A day with Mom

Now, I want to start by saying that I am not making fun of my mother or light of her situation. But some of what she does is cute if not downright funny, and I fully expect that days like yesterday will become dear to me. If they aren't already.

She loves to go somewhere. Anywhere. So even though yesterday was Memorial Day and we were not working, I decided to take a part to a Home Depot really just to get her out of the house. I needed some electric switches anyway, so off we went.

We dropped the part off at the tool rental center. I left the rental center, and asked the greeter at the front of the store where to find electric switches. "The far right in the far back." she answered. Not being sure how far Mom would want to walk I asked her, "Are you okay with that?"

"Oh yeah."

The greeter, honestly trying to be helpful, offered, "Do you want a basket to lean on, ma'am?"

"Nooo!" The scorn hung in the air, but the greeter laughed at it and I just mumbled thanks.

"Some people think I'm too old to walk a little bit!" Mom snorted a minute later.

"Yeah," I agreed. I would have not then admitted that I had actually thought the basket a good idea. But perhaps I'm treating her too much with kid gloves myself.

After Home Depot we went to the supermarket to get a few extras for the afternoon's holiday festivities. This was where the cute childlikeness appeared. When I asked if she wanted cole slaw the happy answer "Yes!" fairly jumped from her mouth. In the frozens aisle we stopped to get whipped topping. She picked up a small tub but said that wasn't enough, to get a large. "Better get two of them, we'll use 'em," she then immediately demanded. So I bought two large tubs, and I know the real reason why. She likes dipping cookies and other desserts in Cool Whip. And that's okay. So long as she eats, the doctor said let her eat what she wants.

Speaking of which, at the cashier when I had just emptied the basket we did use then she grinned and took two candy bars from the rack, tossing them on the conveyor at the end of our purchases. "It's okay, he's paying for them," she informed the cashier with a smile. For about a half a second I thought about all the candy she wouldn't let me buy when I was a kid. I sighed.

Hey, she can eat what she wants.

Memorial Day 2018

Memorial Day: the last Monday in May. The day set aside for remembering our fallen heroes. It is fitting and proper that we do this.

Forget for the moment that it like so many other holidays has been been given something of a second class citizen status. It once was held every May 30th every year. In our rush to celebrate special days more on our terms than as an honest retrospective of deserving people and ideals it has generally been on the last Monday of the month. That is so we may have three day weekends to party more so than a single, specially set aside day to actually contemplate what the day is supposed to be about. Nevertheless, it is still a great day on our calendar.

Great hardly seems the right word. It is sad that we have to have a day such as this, sadder still that willing souls have given us their all in order to make such times a need. But that is the price we pay, they paid, for living in a world where evil exists. We must be thankful for those souls who have made it possible for us to be here and reflect on their actions.

So we will stand by the word great. It takes great people for us to have a chance to solemnly remember their deeds. It takes great people for us to realize that freedom is not free and liberty not a given birthright. It takes great people to give us the chance to grill and hoist a brew and spend time with our families and friends.

It takes great people to lay down their lives for their friends. Remember them, today and every day. They've earned the honor. The very least we can do is acknowledge them.

Truck stop money

How many of us joke to our friends about how much money they have? It's a common jibe. Well, me Grandpa Joe never teased anyone as such. But he was surprised one day to find out just how much money an unassuming man might have.
A fella he knew from the neighborhood in Detroit, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, had moved out to central Missouri. He sent Joe his address and insisted he visit should he be in the area. Cloyce knew there was a good chance of that, Grandpa liking to travel and all. And of course, one day heading across Missouri Joe did drop in.
Cloyce said that they ought to go have lunch at a local truck stop because the grub was real good for road food. That was okay with Joe, whose culinary tastes were, uh, not particular. And what a truck stop it was: Joe was impressed with the size of the place. It had a huge restaurant and he figured there were several hundred, yes, hundred, trucks parked around as drivers filled their gas tanks and their bellies. Once seated, the old friends ate a greasy meal before Cloyce excused himself apologetically, promising to return soon.
Now say what you want about Joe, he had a considerate streak. As he was intruding upon Cloyce's time he figured he'd cover the tab. Leaving a reasonable tip at the table, he went to the cashier to pay. "You were with Mister Cloyce?" the girl asked.
Joe chuckled, "I never heard him called Mr. Cloyce, but yeah."
"You don't owe nuthin, sir. He said to give you whatever you want; he owns the place."
Some guys have money and just don't show it. And that's probably not a bad idea.

Taut shoelaces

I've had long days; we've all had long days. Some days things just seem to pile on, and all we can do is be thankful we're past them.
Once I was on the road for 17 hours. Two AM until Seven PM. I made a hard sell (okay, that part was good) and then got caught in a traffic jam within an hour on my way home. It lasted about ninety minutes. When I had cleared what had caused the problem - a truck trailer by then to the side of the interstate looked like the Hand of God had karate chopped it midsection into an elongated V shape (how that happened I don't know) - I decided to heck with it, I'd take the scenic route for awhile. Why not? See something different than the freeway, enjoy the country air, just have a nice ride.
A train caught me at a railroad crossing.
This put me in Toledo during rush hour. I-75 in north Toledo was under a massive reconstruction, so that obviously slowed me down all the more. But eventually I was through all that mess and in south Detroit (you sang it, didn't you?) and as I neared my exit I actually said aloud, "Thank God I'm home."
The exit was closed.
Okay, all I had to do was go to the next and circle around. First World problem. It still felt like my shoelace just busted.
But I supposed we've all had worse too. When it happens to me I'll let you know.

Time's a wastin' for the busy man

I remember me Pops would frequently ask, to no one in particular and everyone in general, "You ever notice that the guys who claim they're the busiest always have the time to tell you how busy they are?" It sure seems that way.
I had a customer at the Shop yesterday who came in (without his machine for some reason) and wanted to know how much and how long to put a chuck on his Eel. I told the man twenty five bucks and we could do it while he waits. "Cool. Let me go get my machine Cosgriff and I'll be right back. I got a lotta jobs waiting."
He left to get his machine an hour later. Several times in the interim as he was supposedly about to leave he would stop before reaching the door and ask about a cutter, or the turnaround time on rewiring his unit, or simply to tell me about how much he loves his Model C. I was as always happy to hear that (the Electric Eel Model C is the best mainline drain cleaner available, period) and was okay talking and answering his questions. Still, I finally told him I had to close at three just to expedite things. "Okay, Cosgriff. Let me go get it 'cause I'm really busy. Got a lotta jobs lined up."
I hope he was very busy, because he was really selling me on the point.

Hutchins wisdom

Me Grandpa Hutchins, he was I think a wise man. In fact, he offered me one of the best pieces of wisdom anyone has ever offered me.

When faced with a bunch of chores you really don't want to do, do the toughest one first.

I believe he's absolutely right about that. I've found that it makes work easier in the long run. It's almost as though once you have that toughest task out of the way, then do the next toughest, you build a moment that gets work done more quickly. You begin (at least in my experience) to almost look forward to the next chore. And each task does, I really believe, in fact become easier.

Hutchins wisdom. Try it when you're up against the wall. It will help, I guarantee it.

Juice quest

Where do cravings come from? We can put that into the file of the great unanswerable questions, right? All I know is that most of us experience them. For me yesterday afternoon, all I wanted was grapefruit juice.

That seemed easy enough to satisfy. A trip to the local grocery should suffice.

Arriving there I found the common juices straightaway. Orange and apple were lined up next to one another on the shelves. There was lemonade, lime aid, and apricot juice.

Apricot? Who drinks apricot juice?

A further scan discovered pineapple, cranberry apple, and a fruit medley of some sort. Actually, all kinds of fruit medleys. Cranberry watermelon kiwi. Pink lemonade infused with tea. Apple pineapple strawberry deluxe. Kiwi apple lemonade with a papaya twist and just a hint of Norwegian mountain peach picked fresh daily near the fjords. Ecuadorean sky fruit spiced with Himalayan pink salt. Juices with antioxidants and cleansing properties (whatever they are, and I don't care to speculate). But no grapefruit. Not even its come hither sister, ruby red grapefruit.

I finally broke down and asked an employee for grapefruit juice. "All we have is right there, sir," he explained apologetically.

So I sighed heavily and bought orange juice. But I sulked as I drank it.

A more serious Cloyce story

I think yesterday that I had my first wistful old guy moment.
A call came in from a fellow I hadn't seen in better than thirty years; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Back then he worked for Smith Plumbing yet had long since left for a different job. These days he's the plumber for a nearby school district. For years he hated the drain snake they had yet through Dame Fortune stumbled onto one of ours, a genuine Electric Eel Model C exactly like he used at Smith's. It was buried in storage, where Cloyce discovered it looking for something else. Needing a few cutting tools he went to Electric Eel's website and found us. "Marty, it's a voice from the past. I'm Cloyce. I worked at Smith's, remember?"
"In fact I do," I answered. Indeed I remembered his voice quite clearly. "How are you?"
"Good." He explained the situation and when I said I had what he wanted in stock, he came on down.
An hour later he was in the old barn and we were talking old times. "Mr. Smith died awhile back. Drank himself to death unfortunately," Cloyce explained.
"That's sad," I responded sadly. You do hate to hear things like that.
Cloyce's face then actually lit up. "Hey, how's your Dad?" he asked expectantly.
"We lost him five years ago next month. June 25th."
"I'm really sorry Marty. I always liked listening to his jokes and stories."
"Thanks. I, I like hearing that," I stammered.
We spent an hour talking about old plumbers, telling each other tales neither of us (I think) had heard. We talked about old Tiger Stadium and how we both missed it, that we both had good times taking our kids there. He showed me pictures of an old Corvette Stingray he'd bought off Smith's widow. He restored it and was going to sell it. "Too much car for me, but the guy who was first trying to buy it was ripping her off."
It was odd hearing Cloyce's voice coming from the face of a much older man. He maybe thought the same about Marty's voice coming from me. I guess that's how it is when you don't see someone in three decades.
It was a nice visit. "I'm glad you guys are still in it. It was good to see you man," Cloyce was saying as he left.
"Good seeing you too," I said, and I meant it truly.
"I'll be back when I need more stuff."
"Great, thanks." He got into his work truck and was on his way.
I made myself a cup of coffee on my new used Keurig and sat quietly at my desk for a few minutes. After taking a sip when the coffee had cooled a bit I thought, 'Well, that reverse switch ain't gonna install itself'. I went back to work.

Jealous percolators

I did something I never thought I'd do. I bought a Keurig. You know, one of those one cup at a time coffee makers. It was second hand, from a flea market. Fifteen bucks. I figured I'd use it at the Shop. The thing is though, I've always brewed my coffee. I even only use a drip coffee maker when I'm up north, and only because it's what we've got there. My percolator never knew. But she knows about the Keurig. Even I feel like I'm cheating on her, the coffee pot I've used at home for almost 38 years now.

I think she thinks I'm cheating on her too. When I took the Keurig into the kitchen for a thorough cleaning before use, I swear I heard an 'a-hem'.

"It, it's only for the Shop," I explained, stammering. Still, I felt the icy, cold stare.

"We don't have a stove at the Shop." That defense, I am not making this up, was met by an accusatory raised eyebrow.

I tried further, "Oh, you don't want to be in that dirty old workshop anyway." She was unconvinced, and seemed to grow colder. More distant.

"Look, you'll always be the one for me. I just had to try something different. Just for work." That certainly didn't have the hoped for effect.

So now I lay awake nights fearing reprisal. Percolators aren't actually jealous sorts. Are they?

Arguments between friends

As I take my morning walks these days, I always pass Sam's house. When I do I always think of his relationship with me Grandpa Joe. It was, ah, an interesting friendship.

Sam would come by the old barn regularly. His mission seemed to be to needle Joe. It must be admitted, he was very good at that.

Once Joe had me younger brother painting a car of his with a sponge brush and a can of off the shelf paint. Now, I know that's not the best way to paint a car, but it was Grandpa's car and Patrick didn't mind to get paid to paint it however he was told. Sam happened by and exclaimed emphatically, "You can't paint a car like that!"

"The hell I can't!" Joe replied with an incredibly equal incredulity. And the fight was on.

Another time Sam was paying a visit and Joe was going on about something or other which concerned him. When he finished his rant Sam remarked sullenly, "Ah, I don't care, Joe".

Joe barked in response, in an incredibly accurate and proper response, "Yeah, but I do!"

"I just said I don't care!" Sam yelled in reply. And the fight was on.

Similar events occurred countless times over the years. Sam would show up, a conversation would start, sometimes slowly, sometimes explosively, and those two old coots would end up arguing, howling at each other over some kind of nonsense.

The darn thing is, I think they both looked forward to it. I am inclined to think that the more modern term 'frenemies' would describe the situation well.

Mom on Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there. Happy Mother's Day too to all of you whose Mothers had you. They deserve the credit, and you owe them everything. Don't waste the chance they gave you. Start by thanking them.

I know she won't see this, but I feel bad that I don't talk about my own mother here anywhere near the degree to which I talk about Pops or even Grandpa Joe. She's been a great Mom, a bit headstrong, maybe, but with her moments. One of those wasn't that long ago.

When she had a pacemaker three and a half years ago at 80 the doctor was explaining after the surgery that it had a ten year battery. "But I need twenty," she immediately told him, as though obvious.

It is a good attitude, right?

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

Who gives a Wahoo?

As I walked into my tire store (well, not *my* tire store, but the tire store I frequent) wearing my Chief Wahoo Cleveland Indians baseball cap, the guy behind the counter said, "Chief Wahoo, huh? Named after Wahoo Sam Crawford, the ballplayer from Wahoo, Nebraska."

"Really?" I replied. "Interesting. I just wear it because I like it." The comment was nothing but an icebreaker as I went in for a tire. But there was one thing wrong with it. Chief Wahoo is not named after Crawford. He is simply a logo for the Cleveland baseball team, and I knew that. So why not correct him?

I would rather ask, why correct him? What purpose would it serve?

All right, in not correcting the guy I was patronizing him. Yet I don't see what's wrong with patronization in such a context. He was only making conversation, and I didn't see why I should stick a pin in that. When dealing with innocuous items like the exact nature of a baseball symbol, let him have his fun. There's no harm done.

Sure, I might kindly correct a friend or family member. But that's a little different; a new angle has been added. Why would I want to allow friends and family to be put in the potentially embarrassing situation of being called out by a stranger on an unimportant point? This guy was only my tire guy. I did not want to embarrass him, so I let it go without censure. It would likely never come up again in his conversations anyway.

In short, I see no evil in patronizing someone if the circumstances, I will say, merit it. There's no reason to be a know it all, and no reason to burst bubbles, when engaging in small talk with relative strangers. That's a worse sin so far as I'm concerned.

Buckshot

For protection, me Grandpa Joe kept a shotgun just inside the office door of the Shop. It never was used in self defense, though it almost was once.

A friend of me Pops, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, had stopped by the old barn for a visit. While he was there a group of unsavory looking fellows came down the alley which ran alongside the building. They looked dangerous, as if they might have had ill intent. 

Cloyce went into the office and grabbed the shotgun, reaching inside a desk drawer for the shells he knew were there. He didn't confront the thugs. He simply held the gun at the ready. Pops just kept working.

When the group had cleared the area Cloyce said, "Red (at one time people called me Pops Red because of his hair), you only got three shotgun shells."

"Yeah?" Dad asked in reply.

"There were four guys."

Pops put a hand on Cloyce's shoulder. "My friend, if you drop the first three and the fourth one keeps coming, give him the keys to the place."

There's something to be said for that.

A jury of mimes

Everybody hates mimes, am I right? Of course I am.

They dress as though they don't know that the world is in color these days. But worse, they mock people. And what would you do if you were being mocked by a mime? You'd pick up a board and hit him over the back of his head, wouldn't you?

That's where the trouble starts. You'd be arrested for assault, for violating the mime's 'civil liberties' or some such nonsense, and be put to trial. A trial watched over by a jury of...who? Your peers or the mime's peers?

No, really, this is a very serious question. An important legal issue is at stake. A jury of your peers would let you walk, because mimes of course ought to be hit over the back of the head with a board. Yet a jury of the mime's peers, smugly sitting in the jury box like a bunch of malnourished referees in their black and white striped shirts, would selfishly find for the mime.

What's to be done? You make the call.

Hold your wallet

When someone tells you that with their brains and your money they'll change the world, hold on tight to your wallet.
You can attribute that quote or something similar to many people. I heard it first from me Grandpa Joe, repeated years later by me Pops. And it's basically why I distrust government and am a political conservative.
It is essentially how the progressives, the government planners, think. With their brains and your cash they'll save the world. This isn't to say that every idea they have is a bad one. Nor is it to say that we don't need government and that governments need money. But it is to say that, no matter how good of an idea you think something is, when you intend to spend someone else's money you ought to be very certain that your idea is a legitimate public good requiring a public commitment. Otherwise, you're simply a petty tyrant forcing others to like something merely because you do.
To be sure, conservatives have their pet government schemes. Yet by and large it is our friends on the left who promote government interference in our lives and demand our - your - cash for it. And they just don't seem to care what your selfish little self thinks about their hands on your wallet.

Ah, grandparents

Today was Grandparent's Day at my granddaughter's school. So of course Busia and I went.
It was a nice day. We attended the school Mass and had lunch in the classroom. Yet what I remember most came from the priest's sermon. He told us that the grandparents' role in their grandchildren's lives was not to be underestimated. That's nice to hear.
Being a grandfather though, I naturally had to make a joke of that. During lunch I reminded my granddaughter of what Father said. Then I asked her, "Know what I take from his words?"
"No," she responded curiously.
"Don't underestimate your grandparents!" I said to her sternly.
She laughed. can you believe that?

Aging means forgetting

The signs of getting older...

When a customer comes in for a part, you get the part and set it down, then you can't find it. So you get another because the customer is waiting and sell him that one. The instant he leaves, you see the first one you got, hiding in plain sight.

Yep, that's how my morning has gone so far.

Leadfoot Cloyce

A good friend of mine for many years, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, has always been a speedster. When he drove (I think he's amended his ways somewhat, recently) he really put the pedal to the metal. Though thankfully he's never gotten there, he has driven like Hell.

I'm not sure why he speeds like he does, but it's clearly become enough of a habit that he doesn't seem to notice anything else around him as he drives. He certainly missed the cop the most recent time he was pulled over.

"Do you know why I stopped you, sir?" The officer asked.

Cloyce despondently answered, "Yeah. I was speeding."

The patrolman continued, "Do you realize how fast you were going?"

"No," my friend replied honestly.

"Let me put it this way," the officer explained, "I was right behind another car to pull him over for speeding. I had my lights on and everything. Then you flew by us so fast that I dropped off that car to pursue you." Yep. Cloyce sped faster past a cop car and another vehicle speeding slower than he was without seeing them. Even with the police car's flashing lights on.

I think ol' Cloyce has learned a lesson. Maybe.