After 70, the happiest people do these 7 things every day..............

OK, I bit.  ie, I gave in.  I listened.  Twas a 30 minute video (I got twelve 'atta boy' points for staying awake.   "Simple, easy things to do for folks after 70, to help make you happy."

1.   First thing when you awaken, show gratitude.   I am SO SO glad the Royals are in first place.  They aren't? Well, at least the Presidential election is in November.  It isnt'?  At least that lady in Apartment #1 started using doggy poop bags. DAMNIT, I knew i shoulda worn shoes when I went to get a packa smokes outta my car.  OK OK, thank you for this day.

2. MOVE!  I AM!  Can't you see me hopping to the dadgum bathroom to shower and get this friggin' dog crap off my foot?  OK OK, when I get out I'll do push-ups.. or, maybe thumb circles, something.  HEY, I found these elastic bands.. I'll do 20 of em... 2, 4, 6, 8...OK OK 1, 2, 3, 4............................

3. Spend time outside getting sun.  Remember the trip to the car?  OK, I'll ride my geezer scooter to get a six pack.... OK OK, I'll grab my 'you ain't breaking this one, 300 lb capacity lawn chair..........sit a spell..  BUT, I ain't petting that lady's damn dog.

4. Spend time with people.  Touches.  Hi Melissa, get that damn dog away from me... Hi Amed, yessir, Natty Light is perfect...  OK, I'll text both nieces to tell them I love them and then I'll listen to how they kicked my rear in Wordle.

5. Keep your mind active and curious.  I JUST got destroyed in Wordle...Curious.. hmmm.. why would ANYONE wanna work at Hamburger   Mary's? I write a blog, there.. Stick that one up your Funk and Wagnall.

6. Simple, nourishing meals.  Ow-ow-ow-ow, (<- supposed to sound like Horshack) WOW, I'm rolling to Cascone's, the BEST lasagna this sidea Armando al Pantheion! And, they have Modelo Negra, the best!   Well, it is 20 miles round trip, and gas is $4.29 a gallon, maybe I shouldn't.  Chili Cheese Fritos it is.  I've got a medium size bag put away. No?  OK, I've got a box'a thin mints stashed in the freezer.  Just one (box) won't hurt me. OK, Kale it is. How doya cook that crap?

7. End the day with peace, not regret.  OK. First, jumping on Facebook for a bit.  Surely there's a good conversation or two going on... let's see.. here's one on DOJ slush funds.. .no?.. ..Here's a post by a single parent looking to see if someone can help.. that oughta be gratifying,  you know, pay it forward folks.  WOW, he said that?  She called him WHAT?  I might as well have Googled old Miller Lite "Taste Great - Less Filling commercials.    OK OK.  I'll give peace a chance... and I guess I don't regret not wearing shoes to the car..  'cause, I decided after to go get a pedi..  Wonder if it still smelled?

SEVENTY is cinchy.  I can hardly wait until 80... you honey?

Victor?  Yes?  You got divorced in 2005.

 Oh yeah, sorry.

Love, Victurd 

96 Tears.........

Which, of course EVERYONE knows was by Question Mark and the Mysterians.....

Alex, I'd like "Song titles that ask a question for $200 please."  Tain't Alex no more, may he RIP, it's that Ken guy that won big bucks on a contest some years ago... so here ya go": 

What's Up?   (Nothing but the rent............. well.... and ground beef... and...   gas prices...  minor stuff)...

Where's My Mind? (Depends on your age, sex)  Little girls, Barbies. Little boys, Army guys, ballgloves.. Young moms:  Supper, laundry, lunches for kid's tomorrow.  Young dads: "Did you like those flowers I brought got you?"  Middle age moms: Bunco, girl's night out.. Middle age dads:  gutter.  Old moms and dads:  "We're not sure....  probably Depends."

Should I Stay or Should I Go?  Life is short, go.

What's Goin' On?  George Strait.  Iran. That other Strait.  Basketball/Hockey Playoffs. Baseball Ray.  THE. WORLD. CUP.  Would you like ICE with that Pepsi?

Why Can't I Be You?  You don't wanna be.

Who Are You?  Bond, James Bond.  Dr. Roboto.  My name is Slim Shady. My name is Forrest Gump. People call me Forest Gump.  I'm Bart Simpson, whothehell are you?

Why Can't This Be Love?  Please just Uber me to the Airport, my flight leaves in an hour.

Why Can't We Be Friends?     46.  47.  Were you on that one cruise ship?  I'm not a great fan or people.

Do You Want To Dance?  Yes. No. Let me think on it, I'll give you an answer in the morning.

 Where Did You Sleep Last Night?  64068.  What's sleep?  In the jungle, the mighty jungle.

Are You Lonesome Tonight?  One time, in band camp........

Have I Told You Lately (That I Love You?)  Just get me to the damn airport, and what's your badge # btw?

Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?  Frank Zappa you are disgusting, and did they actually play that on the radio?

Do You Hear What I Hear?  At one time, I did have tinnitus, but Mr. Miagi helped me get it out.

Why Don't We Do It In The Road?  I KNEW I shoulda called Lyft.

Are You Ready?  Wife "Five Minutes"..... Hubby "OK, I'm gonna go play 9 holes, back soon."

Where Does My Heart Beat Now?  Well Honey, I hate to break it to you.. but, remember that boob chart we've been doing for years on the door facing?

Ain't That Peculiar?  No, it's Raymore, they run together.

Does Your Chewing Gum Lose It's Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight?  Ahm, it's Fixodent, but, no, it doesn't.

Is That All There Is?

Something tells me I'd better not answer that.  Besides, I'm leaving on a jet plane... and with diesel fuel what it is, don't know when I'll be back again.

Love, Victurd 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Might as well.............. can't dance.......

A goal in life, would be smile.  If per chance that ain't your goal, just hop on the bus, Gus.  Drop off the key, Lee... and set yourself free. Which, is short for, amscray, waller elsewhere, WE WANT HAPPY.  Happy = smile.

 

Let's talk about sex.

 

No, wait, that ain't it.  Let's talk about dance.  Dance = happy.  Happy = smile.

 

I've noticed, there are two types of dancers.  There's those, like a doggy that's been couped up indoors for a few days (with the exception of "Go pee Fido... Back inside Fido."..)  So when the leash comes out (or, the band strikes up).. .They tug, pull, tain't nuttin' stoppin em..  I've seen a 12 lb Schnauzer durn near pull a 200+ lb fatman to the ground (yes, me.)  That's the group of people (dancers) who are up, EVERY time, when the opportune to dance arises, they then do.

 

And there are the wannabes.  Wannabes come in all shapes, sizes, dress, age, sex, yada, yet, just one level of alcohol, zilch/none.  They no can do (conform) to the "Dance like no one is watching"_... they might be afflicted, chair-bound, skeered, Nothing they'd love more than to get up and go, dance... yet, they can't.  Just can't.  So, they 'dance' in their chair. And, ain't a thing wrong with that.

 

The normal gravitational pull on a human suggests stand, sit, lay.  At least the wannabes don't hypnotically transfer from sit to lay... so, in their minds, they dance in their chairs.

 

Wiki say, dancing is a powerful tool for boosting mental health and well being.  It improves mood, combats depression, boosts brain function, fosters happiness and can even improves relationships.  ie, dance = happy = smile.

 

Victor, this blog is kinda, scratch that, definitely, dragging. This all ya got?

 

Bite me, and no.  So, for the up-to-dance-moments-notice (notice?) and wannabes: 

 

                                                                                                                                                                     Say, get up and dance to the music!
Get on up and dance to the music!

[A Cappella Break: Sly Stone, Freddie Stone, Larry Graham]

[Chorus: All, Greg Errico, Freddie Stone]
Dance to the music
Dance to the music
Dance to the music
Dance to the music (Hey, Greg) What?

 

I'm gettin' happier by the moment, nevermind that I just fueled up for $67.93, the Royals were swept by the White Sox, and, the check engine light just lit up again. 

[Verse 1: Freddie Stone]
All we need is a drummer
For people who only need a beat, yeah
I'm gonna add a little guitar
And make it easy to move your feet

 

Put this sucker on youtube, or Spotify, Pandora, something, just move, listen to it!

[Verse 2: Larry Graham, Sly Stone]
I'm gonna add some bottom    <- OMG
So that the dancers just won't hide

You might like to hear my organ, 

I said ride, Sally, ride, now

That OMG, bass. THAT RUNS RIGHT THROUGH YOU! .. if that don't get to your feels, check your pulse keep your eyes out for a defibrillator...  That's right up there with "Daddy sang Bass"...And Blue Moon's "Ba-bom-a-bom-bom, Ba-bom-a-bom-bom, Ba-bom-a-bom-bom, Ba-dang-a-dang-dang, Ba-ding-a-dong-ding, Blue moon 

[Bridge: Freddie Stone, Cynthia Robinson, Jerry Martini]
Cynthia (What?) Jerry (What?)
If I could hear the horns blow

Cynthia on the throne, yeah
Listen to me, Cynthia and Jerry
Got a message they're sayin'
All the squares, go home (Yeah)
Yeah, ooh
Listen to the voices

[A Cappella Break: Sly Stone, Freddie Stone, Larry Graham]

[Outro: All, Sly Stone]
Dance to the music (Ah-ha)
Dance to the music (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Dance to the music (Oh, now, now)
Said, dance to the music (Yeah)
Dance to the music (Yeah)
Dance to the music
Dance to the music

 

Victor, it's like that one lady from past say, "Not everyone is excited about your ideas as you."

 

Yeah, vely aware.  That said, I think the idea of dance holds water.  Some other suggestions..      Footloose... YMCA... Girls Just Want To Have Fun..  Dancing Queen.. and my personal fav, The Isley Brothers  Shout, Parts 1 and 2.

 

I REALLY dislike "Like I said"............ but,

 

A goal in life, would be smile.  If per chance that ain't your goal, just hop on the bus, Gus.  Drop off the key, Lee... and set yourself free. Which, is short for, amscray, waller elsewhere, WE WANT HAPPY.  Happy = smile.

 

Love, Victurd 

 

 

 

Footprints.... impressions... curriculum.....

Kids really don't give a rats about footprints.  Oh sure, if the City's been in the neighborhood putting in new sidewalks, dang straight a kid wants very badly to put footprints in it, but, they're also aware that'd be trouble, right here in River City... nope, don't do it.

Mom, dad.  They observe four coming to the alter...  sometime later, two more beautiful little ones poking on mom's belly wanting out.... another year and a half, four big footprints in the sand... two little bitty ones, for awhile anyways.. then sometimes four again (Mom or dad is carrying Junior)... and sometime down the road, six appear again, jualah "No, you're too big, I'm tired, we're in a hurry, you too can walk on your own two feet."

Six can grow to eight, ten, twelve... and oft times along the way Gramps, or Granny, perhaps with tiny smirk offers "You do know what's causing that don't you?" 

Kids then go to school... Curriculum Victor?  Well... no.. and yes, I guess.  A fun teacher, or maybe even one who hears "It's your turn for recess duty Shirley".. arranges a record player...  a buncha chairs placed in a circle...one less chair than the total number of kids...  music is played, the snotnoses Pavlov around the chairs per Teach's 'structions, the music is stopped unannounced.. the kids plop quickly into a chair.  Next go round (when the music starts) there's one less set of footprints.. anudder chair is taken out... so on and so forth, until there only two kids to make footprints, one chair to plop on.. music stops.. Boom, Winner winner Chicken Sitter.

Life then, is a systematic play on "Musical chairs" fore'er and 'er, except, kinda vice versa.

Like, if there's eight footprints walking along... then, all of a sudden, on Monday thru Friday, there's only six... .(four little footprints, one medium), and Saturday/Sunday finds a differn't looking six (four little footprints and one set of big'ns), it's pretty obvious mom and dad are splitting up, Mom gets the kids thru the week... Dad on weekends. Sure sad, but that's footprints. 

Many, many combinations come forth into the future.  Half brothers/sisters, step brothers, sisters, step parents.. that, them.

Life, family reunions, Christmas, Ballpark bleachers, visits to relative's houses, relatives coming to our house to visit - sometimes, 'produce' a set less of footprints, meaning, leaving a sad looking, feeling, empty chair.  As times goes on, kids start noticing this, yet, fun from the get go is at the top of life's list - and, oft times not enough attention is placed on all footprints.  It's called "being a kid."

Impressions.  In my lifetime, I prolly spent too much time analyzing footprints and impressions, thereby shortchanging curriculum, which leads to the end 
"Your IRA is hella bigger than mine."  Oh sure, there are those of the A or B ilk (Remember, I'm C+) that can and do juggle all three... quite well.  Oh well, maybe I'm still "Being a kid."  While I've never completely walked thru freshly poured concrete, I confess to leaving my initials, or mebbe even a full handprint.

I will never, ever forget the trip to Western Auto (I think it was!) for my very own Schwinn bicycle.  It was approximately 8 or so years before Richie Havens opened Woodstock singing "FREEDOM", but, it was that for me.

Bike. Kid. No footprints, but, impressions galore.  Tweren't no "hold my hand crossing the street"...  "Dad, can I ride on your shoulders"...  It was Me and You and a Dog named Boo.. .or, mosta the time, simply by myself, off and about, Big Chief People Watching, two eyeballs left to stop, hey, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down.............. and form my own opines.  Easy to see, "that coach is mean".. "that kid really hustles"..  "wowzer, he needs to push away from the dinner table a little sooner."..   "That coach was COOL, and his kids worked hard for him!" (TBC)

"That one guys is working his tail off digging, how come there's ten others (that would be 20 footprints) watching him work?"...   "Wow, cop stopped that guy, wunner if he's a criminal, or, if he was simply speeding and mom and dad are gonna whack his booty?"

We observe fun, toil, sometimes the two together all at once... people in love.. people arguing.. .people relaxing... much.  After awhile, buzzing around town, you can pretty much guess which oldster will giveya a dirty look (for nuttin) and which ones will smile, mebbe even buy'ya a Grape Nehi.

We put two and two together.. whether it's two pop bottles from under the bleachers to buy our own Grape Nehi......... or, go see coaches, watch how their players react, how hard they work based on the coach's leadership (or lack thereof).. ... we add all that crap up............... and (TBC)

Those impressions give us a nice sendoff into adulthood, where, we can be the one who jumps in and digs..  lazes back and watches... yells at those under us... praise those under us so they'll work harder...  frown at moms who put their kid in the middle seat next to us on United.. or, mebbe we bring out work scrap paper and see if Junior in the middle seat has interest in Tic-Tac-Toe.

Victor, are you saying ALL OF THAT is a result of, when you first got freedom, rode your Schwinn.. .went out and about on your own.. it formed the way you take on life later?  BINGO little man, which, by the way is a game we geezers play.. usually once a week for ten bucks, only to win $130 every seven years or so.  "That ain't smart Mister!"  Good observation from, what the hell kinda bike is that Sonny?"  

I can, to this day, conjure up a list of twenty or so folks who back-in-the-day, made very wonderful impressions on me.  As we ultimately jump off our Schwinns, we try to foller in them footsteps. I'm sure you can think back to who helped guide you along the way.. whether it was on that expressed purpose, or, you were simply observing their interaction with others.

This golf tournament I keep talking about. A buncha dudes, lifelong friends from our little town of Liberty.  Fun and while-we-can being our main goal..  Yesterday, I had a nice visit with a young man (he actually ain't so young now).. but he was the guy a few years after I was out and about on my Schwinn... he did same.  Please know, if you've been here a minute, you'll know this blog is usually about self deprecation, ne'er a pat on my own back.  This kid, now an older dude like me, told me I was a mentor.. one he looked up to. Damn that felt good to hear.  It was long, long ago.  Along the way, I've faltered, struck out in more ways than one.. Had the 6.. then 4 footprints in marriage... Forgive me Father I am human hear me roar.. at least one stop along the way some dude thought I was an OK Joe.

Ahm Victor?  Yes?  You forgot curriculum.  Tell me.  Hell, Edward D. Jones locks their doors when they see me coming!  I shoulda been a butcher but i was deathly afraida knives.

Life is fun.  Life ain't perfect, neither are we.  Footprints on a belly are the most beautiful footprints I've ever seen.  Music can help in all the chairs we now see that sit empty.

I hope you remember your childhood as a wonderful formative time... and that the pitter patter of footprints, all ages, have brought you joy.

That's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.

Love, Victurd  

Round round get around, I get around, yeah

Yesterday, i was playing golf, so, all my troubles didn't seem so far away.

Golf brings, wunnerful stuff.  Nature, sunshine, blue skies, smiling at me.  Comeraderie, libation (best to wait til after in spite of some calling it 'aiming juice'), more colors than a rainbow - and that includes white, pink, neons of golf balls, and the most colorful Temu golf shirts your cheapskate buddy can buy.

It brings laughter, tears, frustration, stuff yain't never seen before, repeated stuff ya see almost every time you play.  Three Dog Night might say, it's Easy To Be Hard.  On a par 3, you can sail a ball a couple hunnerd yards, off justa bit to the left - 9/10's of the way there, but mebbe still only 20 to 30 yards from the hole.  You 'lay one', which, ain't to be confused with sex... you've hit it really close, so, ya figure prolly three (total), mebbe four at worst. So of course, it takes you four more shots, you take a five. and laugh, cry, kick, swear, throw a club, mebbe alla the above.

Life, and hitting a golf ball - are kinda alike in that it never goes as you visualize.  Tom Watson, he of Kansas City/golf fame, mebbe one of the ones they'd pick for The Mount Rushmore of Golf -  got a hole in one in a tourney.  After, in an interview, a rookie reporter tried twisting Tom's arm, "Tom, it was a great shot, but... ya gotta admit, there was a little bit of luck there eh?"  "Yes, but, it WAS where I was aiming. 

Life, as a golf ball. Well, you're borned, or, created, or, manufactured, sumpin.  You're stamped (you mean like a dog, kitty, is microchipped? No, I don't). You are a triplet, or, packed in a sleeve of three, all alike. "Then how can I be THE BEST golf ball?"  Shut up, golf balls don't talk.

Or, you're manufactured, shipped in a package of a dozen.  We call these Catholic golf balls. Victor, you're gonna get in trouble for that one.  Oh what the hey, I'm 73, sue me. take me to a jail for three squares a day, I ain't gotta fret about SS not covering rent, life, filling the gas tank, even if they wipe out that gas tax.  Besides, I grew up next to a family with nine kids, uh huh, Catholic, they had a sense of humor.

Then, you're placed in a long thing they call a golf bag, and put into the trunk of a car until big daddy has permission from big momma to go play golf. It usually entails something like doing the dishes for twelve days, folding five loadsa laundry, and two or three 'huh uh, no smooching' backrubs.  Then you can go.

So, when they open the trunk, can I be like they say dogs are (you know, when you lock a dog and a wife in the trunk, which would be happy to see you when it's opened?}  No, golfball, you ignorant slut, you have no feelings, emotions. 

If you're lucky, you might get a long vacation in the forest.  Or, perhaps, knocked into the lake for a swim. FUN! Will I get to wear floaties like them little kids?  No.  You'll sit on the bottom of the lake, maybe forever.  Maybe until the golf course hires some scuba dude to come fetch you, then he sells you back to the course, who in turn, puts you into a basket of used balls for sale.  Used balls look a little rough, like worse for wear.

So.... if I look rough, worse for wear, and I'm sold and sold again and again, would that make me a hooker?  Mebbe, or, you could be a slicer.  You mean, like those rich guys on the LIV tour?  Paid so by a slicer?  No, not that.

Sometimes you'll simply get lost in the fairway.  Lost until that is, the prevailing whine in the clubhouse is "when in the hell are they gonna mow the fairway on #11?"  Then, the mower guys might pick you up.

Then do I go into that basket and be resold like a hooker (or a slicer?)  No, by that time, your stamp has mostly worn off, you're old, of not much use by now - so, you're sent to be Home, Home on the Range. COOL! Like a ranch?  No, more like an assisted care or a nursing home.  You're put in a machine, then, in a bucket. You're of use, until you then kick the bucket.

Wow, I ain't sure I'd like to be a golf ball.

Eh, I dunno.  You'll have dimples, mebbe be cute.  If you're owner is a sicko who can't really golf, you might have a fun motto stamped on you like, "Be the ball", or, "May the Course be With You", or, "Return to Pro Shop for  a Free Round", or "If you found this, you suck too."

There's kinda a caste system in golf balls.  Ya got the uppity ones, you know, for like Royaly, Congress, Lobbyists.. the ones that The Working Man might purchase... Then,  you might be onea them Nitros like they sell at Wally.  Name sounds great but you're usually purchased by some dude who plays golf once ("I'm gonna try this here game") only to be sold the next summer in a garage sale to someone even poorer like me, and then, we'll lead you to the forest or the lake.

Cheer up. You come in many bright, vibrant colors... while you'll never get SS,  you'll never have to work..  you get to fly... eat worms.. hide under leaves... and if you're real lucky, get your picture taken by some dude holding up one finger, and you'll be Facebook hero.

Geez.  Life as a golf ball ain't exactly what I visualized. 

Uh huh, what I said... fore sure.

Victor, this may just be the dumbest blog you've ever written.  Tune in tomorrow, I'll try hard to make one worse.  Like, life as a fire hydrant.  Or, maybe as a curling puck. Or, maybe as a rugby ball. It takes leather balls to play rugby don't it?

Uh huh.

Oh if I could only putt like Justin Rose.. chip like Phil Mickelson,  and drive like Tiger Woods.

On second thought, nevermind on that last one. 

Love, Victurd 

 

Well, I told you once and I told you twice...........

But ya never listen to my advice
You don't try very hard to please me,
With what you know it should be easy

As in, "take my advice, no one else does!"

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away... then I got outta bed today and thought, dayum, they're still there!  I'm OLD AGAIN TODAY!  

Well, this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time,
I don't know. Oh no. Oh no 

(Here... on Earth that is)

I got my geezer scooter outta my trunk, drove downtown Liberty last night.  Ain't done that in a long time.  When my car was in the shop a few months ago, I drove my scooter almost three miles to get my car. VICTOR, you already told us this.

Sorry, bite me, not sorry.  When I did, I fetched my charger cord with me... just in case.. Drove thru the City Park.  OH BABY so many mems.  Like all stuff, I wonder when the last time we played Indian Ball there?  The concession stand, there's an outlet in case the scooter needs charging.  Wonder though, when's the last time that puppy (The Concession Stand) was open?  Had to be close to 30 years, prolly ain't got 'lectricity no mo'.

Well, I'm sorry girl but I can't stay
Feelin' like I do today
It's too much pain and too much sorrow,
Guess I'll feel same tomorrow

It is, the day and AGE of always thinking about the last time.  When I walked into the Corner Bar last night to watch the Royals, I couldn't remember the last time I was there, would they still remember my name?  So, I gets inside and there's a Miller Lite sitting on a coaster.  They musta remembered. 

Well, this could be the last time
This could be [etc...]

When's the last time ya went outside to play with neighbor kids? I wonder if  you stopped and thought, "Could this be the last time?"  Doubt it.

Well, told you once and I told you twice,
That someone have to pay the price
But here's a chance to change your mind,
'Cuz I'll be gone a long, long time

In organizing the annual Liberty Townie Golf Tourney, I'm getting quite a few "Well I don't play much any more.. I definitely wouldn't benefit a team." ... "My hip, I just can't."  "Having rotator cuff surgery next month, sorry." 

Well, this could be the last time
This could be [etc...]

Victor?  ALL THAT IS SAD, we don't need that.  No it ain't.  It's a treat for me to ride my geezer.  You want sad?  I was sitting outside the Corner, smoking a cig. VICTOR?  YOU STILL SMOKE?  Bite me, yeah.  Dude walks up the street.  Laboring.  He was walking South to North, but his crippled legs made them include quite a bit of East to West as he motivated. He had groceries in his sack.  Heavy groceries.  He paused where my scooter was parked, "DANG, what I'd give for one of those."  I felt bad, and lucky, all in one.

Remembering playing in the neighborhood? Playing Indian Ball?  Standing in line at the concession stand for a Root Beer Float?  Them ain't sad, them's mems.  Great ones.  Electric even.

Life shows to go, or something like that, how precious time is. As money, physical ability (or inability), the mind, the years, the days, the sunlight wane out........ HOWINTHEHELL CAN WE NOT SMILE UNTIL IT DOES?

Sure, sucks to think about, write about, but........ about is about out and about....  still. And, actually it really doesn't suck because we are BLESSED......... BLESSED as many don't get this much time to live here on Earth.

Well, this could be the last time
This could be [etc...]

That [etc...] part..........   Webster, mighta been Funk and Wag, can't remember... say "Et cetera (abbreviated as etc) is a Latin phrase meaning "And the rest" or "and so on."  It is used at the end of a list to indicate that further, similar, and unspecified items are included. It implies the list is not exhaustive, and the reader should understand that more, similar things exist."  Might as well smile while they do eh?

Love, Victurd  

Selfish.........

I am that, and... you're welcome to holler "NO I AIN'T!", but, I bet you are too.

Of course, today is, Mother's Day.  One day, of three hundred sixty five where all eyes focus on mom.

This day, and actually all of the other 364 days, mom's focus on us, their children.

From day one, thru, our last day, the human in us enjoys focus on our favorite person.  Ourself. 

Oh sure, dads also have that focus - it's just sometimes, both of their eyes focus on, the road, their work, the green of our yard vs the green of the neighbors on either side.  Making it to Friday, then maybe the golf course, the lake, the fridge, that easy chair (and of course, many, many hours of focus upon us.)

Moms, uh huh, they be busy too.  In addition to much of the chores that a 1960-something Good Housekeeping mag would list... equality (HA) happened.  Whilst mebbe the duties are divvied up a little more equal today, moms share many of the same aspects as pa outside of the house.

To me, the biggest difference - whilst they lend one very intense eyeball on those tasks... ne'er is that second eyeball taken off of their children.

We, the children, call it selfish if ya want, enjoy the heck outta that.  Moms got all these built in 'tectors. 

How they know, I dunno, but, they must have built in hug detectors,  because they somehow spring into motion and give that hug when it's needed the most.

Just by the glance with that eye, their chef detectors kick in, and in a millesecond (or so it seems) it's detected, they just somehow know, we need nourishment.  Not only need, but, the kind, taste, size of what nourishes us.

They know, like Santa, if we've been bad or good, they see us when we're sleeping, they know when we're awake. Santa then, runs off to the rest of the Universe.

Not mom.  Mom's use their 'tectors as the Weather-person, long sleeves, short sleeves, shorts, pants, light jacket, Winter coat.  They detect when we're a quart low (kidding, when we're down to our last three pages of, wide ruled notebook paper.)  They also know exactly what homework we have, and how many more pages it'll take to complete it, and exactly how much time that would take before "Yes, you can go (ride your bike, play wiffleball, get your Barbies out, yada, now.)

I really think, in looking back, they watched a bajillion hours of Guiding Light, because they are that.  They are, GPS, School Counselor, Groomer, white lie detector, Party planner, Sheriff - in a very good way, all, with ample doses of love.

Moms are WAY BETTER politicians than them that we've elected. There's no gobbledy goop to wade through, they are accomplished orators in that they know exactly what to say, when.

No matter how many sibs there are in the house... they STILL, somehow make us feel a hunnerd percent attention, love, is on each of us.  We all had, have, little catch phrases they say to individualize, specialize, each of us.  I cannot tell you how lucky I feel to have heard (in person, or, by phone) "How's my Victor?!" so, so many times.

I am quite certain you might remember your catch phrase as well.  Even though the vast majority reading here are like me in that our moms aren't around any longer - that/those, catch phrases, are, can be, on recall in our brains at any one time of the day, year, hour, when most needed.  Ingrained, wonderfully. 

Bottom-line, our Mothers help make our lives so, so, much easier, not to mention, rewarding.

I am well aware it's not 100% 'attendance' of a life with a mom for many a reason. Thankfully, somehow God seems to find a wonderful soul to instill those same 'tectors into whomever has taken on the role, be it Dad, grandparent(s). Aunt/Uncle, Step = sometimes even an older sibling.

Happy Mother's Day, whoever, wherever you may be... especially you Mom.

Love, Victor