Bleeping North Wind doesn't seem to understand it's supposed to calm down after sunset.

Get over it

I don't know about anyone else, but I am really tired of hearing what's wrong with this or that politician... or how screwed up the Euro-zone is... or how much money was spent on Black Friday, Shop local Saturday, or Cyber Monday.

I'm not particularly religious in the church-going sense. But I believe if enough of us stopped doing whatever it is we're doing long enough to think seriously about this season, Advent, and what it represents... and you don't have to believe in God [or Santa Claus] to do that... then quite possibly probably I'd feel a whole lot better.

Oh, yeah! So would everyone else who took the time to remember that the coming holiday is about hope. So take the time. Then when you can, catch someone's eye and smile.

it's all about me,
don'tcha know
.

More errata

I started a rant the other day about commercialism. I was going to go off about the businesses that opened on Thanksgiving. I stopped when I realized I'd spent a major part of my working career working in businesses open on Thanksgiving.

Back in the day when I was the best pizza cook ever making pizzas, the restaurant I worked in was closed on Thanksgiving and Christmas so the employees could be with their families. But as the demographic in the downtown area changed (several residence hotels that catered to senior citizens opened), my employer realized there were no places for the locals to go out for a hot meal on those holidays and decided to open for abbreviated hours as a convenience to those folks. We even added turkey to our menu for the day. The effort was appreciated. We didn't set any sales records but we did get a lot of thank yous.

When I moved my skills for dealing with the public over to the convenience store industry I knew I was getting into a 24/7, 365 day business. That's why they call them convenience stores... c-stores for short. Holidays just mean those who worked got an extra day's pay ...in a separate check so withholding didn't get most of it (my employer was cool that way). The boss was usually pretty good about letting workers trade shifts or cover hours so everyone had time with their families.

No, what I was gonna go off about are the greedy me firsters out there... the businesses who aren't usually open during those hours but want a first shot at the public's dollars... and also those folks who are so intent on buying something before anyone else. I mean, pepper spray to protect you opportunity to buy something? Gimme a break!

I think I mentioned somewhere I was going to hear all of one football game and part of another during the drive to my sister's on Thanksgiving morning. That was based on previous experience.

This year we only heard part of one game.

There are two reasons for this. First, the radio station on which we usually listen to the games no longer broadcasts them. So it took some time to find the game after I realized it had already started. Second, and even more relevant, we left the house more than an hour earlier than in the past. So the second game hadn't even started by the time we reached out destination. Besides the signal from the radio station was awful by that time.

So, how do I feel about the outcome of the games... and I will include the evening game as well?

I was 0 for 3. Ya'll figure it out. I almost always pull for the Lions... Aaron Rogers and the Packers took it to them. I can't remember ever cheering on the Cowboys. They had another late win over the Dolphins. Lastly, it's difficult for me to be objective about the 49ers. It was a clean, fairly well-played game.

still have the second
best record in the NFL
.

Errata

So! We thought the holiday merchandising had gotten heavy before Thanksgiving. What with the lady in red going ballistic in the Target commercials. But now the Chia pets are out in full force. It seems there's no expense being spared to provide lots and lots of tasteless commercials to be shown on any number of forgettable shows and reruns.

I'm going to try to keep things on a positive note.

There will be are already wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen.

The weather forecast is promising, too... unless you're looking for snow.

Guess how difficult it is to remain positive when one know the holiday shopping season is followed by the election season, neither of which is offering much of anything I really want

phbltttttt!

Bonus

.

Why I like Thanksgiving

Maybe I gave the impression that I missed having mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. I didn't.
I haven't missed having mashed potatoes since the early 60s.
I suppose if I were fond of gravy, I might look forward to mashed potatoes. But, where I am indifferent about the potatoes, gravy falls into the negative side of the balance sheet... always has and I don't know why.
My neutrality regarding mashed potatoes doesn't carry over to other methods of preparation. With the exception of potato chips (crisps) and french fries (chips) most all other preparations look better on some other person's plate.

The Thanksgiving gathering wasn't about food anyway. It didn't really matter what the main course or side dishes were... well, not much anyway. What's important is we can gather three generations of family for most of two days and there is no the only drama occurs among the three four and five year old cousins.

The meals are the catalyst that brings us together each year. Yes, I said meals. Brunch the next morning is equally as important as the dinner the evening before. That's not just about the food, either. Though the Swedish pancakes and bacon are a great attraction.


My brother in law grills the bacon outside

I'd better mention that everyone brings something to the dinner so it's kind of pot luck.


My niece* bakes.

it's the pie

*the youngest niece

Something else

There weren't any mashed potatoes for dinner on Thanksgiving this year. I think maybe that is a first. There was plenty of turkey and stuffing, though.

I commented there was no hockey on Thanksgiving. My thought at the time was there was plenty the night before.

While driving home yesterday there were two photo opportunities I couldn't really take advantage of. One was the effect the overcast just northwest of Sacramento was having on the Sun's rays. The second was a red tailed hawk sitting atop a sign in a field just north of Willows.

The drive south was rainy for about the first two-thirds of the journey. But by the time we reached Fresno there were few clouds and there was sunshine.
The drive home was full of sunshine except for the aforementioned overcast near Sacramento.

It's been a pretty good week for family... saw my brother and sister in law on Tuesday, my sisters and their families on Thursday and yesterday.

There was something strange about two of the stops we made. On the way south there was a stop at Starbucks in Red Bluff for coffee... actually it was lattes. It took about twenty minutes to place and receive our order, even though there was only one customer ahead of us. Coming home we stopped at Granzella's for a couple of take out sandwiches to have when we got home. It took less than ten minutes to place and receive out order.

that's just an observation,
not a complaint

.

Puzzlement

I don't know what was going on Wednesday, but traffic was hot at heavy over on the photo blog. I'm guessing I accidentally used something in the post title that set off the alarm bells in search engines. Ironically it was Wednesday's post that attracted the most attention. In any event, I'm amazed.

when we get home they get raked

No hockey today

save room for pie
.

Musings

I've been wondering for some time if there would be a time when the posts appearing here would actually reach the bottom of the rather lengthy sidebar. I found the answer yesterday. That post, by itself, almost accomplished the task

Someone at blogger must've flipped a switch or twisted a dial they weren't supposed to. There's chatter about posts not appearing. I know I've seen some strange things over the last week... and, again, just now!

I've seen a couple of humorous illustrations of how turkeys feel about tomorrow

Some blogs don't allow comments. This post just begs for a comment.

Tomorrow morning it's over the river (about three times, plus a couple of other rivers) and through the flatlands. My youngest sister is hosting Thanksgiving again this year. George, my brother in law, informs me that the Niners v. Ravens game is available on their TV. GS will be happy.

Things we won't be having on Thanksgiving this year

creamed cauliflower
creamed onions
Waldorf salad
candied yams
mince pie

At one time they were staples at the table. There were others, too, but I forget what they were.
One year my uncle mentioned that his grandmother used to make her own cranberry sauce. The next year my aunt showed him how it was done.

My Brother and sister in law stopped by yesterday, on their way to Portland and Thanksgiving with his daughter.
Just after they headed out we heard the freeway was closed in both directions because a truckload of vinyl catching fire about 30 miles north... where the alternate routes take drivers about four hours out of the way. Fortunately, for them, they were not stopped.

Ev

This post is prompted by a re-post of a Fathers Day tribute by Craig, who used to be Desmond Jones and writes better than I.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My mother married my father, Willis O'Brien, Jr. in 1941 at St Brendan's Catholic Church on the corner of Rockaway Avenue and Ulloa Street in the Laguna Honda neighborhood of San Francisco. My Uncle Bob was best man and had to break regulations to wear his tux. He'd joined the Naval Reserve out of high school and had been called to active duty because of the national emergency. The war hadn't started yet, but obviously some preparations had begun. At least that's what I've been told.
I don't know if there was a honeymoon or not. They moved to Martinez where they had an apartment about three blocks from the train station. My father worked in Benicia... and the war started... and he either enlisted or was drafted in the Army. Officially he was in the USAAF. That would later be the Air Force. Somehow he and my mom spent enough time together so I came along. He shipped out to India in September 1943 as a Sergeant. His unit was deemed critical and in February 1944 was being flown over the mountains into China in a converted B-25, when the plane crashed into the side of a mountain in the fog.
That's about all I really know about my father, other than he may have been a saint and he may have been younger than mom.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So here's this idyllic life for a kid. Mom and I live on the top floor of the apartment building. My aunt and cousin live in the apartment next door. Two widow ladies, Mrs. Caroll and Mrs. White live on the floor below, and My great grandmother lives on the ground floor. My mother's Uncle Jim has the other ground floor apartment. It all seemed perfectly normal to me. Oh yeah, the best part was Golden Gate Park was one block away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It didn't last. Gram Thompson was ancient and unwell and had to be moved. My Uncle had returned from the war and had moved his family to Marin County. The apartment building had to be sold to facilitate the care my great grandmother needed. We remained for awhile. But the new owner of the building, Mr. Zuckerman, was a peculiar man. My mother couldn't wait to move. By that time I'd started school and she'd returned to work at the company where she had been employed before she married and before I was born. Anyway she had managed to put together enough money for a down payment and was earning enough to buy a house. It would also mean I didn't have to ride the city bus to school any longer. It also meant I had my own room, instead of a corner of the dining room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maybe I forgot to mention that somewhere along the line I had come to realize that our situation was kind of unique. There wasn't a father in our house. I'm told I made numerous attempts to rectify that in conversations with repairmen and deliverymen, even to the point of telling them where they would sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So we'd moved to this house, ideally located right behind a fire house and four block from the parochial school I attended. Meanwhile mom's friends were plotting. Some were actually setting her up. She met this guy, Ev. That's short for Evert. He was from Oakland, the only offspring of Swedish immigrants. He was older than mom and was bald. I didn't hold any of that, particularly the part about being from Oakland, against him. Maybe because he brought me comic books? He was widowed, with a son my age... actually he's older by six months (the son, not Ev), but it's not relevant to this story. Ev and mom dated a bunch of times and they introduced his son, now commonly called who's that sleeping in the chair Niles, to me. We all got along pretty good and the next thing I knew mom was saying that Ev had asked her to marry him. What did I think. Well for cryin' out loud, it's about time. I was almost eight years old and ready to start the second grade again. So Niles went off to his grandparent's, I went off to mine, and mom and Ev got married and spent the weekend moving all of their stuff, his from Oakland, ours from SF, to Menlo Park and the biggest freakin' house I could imagine one family could live in.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And my mom wasn't going to have to work any more!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So every week day, unless Ev drove, mom took him to catch the train early in the morning and picked him up at 6:00pm. Every single day. Then she'd come home, and roust us out of bed, and make sure we had breakfast, and were properly dressed for the current weather conditions, and were away from the house in time to catch the school bus, which depending on what grade we were in, stopped somewhere withing five blocks of the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I guess I may as well mention that I can't ever remember calling Ev anything but dad until sometime in the '80s, when I started calling him “Pop.” Why I changed I couldn't say. So I may as well revert and call him dad.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dad was a pretty handy guy to have around. His father had been a builder and had managed to teach him a lot of what it takes to construct stuff. When you consider that dad had a desk job in a real office, that's pretty amazing. What dad didn't know about construction, he had friends who did, or they could get you a really good deal on frozen food. We had a really huge freezer in the garage, but still had to rent a frozen food locker because he got such great deals. I think dad's motto was, “Can we get this wholesale?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We were a church-going family, mom and I to the Catholic church, dad and Niles to the Lutheran church... same catechism, slightly different philosophy. One of us was even devout (that would be 25% of us).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The following summer we took our first family vacation together. Dad had been priming us for almost a year about how great the Trinity Alps are. About the ride into Granite Lake on horseback and living in a tent for a week. What he didn't tell us was about the drive from where we lived to Trinity Center, where the packer was. He also didn't mention the car would be packed full of everything we'd need for a weeks and that passenger comfort was not in the cards. Nor did he mention the temperatures in the Sacramento Valley reached 110°. Back then there were no freeways. In fact most of the trip was on two lane highway. It was exciting when dad decided he needed to pass a truck, which was often.
It took two days to get to Trinity Center. Dad knew a shortcut.
He was right about how marvelous the Trinity Alps are. The fishing was great and mom did a fantastic job preparing three meals a day and keeping the campsite straightened up.

When we got home from the pack trip it was time for the nine year olds to learn how to paint a house. We were already learning about landscaping, raking leaves, pulling weeds, and how to operate a push mower (you know, no engine). I was learning that, while big houses are nice, apartment living has some advantages. The putty knives, sand paper, sponges, TSP, buckets, drop cloths, bushes and paint all came out while we spent the remaining three weeks of dad's vacation painting the house... the exact same colors it already was.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next Christmas we got a dog. Smoky was a Cocker Spaniel. He was about ten months old when we got him and his first act was to pee on the living room rug. He was never allowed beyond the kitchen again and only allowed inside on special occasions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next summer we stayed home. My oldest sister (yeah I know she's ten years younger) was born. At the time I thought that was the best birthday present ever. Nothing's changed my mind. We didn't exactly stay home. Niles went to his grandparent's farm. I went to my grandparent's apartment. The farm seemed like a better option because although neither pair of grandparents had televisions, the farm was bigger, with more stuff to do. Though my grandfather and I did manage to escape periodically for a game of catch and to listen to a game on the radio.
Meanwhile dad was transforming the back yard. When we moved in, the front was already landscaped. In back there was a patio and a small lawn. There was little else. It was a great place to play. Dad's first move was to build a garden shed near one end of the yard. The shed was huge by today's garden shed standards, about 160 sq. feet, with a sliding 4 foot door and slab floor. Then he built a seven foot high basket weave fence to enclose the shed and end of the yard. When Niles and I came home we got to help. “Here, hold this board. Hand me that hammer. Darn you, kid” We learned lots of stuff.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dad always had something for us to do. We learned a lot about selling stuff. The only reason we didn't sell more Scout-o-Rama tickets when we were scouts was because there weren't any more. When the troop sold candy to help finance trips to scout camp, others would sell like ten units, we'd sell like ten cases... each. The following year when the troop decided not to sell the candy, dad got it anyway and we went out on our own and sold it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I don't know where my folks sent my sister, but we went on another pack trip. This time dad borrowed a roof rack for the car so there was a little more room for passengers. We left in the evening to avoid the heat of the Sacramento Valley and we made the trip in one day even though we still took the shortcut.
I should mention here that dad learned of the shortcut some 25 years before he actually ever drove it. In the meantime new roads had been built in the area, which made the shortcut unnecessary and superfluous.
One of the really great things about packing in to Granite Lake in the Trinity Alps is that more often than not there is nobody else there and even when there is the campsites are far enough apart to give all the privacy anyone could want. This year arrangements were made to divide up the duties in camp. Mom would still cook, but only breakfast and dinner. Everyone was on their own for lunch. Niles and I were responsible for keeping up the water supply, policing the campsite and gathering firewood for the evening campfire. We had a camp stove for cooking. This year we'd also brought old clothes that we didn't necessarily have to pack back out.
The packer screwed up. There was another couple camping around the lake from us who were due to leave the day after us. Unfortunately, the packer mixed things up and only brought enough horses for them. They weren't ready to leave. So we packed some non-essentials and sent off. He'd be back the next day for all of us. It rained that night. Actually it was snowing only a little further away. We were at the 6000 foot elevation. Niles and I learned some new words. It was another fun trip.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We didn't go again the next year. We got another sister instead and we both went to stay on the farm... for the first and only time. It had nothing to do with how we behaved and everything to do with the haircuts we came home with.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next year my mom stayed home with my sisters and dad, Niles and I planned a backpacking trip that would cover about 110 miles of the Trinity Alps Wilderness. We were going to see a lot more than Granite Lake. The week before we were to go, while at Scout camp, I got a stomach bug and couldn't hold anything down, even water. To make matters worse, we were actually away from the camp on an overnight camp out and I had to hike back. As bad as I felt, I made it. We put off the start of our backpacking trip for a day and headed for Trinity Center, sleeping in the car when we arrived.
This was back long enough ago that the Trinity Dam had not yet been built so the north fork of the Trinity River was still free flowing and there were still lots of spots available for car camping.
We got up early in the morning and found our way to Scott's Ranch to park the car and eat breakfast before we started the first hiking leg of our trip. It turned out I wasn't entirely back to full strength from my bout with the stomach bug. Somewhere around a little more then a mile from where we'd planned to camp I ran out of gas. Worse, it was getting dark and looked lilke it might rain. Dad muttered some more new words and told me to stay put. He then blustered off to the campsite, dropped his pack, had Niles start setting up, and started back to where I was told to wait. By that time I'd become a little more energized and started to move again and met him on the trail. He grabbed my pack, which was about 35 lbs compared to the 60 plus lbs he'd been lugging. He was happy to see me moving, but unhappy I hadn't entirely followed instructions. I think I heard a “darn you kid.”
To say dad was volatile would be an oversimplification. Most of the time, like more than 95%, he was really pretty even. When he blew up, you'd have thought the roof came down. It got loud and the air turned blue... for a few minutes. Then, if you hadn't been there, you wouldn't have known anything happened.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Our hiking trip was one of those disaster of the day things. Fortunately, they usually involved little things, like wet boots. We made it without any major mishaps.
Dad must have had a really good time because he would still bring it up 40 years later.
That was when we finally found out how to avoid the shortcut and save about 20 miles and 45 minutes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By this time both my brother and I had paper routes with the local daily and were able to finance pretty much whatever our folks decided we wanted to do. Grandparents were pretty good about adding to the kitty. What I'm saying is that if the adults thought something was a good idea, then we automatically bought in without being consulted. They were probably right.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dad was all about family loyalty, at least if you were from the same household. Not that Niles and I didn't have our moments. One time he pissed me off so bad that I emptied a drawer full off hammers... and an axe... at him. Fortunately I missed. But let anyone from outside the family threaten and we had one anothers back. Not that we ever ganged up on anyone. We just didn't let anyone gang up on us. Much later some of that worked to my benefit. As my brother went through school a year ahead of me, he had to handle himself in a few altercations. He always prevailed. Others knew that neither he nor I could dominate the other, so I was seldom challenged.
On one particular occasion I'd had some issue with a group of kids on my paper route that caused me to get home late for dinner. Immediately after we ate, dad grabbed me and we went to each of the homes of these kids and confronted them and their parents about whatever happened. It was cool, if sometimes embarrassing, to have him on your side.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Then there was high school. About the only way he involved himself in our high school activities was to monitor our grades, which, in my case, almost weren't good enough to get me out of high school. It took the threat of summer school after my senior year to get me the grade I needed. The teach was threatened that I would probably be in his summer school class if I didn't get a passing grade.
The best part about dad's non-involvement was when I started needing written excuses for missing class (the one I almost failed), I could have another student write it and sign his name. Of course if anyone had aver seen his handwriting... he had perfect penmanship... they'd have known immediately.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Around home it was still a learning opportunity, particularly since I was grounded most of the time because of grades. He taught me how to cut bricks using a hammer and chisel so we could build a radius in brick path around an oak tree in the back yard. I learned how to mix concrete; how to install a window pane; how to build concrete forms for meandering path around the back lawn; and how to get up early enough in the morning to escape any number of other opportunities.
When I went into the Navy, exactly a week after graduation, there was some time to kill before leaving SF for San Diego. The buddy who joined up with me and I went to dad's office and he took us to lunch. He also brought my mom, grandmother and sisters to the train station in Palo Alto when the train stopped that night. So there was one of those tearful good-byes that you only get to see in movies or on the news. I wasn't even leaving California... for cryin' out loud!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Three months later I was almost back home. I was sent for further training to Treasure Island in San Francisco. We had time off every weekend. I was home almost every weekend. I learned how to increase the size of a patio 100%. I also learned how to keep the concrete coming down the shoot from a concrete truck from dumping over onto its side.
It's funny, the patio job was started in the fall of 1961. It wasn't finished until 1965... after I was home for good.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I lived at my folks, while attending college, for almost two years after the Navy. It saved me some money... there wasn't any GI Bill then... and it was handy for them to have another adult around, not to mention that I was another tax deduction because I was a full time student living at home. I worked nights and weekends part-time. I helped with project around the house when I could. Like the roof job: the house had a cedar shake roof that had been there for almost 20 years and was beginning to suffer for it. Dad got this linseed oil concoction that was sprayed on with a pump sprayer after the shakes were scrubbed down with a wire brush. I think that alone paid the rent.
On spring break my first year in college a friend and I went to Lake Tahoe for a couple of days. It was April and there was still a lot of snow. In fact, it had snowed on our drive up and we'd had to put chains on my car. Anyhow we decided we had to go play in the snow and we had a tobbogan. To make a long story short, I broke my left leg and tore the ligaments that keep the foot from flopping to the side. It required surgery and maybe someday I'll tell the whole broken leg story. So the little vacation was cut short.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dad hated cats. Well he definitely didn't want them around... at all. That is until a new family moved into the house behind my folks. They had two cats. Siamese cats. A male and a female. The female was shy and seldom seen. The male was the lord of the neighborhood. Even dogs would think twice about messing with him. Somehow this cat got around dad's “There'll be no cats” declaration and it was decided the family would have a cat. Not just any cat, it would have to be a Siamese. So the neighbor's male was put together with someone's female to breed and the outcome was an undersized male Siamese. As the owners of the male, the neighbors were entitled to the pick of the litter, or in this case the entire litter. The kitten was the same coloring, except for the points, as my folks carpeting, which was called martini, so he was named Martini.
Now we have to back up here just a little to mention that the cat acquisition occurred while I was still in the Navy.
So about a month after Martini moved in Mom was chaperoning a bunch of fifth graders at the roller skating rink and took a nasty fall, breaking both of her wrists. She was incapacitated. Heck she was in the hospital for a week. Someone was needed to look after my sisters so dad could go to work. My grandmother was drafted for the task. What did it matter that she was about 80 years old and still used an oven to toast bread? Grandma was a great target for the cat to practice stalking. Poor Grandma. I was scheduled to come home for the weekend to take to exams before starting college. My buddy, Smitty, came along, too. He was taking the same tests. We were not a good influence on the cat. We taught it how to get on top of doors so it could swat at people walking by. Sometime around this time the cat acquired a new name, Spike. When I came home permanently I became his, much to the chagrin of my sisters. Dad was next in line as one of Spike's favorites, then whoever fed him. Spike was also good friends with his sire. They actually followed one another around.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So after I came home from surgery on my torn ligaments, Spike guarded my well-being, perching on my full-leg cast like it was a tree branch. There was no danger I would roll over on him by accident.
That summer my folks were taking my sisters to Europe. In fact, mom and the girls were staying all summer. Dad was coming home after six weeks. Somehow I was supposed to manage on my own. And I did, too. Except for one minor thing. Spike had some fleas. Spike got into the part of the house with carpet. The house got fleas. Dad came home and the first task was to rid the house ...and the cat of fleas. The house part was relatively easy. A house won't fight back. Spike was another story. It was a bonding experience for dad and I. All we were trying to do was powder the silly cat. You'd have thought we were trying to stuff him in a burlap sack.
After some time we were able to laugh about it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Some years later, after he retired, I talked dad into playing on the same softball team as me. This was after I had stopped playing fast pitch. We convinced him he could pitch and even got him a five gallon bucket so he could practice lobbing those slow pitches. He could hit the ball pretty well. It was a good thing because he needed a lot of time to get to first base. My mom and sisters used to come out to watch the games. In fact after they started attending, other players families would come, too. We had a reasonably large cheering section.
One time, when I was catching, I chased a fly ball into foul territory. As I approached the opposing team's on-deck circle, I ran into the bat held by the on-deck hitter and dropped like a rock. Dad was there before anyone else. Later I asked why he didn't run like that when he was on the bases.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This post has nothing to do with Fathers Day and everything to do with what would have been a 102nd birthday. Ev passed away on November 22, 1999, the day before his 90th birthday. We may pick up this story again.

Crappy

Blogger's acting up again... or maybe it's the Internet

Someone must have decided the old familiar beige interface was okay... because it's back.

I think I have to mention lutefisk at least once more.
I figured out that my mom insisted everyone have some on their plate to there wouldn't be any leftovers.
Mom wasn't entirely innocent of inflicting stuff we didn't like. We were too polite to tell her about the tomato aspic.

Three more days to another road trip, albeit a relatively short one.
That's where the title for this post comes from. It's not the travel that's crappy. It's the predicted weather.

No, that's not crappy. What's crappy is we won't be able to watch the next game unless someone has the NFL Network.

The doves are back flying around the neighborhood. They're quiet at the moment.

Using adjectives to title posts has become something of a challenge

...and fun

Silly

I already know what the title of this post is going to be. But I have challenged myself to wait until after it is finished before I fill in the empty space.

Sunday mornings are a little different in the blogosphere. Many bloggers take a day [or the weekend] off. Still others do something whimsical. It's fun to see what distractions are out there.
What would Sundays be

...without the comics?

...a concert in the park

... bacon at breakfast*

*WARNING - do not read this story (where the picture of the bacon in the link came from)

misplaced preposition alert
.

Hungry

Oops! I wrote the title first.
The real truth is I'm on a roll... naming posts with one word ending in "Y"¹

Today's title is the responsibility of the Brighton Pensioner, who finally, after several days of almost posting about eating, actually mentioned food items. What brought his most recent food post about is all of the posts we colonists have been creating about Thanksgiving and it's wonderful food treats. About the only dish he mentioned I fully recognized is pumpkin pie. Then he went on about puddings and jellies. He might as well have been talking about lifts, bonnets, boots and buggies ².
He mentioned that he didn't like pumpkin pie. That's not a sin.
That brings to mind a short story.
My stepdad's family are "old country" Swedes. So when we had family gatherings there were lots of dishes from Scandinavia served at meals. We loved the meatballs and the Swedish pancakes. Some others not so much. I never quite acquired and affinity for rice pudding, kippered herring or pickled pigs feet. Then there was the traditional Christmas Eve dish that reared its ugly head every single year... Lutefisk³
I'm pretty certain every other family looked forward to Christmas Eve. We kids (and probably Mom, too) almost dreaded it.

some said it was cod...
bet it was carp

¹that might also be potential names for members of the Seven Dwarves
²elevators, hoods, trunks and grocery carts
³Well, we tried the lutefisk trick and the raccoons went away, but now we've got a family of Norwegians living under our house!

Stuffy

Somewhere on my hard drive is a story I started last June. With any luck, I may find it and post before too long. I was going to say finish it. But that would create some limits.

For the second day in a row I started writing a post without giving it a title.
Speaking of titles, it just occurred to me that Drifty could have been the eighth dwarf.

So... a week from tomorrow is Small Business Saturday.
Does anyone see any irony that it is being promoted by American Express?
I agree we should all support our local small businesses... and think maybe they would appreciate cash (or a check that won't bounce).

I decided on a title for this post... then changed my mind. Then I changed my mind again and decided it didn't need a title..

I'm watching out the window as the weather changes from crappy... to even crappier.

maybe I will call tomorrow's post crappy

Drifty

I almost did it again.
What's that, you ask?
I almost wrote the title before I even knew what I was going to post today.
I do that a lot.
It doesn't seem to make much difference in my posts because I am apt to go "off topic" almost immediately.
Back in the day, before blogs and Facebook, I frequented some bulletin boards where the members were apt to start a thread on one topic and end up expounding on any number of other subjects before it would run its course.

My original thought was to post something about how, after a number of days of brilliant sunshine, the weather turned gloomy.
There's no sign that it will turn back to sunny any time soon.

I'm still trying to come up with something positive to say about the drivers on the Interstate.
I should rephrase that.
I have come up with a number of positive statements about drivers on I-5. I can't post them here because they are politically incorrect or contain language that is unsuitable for a family friendly blog.

Brian might get a kick out of the term family friendly?

So I waited until I reached this point to come up with a title. I will admit I used a thesaurus to come up with it... well, that and a distant memory.
We used to call folks with a short attention span, drifty.

that was if we liked them

Dang... missed it again

Friday the 13th was on Sunday.

Recently the biggest source for traffic to this blog has been Craig's blog. That really is kind of a relief. up until then the biggest source was my brother-in-law's blog, which hasn't had a post since last New Years Eve [so I won't trouble you with a link].

I kinda wonder if I was to slip the phrase Stocking Stuffer somewhere into a blog post if it would help generate traffic?

For the Brighton Pensioner: I am still trying to find a way to say something positive about the drivers on Interstate 5. So far the best I have been able to come up with is, "They are not all from Oregon." [I did like his suggestion, though]

Blogger's at it again. They've made a change to the posting interface. So far it appears to only be cosmetic. There's been some temptation, on my part, to try out the bells and whistles updated version of the New Blogger Interface (their words, not mine). So far what I'm using now has worked just fine.

I came across a bacon item I hesitated to share... then I thought (or didn't).
What the heck!

Yeah... it's for real.

don't ask
.

Awrighty then

It is official.
Thanksgiving is the next holiday. I'm looking forward to it. Unlike last year we're staying closer to home. We probably won't be seeing any Santos in palm trees... or running around in shorts and aloha shirts.
Then we get really lambasted with the merchandising of Christmas (not that we haven't had enough already). What's bothering me most this year is the news that some retailers aren't even waiting until Friday morning after Thanksgiving to open for business. It isn't so much that they're open. It's more that there are folks who have nothing better to do than go shopping.
To my way of thinking, that holiday's season doesn't even start until Sunday, November 27 and I can wait even longer to begin my quest for whatever I gifts I may present (oh, okay, I already found one for Hugh).

but I wasn't shopping

Facetious

My good friend from Brighton suggested I might explain the photo over at R,M&P. There are any number of explanations. The first and foremost being that I don't have any recent photos of my own, so I had to use an old photo I found on the hard drive.

Or...

Interstate 5 is the main north-south highway on the West Coast and the Grapevine is north end of the section of roadway that links the southern portion of the San Joaquin Valley and the Los Angeles Basin over the Tejon Pass. It gets its name from the shapes formed by split roadways as they wind their way up (or down) the mountain from about an elevation of 1000 feet to the eventual summit at 5300 feet.



Although the trip up is not really as fast as the video, it can be disconcerting at times. The trip back down (northbound) is no better. The traffic, at times, may be horrendous... primarily because of the "me first" attitude of some drivers.

Or...

See how green the hillsides are in the photo. Then note how they appear in the video. Also note how few trees there are.

Or...

It may not be someone's favorite spot because it means they are almost in Southern California (or for the geographically challenged, leaving Northern California).

I'm fine... really!
.

A penny...

I guess the whole eleven eleven thing got under my skin more then I thought. Notice there are only two elevens. It was Veterans Day, not the numbers thing. I was thinking about a number of veterans I've known, and one I didn't.

My cousin's (yes, the twin cousin) other grandfather (the one we didn't share) was a WWI vet. He'd seen combat and in the process had survived mustard gas (or something like that).

My uncle (the twin's dad) joined the Naval Reserve in 1939 and was already on active duty at the start of WWII. He saw duty all over, but didn't tell many stories. There was something about Shore Patrol in Oran (Algeria) and another about Okinawa. He came out a Chief Boatswains Mate.

My stepfather, Pop, saw a lot of the Pacific, from Australia, to New Guinea and finally the Philippines, as an officer on the staff of Admiral Kincaid. He had a few stories. He shipped out of S.F. on the day I was born, and there were giant mosquitoes at Leyte.

I know a couple of Korean War vets, but not well enough to repeat any of their stories. I kind of tend to disbelieve those who brag.

I'm what was called a "Cold War" vet. We didn't do anything important because there wasn't any war going on (just the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile thing). I managed to get the Crow with two chevrons. I also saw some "interesting" places.

My cousin (yeah, him again) did two tours in Viet Nam and has a Purple Heart to show for it. He went to college while I was in the Navy. His plan was to make the Army a career. He did... came out with his Bird. He did it the hard way, too, enlisted, did basic at Ft. Ord, then off to Ft Benning for OCS. He's fairly stoic about his experiences, too.

I know a number of others who served in "Nam." Not many tell tales other than the humorous instances from their time in the service.

I've known very few vets from the post Viet Nam period. They didn't have much to tell and those that do, won't.

The vet I didn't know was a Sergeant who made it as far as India with the U.S. Army Air Force. Someone, somewhere, decided he and some others were critical enough to the task that they should be flown into China (instead of driving the Ledo Road). The converted B-25 they were flying in never made it out of Assam. I was six moths old when my dad was killed.

we never met
.