Category: My Life

When All Else Fails

When All Else Fails

Men have this peculiar trait. Most of us think that we know everything. We can! Most definitely, we can! And as sure as the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening, there are times when push comes to shove and we embarrass ourselves by not doing what it is that we started out to do in the first place.

I recall doing projects at various times in my life and finding at the end of the project that there are parts left over.

Ooops!

My “I know how to do this” dissolves into complete ineptness… all for the lack of paying attention to the cardinal rule of doing stuff around the house: “When all else fails, read the instructions!”

I had one of those moments this afternoon. While cruising the internet and carrying on a conversation or two, I noted that the house was a bit warmer than it should have been. I went off to the bathroom to shave and shower to cool off a bit – and on the way, I noted that the thermostat was a little wonky.

“Not a problem,” I foolishly said. I took the thermostat away from its mooring, replaced the batteries, and… nothing.

I spent the better part of half an hour attempting to bring the offending thermostat back to life. No luck.

I even went to the manufacturer’s website to see if they had any suggestions. Again, no luck.

So, I took my pride and my credit card to the local hardware store to invest in a brand-new thermostat made by the same company that made the thermostat I already had. I took the purchase home, plugged it into the hole left by the previous thermostat and… nothing.

I tried everything I could think of before coming to the conclusion that what I really needed to do was to install the beast with the instructions that came with it.

And what do you know. It worked.

Dinner was delayed. I whipped up something with ingredients on-hand with no instruction book anywhere near my meal prep.

I can do that.

The better half knows what I can do in the kitchen. I’m a regular McGyver. But put me in charge of something complicated and the next thing you know, I get frustrated until I realize that there are instructions.

When all else fails…

Be Seeing You!

Respect

Respect

Back home after a week of travel to see my daughter in Georgia. Two days out, two days back, 2,000 miles, and many good memories made.

I had a couple of conversations with rangers at two different National Parks sites about the dog Filbrix and my refusing to enter into the sites with my pet because it was clearly posted “No Pets Allowed“. While there was an exception for service animals, the signs were clear. Out of respect for the policies declared by the Park Service, the dog Filbrix and I stayed outside while my better half went inside to spend time with the displays.

My first conversation with a ranger was with a woman who was admittedly a dog lover. Filbrix and I were standing near the exit of an airplane hanger (part of the Tuskeegee Airmen Monument) in the shade when she came by. We discussed the prohibition and she told me that she appreciated my abiding by the rules. Apparently, there are some people who either disregard the rules, or try to slide past by claiming their animals are support animals. We agreed that the tactic of trying to slide past the prohibitions was nothing but bullshit.

The second conversation was at the Selma-Montgomery March Interpretive Center in Alabama. The conversation was a bit shorter, with us coming to the conclusion that one of the biggest problems we have these days is an almost universal lack of respect for others, encouraged by certain politicians. (I mentioned one in particular. The ranger laughed and then told me with a straight face that she was not allowed to discuss politics. I told her that I knew why she reacted, assuring her that if pressed, I would say she never said a word!)

The ranger’s junior partner followed me out the door and offered to watch Filbrix when I went inside to view the Interpretive Center. (They were good buddies when I came back out)

Respect is a theme that hit me in the face while going through the Center. Rather, it was a lack of respect for a group of people by people wanting to hold onto power and privilege. Most of the people giving the marchers grief for wanting the right to vote had no real power themselves, but they believed they did because of the color of their skin contrasting with the color of many of the marchers. What was missing was empathy – respect if you will – for another human being.

The same holds true today.

There seems to be no empathy for others. Should I say, little empathy for others because of hatred being stirred up by certain politicians and/or talk show hosts. Some of those certain politicians have managed to wrangle our system of elections to favor their own interests – effectively disenfranchising certain groups in order to swing elections in their favor.

The bullshit quotient is as bad as the bullshit being offered on the internet by firms assuring people that they can have their animals declared as support animals so that they can bypass “No Pets” rules.

Yes, I have the freedom to do what I want, but the limits on my freedom end when I trample on another’s freedom by disrespecting the other (and vice-versa).

Be Seeing You!

Incognito

Incognito

The internet is a wonderful thing. It’s the font of all knowledge. The Sage to confound all sages. A wonderful meeting place. A place where a person can go incognito.

We’ve all seen it on the internet – the people with names like Jerry Mander, Connie Lingus, Frank Furter, and (almost anything) Smith. Some of the names can be used as jokes, some used as cover for someone wanting to keep from being traced. Going incognito, to be sure.

Something else to be sure of is that many of the people using cover names are the same people who insist that they are being totally honest all the time; insisting that what they hate the most are people who lie.

Ah, the skullduggery.

I ran into someone this past week looking to romance older men, stating her age as less than half mine.

“This particular platform is not where you want to be if you are looking for romance,” I told her.

“Have you ever dated someone on the Internet?” she asked.

I told her that I first met my current wife on the Internet. Her response was, “Oh. Are you married?”

Her oblivious question (posed several times during our exchange) and a few other comments she made led me to believe that there was something up. Well, that and her telling me she could not wait to meet me in person.

I didn’t have the heart (or the stupidity) to tell her that I would be within a two-hour drive from where she said she was from at least twice in the coming week. And yes, my wife would be with me and so would the dog.

Something recommended by the AARP is that if someone wants to meet you, or have you send money/gift cards/candygrams, or want you to invest in (Crypto comes to mind for some reason or another), it’s a good idea to have a video chat first before taking that next step. Chances are that if the person on the other end is having problems or has objections to having a video chat, there’s something rotten in Denmark.

A video chat is a good way to call someone’s bluff. It makes me feel good about calling that bluff.

Yes, there’s the possibility that the person I had been “talking” with was sincere about wanting an older man, or that she was lonely, or that what she really wanted was a family, or she really didn’t care that I was married; but I’m not making book on it. She might not even be a she. Someone incognito, for instance.

For that matter, I may be incognito myself!

Be Seeing You!

I have this Uncle…

I have this Uncle…

While poking and prodding around social media, I’ve been followed by the occasional Crypto pusher. They’re somewhat easy to spot – usually a young (under 40) female following a ton of people, yet, only a few followers. If one becomes a follower, there is a small period where there is a mundane conversation, followed by a suggestion to move to another platform (Telegraph and/or WhatsApp) where eventually the conversation winds around to how the young female is living the good life by trading in Cryptocurrency.

“It’s fun! It’s easy! It allows me to lead a life of luxury!”

Uh huh. So, what do you know about how to make money in the Cryptocurrency (racket) market?

“Well, I have this Uncle…”

Uncles reportedly know everything there is to know about life, the universe, and trading Crypto.

I have two uncles.

One worked practically all his life for an electrical utility, the other worked for an oil company and invested in electrical utilities. One of those Ying and Yang deals. Neither of them met the other but they both benefited from the other’s enterprise.

Now, I’m an uncle myself with four nieces and four nephews (I need a moment or two to count. Bear with me… yeah, I’m correct. Four of each). Not one of them has asked me for financial advice. I honestly don’t think I’d ask for financial advice from me either.

I’ve been known as an “Uncle” for a few people in Southern Ohio who listened to me on the radio back in the day. Some people still remember me – including a woman I met while I was working in a retail store in Texas. She remembered listening to me back when I was “Uncle Bruco” (think Harpo, Chico, and Groucho) between sporting events.

And no, she didn’t ask me for financial advice. That’s why we’re still friends.

There were other “Uncles” in my life – Like Uncle Donald and Uncle Jimmy. Both Godfathers. One of them worked for an electrical utility, the other, a dermatologist.

Great Uncles included a car dealer, an uncle who I believe was under the care of a psychiatrist, and Mosby. I never met Mosby, but my father told stories about Mosby. I’ve been known to use Mosby every once in a while when a story I’m telling needs a character to cover for another character.

I am not going to use Mosby as a source for financial advice. Besides, he’s been on the other side of the grass for many years.

I’m not going to use this (probably fictional) uncle quoted by the sirens trying to get me into investing in Crypto.

I have better sense than to do so.

My uncle told me.

Be Seeing You!

Money

Money

I ran into a piece the other day where an author stated that women are more careful about their money because traditionally women have had less money than men and had to make their money stretch further.

I get it.

The way I look at money leads me to believe that I may be a woman.

I spent a fair amount of my time this morning balancing the family checkbook, making sure that what we have coming in is more than what we will have going out. For the record, I was successful. To the point, we have the resources to pay the bills for the rest of the month with money to spare.

It wasn’t always like that for me or for my current spouse.

When I met my current spouse, she was in the last stages of paying off bankruptcy with her former husband. Their second bankruptcy together. She made good money, but her ex found ways to spend every last cent that he could get his hands on. My ex had a similar problem. She would go overseas on business, charge up a storm and then ignore American Express when it came time to pay. She whined about my ruining her credit rating while I was pinching pennies to make sure our children had what they needed to live.

My current spouse and I were emotionally drained by our previous spouses and were determined that we wouldn’t fall into that virtual money pit.

And it has worked.

Not to say that we didn’t have moments where we wondered if we would be able to make it to the next paycheck… but we’ve made it work.

There’s something about making less money than other people we know. I can find it intimidating when someone makes a show of their ability to have lots of money. Not everyone makes me feel as being less than I am because of my modest means. A couple of my friends in particular are quite well off (thank you), but neither of them goes out of their way to rub it in my face.

At the same time, I can think of a few people who make a show of what they have. One person, call him Bob, loved to brag that he had $100 gasoline bills when gasoline was available at seventy cents a gallon! He always found and had the “best” of everything and wasn’t afraid to show it. Another fellow took me on a tour of his “Ranch” and openly bragged that he loved having people over and showing them what he had. I recently had a conversation with a woman living in Washington D.C. who decided that she wanted to meet me face-to-face and decided that she would fly to DFW the next day – demanding that I pick her up despite any previous commitments I may have had. Besides, I can’t afford to have a wife and a girlfriend.

I like to think that I’m like most people – making do with what I’ve got. There are certain victories I have on the way… heck, just last month I got a royalty payment of a whole two dollars when someone bought one of my books on Amazon. There are defeats, too, like an unexpected charge to remove and reinstall the solar panels on my house when a wind storm made replacing my roof a necessity, but we have managed to weather that storm… and have the means to weather other storms.

Anyhoo, the statement made in the first paragraph rings true. Women generally are better money managers. Gender does not necessarily predict how well people manage the means at their disposal, however. Some men can be good money managers. Some women can spend like drunken sailors on shore leave.

I’m just happy to be where I am – and hope to be at for some time to come.

Be Seeing You!

Fifty

Fifty

I did the math. An acquaintance posted that her fiftieth birthday will be coming soon. I honestly think that she is a little panicked about the coming milestone – not really an unusual occurrence. The woman I married turned fifty when I first met her. She was one of several women I met at the time as a recent divorcee making the rounds on the internet.

One of the first women I met after separation from my first wife was an agent of an apartment complex I was looking at. I was a little taken aback by how easy it was to take her to lunch and have my invitation accepted. We went to a Thai place about a mile from where she worked. We had a lovely conversation that led nowhere romantically, but I did take a neat suggestion from her. She told me that when she and her husband separated, the first thing she did was make a list of things she wanted to accomplish now that she was “footloose and fancy-free.” One of the items on her list was to sample new foods. She had never had Thai, so our date enabled her to scratch that item off her list. The idea had merit, so I adopted it for myself.

My current wife (#2 – with no #3 even being considered) was goaded out of her comfort zone by her daughter. She had just turned fifty and her daughter talked her into going onto a dating website to see what might turn up… something out of her comfort zone at the time.

I had been dating a woman in her forties. It was a case of we were biologically compatible and not much more. I found the future Mrs. on a dating website, messaged back and forth a time or two and finally met her in a rainy parking lot of an all-you-can-eat pizza joint. Wouldn’t you know, I pull up in a parking space, look in my rear-view mirror, and there she is, driving a vehicle identical to mine! Our first date included her youngest son, her granddaughter, and the granddaughter’s mother. (Her older son is still with but has yet to marry the mother of his children – although by this time, their union would be covered under common law. It’s complicated.)

We spent a lot of time talking over the next month and a half, finding our likes and dislikes before proving that we were biologically accommodating. The time I spent getting to know the fifty-year-old woman, became the basis of a relationship that has lasted for a total of 16 years (to date).

While I was musing on the significance of fifty, I recall being in contact with a few other women of a similar age prior to the interim relationship mentioned above. I wasted time with a Harley rider (when she said she liked to ride her cycle, I understood it to mean her bicycle), a woman living in Russia (too far to commute, besides, all she wanted was out of Russia on my dime), and the woman who never married living in the mid-cities (between Dallas and Fort Worth) who called one evening, conducting something akin to a job interview before flat-out telling me that she wasn’t interested.

Good to find out before making a commitment.

My brother’s wife made an “Out of the comfort zone” list for her 50th birthday. The wife and I were both amused and amazed by her list – including overseas trips and jumping out of an airplane. With a parachute. More than once. What was really amazing was that she convinced my brother to jump, too.

You’d have to drug me and throw me out of the plane.

This new acquaintance of mine could use a list. She needs to go out of her comfort zone if she wants the companionship she appears to want. I understand raging hormones combined with a need for reassurance that she is still desirable. We all need human connection. I’ll be a friend without benefits – someone she can talk with every once in a while. But the first step she needs to take if she is serious about finding a new partner is she needs to make a list featuring at least two feats of derring-do that are clearly out of her comfort zone.

If she does that, I’m sure she’ll find her Prince Charming. My wife wishes the same for her.

Be Seeing You!

Seventh Grade

Seventh Grade

A question posed the other day on Facebook asked why square dancing was included in physical education classes. The question was, more specifically, about why fourth graders were square dancing in physical education classes. My answer was based on having had square dancing taught when I was in the seventh grade. The classes went a long way towards teaching basic social skills to boys and girls undergoing the changes brought about by puberty. At least that’s the way I look at it over my shoulder. It was useful in that it was one of the first times us seventh-grade boys came to the realization that girls didn’t have or pass along the dreaded “cooties!”

That being said, there is nothing filthier than the mind of a seventh-grade boy.

Seventh-grade is about the time when certain changes start happening in our bodies. Formerly flat-chested girls start to develop breasts, something noted by seventh-grade boys. Seventh-grade girls are well aware of the reactions of seventh-grade boys and some of the, shall we say, less gifted of the girls attempted to “pad their resumes.” There were several instances of boys telling other boys about seeing bits of tissue peeking out of the shirts of certain girls. Those certain girls usually were friends with other girls who developed at a faster rate. They just wanted to keep up.

I found that the girls worth talking to were unconcerned about what other girls thought. Flat-chested or quickly developing, it didn’t matter to me. Much. I was surprised when a girl I met up with at a seventh-grade mixer showed up in a dress which hinted at her bosom not being augmented by tissue. Of course, I was asked about it by one or two of the other boys, but I said nothing. She had become too good a friend to betray her trust.

Many of the other boys were dealing with issues of their own, including nocturnal emissions and communal showers after gym class where they were noticing that they had hair “in places where they didn’t have hair before.” There were gross jokes about parts of the anatomy between the shoulders and the knees of both genders, as well as size comparisons not usually mentioned in polite company.

It was square dancing which became the equalizer. The division between the girls’ side and the boys’ side of the gym was gone. Had something to do with basketball. And the entire gym became a dance floor. We’d pair up, form squares, and learned the basics, all while learning valuable social skills and generally having a good time. For once, some of the filthy minds of the seventh-grade boys were tempered by having to interact with seventh-grade girls with (undoubtably) similar mind sets.

I put aside square dancing for a couple of decades, coming back to it when the first spouse suggested we take square dancing lessons. We had fun for a while, enjoying the company of other dancers who would burn off calories, only to get them back by stopping at the Big Boy on the way back home.

It has been a couple of decades since. The current spouse and I have said something about getting back into square dancing, but the discussion was short. Nothing against it – we’re not sure if we want to invest the time at this point in our lives.

And about seventh-grade boys… well, there’s a saying out there about the difference between men and bonds: “Bonds mature.” Not all men are immature as seventh-grade boys. I’d like to think I’ve matured. However, there is still a part of me which harkens back to the day!

(Notice the evil grin at the top of the page!)

Be Seeing You!

Thirty-Nine and Holding

Thirty-Nine and Holding

This week I will be celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of my thirty-ninth birthday. As with most people I know, I wonder how I ever got this old. The other big question I have is if I want to go to a fancy restaurant on my birthday, where would I go? Reservations for Valentine’s Day are usually filled or at are odd times when people are not generally available.

There’s always McDonald’s – or in our case, Whataburger.

As to the question about how I got this old – well – considering the number of doctor visits I’ve had in the past two years, I’m pretty darn lucky to be here. On the other hand, the visits to the doctor have been a Godsend. Without them, the little bit of cancer in my bowel might have gone undetected and I might have been writing this essay from my deathbed. Now, there’s still the possibility of going outside and being hit by a beer truck – but that applies to just about anybody.

When I take stock of myself in the mirror, I’ve noted that I am far from the ideal specimen of a male human being. I could stand to lose another 40 pounds, need to pad out my skinny butt, slim down my pot belly and I wouldn’t mind having a little more heft to what I tell my wife are my “Hangy Down Parts.” I count at least three visible scars from having one surgeon or another remove or correct something. There are two others, not quite as visible – one on the front side and the other on the inside as the result of a surgeon guiding a robot nicknamed “Karen”.

On the plus side, I still have most of the hair on my head, making me look young for my age. Yeah, some grey is creeping in and there is unwanted hair in my ears (and on my back), but overall, my appearance isn’t that shabby.

Something which I find hard to understand is why so many people obsess over their appearance. A lot of it has to do with the idea that there is an ideal we need to strive for… even if it’s manufactured. For instance, I read a post on Facebook the other morning about a female runner who was depicted in an ad for a certain shoe company. The photo of the runner was taken when she was pregnant. Her belly was photoshopped out of the picture, while her breasts were kept as they were at the time of the photo shoot – larger because of her pregnancy. Flat bellies and large breasts sell shoes, I suppose. The shoemaker has been chastised for the photoshop.

The unfortunate part about photoshopping the way the shoe company did is that young women are now encouraged to have those flat (and untarnished by stretch marks) bellies and large, enticing breasts. Same for us guys. Six-pack abs, muscular arms and legs. Gotta have ’em. Shave in places not normally seen in public and have plenty of hair on top of your head. Unrealistic expectations are hard to achieve. Knowing something of yourself and tweaking what you have is the best thing you can do for yourself.

Yeah, I’m far from the ideal, but lately I’ve been to the gym a time or two a week. Sometimes more. Do I expect to lose gobs of weight? Not really. But I am doing what I need to do to keep myself healthy for at least another decade. If I don’t measure up to an unrealistic expectation, I don’t really care as long as I am happy with myself.

By the way, we made it to a decent restaurant Sunday afternoon before some football game or another. Two days before the birthday, but it was nice to spoil myself now and again.

Now… off to the Gym!

Be Seeing You!

Snow Day!

Snow Day!

We here in my little corner of the DFW Metromess are having a snow day. Some sort of winter storm has descended on our little burg, closing schools, governments, and businesses so that we can sit at home (hopefully not in the dark) and not be out freezing our little keisters and/or being terribly inconvenienced by the freezing weather.

We’re taking advantage of it. Sort of.

The better half’s boss messaged us early this morning to say that she didn’t think that it was worth the risk to drive the five or so miles to work. We concurred. The only problem is that the better half can’t work from home – meaning that she will miss a few hours’ worth of salary because of the weather. A minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. It does give her a chance to work on renewing her nursing license – something she has been working towards on her last couple of days off.

Those of us in our household who are semi-retired or the dog Filbrix have anticipated the coming storm and have prepared for the onslaught. We have plenty of bread, plenty of toilet paper and plenty of milk, so I imagine that we will weather this storm. There’s no need to go out except for potty breaks for the dog Filbrix. So far, she has been inactive, negating the need for any such breaks. When it’s time, I suppose I’ll get into some appropriate outdoor clothing and go out with her to keep her company while she does her business. Maybe I can convince the better half to take out the dog – she’s already sitting and studying in her sweats, while I’m in naught but my bathrobe.

Yesterday, I prepared soup. Five quarts of soup. It required a trip to Wally World, and wouldn’t you know it, once I got the missing ingredients for my concoction, I found that I had to stand in line to be able to stand in line for the checkout. Wally World can be a busy place when there’s bad weather anticipated. But I made it home. And I made Chicken Corn Chowder – enough for both humans and enough to put in jars for later consumption.

Mmmmm! Tasty!

Now, let’s be mindful of a thing or two. Here in the DFW Metromess, just a little bit of snow and ice are enough to bring most outdoor activity to a standstill.

That’s most.

We’re not one of those snowbelt states which gets whalloped every winter with winter weather. I have friends in Cleveland, Erie, and Buffalo who would look at what we get here and shake their heads, wondering why we make such a fuss about just a tiny bit of snow. They’ll post pictures on the usual social media pages of them out shoveling several feet of snow out of their driveways to get to work to reenforce the Puritan work ethic ingrained in them from an early age. As for us here in this part of the Lone Star State, well, an inch or two spells catastrophe.

When things are at a standstill, though, there are some advantages. But for the occasional cycling of the furnace and the noise I make running my fingers over the keyboard of the laptop, it’s mostly quiet. No traffic noise. Nothing. Yes, there’s the occasional bark of a neighbor’s dog wanting to be let in after doing their business, but other than that, not much of anything. (While writing that last sentence, I caught the noise of the neighborhood kids going outside to experience the weather – and the dog Filbrix is whining – a sign that it’s time for her to go outside to relieve herself. So much for quiet.)

******

It’s now Wednesday. I gave up writing this entry to my blog when I got dressed to take the dog Filbrix out to relieve herself. At 4:00, nothing has really changed. More precipitation – this time, freezing rain. No school, no other activities, just like yesterday and just like tomorrow.

I had a bit of a panic Tuesday afternoon. I had to set up an appointment to renew my driver’s license at the DPS (Department of Public Safety. After being in a panic most of Tuesday afternoon, I finally went to the web site to find out that my appointment is NEXT Wednesday – Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel. This afternoon I wondered about my EFM class. I found out that it, too will be put off until next week.

So, we are in for another day of having to twiddle our thumbs and toes while the weather decides to ease off and give us a break. In the meantime, we have enough bread, milk and toilet paper to see us through a while longer. Just me, the better half, and the dog Filbrix waiting out the inconveniences brought about by the latest invasion of cold weather from the north.

Be Seeing You!