Saturday, July 30, 2011


Being a parent is one of the easiest jobs in the world . All you have to do is perfect your ability to utter two words from your mouth.
Those words are “yes” and “no.”

With “no” being the most popular, as it is generally said the most, with the least amount of thought.

You should also practice your discipline and your running. Because in some states if you administer discipline to your child you will be running from the law to prevent your incarceration.

Any form of “no” or discipline I have relegated to my wife and I have humbly agreed to manage the “yes” department.

My primary reason for managing this department is that I always want to maintain the image of a “nice guy” in the eyes of my children. In other words, if one of the kids asks me if it is alright for them to go to Gracie’s house at 3AM you know what my answer will be.

Immediately, you will want to know what we are doing up at 3AM.

Starting with myself, that is simply “my time of day,” the kids have forced themselves to stay awake that long (remember it’s Friday) and Gracie, well, she’s in for a “rude awakening.”

I’ve gone off and done it again. I have deviated from the subject.

For this I deeply apologize, as sometimes I have difficulty returning to that subject immediately.

When you neutralize a floor----------------No! That’s not what we were discussing.

Now, when you want your heater to be safe-----------------oops!

The act of parenting does----------------- I knew I would eventually remember!

There is about only one requisite required to being a parent and that is patience.

Unfortunately, it is a trait that I don’t possess, but my wife does.

That is exactly the reason I have assigned her most of the responsibility to raise the kids properly.

To illustrate this point, it was me who started that ill-fated program of “Have your children walk one week after they are born and talk before that. And be potty trained in the second week.”

I wrote a book that had that very title and invested substantial funds into the program, having full confidence that those funds would evolve into a fortune. Those funds are no longer substantial and forget the fortune.

There is a saying, that “the root of all problems is money.” If that is true, then there is someone, along with me, who must bear my problems. But, this is not always true, as there may be an ever popular “bailout.”

Nonetheless, with parenting a child, you are supposed to take a lump of clay and over a time span, mold it into an individual of perfection.

I subscribe to Time and Popular Mechanics magazines, but not to that theory.

My belief is to take that lump of clay. Pop it into the kiln and let the kiln do all the molding work for you and hope that individual does not turn out to be a threat or burden to our society.

Obviously, there are many parents in agreement with this belief.

O.K. then accountability and going green.

You immediately ask, “what in the Lord’s name do those three words have to do with the subject we are discussing?”

My reply is “absolutely nothing” but, a little man I met on a street corner, told me that if I included accountability and going green in my article then I would have a best seller.

Returning to being a parent.

I can not emphasize the importance of your child’s acquisition of knowledge, which is accomplished through our mainly superior school systems here in the states. If you are a lucky parent, you will receive invites to attend four main functions.

Your child’s graduation from college, high school, middle school and the monthly P.T.A. meeting, which if your child attends school at all, you will probably be elected president. No, seriously it’s a great honor.

Do me a favor, always give your grad a gift of quality and refinement, and this year make it green.


Disclaimer of sorts- I recognize that I am truly blessed to be able to walk on both legs, which some individuals can’t. But, this is a humor article (hopefully) and we humans have got to maintain our humor in the face of adversity.

First off, let us dispose of the question you have for me, “what does your left leg have to do with the misfortunes of Friday the 13th?”

The obvious answers are that I was born on the 25th, which is only 12 days away from the date in question and my left leg is a definite misfortune.

Also, I recently had a left knee operation to repair a torn cartilage performed on Friday the 18th ( which is getting substantially closer to the 13th ) and the knee always has a tendency to “act up” on the Friday the 13th.

Upon a through search of the dictionary as well as the ever popular Thesaurus, other than those four compelling facts, I can find no additional answers.

“O.K. then what is your complaint with your left leg?” you ask.

It is specifically when I try to put a sock on the foot of my left leg.

Everything reacts as it is supposed to on my right leg. I can cross my right leg over my left leg with ease and apply the sock with a beaming smile on my face.

But, when it comes to applying the same set of socks to my left leg/foot it is an entirely different matter.

At this point my left leg somewhat reminds me of a wet noodle draped over an ironing board.

And to keep my left leg in the same position long enough to put on a sock is one big expectation that, in my lifetime, has never been realized.

Never one to be discouraged I withdraw my left leg, which I place straight in front of me.

I then attempt application of the sock from a frontal direction.

The only problem I encounter with the frontal approach, is that I can never seem to reach my foot, irrespective of the amount of leg bending.

In that I refuse to wear a sock on one foot and not on the other, I continue the maneuver.

I then bend my leg in front of me which would probably accept the application of the sock easily, but there has been so much perspiration dripped onto it from my former attempts that it will not go on my foot at all.

So after calling my wife to dry out the sock for fifteen minutes in the clothes dryer I am ready to resume my pursuit.

However, this time it is not alone.

I coyly request my wife to assist me. If that doesn’t work, I beg.

She instructs me to lie horizontal on my back on the bed, with my leg straight up.

She glides the sock on with ease until it gets caught on one of my toenails, which I have not seen the necessity to cut in six years, and rips.

Fortunately, according to her, the tear is in an area that “won’t be seen,” so we proceed.

I firmly believe that an individual should exercise. I have a schedule where I do a few sit-ups, bench presses, neck exercises and walk a mile but an aerobics expert told me that if I decide to put on my socks that day, that the schedule is not necessary.

With the assistance of my wife, I then go through gyrations that I thought were impossible.

Finally with my left leg over my right shoulder, my wife applies my sock with forcible ease ( the astute reader will notice the forcible part, which created another a tear. Fortunately, this tear was also un-noticeable.)

I thanked my wife for her assistance in this 35 minute ordeal.

Now there is only one thing that remains in my dressing process.

Putting on the necktie, which never seems to come out the right length.


The doctor said I must undergo a colonoscopy about two years ago
to discover whether the bleeding I was having from my posterior end was cancerous.

I can not speak for humanity, but fortunately for me it wasn’t.

I am not aware of the techniques used by the physician when performing an operation of this type, other than he makes you get up awfully early. I probably have confided in you this fact, that I am not terribly thrilled about early. -No- I downright despise early!

However, I do know that a colonoscopy operation also involves a lot of questions about the status of your health with emphasis on your insurance.

You also have to change from your street clothes into what is referred to as a hospital gown.

Putting the gown on properly is an extremely complicated maneuver.

In fact, I am quite an enterprising person. I have discovered a void in our system that hasn’t been filled. I would like to start a course on how to properly adorn yourself with a hospital gown, teaching the correct way to tie strap A with corresponding A strap, the B strap with the corresponding B strap, and so forth.

In other words, when you graduate from my course, you will possess all the necessary knowledge as to how to correctly put on a hospital gown. The most attractive part of this course is that I have designed one that will only take four weeks to complete.

The second most attractive feature, is that the course will only cost you $275.00.

Well, returning to the operation, after pretending to have figured out how to put on a hospital gown ( remember, only $275 ) you are then asked to lay your body onto this bed that has wheels. In that it is a very small bed you will be lucky if your attempt at ascension onto this horizontal cot does not cause you to meet “face to face” with the floor.

After you have successfully gotten your body onto the bed with wheels, a nurse will run a bunch of physical tests on you like blood pressure, temperature, etc. and continue to ask you questions. Only this time those questions will be mostly about the weather and the score of last night’s baseball game.

Then comes that moment when they unlock and start using those wheels. The attendants will wheel you into this room, where if your lucky, as I was, see the doctor.

Before I was given that shot of anesthesia, I ask the doc if he would do me a great favor: To inspect the colon very thoroughly and if he didn’t find my head up there, he would write my wife a note to that effect.

Being a very accommodating fellow, he agreed to those terms.

You will “sail off” to dream land after you have been given that shot of anesthesia which either works slow or fast. The slow effect would resemble the way my wife drives. She does not believe we should exceed 45 MPH in a 65 MPH zone.

The rapidly acting anesthesia very closely resembles a “ker-plunk and off to dreamland”.

Mine was the “ker-plunk” type.

After the operation is completed they wheel you into this room where you attempt to regain consciousness.

Not just from the operation, but from falling off that cot again.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Decorating and Zoom

After he had completed his rock around the Christmas tree and worked his way back up the chimney, only having to replace two bricks this time - (he needs some Slim-fast) -, off went Santa Claus to his next delivery.

The sleigh went so fast that the reindeer must have had jets embedded in their hooves. It was either jet propulsion or they were experiencing the short term benefits of steroids.

In any case, he discovered that his next house had been naughty all year, and you know what Santa does to someone who has been naughty all year. He was experiencing slight irregularity and therefore was in no hurry. To fill this time void, he began to exercise his cranium.

Struck by a bolt of inspiration he suddenly shouted literally from the rooftops “Aha! that’s how he does it!”--no, no,-- he didn’t shout the word “literally,” he shouted “aha that’s how he does it”. --

Only Santa Claus and I now know my secret to decorating a house at this time of year.

The subconscious information withheld from you has caused a feeling of guilt to build up within me that this year I feel it will be beneficial to share mine and Santa’s trade secret with our many fans (opportunity rarely presents itself, hence a little self-adoration! ). I am hoping that this revelation will act as our relief valve and will save you time.

Nonetheless, being too cheap to hire a lawyer, I am not absolutely sure that I am not breaking some sort of law. I doubt that I am but, just in case, please don’t send the authorities to arrest me.

The rule of thumb is:  --it’s O.K. to break the law, but where criminals make their huge mistake, is that they allow themselves to be caught--

Well anyway, the very first operation in my routine of decorating is to move the ornaments from the attic to the second floor. In that there are many intriguing ornaments this only takes me one week.

After ample rest, which is generally another week, the ornaments are moved from the second floor to the first.

I do possess enough experience to know that there must come an additional weeks rest between this operation and the official time of beginning house decoration.

In that we like to have our decorations up by the day after Thanksgiving, scheduling dictates that I begin the first operation the day after Labor Day. However, I recommend that you begin in late August as this will allow you plenty of time.

This Christmas decorating generally presents a conflict with fertilizing the lawn at the beginning of fall.

The very first move in the decorating procedure is to make sure that all the bulbs on the strands burn as brightly as they did last year. --Really, to discover whether they burn at all!

Bulbs that shine brightly from one year to the next have become an extreme rarity.

To check your bulbs to discover whether they give off that radiant glow of last year, it is necessary to lay the strands of lights on the floor.

I must admit to you that I possess very few negative traits. However, one is that I do have is bad balance.

Most years at exactly this point in the operation I lose said balance and end up playing “hop-scotch” with the lights.

This is a segment of the operation, which I recommend you avoid at all costs, as it will immediately present the loss of good bulbs. A mystery presents itself, when the number that I step on is always six.

It then becomes necessary to locate those electrical do-dads which are also rarely in the same place I left them last year. Remember--I am married.

I fully expected them to remain on the dining room table for 10 months.

These “do-dads” are the plugs, multiple outlets etc.

Now the following segment is where an additional mystery evolves, which is far more crucial.

I begin with perfectly, efficiently, burning lights. In that we have a two story house, it generally takes me 2 days to string the lights and when I am finished doing the ladder thing and have the lights all strung and in place--those lights never burn--.

I conclude that there must be an electrical short somewhere in the line.

The ladder is retrieved from its place of storage, but I can never locate the short. (I thought it was six that I broke!! as our lights will not shine if there is one broken bulb.) This may seem like a suspense thriller, in that there is a third mystery that presents itself. Why are you never able to detect a broken bulb until it has been in the attic for a year?

Out of the last 35 years of Christmas decorations, ½ have been spent with brightly colored Christmas lights, but they are only evident during the daylight hours.

Which meant that for 17 years, at this time of year, my only remaining consolation is looking forward to Easter.

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Biggest Waste

The little boy thought and thought and finally said, “Why--why, it’s a red wagon that has been painted blue.”

“I’m sorry son, that is not the correct answer. As good a try as that was you do not win our two week, all expense trip to Jamaica,” said the master of ceremonies.

“But, here is your consolation prize,” handing the child a doggy bag.

“I’d like to repeat the question one more time. -- In your mind what is the biggest waste in this country?”

Up walked a construction worker to try his luck. As he gingerly approached the M/C he stopped and spoke directly into the microphone, to which he apparently got too close, because the sound was squeaky, “Why it’s that young, curvaceous and attractive blonde woman who has a sexual orientation other than heterosexual.”

“That was also close, but I’m afraid that answer is not correct either,” came the rather vociferous reply. “Although, you must be commended for your effort with this consolation prize.”

“Now, who will be our next contestant?” the M/C blurted out as he walked in front of the audience.

“Let’s try you,” pointing his finger at an attractive lady in the fifth row.

Ironically, she was a statuesque blonde who had just changed her sexual orientation, which caused her to be possessed with the urge to throw rotten tomatoes at the previous contestant. She also knew it was he and his crew that always watched her walk by their job-site on her way to work, etc.

She like the little boy, gave her medulla oblongata a workout.

“Yes,” she uttered, “It’s that box of condoms you give as a present to a man who is impotent. That has got to be the biggest waste.”

“Oh gee! You’ll never know how close you came to the correct answer, but, that is not the answer I was looking for, so here is your doggy bag.”

Then a seemingly obscure, wise old gentleman, sitting in the back row yelled out, “I know the correct answer," as he lowered his hand.

“Yes, the gentlemen in the rear shall now be recognized.” said the M/C.

“The biggest waste is the sound system on the TV set that is used in a restaurant.”

“And that is correct, yelled out the M/C , emulating, well, what can I say about the coincidence, the TV evangelist delivering the last part of his sermon. “And you, sir, are the lucky winner of that two week trip to paradise, which I’ll outline here for you later. Just how did you come up with that answer?”

To that the old man replied,  "Every time the wife and me eat out I watch the TV picture, but I never hear anything. Tried getting down one of them wall sets and hitting it with a baseball bat, but, it somehow made the picture worse - and dadburn - it was still silent.

"Figur’in there are close to 1 million restaurants in the US of A ,there is a big valley of silence out there.

"In fact, when we do eat out, I always ask my wife to be sure and watch the TV, but she never seems to get the hint. I think that when the next time rolls around, I’ll say that the present I want the most for my birthday is for her to be more like that there television set.”

P.S. “And for that two week, all expenses paid vacation to Alberta, Canada, guess what was in the doggy bag.” -Hint- Was it that glob of glue that caused us to ring a man’s doorbell, light the sack with a match, place the sack in front of the door and then run as fast as we could in the opposite direction?

Helpful hint: the sack should be as thin as possible.





In case you haven't noticed I am attempting to write a blog.

However, I am basing my attempt on the knowledge that I know what I'm doing.

For those of you in the NOW generation I will share a secret with you. I do not have a clue as to what I'm doing.

Regressing to my initial question, surely I can find out what a blog is from Webster. As an aspiring writer, I keep a copy of his dictionary by my side at all times. (This is somewhat of an inside joke and can not be fully appreciated, unless you are another aspiring writer.)

Hold on a minute while I take that easy reach.

Oh no! According to all revisions of Webster, I have discovered that a blog doesn't exist.

That would mean that I am attempting to write about something that I don't have the slightest idea of where it's taking me and besides that I am writing in a category that is nonexistent. That would mean I am writing in genre of fictitious, fiction.

In that I specialize in non-fiction, that already places me at a severe disadvantage.

Well anyway, I am of the demeanor that I shall attempt the seemingly impossible.


I was born in 1937 in a decorous cabin on the shores of a crystal clear lake. This was in the North where the birds lent their personalities to the beautiful country side by chirping songs throughout the day.

As during my mother's pregnancy with me, my parents were in their second home on the lake and were caught napping (or whatever it is that adults do in bed).

Whatever it was, it initiated contractions in my mother who, after dad called the doctor, was rushed to the hospital .

My birth was easy upon my mother but, for some inexplicable reason I have several dents in my skull.

My parents were of wealth and loved to travel.

As a young child I was introduced to such things as the missions of Southern California, Catalina Island, the Notre Dame cathedral and
the famous stadium where Knute Rockne coached, the wheat fields of Kansas, the Coca-cola museum in Atlanta, Georgia and beautiful Lake Lanier.

I attended the University of Georgia and with straight A grades, membership in a prestigious fraternity and president of my class, I received a Bachelor of Science degree in journalism.

I then pursued my dream to become an outstanding salesman.

Through perseverance and a tenacious outlook, my income level in the 1960’s was close to $100,000.00.

I then chose to open a chain of restaurants which did rather well.

One day, a fellow was cleaning the kitchen and upon questioning him, his answers “opened the window” so that I could see the opportunity for me that existed in janitorial maintenance.

--All of a sudden guilt has swept over me--The truth now commands my body, and I must tell you the story as it actually happened.

Only the part about being born in 1937 is true, the remainder of the story is fictitious fiction.

I was born in Petoskey, Michigan, to a struggling family who derived their income from sales management. Actually we were considered low income.

Then came the second world war which changed everything.

Dad enlisted in the Navy which I heartedly think was a wise choice.

When my dad received his discharge he went to work for a company as a salesman.

So much for the missions because his first territory was in Southern California.

One illustrious summer I went to the YMCA camp on Catalina Island.

Much to my chagrin, while exploring the ocean coast of the island, I was bitten by a crab.

In that Dad was a promising young salesman, we moved to South Bend, Indiana - so much for Notre Dame, its halls and stadium.

We then moved to Kansas City - so much for the wheat fields of Kansas - where we stayed several years and subsequently onto Atlanta - and as our last stop, this explains the Coca-Cola museum-. Atlanta is where I met my wife.

This meeting generated two daughters and three grands.

It’s somewhat sad that I was too young to appreciate the many sights, but I want you to know that I was not too young to appreciate my wife.

I did enter the University of Georgia and barely got in by the “skin of my teeth” and barely got out with a B.S. degree in animal science.

In actuality my first job after graduating from college was in a gas station as an attendant pushing wiper blades.

The minimal success I had selling wiper blades did create an urge within me to go into sales.

I went to work for a company as a salesman for $4000.00 per year,
which at the time I left, I had worked all the way up to $10,000.00.

With three other friends, I then opened a restaurant. Unfortunately, for me, this venture went “belly-up.”

This threat to our finances caused me to found my own company and enter the janitorial industry.

My company remained small, but it provided me with an income for 35 years.

I am now retired and devote most of my time to writing.

P.S. I am not too young to fully appreciate Lake Lanier, as that is where we now live.