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Published Stories
Thursday's Photo
7 years ago
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Road Trip Trick
Every Thanksgiving for many years I cleaned up my RV, made sure I had extra blankets and coffee, tested the generator and heater and cringed while I filled the two gas tanks AND the generator tank.
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Ms Tizzy
About 2500 words
Had I known I would be writing about Ms Tizzy forty years later I might have asked for her real name.
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As it is my readers and I will forever know her as Ms Tizzy.
I learned about twenty years ago she was a teacher at a private school near my childhood home. But she was so much more than a teacher.
Forty plus years ago I just knew her as a strange old lady that never invited me for dinner OR dessert. Especially dessert.
Yeah, I was mad at her for many years. Some of those years I thought I was not good enough; others not smart enough; and still others I was totally confused.
But I need to go back forty plus years to explain.
I grew up in a white Catholic neighborhood in a Midwestern blue collar town. The Catholic school was two blocks away and many of my neighborhood playmates attended that school but only until high school.
It was many years later I learned that the Catholic high school cost too much for the average student in our neighborhood.
There was another school a couple of blocks in the other direction. It was run by an Episcopal church that many people did not like but it had a grade school that was free to anyone who participated in the church on a regular basis.
Many folks preferred this to the public school that was a block in yet another direction.
Now you know why this neighborhood was selected by most of its occupants – the many schools, kids and parks nearby - the diversity was immense.
In the last direction was what many folks of the town referred to as the Ghetto, less then a block away.
It was the older part of town that was originally settled by the railroad and foundry workers.
Small duplicate houses on almost as small lots without garages or even driveways and almost all supporting a garden and/or orchard in the back yard.
Most had a very tall old tree or trees on the south side to help shade and cool the home during the summer heat.
Most of the homes needed a coat of paint or more extensive repairs. There were several that had burned resulting in boarded up shells or empty lots that served as parks or community gardens.
There were several nice houses in the ghetto that the owners maintained – the owners were normally older business owners with extra cash. The rest of the homes were rentals – their tenants could have cared less.
So, one block west of us was the Ghetto. Its occupants mainly stayed in their area.
One block east was the public grade school and junior high sharing a park that was six by six city blocks – it was huge and drew people from all sides of town.
Baseball fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, a football field shared by two high schools, several pavilions for picnics. A giant long hill for sledding. Several play grounds – name the activity and the schools or parks probably had a place for it. There was even a place designated to fly kites. We had it all.
One block south was a neighborhood in transition from rich Catholic white to a poor non-denominational neighborhood. The Episcopal Church, its school, a Christian book store and a neighborhood tavern were the mainstays.
And two blocks north was the Catholic Cathedral, the Catholic School, the Catholic Hospital and a very large Rectory as well as all the support staff and buildings and businesses a hospital supports. The hospital was the city’s 2nd largest employer.
At twenty minutes before normal shift change, hundreds of people would be walking to work from the neighborhoods surrounding my house. It looked like a stampede of like dressed people and sometimes sounded like it.
Christmas Eve and Day were especially memorable. The herds would sing Christmas songs as they made their way to work.
What I have always wondered – why did we not see the stampede of people going home? Did they have shopping to do? Did they all stop and visit at the local watering hole? Did they get off work at different times? It was always a mystery and I have no good answer for it.
Right smack in the middle of all this diversity lived Ms Tizzy to the west of us on the ghetto border in a well kept brick home with a large garage and large side lot that she let us use as the neighborhood football field.
She had a roommate who worked for the state or federal government I think. They both drove large shiny new cars. I know one was a Lincoln, the other I think was a Cadillac but I am not sure.
I know that every two years, compared to most others’ four years, they would get new ones in the fall and sell the old ones from the football field.
The women were ‘strange’ compared to the rest of our neighbors but we didn’t really know why and I am not sure we cared. Many stories circulated about dead, jailed or MIA husbands and crazy siblings or children.
Early each morning Ms Tizzy’s roommate walked north for mass and Ms Tizzy went south for services. I slept in until I got a paper route then I always met them both either coming or going.
As the bells from their respective bell towers fought for dominance, they would return to their glass enclosed side porch drinking coffee while eating their breakfast on view for the whole neighborhood to enjoy.
When I left for school at twenty till eight each morning - which I did for all twelve years - her room mate would back her Lincoln out of the garage and use part of the empty lot to turn that monster around to glide down the drive to the street. She always made the horn give a short beep and waved behind her as she drove off.
Ms Tizzy followed her down the driveway usually walking and I would wave to them both as I walked to which ever public school I was attending.
At three each afternoon, Ms Tizzy and four to six girls of differing ages and race would walk up her driveway. The girls would spend a few hours doing what I was not sure but I do know the last thing they did was eat a meal and have dessert.
Most days they left carrying their schoolbooks and a sack of leftovers. They were always smiling and talking excitedly among themselves. My friends and I always wondered why we were never invited.
We smelled the meals and pies she/they made and saw the homemade ice cream she spooned on top of those pies during the summer time.
The only time we could have pie and ice cream was at the annual block party when Ms Tizzy and her roommate served it up after a giant pan of chicken soup was devoured – it took three large men to move the pot when it was full.
When I asked other adults about the lack of invitations, I was told the children that visited Ms Tizzy were of lesser means than I and needed guidance. That was all I was told and I did not understand until twenty years ago at a high school reunion.
My high school sweetheart was there and we were reminiscing about Ms Tizzy and a few of the nuns we both remembered.
My old sweetheart was a faithful Catholic but we both went to public school. Most of our playmates/friends had nuns for teachers. I met enough sisters to last me a life time, not that there is anything wrong with them.
My sweetheart went to the Episcopal school for a few years and then to the public schools for the seven through twelve grades.
Her dad did time for tax invasion when she was in grade school. Her mom worked for a local family as a day time nanny. My girl didn’t talk about it much but I know her Dad tried to make it up to her in high school – she just didn’t like him.
I met her in the seventh grade by handing her a note addressed to ‘Dear who ever you are’ and requesting permission to walk her home.
She accepted even though her parents had expressly forbid boys walking her home and the rest is history. She lived in the south transition neighborhood right across from the Ghetto.
We had a wonderful 7 years of fun, companionship and love – if it was love – and we still communicate today. But that is another story.
Twenty years later I found out that my sweetheart was a regular at Ms Tizzy’s for tutoring sessions, and what she called charm and etiquette lessons. She also had many dinners with pie and would take a sack containing her next day’s lunch home with her.
Ms Tizzy invited kids that were not getting enough food or/and guidance at home.
There were lots of those kids when I was growing up, I just did not know it.
Two local factories had closed and the railroad had laid off three quarters of its employees. Most of the males had left the Ghetto for greener pastures - many were in jail except most people called it the ‘big house’ which confused me for years.
Ms Tizzy and the kids studied and made dinner - she taught them how to cook and she taught them other things. The only requirement was that they come to her bible school class on Sunday and to other classes she held on different evenings of the week.
My father was white collar as were most of our neighbors so we always had plenty to eat. Plus I was male and my sisters were too young. That is why we never invited to dinner and dessert. But I did not know it at the time.
My high school sweetheart explained that Ms Tizzy taught her how to be a lady when she was a pre-teen – how to carry herself when she walked - chest out, stomach in, pretend there was an egg on her head and sway her butt as far as she could without falling over. She swore that is what she was taught.
Ms Tizzy taught her how to keep her privates private whenever she wore a skirt and to keep her ankles and knees together no matter what she was wearing – at least until she was eighteen.
She asked if I ever wondered why I could never get to any base until she turned 18. Blame Ms Tizzy.
Ms Tizzy taught them how to be ladies and how to fight off all the men chasing after their virginity.
She taught them how to plan a family but wished/hoped that all would go to college and helped them research different colleges and financial aid sources.
She helped them dream and gave them the tools to attain those dreams.
I never noticed but on the second Sunday of the month, all current and previous attendees would come for Sunday brunch and share their successes and failures.
The odd thing at the time – the previous attendees were all under 18. Not one had graduated yet.
Ms Tizzy taught over two hundred girls during her time at the Episcopal school and 85 of them were invited to her house and the special classes and dinners.
She moved on to a university position after her roommate died. That was the year I graduated high school and my family moved on to another city and my sweetheart and I parted ways.
About twenty years ago we had a reunion and my old sweetheart and I talked about Ms Tizzy. No one else at the reunion knew her but my sweetheart had kept in touch with her. And most of the 84 other women Ms Tizzy had affected.
Of the 85, 84 had attended college. Twenty-Five obtained advanced degrees, twenty of them received a doctoral in their field of study. Four of them became medical doctors. Forty-three of them became teachers.
Not one gave birth out of wedlock - only four have not married and NONE of the others have divorced.
A few months ago my sweetheart’s mother died and we had occasion to chat and update each other on our lives.
The numbers are still accurate. The one who did not go to college was my sweetheart’s sister. She became a sister – a nun – a celibate which completely blows my mind – I knew her when she was a teenager.
I saw more of her private parts than her sister’s – she loved to tease me - she was very wild – when I saw her in a habit my first thought was that it fit her perfectly.
At the funeral Sister sister gave me a hug and then she pinched my butt – just like she used to do so many years ago. She told me that if she had not promised her sister, she would probably be my wife. I did not know what to say but that is another story.
Ms Tizzy’s girls still meet at least four times a year and until about a year ago, Ms Tizzy joined them at almost every meeting.
She died ten minutes after she got home from a meeting on her birthday – two hours after telling them this would be her last appearance – she could feel something was wrong. All the girls said she looked great for 90+.
I assumed they had a big deal to celebrate her accomplishments. A few of them installed a very small plague at her favorite place in a small park near her old school.
The fact that she was a hero was not lost on them but they had all made a promise – a simple promise – a gigantic promise that even my high school sweetheart would not give up.
Ms Tizzy asked that no one reveal her real name or any personal details while alive or dead.
And I could get nothing else. Nothing.
Later that evening my old sweetheart’s husband took me aside to tell me the rest of the story but swore me to secrecy. After a recent short talk, he and his wife agreed I could say this:
‘Ms Tizzy was the daughter of one of, if not the richest couple in the state. But she was disowned at age 24 when she confessed her love for an older woman, her room mate.’
They never told me her name and I am sure I would rather not know.
Recently I read a story in the local paper about a church program that does much the same as Ms Tizzy did forty years ago.
Children come for some learning, some guidance some dinner and some simple companionship with an adult.
I wonder if the woman touted in that story was one of Ms Tizzy’s girls? I know I’ll never find out but wouldn’t that just fit so perfectly.
Monday, November 24, 2008
TMI Tuesday #162
TMI Tuesday
1. What is your favorite Thanksgiving food?
+/-See My Answers
Fried Sweet potatoes with onions.
2. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
Barry Man-its-Low
3. You seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy crap, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna spend it?
Save it for a bad day….
4. What is your favorite curse word?
Mo-Fo......
5. Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there?
Back to high school to study harder and to keep pressuring my sweetheart to give it up and not wait until we are 18.
Bonus (as in optional):You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What's it gonna be?
Healing By Touch – Heal anything with one touch.
Wednesday Weirdness #31: Thanksgiving Edition
Wednesday Weirdness #31: Thanksgiving Edition
Questions By: Another Suburban Mom
+/-Click here for questions/answers
1. What are you thankful for this year?
I am alive.
2. Since some of our participants are not in the US, what do you think about Thanksgiving?
I LOVE Thanksgiving but I live in the USA.
3. What is your favorite part of the holiday/ your least favorite.
Turkey Dressing/Cranberry Sauce and putting up Xmas decorations.
4. Mashed Potatoes or Sweet Potatoes?
Sweets with fried onions.
5. Do you own eating pants? Describe.
Yes, sweatpants with broken elastic waistband and long lost draw string.
6. What is your favorite thing to do with the Thanksgiving leftovers?
Eat them.
7. Who are you most looking forward to seeing? Least?
My aunt and her Creamed Potatoes with Peas and Banana Creame pie for dessert.
My sister and her annoying habit of….never mind, I am glad she could make it.
8. Do you go shopping on the day after Thanksgiving?
Only if we have run out of some kind of food or beverage.
twitter And twhirl Took Over My Life
Yes, I follow and am followed on twitter.
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And I will probably never forgive the local radio talk show host that mentioned one morning that fateful day in October he could be followed on twitter.
I almost never agree with a darn thing he says but now, I thought, I can fire zingers at him from afar without sending email or dialing the phone.
One show used chat to communicate with its listeners but I grew tired of the chatter and saw that many of my comments were ignored or got lost in the clutter.
I had signed up for twitter in March of this year while delving into the Live web broadcasting for a friend. I thought twitter would be better then a chat client.
I sent one tweet and didn’t see the point. Nobody cared what I was doing and I could not think of one person I wanted to ‘watch’ every minute of the day – not even my true love Mariah Carey (does she twitter? She makes me twitter - pant, pant, pant - gotta check – nope, don’t see her).
Plus I didn’t know anyone else using it and searching the site generated lists of people I was sure I did NOT want to follow.
From March to October of this year, no one had followed me on twitter so boo hoo, what did I care.
It was worse than chat sites – at least there was one weirdo always wanting your ASL.
Then this talk show host said we could follow him on twitter. I went to the home page and Firefox still remembered my username and password – damn.
I found the talk show host in about .02 seconds and became a follower in even less time. Too easy (what a freaking understatement).
Of course I had to add some of the people following him because I knew who they were and I wanted to ‘see’ what they were saying to each other.
Within three or four hours I was stalking following more then 40 people and about half were stalking following me. I even had some ‘spam’ followers. Welcome to the world of twitter.
The saddest thing, not one tweet, NOT ONE enhanced my life in anyway. NOT ONE. But I was nosy and downright voyeuristic. I soon became hooked.
I knew when the personal lives of my stalked kept getting interrupted by the newsies I was following with breaking stories or advertising their latest post or article that I needed another twitter account to separate the newsies from normal people.
So with two twitter accounts I was kept busier then a cat in hurricane winds on a sandy beach switching users at the main twitter web site.
Noticing that many of the blogs I followed also had twitter accounts, I added yet a third account to follow my favorite bloggers.
Keep in mind, I already had over 150 RSS feeds in Google Reader to keep track of info ranging from News Sites to blogs to Google/Yahoo groups to comic strips I like to read.
So, happier then the aforementioned cat on a sandy beach in a hurricane, I was keeping track of so much stuff I found I was not capable of surfing the net AND watching TV at the same time.
I had to rewind and watch the same five minutes of House at least TEN times – I could not concentrate on the TV without scanning the computer screens (yes I run two of them) to see who had sent the last tweet, email, blog post etc.
For years, I have worked at a computer, programming, managing networks or surfing the Internet while watching TV – news channels, movies, documentaries, comedies – anything.
I could do two things at once and sometimes even three, if the phone rang - I never missed a word of dialog. I might have to rewind a bit to catch a steamy nude scene or giant explosion I missed with my eyes but my ears never missed a thing.
But I was getting bogged down. Between email, Google Reader, twitter and normal surfing, I was going nuts.
My attention span was about four seconds and I could not do one thing let alone three.
I went searching for a client and found Digsby but it took care of twitter AND Facebook (boo) AND MySpace (gag) and all chat users as well as email. It only showed new messages and tweets for 1 or 2 seconds which forced me to pull up the main window and scan every account to figure out which one had changed. It pissed me off more then helped me.
And then along came twhirl. I saw someone had posted a tweet five minutes ago using twhirl instead of the web, digsby or tweetdeck so I went searching.
I installed my new BEST twitter utility – I could track all FIVE (don’t freaking ask) twitter accounts from ONE program. I never had to login in again and I could control which accounts were active at any time and how often they updated. And with one click in the tray I could kill twitter completely.
But the best things – it ‘dinged’ every time I received a new tweet, reply or direct message and displayed same in the corner of the screen so that I could read it almost in real time.
I could ‘filter’ out certain boring, blah, blah, blahtalkative users that post at ten tweets a minute without un-following them.
I loved it – until the dinging completely overrode any noise from the TV and I became a Pavlov dog. ‘Ding’ and my eyes went to read the message in the corner of the screen interrupting whatever I was doing.
When I discovered I had re-read the first paragraph of an email seven or eight times or had started proof reading the same post nine or ten times, or that I had no idea, not one tiny glint of what the show was about I was watching on TV, I decided enough was enough.
I could exit the twhirl program but when I re-started it, it would ‘ding’ at me for three or four minutes while it caught up with all the tweets I missed.
I could mute the speakers but then I would miss email and other notifications and any music I was listening to.
I was about ready to pull the plug on twitter completely when one of my bloggers sent notice of a new post and I immediately clicked the link adding it to the 50 other pages waiting for me to read.
I accidentally clicked on the wrench of a twhirl window instead of the link and noticed things I had missed or had been added since I stated using twhirl – such as how loud the notification sound is and how I am notified – I can kill the message appearing in the corner and the beep is so faint I do not hear it four feet from the computer – I remember that sometime last week I was waiting on a reply tweet to a question I had asked.
The kitchen timer had rung telling me my cinnamon rolls were ready and I had shut off the timer and had peeked in the oven to see if things were done when I heard twhirl ‘ding’.
I am sure I did not run, but I did get back in time to read the tweet that had just posted in the lower corner of my screen before it disappeared.
Then my expected reply came and about thirty minutes later I put the remains of my cinnamon rolls in the sink and wrote that cookie sheet off. I had let them ‘die’ in the oven.
I knew it was time for intervention and the little wrench on that twhirl window was my savior.
After some experimentation I have reached a workable situation with twitter and twhirl and even changed the way my email program ‘talks’ to me.
All the screen flashing and popup windows appear on one screen which I do not see when I turn my head to watch TV.
And said notifications only happen every fifteen minutes instead of every two minutes.
My world is almost back to normal while twhirl still makes it easy to read some stupid tweets from crazier tweeples then me.
At least I know what the last episode of House was about.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
WW #30
Labels:
Weird Wed
1.) Have you ever taken
No one has ever asked.
2.) Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Both, I love to watch the sunset, stay up late waiting for the sunrise. I usually sleep when most people work.
3.) Do you take any kind of medication daily or regularly? If so, what?
Ace inhibitor, Beta blocker, diabetes meds, insulin, satin and 81mg aspirin plus
nitroglycerin as needed.
4.) Do you ever have naughty thoughts about any of your friends significant others?
Yes
5.) What are your favorite comfort foods?
Use to be (See #3) Chocolate, More Chocolate and even MORE chocolate which led to #3.
6.) Would you rather direct a porn or star in one?
I'd do both jobs with a bevy of female stars.
7.) Have you ever seen a "donkey show"? Would you ever be interested in seeing one?
Never saw one and #6 appeals to me more.
8.) On a scale of 1 to 10, how gullible of a person would you say you are?
-20
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Dr House and Knockers
Trying to clean off my TiVo and found a House (FOX) show from last season I missed or don't remember watching.
One of his lines was "Where can I find a decent set of knockers around here?"
I swear that is one of the only times I have heard that on broadcast TV and the first time I've heard it in years. Maybe it is the company I keep (or don't keep).
I just love this Headline
From FARK:
Illegals illegally here legally are legal to be legally dropped to illegally be illegal after illegally being extremely illegal. FARK: In Texas, the "tough on crime" state
Story is here
After reading the article this is just legally illegal....
Bad Habit
Today's Writing Prompt: Habit
What bad habit would you like to change?+/-Click for my answer
I can not discuss it here in mixed company - besides, not ALL people consider it a bad habit......
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Title Changed - Oops
I may have violated the One Minute Writer terms with this post so I have changed the title but left a link back to the site. Hopefully the author of One Minute Writer can straighten me out. Sorry if I bad.
UPDATED Sunday, Nov 16
See The One Minute Writer
Line Erased - Click on link above.
+/- Click For My Answer
Platform shoes - at least I think that is what they were called. My wife at the time bought me some; patent leather brown and white with three inch heels and two inch souls. I got vertigo when I tried to walk and very difficult to drive with and forget riding the Harley - I almost got pulled off when I put my shoe down too soon. I only had one pair of pants I could wear with them - big wide bell bottoms - I thought those were 'neat'.
Hers were platform boots - knee high with laces from top to bottom - patent leather black. Took her twenty minutes to lace them up. Don't remember how high the heels were but there was one thing I liked about them. Just one.
We were height mis-matched. When I stood behind her I was about fours inches too high and it was very difficult to do that one thing even if she wore high heels or stood on a step.
Her boots gave her the needed boost and as long as I was san-shoes, we fit together beautifully - one of our favorite positions - boy could we dance good. :)
The one good part of our marriage was when she came out of the bedroom wearing her boots - she had thrown the laces out much earlier. It was her way of saying 'come and get it'. Too bad it was the only way she liked it.
But I still say they should never come back - they belong in death with Disco.
UPDATE Sunday, Nov 16: I didn't think my new 'piece of ass joy' paid much attention to my blogs. She made her weekly visit last evening and we talked and watched the news for a bit then she told me to get my head out of it's usual place, acted like she was mad about something (seems to be happening more often lately) and left the room.
I was trying to figure out what I said or did wrong and wondered how far I'd have to open my wallet this time. She asked if I had plenty of nitro spray for my black heart (I knew I was in for big trouble because we love to argue have intellectual discussions) and when she told me to get it she walked out in a pair of boots with at least five inch heels and NOTHING, NOTHING else.
Then she cupped both breasts and asked how I liked these jugs or did I prefer knockers? (See this post)
I could not stop smiling but I was smart and shut my mouth AND grabbed something but it was not my nitro spray. My heart was working just fine, just fine, She asked how I knew and I showed her how well my heart was pumping blood (BIG SMILE).
Knockers
While checking twitter, I noticed RedNeckMommy spoke of her jugs (just like she does every day). Jugs - a term I have not heard in years.
+/- To See More Knockers
I always used knockers, another term I have not used in years. High School - We were on a cigarette break hiding behind the football field in the woods. A guy was telling me my girlfriend had a nice set of knockers. I wondered what he meant - knockers - it was the first time I heard the word. I had no idea what he was talking about but I agreed. Conferring with my best friend he discretely asked his older brother - our source for many answers to the mysteries of life.
I asked my gf on our daily walk home how she felt about someone calling her breasts knockers. She wondered who (I was pretty naive) and I told her. My gf was not afraid of anything. The next day during our morning hide/seek game cigarette break she asked him why he thought she had a nice set of knockers. He stuttered and never really gave her an answer but he did ask to see them which upset me.
After she left he threatened to kick my ass. I guess he was embarrassed. Our senior year I wrestled him during practice - he was two weight classes above me - I pinned him in thirty seconds the first time. It took almost a minute the second time. Guess I was pissed he had talked about my gf's knockers and had asked to see them.
I got to play with touch my gf's knockers that night after someone told her the story (my best friend called at my insistence) but I got slapped when I told her she had nice knockers. From them on I called them tits - she liked that and I liked them. WOW did I like them.
Knockers - hmmmm - who started using this word for tits or for that matter jugs. Jugs were those things grandpa sent me to the bar to fill with beer or the earthen colored jugs of clear liquid with no smell that we got from a guy living deep in the woods by the river.
I started my search with Google (as usual). First up in the results was:
Heidi Klum's Knockers (This was sort of funny - at 4 am)
And from Answers.com: Meaning #3: either of two soft fleshy milk-secreting glandular organs on the chest of a woman
with
I was on the right path to success.
Then from Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knockers
Knocker and knockers may refer to:
Ah, the Internet - all of these questions in my life and I have a place to get them answered without being ridiculed or labeled as a weirdo - yeah right!
I could not find the origin of knockers or jugs/juggs used as a vulgar reference to the female breasts.
Here are some of the other references I did see:
Knitted Knockers Benefit Breast Cancer Patients
Breasts Tits Juggs Funbags Hooters Knockers - SPIKE
Vigorous Exercise Cuts Breast Cancer Risk ('Bounce your boobies ...
The American Cancer Society
I had forgot (I wonder why, thinking of all those knockers I had known) about the use of knock as: she got knocked up; they were knocking boots in the back seat; he knocked the new policy; he knocked off the snitch; she told her son to knock it off; he was knocked cold; etc.
So I'm not sure who first used the word knockers to describe a woman's jugs. I just hope Redneckmommy and others keep flashing them.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I do write - just not feeling well
I have not felt well the last few days - some kind of virus I think. Everyone I know seems to be experiencing the same symptoms. Maybe it is weather related - can't remember when I last saw the sun - only been a few days but yet a few too many.
Dreaming good though - maybe I can remember some of them and get them posted for posterity.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Weird Wednesday #29 (My 1st)
Labels:
Weird Wed
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My Blog List
I follow over thirty blogs - using google reader. Luckily they don't all post daily.
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I just put up the last four or five I looked at lately. I'll add more as they are updated.
Don't try to 'guess' my tastes as many of the blogs I follow are for laughs - if they turn too serious I might abandon that single post - I'm too old to take too much seriously.
In fact about the only thing I take seriously is the HTML on the blogs I watch over. That and my grand-kids when they are trying to talk to me - I can't understand a darn thing they say.
The First Post
I decided to setup this blog so that I have somewhere to post the
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And here is the rest of the post.
I hate giant posts appearing with no way to easily get to the bottom so I found this cute little Javascript that makes it easy. The whole post is still downloaded - you just don't have to look at it until you are ready.
I spent several days looking for a three column layout for blogspot. I spent about three hours wondering why I could not see the third column on the right of the blog.
That column should have been showing the Blog Archive but it was not there.
I went into the html and looked around but didn't see anything out of place. I added a few tweaks like white background for the posts to that these tired old eyes can see them. I did this and that but the blog archive would not fucking freaking appear.
I downloaded the html layout and chose a simple Google provided layout. I noticed the fucking freaking archive still was not showing. I figured Blogspot must be broken so ignored is and starting working on the little hide script.
I noticed that the blog archive was showing! What the hell was going on? I uploaded my three column layout and I was damned - the blog archive was not showing. Fuck Screw it I thought and worked on adding the hide script.
When I tested it the fucking freaking Blog Archive appeared. I was baffled then my head came out of my ass its foggy place and it dawned on me.
To have a Blog Archive you need posts. Right? I knew that.
Yeap, I was looking for a blog archive when I didn't have any posts.
So if you find that comical or interesting - stick around - this is the story of my life.
Later - don't forget - say what you mean not what you 'think'.
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Thanksgiving eve morning I would drive to my dad’s to pick up the bunch wanting a ride to my sister’s a half day trip away where collectively we would eat over 200 pounds of food, some more then others, on Thanksgiving.
The younger people would fight for a place on the bunks or at the kitchen table or in front of the TVs.
The older group always used the large table in the master bedroom for card play.
I almost always drove stopping half way there for a snack, a smoke and a new pot of coffee.
But last year I lost my license. I could not see well enough to watch TV and could barely use the computer let alone drive.
Since that time my computer has been enhanced with screen readers, an extra screen and magnifiers. I’ve learned how to use RSS feeds and readers to keep up with the news, weather and bloggers.
But one thing I have not been able to overcome is the ability to drive my
assself any where.Last year my brother-in-law ex-semi driver took over the driving. This year however he and my sister were hosting his family for the big day.
It was decided that my son would drive instead. He handles a car and his small pickup just fine. He has never really had occasion to drive ‘big wheels’ so I was wondering how interesting the drive would be.
Come to find out, he has been practicing. My brother-in-law took my RV to him at his very small home town and he cleaned it up and got ready for the big day.
But he had a plan that I fell in love with. He called everyone telling them to be at Grandpa’s early. He wanted everyone to see how well he could drive it.
So early this morning he came to pick me up. We drove to the street behind Grandpa’s and put his plan in action.
I wish I could have seen their faces when I drove up in the RV. My daughter told me they were all shocked and started to run out of my way.
Grandpa wondered which operation had finally worked and my sis was a little upset at how close I had come to her SUV.
She was even madder when she learned I really could not see.
My RV has four cameras in it for security but also as a help to the driver. My son could ‘see’ where we were going even though I was driving. He laid on the floor beside me and used the cameras to ‘guide’ me.
We had practiced the stunt several times in his small town the last couple of days.
Needless to say they all laughed afterwards but they did not like it at all when I resumed my seat behind the steering wheel after they had all loaded up.
When we got to my younger sister’s my son had called ahead and asked her to help guide him as he backed the RV in place.
She was waiting and did a pretty good job directing me into place. When she saw who was driving she was so excited I had my vision back but when I stumbled out of the driver’s seat and missed kissing her cheek by at least a mile, she too started yelling.
I might have two pissed sisters but it sure was fun to be behind the wheel again.