Gettin’ Old, This Adventure Called 'Life' Continues, However…………..

Started by Gary O, August 17, 2011, 09:01:16 PM

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firefox

Glad I could help out. What I want to know was whether
that was a minimum wage job?

I just know I'm going to get fallout from that one.
Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

Gary O

Well Bruce, that whisk broom comment killed.
Tween you and Glenn, my funnybone is spent.
W-a-a-a-a-y too much serious stuff thru the week. Gotta round things out.
Shouting down young engineering morons carrying canned agendas, and reps with blinders on but for their own bottom line, and teaching those that are to follow, drains me a bit. Meetings are a bore, only because the obvious isn't attained within 15 minutes...anything more than 20 minutes is a waste IMO. The meetings I call are stand up only. Not letting $360-$450/hr get too comfy.

Lordy, where was I....

Oh...

While wandering in thought about whisk brooms, our last dog came to mind.
I'm a dog lover.
Beagles, labs, most any breed, even the hybrid wolf my son had in Alaska was a joy....but it's playful nipping, as pups generally do, would most times leave your hand in shreds...practice I guess. What a tiger...loved his spirit.
But the whisk broom comment sent me directly to our last dog-like entity from satan...a Tibetan Terrier.
Total block head, smart, really smart, just not put to good use.
He saved his dumps for my den.
Take him out and he'd wait you out.
Keep him out and he'd still save it up.
Once back in the door, he'd head straight up the stairs to my den.
One time I stepped out to get the mail and caught him in my peripheral vision headin' up the stairs ....I stood there...he stood there....I motioned out the door...he took two stairs...then I shamed him and took him with me outside....then we both went back in....me to the kitchen...him to the den.
My only recourse was to feed him just dry dog food...found a brand that created little bricket turds and a bit of dust.......bought  two 50 lb bags, whisk broom and dust pan were additions to my den....and a new, sweepable rug.

Oh, when locked out, he developed a penchant for dumpster diving, and regularly brought home the neighbor's filled pampers.....pealed 'em back and dined on 'em like a baked potato.....
I hoped the neighbor would pick him off, but (as stated) he was smart.
Notice the referral is in the past tense...
Not getting a dog for awhile.....I'm not fit for it until my PTSD has abated some.



I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson


glenn kangiser

That's hard to beat, Gary.

Truckin'..... reminded me of my days pullin' a 45 foot reefer 'tween here and Texas hauling produce down and hot loads of tool boxes back for a business associate.

Dang... where do I start..... [noidea'

Meetings... I hate em.  You ever want to stop production just have a meeting when you could meet one on one with the guy who needed to know, but what's up with that... wouldn't get to blow your own horn that way and force everybody to listen......... [waiting]

Lets start in El Paso with my 'ol buddie Mike, headed down to Winters for a load.  

Rolled into the Petro a bit hungry and sleepy.  Mike was already in the sleeper - hadn't got up yet.  Hadn't been parked for ten minutes when the local pregnant lot lizard came up to the window and asked if I needed serviced?....

Hmmm ....Well....... I didn't do that sort of thing but being the sometimes boring job that it is, I liked to humor her anyway.

Need serviced?

"Nah ... my buddies still asleep in the sleeper and I don't think he'd appreciate us jumpin' around all over him." [ouch]

Well, that probably would have been safer than the burrito  ol' Mikey ate..... :o

We cranked 'er up and hit the freeway east.  

It was late and time to pull over for a rest.  A bit east of El Paso is a road side rest area.  

We just got the big rig parked when ol' Mikes stomach started gurgling..... Montezuma's revenge.  The rest area was too full of trucks for us to park in a stall.  Had to park about a 1/4 mile from the services along the exit road from the rest stop.  

Montezuma wasn't waitin' fer nobody.  

Too far back to the crapper, Mike bailed out of the cabover Pete with the roll of toilet paper and headed back under the reefer where he left his calling card then crawled painfully back into the cab.  This event repeated itself throughout the night.  

The cramps just kept a comin' and a comin'.  Man, I'm glad I didn't eat the burito.  In the morning we cranked up the old NTA420 Cummins and jammed her into gear.  Getting up to speed on the freeway, It was sad to have to look back in the mirror and see that roadside looking like a cotton field ready for picking..... gottogo



"Always work from the general to the specific." J. Raabe

Glenn's Underground Cabin  http://countryplans.com/smf/index.php?topic=151.0

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firefox

I have absolutely nothing to add to this. My hands are still shaking
from laughing too much. I am totally outclassed by
the both of you.
Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

Gary O

 rofl [rofl2] rofl
'Cotton field'!!


Oh, ho, I have a flood of truckin' stories...but they seem redundant to what's been penned...however, truckin' buddies (like yer story) brings to mind my buddy George. Never teamed with him, but he was a hoot...and not on purpose.
I was raised around wood stoves and fireplaces. The natural gas stoves down south were a bit of a mystery to me.
Had a buddy George that I tried to kill a few times, just before I met my bride.
He was a long tall Texan, cowboy hat, boots and all.
Six foot five and about six inches across.
I called him 'Two By' (the hat and boots didn't help).
Face 'd make an onion cry.

We shared a flat in Houston just off Telephone road, where we hung our hats. He was a truck driver, and I an oil field pipe inspector, of which jobs were plenty 'cause people were getting killed all the time.
One cold morn', when we both were home at the same time, I commenced to build a fire.
This little stove had a worn metal placard on it that read 'ARNIN', and a bunch of tiny words with a picture of a flame.
I cranked up ol' ARNIN, struck several matches, and called on Two By's help.
He jerked the matches away from me, folded his string of a body, and turned the pilot knob, holding it in, looking at me like, 'you yankee idiot'.
He hunched down, putting his face down close to the pilot tube, and put the lit match over it.
WHOOOOSH!
You could actually see the force of the explosion as it immediately blew through and past his scraggly bearded mug.
It was like a cartoon, side burns, beard singed to black nubs, eyebrows, nose hairs gone, hairless outstretched arm still holding the extinguished match. He eventually looked back at me, face smoking, like 'why are you trying to kill me, you won the war'.

The other time was when I poisoned him.
He had pneumonia from jumping in and out of his air-conditioned cab.
So there he lay on the couch, hacking his lungs up into a beer can, looking skinnier than what was normal for even him.
I felt sorry.
"Hey, how 'bout a bacon sandwich?"
'Yeah, toast the bread", cough, hork, groan.

The bacon in the fridge looked a bit ancient (coulda' been new cheese), but I scraped off the green stuff and fried it up, and even added tomato slices to my creation (coulda' been a red bell pepper).
He wolfed it down between hacks, and laid back down.
Thirty minutes later he was blowin' chips.
Two weeks later he was outta the hospital and driving again.
Thank god I met up with my lady shortly after, and her cookin' took over.
BLT anyone?
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson


Sassy

http://glennkathystroglodytecabin.blogspot.com/

You will know the truth & the truth will set you free

Gary O

I'm sure this can go thru the night 'tween the both of us, but I've got a funeral to say a few words at tomorrow (easy crowd...emotional roller coaster), so better rest the mind before this proceeds t'ward a 'Devil Went Down to Georgia' thing.
Glenn, You da man d*
Nite folks
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

glenn kangiser

[rofl2]

Old lady is on Skype Reading this with me Gary.  My eyes are cryin' and she sounds like a lovelorn chimp trying to get my affections.  [waiting]

BLT Gary... I don't think so...... last cramps I had were from a BLT off of the Camion de Basura.  

That is garbage truck in espanol.  The Mexicans get a kick out of me trying to translate American Colloquialisms into spanish.  They now call the blue outhouse the officina azul.  (The blue office.)  We have an Asian garbage truck here......   [mouse]

It wouldn't have been such a problem if the outhouses weren't all full and out of paper.  I finally figured out that the lunch wagon is the reason we have been running out of paper and filling the crappers everyday.

Next day he shows up and says.. "Why you no in line.... you no like my food?"  ...[noidea'

"Uhhh hmmm , no ... it gave me the craps yesterday......crapped my guts out....."

"OHHHHHHHhhhhhh .... So sorry,"

" .... here ... I give you nuther one free"  ....... [waiting]



"Always work from the general to the specific." J. Raabe

Glenn's Underground Cabin  http://countryplans.com/smf/index.php?topic=151.0

Please put your area in your sig line so we can assist with location specific answers.

glenn kangiser

G'day mate.....

Been talking to my Aussie buddy....G' Nite, Gary.
"Always work from the general to the specific." J. Raabe

Glenn's Underground Cabin  http://countryplans.com/smf/index.php?topic=151.0

Please put your area in your sig line so we can assist with location specific answers.


Gary O

Glenn, Sassy, Bruce, and others that may somehow find reading this stuff a pleasant distraction, I've got to confess. I do enjoy writing. There are times I can't stop, and it's frustrating that thoughts come and go before I can muster the key stokes. Then there are times I can't bring myself to type 'Hi There'.
But, Glenn, you, your prose, inspire the heck outta me.
So pardon me, pard, as I've chosen this venue to share the pangs of my frontal lobe.
Good, Bad and Ugly........

You mention Texas
Most everyone there carries around a couple sayings;
"If you don't like it, leave"
"You don't mess with Texas" (this said thru semi-gritted teeth)
Both sayings end up with a mini staredown....it can intimidate a stranger...it's meant to.

I sure wish my state would use those as mottos
'Course goin' around with "You don't mess with Texas" on yer Oregon plate would be a tad strange, but y'all get my drift.
Drove semi thru that state more than a few times...landed in Houston for a spell....took a gorgeous lady from Texas City home to Oregon. Her toes finally webbed up after a few years, but only after she came to realize that there really was only one season here...Fallsumter.....sometimes both days of sunshine are consecutive, however.

(note; I love everything about Oregon, so don't get me wrong here)

But, Texas...huge...varied...dry some places....humid/tropical others.....mouth hangin' open beautiful.
Most critters will 'bitecha'........"Oh, buddy, don't pet that one...it'll bitechall an y'all'll swell up".
or
"Watchit! That turtle is a snappy turtle...here take this here green stick an rub it's nose a bit"
SUHHHHH-NAP!
"See there?
Snappy turtle.
They snap
That's why they call it a snappy turtle
Aess aen aey puhee puhee wah.... snappy
Pay attention and take note, son"

Corpus Christi is one of my favorite places on earth.
Did some roofing there after Camille. Boats down town, people camped on the beach.
OK, not roofing, but roofer's helpering. Thought roofer's helper was bad, but mason's helper...those prima donna yayhoos want their mortar j-u-u-s-t right, no matter how many scaffolds up you hauled that bucket.
Trip one:"Haey bowah, too thick.
Trip two: Nope, can't trawl this waterah goop
Trip three: Close, no ceegar.....need milkshaeke texture....you know....miiiiilkshaaaeke...old fashioned, not Mackdonnls....don't make me come down there to show y'all. Pay attention son, hear?"
Trip four: I bring vials of water and dry mix and leave 'em on the plank.
Rhode island Red Rooster Master mason and me become pool shootin', beer guzzlin', bar brawlin' buds.
And I become a good listener, paying attention...to things not said.
A yankee can easily get set up, and come out lookin' like a dufus...it's a little fun game played throughout the south...I became a super star...broke some records in the triple A (Aey) dufus league.
Got called up to the big show (dumbass) soon after.
Still known in some parts as 'Babe Garah'....holding several dumbass records.


My buddy George and I were headed from Houston to El Paso, his home, bombin' thru towns, non-stop. His state, not mine, he narrated the terrain as my '66 SS kept us low to the ground.
Ran into a hail storm somewhere between Corpus and Del Rio.
Everyone was stopped.
There we sat.
My chevy getting' beat to a pulp.
We crept around cars and got thru the storm in about 30 seconds.
The rear view mirror showed everyone still sittin' out the hail. Paralyzed.
Day became night after staring at the sun for a couple hours. We stopped west of Del Rio to fuel up.

There was a little open air bar roadside (yeah, they just take the walls off), so we stopped.
Round tables.
Barrel chairs.
A bar.
Each table had a big wooden bowl of tortilla chips, and a tiny gourd of hot sauce.
Beer, chips, more chips and half the gourd of sauce on one chip.
OH MOMMY!
BEEEEER!
I soon learned the word Ha-ban-er-o
They mercifully brought me a plate of tortillas.
Knowing smiles (damn Gringo).
Wrapped my tongue with a tamale til the feeling came back in my throat and uvula.

Went down the hwy about 20 mi when I saw what I thought was tiny tumble weeds blowin' across the road.
I woke my bud
"What's that 2by?"
"Tranchlas"
"What?"
"Migration...time of year"
I had to stop.
Got out, spit the rest of my uvula wrap compote/balm out and watched the spectacle.
There they trudged, across the hwy and down into a ravine, far as you could see, both ways.
Can't remember how wide the trek was, but it seemed minutes before we drove outta them.

Texas has some strange and gloriously beautiful terrain, and stranger critters. No wonder they love it so.
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

firefox

Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

Gary O

Well, Bruce, you may come to regret that, so I'll hold back the keyboard to a few mild pennings.

Baked in a tux yesterday for what turned out to be the wedding of the decade ('cause that's how long it lasted).
Wedding singer was on a loop
Speaking of loops, I was able to fashion a garrote out of some lace I found at the end of the bride's gown...needless length, draggin' on the ground and all.
He lasted half way thru his 8th stanza.....the kicking and twitching was minimal.....(oh, wait, that was my hallucinary daydream while turning in my chair/spit)

My forehead could lead a sleigh.
96° in the shade....thankfully we were in the sun.

I'm headin' to a funeral in 15 min, so here's a thought I had awhile back that managed to get to black and white.



I've worked around tightly scheduled (very talented) individuals, that when going on vacation, generate a huge itinerary of going here or there at a certain time or day, reserving accommodations, scheduling even the purchase of the tickets for the scheduled events, and scheduling alternate events in case of weather, or an act of god (or satan)............
I find it more relaxing, and even more adventuresome to just go.
Just pack a few things, and go down the road.
One time we ended up on the coast, about 9pm. Turned out there was a major event happening, and we became part of a caravan of seekers of vacancies. We even started waving at each other while in route, feigning drag racing at stop lights, pointing/mocking when getting the lead to the next motel entrance, and pointing back when the no vacancy sign came within sight. It turned in to a very fun happening all by itself. Kind of an unregimented rally.
Thought we'd be doing some car camping when we found an out-of-the-way place that became a favorite over the years.

Another time we decided to stay at one of those less than desirable places (like the ones we could afford when we met).
Auberge de Cinq et Demi seemed like a nice name, so I approached the quaint little barred window that displayed hourly rates. The gentleman of Pakistani origin, asked me, in a more than perfect, sing song rendition of the English language, to fill out the little card. So I paid the $25 and signed for the 'more than four hour' stay.
The quaint little room had quaint little 30 watt bulbs of which both gave the place the special ambiance of 'help me find my shoes, and I'll help you find your purse'.
It did have a hot tub spa. Turns out putting bubble bath in those things can become an event of its own.
The bed was....dark.
We decided to just lay on top of the covers.
It was quite hot, and since we had to turn the fan off due to the 'authentic old west atmosphere' dust storm it created, we just lay there naked as two ol' trysters should be......
The wife pointed out the mural of two manatees on the ceiling.
I pointed out that it was a mirror.
Now who could possibly schedule that much fun on purpose?
Any others feel the same way, or am I the odd one?

I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

firefox

"displayed hourly rates".....Now THAT was a clue...
You have a death wish? "I pointed out that it was a mirror."

By any chance are you near Portland?

Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

Gary O

Quote from: firefox on August 21, 2011, 05:28:30 PM
"displayed hourly rates".....Now THAT was a clue...
You have a death wish? "I pointed out that it was a mirror."

By any chance are you near Portland?

Bruce
Oh, it was an adventure.
Yeah, movement was a give-away......coulda shoulda said it was a Wild Kingdom clip.....
Thing is, staying at a midscale motel is quite the bore....too anticeptic....no imagination.
Staying at an upscale hotel is nice, but short lived for the cash outlay.
Even when a business foots the bill, I always feel "Gee, so that's what $750 gets.
Yeah, CSI Bruce, Portland area.
Born Hillsboro, raised Scappoose area, and (drum roll about here) actually began existence in a forest service cabin at ZigZag.....the details are foggy, and my mind is on a fast track toward that same haze, so I type madly away.......


I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson


Gary O

Quote from: firefox on August 21, 2011, 02:05:16 PM
Keep it coming Gary. I know you can't make this stuff up ;D
Bruce

OK, man...both barrels.....maybe interesting, maybe not so humorous, but hopefully will draw a nod or two and a smile.

.........for those that have an evening of nothing:

Way back when


Now Brought to you in Enemascope!



Back in the '50s it seems all mothers were obsessed with hydrotherapy.
I'd guarantee all families had at least one rubber bottle and syringe connected by a three foot rubber umbilical cord.
Mothers tended to keep them at the ready, anxious to employ their new found apparatus, with the thought of saving their offspring from some horrible bowel obstruction brought on by an over dose of Wonder Bread....'builds yer colon clog twelve ways'.
These devices were the ultimate home remedy for a myriad of ailments; headaches, peekedness, haven't pooped for days syndrome, neuritis, neuralgia, lying, and left my report card at school tendency, to mention a few.
Not sure how fathers escaped this (if they did) but a lad of three or four didn't have a chance.
Running in for a quick drink of water, from ridin' herd all mornin', mother in the shadows of the ice box....waitin'.......
"You're all sweaty, do you feel OK?"
"Sure ma, just washin' down trail dust."
Trick question, "When's the last time you went poopoo?"
'Poopoo?'
'When?'
'Think man, think!!!'
I got nothin'.
Before I could cop a plea for extenuation of due process, I found myself astride the green ducky, bowels involuntarily discharging the gallon of water that was administered with a syringe designed for King Kong, and with undue haste.
I must say, these sessions did instill the ability to retain total recall.
After just a few of these sittings, my memory became quite acute.
"When did you go poop?" ......"At 11:37 AM, why?"
Trigger finger, toying with quick draw holster under apron, now relaxes.

Mothers had a way of ensuring of your well-being, no matter how bad it made you feel.
Grandmothers were no exception.
When gramma would pile us in the ol' chevy and head to Monkey Wards, she'd give me the once-over. Out would come her hanky.
"Spit on this."
Then she'd commence to wash my face, beginning with my ears, no less.
On the other hand, Dads and granddads had a way of shaming you into doin' it yourself, and you had to provide your own tools.
"Look in the rear view mirror. Izzat how you started out this morning? Fix it."
No matter if you used the garden hose, the rabbit hutch water, or your dog's slobber, you got 'er done, in acceleration mode.....you could get left.
One time Connie Elbert and I ended up in the tool shed at gramma's house.
Not sure who's idea it was, but seems we both had our pants down with mutual consent...then we just couldn't figure what next...ending up with the brilliant idea of touching butts. Not sure how things woulda went from there, 'cause grampa's footsteps came within ear shot right while our rear ends were curiously united.
"Hey, what's going on in there?"
Quick time scurry thru the other door...bib overall anklets deftly inhibiting large strides.
Yeah, fathers/grandfathers have a way of getting yourself together without layin' a hand on you.
They cast a very large shadow.



Mr Codger's Neighborhood

Our country neighborhood yielded a gaggle of poverty stricken families. There were some retired folk with tidy houses and well maintained yards.
Actually, I have several family photos of us posing in front of one of those houses, ol' widow Jones. Little white cottage, picket fence, close cut lawn.
But for the most part, there were several families that had little or nothing with a yard full of cars to piece together in order to get to work.
One such family was the Elberts.
Four kids.
Ramshackle house.
Absolute junk throughout the yard.
I remember the one time I was invited in, thru the back door, directly into the kitchen. Mrs Elbert apologetically handed me a glass of water. Hey, it was great! Those colored aluminum glasses could transform ordinary water into the coldest thirst quenching nectar you'd ever want.
I glanced through the house while I waited for Daryl to find a shirt.
Things were misplaced. Daryl yarded thru a couple piles to find his prized superman T-shirt.
Meanwhile, Mrs Elbert was busy extracting coins from a piggy bank.....possibly robbing the kid's stash, but more likely the family savings plan.
Back in those days piggy banks didn't have a rubber plug at the bottom, just the slot on top.
There she was, butter knife in hand, coins reluctantly traveling down the blade onto the kitchen table.
I remember noting that she was quite attractive, and equated her looks to that of Daisy Mae's sister, the one that was always lying around with the pigs.
Mr Elbert was also a handsome guy, but a tad gruff, and not really home much.
When he was home, he was always working on cars or motorcycles. I found it all fascinating but never questioned why things were the way they were with them.
Kids tend to accept things.
What I did question was how they always had the latest toys, and some of the neatest stuff.
One time Connie came out to the street munching on an open faced peanut butter sandwich.
This was no ordinary sandwich.
It was Wonder Bread!
And it had Skippy peanut butter all slathered on top!
What an outstanding combination!
I dropped my sister's bike and stared.
The Skippy glistened from the midmorning sun as Connie slowly gnawed away the crust.
Now I'd eaten a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, and should have held back, as this was probably Connie's breakfast and lunch, but I had to ask.
"Can I have a bite?"
Begrudgingly a small bit of corner crust with a hint of Skippy was handed over.
It was wonderful.
My first.
We never had the luxury of ever having anything but brown bread in our house, let alone Skippy.

Another time, Daryl brought out an egg of silly putty. This wondrous glob of mysterious abilities was smushed onto the Sunday comics with the heal of his hand, right there in the dirt driveway, then carefully pulled it away, yielding the image of Dick Tracy and his wrist radio, and in color! Then, with proper tension applied, Dick turned into elastic man. Utterly fascinating, but I knew to never ask for such a thing from Dad or Mom.
One time I traded Daryl my self-made wired together double broom stick shake butted carbine for his dual holstered twin six shooters. They were amazing as the cylinders actually spun, and the handles were surprisingly quite real, and heavy, not the typical molded plastic.
Dad came home, and shortly after we were on our way to the Elberts to trade back. This was a mystery for me, as, being the youngest cowboy in the neighborhood; I usually got the short end of the trade.
Thinking about 'the trade' years later, those could very well have been real pistols, and Daryl may have actually tapped his dad's stash. Come to think about it, I never saw Daryl ever have them again. Actually I never saw Daryl much either.....
Don't get me wrong. My family didn't suffer, but we didn't splurge on things.
Easter was a personal huge event. Not because of the candy, or the egg/finger dying event. Oh no, it was solely due to what the candy came in. For several years in succession I'd get a straw cowboy hat. OK, it was straw, but it was a cowboy hat....mine. Oh-h-h-h oh, the coupe de gras of several months of giddyup, at least 'til the first rain.

Bobby Clehm was one of my best friends. Granted Billy Dodge was my pahdnah, and trail ridin' pal, but Bobby and I went way back. He never could get into cowboy mode, however, cause his dad never let him over for more than a half hour, of which by the time the story line and plot for cowboy'n was laid out, it was time to go back.
But when I visited him, I mostly just helped with chores.
I found it fun to milk ol' Bessie, and feed the chickens, and we did get to romp thru the woods trying to find ol' Flossy for her turn at the stanchion.
One time I stayed for lunch. They had strange things like squash, and Brussels sprouts, with some ungodly thing called bread pudding for dessert.
All this washed down with raw (warm) milk, garnished with floating clumps.
Oh man, was I glad to get home. OK, we didn't have Wonder bread, but we sure didn't have some horrible thing like bread mixed in goo and washed down with their rendition of milk either.

What's for Dinner?...... Gnah!!!! Whazzat?

The wife has cured me of most my finicky leanings, but I'll be darned if I'll ever relish things like chicken liver, or hearts, or any organs for that matter.
Dad was the same way. We did have all four of the basic food groups, however.
Taters, peas or beans, and hamburger or chicken....oh and ketchup.....
Mom could be very creative with this broad selection.
So, one develops mono-taste buds when fed this combo in all its variations for 12 or so years.
Dad was even finicky about pieces of chicken, legs being the most kosher in his mind.
If I happened to reach for a leg, Dad would go into his subversive mode.
"Oh, you like the pooper, aey?"
Tried this on my own kids years later. Turns out they liked poopers.

OK, keyboard is gettin' blurry.
The pillowtop beckons
Anyone care for me to further this tomorrow, or has it been two finger typing practice?
 
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

firefox

This is great Gary, I'm eating it all up.....Well, except the bread pudding. Keep it coming.
My sister runs a summer camp for kids in Portland.
Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

glenn kangiser

Great stuff, Gary and I gotta admit I'm not the sharpest tonight but I did get a few things done on the job today. :o

Had a buddy worked with me years ago at Dodge and I had a whole house to myself.  He offered to pay part of the rent so I took him up on it.  Thick glasses and a kind of a Buddy Holly look about him, he wasn't especially cute but he was a decent guy.

I was into cooking a bit to save money so it was hotcakes in the morning before we went to work.  I cooked up a batch, put 'em on the table, grabbed the syrup out of the cupboard and ol' Tom dug in.  He was happily munching away for a few minutes and I heard him drop his fork.  He dropped his jaw too and that was quite a feat for him because he only had half a jaw anyway......

I looked at him and he was just sitting there with his mouth wide opened, hotcakes and drool right there in plain view for all to see,  and pointing at his food, speechless.  No words...nothing... just his finger pointing at his hotcakes fer like ... two minutes....forward and back just kind poking in the air dumbfounded... [noidea'

A closer look revealed that a whole army of syrup loving ants had met their maker in the Aunt Jemima syrup bottle and Tom had eaten about half of them while reading the morning paper.....

Hey... beggars can't be choosers.....I mean shucks ... it wasn't like I was running some high class restaurant or something.... duhhhhuuhhh.....  [ouch]
"Always work from the general to the specific." J. Raabe

Glenn's Underground Cabin  http://countryplans.com/smf/index.php?topic=151.0

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firefox

When I was 5 we moved to Puerto Rico so my dad could
take over a textile business. After a year in the country
and a dirt floor one room school house we moved to an
area near San Juan. 4 story apartment house on the beach.
we were on the 4th floor. Elevator shaft but no elevator.
Owner was thinking ahead. Beautiful beach with a barrier reef 5
miles out that kept the sharks out. We were in the water every chance
we had. Parents would regulary check us for gills.

A beautiful cake appeared on the horizon. (top of the fridge) By this time
I think I was 9 or 10, but not sure. Cake had a delicious yellow icing
on it. Before I realized what I was doing there was a large gap in
the cake. Engineering time was at hand. Need to fill the cavity.
Hmmm Ahh sand would do, after all it was almost the same color.
Sometime latter at the end of dinner, cake was served. My piece
was just the wee bit gritty.....
Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

glenn kangiser

"Always work from the general to the specific." J. Raabe

Glenn's Underground Cabin  http://countryplans.com/smf/index.php?topic=151.0

Please put your area in your sig line so we can assist with location specific answers.

firefox

My sister, 5 years my senior, was not the engineering type.....

She would eat almost all the ice cream, but always saved some for me. Then she would send me to the store about a half mile up the road to buy some more to replace what she had taken. I never did find out if my mom ever knew about this.

And talking about sand. The beach was beautiful and all we had to do
was  run down stairs, cross over the driveway and our toes were in the sand. Maximum occupancy was on Sunday with about 19 people spread over about a mile and a half.

There was this really talented local artist that brought his bag of dies. He would make up batches of colored sand. Then he would make life like models in the sand and add the colors to where you couldn't
tell whether they weren't alive and real from 20 feet away.

The models I am refering to were full size young anatomically correct nude girls lying on their backs getting a wonderful tan.

Then there was this wide eyed mouth agape kid for an audience...
That, of course, would be me. I don't remember how long it took
me to get close enough to determine that she wasn't real.
Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824


Gary O

Well, my mind is spent from too many festivities and speaking engagements over the weekend, then jumpin' back into the work fray.
Geez, used to work 80-100 hrs a week, and play in between..hard.
Now, by the time I treat myself to a 2nd crossword puzzle I need a nap.
However, tonight I plan on spectating right after I do my aerobic lazyboy lever regimen.
Let's see, right arm...down....grasp......pull.....a one..a tw....ouch....pulled sumpm else....


"He was happily munching away for a few minutes and I heard him drop his fork. He dropped his jaw too and that was quite a feat for him because he only had half a jaw anyway......"
Aw, man, great story.
As Bruce, 'you can't make this stuff up'.

"Engineering time was at hand. Need to fill the cavity"
See, you got some stories.

Seems you just needed a little primin', Bruce. Kinda like puttin' a new sock in an ol' 600 cfm compressor.......

I just have a tiny one tonight  (c'monnn...tiny story)

Cake/ants
Sometime last century a couple buddies hid a birthday cake in my office (on the floor under my desk) for a cantankerous ol' biddy production mgr's lunchtime surprise party.
When the time came to bring the cake out, we discovered it was covered in little red ants, so much so that it looked more to be a strawberry cake than a white one.
So, my buddy shut my office door and we went to work, first trying to pick them off, then, giggling our asses off, pushed them all into the icing, smoothing over the rough spots with our fingers.
The surprise party proceeded.
Everyone had cake.
Well almost everyone......
Didn't tell anyone until years later.


Brucey?
You an engineer?
I headed an engineering group....got stories
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

firefox

I was going to be a machine design engineer, but things didn't quite
work out due to medical problems.

Bruce
Bruce & Robbie
MVPA 23824

Gary O

I gotcha.
Sometimes things don't work out 'cause they're not s'posed to...........
I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson

rick91351

I'm a locomotive engineer does that count.  Don't design 'em or build'em just drive'm

rlr
Proverbs 24:3-5 Through wisdom is an house builded; an by understanding it is established.  4 And by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and pleasant riches.  5 A wise man is strong; yea, a man of knowledge increaseth strength.

Gary O

Of course it counts!
Fodder for stories, and man you gotta have 'em!
Give

OK, I'll start ya out.
My greatgrandpappy exited this earth when experiencing a head on collision with another train mid- state Washington.....he too was an engineer..........

OK, go........and welcome to the fray of story telling, Rick

And for Bruce
On that note, I was supposed to be a dentist.
HAH!
Now half my teeth greet me every morning, grinning back at me from a glass in the bathroom as I wake to consciousness by scaring myself in the mirror.

I'm enjoying all that I own, the moment.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air." Emerson