Keep your damn wiffle ball out of my yard.

I hadn't been awake that long. (I'd griped, groaned as my old body eventually made the transition from prone to upright. There was a brief moment of levity.  I dunno why, but I always "Arrrh" like a pirate in speaking back to my bones when I stand.) I read the news today oh boy... crime, political argument, sometimes even in the same story.  Flipped the TV off.  Newspaper.  Gunshots. Drive-bys. Homicide stats.  YUCK.

I'm old. I'm entitled to gripe yeah? The drive to work. Brrrr.  Cold.  Damn walnut tree, I can't see thru all the sap on the windshield.  That time of year, watch for deer dear. To Mickey D's.  Breakfast sandwich. If. Only. One. Of. The. Three. Behind. The. Counter. Would. Come. Greet. Me.

"That'll be $7.32 sir."......  "No. No, it won't.  I get the same thing every time I come here. I get two ___'s, one ___ and a cup of water. It's $4.65. "  As all those damn food icons stared at the snotnose (said lovingly), she gave me a brief up and down look, which, basically said to me "I really don't like waiting on old people."  I gave her a look back straight in her eyes that said without saying "I hate when snotnoses take my order, their brain is assuredly fixed on that damn 'text ding' that happened on their phone in their back pocket.. pay attention to me, LiSTEN." (It is soooo fun being old and always being right.  I wonder at what age we actually make that transition?)

Damn the Government.  Taxes.  Leaves from the neighbors oak tree allover my GD (Gosh Darn) yard. Winter is coming.  I hate winter.

Of course, I pulled four Ones from my billfold... dug thru my hiked up waisted pockets for my change. YES, I'm giving you the exact change.  You're always in a hurry, I know I could give you a Five, but then I'd have EVEN MORE change in my pocket.  And you there, waiting behind me. Chill. I know between these four pockets I've got 65 cents. I saw you roll your eyes. If Mickey D's sold lottery tickets, I'd by 27 of 'em one at a time just to aggrevate you further.

This being old, grumpy is hard work, but I'm blessed to do it.

It's rush hour.  I've got to turn LEFT out of McDonalds somewhere between the parade of 4,263 commuters from Kearney, Excelsior, Lawson, Rayville, et al, making their way Westward to I-35.  Damnit Jim.

As I waited, I flipped the radio channels 3 times (I hate that Fishing and Hunting show), the Back East accent of the guys on the next channel giving me betting picks that 'can't miss' also drives me batty, so........ to FM...Joan Jett.  Finally. I love rock and roll put another dime in the jukebox baby.

Just as I thought I had a breakthrough to turn left thru this damn traffic, I realized I still had my handicap placard on the mirror and it'd blocked my view.  Another wonderful opportunity to cuss.  As I pulled it down, I saw myself in the mirror.  Damnit Jim.  When'd I get THAT wrinkle?

Finally, only 1,067 cars later, I gunned it, turned left, just missed getting bashed by the Heating and Cooling truck.  All good.

I pull into the golf course at 7:37am.  Perfect. Except. There's a few whippersnappers that are ALWAYS early.  It is known first tee time is 8am.  (I love me some customers, i do). These kind fellers, for them, they love golf so much, it's a race to see how early I will let them go.  I unlock the door at 7:45am.  They follow me in.  Idle chit chat amongst whippersnappers whilst they watch me count the money.  Without saying "Faster Victor faster" their eyes say "Faster Victor faster."

So... to backtrack, I've very much lived up to being the grumpy old fart I'm supposed to be. The best part of waking up is the "Arrh" and the creaking bones.  I got mad at the TV news, then the newspaper, cussed the weather, gave a baby evil eye to Mickey D's worker who no listen to me.  Bitched at 1,067 commuters (most, SUV's with those family stick figure stickers on the back window.  Got to work, gave the cars already in the lot that ole gnarled lip that mean dogs have so down pat.

Did i mention I almost tripped on the trike the kiddygarter in Apartment #1 left on the sidewalk? Yeah, forgot, so there's that.  Keep your damn wiffle ball out of my yard sonny.

AND THEN.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

Guy comes up, holds door for an older lady, a beautiful older lady with a smile to match.  He too had a smile plastered a mile wide on his mug.  Kudos. To both.

The guy, i am guessing, was maybe 5 or 6 years older than me.  "Nine holes and a cart please for my mother and I."

Twas then I realized, I should be in time out, in the doghouse, at the doctor to up my anti anxiety prescription, or, in the Confession booth apologizing.

I'm old.  Old DOESN'T give me the right to bitch, moan, groan, be curt, to seek out yuck insteada yum.  Forgive me Father, I promise to do better at my start tomorrow.

"Sir, i think it is sooooo cool that you play golf with your mom."

He smiled (or course, it was his, her nature.) Then said "You bet, and she still hits the ball pretty good for 98."

In spite of the propaganda I get in the mail and within my newspapers begging to sell me a hearing aid, i still hear well.

I repeated "98?"   "Yep, 98."  Her smile stretched from Smithville to Excelsior.

"Ma'am, you are an inspiration!"  "Well thank you"... to which her son replied "She is... she truly is."

A bit later I got to go out on the course, camera in hand and snap a pic of her pitching the golf ball onto the green.... and then one of both her and her son.. no need to ask them to say "Cheese."

Lesson learned.  Life, no matter how old, is wonderful, groovy.

"Hey kid?"  "Yeah?"...  "I don't wanna risk you getting hurt climbing over the fence, you can open the gate to come in and get your wiffle ball.  Nice hit BTW!"

I'm finding we old farts are like modeling clay.  The longer the wind, sun, rain, yada, hits us, the tougher it is to reshape us.  Still, it's possible.

I'm starting tomorrow in fact.  Inspirational.

Love, Victurd

Paul Harvey and electrical tape.......

Stolen, plagiarized, ie, a 'recipe' with 'ingredients' changed a tad!

Connie Eble taught English at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill in the 80's. She kept an index card file to put 'catchphrases' from her students over the years.   The new entry in 1983 was from an unnamed female student - she was apparently inspired by someone who had flunked a test - "That shit happens", thus, the index card bearing "Shit happens" would become the first recorded use of the phrase according to 2006's Yale Book of Quotations.

Turns out, the 80's were big for deductive quotes about life.  For example, 1982 "Life's a bitch and then you die"....  "Been there, done that" (1983)..  "Size doesn't matter" (1989 - and HEY, I just copied from the article don't call me a pig!)

Most of us thought ole Forrest Gump himself invented the "S happens" phrase... Remember?  He was at the height of his popularity (everything he'd touched had turned to gold).. , running across America... a man in the bumper sticker business bugged Forrest for a new slogan... just then Forrest steps in a pile of feces.. .Bumper sticker guy says "Man you just ran through a big pile of dog shit!"  To which, Mr. Gump replied "It happens."  "What?  Shit?"   "Sometimes."

So Victor I'm lost..  you haven't touched "electrical tape" yet... this blog is like a football that's four pieces of leather, not sewn or laced together.  Calm down, we'll get there.

Electrical tape. Next best thing to duct tape.  Can use it for much.  As poor kids in the 50's and 60's, they hadn't invented aluminum bats for us to play baseball - so, we all used wooden bats. Oft times, we only had one and it was shared by all who played. Well, Katy bar the door (and the batter's box) if one of the wooden bats ever broke - which happened, all - the - time.  One or two wooden screws and electrical tape, our problems are solved, Jimmy get in the batter's box.

Life, even for Forrest Gump, never turns out as planned.  Doesn't mean it can't be wonderful.  (You can even have your cake and eat shrimp too)... It's just that, close your ears, it's bound to happen.. What is bound to happen?  Shit is bound to happen, that's what.

Yesterday I was higher than a kite.  No, no, no, no.  Not that. I was all keyed up from really really kind, generous folks and their birthday greetings. Boss and gang at work even sang HBD2U to me and bought me TWO Sudoku books.  Kite. I was up there.  PAYDAY, kite even higher.  BURGER Day at the Landing, my favorite joint where my favorite buds hang.  The kite of emotion was higher and higher.  Drove to the bank, the weekly "Hello Victor, how are you?" (And I love that.  Customer service with a smile.)  I was listening to AM radio, the overhang at the bank caused poor reception so I turned it off and then shut the car down because sometimes it just takes a while as they wait on multiple customers.

"Thank you Victor, have a good day."  "You TOO!".. And then, checkenginelight.  Car. Would. Not. Start.  Shit.  As in, Shit happens. 47 tries later I deducted it wasn't getting any gas.  Sounds like fuel pump. Cha-ching.  It's probably located in the fuel tank. Cha-ching. I'm here. (Bank by Piggly Wiggly). Best mechanic in town here (less than a mile away, tow, cha-ching.)

It's with a bit or irony, one of my favorite Birthday greetings was from a gal I went to HS with. It said "Vic, it REALLY is time to check your engine light!!! It's been 70 years!!!! Happy Birthday!!!!!

Yep, it happens.  I'm still not getting the Paul Harvey, electrical tape crap Victor - but I will say, what a crappy thing to happen on your Birthday.  OH NO, it was cool.  Within 45 minutes, I was towed from the Bank to the mechanic. Another 15 minutes, a golfing buddy had picked me up to take me home.  Eh, no Landing Burger, a beer or two with buddies, but that's ok.  LO AND BEHOLD, my 'Uber' buddy who gave me a ride, musta felt sorry for me (it's all good... shit happens) and he showed up at my door a couple hours later with a twelve pack (not 6... TWELVE) of Modelo Negra beer.  Heaven. Right here. On Earth.

It was a GREAT Birthday.

I'm still confused.  What's electric tape have to do with your Birthday and your car breaking down?

A lot. And a lot about life in general too.  Years ago I bought an old clunker (surprise surprise), a huge ole Mercury.  It was 20 years old.  Guy that I bought it from had bought it new.  He was well into his 80's now.  Apparently, the check engine light (as many do) was on non-stop with this car, yet, still, it was in wonderful driving condition.

Thus..........

He kept a piece of electrical tape over it so it wouldn't, sorry, kinda, bug the shit out of him.

Life is truly wonderful.  Shit is gonna happen.  Do we let the 'glare' from life's Check Engine Light bug the crap out of us?  Whittle our fingernails down?  Get even deeper wrinkles worrying about everything? Have a coronary?

Recently, as our HS class's 50th reunion was upcoming, I went thru old Tribunes (our town newspaper) to go back in the day - and I posted stuff on our class website about plays, sports, debate, band, vocal, 4H, Boy Scouts, you name it - as well as an occasional "Sophomore year, 2nd quarter Honor Roll"... "Junior year, 1st quarter Honor Roll." I scrolled thru each and every one.  I never ever saw my name on the Honor Roll.

ie = I ain't that smart.

Thankfully though, life has taught me shit is gonna happen.  'Put a couple of wooden screws in it', use a little electrical tape to dampen the glare - and party on Garth.

Paul Harvey, Good day.

70 minus 2

Seventy years ago today, a female physician brought me into this world.  Five years prior, the same female doc brought my sister into the world.

Of course, Birthdays are special.  There's admitted guilt though, to being afforded more days on the planet than either my sister or my mother.  Say it ain't so, unfortunately it is and it's just not right.

So, for this particular day, not raising funds for any, of course, worthwhile charitable organization - instead, I pick to brag on both my mother and my sister and I thank you for your eyeballs.

Velma Pearl Schultze, a St. Patty's baby in 1921. The middle sister of three. When she married my father, someone asked him, "Did you marry the smart one or the pretty one?"  His reply, "She's both."  And she was, a glamour gal who was also athletic, and smart as a whip.

Being married to my father, who spent countless days/nights on the road as a sales representative, she often found herself in the role of both mother and father. Don't misread, I had the best dad too - it's just that his occupation, as our primary provider, borrowed much of his time from us.

So... mom, cooked, cleaned, laundered AND, played catch, took us to school, ball games, boy/girl scouts, read to us, much... and much more.

At an early age, she was driving and came within virtual inches of knocking a 9 year old boy off of his bicycle.  That very day she stopped driving.   That decision complicated things sure, but, we were also fortunate in that when we went anywhere (bus, train, taxi, etc) it also meant we were afforded with mother's company.  Antioch.  Macy's downtown KC for Christmas shopping and window shopping.  A's games. Train/bus to grandma and grandpa's... Special.

In later years, she opted to work outside the home at William Jewell College (hint, hint Victor, she works there, you can go to school there free) AND, she did go get her license again to do so.  Hardheaded son graduated HS, thought "Nah, it'd be goofy to go to school where you'd see your mom on campus" (GEEZ LOUISE VICTOR) So, off to Maryville.  A 1.7 GPA later, to Maple Woods, to dropping out there, to eventual William Jewell College with a brain that, amazingly, had ripened a tad in spite of collegiate failures thus far, and this son LOVED going and visiting his mother on campus.

And, living in a frat house with 40 other crazies, he could be as far from home as he wanted, but in three minutes, he could be seated back home for a good ole Spanish Rice meal in his old familiar dining room chair. 

My mother had a massive stroke in her late 50's. Did nothing to hamper her expression of love for her children and husband.  Our mother was the type that, when a child coughed, she would not take a breath until it was with absolute certainty the child did. Every phone ring was met with "How's my Victor?" or "How's my Vanda?"  It was about us, never her. We were lucky. Her favorite quote was "The secret to success in life is how you respond to Plan B" and did she ever.  We got to have her 9 more years after her stroke.

Vanda Kaye Schultze. Read bias into this all you want, but she was beautiful. In fact, as children, we'd travel to a relative's house and we were met with "My my, isn't Vanda getting so beautiful..." and, then looking across the room, realizing they'd left poor Victor out of the loop, they'd add "And isn't Victor....  growing."  Hmmpph... 

Her HS days, old fogies her age tried to befriend me so they could maybe one day car date her! She was smart, fun, funny, lived life to the fullest and excelled at each and every age.  Not many of us do that.

She would be the lead in a play, learn her lines the very first week.  Write weekly articles in the local paper updating the community as to what's going on at LHS, and in her spare time she was a lifeguard, and led the band parade with her baton.

She teased her brother ("Alfred E. Neuman" I believe she called him) unmercifully, but in good fun.. She had an astronomical rise in her profession of child care - starting as a classroom teacher, to being one (of five) in control of a multimillion-dollar national daycare provider.

The kids loved her.  Her boss loved her.  HER own kids loved her.  We all loved her. She had the uncanny knack to do things for others and turn it all around making one think you'd done for her.  She was, a giver. A giver of time, a giver or things.  She learned well from her mother.

Harvey Seely once got a new phone number - and, it happened to be Vanda's old phone number.  He used to tease and joke with me about how many dadgum calls he got for her day and night from guys who attempting to woo her.

Like virtually all of our families, cancer entered. I was fortunate to visit her the last 72 days of her life at St. Lukes Hospital. The very proudest moment in my life happened the day before she passed, and was among her last legible words.  As my ex and I entered her room that day, she perked up and whispered proudly "Baby brother!"  Yes, she teased me like crazy (and I loved it), but, she loved me (and all) like crazy, and of course it was mutual.  Until the dark day the day after, she literally lit up every room she was in.

So this ain't a gofundme.  It's a gofindme, missing both. I know I'm no different than you and that we've all experienced loss.  I find that to be all the more reason to talk about, revisit the lives of, those we've lost that we loved.

They should be here.  They ain't.

Again, pardon the bias, but two, really really good people.  Each, unknowing of an early end, somehow packed so much into their days.

YOLO.

Go love, while you/we can.

For your ayes only.....

We be different.  The saying, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  What one person sees as flawless and captivating might be ordinary or even unappealing to another.

Among my first thoughts on this, what is beauty to one who is, perhaps, blind.  A short bit of research informed "Beauty as joy, truth and feeling alive."  Further, "the smell of freshly baked cookies.... experiencing the sensation of grass caressing the bottoms of your feet... "  Even further "Losing my sight has been a blessing, I don't care what nationality someone is, I don't care how tall someone is, I don't care how big or small they are. A person is beautiful because they are true to themselves."

Defining beauty, perhaps, changes over the years - I'm reminded of the Bill Wither's song "Grandma's hands." Gaining appreciation = becoming beautiful.

I love 'ugly dogs'.  I do. Sure, much to be said for the regal beauty of the German Shepherd, the varieties of Labs... to me, one of the very coolest (beautiful) dogs I ever saw was my nieces pug.  Aged, some hip problems.  Much like any of us old farts, every which move was agonizing.  She walked kinda at a 45 degree angle.  Labored. All the while as damned happy as could be. Beautiful.

Sure, actors, actresses.. major crushes from our school days...  the Queens, cheerleaders.. the quarterback, point guards..   but to us each, our love for beauty is, can be different.

Shortly after my peepers opened this morning, the words aesthetically pleasing wafted thru my brain.  My first Google of it spoke to "an object or item that someone considers beautiful or attractive."  I'm glad I looked it up again just now as the next definition spoke to "anything around us in the world that we sense as being beautiful or enjoyable; including what we see, hear, touch, taste and smell." Yummy - that's what I was looking for. It shouldn't be limited to an object or an item.

Ugly is out there - for sure - and by that, I mean mainly people that can behave, interact demonstrating a case of the uglies.... thus, as we age, is seems we seek beauty... we turn our head, mebbe furrow our lip, at ugly.  Ugly is a waste of time. Beauty is our everything, our antidepressant, our harmonization of song, the pep in our step.  The hell to the yeah, I woke up, I getta look at all the world's beauty AGAIN today.

Kids.  The younger the better!  We've mentioned hounds..  sure, cats too.  Regal, perhaps borderline 'ugly' (occasionally) behavior - beautiful nonetheless.  Nature.

The Seasons.  Real. Artificial. Artists, barbers, hairdressers, those that smile a hunnerd percent of the time, writers, architects, trade workers - all, who grace us with beauty daily.

Beauty = happy.

Flowers, trees, shrubs, hills, valleys, lakes, ponds, creeks, rivers, oceans... farm fields..  A buddy posted a pic of the image he sees out his office window daily ('twas a highway.. a barren, yet pretty, field.. and a rainbow).. He adorned it with "Why would you retire when this is the view out your office?"  He's incredibly smart and ambitious, ie, beautiful.. but then, if it were me, I'd post a pic of my bed.. with mebbe a painting on the wall "Retirement, this is where I nap, often."  I find that to be beautiful as well.  To each, his, her own, ie, 'ayes' of the beholder.

Beauty in a world of difference. You're unique, just like me, kinda.  I spend way too much damn time trying to hit a golf ball into a little hole barely 4 inches wide.  To translate that to a thing of beauty, I try to remember that is wide enough for TWO, count 'em, TWO golf balls to fit into side by side.

A freshly paved, lined street.   A cobblestone path around the old Towne Square. Home on the range.  Lasagna on the range.  A bent over, hardworking gardener, and driving around a month or so later to see the beauty, fruits of their work rising from the Earth.  A door held open for another, "you first" even if it means one is in line to pay before another.  The hell is the need for hurrying through life.

I get mad at myself sometimes (that's not beautiful), but, happy to report I try, I really really try, to dig, find beauty in everything i can.  I know you do too.  It's a thirst. A hearthrob.  Our MO.

Two week old bananas.  Farts the linger.. and linger..  Very loud people whenya ain't got headphones... fer sure, ugly is out there.  Gnaw the arm of ugly off like a coyote might do.

Life is good. Even beautiful. 

"Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it."  Confucius 

Amen Brother Ben, and you too Henry Gibson and even Confucius

Love, Victurd

Someone knockin' at the door...

In this song by the Beatles...... Victor, this ain't the Beatles.  It was written in 1976 by Paul McCartney and performed by Wings. Oh, k, thanks.

In the song 'Someone Knocking At My Door' by Wings..   Victor.. the name of the song is 'Let 'Em In'.   Oh, k, thanks (and sorry.)

Damnit darnit where was I?

What is your take when someone knocks at your door?  Excitement?  Go the hell away? Plan a speech as you walk to the door?  Hide? Don't answer the door?

I'll be frank, which is not to be confused with Zappa, Sinatra, 'lin Roosevelt, or -furter....

I don't like when someone (physically) knocks at my door.  It's about self image is why, but that's a story for another novel, and this is a blog.

In this instance - it means 'someone knocking at the door of your life', and that, after admitted 'arm's length judgment' (just shoot me, but I think we all do it), I love letting someone in my life.

Since I'll admit to (initially) being judgmental, I ain't a fan of cliques, BIG TIME ain't a fan of cliques.  (Victor, did you take your Wellbutrin, this all sounds VERY negative?) Stymie halt, wait justa minute, wait justa gol durn minute and lemme type, try to explain what I mean, then it'll get positive, I'm positive!

So Victor, lemme see if I've got this right.  You're judgmental but you're not a fan of cliques. Are you ambidextrous too because you're talking out of both sides of your mouth? Hold on horseface, I'll try to explain.

To me, a clique is like....... say you're leaving WallyWorld, and while you usually come for one or two items, you end up spending a hunnerd-plus, you carry enough bags to cut your circulation off as you race from the car to your front door.  THIS TIME though, you leave WallyWorld and you don't buy anything. SO.  You try to exit the entrance, but there's those 'bar/gate things' that won't let you through.  To me, that's what a clique is..  a gate that's unattended, already made up it's mind, and... you ain't goin' no damn where.

Interesting. Carry on, if you must.  I must. I think most of us, at least me, 'attend' the gate as someone enters your life... you won't ever stop them from passing though, you'll be friendly, nice, treat them as you would want to be treated - but befriending is a different thing.

You're still not making it real clear Victor, and, that shovel next to you, appears you've dug yourself in a little hole.  Continue please.

OK, lemme try to step outta the hole and throw some damn dirt in the level this thing out. Things change.  Life changes.  If I were to go back fitty, sixty years ago, my two very best friends, we did everything together.  Sounds a little clicky Victor, but carry on.  No, we weren't that, we loved everyone, honest, we just enjoyed doing things together.

Yeah....... so?  So. Now one is deceased, the other has 6 kids, a football team and a half of grandkids, and he's barely got time in life to take a coffee break.

So.......... I have been blessed. Blessed I'm telling you for all the folks that have come into my life in the meantime.

Victor, could be all those damn jobs you've had.  You're probably right streaky-underwear person, but wow, I'm happy to say I've met some (actually SO very many) wonderful people.

I don't have peanut butter in my ears Victor, I remember your 'arm's length' statement.  True that Mr. Grab a Banana and make yourself a sandwich, true that.

What I mean is - you turn back the clock years and years ago - you think, every friend you have will be the complete list of friends you'll have in a lifetime - but thankfully, that just ain't so.  And blissfully, that just ain't so.

"The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend."  Henry David Thoreau

Take Facebook (some would say "Take Facebook and shove it, I ain't ever going there - and that's ok, I understand).  Still, take Facebook - I would believe we all have made very good friends there - and friends where, in our lifetime, we've probably spent little or no time with them in person.  I've 'fallen' in 'Like' with so many there over the years. Buds, good buds, and again, some of us have never formally knocked at the door of the other.  There's much more to friendship than riding shotgun with someone, taking a vacay, downing one or seven at the bar, spending hours on the phone talking - friends is friends in many form or fashion.  Yum, at least to me.

"There is nothing on this Earth more to be prized than true friendship."  Thomas Aquinas

Ain't there a bridge somewhere where lovers take a padlock to and they pick a spot to place it, lock it, so it'll be there forever? Similar could be done with friends.  Yes Victor, there is that bridge, but don't you think after so, so many, the bridge would be weighted down?  Fall, collapse? OH NO, the span would be SO MUCH stronger.  Kinda like life, the person, the friendship, it makes us better, stronger, happier, all the more pleasing to pop outta bed in the morning and say "Thanks" insteada "Do I haveta?"

"A true friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.  Jim Morrison.  You tell 'em Jim, the time to hesitate is through.

Not all puzzle pieces fit, and that's ok. The list of 'have to's' in our life is fairly short.  Some people have no want to be with me, and, you tell 'em Gloria, "I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give, I will survive, hey, hey."

Maybe moss don't grow on a rolling stone, but, in this life, as we make it over the bump and head downhill, it's well noted we grow, simply from the collection of wonderful friends we've made over the years.

I've noticed, about every few years, all through my life, I've been able to say, "Some of my favorite people all time, I've met in these last few years."  I usedta be all about collecting baseball cards, now, life is all about collecting friends.

Sometimes I have a hard time explaining what I mean.  Very basically, I'd be a nutcase were it not for all the friends I've been lucky enough to have made and call friend.  Thank each and every one of you.

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."   Elbert Hubbard.

You tell 'em Elbert and I'll pat 'ma foot. And, guard the door.

Do me a favor, open the door and let 'em in..  ooh yeah... 

"A wing is a type of fin that produces lift while moving through the air." Wikipedia...   Or, as Paul and Wings might suggest, friends produce lift.  True that.

By Henry Gibson......   Forward by Paul McCartney, WingStop, Buffalo Wild Wings, The West Wing, And, the synonyms: Fly, Glide, and Soar.....

Love, Victurd

Living remotely......

If life afforded a do-over, I woulda run, not walked, to 1164 Morning Glory Circle back in the day.

Yeah?  Yeah.......

The hell is there?  Elizabeth Montgomery, that's who.

You mean Samantha Stephens?   Uh huh.

Why there?  Why her?  Did you just like get here?  OK, I was only 12 when Bewitched debuted, and mebbe that woulda been a tad young to go chase Elizabeth, but damn I wish I woulda.  I've loved her for going on fitty-eight years now.

She could twinkle her nose and make everything all good.  Did I mention she was beautiful?

Quite a few years after we'd been blessed to watch the fix-everything with a twitch witch.. I was sitting on the sofa... For like the 4th time that day, I tried to convince my wife of something we really needed to do. I don't have any recollection of what it was, but I'll never forget the moment when, she lifted up the remote control, pointed it at me and started clicking.

Hell to the yeah. THAT, is how life should be.

Crying baby, being anywhere where you hear someone's voice that grates and grates on you?  Your boss, asking, once again, if you were done with the three month project two weeks after he'd assigned it to you.  CLICK. CHANGE CHANNEL. HIT MUTE.  Seeya!

OK, just shoot me, I'd really rather hit the hay with Samantha, but, if life afforded me control with a remote control, I guess I could settle for that.

You say something really really stupid, maybe hurtful, you're embarrassed....... BINGO....... hit REWIND..  All good.

It's 4:45am, you've had under 6 hours of sleep?  Just hit the POWER button, our problems are solved.

Problem knowing what to say, how to parent your kid in a trying time?  The alternator on your car ain't alternating. It's right on top. Mechanic wants two weeks of your salary to fix, you don't know lefty loosie from rightie tighty?  HIT GUIDE BUTTON.

Your snotnoses first steps?  Scenes from your mom and dad's 50th anniversary?  That time your boss Ebenezer ACTUALLY complimented you?  HIT VIDEO REPLAY!

That HORRIBLE argument you/she were in, and the one hour, 15 minute 'make-up' you had upstairs, HIT VID........ VICTOR!  Sorry, got carried away.

Having a take this job and shove it moment?   Just hit your second consecutive tee shot into the woods?  HIT EXIT BUTTON.

Driving to work....... You hear that choir preface to Mick talking about "You can't always get what you want." CRANK VOLUME.  You are NEVER too old to CRANK VOLUME even if your driver side window quit working two years ago, you're at a stoplight and the window is still two inches from completely closing. CRANK VOLUME.

NUMBER PAD.  Pick a year, any year.  Prom? The Little League Championship game? Whiffle ball in the front yard? A college mixer with 43 gorgeous Zeta Tau Alphas (or any of the sororities)?  Pick a NUJMBER, a corresponding number. Why, one could even use that button when standing atop the scale. Pick a number, any number. Life should be like that, go back, yeah it should.

MENU.  Hell to the yeah. Mom's Spanish Rice. Lovey Houston's 300 burger.  JackStack's Poor Russ Pulled Pork Sandwich?  Feed me Seymour!

You're in a conversation, well, someone is conversing with you and there ain't no way in hell they seem like they will allow you to get a word in... one place suggested you should take off a sock and hand it to the nonstop chatterer.. life with a remote control, simply push INPUT... or MUTE.. or EXIT.. or POWER!

Granddaughter's 1st grade music performance?  50th Class reunion,? Well this could be the last time. baby the last time.. HIT RECORD.

Feel like Colorado?  The four dead guys in granite?  Padre Island? A night at the Del Coronado?  JUST HIT DIRECTION, swoooooooooooooosh.

Would love a great golf fore-some of buds?  A cold one at the Corner Bar?  A weekend at the Lake?  JUST HIT FAV and your buddies will be there!

In seriousness, of course all of the above is not remotely possible. Yes damnit, pun probably intended.  The very nice thing, I've found, about aging, is we do tend to react, live more like we're holding the remote control with our actions.

Life has 'learned us' to deduct, act much more swiftly so as not to relive errors of the past.

It would kinda be nice to be 12 again. Or 16, 21, 43.  Actually though, this age is pretty special.  If we even tried to go back, we would lose much of the memories, friendships, special moments, lessons learned.

Besides..... even if life did come with a remote, the aisle in WalMart would probably be completely out of AA and AAA batteries.

"For awhile there, it was kinda hard to tell which witch was witch."  Samantha

Twinkle twinkle little star,

Get me outta here and take me far.

By Henry Gibson...........    Forward by Endora, Gladys Kravits and Darwin.

Love, Victurd

A kiss is justa kiss... . but...it's only 4 letters......

Wordle........

Damnit, wordle.

There's nicotine, booze, drugs, sex, gambling,........

You awaken..... there's slobber on your pillow.. you flip it over.  No matter, you still have visions of sugarplums..... no, that ain't it.. you still have visions of gray, green, yellow --- letters...

Ya wakeup feeling like onea Pavlov's dogs?  Don't lie to me slobberbreath.  Ya do.  Damnit.  So do I.

October, 2021, Wordle created.  November 1, 2021, ninety, yes, you read that right, NINETY players. By the end of January, 2022, millions.. yep, millions of us addicted. As the peepers open, the slobber pillow tossed aside, all we can think about is Wordle.  Well, after we pee that is... then, it's Wordle. (If you are a lady and you're peeing, you're probably already thinking about Wordle possibilities as you sit.  If you are a man, you aim to, but only after you aim, flush, walk (run) to the computer.

Seven figures.  Lemme count.  Minimally, that'd be $1,000,000. Seven is hella more than five, so, a high five to Wordle creator Josh Wardle. "Low seven figures" is what he recently sold the game Wordle to The New York Times. Ahm, he still works.  Please don't shoot me Josh, but 'dummy' is five letters.

Compare is seven letters, but it we must, 1% get Wordle correctly the very first time, or, basically blind ass luck. After 2 tries (and yes, I found an article completely about attempting to solve Wordle in two tries, advice for same).   28% solve it after two letters.  While I've yet to accomplish this, I've had several friends do so on Facebook, and I hate you all.

Another 38% solve it in 3 tries....... 20% get it in five.... 7% on the sixth try.. and... Drum roll...... but first (first is five letters).. First, band camp, I forever said "If I strikeout in slowpitch, I am NEVER ever playing again"  Well, I struck out. Penalty for same on the team I played on was to purchase a 30-pack for all to share the next game (Pepsi of course, since it's 5 letters. Maybe it was Coors, I don't remember.)  Could be worse. Another team in the league I played in, if you struckout, you had to wear a 'tu-tu' in the next half inning out on the field.  While 'tu-tu' is only 4 letters, it's for friggin' sure SHAME is five. 

Where was I?  Oh yeah, striking out.  I did that. I digressed.  "Well, OK, I struck out, but I enjoy playing so much, I'm going to keep doing so until I'm a detriment to my team." (My softball 'career' ended in 2017, don't ask.)

Drum still rolling (think, inagaddadavida baby, which is 14 letter, and yes, pretty much continuous.).  ONE PERCENT do not solve the puzzle in the maximum 6 tries. Damnit darnit, yes, I've 'struck out' a few times.  I enjoy 'the game' so though (fun, something to look forward to besides hearing aid, life insurance, and burial solicitations I get in snail mail almost daily coupled with ED ads in email. How DO they know?) I will continue to play until it is detrimental to my health, as if the 7 cigarette butts accumulated in the ashtray whilst playing tweren't enough.

SO WHOINTHEHELL IS THE BEST AT THIS?  I'm glad you asked.  The ones that are really, really good on Facebook, I long ago unfriended them for that.  Hehe.  Google tells me the Swedes are the level best (solving at a 3.72 average) followed by the Poles, Switzerland folks, and 4th place, the Aussies.

But what 'bout Merica?  Again, glad you asked.  North Dakotans be the best.  They plan to one up their neighbor South Dakota by carving the faces of FIVE in granite.. no idea about who the 5th will be after George, Thomas, Theodore and Abe.  I understand Don feels he is worthy.  Hehe  Get mad if you like, I'm good.

THE best city solvers in the US reside in St. Paul, MN. Notables in the top ten cities, Ann Arbor, living on Tulsa time, and thirteen hundred and fifty-two guitar pickers in Nashville.

You can.  There are a kajillion math nerds out there.  You can.  You can Google the best starting word(s), the best 'first two tries', one guy played the game a million times in his computer.. you can find all those articles, but, fair warning, if you kick my butt I will unriend you.  Hehe.

Yeah but........

Yeah but......

The hell does kiss have to do with anyihing?

I'm so glad you asked. Josh Wardle, aka Wordle inventor, aka "Dummy" (5 letters) for still working, moved to 'Merica.. went to college, then grad school.  Presently, a software engineer for Brooklyn based MSCHF.  MSCHF created Lil Nas X's (he's a country rapper) "Satan Shoes."  Holy guacamole it created a stir.  They used the Nike logo, Nike sued. They included a pentagram and an inverted cross, MSCHF claims they are made with '60cc of ink and 1 drop of human blood." (yuck, or yucky, five letters.)  They only sold 666 pair of these shoes ($1018 apiece) and......

It's (the shoes) compared to a comic book published by Marvel Comics in 1977 based on the rock band Kiss, for which one of the members mixed vials of their own blood into the red ink used for printing the books.  YUCK(Y).

On your mark, get set, Wordle........ (but don't beat me)

By Henry Gibson.......... Forward by Five Guys Hamburgers, the Dave Clark Five, Hawaii 5 -0, The Firth Dimension, George Brett (#5), the Fab Five, the Jackson 5, the Dionne quintriplets, the 5 senses....

High Five, Gimme Five.......

Love, Victurd