Ahoy

"Anybody seen Paul or Peggy lately?"

"YOU LOOKIN' FOR ME?"

"It's green, green they say, on the far side of the hill."

"Yuh must have kissed the Blarney Stone."

"Go on with ya now. May the Cat eat you, and the devil eat the

cat."

"There was an old man named Paul,

whose lass Peggy was at the mall....

So, blah, blah, blah blah,

and blah, blah, blah, blah,

and blah before a great fall."

"In Dublin's fair city, where girls are so pretty, I first laid my

eyes on sweet Molly Malone...at

which point sweet Peggy my own, hit me with her phone. And

now I feel so all alone."

"So, off to the pub, with ya bub."

"Tura Lura, Lura, Tura, Lura, Lie....."

"Another pint I'll be havin' Mr. Otoole."

"Cockels and Mussles, Alive, alive, OH!"

"Sure and it all sounds a little fishy to me."

And all the while you were thinkin' we were Norwegian!

"Ain't she sweet...."

"See her walking down the street."

I don't know you, but my most profound and helpful musing comes while I'm taking a shower. Take this morning for instance. I always get up before Peggy to make sure I know there will be enough hot water to shower in. That, to be clear, has very little to do with the story I'm about to tell. It is just to let you know, let's put in the present tense, I'm in the shower.

Well I've just about used up all the hot water. Peggy saunters into the bathroom and begins grooming her hair. I sense her presence, and just autonomically whistle! And as sometimes happens, when she is in the right mood, she whistles back. What's wrong with this scenario.

Well the fog shrouded shower makes it entirely impossible for either of us to get a glimpse of the other. So what revelation arrives in my cortex?

It must be why God diminishes our vision as we age. It is because, to butcher some Robert Burns verse, it is to keep us from "seeing ourselves as others see us."

Don't you think?

"Little Things Mean a Lot"

Someone once told us, "don't sweat the little things." But I'm sorry, on this matter I reserve my inalienable right to sweat.

You know the little TWISTY they put on the end of a loaf of bread? You know the thin wire
covered with thin plastic they tell us "seals in freshness?"

I just don't like them, and I'll bet there are some of you out there who agree.


As you know, to get to the bread when you get home, you twist the twisty until it is fully untied so you can get to the loaf. Hopefully I'm not alone in this observation. Have you noticed that the twisty is twisted an undetermined amount of times? It may be twisted three times, and it may be twisted ten times.

But it is really not that issue that bothers me most. Have you ever noticed that sometimes a twisty is twisted to the left? And sometimes it is twisted to the right? So think about it. If the last one you untwisted had been twisted to the right? And the new one you untwist has been twisted to the left? What happens? You are TWISTING the wrong way. So those ten twists to the right, now become 20 twists to the left, and that is only if you stopped at 10.

I think it is only a matter of time before some bread maker is sued for contributing to someones Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

But there are larger concerns about this seemingly little matter. Who is it that is twisting these twistys at the bakery?

Clearly it is a task that could be assigned a pack of Capuchin Monkeys. But with monkeys you have to house and feed them and put up with their " I don't feel like doing it now" attitude. And I'm pretty sure the SPCA and PETA would be all over the bakers.

Cheap labor in China do you think? No, these bakers are not going to ship their product to Beijing just to get some twistys twisted.

No, I'm thinking it has to be some put upon labor pool here in this country. I'm not going to guess whether they are getting paid fairly for this menial task. But I do know a few things about reading? Huh?

Well, you see, I'm suspecting that a typical twister after a hundred or so twists, is going to want to change his or her motion. So while he or she had been twisting to the left for the first hundred twists, that twister will feel an absolute need to switch and twist to the right for the next one hundred. Problem?

Well you've heard of switch hitters in Baseball, Volleyball, and once in a while Tennis? They become phenomenal athletes because they can come at you from two directions. But read the literature or bios on these athletes. What is a common denominator? They can't read. That's because they've ignored and confused the brain waves telling them to make a choice, are you a lefty or a righty. They need to decide so they can read right to left and bottom up. NO, no, that's not what I meant. It's left to right and top down. Is that right?

So just think about what we are doing to these twister folks. When they retire they will have to go to live in the "Old Folks Twister Home." There won't be any books there. They won't be able to read them. I'm thinking knitting will be big. They'll knit comic sweaters with both arms on the same side.

Now there is just one other scenario that just popped into my brain. What if ROBOTS are doing all this twisting. But you know that doesn't make me comfortable either.

If Robots aren't sure which way they are twisting, we are in big trouble folks. A Cyborg that can't read, and doesn't know its right arm from its left arm? That is just out and out scary my friends.

So, you see what I mean? Little things do mean a lot.

Let's Wrap It Up!

This has been a particularly busy holiday period for us. There was travel, visiting, special events, Christmas tree decorating, birthday celebrations, special local trips. We went through the lighting display at the Wildlife Museum.

But the highlight might have been our short trip to Fondis for the big parade. We took the Millers with us. They'd heard a lot about the parade and Diamond Jim's Steak House at the casino. For the most part every thing lived up to its publicity, but we'll have to wait for the highly publicized and rated Diamond Jim's gustatory experience The line to get in was a least 8 blocks long. I kid you not.

It was really was fun to see the mayor up there on the float tossing out ten dollar gold pieces. Peggy and Carol both caught one each. Of course, it wouldn't even cover the tip at Diamond Jim's.

So anyway, here Peggy and I are both exhausted, and spending the day in our PJ's. She crocheting, and I'm sitting back reading my copy of the monthly newspaper, "The High Plains Rider."

I see a short blurb mentioning all the goings on in Fondis which inspires me to share a little bit of that experience with you.

But you know, as busy as we've been, and seemingly in need of rest, I'm getting a little antsy.

So I bundle up ( it's dark, and well below freezing outside) and take off on a power walk. Just as I leave the porch, two women, in their early 40's I'm guessing, were on their power walk in the same direction I want to go? Should I? Some creepy old man appearing behind them out of nowhere. But it was the route I'd planned and they would just have to accept me.

Turns out they don't even acknowledge my existence. And I think I know why. They stop in front of what must have been one of their homes. They are giggling, and I hear one of them say, "I think we need to celebrate."

Keep in mind we are well past New Years. Her power walking mate says with what appears to be a huge grin, " do we have to celebrate every time you blow your nose."

Well, I find it amusing, but they top me on this one. Even though they are standing firmly on a bed of ice, the laughter that follows "nose" results in both women losing their footing, no doubt forming large bruises on parts of their anatomy few eyes will see.

I don't think its THAT funny. They are laughing so hard I see no need to offer any assistance. I'm no Power Walk Law scholar, but my best guess in retrospect? These two are clearly in violation of the third class misdemeanor, "Drinking While Walking on Ice." And I'm sure they must have violated some HOA edict.

So why am I sharing all this? Well long, long ago I was reading the High Plains Rider and noticed a comment from the managing editor. He had challenged his readers to figure out which half of his newspaper was true, and which half was not. Picture a newspaper half The Onion and Half the New York Times. Anyway I toss that same true or false challenge out to you regarding this posting.

Oh, and next year Peggy and I have decided we're going to invite Jim and Mary Weis and Jeff and Janey Stroh to go to Fondis with us. Hope your 2011 will be as exciting as our 2010.

Moon Man

I promised a few of you cheated of the first Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse since the Viking Age...that I'd share some images I was able to grab on early morning of the 21st. "I HAD to stay up since it was my birthday. Never know....there might be an omen in there somewhere."

So here they are:

If you want to catch the development of the eclipse, start at the bottom and work your way up. I had to do a little editing to get these close to what you'd see with the naked eye, but not much.

So, anyway, if you missed the eclipse because of all the rotten weather just about everywhere, you can now tell your grandchildren, "Oh, yeah I saw that event." Just play senile when they start asking you questions about it.

Dog Gone It

"WHERE'S VICTOR BORGE? I WANT TO PLAY."

Peggy wants a dog for Christmas. She says she wants the pet to keep ME company (aka keep ME busy) when she is not around. She pretends to be flexible on the breed, but let me list some parameters that OUGHT to influence her subtle choice.

With some mild hyperbole, let me say our backyard is about 10 x 10, and I'm not talking acres here. We have dogs to the left of us and dogs to the right of us. We have fairly high north and south fences. To the west? Barbed wire, followed by open space, followed by a new major thoroughfare.

Now here's another wrinkle I think should be considered. While I have at least three different cultures mixed into my DNA, at least one of them, enhanced by my surname, is Norwegian. So what appears to be Peggy's primary canine choice? Can you guess?

Would it be Great Dane? I'm not finding any research that shows the Danes and Norwegians to be particularly chummy with each other.

While the Great Dane's disposition ranks among the friendliest of the species, there is evidence they can raise a ruckus among other beasts of kind.

And sure, there is literature citing the Great Dane to be perfectly comfortable cuddling up in your lap (overwhelming your lap).

However, there is ample incidental evidence telling us any gentle Great Dane leap over barbed wire could not only result in great calamity? Is could also certainly lead to the this lesser Scandinavian breed crawling up into just about any lap it finds.

But I'm not going to be Scrooge here. Besides if Peggy decides she's going to have something?

Been there?

However, there is one sticking point I am going to insist on. She (Peggy) must promise to read Marmaduke every single day between now and Christmas Eve. Wish me luck! Or not!

DUCK!

I know it's a goose. Duck just seemed to be more polite.

So you may have read the rudiments of my vehicle woes in concert with my coffee drinking buddy Jeff Stroh. But if not, let me do a quick recap.

Well no holiday season is as wonderful as we tell everybody it is. You can't have this many things happening out of routine without something going awry. Well we are a two car family, and while that might be wasteful for a retired couple? It is what we are used to.

So this past week my OIL LIGHT came on. (That part of the story will require another blog entry.) Anyway, to get to the point, Peggy and I have been a one car retired couple for five days.

So I get her car Friday morning to go enjoy my ritual coffee with Jeff Stroh. We've known each other for 35 years and have a lot of war stories to relive. But to tell this part of this saga I need only go back to said Friday.

I pull into the parking lot at an agreed upon coffee house (they don't need any additional advertising.)

I pop out of the car, and according to my nearly lifelong ritual, I pat myself on all my pockets to make sure I'm carrying all my necessities. Yep, you guessed it. For maybe the tenth time in memory I forgot to pack my wallet and my cell phone.

Well, my tale of woe was covered by Jeff's pre-paid coffee card. We shared a glance I didn't totally understand as I returned to the table with my Soy Chai. I didn't need to nudge him much to get the whole story. Turns out when Jeff showed up at un-named coffee house, he had this sinking feeling he'd left his wallet at home.

"No problem, Paul will cover me."

And I would have, could I have. But hang on. This story is far from over.

We always talk a little politics, some sports, and then toss in the personal stuff of the week. So I shared with Jeff the sad news my oil light came on, and that so far it had cost me two hundred dollars and the tab was rising. He countered with a similar woe involving his wife Janie's vehicle.

Well, fully exhausted from our weekly therapy, we part. He has to stop at the facility before heading home, so I'm out of the parking lot before he leaves.

I get home and Peggy and I attempt to organize our one car priorities. Those plans were interrupted by my cell phone vibrating from another room. So I'm assuming I've got a message. I did and it was date lined about five minutes after I left the coffee shop. Guess who?

"Hey, Paul. It's Jeff. Just thought you'd like to know my engine light just came on."

My guess is it is the work of the ghost of a county commissioner whose life Jeff and I tried to destroy (for good cause) thirty years ago.

I'm sure there will be more to this story, but enough for now. I do want to add some thoughts about being a one vehicle retired family. Sure you get closer. You discuss (fight) priorities. You rediscover eye (daggers) contact. And you ultimately resign yourselves to compromise and sing together,

" 'TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY!