I'm positive...... I think.

In the beginning, I said "Turn off those dadgum bright lights!"  I should have known, the hands that pulled me from the womb were those of a woman.  Yes, female physician, October 13, 1952.  Rare back in them days. Even rarer, same hands, five years earlier, helped my sister out.

The 'should have known' is about my lifelong love, affinity, for, of women.  Some of my best friends.  Best bosses. Of course best lovers.  It has absolutely nothing to do with book sales.  Everything ya read on the internet is true too ain't it?

By the time I/we moved to Liberty, Missouri the second time, I was nine. The big ole 3 story house we moved into was, the 19th place I lived in. St. Louis MO, St. Charles, MO, Jefferson City, MO, Denver, CO, Colardo Springs, CO and Liberty the first time, and multiple houses within several of those towns.  That was all pretty boring, so, I'd better bootscoot on to sumpin else eh?

The why.  My dad, and of course, with input, approval from my mom.  I'm lucky, I loved them both, and the feelings were mutual. It ain't always like that I understand. They, mom (1987), sister (1999) and father (2001) are now gone.  My take, "I couldn't have handpicked a better family to grow up in, the basta's (said extremely lovingly) just all checked out too soon."

Back to dad.  He touched the surface of knowledge on just about everything. Everyone has a mind of their own, but he truly had a mind of his own. His own mother passed from scarlet fever when he was six.  His father, my grandpa of course, good man. Different back then.  Dad was raised by aunts, uncles, his dad and aunts and uncles.  Then, the military. Army Air Corp, yes, at a bad time, WWII.  Thankfully, he never saw combat, and, never even got off of US turf.

What he did learn though, this "Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign" style of life, wasn't really his thing.  He wasn't a troublemaker, or, rebellion upstarter - he moreso, had fun with it.  For instance, he was at a large Base that had 5 mess halls.  Dad, in his acquired wheeler-dealer ways, had attained a mess hall pass to all five.  Ate whenever, wherever he wanted.  After all the fun and boredom wore off of that, he one day was again en route to eat... signaled to a higher up for assistance, held out the 5 passes and said "Say, can you help me out and lemme know which pass to use in this mess hall?"  I dunno if he went to the brig, but, there was some sort of correctional action to it all.  From his small shoes (he was not a large man, 5'6", prolly wore size 8's), he won. 

Victor, this is all well and good but it doesn't give us an inkling as to whyintheheck you moved so frequently. Oh yeah, thanks, and btw, I love when readers interact here.

Dad loved people.  All people.  He loved animals.  All animals.  When someone would mention they were gonna euthanize their hound, dad would look 'em in the eyes, and say "You mean, kill 'em."  That was he.  He had a friendly gift of gab, this trait was not picked up by his son (me), I much prefer to write, but, can't hold a candle to my mom in that department. Dad loved towns. Big towns, small towns, Suburbs, urban, rural, side roads, country roads, driving.  Presto, "I'll get into sales.... traveling sales." And that he did.  

Dad sold S&H Green Stamps, Plaid (McDonald Stamps for A&P), Top Value, ink pens, art prints, Jerry Lewis Movie Theaters, Books, trinkets, gadgets, I mighta missed one or seven, and finally, cars.  Editor's note, er, rather, author's note, that's a lotta jobs, and it would prove out to be hereditary. If he found a way to make $200 more a month, "Come on, we're moving."  Did I mention mind of his own?  A beautiful one in and of that. People enjoyed my father, my father enjoyed people. Normally, when he went in a joint to sell, visit, talk, become friends, when he would leave, his car would weigh a little less, and some type of arrangement, display was made, agreed upon, and I have zero clue as to the terms.

After a yummy Monday morning breakfast cooked by mom, dad would shove off across Kansas... or Colorado.. or Iowa, Nebraska.. predominantly and purposefully avoiding Ike's Interstate System. He drove clunkers (all used), sure, gas guzzlers, but, he figured, should he get into a wreck, better to be in one piece than two.  This bore to be hereditary as well,.  One of my claim to fames in life is passing Parallel Parking in a 1962 Lincoln Continental. (George Brett and I went to different schools together, too, that was another)

His return home would be sometime Thursday afternoon, evening - and in great anticipation of his coming home, mom would sit on the stairwell stoop, looking out the back window into our alleyway, head swiveling back and forth between that and the The Honeymooners, I Love Lucy, Donna Reed, Gunsmoke, yada.  Whilst I do believe I experienced marital bliss, I/we could never seem to match the bliss between the two of them. The words loyal, love, best friends, have fun come to mind.

Victor, I just picked up this book in the bookstore and I ain't decided yet if I'm gonna buy it.  You haven't mentioned much about your mom.  I'm sooooo glad you asked, thank you, and... our secret.. use your phone right now and buy it off Amazon, free shipping and it cost $3 less.  Mom.

Doesn't every little boy love their mom?  I sure did.  She was pretty, smart, was my play catch partner in the front yard, and served up THE VERY BEST Spanish Rice.  In her late 20's, she almost hit a kid on his bike - so, she stopped driving then and there for over 20 years.  We walked, or Atikinson Cab'ed it, everywhere. It was the bus to Antioch Shopping Center, and every year at Christmas, to downtown KC, Macy's, Jone's, Emery Bird Thayer, Klines and the like.  I liked the like.  Especially at Christmas with the huge lit crowns hovered above every intersection. Boy, Mom, Sister, bus rides together, shopping, Christmas - yum.

My mother was the middle of three sisters. Shortly after they married, dad was approached by a buddy.. he hadn't seen pa (Pa is small town talk for dad, father.. and it's easier to write too).. he hadn't seen dad in awhile, thus, ":Whar ya been?"  Well, I married one of the Collins' girls... "Oh yeah? Did you marry the pretty one or the smart one?"  Both.  Dad never knew which he meant, but he knew, mom was both.  Mom could conquer the Crossword Puzzle faster'n the record holder doing the Rubik's cube. Misspelled words weren't her way. When I was in typing class in HS, I kept peekin' at the letters, so, the mean ole teacher put masking tape over the letters.  Mom would type, watch the Price is Right, To Tell The Truth, and What's My Line whilst typing 60+ wpm, zero errors.  Sure, little boys are biased, I don't care, she was the bomb.

How did they meet, where/whatt was their first date to?    Damnit darnit. I am now old, as in 71. I hate when old people tell me what to do, BUT, take the time to ask your folks questions like this, for one day, they won't be around so you're left to guess.

I do know mom robbed the cradle as dad was in the class behind her in School. I do know, Fulton, Missouri Class of 1938 and 1939.  I do know they were on the campus of Westminster College during Winton Churchill's Iron Curtain Speech... no, not at the speech, but at a dance in another bulding on campus. I do know, they eloped, and... that they took their best friends (her first cousin Eileen and her hubby Earl), that they were po', so, insteada a room at the Del Coronado, it was an out of the way motel.. shared room.. a rope divider between the two beds with blankets strewn over 'em.. uh huh, Earl and Eileen were in the room with 'em.

What was your sister's name?  What was she like? My sister's name was Vanda.  About dad first.  We already know he was friendly, liked people.  He was, funny ha ha funny.  Took morals seriously, and life not so much.  He loved speaking infronta people, to people, with people.  Plays, theater. Mom, we already said she was pretty, smart, athletic.. 3" taller than dad.. honest to a fault (and I never understood that saying, as, how can that be a fault?") She was good, no, in conversation, but never really carried it, preferring to learn all about you.. Vanda was a beautiful mixture of the two. Fun, funny. A lover of levity. Theater. Speaking to people.  With people. Wonderful listening skills thrown in for good measure. An inch taller than my mom. Throw in the fact she loved children and I think that made her perfect, or darn close. She loved a good prank and was quite demonstrated at it.

Are you biased or was she really pretty?  Both.  I heard it forever and ever.  We'd travel to a loved one's house for a visit... folks would look at this beautiful blue eyed blonde little gal and remark "Isn't Vanda beautiful... then they'd peek over to her five year younger, redheaded, freckle-faced brother (me, the author) and they'd say "And isn't Victor.... growing."  Oh well. I'm a lover of music. Oh well, Fleetwood Mac, happens to be one of my all time fav-o-rite songs. Can't help about the shape I'm in I can't sing I ain't pretty and my legs are thin. Whilst true I've never had  nickname, sis penned "Alfred E. Newman" on me.  Funny ha ha she was. Truly.

Where ya going with all this Victor?  Well, hopefully to a publisher one day.  Then, being 71, who the hell knows... soon.. will I even know where I'm going?

I can't help about the shape I'm in, I can't sing I ain't pretty and my legs are thin.

You didn't ask, but "Oh Well" happens to be one of my fav-o-rite songs. It also is a nice snapshot on life (Oh Well), which, in Sport's analogy means, you're in the batter's box of life, the pitcher is armed with an arsenal of fastball (two seam, four seam), cutter, splitter, forkball, curveball, slider, slurve, yada, ie, be ready.  Whatever comes at ya, Oh Well.

And, speaking of sports, . I do that. I speak of sports. I kinda apologize, but, ifn's you seek Gardening Guidance, Book reviews, how to play Canasta, yada, even term policies, (EVEN.. Victor, NO!)  it ain't gonna happen here.  Sports, uh huh, all that other stuff, uh huh. Snagglepuss might suggest a left exit.

Do you hear what I hear - also, is a fav of mine.  I think of it every day when I watch TV with my 38 year old son who is, TMI, living with me during his separation.  He enjoys setting the volume on the remote to around 27. To 'paint' what that sounds like, you could prolly run six houses down and hear it very well.  Ie, do you hear what I hear, because I KNOW the neighbors in this rickety old 3 apartment house hear it. Good gosh Gertie. I turn it down, he turns it up. I 'get back' at him in the early morning when I turn the TV on and the 27 blares in his ears, hehe.

Speaking of sports, and Mr. Hahn, sorry to speak of the Chiefs, but I must. Sam McDowell is my favorite KC Star Sport's writer. I dunno how to 'xplain it Lucy', but when I read his columns, it's like he's 'over there' in a chair and he's talking to, with, me. His writing makes sense, if that makes sense.

Combining it all, his take on the game:  Mahomes 15 second pre-game HYPE speech, his $50,000 fine, his "No Excuse" locker-room speech earlier in the week.. ending a drought ("played his best in two months").. "He's been more focused than I've ever seen him" Travis Kelce. S'more:

His day first: 27 of 37 for 305 yards, two touchdowns and two interceptions. The Chiefs: Their own receivers had hands on each of the interceptions first, and Kelce had his hands on a touchdown that fell incomplete.  (And then, Sam, sitting on that chair 'talking to me', said) What better snapshot of this team than that? We at long last saw their ceiling again, a welcomed change, but we too saw their biggest obstacle from reaching it.

Life. Checkenginelight. Oh well. "Snapshot." Say cheese, or, mercy, or hell yeah, sumpin!

I will have you know... I played 5, count 'em, 5 games of High School football, 

(To that, there's an embarrasing blog in here somewhere, which, in a nutshell (pun mebbe intended) I tried Frosh/soph/Jr year to get a physical for football, doc said "no" due to enlarged testicle.. each and every Fall, come football time, the father of one of my classmates would stare me down, say, "CHICKEN.. CHICKEN.".. so, I switched doctors, passed physical, played, my Senior year, 5 games, then broke my wrist, ha!)  Where was I? Oh yeah:

I will have you know... I played 5, count 'em, 5 games of High School football, so, I naturally feel qualified (and compelled) to lend that jolly red fella Andy Reid an ear.. or an eye.  Our 'artist formally known as Toe-ney', had a pass right in his mitts.  That pitcher we talked about up there.. this pitch from Patrick, was an offspeed 80 mph'er, right down the middle, as in, howinthehell do you miss (drop) that?  He did. Right into the arms of a New England Patriot.  Sir Andy Reid "Do you see what I see?" (Safety, I played free safety, I wanted to play receiver but I couldn't catch either.)

So, Mr. Patrick went and sat on the bench.  I'm kinda glad he wasn't 'miked up' cause I feel pretty certain he wasn't asking anyone for a Gatorade, or, "how's your day going?"

And then......... Please don't fall asleep on me.. ie, drift away as I recount "The Drifters" lyrics... And then it happened, It took me by surprise, I knew that you felt it too By the look in your eyes.  ANDY! (Please know I DID have one interception in those 5 high school games, so I KNOWS what I'm talkin' about!)...  I looked up.. AFTER the interception.  Andy, Do you see what I see?  Do you hear I hear (or I think I hear from Patrick's lips?)  The artist formerly known was BACK IN THE GAME.

I don't get it.  Oh Well.  I can't help about the shape I'm in I can't sing I ain't pretty and my legs are thin. Curveball Andy, as in ya threw me one.  Howabout a pinch hitter instead?  Or, to quote Senor' Bill Maas, former Chief's lineman on the toe over the line escapade "If that woulda been Marty Schottenheimer, _______ woulda been cut on Monday.

Sorry, kinda, not really. For every elf on a shelf, Salvation Army bell ringer, pack of Brownie's Christmas Caroling, Ralphie Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model Air Rifle, Cousin Eddie, five golden rings, four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves, partridge in a pear tree, there is a Grinch, grump, old feller, like me.  Sorry, kinda, but Andy, Do you see what I see?  Give it up Victor.

Oh well. 

Can I tell about my day?  Victor, it's your blog.  Yeah but, I know whenever I do speak to, of, me, folks run. Don't blame 'em, but they do.  Oh Well.

I had a wonderful Sunday.  Chiefs game, I got paid to watch (uh huh, worked at golf course.) Super nice golfers/friends/'family' stayed, watched Chiefs, and the next game, and, as always, overtipped. Yum. So, I went to have my ownself a beer after work.  A tad more. I went to a place I hadn't been to since Thanksgiving.  That's not that long ago Victor. What are you trying to say there blogreader!.. Anyways, at Thanksgiving, two of my favorite servers answered "Yes, I had a wonderful dinner" but each, also added "But I didn't get any pecan pie."

So... a needle pulling thread?  No. Well, yes, but not here.  So....... next day I went to WallyWorld and bought a cheap pecan pie, took it to watering hole, left a note "Enjoy, just make sure ____ and _____ get a slice."

So, I walk in last night... ____ puts her arm around me, thanks me for 'delicious' pie (It was a WallyWorld pie, really?) and then says "Start a pay tab on Vic" which, I think means I getta free beer. Other gal was there too, we high fived, I learned about "what I got my kid for Christmas"... to top it off, a very good friend came in and occupied the stool next to me.  Fun, conversation, beer, 8 big screens staring at me fulla NFL, basketball games, ie, a touch of heaven.

Shook buddy's hand, said "I'm gonna go" "can I get my tab." "You don't have a tab."  I was afeared'a that. So........I took all the overtipping money from my wunnerful golfer friends, and slid it up to the edge of the bar.. and left a happy camper.  A good day, it was a good day.  Forward passes, perfect strikes, victory in Foxboro...

But... that changeup right down the middle that shoulda been clobbered for a twenty yard gain, that instead bounced off his hands into Patriot pinkies. 

Senor' Reid, "Do you see what i see?"  Mister Veach, all the ruckus on this, "Do you hear what I hear?"

I would never suggest someone lose their job.  But, mebbe, play a different receiver, or howabout, take a pay cut on the present $3.48 Million being paid?

Oh well. I can't help about the shape I'm in, I can't sing I ain't pretty and my legs are thin.  But, I did play five games of high school football.  Andy?  Can you hear me?  Merry Christmas Jolly Fellow.

Forward by Al Bundy

Beverage Director Oits (that's how he signed it, not me)

Sounds by:  Fleetwood Mac, Noel Regney, The Drifters and a pack of Brownies

Mr. Roger's like conversation from the chair, pen of Sam McDowell

Love, Victurd

Turn left at the Piggly Wiggly... then, it's the third house on the right past Casey's.....

I actually WASN'T born in a small town (STL). I really doubt I would be privileged enough to be friends with Elvis Aaron because I never shot'a rabbit.

But... early on, we moved, and, the town I 'grew'd up in' was fairly small.  One flashing light.  Two lane roads in, out.  Alleyways in-between. Ya knew everybody and their brother (and sister, first cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, yada, uh huh, yada.) You could rattle off the names of everyone in your High School class.

Locked doors?  We don't needs no locked doors.  Shopkeeper hadta run to the bank?  Sign on door, "Back in 5 minutes" and, the door stayed open so you could go fetch whatever ya needed, trusted ya.  You was friends with the folks in the next town over, but, BITTER enemies when those Friday night lights came on, every resident in the County filled the bleachers for the football game.

The teachers, they'd callya by your older sibling's name. Tweren't uncommon to see a tractor, or, a cattle truck in the High School parking lot.  Classes were 'filled' with kids from 8 other, even smaller towns.  When folks (outsidea town) would askya "whar ya from?" you'd start with that smallest town.  Their look of confusion then led you to tell them the town where your high school was..  if still, "crickets", then it was "Just North of Kansas City."

Ifn's  you called the wrong number, odds were decent the person you called could then in turn give you the correct number for who you were calling.

Ya got ur groceries at the Piggly Wiggly.  Victor?  You talk about the Piggly Wiggly a LOT.. please tell us of your experiences.  "I've never been in one,."  I ain't.  I LOVE the name, I LOVE the 'small town feel' of it.  Were you aware..............  Aware of what? Wiki done tells me Piggly was/is, really, ingenious. Yeah?  How so? Well....

Long ago (we're talking turn of the Century, not this one, the one before) when you went to 'the grocery store', you had a list.  Ya gave that list to the owner of the store, you weren't allowed to go find, place in your cart, the goodies. The shopkeeper (or their kid, niece, aunt, yada) did. Side note:  Seems we've kinda come full circle. Many are upset, disappointed with WallyWorld automated checkout, but haveya seen how many of them damn "fetch the lazy shopper's goodies" employees there are, each with cart, cloggin' the aisles?,, back to Piggly..  Sooooooooooooooo, Piggly Wiggly became the first eva' self-service grocery store in 1916. No? Yeah. They not only letya go grab your own goodies, they were the first to use grocery carts, checkout aisles, individual price marking, thus... it prompted a whole new world where companies tried to fancify their marketing, brand, packing, yada. And, can you say IMPULSE BUYING?  Smart dudes!

Victor?  Yeah?  That's impressive. Maybe you shouldn't kinda sorta make fun of Piggly Wiggly into the future. You think you can stop doing that?  Prolly not, sorry, not really sorry though. I LOVE Piggly Wiggly.

You wrote "Third house on the right past Casey's."  Whatsup with that? Casey's is another that tugs at the small town heartstrings. Cept', them basta's (said semi lovingly) recently tore my Grannies house down (true, Fulton, MO) and built a Casey's in it's spot.  Still love Casey's.  In 1959, Donald Lamberti leased a service station from his pappy (Pappy is small town for 'father', I suppose like 'pops' is Big City affectionate for dad.) Turned the station into a convenience store - his gas supplier was Kurvin C. Fish. Small towns, Kurvin C. Fish was a bit much to say, so they called him KC. You get the idea, they bought another gas station, same idea, and vivala, Casey's was born'd. I am not real sure why it's considered small town to say "born'd', but reckon it is.

Lamberti and KC focused on small towns.  Then, even smaller, and even smaller. Ya go off the beaten path nowadays, you can always stop at Casey's and ask for directions.  Or, pizza.  They got good pizza. So good, in fact, my niece and her hubby set aside Tuesday night as "Casey's Pizza Night."

Where was I?  Well Victor, you mighta been in Accident, Maryland... or Ding Dong, TX..  mebbe Intercourse, PA... NUH UH!  Uh huh.. or Tightwad, Hazardville, Toad Suck, Bald Head, Bacon Level, Big Foot, Unalaska.. OK, I get the idea.

What else do you remember about small towns Victor?  Well, there's kinda an aversion to change, which, I guess could be construed as 'good or bad', mebbe a little of both.  Ok, and? Little(r) town, just North'a me.... One cop. I don't think he had a real life.  He was cop 24/7. Large man. How large? Well, many a night you could drive the main streets and find his police car pulled over, the two back doors open, on one side his head and one arm would be stickin' out, and on the other side of the car his feet stuck out.  Rumor had it he'd 'take a sip' every nowandagain, but, who was gonna stop him?

I did grow up in a small town.  A small town I love, many reasons.  Much like the reasons of others who grew up in small towns.  Simplicity, warmth, wisdom nurtured by environments.  Small towns teach kindness, community, resilence, and the art of finding joy in the simplest pleasure.

A little diddy, about Piggly and Caseys.. two American companies doin' the best they can. Green Acres (on the outskirts, separating, your town from others) is the place to be.

Forward by Mr. Haney, Sam Drucker, Fred Ziffel.

Director of Communications - Sarah.

Beverage Director - Otis.

Love, Victurd

Say Cheese.........

Please?

There's somethin' happenin' here...  what it is, ain't exactly clear...  Think it's time we STOP, HEY, what's that frown, everybody turn that sucker upside down.....

Google.  There AIN'T no arguin' with Google. The Law, The Word, the bowling ball of truth that knocks down the dreaded 7-10 split (CNN.... FOX)

You smile.. I smile.  It's as simple as that.  "When our smiling muscles contract, they fire a signal back to the brain, stimulating our reward system, and further increasing our level of happy hormones, or endorphins. In short, when our brain feels happy, we smile; when we smile, our brain feels happier.  Right Benny Hill?  Red Skelton?  Richard Pryor?  Baba WaaWaa?

(Click me perty please..  below)

Mischievous Jackapoo Tries On Dentures With Hilarious Results - YouTube

Soon, some facts about smiles, but first, a #2 lead. Huh?  Yeah. It is said (WHO said it Victor?) Ibid Bright Side something or other...  What'd they say? They said we can become happier by smiling more.  Duh.  And, to smile more, ifn's we need a baby jumpstart, stick a pencil in your mouth. So, "Put a pencil in it" if preferred over "Put a sock in it?"  Uh huh.

Smiling lowers blood pressure.  It's done said people are attracted to those who smile, and pushed away by those who frown.  Releases endorphins, relieves stress. (Ya ain't gotta go to CVS or Walgreens)  It's easier, as it takes 62 muscles to frown, only 26 to smile. People who smile are more likely to get a promotion. Yep. 

The article I read, after I scrolled down, was written by a woman.  How can you tell Victor?  Well, it said "Women smile more than men." Maybe they took an actual count Victor?  Yeah, mebbe.. but then it said "Women are more likely to tell the difference between a genuine and a fake smile."  I'm sayin', HEY HEY HEY, there ain't no fakin' it on man's behalf, ya know? VICTOR! For shame! But then, it's prolly true too. 

Newborns prefer a smiling person to a non-smiling person.  

A dog smiles by wagging it's tail.  "We shall never know all the good a simple smile can do." Mother Teresa. Right on Mom.... "I'm really exciting.  I smile a lot. I win a lot, and I'm really sexy."  Serena Williams. Hey Serena, we have much in common. Well, OK, maybe one outta four.   "I have witnessed the softening of the hardest hearts by a simple smile."  Goldie Hawn,. Sock it to me Goldie, and don't shoot me, no more Botox, ya hear?

y

People. Other people (and their smiles) make me smile. Friends. Lovers, eh, why not. Children. They make me smile. AFV. Nancy Brandon Thomas's posts. Ray Charles. Louie Armstrong, ossy-mosis, how can ya look at Louie and NOT smile? Colors. Rain. Snow. Sunshine. Blue skies (smiling at me). Golf shots that are inbounds. Farts. People tripping that don't hurt themselves but carry on as if nuttin' happened. Tit for tat. (Not real fond of tats for tits, but whatever floats one's boat.)

Hugs. A familiar face. A face ya ain't never seen before that's got a smile on it.  Don't you never repeat this one.......... smiles from my KU friends.  From my Republican friends. Even from ex'es. EVEN FROM EX'ES?  Uh huh.  Fellow old farts make me smile.

Much.  Much makes me smile, thank goodness.  Goodness makes me smile. Watching one's child, parent. Jack and Diane runnin' off behind that shady tree.  Rached frowning as McMurphy looks at Chief and winks. ƃuᴉdʎʇ uʍop ǝpᴉsdn ,uᴉɹǝɥdᴉƆ   Weekends. Retirement. Holidays. Every day. Any day. Puppies. Even touchdown dances Victor?  EVEN (OK OK, we get it.)

All I wanna do is zoom-a-zoom-zoom-zoom,  No. That ain't it. (I accidentally typed "No. That ain' tit" and that even made me laugh.)  I'm a simpleton.

Simpletons make me laugh. Ever been at a huge conference table, very serious meeting, you catch sight of a buddy, so... you stick your finger in your nostril?  Uh huh, me too,. That makes me smile.  Art Stinkletter's Kids say the darndest things.   Insomnia makes me laugh... a bit easier.  Beer. Good friends, good times.

Much.

I hope same for you.

Love, Victurd

Pick and choose.....

Ain't that kinda life?

Piggly Wiggly.  Ears of corn in a bin.  Sixty cents an ear.  I want my kernal's worth. Big'ns. So, I pick and choose. Later, aisle in fronta me, a tiny space too small to get thru on the left, a cart in the middle'a the aisle sits, a lady on the right side, sampling grapes. One, after anudder.  Mebbe she was picking and choosing lunch, I dunno.  Anyways, she did that and finally picked up a bag that musta tasted just right. I dunno if Goldilocks felt guilty or not.

February.  4th grade.  That box'a Valentines from TG&Y.  The Big'N.  Remember?  Each box had the Big'N.  We were kinda saying, before the Beatles ever said it, "PS I love you... a you you you." That special one. Deathly afraid to give it out, be out out out on that limb.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, even at age 9. Somewhere, Somewhere America, I bet it worked, they lived happily ever after.

Older we get, seems there are less ears of corn to our liking.  Mebbe higher standards, I dunno. Same with grapes that are way too rubbery, discolored.   Eww. Yes, we have no (yellow) bananas.

In the now SitNSpin life we have - we get up. We can't pick and choose first thing cause first thing is pee.  At least for me.  Then, on to the day. Folgers, picked and choosed 'cause it was cheaper than Maxwell.  Peek at Facebook. Friend list, a lifetime of pick and choose. Wordle. I'm hella boring, same Bat Channel (first word) every day.  I have two nieces (love, love, love them each). One sleeps until 9-ish, the other, like me, picks and chooses to getup at Ugly-thirty - thus, we Wordle battle daily. Sometimes I pick right, mosta the time, she picks right, I tuck my tail and go on.

The newspaper, online. (Victor, are you going to tell us about your whole durned day?  Mebbe.  See that little X up there in the right hand corner?  That's your pick and choose button, but, said lovingly.)

I'm highly educated.  By that, I mean, the headlines are at the top, I read every last onea them high up there headlines.  Older I get, the more I pass by.  Life turns to spoiling one's self I'm finding as I age. You?

1960-something.  My dog got loose.  I've told this one before, sorry, it's what we old people do, pick and chose to repeat ourselves.  Pick and choose to repeat ourselves, sorry, kinda. Well, it was pre leash law, he wandered away, how's that?  Up, over the hill to WJC, where I lived across the street. I saw him briefly headed to the Football field. Twas summer. He bolted to the Blocking sled where he had 5 Kansas City Chiefs butt's staring at him, to pick and choose from. Like that grape lady, Brownie (my hound) picked EJ Holub's butt. Lockjaw happened.  EJ was a hittin' the blocking sled with his left shoulder/arm, whilst, his right one swatted back and forth in attempt to get Brownie's jaw open, save his flesh for another day. Tootie fruity, call Rudy (as in Wayne Rudy, Chief's trainer for flesh repair.)

Long about then, I picked the Kansas City Chiefs. A lifetime of fun, aggrevation, giving up, starting again, 'can I have your autograph', 'Mr. Stenerud can we throw your kicks back toya?' No way Jose I coulda picked and chosen a better place to grow old to pick and choose s'more.

Even articles about wide receivers who drop balls?  EVEN ARTICLES ABOUT WIDE RECEIVERS WHO DROP BALLS. (Some, sometimes, we'd like to give them a term(inal) policy.) EB, our old offensive coordinator.  Stern.  His way. Vely successful. He picked and choosed after some years to head to DC to apply his skills there.  Some guy name Nagy, picked and chosen to take his place. 140,000 eyeballs (that's two times the number'a people at the game) fitty reporters, the resta the coaching staff, the defense sitting on the bench asking "what in the heck is up with that?" (Dropped balls). Them eyes, all, pointed at Nagy. After bypassing six or so of them up high headlines, I went to an article where Senor' Nagy said "It starts with me. It's on me." Long paragraph Victor, hit the enter bar. OK

Mr. Nagy pick his words “Every player is different on how they handle being coached. And so there’s a little bit of that, too, with how you handle certain guys,” Nagy said. “Some can handle tough criticism; others can’t. So there’s a feel to it. But in the end, we’ve got to make sure that the product out there is scoring touchdowns and winning football games.” That hit home a tad.  I've always worn what heart I have on my sleeve, tend to get my feelings hurt too easily.  Kinda like ole EJ I guess, butt hurt.

We're different.  We pick and choose differently en route to end. Chili cheese Fritos, tangerines,, Brylcreem a little dab'll do, clunkers (Big'N's), liability only, and, (VICTOR DON'T YOU SAY IT!) oh what the hey, I've never ever been with an 'underwire' lady, so I assume that subconsciously must be a pick and choose too. TMI, geez.  Eh, back to that little X up there in the right hand corner.

Me, my highly educated (ie, picking, choosing them high up there headlines) next went to an article on Travis Kelce.  Oh here we go, Taylor this, Taylor that, Swiftly, a little too much. No, the fella sells bands, boys bands. Oops, no, that ain't it.  He does a podcast, with his brother.  The Center for the Philadelphia Eagles. If you've picked and choosed, "I no likey NFL" ya might notta heard.

I like leftfield, as in coming out of.  I fall alseep, easily.  I mean (Victor, you can't start a sentence with I mean).. I mean I get bored. Stats, trends, odds, injury reports, who's predicting who, kinda bores me.  I like different sides. This morning, Kelce's sister in law provided that.  

Kylie Kelce, she wife of "Tush Push" Center Jason Kelce, relates "Wyatt, our 4 year old, is smitten with Travvy., and the feeling is mutual."  The Kelce's have two other daughters, a 2 yr old, Elliotte and an 8 month old named Bennett.

Copying, or ibid, howeverinthehell you're sposeta do it, say it, write it, from the KC Star article:

“I tell everybody, he comes to our house to visit and the poor guy doesn’t sit on the couch because our daughters will be like, ‘No, no, you sit on the floor. We’re gonna do a puzzle. We’re gonna build blocks. We’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do that,’” Kylie Kelce told People about Travis.

“Our oldest, she’s our boss. She’s our ring leader, and she just has demand after demand for him. And I’m like, ‘Trav, you know you can tell Wyatt no?’ He was like, ‘Yeah, I don’t think I can.’ And so he will do it.

“She’ll be like, ‘Jump up and down.’ He’ll do it. ‘Roll on the floor.’ He’ll do it. ‘Be the pony.’ He’ll do it. So he’s all-in when it comes to being an uncle. He is the epitome of an uncle, just through and through.”

I liked that.  A lot. A different side.  To everything, turn, turn, turn. There is a season, or, a life, where pick and choose is yummy as hell.

For un-momento, pick and choose. I picked and choosed to email the sportswriter who did the article to let him know how much I enjoyed turn, turn, turn, ie, the different side.  I dunno if he will pick and choose to email me back.  Now, that Vahe guy that writes for the Star, we, me and my highly educated skip-this-high-up-headline, are on a first name basis.  Uh huh, we are.  He DOES answer, and it's usually calling me by name, "Oh, you again."  I don't mean that.  He's truly gracious and I've winged a comp or seven his way, and he always replies.

Patty Gross. I think that was her name. (Remember?  4th Grade, EL GRANDE' Valentine's Day card?) She got it, saw it, didn't say nuttin' about it (Picked and DIDN'T choose).... So, I blogged whenever I wanted, drove clunkers until the wheels fell off, drank beer, played golf (poorly), ate too much, slept not enough and feel blessed about life in general... and generally, am REALLY thankful for those of you who pick and choose to read these goofy blogs.

I'll gladly pay you Tuesday.

Victor?  Huh?  You forgot to relate your favorite Pick and Choose.  Oh yeah, thanks.

Roy Clark and Buck Owens. "I'm a pickin'" and "I'ma grinnin."  Life, it be wunnerful, even if it occasionally includes losses to Chargers, Broncos, Raiders (patooey), hearing "No", and, small boobies.

Love, Victurd

(The Beach Boys) Round round get around I get around......

Yeah, get around round round, I get around.

As in, it's cold in here.  Whaddaya mean Victor?  There are 24 Windows open,  Well no wonder.. No, I mean windows = sites.  I've been surfin.  Victor, you can't surf. I done did, all morning.  Surfin' USA, so to speak.

Yeah?  Why?  I was bored, very. Dare I ask, what'd ya surf about?

I was curious what percent of the US has an outie bellybutton.  Only 10%.

And of course, that led me to inquiring "What would you do if you had three hands?"  Most popular: Wear a hat on it. Do puppet shows. Play Paper, Rock, Scissors with myself.  Take hella selfies. Juggle.  Count to 15.  Hitchhike.

Hmmm.  OK.

And, on the one hand?  Glad you asked. I found that 4% of the US is proficient using chopsticks.  Oh, and that my cousin Darrell can clap with one hand.  I ain't kidding. Strangest (coolest) thing you ever saw, heard.

Wow, you were bored.

Uh huh.  Then Google told me Kadarius Toney wears a size 11 shoe.  Geez.  And I saw an article about his very first NFL practice, he was having shoe issues so he completed the last hour of practice wearing only one shoe.  That's odd.  I wish he woulda borrowed Tom Dempsey's shoes on that last play. VICTOR!  That's just wrong!  I don't care, we gotta figure a way to stay ahead of Hahn's Broncos.

That 52% of people sleep partially clothed...  31% fully clothed (WHAT?) and 17% sleep naked.  Were you aware there are benefits to sleeping naked?  You mean like fringe Victor?  Well, yeah, I didn't thinka that but sure. You fall asleep faster. Better quality sleep. Promotes healthy skin.  Reduces stress. Prevents weight gain. WHAT? Yep, they say there's a connection between inadequate sleep and weight gain and ya sleep better nakie.  Boosts self esteem (I personally find that hard to believe) and it's supposed to improve your relationship somehow, Google didn't xplain how-so. They never mentioned burglars, or, what if the cat jumps on you.

Continuing along that line, on average, the people of New Hampshire have the highest IQ of any State. OK, so the obvious Victor, lowest?  New Mexico. I wouldn'ta thunk that. I was just sure it was Kansas.

What is Googled the most?  Zoom. Fostering a dog. YouTube.  Amazon. And Dalgona coffee.  Nuh uh.  Uh huh, look it up.  Most frequent questions?  What time is it.  How do you tie a tie. What is my ip?

Were you aware that Facebook ain't the most popular (time usage) of Social Medias?  Nope, what is then?  YouTube (46 minutes a day). Facebook ain't even second.  That's TikTok, 38 minutes a day. Then, X 35 minutes a day. People are only on Facebook 31 minutes a day. Victor you spend a helluva lot more time than that on FB. Bite me dumbbell.

Speakinowhich, dumbbell is one of the top ten misspelled words.  Yeah?  Others? Coolly. Liaison. (Completely understand why that complicates things.)  License (I have touble with that one too.)  Separate. Which reminds me, when I first got divorced, ok, actually separated, I was on a dating site. I ran (the other way) when I seen ladies write they were 'seperated'.

Then, naturally research learned me West Virginia has the least expensive housing.

I saw a really cool chart on people graphed by age, ie, 10, 20, 30, 40, etc.  First was a graph on percent of Americans living alone.  Of course, old folks (age eighty-nine that live alone, 40%+; age seventy-five 25%; sixty 17% live alone; on down to thirty 8%; twenty-one 4%; eighteen 1%.  Basically, they said the older we get, the more we spend time, live, alone.  They also said that don't necessarily mean 'alone' means 'lonely'. Gee, I wouldn't have guessed that from your 'research' Victor. What else?

Who people spend their time with.  Of course, we already addressed 'alone' for older folks.. the graph line looks like a mountain, the older ya get (400 minutes a day).. Then 'with partner', around age 30 until age 80 it pretty much stays at 200+ minutes a day.  'With family' starts high, then goes to virually nil.  'With childen', the graph kinda looks like it's preggo, ie, grows upward age 20 (200 minutes) 30 (250 minutes), then starts spiraling down around age 45 (a hunnerd) to maybe fitteen minutes, age 80.  Somewhere along the way I goofed.  Oops, did I say that?

Whaddaya wanna be when you grow up?  (They asked 8 to 12 year olds.) A YouTuber.  This YouTube crap is popular. Teacher was next, then professional athlete. China kids, same question:  Astronaut, teacher, musician. Me?  I always admired those guys you see on the sidea the road. You know, 7 guys standing around in bright neon vests, one poor soul digging away as the others watched. I wanted to be that, one of 'em that stood around watching.  That, or, Vanna White.  Were you aware she's made 85 million turning letters? Oh, and T was the very first letter she turned over.

Victor, are you taking your meds?

No

Oh, I missed one of the misspelled words.  Rigmarole. Doesn't that mean a long, rambled story Victor?  Rings a bell.

South Koreans sleep the least. Can you blame them?  Finland and the Netherlands, they sleep the most.  Were you aware the people in the richest countries work the least, and those in the poorest countries work the most? It's twue it's twue it's reawwy twue.  Go Figure.

The price of tea presently in China?  For the very best, it ain't even for sale. Nope.  The Da Hong Pao tree, thousands of years of history, there are only SIX mother trees remaining, thus, the Goverment doesn't allow ya to harvest it.

Former pro football player Chris Johnon had his name legally changed to Chad Ochocinco in 2008, in honor of the #85 jersey he wore.  The only glitch was 85 in Spanish is actually ochenta y cinco.  There is absolutely no truth to the rumor Kadarius Toney is considering changing his name to Kadarius Toeney.

And of course, The sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick' is considered the World's Most Difficult Tongue Twister. It's even more difficult if you take one of your three thumbs and forefingers and hold your tongue while saying.  I've always liked Unique New York better anyways (Try it! 3 times, real fast!).

Just a normal Thursday,

Love, Victurd

 

Sleigh Bells Ring............

A few years back, quite a few I guess, I lived in a different apartment, Cherokee in fact... the lady in the adjacent apartment was prolly the age I am now (71). Her TV. Holy guacamole - THE SOUND.. the decibel level. I completely understood - happens as we age. Twas though, a whole new look, sound at Christmas time to "Do you hear what I hear?"  Uh huh, I sure do ma'am.

Sleigh bells ring.......... are you listening?

We've got spirit, yes we do, we've got spirit, how 'bout you?

Depends.  OK, Ok, Ha ha, Depends. Christmas has changed, much. Or mebbe we, the names, faces, commercialism, dadgum Prime vehicles parked on darn near every road and ya worry you're gonna scrape parked cars should you attempt to roll around, through.. Much has changed. Mostly though, the mirror.

That mirror now shows grandmas and grandpas - just like we remember Christmas past. Back in the day, I remembered the name and year of graduation of virtually everyone I went to high school with. You could quiz me on the Kansas City Chief's numbers 14, 16, 45, 51, 63, 78 and in a millisec, I'd answer Podolak, Dawson, Holmes, Lynch, Lanier, Bell.

Nowadays, as we four sit around after golf, once we finish talking about knee, hip replacements, "it hurts when I do this", we go back.  Back to yesteryear - when we could still run, jump, the pep was in our step.  "Remember that time you and I and _______ went to Antioch?"  Who?  "_____, you know, lived on Fairview, just past ______'s house."  No, I'm sorry, I don't remember.  What class? Point being, we forget along the way.

Sleigh bells ring though, and we suddenly jump right back into our double knee denims, buzz cut hairdo, YEE-HA Christmas mode of 1950-60-something.  You cannot forget that.

My City. Your City? I'd love to read any stories, memories you might have.  So Victor, we surmise this is where you're gonna share yours.  Uh huh, is.

The Kiwanis, or mebbe the Boy Scouts, would setup shop at a grocery store or a car lot selling Christmas trees. It was common to see folks out on ladders putting up lights. The shopkeepers of our town Square, back then our WallyWorld, Best Buy, Amazon, Kohls, Target alternative (and only alternative unless you wanted to navigate two lane roads to downtown or Antioch), - had amazing displays that made us 9 year olds wanna sneak up to the window, tug, pull on mom's coat, "Can we see, can we see?"  Brownie and Girl Scout Christmas carolers were a thing on the Courthouse steps as well.

I don't remember a Mayor's Christmas Tree - but, I do remember the huge pine tree on the little triangle that sits atop Mill Street - and how annually, the Ladie's Garden Club would decorate it with HUGE bulbs, then the Firemen, and their ladder truck would come, affix a big ole star to the top of the tree.  In fact, the firetrucks would drive thru neighborhoods and toss out candy to us kids at Christmas time.

Of course there was Santa's little house on the Courthouse lawn where we lined up to see Santa, tell of our wishes.  One friend relates, "my three year old got on his lap.. he asked if she's been a good girl she answered 'Yes, and pew you've got stinky breath.'!  Another friend "My dad was a large man. I mean, a LARGE man. Every year in Westboro (edition) on Christmas Eve, he'd put on his Santa costume, grab a bag full of candy, and one by one knock on the doors of families he knew had children. Yes, he'd ask them if they'd been good, pass out the candy, but too, remind them to go to bed early, and "Don't peek!" One year, a 9 year old rode his Schwinn around relating to all "Santa isn't real.. he's made up."  So, the large dad, once again donned his suit, went to said 9 year old's house, knocked on door. I understand the kid about tinkled his pants.

Rides around town with mom and dad.. was it Ridge Street where they had the luminaries?  Twas special. Simple, but really special.  While it was 20+ years since Glen Miller's "In the mood", living in a smalltown back then, one couldn't help but be in the Christmas mood.

Remember the silver aluminum Christmas trees?  And, those little fan loooking color wheel light things that would spin and cast three different colors on them? We always got a real tree - but, my favorite memory of trees was Grandpa's annual trek to a friend's acreage in the country to chop down a nice cedar tree to take home, decorate.  Can still smell it.

As urchins, we got to help decorate.  Well, we did once Grandma had the liquid bulbs (my fav) around the tree and plugged in. Then it was the ornaments, candy canes (sometimes they'd later disappear!) and then the strings of popcorn the ladies, lady cousins had made, of course, finally, strands and strands of tinsel. (My grandparents had three daughters, who in turn married, and each had two children.) As our families arrived (and that in and of itself was a special moment.. Liberty, Jeff City, Fulton, MO merge again as one).. the gifts would pile up and pile up beneath the tree.

Today, we buy large bags and hopefully minimally tissue paper as we economize, toss in mebbe 4 gifts to a child.  Nuh uh, back then. Remember?  Each, every present was wrapped with love, a ribbon, a bow, and a special Christmas to/from tag.  Personalized. Special.  Silly Putty was fun - Etch A Sketch the rage, Play Doh had these huge kits with all kinds of colors and plans where you could make a plane, a boat or a train.

I remember Granny had pies awaiting us atop the heater in the living room, FUDGE! DIVINITY! heaven as a child - and the closer ya got to the kitchen, yum, honey baked ham. I really can't believe they had enough chairs for us all at dinner time.  The noise, coupled with grandpa's hearing aids, kinda bugged him, so, he'd take them out at dinner time.  Then, he would toot. "I can't hear it, neither can they" he assuredly thought.  GIGGLES from us grands said otherwise.  The Best.  Christmas was the best.

One cousin of mine, had to have had ESP.  He was a few years older - but he could pickup a present labeled his, feel of it for a short, and perfectly guess exactly what it was.  Of course we had a selfish itch to get the gifts we wanted, but too, we wanted our cousins to be happy with what we got them (thanks to mom and dad's bucks.)

Hard candy was in a glass bowl in virtually every household, as was a snow globe on the end table, and mebbe sadly, a fruitcake.  Christmas cards were the way, not the exception.  Taped to the mantle, a door facing, even simply on the wall. In the background, we heard Andy Williams, Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby... Sinatra, Martin.  Yum.  

Snowmen with corn cob pipes, carrots.. sledding.. forts.. all followed by hot chocolate. Who even has snap up galoshes nowadays!  Remember them well.  There were no movies yet about Ralphie, Kevin, Chevy Chase, or even Cousin Eddie - but we all did watch A Charlie Brown Christmas, and, that Grinch guy.

The oldest cousins passed out the gifts.  Mark set go was said - and in a flurry - our already big eyeballs got bigger.  We had things to do, stuff to play with for the year. In time, our folks and our grandparents who lived The Depression, folded and salvaged virtually every possible piece of wrapping paper, bows, ribbons they could - and put it away until next year.

Hugs happened.  It was over, but, "It'll be like this forever, right?"

Sadly no, but it's forever etched.  We may be old, but we're always young at Christmas time.

Sleigh Bells Ring...  are you listening?

Love, Victurd