It's about a quarter till eleven at the end of a taxing day. As has been mentioned in this space a couple of times, Carol had her surgery today.
Up at 7, breakfast, look at available Geocaches, get things ready and out the door at 9:15 for a 10am prep for surgery.
Hurry up and wait.
Registered, paid the up-front money, took a seat and waited. Forty five minutes after 10, we got to the prep room and waited some more. Surgery was scheduled at noon. Noon came and went. Finally, the doctors came in at around 1:30 to get the ball rolling.
Hurry up and wait.
I went back to the waiting room to be with my mother-in-law and Carol's daughters, went down to lunch, came back and was joined by Carol's Cursillo sponsor, Cathy Apple. And we waited.
Finally at about 3:30 or so, Carol's Oncologist came in to tell us that her part of the operation was complete (and successful) and that the plastic surgeon was doing her job.
A few phone calls and I had to step outside to find the Geocaches I had planned to find prior to getting out of the house in the morning. Then we waited some more.
Got a phone call from the operating room at around 5:15 or so - Still a going with about another hour to go. Finally, the plastic surgeon appeared at about 6:30. The operation was a success. The implants were in and Carol was on her way to recovery. And by the bye, says the surgeon, the patient asked for something a little larger than what she walked in with. Oh, and here. This is hers. The doctor then hands me a card.
Evidently, saline implants are registered, sort of like contact lenses. With serial numbers and placement and bar codes. I mean, this is too good to make up! To be on the edge of being crude, my wife now has a pair of registered guns!
But I digress.
Anyhoo, the four of us went to get something to eat (couldn't be in recovery) and came back just as Carol had gotten in her room for the night. She was still groggy from the anesthesia, uncomfortable and sore. She was aware of her situation and was slowly coming to the point where she could smile and put on her brave face.
I want to thank all of you who have prayed for Carol, especially today. Yes, the Jewish prayers worked, too. Particularly appreciated were the church communities of St. Peter's Episcopal in McKinney, St. Paul's Episcopal in Chillicothe, the greater Episcopal Cursillo community, members of the Emmaus community both here and in Ohio, and various other churches where the people we know go to worship in their own way.
Past my bed time. Need to get some rest. Right now I am in awe of the woman in room 702 at Baylor in Plano. The lovely Miss Carol has had a rough day of it, but she is showing the same grit and determination that others like her have shown and others will show. She is and is going to be a survivor.
And I love her with all of my heart... registered guns and all!
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Support Your Local Husband
Just a few days left before the lovely Miss Carol gets wheeled into an operating room to become a survivor. Being a nurse, she is pretty well aware of what she will be undergoing. Being the son, husband, brother and nephew of nurses, I am well aware of what will be involved, too. Quite honestly I find the whole process fascinating. In a sense I want to look over the surgeon's shoulder as the procedures are being done. In another, I will be just as happy to sit in the waiting area and wait to hear about the outcome.
Although the primary surgeon has not posted it, I'm sure that she has a sliding scale like an auto mechanic:
* Basic surgical procedures - $750/hour
* You watch - $1500/hour
* You help - $3000/hour
Anyhoo, the lovely Miss Carol brought up a point about this whole process which was sort of on the periphery of my thoughts; While a lot of attention and prayer is (rightfully) being directed to the woman in the process, who pays attention to and/or prays for the husband?
Now, I'm not whining, nor am I prematurely (or otherwise) mourning the loss of my dear wife's cleavage. Yes, I am a pig (all men are pigs) and I do enjoy the visual and other aspects of what she is about to lose. But I didn't court and marry her for her "assets". I have informally surveyed some of my peers who had had wives undergoing the same surgery and to a man, the overriding concern is their partners' overall health. Breasts are a side issue.
As a husband there are other issues. I'm not going to kid myself. It ain't gonna be easy. Sure, I'm not the person undergoing a major alteration to my body nor am I the person undergoing chemotherapy nor am I the person faced with immediate questions about my own mortality. I'm not going to be stress-free, either. I have concerns about Carol's immediate mortality. I have concerns about coping with the side effects of chemotherapy. I have concerns about caring for someone after major surgery.
Truthfully, the answers will come as the questions occur. Of that I am relatively certain. I am also relatively certain that some of those people who are fervently praying for Carol are also slipping in a prayer for me. Thanks, and Carol thanks you too.
Right now, my biggest quandry has to do with how best to distribute my time. I did some checking and I have found that I have enough sick time available that I can literally sit home and worry for the next month and still have time left over. To that question, I will now summon up the spirit of the Bard of Massieville (Bard of Knockemstiff being the property of Donald Ray Pollock), Frank, Frank Shakespeare:
To work or not to work,
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler to stay at home with one's recovering wife,
Or to suffer the slings and arrows of one's everyday job.
That nobler path of attending to one's domestic partner,
While drawing on accumulated sick leave hath its charms,
Yet, the Puritan work ethic flows deep within my soul.
To which path lays the greater good?
To work, perhaps, to gain?
There are commissions available,
And one should earn his own way.
Or to attend the needs of one's bride,
Charms removed,
Yet at same time restored.
She hath perhaps needs best fulfilled,
By one strong (LOL), loving and caring at home,
Yet some needs are best fulfilled,
When husband leaves her the heck alone!
Alas, poor tradesman,
How do you tell?
Apologies to the Bard of Avon.
Be Seeing You!
Although the primary surgeon has not posted it, I'm sure that she has a sliding scale like an auto mechanic:
* Basic surgical procedures - $750/hour
* You watch - $1500/hour
* You help - $3000/hour
Anyhoo, the lovely Miss Carol brought up a point about this whole process which was sort of on the periphery of my thoughts; While a lot of attention and prayer is (rightfully) being directed to the woman in the process, who pays attention to and/or prays for the husband?
Now, I'm not whining, nor am I prematurely (or otherwise) mourning the loss of my dear wife's cleavage. Yes, I am a pig (all men are pigs) and I do enjoy the visual and other aspects of what she is about to lose. But I didn't court and marry her for her "assets". I have informally surveyed some of my peers who had had wives undergoing the same surgery and to a man, the overriding concern is their partners' overall health. Breasts are a side issue.
As a husband there are other issues. I'm not going to kid myself. It ain't gonna be easy. Sure, I'm not the person undergoing a major alteration to my body nor am I the person undergoing chemotherapy nor am I the person faced with immediate questions about my own mortality. I'm not going to be stress-free, either. I have concerns about Carol's immediate mortality. I have concerns about coping with the side effects of chemotherapy. I have concerns about caring for someone after major surgery.
Truthfully, the answers will come as the questions occur. Of that I am relatively certain. I am also relatively certain that some of those people who are fervently praying for Carol are also slipping in a prayer for me. Thanks, and Carol thanks you too.
Right now, my biggest quandry has to do with how best to distribute my time. I did some checking and I have found that I have enough sick time available that I can literally sit home and worry for the next month and still have time left over. To that question, I will now summon up the spirit of the Bard of Massieville (Bard of Knockemstiff being the property of Donald Ray Pollock), Frank, Frank Shakespeare:
To work or not to work,
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler to stay at home with one's recovering wife,
Or to suffer the slings and arrows of one's everyday job.
That nobler path of attending to one's domestic partner,
While drawing on accumulated sick leave hath its charms,
Yet, the Puritan work ethic flows deep within my soul.
To which path lays the greater good?
To work, perhaps, to gain?
There are commissions available,
And one should earn his own way.
Or to attend the needs of one's bride,
Charms removed,
Yet at same time restored.
She hath perhaps needs best fulfilled,
By one strong (LOL), loving and caring at home,
Yet some needs are best fulfilled,
When husband leaves her the heck alone!
Alas, poor tradesman,
How do you tell?
Apologies to the Bard of Avon.
Be Seeing You!
Friday, December 25, 2009
My Assignment
I still have something left in the old noggin as far as creativity. For example, one of my unnamed children (or stepchildren) posed a challenge to me. "Here is a list of vocabulary words", the offending child said. "I have to come up with a story using all of the words by tomorrow morning." This was at 8pm. By 8:30, I came up with the following story (with the offending words in italics:
Waylon Payton entered the conference room prepared to argue the omnibus issues connected with Frankfort, Ohio's upcoming semicentennial. Payton's senescent adversary, Clint Nixon, was certain to be using a variety of tortuous arguements to bolster his own stringent iedea as to how the town's celebration should be conducted.
A chill came upon Waylon Payton as he dreaded the expected clamorous opposition to his ideas, to his hopes and to his vision. Perhaps Nixon would allude to some of Payton's promiscuous past, something that Payton had been trying to shake for years, but was used against him often so as to win an arguement.
Payton sat down opposite Nixon, looked, then was enveloped by a sudden sense of levity. He realized that despite the fact that Nixon was ridgedly upright in his chair, he wasn't breathing - and all images of any arguements between the two were now gone in the ether.
Only one question remained. Call the mortuary or call an ambulance?
I'm still waiting for my grade from the 7th grade teacher who handed out the assignment. My grade! The offending student had to take summer school for not passing that particular English course. He had missed too many other assignments for my piece of work to make a difference.
We're in winter break, now and by golly I don't have any of my sons' assignments to take care of. At least for another week and a half.
More stories at another time.
Be Seeing You!
Waylon Payton entered the conference room prepared to argue the omnibus issues connected with Frankfort, Ohio's upcoming semicentennial. Payton's senescent adversary, Clint Nixon, was certain to be using a variety of tortuous arguements to bolster his own stringent iedea as to how the town's celebration should be conducted.
A chill came upon Waylon Payton as he dreaded the expected clamorous opposition to his ideas, to his hopes and to his vision. Perhaps Nixon would allude to some of Payton's promiscuous past, something that Payton had been trying to shake for years, but was used against him often so as to win an arguement.
Payton sat down opposite Nixon, looked, then was enveloped by a sudden sense of levity. He realized that despite the fact that Nixon was ridgedly upright in his chair, he wasn't breathing - and all images of any arguements between the two were now gone in the ether.
Only one question remained. Call the mortuary or call an ambulance?
I'm still waiting for my grade from the 7th grade teacher who handed out the assignment. My grade! The offending student had to take summer school for not passing that particular English course. He had missed too many other assignments for my piece of work to make a difference.
We're in winter break, now and by golly I don't have any of my sons' assignments to take care of. At least for another week and a half.
More stories at another time.
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Happy Hollandaise!
It's another year almost gone and here we are, the day before Christmas and we are just getting around to doing our Christmas obligations. The gifts are purchased, the tree is decorated, the ham is in the fridge not knowing that it will be baked within the next few hours and there is a hint that there is going to be snow here in Dallas later today. Now's the time to light a fire in the fireplace, pull up the computer keyboard and reflect on the past year.
With just hours left in 2008, the Lovely Miss Carol had a name transplant and became Carol Harrell. The alliteration has been amusing to most people concerned. The move was mostly good for us as it settles both of us down and eases some of the uncertainty which had been a part of our lives. It was either that or we have found in each other a decent companion with which to play Scrabble.
Carol continues as a visiting nurse with Golden Pond Home Health. She likes it well enough except for the driving and the area tollways. I'm still with Lowe's and am thankful that I am to the point where I get 3 weeks of paid vacation per year.
We put some of that vacation to good use this past summer with a trip back East. For Carol, it was her first trip in that direction since the 1960s; for Carol's son Warren, it was the first time he had ever been out of Texas and Oklahoma ever. His biggest concern was whether or not Dr. Pepper was sold east of the Mississippi. Most assuredly, it was. Stuart was with us and his biggest concern was being able to eat at a Bob Evans. He was indulged several times.
A long weekend was spent in Chillicothe with the obligatory trips to The Crosskeys, Tecumseh and Adena, along with long overdue visits in person with family and friends. Could have spent a fortnight there and still not have seen everyone we wanted to see. The trip continued to Canaan Valley resort in West Virginia, with caves, mountaintops, swimming and lots of clean mountain air. The trip back to Allen was a bit of a letdown as we had quickly become used to terrain which varied... hills in North Texas seemingly being wherever a freeway overpass is needed.
Carol and I had a further adventure in October. My cousin Stephanie remarried. We went down for a couple of days, visited with family and took a quick side trip to Galveston.
Our children continue to prosper for the most part. Jimmy got off the road, so to speak, and is working in Amarillo. Jaclyn and her husband, Juan, are still in Wilmer, wrapping up degrees and wondering where to go from where they are. Mary has been unsettled and has been bouncing around this past year. Warren has discovered the joys of being in a High School marching band. Sarah is still at Collin College and working at Starbuck's - she just turned 21 if you can believe it! Stuart is about ready to pass me in height and just loves to run. Stuart and Warren are at the Allen School District's Freshman Center this year. Next year, the big time in the big building!
So, here we are, poised to start 2010 in little over a week - with a challenge. This coming Wednesday, The Lovely Miss Carol will have surgery to help rid her of the cancer which was found in her breasts this past Fall. The good news is that the disease is at a stage where treatment is close to 100% effective. The better news is that Carol has lots and lots of people praying for her. We anticipate a full recovery by this time next year.
Well, the fire is dying, the cat and the mighty Chihuahua (Chee-hooah-hooah, a Hawaiian dog) are getting restless and there's still lots to do be done before we can turn in for the proverbial long winter's nap. Carol, the rest of the cast and crew at Rants and Raves and I wish each and every one of you the very merriest of Christmases (or happy Hannukah for some) and the happiest of New Years!
Bruce and Carol Harrell
Be Seeing You!
With just hours left in 2008, the Lovely Miss Carol had a name transplant and became Carol Harrell. The alliteration has been amusing to most people concerned. The move was mostly good for us as it settles both of us down and eases some of the uncertainty which had been a part of our lives. It was either that or we have found in each other a decent companion with which to play Scrabble.
Carol continues as a visiting nurse with Golden Pond Home Health. She likes it well enough except for the driving and the area tollways. I'm still with Lowe's and am thankful that I am to the point where I get 3 weeks of paid vacation per year.
We put some of that vacation to good use this past summer with a trip back East. For Carol, it was her first trip in that direction since the 1960s; for Carol's son Warren, it was the first time he had ever been out of Texas and Oklahoma ever. His biggest concern was whether or not Dr. Pepper was sold east of the Mississippi. Most assuredly, it was. Stuart was with us and his biggest concern was being able to eat at a Bob Evans. He was indulged several times.
A long weekend was spent in Chillicothe with the obligatory trips to The Crosskeys, Tecumseh and Adena, along with long overdue visits in person with family and friends. Could have spent a fortnight there and still not have seen everyone we wanted to see. The trip continued to Canaan Valley resort in West Virginia, with caves, mountaintops, swimming and lots of clean mountain air. The trip back to Allen was a bit of a letdown as we had quickly become used to terrain which varied... hills in North Texas seemingly being wherever a freeway overpass is needed.
Carol and I had a further adventure in October. My cousin Stephanie remarried. We went down for a couple of days, visited with family and took a quick side trip to Galveston.
Our children continue to prosper for the most part. Jimmy got off the road, so to speak, and is working in Amarillo. Jaclyn and her husband, Juan, are still in Wilmer, wrapping up degrees and wondering where to go from where they are. Mary has been unsettled and has been bouncing around this past year. Warren has discovered the joys of being in a High School marching band. Sarah is still at Collin College and working at Starbuck's - she just turned 21 if you can believe it! Stuart is about ready to pass me in height and just loves to run. Stuart and Warren are at the Allen School District's Freshman Center this year. Next year, the big time in the big building!
So, here we are, poised to start 2010 in little over a week - with a challenge. This coming Wednesday, The Lovely Miss Carol will have surgery to help rid her of the cancer which was found in her breasts this past Fall. The good news is that the disease is at a stage where treatment is close to 100% effective. The better news is that Carol has lots and lots of people praying for her. We anticipate a full recovery by this time next year.
Well, the fire is dying, the cat and the mighty Chihuahua (Chee-hooah-hooah, a Hawaiian dog) are getting restless and there's still lots to do be done before we can turn in for the proverbial long winter's nap. Carol, the rest of the cast and crew at Rants and Raves and I wish each and every one of you the very merriest of Christmases (or happy Hannukah for some) and the happiest of New Years!
Bruce and Carol Harrell
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas Music - sort of...
Tis the season to be busy and tis the season for Christmas music. I'm reporting from having been to Church this morning where we sang traditional Carols... you know, the good kind. The kind you hear in Church, except for "The Angel Gabriel", sort of. "Angel Gabriel" is a traditional tune, but, every time I hear it, my mind hears Sting in what is perhaps the most beautiful renditions of a traditional tune played on commercial radio. Well done. Now, bring on Christmas Eve!
Two of my disfavorite Christmas tunes deserve a special mention at this time. For one, the background music at Lowe's has only infected our shoppers with "Wonderful Christmastime" only 2.5 times. The point 5 time was when somehow there was played a different arrangement of that insipid Christmas tune. Not quite as cheery. Just different. Don't get me wrong, I love Sir Paul. It's just that that tune gets under my skin every time I hear it. Oh, and the Dallas Morning News ran a picture and a story of someone who should be shot - the guy who wrote "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer". Can you believe it? THAT stupid song has been with us for 30 years!!! I'm contemplating blowing the picture up and pasting it on a dart board. Oh well, can't be too harsh on the man. He has to make a living too, I guess.
Time was when I used to infect those around me with song parodies like the ones in Mad Magazine. Part of my misspent childhood. I still do so every once in a while and I will infect you now with a bit of doggerel to the tune that was sung by a hefty '60s folk singer:
Have a great generic Christmas,
It's the best time of the year.
All the fans of the major brands,
Won't let me have your ear!
Have a great generic Christmas,
And as you walk down the street,
Just say no to brands you know
You just may get a treat!
Head for the Dollar Store for food that's a little bit old,
Turn off the TV, now and don't listen to what you're told!
There's where I left off. Ran out of steam at that point. I have a couple of other Christmas songs, one with and one without a tune. With the tune (known only in my head) is this little -ahem- tribute to another famous singer:
I wanna spend Christmas, with Elvis in Heaven,
I wanna spend New Years in His mighty gaze,
I wanna spend time with The King,
Cause I know it will bring,
My best ever holiday!
I wanna see angels throng round and adore Him,
I wanna watch Elvis as he answers prayers,
I wanna be with The King,
As order he brings,
To earthly and heavenly affairs!
And I know when Mohammed and Jesus are fighting,
It's gonna be Elvis who pulls them apart,
And I just know, should I fall,
He'll answer my call,
And heal all the pain in my heart!
I guess that I'll be burning in hell for that little ditty... not really in the Christmas spirit, except when you look at a calendar and see that a week after Christmas is New Year's day, and a week after that is, you may note this, Elvis' Birthday!
Finally, thank goodness, is one I knocked out rather recently, what with all the talk about the new adventures of Tiger Woods, this is sort of a freebie for some singer who hasn't done the trip to the studio in July to do the Christmas thing:
This is my obligatory Christmas song,
You don't have to listen to it very long,
Keeps my fan base going big and strong,
This is my obligatory Christmas song.
I have some idea about what you hear,
About my personal life the preceding year,
But in November and December I'll look my best,
But come January first, it's back to the mess!
Some mention of Santa, reindeer or bells,
Should be in here somewhere, cause those images sell,
Merry Christmas should be mentioned here, too,
Just pay no attention I'm a practicing Jew.....
Sir Paul, I understand is good with a tune. Maybe he could be forwarded this blog (without the slam of "Wonderful Christmastime") and use this next year. Just remember, Paul, you saw it here first!
Be Seeing You!
Two of my disfavorite Christmas tunes deserve a special mention at this time. For one, the background music at Lowe's has only infected our shoppers with "Wonderful Christmastime" only 2.5 times. The point 5 time was when somehow there was played a different arrangement of that insipid Christmas tune. Not quite as cheery. Just different. Don't get me wrong, I love Sir Paul. It's just that that tune gets under my skin every time I hear it. Oh, and the Dallas Morning News ran a picture and a story of someone who should be shot - the guy who wrote "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer". Can you believe it? THAT stupid song has been with us for 30 years!!! I'm contemplating blowing the picture up and pasting it on a dart board. Oh well, can't be too harsh on the man. He has to make a living too, I guess.
Time was when I used to infect those around me with song parodies like the ones in Mad Magazine. Part of my misspent childhood. I still do so every once in a while and I will infect you now with a bit of doggerel to the tune that was sung by a hefty '60s folk singer:
Have a great generic Christmas,
It's the best time of the year.
All the fans of the major brands,
Won't let me have your ear!
Have a great generic Christmas,
And as you walk down the street,
Just say no to brands you know
You just may get a treat!
Head for the Dollar Store for food that's a little bit old,
Turn off the TV, now and don't listen to what you're told!
There's where I left off. Ran out of steam at that point. I have a couple of other Christmas songs, one with and one without a tune. With the tune (known only in my head) is this little -ahem- tribute to another famous singer:
I wanna spend Christmas, with Elvis in Heaven,
I wanna spend New Years in His mighty gaze,
I wanna spend time with The King,
Cause I know it will bring,
My best ever holiday!
I wanna see angels throng round and adore Him,
I wanna watch Elvis as he answers prayers,
I wanna be with The King,
As order he brings,
To earthly and heavenly affairs!
And I know when Mohammed and Jesus are fighting,
It's gonna be Elvis who pulls them apart,
And I just know, should I fall,
He'll answer my call,
And heal all the pain in my heart!
I guess that I'll be burning in hell for that little ditty... not really in the Christmas spirit, except when you look at a calendar and see that a week after Christmas is New Year's day, and a week after that is, you may note this, Elvis' Birthday!
Finally, thank goodness, is one I knocked out rather recently, what with all the talk about the new adventures of Tiger Woods, this is sort of a freebie for some singer who hasn't done the trip to the studio in July to do the Christmas thing:
This is my obligatory Christmas song,
You don't have to listen to it very long,
Keeps my fan base going big and strong,
This is my obligatory Christmas song.
I have some idea about what you hear,
About my personal life the preceding year,
But in November and December I'll look my best,
But come January first, it's back to the mess!
Some mention of Santa, reindeer or bells,
Should be in here somewhere, cause those images sell,
Merry Christmas should be mentioned here, too,
Just pay no attention I'm a practicing Jew.....
Sir Paul, I understand is good with a tune. Maybe he could be forwarded this blog (without the slam of "Wonderful Christmastime") and use this next year. Just remember, Paul, you saw it here first!
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Advice
Let me start by making a confession. In the 5 years I have been working in the flooring department at Lowe's, I have laid less than 100 square feet of flooring total. Tile, laminate, wood... total. But on the other hand, I have attended a couple of classes which have provided hands-on training on how to install most types of flooring. I also know a couple of people who can offer insights as to how to do a particular job. But by golly, I put on the red vest and I am an expert. Honest to gosh. I know what I'm talking about and customers hang on my every word.
Or not.
Tuesday night, a fellow comes into the department with a problem. He had already settled on a solution to his problem and took 45 minutes of my time rationalizing his decision and asking my approval of what he was going to do. His problem called for a slightly different solution to the one he had proposed and I advised him of the better solution. Eventually, he talked himself into doing what he intended to do in the first place and had decided to install laminate on a section of tile floor which had been coming apart.
As I was loading him up with his product, I advised him that the product had to acclimate for 48 hours (at least) prior to installation. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Period. The manufacturer recommended, nay, insisted on acclimation and every installer worth his pay would have stated the same thing. Thus armed, the customer made his purchase and was on his merry way.
Wednesday night, phone rings. The customer from the night before was wanting advice on what needed to be done on a particular point of the installation process. In the background I heard the power saw of his "casual installer" installing in less than 24 hours what needed to wait another 24 hours before installing.
"You want my advice on a flooring matter after ignoring my advice from the previous evening?"
Excuse me. There's some sort of a disconnect here.
To you, I will admit my inexperience. Whatever the status of my experience, though, I have found that the advice I have given customers usually works to their advantage. Feedback tells me that the advice I give is about 90% accurate. Not a bad percentage, but I do have a trick. My father taught it to me.
Apparently, my father did some magic on the side when he was in school. He kept his skills and would occasionally share a trick with us. When asked how a trick was done, he would bounce back the statement "How would you do it?". That started a thinking process which would take him off the hook in as far as a magician's "code" of not revealing how a trick was done.
So, when a customer comes in and asks how something can be done, I bounce back the statement "How would you do it?", and the follow up "Here's what I would try..." and voila! I give advice without giving advice! That's why I'm so accurate. I read the instructions, I listen to those who actually work in the field, then I merely distill the information that my customer wants into a form he or she can understand.
I carefully guard my reputation by being selective about where in the store I give advice. Problem is that our customers see a red vest and they instantly assume a red vested person to be an expert wherever the red vested person happens to be. If I am standing next to the left-handed widget nuts, I am an expert in the field of left-hand widget nuts, or so it is thought. So, to protect my reputation, I search out a different "expert" to help in whatever area. Regardless of that person's experience.
I don't give advice solely on flooring matters, or on appliances (8 years experience), or on any other of the endeavors in which I had been involved. Nor do I give (or take) advice from people exclusively at work. Much of what I do give is based on life experience:
*Don't start smoking. If you do, quit and do it "cold turkey".
*If someone addresses you as "My Friend", chances are that he or she probably isn't.
*If you are going to walk out of a job, make sure that you have another definitely lined up first.
*Everyone should have a dog in their care at least once.
*And at least try to DWYSYWD - Do what you say you will do.
That's just part of what I have learned in the past 55, almost 56 years.
Oh, and one other thing. Advice can be of great value, but only if taken properly and in the right frame of mind.
I'm glad to give it, glad to take it.
Be Seeing You!
Or not.
Tuesday night, a fellow comes into the department with a problem. He had already settled on a solution to his problem and took 45 minutes of my time rationalizing his decision and asking my approval of what he was going to do. His problem called for a slightly different solution to the one he had proposed and I advised him of the better solution. Eventually, he talked himself into doing what he intended to do in the first place and had decided to install laminate on a section of tile floor which had been coming apart.
As I was loading him up with his product, I advised him that the product had to acclimate for 48 hours (at least) prior to installation. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Period. The manufacturer recommended, nay, insisted on acclimation and every installer worth his pay would have stated the same thing. Thus armed, the customer made his purchase and was on his merry way.
Wednesday night, phone rings. The customer from the night before was wanting advice on what needed to be done on a particular point of the installation process. In the background I heard the power saw of his "casual installer" installing in less than 24 hours what needed to wait another 24 hours before installing.
"You want my advice on a flooring matter after ignoring my advice from the previous evening?"
Excuse me. There's some sort of a disconnect here.
To you, I will admit my inexperience. Whatever the status of my experience, though, I have found that the advice I have given customers usually works to their advantage. Feedback tells me that the advice I give is about 90% accurate. Not a bad percentage, but I do have a trick. My father taught it to me.
Apparently, my father did some magic on the side when he was in school. He kept his skills and would occasionally share a trick with us. When asked how a trick was done, he would bounce back the statement "How would you do it?". That started a thinking process which would take him off the hook in as far as a magician's "code" of not revealing how a trick was done.
So, when a customer comes in and asks how something can be done, I bounce back the statement "How would you do it?", and the follow up "Here's what I would try..." and voila! I give advice without giving advice! That's why I'm so accurate. I read the instructions, I listen to those who actually work in the field, then I merely distill the information that my customer wants into a form he or she can understand.
I carefully guard my reputation by being selective about where in the store I give advice. Problem is that our customers see a red vest and they instantly assume a red vested person to be an expert wherever the red vested person happens to be. If I am standing next to the left-handed widget nuts, I am an expert in the field of left-hand widget nuts, or so it is thought. So, to protect my reputation, I search out a different "expert" to help in whatever area. Regardless of that person's experience.
I don't give advice solely on flooring matters, or on appliances (8 years experience), or on any other of the endeavors in which I had been involved. Nor do I give (or take) advice from people exclusively at work. Much of what I do give is based on life experience:
*Don't start smoking. If you do, quit and do it "cold turkey".
*If someone addresses you as "My Friend", chances are that he or she probably isn't.
*If you are going to walk out of a job, make sure that you have another definitely lined up first.
*Everyone should have a dog in their care at least once.
*And at least try to DWYSYWD - Do what you say you will do.
That's just part of what I have learned in the past 55, almost 56 years.
Oh, and one other thing. Advice can be of great value, but only if taken properly and in the right frame of mind.
I'm glad to give it, glad to take it.
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Hate Mail
I have this "friend" at work who I really enjoy seeing to a point. He's older, been a salesperson for most of his life, likes old cars almost as much as I do and is quick with a joke. The only reason I put the quotation marks around the word friend is that he sends me hate mail.
The man is unabashably a "Christian Coalition Republican", meaning that he thinks he has license to force his "opinions" on others because he's right. He knows so. Just ask him.
To me, it means opening one of my e-mail boxes, seeing his name on the "sent from" column and having to carefully read the subject line before actually opening a particular piece of mail. If it's from Jerry, there's a 65% chance that it will be hate mail.
What will it be this time? Is it that Obama is a schmuck for doing (insert a recent action here)? Is it a "rag" on Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid or any other Democrat for that matter? Is it another phoney letter from someone who is tired of paying taxes for some reason or another? Or is it a Brit or a Canadian telling us how they had to come here for free enterprise medicine because the British/Canadian system of the evil socialized medicine would have killed them? How about a set of political cartoons reportedly from Australia slamming the Obama administration (with clear indications of the cartoons' origin in Miami, New Orleans and San Fransisco)? Maybe it's some "fact" which has been "proved" by Snopes... which follows an e-mail proving that the people at Snopes are patented liars.
In some ways the mail I get from Jerry (yes, his real name) is mildly amusing, but at the same time it is disturbing to know that here is someone who is close-minded to ideas other than those spoon-fed to him. The ironies are astounding. On one hand, abortion is wrong because it violates the sanctity of life, yet, it's OK for the state to execute a criminal. Islamic law is wrong on a number of levels, yet, we as a nation should write our own laws to "Christian" standards. We should fear the Democratic majorities in Congress combined with a Democratic President as it will drain our pocketbooks and create huge deficites, ignoring the fact that the last time the Republicans had a Congressional majority with a Republican in the White House, our pocketbooks were drained and the budget surplus became a budget deficit. Most recently, Jerry sent a "Letter from Jesus" in which Jesus admitted to the fact that his birthday isn't really in December, but is happy that people think of him during the solstice, followed by another missive telling the hapless recipient that "Jesus is the reason for the season" (Merry Christmas, or Else)!
Hatred, especially at this time of year, is a powerful drug which can drag the unwary into its clutches ever so subtly. It can consume and destroy the unwary soul. In this day and age, hatred seems to spread way too quickly by way of practiced practitioners through the internet. One has to be wary of what one recieves, lest one gets dragged into the hatred and the lies. It is easy to blame "liberals" for whatever problems there seem to be. But at the same time, if one thinks and substitutes the term "jew" for the term "liberal" when seen on the internet or in the Op-Ed section of the newspaper, one can see where the seeds of hatred are sown.
Unfortunately, Jerry persists in hiding his head in the sand and hewing the "Party Line". He doesn't want to think about what he sends, he'll do it anyway. I've asked him to cease the political crap. He insists on continuing to shovel it. I continue to tolerate it to a degree as the 35% is really funny and/or interesting stuff. Guess I'll just have to filter a little bit better.
For the record, I don't care who gets ripped, I like a good political cartoon. Obama is not God in my eyes. I don't think that Obama is a Muslim or was born outside of the United States. There are some really good Democrats and some really good Republicans out there. Good healthcare should be available to every citizen, regardless. Hard work should be rewarded... and taxed. We can't get something for nothing. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. We were founded by men of principal who may or may not have been Christian - but we were not founded as a "Christian Nation" (the seeds of the current "Christianity" having been sown in the 19th century). Who gives a damn as to who an adult "sleeps" with as long as it's another adult. And, the Bible can be summed up in 5 words: "Love God, Love your neighbor".
Yes, that means I still love Jerry. Despite his e-mails
Be Seeing You!
The man is unabashably a "Christian Coalition Republican", meaning that he thinks he has license to force his "opinions" on others because he's right. He knows so. Just ask him.
To me, it means opening one of my e-mail boxes, seeing his name on the "sent from" column and having to carefully read the subject line before actually opening a particular piece of mail. If it's from Jerry, there's a 65% chance that it will be hate mail.
What will it be this time? Is it that Obama is a schmuck for doing (insert a recent action here)? Is it a "rag" on Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid or any other Democrat for that matter? Is it another phoney letter from someone who is tired of paying taxes for some reason or another? Or is it a Brit or a Canadian telling us how they had to come here for free enterprise medicine because the British/Canadian system of the evil socialized medicine would have killed them? How about a set of political cartoons reportedly from Australia slamming the Obama administration (with clear indications of the cartoons' origin in Miami, New Orleans and San Fransisco)? Maybe it's some "fact" which has been "proved" by Snopes... which follows an e-mail proving that the people at Snopes are patented liars.
In some ways the mail I get from Jerry (yes, his real name) is mildly amusing, but at the same time it is disturbing to know that here is someone who is close-minded to ideas other than those spoon-fed to him. The ironies are astounding. On one hand, abortion is wrong because it violates the sanctity of life, yet, it's OK for the state to execute a criminal. Islamic law is wrong on a number of levels, yet, we as a nation should write our own laws to "Christian" standards. We should fear the Democratic majorities in Congress combined with a Democratic President as it will drain our pocketbooks and create huge deficites, ignoring the fact that the last time the Republicans had a Congressional majority with a Republican in the White House, our pocketbooks were drained and the budget surplus became a budget deficit. Most recently, Jerry sent a "Letter from Jesus" in which Jesus admitted to the fact that his birthday isn't really in December, but is happy that people think of him during the solstice, followed by another missive telling the hapless recipient that "Jesus is the reason for the season" (Merry Christmas, or Else)!
Hatred, especially at this time of year, is a powerful drug which can drag the unwary into its clutches ever so subtly. It can consume and destroy the unwary soul. In this day and age, hatred seems to spread way too quickly by way of practiced practitioners through the internet. One has to be wary of what one recieves, lest one gets dragged into the hatred and the lies. It is easy to blame "liberals" for whatever problems there seem to be. But at the same time, if one thinks and substitutes the term "jew" for the term "liberal" when seen on the internet or in the Op-Ed section of the newspaper, one can see where the seeds of hatred are sown.
Unfortunately, Jerry persists in hiding his head in the sand and hewing the "Party Line". He doesn't want to think about what he sends, he'll do it anyway. I've asked him to cease the political crap. He insists on continuing to shovel it. I continue to tolerate it to a degree as the 35% is really funny and/or interesting stuff. Guess I'll just have to filter a little bit better.
For the record, I don't care who gets ripped, I like a good political cartoon. Obama is not God in my eyes. I don't think that Obama is a Muslim or was born outside of the United States. There are some really good Democrats and some really good Republicans out there. Good healthcare should be available to every citizen, regardless. Hard work should be rewarded... and taxed. We can't get something for nothing. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. We were founded by men of principal who may or may not have been Christian - but we were not founded as a "Christian Nation" (the seeds of the current "Christianity" having been sown in the 19th century). Who gives a damn as to who an adult "sleeps" with as long as it's another adult. And, the Bible can be summed up in 5 words: "Love God, Love your neighbor".
Yes, that means I still love Jerry. Despite his e-mails
Be Seeing You!
Monday, December 14, 2009
It's in the water...
Quick bit of errata from a previous post - Seems that I have another David tucked in there... my new father-in-law is David McGee.
One of my new brothers-in-law has a blog I have been following for the past couple of months: www.bigmyrtle.blogspot.com where he passes out observations and advice based on his experiences as a micro chicken farmer down in College Station, Texas. One of his more recent blogs has to do with drinking water. He has made the claim (and I have little reason to doubt him), that distilling the water he and his family drink has been a healthy choice - given the what's left behind at the tail end of the distilling process. The mere hint that there may be heavy metals present in that which we call "the elixer of life" scares the bejeebers out of any sane person.
Perhaps that's why there are so many bottled waters out there. We don't have the confidence in our public water supplies that we should. The water I get piped into my house is sourced at a nearby lake. The city of Allen sends me an annual report telling me that they've checked the water to government standards and that it is A-1 okey dokey to drink. On the other hand, the water here tastes absolutely awful a couple of times a year when the lake "turns", something having to do with the flora becoming too warm due to the Texas weather. It's for that reason I have relied on a Brita pitcher and the filter inside my refrigerator to protect me from the evil ever since I moved here.
Having reached the tender age of 39 (plus a few more) years, I have had an opportunity to sample water out of the faucet from a number of locations, some good, some not as good. Take that found in the municipal supply in Norfolk, Virginia. I shudder to think about having to drink that city's water again. It had a metallic taste. Ecch! I loved my grandparents who lived in Norfolk, hated the water. The other set of grandparents lived in the little town of Fairview, West Virginia, and the water there was delightful. It was well water, had a good balance of minerals and sure tasted good, especially out of the refrigerator on a hot summer day.
When living in the Cleveland, Ohio area, where one got one's water depended on where one lived. We had city water, drawn from Lake Erie. Waterlike, yes, but there came a realization in later years that there was a time when it was joked that a person couldn't drown in Lake Erie. It was impossible. One would die of some horrible water bourne disease, first! On the other hand, there were people in the area who had well water so chock full of minerals that you could smell a glass of water across the room which was fine with William Carter Sr. "Never had to take a laxative drinking this water!" he exclaimed in front of a room full of befuddled Cub Scouts. Boy was I glad that I didn't have to drink that water except at Cub Scout meetings. Later realization? No city water = no sewers. We relied on septic tanks for the -ahem- overflow from our lives.
Then there was city water from Chillicothe, Ohio. Well water, drawn from an aquafer running deep beneath the Scioto River. Either we got used to it, or it was relatively decent water. I'd like to think that it was the latter. It was the same water drawn from the city of Columbus and the Orchid Society there declared that there was just the right balance of minerals to ensure the avid orchid grower of excellent results. Chillicothe water still tastes the same, at least it did last summer. The only concern has to do with the levels of PCBs which may have seeped into the groundwater due to decades of PCBs being left over from the papermaking process... or the effects of the Uranium Enrichment plant down the road in Piketon. There have been rumors of a "Cancer Alley" in Southern Ohio for years, perhaps due to the water.
My brother-in-law in College Station may not be as far off plumb as could be thought. Distilling drinking water may be one of the better things we may be able to do for ourselves - Helps us keep our Purity Of Essence as General Jack D. Ripper pointed out in Dr. Strangelove. Just gotta remember that we bathe in what we drink!
Be Seeing You!
One of my new brothers-in-law has a blog I have been following for the past couple of months: www.bigmyrtle.blogspot.com where he passes out observations and advice based on his experiences as a micro chicken farmer down in College Station, Texas. One of his more recent blogs has to do with drinking water. He has made the claim (and I have little reason to doubt him), that distilling the water he and his family drink has been a healthy choice - given the what's left behind at the tail end of the distilling process. The mere hint that there may be heavy metals present in that which we call "the elixer of life" scares the bejeebers out of any sane person.
Perhaps that's why there are so many bottled waters out there. We don't have the confidence in our public water supplies that we should. The water I get piped into my house is sourced at a nearby lake. The city of Allen sends me an annual report telling me that they've checked the water to government standards and that it is A-1 okey dokey to drink. On the other hand, the water here tastes absolutely awful a couple of times a year when the lake "turns", something having to do with the flora becoming too warm due to the Texas weather. It's for that reason I have relied on a Brita pitcher and the filter inside my refrigerator to protect me from the evil ever since I moved here.
Having reached the tender age of 39 (plus a few more) years, I have had an opportunity to sample water out of the faucet from a number of locations, some good, some not as good. Take that found in the municipal supply in Norfolk, Virginia. I shudder to think about having to drink that city's water again. It had a metallic taste. Ecch! I loved my grandparents who lived in Norfolk, hated the water. The other set of grandparents lived in the little town of Fairview, West Virginia, and the water there was delightful. It was well water, had a good balance of minerals and sure tasted good, especially out of the refrigerator on a hot summer day.
When living in the Cleveland, Ohio area, where one got one's water depended on where one lived. We had city water, drawn from Lake Erie. Waterlike, yes, but there came a realization in later years that there was a time when it was joked that a person couldn't drown in Lake Erie. It was impossible. One would die of some horrible water bourne disease, first! On the other hand, there were people in the area who had well water so chock full of minerals that you could smell a glass of water across the room which was fine with William Carter Sr. "Never had to take a laxative drinking this water!" he exclaimed in front of a room full of befuddled Cub Scouts. Boy was I glad that I didn't have to drink that water except at Cub Scout meetings. Later realization? No city water = no sewers. We relied on septic tanks for the -ahem- overflow from our lives.
Then there was city water from Chillicothe, Ohio. Well water, drawn from an aquafer running deep beneath the Scioto River. Either we got used to it, or it was relatively decent water. I'd like to think that it was the latter. It was the same water drawn from the city of Columbus and the Orchid Society there declared that there was just the right balance of minerals to ensure the avid orchid grower of excellent results. Chillicothe water still tastes the same, at least it did last summer. The only concern has to do with the levels of PCBs which may have seeped into the groundwater due to decades of PCBs being left over from the papermaking process... or the effects of the Uranium Enrichment plant down the road in Piketon. There have been rumors of a "Cancer Alley" in Southern Ohio for years, perhaps due to the water.
My brother-in-law in College Station may not be as far off plumb as could be thought. Distilling drinking water may be one of the better things we may be able to do for ourselves - Helps us keep our Purity Of Essence as General Jack D. Ripper pointed out in Dr. Strangelove. Just gotta remember that we bathe in what we drink!
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Prayers
I just about sent one of my co-workers into shock the other day. Poor woman was on her way out the door when I asked her how she was.
"Excellent!" came her reply, then I serenaded her with a portion of of a tune I had learned in Cursillo:
How Excellent! How Excellent! How Excellent is thy Name Oh Lord..."
Poor woman went into shock! How in the world would would some slightly demented white Episcopalian guy know the words and the tune to a song she had been singing for years in her own little black Baptist Church?
"You know that song?" She was in a state of disbelief.
I shared with her the fact that I had attended a renewal weekend called Cursillo, learned a whole bunch of neat songs (wrote one, too), and was generally aware of the spirituality of the people around me. What I didn't tell her was that there was at least one other person in the building who had been to a similar weekend (Walk to Emmaus) at my suggestion, or that I managed to get my wife to go just this past September, or that I had a whole bunch of friends with whom I share this neat little quirk. I would dare say that a good third to half of my friends on Facebook have attended either Cursillo or one of the similar renewal weekends.
It's rather infectious, you know.
One does not have to attend a renewal weekend to have the Spirit with them and/or to know some of the Truths we learned. One of the Truths is that prayer works. One of my friends posted: "Prayer should be a first response, not a last resort". I wrote back: "Prayer works best when applied early and often".
The lovely Miss Carol and I discussed prayer and prayed together from pretty much the start of our relationship. Yes, early... and pretty much often. I got her a cell phone just so she and I could talk and pray together nightly - got her a Book of Common Prayer, too, which we also use from time to time in settings other than Church. We also had some fairly deep discussions as to the efficacy of prayer. We both came to the conclusion that prayers are answered, although not always in the way we would like to have them answered.
Perhaps some pray for the wrong outcome or for the wrong reason. A little kid praying for a pony comes to mind. It's one of those deals where it's sad that a child (or for that matter, an adult) will pray for something long and hard and be disappointed when that prayer is seemingly not answered. How many people become disenchanted with the idea of God when something bad happens in their life? When the pony doesn't magically appear, or dad or grandma dies when the child is at an impressionable age?
Jan Karon in her Mitford series of books gives her Father Tim the "Prayer that never fails": "Thy Will Be Done". It is perhaps the most effective prayer I know of. We're not asking for a particular outcome, we're just trying to determine what is in store for us as we move through this mortal coil... and it works all the time.
Carol and I have been working the prayer thing a bit harder than normal lately. Tis the cancer, you see. She had been to see her Doctor earlier in the day and the news wasn't quite as hopeful as we had wanted it to be. It's going to be double instead of a single mastectomy and chemotherapy has been prescribed. Bummer. I did promise, though that I would shave my head and wear one of those funky pink hats, provided that one is found to fit my head. I'm hard to fit for hats.
On the other hand, we are blessed. We have an army of prayer warriors behind us. Cursillo folks and Walk to Emmaus folks and Church people (from a whole bunch of Churches) and family and extended family... I could type on this list for an hour and still miss several dozen people. The two of us had started early and often - and we have already felt the power. Doesn't matter who we are, white, black, yellow, brown or slightly tinged with green (as Carol was the other night-the dye used by the Doctor to isolate a lymph node, you see), we are united because we support each other when we need that support.
So I just about sent a co-worker into shock for knowing what she assumed was a gospel song known only to her and her Churchmates. She recovered. Carol will recover.
Stay Tuned.
Be Seeing You!
"Excellent!" came her reply, then I serenaded her with a portion of of a tune I had learned in Cursillo:
How Excellent! How Excellent! How Excellent is thy Name Oh Lord..."
Poor woman went into shock! How in the world would would some slightly demented white Episcopalian guy know the words and the tune to a song she had been singing for years in her own little black Baptist Church?
"You know that song?" She was in a state of disbelief.
I shared with her the fact that I had attended a renewal weekend called Cursillo, learned a whole bunch of neat songs (wrote one, too), and was generally aware of the spirituality of the people around me. What I didn't tell her was that there was at least one other person in the building who had been to a similar weekend (Walk to Emmaus) at my suggestion, or that I managed to get my wife to go just this past September, or that I had a whole bunch of friends with whom I share this neat little quirk. I would dare say that a good third to half of my friends on Facebook have attended either Cursillo or one of the similar renewal weekends.
It's rather infectious, you know.
One does not have to attend a renewal weekend to have the Spirit with them and/or to know some of the Truths we learned. One of the Truths is that prayer works. One of my friends posted: "Prayer should be a first response, not a last resort". I wrote back: "Prayer works best when applied early and often".
The lovely Miss Carol and I discussed prayer and prayed together from pretty much the start of our relationship. Yes, early... and pretty much often. I got her a cell phone just so she and I could talk and pray together nightly - got her a Book of Common Prayer, too, which we also use from time to time in settings other than Church. We also had some fairly deep discussions as to the efficacy of prayer. We both came to the conclusion that prayers are answered, although not always in the way we would like to have them answered.
Perhaps some pray for the wrong outcome or for the wrong reason. A little kid praying for a pony comes to mind. It's one of those deals where it's sad that a child (or for that matter, an adult) will pray for something long and hard and be disappointed when that prayer is seemingly not answered. How many people become disenchanted with the idea of God when something bad happens in their life? When the pony doesn't magically appear, or dad or grandma dies when the child is at an impressionable age?
Jan Karon in her Mitford series of books gives her Father Tim the "Prayer that never fails": "Thy Will Be Done". It is perhaps the most effective prayer I know of. We're not asking for a particular outcome, we're just trying to determine what is in store for us as we move through this mortal coil... and it works all the time.
Carol and I have been working the prayer thing a bit harder than normal lately. Tis the cancer, you see. She had been to see her Doctor earlier in the day and the news wasn't quite as hopeful as we had wanted it to be. It's going to be double instead of a single mastectomy and chemotherapy has been prescribed. Bummer. I did promise, though that I would shave my head and wear one of those funky pink hats, provided that one is found to fit my head. I'm hard to fit for hats.
On the other hand, we are blessed. We have an army of prayer warriors behind us. Cursillo folks and Walk to Emmaus folks and Church people (from a whole bunch of Churches) and family and extended family... I could type on this list for an hour and still miss several dozen people. The two of us had started early and often - and we have already felt the power. Doesn't matter who we are, white, black, yellow, brown or slightly tinged with green (as Carol was the other night-the dye used by the Doctor to isolate a lymph node, you see), we are united because we support each other when we need that support.
So I just about sent a co-worker into shock for knowing what she assumed was a gospel song known only to her and her Churchmates. She recovered. Carol will recover.
Stay Tuned.
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Diversions on a rainy Tuesday
Yesterday was a rainy tuesday. At least for most of the day. I did get out and was able to evict the squirrels living in our attic and board up their entrance in a way that they would be hard pressed to come back in.
My morning and part of my afternoon was occupied with waiting around a hospital while the lovely Miss Carol had a couple of procedures done which would determine the treatment for her cancer. While I was in the waiting room, the subject of names popped up. The subject never really popped up, so to speak... it sort of fell into my lap.
I picked up one of those local magazines which awards "Reader's Choice Awards" to various and sundry businesses and wouldn't you know, the magazine awarded the award for "Best Surgeon" to the woman who was, at the moment I was reading the award, performing her craft on my wife in a nearby room. Not only that, but they shared something, too. Names. Actually just one name. Doctor Canavan's first name is the same as the lovely Miss Carol's middle name. Lynn.
Way cool. Two Lynns. No waiting! If you are familiar with the extended Harrell family, you know that you can add two more Lynns to the list making the count at the moment (properly) three Lynns and one Linn. Discount the good Doctor and you still have 3 Lynns in the family which ain't too shabby.
That's tied with Bruces. A brother-in-law, my brother's father-in-law and my self. Davids abound, but the Davids are a bit more complicated. Depending on the count and who gets counted, there are at least 5 Davids out there involved with the family. There's only one blood David, and that would be my second cousin. Three of the Davids are leftovers from the previous regime and are still my childrens' Grandfather, Uncle and Cousin respectively. Decent people, but I'm no longer sort of related. It's complicated. Then there's David Schirtzinger who isn't related, but at the same time he's unofficially been adopted into the family from time to time as sort of my younger twin brother (I'm the evil one!).
Then there's Sarah who shares her first name and her middle name with her grandmothers' middle names - not to be confused with my father's sister, Sara, who is my second cousin's grandmother.
Are you getting this so far? It gets more complicated.
The lovely Miss Carol's children were amused with the fact that Carol became a Harrell and thus provided some alliteration to the mess. Then, we found out that some of the names in her family were coincidental with names in our family. For instance, she and I both have an Aunt Joan, both being our mothers' sister. Keep in mind, there is Texas Joan related to Carol and West Virginia Joan related to me. Texas Joan has two children, Judy and Jill... I have sisters Judi and Jill. My sisters are married to Linn and Lynn. Adding to the mess is the fact that my third sister Janice is married to other Bruce, although he is referred to as B. Sing just to keep things clear.
Oh, and B. Sing's son is Charles who is pursuing his Doctorate at a large, well known college in the East - not to be confused with Charlie, or Charles, a second cousin who is married to a Jaclyn who is an Internist - not to be confused with Jaclyn, one of the lovely Miss Carol's daughters... who is named after one of her grandmothers.
If we ever hold a family reunion with everybody, I'm going to sell programs so that everyone else can tell who is who. The proceeds should just about make my fortune as I see it.
And so my mind is occupied on a rainy Tuesday. The lovely Miss Carol finally got to go home and other than having a bit of a green tinge to her skin from a dye which had been injected into her and being a bit silly from the drugs used to knock her out, is fine and dandy and ready to go on to the next stage of her treatment.
So, kits, cats, sacks and wives, how many were going to St. Ives?
Be Seeing You!
My morning and part of my afternoon was occupied with waiting around a hospital while the lovely Miss Carol had a couple of procedures done which would determine the treatment for her cancer. While I was in the waiting room, the subject of names popped up. The subject never really popped up, so to speak... it sort of fell into my lap.
I picked up one of those local magazines which awards "Reader's Choice Awards" to various and sundry businesses and wouldn't you know, the magazine awarded the award for "Best Surgeon" to the woman who was, at the moment I was reading the award, performing her craft on my wife in a nearby room. Not only that, but they shared something, too. Names. Actually just one name. Doctor Canavan's first name is the same as the lovely Miss Carol's middle name. Lynn.
Way cool. Two Lynns. No waiting! If you are familiar with the extended Harrell family, you know that you can add two more Lynns to the list making the count at the moment (properly) three Lynns and one Linn. Discount the good Doctor and you still have 3 Lynns in the family which ain't too shabby.
That's tied with Bruces. A brother-in-law, my brother's father-in-law and my self. Davids abound, but the Davids are a bit more complicated. Depending on the count and who gets counted, there are at least 5 Davids out there involved with the family. There's only one blood David, and that would be my second cousin. Three of the Davids are leftovers from the previous regime and are still my childrens' Grandfather, Uncle and Cousin respectively. Decent people, but I'm no longer sort of related. It's complicated. Then there's David Schirtzinger who isn't related, but at the same time he's unofficially been adopted into the family from time to time as sort of my younger twin brother (I'm the evil one!).
Then there's Sarah who shares her first name and her middle name with her grandmothers' middle names - not to be confused with my father's sister, Sara, who is my second cousin's grandmother.
Are you getting this so far? It gets more complicated.
The lovely Miss Carol's children were amused with the fact that Carol became a Harrell and thus provided some alliteration to the mess. Then, we found out that some of the names in her family were coincidental with names in our family. For instance, she and I both have an Aunt Joan, both being our mothers' sister. Keep in mind, there is Texas Joan related to Carol and West Virginia Joan related to me. Texas Joan has two children, Judy and Jill... I have sisters Judi and Jill. My sisters are married to Linn and Lynn. Adding to the mess is the fact that my third sister Janice is married to other Bruce, although he is referred to as B. Sing just to keep things clear.
Oh, and B. Sing's son is Charles who is pursuing his Doctorate at a large, well known college in the East - not to be confused with Charlie, or Charles, a second cousin who is married to a Jaclyn who is an Internist - not to be confused with Jaclyn, one of the lovely Miss Carol's daughters... who is named after one of her grandmothers.
If we ever hold a family reunion with everybody, I'm going to sell programs so that everyone else can tell who is who. The proceeds should just about make my fortune as I see it.
And so my mind is occupied on a rainy Tuesday. The lovely Miss Carol finally got to go home and other than having a bit of a green tinge to her skin from a dye which had been injected into her and being a bit silly from the drugs used to knock her out, is fine and dandy and ready to go on to the next stage of her treatment.
So, kits, cats, sacks and wives, how many were going to St. Ives?
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Trust Me - I'm on Television
The other night I tore myself away from the computer and found myself watching television and switching between the Dudley Moore movie Arthur and the Michael Keaton Batman (with Jack Nicholson as, as Warren described him, the boring Joker). During one of the breaks I was assualted by a pitchman wanting to sell me something called a Jupiter Jack. One slight problem. The pitchman, one Billy Mays, has been taking the eternal dirt nap for at least a couple of months, now.
It was in all the papers.
Apparently there are three compelling reasons as to why I recieved a plea to purchase a cell phone accessory from a dead man:
1.) The company is still selling the snot out of the things because they really work.
2.) Mays' widow or his estate have approved and are still recieving royalties, or,
3.) Most importantly, there is the "I saw it on TV - It must be true" mentality.
There are lots of people, trusting people, willing to accept as truth anything sold to them on the TV. Or for that matter, they are willing to accept as truth anything coming over the internet or over any medium. Need proof? Well, there was Orson Wells' Mercury Theater production of War of the Worlds way back in 1938, or Fox News, or Michael Moore, or Glenn Beck and a veritable parade of radio/TV commentators. The list goes on and on.
In the first or second season of Saturday Night Live there appeared an ad parody for something called "The Meat Wagon Action Adventure Set" involving slot cars crashing into each other, complete with a slot car ambulance ready to race to the scene in order to haul away the unfortunates. Well, wouldn't you know it, someone wrote a letter to the editor of the Chillicothe Gazette complaining about the availability of and the inappropriateness of the "...Adventure Set" shown on TV!
That was what, 35 years ago? No wonder Billy Mays is still selling Jupiter Jack from beyond this mortal coil. Trust me - I'm on Television!
Stopping and thinking about it, there's a great potential for harm were the power of Television were to happen into the wrong hands. Too late, its already happened. There are (among others) preachers, newscasters, and commenators regularly abusing those trusting enough to accept what is spoon-fed them through the media. If one can be sold a Chia Pet or a Jupiter Jack, one can be just as easily sold an ideology or a political stance for good or for ill.
We need to be careful.
While it is relatively easy to test the claims made by the late Mr. Mays concerning a Jupiter Jack, claims made by those wanting to influence may be harder to seperate truth from fiction. Reach and frequency add credibility as was observed by Joseph Goebbles, chicken farmer turned Nazi. To paraphrase, "A lie told often enough and convincingly enough eventually assumes an aura of truth."
In a free society, messengers have an obligation to police themselves in order to protect their right to free speech. While it is perfectly legal in the free speech sense to yell "FIRE!!!" in a crowded theater, it's not really a good idea as it would cause panic and possible injury to a number of people. There are some who are literally doing the same thing on a daily basis on radio and on Television to the detriment of the country they claim to love, just to promote their own agendas... their own ideologies. I could mention names, but I don't believe that I have to. They've gotten too used to having their way with our guarantee of free speech. One peep about possibly policing their abuse of the system brings up red flags and a legion of loyal followers who are unaware that they are being duped.
That's right, duped. "Sold a bill of goods".
Trust me, I'm on Television is only as good a phrase as the person asking for the trust. If trust includes an option to verify what's being sold from a second source, that much the better. The reality in this situation is for the buyer to beware. Look at what's being sold from several angles before buying into an idea. Investigate before you invest. You will be the winner in the long run.
Trust me. I've been on Television!
Be Seeing You!
It was in all the papers.
Apparently there are three compelling reasons as to why I recieved a plea to purchase a cell phone accessory from a dead man:
1.) The company is still selling the snot out of the things because they really work.
2.) Mays' widow or his estate have approved and are still recieving royalties, or,
3.) Most importantly, there is the "I saw it on TV - It must be true" mentality.
There are lots of people, trusting people, willing to accept as truth anything sold to them on the TV. Or for that matter, they are willing to accept as truth anything coming over the internet or over any medium. Need proof? Well, there was Orson Wells' Mercury Theater production of War of the Worlds way back in 1938, or Fox News, or Michael Moore, or Glenn Beck and a veritable parade of radio/TV commentators. The list goes on and on.
In the first or second season of Saturday Night Live there appeared an ad parody for something called "The Meat Wagon Action Adventure Set" involving slot cars crashing into each other, complete with a slot car ambulance ready to race to the scene in order to haul away the unfortunates. Well, wouldn't you know it, someone wrote a letter to the editor of the Chillicothe Gazette complaining about the availability of and the inappropriateness of the "...Adventure Set" shown on TV!
That was what, 35 years ago? No wonder Billy Mays is still selling Jupiter Jack from beyond this mortal coil. Trust me - I'm on Television!
Stopping and thinking about it, there's a great potential for harm were the power of Television were to happen into the wrong hands. Too late, its already happened. There are (among others) preachers, newscasters, and commenators regularly abusing those trusting enough to accept what is spoon-fed them through the media. If one can be sold a Chia Pet or a Jupiter Jack, one can be just as easily sold an ideology or a political stance for good or for ill.
We need to be careful.
While it is relatively easy to test the claims made by the late Mr. Mays concerning a Jupiter Jack, claims made by those wanting to influence may be harder to seperate truth from fiction. Reach and frequency add credibility as was observed by Joseph Goebbles, chicken farmer turned Nazi. To paraphrase, "A lie told often enough and convincingly enough eventually assumes an aura of truth."
In a free society, messengers have an obligation to police themselves in order to protect their right to free speech. While it is perfectly legal in the free speech sense to yell "FIRE!!!" in a crowded theater, it's not really a good idea as it would cause panic and possible injury to a number of people. There are some who are literally doing the same thing on a daily basis on radio and on Television to the detriment of the country they claim to love, just to promote their own agendas... their own ideologies. I could mention names, but I don't believe that I have to. They've gotten too used to having their way with our guarantee of free speech. One peep about possibly policing their abuse of the system brings up red flags and a legion of loyal followers who are unaware that they are being duped.
That's right, duped. "Sold a bill of goods".
Trust me, I'm on Television is only as good a phrase as the person asking for the trust. If trust includes an option to verify what's being sold from a second source, that much the better. The reality in this situation is for the buyer to beware. Look at what's being sold from several angles before buying into an idea. Investigate before you invest. You will be the winner in the long run.
Trust me. I've been on Television!
Be Seeing You!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Monk
Well, the latest, and in my mind, the best handicapped detective show of all time had its finale last night and it was, again in my mind, the third best wrap-up to a television series I've ever witnessed.
Mad Magazine did a parody on one of the detective shows of the early '70s and in their introduction pointed out that there were a goodly number of shows at the time that featured handicapped detectives... to paraprhase " Ironsides, crippled. Longstreet, blind. Cannon, fat, Banacek, Polish. Columbo, retarded..." not exactly PC these days, but accurate in regards to the seemingly endless stream of handicapped detectives which once littered the airwaves.
Monk fit in that group due to his obsessve/compulsive disorder, but at the same time, many of us (and I am including myself, mind you!) identify with Monk as we have a quirk or two of our own to contend with. We laugh the loudest and the hardest when we laugh at ourselves and our own foiables. Actor Tony Shaloub's characterization of the San Francisco detective deserves high marks for bringing to life a person who we could all be but for the grace of God and good fortune. The humour and the drama combined in such a way that I eventually felt compelled to make a point to watch every episode.
As for the ending? Well, it satisfied every question which arose in the series. It was dramatic, yes, funny, in parts, and heartwarming, the way a good ending should be. Or, at least in the way that some endings should be. Here the ending was appropriate.
Yet, I placed the Monk finale in third place as far as finales go.
In first place, well, nothing beat watching Psychiatrist Bob Hartley getting up in the middle of the night and describing to his wife the crazy dream he had just had of being an Inn Keeper in Vermont (Newhart). I literally "lost it". I didn't keep up with Newhart the way I did with The Bob Newhart Show, but it took guts and a measure of genius to come up with that particular ending.
Mary Tyler Moore's ending with the firing of the WJM news staff - excepting Ted Baxter - was the proper send off for that show. Unexpected, hilarious.
After Monk, MASH. The drama, the comedy, the pathos. Boy, was that good.
Fifth and finally, I recall quite well the race to get to a motel with a television so that the family (on the road and on vacation) could watch Richard Kimball finally catch the one-armed man in The Fugitive. For quite some time afterwards, the finale of The Fugitive was ranked as the highest rated single television show ever.
Finales are much the exception rather than the rule of most television programs. At least that's the way it is here in the U.S. Many of the British programs seem to have endings as their series are limited. They don't run on forever. Maybe running without an ending could be a good thing, too. For instance, I hate to think about what might ensue if, say, the boys from Stalag 13 were to have concluded WWII...
Starting to rattle a bit. Sorry.
Did enjoy the way Monk ended, though. And I smiled at the way that the possibility was left open for a TV movie at some point...
Be Seeing You!
Mad Magazine did a parody on one of the detective shows of the early '70s and in their introduction pointed out that there were a goodly number of shows at the time that featured handicapped detectives... to paraprhase " Ironsides, crippled. Longstreet, blind. Cannon, fat, Banacek, Polish. Columbo, retarded..." not exactly PC these days, but accurate in regards to the seemingly endless stream of handicapped detectives which once littered the airwaves.
Monk fit in that group due to his obsessve/compulsive disorder, but at the same time, many of us (and I am including myself, mind you!) identify with Monk as we have a quirk or two of our own to contend with. We laugh the loudest and the hardest when we laugh at ourselves and our own foiables. Actor Tony Shaloub's characterization of the San Francisco detective deserves high marks for bringing to life a person who we could all be but for the grace of God and good fortune. The humour and the drama combined in such a way that I eventually felt compelled to make a point to watch every episode.
As for the ending? Well, it satisfied every question which arose in the series. It was dramatic, yes, funny, in parts, and heartwarming, the way a good ending should be. Or, at least in the way that some endings should be. Here the ending was appropriate.
Yet, I placed the Monk finale in third place as far as finales go.
In first place, well, nothing beat watching Psychiatrist Bob Hartley getting up in the middle of the night and describing to his wife the crazy dream he had just had of being an Inn Keeper in Vermont (Newhart). I literally "lost it". I didn't keep up with Newhart the way I did with The Bob Newhart Show, but it took guts and a measure of genius to come up with that particular ending.
Mary Tyler Moore's ending with the firing of the WJM news staff - excepting Ted Baxter - was the proper send off for that show. Unexpected, hilarious.
After Monk, MASH. The drama, the comedy, the pathos. Boy, was that good.
Fifth and finally, I recall quite well the race to get to a motel with a television so that the family (on the road and on vacation) could watch Richard Kimball finally catch the one-armed man in The Fugitive. For quite some time afterwards, the finale of The Fugitive was ranked as the highest rated single television show ever.
Finales are much the exception rather than the rule of most television programs. At least that's the way it is here in the U.S. Many of the British programs seem to have endings as their series are limited. They don't run on forever. Maybe running without an ending could be a good thing, too. For instance, I hate to think about what might ensue if, say, the boys from Stalag 13 were to have concluded WWII...
Starting to rattle a bit. Sorry.
Did enjoy the way Monk ended, though. And I smiled at the way that the possibility was left open for a TV movie at some point...
Be Seeing You!
Friday, December 4, 2009
Living with the "Big C"
I want to say that it has been 6 weeks, now, but somehow it might be shorter or longer. It all depends on one's perspective. It was back in October when the lovely Miss Carol had her mammogram, back in November when she had her biopsy. We're living with the "Big C" these days, and getting ready to get it the heck out of our house. As I'm writing this, Carol is having some pre-op work done in anticipation of a procedure next Tuesday. Hopefully this business can be wrapped up before the end of the month so that we can spend 2010 just paying down the bills instead of running up and paying down the bills.
I have several perspectives on my wife's illness, the overriding one being that all I want is for her to be healthy and on this side of the grass for some time to come.
For way too long, I have experienced Cancer in the family (and among people I've known) as being a death sentence. My father expired as a result of a melanoma. Mom's sister was well on her way to the grave due to (I believe) pancreatic Cancer, which also struck down the daughter of Lucretia who lived across the street from us in Chillicothe (although Lucretia was even more heartbroken when one of her grandsons came out of the closet...). Rob announced at a Christmas party about 13-14 years ago that he was terminal with an internal Cancer - made it to the day before his birthday. And as I hear it, a friend from College who had been suffering from a back pain for most of a summer was told just after Labor Day that his back pain was due to a fast-acting lung cancer and he would be lucky to survive the month. He didn't.
Then there was Warren's dad, Carol's first husband. He went into the VA to have a cancerous kidney removed last Fall. Didn't make it. Needless to say, Warren is more than a bit concerned about his mother's prognosis. We've been open and honest with him (although we did delay letting him know what was going on) and have shared what we know to this point.
To this point, we know that one breast is going to be removed and that there may be a question on the other side. We are relatively certain that the disease is localized. Thank goodness for early detection. There will be some reconstruction, too, at the same time that the offending matter is excised. Carol was concerned that she would be "mutilated", but the plastic surgeon's craft should take care of any concern that she has. Besides, she has an understanding husband who cares more for her than any of her physical attributes. Not to say that any augmentation wouldn't be appreciated, mind you. Besides, there are already bumps and bruises evident due to the biopsies.
My only concern at this point has to do with timing. Apparently, if the surgeon(s) who will be performing their craft on my dear spouse were taken with a sudden urge to go to Jamaica until the first of next year, the deductable/co-payment clock is returned to zero.
But everything else seems to be in working order. Carol has a lot of praying being done on her behalf. Our Church, our Cursillo communities, our families and people we work with (Both at Golden Pond and at Lowe's) are all pitching in. Sure, we get down every once in a while, but for the most part, we are finding ourselves uplifted by the people in our extended families. We are very optimistic that there will be a positive outcome.
Yup, the "Big C" is living at our house, but it won't be living there long!
Be Seeing You!
I have several perspectives on my wife's illness, the overriding one being that all I want is for her to be healthy and on this side of the grass for some time to come.
For way too long, I have experienced Cancer in the family (and among people I've known) as being a death sentence. My father expired as a result of a melanoma. Mom's sister was well on her way to the grave due to (I believe) pancreatic Cancer, which also struck down the daughter of Lucretia who lived across the street from us in Chillicothe (although Lucretia was even more heartbroken when one of her grandsons came out of the closet...). Rob announced at a Christmas party about 13-14 years ago that he was terminal with an internal Cancer - made it to the day before his birthday. And as I hear it, a friend from College who had been suffering from a back pain for most of a summer was told just after Labor Day that his back pain was due to a fast-acting lung cancer and he would be lucky to survive the month. He didn't.
Then there was Warren's dad, Carol's first husband. He went into the VA to have a cancerous kidney removed last Fall. Didn't make it. Needless to say, Warren is more than a bit concerned about his mother's prognosis. We've been open and honest with him (although we did delay letting him know what was going on) and have shared what we know to this point.
To this point, we know that one breast is going to be removed and that there may be a question on the other side. We are relatively certain that the disease is localized. Thank goodness for early detection. There will be some reconstruction, too, at the same time that the offending matter is excised. Carol was concerned that she would be "mutilated", but the plastic surgeon's craft should take care of any concern that she has. Besides, she has an understanding husband who cares more for her than any of her physical attributes. Not to say that any augmentation wouldn't be appreciated, mind you. Besides, there are already bumps and bruises evident due to the biopsies.
My only concern at this point has to do with timing. Apparently, if the surgeon(s) who will be performing their craft on my dear spouse were taken with a sudden urge to go to Jamaica until the first of next year, the deductable/co-payment clock is returned to zero.
But everything else seems to be in working order. Carol has a lot of praying being done on her behalf. Our Church, our Cursillo communities, our families and people we work with (Both at Golden Pond and at Lowe's) are all pitching in. Sure, we get down every once in a while, but for the most part, we are finding ourselves uplifted by the people in our extended families. We are very optimistic that there will be a positive outcome.
Yup, the "Big C" is living at our house, but it won't be living there long!
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Juicy Chips
I know what I want for Christmas.
Chips.
Potato Chips. Herr's Salt and Vinegar potato chips to be exact, the kind that at least two of my nieces called "juicy chips".
They were my father's favorite, and I believe only potato chip. White bag, made in the chip plant down on Seventh Street close to the Norfolk and Western line. When the nieces were younger, they would come up to their grandfather and ask, ever so politely, for some juicy chips, please... and their grandfather, ever a sucker for little kids, would allow them enough juicy chips to eat their fill.
Juicy chips became pretty much a tradition in our house. At one point I noted that I don't believe that I have ever seen a bag of juicy chips being thrown away when there were just crumbs in the bag. Yes, the crumbs were licked clean and every last gram of those chips would disappear before we even thought of disposing of the bag.
Now, we're in Dallas and except for one small incident, Herr's products don't make it down here. My supply of juicy chips has dried up. Frito Lay, based just around the corner in Plano, used to sell their version of salt and vinegar chips at our local Kroger... then they just dried up. Vanished, never to be seen again. Sure, it was a poor substitute for the Real McCoy, but at least a partial fix of somewhat juicy chips was better than none at all. Gotta be a local thing. Much to my surprise and, well, disgust, I found that Frito-Lay is still selling their salt and vinegar chips in Ohio!!! Those so and sos!!! Oh, and by the way, Frito-Lay makes and sells Cracker Jack... which cannot be purchased at a Ranger's game!!! Well!!
I did find a reasonable facsimile to the Herr's products at an out of the way grocery store in Oklahoma. Bought two bags, hoping to find someone who distributed that particular brand of juicy chips (Tom's) here in the metroplex. Neither bag survived the three hour drive back to Allen. I've taken juicy chips from Ohio to Texas on several of the trips I've made there - One bag actually made it back to the land of J.R. Ewing intact, and made it a week before temptation took hold and the chips contained therein were ravenously consumed by my children, Warren, and the lovely Miss Carol. Egad!
Chips are items which do not transport quite so easily over state lines (or at least over the Mississippi) as do other products. Our store manager, originally from New Jersey, will from time to time bring in the remainder of a bag of Wise potato chips - tantilizing the potato chip snobs among us with just the right amount of greasiness and saltiness without all of that nasty "old chip flavour" found in some ordinary chips. About two years ago, the vending machine in the break room offered Herr's (!!) Ketchup flavoured chips for a short amount of time. Oh, the closeness to nirvana!
Chips aren't the only regional food item which we tend to find, then hoard back to our home bases. Texas' Blue Bell Ice Cream, Dr. Pepper made with real cane sugar bottled in Dublin, genuine Texas chili, and those little Mexican candies with the peppers inside have been coveted. We have some beer, too, which is pretty darn good. I particularly enjoy St. Arnold's from Houston, and Real Ale from Blanco (just across from the county court house). We have also savored pepperoni rolls made at Bell's grocery store on the north side of Fairmont, West Virginia (next to the Revco where Mary Lou Retton's family used to shop), sandwiches from Rhoda's in Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill area, Stoney's beer from Maryland (at least that's where I purchased the last six pack that I had), and deviled Smithfield ham which could at one time be found only in Virginia.
Some of our favourite eating places are sought out, too. We made the mistake of introducing Warren to the reuben sandwich served at the Cross Keys Tavern last summer. Said it was the best he's ever had. Stuart and Sarah both are eager fans of Bob Evans (closest being about a six hour drive away in Missouri). Steak and Shake has finally made it to the Metroplex, but one still cannot get a genuine "slider" from a White Castle. A West Coast chain of hamburger places called In and Out has a veritable legion of fans here, at least judging from the number of In and Out T-shirts seen, despite being no closer than somewhere in Arizona.
Well, with that being said, I'm starting to get hungry. With a goal of losing or at least not gaining any additional poundage this Christmas season, perhaps it's a good thing that I'm out of Herr's market patch and polishing off a bag or two a week of one of my favourite indulgences.
On the other hand, Santa, if you would, please....
Be Seeing You!
Chips.
Potato Chips. Herr's Salt and Vinegar potato chips to be exact, the kind that at least two of my nieces called "juicy chips".
They were my father's favorite, and I believe only potato chip. White bag, made in the chip plant down on Seventh Street close to the Norfolk and Western line. When the nieces were younger, they would come up to their grandfather and ask, ever so politely, for some juicy chips, please... and their grandfather, ever a sucker for little kids, would allow them enough juicy chips to eat their fill.
Juicy chips became pretty much a tradition in our house. At one point I noted that I don't believe that I have ever seen a bag of juicy chips being thrown away when there were just crumbs in the bag. Yes, the crumbs were licked clean and every last gram of those chips would disappear before we even thought of disposing of the bag.
Now, we're in Dallas and except for one small incident, Herr's products don't make it down here. My supply of juicy chips has dried up. Frito Lay, based just around the corner in Plano, used to sell their version of salt and vinegar chips at our local Kroger... then they just dried up. Vanished, never to be seen again. Sure, it was a poor substitute for the Real McCoy, but at least a partial fix of somewhat juicy chips was better than none at all. Gotta be a local thing. Much to my surprise and, well, disgust, I found that Frito-Lay is still selling their salt and vinegar chips in Ohio!!! Those so and sos!!! Oh, and by the way, Frito-Lay makes and sells Cracker Jack... which cannot be purchased at a Ranger's game!!! Well!!
I did find a reasonable facsimile to the Herr's products at an out of the way grocery store in Oklahoma. Bought two bags, hoping to find someone who distributed that particular brand of juicy chips (Tom's) here in the metroplex. Neither bag survived the three hour drive back to Allen. I've taken juicy chips from Ohio to Texas on several of the trips I've made there - One bag actually made it back to the land of J.R. Ewing intact, and made it a week before temptation took hold and the chips contained therein were ravenously consumed by my children, Warren, and the lovely Miss Carol. Egad!
Chips are items which do not transport quite so easily over state lines (or at least over the Mississippi) as do other products. Our store manager, originally from New Jersey, will from time to time bring in the remainder of a bag of Wise potato chips - tantilizing the potato chip snobs among us with just the right amount of greasiness and saltiness without all of that nasty "old chip flavour" found in some ordinary chips. About two years ago, the vending machine in the break room offered Herr's (!!) Ketchup flavoured chips for a short amount of time. Oh, the closeness to nirvana!
Chips aren't the only regional food item which we tend to find, then hoard back to our home bases. Texas' Blue Bell Ice Cream, Dr. Pepper made with real cane sugar bottled in Dublin, genuine Texas chili, and those little Mexican candies with the peppers inside have been coveted. We have some beer, too, which is pretty darn good. I particularly enjoy St. Arnold's from Houston, and Real Ale from Blanco (just across from the county court house). We have also savored pepperoni rolls made at Bell's grocery store on the north side of Fairmont, West Virginia (next to the Revco where Mary Lou Retton's family used to shop), sandwiches from Rhoda's in Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill area, Stoney's beer from Maryland (at least that's where I purchased the last six pack that I had), and deviled Smithfield ham which could at one time be found only in Virginia.
Some of our favourite eating places are sought out, too. We made the mistake of introducing Warren to the reuben sandwich served at the Cross Keys Tavern last summer. Said it was the best he's ever had. Stuart and Sarah both are eager fans of Bob Evans (closest being about a six hour drive away in Missouri). Steak and Shake has finally made it to the Metroplex, but one still cannot get a genuine "slider" from a White Castle. A West Coast chain of hamburger places called In and Out has a veritable legion of fans here, at least judging from the number of In and Out T-shirts seen, despite being no closer than somewhere in Arizona.
Well, with that being said, I'm starting to get hungry. With a goal of losing or at least not gaining any additional poundage this Christmas season, perhaps it's a good thing that I'm out of Herr's market patch and polishing off a bag or two a week of one of my favourite indulgences.
On the other hand, Santa, if you would, please....
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Merry Christmas... Or Else!
Well, it's that time of year again. The days are getting shorter, the weather is getting colder and the hot heads are starting to make noise again about how we're supposed to greet each other between now and the end of this month. We can't just say hello, or hi, how the heck are you. We are required to say Merry Christmas. This is not a suggestion according to some. It is a requirement. "We were founded as a Christian nation!", it's asserted, the underlying theme being that since Christmas is a Christian Holiday and we are a Christian nation, we should force Christmas on everyone.
If some people weren't so blasted pig-headed about forcing people to say "Merry Christmas", this whole thing would be amusing... sort of like the bit from Hogan's Heroes:
(Phone rings - Yours truely answers the phone bouncily)
Me: Lowe's Flooring Department, Bruce speaking, how may I help you?
(I listen to the phone for a moment, the expression on my face falling from bouncy to annoyed)
Me: Yes, yes, of course, Merry Christmas...
It can't be Happy Holidays - despite the fact that several holidays from several traditions are also celebrated at the time of the Winter Solstice. Print Merry X-mas and prepare to be lambasted - despite the fact that X has been accepted short-hand for Christ since before the Crusades. It has to be Merry Christmas... or else!
"We need to quit being so politically correct", or so is said, "We need to put Christ into and keep Christ in Christmas!". Mmmmmkay... What I'm hearing is that we should quit being politically correct and start saying what we are being told to say, so that we can be properly politically correct.
Excuse me?
This makes as much sense as a group of people at a Sarah Palin book signing.
Who appointed these people to be "Thought Police" anyway? Seriously.
Here we are, approaching the Winter Solstice, a time marked by most major religions and many non-religious people and a few self-appointed hot-heads are getting their panties in a wad if we don't say Merry Christmas. If we don't say it, we're not paying tribute to their own particular set of beliefs which are the only accepted set of beliefs we should have!
If the scenario sounds familiar, it should. Many of the problems we have in the Middle East are due, in large part, to religious fanatics forcing their views down others' throats. Forcing their views of Islam to be the only proper view of Islam and death to anyone who thinks otherwise! "If you don't think how I think you should think, you are an infidel. You'll burn in hell!"
Quite honestly, I'm offended by people who feel as if I should take a loyalty oath (of sorts) to prove that I am a Christian. Or for that matter, I am offended that there are those who insist that my view of Christianity is wrong because it does not fully agree with their view of Christianity. I see that attitude as being an impediment to being a Christian. My view is rather handily summed up by Dave Burchett, a friend from High School, who wrote this really good book titled "When Bad Christians Happen to Good People" (Available at least from Amazon.com). You're welcome for the plug, Dave!
Merry Christmas? Yes. I haven't quit saying it, but there are other greetings I use for other people of other faiths. For my atheist friends, it's merely "Good Luck!". Then there's my all-time favourite"
HAPPY HOLLANDAISE! (Let's get sauced)
Be Seeing You!
If some people weren't so blasted pig-headed about forcing people to say "Merry Christmas", this whole thing would be amusing... sort of like the bit from Hogan's Heroes:
(Phone rings - Yours truely answers the phone bouncily)
Me: Lowe's Flooring Department, Bruce speaking, how may I help you?
(I listen to the phone for a moment, the expression on my face falling from bouncy to annoyed)
Me: Yes, yes, of course, Merry Christmas...
It can't be Happy Holidays - despite the fact that several holidays from several traditions are also celebrated at the time of the Winter Solstice. Print Merry X-mas and prepare to be lambasted - despite the fact that X has been accepted short-hand for Christ since before the Crusades. It has to be Merry Christmas... or else!
"We need to quit being so politically correct", or so is said, "We need to put Christ into and keep Christ in Christmas!". Mmmmmkay... What I'm hearing is that we should quit being politically correct and start saying what we are being told to say, so that we can be properly politically correct.
Excuse me?
This makes as much sense as a group of people at a Sarah Palin book signing.
Who appointed these people to be "Thought Police" anyway? Seriously.
Here we are, approaching the Winter Solstice, a time marked by most major religions and many non-religious people and a few self-appointed hot-heads are getting their panties in a wad if we don't say Merry Christmas. If we don't say it, we're not paying tribute to their own particular set of beliefs which are the only accepted set of beliefs we should have!
If the scenario sounds familiar, it should. Many of the problems we have in the Middle East are due, in large part, to religious fanatics forcing their views down others' throats. Forcing their views of Islam to be the only proper view of Islam and death to anyone who thinks otherwise! "If you don't think how I think you should think, you are an infidel. You'll burn in hell!"
Quite honestly, I'm offended by people who feel as if I should take a loyalty oath (of sorts) to prove that I am a Christian. Or for that matter, I am offended that there are those who insist that my view of Christianity is wrong because it does not fully agree with their view of Christianity. I see that attitude as being an impediment to being a Christian. My view is rather handily summed up by Dave Burchett, a friend from High School, who wrote this really good book titled "When Bad Christians Happen to Good People" (Available at least from Amazon.com). You're welcome for the plug, Dave!
Merry Christmas? Yes. I haven't quit saying it, but there are other greetings I use for other people of other faiths. For my atheist friends, it's merely "Good Luck!". Then there's my all-time favourite"
HAPPY HOLLANDAISE! (Let's get sauced)
Be Seeing You!
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