tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404773935471667382024-03-13T06:19:41.613-04:00It Is What It IsLike I said, "It is what it is." - bb590813bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-40265186671401964492020-07-27T11:22:00.003-04:002020-07-27T11:33:24.615-04:00Too Much MoneyOne year, a day or two before Christmas, (many years ago before direct deposit) I went across the street to the credit union to cash my check. It was really busy as everyone was heading home for the holiday.
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I handed my check to the cashier, he looked at it, set it aside and began counting out the money. He counted out a lot of money. Much more than he should have.
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I didn’t touch the money, but said to him, “I think you made a mistake.” He gave me a very aggravated look, and before he could say anything, I said, “You’ve given me way to much money.”
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He looked at my check, then at the pile of money he had counted out. He looked like he was going to faint. He took back the money and counted it again, then put most of it back in the draw, and gave me the correct amount.
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He thanked me profusely and apologized. I wished him a Merry Christmas and went on my way.
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I could have walked away with probably three to four times my pay, and he may have lost his job, but that’s not how I was raised.
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Glad I did the right thing. I sleep very good at night.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-47451066758636698462007-11-20T09:49:00.000-05:002007-11-20T09:59:33.147-05:00Do I need snow tires?My phone just rang. It was my daughter calling.<br /><br />"Dad, do I need snow tires?"<br /><br />"Can you afford snow tires?"<br /><br />"Theoretically, I can. Do you need to see them? I need to get them today or tomorrow, and you wont be home tonight."<br /><br />"With front wheel drive, I usually don't get them, but your mother thinks that you need them."<br /><br />"I'm going to New York this weekend."<br /><br />"Perhaps you should rethink the New York trip if you think the weather will be bad."<br /><br />"Well I'm driving right now, and I'm slipping quite a bit."<br /><br />"So your driving your car, and sliding around, and your talking to me on your cell phone?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Well, when you get to a safe place, call me."<br /><br />"OK."<br /><br />"Good bye."bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-20574701901616926222007-10-10T04:25:00.000-04:002007-11-04T08:44:04.753-05:00Paper TowelsI'm at a friends house. It's very early in the morning. Four-thirty-nine right now, but I've been up a while already. I woke up just after four, and decided I'd slept enough.<br /><br />When I was younger, I used to be able to sleep a lot more. They say older people need less sleep. I'm not that old, but I am older now, than when I was younger.<br /><br />But regardless, I decided to get up, make some coffee, and get a few things done on the computer.<br /><br />My friend just bought a new coffee maker. I was able to figure out how it worked, but when I poured my coffee, I noticed the edge of the pot dripped a little bit of coffee onto the counter and cabinet door.<br /><br />They all do that. Drip when you pour the coffee. I don't understand why they don't make the spout a little larger. That's all it would take.<br /><br />If this happened at my house, I may have cleaned it up, It was only a couple of drops after all. But as they say. "When in Rome ... "<br /><br />I noticed the sponge and dish-rag in the sink, and thought about which to use. Then I spied the paper towels hanging under the cabinet next to the sink. Always a safe bet, I decided to go with those.<br /><br />Now this friend of mine tries to do her part when it comes to preserving resources and keeping the environment clean, so the paper towels are made at least in part from recycled materials, and of course are not bleached or dyed, which means they matched the coffee nicely.<br /><br />There are many brands of paper towels. Name brands, store brands, generic, etc; but a paper towel is pretty much a paper towel. Some may be thicker and more absorbent and some may be stronger, but for the most part, there isn't much difference.<br /><br />One thing I have noticed in recent years is that some paper towels are only half as big as they used to be. There are twice as many perforations.<br /><br />You don't have to use more paper towel than you need for any given job, and "Reduce" is the first part of "Reduce - Reuse - Recycle", which must mean it's the best option.<br /><br />I noticed something about the paper towels and went looking for the stash to see what brand they were. When I found the extra rolls above the washer and dryer, there was no packaging, so I don't know who to ask, but ...<br /><br />Shouldn't environmentally friendly paper towels have the extra perforations?bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-56728470801532125172007-09-24T18:18:00.000-04:002010-05-21T18:23:56.505-04:00Only 3Back when there was a 1 and a 2, there was almost a 3.<br />It never happened though. I was just too busy.<br /><br />There is a phrase I like to use, "Two girlfriends are one too many."<br /><br />I tend to be pretty focused, and find it difficult to multi-task. From what I've read, this is not unusual.<br /><br />Apparently women are better than men at focusing on more than one thing at a time. One example that comes to mind is conversation.<br /><br />Verbal communication.<br /><br />At times, it can be difficult for a man to keep track of what a woman is talking about. And if a man sits back and listens to two women conversing, it is not unlikely, that in a very short time he may have no idea what topic, or topics, are being discussed.<br /><br />But that particular example is well known. Almost stereotypical. Recent studies have shown that it goes far beyond conversational skills, to include areas that not only support traditional role theory, but also lend credence to the idea that women in business, industry, and government, have skills that may allow them to be better leaders and managers than men. (something for everyone here.)<br /><br />But that is not my point. My point is that I tend to be a focused, if not easily distracted individual.<br /><br />And that is why there wasn't a 3. But there almost was.<br /><br />When I decided to start dating again, it took a while for things to get going. But once they did, it quickly started to get out of hand. I had dated a couple of girls, was seeing two, and then a third possibility appeared.<br /><br />We had sent some emails back and forth, 3 and I, and even had a real nice conversation on the phone one day. I got the impression that we would be very compatible, and wanted to meet her in person.<br /><br />At the time, I was very busy at work, and after work, I was seeing 1 and 2. But in spite of all that, I made tentative plans to meet 3 for dinner after work some evening. A location was established, but we never had a specific day picked out. I was just supposed to call her when I had some free time. An hour or two notice was all she needed.<br /><br />As it turned out, I remained quite busy. Between work, 1, and 2, I never did find the time to meet her. And before long, enough time had passed, that I felt uncomfortable calling her at all.<br /><br />So we never did meet, I never contacted her again, and she never called or wrote to ask why. I don't blame her. I felt bad, but just didn't know what to say after so much time had passed.<br /><br />In a short time, I was mostly feeling bad for myself. Between 1 and 2, I was beginning to think I preferred 2. But 2 dropped off, her choice, so I was left with 1.<br /><br />I thought about 3 a lot, felt I had really blown it by not calling her. I was drifting away from 1, my choice, and often wondered where things might have gone with 3.<br /><br />I even thought about calling or writing after six months, but figured she would have either forgotten me, been insulted, or perhaps angry. In any case, I didn't believe there was a chance, the opportunity had passed.<br /><br />Then in time, I found another 2. She was a very nice woman, and we went out a few times. Mostly hiking, but that never really took on a romantic tone.<br /><br />Since things were still cooling off with 1, and the thing with 2 seemed to be more of a friendship than anything romantic, I found I had some extra time and began looking again.<br /><br />After a few attempts, I found another 3.<br /><br />The funny thing is, 3 is just what I had imagined she would be in almost every way. It's like I got another opportunity after all, and this time I didn't let it go by.<br /><br />So now, it's only 3.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-50241941204217733802007-09-16T08:51:00.000-04:002007-09-19T21:53:03.096-04:00gb580811I've know her for as long as I can remember, and I have a very good memory. If I can remember something for more than an minute or two, then I'll remember it forever.<br /><br />The very first memory I have of her, was the time I smashed her foot with a cabinet door. I couldn't have been more than three. In fact, that is the earliest memory I have. I told her that if she didn't stop bothering me, I would smash her foot with the door. She didn't, I did.<br /><br />When we were young we played together, sometimes just the two of us, other times with friends. For the most part we were inseparable.<br /><br />As time went on, we travelled together, looked out for each other, were roommates for a short time, I even took a bath with her once or twice. Don't know what happened to the pictures though.<br /><br />But as we got older, we began to grow apart. She became ... ... I'll say "cranky" just to be nice.<br /><br />We had our separate friends and things just weren't the same anymore. She didn't want much to do with me, was barely civil most of the time, but especially when her friends were around.<br /><br />I tried to be nice and a little bit friendly, but it just kept getting worse, until I just decided to give up altogether. It was obvious she didn't want anything to do with me, and I could certainly get by without her help.<br /><br />Things went on like this for quite a few years, when one day, I don't even remember when, we ended up talking again. Kind of reconnected.<br /><br />It might have been that we were older, more mature, or just that she finally outgrew the "cranky" thing.<br /><br />We talked once about the years we had lost, but never were able to understand exactly what had happened. Only that she thought I didn't like her, and I thought she was "cranky".<br /><br />Over the next couple of years, we spent a lot of time together, alone as well as with mutual friends. Her friends became my friends, and my friends, hers.<br /><br />It seemed if we weren't busy with school or work, we were together. Watching television until the wee hours, or getting a coffee and a bite to eat at Ho Jo's. Going places or just goofing off.<br /><br />People commented that we resembled each other, but neither of us could see it. We laughed a lot during those times.<br /><br />Then she moved away. Fifteen-hundred miles away. I only saw her a couple of times over the next few years. I attended her wedding in New Orleans, and she returned once alone to attend a funeral.<br /><br />I was pretty excited when I heard that she was going to move back to New England with her husband. At least then there would be a chance that I might see her occasionally.<br /><br />I did meet up with them shortly after they returned, and saw them occasionally, but by now we both had our own separate lives.<br /><br />That was all a long time ago, and over the years we have remained in contact. Laughing and celebrating the good times, lending an ear and supporting each other through the bad.<br /><br />I suspect the friendship we have now will continue as is. I don't think either of us would have it any other way at this point.<br /><br />We don't see each other all that often, but when we do, it's always a good time. We just know each other so well. I can't remember the last time we got together and didn't end up laughing until it hurt.<br /><br />Most recently, I stopped by her house on my way home from the airport. We went to get some stones for a garden that she was laying out in her yard, and then she took me out to lunch.<br /><br />We ate big, just two hours before I was supposed to meet a date for dinner. I was so distracted with her presence that I had lost all track of time, and only realized what I had done as we were waiting for the check.<br /><br />I recently told her about this blog. As a courtesy, I usually CC people that I mention in emails, or let them know if I've included them in a story.<br /><br />Naturally, I was curious what she thought as I value her opinion, so I asked her for some feedback.<br /><br />Did she like it? Was I finished, or did I need to do some more work on the ending.<br /><br />She didn't like the ending, so I did an rewrite and asked again.<br /><br />She comes back with, "It's better!!!! Keep working!!!" A direct quote, with all those exclamation points too!<br /><br />What a bitch ...<br />... I thought I was finished.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-19249846213151043112007-09-10T18:49:00.001-04:002008-10-14T07:31:23.530-04:00gb620411When I first saw her picture, something about it caught my eye. I looked closer. Her photos were not the best, but she didn't appear <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unattractive</span>. A simple, sensible looking girl.<br /><br />As I read her profile, I decided to sent her a simple note.<br />"What's your take on Motorcycles."<br /><br />Her reply began, "Ha, funny you should ask ..."<br />... and ended with her email address, which she got wrong, but immediately corrected in a follow-up email.<br /><br />So now I'm thinking, "At least she likes motorcycles."<br /><br />After a couple more emails back and forth, she asked if I would like to meet. To which I replied, "Of course I would like to meet you. Isn't that the whole point."<br /><br />So we set up a time and place to meet that Thursday.<br /><br />Now by the time Thursday came around, I had looked more closely at her pictures, and read her profile a couple of more times. I don't know if I was just tired toward the end of the week, but I thought about postponing the meeting.<br /><br />As it was, I ended up going anyway, but with a kind of "Oh well" attitude.<br /><br />When I got to the restaurant, she was waiting in the lobby, the third girl in from the door. We said hello, and she leads with a joke. Something about my having to go down the line and look at the other two girls before seeing her.<br /><br />Her sense of humor caught my attention right away, and my attitude toward her was transformed.<br /><br />Once we were seated, the conversation came easily, and the time passed quickly. Before long, I was sure glad that I hadn't cancelled.<br /><br />Looking back now, I would have to say her profile was an understatement. It turns out that she is smart, funny, playful, open minded, sexy, and cute as a button.<br /><br />Last night after we left the restaurant, I told her this story as we walked back to the parking garage where we had left our cars. And for a couple more hours, we just talked and laughed.<br /><br />She is an amazing girl. Regardless of what happens, I'll never forget her.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-3487798737900158362007-09-04T08:28:00.000-04:002007-09-12T18:08:32.060-04:00GasI'm preparing for an interview. Not changing jobs or anything like that. It's a personal get to know you kind of thing.<br /><br />One of the questions has to do with gas. Yes, flatulence.<br /><br />Everyone has gas, right?<br /><br />I know, many of you don't want to say yes, but it's true, isn't it?<br /><br />So if we all produce gas as the natural result of processing our food, why is it such a big deal?<br /><br />I know what your thinking. I have a friend who could clear a barn too.<br /><br />But I'm not talking about the extreme cases that should be removed from society. I'm talking about you and I. Regular folks.<br /><br />You try to talk about these things with people, figuring you might be able to put them at ease, avoid some pain. You put yourself out there, tell them you too, have gas at times.<br /><br />Usually, you just get funny looks, but sometimes ...bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-16535560247121521272007-08-28T13:29:00.001-04:002007-09-10T22:25:36.405-04:00What's the Tip?There's this girl I know. Well I don't really know her yet, I just met her a couple of weeks ago. Right after my birthday.<br /><br />She's got to be smart. Has a degree in Physics. I never finished college, but did get through some calculus classes. You don't get a technical degree if your not smart.<br /><br />We've been out eat a couple of times. She wont let me buy, insists on paying her fair share.<br /><br />Better to feel wanted than needed, but that's not the point.<br /><br />I've noticed that it takes us a long time to figure how much the tip should be. Not whether it should be fifteen percent or twenty percent, but rather, what exactly is twenty percent.<br /><br />What makes it funny is that either of us could quickly and easily calculate what number would be twenty percent of the bill. Divide by ten and double the answer. A very simple calculation compared to advanced math.<br /><br />We just can't do it while we're talking.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-88558511433793688762007-04-08T12:26:00.000-04:002007-10-13T01:15:23.215-04:00AsparagusOf all the vegatables that are readily available where I live, asparagus is probably my favorite. I eat lots of asparagus.<br /><br />The thing about asparagus though, it makes your pee smell funny. Not funny like it makes you laugh, funny like odd. Although it makes some people laugh.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-38531302712098505222007-04-05T13:58:00.001-04:002007-04-08T12:01:42.090-04:00bb590813 ...... is someone who does not wish to be recognized for who they are. That much is obvious. Otherwise one would just sign their name.<br /><br />But the internet allows a certain level of annonymity that you can't easily find elsewhere. Anyone who can access the information to find one's identity is so far removed, that it is unlikely they would even care to know. To complicate matters further, you might need access to more than one unrelated data-base to get to an actual name.<br /><br />Without a subpoena, it is unlikely you could get the information, even if you knew who to ask.<br /><br />That leaves only two reasonable alternatives. Someone who discovers an identity based on revealed information or writing style, and then publishes or broadcasts the alias.<br /><br />Or the person could just choose to reveal their own identity.<br /><br />So, can you keep a secret?bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-23829362884032201872007-04-04T19:45:00.000-04:002007-08-31T09:55:05.630-04:00Obscure language and KitesThe other evening, Sunday I think, I was talking to a lady that I know, when suddenly something she said caught my attention. It's not that I wasn't listening, but more that she used a word that I had never heard, or at least I didn't recall the meaning.<br /><br />I stopped her and asked, "What was that word you just used?"<br />"Loquacious", she said, "I'm being loquacious."<br />"What does it mean?", I inquired.<br />"Talkative.", she replied.<br />"Do you have a dictionary?", I asked.<br />"Yes.", she said, "It's on the bookshelf."<br /><br />I've always been very curious about virtually everything, and whenever I hear of something I don't know, I see it as an opportunity to learn something new. So I retrieved the dictionary and looked up Loquacious. "Very talkative", was the listed definition.<br /><br />She went on to say that her brain must be waking up, as she was re-discovering a vocabulary that she hadn't used in quite some time. Words were just coming out of her mouth in conversation that she hadn't uttered in years. I kept the dictionary handy.<br /><br />Later on, while chatting and watching television, the subject of photosensitivity came up and I asked "Do you like the beach?"<br />"I love the beach.", she replied.<br />"Do you like to fly kites?", I asked.<br />"I love to fly kites", she said.<br /><br />Imagine that. First Scrabble, and now kites.<br /><br />The following day I happened to be online looking up words and checked for synonyms of loquacious. One of them was garrulous, which means "Given to excessive and often trivial or rambling talk; tiresomely talkative."<br /><br />Loquacious with an attitude.<br /><br />The next time I saw her, I mentioned finding the word garrulous. She seemed to be offended. Apparently, she is just loquacious.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-10825313255208463562007-03-17T17:27:00.000-04:002007-08-31T09:55:20.080-04:00ScrabbleI separated from my wife of 22 years in November of 2005, and was divorced in May of 2006. It wasn't my idea, but as I told my daughters, "You have to deal with the current reality."<br /><br />Just before Christmas of 2006, I started spending some time with a woman (#1) that I met. I had been watching her since I first saw her in September, and the holidays presented an opportunity where just the two of us ended up going out to eat. It wasn't planned as far as I know, but that's how it worked out. It must have went well, as we are still spending a fair amount of time together.<br /><br />I'm not sure just where the whole affair is headed, and I'm not sure that she knows either. But in the meantime, life is good, and I think that in some way we are good for each other.<br /><br />So what does this have to do with Scrabble, you may be wondering.<br /><br />At one point, #1 told me that she wasn't looking for anything exclusive, and I should feel free to see other women. My first reaction was to think, "Is this a trick?", but I figured, what the hell, I'll take her at her word, and if it is a trick, one of us is bound to learn something along the way, so I started seeing another woman (#2).<br /><br />Well I still don't know if it was a test, but #1 quickly figured out that I was spending time elsewhere with #2. Eventually while watching television one evening with #1, the conversation turned to honesty. I let her say her piece, and then asked her where "Not saying anything at all fit in with lying versus telling the truth." I got the predictable answer, "Lies by omission."<br /><br />At that point I told her that I had gotten her phone message the other day, where she said, "You must be with another woman because your not available." and indeed, that had been the case. We talked about that for a while, and the rest of the evening went well.<br /><br />So now #1 knew about #2, but #2 didn't know about #1.<br /><br />There were comments along the way that lead me to believe that #1 wasn't too happy about #2. But since I would never have thought to date more than one woman at a time if it had not been for her suggestion, I didn't respond to the various comments.<br /><br />These two women were nothing like each other, and neither of them was anything like my ex-wife. I liked them both, but for totally different reasons. I didn't know what to do, but I figured that once I decided what I wanted my life to be like, it would be obvious which of the two to pursue.<br /><br />And this has what to do with Scrabble?<br /><br />#1 and I tended to walk, eat, attend lectures, watch television, have strange conversations about the most unlikely subjects, and generally hang out. #1 is very in tune with nature, loves natural things, and revels in the idea that she is not like other people.<br /><br />With #2, I watched movies, we took turns cooking for each other, walked, and played Scrabble. #2 works in the corporate world, and deals with all that has to offer each day.<br /><br />In time, #2 decided that things just weren't happening, and we stopped seeing each other. I'll admit, I did miss our time together, but It was also good to have some time for myself again, and I was able to be more available for #1.<br /><br />I really missed having a Scrabble partner though, in fact I mentioned this to my daughter one evening.<br /><br />Eventually, #1 made another comment concerning the other woman, and I told her that there was no other woman, as it hadn't worked out. So now we have been spending even more time together. I learned something, and perhaps she did as well, as she hasn't yet told me again that I should see other women.<br /><br />So last night, in between falling asleep whilst watching television, I'm not even sure why, but I asked her if she ever played Scrabble. Imagine my surprise when she said it was her favorite board game, in fact she only plays Scrabble and Parcheesi.<br /><br />So now your thinking, "This is great, right?" Well that was my first reaction, but now I've had a little time to think.<br /><br />You spend time with some one, doing a variety of things, talking about all sorts of different topics, and just when you think you know them . . . you find out after three months that their favorite game is Scrabble.<br /><br />So now you've got to wonder. What else about this person don't I know?<br /><br />Is it safe to fall asleep?bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-4857498870427062472006-09-19T17:34:00.000-04:002007-04-04T22:39:13.583-04:00Dad, something's wrong with the TVOne day many years ago, I heard one of my daughters holler from the other room, "Dad, there's something wrong with the TV.""What's wrong with the TV.", I yelled back."There's something wrong with the color.", was the reply.Fearing the worst, I went into the living room only to find them watching an old eposode of "Leave It To Beaver"."This show is not in color.", I informed them.They looked at me like I had two heads."Television did not always have color, this show is in black and white."They looked stunned.<br /><br />When I was a kid, television was not broadcast in color. Even when color broadcasts became routine, we did not have a color television. In fact, my parents didn't buy a color television until after I moved out of the house.<br /><br />I told them we didn't have a remote control either. "How did you change the channel.", they asked. "We walked up to the TV and turned the knob.", I told them. And then they said, "What knob?"<br /><br />So then I described the old black and white tv with knobs and no remote. I also told them we didn't have VCR's or DVD's. Not even CD's. Tape recorders had big reels. We had no computers, not even calculators.<br /><br />They asked me what we did, so I told them about playing games, riding bicycles, and sliding with the neighbor kids.<br /><br />It's amazing how fast you age once you have children.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-64836791101582066202006-07-04T17:42:00.000-04:002007-04-04T22:39:38.514-04:00The Party's OverSo now it's July 4th, but in this town, the party's over.<br /><br />The way I heard it, there was a group of people at the Legion on the night of the 3rd who decided that they would have the first parade on the 4th of July. So at midnight, they gathered their wares, and paraded down Main Street banging on pots and pans. This was the first annual "Pots and Pans Parade". It became a tradition in this small (6.9 square miles, population 2200) town, and for many years continued unmolested.<br /><br />Then one year for no apparent reason, the police chief decided that since no parade permit had been issued, he would not allow the parade to go on as planned. This almost ended in a riot, and apparently the State Police were not too happy about the whole mess, and wondered why the chief had tried to stop the parade in the first place.<br /><br />The people were not too happy with the chief either, and the following year the parade was made an official town event. It was huge that year.<br /><br />While the parade is still held every year at midnight, with people and fire engines from the town and surounding communitties making quite a racket just after midnight, it has never been as big an event as that first year after the incident.<br /><br />But now once again, the party's over, and this sleepy little town has tucked itself in for the night.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-68666656542746320472006-07-03T17:38:00.000-04:002007-04-04T22:40:00.496-04:00Blog Blog BlogSo I get this email from one of my best friends. Who am I kidding, I have a hundreds of aquaintences, but probably only two friends. Anyway, I get this email, and you'd never guess, my friend has created a blog. That's a surprize, eh?<br /><br />My daughter suggested I start a blog just last week, again. "What's with that.", I asked her, "Like anyone cares what I have to say."<br /><br />So my buddy has this blog, who he's sure no one will read, so what's the point. He's a unique individual, just like everyone else. Why do any of us do this anyway? Do we all crave just a little bit of fame? Attention?<br /><br />Most days I just like to hide, sit in the background and watch the world. There's a lot of funny things going on, if you just take the time to watch and listen.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-55671381478916854041995-11-12T16:43:00.000-05:002007-08-29T23:15:24.801-04:00The CleaningWhile most of us try to take care of our teeth by brushing and flossing on a regular basis, we should still visit a dentist once or twice a year for a thorough cleaning. No matter how much effort we expend in the care of our teeth, some tarter and plaque buildup is inevitable. A semiannual cleaning by a professional is recommended as part of a good oral hygiene program.<br /><br />Many people dislike dentist visits because they associate them with pain. This is not the case with me. I actually enjoy visiting the dentist. Having had regular cleanings and exams since childhood, going to the dentist is a positive experience for me. While occasionally I do need to have a tooth drilled and filled to repair a cavity, most of my visits are for routine cleaning and examination.<br /><br />When I arrive at the dentist’s office, I enter the reception area and announce my presence. Arriving early, I get to wait for a short time before my appointment. I don’t mind the wait. I enjoy reading, and my dentist has boating and flying magazines that I find interesting. In fact, I’m usually in the middle of an article when the hygienist appears at the end of the hall, and instructs me to follow her to the room where she works. <br /><br />Once I am seated, she asks the usual questions about health, family, and work. As part of the routine, my blood pressure is checked first. After recording the results, a paper bib is suspended from my neck by a small chain. The necessary tools: picks; scrapers; mirrors; a rubber polishing wheel; polishing paste; and dental floss, are then arranged on a tray next to the chair. A paper cup is placed on a pad to my left and filled by a tiny spigot. Next to the cup is a small sink that I am instructed to spit into during the procedure. The controls for these two items are explained to me, as they are during each visit.<br /><br />Before the hygienist places her hands in my mouth, she puts on a pair of latex gloves. This precaution began when the Aids virus became prevalent.<br /><br />Now that the preliminaries have been taken care of, the actual cleaning can begin. The hygienist tilts the chair back and lowers it. She then turns on a focused work light and aims it toward my mouth. With a curved pointed tool and mirror, the hygienist begins by cleaning around the base of each tooth, and under the gum line. Because this area cannot be cleaned well during regular home care, this tends to be the bulk of the work. She usually starts on the molars in the rear of my mouth, but tends to jump around rather than clean each tooth in order. This way, if there is any discomfort, it is not concentrated in one area.<br /><br />Once the base of each tooth has been cleaned, any tarter or plaque buildup on the surface of my teeth is removed using a flat scraping tool. As the hygienist proceeds, she may revert to the pointed tool and clean around the base and under the gum line as needed.<br /><br />After the real work is completed, it is then time for aesthetics. Using a small buffing wheel, the surface of each tooth is polished with special paste. To complete the job, the gaps between my teeth are cleaned using dental floss.<br /><br />During this entire process, I am asked to rinse many times. Even if I have had the opportunity to brush and floss just prior to my visit, I am amazed by the debris that comes out of my mouth. After the cleaning is complete, I am left with a fresh, clean feeling in my mouth that is hard to achieve at home.<br /><br />Now that my teeth are clean, it is time to look around and assess their condition. The hygienist, who by now has looked at each tooth in detail, inspects every tooth and it’s surrounding gum area again. She then prepares the area for the dentist by setting out a fresh pick and mirror, as well as inflating a pair of plastic gloves for his use.<br /><br />While we are waiting for the dentist, the hygienist asks about my brushing and flossing habits. Usually my pattern of brushing is all right, but I am told that I need to floss more often. At this point I am given a new tooth brush.<br /><br />Now the dentist enters the room to perform his dental exam. He begins by asking the hygienist if she has noticed any problems during the cleaning. Next he puts on the gloves that were set out for him. With a mirror and pointed pick, he pokes and probes various teeth looking for sensitive areas. While he is doing this, he may make comments about specific teeth for the hygienist to note in my dental record. If all is well, he will tell me that I need not come back until my next cleaning.<br /><br />Now it is time to go. I get up out of the chair and proceed back down the hallway to the reception area. Before leaving, I make an appointment for six months ahead. Saying good-bye to the people in the office, I wish them well for the season to come.<br /><br />This is a routine that was established for me by my parents when I was very young. Because I have kept it up through the years, my teeth are healthy and strong. Now that I have two girls of my own, they come with me to the dentist on a regular basis. I get out of work early, pick them up, and off we go. I have made it a special time for us to be together. I think it’s working; they seem to enjoy going to the dentist.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-36629240698695312411995-10-18T17:30:00.000-04:002007-04-08T12:07:07.039-04:00A Violent SceneThe front door was unlocked, just as they said it would be. As I entered the dimly lit living room, I knew I didn’t want to be there. The sunlight sneaking past the shades lit the room enough to make the already gory scene look even worse. The house was a mess.<br /><br />To my right was a woodstove surrounded by the toys of a young boy. The previous night it added a warm glow to the room. Now cold, it’s flat black faces seemed to suck the heat from my very soul. To my left was a bar littered with beer cans and ashtrays. On the bar was a receipt, a list of items that had been removed for evidence. Two projectiles; a 44 caliber lever action rifle; a panel from the living room wall; the list went on. An overturned floor lamp lay on the dirty, matted, dark green carpet next to the counter.<br /><br />In front of me was a thoroughly worn old recliner. Only hours ago it was part of a life. A comfortable friend that would greet you at the end of a day.<br /><br />I could picture her sitting there. A frumpy middle aged woman with tightly curled black and gray hair in need of a perm, wearing pastel colored polyester slacks, and a patterned top that almost matched. Under her blouse she hid a small pot belly and a heart of gold.<br /><br />Now she was dead. The chair, just a torn and twisted recliner stained with blood, had to be disposed of like the life in which it had played a part.<br /><br />Next to the chair was a table, on it was a paperback book, and an ashtray half full of spent cigarettes. On the floor next to the table was a broken wooden lamp, with a partly crushed yellow cardboard shade. It was spattered with bits of flesh and blood that looked like scrambled eggs and ketchup. It had been on the table next to the chair where she was sitting when the bullet passed through her head.<br /><br />Looking past the chair I noticed the missing wall panel and could see a scraped dent in the refrigerator where a bullet had ricocheted. I tried to picture what had happened since I left the night before. My mind was spinning in circles. Nothing made sense. The facts didn’t add up.<br /><br />I had been asked to get rid of the chair and the lamp. I carefully grabbed the chair trying to avoid the blood. I could feel my stomach turn. I wasn’t ready for this. Who could be. The chair felt damp and sticky. I didn’t know if I was touching fresh blood or not. I wanted to run, but if I did, someone too close to this scene would have to do my job. I held my breath as I dragged the chair to the door and threw it out into the yard.<br /><br />At the doorway I could feel the cool breeze on my face. With renewed strength I jumped from the porch and quickly dragged the chair across the rocky lawn to the gravel drive.<br /><br />What now? I noticed a chain saw and a can of gas under the porch. I retrieved the gas and doused the chair. I lit my cigarette lighter and approached the blood and gas soaked chair. When the chair ignited I jumped back a few paces, then stopped to watch the fire. The flames and smoke rose towards the sky while the chair was transformed into a pile of ash among a twisted heap that was once the metal frame.<br /><br />As the flames died down I realized I had forgotten the lamp inside. As much as I wanted to just leave, it had to be dealt with. I walked back to the front of the house and climbed the steps. Standing in the doorway, I hesitated as I spied the lamp on the floor. When I finally gathered the courage, I entered and crossed the room toward the lamp. I grasped it lightly and held it as far away as I could, while I quickly headed for the door.<br /><br />Once outside I headed for the fire and tossed the lamp on top. I waited for it to catch, and then watched as it burned. After the fire died out I walked slowly to my car, opened the door, got in, and started the engine. I was relieved that my work was done, yet at the same time saddened that she was gone.<br /><br />As I drove away, I noticed some of that cold sticky death was still with me. I carry it wherever I go.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-85800763774325638281995-10-12T09:44:00.001-04:002007-08-29T09:52:15.279-04:00The Beginning of the EndWhile growing up I attended a small neighborhood elementary school. It was an old red brick building that contained four large classrooms. These four rooms housed six grades. Two of the rooms contained a single grade, and the other two rooms contained two grades each. The combinations varied depending on the number of students in each grade for any given year.<br /><br />There were four teachers in my school, one for each classroom. Art and Music were taught by traveling teachers who visited each classroom once a week. Physical education, also taught by a traveling teacher, was held outside if the weather was nice, or in a foyer at one end of the building when it rained, snowed, or was too cold.<br /><br />Discipline wasn't much of a problem at my school. Physical punishment was allowed, but it wasn't needed often. Most punishments consisted of standing in a corner or closet for a few minutes. One of the advantages of the old smaller schools was that we all knew each other. If you got into trouble at school, word was sure to get back to your parents.<br /><br />During the first grade I had a wonderful year. I enjoyed school. I was eager to learn and had no trouble with the level of instruction. I was in the advanced reading group, and I always looked ahead to sound out the new word each day while the other kids were getting to their seats. Math came just as easily to me. Although the new math was creating a controversy in the community, it made perfect sense to me, and it was easy. I did well in the first grade, and at the end of the year was I promoted to the second.<br /><br />Things were different in the second grade. We shared a room with the third grade. Our teacher, Miss Sullivan, taught two grades and was also the principal of the school. She was an old woman who had never married. This was her last year teaching before retirement. She had a reputation as a very strict teacher who didn't put up with any nonsense.<br /><br />In order to teach two classes at the same time, Miss Sullivan would present a lesson to one class, then set the students to task. Once they were busy, she would teach the other class their lesson. The teacher would alternate teaching each class throughout the day.<br /><br />I remember one day quite clearly. We were learning to carry extra tens from the one's column to the ten's column while adding numbers. After presenting this lesson, Miss Sullivan wrote a number of problems on the blackboard for us to complete while she gave her attention to the third grade. The third grade was learning multiplication that day. Since math always came easily to me, I was bored with the simple task of carrying extra ten's over to next column. This multiplication thing seemed kind of neat, so instead of doing my assigned work, I watched as Miss Sullivan presented the lesson to the third grade. Addition was easy and multiplication was just repetitive addition. By the end of the lesson I was a year ahead in math.<br /><br />Miss Sullivan didn't see it that way. Her main concern was that I hadn't completed my addition on time. At the age of seven, I was afraid to tell her that I was doing something other than my assigned work, even if it was next years math. My punishment was to stay after school until my assignment was completed.<br /><br />That was the worst year of my life. All through the second grade I couldn't concentrate on my work. I was intrigued by the lessons for the third grade. I stayed after school many times that year. If Miss Sullivan had had the insight or time to realize what was happening; or if I could have gotten up the courage to tell her; I believe that I could have skipped the second grade altogether. As it was, I ended up learning two years worth of material in one year, but I was getting punished for my lack of effort. Another thing I learned that year, was that school was really a place to learn how to do what you're told. The subject matter seemed secondary.<br /><br />This one episode affected me for the rest of my life. Although I love to read and learn new things, I never liked school after that. Putting in a minimum effort, I trudged through the remaining ten years of school so that I could be done with it and get on with life. I never applied myself in school again until I returned to college at the age of thirty-six. I sometimes wonder how my life might have been different if Miss Sullivan would have realized why my work wasn't getting done on time.<br /><br />Looking back, I can see that perhaps it really wasn't her fault. Teaching two grades and performing the duties of the principal didn't leave much time for individual attention. It was necessary to have an orderly classroom with no deviation allowed. I was certainly capable of completing my work on time, and in her view that was what I needed to do. Unfortunately for me, it was the beginning of the end where school was concerned.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-340477393547166738.post-79597426192164203181995-10-06T09:55:00.000-04:002007-08-29T09:57:47.005-04:00My Brothers, TooI find it interesting that siblings raised together in one household can turn out so differently. One might expect children from the same family to have similar attitudes toward the world around them. While this fact is not uncommon, it is not always the case. My two brothers illustrate different paths that people can take from a common starting point.<br /><br />Bill, my older brother, could be described as a drifter, a nomad, a free spirit with no ties to hold him down. He is single, has no children, and doesn’t own a house. His few possessions are usually stored in my parent’s attic. <br /><br />After attending college to study chemical engineering, Bill chose not to pursue employment in that field. Instead, he works sporadically in restaurants, only long enough to get money for another journey. He thinks nothing of collecting his things and setting out to climb a mountain, or embark on a long hike. <br /><br />Bill loves to be out of doors, and spends much of his time living in the woods and hiking about. Some of his notable achievements include hiking the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, and climbing all the Presidential peaks of New Hampshire’s White Mountain range..<br /><br />Bill sees no sense in saving for the future, or even to buy an automobile now. Going through life doing just as he pleases, he shows no sense of obligation to anyone, not even himself. Bill seems to have no appreciation for the material wealth most of us strive to amass. Choosing instead to live on the outskirts of society, he asks for little in return. Because of his financial status, or lack thereof, society would label him a miserable failure.<br /><br />My younger brother, Andy, who has taken a completely different path, pursues the American dream in a more traditional manner. Andy is married, has two children, and lives in a house that he started saving for before his wedding. Employed steadily as a machinist since before finishing high school, Andy is following a plan that he devised at an age when many people could not see beyond tomorrow.<br /><br />Andy works hard to pay his own way, and put money away for the future. He is compassionate towards others, and believes we should each try our best, to earn our own rewards. Andy is a full and contributing member of society. However, striving to achieve financial success, he is forming the bonds that will keep him in slavery. Like many of us, he is sacrificing today to pay for tomorrow. This fiscal conservatism is a trait that many of us admire; while at the same time we wish we could enjoy the full benefit of our labor each day. Andy will continue to play the game just as our father did before him, trying to find the balance of enjoying life now, while setting aside anything extra to sustain him in the future.<br /><br />My two brothers, products of the same environment, have taken paths so different you might never guess they were from the same family. It’s almost as if my father were divided into two parts, Bill the dreaming boy, and Andy the practical man. Knowing them only a short time, one would probably conclude they have little in common. The similarities begin to show however, as time goes on. <br /><br />Both of my brothers are friendly, outgoing, and eager to make new friends. While they are seldom at a loss for words, they’re good listeners who are genuinely concerned for others. They show respect for people and the Earth around them. Even though their patterns of working differ markedly, you get a full day of work for a day’s pay, from either of them.<br /><br />As busy as Andy is in the pursuit of his dream, he still finds time to hunt and fish, canoe, and take his family camping. At home, he spends much of his time in the yard. He loves to be outside, even though his other obligations force him to set priorities.<br /><br />While Bill seems not to care for the future, he keeps a journal of his adventures. These stories might someday make our treasures seem trivial. He is after all, doing things that many of us only dream of, as we drive to our steady jobs. I believe that someday he plans to write a book. Perhaps he is saving for his retirement, and we just haven’t noticed.<br /><br />The differences and similarities between family members has always intrigued me, I wonder what different experiences shape peoples personalities as they grow. Knowing its history makes looking at my own family especially interesting. When I look at my two brothers and see what they have become, the greatest irony for me, is that as different as they are, I can see pieces of myself, in both of them.bb590813http://www.blogger.com/profile/07189253560182413174noreply@blogger.com