.
I never knew a four year old's eyes could grow so cold as she glared at me....I could feel the ice daggers ripping through my body.
"Dad, you know Santa can't drink and drive."
For a brief moment I thought about telling her that Santa didn't actually drive the sleigh. That it was Rudolph that did the driving.
I then thought about telling her that too much milk is not healthy and that it can bound up the jolly old elf.....My word, you wouldn't want to not get your presents because Santa's in the hospital with impacted bowels would you?
But, concerned for my own well being, I wisely let the matter die. If Tera would have had a bat in her hand, I fear she may have used it. Thus ensuring that Santa would skip our house for years to come.
How dare I even suggest that Santa partake of an alcoholic beverage? Heathen......
"You're right, pumpkin.....Go get the milk."
"Ok." Tera was happy again as she skipped into the kitchen and resumed singing.....
Whew.....Crisis averted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm just not a big fan of putting up Christmas lights. I tried to be, but it just didn't work out. It wasn't them, it was me....No, really.
Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas lights. I'll walk around the neighborhood and check out all the cool displays. But that's where the fun stops. Usually, I procrastinate and end up putting up the lights a week into December. Of course, it's always miserably cold and I'm shivering on the roof as I reflect on the wisdom of putting them up sooner.
This year, Karla and Toby put them up; and I was not about to deter them from partaking in such mirth and merry making.....Fa la la la la.......
Taking them down usually happens around late February, early March....And that's only because the not so subtle hints I'm getting start to become louder and more frequent.
In fact, if not for Karla, I would be one of those chowder heads that would always have an excuse to not take them down. (Assuming I put them up at all.)
Spring: it's too wet out...I don't want to slip on the roof.
Summer: It's too hot out....It's not worth heat stroke just to take down a few lights.
Fall: Hell, it's only four months until Christmas....We may as well leave them up.
But worse than the house lights is one particular inflatable Frosty that just drives me up a wall.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot get this stupid thing to stand upright. Karla even went so far as trying to tie it down to the house, to no avail. (Ok, I'll admit....I didn't put that much effort into it)
Aggravated, I gave up and set a cheap bottle of whiskey next to him:
So there you have it....At least now the bum has an excuse for laying around.
Yeah.....When life hands you lemons......
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Karla, I didn't know that that bag of candy you had hidden at the bottom of the deep freeze, underneath the piles of frozen meat, was for the upcoming family Christmas get together. You're probably wondering how I stumbled across it in the first place. Let's just say it was an accident and leave it at that.
I now understand how it got the name "Christmas Crack" as I simply couldn't stay out of it. I'm really sorry. No, really.
I honestly didn't think it was possible to wipe out a gallon bag of candy on my own......(it did take me all day and I did share a little bit of it)
(Burp)....You know what...... I feel kinda sick....I think I'll go lay down for a while.
Are you going to make more?
Karla, I didn't know that that bag of candy you had hidden at the bottom of the deep freeze, underneath the piles of frozen meat, was for the upcoming family Christmas get together. You're probably wondering how I stumbled across it in the first place. Let's just say it was an accident and leave it at that.
I now understand how it got the name "Christmas Crack" as I simply couldn't stay out of it. I'm really sorry. No, really.
I honestly didn't think it was possible to wipe out a gallon bag of candy on my own......(it did take me all day and I did share a little bit of it)
(Burp)....You know what...... I feel kinda sick....I think I'll go lay down for a while.
Are you going to make more?
Monday, December 16, 2013
Tackling the Oven....
And these directions:
Begin by preheating the oven to 150 degrees (or your lowest setting available). While the oven is heating, put on a pot of water to boil. Once the oven has reached 150, turn it off and pour 1 cup of ammonia into a heat safe bowl or baking dish and place it on the top rack of the oven. Place the pot of boiling water on the bottom rack, close the oven door, and leave them both in the oven overnight.
The next morning, open the oven and remove both the bowl of ammonia and the pot of water, keep the ammonia – you’ll use it later. Remove the racks and leave the oven door open to air out for 15 minutes. Add 1-2 teaspoons of dishwashing liquid to the ammonia, along with 4 cups of warm water, and using a heavy-duty nylon scrubbing pad dipped in the ammonia mixture, begin to wipe away the softened grease and grime along the sides and bottom of the oven.
It should be a fairly easy job at this point. Wear some kitchen gloves, since ammonia can be caustic to skin. Rinse/wipe clean with a damp cloth.
Click SHARE to save this to your timeline for later reference, or to send to friends.
Follow me for more great ideas at Roger Howardand join us at www.TheFatAssassins.org
As soon as my eyes came across the word "Ammonia" I had a strong urge to just discard the information straight away and go right into searching for a more natural way to clean my oven...(Which, by the way, never crossed my mind until Karla brought it up......Dammit)
I'm a firm believer in trusting my nose; and ammonia irritates the holy living snot out of it. Not to mention it irritates my eyes and does a considerable amount of damage to my hands if I opt not to use gloves when cleaning with it. (Only made that mistake once)
Honestly, if any chemical can do all that to you in a very short amount of time then there is no way in Hell that it can be healthy for you.
In fact, I'm getting ready try out a vinegar solution on my floors in the near future. (Stay tuned) The last few times I mopped the floor with ammonia, I noticed the dogs would bee line to the nearest carpet or couch and wouldn't leave it until the floors were dry......I trust my nose....and I trust my dogs. The ammonia has to go. And, no, the lemon scented ammonia isn't any better. That's like spraying perfume on a wet dog.....it doesn't hide anything.
Still, after seeing the before and after pictures of the oven Karla sent me, I couldn't help but wonder if this little trick really worked as well as advertised. I still had some ammonia left in the cupboard so, what the heck, I may as well give it a go......Curiosity killed the cat, you know...
So here is my oven before:
Eeew....
I have a gift for being oblivious to my surroundings. So it was no shock to Karla that I was completely caught off guard by what I saw....I simply had not idea that oven was in that bad of shape. My first thought was, "Wow......Can't we just buy a new oven?"
But since I already opened my big mouth and said that I would clean it I simply couldn't just close the door and walk away no matter how badly I wanted to. So I got to work.
Fast forward......Here is how it looked after:
I have a gift for being oblivious to my surroundings. So it was no shock to Karla that I was completely caught off guard by what I saw....I simply had not idea that oven was in that bad of shape. My first thought was, "Wow......Can't we just buy a new oven?"
But since I already opened my big mouth and said that I would clean it I simply couldn't just close the door and walk away no matter how badly I wanted to. So I got to work.
Fast forward......Here is how it looked after:
It was a noticeable improvement but not near the difference of the before and after pictures that Karla sent me.
To be completely fair, I would say that the reason for that is because I didn't follow the directions to the letter.
1. I didn't let the oven sit over night. I started this project around 1:30 in the afternoon and was scrubbing on the oven by 7:30. Had I started later in the evening and left it over night as suggested, that would have allowed the ammonia to work at least another six hours. I'm willing to bet that that would have made a big difference in the results.
2. I overlooked the little blurb about using a heavy duty nylon scrubbing pad and, since I didn't have one at the time, I used a disposable mop head which doesn't have anywhere near the scrubbing power of a heavy duty nylon pad....Once again, I'm sure the results would have been a lot different had I actually followed the directions.
In the end, I believe that this cleaning technique can give you the kind of results that are in the pictures that Karla sent me.
But I just can't get past the ammonia. For the few hours that it sat in the oven I absolutely dreaded going into the kitchen; which really cut into my cookie eating time, dammit!!!!
And the dogs? Normally a mainstay in the kitchen if there is a human being standing there; wouldn't go near the oven or the kitchen.
It was neat little experiment.....But I won't do it again.
To be completely fair, I would say that the reason for that is because I didn't follow the directions to the letter.
1. I didn't let the oven sit over night. I started this project around 1:30 in the afternoon and was scrubbing on the oven by 7:30. Had I started later in the evening and left it over night as suggested, that would have allowed the ammonia to work at least another six hours. I'm willing to bet that that would have made a big difference in the results.
2. I overlooked the little blurb about using a heavy duty nylon scrubbing pad and, since I didn't have one at the time, I used a disposable mop head which doesn't have anywhere near the scrubbing power of a heavy duty nylon pad....Once again, I'm sure the results would have been a lot different had I actually followed the directions.
In the end, I believe that this cleaning technique can give you the kind of results that are in the pictures that Karla sent me.
But I just can't get past the ammonia. For the few hours that it sat in the oven I absolutely dreaded going into the kitchen; which really cut into my cookie eating time, dammit!!!!
And the dogs? Normally a mainstay in the kitchen if there is a human being standing there; wouldn't go near the oven or the kitchen.
It was neat little experiment.....But I won't do it again.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Tales from the Valley --- Uncle Dio's Christmas Present....
Time has made my memory of the following event a little bit hazy but, in a way, I'm kind of thankful for that....I fear I may break out into a cold sweat or start shaking uncontrollably should the reliving of this tale should it be any more vivid than the way I am about to describe it.
I don't remember exactly how old I was when Uncle Dio told my little brother Tim and I that he had a Christmas present for us. I couldn't have been more than ten, I'm betting I was younger than that. In fact, I'm not sure Tim even remembers the incident...I will have to ask him about it later.
I remember sitting inside Grandma and Granddad's warm house on that cold and snowy Christmas. We had just finished eating a wonderful supper and I was actually about to fall asleep when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"C'mon, boys" Uncle Dio said with a sweet smile, (or at least it seemed sweet at the time) "Get your coats on, I have a present for you.....Eh-hi, eh-hi...."
Ok....Let me back up a second and try to describe Uncle Dio's laugh. Think of "Eh-hi" as short and choppy. Eh is fairly self explanatory, but say "hi" with a short i.....In fact, say "hit" and then take off the t.
When Uncle Dio just laughs a little bit it's -- "Eh-hi, eh-hi, eh-hi"
When he really gets to laughing it's -- "Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi-hi....."
Anyway, the very instant he started to laugh I should have known that something was up. The last time I remember him laughing like that he came up to me with a 12-volt battery.
"Here, put your tongue on this."
"Um, ok"
zzzzzzzap....
"Oh!!!!"
"Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi-hi!!"
But I was no different than any other child my age. When a relative that you know and (somewhat) trust says "Christmas present" it doesn't matter if he is grinning like a madman, all the warning signals being furiously fired off by the security system in your brain are summarily ignored. In regards to Christmas, all fight or flight mechanisms are rendered inoperable inside the mind of a child.
I really should have known better. I loved Uncle Dio, and I knew that I could trust him ---- but only to a point.
We followed Uncle Dio outside and got into his pickup. I remember the truck sat high enough that I had to crawl up into the cab.
Uncle Dio fired up the truck; Tim sat in the middle and I sat passenger.
We slowly made our way out of Grandma and Granddad's snowy driveway, and I was still wondering where my Christmas present was as we lost sight of the house. That was when Uncle Dio romped on the gas.
I shot back in the seat and became acutely aware that I was in great danger. Whatever happy Christmas thoughts I had rolling around in my head evaporated under the deafening roar of the motor screaming under the hood of Uncle Dio's death mobile.
The snow blotted out any evidence that there was a road under us and I knew that snow on a road was slick ---- and slick is bad. I was about to ask Uncle Dio to slow down when he suddenly cranked the steering wheel. Out of sheer instinct my two little hands clamped onto the dash board; my finger nails dug in and were the only things that kept me from hitting the floor board.
You have to remember, this was back in the day when seat belts were a feature of the vehicle but never really used. I remember standing up in the seat in my dad's pickup as we puttered around town. My seat belt came in the form of dad's forearm being buried into my chest, knocking the wind out of me as he hit the breaks.....Good times.
We slide sideways around a corner and Uncle Dio laid into the accelerator. I had yet to regain my voice as I was just struggling to get upright in my seat.
Then Uncle Dio cranked hard on the wheel and the old beast of a pickup began to do one doughnut after another. The world spun madly out of control as I could see ditch, road, church....ditch, road, church....Over and over again, all of it a dizzying and sickening blur.
Every hair stood up on my head as I regained my voice and started to scream......"STOP!!!"
That was the wrong thing to say.
"Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi...." Uncle Dio, wild eyed and grinning like the Cheshire cat, kept his foot on the gas, and the world continued to spin in a blurry fit of madness.
Making things worse, Tim turned out to be just like Uncle Dio --- certifiably insane.
Survival instinct was kicking in as I screamed like a little girl only to have my idiot little brother laugh and encourage Uncle Dio to deny my desperate requests.
"Oh, my God, Stop!!"
"NO, GO FASTER, WOOOO!!!"
SHUT UP, TIM!!!! PLEASE STOP!!!!!"
"FASTER UNCLE DIO, FASTER!!!"
"TIM, SANTA HATES YOU!!!!"
You say some strange things when you are under extreme duress. After it was all over I hid in a corner of mom and dad's house and had a private conversation with Santa (I knew he could hear me). I apologized for implying that the jolly old elf had any ill will towards anyone and begged that I not be put on next years naughty list.....Still, I thought if I indeed received a lump of coal for my indiscretion, but Tim ended up with a stocking full of reindeer poop, I would be very happy. He's such a creep.
The doughnuts ended, and none too soon. My stomach was in knots as Uncle Dio began to drive like a normal human being again. He was heading back in the direction of Grandma and Granddads house and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were going home......and I didn't wet myself (A big bonus). The balance had been restored.
I.....Was.....Wrong.....
Uncle Dio romped on the gas again and we went screaming down towards and past a snow covered bridge. Once past the bridge Uncle Dio cut a hard right and we went careening into some farmer's field.
My screaming, as well as Tim's and Uncle Dio's maniacal laughing, started up again.
The doughnut's were bad enough. Now we snaked back and forth along the rugged field and jumped terraces. I was certain that I was going to be ejected out of the truck through the roof....
Then, everything went black.....I don't remember leaving the field. I don't remember crossing the bridge, pulling into Grandma and Granddad's driveway.
I don't remember going into the house.....I don't remember going home or waking up the next morning.
I have heard that chronic or extreme stress can lead to memory loss......In this case, I'm ok with not remembering.
But I did remember that next year, if Uncle Dio said he had a Christmas present for me, I would pass that present on to one of my cousins....
Never.....Ever....Again.
"EH-HI....EH-HI-HI-HI-HI!!!!"
I don't remember exactly how old I was when Uncle Dio told my little brother Tim and I that he had a Christmas present for us. I couldn't have been more than ten, I'm betting I was younger than that. In fact, I'm not sure Tim even remembers the incident...I will have to ask him about it later.
I remember sitting inside Grandma and Granddad's warm house on that cold and snowy Christmas. We had just finished eating a wonderful supper and I was actually about to fall asleep when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"C'mon, boys" Uncle Dio said with a sweet smile, (or at least it seemed sweet at the time) "Get your coats on, I have a present for you.....Eh-hi, eh-hi...."
Ok....Let me back up a second and try to describe Uncle Dio's laugh. Think of "Eh-hi" as short and choppy. Eh is fairly self explanatory, but say "hi" with a short i.....In fact, say "hit" and then take off the t.
When Uncle Dio just laughs a little bit it's -- "Eh-hi, eh-hi, eh-hi"
When he really gets to laughing it's -- "Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi-hi....."
Anyway, the very instant he started to laugh I should have known that something was up. The last time I remember him laughing like that he came up to me with a 12-volt battery.
"Here, put your tongue on this."
"Um, ok"
zzzzzzzap....
"Oh!!!!"
"Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi-hi!!"
But I was no different than any other child my age. When a relative that you know and (somewhat) trust says "Christmas present" it doesn't matter if he is grinning like a madman, all the warning signals being furiously fired off by the security system in your brain are summarily ignored. In regards to Christmas, all fight or flight mechanisms are rendered inoperable inside the mind of a child.
I really should have known better. I loved Uncle Dio, and I knew that I could trust him ---- but only to a point.
We followed Uncle Dio outside and got into his pickup. I remember the truck sat high enough that I had to crawl up into the cab.
Uncle Dio fired up the truck; Tim sat in the middle and I sat passenger.
We slowly made our way out of Grandma and Granddad's snowy driveway, and I was still wondering where my Christmas present was as we lost sight of the house. That was when Uncle Dio romped on the gas.
I shot back in the seat and became acutely aware that I was in great danger. Whatever happy Christmas thoughts I had rolling around in my head evaporated under the deafening roar of the motor screaming under the hood of Uncle Dio's death mobile.
The snow blotted out any evidence that there was a road under us and I knew that snow on a road was slick ---- and slick is bad. I was about to ask Uncle Dio to slow down when he suddenly cranked the steering wheel. Out of sheer instinct my two little hands clamped onto the dash board; my finger nails dug in and were the only things that kept me from hitting the floor board.
You have to remember, this was back in the day when seat belts were a feature of the vehicle but never really used. I remember standing up in the seat in my dad's pickup as we puttered around town. My seat belt came in the form of dad's forearm being buried into my chest, knocking the wind out of me as he hit the breaks.....Good times.
We slide sideways around a corner and Uncle Dio laid into the accelerator. I had yet to regain my voice as I was just struggling to get upright in my seat.
Then Uncle Dio cranked hard on the wheel and the old beast of a pickup began to do one doughnut after another. The world spun madly out of control as I could see ditch, road, church....ditch, road, church....Over and over again, all of it a dizzying and sickening blur.
Every hair stood up on my head as I regained my voice and started to scream......"STOP!!!"
That was the wrong thing to say.
"Eh-hi, eh-hi-hi-hi...." Uncle Dio, wild eyed and grinning like the Cheshire cat, kept his foot on the gas, and the world continued to spin in a blurry fit of madness.
Making things worse, Tim turned out to be just like Uncle Dio --- certifiably insane.
Survival instinct was kicking in as I screamed like a little girl only to have my idiot little brother laugh and encourage Uncle Dio to deny my desperate requests.
"Oh, my God, Stop!!"
"NO, GO FASTER, WOOOO!!!"
SHUT UP, TIM!!!! PLEASE STOP!!!!!"
"FASTER UNCLE DIO, FASTER!!!"
"TIM, SANTA HATES YOU!!!!"
You say some strange things when you are under extreme duress. After it was all over I hid in a corner of mom and dad's house and had a private conversation with Santa (I knew he could hear me). I apologized for implying that the jolly old elf had any ill will towards anyone and begged that I not be put on next years naughty list.....Still, I thought if I indeed received a lump of coal for my indiscretion, but Tim ended up with a stocking full of reindeer poop, I would be very happy. He's such a creep.
The doughnuts ended, and none too soon. My stomach was in knots as Uncle Dio began to drive like a normal human being again. He was heading back in the direction of Grandma and Granddads house and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were going home......and I didn't wet myself (A big bonus). The balance had been restored.
I.....Was.....Wrong.....
Uncle Dio romped on the gas again and we went screaming down towards and past a snow covered bridge. Once past the bridge Uncle Dio cut a hard right and we went careening into some farmer's field.
My screaming, as well as Tim's and Uncle Dio's maniacal laughing, started up again.
The doughnut's were bad enough. Now we snaked back and forth along the rugged field and jumped terraces. I was certain that I was going to be ejected out of the truck through the roof....
Then, everything went black.....I don't remember leaving the field. I don't remember crossing the bridge, pulling into Grandma and Granddad's driveway.
I don't remember going into the house.....I don't remember going home or waking up the next morning.
I have heard that chronic or extreme stress can lead to memory loss......In this case, I'm ok with not remembering.
But I did remember that next year, if Uncle Dio said he had a Christmas present for me, I would pass that present on to one of my cousins....
Never.....Ever....Again.
"EH-HI....EH-HI-HI-HI-HI!!!!"
Monday, December 9, 2013
The Aldi's Adventure....
I have to be the world's most ignorant shopper.
I have never gotten into the coupon thing, or all these little reward programs that every store seems to be pushing nowadays. The only time I ever use a coupon is if Karla leaves it on top of my shopping list.
Lately, Karla has become obsessed with shopping at Walgreens and CVS. Every time she comes back from either one of these stores it's like a female version of a successful barbarian raid. She crashes through the front door, waving her receipt over her head and slams the spoils of her victorious hunt onto the table.....RRRAAARRGGHH!!!! (I try to picture this scene with Karla wearing a viking helmet and clad in dead animal fur. A sword in one hand and a bloody receipt in the other.....It amuses the shit out of me)
And with every successful hunt, comes a dramatic story. Unfortunately for Karla, she is married to a man with an incredibly short attention span. I hear "I spent" and "I saved"....Everything else? Cue the Charlie Brown teacher voice -- "Wuh wa-wa, wuh wa, wa WAAAAA......"
One day I got it into my head that I need to prove that I can save money too....Not through coupons or anything that requires research....Heavens, no...It had to be simple.
So when I heard that you can get a gallon of milk at Aldi's for 1.99 I jumped on the opportunity. Toby (the milkosaur) can wipe out three gallons of milk a week; and that is not an exaggeration. I did the math in my head and figured that I could save at least twenty dollars a month by buying my milk at Aldi's.....Well, that settles it.
Little did I know that I would have to make two trips before leaving Aldi's with any groceries.
I did dodge one small bullet when Karla told me to take some change with me.
"What for?"
"For the grocery cart."
"What? I have to pay to use their grocery cart?"
"No, it's just a rental...You'll get your quarter back."
Are there any other store chains that do this? I had never heard of such a thing. Is this to prevent grocery cart thievery? Is the theft of grocery carts a common occurrence at Aldi's?
Oh, well......whatever.
So I get into Aldi's and do my thing. It's a tiny little store (which makes me happy) and I find everything that I need in about fifteen minutes (which makes me really happy).
I get to the check out counter, pleased with my day and ready wave a money saving receipt of my own when I get home....RRAARRGH!!!!
Then the shit hit the fan.......
I ran my debit card through the scanner and hit the cancel button when it asked for my pin number. I never bothered to learn my pin number because every where I've shopped when I have been asked credit or debit I just say credit. It's all coming out of the same account, so what's the difference?
The difference, I soon discovered, is that Aldi's will not accept credit because they do not want to incur the surcharge that comes with it. The store prefers debit because then the shopper is responsible for the surcharge.
Well, at that moment in time, that meant I was totally screwed.
"I'm sorry," I told the cashier and manager, "I don't know my pin number. I have never had a reason to learn it."
I called Karla, but she didn't know my pin number either......Crap.
"Well, you could write us a check." said the Manager who, by the way, was really cool about the whole thing.
"I don't have my check book." I said....After all, the whole point in the debit card, for me, was so I didn't have to carry my checkbook around. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to put everything back."
"No, that's ok," said the Manager, "We'll take care of it."
I left Aldi's defeated and deflated. This barbarian's first money saving hunt was an abysmal failure.... rar....
Although I didn't find the incident embarrassing in any way. The way I saw it was that I have been playing the same shopping game for years and then some jerk went and changed all the rules......How in the hell was I supposed to know that Aldi's doesn't take credit?
Too bad, too....I had a 16 inch pizza in my cart that only cost six bucks. I couldn't wait to get home and try it out.
That unfortunate incident happened on a Friday. The weekend was tied up and I couldn't get back until the following Monday.
So when I returned on Monday, the first thing I did was walk up to the cashier and made sure that I clearly understood the rules as played by Aldi's. Once we were clear that my debit card was acceptable (as long as I had my pin number, which I now know) I went shopping....again.
And all went well this time. I did skip on the peanut butter because there was no Jif. I made that awful mistake once before of purchasing non-Jif peanut butter and was nearly decapitated when I got home. No, I will go elsewhere for Toby's preeminent peanut butter.
Everything went well at the check out counter. Then the cashier asked me, "Would you like cash back?"
Now I will be the first to admit that I am not quick on the draw. When he asked me that, I got confused, thinking that this was some sort of little money-saving program that they run. But for the life of me I couldn't figure out how much cash I should ask for. I mean, don't I need to see the receipt in order to know how much cash back I needed?
So I did what any dumb ass like me would do.....I guessed.
"Um, 5?"
The cashier whips out five bucks and hand it over with my receipt. "OK, here you go."
"Uh.......Thank you?"
"Your welcome," the cashier smiled, "Come again."
"Um, ok."
I called Karla when I got out of the store.....I had to know what in the hell just happened to me.
Karla set me straight (and hopefully, whilst not suppressing a giggle), "Tom, all you did was withdraw an extra five dollars out of your own checking account."
"Oh.......Well, for Pete's sake."
Ignorance is bliss, aint' it?
Having learned another lesson, I pushed my cart of groceries out to the car where I realized another change in the rules of the game as played by Aldi's.......None of my groceries were in bags. They just rolled and rattled around in the cart as I made my way out to the car.
Shit.
So I carefully place all of my groceries on the floorboard of the car and then dug out a couple of bags when I got home so that I wouldn't have to make four thousand trips back and forth from the car to the house.
Aldi's....you are one strange bird.
But, now that I know what's going on, I think I will go back. Especially if this gigantic six dollar pizza that I have sitting in my fridge tastes any good.
Oh, and to save money on milk.....RAAARGGH!!!!
I have never gotten into the coupon thing, or all these little reward programs that every store seems to be pushing nowadays. The only time I ever use a coupon is if Karla leaves it on top of my shopping list.
Lately, Karla has become obsessed with shopping at Walgreens and CVS. Every time she comes back from either one of these stores it's like a female version of a successful barbarian raid. She crashes through the front door, waving her receipt over her head and slams the spoils of her victorious hunt onto the table.....RRRAAARRGGHH!!!! (I try to picture this scene with Karla wearing a viking helmet and clad in dead animal fur. A sword in one hand and a bloody receipt in the other.....It amuses the shit out of me)
And with every successful hunt, comes a dramatic story. Unfortunately for Karla, she is married to a man with an incredibly short attention span. I hear "I spent" and "I saved"....Everything else? Cue the Charlie Brown teacher voice -- "Wuh wa-wa, wuh wa, wa WAAAAA......"
One day I got it into my head that I need to prove that I can save money too....Not through coupons or anything that requires research....Heavens, no...It had to be simple.
So when I heard that you can get a gallon of milk at Aldi's for 1.99 I jumped on the opportunity. Toby (the milkosaur) can wipe out three gallons of milk a week; and that is not an exaggeration. I did the math in my head and figured that I could save at least twenty dollars a month by buying my milk at Aldi's.....Well, that settles it.
Little did I know that I would have to make two trips before leaving Aldi's with any groceries.
I did dodge one small bullet when Karla told me to take some change with me.
"What for?"
"For the grocery cart."
"What? I have to pay to use their grocery cart?"
"No, it's just a rental...You'll get your quarter back."
Are there any other store chains that do this? I had never heard of such a thing. Is this to prevent grocery cart thievery? Is the theft of grocery carts a common occurrence at Aldi's?
Oh, well......whatever.
So I get into Aldi's and do my thing. It's a tiny little store (which makes me happy) and I find everything that I need in about fifteen minutes (which makes me really happy).
I get to the check out counter, pleased with my day and ready wave a money saving receipt of my own when I get home....RRAARRGH!!!!
Then the shit hit the fan.......
I ran my debit card through the scanner and hit the cancel button when it asked for my pin number. I never bothered to learn my pin number because every where I've shopped when I have been asked credit or debit I just say credit. It's all coming out of the same account, so what's the difference?
The difference, I soon discovered, is that Aldi's will not accept credit because they do not want to incur the surcharge that comes with it. The store prefers debit because then the shopper is responsible for the surcharge.
Well, at that moment in time, that meant I was totally screwed.
"I'm sorry," I told the cashier and manager, "I don't know my pin number. I have never had a reason to learn it."
I called Karla, but she didn't know my pin number either......Crap.
"Well, you could write us a check." said the Manager who, by the way, was really cool about the whole thing.
"I don't have my check book." I said....After all, the whole point in the debit card, for me, was so I didn't have to carry my checkbook around. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to put everything back."
"No, that's ok," said the Manager, "We'll take care of it."
I left Aldi's defeated and deflated. This barbarian's first money saving hunt was an abysmal failure.... rar....
Although I didn't find the incident embarrassing in any way. The way I saw it was that I have been playing the same shopping game for years and then some jerk went and changed all the rules......How in the hell was I supposed to know that Aldi's doesn't take credit?
Too bad, too....I had a 16 inch pizza in my cart that only cost six bucks. I couldn't wait to get home and try it out.
That unfortunate incident happened on a Friday. The weekend was tied up and I couldn't get back until the following Monday.
So when I returned on Monday, the first thing I did was walk up to the cashier and made sure that I clearly understood the rules as played by Aldi's. Once we were clear that my debit card was acceptable (as long as I had my pin number, which I now know) I went shopping....again.
And all went well this time. I did skip on the peanut butter because there was no Jif. I made that awful mistake once before of purchasing non-Jif peanut butter and was nearly decapitated when I got home. No, I will go elsewhere for Toby's preeminent peanut butter.
Everything went well at the check out counter. Then the cashier asked me, "Would you like cash back?"
Now I will be the first to admit that I am not quick on the draw. When he asked me that, I got confused, thinking that this was some sort of little money-saving program that they run. But for the life of me I couldn't figure out how much cash I should ask for. I mean, don't I need to see the receipt in order to know how much cash back I needed?
So I did what any dumb ass like me would do.....I guessed.
"Um, 5?"
The cashier whips out five bucks and hand it over with my receipt. "OK, here you go."
"Uh.......Thank you?"
"Your welcome," the cashier smiled, "Come again."
"Um, ok."
I called Karla when I got out of the store.....I had to know what in the hell just happened to me.
Karla set me straight (and hopefully, whilst not suppressing a giggle), "Tom, all you did was withdraw an extra five dollars out of your own checking account."
"Oh.......Well, for Pete's sake."
Ignorance is bliss, aint' it?
Having learned another lesson, I pushed my cart of groceries out to the car where I realized another change in the rules of the game as played by Aldi's.......None of my groceries were in bags. They just rolled and rattled around in the cart as I made my way out to the car.
Shit.
So I carefully place all of my groceries on the floorboard of the car and then dug out a couple of bags when I got home so that I wouldn't have to make four thousand trips back and forth from the car to the house.
Aldi's....you are one strange bird.
But, now that I know what's going on, I think I will go back. Especially if this gigantic six dollar pizza that I have sitting in my fridge tastes any good.
Oh, and to save money on milk.....RAAARGGH!!!!
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Christmas Music.....
As soon as our family piled into the vehicle to head home from Thanksgiving dinner at Karla's aunt and uncle's house; we turned on the radio and put on the Christmas music.
That's kind of become a family habit in that we don't listen to Christmas music or put up decorations until after Thanksgiving is over. However, once our bellies are full of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, we consider the gobbler holiday officially over and crank up the Christmas tunes for the ride back home.
"Jingle bells!!!! Jingle bells!!!"
It is probably the only time all year that we can all ride in the same vehicle without arguing over what to play on the radio.
Of course, if the radio station played the kind of Christmas music that I like, the kids would most likely be begging me to shut it off.
Tera: "Dad, what is this?"
Me: "It's Tchaikovsky, pumpkin."
Tera: "It sounds........classical. Can you change it?"
(sigh) Fine.
Occasionally I can play the nutcracker suite on the computer at home without getting much complaint from the kids.....
If I play Pavarotti, however, I can see the two of them collaborating on plans to overthrow the DJ.
But it's not just the kids that don't like Pavarotti; my brother, Tony, called the house one day.
Me: "Hello?"
Tony: "Hey, what's up?"
Me: "Nothing, what are you up to?"
Tony, "Holy shit, who's dying?"
Me: "What?"
Tony: "That guy that's wailing like he's passing a kidney stone."
Me: "What? That's Pavarotti!!"
Tony: "Well you better get him to a doctor. He doesn't sound like he feels very well."
Ingrates.......
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Carol of the Bells is another one of my favorite Christmas songs -- but I can't play it at long as Toby is around or he will start singing the family guy parody and completely butcher an absolutely beautiful song.
"Ding, fries are done.....Ding, fries are done."
I blow a gasket and tell him to shut up as he runs away, laughing, to his bedroom.
It's been years since I have been able to listen to the Carol of the Bells without that a-hole screaming "DING, FRIES ARE DONE!!!!" "WOULD YOU LIKE AN APPLE PIE WITH THAT?"
I just want to go one Christmas without hearing that awful butchering of one of my most favorite songs.
But even when Toby isn't around, I can't get away from it. I was driving home one day and the Carol of the Bells came on the radio. I felt a glowing warmth growing inside me as I rejoiced; Toby was not here to grin like an idiot and ruin my most beloved and cherished song.
I turned up the radio, eased back into my seat, and drove a little bit slower than I normally do. I was so relaxed and at peace as I detected a faint smile upon my face. All was right with the world.....
Then, unconsciously out of nowhere, I heard myself blurt out, "Would you like an apple pie with that?"
OH MY GOD......DID I REALLY JUST SING THAT?
I think a small part of me died on that ride home.....I shut off the radio, defeated and depressed. My beloved Carol of the Bells forever ruined. Thank you, son.....Thank you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know what it is about Karla's uncle Paul, but ever since he grew a beard I want to break out into Burl Ives songs every time I see him. It could be the middle of July and it wouldn't matter....
"Have a holly, jolly Christmas...."
Karla shakes her head, "Tom, you dork, Paul looks nothing like Burl Ives."
I did a google search for images of Burl Ives and found that Paul, most indeed, looked nothing like the Burl. They both were older gentlemen with a beard and glasses; but that's where the similarities ended.
Oh well....I don't know when or how I managed to correlate Uncle Paul with Burl Ives, but there's no going back now.
"Silver and gold, silver and gold....."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My top five favorite songs:
1. Silent Night as sung by Mahalia Jackson --- Great Voice
2. O Holy Night -- Luciano Pavarotti --- I don't care what Tony says....He does NOT sound like he's dying.
3. Variations on the Canon -- Palchelbel/George Winston -- I am thoroughly convinced that the piano, when played well, is the greatest musical instrument in the world.
4. I want a hippopotamus for Christmas -- Gayla Peevey ---- Hey, ya gotta have a fun one on the list.
5. Sleigh Ride as played by the Glenn Miller band --- Love that big band sound.
Honorable Mention:
All I want for Christmas is you -- Mariah Carey. Bubbly, Perky, and, let's face it, sung by a really hot babe!!!!!
White Christmas sung by the Drifters --- How can you not break into falsetto when you hear this?
Carol of the Bells --- it would have been in the top five had Toby not turned it into an obnoxious celebration about fast food.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Can you imaging Christmas without music? It simply isn't possible. All it takes is the right song and the memories from your childhood come vividly rushing back. The right music makes me think of hot chocolate, decorating the tree, all the lights, and, of course, family.
Even if one of my family members has totally ruined one of my favorite songs.......
Yeah, I'm just not going to let this one go........AARRRGGH!!!!
Happy Holidays everybody!!!!!
http://youtu.be/Ooc5eJc5SHA
That's kind of become a family habit in that we don't listen to Christmas music or put up decorations until after Thanksgiving is over. However, once our bellies are full of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, we consider the gobbler holiday officially over and crank up the Christmas tunes for the ride back home.
"Jingle bells!!!! Jingle bells!!!"
It is probably the only time all year that we can all ride in the same vehicle without arguing over what to play on the radio.
Of course, if the radio station played the kind of Christmas music that I like, the kids would most likely be begging me to shut it off.
Tera: "Dad, what is this?"
Me: "It's Tchaikovsky, pumpkin."
Tera: "It sounds........classical. Can you change it?"
(sigh) Fine.
Occasionally I can play the nutcracker suite on the computer at home without getting much complaint from the kids.....
If I play Pavarotti, however, I can see the two of them collaborating on plans to overthrow the DJ.
But it's not just the kids that don't like Pavarotti; my brother, Tony, called the house one day.
Me: "Hello?"
Tony: "Hey, what's up?"
Me: "Nothing, what are you up to?"
Tony, "Holy shit, who's dying?"
Me: "What?"
Tony: "That guy that's wailing like he's passing a kidney stone."
Me: "What? That's Pavarotti!!"
Tony: "Well you better get him to a doctor. He doesn't sound like he feels very well."
Ingrates.......
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Carol of the Bells is another one of my favorite Christmas songs -- but I can't play it at long as Toby is around or he will start singing the family guy parody and completely butcher an absolutely beautiful song.
"Ding, fries are done.....Ding, fries are done."
I blow a gasket and tell him to shut up as he runs away, laughing, to his bedroom.
It's been years since I have been able to listen to the Carol of the Bells without that a-hole screaming "DING, FRIES ARE DONE!!!!" "WOULD YOU LIKE AN APPLE PIE WITH THAT?"
I just want to go one Christmas without hearing that awful butchering of one of my most favorite songs.
But even when Toby isn't around, I can't get away from it. I was driving home one day and the Carol of the Bells came on the radio. I felt a glowing warmth growing inside me as I rejoiced; Toby was not here to grin like an idiot and ruin my most beloved and cherished song.
I turned up the radio, eased back into my seat, and drove a little bit slower than I normally do. I was so relaxed and at peace as I detected a faint smile upon my face. All was right with the world.....
Then, unconsciously out of nowhere, I heard myself blurt out, "Would you like an apple pie with that?"
OH MY GOD......DID I REALLY JUST SING THAT?
I think a small part of me died on that ride home.....I shut off the radio, defeated and depressed. My beloved Carol of the Bells forever ruined. Thank you, son.....Thank you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know what it is about Karla's uncle Paul, but ever since he grew a beard I want to break out into Burl Ives songs every time I see him. It could be the middle of July and it wouldn't matter....
"Have a holly, jolly Christmas...."
Karla shakes her head, "Tom, you dork, Paul looks nothing like Burl Ives."
I did a google search for images of Burl Ives and found that Paul, most indeed, looked nothing like the Burl. They both were older gentlemen with a beard and glasses; but that's where the similarities ended.
Oh well....I don't know when or how I managed to correlate Uncle Paul with Burl Ives, but there's no going back now.
"Silver and gold, silver and gold....."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My top five favorite songs:
1. Silent Night as sung by Mahalia Jackson --- Great Voice
2. O Holy Night -- Luciano Pavarotti --- I don't care what Tony says....He does NOT sound like he's dying.
3. Variations on the Canon -- Palchelbel/George Winston -- I am thoroughly convinced that the piano, when played well, is the greatest musical instrument in the world.
4. I want a hippopotamus for Christmas -- Gayla Peevey ---- Hey, ya gotta have a fun one on the list.
5. Sleigh Ride as played by the Glenn Miller band --- Love that big band sound.
Honorable Mention:
All I want for Christmas is you -- Mariah Carey. Bubbly, Perky, and, let's face it, sung by a really hot babe!!!!!
White Christmas sung by the Drifters --- How can you not break into falsetto when you hear this?
Carol of the Bells --- it would have been in the top five had Toby not turned it into an obnoxious celebration about fast food.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Can you imaging Christmas without music? It simply isn't possible. All it takes is the right song and the memories from your childhood come vividly rushing back. The right music makes me think of hot chocolate, decorating the tree, all the lights, and, of course, family.
Even if one of my family members has totally ruined one of my favorite songs.......
Yeah, I'm just not going to let this one go........AARRRGGH!!!!
Happy Holidays everybody!!!!!
http://youtu.be/Ooc5eJc5SHA
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Sick Day....
All I took was one day off......and the house fell apart.
I don't get it. I took my NyQyil then went to bed hoping to sleep away what ailed me, and then somebody threw a wild party (I think it was a hairy animal theme party) as I lay unconscious.
There was dirt and tracks of mud and leaves throughout the entire house. The dishes were piled up and scattered about and the clothes hamper went from empty to an incredibly large, mountainous pile of clothing....I could just make out the snow cap through the clouds floating around the top of Mt. Linen. I believe someone had used their soiled underwear as a flag to mark the peak.
Holy fish paste --- I was only out of commission for one day. How did this happen?
Well, I will have to admit, that part of it is my own fault. Since taking over the household chores I have approached the job as no different than if I were still working full time. (In fact, I am working full time, just not getting paid)
As I have grown older and honed my skills as a responsible adult (well, as responsible as someone as goofy as myself can be) I take great pride in my occupational duties. I never want to put myself in a situation where someone implies that I am lazy. I can't handle the thought of not being viewed as anything less than dependable.
So, every time Karla lifted a finger to cook or to clean, I always asked the same question, rather defensively I might add: "Hey, why are you doing my job?"
Now most people would have gladly thrown the dish towel on the kitchen counter and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll go read a book or something and let you finish up."
But Karla, by nature, can't help but work. Her family is quite possibly the hardest working group of people I know. They don't have hobbies like watching football or going fishing; their hobbies always involve working on something, whether it be putting in a new bathroom, or building fence, or putting in long hours at the many businesses they own. They simply aren't happy unless they are working. If you were to look up the word workaholic in the dictionary you would find a photo of Karla and her extended family. (The photo would probably take up at least two pages since they are a rather large Catholic family)
Here's a good example of what I'm talking about --- Karla's uncle Bob loves to mow his lawn because it helps him "relax".....I find that slightly psychotic.
Anyway, every time I ask Karla why she is doing my job, she always comes back with the same answer. "I live here, too."
Yeah, I guess you do.
Call me paranoid, but every time I see Karla working around the house I feel like she is picking up my slack. I start to wonder what my performance review would look like if I were to ever get one.
As long as Tera isn't giving the review, I should be all right.
"Dad, I have given you a less than satisfactory mark for cooking. You have ninety days to bring this up to satisfactory or I will have to let you go. Can I go jump on the trampoline now?"
I will say that I am thankful, as are the kids, that Karla simply can't stay out of the kitchen; she loves to cook just about as much as I have grown to despise it. It was starting to get old every time one of the kids would look in the fridge, find something they want to eat, and then ask "Who cooked this?"
Hell, Toby doesn't even bother to ask anymore, he takes the safe route and makes himself a smoothie.
But I don't blame them for asking, I don't want to eat what I cooked either.
You know that phrase "don't look a gift horse in the mouth"? That was the very first thing I thought of when I awoke from hibernation and found the disaster that lay before me.
Let me back up a bit.....The reason the house was a mess was because we were busy that weekend (Yeah, I know, shocker) and so there wasn't much time for cleaning. (A fine reminder of why I left my full time job in the first place)
The other thing I thought of was that the next time I see Karla working around the house I should be a little more appreciative of the help as opposed to getting defensive and worrying about getting "fired" from my job.
Oddly, I don't feel the same way about the kids working around the house. In fact, I love putting the kids to work as a way to show that they need to do their part as a member of the family.
It's just that with Karla being a salaried employee who more than occasionally puts in long hours; I would be happy as a clam if she would just come home, plop down on the couch and watch a movie or read a book while the kids and I take care of the house.
But that will never happen, for it's just not in Karla's nature to relax; and after getting sick and receiving some help from her, I appreciate her more than ever. After all, "Many hands make for light work."
Getting sick has also made me appreciate single parents more. At least when I fall ill I can take solace in knowing that I have a spouse who is willing to roll up her sleeves and help out while I am on the mend.
A single parent actually has two full time jobs. With one job, said parent can call in sick and at least have some hope of someone taking over their duties until they return. The other job is a lot more complicated, you can only expect so much help from your kids, and it will take you longer to dig out of the mess that was created when you so thoughtlessly and selfishly fell ill.
So, in retrospect, getting sick provided a valuable learning experience for me. Don't get me wrong, I will still encourage Karla to kick back and let me be responsible for the home, but I will never again get defensive and ask her why she's doing my job. Because there are those times when a helping hand is needed and should be greatly appreciated.
And hopefully I won't get sick again for a very long time........
I don't get it. I took my NyQyil then went to bed hoping to sleep away what ailed me, and then somebody threw a wild party (I think it was a hairy animal theme party) as I lay unconscious.
There was dirt and tracks of mud and leaves throughout the entire house. The dishes were piled up and scattered about and the clothes hamper went from empty to an incredibly large, mountainous pile of clothing....I could just make out the snow cap through the clouds floating around the top of Mt. Linen. I believe someone had used their soiled underwear as a flag to mark the peak.
Holy fish paste --- I was only out of commission for one day. How did this happen?
Well, I will have to admit, that part of it is my own fault. Since taking over the household chores I have approached the job as no different than if I were still working full time. (In fact, I am working full time, just not getting paid)
As I have grown older and honed my skills as a responsible adult (well, as responsible as someone as goofy as myself can be) I take great pride in my occupational duties. I never want to put myself in a situation where someone implies that I am lazy. I can't handle the thought of not being viewed as anything less than dependable.
So, every time Karla lifted a finger to cook or to clean, I always asked the same question, rather defensively I might add: "Hey, why are you doing my job?"
Now most people would have gladly thrown the dish towel on the kitchen counter and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll go read a book or something and let you finish up."
But Karla, by nature, can't help but work. Her family is quite possibly the hardest working group of people I know. They don't have hobbies like watching football or going fishing; their hobbies always involve working on something, whether it be putting in a new bathroom, or building fence, or putting in long hours at the many businesses they own. They simply aren't happy unless they are working. If you were to look up the word workaholic in the dictionary you would find a photo of Karla and her extended family. (The photo would probably take up at least two pages since they are a rather large Catholic family)
Here's a good example of what I'm talking about --- Karla's uncle Bob loves to mow his lawn because it helps him "relax".....I find that slightly psychotic.
Anyway, every time I ask Karla why she is doing my job, she always comes back with the same answer. "I live here, too."
Yeah, I guess you do.
Call me paranoid, but every time I see Karla working around the house I feel like she is picking up my slack. I start to wonder what my performance review would look like if I were to ever get one.
As long as Tera isn't giving the review, I should be all right.
"Dad, I have given you a less than satisfactory mark for cooking. You have ninety days to bring this up to satisfactory or I will have to let you go. Can I go jump on the trampoline now?"
I will say that I am thankful, as are the kids, that Karla simply can't stay out of the kitchen; she loves to cook just about as much as I have grown to despise it. It was starting to get old every time one of the kids would look in the fridge, find something they want to eat, and then ask "Who cooked this?"
Hell, Toby doesn't even bother to ask anymore, he takes the safe route and makes himself a smoothie.
But I don't blame them for asking, I don't want to eat what I cooked either.
You know that phrase "don't look a gift horse in the mouth"? That was the very first thing I thought of when I awoke from hibernation and found the disaster that lay before me.
Let me back up a bit.....The reason the house was a mess was because we were busy that weekend (Yeah, I know, shocker) and so there wasn't much time for cleaning. (A fine reminder of why I left my full time job in the first place)
The other thing I thought of was that the next time I see Karla working around the house I should be a little more appreciative of the help as opposed to getting defensive and worrying about getting "fired" from my job.
Oddly, I don't feel the same way about the kids working around the house. In fact, I love putting the kids to work as a way to show that they need to do their part as a member of the family.
It's just that with Karla being a salaried employee who more than occasionally puts in long hours; I would be happy as a clam if she would just come home, plop down on the couch and watch a movie or read a book while the kids and I take care of the house.
But that will never happen, for it's just not in Karla's nature to relax; and after getting sick and receiving some help from her, I appreciate her more than ever. After all, "Many hands make for light work."
Getting sick has also made me appreciate single parents more. At least when I fall ill I can take solace in knowing that I have a spouse who is willing to roll up her sleeves and help out while I am on the mend.
A single parent actually has two full time jobs. With one job, said parent can call in sick and at least have some hope of someone taking over their duties until they return. The other job is a lot more complicated, you can only expect so much help from your kids, and it will take you longer to dig out of the mess that was created when you so thoughtlessly and selfishly fell ill.
So, in retrospect, getting sick provided a valuable learning experience for me. Don't get me wrong, I will still encourage Karla to kick back and let me be responsible for the home, but I will never again get defensive and ask her why she's doing my job. Because there are those times when a helping hand is needed and should be greatly appreciated.
And hopefully I won't get sick again for a very long time........
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tales from the Valley....Thanksgiving at Grandma's
I thought about writing a book about the small town I grew up in, but decided against it. I, quite simply, have no desire to do the legwork required to get a book published and it would be a cruel punishment indeed to put some poor editor through the grammatical and punctuation hell that I am sure that anything I write would put him/her through.
So I have decided to add my "Tales from the Valley" to this blog. These short stories will be written to the best of my memory, however faulty it may be. I assure you that absolutely no research will go into these tales and I will make no effort to vouch for it's accuracy.......Enjoy.
My grandparents have been gone for a good many years now, but I still think about them often; especially during the holidays. Being Thanksgiving, I'm thinking about my grandma; and I'm thinking about all that wonderful food that she used to cook.
Thanksgiving, as defined by George Washington (thanks wikipedia) is: "a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God."
Gluttony, as defined by Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, is: "The act or habit of eating or drinking too much.
So I've always found it odd that we give Thanks while simultaneously, and unabashedly, reveling in one of the seven deadly sins.....Oh well, pass me the mashed potatoes.
Walt and Dorothy lived on a corner lot, on a quiet street, in a very quiet little town. One could sit on a rocking chair out on the front porch of their modest two story home and rock quietly, feeling the gentle summer breeze upon your face and hearing or seeing very little of anything in the way of traffic, people, or animals. If you ever needed a quiet place to think or to read a book, Walt and Dorothy's front porch would be the place to go.
But there were those few occasions when Walt and Dorothy's house would come alive with activity. On Thanksgiving day, Grandma and Granddad's five children would come to the house, bringing with them their spouses and children, to partake in a grand feast.
Oh, my mouth waters just thinking about it. I can still see Grandma working her magic in the kitchen as I stepped through the door of a house already packed with family.
In regards to beefy midwestern fare there was, in my opinion, no finer cook than Grandma. Of course that could be perhaps due to the fact that I did not eat it all the time. Having a Filipino mother, I grew up on a steady diet of rice, vegetables, and a variety of odd meats. Well, odd to anyone else who lived in town. But to me pig's feet, tripe, cow tongue, whole dried fish (little fish, about as long as your pinky, head attached), chicken heart, squid (really stinks up the house) and spam were all just a part of the normal routine.
Well, unless you took after Dad. There were a lot of times I remember dad skipping out on a meal and eating bologna sandwiches or boiling up hot dogs. I wish I could have done that every time mom boiled okra......Blech. But, aside from the okra, I was quite happy with my meals.
So it wasn't often that I got to eat Grandma's cooking.....But, man, when I did there was no holding back. There were a few times when Mom went back home to the Philippines to visit family and my brothers and I would spend time at the grandparents'. In those few short weeks, my brothers and I would vacuum down everything grandma had to offer; her beef and noodles, made from scratch, were my absolute favorite.
But it wasn't just Grandma who filled our bellies. I remember Granddad used to wake us all up, turn the tv on, and let us watch Underdog and Mighty Mouse cartoons while he made breakfast. Pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast, orange juice, milk -- the little Filipino boys waddled to school every morning while mom was away. We simply weren't accustomed to eating food that was so heavy.
It was during these breakfasts that I saw Granddad do a couple of things for the first time that I found rather odd. It was only when I got older that I understood these strange habits of his.
The first thing he did was take a piece of bread and swab all of the grease out of the pan and wolf it down. I thought it was gross, but years later I would learn about Granddad growing up during the Great Depression, about not wasting anything that could be used or consumed.
The second thing he did that I found odd was he would brew a hot pot of coffee, pour a cup, and then throw an ice cube in it. What was the point in that?
Well, I found out years later that Granddad was in World War II. He served in the Pacific theatre of operations and while there never got to enjoy a hot cup of joe. By the time the war was over he had acquired a taste for cold coffee, a habit that he never really gave up.
Fond memories. It's crazy, every time I think about that house I think of food. Food leads to Thanksgiving, and when I think of Thanksgiving I can almost smell it, nearly taste it, almost feel the warmth of the house from all the heat created by the stove in that little kitchen.
And what an awesome spread it was. Of course there was the turkey, but Grandma always cooked a giant ham, too, for those people like me who are not big turkey eaters. Then there was all the side dishes. Mashed potatoes that Grandma went through the trouble of peeling, mashing, whipping, filling with all that wonderful butter and salt......Hold on, I need to get a glass of milk.
Okay, I'm back. Then there was the corn, green beans, deviled eggs that tasted so good but made you smell so bad for the next week. There was the stuffing and gravy and lots and lots of dinner rolls.
The only thing that Grandma made that I couldn't stomach were beets. I have no idea how Grandma made those nasty purple bastards and I don't want to know. To me, beets are proof that people in the days of yore were starving and couldn't be picky. I'm almost willing to bet some Native American with a warped sense of humor dug up a basket of these nasty boogers and then laughed as he told his friends, "Let's see if we can get these pilgrims to eat this crap."
Until I brought Karla to her first Thanksgiving on my side of the family, I had no idea that we were a bunch of barbarians. :)
Karla is organized in everything she does; there is a place and a purpose for everything, and eating is no exception.
When Karla brought her plate to the table and sat down, she did a quick glance around the room and was slightly flabbergasted at what she saw.
You see, Karla's food was neatly separated in clear, well defined borders, Her turkey was neatly stacked in a small corner of her plate, same with her corn and green beans, and dinner roll. At the center of her mashed potatoes was a well dug out crater for her small lake of gravy. The gravy did not come near the edge of her crater; Heaven's no...... for it would be an atrocious and unforgivable dining foul should the gravy over flow and touch another food.....I mean, my goodness.
I don't know if my uncle said anything to her, but I could see the look on his face and could only guess what he was thinking......"Well, ain't that cute."
I did my plate up the way I had always known to do it. First you lay your ham down in the center of the plate, throw the mashed potatoes and a pad of butter on top of it. You then pile on the corn, green beans, and stuffing and top it all off with a big ladle full of gravy. There you have it, a well layered masterpiece!!!!
My Uncle Dio (Dale, I have no idea where the nickname Dio came from) went a step further and placed his dessert on top of his Thanksgiving mountain and then proceeded to stir it all together. His logic was that it was all going to the same place anyway....He was a true eating master. (I think it still gives Karla nightmares)
Karla, to this day, still shakes her head whenever she talks about my family's dining habits. She may never get over it, but she has accepted it. Which is good, because this barbarian isn't about to change.
"Conan, what is best in life?"
"To crush you enemy, see them flee before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women."
RRAAAHHRR!!!!
"Oh, and to pile my food together, high upon my plate."
RRAAAHHRRR!!!!
It almost never fails with me. I eat way too much and completely forget about dessert.
"Shit, I can't"......I feel like a blood filled tick and I'm almost certain that if anyone were to poke my belly I would explode.
But then the desserts come out....Pumpkin pie, cherry cheesecake.....Oh.....my......goodness.
I groan as I rise out of my chair, "Okay, just one piece of each pie and I'm done...I swear."
After dinner, I honestly don't know what happens because by that point I am well into my mashed potato coma. I struggle to watch the football game on the television through half closed eyes.
I really miss watching Barry Sanders play on Thanksgiving day although, now that I think of it, I really don't know why. The man was amazing, the human pinball dodging, bobbing, weaving, shaking, baking, and breaking ankles. But for every highlight film play he made, I simply didn't have the energy to cheer. All I could manage was, "Uh, Barry." ZZZZZ.
That was several years ago; an eternity, it seems......and Thanksgiving just hasn't been the same without Grandma and Granddad. In fact, the family doesn't even get together since they have both passed. But that's the way of things, it's normal, nothing to be sad about.
It's just like every family in life; Grandma and Granddad's kids now have kids and grandkids of their own, they have their own big family get togethers. They are the grandparents now and it's their houses that someday will be talked about when their little grandkids get older.
I just hope that their memories of their grandparents are as fond as my memories are of mine.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.......Peace, and God Bless.....
So I have decided to add my "Tales from the Valley" to this blog. These short stories will be written to the best of my memory, however faulty it may be. I assure you that absolutely no research will go into these tales and I will make no effort to vouch for it's accuracy.......Enjoy.
My grandparents have been gone for a good many years now, but I still think about them often; especially during the holidays. Being Thanksgiving, I'm thinking about my grandma; and I'm thinking about all that wonderful food that she used to cook.
Thanksgiving, as defined by George Washington (thanks wikipedia) is: "a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God."
Gluttony, as defined by Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, is: "The act or habit of eating or drinking too much.
So I've always found it odd that we give Thanks while simultaneously, and unabashedly, reveling in one of the seven deadly sins.....Oh well, pass me the mashed potatoes.
Walt and Dorothy lived on a corner lot, on a quiet street, in a very quiet little town. One could sit on a rocking chair out on the front porch of their modest two story home and rock quietly, feeling the gentle summer breeze upon your face and hearing or seeing very little of anything in the way of traffic, people, or animals. If you ever needed a quiet place to think or to read a book, Walt and Dorothy's front porch would be the place to go.
But there were those few occasions when Walt and Dorothy's house would come alive with activity. On Thanksgiving day, Grandma and Granddad's five children would come to the house, bringing with them their spouses and children, to partake in a grand feast.
Oh, my mouth waters just thinking about it. I can still see Grandma working her magic in the kitchen as I stepped through the door of a house already packed with family.
In regards to beefy midwestern fare there was, in my opinion, no finer cook than Grandma. Of course that could be perhaps due to the fact that I did not eat it all the time. Having a Filipino mother, I grew up on a steady diet of rice, vegetables, and a variety of odd meats. Well, odd to anyone else who lived in town. But to me pig's feet, tripe, cow tongue, whole dried fish (little fish, about as long as your pinky, head attached), chicken heart, squid (really stinks up the house) and spam were all just a part of the normal routine.
Well, unless you took after Dad. There were a lot of times I remember dad skipping out on a meal and eating bologna sandwiches or boiling up hot dogs. I wish I could have done that every time mom boiled okra......Blech. But, aside from the okra, I was quite happy with my meals.
So it wasn't often that I got to eat Grandma's cooking.....But, man, when I did there was no holding back. There were a few times when Mom went back home to the Philippines to visit family and my brothers and I would spend time at the grandparents'. In those few short weeks, my brothers and I would vacuum down everything grandma had to offer; her beef and noodles, made from scratch, were my absolute favorite.
But it wasn't just Grandma who filled our bellies. I remember Granddad used to wake us all up, turn the tv on, and let us watch Underdog and Mighty Mouse cartoons while he made breakfast. Pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast, orange juice, milk -- the little Filipino boys waddled to school every morning while mom was away. We simply weren't accustomed to eating food that was so heavy.
It was during these breakfasts that I saw Granddad do a couple of things for the first time that I found rather odd. It was only when I got older that I understood these strange habits of his.
The first thing he did was take a piece of bread and swab all of the grease out of the pan and wolf it down. I thought it was gross, but years later I would learn about Granddad growing up during the Great Depression, about not wasting anything that could be used or consumed.
The second thing he did that I found odd was he would brew a hot pot of coffee, pour a cup, and then throw an ice cube in it. What was the point in that?
Well, I found out years later that Granddad was in World War II. He served in the Pacific theatre of operations and while there never got to enjoy a hot cup of joe. By the time the war was over he had acquired a taste for cold coffee, a habit that he never really gave up.
Fond memories. It's crazy, every time I think about that house I think of food. Food leads to Thanksgiving, and when I think of Thanksgiving I can almost smell it, nearly taste it, almost feel the warmth of the house from all the heat created by the stove in that little kitchen.
And what an awesome spread it was. Of course there was the turkey, but Grandma always cooked a giant ham, too, for those people like me who are not big turkey eaters. Then there was all the side dishes. Mashed potatoes that Grandma went through the trouble of peeling, mashing, whipping, filling with all that wonderful butter and salt......Hold on, I need to get a glass of milk.
Okay, I'm back. Then there was the corn, green beans, deviled eggs that tasted so good but made you smell so bad for the next week. There was the stuffing and gravy and lots and lots of dinner rolls.
The only thing that Grandma made that I couldn't stomach were beets. I have no idea how Grandma made those nasty purple bastards and I don't want to know. To me, beets are proof that people in the days of yore were starving and couldn't be picky. I'm almost willing to bet some Native American with a warped sense of humor dug up a basket of these nasty boogers and then laughed as he told his friends, "Let's see if we can get these pilgrims to eat this crap."
Until I brought Karla to her first Thanksgiving on my side of the family, I had no idea that we were a bunch of barbarians. :)
Karla is organized in everything she does; there is a place and a purpose for everything, and eating is no exception.
When Karla brought her plate to the table and sat down, she did a quick glance around the room and was slightly flabbergasted at what she saw.
You see, Karla's food was neatly separated in clear, well defined borders, Her turkey was neatly stacked in a small corner of her plate, same with her corn and green beans, and dinner roll. At the center of her mashed potatoes was a well dug out crater for her small lake of gravy. The gravy did not come near the edge of her crater; Heaven's no...... for it would be an atrocious and unforgivable dining foul should the gravy over flow and touch another food.....I mean, my goodness.
I don't know if my uncle said anything to her, but I could see the look on his face and could only guess what he was thinking......"Well, ain't that cute."
I did my plate up the way I had always known to do it. First you lay your ham down in the center of the plate, throw the mashed potatoes and a pad of butter on top of it. You then pile on the corn, green beans, and stuffing and top it all off with a big ladle full of gravy. There you have it, a well layered masterpiece!!!!
My Uncle Dio (Dale, I have no idea where the nickname Dio came from) went a step further and placed his dessert on top of his Thanksgiving mountain and then proceeded to stir it all together. His logic was that it was all going to the same place anyway....He was a true eating master. (I think it still gives Karla nightmares)
Karla, to this day, still shakes her head whenever she talks about my family's dining habits. She may never get over it, but she has accepted it. Which is good, because this barbarian isn't about to change.
"Conan, what is best in life?"
"To crush you enemy, see them flee before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women."
RRAAAHHRR!!!!
"Oh, and to pile my food together, high upon my plate."
RRAAAHHRRR!!!!
It almost never fails with me. I eat way too much and completely forget about dessert.
"Shit, I can't"......I feel like a blood filled tick and I'm almost certain that if anyone were to poke my belly I would explode.
But then the desserts come out....Pumpkin pie, cherry cheesecake.....Oh.....my......goodness.
I groan as I rise out of my chair, "Okay, just one piece of each pie and I'm done...I swear."
After dinner, I honestly don't know what happens because by that point I am well into my mashed potato coma. I struggle to watch the football game on the television through half closed eyes.
I really miss watching Barry Sanders play on Thanksgiving day although, now that I think of it, I really don't know why. The man was amazing, the human pinball dodging, bobbing, weaving, shaking, baking, and breaking ankles. But for every highlight film play he made, I simply didn't have the energy to cheer. All I could manage was, "Uh, Barry." ZZZZZ.
That was several years ago; an eternity, it seems......and Thanksgiving just hasn't been the same without Grandma and Granddad. In fact, the family doesn't even get together since they have both passed. But that's the way of things, it's normal, nothing to be sad about.
It's just like every family in life; Grandma and Granddad's kids now have kids and grandkids of their own, they have their own big family get togethers. They are the grandparents now and it's their houses that someday will be talked about when their little grandkids get older.
I just hope that their memories of their grandparents are as fond as my memories are of mine.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.......Peace, and God Bless.....
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Field Trip....
I held out as long as I could.
I knew that, eventually, I would have to go on a field trip with my daughter and her classmates. But that didn't stop me from trying to get out of them. It was just another social event that I really wanted to avoid.
But after Karla took time off of work to do some body works display at the elementary school (I think she played the part of the intestinal tract....Confirming my belief that she's full of shit.... :).....) I knew there was no way I was getting out of going to the Natural History Museum with Tera and the rest of her third grade class mates.
I guess if I had to choose a fictional character that would best describe me socially, it would be a hobbit.
"Bother burgling socializing and everything to do with it! I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the fire, with the kettle just beginning to sing!" It was not the last time that he wished that!"
A hobbit "never had any adventures or did anything unexpected"
I don't know why I can't get a grasp on small talk, but I have always struggled with it.... In all social outings I am very rarely the one to initiate conversation.
Well, unless I'm at the baseball/softball diamonds; as long as we are talking about the game I can ramble all day.
I will say this though; at least now when someone initiates a conversation with me I can now respond in more than short mono syllabic words. As opposed to letting the conversation die like I used to, I really try to keep it going, no matter how awkward or difficult I find it. I am proud to say that I feel that I am no longer seen by strangers as a stuck up prick, just a bit of an odd fellow......Hell, I'll take that.
But, now that the field trip is history, I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised; that I really had nothing to worry about.
For starters, I didn't have to ride the bus to the museum; I just met Tera and her class mates there after I got off work. That was awesome. As I was standing inside the museum and watching everyone step out of the bus I was fairly certain that I saw a few parents already looking a little frazzled. Perhaps all the noise produce by the short and hyperactive people on the bus ruptured a few adult ear drums.
The very moment the doors opened and let the little people in; the tranquility and peacefulness of the museum was unceremoniously destroyed with all the subtlety of a blunt object crashing down on an unsuspecting cranium. Squeals and shrill laughter boomed and reverberated off of the walls. A museum, I discovered, can take a small child's voice and amplify it to such point that you can almost feel the bones inside your body rattle with every giggle and yell........I began to wish it were legal to carry a flask of whiskey with me.
Then, materializing out of nowhere, Tera's teacher came up to me and said, "Your group is....."
My heart almost stopped when I heard those three words....Oh, Lord, what fresh new Hell has life brought me today? It never occurred to me that when I volunteered to go on the field trip that I would actually be RESPONSIBLE for something. What was I thinking? I'm fairly certain that I broke out in a small sweat.
But then Tera's teacher said, "Your group is Tera and Sierra."
Oh.....That's it? Okay, I can handle that.
Even better, Tera and her little friend were given a checklist of things to find in the museum. I breathed a sigh of great relief when I realized that I would not have to entertain anyone. I just followed them around the museum and helped them look for things on their list --- and, turns out, it was really fun!!!!
Of course, it helps when the adult is at about the same level of maturity as the kids he is supervising.. :)
Tera: "It says on here that scat is another word for poop."
Sierra: "Hooray!!!! Let's look for poop!!!!"
Tera: "We found the poop!!!"
Me: "Touch the poop."
Tera and Sierra: "No way, you touch the poop."
Me: "Fine, I'll touch the poop."
Sierra: "Hey, how many different bears have we seen?"
Me: "I don't know, a lot?"
Sierra: "Three?"
Me: "Oh yeah....I'm sure."
Sierra: "Good enough, I marking them off."
When we broke for lunch I got to show off my peanut butter and Miracle Whip sandwich to the girls.....Of course, they concurred that it was "GROSS!!!"
I acquired a taste for this odd sandwich when I was just a little guy....My uncle was making them for work and when my dad said that it looked disgusting (an odd statement coming from the mayonnaise king himself) my uncle responded, "Actually, they are quite edible....Here, Tommy, try it."
I did, and the rest is history. It's even better with a banana in it....But, I digress....
After lunch we went to the art museum where we were immediately given ground rules about not touching anything or leaning on walls, perhaps breathing....I'm not sure, I kind of spaced out.
One parent just looked at his wife and said...."Maybe I'll just levitate."
But the reason for the speech became apparent once we exited the elevator and entered the fourth floor. Almost immediately all the air was sucked out of the room and into the asses of some very, VERY concerned parents.
In the room were several statues and vases ---- all looking very delicate and vulnerable.
"This could be potentially expensive," I said to myself,
A security guard over heard me and snickered, and then began to follow us around the gallery.
"I don't think the school has the kind of insurance they need to cover this." a parent whispered.....and I wholeheartedly agreed with a quick, tight necked nod. The aisles could have been ten foot wide and it still would not have been good enough for the parents supervising this bunch of high energy third graders.
But, as it would turn out, nudity came to the rescue.....None of the kids wanted to get close to the scantily clad statues. They just stood there and pointed with one hand covering their mouths...."Look, that's disgusting."
"These artists sure like to make naked people.......I find that very odd." said a student as he diverted his eyes away from the naked statue.
Of course, you couldn't escape the nakedness without one giggling minion pointing and saying, "Butt."
The only real danger of breakage came right at the end of the tour. There was one piece of art that the kids were allowed to touch. Unfortunately, it was sitting right next to a work of art that the kids were most definitely not allowed to touch.
We tried to keep them in a single file line, but that's like trying to herd cats. My hat goes off to teachers and day care providers.....I bet they have a fairly nice sized liquor cabinet at their respective houses.
It was crazy, I tried to stand next to the very breakable looking piece of art and shoo away any kid that got near it. I would no sooner tell one kid to get back and another kid would immediately fill the void that I just created. I did this over and over and, eventually, one kid shot through the gap and got within inches of the art piece. He was getting ready to touch it when our tag-a-long security guard boomed in an authoritative voice. "I need you to step away from that."
Yes, ma'am.
The day ended with the kids making their own kaleidoscopes. While watching them a parent came up to me and started talking......It took awhile for the conversation to gain traction, but I'm proud to say that I think I did alright.
I guess now would be a good time to make a confession. It's basketball season now and everyone wants to talk about the Jayhawks. Part of the reason that I struggle with conversing with people, particularly in this area during this time of year is....I....um....don't watch basketball.
There! I said it......Man, that felt good to get that off my chest.
Hmm....What do ya know....I didn't get struck by lightning for uttering such blasphemy, as a lot of rabid Jayhawk faithful would see it.
I just can't bring myself to admit to people that I don't participate in watching a sport that is loved and adored by so many in this area with such fanaticism that you would swear that all life and death hangs in the balance with every game the Jayhawks play. If basketball had it's own pilgrimage to Mecca, that Mecca would be Lawrence, Kansas.
I'm just not prepared for the odd looks that I am sure to get when I admit to someone I couldn't give two shits about basketball.
But, anyway....I'm getting off track here.
All in all, I had a good time at the field trip and I think I can go on another one.........As long as I don't have to get on the bus.
I knew that, eventually, I would have to go on a field trip with my daughter and her classmates. But that didn't stop me from trying to get out of them. It was just another social event that I really wanted to avoid.
But after Karla took time off of work to do some body works display at the elementary school (I think she played the part of the intestinal tract....Confirming my belief that she's full of shit.... :).....) I knew there was no way I was getting out of going to the Natural History Museum with Tera and the rest of her third grade class mates.
I guess if I had to choose a fictional character that would best describe me socially, it would be a hobbit.
"Bother
A hobbit "never had any adventures or did anything unexpected"
I don't know why I can't get a grasp on small talk, but I have always struggled with it.... In all social outings I am very rarely the one to initiate conversation.
Well, unless I'm at the baseball/softball diamonds; as long as we are talking about the game I can ramble all day.
I will say this though; at least now when someone initiates a conversation with me I can now respond in more than short mono syllabic words. As opposed to letting the conversation die like I used to, I really try to keep it going, no matter how awkward or difficult I find it. I am proud to say that I feel that I am no longer seen by strangers as a stuck up prick, just a bit of an odd fellow......Hell, I'll take that.
But, now that the field trip is history, I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised; that I really had nothing to worry about.
For starters, I didn't have to ride the bus to the museum; I just met Tera and her class mates there after I got off work. That was awesome. As I was standing inside the museum and watching everyone step out of the bus I was fairly certain that I saw a few parents already looking a little frazzled. Perhaps all the noise produce by the short and hyperactive people on the bus ruptured a few adult ear drums.
The very moment the doors opened and let the little people in; the tranquility and peacefulness of the museum was unceremoniously destroyed with all the subtlety of a blunt object crashing down on an unsuspecting cranium. Squeals and shrill laughter boomed and reverberated off of the walls. A museum, I discovered, can take a small child's voice and amplify it to such point that you can almost feel the bones inside your body rattle with every giggle and yell........I began to wish it were legal to carry a flask of whiskey with me.
Then, materializing out of nowhere, Tera's teacher came up to me and said, "Your group is....."
My heart almost stopped when I heard those three words....Oh, Lord, what fresh new Hell has life brought me today? It never occurred to me that when I volunteered to go on the field trip that I would actually be RESPONSIBLE for something. What was I thinking? I'm fairly certain that I broke out in a small sweat.
But then Tera's teacher said, "Your group is Tera and Sierra."
Oh.....That's it? Okay, I can handle that.
Even better, Tera and her little friend were given a checklist of things to find in the museum. I breathed a sigh of great relief when I realized that I would not have to entertain anyone. I just followed them around the museum and helped them look for things on their list --- and, turns out, it was really fun!!!!
Of course, it helps when the adult is at about the same level of maturity as the kids he is supervising.. :)
Tera: "It says on here that scat is another word for poop."
Sierra: "Hooray!!!! Let's look for poop!!!!"
Tera: "We found the poop!!!"
Me: "Touch the poop."
Tera and Sierra: "No way, you touch the poop."
Me: "Fine, I'll touch the poop."
Sierra: "Hey, how many different bears have we seen?"
Me: "I don't know, a lot?"
Sierra: "Three?"
Me: "Oh yeah....I'm sure."
Sierra: "Good enough, I marking them off."
When we broke for lunch I got to show off my peanut butter and Miracle Whip sandwich to the girls.....Of course, they concurred that it was "GROSS!!!"
I acquired a taste for this odd sandwich when I was just a little guy....My uncle was making them for work and when my dad said that it looked disgusting (an odd statement coming from the mayonnaise king himself) my uncle responded, "Actually, they are quite edible....Here, Tommy, try it."
I did, and the rest is history. It's even better with a banana in it....But, I digress....
After lunch we went to the art museum where we were immediately given ground rules about not touching anything or leaning on walls, perhaps breathing....I'm not sure, I kind of spaced out.
One parent just looked at his wife and said...."Maybe I'll just levitate."
But the reason for the speech became apparent once we exited the elevator and entered the fourth floor. Almost immediately all the air was sucked out of the room and into the asses of some very, VERY concerned parents.
In the room were several statues and vases ---- all looking very delicate and vulnerable.
"This could be potentially expensive," I said to myself,
A security guard over heard me and snickered, and then began to follow us around the gallery.
"I don't think the school has the kind of insurance they need to cover this." a parent whispered.....and I wholeheartedly agreed with a quick, tight necked nod. The aisles could have been ten foot wide and it still would not have been good enough for the parents supervising this bunch of high energy third graders.
But, as it would turn out, nudity came to the rescue.....None of the kids wanted to get close to the scantily clad statues. They just stood there and pointed with one hand covering their mouths...."Look, that's disgusting."
"These artists sure like to make naked people.......I find that very odd." said a student as he diverted his eyes away from the naked statue.
Of course, you couldn't escape the nakedness without one giggling minion pointing and saying, "Butt."
The only real danger of breakage came right at the end of the tour. There was one piece of art that the kids were allowed to touch. Unfortunately, it was sitting right next to a work of art that the kids were most definitely not allowed to touch.
We tried to keep them in a single file line, but that's like trying to herd cats. My hat goes off to teachers and day care providers.....I bet they have a fairly nice sized liquor cabinet at their respective houses.
It was crazy, I tried to stand next to the very breakable looking piece of art and shoo away any kid that got near it. I would no sooner tell one kid to get back and another kid would immediately fill the void that I just created. I did this over and over and, eventually, one kid shot through the gap and got within inches of the art piece. He was getting ready to touch it when our tag-a-long security guard boomed in an authoritative voice. "I need you to step away from that."
Yes, ma'am.
The day ended with the kids making their own kaleidoscopes. While watching them a parent came up to me and started talking......It took awhile for the conversation to gain traction, but I'm proud to say that I think I did alright.
I guess now would be a good time to make a confession. It's basketball season now and everyone wants to talk about the Jayhawks. Part of the reason that I struggle with conversing with people, particularly in this area during this time of year is....I....um....don't watch basketball.
There! I said it......Man, that felt good to get that off my chest.
Hmm....What do ya know....I didn't get struck by lightning for uttering such blasphemy, as a lot of rabid Jayhawk faithful would see it.
I just can't bring myself to admit to people that I don't participate in watching a sport that is loved and adored by so many in this area with such fanaticism that you would swear that all life and death hangs in the balance with every game the Jayhawks play. If basketball had it's own pilgrimage to Mecca, that Mecca would be Lawrence, Kansas.
I'm just not prepared for the odd looks that I am sure to get when I admit to someone I couldn't give two shits about basketball.
But, anyway....I'm getting off track here.
All in all, I had a good time at the field trip and I think I can go on another one.........As long as I don't have to get on the bus.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Chiefs vs. Broncos.....The aftermath.....
Broncos 27
Chiefs 17
Part 1:
You know, honestly, this has to be the best game the Chiefs have ever lost. Don't get me wrong, any time you lose it's disappointing. But the repercussions of this loss weren't nearly as bad as I feared it would be.
From a respect standpoint I feel that we have earned it from the people that really matter. Tony Dungy, Chris Collinsworth, and Phil Simms had a lot of good things to say about the Chiefs after the game.
Then there is this guy: "The Chiefs are the worst 9-0 team EVER." --- Pete Prisco
In his power rankings the Chiefs dropped to third and he had this to say about them:
"They did some good things at Denver, but that offense is too limited. At some point, it has to improve in the passing game."
I'll take that because, after all, he's absolutely right.
Sure, there are still plenty of naysayers out there. My favorite so far is Mr. Mark Kiszla of the Denver Post. In his article he calls the Chiefs the Kansas City Frauds, compares Alex Smith to Ambien, and tells his readers to "forget" Kansas City; that the real threat to Denver's run at AFC supremacy are the Patriots.
Well, to the victor go the spoils. We will see what Mr. Kiszla has to say two weeks from now after the donkeys visit Arrowhead.
Part 2:
I guess it's a fair question to ask me how I could possibly be happy after what I saw in Denver. Okay, let's review.
The offense was horrible. I said that Jamaal Charles needed at least twenty carries if the Chiefs were going to have a chance at winning; he got 16. But, in all fairness, it wouldn't have mattered if he had gotten twenty carries anyway. He got 35 yards on one carry; but only 43 yards on the other 15. The Denver D did a good job bottling him up.
Alex Smith was never comfortable in the pocket....To say that the offensive line struggled would be a huge understatement. On top of the line struggles our receivers couldn't get any separation from their defenders, fumbled the ball deep in Bronco territory, and dropped at least two passes that I can recall.
(I do find it funny that fans are already calling for Alex Smith to be replaced......The mob is fickle, brother. Get this guy some help and see what he does....Let's not talk about running him out of town just yet.)
The defense played well enough, but our pass rush has me a little concerned. With only one sack in the last three games something has gone horribly wrong; even more unsettling is the fact that the Broncos never had to bring in a tight end to help the tackles. Peyton better be buying some damn good Christmas gifts for his hogs on the line, they did a fine job.
Speaking of Peyton, I also voiced concern about how the whole ankle injury thing put the Chiefs in a catch .22; how the media would play it up and use it as an excuse should the Broncos lose.....
Well, shit, so much for that.......I will say this though. As much as the media wanted to hype the bum ankle, I loved the answer Peyton gave when asked about his injury after the game: "Not doing the weekly check ups and updates."
Yeah, he wears orange, but you can't help but like the guy.
So....back to the question. How can I possibly be happy after what I saw in Denver? Here's why:
2012 Kansas City Chiefs
GM -- Scott Pioli
Head Coach -- Romeo Crennel
Record 2-14
1st overall pick in the draft.
Need I say more?
The turn around has been remarkable and after suffering through the Scott Pioli regime I couldn't be happier with my beloved Chiefs. And it's perfectly okay to be happy --- as long as you're not satisfied. I firmly believe that Andy Reid and John Dorsey are very happy; but nowhere near satisfied.
Fear not, Chiefs fans, all the pieces to the puzzle have yet to be put in place. As the old saying goes; Rome wasn't built in a day.
Can this years team win a Super Bowl? Honestly, I seriously doubt it. But they can win a playoff game, and when was the last time that happened? (Uh -- 1994 -- Joe Montana)
But, hey, who knows? Maybe the Chiefs CAN win a Super Bowl. The average football fan's emotions are no different than that oblong pigskin when is hit's the ground; unpredictably bouncing this way and that......Should the Chiefs win their next two games, coupled with a Denver loss in New England, then the talk of the town will be about home field advantage and a serious shot at the Lombardi Trophy. All the anxiety and doubting from that loss in Denver will be wiped away; nothing but a distant memory.
Hell, I honestly would have been happy with seven wins this year. We were supposed to be rebuilding, remember?
So say what you will about the Chiefs --- call them flawed, call them frauds, call them whatever you like..... I'm happy as hell with them.
GO CHIEFS!!!!!
Chiefs 17
Part 1:
You know, honestly, this has to be the best game the Chiefs have ever lost. Don't get me wrong, any time you lose it's disappointing. But the repercussions of this loss weren't nearly as bad as I feared it would be.
From a respect standpoint I feel that we have earned it from the people that really matter. Tony Dungy, Chris Collinsworth, and Phil Simms had a lot of good things to say about the Chiefs after the game.
Then there is this guy: "The Chiefs are the worst 9-0 team EVER." --- Pete Prisco
In his power rankings the Chiefs dropped to third and he had this to say about them:
"They did some good things at Denver, but that offense is too limited. At some point, it has to improve in the passing game."
I'll take that because, after all, he's absolutely right.
Sure, there are still plenty of naysayers out there. My favorite so far is Mr. Mark Kiszla of the Denver Post. In his article he calls the Chiefs the Kansas City Frauds, compares Alex Smith to Ambien, and tells his readers to "forget" Kansas City; that the real threat to Denver's run at AFC supremacy are the Patriots.
Well, to the victor go the spoils. We will see what Mr. Kiszla has to say two weeks from now after the donkeys visit Arrowhead.
Part 2:
I guess it's a fair question to ask me how I could possibly be happy after what I saw in Denver. Okay, let's review.
The offense was horrible. I said that Jamaal Charles needed at least twenty carries if the Chiefs were going to have a chance at winning; he got 16. But, in all fairness, it wouldn't have mattered if he had gotten twenty carries anyway. He got 35 yards on one carry; but only 43 yards on the other 15. The Denver D did a good job bottling him up.
Alex Smith was never comfortable in the pocket....To say that the offensive line struggled would be a huge understatement. On top of the line struggles our receivers couldn't get any separation from their defenders, fumbled the ball deep in Bronco territory, and dropped at least two passes that I can recall.
(I do find it funny that fans are already calling for Alex Smith to be replaced......The mob is fickle, brother. Get this guy some help and see what he does....Let's not talk about running him out of town just yet.)
The defense played well enough, but our pass rush has me a little concerned. With only one sack in the last three games something has gone horribly wrong; even more unsettling is the fact that the Broncos never had to bring in a tight end to help the tackles. Peyton better be buying some damn good Christmas gifts for his hogs on the line, they did a fine job.
Speaking of Peyton, I also voiced concern about how the whole ankle injury thing put the Chiefs in a catch .22; how the media would play it up and use it as an excuse should the Broncos lose.....
Well, shit, so much for that.......I will say this though. As much as the media wanted to hype the bum ankle, I loved the answer Peyton gave when asked about his injury after the game: "Not doing the weekly check ups and updates."
Yeah, he wears orange, but you can't help but like the guy.
So....back to the question. How can I possibly be happy after what I saw in Denver? Here's why:
2012 Kansas City Chiefs
GM -- Scott Pioli
Head Coach -- Romeo Crennel
Record 2-14
1st overall pick in the draft.
Need I say more?
The turn around has been remarkable and after suffering through the Scott Pioli regime I couldn't be happier with my beloved Chiefs. And it's perfectly okay to be happy --- as long as you're not satisfied. I firmly believe that Andy Reid and John Dorsey are very happy; but nowhere near satisfied.
Fear not, Chiefs fans, all the pieces to the puzzle have yet to be put in place. As the old saying goes; Rome wasn't built in a day.
Can this years team win a Super Bowl? Honestly, I seriously doubt it. But they can win a playoff game, and when was the last time that happened? (Uh -- 1994 -- Joe Montana)
But, hey, who knows? Maybe the Chiefs CAN win a Super Bowl. The average football fan's emotions are no different than that oblong pigskin when is hit's the ground; unpredictably bouncing this way and that......Should the Chiefs win their next two games, coupled with a Denver loss in New England, then the talk of the town will be about home field advantage and a serious shot at the Lombardi Trophy. All the anxiety and doubting from that loss in Denver will be wiped away; nothing but a distant memory.
Hell, I honestly would have been happy with seven wins this year. We were supposed to be rebuilding, remember?
So say what you will about the Chiefs --- call them flawed, call them frauds, call them whatever you like..... I'm happy as hell with them.
GO CHIEFS!!!!!
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Girl can run......
First off, I know that I had just written a piece on the Chiefs/Broncos game; and I'm sure there are those of you that would like to know my reactions/thoughts on the game. Fear not, I will get to it on my next post. I promise. Now, onto this post........
The day had finally come; all that training and getting ready for the Girls on the Run event at the Truman Sports Complex in Kansas City was, on this Saturday morning, November 16th, coming to fruition.
As I've stated before, GOTR is about much more than just running, and, as I also said before, trying to explain it in my own words would do the event no justice. If you would like to learn more about Girls on The Run, check out their site:
http://www.girlsontherun.org/
The weather for the day's run was cold, wet, and very windy -- not you're ideal running conditions. But it most certainly did not dampen the spirits of the more than three thousand participants in this years event; Tera most definitely included:
The day had finally come; all that training and getting ready for the Girls on the Run event at the Truman Sports Complex in Kansas City was, on this Saturday morning, November 16th, coming to fruition.
As I've stated before, GOTR is about much more than just running, and, as I also said before, trying to explain it in my own words would do the event no justice. If you would like to learn more about Girls on The Run, check out their site:
http://www.girlsontherun.org/
The weather for the day's run was cold, wet, and very windy -- not you're ideal running conditions. But it most certainly did not dampen the spirits of the more than three thousand participants in this years event; Tera most definitely included:
Goofy kid..... :) ..... I've pretty much given up trying to take serious pictures of her. It's almost automatic, as soon as Tera see's a camera she starts making faces; and it drives Karla up a wall.
Karla: "Tera, can you just make a normal face? I want to get a nice picture of you."
Tera: "What?"
Karla: "Tera, can you just make a normal face? I want to get a nice picture of you."
Tera: "What?"
I think Tera takes after her old man in that she would rather not be in front of a camera. When Karla finally gets her to smile and act "normal" (whatever in the Hell that means) she almost appears to be in pain. Family photos for, say Christmas, is an admittedly excruciating process thanks to Tera and myself. In fact, I don't even remember the last family photo we've taken......It's been a while, so I guess I better start bracing myself for one.
For this day, however, photographs were not going to be an issue although, in retrospect, I kind of wish it was.
Nope, Saturday morning was divide and conquer day for Karla and I. Karla would be taking Toby to his wrestling meet and I would be taking Tera, in the opposite direction, to her run. So not very many pictures would be taken of this event. (In fact, most of the photos I took on my phone look like crap and have since been deleted....sorry.)
Before the race, a DJ was playing hip hop (?) music and a large group of kids an adults were, I don't know, line dancing? I've been out of the game for quite a while and not up on the current lingo, what is the proper term for line dancing now?
Anyway, even though Tera and I didn't participate (I don't dance unless I'm really sauced), it was really cool to watch. Or is cool the right word? Narly? Awesome? Fantabulous?
I don't know....I'll admit, I'm a dork... (Nerd? Geek? Square?.....Hell, I don't know)
We had gotten there almost an hour before the race, and in that time I had gone to the bathroom three times; it's a little pre game ritual that I had not done in years. I actually found myself getting excited, nervous, about the run. I was getting keyed up the way I used to before every ball game I ever played. It felt awesome.....Well, at least to me it did....(And I really don't know why I was getting keyed up, it wasn't like I was actually competing)
Me: "Are you sure you don't have to go to the bathroom pumpkin?"
Tera: "Dad, I'm fine."
Me: "Why don't we try, just to make sure."
Tera wrinkled her nose as she took a long look at the Johnny on the job and shook her head...."I'm not going in there; those things are gross."
Me: "Tera, you haven't gone to the bathroom in almost two hours. Do you want to have an accident in the middle of the race."
Tera actually stood there silently and pondered the situation; as if contemplating whether or not wetting her pants while running was preferable to using a big plastic and somewhat off smelling toilet.
Me: "Tera, will you just go? For my own piece of mind?"
Tera: (Sigh) "Geez...fine, you're such a dork."
No argument there....But I prefer to view my strange little idiosyncrasy as a valuable precautionary measure. You never want to find yourself needing to void your bladder in the midst of heated competition. :)
The last five minutes, standing at the starting line and waiting for the run to commence, seemed to last for an eternity. I paced, I bounced, I fidgeted and grew increasingly impatient.....C'mon, let's go already!!!!
Tera stood there, calm and showing no real emotion. I wondered if I should check for a pulse.
The wondering didn't last long....The count down to start the race began....
5....4......3....2....1!!!!!!
I had ran a few times with Tera before this 5K and had a real good feel for her pace. Every time we ran together she consistently averaged a pace of a little over fourteen minutes a mile which, for an eight year old, I was quite pleased with.
But Tera started the run much faster than that, and I immediately began to worry that she may flame out before the end of the run.
"Pumpkin, are you sure this is the pace you want to keep?"
"Yep."
Well, ok....I hope.
You know, it's really bizarre now that I look back on the run. Between worrying about my daughter and taking in all the things happening around me, I don't ever recall feeling tired. Even better I never once felt my shins or my left knee.
It was just an awesome place to be that day. People were cheering for all the girls, holding up signs and rattling their cow bells; camera flashes were going off constantly. It felt more like a celebration than it did a run....If only all my runs felt this way.
It turns out that Tera knew exactly what she was doing. We had to stop once because her shoe came untied. Then we stopped again so she could get a cup of water. At first I started to worry because she drank her water and then, empty cup in hand, proceeded to stand there and stare. Maybe she needed to walk for a while?
"Tera, how ya' feel, kid?"
"I can't find the trash can."
"What?"
"I don't have anywhere to throw this cup away."
Tera does not like littering...The race is now on the back burner until we can find a receptacle for her garbage.
"Dad, what am I supposed to do with this?" asked Tera as she started to get a little agitated.
I looked and found, on the other side of the table, a pile of cups.
"There, throw your cup on the pile."
"Are you sure? I can do that?"
"Yes, pumpkin. Someone will come along to pick it up."
Tera did as she was told, but you could tell it really bothered her. She felt much better at the second watering hole when she found a woman there holding a trash bag.
The last half mile, whether she needed it or not, I became Tera's cheerleader. Her face was flush and her breathing labored, but she showed no signs of quitting. I did manage to irritate her a little when I mistakenly thought the finish line was just around a corner. When we got to the corner and saw a long straight away to the finish line Tera just huffed and glared at me.
"You lied to me."
"Sorry, but look, there's the finish line."
Tera saw the finish, set her jaw, and kept running.
I don't know if Tera felt a sense of accomplishment when she crossed that finish line, but I know I did. I've never been prouder of her. When she got her medal, I think, is when it hit home for her.
Of course, I had to wake her up when we got there........ :)
Nope, Saturday morning was divide and conquer day for Karla and I. Karla would be taking Toby to his wrestling meet and I would be taking Tera, in the opposite direction, to her run. So not very many pictures would be taken of this event. (In fact, most of the photos I took on my phone look like crap and have since been deleted....sorry.)
Before the race, a DJ was playing hip hop (?) music and a large group of kids an adults were, I don't know, line dancing? I've been out of the game for quite a while and not up on the current lingo, what is the proper term for line dancing now?
Anyway, even though Tera and I didn't participate (I don't dance unless I'm really sauced), it was really cool to watch. Or is cool the right word? Narly? Awesome? Fantabulous?
I don't know....I'll admit, I'm a dork... (Nerd? Geek? Square?.....Hell, I don't know)
We had gotten there almost an hour before the race, and in that time I had gone to the bathroom three times; it's a little pre game ritual that I had not done in years. I actually found myself getting excited, nervous, about the run. I was getting keyed up the way I used to before every ball game I ever played. It felt awesome.....Well, at least to me it did....(And I really don't know why I was getting keyed up, it wasn't like I was actually competing)
Me: "Are you sure you don't have to go to the bathroom pumpkin?"
Tera: "Dad, I'm fine."
Me: "Why don't we try, just to make sure."
Tera wrinkled her nose as she took a long look at the Johnny on the job and shook her head...."I'm not going in there; those things are gross."
Me: "Tera, you haven't gone to the bathroom in almost two hours. Do you want to have an accident in the middle of the race."
Tera actually stood there silently and pondered the situation; as if contemplating whether or not wetting her pants while running was preferable to using a big plastic and somewhat off smelling toilet.
Me: "Tera, will you just go? For my own piece of mind?"
Tera: (Sigh) "Geez...fine, you're such a dork."
No argument there....But I prefer to view my strange little idiosyncrasy as a valuable precautionary measure. You never want to find yourself needing to void your bladder in the midst of heated competition. :)
The last five minutes, standing at the starting line and waiting for the run to commence, seemed to last for an eternity. I paced, I bounced, I fidgeted and grew increasingly impatient.....C'mon, let's go already!!!!
Tera stood there, calm and showing no real emotion. I wondered if I should check for a pulse.
The wondering didn't last long....The count down to start the race began....
I had ran a few times with Tera before this 5K and had a real good feel for her pace. Every time we ran together she consistently averaged a pace of a little over fourteen minutes a mile which, for an eight year old, I was quite pleased with.
But Tera started the run much faster than that, and I immediately began to worry that she may flame out before the end of the run.
"Pumpkin, are you sure this is the pace you want to keep?"
"Yep."
Well, ok....I hope.
You know, it's really bizarre now that I look back on the run. Between worrying about my daughter and taking in all the things happening around me, I don't ever recall feeling tired. Even better I never once felt my shins or my left knee.
It was just an awesome place to be that day. People were cheering for all the girls, holding up signs and rattling their cow bells; camera flashes were going off constantly. It felt more like a celebration than it did a run....If only all my runs felt this way.
It turns out that Tera knew exactly what she was doing. We had to stop once because her shoe came untied. Then we stopped again so she could get a cup of water. At first I started to worry because she drank her water and then, empty cup in hand, proceeded to stand there and stare. Maybe she needed to walk for a while?
"Tera, how ya' feel, kid?"
"I can't find the trash can."
"What?"
"I don't have anywhere to throw this cup away."
Tera does not like littering...The race is now on the back burner until we can find a receptacle for her garbage.
"Dad, what am I supposed to do with this?" asked Tera as she started to get a little agitated.
I looked and found, on the other side of the table, a pile of cups.
"There, throw your cup on the pile."
"Are you sure? I can do that?"
"Yes, pumpkin. Someone will come along to pick it up."
Tera did as she was told, but you could tell it really bothered her. She felt much better at the second watering hole when she found a woman there holding a trash bag.
The last half mile, whether she needed it or not, I became Tera's cheerleader. Her face was flush and her breathing labored, but she showed no signs of quitting. I did manage to irritate her a little when I mistakenly thought the finish line was just around a corner. When we got to the corner and saw a long straight away to the finish line Tera just huffed and glared at me.
"You lied to me."
"Sorry, but look, there's the finish line."
Tera saw the finish, set her jaw, and kept running.
I don't know if Tera felt a sense of accomplishment when she crossed that finish line, but I know I did. I've never been prouder of her. When she got her medal, I think, is when it hit home for her.
I don't know if Tera had been sandbagging on our runs together or if she just turned out a great run, but she ran the 5K at an average of 11min 01sec per mile (Unofficially). I've looked at the app on my phone more than a few times just to see if maybe I did the math wrong, but each time I came up with the same time. If it's true then, at least with me running with her, she had cut almost 10 minutes off of her 5K time.
Wow.....Just.....Wow. :)
After the run was over we skipped out on the free pizza that was being offered, Tera's choice. Instead she asked if we could go to On the Border to celebrate; which I found kind of odd. It's a Mexican restaurant and Tera never order's Mexican food. She always gets a burger and fries there. But, hey, it's all good. Let's go celebrate!!!!
Wow.....Just.....Wow. :)
After the run was over we skipped out on the free pizza that was being offered, Tera's choice. Instead she asked if we could go to On the Border to celebrate; which I found kind of odd. It's a Mexican restaurant and Tera never order's Mexican food. She always gets a burger and fries there. But, hey, it's all good. Let's go celebrate!!!!
Of course, I had to wake her up when we got there........ :)
I had a great time with a great kid ---- and I can't wait to do it again.
PROUD OF YA', PUNK!!!!!
PROUD OF YA', PUNK!!!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)