tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6200840712228087262024-02-22T15:35:21.448-05:00Layers of the OngionThis site contains 186 original posts. The musings of a 20 year road warrior on travel, family and life. If you want to find a particular blog, try to Google the word Ongion and then the topic, it works great. Enjoy !Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.comBlogger181125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-84037500648065319302014-02-04T06:48:00.001-05:002014-02-04T06:48:27.041-05:00My Final Blog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> And so it ends, this 3.5 year hemorrhage of words on my thoughts, deeds, relationships and recollections. </i><br />
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<i> </i>The title itself is a misnomer as it really isn't my last blog. It will be the last one that I post to this site, but I do plan on writing a little more and compiling a collection of my favorites into a self published book tentatively entitled "<b><i>Caramelized Ongion</i></b>". I envision 6 or 7 chapters with the<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqYxpkFXpw0aiMKbZo1GLJJYmb739Kg-NxG7fQ4J43MBAYz16b1yxGBrBjIiV9GunD7t_Qca7JiersoGcunfl7kR7wkO5CyFLvHt4H9dl1AbgG3XAMUG-ZUCz3OSAz8KtGJ3ilrUcWmQ/s1600/carmelized+onion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqYxpkFXpw0aiMKbZo1GLJJYmb739Kg-NxG7fQ4J43MBAYz16b1yxGBrBjIiV9GunD7t_Qca7JiersoGcunfl7kR7wkO5CyFLvHt4H9dl1AbgG3XAMUG-ZUCz3OSAz8KtGJ3ilrUcWmQ/s1600/carmelized+onion.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a> broad stroke titles of <i>Faith, Family, Friends, Food, Fun </i>and<i> Finance.</i> I should be able to include my favorites under those titles or I'll make a catch-all for those that don't fit. I anticipate a one time printing of a few hundred copies, retailing for $20, that I'll hawk to my family, friends, co-workers and fans of the blog. I'll spend this year compiling, editing and writing and expect a late 2014 publishing date. A close family member has already agreed to do the editing, but I've given strict instructions to not touch the commas. I received a very special gift this week from my sister Wilson that I will include in the book, and it was her blog entry of my brother Redface's life, a blog that I could just never write, and now I know why, because there was a person out there who could write it better. It will be included in the book.<br />
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Endings are tough and as the guy most likely to be the last to leave the party, I'm not sure saying goodbye is a strong suit of mine, but I know the time is right. I've faithfully given you 182 unique blogs over 3 and a half years. I took 4 weeks off by re-posting some favorites, but since I gave you a <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmrsAyJRTeWf6qL74XbCfjPET_zs5t5GCp3oiLAqdjtIBx0ITZw8o33ARmihxk7Z_7rs9lclFvadMDnFE5Hv2klbTGnNsVkeJoJw8Lm26EzbXIjwYCGagC41nqz-8JTKbz7ADYLWmHa0/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmrsAyJRTeWf6qL74XbCfjPET_zs5t5GCp3oiLAqdjtIBx0ITZw8o33ARmihxk7Z_7rs9lclFvadMDnFE5Hv2klbTGnNsVkeJoJw8Lm26EzbXIjwYCGagC41nqz-8JTKbz7ADYLWmHa0/s1600/images.jpg" /></a>few extras in there too, I'm finishing all caught up with exactly the right number for that time period. I'm pretty proud of that. I was assisted by 5 guest bloggers over that time too, and I thought each of their efforts well worthy of inclusion in both the blog and the book. I've built a loyal fan base of a few hundred readers and many hundreds more who drop in and read a blog when they see a title that interests them. This week, this blog entry will generate the site's 100,000th hit, and that's a good number to go out on. For my loyal fans, I suspect that Tuesdays are now, and for a long time after, will be, associated with Blog Day! I'll candidly admit on those mornings that I would publish a little late, the Facebook comments, the texts and hits to the site anticipating that week's post were especially flattering. An average blog took between 2-4 hours of pondering, writing, rewriting and scouring the internet and my computer files for the right pictures, not to mention the hundreds of hours that I spent in bars<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll have another glass of research, please. </td></tr>
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trying out my new material or meeting those special people that I introduced you too, and I offered it up for free (technically the site has a value of a little over $2,000 right now, but if you do the math, I would have made much more money putting those hours into saying "You want fries with that?") You'll notice that I didn't say editing, because early on, my wife edited all my blogs for me, but then, with my travel, and the early posting time, it became too difficult to coordinate, so I started to self-edit... poorly. Some mornings, my sister Wilson would call or text me to let me know the blog would be missing whole sections in it (most people would not have recognized it from my regular dis-jointed writing style). The blogging platform had that issue, so I'd have to copy the whole blog just before posting, in case it was truncated. This blogging project inadvertently gave me a 3 and one half year record of my writing and editing ability, or lack thereof. I can see my wife, in the<br />
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future, consulting with a doctor who asks "When did Bill start losing his mental faculties?", to which she'll reply, "I have his book, right here" (Think of the later journal entries in <i>Flowers for Algernon </i>here). In any case, I gave you the best that I had to offer, each week, and you saw it, warts and all, and yet, you came back each week, and for that, I thank you.<br />
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So, to review, where did I take you during this journey? We went together to Boston, China, Halifax NS, Canandaigua and Hall NY, Ottawa and London Ontario, Phoenix and Sedona Arizona, Cancun Mexico, Rochester's South Wedge, and to the insides of countless small hotel rooms. We traveled back in time to Roseland Park, Evan's Field, St. Mary's Catholic Church and School, Sonnenberg Park, Cdga Academy, to my childhood home on Fort Hill Avenue, to a Broadway stage at the old Studio 54 and to a high hill in a shopping cart. You met my first crush, my first foe, my first car and my first boss, all of my siblings, my 3 children, my parents, my girlfriend, my cousins, my friend Frank, the organ recipient in Philly, the nameless girl at LaGuardia Airport, the stranger on my Facebook, the clothing lady with the one shoe story, the guy who stole my Christmas tree, my Boy Scout Troop, my wife's Girl Scout Troop, my<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first boss, Papa Frank</td></tr>
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friend Eileen, my cat Nibbler, my dog Barney, a friend in need at Wally's Pub, and of course, my beautiful wife. You had a front row view of Yarger events like eating at our dining room table, camping vacations, my sister Meter Maid's pig roasts, graduations and birthdays, our progressive dinner, our Christmas celebrations, our corn roasts, our mens shopping night, our family reunions, some family weddings and funerals and, of course, the Yarger Memorial Golf Tournament. If I've had one comment repeated more than any other, it's been how much people would love to be part of our family, and trust me, I know how blessed I am. I loved revisiting the classic family stories like the red jeans, pogi-ing behind cars in winter, things in my mother's purse, running away from home, Turkey Cake, and of course, the<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of my siblings</td></tr>
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flaming deodorant story. I hoped that I've started some in my own family too, like awesome 26 cents, our imaginary house guests, the "I'm Sorry, But" jar, my best magic trick, and of course Skittle Pancakes. Speaking of food, I've taught you how to make Uncle Bill's Clam Chowder, Nolan's Armadillo Eggs, Dan's beef brisket, a shark-shaped watermelon fruit salad, pure maple syrup, roast pork, dad's famous grilled cheese hot dogs, roasted corn and steamed lobster. I've done my best to feed your souls with heartwarming and inspiring stories, and to feed your bellies with delicious treats. Finally I attempted to tickle your funny bone with my unique takes on life, a Schoolhouse Rock parody, my reputation as a hard partying uncle, squash season, and a few on my wife hiding my stuff, the Dixie cups and one of my favorites about her dimpled rear end... of her minivan. This seems like a good spot to end this paragraph.<br />
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So I should start my summation now, or I'll lose my readers with short attention spans. Each week, as I finished a blog, I tried to convey a lesson or at least give you some points to ponder. As I finish this project though, I'd like to tell you all what I have learned. You see, it's tough to bare your soul and life each week without being a little<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A recent photo of my family</td></tr>
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introspective yourself and when you do it for this long, there are bound to be improvements. I thought writing the blog would be somewhat therapeutic and it has been, but would you be surprised to know that during this time period almost every aspect of my life has changed for the better? I was, a little. I shouldn't have been, because I tend to squeeze more out of things than I put into them, but as I started to count my blessings, I was amazed at how many there truly were. I'll start with my siblings, as without them, there would be no blog. I've invested more in these relationships and almost without exception this has borne fruit. I've stepped up my communication with each of them and make a point to try and visit on as regular a basis as my schedule allows. I do the same with my nieces, nephews and cousins. A week or so ago, I got a random text from a niece recalling a night where we danced in a group and she said it brought<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My wife and my girlfriend, trying to hide their identities.</td></tr>
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joy to her heart. It brought joy to mine just hearing that. I think it's fair to say that I've grown closer to each of my children and my wife during this period too. I learned a little late to truly value the time at home with them, but Nolan has been the beneficiary of a lot of extra time spent together doing some interesting things. With my adult children, I've tried to visit as often as they'd like me to, while still giving them the space that they need. If I didn't do as good of a job of spending time with them while they were home, at the very least I taught them the value of keeping up with their siblings, and almost every week they choose to spend some time together. I am glad for<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADphAfLuc2Rsz4xexwYVPPCbQgdF-upLWorvrMmI_gXWnAs5ehvSr6xLtlXSBrfakgRNEmMA_2R7gRJtjQjBeQGbH5teaEHAxnmqPhDhbcbOfvZCz9CaKYQECgZ0llhRV5lmnsXt4D6Y/s1600/430652_10150614188662966_269278427_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADphAfLuc2Rsz4xexwYVPPCbQgdF-upLWorvrMmI_gXWnAs5ehvSr6xLtlXSBrfakgRNEmMA_2R7gRJtjQjBeQGbH5teaEHAxnmqPhDhbcbOfvZCz9CaKYQECgZ0llhRV5lmnsXt4D6Y/s1600/430652_10150614188662966_269278427_n.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with some of the boys, doing more research. </td></tr>
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this. As to my wife, if you had told me that it was possible, after 26 years of marriage, to fall more deeply in love, I would have been skeptical, and yet, I have. Most recently, I've tried to "fix" some habits of mine that I know slightly annoy her, and she has responded in kind, trying to do more of the things that I like to do. Through the blog and with this constant examination of the relationships that are important to me, they all have improved. I've gained a deeper appreciation of my in-laws, they are a tough group to crack, but I get to know them a little better each year. My close friends, grew closer and we chose to spend even more time together. I had a 30 year high school reunion and I both reconnected and connected for the first time with some of these classmates. In the midst of the celebration, one of them remarked that my wife and I, telling our story of managing our relationship, had helped to save her marriage, and for one of the few times in my life, I was left speechless. It was sometime later that I realized the possible effect that these <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinlMDLf9k0w8jTc5yM0GmZiDEI4BWJoSjDPWH8fZ4-Nrgg84Jzu-rJj08CQPSs44pMF-MioaKGdXOW44NEQPB7AbtWVuHEdycvhBYMAy_vD4o5VFnHzfumhMMSf7ayVjfVpEIV6Q9Sfs/s1600/382605_10152894650055121_51799881_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinlMDLf9k0w8jTc5yM0GmZiDEI4BWJoSjDPWH8fZ4-Nrgg84Jzu-rJj08CQPSs44pMF-MioaKGdXOW44NEQPB7AbtWVuHEdycvhBYMAy_vD4o5VFnHzfumhMMSf7ayVjfVpEIV6Q9Sfs/s1600/382605_10152894650055121_51799881_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practice hiking for Jamboree</td></tr>
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stories that God has given me to tell, might have amongst those who hear them. I have celebrated life in this blog, but always given the credit to him for providing me that opportunity. I don't talk much about my work in the blog, as less and less I let this define me, it's just what I do, so that I can do all the things that I love, but I've had some of my most successful years during the course of writing this blog. My Boy Scout Troop, similarly, has thrived during this time and we have outgrown our meeting space, sent 9 Scouts to the National Jamboree, and have 4 Scouts currently working on Eagle projects. The Troop currently is at it's largest point in membership in recent years, at a time where participation in Scouting is dropping. I am blessed to have a great leadership staff and supporting committee. On the health front, during the course of this blog at one point I lost 19% of my body weight, but more importantly incorporated regular exercise into my weekly routine. All the weight didn't stay off but I recently had the best physical of my adult life, because the exercise became habitual. One year we lost 30% of our annual income and not only survived that year, but thrived. I suffered the loss of my mother, but as deaths go it was quick, she was surrounded by family and a favorite priest and it was the time of her choosing. She was ready. I also lost 4 cousins, who deaths were untimely and tragic, but also learned what a wonderful support network extended family can be at times like that and it brought me even closer to a great group of people. I grew more spiritual during this time too, and recommitted to weekly church attendance, something that I value, but had not prioritized. I'm proud to say we've not missed a week since making the commitment. I could go on, but I won't, and I hope you don't feel as if I am bragging about these blessings, I'm just grateful that I've cast my bread upon the waters, and it has come back to me in so many meaningful ways.<br />
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I'll close now, as I've already exceeded my self-imposed limit on blog length, but I figure you'll forgive me, as it is the last one. It has been my great honor to share these stories of my family, my travel, the people that I've met and my life, with you. I've tried my best to entertain, amuse, enlighten and possibly inspire you and I hope you've found my efforts worthy. I've appreciated all the Facebook and blog comments, and those in-person encounters where we've conversed about the latest post. If you'd like to be given advance notice on the book launch, please send an e-mail to wyarger@rochester.rr.com and I'll send you a note when it is ready to order. As always, for this last blog, feel free to comment or share, and the blog may be ending, but I hope to be around for a while. Be Well. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you. </td></tr>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-62912660501585460402014-01-28T05:20:00.000-05:002014-01-28T05:20:38.884-05:00A different approach to the end of life - a guest blog from Molly Yarger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i> This blog is a guest post from my daughter Molly. Shortly, she'll finish her last few courses, a clinical and then her licensing exam, but if this blog is any indication, I'd say that she's ready now. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sat and listened to a long-time hospice nurse speak to
my senior nursing class, I was moved. My eyes welled up with tears, though my calculated
stoicism allowed none to fall, as she described her experience with hospice
patients. I had been removed from the geriatric population, it seemed, just </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVn8boeWdkQSG26ffgIaVBEZTK3AHUvhZdFlr3vHnkdNmnlrcDUdP-wkJsOetZrFNb5w8wGgfw5_dCKyunzNacHPD3UoZN02fdzCV7cjKnhgGnBK6uPBkR04HpqKBL55DMoL6GdbE3Whw/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVn8boeWdkQSG26ffgIaVBEZTK3AHUvhZdFlr3vHnkdNmnlrcDUdP-wkJsOetZrFNb5w8wGgfw5_dCKyunzNacHPD3UoZN02fdzCV7cjKnhgGnBK6uPBkR04HpqKBL55DMoL6GdbE3Whw/s1600/image.jpeg" /></a> <span id="goog_318248514"></span><span id="goog_318248515"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
long enough to begin to lose some of my passion for nursing. By the end of the
address, however, I began to feel that old familiar inspiration that initially
drove me toward nursing as both a career path, and a lifestyle. My passion was
renewed just when I needed it (perhaps by chance? divine intervention? I’ll let
you be the judge).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Modern medicine can accomplish some amazing feats. The
treatment and eradication of illnesses continues to improve day by day. That
being said, modern medicine is also mainly concerned with “treating.” A
terminal diagnosis ends the possibility of eradication. When a terminal diagnosis
occurs, therefore, it as treated as a perpetual end point for modern medicine.
Many patients feel a sense of powerlessness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Simultaneously, this is the beginning of end-of-life (and
hospice) care. We cannot change the terminal nature of the diagnosis. We are
nurses whose patients are headed toward imminent death. These patients feel as
though their power has been stripped.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The inability to “cure” our patients, however, does NOT mean
the inability to restore this power. We treat our patients holistically. That
is, we care for our patients’ bodies, minds, and souls. Rather than falling
into the trap of perceived powerlessness due solely to terminality, we take an
active role in empowering our patients. They cannot, unfortunately, “conquer”
death. This can be difficult for </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnm9LuCQN9_FtC92ki0I0425jTxrmYQmbXLcMME9MuBEMlCSc9P5k4g7VbXuLP75VqrImPQHqFjF-7B4cfItX_vxEltSZGOom58sYB19AY_RGRW0Nt7UY1UlvV7vFE1k6rIWMSqs-iT0/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnm9LuCQN9_FtC92ki0I0425jTxrmYQmbXLcMME9MuBEMlCSc9P5k4g7VbXuLP75VqrImPQHqFjF-7B4cfItX_vxEltSZGOom58sYB19AY_RGRW0Nt7UY1UlvV7vFE1k6rIWMSqs-iT0/s1600/hands.jpg" height="201" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
patients to accept. We do everything in our
power to ease them through this difficult process. Once acceptance has
occurred, we are able to move forward and place the focus on that which the
patient <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">may </i>control. We assist them
in reframing their thinking to help them understand that they DO have power to
make decisions specific to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their</i>
individual preferences. The patient DOES have the power to choose whether
they’d like to pass on at home or in a hospital setting. They have the power to
choose how sedated or non-sedated, they’d like to be. They have the power to
choose which activities they participate in “just one last time” (or even for
the first time) before they go. They have the power to choose to see those they
want to see. Often patients will hold on just long enough to hear someone’s
voice one last time. Sometimes they’re waiting for a loved one to arrive before
they can go peacefully. There are even those who seem to wait just long enough
to be left entirely alone before passing on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But eventually, the conclusion of this interaction is death.
Ideally, I’ve guided my patient (and their soul, I feel) through to the next
era of their existence peacefully, comfortably, and in the setting/manner of
their own choosing. I’m not even going to begin to describe what I think that
“era” </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-_aw82b8Tscj96JLu_1sCyH0RozWUIUMDfaq0PNxQ8-pDCab3oykE2YTDhavrmZjl3m1V5iIqhOV19lZXxfRxS8_JmslVr8RAmD1ZinqFjDeXJgji50QHxQN1ORO5sSzK-EcDuFDq5U/s1600/last.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-_aw82b8Tscj96JLu_1sCyH0RozWUIUMDfaq0PNxQ8-pDCab3oykE2YTDhavrmZjl3m1V5iIqhOV19lZXxfRxS8_JmslVr8RAmD1ZinqFjDeXJgji50QHxQN1ORO5sSzK-EcDuFDq5U/s1600/last.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
is, nor what it involves. I could write volumes guessing. But what I do
know is this: terminal illness does NOT equate to powerlessness. Healthcare
professionals treating terminal patients must actively work to empower their
patients. Sitting in that room, listening to memory after memory from a hospice
nurse, I was moved. These patients cannot choose <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> to die. (At some point along the way, nor can we.) But we can
all choose how we would like to live… no matter how long we may or may not have
left. There is nothing I perceive as more humbling than being able to not only
ease someone through the dying process, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">empower</i>
them through it. It is a role that, pending one last semester and a passing
grade on my NCLEX exam, will humbly and graciously fulfill… perhaps for the
rest of my days, if I so choose.</div>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-21806023668240432592014-01-21T01:00:00.000-05:002014-01-21T01:00:03.475-05:00The Master Manipulator - a guest blog from sister Wilson <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>This morning's post is a guest blog from my sister Wilson. I'm not saying that she is right on anything that she reports below, although there is strong evidence that she is correct, the strongest being that I am currently in the Bahamas and she is writing a blog and babysitting my son. </i><br />
<br />
<i> </i> You may not realize it, but last week’s blog (a few burnt ends) was intended
for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, the Ongion asked me
over a year ago if I would be interested in writing a guest blog, and although
I responded in the affirmative, I just hadn’t quite gotten around to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months ago, he dangled<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwxKByav28MYgMPfM2pSqZdECCo2ICcUjAAM8rVNNQWd1oeN6HOyPlh0-geYvsO676DtY0fwnxikkJumNcU34nxoXO7OYIQryNByPDdWgpPgHZThMDAW6VC0ktH87wCetv3Ofbo9wL-s/s1600/Blog_New-Yorker-cartoon-Medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwxKByav28MYgMPfM2pSqZdECCo2ICcUjAAM8rVNNQWd1oeN6HOyPlh0-geYvsO676DtY0fwnxikkJumNcU34nxoXO7OYIQryNByPDdWgpPgHZThMDAW6VC0ktH87wCetv3Ofbo9wL-s/s1600/Blog_New-Yorker-cartoon-Medium.jpg" height="208" width="320" /></a>the idea that he
was considering wrapping up the blog in the relatively near future, and had
hopes of compiling it into a book for his children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He appealed to my ego that such a book just
wouldn’t be complete without a guest blog from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the Ongion forgot to realize, however,
was that unlike him, I am not at all motivated by my ego….so I still hadn’t
gotten around to it.</div>
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Earlier this month I accepted a job offer, after years of
being a stay at home mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can imagine
the Ongion, sitting at his desk with the realization that if I hadn’t made time
to write a guest blog when I wasn’t working, there was little chance that I
would get around to it, once I was employed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was time for action. So today, he published a blog entitled, “a few burnt
ends.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQBi7G2wuyC62XZSOzZnK_fhxW3OP49mBXMWFPFqTvu-vKPoPTXubYV3OM9WoLWRjq_pfl0UB_Gj7b_uiGde-JGOxEUIIAgY0JUrCD7Xn14-9mrp3qfGUDYHBxx0fPRAyLuSJZC7rN0uM/s1600/samuel-l-jackson-nick-fury-avengers1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQBi7G2wuyC62XZSOzZnK_fhxW3OP49mBXMWFPFqTvu-vKPoPTXubYV3OM9WoLWRjq_pfl0UB_Gj7b_uiGde-JGOxEUIIAgY0JUrCD7Xn14-9mrp3qfGUDYHBxx0fPRAyLuSJZC7rN0uM/s1600/samuel-l-jackson-nick-fury-avengers1.jpg" height="160" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know who also manipulates? Nick Fury, that's who </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
all of the blogs that he
has published thus far, this was the worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He claimed technical difficulties, but I don’t buy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was disjointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me think about the bark on a pork
butt and the gross things in a hotel room all while being assaulted by a series
of painful malapropisms (a word that he pluralized with an apostrophe.) He even
posted it late. To those of you who do not know my brother as well as I
do, this may seem innocent….but that is only because you have not yet been
exposed to a deep layer of the Ongion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You did not grow up with the master manipulator.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were
growing up, we children were always given assigned chores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us, like them or not, completed the
chores and moved on with our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
the Ongion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mantra was to work
smarter, not harder…and his goal was to minimize any and all chores that might
come his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it<br />
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was his job to dry
the dishes, he would inspect each piece of cutlery and dining ware that came
his way, and inevitably find a spot or grease mark that would prompt him to
pass the item back to the washer for further cleaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you were the washer, you either had to
remain captive to the whims of dish inspector #12 for the remainder of the
foreseeable evening…or excuse him from his duties and wash and dry the dishes
yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More times than not, it felt
less painful to spend a resentful evening alone at the sink then put up with
the antics. Lest you think we could simply complain, you must know that my
parents would not tolerate any fighting over chores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If bickering
erupted around a chore, we may as well hang a sign around our necks that read,
"oh, please, give us additional work".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lest you think I could simply retaliate, I was seven years<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9InegO_FxQxyKBNUaDDZ0C5i7ni_Z3sVcxliktL0x_xnUx3DY_x3xQqHvTOT_yCljzmCq_L3wdwdjs0R_TYhEpumzUGV7DLYzlD7uzUhZm3QJX5PVEwgJQ8iy6o10ykLkmCN6j_QZV8/s1600/Millbrook_wrap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9InegO_FxQxyKBNUaDDZ0C5i7ni_Z3sVcxliktL0x_xnUx3DY_x3xQqHvTOT_yCljzmCq_L3wdwdjs0R_TYhEpumzUGV7DLYzlD7uzUhZm3QJX5PVEwgJQ8iy6o10ykLkmCN6j_QZV8/s1600/Millbrook_wrap.JPG" height="320" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2/3 of a sandwich according to The Ongion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
younger than
the Ongion, and had vowed that I would never grow up to be that mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the Ongion would nitpick us into
frustration, and his eventual release from duty,but stalling was just one tactic<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
that he employed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was another that was even more
annoying, and unfortunately on me, the most effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refer to it as the dry cheese sandwich
approach.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
One of the chores that was in our rotation was the task
of making lunches for the children in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the youngest in the family, so this
chore usually meant lunches for just 3 of us; the Ongion, myself, and one other
sibling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The parameters were few.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could make anything available in the
house if there was enough to go around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Peanut butter and jelly was the most common, which involved having to
stir the oil back into the peanut butter to make it soft enough to spread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally, there was fluff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There may have been lunchmeat, now and
again, but by lunchmeat I really only mean bologna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was cheese, and with just 3 kids left
in the house, there<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other 1/3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
was canned tuna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost any time the Ongion was assigned the chore</div>
of
making lunches, I knew the conversation that would occur the following morning,
and every morning that he had that chore.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Me</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you
making for lunches?”</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Ongion</b>: “Dry Cheese Sandwiches”</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Me</b>: “Dry cheese sandwhich?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s just you putting one slice of cheese
between two pieces of white bread. Can't you at least put mustard or a slice of
bologna with it?"</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Ongion</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Nope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dry Cheese Sandwich”</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Me</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Gross."</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<b>Ongion</b>: “Well, if you don’t like it, you can always make
your own lunch.”</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
So the choices for me was either make my own lunch, or
try and choke down a dry piece of cheese between 2 pieces of clearance rack
white bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Master manipulator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Man, he was good.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
So, my other sibling and I would usually acquiesce and
end up making a can of tuna, making our sandwich, and heading off to school, at
which point the Ongion would swoop in, and make himself a tuna sandwich with
our leftovers.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
See, I told you he was good.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
So when I was reading his blog this morning, call it
PTSD, but all I could think was “He’s dry cheese sandwiching me”….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t like it, do it myself.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
So, Ongion,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you
got me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise next week I will do my
guest blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I promise, it will be
better than dry cheese. - <i>Sister Wilson</i></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sister Wilson and the Ongion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-52501584851980888562014-01-14T08:26:00.000-05:002014-01-14T08:26:58.501-05:00Just a few burnt ends....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> For those not familiar with this BBQ term, burnt ends are the really flavorful pieces of meat that come from the tips of a beef brisket. They are full of flavor but their burnt appearance turns some folks away and they can be a little tough to chew, but if you've got a taste for them, you can never get enough. The bark on a pork butt or pig is similar and my brother Ace and I go round and round about whether to include it in the meat trays for sandwiches, I say yes and he says no. This morning's blog is a collection off those tasty little bits of blog idea that I've had that I just couldn't expand into a full blog.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> </i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Just because we disagree on the bark issue, that does not mean that my brother Ace and I don't get along. I devoted a whole blog to him one time and we spend as much time talking to each other as we do our wives. This gives me a unique opportunity to pick up on his little idiosyncrasies and his mastery of malapropism's is one of them. He frequently substitutes the wrong word, but a close one, into his phraseology without even knowing he is doing it. Almost every time we speak, he utters one of these, and I've always meant to do a blog on them, but I never remember to write them down and I can never recall enough of them to fill a blog, but this morning I'll give you the first one I remember and the best one. He always has said "Nip it in the butt" instead of "nip it in the bud". Most times he is talking about his work and it creates a quick comical moment for me when I picture his coworkers running around trying to nip his butt, and I've corrected him several times, but I think it's too far ingrained in his grey cells for him to change it, so I silently chuckle when he uses it now. The one I was totally unprepared for, however, he used one time while discussing his feeling alienated in his office and he told me that they were "treating him like a leopard". That one cost me a pair of pants cuz I spit my coffee out laughing when he said it. I can easily imagine what it would be like if they "treated him like a leper" but had a much harder time imagining the former. Sorry Ace, but I had to share that one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I get a lot of articles forwarded or shared with me about how hotel rooms are not really cleaned as they should be. These are not helpful. I am aware that the glasses may not be clean and no I would never even consider bringing a black light into a hotel room with me, because, at the bend of the day, I still have to sleep in them (see what I did there?). I can't wear a hazmat suit while I travel so I just have to accept the fact that I don't know what I am coming in contact with in the hotels, but ignorance is his, so I Kerry on. </span><br />
<br />
There's a great family story about my mom making mud cupcakes and tricking my oldest brother into eating one, but while it's a great story, I, Shirley couldn't make it into a hole blog, could I? <br />
<br />
I'm likely not as clever this morning as I think I yam, so I'd best try to finish quickly. The blast thing that I would want to do is to alien ate my readers, less they treat me like a leopard. <br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-65509836029229356032014-01-07T07:44:00.001-05:002014-01-07T07:44:28.351-05:00The Canandaigua of my youth......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> If it's true of every generation, to age and then to wax nostalgic for the simpler time that they knew, is it more true of mine? Did the generation before me wish to go back to hand pumping water and using outhouses because they remembered the simplicity of those times? I'm truly not sure, however, I find myself more and more, wishing that my children could have experienced the city of my youth as I knew it, and I'd go back and live there in a New York minute if I could, and never miss a thing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> </i>It seemed like there were more hours in a day when I was young. Maybe this was because we got up earlier, things took time to cook and to prepare and you had things you had to do before you got<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norman painted my life often</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
ready to go to school, so there may actually have been more hours in a day then. I grew up in the 60's and 70's in the small city of Canandaigua NY. It had a population of under 10,000 then, and the city itself really has only grown about 10% in population since. Oddly though, it seemed like there were more people then, than now, because they were always outside. Our high school football games drew capacity crowds, and the church of my youth was full, so you went early to get a good seat, and not just on Christmas. I'll take you through a typical week.....<br />
<br />
On a normal school day you'd arise an hour or two prior to the first bell. You'd do your morning chores and then any extras that might need to be done. In my house, if you were a male, you were likely an altar server and you might have to walk back and forth to church, prior to going back there for school to serve the early mass. In winter you might have had to go out and shovel the walks and driveway prior to school, and when you were done, Dad was sure to "suggest" that you do the same<br />
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for an elderly neighbor or two. Inside lunches and milk were being made, and..... Wait, you didn't make milk as a kid? In my house, milk, for a lot of years, came in a big box marked Carnation, whose magic crystals would become milk when you added hot water. This was best done the night before as hot instant milk is surely an acquired taste. When you were done with breakfast, mostly Buckwheats and Oatmeal, you'd pack up your brown paper bag wrapped textbooks, slip your small feet into plastic bread wrappers and then your boots, and then you'd walk to school (yes, uphill both ways, carrying your brother). The streets were full of kids just like you. In school, you'd behave or when you got back from the Principal's office, you'd find it harder to sit on your seat. There were chores at school too, clapping erasers, emptying trash, washing desks, and anything else that you were asked to do. After school, you'd check back in at home, and then have a few hours to explore the city or neighborhood parks. <br />
<br />
I'd arrange to meet back up with my friends downtown and we'd walk the streets exploring. We had to arrange it ahead of time, there were no cell phones and if you screwed up the plan, well, you missed out on the plan for that day. More commonly now kids step out their doors and then call to<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original Leroy Brown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
see in which direction to point their feet or their cars. We'd look in the windows of the stores, Valvano's Newsstand was one of my favorites. We could browse the newest comic books that we couldn't afford and they always make sure to kick us out before we finished the story. We bought cheap magic tricks and modeling clay and playing cards to put on the spokes of our bikes. A lot of times our homework would require a trip to the library to do research, so we'd head over there and look among the stacks for the reference books that we would need and while there we might check out the latest Encyclopedia Brown Book. Frequently on our trips to the library, we'd detour into Seneca Dairy and buy chocolate milk or ice cream in a cup. Soon it would be time to head home for dinner, and in my house, you weren't late for dinner without a very good excuse. You all sat down together and shared your days, and then after dinner was done and dishes were washed and dried by hand, you might settle in to watch some TV, not of your choosing, but what your father wanted to see. At bedtime, you were reminded to brush your teeth and to say your prayers. <br />
<br />
On Saturdays we'd have our weekly chores to do and then settle in to watch the Saturday morning cartoons. Many mornings there would be pick-up football games arranged or we'd plan a longer exploration. I remember taking my bike and riding to Manchester or Cheshire with friends to see the<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksV-hLbs6iLfETPcoJAYuC07oAYYRqXpBRVkHeCW7P_xCcaHexRKET2O36wlBBP1Yn4duFEeq6rqH1hnQaWq_G8gmeQQbauLzNl-1BVhMbnQDGprozfubK75F-TLPPRvBzQw6Kvz4geQ/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksV-hLbs6iLfETPcoJAYuC07oAYYRqXpBRVkHeCW7P_xCcaHexRKET2O36wlBBP1Yn4duFEeq6rqH1hnQaWq_G8gmeQQbauLzNl-1BVhMbnQDGprozfubK75F-TLPPRvBzQw6Kvz4geQ/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a>sites there. Sonnenberg Park was a regular destination for me and we'd climb the trees, play foursquare or play some basketball. It was common for us to be gone all day, or home just for lunch and then back out again. We had more time to go downtown so the candy stores like the Goody Shop or uptown, the Corner Store were great places to spend some time. Some Saturdays, Dad would announce a work day and take us to our Uncle's garden to spend some time there weeding or harvesting. Sundays would start at church, early again, 7:30 and then if we were lucky we took the car to one of two bakeries, Schreck's or Vecchi's to pick up some donuts. This was likely the first time in the week that we would ride in the car. After we got home, Dad would read the paper and we'd wait until he set down the comic section to grab it and read it. We'd take the wax wrapper from the cereal box and make imprints of the comics on them. Abbott and Costello movies<br />
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were on the TV regularly that morning and if we stayed at home in the afternoon, we'd watch the Yankees play. We'd eat an early dinner (lunch) and most weeks Dad would pile us in the car to go visit an Aunt or Uncle. Sundays were for family and Dad took this seriously. Sunday nights were for finishing homework and I remember taking religion classes with my Mom, since she didn't think I was learning enough at the Catholic school that I attended. We'd watch "The Wonderful World of Disney" before bed and we'd see classics like "Herbie the Love Bug" or "Old Yeller" (Travis, get the gun). <br />
<br />
I'll close this walk down memory lane with a brief description of the Canandaigua summers that I knew. Long days in the park with Boone Baker, and the rec program featured variety shows or costume contests in addition to the shuffleboard tournaments. We'd walk down to swim, but not in a <br />
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cordoned off area, we had all of Kershaw Park and the pier to swim from. We'd fish in the outlet, and a few times a summer we'd go to Roseland Amusement Park. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that the Kiwanis Club sponsored one of those trips with the Sunshine Special, which would give you free tickets for good grades and a trolley ride to the park too. The civic groups then were numerous and well attended, and some even had thriving youth organizations. Now, some are non-existent or struggling for active members. The summer wasn't complete without a week long visit to stay with an Aunt or Uncle just at their house or at a cabin or lake house. We'd take camping vacations regularly too. Maybe I am a little too nostalgic about my youth in Canandaigua, but maybe I'm not. I was ignorant of world politics, talk of crushing debt and political upheavals, and could just play without worry, all day. Sadly my kids will never know that world. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-48338778791696354312013-12-31T04:59:00.000-05:002018-12-04T10:26:04.092-05:00Elf on the Shelf, but not for myself.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> Please don't be offended if you are an "Elf on the Shelf" family reading this. This blog is meant as more of a primer on what I could have done better in celebrating this holiday with my family and not to chastise any family on their own traditions. I fully believe in creating Christmas traditions in fact, and compliment any family that spends this much time and creativity to foster one. Not too many years ago I could have seen me being an "Elf on the Shelf" family too, but I've had more time to reflect on the messages that I wanted to send more clearly as a father and as a Catholic. Being as old as dirt and having your kids largely out of the house will do that for you. </i><br />
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I have to admit that prior to this year, the Elf on the Shelf thing went unnoticed by me. This year,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Elf on the Shelf balloon</td></tr>
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however, I started to see mention of him popping up at Thanksgiving. He had his own balloon in the Macy's parade and I saw it that morning and again over the next few days as some adult shows poked some fun at it. His appearance there wasn't enough for me to be motivated to go look up the story, at my age a lot of what others call "culturally significant" passes unnoticed by me, and I'm ok with that. A few weeks later though, it became a lot harder to not notice. Several Facebook friends of mine decided to "adopt" an elf and for the next 3 weeks it co-opted their status updates. I'm not saying that it was pervasive on my page, but it almost made me miss Pinterest and cute cat pictures. Most mornings I was treated to pictures of the unique position of the elf by multiple friends, the rest of my friends, thankfully, were still bit-stripping themselves in their statuses. Point is, it gave me a lot of time to ponder this phenomenon. It was around the same time that I heard that only<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigH68jYo0BlV6t6O6Mn4N7smfK_woL5d2707DAnRdU1WRrLmHrkVd4obFLYCLEYwcuwG481wI8muRWEqvGwB31dP2X6AMTLHHpluqfGVTJXQfxvmOnZcQSgdECTGdAwg-4uObKMNnyeo/s1600/bitstrips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigH68jYo0BlV6t6O6Mn4N7smfK_woL5d2707DAnRdU1WRrLmHrkVd4obFLYCLEYwcuwG481wI8muRWEqvGwB31dP2X6AMTLHHpluqfGVTJXQfxvmOnZcQSgdECTGdAwg-4uObKMNnyeo/s320/bitstrips.jpg" width="320" /></a>25% of my fellow Catholics were attending church on a weekly basis. I found the number astounding, I would have thought it was closer to 40% and I know that in the 50's we hovered around 80% but I was saddened by this and I had to blame someone, and the elf was pretty handy (he was right there on the shelf), so....<br />
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In a crisis of faith I always go to my roots and I only had to ponder the question shortly "What would my mother do?" I realized that my mother had always done her version of elf on the shelf as I'll bet a lot of Catholic families did, but they used the journey of the Wise Men to do it. For those<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I swear my blog idea came first, it's only the calendar that disagrees</td></tr>
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that knew my mother, and before they fall down laughing, I am not suggesting that she arose before the household each morning to place the Wise Men, or 3 Kings, or Magi, on the toilet tank or in the fridge, however as Advent started and over the month of December they would systematically make their way around our living room, getting ever closer to the nativity and would finally arrive on the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th. There was no Christmas Magic associated with their moving and if we touched them they didn't go back to Santa to tattle on us, but nevertheless, it was a tradition that my mother kept up. I do remember doing this with our own nativity here at home over a long period of time, and I honestly can't say why or when I stopped doing it. That is how traditions get lost though. I also recall quizzing the kids on the names of the 3 Kings, can you name them? The accepted names are Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar, however, in the gospel of<br />
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Matthew, the only gospel to mention the visit of the Kings, they are neither named nor numbered. It also doesn't mention if their camels were any happier on Wednesdays than the other days, but you can't get all the details all the time. The gifts that they brought were though and that's how they surmised the number of Kings who visited Jesus. Can you name the 3 gifts? I'll bet more people can do this one than name the Kings, they are Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh. I'd give you more trivia, but it will be more fun if you go and read or re-read up on the Kings yourselves.<br />
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So what am I going to do with all these thoughts? As I had said, my current household is a little beyond either the elf or the journey of the Kings thing, but I can start to prepare for any grand-kids that I might have. Heck, I can even Snapchat pictures of my traveling Wisemen to people (note to self, download Snapchat app). I can talk with my son who's still at home about the 3 Kings, but he does go to church each week, so he probably knows as much as me. I'll do what I always do though, I'll take my best shot at this idea of re-centering my Christmas around Christ and I'll stick with it, if it <br />
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works. For your house, feel free to do the same. For what it's worth though, I'm a poker player and 3 Kings always beats a single joker (or even an elf). </div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-20383555805714557842013-12-24T09:33:00.000-05:002013-12-24T09:33:39.115-05:00How we celebrate Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This will post on Christmas Eve and we will have several Christmas traditions in the bank by then, and here's how we tend to celebrate this Season.....</i><br />
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I was going to blog about the traditions that we have in our family, and then I realized that I could probably fill a page with just the things we do around Christmas, so I thought I'd peel that Ongion skin for you this morning. The Christmas season starts for us about 3-4 weeks prior to Christmas. <span id="goog_1692100504"></span><span id="goog_1692100505"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nolan in front of our Christmas tree</td></tr>
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Our first tradition is to hunt and chop down our fresh Christmas tree. No artificial ones for us, we have to see it standing, crawl underneath it with a hacksaw, sever it from the earth and then drag it through the mud or snow. For as long as I can remember, this is how we get our Christmas tree. I did a whole blog a few years ago on the year we lost a tree, the link is attached here if you want a true heartwarming story, but that's how we kick the season off. (<a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2010/12/on-christmas-trees-lost-and-found.html">On Christmas Trees, lost and found.</a>) When we get home with the tree, Dad strings the lights, and Mom and the kids hang the ornaments. We're angel people, don't try to convince us of putting anything else on the top of the tree, in our house, that space is reserved for an angel. We aren't pretty white light people either, ours are big, gaudy and brightly colored. We don't string popcorn to go round it, although the Boy Scouts keep us in good supply. We have a small living room, but that's where we put it, so we can plug it in and enjoy it each night. Char decorates the rest of the house with nutcrackers and wreaths and other assorted things, and our nativity set is simple and Jesus arrives on Christmas, and not beforehand. <br />
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We throw some lights on the house outside, but we don't aim to be the brightest lit house strewn with lawn decorations, timed to music and such. My brother in law down the street, however, strings <br />
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We have 2 other traditions that center around my family in the weeks prior to Christmas, our Men's Shopping Night and our Progressive Dinner. Both go back over a decade, with the first being <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 of my sisters at a Progressive Dinner</td></tr>
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at least a 20 year tradition and the second encroaching that number. My brothers, and brothers in law spend a Friday night out together and try and relieve some of the holiday stress. We used to shop for an hour and then go bar-hopping, but now we don't even pretend to shop anymore, we just do a 12 station bar crawl. Traditionally we stop in at Wally's Pub and try to eat 20 wings apiece, but only a few of us ever do. We tear up our hometown of Canandaigua and we laugh and dance and just hang out with the male members of our clan. I'll include the link here to the blog I did on this event, and you can read about our hijnks and shenanigans if you'd like ( <a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2011/12/our-annual-christmas-shopping-trip.html">Men's Shopping Night</a>) The Progressive Dinner kicks off at noon on a Sunday, just prior to Christmas and<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyVZcqVDxRd4467TWiRpLNZjzaKKPowExDcJ0RNVx2lUOLcqjzqlU_jm3k0ho0dbpmcAEYotJQ2NXYFry8mfgp68FdJrm_Ka5lpmjHsYvlKpdu2c7eARuOplV-sXha_f_kzgY7yOnhJc/s1600/mom_at_the_progressive_dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyVZcqVDxRd4467TWiRpLNZjzaKKPowExDcJ0RNVx2lUOLcqjzqlU_jm3k0ho0dbpmcAEYotJQ2NXYFry8mfgp68FdJrm_Ka5lpmjHsYvlKpdu2c7eARuOplV-sXha_f_kzgY7yOnhJc/s1600/mom_at_the_progressive_dinner.jpg" /></a>we caravan through a 5 or 6 course meal visiting some of my sibling's homes and viewing their decorations. This is open to all of my immediate family and we get a great turnout each year. I did a blog on this before, see (<a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2013/01/our-progessive-dinner.html">Our Progressive Dinner</a>). I'm a big fan of this one, especially since it involves 2 out of 4 of the F things that my mother was thankful for, Family and Food, the others are Friends and Faith, but we'll get to those in the next paragraph. Here's a shot of Mom and how she dressed for this event some years. Sometime prior to Christmas my wife, children and I try to sit down and watch my wife's favorite movie "It's a Wonderful Life". We've done this for so long that we all can recite the best lines as they come up and it's a special night for us to snuggle in. <br />
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We celebrate Jesus' birth by attending church as a family, mid-day on Christmas Eve. We arrive almost an hour early so that we can sit together, but it's tradition that my sons and I give up our seats to older parishioners or ladies that may be standing just prior to the service. I don't even have to spot the people anymore, both my boys are on high alert for this opportunity to sacrifice a little and to make someone else's Holiday a little brighter. I'm a little beyond getting excited on Christmas morning anymore, my kids are older and I've never liked the commercialism that is so<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nolan make armadillo eggs for the party</td></tr>
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prevalent on this holiday, but I'm as guilty as the next husband and father when it comes to doling out gifts for this day. What I do look forward to each year though, is the intimate party that we throw on Christmas Eve. This idea, we blatantly stole from my best friend's family and made it into our own tradition. We mix a few close friends and just a couple of our family members from each side whom we spend more time with each year, and we host an upscale evening complete with cocktails, singing round the piano, and tasty dishes that require a lot of prep and forethought. We laugh and sing and enjoy the small gathering, and there are no gifts exchanged except the pleasure of the company. We knock off the other two F's of my Mom's Friends and Faith that evening. <br />
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On Christmas Day, we arise early, get the coffee brewing and gather in our living room for the gift exchange. Santa fills the stockings overnight though for some reason only my wife's stocking stuffers are wrapped each year. A tangerine or orange is placed in foot of the stocking. I always thought this was to take up a lot of room, but this tradition dates back to when citrus was hard to come by in this area in the winter, so it was a special treat to receive an orange in your stocking. The<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching a Christmas tree burn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
gift sorting is done by me, the man of the house, and I pass out each present and we watch as each one is opened with oohs and aahs. After we finish, I make breakfast for the family and then we travel to see Char's Mom. We used to see her on Christmas Eve and my mother on Christmas Day, but now we just have the short trip down the street. I miss my Mom, but it's nice to see Mary on Christmas Day so that we can hear about the gifts that her family got her. Last year was extra special as one of her grandsons arranged all of her grandchildren to be in a family picture and we got to present it to her. For all intents and purposes, that terminates our Christmas celebration, except for one small last tradition. We drag our tree out a few days after Christmas, but it gets stored behind the barn for a while, drying out. It becomes a home for rabbits or birds and when it is sufficiently dry, we donate it to a bonfire at a friends house or a family gathering and we watch the tree go up in a few seconds of blazing glory. It's kind of like a Viking funeral for the Christmas Season, and it's spectacular, you should try it. Those are some of the traditions in my family around this time of year, how about yours? </div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-12666914880702273442013-12-17T06:51:00.001-05:002013-12-17T06:51:07.336-05:00An ode to the alarm clock at the Hampton Inn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> Tongue pressed firmly in cheek this morning, I offer this ode for those new alarm clocks at the Hampton Inns and Hilton's that seem to have every feature and instruction on them, except how to set the time correctly when it is wrong, and it is frequently wrong. </i><br />
<br />
<b>An ode to the alarm clock at the Hampton Inn</b><br />
<br />
The sale has been made and the hour is late,<br />
the day hangs on me like a leaden weight,<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRTNH5yDVtp7c-nCoPvUZ3Aon_PpoVgILiD5fBgOlGKJYKbqOs7I94GykcMJ8WaxKjytEJrVIdeaNU3duYEE_O0FEFIsoJecugwFl1tCc1cErwEvLne6RjfTvqroDhCxbvRhWyWMtPKA/s1600/front.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRTNH5yDVtp7c-nCoPvUZ3Aon_PpoVgILiD5fBgOlGKJYKbqOs7I94GykcMJ8WaxKjytEJrVIdeaNU3duYEE_O0FEFIsoJecugwFl1tCc1cErwEvLne6RjfTvqroDhCxbvRhWyWMtPKA/s320/front.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
clothes get strewn in a path to the bed,<br />
where I hope to soon lay down my head,<br />
a last glance back to the lock on the door,<br />
to insure that my slumber will be secure,<br />
then as I start to untuck the covers,<br />
what is this that my eye now discovers?<br />
The glowing red time on the nightstand is wrong,<br />
Is says 6:03, but that time is long gone.<br />
<br />
I sigh as I realize, I've been here before,<br />
why the maids do not check this, I'm really not sure?<br />
but experience tells me I'm in for a fight,<br />
cuz it got lots of buttons to ponder tonight,<br />
there's 2 buttons to set the alarm to and fro,<br />
and volume adjust buttons located below,<br />
there's an alarm on and off on the face, to each side<br />
these all seem important to not try and hide,<br />
there's a radio on and there's just a plain, Enter<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4utDljqKMpeXDfUSTbbfD5MKqDbcHDxR7pF1lb1QY0LcpE0YXY8m09tYxNLsD98Ancr3AMctXlAHvwckVVly0_VMwqYS24ZYUeAMmoYaIFYtujU9voIvl__NHzll7YM8PE7g9bHgQwOo/s1600/side.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4utDljqKMpeXDfUSTbbfD5MKqDbcHDxR7pF1lb1QY0LcpE0YXY8m09tYxNLsD98Ancr3AMctXlAHvwckVVly0_VMwqYS24ZYUeAMmoYaIFYtujU9voIvl__NHzll7YM8PE7g9bHgQwOo/s320/side.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I'm getting annoyed now and afraid I might dent her<br />
The last buttons there lets you adjust your station,<br />
Can you see now why I've got all this frustration?<br />
The instructions emblazoned and so clearly imprinted,<br />
are all alarm focused, could it kill them to have hinted?<br />
At how to set the damn correct time?<br />
or at least sync the zone with meridian Prime?<br />
<br />
I check out the top and there's no relief there,<br />
it's a big row of buttons and now I don't care,<br />
A check of one side shows a total blank pane,<br />
I'm ten minutes in and I'm going insane, '<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9CUmpIq-s7_WCK3BoTvciTjniHdvFzF8_GIKvpgyZ-MvvsxbvvHujOvfdwTUwkokRIHMzM0tEpC-Fxnf8zDmx3tRqBWLwk3_Q1oMdNojlQKVeSdXQ6coTH7uNyiuw-aCtv6PYNSEK_Y/s1600/back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9CUmpIq-s7_WCK3BoTvciTjniHdvFzF8_GIKvpgyZ-MvvsxbvvHujOvfdwTUwkokRIHMzM0tEpC-Fxnf8zDmx3tRqBWLwk3_Q1oMdNojlQKVeSdXQ6coTH7uNyiuw-aCtv6PYNSEK_Y/s320/back.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
on the other side, it gives some advices<br />
on how to plug in my music devices,<br />
but I've got no help in my ongoing mission <br />
to set the right time and for help I am wishin'<br />
I could call the front desk, but they always will stammer<br />
That the maintenance man can come up with his hammer,<br />
but it's very late now and I've got no affection <br />
for men from "the slow and incompetent" section.<br />
I've got no time for those endless delays,<br />
and besides I'm attired in only PJ's. <br />
<br />
As a last ditch effort I check the back and the bottom, <br />
But as to instructions, it still doesn't got 'em.<br />
I next randomly try all the odd combinations,<br />
but all I can change is alarms and the stations. <br />
I grab my Iphone and place it aside me,<br />
to the correct time, I know it will guide me, <br />
I turn the clock round, and I give up the fight,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K3_pMqwW412lL15pRCM9rHsPodfaZwXgE8NWkGxlVuPcs6keyIECkEVgvbdPaHnX6moq04vPIHQ7kM7Ql-iNk7bDM_JD7wUY2bd5oJmHBv3rxsJ2GnrdbjS0qFIcPT9JSncb6ouYlk0/s1600/bottom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K3_pMqwW412lL15pRCM9rHsPodfaZwXgE8NWkGxlVuPcs6keyIECkEVgvbdPaHnX6moq04vPIHQ7kM7Ql-iNk7bDM_JD7wUY2bd5oJmHBv3rxsJ2GnrdbjS0qFIcPT9JSncb6ouYlk0/s320/bottom.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
If only I slept at a Holiday Inn Express last night. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-48256208628899798342013-12-10T08:11:00.002-05:002013-12-10T08:11:44.710-05:00The clothing lady with the one shoe story - Repost from December 2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em>I'm taking this week off, but going to give you a Classic to re-read or to read for the first time. </em><br />
<br />
<a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2011/12/clothing-lady-with-one-shoe-story.html">A great story on giving</a></div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-58514263561284637782013-12-03T17:47:00.000-05:002013-12-03T17:47:45.715-05:00On being a Buffalo Bills fan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I've been a Buffalo Bills football fan for all of my life and I don't see it changing anytime soon. If you aren't a fan, this will give you an idea of what we Buffalo fans go through and if you are, well you can commiserate with me. </i><br />
<br />
<i> </i>Last night we lost a game, that we should have won. A few bad calls and a fumble sent us into overtime and another fumble lost the game for us. A game that we had been winning with our team really playing some solid football ended with a L instead of a W. The sad thing is, I missed all the drama at the <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBnRedgA07YKPqe6pmI2dCP2OCHlatZkbYTuxk1cHQTlb10WG03esC8C-pH-mcEx_Ii3FcI0__AqBXuK0flQzUbgHL0Q62n5TCdlbAm0Q2Kbqn6260KozKSYUCrM4bCZJdyFLMcrDscQ/s1600/freddie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dua="true" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBnRedgA07YKPqe6pmI2dCP2OCHlatZkbYTuxk1cHQTlb10WG03esC8C-pH-mcEx_Ii3FcI0__AqBXuK0flQzUbgHL0Q62n5TCdlbAm0Q2Kbqn6260KozKSYUCrM4bCZJdyFLMcrDscQ/s320/freddie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love to see Freddie run.</td></tr>
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end of the game, I had left the house on a kid-run with us having a lead, and came back with us recording another loss and yet, I wasn't surprised, because I'm a Bills fan. I see this almost every week. As I say this, I'm not calling for any heads to roll or to have people be traded or benched, though admittedly I wouldn't cry if Gilmore was gone, but instead just to vent a little about a team that I love a lot, the Buffalo Bills.<br />
<br />
Before I talk any smack about what is wrong with the Bills, I have to give credit to what is right about them. The fans are great, and since the 1990's have turned out year after year to support largely losing Buffalo Bills teams, because they are the home team and we are grateful to have them here. The stadium was built a little too big for a market this size and yet for most games we sell the seats and if we don't the local businesses or Ralph Wilson steps in to buy up the rest. Each year the stadium fills back up with these <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIS3dy0rGhYzqnl3_wQJIGSHjijl89Pq4dTBCunInJiB8CheLACiiUIT5hcW9mVMdlPFAy1tIP1ivOILTGEt4kuxnedsqUgsLbO_eogY53fmtSyH-7rNUMoKiGpgIwO52r4imk-ERRvQ/s1600/ralph-wilson-and-jim-kelly-2008-nfl-oakland-raiders-at-buffalo-bills-23-24-september-21-2008-ebTVpl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIS3dy0rGhYzqnl3_wQJIGSHjijl89Pq4dTBCunInJiB8CheLACiiUIT5hcW9mVMdlPFAy1tIP1ivOILTGEt4kuxnedsqUgsLbO_eogY53fmtSyH-7rNUMoKiGpgIwO52r4imk-ERRvQ/s320/ralph-wilson-and-jim-kelly-2008-nfl-oakland-raiders-at-buffalo-bills-23-24-september-21-2008-ebTVpl.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Th iconic Ralph Wilson, oh with Jim Kelly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
loyal and overly optimistic fans, that keeping inventing new terms so that they can bring hope into the stadium with them. Tell me that it wasn't Buffalo fans that invented the terms "rebuilding year", "enviable draft position" or my favorite, "statistically still in the hunt". We don't whip stupid towels in your face while you are trying to watch the game and our cheers are not offensive, just uplifting. There's no better sound than the 12th man rocking the Ralph. That's another thing we have that's great, our owner, Ralph Wilson. Ralph turned 95 this year and was an original founder of the AFL. He is the last of his kind. He's the longest tenured owner (54 years) and he's credited with saving the AFL during it's tough times by lending money to the other teams to keep them afloat. The AFL never lost a franchise because of him. He grew up in a tough town, Detroit and went off to serve in the Navy. After JFK was assassinated, Ralph lobbied successfully for all AFL games that Sunday to be postponed out of respect, while the NFL teams played on schedule. He's a class act and we are lucky to have him. <br />
<br />
The same can be said for the city of Buffalo. We are lucky to have the "Queen City" or the "Nickel City" if you prefer. Did you know that at one time Buffalo boasted a larger number of <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_hxeVx3rTez8YuvxMPxPiza13a39FO-nD4OQZZXD0_e0ML06KUrcDk-VK_Sxqgrwu0iXSZ35o5ZGEwWH1oF0fEcXeIETLO9AulkzfKTS1WkZedn_yavUzxoX1z5SAvkKlxy3GKCBdME/s1600/The+Ralph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_hxeVx3rTez8YuvxMPxPiza13a39FO-nD4OQZZXD0_e0ML06KUrcDk-VK_Sxqgrwu0iXSZ35o5ZGEwWH1oF0fEcXeIETLO9AulkzfKTS1WkZedn_yavUzxoX1z5SAvkKlxy3GKCBdME/s320/The+Ralph.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ralph</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
millionaires per capita than any other city? That time, however, is not this time. Buffalo's growth times are likely behind her, a city that once ranked 8th in the US for population, now ranks 73rd. In fact, Buffalo's current population is almost identical to it's population in the year 1890. The Saint Lawrence Seaway stole her commerce, China stole her steel industry and other manufacturers and people just packed up and moved away, but the ones that were left were the die-hards, the Bills fans. For a city now boasting fewer than 260,000 people. it still has great architecture, great sports teams, music,street festivals, art and a host of institutes of higher learning. In 2010 Forbes magazine named it the 10th best city in America to live, which makes me wonder, how bad were those who left? If I had to guess, I'd say that they went to Miami, or maybe to Foxboro MA, but it's only a guess. I say good riddance, cuz you left a great city and some great fans behind and they know how to tailgate.<br />
<br />
Wow, another whole paragraph on what we do right? Yep. There are few cities that know how to tailgate as well as the Buffalonians and we invented some of the foods that other fans eat each week. The Buffalo chicken wing has to rate first among these, only we can take something that was once <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfsvZQO-xQ92ZroKi0Tu9HUNJ0OhgGe6F3sFsHZ11f-OMd590Ds5xZ7gnrIRMpeMddDsV-chYBG3aQc1eD5XAAl2dEWkfAMH-KXjBRzt_PYuOTWJRaNYprKqyHQxZMugfati0ELqjIg4/s1600/beef+on+weck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfsvZQO-xQ92ZroKi0Tu9HUNJ0OhgGe6F3sFsHZ11f-OMd590Ds5xZ7gnrIRMpeMddDsV-chYBG3aQc1eD5XAAl2dEWkfAMH-KXjBRzt_PYuOTWJRaNYprKqyHQxZMugfati0ELqjIg4/s320/beef+on+weck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beef on Weck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
thrown away and make it delicious enough to become the most expensive part of the chicken. Beef on Weck has to come in a close second. That's a staple up here where you take rare roast beef, slap it on a Kummelweck (or Kimmelweck if you prefer) roll and serve it up hot with some horseradish and au jus. Even our hot dogs taste better, they are less sweet than other markets, are spicier and are made for charcoal grilling, not boiling. You've never really tasted a hot dog until you've had a Sahlen's hot dog, grilled over charcoal (I'll give Wardynski's a close second). Sure we eat cheese steaks and soups and stews and foods made famous in other markets too, but when you are tailgating outside of the Ralph, you'll see these foods the most. You'll see the oddest cooking <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIRbg9OugEZZEjpegOI-qqelillKJchoVI8kYGQbc0pD0Cq4KtyDwNovSqB3hTFOQbVwK9Eo8T5Sf8nMi9MJtUrmW_nni1gjK8cbBddcUMC45px1hE6FKtr8RUjFOFXVZNCSf5oM86zk/s1600/Ken-Johnson-Bills-Fan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIRbg9OugEZZEjpegOI-qqelillKJchoVI8kYGQbc0pD0Cq4KtyDwNovSqB3hTFOQbVwK9Eo8T5Sf8nMi9MJtUrmW_nni1gjK8cbBddcUMC45px1hE6FKtr8RUjFOFXVZNCSf5oM86zk/s320/Ken-Johnson-Bills-Fan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sure, why not use your car too?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
contraptions set up outside that stadium too and they been designed to keep the food coming in spite of the blowing snows and winds that are so common to that area of Western NY. Awnings and tents are handy too, that is, right up until Mother Nature decides to take them from you, an ever-present threat when tailgating at the Ralph. <br />
<br />
I should probably talk a little about football in a blog about the Buffalo Bills, but as most of you are well aware, it's been some time since we've had any bragging rights. If you are a playmaker on another NFL team and you find yourself traded to the Bills, you can historically count on having a couple of mediocre years on this roster that can't afford you before you find yourself somewhere else where you are sure to start playing like you did before your Western NY trip. It must be our weather but we've fared much better by getting newbies and teaching them how to play <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpdnF6ySdzbIglUnZ2KkX94mT19-_oUmiFIjiRh7ysUfFrJ8zfGLnOG8f_734ABwa6T60Zzqpm30PEv-bm9cu_GU4pdz1RPRzZd62uEUWNyx26NpcZkvy6VoNIU1pxzOmdd_80-scSfw/s1600/Street+festivals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_lm_379562="null" eua="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpdnF6ySdzbIglUnZ2KkX94mT19-_oUmiFIjiRh7ysUfFrJ8zfGLnOG8f_734ABwa6T60Zzqpm30PEv-bm9cu_GU4pdz1RPRzZd62uEUWNyx26NpcZkvy6VoNIU1pxzOmdd_80-scSfw/s320/Street+festivals.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My family at a street festival this year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
here than in trying to bring established talent in (think T.O. here). We seem to have more problems keeping players healthy too and as a Bills fan, I spend a lot of time each week perusing our injury report to see who is actually able to start for us. We struggle with finishing games, I'm not sure if there's a stat for teams that go into the 2nd half with leads only to be outscored by their opponents, but if there is, we surely are at the top of this list. It's become so common an event for us that my brain immediately starts going through each way we could lose the lead, as soon as we have one (don't call me a bad fan for this cuz I'll bet a lot of us do this and this just makes us better students of history). It's amazing how often I'll predict the blatant late hit or unnecessary roughness call that comes or the poorly thrown ball that falls into the hands of an opposing player but each time I do, I get a stony stare from the Bill's number 1 fan and cheerleader, my wife. Sorry Dear, but without becoming a little jaded you never last decades as a Bills fan. I do read my wife's Pollyanna predictions and pre-game postulations that she posts to Facebook each week, but as I do I'm practicing my platitudes for consoling her after the loss. Most weeks, it's time well spent. <br />
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I'll close this blog in the way that I opened it, I'm a Buffalo Bills fan and probably will be for life. We are proud that we didn't steal our team from another market, and we pray some bigger, richer city won't do that to us (cuz then I'd have to be a a Steelers, Browns, or Lions fan). To my knowledge, we don't spy on other teams and we don't pay players to injure their competitors, but we do win fewer games. So many years we come off a 7-9 season anticipating a much better season to follow, only to find ourselves hoping mid-season to be able to finish at 7-9, sigh. That's the reality of being a Bills fan, one that we live every year, but Hey, at least we are statistically still in the hunt. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-88305446569143231282013-11-26T06:46:00.000-05:002013-11-26T06:46:29.165-05:00September 11th from my point of view<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This week was the 50th anniversary of the JFK assassination and it made me think, that while I wasn't around for that day in our history, I was for the 9/11 terrorist attacks and thought I would share my story of that day.</i><br />
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I wasn't traveling that day, I had a trip planned for later that week but I was already up and working in my home office, at my desk when it all went down. It was an atypical Tuesday morning for me. I kept a small black and white TV with rabbit ears on the left side credenza of my desk, behind me, and I'd turn on the Today show in the mornings while I worked and if something peaked my interest, I'd swivel my chair around to watch the segment. We hadn't built the Garaj-Mahal yet, <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How I started to watch the coverage that day</td></tr>
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so my office was in an upper room of our house where my son Nolan now sleeps. I normally turned the TV off after the first half hour, but strangely, that morning I hadn't gotten around to it yet. The Today Show was getting close to the finish, when Katie Couric got the initial word of a fire or some event at the World Trade Center, and I swiveled my chair around to watch. The information was spotty at first, in fact the first eyewitness that called the Today show had identified the fire and explosion in the North Tower, but had no idea it was a plane strike, as she was on the side opposite of where the plane hit. I had a sense of the enormity of the moment, so I walked downstairs to turn the regular TV on and called for my wife to join me. She worked from home at that time. We watched together as the 2nd plane hit the South Tower, it was a little after 9, and we wouldn't leave our positions in front of the TV for hours after that. I've never been one to worry about terrorism, because if you understand it, to have a fear of something like this happening, gives <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katie and Matt that morning</td></tr>
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the power to the terrorists, so even after the 2nd plane hit, I was thinking that it must be a computer malfunction that may have been affecting the flight computers, I never once thought of a hijacking. Call it naive of me, but it had never happened prior to that point, and when my wife asked me later about being afraid of flying, I told her that I'd be far safer from that point on, that we would never be caught that unaware again. It's been 12 years since that day, and no matter what I'm doing on a plane, whenever anyone now gets up to use the bathroom, or to stretch their legs, I pay attention to what they are doing.<br />
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After the 2nd plane struck, Matt Lauer and then Al Roker started to piece together the unlikelihood of 2 planes striking the adjacent towers within minutes of each other, Matt used the word "deliberate" and Al questioned the odds of two separate strikes from 2 planes on different towers. I was still wrapping my head around the idea of this happening, much less who would want to do something like this, hours and then even days later. My wife and I watched the coverage, glued <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just prior to the 2nd strike</td></tr>
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to the set like never before in our lives. I answered a few calls on my office line, one from my secretary in Georgia, who knew that I traveled frequently to NYC and was checking on my well being, but I barely left that room that morning. I worked for Mrs. Smith's Bakeries at that time. We were still watching when the initial report of the Pentagon strike happened and once again, it was first described and thought to be a bomb detonation by the on-air correspondent for NBC. It was not long after that when the first tower fell. It took several minutes for the anchors to realize the tower had fallen and just prior to that happening Tom Brokaw had speculated that the damage that the buildings had suffered would likely mean that they would have to be taken down. He couldn't have know that within 20 minutes of making that statement, both towers would collapse. They were concentrating on reports of another plane heading towards the Pentagon when we saw the collapse of the 2nd tower live. We were praying that the first responders that were sure to have been <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A first responder that morning</td></tr>
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on site, had gotten out, but as we now know, many hadn't, in fact nearly 400 firemen, police officers, port authority and EMT's would perish in those collapses. I was an active volunteer fireman then, so I could relate, if only a little, with the actions of those who rushed in, while others rushed out. The rest of that day remains fuzzy to me and I recall kind of sleepwalking through it, and then capping it with the President's address that evening. We both went to bed that night realizing that our world would never be the same again. The following morning we tried to get back into our routines and over time we did manage to do just that.<br />
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I had booked my company into a frozen food show in NJ for the end of that week, and for days I awaited word of whether it was going to be held or not. They decided not to cancel, so within a few days of the attack, I found myself getting on a plane and headed towards NYC. My flight was booked into Newark airport. I honestly don't remember the security procedures that I went through when I arrived at the airport, but I was struck by how empty it was. There were only 3 of us on the <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The monorail at Newark Airport</td></tr>
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plane out. We all took window seats so that we could observe the devastation and when we approached we could see the piles still burning and smoldering. When we landed, the side of the tarmac was littered by planes, some still grounded and I think a lot were international flights. You never really realize how many planes are up in the air at any given moment, that is, until you see them sitting at an airport like I saw that morning. There is a study out that there suggests that the US saw a 2 degree rise in average temperatures on the 3 days following 9/11 that flights were grounded due to the lack of jet contrails. Contrails provide a mirror like effect and reflect the sun's heat, and there were none over the US during that period. When I got my bag and got on the monorail at Newark, I was literally the only person on it. There was a miniseries that had aired about 5 years prior that was based on Stephen King's "The Langoliers". The premise was that 10 passengers on a plane get a little <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wall of Missing posters</td></tr>
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out of sync with the current timeline and return to world void of people. That's what Newark Airport looked like, to me, that morning. I made my way to the show and spent my day tossing a roll of paper towels back and forth down and empty aisle with a paper sales rep because virtually no one showed up for it. I stayed in Hoboken NJ that evening and as I took my walk around that town, I was struck by all the homemade posters and handbills that identified people's missing loved ones that were plastered to every bit of available fence, post, or wall space. I was saddened by the desperation that those people were feeling, truly not knowing if their loved ones were lost, missing, injured or deceased, and for some of those people, answers were months in coming. I was the sole passenger on my return flight home.<br />
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Now 12 years later, I cannot say that I'm reminded of 9/11 daily, however, I am reminded every time I book or take a trip. I smile as I go through security at the airports and remember to thank the TSA agents for helping to keep me safe. It's weird how often the subject of 9/11 and traveling comes up and I've heard a lot of stranger's stories of traveling that day, and they have heard mine. My peers at my current job were in Dallas that day attending a corporate meeting and like a lot of business travelers were forced to rent cars and drive back to their homes that week. Those vans and cars full of people crisscrossed the country in the days following 9/11 on serpentine paths dropping salespeople off as they went along. Many people <br />
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were afraid to fly in the months following 9/11, and in a truly ironic twist of fate, auto fatalities increased by about 1,600 people that year due largely to the increase in auto travel. My family had planned a Disney World vacation that December and we decided to keep our plans. We were able to see as much as we wanted to during our 3 days there that year since the parks had record lows for attendance. I vowed simply to never let terrorists win by making me afraid of living my life. I understand that there is risk in riding on buses and trains and going to malls and stadiums and people in some countries have experienced issues with these for a long time now. I'm no longer naive enough to believe that we are insulated from these possibilities, but it won't stop me from going on them or in them. I'll close with this last thought on 9/11, it was historically the most significant day in my lifetime and I pray every day that it remains just that. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-72441409012124613062013-11-18T22:53:00.000-05:002013-11-18T22:53:04.365-05:00Our lives and "Our Town"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em>This weeks' blog is simply my thoughts after attending a high school play last weekend.</em></div>
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I had the opportunity to attend my local high school's performance of the play, "Our Town" this last weekend. I went, truthfully, because my youngest son Nolan and his cousin Samantha were performing in it, but I suspect I would have enjoyed myself even if I wouldn't have had a vested interest in the cast. The story, if you </div>
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don't know it, revolves around a small fictional New Hampshire town in the early 1900's. It's done in 3 acts, the first featuring a birth, the second a marriage and the third a funeral. I found it quite thought provoking with a Thoreau-esque kind of quality and during the second evenings performance, I started to realize that I had many similarities to the story line. <br />
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If there is a main character in this play, one could argue that it is George Gibbs, the local baseball player turned farmer that marries his high school sweetheart and chooses to forgo college in order to stay in his small town and by her side. He explains it simply by saying "I think that once you've found a person that you're very fond of... I mean a person who's fond of you too, and likes you enough to be interested in your character... Well, I think that's just as important as college is and even <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beaches where I could have been in my 20's<br />
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more so, that's what I think." It's a profound statement saying that there is no more important decision in life than choosing your mate, and it's one that I concur with. In 1983 I was just graduating high school in a small upstate NY town and I found myself making a similar decision for the same reason. Anyone that knows me now, would not have recognized me back then, I had no drive or ambition, I slept late and contributed little and I was wrapped up pretty tightly in myself (well, OK, that one is still true). About to graduate high school, I hadn't taken an SAT and was pretty ignorant of the whole college application process, so I decided to take the test for entering the Army. I scored extremely well on it and got called back to discuss possible duty stations. They said I was a guaranteed candidate for Officers Training School and that they wanted to send me to Monterey California to live in a pseudo Russian or Chinese community in a total immersion language school. They had recognized my aptitude for language and at that time I had taken 3 years of French and 2 years of Latin. I was a budding linguist but truthfully a novice lothario, that is until I met my wife. We started working together and very soon the idea of traveling 3,000 miles across the country didn't seem so appealing, and I thought I should probably stick around and sort out this relationship and where it might be headed. It was a decision that I never regretted. I also got an opportunity to take a peek at what my future might have held one evening, years later when I took one of my broker reps to dinner. Her husband was able to join us, and over cocktails, he told me that he had attended that exact language school and in the same year I would have attended. He served his time and when he got out, he started teaching language in a small school in Jamestown NY. By comparison, I had found a job that paid better, suited my personality and I had not left my girl behind to discover that there were other men, better than me, out there. She may still hold the delusion that there are not, these 30 or so years later, because I've always been around to reinforce the idea. Point is, I stayed and married, just like George Gibbs.<br />
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The second similarity of our life and "Our Town" is the quaintness of our communities. Grover's Corners has around 2,600 people in it. I grew up in Canandaigua NY that had just under 10,000 people, and then moved to Hall (formerly called Hall's Corners) that has 300 or so people in the hamlet, but coincidentally about 2,700 in <br />
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the town of Seneca, in which it belongs, according to the 2010 census. I know a little about a town that size. Our post office and diner serve as the poplular meeting places for gossip and news to be exchanged, and I'm sure the talk there mirrors the talk in ""Our Town". Births, deaths and marraiges are the hot topics but intermixed with current illnesses and ailments, accidents, and the local hot political topics. Everyone knows your name and your business. I like to tell the story of going to rent my PO Box when I first moved to Hall, only to be told by the Postmaster at the time, where I lived, how many kids I had, and how I made a living. She had even set up an appointment for me to talk to the folks that owned the local diner. That's life in a small town. Leave your Christmas decorations up a few too many weeks and you are sure to be the topic of conversation at one of these gatherings. Some folks can't take that kind of closenesss, but it works in the positive as well. Get sick and your porch soon fills with crockpots and casseroles. Lose a job and everyone has their ears open looking for a new one for you. Pass away and a card quickly and silently appears on the counter of the Post Office with a collection box nearby. It was a shock how things worked when I moved here, but just like the decision I made to marry my wife, I wouldn't take this one back either. <br />
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The last similarity I'll mention is one that I have in common with the dead people in Grover's Corners. They are fast losing all fondness for material things and so am I. When Emily arrives, she talks like a newly dead person might, about her new Ford and cement pond, but slowly comes to realize that they mean nothing to her <br />
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now. She's stricken with remorse about not taking more time to appreciate the simpler things that God had given her, and although I'm not dead, I've begun this journey too. I have trouble making Christmas lists, as I can't think of any things that I want. I end up putting socks and underwear nd wallets and stuff on there, that I'll know I'll need to buy eventually, but the buring desire to buy new and shiny things is gone. We'll need to replace a car soon and I'm struggling with even the thought of shelling out $30,000 for one when I should be able to buy a nice used one for a third of that price. On the trip out this week I went cover to cover in the Skymall magazine on the plane and didn't find one thing that I thought my life would be enhnaced by owning. I'm not sure if this is growth or me just being cheap and it may be too soon in the process to tell, but I'm going to count it as a similarity between me and the movie anyway.<br />
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I could throw in a few more, but it's late and I'm tired and the page looks pretty full already, so I won't. I enjoyed the play "Our Town" with it's deeper meanings and simpler staging, but I think I like living "Our Town" just a little bit better. </div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-74740478330073808942013-11-12T06:06:00.000-05:002013-11-12T06:06:56.945-05:00On turning 50 - A guest blog from Char Yarger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> Author's note: The following words are my wife's, alone and unedited. She uses exclamation points like I use commas, but be kind, she has a lot to be excited about. I did choose each of the pictures that go with this blog and there are even bonus ones at the end. She does not consider herself to be a talented writer, but I invite you to let her know if you disagree. </i><br />
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"No, I'm not a half-century old, I'm only 50 son!!!"<br />
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Let me begin by stating that I am well aware that 50 years IS a half-century. If you have not yet had <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The author</td></tr>
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the pleasure of turning 50, when you do then you can tell me which sounds better! <br />
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Yes, it's true - I just celebrated my 50th birthday. Since it is such a milestone and the normal author of this blog is looking for guest authors, I thought it would be an excellent topic to blog on. After all, I have 50 years of wisdom and knowledge to impart, right? <br />
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To me, 50 is just another number. I truly believe the old adage, "you're as young as you feel". I will credit part of feeling good about myself to my friend (you know her as Stretch). She walks by my elliptical machine whenever I am exercising and cranks up the resistance! She has me at 10-12 now! At first, I was annoyed and thought, what is this crazy woman doing? Now I understand! She and my husband were very<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Stretch at a concert</td></tr>
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instrumental in getting me to participate in an exercise regimen a few days a week. I am definitely in better shape now than I was 10 years ago! Thanks guys!<br />
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Another thing I think I am better at now is making friends. As a teenager, I was very shy and not good at making or keeping friends. I can honestly say that I have more friends now than I did in my teens, 20s, or 30s. And these are GOOD friends! I know these people love me for who I am and I feel the same about them. <br />
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I am blessed to be part of two large families, mine and my husbands. If you are not married yet, you may not understand this, but once you are, you will see. Your spouse's family will be just as beloved to you as your own. There are people in my husband's family that I would be lost without. They have become as important to me as my own biological family. Speaking of biological family, mine<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXhzv1qEHeOmSWlPGj4WmtqD-PiqYDiy4fHRsaEpMM7iZzU3DUNBkqf3Pkt9cmtxrwSTU2BQLVlZAjOe0PYitHi2Eu13GCB8b6Wb4EIs59AQwWq1u67SKjWR2um7YMFZOMrqqyT0zYKA/s1600/Char+with+my+family+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXhzv1qEHeOmSWlPGj4WmtqD-PiqYDiy4fHRsaEpMM7iZzU3DUNBkqf3Pkt9cmtxrwSTU2BQLVlZAjOe0PYitHi2Eu13GCB8b6Wb4EIs59AQwWq1u67SKjWR2um7YMFZOMrqqyT0zYKA/s320/Char+with+my+family+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char in the center of some of my family</td></tr>
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is special! Oh, yes they are special!! You would just have to know them to see what I mean! I do love them dearly and we are all fairly close. We all support each other in times of need. That's the wonderful thing about family. My husband kids that he would never have moved to this small hamlet we live in if he had known so many of my family would follow us. I think he's kidding? I love having them here!<br />
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I am also blessed to have three very smart, happy, wonderful children. As a teenager and again in my early 20s, I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I can't imagine my life without them. They make me proud, angry, happy and even discouraged at different times! I am grateful again to my husband; he had to be the bad cop most of the time. I got to be the loving mommy, and got the hugs and the thanks. I hope they realize the sacrifices he has made for them. I consider my daughter one of my closest friends at this point, but I am not afraid to "scold" her, even now, if I feel it's necessary. She knows she will always be my baby girl! You were the first; not an easy thing,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohn1RX7ocw_uS8W5HRdE7FHXJs4oNl_fLMJWagHa_86iwlIMuY2unx-T752dhhyoe5_PLA7QKVJmCGWf0ufrDzESMsonuApOOxni3EZ1cRASWdnQ33wy1_-lMo96lU9sPfTldTNAqyJY/s1600/Char+with+her+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohn1RX7ocw_uS8W5HRdE7FHXJs4oNl_fLMJWagHa_86iwlIMuY2unx-T752dhhyoe5_PLA7QKVJmCGWf0ufrDzESMsonuApOOxni3EZ1cRASWdnQ33wy1_-lMo96lU9sPfTldTNAqyJY/s320/Char+with+her+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char in the center of her family</td></tr>
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as we were growing up with you! You have made me very proud! And to my number 1 son, you are a gift! We have leaned on you more often than the others. I was a middle child too, so I know the territory! I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you! To my baby boy, you have given us so much! It's easier to raise you. I would love to say it's because we've done it twice already, but I think much of the credit goes to you. You have made it easy for us! I am so excited to see what you will become! I already feel a great sense of pride when I identify you as my son!<br />
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I can say that at 50, I am very happy in my job. I have really enjoyed most jobs I have had, but at this time in my life, working two part time jobs,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Molly in Spain</td></tr>
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one at home and one outside the home just seems to fit! I get the social aspect I need from the outside job and the flexibility I need from the home-based job. I like the flexibility as it allows me time for my family, both immediate and extended. I have to thank my hubby for this. He has allowed me the freedom to do this and supported me always, both emotionally and financially. <br />
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So, I guess I will close with a bit of advice for you "youngsters" out there who have not yet joined the "club" (my friends tell me it's a club). <br />
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First, don't wait until you're my age to make and keep good friends. In order to have a friend, you<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzbr3TRBgNYnU_hg-KOLahWxY8JquvuZRrBO6lFPbjZT5M04JHVrsVwDczpcyNaWlaP84WMYmn5SULsM0HX3R9qgl6ZsmAL5F9eR4vzgZuT2RT3OZJYvM15nTYpybD4BMSMvWpebtr3g/s1600/Char+and+Dan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzbr3TRBgNYnU_hg-KOLahWxY8JquvuZRrBO6lFPbjZT5M04JHVrsVwDczpcyNaWlaP84WMYmn5SULsM0HX3R9qgl6ZsmAL5F9eR4vzgZuT2RT3OZJYvM15nTYpybD4BMSMvWpebtr3g/s320/Char+and+Dan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Danny at dinner</td></tr>
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have to BE a friend. It took me a long time to realize this. Sometimes you have to initiate the call, go to the event you don't want to, or just listen to a long story. Good friends are not hard to find, but like every relationship, you must work to maintain it. <br />
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Second, if you are not married yet, when you do find that special someone, talk about everything. Talk about your hopes, your dreams, how many kids you want, what kind of a job you want, where you want to live, and where your parents will live when they are too old to be on their own. Always communicate. It's more important than ANYTHING in a marriage. If you talk about everything, you are more likely to stay together. If you are having trouble<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHzwjpQ9uzWHSy6pvfFRFFSn71QwE1rUCcxj41juxRcKXZdiojWOw4UC32kZfwZ_7hNehMc7bd4HlSteJpIgAgc2GXVqPaPhvATf9jZ53VwMApBdvcSS8-uL3ZSRlzkhb3tVNnmbPPNE/s1600/Char+and+nolan+in+suit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHzwjpQ9uzWHSy6pvfFRFFSn71QwE1rUCcxj41juxRcKXZdiojWOw4UC32kZfwZ_7hNehMc7bd4HlSteJpIgAgc2GXVqPaPhvATf9jZ53VwMApBdvcSS8-uL3ZSRlzkhb3tVNnmbPPNE/s320/Char+and+nolan+in+suit.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Nolan</td></tr>
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in your marriage, DON'T just quit!!! Don't be afraid to go to counseling. When you got married, you said for life, so stay in it!<br />
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Talk to your kids, at every age. Don't be afraid to discipline them when they need it. Remember that they are your children! As much as you want to be their friend, it's most important that you be their parent. They will have other friends, and they may get mad at you from time to time, but they will grow up having learned respect, discipline and love if you guide them as a parent, not as a friend. If you follow this, the friend part will come later, I promise you! <br />
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Exercise!! If you get used to doing it now, it will be easier when you get "old". It is true that it's harder to lose weight as you get older. Sigh, that one is a fact! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA84v1oR5JJB7wUui400_ZB2OavUgmVgwSbLXQEnRk531QoaayZngJgM6IshHrOxCi_gn9NRHK6mbc7MaqLLenKGkaiEq-gTF46dmL18LrnWUszKJ0qciA2NCYsQtUF1gxenVpEgnBTsU/s1600/Char+and+I+sweaty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA84v1oR5JJB7wUui400_ZB2OavUgmVgwSbLXQEnRk531QoaayZngJgM6IshHrOxCi_gn9NRHK6mbc7MaqLLenKGkaiEq-gTF46dmL18LrnWUszKJ0qciA2NCYsQtUF1gxenVpEgnBTsU/s320/Char+and+I+sweaty.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and I at a wedding</td></tr>
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Find a job you love! Or learn to love the job you have! It's not important what your job is, but it important to be the best at what you do. Think positively at work and you will enjoy your job much more!<br />
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Like I said at the beginning, 50 is just another number. For me, 50 is fabulous!!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fabulous 50 year old author</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char and Wilson</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWdVgFKvm4fpM8GDR91YyydDK7Asl0GMKEO9TjkEsCcOpgFp-WWNJcRKR31YkGiwR3TJi_E7qfEJOSHUCHqbviWNhrCZ2qoPUVJx9bCpwgY6B7acvA2BhTnAO8v7Blf1WYyrOisQwkPM/s1600/char+and+I+red+rocks+sedona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWdVgFKvm4fpM8GDR91YyydDK7Asl0GMKEO9TjkEsCcOpgFp-WWNJcRKR31YkGiwR3TJi_E7qfEJOSHUCHqbviWNhrCZ2qoPUVJx9bCpwgY6B7acvA2BhTnAO8v7Blf1WYyrOisQwkPM/s400/char+and+I+red+rocks+sedona.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking the red rocks in Sedona</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddg9gDtyVfgYKqAxAw0rfGUi_un-J4vlj0auh7rxM_k997QBsjYjkIyjiFaLKxPxLXDh4ed2ZqEgxfXvRw7u4X0YjR_UjO-86jIn57Ufp_-dlJoRSckj6zbL66zfxLgjGZ25c4SEaP8Y/s1600/Char+with+Dolphin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddg9gDtyVfgYKqAxAw0rfGUi_un-J4vlj0auh7rxM_k997QBsjYjkIyjiFaLKxPxLXDh4ed2ZqEgxfXvRw7u4X0YjR_UjO-86jIn57Ufp_-dlJoRSckj6zbL66zfxLgjGZ25c4SEaP8Y/s400/Char+with+Dolphin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swimming with the dolphins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8wA9Vf6ENNHFbp8Ze7bzrqQY7kgnNbio9Kt3agACQ4TLXjLwOLZnU_cZ8mCAkpXWpREM1phPU10Y42lD6Ia8Ix4tJUik32CbS_qDLwMzvkqPZ9O96WCf7nvc0NRwkMUrHgVD1FB7vDI/s1600/Char+with+Rita+and+Beeg+karoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8wA9Vf6ENNHFbp8Ze7bzrqQY7kgnNbio9Kt3agACQ4TLXjLwOLZnU_cZ8mCAkpXWpREM1phPU10Y42lD6Ia8Ix4tJUik32CbS_qDLwMzvkqPZ9O96WCf7nvc0NRwkMUrHgVD1FB7vDI/s400/Char+with+Rita+and+Beeg+karoking.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Meter Maid and Wilson karaoking</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZErafAu2585rAlsvjzxt7m0utaDJa7JBMycXdN-3xBHyjsKpOBa0_hfd7VXOYOVoEzVOInWpJC4EtWJHSmHBH2w3-4-tg2iKzmLWDltkM1xb-TQWtjlP8OaHfn2Tz19sEYPEpmY4KwF4/s1600/Char+with+Scouts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZErafAu2585rAlsvjzxt7m0utaDJa7JBMycXdN-3xBHyjsKpOBa0_hfd7VXOYOVoEzVOInWpJC4EtWJHSmHBH2w3-4-tg2iKzmLWDltkM1xb-TQWtjlP8OaHfn2Tz19sEYPEpmY4KwF4/s400/Char+with+Scouts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Char with our Scout Troop</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRr3lhqsL-9JKsqI6M-gtnfcBhyphenhyphenONxs6rfzs-QgTDnz2MSYXh0N3NgbyFd40XEsj4v9NAeXHOEHWJIG2Ohx7sjIzemsUuuWDvifsm8zF09Bewog2r8UgodhEIDttxu62o134NMSg2s2bk/s1600/volunteers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRr3lhqsL-9JKsqI6M-gtnfcBhyphenhyphenONxs6rfzs-QgTDnz2MSYXh0N3NgbyFd40XEsj4v9NAeXHOEHWJIG2Ohx7sjIzemsUuuWDvifsm8zF09Bewog2r8UgodhEIDttxu62o134NMSg2s2bk/s400/volunteers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the volunteers at the golf tournament</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijS3oFY00t1gy6648_CxYcVHzzGCHUd-D4arX4RZpVuwp659GopdPw972JxblWW1kN2vNONtVTqrI9J2f4Rc37d46Wigi8uNPx82atYgPpemzP-xwv4oeNgSlDN0sgG2OxU89zWT2f-vM/s1600/robcharme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijS3oFY00t1gy6648_CxYcVHzzGCHUd-D4arX4RZpVuwp659GopdPw972JxblWW1kN2vNONtVTqrI9J2f4Rc37d46Wigi8uNPx82atYgPpemzP-xwv4oeNgSlDN0sgG2OxU89zWT2f-vM/s400/robcharme.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book-ended by Ace and me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiavfxRbxnbTHUoTG1rXgU5ZmSZFcsTN_vA_gEziB3anUVCJyCUIFlxU64YNHXIjMEUEI9aO1Dt56zkelV2HNbUu0GaaU1v3GwAayrmHiyTIQlTs40PKroRSiE4ijFF0U70X5pO-CSx8/s1600/UB+Family+Weekend+2008007_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiavfxRbxnbTHUoTG1rXgU5ZmSZFcsTN_vA_gEziB3anUVCJyCUIFlxU64YNHXIjMEUEI9aO1Dt56zkelV2HNbUu0GaaU1v3GwAayrmHiyTIQlTs40PKroRSiE4ijFF0U70X5pO-CSx8/s400/UB+Family+Weekend+2008007_edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gSU_wlJ59XHOYJKMcUZh7ZpbwcWQZ-uqzMIFic6Y8syXrQqsc1RFH4FlSDIM0H3eGPmx8tg6xFVokmwNYxmT5S9b3Otx9niWzGh9KqGL19XEegPy3njaDIx8ztNH3R5-gAq0Bs5HBi4/s1600/Char+with+beer+and+sundress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gSU_wlJ59XHOYJKMcUZh7ZpbwcWQZ-uqzMIFic6Y8syXrQqsc1RFH4FlSDIM0H3eGPmx8tg6xFVokmwNYxmT5S9b3Otx9niWzGh9KqGL19XEegPy3njaDIx8ztNH3R5-gAq0Bs5HBi4/s400/Char+with+beer+and+sundress.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers !</td></tr>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-9106493696265878922013-11-05T07:29:00.001-05:002013-11-05T07:29:33.656-05:00Oh my Lord, I've become my Mother.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> My blogs, of late, seem to have been more serious, and I think I'm bumming some people out, so this week I'm returning to the original format of light comedy and a retelling of a family story, and this one about my mother seemed to just fit the bill. I'll thank sister Peppermint for suggesting it and serendipity for giving me the idea on how to start it. </i><br />
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<i> </i>This epiphany came as I flipped open my suitcase on one of my double beds in the 2nd hotel that I has stayed in that week. As I did that, the coffee K cups that I had liberated from the hotel room that<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stash I got from the Hilton</td></tr>
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I had occupied the night before came flying out of the unzipped top section of the suitcase and flew across the room. As I bent to pick up the pilfered pc's (short for portion control in this instance), I was struck by two thoughts, the first being that I really have to start being less dramatic about opening my suitcases in the empty rooms I occupy and the second was that, like it or not, I had become my mother. <br />
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My mother's frugality was legendary. If there was a way to reuse something or stretch it, my mother not only knew how to do it, but she did it better and likely invented doing it. She may have invented the whole idea of recycling or at the very least was green before being green was popular. Where most people would see an empty Millbrook bread bag, my mom saw the inner liner of a leaky winter boot. The paper ones would become our book covers or the resting place for hot, greasy cookies right out of the oven. Empty plastic milk jugs became bird feeders hung in trees by their handles, and coffee cans were used for storage of nuts and bolts in the garage. I could go on and on, but this story really is about her hoarding of portion control condiment packets that you get from restaurants and C-stores, and at that activity, she had no equal. <br />
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I'm not sure who to credit with inventing the pc packet for restaurants, but if I had to guess it would be McDonald's, Greek diners for jelly packets, or Chinese restaurants. Whatever the case is,<br />
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someone recognized that it was expensive to fill souffle cups with sauces and condiments and see half of them get thrown away, so they invented the 7/8 oz shelf stable packet and started serving them with meals or leaving them on counters for patrons to use. It surely was a cost savings in most instances, that is, until my mother came through the place. Now I have to be careful to not mar the memory of a near-sainted woman by implying that she took more that what was coming to her, but I can easily say, that if you delivered it to her table,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monty quizzing a potential player</td></tr>
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she considered it to be hers for the taking and the inventory would be secured in her purse (My mom called hers a pocketbook, not a purse, but I never saw a pocket that would hold that small suitcase sized handbag) prior to the 2nd coffee fill up, and yes she stockpiled everything. While I was growing up there was a game show on called "Let's Make a Deal" and the host, Monty Hall would challenge women to find obscure items in their purses for the chance to play on stage. My mom spent her lifetime preparing for that eventual meeting with Monty, and if he had asked my mom for pancake syrup, mayonnaise, jelly, margarine, and crackers, she could easily have supplied these out of the top strata of her purse (I picture archaeologists viewing a cross section of mom's purse at this point and picking out the years represented by the items like Halloween candy and pc's included in each layer or by carbon dating the packets). There is an urban legend in my family that has my mother making complete sandwiches out of her purse for us one time on a long car trip. It might be slightly exaggerated but it's highly<br />
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likely she would have had crackers, peanut butter, and jelly in there to at least make a snack. This reminds me of an oddity of what she carried, which was, I always remember her pulling wet-naps from Kentucky Fried Chicken out of her purse to help clean our sticky faces, but for the life of me, I never, ever remember going to Kentucky Fried Chicken as a kid, ever. I think she may have been having an affair with Colonel Sanders while I was at school each day, it's the only logical conclusion that I can come up with, and have you ever, seen my brother Socrates with a beard? See, I told you so. There's another story of mom saving a life with her purse by using a hair scrunchie as a tourniquet, a tampon to stop the bleeding and a travel sewing kit to suture the wound, but that's just silly and not at all apropos to this topic of storing food in her purse, so I won't tell it now. I think that I've painted the picture well enough now, of my mother's habit and now I have to talk about my problem.<br />
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If there is such a thing as a gateway pc, then for me it was definitely the hot mustard packets at Chinese restaurants. As embarrassed as I was at watching my mother sweep a table clean of condiments and emptying the roll basket directly into her pocketbook, that did not stop me from<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBgLt3G9GrIgiaJuvoikqUkSIZkfd3dK4Xt3ic2Tl-qXsnQv5NWFIp-Ti1j57IaYcpiHAyL0sBkwt1Hge9SJQNXBV9QC86JSBOP3meT_9JMLLApc8059863hkHGrFLxpiFwq5imw1MhoY/s1600/ColonelSanders_fullsize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBgLt3G9GrIgiaJuvoikqUkSIZkfd3dK4Xt3ic2Tl-qXsnQv5NWFIp-Ti1j57IaYcpiHAyL0sBkwt1Hge9SJQNXBV9QC86JSBOP3meT_9JMLLApc8059863hkHGrFLxpiFwq5imw1MhoY/s1600/ColonelSanders_fullsize.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found this picture buried in mom's candy drawer, weird. </td></tr>
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grabbing a few extra packets of the hot mustard for when I had egg rolls at home. For me you see, lobster is the vehicle that delivers butter directly into you and egg rolls do the same thing with that delicious spicy mustard. My wife would serve egg rolls at home and I wanted to have the same experience that I'd have at the Chinese place, but I couldn't because they didn't sell jars of that stuff at the supermarket, so I'd take a couple extra each time and stockpile them in my fridge. I'd rationalize my theft with thoughts like, "I paid for my meal, why can't I take a few for next time that they forget?" or "it's covered in their overhead cost" or finally " They wouldn't put them out there if they didn't want people to take them", but if I'm being truthful, it was the beginning of a slippery slope. Soon I started taking and stockpiling things that I didn't need like soy sauce and margarine packets from KFC. I<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIp_ZZQGu5lDYCPE1f1bCZ_DChQWbV02a-7Vk3V7ggJQ1OG04OFDmC7MVDRI6EJ__004U3hFDWrKywwvmRJ3MjV3SK_Gw37vL-_QkQr1EMR8PdloPLQxF633GFg2MsqSrioyf-xuOHfe0/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIp_ZZQGu5lDYCPE1f1bCZ_DChQWbV02a-7Vk3V7ggJQ1OG04OFDmC7MVDRI6EJ__004U3hFDWrKywwvmRJ3MjV3SK_Gw37vL-_QkQr1EMR8PdloPLQxF633GFg2MsqSrioyf-xuOHfe0/s320/index.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 4th grade math book</td></tr>
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was beginning to have an issue. I progressed from soy sauce, to jelly (sometimes you just need a little), to honey and then it kept going. I'm posting an actual picture of the things that are currently in my fridge but if you can't make it out, they include, KFC margarine, honey, mustard packs, a flavored coffee creamer, picante sauce, soy sauce, Chinese hot mustard (I'm almost out), McDonald hot mustard (it's a backup to the Chinese one, because you know I need a backup), and the makings for a Caesar salad, Italian dressing, Romano cheese and croutons. God help me, I've become my mother, she could make a sandwich out of her purse and I can make a salad out of mine. I need help. I opened this blog with my admission of taking the coffee from the hotel, but truth be told, it didn't end there. I came home with a wrapped bar of soap (handy for backpacking with my Scouts), a shoe shine cloth (and I never shine my shoes), a makeup remover cloth (not going there), a bag of complimentary microwave popcorn, tea bags, small lotion, shampoo and conditioner and finally a travel sewing kit, because hey, you never know when you'll need that. I've admitted I have a problem, now I just have to find a therapist.<br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-83224874216279350352013-10-29T05:18:00.000-04:002013-10-29T05:18:23.955-04:00My Last Wishes <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>I've had a rough time with some deaths over the last few years. You get used to the elderly dying, but it's the others that wear on you, and I've had more than my share of those, people whose lives were ended seemingly before their times, and at some point my sincerest condolences started to sound like empty platitudes. The reality of each situation hit me, and it was that I couldn't really do anything to make this better and I struggled with that, because I wanted to try to help and make it better. I did decide, however, that I could address this topic prior to my passing so at least there would be some notes on how I feel about my own departure. </i></div>
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I know there will be sadness, that's the nature of these things. We miss what we can no longer <br />
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have and that is understandable, but do not weep for my loss but rejoice in my life, because you know darn well I'd do it if I could. There is so much pressure to have a dignified wake and a long receiving line of family, but I want none of it. I refuse to buy in that it is a comfort for the remaining loved ones to stand and listen to how I'll be missed as if each person that tells them it is imparting some new bit of information. These are generally somber, long, uncomfortable and hot affairs and I want none of it, thank you very much. I'd opt for the Irish Wake... if you please. </div>
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I'll leave the money behind, but please rent out a bar (one with a comfortable amount of room, like Eddie O'Brien's in Cdga) and place me quietly in a corner and let the liquor start to flow. I'd like my sister Hummingbird's husband to help negotiate this, he knows the local haunts and he won't them<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigL4uPQLvwyAFXbUQ4a9MfXYWj4Y-LEWK6-SvUkk-Fn6Wc3nN82-8t3ZDdA9rPBTjcvuY8Oe9qNDhyphenhyphen3LKR5ufuIW6AxkI_8IgcFVdBHcsd8u9i0aYqIftRzspRe6bztvJdX7nQy9wE9b8/s1600/554688714905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigL4uPQLvwyAFXbUQ4a9MfXYWj4Y-LEWK6-SvUkk-Fn6Wc3nN82-8t3ZDdA9rPBTjcvuY8Oe9qNDhyphenhyphen3LKR5ufuIW6AxkI_8IgcFVdBHcsd8u9i0aYqIftRzspRe6bztvJdX7nQy9wE9b8/s320/554688714905.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This would be a good spot </td></tr>
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serve the cheap stuff. You'll have to buy out the bar, but I'd like the libations to flow free and easy and I'd like my family to sit or stand in pockets of areas where the friends that know me and them, can come and share a laugh or two about my shenanigans when I was alive. Place my favorite drink upon my coffin, and don't be cheap, refresh it when the ice melts and I'm sure I'll appreciate it. Have Food. I'm sure my death will be caused by something food related, as it is the one vice I've always had and never, ever, thought about giving up, so have food and make it plentiful and good and for God's sake someone put money in the jukebox. I like noise and din and the best times of my life I was surrounded by it, so don't let my last outing be quiet. Does that sound like me? Of course not. Let it run until the end of the night. I was never one to leave a party that was in<br />
full swing and most times I had to be gently reminded by my wife that we seemed to be the last<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I hope it looks like during the wake</td></tr>
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stragglers, and so let it be with my last party too. Make sure people get home safe, but let them eat and drink their fill, and spill their drinks and blame me for their pounding heads the next morning, now that would be a send-off! Toasts would be in order, sure. Toast to the memories that you have, toast to my beautiful widow and to my remaining offspring that they should live so full of a life, because I know I had a good one, it's already in the bank. Sing songs and if you want to, end the night drunkenly singing "American Pie" or "Waltzing Mathilda", arm in arm and swaying to and fro. What a grand night it will be, and the people they would talk. They'd peer in the windows and observe such a queer affair and they'd whisper how inappropriate such a thing would be (and they would too), but go ahead and let them, for you see you have the honored guest's permission to act up, out, or in any other fashion that you'd like to that evening, I wouldn't have it any other way. Make sure to give the Last Call shout loudly, and flick the lights to make sure that everyone knows that the party is ending, and this one last time, I hope you won't mind if I skip the party clean up, I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.<br />
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There will have to be a Mass and I wouldn't want that any other way either. Don't feel obligated to attend if you aren't religious, you'll just get confused on when to sit,stand or kneel, but to my<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1dloE4fJ7xRoNU20zg4wpbwa0MVY66DSDKAL6R6Nm6vSQFLHSnJX7AWiw8JeZ1dzdqAH7LH1BB3ZCZMZGfLHhdXxMari1ZYxJj7jKWEAoX6V9GrCiuELgj2zMgUXaDHOpEGGjFGRQbs/s1600/wake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1dloE4fJ7xRoNU20zg4wpbwa0MVY66DSDKAL6R6Nm6vSQFLHSnJX7AWiw8JeZ1dzdqAH7LH1BB3ZCZMZGfLHhdXxMari1ZYxJj7jKWEAoX6V9GrCiuELgj2zMgUXaDHOpEGGjFGRQbs/s320/wake.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure if these guys are available but it would be cool</td></tr>
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Christian brethren, come and rejoice, hopefully it's the start of something wonderful. I'd like my favorite songs to be song, and if my nieces and nephews were so inclined, I'd like them to do it, they have great voices. Please make sure to do "Amazing Grace", "Be not Afraid", "Here I am Lord" and be sure to "Rock my soul on the bosom of Abraham" too. If a eulogy would be in order and if I could pick those who knew me, I'd choose my closest brother, Ace, my youngest sister, Wilson, and my friend Drew to represent all my friends that I held so dear (plus I always liked the way he spoke, you'll love it, trust me). If my wife and children want to compose their thoughts and have them read by the priest or by another eulogizer, that would be nice too, but I wouldn't put pressure on them to speak that day. You can pick the readings, I like them all, but if you can sneak the one in about wives being submissive to their husbands, it'll give Char a chuckle cuz I always poked her in the ribs during this one so that she'd pay attention. You can end the funeral festivities here, I don't need a crowd gathered around a hole in the ground throwing handfuls of dirt on me, and I kind of like the idea of being cremated so send me back over to the funeral home and let them take care of it (Quick shout out to Johnson-Kennedy in Cdga, please use them, they hired me as a kid, and sponsored the golf tournament each year, so it would be good to give them back some of their money, Hi Jim !). <br />
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On where to bury me, it's too soon to call, but today I'd pick Hall. I've made this little community my home for over 20 years and it's as good a place as any to put me down. My headstone can be<br />
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simple, I think they charge by the word, so something like "Here lies a sinner" or "Son, Brother, Husband, Father" would be nice too. These are ways that I think of myself and I doubt that they will ever change. If I've got a little money left, I'd like to give a chunk to the local Boy Scout Troop. The more time that I spent in Scouting, the more that I realized it's value, and if I can leave some sort of legacy to them in the form of a scholarship, a continuing bond, or even a kick-ass log cabin meeting room stuck in the woods somewhere, well, I'd like that, and it would keep kids coming back to Scouts for a while, which I would like even better. <br />
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These are my last wishes. There will sure to be a contingent that will try and send me out another<br />
way and argue that this was done for entertainment purposes, but they'd be dead wrong. The ones that know me best, know that this is the way that I'd truly like to leave. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As Scouters, we play Taps at the end of the day.</td></tr>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-69196601239773550532013-10-22T06:49:00.001-04:002013-10-22T06:49:50.772-04:00It's good to have a backup....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> I wasn't always this way, I was like every young person out there, flying by the seat of my pants, directionless sometimes, acting on impulse, trusting that it will all work out somehow, but then I changed, and it's tough to go back once you start using backups. </i><br />
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My wife laughs at me. Well, not at those critical times, but she does laugh at me, especially about my backups, but you see, I need them. There was a time when the notion of a backup seemed ludicrous to me, and I think I can recall the turning point. I was assigned to work with an old timer at the pie company where I was employed, so early on a Tuesday am, I found myself pulling<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMIz6u8mrMNQyUpc7oKacX7UR1RXgGCMuJUej-cgx4rtvgOPwMCbP6d2Znyb7a-gS4fNLh78Z-U2GfFpE1r0t8azD-SoE8Bs49OtxPnA8EWY6G0qn_T-3MzhOAHYXlYgLxcvuflmVhf_L5/s1600/il_570xN.426307504_bi7d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMIz6u8mrMNQyUpc7oKacX7UR1RXgGCMuJUej-cgx4rtvgOPwMCbP6d2Znyb7a-gS4fNLh78Z-U2GfFpE1r0t8azD-SoE8Bs49OtxPnA8EWY6G0qn_T-3MzhOAHYXlYgLxcvuflmVhf_L5/s320/il_570xN.426307504_bi7d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
into his garage in a small suburb of Cleveland. He lived in a modest ranch house with a postage stamp size front lawn, and the backyard looked to be the same size. As we pulled in, I looked up on the peg board wall and directly in front of me, hung at a 45 degree angle, was an old fashioned aluminum 3 bar sprinkler and just beneath it sat an identical one. I had just seen the size of the lawn so I immediately queried my companion in the car about the need for the 2nd sprinkler, and he said simply, "Well, you see, you got your original sprinkler on top, and then below that, you got your backup sprinkler !" as if it was the most normal thing in the world to buy two of something when the immediate need would have been well covered by one and likely for a long time. I shook my head and thought what an odd duck he was, and that thought stayed with me as we worked a few days together, and on my flight home, and right up until his system started working itself into my head.<br />
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It was a few weeks after that when one of my toilets in the house broke and while attempting a repair I realized that I needed a ball flapper kit. It was late enough that I wasn't going to drive the 20<br />
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minutes to the hardware store and hadn't I just had replaced one of these on another toilet a few weeks previous? I turned off the water and got the expected comments from all the other residents of the house but as I settled back into my easy chair, the thought hit me that if I had only purchased two of them the last time, I could have had it fixed by now, but alas I did not have a backup. The next morning, however, I went to the hardware store and bought not one ball flapper kit, but one, plus a backup. I was hooked. From that point on, while making repairs I started stockpiling backups. If I needed a spark plug, I bought two, one screw became a handful, and little by little my garage began to look like the hardware store, but I had my backups. My wife questioned, one time, why I ordered 2 fog free shower mirrors, and my rationale was that wasn't I saving the $7 shipping by ordering 2 and if I replaced it once, wouldn't I need to do it again? Oddly enough, the first one leaked like a sieve when I installed it and I haven't quite gotten around to replacing it with its backup (I think a part of me is afraid it will leak too, and my wife would be right in that I have no need of two leaky shower mirrors). <br />
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Soon my backup planning started working itself into other parts of my life. I now rarely go out without throwing a backup shirt in the car. Sound silly? Have you ever gone to a party and immediately dripped something onto your shirt? Had someone spill wine on you? Noticed a stain<br />
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that you didn't see when you first put the shirt on? I'm covered if this happens, and I know the shirt will match my pants. Although I rarely have need of them, I started throwing a coat in the car, just in case. This habit has backfired on me, you can read about it here (<a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-could-live-vicariously-through-my.html">I could live vicariously through my lost jackets</a> ). Although I own a GPS and swap it up every few years, and my car has built in navigation, I regularly bring printed directions with me, as a backup. I've noticed, in big cities, that the GPS's get funky around the tall buildings, so I just need to glance at my backup<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvMlOifyVMpEQN9-IQkl7g5HieltuwZryibRYTL7RXYF4xKak3ioveptvpek0Lv2tptJZ9m56Ty2vgyP5hAcFRDhQKkn0nLadBD5pnF_xUZdLRArLEiKdzxBxIErx-wmxpQvELVx2981Z/s1600/lf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvMlOifyVMpEQN9-IQkl7g5HieltuwZryibRYTL7RXYF4xKak3ioveptvpek0Lv2tptJZ9m56Ty2vgyP5hAcFRDhQKkn0nLadBD5pnF_xUZdLRArLEiKdzxBxIErx-wmxpQvELVx2981Z/s1600/lf.jpg" /></a></div>
copy, if that happens, to make sure I'm on track still. On a trip a few months ago, one morning I found myself standing in the wrong borough in NYC because I didn't get my schedule in advance and that's where the GPS took me when I punched in the address I was given. I lost a whole morning's work due to the lack of a backup. My cell phone belt clip broke shortly thereafter and I had my wife order 2 replacements for me (of course she questioned it, I suspect she thought about my backup shower mirror as she did so). Although the original clip lasted over a year, I ended up snagging the new one on a chair within a few weeks and have already started using the backup (Of course I did a victory lap when I got home from that trip proving to my wife how important my backups were). I swap out my travel suitcases before I need to, and use the old one as a backup. There's a shelf in my bathroom that has half a dozen of my travel sized shaving cream, deodorant, and toothpaste on it (They can be tough to find). I own 2 solar chargers for camping for charging my phone and other electronics, there's a cabinet in my house full of backup coffee and blender carafes, some of which are kind of useless, since the base parts broke and I didn't back<b> them</b> up. I may have to admit that I have a problem or have a garage sale like everyone else.<br />
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Last week I heard my wife ordering a remote control helicopter for my son and I yelled up the<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTW6OXuA0ujenMkYqoAIF_8c98nokLV_W71b57kkLDkme2srhcdf0aSvJt2yhSAnVr9_BzFYrOE8cCWGo7GACrF6pFFW0rWL1cTpjWsfLWOtlard1sDQXctRxEl0OFNdFiUdldVAV36yF/s1600/SWNTOYCO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTW6OXuA0ujenMkYqoAIF_8c98nokLV_W71b57kkLDkme2srhcdf0aSvJt2yhSAnVr9_BzFYrOE8cCWGo7GACrF6pFFW0rWL1cTpjWsfLWOtlard1sDQXctRxEl0OFNdFiUdldVAV36yF/s1600/SWNTOYCO.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's probably coming to the house today.</td></tr>
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stairs that we could probably use a backup one but it was strangely quiet up there after I directed her. Fed-ex should come today, and I'm hopeful that she's come on board with my plan. It's time to post this blog now, but rest assured, if anything funky happens to it, or if it disappears off the Internet mysteriously, there is no need to panic, for you see, I've got a backup. For the record though, I still own just one sprinkler, buying another one would just be weird, right? <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-57826361208817592502013-10-15T07:12:00.000-04:002013-10-15T07:30:23.436-04:00How dry I am....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> I'm taking a little breather from alcohol lately and I thought this am, I'd chronicle the start of this adventure.</i><br />
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Hello, my name is Bill and I'm a.... blog writer. Gotcha, you thought you knew where I was going with that first line, didn't you? That's kind of the reason for my self-imposed departure from drinking. You see, the opinions of my friends, relatives, co-workers, and blog readers matter to me, and of late, they were connecting me and drinking and sometimes excessive drinking together a little too easily, and I didn't like it. Now anyone following this blog, my exploits on Facebook, or me<br />
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coming out of most establishments on Saturday nights, can tell I'm a fan of alcohol, but that doesn't mean that it's a vital component of my life, so this stint of sobriety, for me, is like hitting the reset button. If I've set a bad example with my drinking habits, which admittedly I probably have, well this will help even the scales a little, or so I hope.<br />
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There was no "aha" moment that led to this decision, but there were a series of them that helped me to this choice. I'm to blame right off the bat because I celebrated my drinking exploits loudly to everyone. Here's a quick test to illustrate my point...<br />
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1. Name my favorite alcoholic spirit (type and brand)<br />
2. What is my favorite mixer?<br />
3. Where's my preferred spot to be on a Friday night in summer?<br />
4. Name 5 bars that I frequent.<br />
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I'd be surprised if most people don't get these answers right, because I talk about these things a lot and maybe to a fault. If I asked similar questions about other aspects of my life, they wouldn't be as easy to answer, for example.....<br />
<br />
1. How many boys in my Scout Troop?<br />
2. What is my job title and area of responsibility?<br />
3. Name 3 books that I've read<br />
4. Name 3 TV shows that I follow<br />
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How did you do? That's why I'm taking the blame, I'm a victim of my own poor PR campaign. I<br />
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spend a lot of time each week involved in these activities too, but I tend to advertise my drinking habits first and loudest, so I shouldn't have been surprised when the advertising campaign worked. Another component of this is my choice of drink, which is a hard liquor, gin. I like to order double, tall, drinks to avoid going back to the bar as often, but I know some people don't get the distinction of what a double, tall is. They hear double only, neglecting the fact that the drink I've ordered has the same ratio of alcohol to mixer as if I've ordered a single. If I drink one of these and my companion has two craft beers during the same period, our blood alcohol contents are almost identical. It's true that a shot and a half of a spirit has the same alcohol content as a 12 oz bottle of beer, but craft beers are typically served in a pint glass (16 oz) and can have 30-70% more alcohol content that standard beer, but I'd argue that no stigma is attached to drinking those. It is easier to protect and monitor yourself from the "overpour" with beer though, as I truly can't know how much alcohol I am consuming when I am at bar but beer drinkers can.<br />
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Back on point, some people had mentioned my drinking, my "need" to drink as much as I did sometimes, and I was even mistaken for being drunk one time when I was completely sober, which<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYxuVVLf5V3_yUwfz0gQ-GVsXncwF0c-wb_uqzoyje6dkzxDRaGiLwF7CApku05B_cpo5sUafugurOxSiOUPydXsya6ZwDrlT_O4Ff2yjiAv8kj0Qd3J-vsQeFiKZFUh0nC6BDNTS2nTY/s1600/jco0120l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYxuVVLf5V3_yUwfz0gQ-GVsXncwF0c-wb_uqzoyje6dkzxDRaGiLwF7CApku05B_cpo5sUafugurOxSiOUPydXsya6ZwDrlT_O4Ff2yjiAv8kj0Qd3J-vsQeFiKZFUh0nC6BDNTS2nTY/s320/jco0120l.jpg" width="320" /></a> made me take a step back and analyze my behaviors. My wife and I had a candid discussion of my habits and hers, and we both decided we could do with a scheduled departure from drinking and we arbitrarily picked the end of the year as the target and that was 8 weeks ago. I've had planned periods of sobriety before, I've given it up for Lent a few years, 2 years ago I went the first 45 days of a diet without it, and every weekend I dedicate to Scouts is alcohol free, including the week this summer that I went to Jamboree, but this is the longest time that I've chosen to not drink. It' s a long enough time that I am also looking at how drinking and not drinking may affect my chronic arthritis too and I am looking forward to this experiment.<br />
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It's been going smoothly so far, but I can already see how alcohol has become a habitual part of a lot of my outings. I was in Canada recently with a peer, and it just seemed weird to not drink with him in the evenings, and frankly I miss my bar time overall. As an extrovert I get edgy if I don't have a large amount of social interaction each week, and this is where I had traditionally sought it. I still<br />
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go out to them, but not as frequently, and I drink club soda or non alcoholic beers, but it seems strange to do so. I've attended 2 weddings and it turns out that I can still dance and make as big of an ass of myself and overstay my welcome, without alcohol involved, go figure. I went out for mocktails with my wife last week and I tripped on a rug coming out of the bathroom of a bar and I was cold stone sober, so I've discovered that I've just gotten clumsier with age, alcohol or not, but admittedly I don't feel as bad now when I spill my drinks as I would if they had alcohol in them. I get asked a lot if I feel better, and truthfully I don't. I used alcohol to help manage my arthritis pain, especially at night, but it's way too early to tell if I can manage it better somehow through a new diet or more exercise and try to prevent the inflammation versus medicating it afterwards. An added benefit has been more time spent with my son who is still at home. We've done some family game nights and some hiking on the weekends that would probably not have happened if we hadn't changed our habits. I've been able to interact with my older children, in venues with alcohol successfully, although alcohol consumption when they visited had become the norm previously. I hope I am setting a better example for them, as they live in Buffalo and the bars there don't close until 4, so drinking in excess is pretty common. Lastly I was able to go to my sister. Meter Maid's pig roast, an event for me that was tied to drinking all day and night, and had a fantastic time with everyone there, sober or not (and to my niece who claims I never mention her in my blog, Hi Kelsey!). <br />
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So that's the sober truth of this little experiment and I'm looking forward to the last few months of it and what we can discover. I pride myself with looking for ways to improve and this falls right in line with that thinking. So wish me luck with the rest of this journey, and not for nothing, if you need a DD, I'm likely available, Cheers. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-27450490651517851022013-10-08T16:06:00.003-04:002013-10-08T16:06:26.244-04:00Make some time for giving back.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i> As I contemplate the impending end of this blog at the close of this year, I want to make sure that I've hit the high points and since the blog will live beyond me on the Internet and possibly in written form, this will become some lasting advice to my children and any of their future offspring. This morning I talk about a topic of utmost importance to my family and that is the obligation to give back. </i></div>
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My children were all taught this lesson both by word and deed, because we were taught this lesson first. For us, it was never an option not to get involved in our community,church, civic and school organizations<br />
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and to make the best use of our God-given talents, it was our duty to. My father worked 2-3 jobs for most of his life and supported 12 children through his efforts. He could have easily sat idle for those few hours each day that he got to himself, but he didn't. He pitched in, and gave back. If it wasn't doing pro bono electrical and plumbing work for families in need, it was helping his church set up for their festival, or calling the bingo numbers at the local Knights of Columbus hall. He made marinades and flipped chickens at BBQ fundraisers and whenever asked to help, he answered yes, if he possibly could. My mother did the same. Aside from raising the 12 of us, she volunteered at the church, she counseled pregnant women at the Birthright Center, she participated in Mother's Circle and shared her child rearing secrets with the ladies there. They both set a powerful example to their children, that no matter how busy you were, there should always be time dedicated to giving back and to making the world a better place.<br />
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The next generation carried the torch too. My children's aunts and uncles (on both sides of your family) have joined the Knights of Columbus, Kiwanis, the Sons of the American Legion, Sports and Drama Boosters and <br />
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scores of other civic organizations. They've coached teams and led Boy and Girl Scout Troops. An aunt of theirs continues in her mother's footsteps and is on the board of a pregnancy center and another participates with the Big Sister program. A few of their uncles volunteer to serve Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner at a local Salvation Army and another of their uncles has been known to donate his labor doing electrical work for the indigent, reminding me of my father, and he's not even on that side of my family. Not all the work is with an organization, some of it is just one person helping another, like my sister who makes casseroles and such for funerals of deceased neighbors. Another donates the proceeds from an auction she has at her annual pig roast to different charities, and when her area experienced some major flooding, she was one of the first to pitch in and one of the last to stop helping. I have a sister who is not fond of crowds but has volunteered for the St Vincent de Paul Society sorting clothes for the needy. A brother of mine is a local volunteer fireman, and he donates some of his catering time each year to the needy. Another brother and his wife work the local tomato festival where they live and that's in addition to all the work they did for drama clubs and schools. Every one of my siblings and a lot of my wife's too, donate time and money to our charity golf tournament each year. I'm sure I could fill 2 more paragraphs with more specifics but I think you get the point, my children and their cousins are surrounded by great examples of how one should use their talents to improve their community. It's becoming their time to pick up the mantle now.<br />
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I'll admit some worry on whether this next generation will be able to match the generosity and charitable works of the previous ones. I think they were all raised in a time where "attention to me" became the mantra that <br />
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was taught and we rewarded attempts at the same level as successes, which cannot be a healthy combination. They face more problems than my generation did, a crushing US debt load, rising college costs and shrinking job markets, and increased competition for those jobs on a global scale now. They would have a lot of excuses to not pitch in, and that worries me somewhat. I worry too that they may choose to work in fields where the needy are helped, but stop there short of doing additional work. That would be a shame because it's never the same being paid to perform as it is to do it without compensation. A job, no matter how noble, has a tendency to become just the means to a paycheck. Volunteers, however, choose each day to go out and do, or sometimes not. I'll close with a challenge to this new generation, to rise above the toils and turmoil that we left you with and pitch in to make it a better place. You are going to need to give something back, in order to see improvement in your communities, and after all your parents set the example for you already. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-48696495231401572402013-09-23T05:43:00.002-04:002013-09-24T07:09:29.180-04:00Kids, it's how I met your mother.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i> I've been giving it a lot of thought lately, and I'll likely end the blog this year. It's been a great outlet for my creativity, and I've been able to chronicle a lot of my family stories and to give everyone a great peek behind the curtain as to what makes me tick, but I have an impending fear that I will eventually repeat myself in a blog, which is to say, I will write an entire blog on a subject that I have previously covered and post it. I'd like to avoid that and finish in a manner befitting how this blog got started. I've got some milestones coming up, the end of the year, the 100,000 hit, or even the 200th blog so I'll time the end to coincide with one of these, but with the end looming, I want to make sure I've covered all the important topics, thus this morning's entry.....</i><br />
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It's far from the traditional "love at first sight" story, and stop me if you've heard this one (as if you could), but this is how I met your mother. It was 1981 and I was a Sophomore in high school in Canandaigua NY. Like every other high schooler, I spent each day clawing my way up the school<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEA3pPmzwD5iasZN9C4xDpUUEURXTDQu4LG5DCETkw0dQNIAHHte8b9NW0_nYvM91hc1MMRHTDxRUwu7KdmDnnZUdeaZnh20lBhh8ag2gZTvI4wD2tLZ5EXFZyNFK1_98APKayNZWqHMAV/s1600/Sisyphus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEA3pPmzwD5iasZN9C4xDpUUEURXTDQu4LG5DCETkw0dQNIAHHte8b9NW0_nYvM91hc1MMRHTDxRUwu7KdmDnnZUdeaZnh20lBhh8ag2gZTvI4wD2tLZ5EXFZyNFK1_98APKayNZWqHMAV/s320/Sisyphus.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's how I rolled in high school </td></tr>
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social ladder, with many of these mirroring the task of Sisyphus, pushing my boulder up the hill, only to have it roll back down each night, but unlike Sisyphus of Greek mythology, I was at least gaining some ground. I had earned some level of popularity, my sense of humor was becoming well honed and I'd started to develop the ability to converse with members of the opposite sex (a skill you've seen me use regularly) and was in fact, becoming quite good at it. I had an English class late in the day, called Mystery and Suspense and to the left of me and within earshot of my witty banter, sat a few women, and among them, was your mother. Now, I far from targeted her, for me at that time it was a numbers game, you know, talk to 1000 women, have 100 talk back to you, and find the 1 that would be stupid enough to date you and hope she asks you out (I said I could talk to women, I did not say I could ask them out yet). At any rate, before and after class would start, I would regale the ladies with my stories of chicken wing slinging at Papa Frank's and they would enjoy the interactions. Your mother was not if the midst of her high school years, she was a senior and soon to graduate and I suspect as the year drew to a close, she sensed our impending departures<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the quad would have looked like, if I went to Hogwarts</td></tr>
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from each other, and very late in the year and at the end of class one day, she asked me to borrow my pen. I handed over said, nondescript pen and then with the weirdest smile or smirk or whatever it was, she proceeded to the nearest window, which was ajar and led to a grassy quad in the middle of the school buildings, and dropped it out the window ! What a nutjob. I'll never know her grand plan to get to know me better or how she perceived that it would go in that crazy little head of hers, but I'll say two things, I did not ask her out after that incident, but I did watch her and my stuff around her a lot closer after that (that tactic alone probably prevented me from eventually marrying the trashy looking, tangled hair girl that sat behind your mother in that class). The school year ended and we went our separate ways.<br />
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It was a few months later when I saw your mother again and even though she insisted later that she was not stalking me, she showed up looking for employment at the pizza shop where I worked, which incidentally was way uptown from where she lived. She was hired and we started working together, but once again, there were a lot of women around and only a few guys worked there, so the<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIPYZiRNV78Uf21bgV3hmpN2FKDeE8Mt0YLSZQRf3d4-hrdCaymM_rvYtiF55EQ6IisdUklE-OjwZF7yeo4NU7Cj8OtZRRWaUtGg2igrWKquEhqLFwHkxWREne6lA5A2vBZdBDDjQCGz0/s1600/scan0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIPYZiRNV78Uf21bgV3hmpN2FKDeE8Mt0YLSZQRf3d4-hrdCaymM_rvYtiF55EQ6IisdUklE-OjwZF7yeo4NU7Cj8OtZRRWaUtGg2igrWKquEhqLFwHkxWREne6lA5A2vBZdBDDjQCGz0/s320/scan0029.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was an idiot for not dating this beauty sooner. </td></tr>
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numbers did not favor us getting together. I was still in high school and she was starting out in college in Rochester and she had a car, and I had a bike, but there fate had put us, working next to each other, night after night, and weekend after weekend. Towards the end of that summer, I did ask her out and we set up a movie date to go see Arthur (the original with Dudley Moore of course). Just prior to the date, I got a call from a girl that I had met on a camping trip on vacation a few weeks earlier, and she let me know that she was being tested for mono. Since we had done some kissing, she warned me that I could have it too. I was feeling OK at the time, so I didn't see the need to cancel the date that week, but in fairness, my game was limited until I knew for sure that I wasn't a carrier. So that Friday night, I biked down to your mother's<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo4DEnvJhzFN-uMmj7k6146JElnK1W3mn67lzN6Utm-6eSGjelahE_vtGylKzv0XAdJF6nMYYE1wcWGMXYyzjtPG1Reh_IndqP7nfMWRi6JIvq8qIX_9r3nCTTLo_s8_aeo4n9PUeAz17/s1600/Arthur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUo4DEnvJhzFN-uMmj7k6146JElnK1W3mn67lzN6Utm-6eSGjelahE_vtGylKzv0XAdJF6nMYYE1wcWGMXYyzjtPG1Reh_IndqP7nfMWRi6JIvq8qIX_9r3nCTTLo_s8_aeo4n9PUeAz17/s320/Arthur.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dudley Moore as Arthur</td></tr>
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house, got greeted by their huge black lab, Major at the back door, and we jumped in her car and headed to the movies. It was hilarious and we stopped at McDonald's afterwards for a bite, but I had to play the perfect gentleman and the evening ended without so much as a kiss. In retrospect, the movie's plot line was about a playboy type guy, with no ambition, who drinks too much and falls for a poor girl, and now I wonder who picked the movie that night? A few days later when I got word that the girl didn't have mono, I was able to tell your mother why I didn't try and kiss her, but at that point I wasn't feeling a spark between us, so I didn't ask her for a second date and we slipped back into the familiar friends role.<br />
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It's taking a long time to get to the point of this story, isn't it? This would be a good premise for a TV show or something, but I digress... We spent over a year working closely together, and it was during that time where my feelings for your mother started to develop. I learned more about her<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's cooler than NPH?</td></tr>
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growing up in a big family and how she helped care for her younger brothers and sisters. I learned how she was not only putting herself through college on her humble earnings at the pizza shop, but also paying for her studio apartment, her car, and her insurance too. I went through my junior and senior years in high school dating a few other girls, and taking them to prom, but I was slowly coming to realize that none of them were the caliber of your mother and although we weren't romantically involved at that time, she became who I started to compare any potential dates to. She didn't sit idle during those times either, she had her share of dates but they didn't develop into anything more meaning than mine had. As Easter approached that year, I started to spend more time looking at her in a more romantic way and wondering if she would give me another shot, if I asked her out again. I was alone in the house as that weekend approached and I decided to make my move on that Saturday night. I slipped her a well written note inquiring whether we could get together that evening for a nightcap at my house, and the reply was quick to come back, simply stating that opportunity sometimes only knocks once and that I hadn't opened the door, so she declined. In my 18 years of life thus far, I hadn't shown any inkling of ambition, but that evening, that denial, sparked my ambition to get this date, and I wore your mother down until she finally agreed to come over.<br />
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Our date started after midnight and she drove me home and I had her park by a neighbor, as it would have been scandalous to have a female visitor at my parent's home that late in the evening. I<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEom9gwlvPLujajQCFqjyuuHShU2Fka07PnXTtxME8EWVy3DIwA68yKu55ou2k3OFIkZiQX9a8rjhyphenhyphenSiLD4nkwuT39-qc1Y_uDFr8ymhM29qu-aIAI9-pZg0mxJlii3lmhKNGZd18XkRy4/s1600/2289e4a328586e9790e38c53f2d8f980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEom9gwlvPLujajQCFqjyuuHShU2Fka07PnXTtxME8EWVy3DIwA68yKu55ou2k3OFIkZiQX9a8rjhyphenhyphenSiLD4nkwuT39-qc1Y_uDFr8ymhM29qu-aIAI9-pZg0mxJlii3lmhKNGZd18XkRy4/s320/2289e4a328586e9790e38c53f2d8f980.jpg" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How prophetic these words were</td></tr>
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had learned from Arthur that having some alcohol for dates wasn't a bad idea, so we shared a bottle of wine and we sat on my couch and talked deeply for hours and it was amazing how much we shared with each other, instinctively now trusting some of our deepest secrets and fears with each other. We finally kissed and make no mistake, this time, I knew exactly how I felt about your mother. We danced to "Open Arms" by Journey and the sun was coming up by the time our date ended. I had been invited to dinner by my brother Ace and his wife out in Gorham, and your mother had plans too, so we decided not to get together on Easter Sunday, but I found my thoughts returning to her all day and when I got home that evening, I called her and asked to come to her place. I walked over and we played Monopoly with her sister and her boyfriend, but honestly I was too smitten to pay attention to the game and I can't even tell you who won, if you can believe it. We had lasted all of 12 hours before we wanted to proclaim our love to the world, and if you are looking for a sappy love story, this is where this one starts, because after that day, I've wanted to do nothing else but proclaim my love for your mother. So that, kids, is the story of how I met your mother, it's a story of young love, of patience, of maturing and some gentle stalking but at the end, of undying and enduring love. I wish the same for each one of you. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still going strong 30 years later</td></tr>
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-80869207463997759372013-09-17T03:12:00.000-04:002013-09-17T03:13:01.539-04:00On cat napping<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I used to use the expression that "Naps were only for kittens and babies", but admittedly as I've aged, I've grown to appreciate the benefits of short snoozes.</i><br />
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I'll admit it now, I like a good, short, cat nap. I've mocked those before who needed them or thought it represented a weakness of character, but now I've come around on the topic and think I am much better on those days that I get to incorporate a short snooze mid-day. Although humans are<br />
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currently monophasic sleepers, meaning that we divide our day into two distinct parts, one of wakefulness and one for sleep, it's interesting to note that 85% of mammals are polyphasic sleepers who have periods of rest throughout the day. Scientists aren't even sure that we are meant to be monphasic sleepers as we have portions of the population, for example children and the elderly, who practice polyphasic sleeping and in fact have whole cultures that incorporate a mid-day rest into their days. I can only speak for myself but I know I am better able to focus, concentrate and execute in the afternoon after I have had a short relaxation period.<br />
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It wasn't always the case, and as mentioned above, I used to think it was silly to need a nap. My Dad napped when he wanted and where he wanted. When Dad konked out in his Lazy Boy in the middle of the living room, it was your job to keep the noise down while he slept. I'm not given that same courtesy when I nap on the weekends, doors slam, people yell, and if I complain, I'm told the<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How my Dad slept</td></tr>
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right place for napping is my bed, but that's not correct, I was taught better. The right place for napping is a couch or a chair that is not your normal bed, because you want to differentiate where you get your actual evening sleep and where you take your naps. One is meant to be less restful and short in duration and the other, if you are lucky, is longer and uninterrupted. My Mom used to nap right before bed, and my wife does this too. We'd be watching TV just before 10 at night and soon Mom's head would be tipped back and soft snoring sounds would be emanating from it. This is actually the bad kind of napping as it could inhibit your ability to sleep when you do go to bed. The good kind is more often done in the early afternoons or opposite the time when you would normally sleep. <br />
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On my travel days, it's tough to incorporate a nap into my schedule. I get up early for flights, like this am, often prior to 3:00 am and then I run all day frequently getting back to my hotel in the late afternoon or early evening. Those days are tough and I'm wiped out physically and mentally at the end of<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I sleep on planes</td></tr>
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them. The work I do those evenings tends to be sub-par, so I'll try to not do spreadsheets and things that require a lot of focus. I can do repetitive tasks well but my creativity is low and my concentration suffers. Alternatively, on my home office days, I get to incorporate a short nap into my lunch break. I've recently read that one of the most productive way to nap is the "caffeine nap". It works by downing a cup of coffee or other caffeinated beverage and then immediately hunkering down for a 15-20 minute nap. The caffeine takes some time to work through your system, so at the same time you would awaken from your sleep inertia, the caffeine is clearing your body of adenosine, the chemical that makes you sleepy, so you wake up refreshed in two different ways. That's my new favorite way to incorporate a nap and when I go back to my office, I feel the same as I do when I go out to my office in the early morning. I'm glad I don't <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How I feel if I don't nap some days </td></tr>
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work in a corporate or office setting because despite all the scientific evidence there is that shows napping makes you a better employee, there is still a stigma attached to napping that you are "lazy" or "old" if you use naps. What benefits do you gain, you may ask? <br />
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Studies have shown that naps can restore alertness, enhance performance and reduce mistakes and accidents. Naps improve your working memory, they prevent work burnout and reverse information overload. They improve your mood and health and they heighten your sensitivity and creativeness. They may be good for heart health too as a recent study in Greece showed a 64% reduction in deaths due to cardiac disease among those who napped 3 times a week for 30 minutes. A NASA study on pilots showed a 34% improvement in performance and a 100% improvement in alertness for those pilots that napped <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How Nibbler sleeps </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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for 40 minutes. Now I called this blog cat napping, because in my house it's difficult to lay down in a common area without our cat, Nibbler seeking to join you. There is no stigma attached to Nibble napping wherever or whenever she wants, we all think it's cute when she does it. I'll close this short blog, defending the practice of non-nocturnal sleeping by mentioning that if you nap, you are in good company (aside from my cat's). Napoleon, Albert Einstein, Winston Churchill, John F Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, Thomas Edison and George W Bush were all ardent nappers. I don't claim to be a world leader or famous inventor, but I do claim that I have this one habit in common with them all, and with that I say "to sleep, perchance to dream" Good night, I've got a plane to catch and hopefully some zzzz's too. </div>
Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-12155349781013819322013-09-10T07:19:00.003-04:002013-09-10T07:19:13.557-04:00The day I lifted 600 lbs.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>It's a common story where a child is trapped under something heavy and a parent (usually the mother) finds the strength to lift a seemingly impossible weight to free the child. That is not the story I'm about to relate, no children were involved, just a grown man who acts like one. </i><br />
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<i> </i>There's a lot of back story necessary for this blog, and you have the right to get the picture painted with the widest brush. I'm choosing to keep the location anonymous for this blog and you'll see why as you read through it. I'll preface the story to say that I had been working out for over a year straight before this happened. My girlfriend had invited me to join her at the gym in the early mornings<i> </i>and I had accepted her offer. Initially I used only the elliptical which was the equipment that I used most<br />
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while traveling, but over time I started incorporating the Nautilus weight machines into my workout too. Over the course of that year, I gradually kept adding more weight to my workouts and as I did I discovered that my legs were far more fit than my arms were. I could "lift" a lot more weight with my legs than my arms and it was true for every machine there. Just prior to the events in this story. I had even maxed out one of the leg machines at this gym for the weights that it had on it, the leg curl machine. It's pictured above to give you an idea. That machine, like a lot of them at this gym, uses preloaded weights and you move a pin up and down to the desired level. The other type machines use free weights that you load yourself onto bars. This gym has two of those types for leg<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVyw3jLYeE_JHx95pJEiEdZSs31bAjxZpdB2paXWtrHX2jiknRWxt_CcuMDC8kk3Jlo5J8f79kYKE_6lOa9XKwmrrFQnhSyXpIVtqn6emkbOu2SGzbFRQyVaNog3lp8vOjYcrz-tlnMQU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVyw3jLYeE_JHx95pJEiEdZSs31bAjxZpdB2paXWtrHX2jiknRWxt_CcuMDC8kk3Jlo5J8f79kYKE_6lOa9XKwmrrFQnhSyXpIVtqn6emkbOu2SGzbFRQyVaNog3lp8vOjYcrz-tlnMQU/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How I pictured the weights</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
presses, one that pushed the weight straight out and away from you and the other where you lie inclined with the press plate above you and the weight suspended above your body. <br />
<br />
I'd used both machines multiple times each week and I had kept on adding weights to them as I did so. Mind you, the goal wasn't to set a weight record or anything, I just added weight as the previous weight got easier to do. With the inclined press I soon was pushing more than 400 lbs up and pretty happy with that level. On almost all the days that I went, as I approached the machine, I would have to add weights<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JyNxmiIH93eoyZZSkQ8eHQzGcaTHKoQigrDRZ3MhccSsUfv61pmu0E1oPAPvxTeGkySkEP7H9B-u8rSxf-oC2ueTUvWOkK9T2vRg1RUhLjrSBWqe4wmw5FKYv-_BvlHqjhcXgSSc9tdu/s1600/legpress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-JyNxmiIH93eoyZZSkQ8eHQzGcaTHKoQigrDRZ3MhccSsUfv61pmu0E1oPAPvxTeGkySkEP7H9B-u8rSxf-oC2ueTUvWOkK9T2vRg1RUhLjrSBWqe4wmw5FKYv-_BvlHqjhcXgSSc9tdu/s320/legpress.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the inclined leg press looks like </td></tr>
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to it prior to starting my workout, which as a highly competitive person, told me that no one else at the gym was lifting more than me on that particular piece of equipment. It was a good feeling to have considering I really had only been at it about a year. So every day, as I did my workout, I'd get a little ego boost as I approached some of the machines and have to add weights manually or move the pins down a few places before I started, and for those of you that know me well, you know how important ego boosts are to me, which should now set you up well for the day that this story takes place.<br />
<br />
The morning of the "incident" started like any other, except for the fact that I awoke with virtually no pain, stiffness or swelling. I have a mild form of arthritis that almost daily presents itself with one of these conditions and affects primarily my feet and hands. I'm able to manage it with ibuprofen, so normally within an hour of rising, I can go about my day in a fairly normal fashion. On this morning, however, no symptoms presented and I was feeling my oats like at no other time and it<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2X36NYqQeUM9WH_Rv721aIhyzZNu6lZr9or2tYtXjSdnOcDxnHp2ecmHBeyu0tZGF39CnalNIf0D284bvbuAoq-qRdFaoRqOuKcqX97e12kXkvs-3cjbnyw9EAfqdDEAfXX3xASNIFDsD/s1600/1e3e8856-aed5-4c41-9aea-468afa3168e2_VID02246.MP4_2_xl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2X36NYqQeUM9WH_Rv721aIhyzZNu6lZr9or2tYtXjSdnOcDxnHp2ecmHBeyu0tZGF39CnalNIf0D284bvbuAoq-qRdFaoRqOuKcqX97e12kXkvs-3cjbnyw9EAfqdDEAfXX3xASNIFDsD/s320/1e3e8856-aed5-4c41-9aea-468afa3168e2_VID02246.MP4_2_xl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view from the bottom of the inclined press</td></tr>
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was a workout day, bonus ! I went to the gym and started attacking the weights with vigor. Soon the regular crowd came in and I was joined by my girlfriend, a neighbor, a local, and a couple of high school students getting an early workout in. I moved from machine to machine adding more weights to each one than I had ever done and successfully pushed them up, thereby gradually increasing my confidence. As I rotated on to the inclined press, I stopped and stared at the machine and the weight on it. There were about 6 - 45 lb weights on each side of the machine, which put the added weight around 540 lbs plus the weight of the press plate. This was a lot more weight than I had ever attempted but I was feeling really, really, good and I just couldn't bring myself to take any of the weights off. I'd never had to before, I said to myself, so why couldn't I do this much? The person before me presumably had done it, right? If you've ever doubted previously that I was good at sales, that morning I was the master of selling myself on the idea that I could actually lift that much weight. <br />
<br />
As I inserted myself under the pile of weight, I called the neighbor over to spot me. He asked me<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cCVSKlSSyNksMBtsLwsFad1muhs_-4bKI-uKr6aGYnHX7wsEtx15XvyqbWWvpM_3hQJ5m0b14JTFiTNjd-WheQ9eZqPB0hdKXRou0y9NeBjSccrv_MWbToxfnxwcA_DTmXTBHWdr0XhD/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cCVSKlSSyNksMBtsLwsFad1muhs_-4bKI-uKr6aGYnHX7wsEtx15XvyqbWWvpM_3hQJ5m0b14JTFiTNjd-WheQ9eZqPB0hdKXRou0y9NeBjSccrv_MWbToxfnxwcA_DTmXTBHWdr0XhD/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the pressure felt like on my legs </td></tr>
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thrice if I was sure of my decision, which should have been enough of a red flag for me to not attempt it, but I tested the weight with my feet and was able to lift it up a few inches and set it back down with my legs fully extended so I assured him that I knew what I was doing. I asked if he was ready and I threw back the safety catches that held the weight and then took the 600 lbs onto my feet. I slowly started letting the weight come down and by my measure I had lowered it 5-6 inches successfully before my legs would not cooperate the the weight started falling faster than I intended and simultaneously I experienced a severe pain in my groin. I called to my neighbor to assist me, and he wrapped his arms around the <br />
weight, but my legs weren't really working at all to hold the weight anymore, and he could only slow the descent of the weights. The press came down and slowly squished my 5'6" body into a more compact position, and then the high school students came and helped lift the weight back off from my body. As I lied there broken and contemplating the extent of my injuries, I looked over at my girlfriend and she was as white as white could be. The other local walked by and I'm not sure what I expected him to say, but what he said was, "Good, you just stay there and think about what you just did" Only then did the feeling of foolishness overwhelm me, and it lasted well after I crawled out from under the machine and limped out to my car to head to the doctors. <br />
<br />
The diagnosis, after the expected lecture, was a torn sartorius muscle and it would heal on it's own given enough time. The ego would take longer. I know how foolish it was to attempt. I know I<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnpF6ganrnJybSLHks-O3_OBK07SEtxbaPAp76dyNih7PuWo3JXjTzXkK88CT0DQsc2pCZZwUbgP5sRX-FBLgM8f-j8Z4aAWQjZZ__aU4VDGWSYNxwbuAZWHoEx2Ct7Avw-yy5f7aSUCq/s1600/MedRF_40221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnpF6ganrnJybSLHks-O3_OBK07SEtxbaPAp76dyNih7PuWo3JXjTzXkK88CT0DQsc2pCZZwUbgP5sRX-FBLgM8f-j8Z4aAWQjZZ__aU4VDGWSYNxwbuAZWHoEx2Ct7Avw-yy5f7aSUCq/s320/MedRF_40221.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sartorius muscles in the thighs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
shouldn't have even tried it, and that I put my friends through an awful thing, however, you've got to know my nature by now, I can't walk by that machine to this day without me thinking I should start to try to do it again. Even the pain of having my groin split like a wishbone doesn't stop the thought from coming. I even named this blog, "The day I lifted 600 lbs" not "the day I failed to lift 600 lbs". Rest assured, to this day, I haven't even been able to get back under there at all, much less start to load the weight on. The moral is, that if some morning you see me, headed to the gym, feeling my oats with a skip in my step, do us all a favor and pull a Tonya Harding move and whack me in my knee. Trust me, it will hurt me less than the alternative. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-34742222067757492082013-09-03T06:31:00.001-04:002013-09-03T06:31:30.878-04:00Where the heck did this weekend go?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> It was a 4 day weekend and you'd never have known it looking at my house. I had the best of plans on what we were going to do, but then life got in the way. Does this ever happen to you?</i><br />
<br />
It started like any other weekend, except I was still traveling on Friday. When possible, although I do travel almost weekly, I like to keep it to Tuesday-Thursday so I don't endanger my home time with late planes and such. Last Friday, however, I was still traveling home from a trip to Ontario Canada. I had ambitious plans for Friday afternoon but on the way home I stopped by Molly's house in Buffalo to check out her car (she had a small fender bender) and then over to see her new workplace.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRIxNJQkg43vo7qs1vnratEDevy3WcPKtM9gMk97A5ww_dk9ymJQS9I_fV_zYJT-3wI1A-rnQ1A4LZ6NdvkdGruMFwz2-3kdqTWUC3hOwJ16noMi8yS-t3QNYCDxOOPUM-YySROMtI8EE/s1600/nektar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRIxNJQkg43vo7qs1vnratEDevy3WcPKtM9gMk97A5ww_dk9ymJQS9I_fV_zYJT-3wI1A-rnQ1A4LZ6NdvkdGruMFwz2-3kdqTWUC3hOwJ16noMi8yS-t3QNYCDxOOPUM-YySROMtI8EE/s320/nektar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bar inside of Nektar</td></tr>
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She has started work as a waitress again at a bar/restaurant called Nektar that is located right around the corner from her. She'll actually make more money in this job and the quality of life is definitely better, but for the life of me, I don't understand how in the health care field you can go from being worth $9.00 an hour to $35.00 an hour after you get your RN, but with no steps up in pay in-between? I blame President Obama, can't say why, but he seems like an easy target. I met the owner of Nektar, Stavros who complimented Molly's work ethic, which I liked, and then took a Gyro home with me to eat at my desk, which I liked even better. I finished work late on Friday afternoon and then went down and opened the kitchen in the Garaj-Mahal to start prepping for a wedding rehearsal next week.<br />
<br />
I had to make a quick trip down to Penn Yan for a few things prior to starting, so being the hunter-gatherer that I am I also offered to grab a pizza. I stopped at a local farm store for some Hungarian Peppers (shout out to Tomion's), and then at the grocery store for some cream cheese and Italian<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzIhEyDdx6CYcpap4CyMw2r3atBQnv6VEgmlhNz8aFJarAf5vPg6h-JDTnoHxTFqNkggUNeiyhalIUeshtLfe0nCAlll5LVzG_HyDWIfKtrftEM5i8xDzKgpiIN1z9FSA4654PSKqrWTv/s1600/IMG_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzIhEyDdx6CYcpap4CyMw2r3atBQnv6VEgmlhNz8aFJarAf5vPg6h-JDTnoHxTFqNkggUNeiyhalIUeshtLfe0nCAlll5LVzG_HyDWIfKtrftEM5i8xDzKgpiIN1z9FSA4654PSKqrWTv/s320/IMG_0909.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making Armadillo Eggs</td></tr>
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sausage, I then gassed up and headed home. Char and Nolan offered to help me with making the appetizer, which was Armadillo Eggs ( <a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2012/09/how-to-make-nolan-and-bills-armadillo.html">How to Make Nolan's and Bill's Armadillo Eggs </a>) but even with the help, it took a couple of hours to do the 150 of them. I actually kept track of what they cost to make this time and surprisingly it was only $.25 apiece but then if you add the labor, they cost $.85. One of the things that makes it easier to work in the kitchen out there is the music. I bring my Ipad out and use the free Spotify app, but I use my Bose Soundlink speaker that I set away from me to listen to it. Char got this for me for Christmas, and it is probably one of the best gifts that I have ever received. It was even more impressive considering that I mentioned it just one time at a Super Bowl party the year prior, and she remembered and bought it for me (I had <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2YsPfEvc4CY8dk7Wvg0EXgziLO8YhZxUONnrTRsLXv9uY3me48J4lFIANLrwr-m2cpqsdiRBrrm-V4MA4olr57lieKQXyKAqB7szz3y03SELS683kkcR4DW-EgGCsyBwijx-lVuOLRUT/s1600/bose_soundlink_nylon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2YsPfEvc4CY8dk7Wvg0EXgziLO8YhZxUONnrTRsLXv9uY3me48J4lFIANLrwr-m2cpqsdiRBrrm-V4MA4olr57lieKQXyKAqB7szz3y03SELS683kkcR4DW-EgGCsyBwijx-lVuOLRUT/s320/bose_soundlink_nylon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Bose Soundlink</td></tr>
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long ago forgotten it and was a little stumped when I opened the box). Anyway, it's great sound and you can control the volume from the Ipad that is nearby but still have the music coming from across the room. Come to the Garag-Mahal sometime and you can check it out. We finished the work, cleaned up the kitchen and then headed into the house. We had just enough time to watch a taped episode of Castle, then we all headed to bed.<br />
<br />
We picked up watching Castle this summer during the rerun season, so we've been taping them and trying to watch them in order. We like the show, but I'll agree with some other people that it is kind of like Bones but with the roles reversed. I skipped breakfast with my brother Saturday am, but Nolan and I had an early work gig for Scouts. We cleaned out the Troop room where we kept our things for the last few decades. The building was sold and the church that purchased it needed the space. We'll be buying a Troop trailer shortly, but a kind parent is letting us store the stuff in her barn in the meantime. We had a quick lunch and then Char and I headed off to BJ's to do the shopping for<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXMVOOTOgAIfihOdaAs9uv9L3IXwJRaKGnd2AboKQ7xAyvIcP3_KKlBUDuG21YVZsLwd4NNDJOc1R4JZlpuS1z-o4a-gCpD0D-5JJ-49y72fu0A5UDSBYxz_wA93eF5FgIe0w5M9EkZYQ/s1600/tent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXMVOOTOgAIfihOdaAs9uv9L3IXwJRaKGnd2AboKQ7xAyvIcP3_KKlBUDuG21YVZsLwd4NNDJOc1R4JZlpuS1z-o4a-gCpD0D-5JJ-49y72fu0A5UDSBYxz_wA93eF5FgIe0w5M9EkZYQ/s320/tent.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
the wedding rehearsal. They had a great deal on 0X1 Strip loins so I bought one of those too, to cut into steaks later. Char put some time in at work on the computer, while I set up equipment that I would need. I layered a crockpot with chicken to make some Mexican stewed chicken for use in another appetizer. In the late afternoon we set up an old army tent that we found in amongst the old stuff in the Troop room. We got an invitation to my girlfriend's ( <a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-girlfriend-stretch.html">My girlfriend Stretch</a>) house to hang out at her fire pit, so we threw a quick entree together and headed out around 6:30. Our friends built a beautiful big fire pit at their house with an inset pit and a stone patio surrounding it. We've got to enjoy it several times this summer. We headed to bed as soon as we got home, no time for Castle that night. <br />
<br />
We made it to church the next morning and heard the new pastor, Father Stan. We liked him. We ran into close friends that we hadn't seen all year and managed to catch up before mass started. Back at home Char had laundry to do and Nolan and I were checking on some drainage work on the property and fixing a split hose. I got to wear a tool belt and everything. We cleaned up by mid-day and we headed off to different parties. Nolan's was in Cdga and ours was local. That killed almost the rest of the day, but we did squeeze in a quick couple of Castle episodes (We are on season 2 now). <br />
<br />
I got up early next morning to pull the chicken (stop it already, I was shredding stewed chicken). I spent the am running around to my brother Ace's house to get some catering equipment and stopped in to see my sister Wilson too. Wilson's son hit me up for some Boy Scout popcorn, he saw me<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb__DVhw4o2cbcWhp7qbuR-1PzeWzhiUyRRwkrt1IQioPy1reFNyZ-z8y7ZXh5P14Nz6alWzViMv5RydqVlzo0jI5QWQCYOWOGRrAjPfrhY7GcPjrOL_V_yNkpNH9Rv6_Z5dX61XSMgQh5/s1600/popcornproducts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb__DVhw4o2cbcWhp7qbuR-1PzeWzhiUyRRwkrt1IQioPy1reFNyZ-z8y7ZXh5P14Nz6alWzViMv5RydqVlzo0jI5QWQCYOWOGRrAjPfrhY7GcPjrOL_V_yNkpNH9Rv6_Z5dX61XSMgQh5/s320/popcornproducts.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's Boy Scout popcorn time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
pulling in and ran and put his uniform on. He knows that I have a standing rule about not saying no to a Scout in uniform. I made some salsa after I got home and Char and Nolan walked the block to sell some popcorn too. I packed for a trip but tried to stay out of the office. I snuggled up with Nibbler and took a quick cat-nap and then went back to the Garaj to cut up the strip loin. I got 16 thick cut steaks out of it and I set 3 aside for dinner. The strip was <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFeeqpHNf9zReQ-j3W9UcAwGowsP3LG_5wFthU_KSp_InfJasuoIBj0nr1cszBqjJdzC-uQLYt8AQVvq2l3sSneOHOHGXN7YXXTCFCaznb9KBIRAvL0WNZ8Oz06Rb2r7CiuNEp0v6fH4_/s1600/castle-nathan-fillion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFeeqpHNf9zReQ-j3W9UcAwGowsP3LG_5wFthU_KSp_InfJasuoIBj0nr1cszBqjJdzC-uQLYt8AQVvq2l3sSneOHOHGXN7YXXTCFCaznb9KBIRAvL0WNZ8Oz06Rb2r7CiuNEp0v6fH4_/s320/castle-nathan-fillion.jpg" width="320" /></a>$4.99 a lb and the per steak cost was $4.00, so I was pretty happy with both the price and the quality. I roasted some corn to go with dinner and Char made a fruit salad and we ate on the deck to finish off our Holiday weekend. There was enough time to watch a couple more Castle's before we headed to bed and so we did. That's the long and the short of it, it doesn't seem like a lot, and no big projects got finished even with the 4 days, but that's how it goes some weekends, just slip-sliding away. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-81200298988083251322013-08-27T06:52:00.000-04:002013-08-27T06:52:19.881-04:00Lock the car Dear, it's squash season out there.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i> Living in the country has it share of trials and tribulations, dust storms, driving 10 miles to the grocery store, power outages, but at this time of the year all of those take a back seat to the sudden appearance of your neighbor's excess garden produce, on your property, of which, the worst has to be squash.</i><br />
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It was an uneventful day a week ago, a day seemingly like any other, right up until that changed. I approached the back door of my house and there, set innocently in front of it, was a bulging plastic shopping bag. My face went white, my spine tensed, and I peered over to peek at the contents whilst<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squash </td></tr>
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all the while not actually touching it (if you do, it automatically becomes yours, kind of like tag (You're it !)). It was full of cucumbers and tomatoes. I quickly glanced around but in a scene reminiscent of every B Dracula movie, the streets were quickly emptying, the shutters on houses were banging shut, and heavy curtains were drawn together with just enough space for an eye to peer through. Damn, they got me. I leaned over, picked up the bag, but before I did, I fished my remote from my pocket, turned back to the driveway and locked my car, because I knew that where there were cucumbers, there were bound to be squashes. <br />
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How does it start? You move to the country and someone suggests that having a garden with would be a good idea (which it is). You plow and make rows and then plant and inevitably you over-plant, for instance, 6 zucchini plants doesn't sound like a lot, does it? (It is). The thing about<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Squash</td></tr>
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planting things at the same time is, that they tend to come up at the same time, so after weeks of watching things grow in your garden there are suddenly a couple of weeks full of bountiful harvests. You try and consume the excess produce, then you slice and freeze and then pickle and can, but inevitably you run out of time, shelf and freezer space and energy, while you still have buckets of produce to deal with, and more coming at you each day. You've put a lot of time and energy into this, so you don't want to see it go to waste, so as you scan the horizon over your tomato plants, what is the first thing that you see in the distance? That's right, your neighbors houses and that's when the idea forms. Didn't the Pilgrims do it after all, or was it the Indians? So with the best of intentions, history on your side and a 5 gallon bucket of produce banging against your shin, you start making the rounds, to share your bounty. Your neighbors, however, know this drill as they've seen it before. They've watched your garden as closely as you have and know when your peak production <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hidden Squash </td></tr>
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time will be. They've scheduled their family vacations around it, or locked themselves in, like housebound agoraphobics just to avoid you. They are in there, sitting amongst their stockpiled water jugs, car parked 2 streets away to give the appearance of not being home, and they sure as hell, are not going to answer the door during squash season. After 2 hours of lugging the bucket around, you return home, discouraged, but not giving up.<br />
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Over the next couple of weeks you look for every opportunity to give some vegetables away. You buy decorative baskets, assort them with varied vegetables and try and deliver them. It's like a macabre reverse ding, dong, ditch, where you run up to a house, ring the bell, drop your basket and try to make it back to the car before the neighbors can make it to the door. FYI. a basket full of squash with a bow tied to it, is still a basket full of squash. Woe is the child with the late summer<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They started with 3 that day</td></tr>
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birthday, as you will not be above sending zucchini home as a party favor. FYI, a zucchini, painted with a face or made into a Mr. Potato Head, is still a zucchini. This only works once and you have to think carefully about how popular your child is before you use this nuclear option. Trust me, the conversation goes like this....."Mom, why can't I go to Tommy's birthday party? "Because, they are (gasp) gardeners, now go play in your room with the curtains pulled". Rookie harvesters will make a classic squash collector's error and try and put a table out in front of their house with a free squash sign on it and a half a dozen or do squashes. At the end of the day, when they check the table, the number of squash will have doubled or tripled while they weren't watching. Another method is to go out in teams with one person distracting "the mark" while you slip a basket close to<br />
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them, only to be discovered after you've departed. Even with all these tactics, it's inevitable that eventually you find yourself looking at unlocked cars (you considered the collection basket at church but the guy wielding it seems pretty frail). Once you've done your first break and enter, squash leave, you never go back, which is exactly why I lock my car during squash season.<br />
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I want to end on a positive note and my sister (Wilson, who I just named in this blog) gave me just the story. I swear, what you are about to read is true. Wilson's Mother in Law, now passed, used to stay with them in their country home, which was at a stop sign on the Stanley Cabbage trail. Trucks overflowing with cabbage would drive by their home all day and because cabbages are round, the trucks are overfull and they have to stop, the momentum regularly causes cabbage to roll from the trucks and fall to the ground. Farmers call this acceptable loss, my sister's family calls it dinner. The story goes that Wilson's MIL would run for the door each time a cabbage truck would pass and search the ground for dropped<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait for it.......</td></tr>
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produce. One week, while she stayed, the pickings were slim and to bolster her spirits, her son bought a cabbage at a stand, scuffed in on the asphalt before he returned home and rolled in onto his front lawn, awaiting the next truck. A short time later, his mother heard the brakes of a cabbage truck, ran out again and returned with her scuffed cabbage proudly in hand and a smile stretched across her face. I'm positive that, that smile of hers, was repeated last week as a particularly overloaded truck turned the corner near Wilson's house and lost 30 or so cabbages. My sister Wilson's kids all ran out, collected them, and then channeling their deceased grandmother, handed them out to passing cars with a sign proclaiming "Free Road Cabbage". I didn't pass by there that day, but if I had, you can be sure, my car doors would have been locked. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-89788972972820883932013-08-20T06:48:00.000-04:002013-08-20T06:48:44.923-04:00It's time to put my ass in a pew again.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>This morning I try to motivate myself to get to church more often than I have been going. I need church, but my record has been spotty of late</i>.<br />
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I've already shared with you that this was the busiest summer my family has ever seen (<a href="http://layersoftheongion.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-summer-that-never-was.html">The Summer that never was</a> ), but what I haven't shared with you is what has suffered, due in part, to this busy schedule, and it was our weekly attendance at mass (Hey Sister Wilson, should Mass be<br />
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capitalized in that sentence?). It's a weak excuse, I'll say that right up front, so we've had some discussions of late on what we were going to do to correct it. I'll start with why we think we need to, and work to our solution at the end.<br />
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The beauty of marrying someone who wasn't raised with religion, is that you get an opportunity to see a faith through their eyes too. Admittedly, although my parents raised me with a strict adherence to weekly mass attendance, in my college years, my record for attending was abysmal. I suspect that our adult children are thus far following that model. My wife, however, was not raised in a church going household or with any organized religion. As my wife and I considered getting married though, she agreed to go through the Catachumenate program and to become Catholic, like I professed to be. It was odd, how<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This resembles me in church as a kid</td></tr>
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with virtually no interaction with religion, she as an aspiring wife and eventual mother, had an instinct telling her that this was of value both for her marriage and for child-rearing. I took years more to come to this conclusion, and it started with her taking the classes. She'd attend each week but inevitably come home with more questions that could be answered in an hour class, so she'd ask me. This was the start in our relationship of my wife vastly overestimating my listening skills and my acumen on a variety of topics. The result was that I had to study right along with her. Then one day on my way to work, I ran across a particularly disrespectful neighborhood kid and I <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear God, please don't let me raise a kid like this</td></tr>
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pondered on how people would raise a kid like that, but I had no experience with that, I did, however know how my parents raised us and being a fan of myself and my siblings, I decided to copy this model. It started with weekly mass attendance. I think it's fair to say that with our two older children and prior to this year, our mass attendance was a solid B. We'd miss one here or there, but those kids gained the benefit of weekly mass attendance, just like my siblings and I did. Then came this summer. <br />
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Our favorite mass at our favorite church is the 9 am mass at St. Mary's in Canandaigua. We live about a half an hour away, so A.I.S time for church is 8:30 am. That comes pretty early when you come in or stay up past midnight on Saturday <br />
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on a regular basis. This weekend, for example, we went to bed at 3 am on Sunday morning, and slept well beyond our A.I.S. time. When we do get up we talk about going to other masses, but don't know when they are, where they are etc. A very lame excuse. We missed so many this summer that we ended up creating a habit of not going. Incidentally they say that it takes 21 days to either create or break a habit. I'd roughly estimate that we've got about a 33% attendance rate for the summer to date, not an impressive score. So knowing that we find value in it, and knowing our excuses for not attending, how are we making this course correction?<br />
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We'll start with a firm commitment to attend mass on at least a weekly basis. I say at least because I ran into a peer a few weeks ago who had downloaded an app for his Iphone that showed him where the nearest Catholic church was and the times of their masses. He had been making some daily masses early in the am, and I was impressed with his commitment to improve himself in that manner. I'd like to do the same, so I'll download the app too. For home, we are going to make a chart of mass<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Mother's original archdiocese, what a shock to see. </td></tr>
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times. I'd guess that in my area the masses for Sunday obligation start somewhere around 4:00 pm on Saturday and finish around 7 pm on Sunday. That's over a 24 hour period that it gives us to make sure that we attend. We'll chart out each one, and with a quick glance at it, we can insure that we can plan to make mass. Our youngest child, Nolan starts high school this year, and my wife and I have discussed making our goal not to miss mass during his high school years. We think that making that firm commitment will not only help us, but help Nolan too with what promises to be some challenging years. My mother used to say that God only asked for a single hour each week from us, as it related to mass, and looking around at all our blessings, that seems like so little to give back. The rest of the plan is simply executing it until we habitually are going to mass each week again and then to repeat the process. It truly is that simple, and to finish this missive on mass, I'll just say...... see you in church.<br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-620084071222808726.post-64316394736332587422013-08-13T06:26:00.000-04:002013-08-13T06:26:43.954-04:00Run, Run, Run, Run, Runaway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>It's in our nature to seek out that which is better, even as adolescents, but at that time we lack relativity, so the grass looks greener over the fence a lot more often, so we sometimes vault over to check it out. </i><br />
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I know a good deal when I've got one, so to my knowledge, I never ran away from home. Sure, I had days where the chore I was asked to do seemed so patently unfair that I was very unhappy, and I recall one time spending 20 minutes writing a letter to my father outlining how unfair giving me a particular chore was (The chore only took 5 minutes), but I never bolted from home. You see three<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical note left when running away</td></tr>
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squares a day, a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in always looked better than the alternative life that I could imagine on the road, at any age that I might have considered leaving. I blame Star Trek. I never aspired to be captain Kirk, the impetuous leader of the crew, I identified more with Mr. Spock, the reasoned, logical, sidekick, who thought through his actions prior to taking them, chess, not checkers. So I stayed with my parents, right up until the day that they kicked me out, but that wasn't the case with a particular sibling and my own children though.<br />
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My brother Redface had the family record for running away. His attempts rivaled those of Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, and if I had to put a number to them, I'd say he tried about 7 times. Two of these attempts stick in my memory a little more than the others. The first was one evening when a police car pulled up to the curb in front of my house, and an officer got out to talk to<br />
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my mother. He questioned whether she was missing a child, and she replied while looking around, "I don't think so". He then opened the back door of the squad car, and there sat my brother Redface. In the trunk was his bike, and he had made it a few miles before the chain on his bike came off and when an officer checked on him, his fabricated story of going to visit his cousins didn't hold water. The funny thing was that he was missing all day and we had never noticed. It was pretty common for us all to head to the playground in the summer and stay there the better part of the day, so we would all catch up at dinnertime and this allowed him a long time to hit the open road before his absence was noticed. It was pretty quiet at the dinner table that particular evening where Redface sat with his head down and tried to avoid eye contact with my father. It was repeated a few years later when he tried to run away in the middle of practicing for the high school track team. This was probably the latest (oldest) anyone in<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR00oEedFFcFKmryV1nrlEft_I1HGKgdo_68DgV2ceq-TLXrzT-D9kajHvUC5sq9AKNK2A2UJGP2bzO6ns_ME45Mr4K62QYJUtHWfodELbG3yY7U7Z7ul1stIUE0WZ4rHfHzMFnuFmszE3/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR00oEedFFcFKmryV1nrlEft_I1HGKgdo_68DgV2ceq-TLXrzT-D9kajHvUC5sq9AKNK2A2UJGP2bzO6ns_ME45Mr4K62QYJUtHWfodELbG3yY7U7Z7ul1stIUE0WZ4rHfHzMFnuFmszE3/s320/images.jpg" width="269" /></a> the family had tried to run away, and I'm not sure how serious the attempt was, but in the midst of running around the town with the track team, he came upon a Volkswagen Beetle (Punchbug!) idling at a curb and he jumped in and tried to drive it. He barely could see over the steering wheel and he put it into a ditch not too far from where he took it. He was a slave to his impulses often and this was a perfect example of how he would act first and then regret his actions later. He never really lost this wanderlust or idea of somewhere else being better that where he currently was. As adults we worked together at a pizza place and when I asked him what he did on the weekend before, he'd often reply, " I drove to Connecticut" or a place like that. He'd jump in his car, with no plan, no itinerary and just drive in a certain direction. He'd sleep in his car most times, but would return for his Monday shift. I'm not sure what my brother Redface was looking for out there, but I'm pretty sure he never found it. It's highly probable that I never ran way because of his examples, he never made it out, and it was never better when he came back from one of his escape attempts either.<br />
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My children's examples are far more tame than my brothers. Our daughter Molly attempted to run away one day. I'm sure it was in response to something egregiously done to her by her horrific<br />
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parents, but there she was one afternoon packing a backpack and heading out. She was our first and if I knew anything about running away, it was that you had to call the bluff. We wished her well and off she went around the block. We were certain that she'd turn around and head back at any moment, right up until the moment that she didn't. My wife had to chase her down with our van and negotiate with her as she ran parallel to her. Her feet, however, were pointed away from home and she showed no sign of losing her nerve. That's when we learned that Molly doesn't bluff, she does exactly what she says she will do. Eventually my wife found the right combination of words that got her to come home. We helped her to unpack her backpack and this was classic Molly too, there wasn't a damned thing in there to help her on the open road, it was just full of her favorite stuffed animals. She's had her moments of leaping before she looks after then too that Mr. Spock would not approve of, and I suspect she's tied closer to her impulses than some others.<br />
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Dan's attempt, that I remember, went a little differently. We called his bluff too, but had the car keys ready, just in case. He had packed and was headed out. I remember a small rolling case of some sort that he took (did it have a bear on it?), but he never made it as far as Molly did. We<br />
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watched from a concealed window as he made it to the end of the driveway and then slowly started walking in circles as he reconsidered his actions. It took a few minutes and a few rotations before he headed back and informed us he had decided to stay. Overjoyed. we killed the fatted calf and welcomed him back with open arms. He at least had packed some food for the journey so he wouldn't have starved immediately on the road. If those two kids had ever put their heads together, between the two of them, they probably had the nerve and the packing sense to successfully run away, but I'm kind of glad that they never did. Our last child, Nolan insists that he attempted to run away too, but neither of us remember it happening. I suspect that it never got beyond the planning stages because he's a lot like his father. Thus ends this blog on bolting, but I'd love to hear some stories from my older siblings and from my readers. I promise I'll stay around to read them. <br />
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Billhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16660479478173806137noreply@blogger.com1