I was going to write something about Memorial Day

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I did write something, but it was of a more personal nature. No, I didn't get all choked up and sentimental, but I wasn't my usual lighthearted, irreverent self either.
Now, I'm just a little irritated [annoyed, miffed, nettled, peeved, pissed, pissed off, riled, roiled, stung, steamed, displeased - pick one].
Not even just now, it's been for some time that this let's move the holidays to Monday so we can have a three-day weekend thing has rankled. I'm not against three-day weekends. They have their place and are to be looked forward to... when their turn comes up on the calendar. I do agree that Labor Day should be the first Monday in September. That's because it has traditionally (not always) been that day. And Thanksgiving, though not a Monday holiday, has its traditional place. Besides it would upset too many merchants if it was moved to any other day in the week. Otherwise, let's put the darn holidays back to where they originated and, while we're at it, explain the meaning of those days. I read of someone's confusion about Memorial Day as a commemoration of the D-Day landings. What's that about?
If our leaders[sic] want to have Monday holidays. Fine! Just call them what they are ...another day off.

you can fix stupid

Okay

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Let's set some new ground rules for the two blogs. This one will be for stuff that finds it's way into that space between my ears and then onto the Interwebby almost totally unfiltered. That one is for innocent stuff. I think maybe I ought to even change the name over there and forget about the rants. They belong here if they belong anywhere.
So here's the plan*. I will do my out loud thinking here... so you might want to keep that in mind before you let you children view this blog... and I will post nice and put photos up over there.

anyone taking bets
on how long it lasts?

*Please bear in mind that it is only a plan.

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A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?

The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, and even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound; a sound like no other that he has ever heard. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, We can't tell you because you're not a monk.


The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way. Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery.

The monks again accept him, feed him, and even fix his car..


That night, he hears the same strange mesmerizing sound that he had heard years earlier.


The next morning, he asks what the sound was, but the monks reply,

We can't tell you because you're not a monk.

The man says, all right, all right. I'm dying to know.

If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?


The monks reply, you must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk.



The man sets about his task.

Some forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery.

He says, I have travelled the earth and devoted my life to the task demanded and have found what you had asked for.

There are 371,145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth.



The monks reply, congratulations, you are correct, and you are now considered a monk

We shall now show you the way to the sound.


The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, the sound is behind that door.




The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He asks, May I have the key ?


The monks give him the key, and he opens the door.


Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone... The man requests the key to the stone door.



The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. He demands another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire. And so it went on until the man had gone through doors of emerald,...


...silver, topaz, and amethyst.



Finally, the monks say, This is the key to the last door .


The man is relieved to be at the end. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is astonished to find the source of that strange sound.



It is truly an amazing and unbelievable sight





















.. But I can't tell you what it is because you're not a monk.







DON'T SWEAR AT ME;
I'M STILL HUNTING FOR THE IDIOT WHO STARTED THIS!

On naming a...

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Street.
I live in a neighborhood where all of the streets are named for trees... well, not exactly. Someone slipped one in that, as it's spelled now, is a family name. Maybe they screwed it up in the Recorder's Office? That wouldn't be a first. At least I know the source of the street names here.
That hasn't always been the case. I can only guess what... or who Hugo Street is named for. Juanita Way doesn't even begin to give me a clue. Fredrick Court, it turns out, was supposed to be Fred Rick... whoever he was; Hall Street... no clue; Fifth Avenue... no imagination; O'Keefe Street... another blank; then there is Balboa Court. It was there before the first Rocky movie. I am fairly certain it's named for the explorer who stumbled upon the Pacific Ocean.
Up next is El Camino Drive. Here in this part of the country there are lots of generic Hispanic names and faux Hispanic names. It was the only one in the neighborhood. Ronlini Lane was another recorder's error, much to the chagrin of our neighbors who created it attempting to use the first syllable of each family member's name. It's probably a good thing that I wasn't consulted. I will have to explain some day about how I named family pets. That street name is almost entirely irrelevant now, considering what those same folks did with it regarding their neighbors.
Off to another street with a tree name and a Hispanic pronunciation; then to Weeks Road and then back to another tree and the worst apartment in which I ever stored furniture. I may have slept there a time or two, but it was a time of transition, as were the two previous addresses.
From there I relocated to here, where it's been the longest I have been in any one place. I will say though that Fredrick Ct. had more influence, though. It is partly because that's where I spent most of my school years. Partly because, when I joined the Navy, it had been where I'd spent more than half of my life. And, finally, it is where I went whenever I felt the need to touch base.

Oh, heck! About the family pets... puppies and kittens, that is. The first was a cat... a stray. She
[that's key] wandered into my parents yard and almost immediately took a liking to me. When I inquired of her what her name was. She responded, "Raaalf." Hence, the name that she responded to when she didn't respond to "Kitty."
The puppies are slightly different story. Elsie and Truman were named after former neighbors who were good friends. Dennis, Nancy and Duane were named for my best man, one of his sisters and her husband. If there'd been more puppies they'd have been named after their children. Gender was irrelevant.
As for what I'd have name that street. My first choice was Dirt Road. Because that is exactly what it is.

On naming a...

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A little over a week ago I posted about naming a car. Not my car. It was inspired by a post by another blogger, who was actually seeking a name for his family vehicle because they always name the family vehicles. Well, since he's in Australia and they drive on the left side of the road, they could call the car Lefty?

Oh but that's not really what this post is about.... is it?

We... no I, unless we have company (a lot of it)... have a coffee cup with a small chip on the lip. My stepdaughter calls it "Chip." I mean that when she can't find it in the cupboard she asks, "Where's Chip?"

someday there may
be a post about
naming puppies

What's with that!!!

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Somehow I have managed, this week, to fill up all of that empty space that usually occurs between the last visible post and the nonsense (except for the TGCF) that's always there. Granted, it isn't all words, there are a couple of large graphics, and they... the words... aren't all mine, but I am amazed at the amount of original content.
Of course, I never would have noticed if I hadn't been adding a couple of more titles to the read list. Speaking of which, I will again reiterate that just because the title is on the list doesn't mean that it is recommended. That said, I am enjoying The 19th Wife.

I was just thinking that it would be a real challenge for me to have empty space at the bottom of the sidebar. Thank goodness that I have friends who send stuff that I find interesting enough to share.

Then I was wondering what Fern does while the Brighton Pensioner is off in France. What my imagination does boggles.

Then there's Suldog. I think maybe he might be as squirrely as I. He started off the week writing about softball and today got into religion. Not deep into religion, mind you, but squarely into it. I'm not sure where this is headed, but it sure is using up a lot of space. So I guess that was the plan all along. Not my plan because, as most people who know me will tell you, I don't plan... not well anyway.

Nothing going right?

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One of the followers is feeling just a little down on himself at the moment... thinks that somehow his presence is working against teams he supports. That got me thinking along the same lines. So just in case I have anything to do with their current slump, I apologize to the Giants. I also apologize to the Sharks, Warriors and 49ers. While I'm at it, I apologize for the weather, too.

but not the Titanic

Triple

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There was a time when I played softball. I said it was for the exercise. It was probably really for the beer and pizza afterward. I played some basketball, too, during the Winter, but that's an entirely different story.
When we first formed our softball team, we combined two church league basketball teams and a few others so that we could turn in a fourteen player roster... and scrape together enough for the league entry fee. None of us had ever played ball together before and we had absolutely no idea of what position anyone would play. We really didn't care much because it was we all really enjoyed each others company. But that's not what this is about either. Wait... yes it is... sort of.
We all really enjoyed ribbing one another. Just let one of us make one little goof and the rest were all over it. We had one player in particular, Russell, who was a prime target. He was always setting himself up with exaggerating claims.
One of the places we played was more suited as a soccer pitch because of its shape. Right field was about 180 deep and ended with an 8o foot screen to keep well hit balls from reaching the street. Balls hitting the screen were in play... under the screen were a ground rule double. It was left field that was interesting because it was seemingly endless. Though I imagine that it was less than 500 feet. Playing the outfield at night was an adventure because all of the lights were behind the foul lines in the infield.
So, back to Russell, who was always talking about is hitting prowess and power... among other things. On this particular evening, for whatever reason, the opposing team's left fielder misjudged a line drive by Russell and allowed it past him into the darkness. Russ took off around the bases with every intention of scoring. He has no problem getting around first base, but took a bad angle rounding second base to head for third and while attempting to correct things managed to stumble about halfway between second and third. His shoulders kept getting further and further ahead of his feet, which were making every attempt to catch up with the rest of his body. Meanwhile, the left fielder had managed to catch up to the ball and was throwing it back to the infield. About 15 feet from third base gravity took over and Russell's feet finally managed to catch up with... and pass... the rest of his body. By this time the ball was in the hands of the shortstop, who was in the process of relaying it to the third baseman and there was Russell trying, by any means, to reach the base ahead of the tag.
Should I mention here that our dugout was in an absolute frenzy of hilarious laughter because of what we were seeing on the field. I would venture to say that only two persons were taking the play seriously: The left fielder who misplayed the ball in the first place; and Russell, who was doing the Australian crawl to third base. He did manage to squeak in just ahead of the tag, but his uniform was no longer pristine. In fact it was entirely covered with infield dirt. Eventually Russell scored. Then he had to put up with the razzing from the rest of us for turning, what for most of us, would have been a home run into a triple.

a finer teddy
bear roll I've
never seen

!!!

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me like bacon

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Can I ask a dumb questions?

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If I must show ID when:

1. Pulled over by the police
2. Making purchases on my master card or VISA credit card.
3. When I show up for a doctor's appointment.
4. When filling out a credit card or loan application.
5. When applying for/renewing a driver's license or passport.
6. When applying for any kind of insurance.
7. When filling out college applications.
8. When donating blood.
9. When obtaining certain prescription drugs.
10. When making some debit purchases, especially if I'm out of state.
11. When collecting a boarding pass for airline or train travel.

I'm sure there are more instances but the point is, we citizens are required to prove who we are nearly every day. Why would people illegally in this country be exempt?

just asking

Naming a car

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I was reading another blog where the topic was what the poster's family was going to call their new [to them] vehicle. It reminded me of Mabel.
Mabel?
Yeah, let me try to explain. Way back when I was a kid and my sisters were toddlers we all attended a church that had been around since before the beginning of the Twentieth Century. The church had a pastor, Father McKeon, who we kids all believed had been there since the church was established. He had a really old car. Though it wasn't nearly as old as the church or the priest, it was falling apart... slowly.
The Parishioners decided that it was time for Father McKeon to have a new car. First, because the old one was unsafe. And second, because some of them felt it reflected poorly upon them that the priest was driving a piece of junk.
Father McKeon was consulted about the purchase, which would not be made from church funds, but from donations made specifically for the car. He determined that he wanted an American Motors Rambler.
It was arranged to present him with the car after the 11:00 AM mass one Sunday. I wouldn't say that he was surprised, but there was a certain glow and delight at the prospect of the new car.
He'd only had the car for a couple of years when he was promoted to that big parish everyone in their right mind seeks. He couldn't take the car with him and nobody was prepared to bury it.
The assistant pastor and the replacement didn't need vehicles because they already had them so it was decided to give the car to the sisters who taught at the parish school because they were dependent upon others to provide transportation when it was needed.
Once title had been passed along to the sisters the Rambler was moved to the convent where, at times, some of the students had access to it. Eventually, for reasons not entirely apparent, the two Rs in Rambler at the front of the vehicle were removed. At that point the letters were rearranged by some enterprising individual to spell out MABEL.

other blogger
will find it
much simpler

Follow up

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Did I say "storm" yesterday?
The NWS officially recorded. .01 inch of rain yesterday. I will own up to having seen what appeared to have been a raindrop of two on the concrete.
There's some talk of a chance of showers through the rest of the week... we'll see.

what a disappointment

Great!!!

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I have spent more time than I want to think about gazing to the west and the north looking for the predicted storm. A few moments ago I checked the NWS site and found I have been looking the wrong way. It is to the south and we should be catching some precipitation any moment.

hate wasting
effort like that

Still avoidng the use of a certain word

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It's easy when one doesn't post for a few days.
Anyhow, we're headed south for the day.

going to see the grandson

The Challenge continues

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I had to break down and use the word I challenged myself not to use.
Don't look for it here. It's over at R & M. Sometimes there is no way around it.
What I have found interesting is the elimination of its use has in no way affected how a sentence appears of even sounds.

haven't been monitoring
how anyone else is
doing with the challenge

This one isn't on the sidebar

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There's a guy in Florida... wait! There's lots of guys in Florida.
There's a blog I frequently visit by a guy from Florida.
I wonder if maybe he isn't having some kind of identity crisis. He changed the title from Some Cranky Guy to Some Blogging Guy and now he refers to himself as Howard.
Go ahead. Ask me why I bothered to post this.

because he's included
my blogs in his blogroll

Before I forget... again

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Well, I didn't exactly forget... I just decided to extend this little break from posting.


Meanwhile, across the Pond, my friend Brian has been challenged to limit his use of a certain word by an acquaintance he asked to critique an historical document he's publishing. I should mention I've read a rough draft of said publication and did not find it wanting.
In any event, I wish him well in his endeavor to eliminate the offending word. I have done my best to do it here.

maybe I will continue

It isn't lost

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Jefferson

Just click on the link. Read the post. Then realize that there are a large number of folks who would very much still like to see this happen and have it include a much larger area.

what are the odds?

I can't remember

...if I mentioned that we have to be away this weekend.
It's a long an convoluted story that is really only of interest to a few folks scattered over much of the United States. It would interest much fewer folks if there weren't offspring, their spouses, their ex-spouses, grandchildren, great grandchildren and great great grand children, not to mention a couple of girlfriends.
A lot goes on in a man's life when he lives 96 years and remains active.
I wish we were going to celebrate his birthday.

he'd be 97

Tribute

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Click on the image to read a fan's tribute to Ernie Harwell

it was a sad day in
Detroit yesterday

I should probably apologize

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My good friend, the Brighton Pensioner, has been doing his utmost to keep from posting about the elections in Britain. He's done a decent job, too... at least remaining above the politics.
I will be the first to proclaim that I don't have a clue about what the European Parliament is. Heck I only vaguely understand what the British Parliament is. Oh, let's face it. I know how the U.S. Gov't. is supposed to work. I haven't a clue about what's going on in our nations capital, but it isn't what I was taught.
The other day the the British P.M. let slip, while he was miked, what he really thought. Wouldn't it be grand if we could listen in and hear what the U.S. Leaders really thought?

Oh! Yeah. There was that Biden thing.

Anyhow... I should apologize for letting my friend believe that we... well some of us anyway... haven't been kept up to speed. I am sure that there are a number of Brits who would be delighted to see their parliament hung.

our media keeps us
informed about European
politics when they feel
it's entertaining or it
makes others look bad

Another game

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Gabe had another baseball game Friday night. His team didn't lose again.

has it been mentioned
that no score is kept

This morning's menu

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s
It was the first Sunday of the month again.
That meant getting up and out early to feed the masses.
Sharon waits tables. I get to hide in the kitchen.

scrambled eggs
and the french toast
are my purview