Category: Retired Life

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Writer’s Block

I’ve been struggling to compose anything that made sense/brought joy to me of late, so I thought I’d try and break my slump here. To be sure, this isn’t the type of “slump-buster” you may be familiar with, I have no plans for anything nefarious, merely trying to switch things up a little. I don’t have a theme for today per se, rather I’ll try and do a “hit to all fields” post for the occasion.

After looking at that last paragraph, I’ve apparently got baseball on my brain, what with all the references. Ok, let’s start there. If you’ve followed the lack of action on that front for the last several months, you may be aware that Major League Baseball (MLB) and the Players Association (MLBPA) recently agreed on a new collective bargaining agreement after a lockout that lasted 99 days. If you have ever read any of my stuff before, or if you know me IRL, I think you’ll know that; A.) I love baseball, B.) I support union workers period, and C.) I’m a lifelong Cubs fan. Let me add to that by saying; D.) I’m what you might call somewhat political. While I’m not argumentative by nature (there are some that just need to hold their thoughts right about now, just sayin’) I have felt the need to stand my ground from time-to-time on various topics. Here’s one that has been building for a long time and the recent lockout proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back- I’m done with the Cubs.

I’m done giving my support to an ownership group that has, at almost every turn, stood for things I vehemently oppose. Every inside piece I’ve ever seen about the family that owns the Cubs has been filled with disdain for the common fan. Almost every move they have made since taking over the team has been done to deepen their own personal pockets. Now don’t misunderstand me, I understand that it’s a business, and the point of a business is, to my simple mind, to turn a profit. I get that. But when you turn a healthy profit and cry poor, well that gets old. Through readily available public sources, the family that owns the Cubs paid $845 million for them in 2009 and as of March 2021, according to Forbes magazine, the ball club was valued at $3.36 billion dollars. So don’t tell me you can’t afford to pay your employees. And it’s not just them, I’m sure a similar search through any number of ownership groups would produce similar results. And yet, MLB chose to lockout the MLBPA last December and sit idly for 43 days before restarting negotiations. And fought them every. single. step. of the way.

So thanks for the 2016 season and the World Series, but I’m out.

I’m not going to go any deeper into this particular topic, I just submitted my article for the Illinois retired fire person magazine and I feel like they should have a little exclusivity as far as my views on the topic go. So. Moving right along.

I’m often fond of weather bragging when it’s beautiful down here. So I feel the need to weather shame a little today. It’s. Frickin’. Cold. Like, I had to get my old Carhartt winter jacket back out of the closet this morning. Granted, those of you back in the Greater Burlington Metropolitan Area (aka northern Illinois) might cast a wayward glance at me for whining about rain and 40º but I’ll not change my position that this is just not right. The fact that the coming week should be pretty seasonal if not a little better is small consolation to me today. I’m cold. And a little crabby too. But a lovely latte and firing my thoughts off on my laptop are helping to abate that misery.

Music, of course, helps. How’s that for a segue? For my listening pleasure today I’ve got Joe Pug pumping through the headphones. Today is the first time I’ve ever listened to him, possibly even the first time I had heard of him although the name does strike me as kind of familiar. I was scrolling through the Twitterz this morning and I saw a post from Jason Isbell that linked to a Joe Pug song, so I gave it a listen. The song was Bury Me Far (from My Uniform) and it blew me away. I apologize for the ads on the link, if I knew how to put one up without them, I certainly would, but I guess that’s the way YT does business… Anyway, back to the music, yeah, if you’re unfamiliar with Joe Pug, give him a listen. He’s actually playing in Chicago next month on the 15th at Tonic Room and if anyone goes, I’d love to hear your thoughts. I can’t wait for him to get down to the southeast, we’ll definitely go check him out.

Imma wrap this one up briefly by continuing the musical vibe, we’re off to see Graham Nash on Tuesday over in Durham. I’m really looking forward to it too. I saw CSN many years ago, Diane and I went with the Great Vincenzo and Terri to the United Center. The band was at the opposite end of the stadium from us, but it was a great show nonetheless. There have been countless protest songs written throughout the history of recorded music, but I wonder if anyone, anywhere has ever written one as beautiful musically as To The Last Whale: I. Critical Mass, II. Wind On The Water because I don’t know if it’s possible. Again, sorry if you get the ads, but enjoy the music. I know I do.

Peace.

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Confessions of a Budding Fat Guy

One of the things I have learned, probably too late in life, but I’ve learned it nevertheless, is how pervasive body-shaming is and how wrong it is. Self reflection also taught me how often I was guilty of it in the past. I made a conscious effort a few years back to stop doing it, and it wasn’t as difficult as I feared it would be. I mean, really, it’s more about being a decent human being than anything, right? That shouldn’t be too hard for any of us.

I wrote that as a segue to this – the title is absolutely, totally, unequivocally, this guy. And, fwiw, I have no problem body shaming myself when necessary. If you know me IRL, maybe even only if you know me from here, you probably know I have an affinity for baked goods. Sweets, in general really, but more specifically pastries and the like. Ice cream has been a big part of my life for a long time too. I can’t help it, I just love the stuff. In the past I’ve always gotten away with eating those types of things with no regard for weight gain due to my metabolism and/or genetics I guess. I’ve been accused, on more than one occasion and by more than one person, that I have the dietary habits of a garbage truck.

Guilty as charged.

But, as I said, in the past it never really affected me. I was able to stay around 195 pounds pretty consistently for a pretty long time. And the time or two where my weight did jump up over 200 pounds I was able to cut back on careless eating habits and get things back under control fairly easily.

Those days are, apparently, behind me. Along with a rather ample rear end. In front of me however, is the prospect of moonlighting as one of Santa’s department store helpers. And I wish I was joking about that. B2 got one of those high techy scales from her parents (her request) for Christmas. I should specify that she wanted it for herself, not because she thought I needed it. She has been nothing but kind about my expanding horizon. I, on the other hand, have become increasingly agitated with myself. Anyway, I started using the scale this past week, not every day, but probably four of the last five days. Much to my dismay, the numbers on the digital display rose like the express elevator in a skyscraper. As it stopped at 215 pounds this morning, I made a decision. I went out to the kitchen and threw out every last one of the delightful little nuggets left.

I’m swearing off sweets/pastries/baked goods/whatever for the foreseeable future.

However long that may be.

This is not an easy thing for me to do, but I’m really left with no choice. It seems I’ve finally reached the point where my body will no longer let me eat like an unsupervised 8 year old. Frankly, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. But maybe it makes some sense. I’m roughly the same age now as my Dad was when he retired. As far back as I can recall, Dad weighed around 165 pounds. Until he retired. Then he grew a little bit of a paunch. I guess I’m there. Judging from what I see in the mirror and on the scale, I’m past there. Also, as I’m putting this missive together, I feel like there’s a little bit more redundancy than I’d normally like. Typically, if I catch myself doing that, I’ll either apologize for it, or go back and edit what I’ve written to resolve it. I think I’m ok with it today, I probably need to keep rubbing this mess in my face.

So it’s cold turkey for me. That approach has worked for me in the past, specifically when I’ve quit smoking. Maybe by throwing that stuff in the garbage, I’ll be able to pull this off too. I told B2 this morning that I’m going to get back out and start walking too. Can’t hurt, might help, right? That’s the same reason I decided to post about this, put a little extra pressure on myself by going public.

One last thing before I move on to the musical portion. Don’t expect this to turn in to a regular feature. I don’t plan on doing any kind of an update on this A.) because I don’t think anyone cares so much that they would want to follow along with my “misery” and B.) I feel like this particular topic is pretty boring and I’d much rather write things about stuff I enjoy writing about.

Peace

PS

Here’s today’s musical guest – John Moreland. Again. I really wasn’t going to listen to him today, had other stuff queued up, but when I sat down at the coffeehouse and said hi to the owner/barista she mentioned she hadn’t had a chance to give him a listen yet. The backstory there is; she has a sign in the shop that says “Long Live The Songwriter” so one day I asked her who her favorite songwriter was. She was kind of stumped I guess, cause she answered by asking who mine was. I told her in my case the answer was kind of transient, depending on my mood, etc. but that currently my favorite was John Moreland. She was unfamiliar with him, but wrote his name down and said she’d give him a listen. So, when I walked in this morning, she asked his name again and put him on the house system. So my decision was made for me. I have no complaints.

About anything really.

Other than my waistline.

Again, Peace

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All I Want For Christmas

This one kinda hit me this morning so I thought I’d better jump on it and see what I can build. I think I’ve done something similar in the past, but tbh I’m not interested in checking, and besides, even if I did, I’m fairly confident this’ll be different enough that there won’t be a bunch of overlap. Even if there is some, everybody likes reruns now and again, right?

Yes, I totally glossed over the fact that I haven’t put anything up here in a good long while. I’ve also conveniently tuned out any voices that may or may not have been harping at me to do something here (I’m looking in your general direction now Ray) but I have, in fact been typing, occasionally furiously, on something else and managed to add several thousand words to it over the last few months. So there’s that.

But now, onward!

With the holiday approaching, whichever one you may celebrate, I felt like this would be a good time to share my thoughts on giving. B2 and I were talking about Christmas the other day, specifically about gift giving. And as I laid out my thoughts, a sometimes opaque process, I’ll grant you that, she saw where I was headed and agreed with me completely. I’d like to share those thoughts with you all (all 7 of you faithful readers) here in case anyone feels moved to appropriate the idea.

I have a pretty good life, by any measure. I have a nice home (due in no small part to the presence of B2 but that’s a story for another time), I have a nice car, I have more clothes than I need and a surprising number of shoes, especially if you’ll recall my comments from a much earlier post about how living with Diane and Caitlin was like living with Imelda Marcos. And if you’re too young to remember Imelda Marcos, I suggest you take a second and GTS “Imelda Marcos and shoes” and this will become crystal clear to you. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I have gotten to the point in my life where I don’t really need anything and if I decide I want something, I go and buy it for myself. This is not to say I’m a Rockefeller (again, too young? GTS the name) by any means, merely that, by and large, life has been pretty darn kind to me. I mean, when my time to shuffle off this mortal coil comes, my kids are not going to become independently wealthy. This should not be breaking news to any of them btw, and if it is, well I guess they’re not quite as bright as I’d given them credit for being. I mean I’m not going to leave them nothing, they’ll surely be able to enjoy a lovely plate of nachos or some similar, tasty, small plate on my largesse.

Bon appétit you guys!

As I was saying…

Typically, my tendency to buy for myself is not a problem for anyone concerned. However I recognize the stress this can put on my loved ones, particularly around this time of year, well, you feel me, right? So I told B2 instead of spending money on each other, with the exception of surcee type things, stocking stuffers if you will, we should instead look for someone or something in the community that can use a hand up around this time of year. I also reached out to my kids and suggested instead of getting me something their money would be better spent making a contribution to the non-profit of their choice. I made the same request to half of B2‘s kids too. Haven’t had the chance to tell her other one yet, but that’ll be taken care of soon. When her son asked me last week what was on my list, I explained my thoughts. His first comment was confirming Ryan did a run for one and when I told him yes, he said that was where they’d make their donation.

That, my friends, is the essence of what I’d like my Christmas to be. Taking care of those less fortunate. I’m a little embarrassed it’s taken me this long in my life to realize the things that are truly important, but there’s no time like the present to go about doing the right thing, you know? I read an aphorism a while back, that, while I’m certain isn’t new, was the first time I read it and it kind of struck a chord with me. It said –

“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is today.”

Man, that was a throat punch to my sense of self satisfaction. It really helped to form this whole thought process too. I should’ve planted this tree some time ago. But I didn’t. So I’m planting it today. And I’m grateful B2 jumped right on it too. Just another of the many reasons I’m fortunate to have found her.

I guess that’s about all I’m trying to get across here today. I hope it helps inspire someone else with a little extra this year to give to those in need. If you’ve been doing this already, good on you, I’m proud to know you. If you’re not at the point in your life where you can do this, I totally get it. File this little gem away for when that time comes for you.

Remember the tree.

And, of course…

Peace

PS- Geez I really haven’t done one of these in a long damn time. I thought I’d try and add something to these posts, infrequent though they may be. I’m almost always at a coffeehouse when I fire off one of these potential Pulitzer nominees and probably equally as often I’ve got something bouncing between my ears at a reasonable decibel level *ahem* and I thought, for the sake of idk what, I’d include the particular artist in the post. So for the inaugural edition, today’s musical guest has been Turnpike Troubadours. It’s been a pretty enjoyable ride too, I must say. Their selection was triggered by a post I saw a couple days ago that their frontman got himself sober and the band is going back out on the road. This is great news for them, of course and on many levels, but for anyone that has ever seen them live it’s a pretty damn good day. They are a rollicking good time live, I assure you and I’m looking forward to them hitting this part of the country.

Ok, that’s all I’ve got for ya. Be well, happy holidays and all that stuff!

Peace

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Southernisms – The Sequel

Today feels like a good day for a little light-hearted fare. So if you’ll allow me to play Mr. Language Person (with apologies to Dave Barry) then let’s dive right in to a few more southernisms, shall we?

Astute and/or long time readers of this page may recall (and it should be easy since production numbers have been pretty low this year) a semi-recent post in which I referenced my immersion into the dialect of the American southeast. Of course I’ve been compiling additions to the list since the seed for the original post was planted with the intention of doing exactly this, so, without further ado, here you are.

One afternoon, a handful of weeks back we had one of those days where it was simultaneously sunny and raining. Not exactly a rarity on par with finding a four leaf clover, or hitting the lotto, but pretty uncommon nonetheless. When B2 asked me if I knew what this phenomenon was called, I must admit, my first thought was not “Oh good, more fodder for the blog!” But it might’ve flashed in almost instantly after, as she told me…

“It means the devil is beating his wife.”

I’ll pause here briefly, to kinda let that one bounce around your brain as it did mine…

I’ve gotta say right here, I had no clue what she was going to say; but that particular group of words, in that particular order, was not something I would have ever guessed prior to hearing them. And, even though I didn’t doubt what she was saying was, in fact, a thing, I felt the need to go ahead and GTS that phrase. Lo and behold, it’s an actual thing here in the south.

Now, for your further education (because, hey, I’m nothing if not helpful) and in no particular order, here are more of my favorite Southernisms-

Let’s say you’re sitting outside, enjoying a lovely evening. Save for one thing. Getting dive-bombed by those blood-sucking, little, flying bastards aka mosquitos. And they’re feasting on you. You’ve been “bug bit”. As in-

“I was sitting in the carport but I had to come back in, I was getting bug bit.

Or suppose you’re spending your Saturday morning by strolling around downtown. You’ve decided you’d like to stop by the farmer’s market for some fresh, home-grown produce. As you’re making your way leisurely around the center of town you encounter an acquaintance and, in passing, you casually mention you’d like to stop by said farmer’s market for some peaches. (This btw is getting near to the end of the season for them and if you happen to be traveling south, I encourage you to grab some, they are amazing.) Your friend has a warning for you that includes the Southernism “get gone”. This is how the conversation might go-

“Honey you’d best get there right now before they get gone”

I feel like I should point out here, that both of the examples above are not in a southern dialect. I’m still y’all-less. Mostly. I did throw one out recently (to other drivers. I know, right? Who could’ve guessed?) but I’m not sure it counts since I was in Illinois when it happened. And it still feels disingenuous on my part to start trying to speak like someone that has spent the better part, or all of, their life living in the south. For better or worse, I’m a midwesterner and my speech patterns, ingrained for lo these many (many. Many. MANY.) years are with me to the end. And I’m ok with that fwiw.

Moving on, here’s another southernism, kinda. It’s something near and dear to my heart and tbh it took me by surprise just how wonderful I found it to be. Hand Pies (trust me, the capitalization is deserved). These things are the real deal, yet based on my childhood I never expected them to be. Most, if not all of you are likely aware of Hostess fruit pies. They were, in my case, a random, pleasant addition to my parents trips to the grocery store. And they were fine when I was 12. But at some point you realize that they are, in essence, cardboard quality pastry dough with jelly smeared on the inside, and watered down glazing on the outside. Again, it was fine for the childhood me, but I outgrew them and, as an adult, never really had the conscious thought of “I need to buy some next time I go to the store.” Living down here I’ve seen Hand Pies (I’ve made the editorial decision that, henceforth, just as RVCB’s! will always have an exclamation point, Hand Pies shall always be capitalized.) on menus in a few different southern comfort food type restaurants, and tried them at one of my favorite places in my town. And that one was significantly better than the commercially made product of my youth. But recently we stopped in at a coffeehouse/bakery in Winston-Salem on a visit to the parents of B2 , at a place called Lavender and Honey. On the display counter I noticed a collection of Hand Pies, peach in this case, and they looked amazing. Better than the ones I’d seen here previously. So I ordered one. Can I just take a minute here while I flash back on that in my mind?

OH MY FRICKIN’ GOD IT WAS INCREDIBLE!!!

Like, incredible as in I heard a gospel choir in full throat busting out in my head when I stopped to think about them just now.

Fluffy, light, flavorful, lovely. I mean they were so damn good I’m compiling a list of felonies I’d be willing to commit just to get another one. It’s about a 45 minute drive up there, so it’s not like I can just hop over and get one. I mean, of course, I could do that, but I’ve got to have some semblance of restraint, you know? Especially when I consider how hard it was to get into my suit last weekend. Oof. Go ahead and insert a “fat guy in a little coat” mental image here if you like, cause god knows I tried to insert one into the post and couldn’t. But yeah, that’s pretty much spot on.

I guess that’s about all I’m going to attempt here today. Except for one more thing. I think I’m going to start a new ‘feature within the feature’ kinda thing starting with today’s post and continuing until I forget to do it. Whenever I work on a post, for basically as long as I can recall, I’ve got music playing. Whether blaring (oops, I mean rolling along at an audibly safe level) through my headphones, or on the rare occasions I write at home blasting through the, well if I’m home alone it’s rockin’ through the whole house. But since I’m currently at a coffeehouse I’ve got Foo Fighters racing around my brain. This is in tribute to a video I saw this morning. It was from last night’s FF concert at the Forum in Los Angeles and it featured a performance by Nandi Bushell. If you’re not familiar you need to GTS this young lady, she is the absolute shit. Last year, at the ripe old age of 11 she challenged Dave Grohl to a drum off and she killed it. They kept up the video correspondence culminating in her walking on stage and playing “Everlong” with the band last night. I’ll try and save you a little legwork, click here to watch this, now 12 year old, genius rock the eff out. I sat there the whole time with a big, stupid, grin on my face watching, I hope you enjoy it just as much.

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New Post, Who Dis?

This is, roughly, the third attempt I’ve made at putting up a new post in the last few months. There’s a draft or two sitting here stewing and I think a couple more percolating in the notes app in my phone. Probably none of which will see the light of day. Hell, this one may never either, who knows? I’m still wrestling with where to go with this one. I mean, it’s not like nothing happened since my last post, eight months ago, right? Jesus, eight months. Maybe I should just wait another four weeks so I can draw the parallel between writing this and a pregnancy. Meh, probably not. Still, eight months is a long ass time. And you’d think, especially since I just referenced how much has happened in the last eight months, that I’d have a veritable cornucopia of topics from which to choose, wouldn’t you? Of course you would.

Ok. Instead of sitting here pouring out some more word soup, I think I’ll just take a hitting to all fields approach and fire out some stream of consciousness stuff.

For instance; I’ve calmed down quite a bit from my younger days as it relates to losing my shit over the way other people drive. I think I’ve mentioned it here before, about how when they were younger, the kids used to really enjoy my reactions to traffic as we drove through St. Charles. I am admittedly not the most patient person when I’m driving somewhere. Part of the reason is that I am, in fact, driving somewhere. As in, I have somewhere to be. So when other people drive as if they’re enjoying the scenery and impede my progress, I tend to get a little agitated. I mean, c’mon people, drive like you have an agenda for cryin’ out loud. Also people that drive with no conception of anything around them beyond the confines of their own vehicle tend to get under my skin. So, along that vein, here’s one of the things I’ve noticed about people that drive down here – driving on the highway, a four-lane interstate highway mind you, I tend to click on my cruise control as soon as practical. So, I tend to cruise at a fairly steady rate, traffic allowing. Of course if there’s congestion, bad weather, what have you, that isn’t possible and that’s, like, a given. But under optimal conditions, my cruise is on and typically anywhere from 7-10 mph over the limit (don’t @ me). Now, here’s the lose my mind inducing part. Let’s say, for the sake of clarity, I’m in the left lane. And I’m approaching a slower moving vehicle or three, each of which is in the right lane. All good so far, right? Invariably, as I approach, one of the trailing vehicles will move out to pass the lead, slow moving vehicle. Now, I don’t know about you, gentle reader, but I was taught that when you pass someone, get around them. Not so much down here. I won’t say without fail, but I will say that in the majority of cases the vehicle that pulls out to pass (thereby moving in front of me) will, if not slow down, hold speed with the vehicle they’re attempting to pass.

THAT’S NOT HOW THAT WORKS YOU *DUMBASS M#TH#RF#CK#R!!!

I think I’m actually starting to get used to this happening, I very rarely resort to an all caps comment to the offending vehicle. It’s kind of downgraded to a shaking of my damn head now, which is probably better for my personal mental health. Also, it helps having B2 in the car with me, I don’t want her to start making a Plan B thinking she’s going to have to bail on the madman behind the wheel.

So, that’s a thing.

Here, apparently, is another thing. As I was sitting here at the local coffeehouse attempting to reconnect whatever synapses (what’s the plural of synapse? Asking for a friend…) I used to use when I did this more consistently, I have Tragically Hip pulsating through my brain via my headphones. And, I admit, it might be a tad on the loud side. Like maybe this one goes to eleven loud. And Siri, bless its little A.I. heart, just popped up a warning that I’ve probably exceeded my suggested weekly allowance for loud music. Here’s the direct quote

“Based on your headphone usage over the last seven days, you’ve exceeded the recommended limit for audio exposure.”

And, can I just say here, that ship has sailed. 28 years of sirens and air horns blaring overhead; along with I have no clue how many years of listening to loud rock and roll much, much louder than would be considered acceptable and, well, yeah, pretty sure the damage has been done. Oh sure I could probably keep it from getting worse, but really I’ve kinda gotten used to the cicadas that live in my head. At least that’s what it sounds like now.

Ok, I just watched an RV motor by, and that got me thinking about how badly I need one. Pro tip- not much, but that hasn’t stopped me from gazing longingly at them online for the last couple years or so. I’m still in the trying to convince myself phase btw. You know “gee whiz, think how much it would save you in hotel costs, now that the concert industry is cranking back into action.” Or “Gosh, it would make it so much easier to visit different parts of the country this way.” I think this one is my personal favorite “Just think, if you were driving an RV, you could stay off the interstates for the most part, you know, drive through small-town America as you make your way to wherever you’re going. Think how much more relaxing that would be instead of driving like you had somewhere to be.”

And, now that I’ve successfully circled back to where I started this, I think it’s time to wrap it up. Welcome back, those of you that clicked in to this. I make no promises, but I really have missed doing this, and I’d like to get a few more thoughts off my chest…

I guess we’ll find out together, won’t we?

Peace

*I should point out here, for emphasis, the above mentioned phrase is reserved for that special kind of stupid, and its origin comes from the bargaining table as we (3234) worked on a successor contract with the Village. I’ll leave it at that for now, but this might appear in some future piece of literary wonderment.

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Write, Write, Write…

Ok, I’ll start by addressing the elephant in the room. I haven’t been writing much lately. Like, seven posts (not including this one, since, as I’m writing this now, it hasn’t actually been posted yet) this year. And, four of those seven came in January so, yes, it’s safe to say I haven’t been writing much lately.

I don’t know that there’s an easy answer why either. I’ve had the time. I don’t suddenly hate writing. I’ve kept the upkeep on this site current. I still have functioning computers on which to write. There’s certainly been no shortage of things about which I could write. I mean, have you looked at the news lately? I just haven’t felt like writing. Despite the occasional prod from various friends.

And then, the other day, I heard from a very dear (No, not you Ray) friend, castigating (not as painful as it sounds btw) me for my lack of literary production. And I took a step back and did a little self-examination. Figuratively. And I said to myself “Self” I said, “I need to do a better job of writing things about stuff.”

So here we are.

Let’s see now… what to write about… Hmmm… Ok, how bout the weather? No, too small-talky. Maybe some of the amazing concerts I’ve been to lately? No, too non-existenty. How bout them Cubs? Nope, too flashbacky. I know! Let’s talk about politics! LOL, just kidding. Mostly. I’ll fight that temptation. Probably. Maybe if I try this…

#LillyNO has a new bestie, #LollyStopEffingBarking. A Goldendoodle (there’s a name I never thought I’d write. Also, I feel like Ned Flanders whenever I say/write it) whose real name is Lolly (Yup, Lilly and Lolly) has taken up (purely coincidental naming too) residence with us. A very sweet dog, kind of a lovable lug, has without question, a totally under-developed sense of threat assessment. Somebody comes to the front door? She barks like she means business. Squirrel scampers down from a tree? She barks like she means business. The neighbor’s cat walks across the yard? She barks like she means business. A bird flies overhead? She barks like she means business. A leaf falls from a tree two streets over? She barks like she means business. The sun shines? She barks like she means business. Which, truth be told, is really only a minor annoyance. Although I do find it pretty aggravating at night; as I’m just drifting off to sleep and she loses her shit barking because the wind picks up from 1 mph to 2 mph. You get the picture. But the two dogs get on famously and they’re pretty hysterical together. They’ll play tug-of-war with each other, or play fight (generally with great care to not hurt the other, although every once in a while one of them will get a little overzealous and the other will “yip” causing me to send them to their neutral corners), or try to steal toys from each other, or just lounge with (or on) each other. Neither has really shown much in the way of dominance over the other, but each will try from time to time. All in all, it’s been a really good experience with the two of them and it wasn’t something I’d ever really planned on happening.

If you think the last couple of paragraphs have been a little bit “beat around the bush”y, well there’s a good reason for that. They are. I’m trying to think of a way to get to the point I actually intended to make a while ago. #LollyStopEffingBarking didn’t move in here by herself. Her person, the previously mentioned Beautiful Blonde has moved in along with her.

This started as a supportive gesture. B² decided that after almost 30 years in the same house, it was time to downsize. So she put her house on the market and started looking for a smaller house to buy and, trying to be helpful, I suggested she move in here. My thinking was by doing that, it would eliminate, or at least reduce, the stress of having to find a new house. You know, like “OMG, I sold my house and now I need to find one by tomorrow!” and ending up with a house that you’re going to spend a lot of money on and live in for a really long time and yet from day one you never really liked it all that much. Makes reasonable sense, right? Plus we both really enjoy spending our time together, so why not do something that allows us to spend as much time together as possible? She agreed and, well, here we are several months later doing quite well together.

Not without adjustments though. I’ve had to learn not to try and do/pay for/handle everything that comes along. And that hasn’t been easy for me, in fact I’d say it’s a work-in-progress, but it’s been totally worth it. It’s making me a better person too. Which is never a bad thing.

Plus, I’m learning to speak Southern. And, really, why Rosetta Stone or Babbel (or Berlitz for you older readers) haven’t come up with a class for this is beyond me. The immersion training I’m getting here is pretty thorough. I almost never have to say “Wait, what did you just say?” or “What does that mean?” or “I know all those words, but I’ve never heard them in that order before.” anymore. Well, hardly ever. But, between B² and the next door neighbor, I’ve learned, for starters, that if someone is going to “Jerk a knot in you” or “Give you the back of my mouth” well, those are bad things. Whereas, a “Surcee” or “Wet nuts” are good things. The first two should be self-explanatory, but the second two may cause some looks of bewilderment so, allow me to explain. A “Surcee” is a small, thoughtful, no occasion gift. While “Wet nuts” can be found as an addition on many sundaes down here. They are walnuts or pecans in syrup and don’t think for a second that they are anything like dry nuts. Because they’re far better. Then there’s “might could” as in “I guess we might could go on down to the Tractor Supply and get us some food for the dogs.” This, of course, is followed by the negative “mightn’t” as in “I mightn’t oughta go out today, it’s fixin’ to rain.”

I’d like to get into more of these Southernisms, but my stomach is eatin’ at my backbone, so I think I’m gonna go get me something on a biscuit before I get to dog lippin’ myself.

Peace

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Social Distancing

Full disclosure up in here, I started this one several days ago. I added a bit here or there and, it occurred to me I may as well change this around a little bit so it reads more like a daily (ish) journal. So here goes…

Coronavirus update March 20th – I didn’t even put pants on yesterday.

Before you get too much of a visual fright fest, I should clarify. I wasn’t half naked or anything, I just didn’t put on actual pants. I wore I guess what you would call loungewear all day. I didn’t leave the house for anything, so I didn’t see the point in putting real clothes on, you know?  I also spent a good portion of my day binge watching “Schitt’s Creek” and if you’ve never watched it, oh my god you need to. Maybe a little bit not for kids-ish but good Christ it’s hysterical. 

One would think having an increase in idle time might steer me back to this place more regularly and yet, today is literally the first time I’ve even looked at the site, and that was mainly due to a semi-regular perusal of my junk mail inbox where I found two website related spam emails.  I’ve had a couple ideas bounce around in my head but, since I try to steer clear of overtly partisan political posts, I’ve let them wither on the vine.

Coronavirus update March 43rd – As we all steer through our new ‘Rona normal, we can still find joy in some moments. I get it, sometimes that’s really hard to do. For example (and I totally get that this is a first world problem) due to the pandemic, we’ve had two concerts and two music festivals canceled and/or postponed. That’s a drag, no doubt, but it’s obviously the right call. But there have also been some wonderful musical moments these last couple weeks. Several artists have taken to posting videos of themselves doing solo, acoustic songs from their homes. BJ Barham, the frontman of American Aquarium has streamed himself playing his albums, one at a time, on a platform called StageIt and for $15.00 you can sign in and watch. So we did, a couple of albums. Drew and Ellie Holcomb have done a nightly bit called “Kitchen Covers” where they perform acoustic covers of a variety of songs, literally from their kitchen. I saw Jason Isbell cover the DBT song “Heathens” the other day as a birthday tribute to his friend Patterson Hood. These things have brought joy.

Music is rarely, if ever, about rational thought. Music should move your soul.  Michael McDonald may be a wonderful human being, perhaps he saved baby seals, or something. But imho he’s a hack musician that fits in comfortably alongside Journey on my personal skin crawl scale.  Huh. That came out of nowhere. I guess there was a little lingering animosity from my semi-recent post about musical talent. Or lack thereof. Just sayin’.

Coronavirus update March 65th – Here’s a plus. I tend to get bored with some of the mundane daily grind type tasks around the house. But now, it’s quite a bit harder to gloss these over. I think we’re going to clean the windows today. Probably. Possibly. Maybe. Tomorrow. Ish. I don’t think I’m THAT bored yet. I have to say though, my lawn looks better than it has, probably, ever. In a similar vein; I feel like I’m one step closer to being a Southerner. I spread my first batch of pine straw today. For the uninitiated, pine straw is pretty much what you think it is; the needles from southern pine. It’s used like mulch down here and it’s pretty much everywhere.

Coronavirus update March 98th – There have been a couple FaceTimes with the littles or the middles (I just thought of that, I kind of like the term) and a phone call or two from the HTTT, and these are always a pleasant diversion. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to make my annual pilgrimage back to northern Illinois in time to celebrate the Reigning Princess’ birthday with the fam instead of long distance, but I guess that’s up to the ‘Rona. I’m fairly confident this feeling that March of 2020 has been the. longest. month. ever. is a feeling that is shared by a multitude of people, if not most of the population at large.

Coronavirus update March 103rd – We actually got out a little today. In some of my travels since I moved down here, I noticed a sign for the Pisgah Covered Bridge, so I knew it was a thing, I just never took the time to check it out. Today, we did. It was pretty cool. Built in 1911, it was taken over by the state (or county or something) back at the end of the 90’s and is now a tourist-y kinda thing. And it was great way to spend an hour out in the sunshine and fresh air while still maintaining appropriate social distance from people. There’s a little creek that runs under it (duh, it’s a bridge) and it was just a very tranquil spot with a short (quarter mile or so) walking path around it. We may go back in the not too distant future for a picnic, corona permitting.

Coronavirus update April 1st – It’s actually, finally, for real for real not March anymore! Yaay us! I’m sure things are similar wherever you’re reading this, but down here it is certainly so; toilet paper has become like Bigfoot in that there are rumors it exists, but no one has seen it. I have a reasonable amount on hand (no pun intended)(also, sorry if that triggers a visual) so I’m not terribly worried about that. Yet.

Coronavirus update April 3rd – I feel like I need to mention that it was a year ago today life got turned on its ear. Last April 3rd I got a text from Danielle asking me if I had a few minutes to talk. That was when she told me about Ryan’s PTSD. I’ve written about it several times over the last few months and I’m not digging deeply into it now, other than to say he’s (we all have really) come a long way in the last 12 months. That’s not to say he’s in the clear by any means. Only that he’s in a much better space than he was a year ago, and I’m grateful for that. And I’m grateful for the incredible amount of support they’ve received from so many places and so many people. It’s truly humbling. At one point several months ago, when a bunch of support came rolling their way, he told me that he felt like George Bailey. That was great to hear and I thought it was an accurate analogy for him to make.

Coronavirus update April 4th – If you’re thinking I’ve been repeatedly burying the lede, well then, you’ve been paying attention. And if you haven’t, I’ll help you out. I’ve used the plural “we” multiple times as opposed to the singular “I” or “me” throughout this post. There’s a reason for that. I’m about to introduce a new character into the ensemble cast of this fine piece of literary achievement.

If you recall my post about traveling to Denver, you may also recall how I went back to shaving my head to avoid the Doc Brown comparisons. What was left unsaid was this- when I left for the airport, I stopped in to my local coffeehouse/restaurant for a road latte. When I walked in, one of the employees of said place, a woman I had noticed in there before, many times, saw me walking in and reacted in a way no one has ever reacted to me. That is to say, she was happy to see me. Like, really happy. Like, REALLY, REALLY happy to see me. And, as it turns out, she is a big fan of the shaved-headed me. Long story short, the Beautiful Blonde and I have spent quite a lot of time together these last several months. Despite all the hurdles life has placed before me, I’m as happy as I’ve been in a very long time and I have her to thank for it. Obviously none of us know what the future holds. But we’re enjoying this part of the ride as long as it lasts and we’ll see where we go from here.

Stay safe peeps. Keep socially distant, wash your hands, cover your cough, play nice with each other, and all the other things we learned as children. It’s amazing how far those simple lessons will take you, not just during a pandemic, but always. And, as always…

Peace

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Big Sigh

Let me start this by saying, I read a handful of different blogs, almost all of them about non-serious type things; sports, music, what have you. And, when I read them, I read them with a critical eye. I look at simple stuff mostly, spelling, grammar, typos, etc. When I find an error I shake my head, make a tsk-tsk noise and think to myself, how can you hit the “Publish” button without proofreading your stuff? When the frequency of these errors reaches a certain point, an arbitrary one admittedly, I tend to read that particular blog, or writer, with a jaded eye. Everything gets taken with a grain of salt; since they don’t even care enough to proofread their stuff, how can they care enough to confirm what they write? Makes perfect sense, right? Fwiw, I try to proofread my posts at least three times before I post them. In both edit mode and in preview mode because I figure the different looks will help me spot errors. And even after doing that, truth be told, it’s not unusual for me to go back and reread old posts and still spot a typo or some other screw up. Each one makes me a little crazy too. Not quite “a part of me dies” crazy but more like “JFC, how could I let that slip past me?” crazy. Which is a special kind of crazy all on its own.

That brings me to yesterday. Or maybe more accurately, this morning. When I sat down and reread yesterday’s post before trying to create another piece of finely crafted literature for your enjoyment. And a misspelled word jumped out at me. In the first effing sentence. So I fixed it and hit the “Update” button. Because I care about providing a quality product. Really, all joking aside, I care about what I put out here. Granted, it might not always seem that way, but I promise you, I do. And I kept reading. All the way to the second paragraph where another typo jumped out at me. Boy, I chastised myself. How did I miss these? Once again, I made the correction and hit “Update”. And kept reading. The wheels fell off in the third paragraph where I don’t even know what the hell happened. I know there was still oxygen in the coffeehouse atmosphere, because no groups of people around me passed out. Maybe somebody spiked my coffee, I don’t know, but whatever happened, I created a couple new words in there. So I made the corrections and, because learning had occurred, I waited to update the post until I’d found them all. Good thing too because I found a half dozen frickin’ errors in the bloody post. Good god, I hope I found them all. I’m a little afraid to go back and read it again, you know?

So, I want to apologize to anyone and everyone that read yesterday’s festival of errors. Especially due to the nature of the post. I assure you, the information I passed along was all legit, the stories are all true, they were just delivered to you in an incredibly fumble-fingered way and personally, I expect more from myself. As readers, regular or not, you should expect better of me than what you were served yesterday. At least the links all worked. I hope.

I kind of sat on this one for a few hours, to see if I wanted to add anything, and I think I’m good with where it is. So I’m going to close it out by linking to the well, maybe not new and improved, but certainly (I hope) more readable, version of yesterday’s post. Enjoy.

Peace.

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And Now, For Something Completely Different

Ok, sometimes I can’t help myself, so apologies to Monty Python, but it felt like a natural title since most of my recent posts, infrequent though they may be, have been of a serious nature. Today, not so much. I want to kind of blow the carbon out of this thing and get back to a more light-hearted nature today. I don’t know about you, but I need it.

So, I recently spent an evening in Durham, NC at a concert, namely – The Last Waltz. If you’re a music person you may be asking (Go ahead, I’ll wait…)

“Hey, wait a minute, didn’t that concert take place back in the 70’s?”

To which I would reply “You are correct. But this was a re-creation of the original concert put together by Warren Haynes and produced by Robbie Robertson.”

Now then, one of the joys of attending a concert, in addition to the obvious #livemusicisbetterlive thing, is interacting with random strangers. Occasionally this is wonderful, but, by and large, it leaves me silently muttering to myself and shaking my damn head.

As in… casual, pre-show conversation with a fellow a couple seats down revealed he had seen (or was planning on seeing, frankly it all gets a bit blurry) The Doobie Brothers with Michael McDonald. And that’s where the blurry started. If you know me IRL, there’s a real good chance you know my feelings (looking at you O-town) about the band Journey. If you don’t know, my personal feelings about that group of “musicians” can be summed up like this… If modern music were a cat, Journey would be the hairball that said cat was attempting to hack up. How’s that for a visual? So, with that frame of reference as a starter, where does Michael McDonald fit in? I’ll get back to this later.

This year has been probably my favorite concert-going calendar year. Twenty or so concerts/music festivals since the start of 2019 kept my soul in a good place. Without going back through my calendar to confirm (well, maybe a peek or two) my memory, in 2019 I saw among others; Patty Griffin, Drive By Truckers, Gary Clark Jr., Greensky Bluegrass, Yonder Mountain String Band, Manchester Orchestra, Big Thief, New Pornographers, Strand Of Oaks, American Aquarium, Bottle Rockets, and a few that I’m blanking on. I also made it to a wonderful music festival in Lexington, KY; Railbird Festival, in what was its inaugural event. 2020 promises to be pretty good for me musically too, with tickets already secured for Beale Street Music Festival in May and High Water Festival in April. As a bonus, four of my fav people are coming to join me in Charleston, SC for High Water, so in addition to a really killer (and it is) lineup, the company should make for a pretty spectacular weekend.

So, let’s backtrack to my metaphor. I’ve been thinking about how best to describe my feelings about Mr. McDonald as he relates to my taste in music. I feel like I should put out a bit of a disclaimer here. Obviously not everyone has the same taste in music. And I fully recognize it takes some amount of skill to sell the number of records a major label artist, in any genre, sells over the course of their career. But see, that’s the good thing about music. You can have strong opinions about what you do or don’t like. There’s enough variety that if you don’t like a particular artist, you need not listen to it. Tangentially, no one forces you to listen to that which you don’t enjoy. Turn the station, you know? I’m not opposed to trying out artists I’ve not heard before. Seven of the acts I listed above are bands I’d either never heard of or had never listened to until I contemplated buying tickets to their shows. And I thoroughly enjoyed each of the shows. By the same token, I won’t be purchasing a ticket to go see Micheal McDonald in this lifetime. Something about his voice maybe, or his look maybe, or the fact that I feel he is singularly responsible for turning the aforementioned Doobie Brothers from the kind of band that you sing along at the top of your lungs to their numerous hits as you drive down the road with your car windows wide open into the smarmy, self-aggrandizing treacle that was produced from the time he joined the band until the world at large tired of his musical diabetes and stopped buying their records for fear of slipping into a coma.

Too much? Yeah, maybe. But imho Michael McDonald is the hairball the cat coughed up after eating the initial (Journey-based) hairball.

I feel so much better having gotten that off my chest btw. Even though I feel like there’s a really good chance my respective timelines will become loaded down with links to MM songs. I can think of at least a few of you that have that loveably antagonistic approach. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I do, after all, have an intimate relationship with my “delete” button.

In a perfect world, I’d crank out some type of year-end or decade-end post. So, it’s a definite maybe. But if it doesn’t happen I’d just like to say thanks to everyone that has continued reading my random tomfoolery here on the interwebz. I hope you all had the best holiday season ever and I wish you all a safe, and happy new year!

Peace!

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They Came (and are coming) From Afar

First things first…

This past Sunday marked two years since my last day in the firehouse. Where does the time go? I mean, it does, what it does, marches on, but still. Two years have flown by. And, I must say, I’ve enjoyed almost every single minute of it. We’ve had bumps in the road, of course, everyone does, but all in all, I still highly recommend retirement.

So as you’re all well aware, I’m nothing if not a smooth segueist (I think I just invented that word btw) and as I find myself in the midst of a visitor-y part of the year, I must point out here that the first of the visitors came from the aforementioned firehouse. Last week TJ and Bob (or Bob and TJ if you prefer) came out for a visit. We had a great time, I got caught up on most if not all of the shenanigans that tend to take place around a firehouse, introduced the fellas to some excellent examples of southern dining, showed off the highly regarded NC Zoo (more on that in a bit) and in what was maybe the high point of my year so far, was treated to some of Bob’s home-made deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. In fact, I’m not sure what was better; actually eating the pizza or the warm fuzzy feeling I got when, as we were unloading their bags from the car they mentioned that Bob brought along the stuff he needed to make me a pizza. And I’m not even joking about that. It truly was the coolest feeling to know they thought enough of this old retired guy to bring a taste of homemade home out to me. The pizza was, not surprisingly, wonderful. Pizza notwithstanding, Wednesday may well have been our best food day. I took them to Lexington, NC for some authentic western North Carolina BBQ served up with local slaw and hush puppies. We ate way too much. Then that evening I took them to a place here in Asheboro, Magnolia 23, for some down home, southern style soul food. TJ had Chicken Pie and I wish I knew how to describe it to you but it tasted wonderful. Bob and I each had Fried Chicken and it was really top notch. All of the food is prepared from recipes passed down from the owners mothers. We gorged ourselves almost to the point of regret, but it was too good to push back from the table. Speaking of which, we followed that up with a short walk to (lol) The Table, the local bakery/coffeehouse/restaurant for dessert and coffee. My choice of restaurants was very well received, so yay me.

A few days or so before the boys arrived, I got a text from TJ asking if there was a zoo close by me. I said there was and that we could certainly go check it out. Neither of them struck me as “zoo guys” necessarily, but hey, who am I to judge? Besides, I didn’t really have a solid plan in place for entertaining them and the zoo is a good way to spend a day here. A couple days later I got another text telling me they had gotten an AirBnB in town, to which I responded with something along the lines of “You fine gentlemen will do nothing of the sort.” *hint* the real version had a lot more profanity. Long story short I told them they were staying with me and not to waste their money. Based on my interpretation of our conversation (you would think red flags would have started waving in my brain, but, well, me) on Tuesday we walked around the zoo for several hours in 90º heat, sweating profusely. The next evening, as we were chatting in my carport, letting our too large meal digest, the conversation turned to my surprise that there was actually an AirBnB in Asheboro. TJ informed me it was near the zoo. And that was why he had asked about its proximity to me. Insert stupid face >here< but at least it confirmed my hunch that neither of them are particularly “zoo guys”

The final part of my visitor-palooza starts this afternoon when the Quiet Child arrives with the Boy Genius and the Reigning Princess. To say I’m looking forward to seeing them is a gross understatement of epic proportions. I just checked their status (technology is occasionally my friend) and they’re about four hours out, so woohoo! We’re going to check out the Civil Rights Museum in Greensboro and maybe a couple other civil rights sites in the area. There’s a rich history in this part of the state for the many battles waged back in the 60’s to end segregation and Jim Crow laws and I’m happy to share those things. We’ll wrap their visit up with a couple days out at Carolina Beach. With no hurricanes in the forecast, it should be really nice.

So, with that, I’m going to hit the “Publish” button and go run a couple last-minute errands before they get here.

Peace