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

[Gary O]

BEER

With fruit

Up until a couple decades ago I never really cared what kinda beer.
Cold beer was....better.
But one time, while team driving with a happening dude, we stopped for the night. Found a bar. Shot the breeze about the usual; politics, sex, sports, sex, economics, sex, ingrown toenails, sex, carburation vs fuel injection, sex, and....beer.
He seemed to know his way around several types and flavors; pilsners, stouts, lagers, ales, porters and on and on.
My main selection was 'wet'.

I noticed he had a piece of fruit in his beer.

'Corona with lime, good beer.'

I try one.
Actually, it was rather refreshing.

But just that one time.


Dark beer

While golfing, my club wielding hippy buddy offered one of his porters.
Black Butte porter
Man, that was gooooood beer.
Was
For awhile it became my beer of choice.
Then, like an old girlfriend...a flame that went out as fast as it flared up, my taste for it just disappeared.


IPA

After months of just getting whatever was on sale, my lady and I dropped by the Edgefield poor farm, one of McMenamins beer gardens.
Cool place.
One of our sometimes favorite haunts.
A quaint place on the grounds is called the 'little red shed'.
Cozy
Stone fireplace
Bowls of peanuts, of which you were encouraged to toss the shells on the dirt floor.
Short bar, rather up close and personal.
I asked the barkeep what his favorite beer was.

'IPA'

'I Pee what?'

'India pale ale'

He then went on with the IPA story about the Brits needing beer in India.
He drew one for me.
Not a lager
Not a pilsner
Definitely not a dark beer
Not any ale I'd ever had.
It was very good.
Distinctly good.
It became the beginning of a fascinating quest for me to find the best one. The best of the best in my opinion.
Up until last night, I'd actually hoped I'd never find it....traveling around, tasting, sampling.

But,

the hunt is over.

This beer, this medium dark beer....not dark, not amber, but a rich bodied color of....maybe mahogany, was capped with a glorious head.
A head that was not scraped off, but about two inches higher than the brim.
A head of tight little bubbles, bubbles so small they didn't really look like bubbles at all, but more like combed fleece.
This beer, this beer looked the epitome of the word 'quench'.

I knew I'd found it.
I hoped I'd found it.
I hoped it tasted half as good as it looked.

It tasted....better.

There is none other for me.

I cannot go back.

I refuse to go forward.

Why would I?

I have arrived at my destination.




cheers

[Barry Broome]

Alright my copy came in. I just flew in from San Diego and checked the mail on the way in and there it was. Now the first thing I had to do after flying all day was visit the Oval Office so I covered about the first 10 pages. Funny stuff! I wish I could write like that   

[Gary O]

Barry, you, you spam whore!
I......I.....I love you

Anyhoot, glad yer likin' it.
Thing is, in places it wanders a tad.
The editor (me) is a bit of a dufus.

However, I do highly recommend the oval office as the best reading location, since the stories are quite short.


Hope you enjoy it reading half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Happy perusing

cheers

[rick91351]

While several on this forum were trading ideas about stump removal ranging from Epson Salts to barbeque briquettes, KY Jelly and a big winch, and det cord and gun powder, this caused me to think of an old guy I worked with at the gravel pit.  Bill was his first name, and after chatting for a couple months discovered he was a distant relative of some kind on mom's side. 

It turned out Bill was a great powder monkey and perfected his trade with the Morrison Knudsen Company.  The one time world's largest construction company out of Boise, Idaho.  However, Bill got his start as a powder monkey as a young man at the mine at Stibnite, Idaho.  The Bradley's of General Omar Bradley fame owned it and it was in full production back then in WWII.  The shown photo is part of a settling pond and they needed a road put around it.  There were several stumps and dead trees in and near the water that needed cleared before construction could begin. 



So this was Bill's introduction to underwater blasting.  His boss or supervisor as I guess today they are known by  (At least when I have to talk to a boss or some one in charge, they are now know as a supervisor....  Museums seemed to have been altered to being Interpretive Centers,  and mechanics are now techs)   told him to get some powder and caps and the row boat and blow those stumps and dead trees.  So being loyal and more or less a teen age kid, was very agreeable to do such.  It was a huge fir stump that he decided  was going to be his first attempt.  So he rowed out to it and spent several hours packing and mudding in the powder.  When he was about to finish, another thought hit.  We have all had them- the what ifs.... what if the powder becomes wet and does not function as advertised.  This called for more powder more digging under that stump,  working up to his waist in the water until hypothermia almost took him out.

Caps were on, taped and wired.  The wire was strung.  He took up a 'safe position'.  He connected the wire to the firing devise.  Safety was on, trigger was locked.  The call went out, FIRE IN THE HOLE! - FIRE IN THE HOLE!  The safety came off, and the trigger was turned.  What happened next was a sight, according to Bill, that Hollywood has never dared to recreate.  The huge stump that he work so hard to loosen.....  Huston we had lift off. At T+1.... hairy long stringy roots hung down below the large bull roots as it cleared the water.  The once tranquil settling pond was reduced almost to a dry hole and the water was turned into a vapor from the explosive force.  At about T+2.5 the stump went from a vertical launch path to a more horizontal course.  Seems as if now it was heading for the large building in  the photo-the mess hall.  It was a sitting duck.  However being a stump, it had the aerodynamics of a well.....a ..... stump.  At T+3 the coursing stump now took another course correction and landed embedded in the hillside above the mess hall.  The now floating water vapor followed the stump up the hill with a mini down pour through the valley or really a large draw.  The metallic rich water gave the surrounding area a strange smell for several months.   

Bill reported that he received more training- most in the form of OJT.  However, he was never asked or told to blow any more stumps........  Life for him went on............

[Gary O]

Excellent read

Thank you brother Rick

[Gary O]

The Quiet One

The younger grandson, of the two that seem to inhabit our place a bit more than the others, is a rather curious George kinda monkey. Always exploring simple things, getting deep into the mechanics of grass, bugs, baking powder, the science of kitty litter and Kool-Aid, canning jars and why lids seal, namaw's underwear drawer, papaw's banking stuff, and ancient glass floats and their relation to papaw's hammer....anything really.

When he was around three, he was in the spare bedroom...for hours....quiet.
We were all in the family room watching some movie.
Here he comes, with a somewhat quizzical but triumphant look on his face.
None of us noticed anything right away, and I may have remarked how nice it was to have him join our ranks, when his mother shrieks 'OH....MY....GAWWWD!!!?'
His little mug went from a 'look what I did' expression of profound discovery to quizical horror as we all took turns shrieking.
Seems he'd found interest in the inner workings of his belly button, and had managed to get hold of the very end and pull it inside out, strutting out of the bedroom and down the hall with about three inches of inverted naval tube stickin' out.

The lad has never been bored....nor have we.

[rick91351]

Mess with your belly button and your butt will fall off.  So sayith my mom..........................

[Gary O]

My latest unemployment experience;

The owner came to me and asked if I wanted to take part in our sharing of a lay off week or two.
I knew it was coming.
In previous regimes I'd be told I was going to be laid off, but they needed me there, so it got rather tricky.
It's called working without a paycheck.
'Hey, Gary, we're doing it too.'
('uh, yeah, only I don't have the latitude to run my money thru the laundry like some folks')

So now, it's straight up.
We have a very talented (skeletal) technical crew.
Can't afford to lose anyone.
So we share, and take turns with a week off here and there.

My week comes.
I file for unemployment on line.
It's my 'waiting week'.
You're not paid for your waiting week. (not sure why it exists...I mean who's waiting, and for what?)
Months pass.
I get asked again.
Why not.
Yes, I'll do my part.
I file for my sacrificial week on line.
Weeks pass.
No check.
I go on line.
No activity showing.
('huh')
I call.
Here in Oregon, there is no longer a place to go,
to stand in line,
for days,
to talk to a comatose counselor.
The one that says, well, Gary, looks like you're screwed.

So, I call.

Message;
'Welcome to the Oregon unemployment dept.
Your call is of no real importance to us.
Actually, we're not even here.
But, if you persist, we'll call you back.
That's right, we'll call you.
So, leave your name, number, and social security number (bruuuhahahahaa) and stand by.
Waiting time is less than three months, so be ready with your info, because you'll have 3.5 nanoseconds to pick up, and we'll make sure to call while you're pooping.
Bye bye now.'

I get the call.

'Please press one for English.
Por favor, doblar, se sentirá cierta molestia
Please enter your social security number, claim number, mother's aunt's deceased daughter's mother-in-law's maiden name, and serial number of your radial arm saw.
If you don't have a radial arm saw, please get one and call back.
Please stand by.'
'This is Helen, how may I not be able to you?'

'Ah, Helen, thank god, a real person.'

'Please enter your social security number, claim number, mother's aunt's deceased daughter's mother-in-law's maiden name, and serial number of your radial arm saw.'

'But I just did!'

'This is for security reasons.'

'Please re-enter the serial number of your radial arm saw......
........
..... Thank you,
now, how may I not be able to you?'

'Somehow my waiting week did not get recorded.'

'You did not file,'

'But, you see, I did.'

'No, you didn't.'

'Yes, I did.'

'No, you didn't.'

'Is there anyone I can discuss this with, because I did all that your on line form asked for.'

'No, you didn't.'

'Yes, I did.'

'No, you didn't.'

'Yes, I did.'

'Have you read the manual?'

'Have you read the manual???!!'



'Is there anyone else I can discuss this with?'

'No.'

'Helen, there's got to be something that can be done.
It's my money we're talking about.'

'Not really, it's your employer's money.'

(sputter %$#&*^, spit)
'uh, Helen, it's the reason why that amount is not included in the little place on my paycheck where it says 'net income'. You know, where the monetary amount is printed out in alpha characters? Yeah, that's where it comes from.'

'Well, in any event, you have waited too long.'

'I want my money, Helen, who do I talk to?'

'There's nothing I can do.'

(at this time, I came to the realization that Helen is not going to budge)

'Do you know what the term 'civil servant' means, Helen?'

'Yes.'

'I don't think you do.'

'I think I do'

'No you don't'

'Yes I do'

'No you don't'

'Sir, if you wish to pursue this issue, you'll have to send it in for review.'

'Well now, that was very astute of you to offer this up.'

'It will take 5-7 weeks.'

'Time is the one thing that's on my side.'

'OK then, you'll be getting a call.
Be sure to have your information ready.'

'Oh, I will Helen, I surely will.'

Lana called.
Lana was very informative.
Lana likes people.
Lana doesn't like to play god with people's money.

Turns out, if you file on line, you have 15 minutes.
After 15 minutes, nothing is recorded.
Oh, and if you use the phone to file, you have 2 minutes.

I get a three page form the following week.
I fill it out and mail to back the same day.

I recv my benefit check in 6 days.

I suppose there's much worse bureaucratic systems in other states/countries, but we're working on it.

[Redoverfarm]

[John Raabe]

This may already be in the 10 pages of this thread, but I can't remember...

[Gary O]

Don't matter, John.
Good tends to repeat itself.

[Gary O]

My dad is failing


Penned a few weeks ago;


Interesting

Had to visit Dad yesterday.
Don't like doin' that anymore.
He's gone quite a ways downhill.
Physically, he's OK......kinda.
He's been well into the Tim Conway shuffle for some time now.
Watching him head to the restroom is like watching an arcade duck scuttle back and forth.

Mentally, he's hardly a shadow of himself.
The neurologist says he's suffered a stroke.
Seems it was during or around the time of my son's wedding a few weeks ago.
Conversation with him is different now.
Not even the same old stories.

Thing is, he no longer has any short term memory, and fractured recall of anything long term.......anything.
He's got a new word in his vocabulary. One seldom used before;
'Interesting'.
He uses it like a scientist that just stumbled onto something never considered.

'Dad, do you remember your children's names?'
'Who?'
'Your children.'
'I have children? What's their names?'
'Well, there's me.'
'I have a child named Me?'
'You have three children.'
(20 second pause)

'Interesting...

What's their names?'

'Do you remember what gramma used to say?'
'Wait a minute, we have the same gramma?'
'No, my gramma is your mom.'
(pause)

'Interesting...'

'Saaaay, who are you?'
'I'm your wife, and this guy is your son.'
'REALLY?' (lips quivering, starting to cry)
(quickly) 'Hey Dad, who's gonna win the series this year?'
'I try to be serious.'
'I was talking about baseball.'
'I played it.'
'I know......do you keep up on the fight game?'
'I used to box.'
'I know.....do you remember any of those fights?'
'Fights?'
'You used to box.'

'Interesting...'

"Well, I better get going.'

'OK, it's been nice talking to you. You should come back when you can stay longer. I really miss you.'

The way his cognizance swings in and out really takes me off guard, as I'll chime in with what he's talking about, only to find he's already lost it.

'I'll be back in a week or two.'
(turning to his wife) 'He seems to be a nice guy.....what's his name?'
'Gary, he's your son.'

'Interesting...'

Sheeeesh




a couple or so days ago;

So, my dad has bladder cancer.
They found a cauliflower lookin' thing hangin' upside down in the upper region.
'we got it all'
Three days later...'it's spread throughout his system'
My brother and I w/be going with him to the hospital to help his wife make a decision whether or not to ply him with chemo.
What decision?

He's 90.

I'm gonna tell 'em to let him be...until he's racked with pain.....then it's the morphine motel (he won't be stayin' long).

If my brother argues, I'll beat him like I did 50 yrs ago after I discovered he ratted me out for taking Dad's Bonneville thru a switchback sideways.

At present, I've got weightier decisions.
Whether or not to let that damn noisy Jay live or not.
Got a bead on him right now...one more aggravating noise.....c'mon.....

yesterday;

Not to be morbid or anything, but nobody gets out alive.
However, like my dad, I think I'd like to go slow...maybe some pain...to help me to look longingly forward to the dirt nap.
An abundant supply of weed would be required.

I mean, if I was beboppin' outta the 7-11 with an icy, thinkin' 'once I get the oil changed, I'll grab the lady and head t' SPAH-LAT!....a runaway semi turns me into what Asperger sounds like.
I'd really be pissed (if I had time)

now;

Thing is, I'm not down about it.
For a while now, I've been kinda prepared for it.
The other thing, I'm not close to anyone in my family.
Never have been.
I'm closer to complete strangers.
It's not a bad or good thing, it's just the way it is.

True, I don't like seeing my dad in a bad way.
He's always been able to do everything.
Now, now he can't do anything.
If I was him, I'd be lookin' for Kevorkian's number.



So, when I get in a mental dither, I write.
Some of it spills out here, some may go into another book.

A fun thing is reading what has splattered onto several pages.
Most times I surmise that, yes, I'm a certifiable nut job, and go make something (kindling) in my wood shop.
And that's pretty much the end of it....usually.

This one's different.
He's gonna linger.
I know he is.
He unthinkingly loves living too much.
I do believe he thinks he'll somehow get better.
It's gotta be very frustrating for him.

Wonder how I'd be.....

Would I really do the self imposed 'mice and men' thing and grab a huge bag of weed, a case of IPA, some Doritos, ear buds blaring some '70s Gilmore Pink Floyd in my good ear, and plop myself by a country stream, waiting for my faithful son to bap me on the back of my head with a well placed Louisville slugger, once I have a happy sappy look on my mug?

Or would I just lay there in my decrepit crib with a semi full bedpan, blubbering about back when.........

Whatever...I've got wood to butcher.



Sorry for the wandering prose


Night tch'all

[Redoverfarm]

Gary our life could be the same at this point. Been battling with my father 88 years old and bedfast.  Hasn't recongnized me for months or even spoke.  Kidney failure to boot.  I will keep you in my thoughts that all works out for the best.

[Gary O]

Guess it's a phase of living.

I remember when we were kids, we'd endure the older folks, aunts, uncles, grammas, grampas, all sittin' around talking about somebody named Clarence...

'Yeah old Clarence didn't last too long after his pancreas went south'

'.....how's Eunice doin?'

'well, her thyroid has been givin' her fits since she had her goiter taken care of'

Course all us kids just sat there, not a word, like ceramic toads, until we got the nod to go outside.
Seems there was a compulsory time line to stay inside, sittin' proper, until they got tired of lookin' atcha.

Then time flies like a meteor until you're the one talkin' about 'Clarence'.

Thank you, John.
Yeah, our thoughts are parallel.

Raisin' the glass to that

[Gary O]

...excerpt (yeah, another freakin' book)

Funny how you get trapped in an era.
Don't even know it.
The influence is subtle.
My folks raised us in the years after the war.
The 50s were promise, opportunity.
Reach out, take it.
Pay for it, later.

They were raised in the 30s.
Midwest.
Depression.
Dust bowl.
Struggle with whatcha got.
Savor things like onion soup, for days, weeks....for lunch, dinner.....and breakfast.

It colored their thinking.
Media didn't help.
Pictures in Look magazine of happy families, in their Ford convertibles, at the beach.

Dad and Mom were fully immersed in the pursuit of the happiness of the 50s.

Thing is, they really didn't have examples of taste, at least conservative taste.

We bought shiny things.

Aerodynamic furniture.
A whole room full, at one time.
Sharp, pointy corners.
Cutcha.
One misstep and yer shin is bleedin' like a stuck pig.

The fashion of the day was racy rocket shapes.
They didn't have the forethought or enough handed down culture to invest in things that would maintain a muted style of the ages.

We didn't buy convertibles, or speedy cars, but whenever we did get a new sedan, we'd pile in and drive the 250 miles to show it off to Dad's cousin Curt.
Him and Curt were in some sorta unstated competition, 'cause when their family got a new car, they'd be up at our place.

This went on for years.

Then things changed.

Curt and family pulled ahead in the socialite dept.
I could tell just by looking at their clothes.
Things matched.
Kip and Kelly were color coordinated.
Millicent would inspect Curt every hour or so, and advise him to go change if she spotted something outta place or wrinkled, or just plain stale.
She'd gone from happy go lucky to becoming rather stiff over the years, making those around her almost as uncomfortable as her.
Things were never ever quite right.
Gotta say, she maintained a tight ship.....off course, but tight.
Still looked good, years later, there in the nut bin.
The far away, tormented look in her eyes was more pronounced. Still tidy though.

But, yeah, by the early 60s, they'd arrived.
Even their suitcases matched.
Soon after, guess who acquired matching luggage?
After that the contest was pretty much over.
All their stuff became understated elegant.
Ours, try as we might, always had that price tag look.
That 'got it at Wards' motif.
Mom, bless her heart, just didn't have the knack, the taste, the ability to make it all work.
It's not like she didn't spend the money.


1966
Mom's 20 year reunion, high school.
Planned it for days, maybe months.
Lost weight.
Hair done.
Hair redone.
New coat, fur.
Dad, new suit, shiny, sharkskin.
Gold Bonneville. Shiny.
Car dealers were Dad's 'friends'.
They tended to display their gold inlays ever time he appeared at the dealership.
Gotta admit, that 1966 Pontiac was sharp.
'Tiger' gold, with a black leather-ish hardtop.
I made a rare appearance, since somebody had to watch my brother.
Hours before they were to head out, Dad says 'I'll be right back, gonna gas up' (gonna get loose).
Half an hour later, here comes Dad into the drive;
BRDRDACKA BRDRDACKA BRDRDACKA BRDRDACKA
He'd dropped off a curb somewhere and put a dent in the oil pan.

And this event etched a groove deep into my psyche;

Mom, incredulous, beside herself.
Dad, ready to get a rental car.
Mom, having nothing of that.
(in those days rental cars had little stickers, saying; rental car)
It was a terrible stigma for her.
The worst, the very worst.
'Well, we can't go.'
Whenever these kinda things happened, it just sorta ruined the aura of 'family'.
Us kids kinda disappeared, slinking, fading into the wood work.
They went. Can't remember how the drama turned out, but they went, by god they went.

Heh, our family was typical.
I could look down the neighborhood street and note every house, every garage, every living room had pretty much the same crap we did.
Stuffed to the gills with new things.
HiFis became stereos, ovens became self cleaning, TV sets became furniture, moms became working moms, Dads became strangers.
And every bedroom held the same argument, or the same emptiness.
It gave me a resolve.
I didn't even know it at the time.
All I thought I wanted to do was get away, stay away.
But it colored my way of thinking.
Nothing profound.
No astute ability on my part.
Just caught up in the era.

The age of Aquarius.

The hippy age.

Discovery of a new word, racism.

Freedom.

The fallacy of getting 'things',
keeping 'things',
working day and night for 'things',
waxing,
polishing,
insuring,
tossing
'things'.

The value of true relationships.

And like my folks,

it's never left me.

Wonder what the next generation will bring to the table.

Hope it's not onion soup.

[Gary O]

When I was about four, five maybe, all I wanted to become was a cop.
Not a Dragnet, Sgt Friday cop, but one that wore the blue, the boots, the service cap, the badge, the...gun...and holster.
OH YEAAAH
Not a doubt in my mind.
Thing is, I was never around cops per se, at least not for a few years.
So all I had for ready reference was the local service station guy. The 'almost a cop' guy.
He had a uniform, and if I recall, had some sorta badge.
And he had a service cap. The one with the glossy bill, and high rise front.
Yeah, he was almost a cop.
I always liked stopping there.

'Fill'er up?
'Ethyl?'

He'd get the pump going, cranking the numbers to zero, sticking the nozzle in, flipping the lever, filling the back seat with the glorious aroma of gas fumes of which I breathed deep (couldn't get enough).

'Check 'at oil?'

He lifted the hood and did....something, appearing at the driver's door, showing Dad the dip stick, resting it in display on a really cool red rag, then tucking that rag in his back pocket. Letting half of it stick out......cool.
Sometimes he'd go to the rack of oil, grab wunna the glass bottles with a stainless steel spout, and pour in a bit of oil.
Then he'd spray the windshield with some sorta soapy liquid, wiping all that off with the magic blue towel until the grime and streaks was totally gone. All the while talking about the weather or the 'goddamm Yankees', or Joe Louis.
And he had BO...yeah, real big guy aroma.....wow.
Man, I wanted to be him, only I'd strap on a gun, as that was the only thing his was missing.
What a cool job!
Just doin' that all day long.
'Check 'at oil?'
'Whuddaya think about them goddamm Yankees?'
tuck
wipe
pump
....kids in the back seat, lookin' at me in awe...wide eyes ogling my holster...and ivory gun handle....and red rag.

One day me and Dad were headin' down the road.
Just him and me,
and he sez, 'Whaddya wanna be when you grow up?'

'A service station guy!'

Things kinda turned south right then.
Dads.
Go figure.
Whud he do for a living? Work in a warehouse?
Prolly jealous.


After that, I never shared my true thoughts with him....for years....decades maybe.

Heh, turns out folks rather frown on service stations guys....with guns.

But, hey, if that ever happens........

[Gary O]

Some time ago, a few years now, we were bringing our grand kids to our house for Christmas.
I was in a mood.
This mood was driven by the fact that I wanted Christmas to ourselves, on the coast, hiding, eating decadent things, watching the tides from our bed, hanging the 'do not disturb' sign on the door, humping, sleeping like overfed dogs.
But, n-o-o-o-o, here we were, hauling these two trunk monkeys to our place. And only 'cause their gramma (namaw) didn't want them to have a miserable Christmas.
Now, now their drunken father could swill beer and drive, and maybe (be still my heart) smack into a telephone pole, killing only hisself.
And their mother (our daughter) could freely run around with her despicable friends to parties, doing mile long lines of coke, and whatever I don't care to know.

There they were, in the back seat, smacking each other over the head with The Pokey Little Puppy and Tootles.

We passed an entertainment park.

Voices from the back seat;

'ENCHANTED F-O-O-R-R-REST!!!'

'We had the best time there!'

'Good rememories.'

A rush of memories came to me too.
The Alice in wonderland path.
Keeping up with them.
Wheezing.
Panting.

They did enjoy themselves though.
Getting lost in the funhouse.
Screaming hysterically midway in the rabbit hole.
Getting cotton candy everywhere.
Buuuut once their namaw calmed me down and cleaned me up, I was good to go.

We were almost home.
The little one, we call him 'Mayo', still had a smile on his face as his older brother patted him on his head, wiping his sneeze goo filled hand in his brother's hair.

As we pulled into the drive, the monkeys, dead asleep, slumped over in their seatbelts like they'd been shot, stirred, jumped up and fought each other to be first in the house, first at the tree, first into the stockings hanging by the tree, giving me a rush of rememories too.

We played table games as namaw cooked, wrestled in the living room until we knocked off some yuletide dainties, and shot pellet guns in the back yard.

Little did I know that that Christmas was gonna be one of the best times ever for them.......and for this old humbug too.

They grow so fast

aaaand I got old rather fast too

I hope y'all are having a very merry Christmas

Cheers

Santy O'

[rick91351]

For the last month I was getting a mental message I needed to contact an old buddy in Pocatello.  We hired out on the railroad in the same switchman, brakeman class.  Our seniority date was 7/22/76.  He and I both were working stiffs.  I drove ready mix truck - he was a head down hind end in the air production welder for Bucyrus-Erie at the Gun Plant in Pocatello before we went railroading.  Being close to the holiday I did not want to bother him.  It is not unusually for me to get those weird got to call things once in a while.  I just dismissed it.... 

We both thought a lot a like, we were both very prone to speak our minds but never ever would talk to any manager about anyone or anything that might get some one in trouble.  There was sort a band of brothers and sisters on the railroads back then.  Certain line you never crossed.  Well those of us that subscribed to such.  If some one needed talked to I always figured as he did I could hold my own talking or other ways.  It was an unwritten rule or law thou shall not blow in a brother or sister no matter what.  We were last of the rails that railroaded the old way.  We knew cabooses and helper engines.  A and B locomotives, goats, and yard dingers.  Stuff that people that hire out now never will know.  We never will learn their ways so it is reciprocal....  We did most our railroading without radios and were fluid in railroad hand signs.  He stayed in train service I went in to engine service.  I could tell who some one was by their hand signs and the way they were delivered.   

I went out to town yesterday and had a cell phone message from a cousin of his.  My buddy passed away Christmas Eve in his sleep.  She said he had always talked very highly of me and thought I needed to know.

Damn Shane I miss ya' sorry I did not call....... Most likely will drive to Pocatello and say good by to a brother.......         

[Gary O]

I'd like to leave this thread alone a bit, and just bump it for a few days.
Folks need to read stuff like this.
It's raw, it's real, it's life.

Thank you for sharing, Rick

[rick91351]

 'Interesting' Gary is sad.  How the mind slips way as if vanishing down the drain of life.

Dad who was my best friend and we could talk about everything.  He did not attach to Interesting, but "Yes Sir" just say it.  "Yes Sir" that was it...Some times it was 'Yes Sir, Yes Sir'.  I was expecting a tale of horsemanship or hardship that he went through, or cows or a bull he had owned but it was a simple 'Yes Sir.' and that was it and stare off into space.     

I noticed it with my mother - Hers was, "Well when things get straightened up." Then once in a while she would trow a curve ball, "Well when things get straightened out." 

We got a call one day she needed to go to the hospital.  She had been 'failing' more and more.  We knew that but now they were detecting a discharge  a little blood was showing up on her sheets and panties.  So we drove her to the hospital.  The doctor met us in a hall way and told us the prognoses was not good.  She is in a lot of pain though she would never admit it.  He could not properly examine her.  He suggested that we bring her back tomorrow and they might be able to and then there was a battery of tests like bone density and .......... 

I cut the doctor off. 'My mom is eighty some years old.  She does not ever know who I am or anyone else.  She has no quality of life, for the past couple years she has refused to eat other than a spoon full if this or that and she is done.  Why are you going to put her through hell and scare her with all these tests.  She is done man, done.  Unless you can regenerate her body and mind.'

He looked at me when I finished and said, 'We can make her comfortable if that is what you want.  We can set up hospice care for her.... '   In other words I pretty much wrote moms ticket out of here.

I had one chuckle from her we were leaving Boise on the freeway and went by a Ford Dealership.  All the cars were parked in nice even rows of course.  It was dark but the nightlights shone bright on all those cars.  She busted out into a laugh like she used to laugh and said 'What the hell are they all parked there and looking at.  My God that is stupid!'  And just laughed

Mom loved Chinese food and I asked her that trip the last trip I had her on.  'Young lady would you like to stop off and get some Chinese food.'
She did not laugh or kid back but simply said, 'No sir you better get me home my mom and dad are waiting up for me.....'

With in a week or two she was no longer with us...............     

[Gary O]

Dang, Rick. What a great read, brother.



Here's some introspect where I think I'm at..pretty sure;

2014

SHEESH, twenty fourteen.
Twenty anything.
Never considered getting here.

My father is dying, but more active than me.
My woman is moving slower, but can do laps around me when we walk.

We stare, blankly, wondering what the hey each other is saying.

My grandkids are big....huge.
I mostly just wanna kick their hind ends now.

I hurt....in the weirdest places (everywhere).

My gut makes odd, possessed noises....somewhere between freight train and garbage disposal.

I itch......places I no longer can get at.

My vision is not far reaching, nor close range, so I squint with a quizzical look on my grizzled mug.
 
I can't smell my own farts.

My hands sleep longer than I do.

If something I need falls to the floor, I kick it over by furniture so I can hold on, on the way down.

There is no 'easing' into the lazyboy.

I drink gallons of water to keep my pee stream in the realm of pathetic.

I can't hear much of anything due to that constant freaking ocean noise.
Which makes sense, because my ears are starting to resemble conch shells.

I often wondered why old folks are all grumpy and crotchety all the time.


Heh, we've earned it.

[rick91351]

Well said Gary

Heh we earned it....  Love it.....

Age or experience oft is discounted as being set in his ways.....    

Keen observation usually from someone that does not know _________ from Shinola.  But can not miss an opportunity to offer criticism!     

[Gary O]

So.......all I did was fix the oven, and my immediate reward is acute bursitis.
The only perk is my shoulder now smells like a peppermint patty.

Damn...ovens.....a foot off the ground. Thus, I've gotta hunker down....double up the kitchen sink rug for knee padding and lean into the oven.
Simple job really, two screws, two terminals.
Twist, twist.
Snap, snap.
Tada!
New element.

Heh

The connections are in the back of the oven.
A very dark oven (breaker is off).
Trouble light? Moi? Naw.
After fumbling around in the dark, leaning in, for, oh say, fifty seven seconds, my back tells me that using a trouble light is a pretty darn good idea.
I sit back on my haunches.
A yoga like move that I've learned to use after my customary realization that I'm gonna need approximately 27 more tools for this simple job.

An immediate burst of energy enervates throughout my being.
Enabling me to jump straight into the air, uttering an adjective of enlightenment on the way up; 'AAAHHHHGNAAAGHHH!'
Seems my left testicle was nestled comfortably behind my leg, turning the back of my knee into a human vise.

The enlightenment?

Along with the sweats, I really should wear underwear when doing even the simplest of household tasks.

[Redoverfarm]

I realized that at my age I don't really give a rat's butt anymore.

.. If walking is good for your health, the postman would be immortal.

.. A whale swims all day, only eats fish, drinks water, but is still fat... A rabbit runs and hops and only lives 15 years, while

.. A tortoise doesn't run and does mostly nothing, yet it lives for 150 years.

And you tell me to exercise?? I don't think so.

Just grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked,

the good fortune to remember the ones I do, and the

eyesight to tell the difference.

Now that I'm older here's what I've discovered:

1. I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it.

2. My wild oats are mostly enjoyed with prunes and all-bran.

3. I finally got my head together, and now my body is falling apart.

4. Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.

5. Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.

6. If all is not lost, then where the heck is it ?

7. It was a whole lot easier to get older, than to get wiser.

8. Some days, you're the top dog; some days you're the hydrant.

9. I wish the buck really did stop here; I sure could use a few of them.

10. Kids in the back seat cause accidents.

11. Accidents in the back seat cause kids.

12. It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.

13. The world only beats a path to your door when you're in the bathroom.

14. If God wanted me to touch my toes, he'd have put them on my knees.

15. When I'm finally holding all the right cards, everyone wants to play chess.

16. It's not hard to meet expenses . . . they're everywhere.

17. The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

18. These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about the hereafter . . .I go somewhere to get something, and then wonder what I'm "here after".

19. Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.

[Gary O]

Too good.
I've got to save that, in file, somewhere.............




I went to bed last night with a severe case of the giggles.
Wonder if this is the flip side of my male menopause malady.

So, yeah, we trudge to bed.
My woman is out before she hits the pillow.
I'm layin' there doing all I can to stifle my uncontrollable brevity.

In writing about our early marriage experiences, back in the far regions of a frontal lobe, I stumbled upon an occasion that I've tried hard to forget.
It's funny, embarrassing things one did in their youth become pretty fond memories if one lives long enough.

It was in the very early seventies.
Had just one tiny child.
We were both still very lithe, and rather dewy.
We were at the beach.
Cheap thrills, sand, sea, beer.
Saw a guy carrying his woman to the ocean and tossing her in.
Good idea.
I whisked my lady up and started running to the sea.
Thing is, I hadn't fully straightened up.
So I'm running...still tilted forward.
Now I'm running....rather desperately....to keep from falling.
My wife is kicking,screaming.
It's not helping.
My strategy of running fast enough to recover balance is not working.
I maybe made it 50 feet.
Then lurched, fell forward...landing in a somewhat ungainly heap.
Wet sand is hard.

The scene just struck me funny last night.

I may need to see a shrink.