Aging......

It ain't for the faint of heart........

Which, Merriam-Webster tells me means "lacking the courage to face something difficult or dangerous."

But hey, hey hey.  We ain't gots no choice.  I loves me going to the local Community Center pool.  I plop my fat butt in the jacuzzi (with this baby affliction I got, I ain't sposedta get in hot water, BUT, aging helps me be hardheaded, think "it's my time, not your time", along with, "Damn this feels good.")

Where was I?  Oh yeah, soaking my fat body amongst the jets of the jacuzzi.  A perfect place to eyeball the diving board thirty feet or so to the West.  I loves me watching some tykes getting up there for the very first time.  There's quite the variety... you got the naturals.  Doesn't happen often, but does.  You got the noseholders. I ain't real sure why that bugs me but it does.  Just shoot me, it looks kinda 'sissyfied.'  Yeah, I said it.  And then you got the ones, in spite of much verbal urging, encouragement from family folk on the side of the pool.... they walk up the steps to the board.  They may take two, or five, or even eight steps toward the end of the board, but NOPE, ain't doin' it, you can't make me, "lacking the courage to face something difficult or dangerous."

We oldsters, MUST, gotta, have to - take that walk on the diving board of life and continue to age.  We ain't gots not choice.

Older means slower..... Older means wiser, OR DOES IT?

I just revisited a Facebook post from a year ago.  The idiotic poster (me) was bemoaning the fact the Kansas City Royals show little or no emotion when they, strike out, make an error, walk a batter, yada.  And, that bugged me. Kinda like holding one's nose as they splash into the water from the diving board.

A few agreed.  A few didn't.  "I used to hit my golf bag with my club after a bad shot, all it got me was a beat-up golf bag." Anudder said they preferred the more laid back approach... and admittedly seen good things (winning) when you have vocal guys on the team, but, throwing things or breaking bats on the field is more about  "look at me" than winning."

So, I walked to the fridge and made a quick cheese sandwich, because, most of us old people, that's what we do.  We eat when we ain't really hungry.  We conform to the idea, contrary to dietitians, doctors, Dr. Oz and exhibit "You're not the boss of me."

Where was I?  Jacuzzi?  No, that ain't it.  I was busy racking my brain with the thought "I hate (love) when I'm this very old fart and someone very eloquently suggests maybe I'm wrong, provides detail to back their theory... so I wimp off (Holding my nose like sissy) and move onto whatever is next.  (Probably a pickle. I loves me some pickles. FYI, don't buy the "Great Value" pickles from WallyWorld, or the "Always Save" from the Piggly Wiggly...old age has taught me, there are just times you pay a little more for 'oh baby' so much better quality.)

Where was I?  I think you were trying to get the lid off the pickle jar Victor.  I've noticed, with age, you are having more and more difficulty with that.  Bite me.  True, but damnit, even if I gotta get the hammer out, I'm having a pickle, Vlasic, tyvm.

Going back to the baseball conversation - I've spent much, much of this growing of age (and growing fat) in my lifetime thinking "I'm right, you're wrong."  It's myway or the highway.  HEY TEACHER, LEAVE US KIDS ALONE. I don't have to have any meat to eat my gosh darn pudding.

SO JUST WHEN I AM ABOUT TO ADMIT, "maybe, just maybe these people are correct in their thinking 'be good sports', 'it ain't about you', 'if you hit your golf bag with your club you'll shoot your eyes out"......... or, I'M AGING, MAYBE, aging helps me learn "Victor, you ain't always right."  (Say it ain't so.)

And then I was humbled.  The wife of onea my friends.... men play baseball, women play softball.. oh you there choking on what appears to be suggesting I'm a myso... misew... misojen...misogin... ahm, a person who dislikes, despises or is strongly prejudiced against women, way inside the checkenginelight there's a blog where I list 214 ways to prove I ain't no misogynist. (Up to and including to fifty years ago when I was one of the two very first coaches on the very first women's team at a local college the first year after Title IX happened. So THERE, nanny nanny boo boo.)

Where was I?  Victor, you were probably gagging on that sliver of glass that was in the Vlasic pickle after you were finally able to open the jar with your ball peen hammer.  No, that ain't it.

I was about to................ drum roll kinda sorta..... admit a woman put me in my place.  And I ain't even sure if she ever played a lick of softball in her life.  She wrote:

"I like that they model good behavior for young players. I don't want to see Little League's throwing tantrums when they strike out or lose much less paid professionals, and you can compete fiercely without hating your opponent. There is already too much hate in this country."

Inotherwords, aging thankfully has taught me there is generally more than one opinion on things in life.  Like, "Well I happen to think it's CUTE when my grandchild holds his nose after he jumps off the diving board."

OK, OK, OK....

Where was I? Victor, I think you were getting ready to swallow to a big ole gulp of pride.

Yeah mebbe.  Aging is kinda sorta (hard) but teaches me (us) to be a little more tolerant.  I don't like me some saggers... treble hooks in the nose... hustle-bustle.. tailgating..yada.. but thankfully I've worked hard (cheese sandwiches, pickles, yada) on building this body shape of mine, and I don't think it's possible to forever again get it bent out of shape.

I draw the line at holding my nose off the diving board though, even if you do think "it's cute."

Bend me, shape me, anyways you want me, long as you love me, it's alright.

By Henry Gibson      (Forward by Greg Louganis, Keith Richards and George Gobel)

Love,Victurd

S-U-C-C-E-S-S, that's the way we spell SUCCESS......

I remember being 17, on the basketball team.  Prior to a game, we'd be in the locker room downstairs - the cheer and the foot stomping from gymnasium floor above was accompanied by the Cheer "Waitin'.... waitin'...  waitin' on the Bluejays."  We weren't able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but, gotta admit, the Adrenalin got going a tad and it DID make you jump a little higher.  FYI, me and Mr. Bundy both played HS football, AND, I once dunked a tennis ball.  SUCCESS yeah?  Hehe.

Then, somewhere along the way during the game, the cheer  "S-U-C-C-E-S-S, that's the way we spell SUCCESS......" came out.  Usually early in the game, cause we'd oft times be down fitteen in the second half and then the cheer sounded kinda silly.

We finished the year 7 and 14.  Most would say that ain't very successful.

What is success in life?  What makes up a successful life? (This is where the blog writer probably is going to tell you that, which, of course, is bull-hockey, but, I blog, it's what I do.)

Of course I went straight to Google.  Found an article "9 tips for how to find success in life."  Learned "Success is often defined as the ability to reach your goals in life. In some ways, a better word for success might be attainment, accomplishment, or progress."  I've always drank coffee insteada tea, but, kinda scratching my head this definition ain't really my cup of tea, as in, myehh...

I felt somewhat validated in the opinion when I read on and the writer related "Success is often defined as accomplishing your personally-defined goals in life. Because goals are sef-created....."  Huh?  And I said to myself, "SEF?" What the L happened to the L?  S-U-C-K-E-S-S, that's the way my proofreader spells SUCCESS. (Side note, AT&T just opened a store in the town where I work, Kearney, MO.  Boo-koo ads to announce same on Facebook.  They spell Kearney as Kearny.  REAL E?  OK, OK, I admti occasionally a typo or four here.

Where was I?  Oh yeah.  There were parts of the article I liked.  In spite of someone doing well at work, having a high salary, reaching professional goals and accomplishments, maybe that leaves out important parts of the puzzle like family, romantic relationships, academics, athletics, yada.

Success, it is said, is kinda like anything.  There is no one answer.

Nuther article suggested "it's never too late to start over" and referenced Oprah getting fired from her first broadcasting job at age 23... Micheal Jordan getting cut from his 8th grade basketball team.. at age 62, the 'Kernel' himself started Kentucky Fried Chicken. I actually thought it was spelled Colonel, but what the L, they been leaving them out anyways.

I could, thru personal observation, add to the above list.  My buddy R ate glue in 3rd grade Art Class. Nuther buddy, L, pooped his drawers almost weekly in first grade.  Hell, I walked at the age of 8 months, HIGH HOPES for me then look what happened!

Turning, if I may, to some seriousness, one of the writers wrote "I used one of the most cathartic and depressing points of my life as the catalyst to define my take on success. It came when I stepped out of the closet - only to lose family and friends, status and regard. In the midst of this heartbreak and hope, I was vulnerable.  I realized what I needed most at this point in my life was open minds and soft hearts."

"We" are, can be, cruel bastards.  Writer continued "Moving forward, I sought these values in myself and others, above all.  I defined for myself that, at the end of my life, the most important markers of success would be how I answer these two questions, 'How open is my mind?', and, 'How soft has my heart remained?'

I admit, I enjoyed her two evaluators of success... much is important, and that is different for many (money, status, education, awards, achievements, family, good person, easy going, great variation of goals.)

Success is a judgment call.  As scorned as the word 'judge' is, I think we (mostly) all do it. Oft times we do it without a lot of context and it can be negative in some way. One article espoused "Judging others can increase fears of being judged and can decrease feelings of connection and empathic understanding.

This got deep and that really wasn't my intent... I guess. 

I'm not sure this is the same as defining success - but at a funeral, there is much retrospect. Feel. Tears. Smiles.  Memories. Loss.  Hurt.  (If we didn't feel, hurt, recall smiles, memories, have tears for this person, we probably wouldn't be at the funeral.)

The walk to the car brings "That was a good person. I will very much miss them."

(Paul Harvey.... just so you'll know, R (the glue eater) started his own business and retired vely vely wealthy.. L (the poop his pants guy) to my knowledge, hasn't pooped his pants in over 60 years.)

Love, Victurd

All about aging, Cliffs Notes version........or, by Henry Gibson, your call.

Ain't sure about you, but, there's one website that always propagates when I worry about any number of medical growing old issues arising: (Am I dying or is it just a bellyache?) - and that's WebMD.com.

In basketball terms, they'd be First Team All American, 'cause they gots Doctors opines, studies, suggestions, etc., on their website.  Wiki (doesn't wiki know everything?) says WebMD is one of the top healthcare websites, as they have the most 'unique users' (like, 127 million in the first quarter of 2020). Which, makes me wonder, who ain't unique?  And, what's more, can you say "Unique New York" THREE TIMES, REAL FAST?  Bet you can't.

Hop to it Victor.

I found an interesting article (ok, it's interesting to me) from their website entitled '14 things no one tells you about aging.'oor

"Lots of know-how."  Well that one ain't gonna shock the world.  True, we're pretty damn proud of ourselves. Article says "you're good at using what you've learned... it's called crystallized intelligence". (Heaven help us when the crystallized meth age group becomes old farts.)

"Mr. Nice Guy."  SAY IT AIN'T SO.  We've waited SO long to gripe, weather, government, whippersnappers, bursitis, poor eyesightus, can't hear, hold my teeth and watch this. Not true says WebDr, 'more agreeable...happier... less inclined to get angry."  Hmmm..

"Better sex."  Ahm (looking around) may be unique, but HELLO... crickets.  The last time I heard my boxsprings was when them the moving guys helped me move my bed (and all my goods) from that one apartment to this'n. Article says sexual satisfaction gets better with age. In fact, "Women over 80 were more likely than those between 55 and 79 to say they were satisfied during sex."  Criminy, I just turned 70, I gotta wait ten more years? I ain't sure I'll make it!

"What's that doing there?" (No, we've moved on from talking sex... you pervert.)  They're talking hairs.  The kind on the head thin, start to go, but, we men get these damn stray hairs on our ears and nose, and women get 'em on the chin.  FYI WebMD writers - we knew that.

"Rise and shine."  (Again, we've moved on from sex.  I'm beginning to think you may have a problem.)  Basically, we get sleepier earlier and thus, awaken earlier.

"Bye-bye migraines."  Thankfully, never had 'em, but, posted this in case you do, thus, I hope this is good news for you and that it comes true.

"Don't quit your day job." "Early retirement may not be the best thing for your health. People who work hard at a job they enjoy tend to live the longest."  Maybe because I was long ago a basketball coach, but I'm calling for a fullcourt press to announce "BS!"  Years before I retired I'd tell kids "don't be like me.. put 10% away and never touch it so you can get the hell outta here at 65."   I am no (financial, relationship, quitting smoking) expert now I tell kids "Put money away, don't touch it and get the hell out as early as you can (ie, prior to 65 if they ever get the damned healthcare thing ever worked out.  Sure, this doesn't apply to all - but, countless times I've heard "I can't believe how much I used to worry and worry about work crap...and now that I've retired, I see how trivial that all is. Amen brother Ben, be like Snagglepuss, left, as soon as you can.

"Fear is not your friend."  Worry about falls, broken bones, yada.  Eh, true - but, I bet we take extra time in our movements so as not to fall, break bones.

"Self confidence."  Webb dudes say it soars over a lifetime, but, uh oh, suddenly takes a dip after age 60.  Due to, Webby say "Health issues.... needing a new sense of purpose..."  'Treatment' for that Webby say "healthier lifestyles and working to an older age" to which i reply "Take this job and...... and then hand me a Miller Lite please."

If you ain't asleep yet, I'm gonna add some goodies I found from other sites about aging.

Things I find I like about aging:

(Close your ears, printing just as it read) "I give zero fucks... used to party like a rockstar for fear of missing out, now, go to bed early, bought me some new fuzzy kicks, I don't give a crap if you like them. There's no peer pressure and that's so freeing."

"I'm not afraid to ask for what I want."

"I'm not afraid of saying no."

"I'm proud of what makes me different. Don't fit in, don't care. What makes me unique (there's that word again) makes me great."

"I realize my ability to make an impact on people's lives." I like this one, but, I too would add "Or not."

S'more plagiarized from another article on 'things I realize as I age':

Life is too short not to ask the guy/girl out.

Adults don't know what they're doing either.

Nothing in life is forever so take it slow.

Remember to thank people.

You can't earn somones love nor should you have to.

Absolutely take that extra trip to see your family.

Whether you believe it or not, people care about you.

Always listen to your gut. Some aren't to be trusted.(If you wanna expedite that process, get a dog, see how they behave when someone new comes into the house/picture!)

Learn to accept change and just go with it.  "Remember, when the music changes (and it will) don't stop dancing."

Hope there was a tad bit of enjoyment from this... I'm going to put my med-alert thing on, take my 8 pills for the day, drink a Boost, put that salve on my itchy itchy rash, take a nap, then, try to decipher how many more days it is until I turn 80.... and then, depends. (get outta town, I did NOT capitalize depends.)

Love, Victurd

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