24%

I woulda guessed more. Survey says, 11% of Americans indicate Winter as their favorite season. I have two friends among this group. One loves pictures of frozen lighthouses in the UP, the other does backflips anytime it snows. I think they're both nuts, don't tell.

41% prefer Fall and I do love Fall. Summer comes at 24% as does Spring. I love all three of those but if forced to pick, yeah, Spring, getting Winter outta the damn rear view mirror.

"In the Spring I have counted 137 different kinds of weather inside 24 hours." Mark Twain

This town, Liberty, Mo, is here because explorers two hunnerd years ago found an inexhaustible spring, kept being thirsty, pitched tent, stayed. Just to our East, they found springs, many, believed them to have healing powers so they started a mineral water health resort, juala, Excelsior Springs, MO. I think they're all wet, but that's only because they beat us my Senior year in the annual HS football game to claim (temporarily) the infamous dueling pistols.

A majority of critters are born in the Spring, Spring chickens per se. The grass is greener, better to munch on. Cows won't wander off, freeze or have predators get their babies, so they birth in barns. We all know deer go nutso in Winter months, RUT Roh, Spring Bambi's.

At what age do we become "No spring chicken?" I remember the basta's sending me my AARP card at 50 (I tore it up, the next year I admit to peeking to see what kinda discounts we get.) I learned I was fer sure no Spring chicken ten years ago when I ordered "a small black coffee" at Mickey D's and the snotnose chirped back happily "One Senior coffee, comin' right up."

A spring in one's step - much provides impetus: pay raise, a birdie, finding $20 bill in jeans, 30 cents a gallon off thanks to Piggly Wiggly purchases, and getting laid. I wouldn't know but my friends tell me, "not so, usually a nap in order."

Arkansas has Eureka Springs (there's gold in them teeth they still got) and Hot Springs, home to 47 Springs having temps over a hunnerd. Folks in Hot Springs don't get married in Hot Springs for hot springs, instead, they drive to Miami, OK 'cause there ain't no waiting period.

I was gonna do a blog all about pee (we all pee and I try to find things we all relate to), didn't, then Spring sprung to mind.

There are the joys of Spring, warmer temps, tilling the garden, and baseball Ray. 

"People  ask me what I do in the Winter when there's no baseball. I'll tellya what I do. I sit and look out the window waiting for Spring! Rogers Hornsby

Spring cleaning, gonna Google later, never heard of it.

Spring fever, I get it, bad.

Spring has sprung, I am glad. Sorry to relate, that's all I had....sorry.

By Henry Gibson                               Forward by Bruce Springsteen 

Love, Victurd

Please Mr. Custer.....

Chocoholic, alcoholic, shopaholic, foodaholic, cokeaholic, dogaholic, hugaholic, tanaholic, Webaholic, runaholic, golfaholic, readaholic, talkaholic, cleanaholic, Catholic. (JK on the last one..happens when you Google "words that end in holic.")

That's alotta holic.

Of course one more, workaholic.

Recently I was visiting with a dear friend whose mate works hella more than Dolly's Monday thru Friday 9 to 5. It was a Saturday. In response to "What are you guys doing this weekend?", the answer was "Oh..so-and-so is behind a bit at work, so so-and-so went in to tie up loose ends."

There are BooKoo-holic possible reasons behind this, or anyone in same boat:

Money.... Want to... Pressure... Seasonal jobs... I no likey real life - work is my escape.. I no likey home situation - if I'm at work I ain't at home... loneliness.. going thru a bad time - if I'm at work I no thinky about bad time.

When EF Hutton talks, come tap me on the shoulder 'cause he's been dead since 1962.

I wrote that because, yes, I'm gonna give my opine, yes, simply because one has lived a lotta years they've seen a lot. Old is about all that's on my resume', LinkedIn.

One example, there ain't no changin' em. While many might say Cabo, Bora Bora, right behind home plate for an enter-favorite team here, Vegas, Roaring River tangling lines with way too many idiotic trout fisherholics like me... THERE ARE THOSE who never saw The Wizard of Oz, thus, THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE WORK I'd rather be. Done, finito, no changing them, thus, no try.

Conversely, some are maybe stuck, prefer not to be there, but compelled.

One band camp I worked at, for six months, we weren't exactly little Miss Muffet sitting on her tuffet, but we had normal ole normal workloads. Then, for six months, we couldn't keep up. One buddy and I worked every.single.day.yes.even.4th.of.July.

EF might suggest (grab your damn phone, record this! Remember! He's dead!)...EF might say "That's too much."

Really, this doesn't even have to be about time involved - but moreso, mind involved.

We need to live, breathe. If one is "busy building Rome" ya need  to take some damn time off to see Pompeii, Naples, Mount Vesuvius, Yada.

'Because I have to' can be an occupational magnet. Ugly.

If you are old like me, retired, you (too) occasionally might look in the rear view mirror in disbelief of how trivial (in the scope of life) work is.

I have a habit of spouting advice when it ain't asked for. Sorry, kinda.

To my dear friend up there above (the one who has told me on more than one occasion "Oh..so-and-so is behind a bit at work, so so-and-so went in to tie up loose ends," I did. Advice slipped out. I simply said "It's impossible for me to see the view from so-and-so's shoes but I understand  (if that makes sense.) Just know this, better days are ahead but don't be in too bigga hurry to get there because every day is a gift to enjoy."

I'm off to see the wizard.

No, that ain't it. I'm off to breakfast out(aholic), drink coffee(aholic), smokes cigs(aholic), read the paper(aholic). Then, nap(aholic).

Much. Much just above ain't good forya, but did you notice? NO TIME CLOCK.

By Henry Gibson           Forward by L. Frank Baum

Love, Victurd

I've got a 'hitchy hitchy' rash....

As in, a hitch in the getalong.

(Editor's note: Blogs bear resemblance to Wiki. Anyone can contribute (truth, lie, embellish, affirm, avow, assert, pronounce, dance a little sidestep, swear to goodness, swindle, yada, cougar mellencamp, etc.)

It is written, it must be so eh?

Well, no. Quoting my stepson, "Not no's, but hells no's."

So, where are we? Damnit Jim (Victurd), with an intro like that, I ain't real sure. Let's start with your "hitchy hitchy" up there, we're itchin' to know.

Glad you asked, thanks.

In life there are hitches. Band camp, a few years back - after a Royal's game (dark-thirty) my buddy TR and I, seeking our car, found the row, walked along it (brisk clip, whatever speed that is at age 65) and a trailer hitch, had to be two foot long, 'jumped out' and sent TR to his knees. He's a religious man but he owes a few quarters to the jar and frankly, I didn't blame him. YEEEEOOUCH!

Life is a steeple chase. There be all kinda obstacles in our paths. Many are physical, many are medulla oblongata related (remember that one from High School - you probably don't, you were in all likelihood trying to look up that one chick's dress - another certain hitch to come.

Hitches can be bottled, rolled and smoked, snorted, popped, which (because it's MY blog/Wiki) I can relate that list reminded me of Arlo's 'Alice' song, ie, "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected." Much. Much in life is a hitch.

We jump in different cars. Some love First On Race Day, other's like Dinah's "See the USA". (Damn you're old.) Yet others like compact, "save the Earth, 43 mpg" (scew that, you seen gas prices? That's why.). Some like 2 wheels. Some folks even like children and have three, count 'em THREE rows of seats. And don't forget Sparky, he prefers the plug in variety. 

(SOMEONE, I say SOMEONE, it wasn't me. I PROMISE relatives, former students, players I coached, those who formally liked me, I DIDN'T WRITE IT!".)

For goodness sakes Victor, you didn't write what?.......................

If it has tits or tires, you're bound to have trouble with it. <-- Nuh uh, wasn't me....but... it does kinda fit today's blog/Wiki. (James Greer it WASN'T ME! I ain't no misogynist!)

We ALL have hitches.

Victor, how do you come up with this crap, these ideas?  You really wanna know? YES. OK, but I'll forewarn you the last time I did this, a gal on Facebook (actually, the first gal I ever kissed, ha, kiss-n-tell, Plaza Theater 19AnotherCenturyAgo) wrote in big, REAL BIG LETTERS, TMI!, and then she unfriended me!

The idea for this blog. I have an affliction. It's slowed me down, I can no longer walk a long distance or stand on my feet very long. It is forever. PLEASE KNOW, I have a blessed life, I work part-time at a golf course, play golf, I just have to chase women that don't run as fast. Stage 1, controlled by compression socks and elevating my feet. THERE ARE MANY, MANY WORSE OFF.

This morning, I was reading from an online support group and someone asked "how many (stage 4, 5) were homebound?" and the answer wasn't good. Many in their 50's, some even in their 30's, 40's.

Thankfully, beautiful people abound. Many brought the message "When it's hard, you don't wanna get up, GO, DO."

I know there are those (in life) that physically may not be able to get up and go, BUT, they get that abdula oblongata UP and'a SMILING, We all, perhaps, are friends to those whose mate may have dementia - and they, our friend, are the GO, DO cheerleader in their lives.

And ya know? There are slam-dunkers, 400' home run hitters, singers singing and strumming to 40,000 in the arena that have HITCHES.

Next door neighbors, kiddos that announce "May I take your order please?", Pastors, bowling teammates, the plumber, ---------------------------- HITCHES. No one is immune to hitches.

Bottomline, GO, DO. Sure, it might be easier to fold up like a taco, stay home, hide. Don't. Get up, GO, DO.

TMI, I know, but I didn't expect you to kiss me anyways.

Again, the 'T & T' quote, I didn't do it. Professor Plum did, with the candlestick, in the library.

GO, DO, love, Victurd

Word'll killya.... or not....

Much, about Wordle, reminds me of life.

There are the night owls. They Pavlov/Wordle at the stroke of midnight. Most, ain't seen the sunrise since their 20's, and that was only because "oh baby, oh baby.....I do" was said somewhere along the way (right Meatloaf?).. followed closely by "Everyone is having babies.....let's,"... and then, off to work at ungodly-o-thirty "THE SUN! I CAN'T SEE THE DAMN ROAD, but, I must get the baby to daycare now for a jumpstart on rush hour.. and I must do all this to pay for the shag carpet we're getting this weekend.. not to mention our car payment (Ford Escort) is due.. and speakin'o'that, we have GOT to get a bigger car.... two lava lamps and a sweet ole bean bag chair from Dolgins, pulled into Schoellers to get groceries.....NO ROOM! Fast forward to today, "THAT...all that, is why I never get up at ungodly-o-thirty any longer."

Editor's note, I hate 'em, btw... I can't make it past the 4th inning of the Royal's game, and I ain't seen Letterman in years..and besides all that, they NEVER get  a 5, 6 or X on Wordle. JK, kinda sorta...

A few, somewhere between 1:30 and 3am, get 'Kramer eyeballs', wakeup, Wordle, then I ain't sure what they do.

Then there's the group I belong to (those of us that ain't seen Letterman in 20 years....HUH? He retired? Wow). Anyways, we toss, turn, go pee, try sleeping on our back instead..no, that don't work...toss, turn s'more..give in, get up and run (if you can call it that) to pee (so we don't wet our undies.) Make coffee, hear the morning paper hit the sidewalk, turn on National news (it's too early for local), flip on the laptop/Facebook, "would you look at that? Same weird insomniacs every morning.. oh wait, that would be me too then, eh? Nevermind."

It's then, the game of life, and Wordle begin.

ALL GRAY. It's like you stepped in a recent, very recent, fur-ball. That big bite of the sausage, egg and cheese sandwich you just swallowed, I think you shoulda thrown that sausage out. All that, and when you checked your bank account earlier, you goofed and you have $163 less than what you thought.

(Vowels. Vowels are family, relatives. Regardless of how you get along, or not, they're there and they ain't goin' nowhere. Tweren't for them, we wouldn't be here, ie, mandatory.)

That said, one yellow letter, first try, is ucky . About as exciting as "One beefy cheesy burrito, no sour cream", pay, pull off, unwrap, bite...sour cream.  Or, for those that have ever dated online, meeting, walking in, seeing right away "nope....now what?"

First try, three letters, maybe even one in the right place, YEAH BABY, it's gonna be a good day!

Consonants. R, S, T, N, L. Ain't them the ones Vanna automatically turns over? They're the frequents that ain't blood in your life. You know, your BFF, next door neighbor, favorite classmates, coworkers, friends from your 'Cheers' (or bingo, bunko, the gym, church.) Mainstays.

Some consonants, like Q, Z, X maybe. It's that Aunt or Uncle you see once every few years at the family reunion at the City Park. Then the rest, W, Y, P, D, F, etc, these are the everyday, common folks in our lives. They tailgate, or pass you, come the opposite way down the aisle in the Piggly Wiggly. They hold the door for you, or not, at QuikTrip. Recipe ingredients. Parts, necessary Wordle parts.

X= damn. Nap maybe. Probably gonna rain. I never noticed that mole before. 'RING', caller ID, "I wonder whatinthehell he/she wants?".... Five, count 'em, five three putts.

4 or 5 = meh, Buehler...Buehler... Unless by chance it enables you to beat your most ardent competitor, then it's "Ding dong the witch is dead, which ole' witch, the wicked witch."

3 = that's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it! Peacock proud!

2 = Let's: go to the casino.... chase each other 'round the room tonight... go to Jess & Jims for a big ole' juicy, yummy, steak... buy a new(er) car.... call in sick.

1 = CHEATER, LIAR.

I love life, Wordle. Some days are diamond, some days are mold. Life/Wordle is: traffic jams, smooth sailing, I feel pretty...oh so pretty.. I feel sh*tty, oh so sh*tty....WHAT? But I had a streak of 137 in a row! I know, I'll grab my phone, redo it on there. WHAT? It won't let me..I can't do that?

I get tired of letters man. Oh, NO, NO, NO, don't get me wrong I LOVE waking up daily, and know I'm blessed, be it a 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. X kinda day.

I do miss Letterman though.

Love, Victurd

Ever eat a pine tree?

Holy guacamole.....

The division was perceived to be between The FedEx Cup folks and The Arabian Oil Can folks (or whatever that's called.)

Yes, Woods to be a center of attention, but not that woods.

A weather delay happened at The Masters. Strong winds, rain, caused officials to sound air horns, signaling suspended play, "seek shelter" or, "Marky, I'm gonna whip your little ass." (*more about that.)

*Band camp, years ago, living in our neighborhood were three of my son's wonderful, VERY active little buddies (9-ish, 10-ish, 6-ish.) I know not details, but they lived with their grandparents, 6 or so houses up the block. Good, good kids, but you could tell, 'wearing' on Grandma, Grandpa. I truly admired them for stepping up, showering their love. In bad weather, Grandpa didn't mess around, calling out all three names for the kids to "Get home NOW!" The two oldest raced home, the youngest, Marky, ignored.  If the weather was bad enough he might get hurt, Grandpa would again emerge, and at a volume loud enough to hear from Apco to Sutherlands, he'd bellow "MARKY, I'M GONNA WHIP YOUR LITTLE ASS!"   Then, Marky would comply.

Where was I? Oh yeah, air horn at the Masters. As it sounded, some 15,000 spectators checked the radar on their Accuweather app to ascertain the severity (ie, just passing through, or, 'Marky I'm gonna whip your little ass' bad.) Deemed, "there's a clearing coming," they stayed. Fans are ardent like that, yeah they are.

"All clear, play ball"(golf)

Not real long after that, the sky again threatened... Some fifty folk sitting in green Master's lawn chairs by the 17th teebox, hear an excruciatingly LOUD 'CRACKING NOISE', looked up, looked behind, eyeballs enlarged, the fifty (thankfully) scurried out of the way of THREE HUGE PINE TREES (65 FEET TALL!) that were crashing down. Miraculously, no one was hurt. Fortunately, as two pines started to fall, a third pine held them up for a few seconds until it could no longer and all three fell. That very slight delay literally saved lives.

Immediately after, the air horn sounded ('Marky bad'), play was stopped. Chairs (empty) were crushed. One lady saw another lady standing BETWEEN the fallen trees, and a man was seen (safely) crawling out from under fallen pine branches. Certain Good Friday, Master irony.

In good ole Augusta CYA language on the back of the badges all patrons ('Patron' is Augusta for spectator) it's written (and I paraphrase):

By entering onto the grounds of ANI, Holder agrees to assume all risk and danger arising from attendance, including risks associated with COVID-19, eyeballs put-out by Pro V1's, injuries from a misguided haymaker from either a LIV or PGA player, found classified documents, unwelcome advances from porn stars, and droppings from a partridge in a pine tree. Holder releases and holds harmless ANI, its affiliates, directors, officers, employees, volunteers, agents and all Tournament officials and participants, from any claims of liability, including claims based on their alleged negligence, arising from the Agreement or Holder’s attendance at the Tournament, all as set forth in the Agreement.

Round three hopefully happens today.

By happenstance, I work at a golf course. Only once have I had to blow the air horn. I truly wondered, what if they ignored and got hurt? ("It's ok Vic, I've got graphite shafts!")

From now on, after I sound the air horn I'm gonna holler "Marky, I'll whip your little ass" so you'll know how severe it is.

By Henry Gibson         Forward by Euell Gibbons

Love, Victurd

 

A quickie...

(No, not that one.)

A quick note of thanks for all of the incredible folks lining our paths of life.

We are imperfect, human. Life, sure, can be real ugly - the last few years can attest to that.

I awaken daily and occasionally current events, vitriol make me wanna jump back in bed, throw the covers over my head until someone can assure me all the boogey men and women are gone.

I wanna come here to write happy, upbeat, in effort to turn the tables. I don't have to, people 'get in the way' of yuck and make life grand.

Just when one feels there's no way people could be kinder, nicer, fun/funnier, uplifting... more patient, generous, honest, positive, complementary, forgiving, attentive - THEY ARE.

Village people, as in it takes all them, for all of us.

Contrary to the perceived daily forecast of dark and stormy, it's the remarkable people within that look past our imperfection, errors, and without judgment, bring us sunny and pleasant. Sure, an occasional cloud, but it's the people in our lives that enable us to come out from under the covers and thrive.

Good humor bar....

I know a Libran. (You know, the sign is/are The Scales {forgive me Grammar master, Mr. Miagi, Captain Kangaroo, Dr. Phil, Elvis], I'm all shookup as to which, and same for whether it's for effect or affect.)

Balance. All about balance, yeah right. When's the last time you nuked a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and successfully carried it to the dinner table without spilling a drop of that sticky broth crap on the floor - not to mention doing so without 3rd degree burns?

We're an unbalanced sort, desperately wanting to level the scales of life, no teet, no tot.

Doc say "#1 reason you go nursing home, stability, balance," inferring lack thereof.

So, we almost octogenarians tippy toe here, tippy toe there, find an immovable object (preferably away from mirrors), grab on, Ben Dover, remove our undies, TT (fyi tippy-toe abbreviated from hither on out), TT to the bathroom, TT (complete with baby jump over the damn 3 inch wall into the shower), grab soap, drop soap, "oh shit" (sorry), grab grab bar, TT to soap, Ben Dover, grab soap, shampoo, all that, TT (another IHOP over small ledge), grab towel, dry off, "Whew, done" (Celebrate, celebrate, baby hop to the music) home free now.

Then, we trip over the hairbrush we dropped last Tuesday but were to tired to pickup, fall, break hip, hitchhike in big red vehicle with cool lights, put us out, have surgery, drive us to Golden Acres, sans cool lights where they will issue scorn about the impotance of balance, and in the weeks ahead (which could also be spelled 'weaks ahead') learn us all over again, how to TT.

Where was I? Oh yeah, on the tile. So, physical balance, vely important to help you paint the fence, wax the car.

Mental balance. We're all a tad crazy, and if you tell me you are ALWAYS balanced, I will assume you ain't got either CNN or FOX, inlaws, flat tires, 10 minute waits in line at the Dollar(.25) Tree, spam calls, wi-fi down, an itchy itchy rash, and you awaken in the morning with every hair in place.

I call BS as in our Balane Sucks, all of us.

Woke up, fell outta bed.... no, that ain't it.

Woke up. Sat on edge of bed a bit (for balance, ha.) Thank you for another day. Go #1. Make coffee (to help eyelids, sanity, and, to go #2. (Oh don't you 'geez Louise' me, you do TOO!

Turn on the news, read FB. Holy unbalance. Shooting inside Texas Toms, car wrecks, indictments, another rocket shot, tornado warnings ("oh sh*t, no basement", don't worry about it, between 2 and 3am, you'll be asleep) another school employee molestation, damn cable is 'buffering'....HELP! I need somebody, HELP! Not just anybody. HELP! You know I need someone. HELP!

Well sure, we all do, but don't call the Beatles, hell, half of 'em are gone.

Humor. We need humor for balance. Sure a good book, a nap, a cold beer, sitting out in nature, a hug from/to/with a friend/loved one, a Xanax or gummy for some.

Humor helps. Humor is important. EDitor's note, especially if you're maybe impotent.

In walking thru life, I have heard folks mildly admonish those who 'live like that' (almost always resorting to humor.) For those, that line of thinking, should they ever go to the zoo, I wish the chimpanzees good aim.

Life is imbalanced. We've all fallen off the balance beam.

If I overdo it, or attempt to, I'm sorry, I guess.

Life, like tile floors, is/are hard. Excuse me while I kiss the sky. No, that ain't it.

Excuse me while I TT into the bathroom to fix my bedhead. Now whereinthehell did I put my hairbrush?

Love, Victurd and the chimps