2020

This is it, December 31, 2020, the last day of the year. What we're supposed to do now, if we are to be traditional about it (and I am generally traditional), is write a reflection on the year just past.

Well I don't wanna and you can't make me. 2020 has merited about every negative adjective in the book and I don't wanna think about it no more. I have not stayed up to greet the New Year in about five years now but I might, as the current Internet meme says, stay up tonight only to make sure 2020 leaves and then I'm done with it. Finished. I will not write a reflection on it. End. Of. Story.

I'm saving that for my video blog, which will be available in the next few hours. But a written ode to 2020? No way. Sayonara, 2020. Good riddance.

Would Pops and Joe approve?

We're busy. That's as good as it is unexpected in these COVID days. When all this fear mongering began in February I presumed (when you presume, you make a pre out of you and me?) this year would be in the tank, a completely off year. Yet it's been good, presumably (when you pre...oh, skip it, they didn't get it the first time) because we're part of the waste disposal industry. With so many more than usual folks stuck at home, well, when drain cleaners are more in demand drain snake sales and repairmen become more in demand too.

I've told you my joke, haven't I? I sell drain snakes; my mind's always in the sewer.

Stop groaning. So we've been busy enough that I've done something which me Pops nor his father before him, me Grandpa Joe, rarely if ever did. I've begun turning away business.

To be sure, I turn away nothing ordinary. All the major brands, especially Electric Eel (Electric Eel: for all your drain cleaning needs!) get prompt treatment. But off brands, and believe it or not there are drain snake off brands which are the drain snake equivalent of Yugos, out there. And we've begun turning them away. It's too hard to get parts for them, and the folks who buy them don't care to pay going repair rates (which is why they got the Yugo drain snake anyway).

My only worry is, will Pops and Grandpa Joe forgive me? Or is there a level of Purgatory I'll have to go through which no one else will see?

I hope it is only Purgatory...

The time in between

We all like this part of the Christmas season, don't we? The week in between Christmas and New Years Day, where the holiday feel is still upon us yet the exhaustion of the time is gone? I know I do.

It isn't, and I feel as though I say this a lot, that I don't like Christmas and even the anticipation of Christmas. Yet I don't care at all for the trappings of it. I am admittedly lazy about the decorations and preparations for Christmas. This is in part because I am lazy about what I consider unimportant (and much of what 'must' get done for Christmas is indeed unimportant) but also because the devil in the details has reached the point of taking over Christmas. Christmas is spectacularly important on its own. We do not need the perfect backdrop to improve on that. I'd be okay simply enjoying time with family and friends watching the specials, listening to the carols, eating pizza and leaving it at that.

The week in between I think supports this point. We're beyond the traps yet still have time to enjoy that holiday feeling. The pressure and the worry, the very things which Christmas is supposed to relieve us of (yet we hoist upon ourselves), is actually gone. We can simply enjoy the time now.

I'm not sure Christmas gets any better than this week in between.

Bumper jokes

Bumper stickers, eh? They really tell the world what you think.

Driving north on Interstate 75 earlier this year I saw a car with one of those 'bumper stickers'. It read:

Retired teacher. Every child left behind.

If you don't find that funny, you're wound too tight. I laughed for miles myself.

Cosplay Christmas

I will confess up front that I am about to go way too far to relate a simple enough joke. But that's okay. I have the time to kill and apparently you do too.

Cosplay (you'll need to know this) is when you dress up for fun as a favorite character of yours from the fiction world, sort of like dressing up for Halloween or a costume party. To be honest, I used to mock it. Then they day came when I realized that when I am buttoning up one of my Detroit Tigers jerseys as I put it on I feel, if only for a moment, that I actually am a Detroit Tiger. So anymore I cut cosplayers a bit of slack.

Now, one thing that our family and a great many others have done for Christmas is get Christmas poppers. They're little gift wrapped sleeves with tiny gifts in them. You can read about them here:

https://www.whychristmas.com/customs/crackers.shtml  

What you do is you and a friend grab opposite ends of one of the poppers and pull. It pops open and you get the contents. Then you do it again so that the friends gets gifts too. 

It is a neat little bit of childlike fun, and while the gifts are only the trinket variety hey, remember, it's fun. Yet I've noticed that there is one common gift which seems to be in each and every popper: a small paper crown. You know, the kind with eight or ten points on it, just like Jughead Jones wore in the old Archie comics.

We were watching a Christmas special yesterday as a family in the show got out some poppers. Soon enough everyone was wearing one of those paper crowns. Soon after that someone else remarked, "Cosplaying Jughead is a treasured family tradition for us."

Look, reading this this far for that payoff isn't my fault. As I said earlier, you clearly had the time to kill. 

Christmas 2020

Born to raise the sons of earth

Born to give them second birth

Hark! The herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn King!"

Merry Christmas everybody

It's Christmas Eve

Tonight is the night. God, who loved the world so much, sends his Son into the world as the weakest thing possible: a child, an infant, a mere baby. He could have sent hordes of angels or simply taken the just to Heaven and obliterated the evildoers. Yet He didn't...because all human life is sacred and He wanted all to have a shot at salvation.

Stop shopping. If you don't have what you need by now, you've got enough. Stop putting up decorations. The house looks fine. Stop trying to save the world: you won't (and that's why He's coming anyway). 

Don't worry about the food: there's plenty in the larder, undoubtedly enough that you ought to give some to the needy. And not just the old can of asparagus at the back of the shelf. Something instead which the poor and hungry would appreciate as you would.

Don't fret if you don't see everyone, each family member and friend dear to you, at Christmas or at all during the holidays. You know you love and appreciate them. They know this about you as well.

Stop saving the economy and start saving yourself from all which ails the world. Do what you can, and none of it in excess, and wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Christmas Eve Eve

Is that okay? Is that all right? Can I call December 23 Christmas Eve Eve? The Eve of the Eve of Christmas?

I suppose I just did, eh? Well, why not? The anticipation is pretty much there just the same as with December 24th by now, isn't it? 

My Christmas Eve Eve 2020 will be spent in part driving through small towns looking at their Christmas decor. Sure, I'm working. But it almost doesn't feel like work in such an atmosphere. 

I should do this every year. And thus Marty decrees: from this day hence shall the Twenty Third of December every winter be Christmas Eve Eve. Thus shall it be written; thus shall it be done.

Happy Christmas Eve Eve everyone!

Grandma's kitschy tree

Of all the family Christmas trees I remember I think I remember me Grandma Cosgriffs as the most interesting. She didn't seem, if my memory serves me much (quiet Ron) to have this particular one for very long. It makes an appearance in the Charlie Brown Christmas special though, in the tree lot where he gets what turned out to be the beautiful little real tree.

Be that as it may, I think we've all seen ones like me Grandma's. It was silver (or maybe white; Ron may be right to chide me about my memory) and sitting in front facing it was a slow turning, fan like thing. But it had a flat, circular pan rather than blades on it. The pan had three colors, red, blue, and green I believe, with a light behind them. As the pan spun, it lit the tree the different colors, and even mixings of the colors, as it turned.

These days we might, might, call it kitschy. The odd tree was a source of bemusement for me. It never seemed like Christmas. And even then, it struck me as unlike me Grandma to care for anything so, well, so modern. It felt really out of place in her living room.

As I say, I don't think she had it for very long, perhaps a couple or three years. And I suppose, seeing it impressed me enough that I remember it somehow,  even vaguely fondly, it qualifies as a good Christmas memory. Gotta admit, I am smiling over it right now.

.

The lost drive shaft

These days so many cars and trucks are front wheel drive that I'm not sure everyone knows what a drive shaft is. It was of course (all of us old timers know this) a steel shaft perhaps four or five feet long which connected the motor and transmission to the rear wheels of a vehicle, spinning them so it could move. Make sense?

So anyway, one day years ago an old friends of me Pops, whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name, told him the tale of the lost drive shaft.

While happily driving his pickup on the freeway one fine afternoon Cloyce suddenly realized that the vehicle had stopped pulling. It was slowing down rapidly, and extra gas applied via clomping down on the gas pedal merely raced the engine. At that point a glance in the rear view mirror showed Cloyce the reason for the trouble: his drive shaft had come off and was going end over end backwards on the road behind him.

Imagine that. A long steel rod larger in diameter than a balled fist was, I suppose you could say rolling, making its way south on the freeway and having a good old time about it. It was traipsing along end over end, changing from laying flat on the pavement to standing its whole five foot tall and back to laying down again at will. And a car was approaching it as the drive shaft bore down on the car.

Cloyce was quickly praying that nothing bad would come of it. But as he told me Pops excitedly, "You wouldn't have believed it Bill, but right as that car was to meet it, that drive shaft laid down flat, the car drove over it, and it picked itself up right after. It didn't touch that car at all. It was a miracle."

A miracle which had the diver of that car's heart in his throat I'm sure.

The drive shaft came to rest and rolled to the shoulder without any other incident. Cloyce steered the pickup to the shoulder, walked back and grabbed his errant drive shaft, admonished it for being so playful, threw it into the bed of the truck, and went off to find a phone to get a tow. all the while thanking his lucky starts it wasn't worse.

Obligatory Sunday

It's the writer's equivalent of walking upstairs and forgetting what you went upstairs for. When I popped awake an hour ago I knew exactly what I was going to write. It was perfect too. You'd have been amazed.

Now, gone. I suppose I didn't help myself. There's the obligatory trip down the hall first thing in the morning (you know what I mean) and the obligatory cup of coffee. Then there's the obligatory look at Facebook and the obligatory check of email, and of course logging onto Blogger to write brought the obligatory look at my most recent stats (they're good). Then there was the obligatory correction I had to make to my blog from yesterday because, accuracy (thanks Jay). Then there's the obligatory putting on a sweatshirt because I'm cold. And then I would write...this.

The worst part is that when I woke I knew I had a good idea. Ah well. Glad I have a good sense of obligatory thinking up drivel. Now I'll have to get the obligatory pen and paper for the nightstand for he next time this happens.

Thurl and George

It's 3:20 on a Saturday morning. I have Christmas tunes on via the Sounds of the Seasons channel on Music Choice. Right now it's playing some pop drivel by the Jonas Brothers. Who are they?

I like this time of day. It's quiet; a good time for reflection. Good thing I'm nowhere near a mirror though. That reflection might not be pleasant.

Hey, wait; they're playing You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch. I gotta listen to it.

Okay, cool. Did you know that song (the Grinch one) is sung by Thurl Ravenscroft? He was also the voice of Tony the Tiger for over 50 years. It's true. It's like how Heat Miser from The Year Without A Santa Claus is also voiced by the narrator from the Underdog cartoons, George S. Irving. I like knowing things like that. It's trivia, but trivia is neat.

Speaking of trivial, I had shrimp ramen yesterday. From Dollar General. For lunch. Just so you know.

All right, back to work on a new book I'm writing. The idea just came to me Monday and I've already written 6500 words. Wish me luck! 

Shrimp ramen

Shrimp ramen. Yep, that's what I'm going to have for lunch today. Shrimp ramen.

I was in a Dollar General yesterday (you've heard of Dollar General, haven't you?) and they had scads of shrimp ramen for sale. So I bought some. And I am going to have shrimp ramen for lunch today.

Yep. Shrimp ramen.

From Dollar General.

For lunch. 

Today.

I should have bought more than the three that I did. I'm planning a big lunch.

The Cleveland Baseball Club

It seems, in keeping with the spirit of the times, that the Cleveland Indians are going to change their name. Well, so be it. They are within their rights to do that, even if such a choice is a gutless, puerile attempt to seem relevant to those who don't even care about sports in general or baseball in particular. Those petty tyrants will have their way.

That concession made, I wonder where that leaves the Notre Dame Fighting Irish? As a person of Irish descent, and with the apparent right to be insulted which the current political climate demands, I suppose I must be offended by that. Then there's the San Diego Padres; have you seen the goofy monk swinging a bat which is one of their logos? As a Catholic, do have I the right, indeed the obligation, to be enraged by such a picture? And I haven't gotten yet to the Wake Forest Demon Deacons. My Protestant friends and family should be chomping at the bit, they should be in arms about that, oughtn't they?

I am not upset at all by the University of Notre Dame (well, at least their athletics), the San Diego Baseball Club, or Wake Forest. Nor should I be. They're employing monikers for fun, people. For fun. None of those mascot choices in their natures put anyone down. Neither does the name Indians. Period.

Still, again, the Cleveland Baseball Club has the moral right to change their name. If they open to suggestion, I recommend the Pastel Unicorns. 

Great. Now I've brought the wrath of unicorn nation down upon me, haven't I? After all, I'm being unjust to non-pastel unicorns.

Deer Cloyce

I don't know about in other states, but in Michigan if you hit a deer while driving you can harvest the animal even if it's not deer season. Yet that can be more perilous than you think.

A customer of mine, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, hit a deer while trekking along up north several years ago. It did little damage to his big old van but the deer was killed. Cloyce and a buddy who was with him heaved the unfortunate animal into the back of the van, figuring they would have themselves some free deer meat and deer sausage. There was only one problem. The deer wasn't dead.

Cloyce found that out several miles down the road when the back of the driver's seat got kicked hard. He glanced up to see the deer glaring at him through the rear view mirror. That's when the real fun began.

The enraged and injured deer showed its displeasure by wreaking havoc on the interior of Cloyce's van. It jumped, it kicked, it bit at Cloyce and his passenger. It pounded its head at the walls of the van and seat backs. The motions rocked the vehicle back and forth so hard that Cloyce had trouble keeping his van under control. And the deer, I don't know, brayed, bleated, roared, whatever noise it is that deer make, until the sound itself was deafening.

It took Cloyce about a mile to find a spot next to the road big enough to pull into. When he could finally stop, he and his friend leapt from their seats and into safety. They watched as the van was still being beaten up from the inside, until Cloyce muscled up the courage to open the sliding door. The deer shot out like a shell from a shotgun and ran about 50 yards into the forest when it collapsed, presumably really most sincerely dead by that point.

But Cloyce had lost his appetite for deer sausage by then.

Hark, Charlie Brown

I mentioned my favorite Christmas novelty songs one day last week. I think I got into trouble over Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. I would have thought Christmas at Ground Zero might have been the one to draw ire. Oh well.

But as to my favorite straight out Christmas song, one which takes Christmas seriously, that's a tough call. Schubert's Ave Maria always brings tears to my eyes; what a glorious, glorious tribute to the Mother of Christ. It's beautiful in Latin, and the thing is you don't have to understand the language to comprehend the profound beauty of the song. 

Midnight Mass at old St. Dominic here in Detroit always ended with Joy to the World, and as such meant Christmas, to me, had begun. That would have to be near the top of my list. I've always had a soft spot for O Little Town of Bethlehem, and I love Adeste Fideles too.

Yet I would have to say my favorite is likely (I say likely because our feelings for songs do tend to ebb and flow a bit) Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. And I mean precisely how the Peanuts gang sings it at the end of the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Maybe that's too sentimental of a choice. But when the kids all yell, "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!" then launch into that hymn, well, I still get chills no matter how often I've seen the show.

So, it's Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. But I may be open to suggestion.

Little lights

I need batteries. Double A batteries, to power the small artificial Christmas tree in the bedroom window.

I don't know where the other trees are, but one year my oldest son bought several of them and placed them in various spots throughout the house, to aid the sense of Christmas. They're only a foot high with small lights.  But they look cool in the dark when they're the only things lit.

One is still I think (I hope) in a far corner of the basement. Now that one really shone out. I remember going into the basement in the dark, not turning on any lights, groping the wall as I made my way carefully down the stairs, just to see the impact that little tree made in the darkest part of the house.

For me, that's become Christmas. The little light in the dark. So one of my stops today as I take me Mom on a Sunday drive will be to buy double A batteries. It will delightful to wake up tomorrow morning to the light of the small tree in the bedroom window.

Dishonor

Here's an interesting thought, which I remember from a sermon years ago: did you know that every time you sin you violate at least two Commandments?

It's like this: if you steal, thereby breaking the Seventh Commandment, you have also broken the Fourth, Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. Why? Because in stealing you dishonor your parents by indicating they raised you poorly, that they taught you stealing is all right.

A lot of truth to that I dare say.

Reflections on walking

I took a morning walk this morning, well before sunrise. I was out the door at 6:20 in fact. Why not? It was a warm morning as mornings in December go, about 40 degrees, and no rain or snow in sight.

Years ago I would have never gone out in the dark just to traipse around the neighborhood. You never know where the boogeyman might be laying in wait for you, right? If anything I would be out long enough to get into my car and get going somewhere. But the childish fears of the dark are gone. I simply don't fret about it. I just walk. 

I do find too that in some ways being out in the dark is as compelling as being out in the sunlight. 6:20 in July is typically sunny and comfortable. 6:20 in December is cold yet psychologically comfortable if isolated. I feel delight in both, truth be told.

To be sure, I keep my head on a bit of a swivel this time of year. But I try to do that in summer as well. I keep a watchful stare far into the darkness or distance as the case may be for odd movements or shadows. Yet they are invariably simply other folks walking themselves or their dogs, or on the way to work. The world may be a dangerous place. It just ain't all that dangerous when you think about it.

My two philosophic cents for you this morning. Have a great Friday all!

Comic books

By comic books I do not mean what you think I mean by comic books. While they're certainly some great comics out there, I'm talking about comedy books. Comic novels.

I have read some great books on thought, history, and personages. Many of my favorite books are classic detective stories, tales I would not have expected to like while still in my teens. I have read all the original Sherlock Holmes books and short stories (The Hound of the Baskervilles may be the best non-fiction book ever) as well as all the canon Ellery Queen murder cases. And On the Eight Day stands out even though it is the least Ellery like of all his whodunits; my favorite of those is The Egyptian Cross Mystery. One of his detective stories I think he might have meant as comic, There was an Old Woman, a book I found strange given EQ's overall collection of works. But that aside put aside, I can't recall reading any great comedy novels.

I've read Robert Heinlein's Job: A Comedy of Justice but upon reflection I'm not sure it qualifies as a true comedy. He's know as a science fiction writer and I like his straight sci-fi better. Although I can't ultimately agree with his basic philosophy, he's one of those rare people whom I can read with profound enjoyment even though I firmly believe his outlook on everything wrong. His stuff is that well written and engaging.

I've read Magic Kingdom For Sale: Cheap, by Terry Brooks. I liked it, and if you like takeoffs on Tolkien style fantasy it's worth a read but not laugh out loud funny. But after that I can't think of any good comic novel I've even came across let alone read. The few I've tried never draw me in, never keep my interest. 

Any suggestions, dear readers? To save you trouble, the only comic novel I've really liked is Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis. It was funny enough but became dry towards the end.

It's so easy to fix a snake

 No, Mungo! Never kill a customer! -from Monty Python's Dirty Fork sketch

Those are certainly words to live by. I have never come close to killing a customer. At least, so far as the police know. But I have snapped at a couple of them.

Several years ago during a period when we were extremely busy and running about one week to ten days behind in repairs (not unlike now quite honestly) a guy walked into the old barn. He had a machine which wasn't running and wanted me to take a look at it. I said I would, but that if it required anything serious he'd have to leave it and I'd get to it as soon as I could.

I followed him out to his van and he produced a little General Sewerooter Junior which had wires hanging out of the motor in a terrible jumble. A real bird's nest, me Pops used to say. It would have taken an hour simply to sort everything out, to get all the wiring back in place so that I might then start diagnosing the real problem. On top of that, his cable was tangled inside the drum. I shook my head and said to the man, "You're going to have to leave that with me."

He began, "Well all you have to do is..."

I cut him off right there. "Then you do it," I replied, admittedly rather harshly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then you do it," I repeated. "If it's all that simple, why are you bringing it to me? Why don't you have it done already?"

"You don't have to get that way, man," he protested.

In me best Grandpa Joe voice I half yelled back, "Yes! Yes I do! Everybody thinks their mess is so easy to fix after they messed it up worse and then expect a miracle from me! I'm not putting you in front of anybody else for this!"

The man left. I didn't kill him, but I haven't seen him since either.

Textbook Cloyce

A good friend of mine back in high school, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, was the first of our friedship circle to earn his driver's license. He was proud of that, as a teenager would be, and we envied him, as teenagers would. But the first time I rode with him proved to tarnish some of the luster on his driving ability.

I happened to be around when his mother asked him to go to the store for something or other, so I went with. He drove the few blocks to the neighborhood supermarket and, seeing the parking lot jammed, decided he would show off his skills by parallel parking on the street. He pulled just past an occupied space, lined up his seat with the driver's door of a parked car, shifted, then turned all the way around in his seat, arm over the back, and began to gently give the family's old station wagon gas. It was all textbook, exactly as many of us learned in driver's ed. 

Rrrrrrrrr, the engine revved easily upward. But the car didn't move.

Cloyce looked confused, but went on applying the gas. RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRR...but still nothing.

RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. He was soon giving it too much gas. The engine was racing as though at Indianapolis yet would not even try to move. He finally let off the accelerator, and saw that he hadn't shifted all the way into reverse. The car was only in neutral. Seeing this myself, and seeing as this was in the days before texting, I began Rolling On The Floor Laughing Out Loud.

Cloyce punched me in shoulder, hard, and made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone about this tale. But as I haven't seen him in ages and the statute of limitations having surely ran out, I decided to tell it today.

Asphalt Frank

I have often found myself, well, okay, I haven't exactly found myself there as I drive there quite purposefully, in Hessel in Michigan's glorious eastern Upper Peninsula and pondering, remembering what once was. And what once was was my Uncle Frank teaching me the precise way to turn around in the driveway.

He had retired here, and while the house already existed the garage and the driveway did not. So he had a garage built, a very good one from where I still listen to Tiger baseball and will again in the future, and a driveway laid from asphalt. And the asphalt needed precise care.

As such, he instructed me on how to turn around on it without doing damage. You pull up and turn hard left, then go hard right to back up into place, all the while moving so that the turning of the wheels did not grind into any spot on the asphalt. Never, never stop and turn the wheels in one place. Keep your car moving.

After about an hour of practice Uncle Frank was satisfied that I could make the maneuver. And ever since then, I have made the maneuver rather well. I think.

Uncle Frank is gone better than 24 years now. But I have not and will not harm his driveway. He has seen to that.

We have Aquinas

In my life I have been blessed by the presence of many good Dominican priests and nuns. Some were pastors, some teachers, and many just good friends. I don't say things like this lightly but I thank God all the time for sending them my way. They have been a great help and comfort to myself and my entire family in too many ways to count.

This Tuesday December 1st one of them, Sr. Willard Reagan, passed away. She was the guidance counselor at my kids' High School, St Alphonsus in Dearborn, Michigan. The school is gone but the memories and the relationships live on, even in death.

This probably means more to me than most folks can ever appreciate, and it has meaning on such a profound level that I doubt I can really fully explain it, but as soon as I learned of her passing I heard her voice in my head telling me, "We have Aquinas. We know."

A bit of background, which I'll keep as brief as I can. St. Thomas Aquinas is perhaps the greatest philosopher in Catholic history. His writings and preaching on life, the universe, and everything are a treasure trove of right thought on all the trouble in the world. He was also a Dominican monk, and the Dominican order of priests and sisters are justly proud of him. On a more personal note I take it as a mark of the Divine that Aquinas's feast day is me Pops birthday, January 28. I like that kind of serendipity.

One day as I was hanging around St. Alphonsus for whatever reason Sr. Willard spotted me. She was excited that a nephew of hers had been given the command of a ship in the US Navy. She was proud of that, and told me that of everyone she knew she thought I would appreciate the news best. I did; I was happy for her.

This led to a conversation about things of this Earth. We soon agreed that some things are really right, and others really wrong, no matter what any one person might think. Truth exists. And that's when she remarked, in a quietly confident tone, "We have Aquinas. We know."

Yes we do, Sr. Willard. We know. Not only from Aquinas, but from good teachers and leaders such as yourself. Godspeed.

Please observe

Me Grandpa Joe had a way with words. In fact, Joe's ability to make the word hell declarative of many and varied emotions would find its modern equivalent in I am Groot, if that means anything to you. Trust me, the analogy fits.

Be that as it may, his use of language could actually be rather profound even in areas where mild expletives were not at all involved. I doubt that most of my cousins or other family members knew the pleasure of hearing Joe remark, when leading into a happy explanation or in demonstrating a welcome development, "Please observe."

Grandpa Joe said that whenever he had found a solution to a vexing problem at the Shop. We had our share of vexing problems at the old barn, believe me. But to cut through to the point here, if a particular issue had been tormenting us for many hours (or sometimes days) it sounded delightful to have Joe stop you and say those two simple words, please observe. It meant a problem was solved.

I thought of that a few minutes ago as I solved what had been a recent vexing problem involving a snake repair. Try as we might, neither me brother Phil nor I could get a piece of threaded pipe, the leg of a machine which sits as a tripod, out of the body of the unit. The leg had broken off flush so that there was nothing to grip it.

At a hardware Phil had discovered a tool to extract the broke piece yet we could not get it work. In desperation, as I didn't want to heat the body of the snake for fear of making things worse, worried that if I made it worse the ornery thing would need a body as well as a leg (and who knows how long that would take, our supply lines being disrupted by COVID) I heated it anyway, carefully. Within a few minutes, lo and behold, I used that tool that Phil found and walked that broken pipe right out of the body of that machine.

And now I cannot wait to tell Phil "Please observe," as soon as he gets back to the Shop. I'll have to channel my inner Joe Cosgriff for full effect.

On This Day

As I am wont to do on such occasions as when I have writer's block or am just plain lazy, let me offer you things which you could find out just as easily as I on the Internet, but without driving traffic to Marty. Yes, today we will see what happened on this day in history!

On December 3rd, Sir Thomas Herriot brought the first potatoes into England, from modern day Columbia. The pomme de terre, the Apple of the Earth as the French say, comes from South America.

In 1908 today (huh?) Edward Elgar's First Symphony in A was performed in Manchester, England. I understand it had a good beat and you could dance to it.

On December 3, 1967 the first heart transplant was performed by Dr. Christiaan Barnard in South Africa.

December 3, 1818 saw Illinois become the 21st State. A shout out to the Illinois Cosgriffs!

Ozzy Osbourne is 72 today. I wonder what profound mumbling has to offer...

There you have it, A few items of note today. Use this knowledge wisely.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

Okay, now it's December. Now I will talk about Christmas. 

I really don't hate Christmas. I really love it. I have great memories of the Holiday season with a great many people, some are gone and some remain as John Lennon says, but all pleasant. But me being me, I'll start off being funny. Or attempting to be funny as you like it.

My favorite Christmas songs of the novelty genre are:

1. I Really Don't Hate Christmas, by Dr. Heinz Doofensmirtz. You see, he's an evil scientist and like evil scientists he hates everything. But he doesn't 'hate' Christmas so he can't destroy it. Make sense?

2. Christmas at Ground Zero, by Weird Al Yankovic. A truly funny take on traditional Christmas carols and traditional Yuletide themes. I love it! Classic Weird Al. Look up the video, it's a hoot.

3. I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, by Gayla Peevey. Simply a cute, fun song with an infectious beat.

4. You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch, by Dr. Seuss. Come on, you love it. Especially knowing he's good guy at the end.

5. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, by Elmo and Patsy. A must on any Holiday shuffle.

That's it for now, and I'm only just getting started! Merry Christmas everybody!

Oh, the weather outside

Got up this morning and out the door before sunrise and cleared the first snow from the walks and the cars. It's not that I am or should be overly proud of such an achievement. It's only what a guy should do, right? But, well, I got out and cleared the first snow of the winter. And that's what eats at me. It's the first snow of the winter.

How many more snows are coming? How many more inches or feet of the white powder are lying in wait for me? It's just December 1st, after all. We can have snow into April. In fact we have. I remember one 6 or 7 inch snowfall on the last day of curling once, the first Monday in April that season. Twice in my life baseball Opening Day has been delayed by late snows. So we've, what, around five months of potential winter ahead of us? This after having snow flurries well into May of 2020, as astute readers may recall that I had remarked about. 

But, of course, 2020. 2021 surely can't match that, can it?

Please, please tell me I did not just hear a voice say, 'Hold my beer.'