An Anniversary

Twenty years ago tomorrow my dad slipped out life's side door.  My brother called me shortly before midnight California time to give me the news.  Dad died in Springfield, Illinois not far from the small town of New Holland where he was born.  He is buried next to mom in the quiet little cemetery, Richmond Grove, that breaks the monotony of the endless fields of corn and soybeans that stretch to the horizon in central Illinois.

After telling my wife about the not unexpected phone call, I returned to bed knowing I would not sleep.    I decided not to forgo work and rose at my usual 3:30 AM to prepare for my morning radio show on KBZT-FM in San Diego.  I had considered calling my boss and begging off the day but found I actually craved the distraction of routine.  I also thought of it as a sort of "take your dad to work" day.  It wasn't difficult to feel like he was riding with me that morning.  I told no co-workers and the show went well.  When finished at 10 AM I handed an envelope to our receptionist on my way out the door and asked her to give it to the program director after my departure.  I explained my situation in a letter and told her I would return in about a week; then headed for the airport.

The last few years of life had been tough on dad.  He had diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, and severe dementia as a final insult.  At 76, an age that doesn't seem that old to me these days,  he had gone quietly just a couple of days after being admitted to a nursing home.  Mom had nearly killed herself taking care of him by herself and had finally acquiesced to the nursing home when he was no longer able to stand or even remember how to sit in a chair.  It was bad.  Steve, my brother, told me that the look in dad's eyes the day he was admitted to the home said, "I'm out of here".  And, he was.

The funeral was, as funerals go, not too bad.  Often, when we were young, dad would say to Steve and me that we "wouldn't have enough friends to bury you" if he thought we had done something unfriendly or anti-social.  That one always sounded funny to me as I considered it a problem only for those responsible for the ultimate disposal of my worthless carcass.  He, on the other hand, had a ton of friends to see him off.  The service was SRO.  Many people we had never met told us stories of good times and wonderful gestures they had received from dad.  Both of us came away feeling as if we barely knew the man.  Like his experiences as a naval aviator in the South Pacific during the Second World War, these were tales he didn't share.  Anything that smacked of boasting was an anathema to him.  He avoided it and despised it in others.

The Navy Hymn was played before the service.  According to mom, that had been his only request.  A minister who obviously barely knew him expounded at length on what a great guy "Hubert" was.  I wanted to belt the blowhard for referring to him by a name he hated and had not answered to since he was in short pants.  He was "Cop" to anyone and everyone who called him friend.  If he could have jumped out of the casket and strangled the pious putz his friends and family would have totally understood and maybe even helped.  The color guard and 21 gun salute at the cemetery made up for it.

Twenty years is a long time yet I find my dad alive and well and living inside my head these days.  His admonitions to: "act like you mean it", "don't do a halfway job", "don't take a lazy man's load", "use your head for something besides a hat rack" and the ever popular "act like a man" resonate far more than when first administered.  Maybe it's because sixty years too late I'm finally listening and hoping that somewhere he is comfortable in the knowledge that I am, and will remain, eternally grateful.

Springtime Rediscovered

Recently we passed the six month mark of living in our new home.  We've accomplished all the required chores of a re-location:  new drivers licenses and car registrations, new bank, voter registration etc.  Changing address isn't as easy as it used to be and I'm not certain if that is because state laws have become more complicated or, more likely, we're just getting too old for this crap.  Nonetheless, it is done.

Having spent the last thirty plus years in California, it has been a pleasant surprise to realize the savings we now enjoy on everything from gasoline to groceries, insurance, taxes, utilities, and more now that we call Idaho home.  The air doesn't smell like benzine either and the water is tasty and plentiful.  The move was a good one.

In 1973, after spending just one more miserable winter in the Midwest, I promised myself to never "do" winter again.  That summer we headed for Florida and have lived either there or in Nevada, California or the Puget Sound area ever since.  As a consequence neither of us knew quite what to expect as winter approached the Inland Northwest last year.  Fortunately we had a mild one and were not inconvenienced or at all uncomfortable.  A big fireplace and radiant heat helped us make the adjustment  quite nicely.  Skiers hated it but we were grateful for the "welcome newcomers" kid glove treatment.

Now officially it's spring and the two of us have been startled to discover how much we have missed this season of re-birth and awakening.  Seeing the new leaves, flowers, warmer temperatures and green grass has taken us back to childhood and the excitement of coming warm weather and good old summertime fun. I almost feel like it's time to start goofing off in school because summer vacation is coming.  (Who am I kidding?  I goofed off all year long in school.)

As we walk in the mornings and evenings I find I'm taking a ton of pictures because the world looks so clean and new.  In California spring meant maybe a shower or two (not this year) to wash some of the dirt from the palm fronds and give them a dull green instead of their usual gray/green color.

Here are some shots taken as we walk the shores of Lake Coeur d' Alene in the panhandle of Idaho.

"My sun sets to rise again."  --Robert Browning

Canadian geese stop long enough to have babies and poop on our boat before heading north.

Not That You Asked...

But, here are a few things I've been missing lately:

Popcorn made in a pan, not the microwave

chocolate bubblegum cigars

actual mail from a real person

cars that have NO computer

movies featuring stars I recognize

homemade fried chicken

baseball games that last less than three hours

TV sitcoms that are actually funny

dogs that eat table scraps

clerks who can count change

people under 50 who can put a sentence together without using the word LIKE

teachers who dress like grownups

Democrats like JFK, Scoop Jackson and Harry Truman

Republicans like Ronald Reagan, Ike and Abe Lincoln

comfortable furniture

comfortable underwear

actors who don't mumble

30 cent gasoline

Holidays; not meaningless three day weekends

standard time

The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson

George Carlin

Ernie Kovacs

Phil Silvers

Nat Hiken

Joan Rivers

Sinatra

Clark bars

convertibles

booze (I still miss the taste)

No fine dining here

A freaking nightmare

STUFF I CAN DO WITHOUT:

Basic training

C rations

High school algebra and geometry

Kansas

my annual prostate exam

pro basketball

college basketball

ABC news

NBC news

MSNBC

Al Sharpton

Dancing with the Stars (more like has beens)

all reality shows

Hillary & Bill

Harry Reid

Income tax

Rap music

people who've had their teeth whitened just a little too much

cats

people who ask me how I'm "doin'"

SUVs

Heart Smart butter (tastes like Gliden's paint)

plastic water bottles

idiot bosses

popular culture

People Magazine

plumber cleavage

guys with their hats on backward (We get it.  You're a moron.)

winter

variety shows of any kind

 James Blunt singing anything
same goes for Cat Stevens

This could go on forever, but it's a nice spring day in the Inland Northwest.  Time to go outside and yell at those kids on my lawn.

No computer onboard

Free Speech at Berkeley?

I am so old I actually remember having college professors who were openly conservative.  For you youngsters this will no doubt be nearly beyond belief but it is an indisputable fact that once there was free speech and a plethora of opinion espoused in higher education.  Somewhere along the way, probably while enterprising conservative faculty was busy embracing capitalism, the liberals got the keys to the campuses and began turning them into re-education camps for the nation.  These days American colleges are hellbent on cramming political "correctness" into our culture and care not a fig how that sits with the rest of us.

To be politically correct is to be sensitive to the needs, real or not, of all citizens with the natural exception of white males, Christians, and anybody promoting freedom.  It's a place where ISIS just needs a hug and waving the American flag is considered bigotry.  In other words, it is an insane, morally reprehensible dumbass philosophy.  Stupid people are drawn to it like flies because it allows them to "feel good" about themselves.

Well, just when you thought it impossible for PC to become any more infuriating and insipid, here is another hairball coughed up by the comrades running the University of California , Berkeley.  They have now decreed that "in an effort to make the campus more INCLUSIVE, freshman students who are admitted for the spring semester will no longer be referred to as "spring admits".  Apparently the educated dolts in charge sense that students admitted in the spring might feel that "their admission was significantly different" from other freshman and therefor may have hurt feelings.

Yes, I can see where this might be a problem as a student embarks on what is now a six to eight year trek toward a degree from a zoo like Berserkly.

What am I missing?  Is this not the same Cal Berkeley that was home to the free speech movement of the 60's?   And, perhaps even more important,  WHO GIVES A RAT'S ASS WHEN THEY STARTED THEIR COLLEGE EDUCATION?!!  Isn't that whole "finishing" thing the one to concentrate on?

We have students graduating from high school, and probably college, who can't read, write or even balance their checkbook yet the idiots running Berkeley think that this is an issue they need to tackle?  The country has unsustainable debt, a constipated congress and a complete incompetent in the White House and this is what passes for a pressing situation in higher education?!

My wife and I have started a college fund for our grandson.  There are no strings attached and he can use the money to attend any school he wishes (I may amend it to exclude Berkeley).  Right now I'm inclined to think that welding school might be a better investment for the lad and I'm damn sure the faculty would be a whole lot more entertaining and certainly more open minded.
If he's lucky, maybe he can be a spring admit.

Free speech at Berkeley?  Nah, that's so 1960's.

Bend Over, It's Your Uncle Sam

Very typically at this time of year I am scrambling to find all the relevant tax materials I should have been keeping track of during the year...but didn't.  My accountant grows impatient and mildly put off by my lack of financial acumen.

(Here is where I had carefully crafted a lengthy diatribe against the IRS, Congress, Obama and every thieving (oops, there I go again) uh…caring member of the federal and state elites who, in their infinite wisdom, know far better than we how to spend  money they have stolen.)  How could I be so inconsiderate?  They have votes to buy and dopes to assuage with my money.  Symbolism and sentimentality, paid for by their productive constituents, insures the loyalty and support of an increasingly moronic and growing segment of the electorate.  (see liberals)  

There, I feel better now.  Still can't find those damn receipts I was looking for.  Perhaps its time to throw myself on the mercy of the IRS.  (Made myself laugh.)  Oh, that's right, they aren't answering their phones these days.  All we can do is hope that the mass mugging (drat!)..uh, free will offering due on the 15th will be sufficient to keep Lois Lerner in champagne and Grey Poupon during her, no doubt, lengthy retirement.  Just remember:  The government knows what's good for you.  Hand over your money or the kid gets it!

Speaking of kids…I have an idea.  

Seemed like a good idea at the time.

If you want to make sure your nursing home is a good one, get your kid or grandkid into a program that teaches tattoo removal.  I predict buckets full of dough in the not too distant future for individuals with that skill.  Most of the ink sported by what seems like half the populace should be looking like leprosy or a science project gone terribly wrong in a decade or two and the walking wounded will be lined up out the door to get this ill conceived "art" scrubbed from their hides.  These trend setters are living proof that the world is a freak show and we, as Americans,  have a front row seat.  Someone should be able to make some money on the deal.

Now, where was I?  Oh yeah, looking for tax stuff.  Hey, what if I tried telling them that all of the information they're seeking was on my computer and the hard drive has been erased?  You're probably right.  NOBODY would buy that one.  Or, I could mention that, according to the latest GAO report, federal agencies wasted $125 BILLION last year.  No, that would make me just another selfish, right-wing hater.  

I need to put this off for a few more days.  It's Easter weekend and really no time to be angry.  We can maybe wait until the 15th to drive the money changers from the temple in D.C.  

JELLY BEANS AND CHOCOLATE BUNNIES FOR EVERYONE!!

March Madness? Make Me Watch!

"Got your bracket ready?"

"How about those Zags!"

If you live in the Inland Northwest, or Anywhere, USA , you've been hearing this crap for days on end.  Opening day of the baseball season is on the horizon and college basketball just WON"T GO AWAY.  

As a sports fan I dread this time of year.  I'll watch most any baseball game, never miss an NFL Sunday and, if necessary, can stomach the last three minutes of an NBA telecast but you can't make me watch college basketball.

 I've always had a hard time with the concept of college athletic programs.  Other than serving as funnel  for alumni money, what purpose do they serve in the halls of higher learning?  Coaches, invariably the only Republicans on campus,  make more money than the presidents of the universities that employ them.  "Student" athletes major in stoop tag and playground studies and frequently graduate without benefit of having attended class, mastering the English language, or balancing a checkbook.  The only positive product of this marriage of sports and education would seem to be, if the students are paying attention, that hard work, winning and providing a product the market appreciates and demands pays a hell of a lot better than a degree in art history.  And, much to the chagrin of the reliably socialist faculty, student athletes often come away with a real aptitude for free and untrammeled bust out capitalism.  (At least until their agent and no good relatives figure out a way to steal their money.)

Tallulah Bankhead

So, even though Gonzaga University is only 30 miles away, you'll not find me wasting a minute of time watching ANY of the Sweet Sixteen action this weekend.  I am convinced that the whole marriage of college and sports makes about as much sense as your local dentist offering muffler repair and oil changes.  However, being a college graduate, I am not dumb enough to have neglected to get down a heavy bet on the Gonzaga-UCLA tilt this afternoon.  I'll read about how much I've won in tomorrow's paper.  It's 71 degrees outside and a fine day for doing anything but watching TV. Go Zags.

Tallulah Bankhead once said, "If you know your bible and your Shakespeare and can shoot craps, you have a liberal education."

I wonder how old Tallulah was from the free throw line?

Bow Wowie!

"Turn up the Marley mon, and bring me my kibble."

Too bad we no longer live in Nevada and that my kids' dog, Teri, has gone to that big pound in the sky.  Why?

Glad you asked.  Democratic Senator (of course) Tick Segerblom of the Nevada state legislature and the cool name hall of fame is sponsoring a bill that would allow animal owners to get marijuana for their pet if a veterinarian certifies that the animal has an illness that might be alleviated by the drug.


"How are ya feelin' Sam?"  "Boss, I'm sicker than a dog.  How's about you fire me up a spliff."  Yes sir, this might be a bigger boon to the Silver State than legalized dice and slot machines.  If Tick, (what a shame to waste a killer moniker on a democrat), gets his way,  I can see tons of reprobates rolling into the land of Elvis impersonators just to get Fido on the four-legged doobie train.  Soon the desert will be filled with canine cannabis aficionados grooving to Bob Marley tunes and begging for just one more handful of Kibbles & Bits.

"Don' worry mon..I like dogs."

Don't get me wrong, I love dogs.  I've had three good ones and would have one now if the bastards didn't have that bad habit of dying on you just about the time you're getting used to them.  Not that they're a good investment.  These days a dog is easily the most inefficient piggy bank you can own.  Vet bills are through the roof, food is expensive and all an owner gets out of them is a ton of poop that now requires pick-up.  (I miss the old days when the lawn mower took care of that.)

"What? No whiskey?!!"

Since today's topic combines dumbass ideas and getting high, here's another dandy that recently got the green light from Washington: Powdered booze!  The product, Palcohol, no doubt dreamed up over a few cocktails by some hardcore members of the Spiritus Frumenti Club, is now legal in Washington state and is subject to the same restrictions as hard liquor.  This is a BAD idea.  Speaking as a victim of too many attentive bartenders during the twentieth century, my liver is up on blocks for the 21st, the only customers for Palcohol are the dipsomaniacs who live in fear of accidental sobriety.  Powdered booze is the answered prayer of barflies from here to Kalamazoo.  It can be easily concealed and will provide a backseat "pick me up" for most any boring occasion like: work, long plane rides, church, family reunions, and interventions.  The only complaint you'll hear from the rummies who will buy this is that it will only be available in four pre-mixed flavors: cosmopolitan, margarita, vodka and rum.  I predict this stuff won't move off the shelves at the liquor store until until an alcoholic's two best buddies   are introduced in the product line.  Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, are you listening?  This one bares watching.

That's all the news from the substance abuse desk for this week.  If you live in Washington state get ready for a relaxing 12 or 13 cocktail airplane ride thanks to Palcohol and, if you decide to move your dog to Nevada, everything be irie from now on mon.
Bow wow wowie.