I'll be back.....

I gotta weak back......  Yeah?  When'd ya get it?  Abouta week back.

My grandfather, circa 1930, 40-something. His job at brickyard was to carry bricks in a wheelbarrow from the plant to the rail car.  Ohhhhh, the back.

You can't go back.

Chris Berman, great broadcaster, but mainly known for "Back Back Back Back Back."

Fullback, Halfback, Nickleback, Quarterback, Running back... I was primarily a back up.

Back in song...... Baby come back..... Get back..... Back in the USSR..  Lookin' out my back door.. . Elton said, not me, The Bitch is Back.. Cher looks the same some 60 years later, but she still sings "If I Could Turn Back Time."... 

Across the land, parents, grandparents, snap snap snap those pictures of their snotnoses clad in new wear from Ross, Kohls, WallyWorld.. .  Back to School.

Welcome Back, Kotter. Brings back memories of Horshack's "OOOOH OOOOH!"

Just the other day, as I hit a ball into the woods on the 9th, I proclaimed, "I should stick to bowling."  Undaunted, played the back 9 anyways.

The back door is the one where there ain't no doorbell, no Ring security cameras. You invite friends back there to the back, sit around the fire pit, laid back.

Hackers use the backdoor. Basketball players sneak a backdoor pass.  There's a backdoor breaking ball in baseball.  No more definitions of back door.  You're welcome.

Which brings us back to Do Re Mi.

Door to door salesmen, Jehovah's, snotnose kids, they all come back to your door.  I went back to Google to see if there were any 'catchy' welcome mats using the word 'back'.  Not really.  Did find "Come back when you have tacos and booze."

Found some others though, I liked, ain't got jack to do with back:  Welcome Matt..  Doorbell broken, please yell "Ding Dong" real loud.... Ring bell, win toddler...  I hope you like dog hair..   Welc.. wait, who did you vote for?...  Did you call first?...  Hold on, we're probably naked...  Go away!...  Welcome, just kidding, please go home..... Oh no! Not you again!... 

Back to back, which, sometimes people sleep thataway.  Hineys are warm, yeah they are.  Or, mebbe you/mate are fighting, dunno.

I want my baby-back-baby-back-baby-back, I want my baby-back-baby-back-baby-back, Chili's baby-back ribs.

Gal I dated. Change of season, she'd put Winter goodies on hangers in the closet, BUT, she'd turn all the hangers backwards. If, summertime came around and the hanger was still turned backwards, off to thrift store donation box they went.

I personally have a dresser.  Top drawers is for shorts, pants that fit. Next door down I keep my shorts/pants that I wore 20 pounds ago in hopes I get back to that. It's labeled "Doubtful."  The drawer below, shorts/pants I wore 40 pounds ago, I know I'll never get back to that, thus, it's labeled "Be for real."

Monday, back to work.  Retired, back to sleep.  Infant, back to sleep, to crying, to sleep, to crying, to sleep, to crying.

Mother-inlaws, sometimes they come back.  JK, I loved mine.

Thursdays are TBT days for some reason. (Missed Wednesday, gotta hump on the back.)

Some say I live in the past, it, back in time.  Don't care, i enjoyed it.  Don't wanna redo, go back (would love to visit with loved ones gone though).  

Road trips, back in the day.  Backseat, us kids.  Are we there yet are-we-are-we huh?  Johnny's hitting me. How much longer?  Hell, fer sure, for mom and dad.  Nowadays, ya got Ritilan, ear buds, chromebooks, drop down movie theater kinda things with enough movies to get you from Wichita to Walla Walla.

Why back in my day......we parallel parked and hit things.  Now, you gotta bigscreen view, beepers, buzzers, warnings, what will they think of next.  Dunno, come back in a few years.

Goin' back to Houston, Houston, Houston.

Old age, help I've fallen and I can't get back up.  Must have plan aheada time when getting on floor so you CAN get back up.

Jump back. Come back here!  As soon as my back is turned.  Ass backwards. At the back of my mind (scary huh?)..  Back to basics, nature. Backhanded compliment. Bounce back, bite back.  Cover your back.  Eyes in the back of your head. Slow running teammate in baseball going to first base: "We don't care if you carry a piano on your back, just don't play it when you run!"..

Yellow steak down back.  Hark back to. I scratch your back and you scratch mine. Kick back. Laid back. Backpack. One hand tied behind your back. Spring forward, fall back. Watch your back.

Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner
But he knew it couldn't last
Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona
For some California grass

Get back, get back
Get back to where you once belonged
Get back, get back
Get back to where you once belonged
Get back Jojo

Back to reality. Thanks for your eyeballs back here.

Y'all come back now, hear?

By Henry Gibson.  Foreword by Arnold Schwarzenegger

Love back, Victurd

En route to the last Wordle......

So, so many questions about along the way to the last Wordle.... most, met with blank stares, shoulder shrugs.. Life's really a hurdle.........

Along the way, we're asked much:

Should I stay or should I go?.......  Well, we ain't got much control over that, but, it's like when the 23 year old says "I don't wanna live to be 90", and then, when he's 89 yrs, 364 days old, you ask him again.

Why don't we do it in the road?   Well, pavement ain't exactly comfy... At our age, as slow as we move, we might get ticketed for loitering.. Let's leave that question up to the chicken and the egg so we'll finally have an answer..... then, after they cross the street, maybe we can ask "Why?"  Two birds, one stone.

I bet you think this song is about you, don't you?   Well.. hmmmm, plannin' for the day after my last Wordle, so yeah, I guess I do...

How many roads must a man walk down, before we can call him a man? Well, ya gotta crawl before you walk.. fall, skin your knees to toughen you up.. . walk 2 miles to school, up hill both ways, walk 2 miles to fill your jug up with gasoline.. learn in courtship, the fella walks on the inside nearest the street.. if he was a good role model, emulate your father.

Did you ever have to make up your mind.?  Well... no..  I mean, yes...  That basically composes life. Everyone has a wrong answer or fitty... Main thing, after attempting to answer all of life's questions, did you remember to do so practicing the Golden Rule?

Who let the dogs out?  Well.. the ASPCA..  The Humane Society ... No kill shelters.. Fosters... Rescuers.. Pet Projects... Simply, folks who wag their tail back..

How much is that doggy in the window?  Please see above...   Rescue, no puppy mills, bailiff, whack his pee pee.

Are you lonesome tonight...  Well, fer sure Elvis who let himself kinda run downhill prolly was.. maybe even the hunka hunka burning love Elvis too, dunno..  Everyone has a lonesome moment or two.  Even George Gobel, Brad Pitt.

Who wrote the book of love?  Sweet Jesus, I dunno, but if you ever find out, lemme know. I'd like to interview him.. or her..

Does anybody really know what time it is?   Dunno, electricity out.. Don't depend on car clock.. Beer-thirty.. Wakeup time..  Nap time.. Hammer Time.. Didn't we just do this the other day?

What's new pussycat?   Well, not much really.  Same ole furballs,  claws on couches, chairs.. purring, kneading and pretending to need, but really,  indifference... Time after time, same ole answer to:   Sit, Stay, Fetch, Come, Rollover = Did you just get here?

Where have all the flowers gone?  ...lacka water.. abandonment after planting.. regular old flesh colored thumb...  Cheech and Chong'd (to pot)... Indoors..  perennials, sometimes they come back... Annuals, they don't come back you simpleton.. It's winter you idiot..  

What's the story, morning glory?  (See above)

War... what is it good for?  Absolutely nothing. (Say it again) Ahm, OK.. War... what is it good for?  Absolutely nothing.

Why can't we be friends?..... .  you judge, discriminate, have halitosis, talk real loud, don't stop talking, are egocentric, got BO..  we just, we just, or, actually, you just, differn't.... Don't take it personally, but don't let the door hitya on the ass...

Why don't you stay just a little bit longer.?.... you judge, discriminate, have halitosis, talk real loud, don't stop talking, are egocentric, got BO..  we just, we just, or, actually, you just, differn't.... Don't take it personally, but don't let the door hitya on the ass... But baby, it's cold outside.

If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?  Well Sonny, it's a new day and age, follow me, we're going to court before the statute of limitations runs out...

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?   Honest, I don't answer this with bitterness, but she must notta.

When will I see you, again?   To everything, urn, urn, urn. There is a reason, urn, urn, urn.

Do you like pina coladas?  Nah, I'm really more of a Miller Lite person.

If I fell in love with you would you help me to be true, and help me understand?... Ahm, Gladys?...  Susie?... April? ... Olivia?...  Jenny?.... Damnit, crickets..  Damnit, voicemail - AGAIN!

Have you ever seen the rain? (uh huh). Who'll stop the rain? (God).  Why does it always rain on me? (You ain't got the sense God gave a goose, go inside you simpleton)...Purple rain (Ahm, that wasn't Viagra). 

Is that all there is? Yes, and very sorry.  But, hopefully it was better than a kick in the teeth, or pants.. 

Tune in tomorrow when we'll study the history of Santa's pursuits, and, exactly what Mrs. Claus does with the elves while he's on those pursuits. I never said anything about naughty or nice, mind outta gutter.

Love, Victurd

Time......

Time is kinda fun.  I know I'm weird and I'll try not to waste your time.

I'm 69. I'd never heard of time referred to as Civil time until this highly diverse study of mine.  Ha. Civil time is us, our clocks, and I guess how time is based.

Of course we have the time zones... ontoppa that, daylight savings - for some, anyways, some not.  We have "you're on the clock" attorney time... brief, "hi, howareya, here, take this" Physician time... The time, where we let our blood boil because the lady (or man) infronta us at the "10 items or under" line at the grocery has a damn near full cart, thus, we spend a new kinda time counting the dadgum items as he/she offloads.  There's inhale/exhale time, and, when you count those dadgum items, one might offer a brief exhale of disgust at em. That don't take much time.

There's "I had a great time", "you never have time for me", "it wasn't the right time",  "I was right on time," "Remember that time?"time.. 

It's said there's psychological time.  This is, according to one site I peeked at, when events seem to last a different amount of chronological time than they actually do.  Like, when you have to pee, you're in the 16th car space at WalMart, you gotta go bad, you don't care if people see you run, you do, you're forced to take the door furthest away from the john, you finally make it... 1 minute, 13 seconds seemed like it took and hour and a half. It is said, for every minute one waits on anything, it feels more like three.

Or, the dreaded psychological time of intimacy.  "That's it?"

It's a bad time.. It's the right time.  No time for sergeants.  Time's up.  Time will tell.  And, at the playground, pacifying the 7 year old snotnose 62 times when he/she asks "Time me mom (or dad, or grandma, or grandpa.)"  I'll make time. Then there's Agra, India time, which I don't understand.  I am typing this in the wee hours time (3:30am), BUT, it's 2:00pm there.  Something about the equator I think, but I don't want to take the time to look.

I found a HOST of different sites that tell us what we do with our time.

If course, sleeping.  Average of ALL people is roughly 9 hours.  I know, me neither.  There is much, much in regard to this sleeping bit.  There's the twin mattress, full, queen, king (it's bigger than the queen because for centuries men were full of shit in their thinking they are better than women). And, the California King (It's bigger than the King, because all the Californians are full......... oh, nevermind.)

All that matters . Matters too if you got a partner.  He/she snores, wears a sleeping mask, he/she talks in their sleep, walks in their sleep, or, you share bed with partner, 4 dogs and 5 cats.  Matters too if the dog is like a miniature schnauzer versus a Great Dane. When's the last time you slept? How active were you today?  Anything big on your mind that might keep you from sleeping?

And, Goldilocks, too soft, too hard, wrong number, waterbed, need a matress topper, too cold, too hot, turn the damn TV off and go to bed, stuff matters.

After sleep (you wake up). No, I meant, timewise, after sleep, what's the next biggest component we spend time on,

Work. Or, as Maynard G. Crebs noted "WORK!".. Close your ears. The average is 3.1 hours per day.  I know I know, me too.  But, consider this takes in all people.  Many don't work until 18, 20 or so (not counting the Swentzel's 35 year old who lives in the basement and is a revered video game guru).. .It averages out thanks to the fast food manager, the person you work with that can't sit still, always always moves, works overtime.  And, those retired.  There is a God.

Travel. Travel time.  BS, whatchoo talkin' about Willis, I ain't been West of Claycomo since 2019. Average travel time is 47 minutes per day, unless of course, you travel via I-435 over the Missouri River that's been under construction since Bush was in office, and then it's 1 hour, 24 minutes.

Food prep, 40 minutes.  Did they like just get here?  I takes me a Stouffer's Meat Lover's Lasagna, press 6 on the microwave (that's MINUTES, you article person who says it takes 40).  I am sure there are those that do spend that time, and bless you.  It ain't me babe.

Grooming.  Article says 36 minutes.  I saw something on Facebook the other day where most men are, quick soap pass of armpits, down there and done.  That ain't 36 minutes, but the Calgon take me away ladies balance it out to where, uh huh, 36 seems right.

Housework, 36 minutes.  Uh huh, it's twue it's reawwy twue, I set a timer for 36 minutes, grab the duster, have the windex, Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, some scrubbing bubble cleaner and GO.. 36 minutes straight.  I do this generally twice a year whatever that computes to.  I mean, howinthehell.. all those hours for sleep, work, travel, grooming (and we ain't even done looking at time), howinthehell does anyone have time to clean for 36 minutes?  Eh, I guess some must.

Socializing, 32 minutes....unless it's softball game night, then it's 3 and 1/2 hours (the game takes 1, talking about it, drinking beer takes 2 and 1/2).

Caring for household members, 26 minutes.  Need we get into this?  It's probably about right, unless it's elder care or, your kid is spoiled rotten, or, you don't have a life besides your kid's life.  Victor!  Well, it can be true.

Consumer goods purchases 16 minutes. What usedta be 6 weeks with the Sears Catalog, or, 3 hours driving to/fro the mall walking to/fro store... we now have Amazon saved as a favorite. All ya gotta do it pick it out, then answer yes to "Same bill to?" and "Same ship to?"  I was at WallyWorld one day, buying a new scale because the numbers on the old one were too damn small, couldn't read... anyways, I checked the price of the cheapest (yes, that's how I roll) and then looked at Amazon on my phone, yep, $5 cheaper on Amazon.  Wasted gas, and........ I almost peed my pants having to run from that 16th car space.

Lawn and garden, 16 minutes.  Of course depends on where ya live, what climate, whether you're one a those that has a kiniption fit if you see one little bitty weed in your ultra green yard, or, you mow the grass everytime the City mails you a warning of citation if you don't mow soon.

Telephone calls, mail and email. 13 minutes. I'm not a phone person.  You?

Volunteering and civic activities.  5 minutes.  "Honey, I emptied the dishwasher..oh, AND I put the lid back down."  Yep, bout 5 minutes.

Professional and personal care.  5 minutes.  I supposed mani's, pedi's, hair, etc.  On average, prolly right.

Household management.  8 minutes.  The picture showed a lady on her knees putting away clothes while she was on the phone.  Kudos for the multitasking.  I assume this means laundry, dishes, yada.

Exercise.  22 minutes.  Howabout you?  I don't go to the gym every day.  I'm old, work wears me out.  I ride in a golf cart, still, I'm worn out.  When I do go, 15 minutes each in jacuzzi, sauna, then I walk in the pool, yes, I said that right, I walk in the pool for 30 minutes.

Eating and drinking.  1 hour, 4 minutes.  I miss the days of family dinners, truly I do and I hope you still have them. I multitask, food, tv, checking phone.  Also, fat, fast food drive through, eat while I drive. Way less than an hour a day.

Watching TV.  3 hours, 3 minutes.  I would assume there's diversity among us.  I'm sure many flip the TV on when they get home and flip it off just before bedtime.  Many like quiet and have it on long enough to catch news/weather. Probably a good figure.

They didn't list reading, but they did have an "everything else" category that was 11 minutes.

They also missed intimacy.  Yelling at the neighbor kids to get outta your yard.  Vegging out by the fire pit.  Easy chair naps.  Much.

Thank you for the time.  

If you've got the TIME, we've got the beer, Miller Beer.  Miller tastes too good to hurry through.  But when it's TIME to relax, Miller stands clear, beer after beer.

Time is on my side.

Time of the season.

Does anybody really know what time it is.

Now I've, had, the time of my life.

Time out.  Over time. Extra time. World record time. Time Square. Tea time.  Tee time. Howdy Doody Time. Bubba Shrimp time. Carpenter foreman say "It's hammer time."

Time to leave, bye.

Love, Victurd

And then play on.......

Dunno if you've ever heard that Fleetwood Mac song...  It's so peaceful... reflective... all encompassing "not a care in the world"...

I know no one ever said "Victor, your blogs are, can be, funny."  If I've every approached that, please don't expect it here.

A recent bout of depression.  How recent Victor?  Ha, I'm not telling... OK, this week.  Hopefully ending today.

Why Victor, WHY would you share something like that 'to the world'.  Well, I hardly doubt the world reads this, but if they did, I would welcome it, encourage it even.

Society has taught us "Depression, keep it in, to yourself, don't bog down others."  I vote hogwash.  Share. You won't bog down others, in fact, quite the contrary. Folks, in general, are uplifting.  Kind. Understanding.

It was, a bad week for me. With depression, at least with me, there are a cast of characters inside your brain..who, when you say "I can do this... I will be happy".  One at a time they tell you "no you won't... don't count on it.... remember, this fault, that fault, every fault, remember the day you butchered (something) horrendously? You can't do it, why try?"

It's like you run... you run like a zumba, and there, they, 'the wall' of depression voices turn you back every which way you bounce.

So...... you, oft times, curl up in a little ball, nap... bed is somehow your yucky friend... If you're not awake, then the zumba is not having to avoid, put up with, those voices.  (Those voices which are actually your own voices.)

Food tastes like it does for those with Covid.. you can't really taste it.   You stare in the mirror around 3pm and realize, "I've got the same outfit I had on yesterday." Dishes, paper plates, plastic water bottles are met with a voice that says "eh, I'll get 'em sometime, don't worry about it", so, you don't, they pile up, you look at them constantly, worry, but you don't act.  That's depression.

The front door.  The bastard, the front door. I don't want to see those people. Not when I feel like this. Besides, it'll only add to the problem. So you don't go.  When you need fresh air the most, huh uh, not doing so.

You stare at the phone, the computer.  You think of, one or two you could call, message.. who would understand you.. not judge you... help you.. but you usually don't make that call or that text for fear of bringing them down too.

Wrong.  That idea is wrong.  The two I had picked out I KNOW would have helped me.  If you have had all of the above happen to you, AND, you say "I'm not you, I don't have two people who would understand, help, not judge" Wrong.  Many could, would.

You go to your regular physician... You don't bring up depression, usually at least.  If they by chance do, it's met with "well, kinda, maybe."  They may or may not start you with a dosage to assist.  It's not an end all be all, but it can help.  Aside from maybe asking again when the prescription expires, it's not brought up too frequently.  They may 'up' or reduce your dosage, dependent upon your answers.  Again, all well and good but it does virtually nothing, as far as "being ears" to assist.

In these days of $4.99 a pound ground beef, $5 a gallon gas, not everyone has the expendable funds to call, go see a shrink.  (There are free, 800#'s, free text lines to talk to someone.)  

Poor poor pitiful me is a trap you fall into.  At least I do.

Today, I was watching a rain delay during the Royal's game.  It was a tribute to Vin Scully, the longtime (67 years) broadcaster for the (Brooklyn) and Los Angeles Dodgers.  He just passed away at age 94.  They painted an infallible picture of the man.  He literally was, 'somebody' - but he never thought so.  He'd talk to you and ask all about you, make you feel special.  It was a ten minute dissertation on his kindness, gentleness, genuineness.

Then it went to footage of his induction speech into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1984.  He first asked himself "why me" when there were millions like me who could be here. He thanked a long list.. His family.. players, coaches, writers, fans, owners...then he told the story of an Indian Chief........

The Chief wanted to test the manhood of four braves.. and ask that they climb the mountain to see how far they could get. They all departed at the same time.  The first, returned down the mountain mid-morning with a sprig of spruce..  mid-day, the next came down.. carrying a branch of pine.. just as the sun was setting, a third brave came down carrying an alpine shrub...finally, approaching midnight, the 4th brave got to the bottom..  "How high did you go?  What did you bring down?"..."Where I went, there were no spruces, no pines, no shrubs..  just rocks and ice...  my feet are freezing.. my hands are raw.. but, I saw the sea."  Mr. Scully then likened the day, his induction, his life, all of it, and ended with, "I saw the sea."

As Vin walked off the stage, tears flowed. Not just me, folks in the audience too.  For me, it was like, when you're a kid and you don't know you're not supposed to take the radiator cap off while the car is still hot.  SPEW!  Them tears came, all at once.  A hurt good, feel good came over me. I knew, at least momentarily, mean voices have gone.  This bout, over.

One never knows. The guy in the next lane to you in Interstate.  The person in front of you at the grocery store.  The lady next to you getting her hair styled.  Maybe even the lady styling your hair.  In the cubicle next to you.  Your buddy riding next to you in the golf cart.  You just never know.

Depression strikes many.  Please, I do not seek nor want "Victor, so glad you're better" comments.  The purpose today is to let those who also share, go thru depression know, you are not alone.  To those who, thank God, don't deal with depression - to let you know it can simply be yuck, debilitating to varying degrees.

I needed tears.  Badly.  I need to hear about kindness...goodness.  We all need kindness and goodness.  Lest we never forget. And, you are never ever alone.

Love, Victurd

Over the mountain.......

The geological trek of life is a nifty, wondrous one.

We start by being, well, pretty shocked at all the light... the noise... the touch...  While we've developed nicely - we're not ready to start climbing the big hill we're faced with.

The struggle for the first 12 months or so is symbolic, really, of the entire quest here on earth.  We're flat.. staring up... much 'up there' is humongous, scary..  but... we strive to be on an even keel - so..  we scoot..then rise to our knees... with the assistance of inanimate objects - we stand.. lean.. and sometimes fall.

Finally, we go.  Of course, oft fall, fail some would call it. But, right back up again.  It's in this 3 year or so span where we learn family, love.  We fall, we get help back up. We're hungry, there's two big folks that assist.  They clothe us.  Diaper us. Lift us up to see things they think we oughta see.  They sing to us.. they coo at us and we coo back.  They smile at us - and when we learn to do that back is somehow broadens their own smile.

Finally, when they say "I love you", we can in turn say it back. Katy bar the door - here we go. As we climb the mountain of life there is much unknown, so we ask.  And ask, and ask.  The perpetual little talkers we've become - lends to half-listining parents.  "Mom?"  "Mom??"  MOM!!??"...  We don't really understand what takes so long in answer, well, for at least another 25 years or so... then, we get it.

Just when we've got that walking, talking thing out - we've stood, fallen, walked, fallen, ran, fallen.  Talked, been corrected, spoke, been complimented - they put us on a dadgum bicycle. Thankfully, there are four of them wheels, thus, when we continue up the hill, we won't fall over.

Huh?  You're taking two off?  And so it continues, up, fall, up, fall. Move forward, slip back a bit.. The struggle, at least on the bike, is real.. at least until we get that fancy 20 speed where we can continue up the hill on whatever gear that easy gear is that it makes you feel like you're hardly pedaling.

What's that big yellow thing?  School starts.  Kinda like the shock of rolling outta the womb, we're forcefully gathered with other folks who were also conceived, oh, 5 years and a few months ago.  But wait!  That guy is huge!  Over there, she's dark.  Another one is tiny.  People are different here.  Whatsup with that?  It's a lifelong thing of learning as we climb the mountain... Despite the best efforts of many, some never break the mold of hatred for 'anyone that's different'.   Sad, it 'tis.

So, we speed this up a little.  Mom and dads fridge proudly has oodles of artwork affixed by little magnets.  As the years progress, more and more and more 'goodies' of our school handiwork is brought home.  Much like the late night wrapping of presents in their guise of Santa - they one night take a kitchen sized trash bag and fill it to the gills with handiwork from 1st, 2nd, 3rd, yada, grade, and off to the recycling bin, ne'er to be seen by us again.

We suddenly, or so it seems, awaken to the opposite sex.  The learning of 'them' starts. Cinchy. It's as easy as remembering every cell phone number of every friend, relative, vendor, doctor, utility, etc we have, every user id password for thirty or so things we log in to..  Inotherwords, it ain't fully gonna happen, this, learning of the opposite sex.  It's like when we were kids and Gomer would come on the tube with "Surprise, surprise."  Climbing the mountain of life, we handhold a partner.  The lucky ones trudge on.  Others, it's like being Goldilocks and it just ain't gonna work - or, woooooosh, "hey, where'd they go?" and they pull a Snagglepuss.

Much like we learned to scoot, crawl, walk, run, peddle - we drive.  Yum.  Across town ain't nuttin. Much of our vehicle endeavors mean great times, great things with friends... then there's the uncomfortable aspect of dating.  Getting to know you, getting to know all about you.  Right.  And the answer to getting to know one, really getting to know one, is akin to that snarky 3rd grade teacher (Mrs. Prescott) and her funny ha-ha final pop quiz question "How many grains of sand are there in the Sahara Desert."  What?  I ain't even learned Sara's sibling's names, her likes, dislikes at the dinner table, whether or not that one laugh is having fun with me or making fun of me.  Up, we must go up that hill.

We find, 'the one'.  We gather, best man, maid of honor, a host of others.  We pick little Johnny as ring bearer even after he's left his bike out in the rain so many times the chain rusted and broke in two.  Suzy is so dadgum cute, tada, flower girl.  Little did we know when the day actually comes we'd be reduced to, under our breath, "Just STOP crying Suzy, walk down the damn aisle and toss a petal or two here and there."  We have a really, really nice, big ole' dollar amount for the whole deal - in fact, little do we know, but it's enough, were we to put it into whatever Edward D. Jones recommends, we could be rich by retirement time, even if that means she's living on the East Coast, and I, the West Coast.

Instead, we find a photographer to take 912 pictures of the bride, all others involved so they can be ultimately lost at the bottom of our Facebook feed, as well as gathering dust in a picture notebook sitting on the table in the den.

We get jobs.  Or, we don't.  We lose jobs, sometimes our fault, sometimes not.  Finding two that go together like peanut butter and jelly is virtually impossible.  You take our son to soccer practice, then you can get ready for work, I'll get off work and grab him on my way home.

WAIT!!!! WHAT?!!!!  A child? We step back a sec...  glance down at how far we've come on the mountain, then take a gander up to take a peek at the peak.  Holy guacamole.  WHAT?  You mean sometimes they'll cry so hard and so often that we cave in to picking them up and holding them in our arms as WE TOO climb this mountain?  Uh huh.  Mebbe you shoulda thought about that before you gave her that silky negligee which coincided with her buying that seductive new cologne.  Oh well.

And another.  Huh?  We only got two bedrooms, now what?  HAVE YOU SEEN HOW EXPENSIVE DAY CARE IS? 

Oh it ain't all about climbing that mountain.  We, thankfully, have boo koo hours of fun, neighbors on the deck... in the cul-de-sac..... former school chums and their snotnoses, playing with ours.  And, thank the Lord for the Night time - as well as that occasional weekend they go to grandma and grandpas.

There's music, laughter, movies, vaca's, going to parks, pools, skating rinks.. Back to school, PTA, selling damn trash bags, the Bombers little league team, and of course dance lessons at ForkOverYourLifeSavings Dance Academy. They've rolled outta the womb.  Scooted. Crawled. Walked. Fallen. Ran. Fallen. to Triked.Biked. Driven. (I wanna shoot that little iguana for proclaiming how inexpensive car insurance is.)

Good Lord he went down on a knee, she said yes, howinthehell do we get money outta our 401K at 40-something to pay for all that?  The tranny is slipping on the SUV, damn insurance guy said "your roof leaks but it ain't because of the hailstorm," there's a huge crack in the basement wall..  That fancy smanchy class in High School they called 'HMRE' (Healthy Marriage and Relationship Education) never said nuttin' about all this?!!!!

"Don't you talk to my granddaughter like that, she'll toss the petals out of the basket when she dadgum well pleases.  Johnny.  Johnny?  WHERE did you put the ring?"

Snap snap, cha-ching cha-ching.  Take those funky pictures bride girl.

The long and winding road.......... that goes uphill. We've noticed grey hair, a few wrinkles, 20 or so friends that have newer cars than us - but hey, we're enjoying this trip. We're only three or four Presidents away from retirement (6 or 8 if the damn Pubs and Dems keep arguing like they are.)

"You know honey, it's been almost a week since we've heard from the kids - they must be enjoying life."  Ring, ring.  "HE WHAT?"  "My dad fell, the ambulance is there to take him to the hospital, let's go."

Mom and dad have had a beautiful, exemplary trip up to the peak, and down the mountain so far.  Now they need a little help, glad we're able to do so.

Mom's been gone ten years now, dad seven.  I only wish I woulda asked them more questions, spent more hours...  I'm in the same boat with my folks honey, but don't beat yourself up... we were climbing the mountain, much the same as they did when their folks started aging.  Life is like learning to juggle three balls, then someone suddenly throws you one or two more and we're sposedta continue as if nothing has changed. It ain't possible.

That peak.  We done it. It is sooooo nice not having to set an alarm.  I love that you have coffee made for me, and that you don't get upset with me for sleeping in after reading until midnight.  Honey we're practiced for that.  We had different jobs, of course mutual friends, but too, our own set of friends.  We're kinda 'the candy cane' of life.  You know, Lucy and Ricky, Fred and Wilma, Arch and Edith...You're red, I'm white on the candy cane, or vice versa if you please.

Can you believe our 50th High School Reunion is this summer?  Looking in the mirror, yes, yes I can.  Traveling in the right lane, at the speed limit on interstate, seeing all the hurried young'ns passing us on their way up the mountain, uh huh, fifty is not hard to believe.

We went thru all that, for this.  Nice.  The steps, they get a tad tougher down the hill.  Ya know, when we fell going up the hill, it wasn't much of a big deal.  Now, we fall, that damn gravity can bring us down in a hurry and it's much tougher.  Agreed - but that, and life has taught us to not sweat the small stuff. To stop and smell the just cut grass, the Douglas fir Christmas tree.. the apple pie in the oven.  Take that back-road every so often where there ain't the hustle bustle, concrete, where there's a little, or a lot of wiggle room between homes, farms.  When we were kids, we really didn't know to appreciate things like that.

They call it over-the-hill.  I liken it more to over the mountain.  Hills are easy.  You get to the top, the view's nice, but it ain't much.  Ya reach the peak of the mountain, you can be proud.  Ya look out and yum, there is a God.

Hey, ya wanna watch a movie?  Scrabble?  Sit on the deck and have a glass of wine?  Well, I was thinking more along the lines of putting on that new negligee you bought me last week.  YEE HAW!  My daddy done taught me right... he said, "whatever she wants... you answer 'Yes dear'.'..  So, YES DEAR, let's go... I'll raceya!  NO!  You might fall, here, hold my hand, we'll walk together.

By Henry Hallmark Gibson

Love, Victurd

(Well aware there are all kindsa ends.  Burnt ends, split ends, tight ends (minda outta gutter, talking football), dead ends, battery ends, skinny ends, no butt ends, fatbottom girls (relax, much like big gut men).. and ends where divorce happens, or, marriage never happens.  The above is but one example.  Many of us are alone, some by our choice, some by other's choice.. the view from the mount, the attitude coming down, much the same.  We make do.  Just know, it's almost as yummy as the story above. Burma Shave)

Worry... don't be happy. or something like that.....

I've always been a tad dyslexic......... (Did I tell you about the guy that walked into the bra?)

I think I mean:  Don't worry, be happy.

It be kinda hard nowadays, but shouldn't be.  It can be like walking agin' the wind, leaning at a 45 degree angle forward (which is hella dangerous at our age) and it seems like ya get noswheres, fast.

The alarm goes off.  Wait!  That makes me happy!  Victor, you're retired, you don't set an alarm.  Oh yeah, forgot.

The newspaper guy throws, paper hits the ground.  Yipee!  Victor, ya read it/?

OK, OK, OK, so I'll login and ketchup on Facebook.   Duh.  Well, there IS fun there sometimes.

Victor, you've got happy meds, ain't that enough?  You mean like "They're coming to take me away ha ha, there coming to take me away?"   Eh, kinda, I guess.

Stymie halt.  I remember back the day, my buddies standing off in a circle, one of 'em saying something about "Good shit, man."  I tweren't real sure what they were talking about, but, pleased to know, in our society, there's good shit.

I ain't written' here much of late....   We're kinda caught up in this "Life, what's going on, is kinda a bummer."  George Harrison might say his guitar gently weeps.  Caretaker at nursing home may be contemplating same, walk around the corner, get a 'good' whiff and exclaim "Depends."  Uh huh, does.

Faith in mankind.  Dyslexia again.  Kind man. Kind woman too.  There's a lady at the golf course where I work a couple days a week, she'sb, oh, 5 to 10 years older than me.  I don't think she's had a bad day in her life. Yum.  Rubby off on me please!

There's a man, well, there are actually plaenty of 'em, they ALWAYS smile.  Is it drugs?  I want somea that stuff!  I jest, a dat (dyslexia again, sorry.)

Victor, I'm from Missouri, SHOW ME this 'good shit' you speak of.  Well, howabout that football player.. JJ Watts I think his name is.  He got wind (no, not Depends), he got wind of someone selling much of his memorabilia so they could raise funds for the funeral of a loved one.  "WAIT! Stymie Halt" he chanted.  "Don't do that.  Keep your stuff, I'll pay for the ceremony" and he did.  That's happy.

And Bo.  Happy knows Bo, or something undyslexic like that, Bo knows happy.  The recent massacre of the 17 school children - he paid for every funeral.

No, funerals aren't generally happy but what I love is good people (mankind, kind man) pouring love on hate, despair.

My eyeballs try to suckup every ounce of happy I see weekly, and thankfully, that's a lot.  Again, where I work.  We gotta golf course, and a pool.  Golfers come into the counter, continue on to the left to play golf.  Swimmers come to the counter, turn right to go to the pool.  As they march in, there's happiness.  Why, just the other day, there was this little curlyheaded blonde, oh, maybe 4... she marched in with a Big Bird floatee wrapped around her and a smile wrapped across her face.. "Are you going golfing?" some old fart (thinking he's funny) asked.... smile got bigger..."NO!!!!!!!"  And she continued on, probably dunked baby brother a time or two, peed in the pool, asked mom for some ice cream.  It's what kids do.

So......... with intention, there's happy where I work.  It's a place to recreate.  Sunburns, stubbed toes on the concrete, sunscreen in the eyes, water up the nose.... lost golf balls, triple bogeys, and sure, even a swing-and-a-miss happen a time or seven. "I'm recreatin'.... you can't wipe smile offa my face."

Still, they happy.  I am 'stuck' in the wedgie (counter) between swim and golf.  That's a damn happy place to be stuck.  On more than one occasion I've heard, after a golfer had just shot 23 over par, "Any day on the golf course is a good day."

Glory to the ones that maybe do, maybe don't play golf/swim, and their actions speak out "Any day in life is a good day."

Buck.  Buck O'Neil.  YOU COULD NOT wipe the happy off that man's face. AND, they wouldn't even let him in to play the game!  God Bless you Buck, you were an example for us all.  He would become the first ever black coach in the Major Leagues - but, his take on playing, life, etc... "I was right on time."

We just can't let life wipe the happy off our face.  Victor, are you preaching?  If you're tithing, then hell to the yes I am, ha, but no.  It's a thought in all of our brains.  I admit to struggling with it sometimes - then, I cuss myself out, go grab the Breyer's Butter Pecan outta the freezer, then, hell to the yes, I WILL BE HAPPY!

The KC Star.  Ha.  Watch this!  Sure, I see page one, two, all about Biden, Congress, this, that, most, makes tummy churn (no matta what side you're on)... I scroll thru really quickly (Victor?  Didn't that one lady say you demonstrated 'avoidance behavior'?  Huh?  Couldn't hearya, sorry,  I've got The Rolling Stones Live cranked on Youtube while I type this crap, couldn't hear.)  Where was I?  Oh yeah, the paper.  Then, pages 3-5 are all about shootings, muggings, lawsuits, housefires, yada..... so I pray.  I scroll pretty quickly, as I pray.

I runs to the Sport's section, quickly pass by the article about the Left Tackle who wants a contract large enough he could buy Delaware... jump over the guess as to how many games that one quarterback will be suspended for all the civil suits that have been brought upon him by women...  I dive into reading about WITT JR, PRATTO, MELENDEZ and however you spell that Vinnie Pasq-one-tino. THAT, makes me happy, even if it's an occasional 0 for 4.

Done with Sports so I Sudoku, then Crossword.  I'm better at Sudoku, but, ha, if I don't get the crossword completed, I cheat (Google, which is fancy for 'learn'... 'learn' is happy, 'cheat' ain't) and fill that sucker out.

Sudoku, Crossword, Golf, Swimming = happy.

Your life?  I can guess.  Things that keep you sane:  kids, GRANDKIDS, music, lasagna (Victor, I think that's you... oh yeah, sorry)... sex.. (VICTOR!  Well damnit, do you ever frown during?  Uh huh, what I thought, it's a happy thing! I think I remember.)

Birdies, doggies, kitties.  Nature.  The rain, from inside.  The snow, from inside.  The sun, out in it. Gorgeous cars, gorgeous people, gorgeous smiles, mowed grass, potholes patched, traffic cones put away - there is much, to be happy about.

Why hells bells.  (I hate doing laundry.)  Just the other  day, as I proudly struggled to carry the basket of 3 loads of washed, folded clothes, shirts on hangers in to put them away - I was whistling I was so happy.  Then, I remembered I forgot to remember to add laundry detergent when I washed them. VICTOR! NO!... Si, it's true, it's reawwy true.  Eh, passed the sniff test, they'll never know, I was happy.  VICTOR, WHY do you post crap like that? Because if you can't have fun at your own expense, then life must really be poopy.  (Victor, i think I woulda used a different word than poopy.)  Eh, whatever, my word choices run in streaks.  Oops.

The point is, none of us get out alive.  YOLO, which is very yummy with ROLO's.  Golf.  Swimming.  Sudoku, Crosswords.  Scoffing at cross words.  Smiling at ones that have obviously forgotten their Xanax.... That attitude "YOU CANNOT, WILL NOT, wipe the smile offa my face."

I hope there's lots that makes you happy. I list my crap, I hope your list is longer and even happier.  It's a choice ain't it.

Since I last blogged I've been to two funerals and read the obituaries of two or three acquaintances. Life's too short to be stuck on yuck in everyday life.  Trust me, I know all to well it can be hard.

With advance apologies to everyone I'm related to, I've ever coached/taught, gone to church with, yada, life is good shit..... if we let it be.

Let It Be sounds much yummier than While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

Piece out. (I cant spell niether.)

Love, Victurd

LHS Class of 1970, when we grow'd up.......

 (This is what happens when one has insomnia, 2:45am hits, boredom strikes deep, so one writes. Victor, we don't wanna read all this crap.  Then don't.  Hehe.  Or do, your call, hand ain't forced)

First couple of years.  That be 1951 and 1952 for some, 1952 and 1953 for others. Long ago.

I Love Lucy premieres on CBS.  The first direct dial, coast to coast phone call was made.  Wouldn't you know the damn phone had to be all-center already in our life.  The Birth Control Pill was developed, swing and a miss daddy, we're already here.

Loaf'a bread 16 cents, gas 19, hamburger 50 cents, bacon 52 cents, eggs 24 cents, new car $1500, Average wages $3,510.00, trike $14, but the big one, life expectancy of one born in 1951 = 68.5 years, oh shit. We got trouble, right here in River City. Well, kinda. We were a River City until 1949, that's when the Liberty Bend was cutoff and the River was moved one mile to the South.  And FYI, there was a very important feller (and his spouse) that normally lived not far across that river, but from 1945 to well after we were born Harry S (for nothing) Truman and Bess lived in Washington, DC.

Some folks that played dodgeball on the playground long about the time we did but would later become famous = Kurt Russell, Mark Hamill, Michael Keaton, Robin Williams, Wonder Woman, Kirstie Alley, Ben Carson, Sting, Dale Earnhardt, John Mellencamp, The Incredible Hulk, Patrick Swayze, John Goodman, Mr.T, Superman, George Strait, Vladimir Putin (yuck), Pee Wee Herman, Jimmy Connors, Bill Walton, Bill Bellichick, Jill Biden (thereyago, another name [cradlerobber] to add to your list!]), 

Whilst invented years before our birth, there's a very good chance your cloth diapers hung out on the clothesline as dryers didn't become commonplace in US homes until the 60's.We undoubtedly suffered many a diaper pin stick.

The Census shows our fine City had a population of 4,709, whilst 'Liberty Township's was 7,436, whatever in the heck that is. If you're like me, the sign you remember on the edge of town spoke "Liberty, Population 8,909."

It's likely our parents dumped us at Grannies to go see 'A Streetcar Named Desire', 'The Day The Earth Stood Still', 'The Greatest Show on Earth' or 'Just Singin' in the Rain'at the Theater.

Our parents, generally children of the Depression, would often tell us they were "Po' but didn't know it."  I guess we were kinda sorta "WalMart, but didn't know it." Huh?  Yeah, everything (almost) under one roof, as in, The Square (or, just off the Square). Bank, Doctor, Pharmacy, Restaurant, Shoe Store, Jewelry Store, 5 & Dime, Hardware Store, Bus Station, Grocery Store, Car Lots, Car Mechanics, Churches, Undertakers, even the Cemetary was close.  Narrow, 2-lane roads brought folks into and out of the Square.

A few Birthdays before we would get a ball glove, thankfully Negro Leaguers were accepted into Major League Baseball.... The Monarchs and the Blues (KC's Minor League team) left around 1955 and the A's, our first Major League Team, moved to KC in 1955.  Just about every neighborhood in Liberty had a kid that owned a dark green KC A's bat, that, from usage, undoubtedly had a few screws put in it to keep it together as well as being covered up by electrical tape to keep our hands from getting all cut up.

By the time we walked to Franklin Elementary, Ike had beaten Adlai Stevenson twice, Ray Krok agreed to franchise a chain of restaurants owned by Dick and Mac McDonald, The Korean War had ended... the segregation of Linda Brown in Topeka was ruled unconstitutional, Rosa refused to give up her seat (bus segregation also ruled unconstitutional).. The Supreme Court ruled 'all schools must be integrated with deliberate speed.'

Speed happened just before we got into the 60's...first jet service NY to Miami in 1958, as well as The Daytona 500 inaugural running in 1959... and even FASTER as the Mercury 7 astronauts were selected in 1959, and Alan Shephard was the first to go in space in1961.

As kids, if it was raining, Winter, too hot, we'd play inside with marbles, checkers, Go Fish, Old Maid, 'army guys', dolls, then Scrabble.. Crap, we have to spell already?

Nice weather?  Of course we're outdoors.  Cars weren't as plentiful, most were allowed to ride a bike to the Square to get a Pixie Stick or one of those disgusting wax coke thingys. Oh gosh, what did you play?  Our 'hood' was big into Whiffle Ball, Kick the Can, Red Rover, lightning bug collecting, climbing the mulberry tree to eat them until we got a belly ache... taking our sister's old roller skates, having dad saw a small piece of plywood, affixing (with help) the skates to the board, jualah, a skateboard. Crawdad hunting...

When the TV was cooperating, we'd catch Captain Kangaroo, Howdy Doody, Leave it to Beaver, Gunsmoke, Father Knows Best, Bonanza...   Johnny followed predecessors Steve Allen and Jack Paar in 1962, and, pretending to be asleep at 10:15pm, that show produced the very first kinda risque' kinda thing I ever heard anyways. When the TV wasn't cooperating, Dad would have us grab (and hold) a mirror out front, so he could check every bulb inside the TV to figure out which one was out. Once he did, off to Breipohls we went to get a new bulb. (Yes, TV bulbs available, along with cinnamon oil, at the Pharmacy.)

The City Park was the center of everything.  July 4th Fireworks, Carnivals, of course ball games..  Horse Shows..  yuck, remember the dog pound there? THE SMELL!  I'm'a guessin' many very first flirtations happened in/around the baseball fields of Liberty. We BrillCreme haired dudes proudly wore our Junior Sheriff's badge awarded us by Sheriff Curt Hay, and if that didn't win a fine lass over, we'd play tag and always chase the same girl!

ROAD TRIP!  Family Trips were a thing.  With no IPads or DVD players we were forced to do battle with our siblings, thus, driving our folks nutso. Our 'SUV' was the station wagon - and we'd draw straws to see who got to sit, sleep, where.  If you didn't get the comfy 2nd seat, next best was the very back all to yourself, whilst the youngster was almost always relegated to lay on the floor behind mom and dad. Food was packed and Highways had places to pullover and spread it all out at the roadside area on a picnic table. If we had to pee it was usually at a rest stop, but if one couldn't be found, it was then off to Stuckey's where we'd pester Dad until he caved in for either a full size Snickers (hey, we're on vacation) or a yummy pecan log roll.

Destinations varied, granny and gramps place, a cousin, one of dad's friends from the WWII, the Lake, the Ozarks (remember spending half of your life in traffic on Highway 76?)...a jovial time, we were lucky if we got a motel and even luckier if it had AC, and even LUCKIER if it had a pool. Mom 'helped' Dad with his driving, passing other cars wasn't real common, but it happened.. and we were completely unaware of the dangerous nature of it all.

OK, I'm bored again. Which is fancy for I wrote from 4am until 6-something am it's time for breakfast out.  You'll have to grow up the rest of the way yourself.  Or, maybe we could simply continue being childlike for the remainder of whatever time we're blessed with here.

Tune in next time for Levity and Puberty in Liberty.......

or.... On a Sunset Hill of Glory see the typewriters fly out the window of Mrs. Digg's class.

Love, Victurd