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cabingal3
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# Posted: 13 Mar 2011 01:12am
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Well here s one for those who may think theres no hope.This little fisherman son is not really little .he is 6 foot 4.when he was a teen -he would always tell me he thought he had cancer.I told him...u are growing.u need milk.so everytime i would see him,he had the milk jug connected to his lips.I never knew he would grow so tall.whose kid is he?? i sometimes thought...did i do something somewhere in time with the mailman...nope.snicker.His feet and teeth and all are just like dads.He has blonde hair.blue eyes...hubbys and family are irish.My fisherman boy is from my side of the swedish granny of mine with blonde hair and blue eyes.He was on drugs as the way it is sometimes with a fishermans life.those hours are grueling.For years he would come home and cast his creepy fishy clothes in a corner and me...ole ma would welcome him.make him his favorite foods and hug him and clean his clothes.Then he just got so wild in his behavior...and yes.he was hooked into drugs.of course druggys always make u think u are the crazy one.He and i would have issues.and i just never did drugs to know what was wrong.So He told me when we talked...ma,i have not done cocaine in a whole year. i was like...agh.is that what u were doing?? hee hee.he told me i was crazy.he had me checking my mind over and over on what all would transpire...with the law and him and us.I was glad he told me.and i am glad he is over all of that. i hope so.I was so glad to talk to him.i always just feel he is so busy being a fisherman.i was glad he got to tell dad he loves him.he tells me.i am like hm yeppers cause we have been thru it.dad is not numb.he was so glad to hear from his son.the son with a million wild fishing stories.i hope he comes by soon.it will be nice to visit with a nice fellow with a good heart and not a druggy.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 13 Mar 2011 11:34am
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Quoting: cabingal3 Quoting: Gary O The wife pointed out the mural of two manatees on the ceiling. I pointed out that it was a mirror. agh.gar!!
Gazelles, I meant Gazelles!
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Gary O
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# Posted: 13 Mar 2011 11:37am
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Quoting: cabingal3 ...did i do something somewhere in time with the mailman..
We won't talk about the mail lady......
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cabingal3
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# Posted: 13 Mar 2011 04:29pm
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Quoting: Gary O We won't talk about the mail lady......
ok.we wont.snicker.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 14 May 2011 10:30am
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A continuation of my post mid-life introspect
Take my pole.....please
The other day I was looking for a bungee to re-harness a sagging fishing rod, one of 48, that's clipped to the ceiling of my den.
I foraged thru a box in my shop, marked straps-bungees-binders, of which was beneath three other marked boxes, full of assorted, 'important' stuff to organize other important stuff.
I've done it again...collecting.
Who needs 48 fishing rods?
OK, I have two level wind for salmon, four (2 level/2 spin) for steelhead, and two (spin) for trout.
The others I dust........
Are these subliminal trophies, 'accidentally' shown off with fake disdainful self-reproach when a buddy visits from Alaska?
Are they my security items?
Are they a subconscious adherence to a biblical proverb....spare the rod...?
Or am I one sick puppy, the rods symbolizing multiple choice Freudian instruments of self-flagellation?
Naw, I just like shiny things.
'Hey, look! That reel has a Super Stopper Anti-Reverse Plus Backup Anti-Reverse Pawl!
I need that!"
Upon returning from mainland China, and having witnessed utter poverty face to face, I swore I would be more aware of my first world habits. Getting home, going thru the stores, seeing hundreds of style choices for even tennis shoes; basketball, walking, hiking, running, jogging, skate boarding, posing, strutting, worshiping, and yes tennis, revolted me.
The legless man, sitting on his torso, in a dirt street of a northern Guangdong village, sewing Huarache sandals with a tiny crude manual machine, had awakened a dormant thread of moral awareness, deep within the insole of my soul.
Had I shown myself as the epitome of Burdick and Lederer's portrayal of Americans?
Am I a lower form of the 'let them eat cake' genre?
Or am I just conveniently born in the middle of a pecking order, abhorring both poles of the spectrum?
My obsessive nature dictates order, so there's an element of inborn restraint, but on the other hand, it sends me on stock pile tears, 48 bars of Irish Spring, 12 bottles of my favorite shampoo, a drawer full of socks (all the same color).....this amuses cabi....., but even though needful things, why so much?
Are these various trappings a form of enslavement?
Is the abject poverty stricken legless man, the antitheses of luxury, sewing shoes for the comfort of someone that has so very much more than he, in misery, or is he more the free one?
Moralists, thru the ages, tend to think so, and as I take a breather, and prepare for the trek down the hill, my opinion has gone from "Yeah, right" to "Why am I building another shed to store all this crap"?
In my heart of hearts, our cabin is a mild form of that same freedom.
There, the dictates of preparing necessities, like a dishpan of hot water, and a means of heating the water, and of course water, reduce and remove the time afforded to the accustomed trappings. They become simple pleasures.
And, the not so pleasurable, but nonetheless compulsory events, the trek to the privy, the incident itself, down to the careful selection of 'site' cleanup (WHERE'S THE G-D TOILET PAPER!!!!) become a sometimes pressing race toward urgent enlightenment, a much anticipated desired relief of sorts, concluding with an immediate liberating mental trek back to tranquility.
Is your cabin a place to put more toys and house all the electro-gizmo trappings of home, or a spill over of collections, or a refuge from their enslavement?
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hattie
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# Posted: 14 May 2011 12:22pm
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When we moved up here we got rid of most of the collections and things we wouldn't actually be using. Hubby built a narrow shelf just below the ceiling all around the living room for family photos and those few very special heirlooms that we needed to keep. The rest we got rid of (gave to the kids, charity or garbage).
I must admit it was an interesting mental process to go through. Giving up items I had kept most of my life (silly things like movie ticket stubs, paper napkins from weddings I had been to, etc. - I had boxes and boxes of them) was pretty traumatic at first. Then I just sat myself down and had a little chat with myself about what was important. Once things got straightened around in my brain, then I was better able to look at things in a different light.
There were some items that I absolutely wasn't going to give up as they were family keepsakes/heirlooms, but the rest was just "stuff" and out it went.
Hubby had a harder time then I did giving up his stuff. He used to have his own model boat business and kept most of his "stock" in case someone wanted to buy the business. He had offers, but not enough to satisfy him so he kept his "stuff" (and we still have it in our crawlspace). I figured as long as it was out of the way, he should keep it until he was ready to get rid of it. One day he said he wanted to just throw it all out, but I could see in his eyes he didn't really mean it so I said to keep it until he really was ready - and that day may never come, but that's okay with me.
Now as for stuff like toothpaste, toilet paper, deodorant, etc.....I have stockpiles of that, but only because I buy it on sale and we don't have a store nearby. *S* When my stockpiling shelves are full, I don't buy more until I have an available space. Limited space seems to help keep things in check.
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naturelover66
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# Posted: 14 May 2011 12:38pm
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Quoting: Gary O In my heart of hearts, our cabin is a mild form of that same freedom.
Recent events in my life have made it very obvious to me "Stuff" is just stuff......... now that the kids are grown....... it holds no importance. I just need the basics in life........ and love ofcourse.....
A little thought and perspective ...... and its all so clear.
My Cabin........ is and will be a place where my dreams will flourish...... no clutter....... no "stuff"....... Just the basic goodness of life..... and nature.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 15 May 2011 03:51pm - Edited by: Gary O
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Quoting: hattie I must admit it was an interesting mental process to go through. Giving up items I had kept most of my life (silly things like movie ticket stubs, paper napkins from weddings I had been to, etc. - I had boxes and boxes of them) was pretty traumatic at first
Quoting: naturelover66 My Cabin........ is and will be a place where my dreams will flourish...... no clutter....... no "stuff"....... Just the basic goodness of life..... and nature.
Yeah, Hats & nl66, good points, that's how most of us think, and I kinda apologize in bringing up a subject that has been previously beat to submission, but on the other hand, me, being a cynic, in an unfamiliar, aging retrospective empathetic mode, I take mental adventures, and am filled with awe and wonder at the resiliance of the street artisans, like the little old legless cobbler in China, stitching away the day, then as the sun sets on his work shift, packing up his little machine (on a skid?) and dragging it behind himself as he hand walks his way to the tin hut, simply filled with his mat and a humble means of cooking.
I so wanted to chat with him, but disregarding the warnings to never leave the hotel compound alone, I got restless when my broker/interpreter was away, and ventured into the village (w-a-a-ay off the Caucasian route, let alone tourist haunts).
So communication was a tad limited.
Was he the last link of a conglomerate chain?
Who was his broker?
What would our conversation have been?
Me:
So, Mr Huang (pronounced Fong in some provinces), do you know the name Nike?
My Broker to Mr Fong:
你知道耐克的名称吗?
Do you know the name Nike?
Mr Fong to my Broker:
嗯，你觉得，我是无知的无足混蛋，只是高兴地走出的一只手？
我讨厌游客的上帝。
当然，我听说耐克体育用品公司。
地狱的人，你认为我的公寓小屋支付？
(Well, what do you think, I'm an ignorant legless bastard, just happy to get a hand out?
God I hate tourists.
Of course I've heard of Nike.
Who in hell do you think paid for my 60 inch plasma set, and state of the art stereo?)
Broker to me:
No
Me to broker:
Amazing....I wonder if there is something I can do for him, a token of appreciation, maybe some little wheels, or a new torso pad?
Broker to Mr Fong:
你知道耐克的名称吗？
(This sorry, bleeding heart consumer, wants to know if you want a new torso pad, or some little wheels no less?)
Mr Fong
告诉他是给我的礼物就是立刻离开温暖的阳光我当时正在欣赏他出现之前。
(Tell him his gift to me would be to get the hell outta the warm sun that I was enjoying before he appeared, and to go back home and buy some huaraches. F---ing tourist bastards.
Oh, and leave me some Pink Floyd CDs.)
Broker to me:
No, but many thanks and have a nice day.
Me:
Incredible, a true testament to human resilience (heart blood letting profusely).
I walk away, enlightened...........
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naturelover66
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# Posted: 15 May 2011 10:10pm
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I dream of meeting the Mr Fongs of the world......
The only magazine i subscribe to is National Geographic....... On my day off i flip thru my new issue fantasizing of the day i can venture to far away lands ....... the interesting/exotic people i would meet..... the breathtaking scenery of Europe/ New Zealand..... the outback of Australia.
My husband on the other hand....... has no desire whatsoever to leave bloody Michigan !!! Drives me absolutely crazy. No adventurous spirit at all.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 15 May 2011 11:11pm
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Quoting: naturelover66 My husband on the other hand....... has no desire whatsoever to leave bloody Michigan !
Well, I'm with your husband.
Business takes one where one needs to go.
But I hate strange foods, especially when they look back at me.
When in Guangdong I survived on weird crackers and Sam Miguel. Lost 18 lbs in two months.
I love most of the states, and every bit of Canada I've seen.
But when leaving North America, freedoms, taken for granted, are left on shore.
Thought I'd get hauled off to a gulag a couple times.
I admire the adventuresome and their travels, but I'd much rather be here......at home.
And now I don't care to go anywhere that I can't get back before dark........
Michigan??!! Why would anyone want to leave?
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turkeyhunter
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# Posted: 16 May 2011 07:33am - Edited by: turkeyhunter
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Quoting: naturelover66 breathtaking scenery
i really enjoyed my 2 week road trip out west, got home last week, love meeting intersting people, and seeing Breathtaking scenery----
Montana, Wyoming.South Dakota.....was AWESOME!!!
Also Mo and NE ---has some pretty screnery......4177 miles of looking at Gods Creation.........
my next road trip will come late July, taking my camper to Maine, and stay the month of August......( it will be in the 100's here in the south, way too hot to work on the cabin---will be looking for neat stuff to decorate the new cabin with while in New England)and fly fishing.....
the Big Horn River in MT was loaded with brown and rainbow trout.....
what a great float in a drift boat. hard to belive it was snowing/sleeting when we got to the cabin the night before.Woke up to sunshine and 60's.....for the high....unreal
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Gary O
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# Posted: 16 May 2011 08:55am
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Quoting: turkeyhunter Montana, Wyoming.South Dakota.....was AWESOME!!! Also Mo and NE ---has some pretty screnery......4177 miles of looking at Gods Creation.........
Now that's the kinda trip worth taking!
North America has so much, so much more than I'll ever see.
Some states have a bit of everything, Oregon being one, with the exception of tropical.
Never could get over swimming in the gulf coast.
Try that on the Oregon coast and you might loose an appendage.....
Yeah, Turk, something about a drift boat, covering a lot of territory and yet quiet (if not aluminum). Doesn't get a whole lot better than that.
Once unfettered with my work-a-day world, cabi and I have thoughts of heading up the Alcan hwy, ending up at my life long buddy's place in Craig AK.
I'd also like to tour a bit of the west again, and maybe stop off at a couple cabin dweller's oases.
MikeOnBike and T-Tech being a couple, and Borrego's desert abode is starting to look r-e-a-l sweet.
Then there's that Jeremy kid, tucked into the North Wet.
Wonder if any of 'em would have us..........
Yeah, Turk, yer doin' a great job of workin' that retirement thing real good....and so freaking young too!.......
Keep on keepin' on
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naturelover66
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# Posted: 16 May 2011 12:29pm
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Glad to see you had such a wonderful trip !!
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turkeyhunter
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# Posted: 16 May 2011 10:01pm
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Quoting: naturelover66 Glad to see you had such a wonderful trip !!
Thank you , it was a awesome trip and weather was nice.
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neb
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# Posted: 17 May 2011 09:54pm
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Great pictures and glad you had a great trip. The high plains and badland country are truly the most beautiful country to me. I have lived here all my life and don't have any desire to leave this country. It's maybe not for everyone mostly because of the weather and it can be very harsh and not forgiving.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 17 May 2011 10:30pm
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Quoting: neb The high plains and badland country are truly the most beautiful country to me
From sea to shining sea, neb.
There's not much North America doesn't have....
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Gary O
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# Posted: 14 Jun 2011 02:11pm - Edited by: Gary O
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Quoting: bushbunkie Life's not about waiting for the storms to pass...it's about learning to dance in the rain.
Hey, someone sent me the rest of it, Bush:
"Blessed are the cracked, for they let in the light"
Some mornings it's just not worth chewing thru the leather straps......
This coming week is National Mental Health Care week.
You can do your part by remembering To contact at least one unstable person to show you care.
Well ... .. . my Job is done. Your turn!
Please
Send an encouraging message to a disturbed friend.. just as I've done. I don't care if you lick windows or take the special bus..... you hang in there sunshine, you're special..
Every sixty seconds you spend angry, upset or mad, is a full minute of happiness you'll never get back.
Today's Message of the Day Is:
Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile
"Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass...it's about learning how to dance in the rain."
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Gary O
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 06:17pm - Edited by: Gary O
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HENRY
I feel as though I'm on the set of the last half hour of Papillion, or the movie Life.
Just said g'mornin' to Henry for the gazillionth time.
He's been an employee at this fine establishment since the doors opened, before even me, of which I'm regarded as the furniture. We are both a bit slower of foot and noticeably grayer since we first met.
We have light conversation...about gardening, the weather, our offspring.
He's a bit short on words.
Been thru a gaggle of engineer regimes.
Been in charge of what we call the process room forever.
It's where we encapsulate, vacuum varnish, mold, and do all the dirty work.....the dirty work that takes a mad scientist to coordinate all the tanks, racks, and ovens to yield product (as our brochure says) 'in a timely manner'.
For him, it's a symphony, and he's the conductor.
Patience his not his strong point.
He's 'hard to work with'.
Whenever an upstart engineering manager approaches him about a certain process (more like begging for an answer, so he can document the procedure in the build book), his usual reply is, 'You're the engineer, you tell me....ah...hahahahahaha'.
He can be seen on any given day, meticulously scraping out the last drop of epoxy in a 5 gallon bucket....'It's expensive'.
About ten years ago I had to take him in to counsel.
He'd made a production worker upset, to the point of tears.
We all knew he was just being Henry, harsh words were how he communicated.
I sat with him and the production manager, and explained to him about how he represented our company, and therefore an example, blather blah, blah, blather.
I guess he took every one of my words to heart.
I guess I dressed him down, took him to his inner core, because he began to weep.
It really took me off stride, as I was just building momentum, not even getting off my final salvo.
It confirmed what I'd learned sometime before.
Gruff crusty people, folks with chips on their shoulders, that once the armor of their defense is removed, will just fall apart.
I guess he was more than motivated that day, because motivation lasts only a short time, but he has yet to come off so harsh, as he'd been so many times before.
He is not articulate in the English language.
Someone once mentioned to me that 'Henry sure speaks funny'.
'Yeah, he speaks funny like that in seven languages.'
He was a man without a country for around twenty years.
I was one of the privileged few from our company that he'd invited to the celebration of his citizenship.
A lot of his people were there, and they all revered him as a god.
He looked good in his uniform.
That day he became 'Henry', and we shared a six pack of Private Reserve. He still mentions our little celebration, and has the Henry's Private Reserve cap, I'd given him that day, hanging above his desk.
Henry has several distinct scars all over himself.
Holes the size of machine gun rounds.
Holes that remind him of the death march, of hiding under the body of the guy that became him when he took his identity papers because he'd lost his.
Holes that should have killed him more than once.
Holes that remind him of the loss of his entire family.
Holes that cause him to be even less verbal when someone inquires as to 'what'd you do to get that?'
Holes that remind him of the price of freedom.
He still eats his lunch with sticks, sometimes sitting on the picnic bench cross legged, yoga position.
It was a year or so after I'd hired on that Henry learned it was more acceptable to sit on the toilet instead of stand.
I was glad to see that...hated always having to wipe those freaking footprints off the lid every damn time.
Yeah, him and I are on the other side of the hill now.
But it's still really great to say g'mornin' to my fellow countryman every day....it's actually quite an honour.
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naturelover66
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 06:24pm
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Hard to breathe reading that .......
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Gary O
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 06:45pm - Edited by: Gary O
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Sorry, NL
Perhaps this will get things back to normal:
I'll Never Forget My Best Friend
I was three.
He was a few months.
Neither of us had much to play with....but each other.
We never lacked.
He'd look up at me with complete unwavering trust.
Trying to read my face.
Ears perked up when I spoke.
Wherever I went, he followed.
He rapidly grew, and soon we were face high to each other.
We'd roam the patch of woods up the hill from our place, him guarding my every step, sometimes blocking my way when I got too close to the cliff edge. I didn't know it at the time.
I'd take my naps nestled into his chest.
He'd lie there, never moving a muscle.
As I grew to boyhood, he remained a part of me, my shadow.
We'd wrestle....he'd let me win.
We'd hunt.
We'd fish.
Not that he took part.
He was no hunting dog.
Just my companion.
We'd share lunch.
He'd listen, as we sat on the creek bank.
Years passed.
I got very busy, but not so busy that we wouldn't still roam the woods every so often, even though he had a bit of a time keeping up.
The day came when he just didn't get up.
I was sixteen.
Mom told me to take him in to the vet.
'He'll be able to fix him up.'
I gathered him up and laid him in the passenger's seat of the pickup, right beside me, and we had one of our conversations while I drove the twenty miles.
It had been awhile.
Too long actually.
I sat on the stool beside the exam table, while the vet did his thing.
Once again my best friend and I were face high to each other.
The vet was talking with my mom.
He handed me the phone.
It was time.
He had to be put to sleep.
OK, I brought him in to get fixed up, and now he's going to be put down....just like that.
I was told I had to leave the room.
Like hell.
I held his face with both hands, and his ears perked up as we had one of our conversations, telling him the reality.
I cradled his head, holding it to my chest, not moving a muscle until he went to sleep.
Even though the wipers were going, I had a hard time seeing through the rain drops on the way back home.
I'll never forget my best friend
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naturelover66
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 06:52pm
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He looks like a beautiful Australian Shepherd.........
You were so fortunate to have eachother to love.....
Oh, and Nice to see you here again ...... You were missed.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 06:58pm
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Hey, thanks
I sure missed you folk
been doin' some writing
I plan on parking some excerpts here.......but not the questionable ones.......OH-H-H-H-H-H-H NO, not the questionable ones.....
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Gary O
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# Posted: 4 Jul 2012 07:09pm
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OK, I've got one more
then back to the Royal pounder
Geriatricology
These days I have to be careful as to how I sit. Actually, briefs keep the low riders in place. Otherwise lefticle or righticle can suddenly awaken my giddyup.
This happened to me a couple times not that long ago.
Once in a library.
While waitin' for the missus, I commenced to sit down on a bench.
Jumped straight up. Letting out a HEEEEYAHHHH!
The librarians all looked at me like I was some kinda deranged Tourette victim.
My lady came around the corner and told them 'he's just acting up cause I'm taking so long'.....it worked.
The other time was in the Portland Fine Arts Museum.
It's not good for me to get bored.
We toured the new exhibits, exhibits of things like a chunk of torn cardboard with scribbling on it. Nicely matted and framed though....$3500usd.
An outstanding sculpture of this nude guy was parked in the middle of the grand foyer, life size, detail down to the color of his molds and freckles.
This father with his 10 year old daughter, then me and a half dozen others, were all encircling the roped off sculpture.
The girl looked spellbound.
I said 'touch it'
'No, really, go ahead, touch it'
She looked at her dad. He nodded.
She reached out, one finger moving slowly toward the sculpted hind end.
'AAAAACH!'
I couldn't help myself.
Poor thing, I really didn't think she'd jump that high.
The father whisked her off, and the Barney Fife looking security guard assigned himself to me.
We toured the fine arts dept, and man, those guys knew their way around oils and brushes.
Huge paintings of fine ladies and scenes.
These were of course roped off, with little signs that read DO NOT TOUCH, GARY
Details unimaginable.
Such clarity of life itself.
How in hell did they do it?
What was their beginning and final brush stroke?
When were they satisfied with it?
Were they ever satisfied?
'Oh-a yeah-a, that's-a bitch-a I-a painted when I'-a was-a so-a loaded-a I couldn't-a stand-a up-a.
It's a real-a piece-a of-a poop-a.'
We went back to the current framed masterpieces of dumpster findings.
I leaned up against this public scale lookin' thing and asked the guy admiring it what he weighed.
Guards were moving my direction, so I decided to sit, stay.
I was tired anyway.
Sat square on a pant spud.
I shot into the air like I was on one'a those giant cartoon springs.
'HEEEEYYAH!'
Sometime later, maybe 5-10 seconds, four security guards swarmed me from all directions. Barney said something like 'Sir, you are going to have to leave.'
I said something like 'What, you think I wanna spend the night here?'
Then more authority figures came.
It was a nice day outside.
The aroma of the hot dog cart was too much for me.
People of all sorts, strolling thru the park blocks, held my attention while my lady fully satiated herself with 'art'.
Things just work out sometimes.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 10 Jul 2012 08:31am - Edited by: Gary O
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Grampa
He was a quiet man.
Work was his vocation and recreation.
I spent a lot of time at their place in my early years, his latter years.
Seems Grampa always had chores that filled his waking hours.
I was his shadow.
He wore coveralls most days, and always sported an old grey fedora.
His high cut oxfords made a shuffling sound as he walked. Parkinson's was having it's way with his system.
We'd dine on a bowl of hominy together in the country kitchen.
As the midday sun danced on the table through the window from between the limbs of the giant firs, I'd watch his massive hand struggle to keep his corn on the shaking spoon.
In between chores, and my naps, he'd sit in the old padded rocker and thumb through a photo album while I stood at his side.
'The dapple was Molly and the grey was Dixie', pointing to the work horse team he knew so well.
Seemed Grampa had a couple soft balls tucked in his upper shirt sleeves. He was a compact man at five nine, but stout, bull neck, thick arms.
I knew him in his lesser years, keeping his meaning to life by doing small jobs.
Things like sharpening the hoes with rasps, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, or lubing the tractor.
He cut down a hoe to my size, and all three of us hoed acres of strawberries.
I saw him laugh once.
He was a proud man, brought down and humbled by an untreatable disease, but keeping his misery within.
Dad says he was hard boiled in his younger years, and short on patience. Proud.
I knew him as a much different man.
One time I peered through a cracked door to his study. He was on his hands and knees, talking to his Lord, no longer able to just kneel.
His bible was quite worn.
Dad gave to it me a few years ago.
I leant it to him at Christmas.
I'll get it back pretty soon.
I think of times then and times now.
What a difference in pace, in conviction, in the shear enjoyment of endurance in simple living.
I see my grandkids give me an occasional glance of admiration, but nothing like the revered awe I had of him.
He died when I was ten.
I can still hear the shuffle of his feet, but it's mine that echo his stride now.
Enough of this.
I've got chores to do before I sleep.
Chores to do before I sleep.
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cabingal3
Member
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# Posted: 10 Jul 2012 03:19pm
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thats so lovely gar.makes me cry.thanks for sharing.
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naturelover66
Member
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# Posted: 10 Jul 2012 04:26pm
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nice. made me water up too. when is the next book due to be published??
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Gary O
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# Posted: 10 Jul 2012 08:04pm - Edited by: Gary O
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Well, I've got 250 some pages all piled up and waiting...waiting for me, taking up most the surface of the roll top desk.
I had good intentions a couple weeks ago....penned to some friends;
Yeah, rain is in the forecast, so no excuses for me to put it off any longer.
Tomorrow morn, about 4:30, I'm going to get up, scare myself to consciousness in the mirror, put my fingers in the grinning glass of water, putting the better half of my teeth in my face, scratch my hind end while peeing for the third time since midnight....., soak my face in the water of my cupped hands, realigning my beard that looked as though I was in a cross wind, loosening the dried drool, the drool of a night filled with REM dreams of catching humongous fish, wet my scalp, ruining the coif that Patti Labelle's hairdresser would consider a masterpiece, turn on the coffee, toast a couple English muffins, stroll to the deck, scratch myself, burp like a sea lion in heat, build a little fire in the pit, and sit in the swing, eventually reading the paper with my lady.
Then
I.....will.....compile.
Edit
Change things
Compile
Edit
All this done on the dining room table.
Neat little piles
Then take a little break
Stroll to the deck, down the steps, and out to the garden.
Open the bunny cage.
Pet the little rabbit.
Delicately take him outta the cage,
using care to keep my hands under his little thumping feet (they get skittish if you don't), stroll the path to the end of the garden,
.....and hurl him over the freaking fence into the waiting teeth of the ravenous mongrels the neighbours call pets.
Then calmly stroll back to compile, edit, change, re-compile.
And if my darling grand kids happen to get under foot, I'll be sure to guide the little sweeties toward the back yard for a fun game called search for bunny guts and fur clumps, gently guiding them away from the dining room table with tender words like 'GET YER #%&*?!#% HANDS AWAY FROM THAT PILE!!'
Yes, tomorrow.
May god be with me.
Ps right now the title is 'Does a Boy Poop in the Woods'
Catchy, aey?
(and right now you're asking yerself why you asked..........)
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hattie
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# Posted: 13 Jul 2012 11:06pm - Edited by: hattie
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Thoughts on Being Green
Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman, that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.
The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days."
The young clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."
She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our schoolbooks. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribbling's. Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags.
But too bad we didn't do the green thing back then.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
But that young lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?
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Gary O
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# Posted: 16 Aug 2012 07:35pm
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Excellent, Hats!
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Gary O
Member
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# Posted: 16 Aug 2012 07:36pm
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Amaizing fudes
Olathe Corn
Oh...my.....gawd
This time of year I sit down to an orgasmic feast of Olathe corn on the cob.
It's my entree.
Actually it's my Japanese tea ceremony
Prepare the table of the beast
Presenting of;
Enormous ceremonial plate of the polymer
Knife of the butter
Sweet tea of the carafe
Butter of the bovine
Salt from the clumsy girl of the umbrella
Napkin of the middle drawer
Sit
Contemplate
Wait....
For water to boil
Contemplate noise of the stomach
Wait
Contemphrickingplate
The preliminary wiping of the drool
The discussion of the ways of the Olathe festival (those bastards) while waiting
The presenting of the two ears ceremoniously laid on the plate with tongs by submissive obedient wife (the way of the tong)
The placing of the butter between ears....
The removing of the butter from between own ears and placing on ears of corn after coming to full consciousness of;
The way of the butter,
The laying on of hands to laughing wife ritual
The rolling of the ears of corn like old wringer washer until the mystery of the disappearing butter occurs.
The discussion of the way of more butter
The shaking of the salt ceremony follows
Considering of the way of the wolf arises when
The biting of own finger ritual is sometimes interjected into the ceremony of the grunt of the hog
The customary sacrament of swollen lips and tongue commences from the too #$%&#*! hot observance, enhanced by the sudden inhale and involuntary lodging of the kernel in esophagus ritual.
The burying of tongue and lips in carafe formality ensues.
The way of the Royal typewriter is enacted
Culmination of the ceremony is the audible passage of the birth of the walrus, followed by the raising of one leg demonstration of way of the duck.
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