Not just for chips

Yesterday for the first time ever, I walked in February.

Well, all right, I have walked in February before. Routinely in fact. But it was stuff such as walking to the kitchen for chips. 

Yesterday I walked in February for exercise for the first time ever. February mostly is too cold, icy and snowy to allow walking, at least at the faster cadence of a walk which I employ when exercising. When I walk I hoof it: meandering isn't enough when you're on a mission. You've got to move, buster.

Winter had been mild enough that I had been walking until around the third week of January, which is unusual in itself. But as it's 36 right now, with a real feel of 36 (imagine that: 36 degrees when it is actually 36 degrees) and the sidewalks cleared of the recent snows, I'll be out walking again in about an hour. Then it's off to my Sunday adventures with Mom. Who knows what treasures await us at the Ollie's Bargain Outlet in Monroe? 

So I will be walking. In February. Twice. And not just for chips, although it is far too early in the day to rule that out.

 

One more cut

Yesterday I cancelled the 800 number for my business. It simply wasn't worth the cost. As it was piggybacked somehow onto a local 313 number I went ahead and cancelled that too. The phones weren't costing a king's ransom: on average about 65 bucks a month. But why pay for something you don't need, that wasn't producing? Still, a part of me hated letting them go.

Back in the 1980s as me Pops was trying to expand the business into outstate Michigan he added a second line. With that one he bought advertising in outstate editions of the Yellow Pages (the what?) using it as the contact number; that way we could basically tell where an incoming call originated and know if the investment was paying off. Similarly with the addition of an 800 number sometime in the 90s he thought we might attract customers.

But now of course second lines for experimental reasons and toll free numbers simply don't mean what they once did. With cell phone plans being so cheap and extensive, having in most cases unlimited minutes at least within the US, toll free doesn't concern people. It's not the audience attractor it once may have been. 

Yet it was one of the few things left of Dad's business as Dad's business. They were ideas of his, very good ideas, which I've now put to bed. 

As we come up on eight years since his death, there is almost nothing, I'll say legally, left of it. Sure, we still have the same building, and I kept the primary business number of course, using it as my business and personal cell number.  But just that much more of what he created is gone.

Yes, time marches on. Too, it means more to me than it should, out of little more than sentiment. I know this. And yet, one more tie is cut.

The weather curmudgeon

Perhaps I am making too much of this. But perhaps just the same it's part of the reason I have trouble believing the weather forecasters. 

As I was doing a typical old guy thing and checking the weather report early this morning, something I do virtually every day almost immediately upon waking, I saw that the temperature was 21 degrees Fahrenheit. Yet something called the 'real feel' of the temperature is 26.

Pray, doesn't that mean that it's 26 outside?

Honestly, how else are we supposed to take it? They're saying that it's 21 but it feels like it's 26. Then it's 26, not 21. 

If it feels 26 outside why don't we say that it's 26 outside? I mean that's five flippin' degrees difference. Am I missing something or just being cranky today?

Hans Snape

While watching Die Hard over the holidays - it is after all a Christmas movie - I couldn't help but notice the similarities between Hans Gruber and Severus Snape from the Harry Potter franchise. That shouldn't be a surprise, as both characters were played by the same man, Alan Rickman. He was to be sure an exceptional actor. Yet it's not surprising that certain traits might carry over into different roles. John Wayne as great as he was was John Wayne in every role he played.

Of course, what may be the best line in Die Hard (spoiler alert) is when Hans Gruber tells John McClane, Yippee Ki-yay, (insert crude swearing term here). Only since I watched the movie in December and now, and having made the connection, I do wonder if Severus Snape ever uttered in disgust, "Yippee Ki-yay, Mister Potter."

Hey, that's all I got this morning. But you hear him saying it now too, don't you?

Cloyce's grand piano

I once insulted my neighbor completely without intention. I hate that, because insults really ought to be funny, cruel, and intentional. But to be fair, I believe he was pressing me too hard on a subject I simply didn't know anything about.

This neighbor, whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name, is a musician, and he is a very fine one too to give him his due. One day as I passed by he called me into his house to show me his new piano. Well, not new, but an excellent used grand piano.

I have to admit it looked stunning, a deep, shining, well polished ebony. He was proud of it and rightly so. He sat to play a few bars and the sound to even my untrained ears was magnificent. By all appearances it was clearly a superior instrument.

After Cloyce had played a bit he began telling me all about the piano, stuff I didn't understand but hey, when someone's really happy about something it's a courtesy to let them talk, right? So I listened, trying to sound properly impressed at points where it seemed I was expected to be.

When the descriptions were all over Cloyce asked, "So what do you think it cost, Marty?"

I tried to sidestep the question. "Oh, I have no idea what a grand piano would cost."

"Come on, just take a guess," he persisted.

"I don't know, Cloyce." I was really hoping he would just tell me so that I might again show how impressed I was supposed to be.

"Just take a guess, Marty!"

So I took a stab. "Oh, uh, I dunno, a thousand dollars?"

Cloyce's face fell faster than Wile E. Coyote off a cliff after a harried chase of the Roadrunner. "A thousand dollars?" he asked, obviously insulted and indeed crestfallen. "What do you think it's made of, particle board?"

"I'm sorry, I just don't have any idea what grand pianos are worth," I protested. It turns out they are worth quite a few dollars more than my ridiculous guess. I want to say he he paid $11,000 for it but it's been long enough I don't recall with certainty.

I truly didn't mean to hurt his feelings though. Particle board by the way is a very low grade of plywood. I don't think they use it on grand pianos.

A mostly successful weekend

I spent last weekend in Newark, Ohio visiting the Ohio Cosgriffs.  We were able to have a good family visit, talking and watching movies. We saw 300, which is a good movie about loyalty and honor, and Battlefield Earth, which is not a good movie on any level. Yet even that was made bearable because we watched with Rifftrax commentary. Rifftrax makes fun of movies, and Battlefield Earth was a slow pitch over the heart of the plate just asking to be skewered.

We made shopping trips to the local Ollie's Discount Store, whose slogan is 'good stuff cheap'. That was about the only disappointment. I was hoping to find Chase and Sanborn coffee (my coffee of choice) which is often at Ollie's. I haven't been able to find it at the Detroit area stores and, alas, it was not at the Newark Ollie's either. Rats.

But at the Newark (actually Heath, Ohio) Rural King, and I love Rural King, we found absolutely scads of red birch beer. Well, not scads, but dozens of quart bottles of the stuff. I love it; it's a form of root beer derived from the sap of red birch trees. I haven't been able to get that in the Detroit area, but Rural King saved the day. I bought 15 quarts. It's that good, and at 99 cents a bottle with no deposit (Ohio doesn't have a bottle deposit) it was a steal. It's made by Frostop. You should try it. I can sell you a bottle for...hell, I ain't selling it to you. Get your own.

So, it was a mostly successful weekend. For the Ohio Cosgriffs, my exit Monday morning was surely what made it a complete success. And as an aside, if any of you know where to get Chase and Sanborn I'd appreciate the tip.

See-ing things

 Sherman used to clean drains. That means that we saw him a lot back in the day; he worked until about 1990. Sherman also used to preface every sentence with the word, see. 'See, I'm doing fine,' he would answer when you asked how he was.

One morning Pops was welding an end on Sherman's cable. When Dad finished he noticed Sherman reaching for the cable as he turned off the welder. "Don't touch that, it's hot!" he warned.

"See, I know it's hot," Sherman answered.

A minute later Dad heard him yelp. He turned to see Sherman rubbing his hand; he had grabbed the hot cable full palm. "Sherman, I just told you that was hot!" Dad admonished him.

"See, I didn't know it was that hot."

Pops went and got the burn ointment from our first aid kit. Squeezing some out of the tube onto the wound, Dad said as Sherman worked the goo into his palm, "Are you going to be okay?"

"See, I'll be fine, Bill. See, I didn't burn it that bad. See, I didn't hold it very long."

I imagine not.

Rush

There are things about him I do not understand. Four marriages. Smoking cigars. A little bombastic. Still, he was Rush. Is Rush.

As stupid as it sounds, I can understand conservatives who are not fully conservative in their everyday lives. I understand the struggle to be human. We all, every one of us, fail. We do not, I dare say we cannot, live perfectly. We are weak.

Rush Limbaugh was weak. I think he would, in his quieter moments, admit it. He failed to live up to his creed. He was human.

Still, he preached the sermon. He talked the talk. He acknowledged that right was right no matter what folks think. He acknowledged that truth is beyond us. He acknowledged that truth is. 

In a world which greatly desires that truth is whatever a person wants it to be, he spoke Truth. Despite himself. He spoke truth knowing he failed the standard. He spoke for what is right.

I admire him for that. Godspeed, Mr. Limbaugh. Godspeed.

Ash Wednesday (funny but should I be?)

I am far too giddy about what I suppose is a minor milestone in my life. Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. For Catholics, that means we must fast (no more than one full meal although we can have two smaller ones to supplement it) and no meat today or Good Friday. 

Well, that's what it means for most Catholics. But for increasingly elderly Catholics such as yours truly, the rule changes. As I am 60, and the rule to fast ends at age 59, I don't have to fast. I can eat as much as I want.

Ok, I can't be a glutton, but that's a different area of sin. But short of that I can have all I want, although I still can't eat meat.

Yet even that is no cross to bear because I love fish! As a died in the wool mackerel smacker it doesn't bother me at all to be told I can only have fish. There are no first world poor Marty sighs on that account, no way. Bring. It. On.

Yeah, I guess that kinda begs the whole question of penance and discipline which Lent is supposed to instill in a guy, doesn't it? But hey, I'm following the rules.

Dare I say, faithfully?

It's how you say it

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. For those of you concerned about me (you are out there, aren't you?) it was nothing to worry about, just my regular checkup. Everything looks good.

Upon arrival the first thing I heard was, "Why are you here?" from a nurse. We had had a snowstorm overnight here in the D.

"Uh, I had a doctor's appointment," I replied, rather sheepishly considering it wasn't exactly a state secret. At least it should not have been to the staff.

So I get the routine physical and had blood drawn, and all looks good, although I won't of course know about the blood until after the tests. If all I get is a letter in the mail with the results as I typically do, they'll be fine. It's getting a call about them which would worry me!

When all was done the doctor instructed the nurse at the front desk to make my next appointment in August, and then he went about his doctorly way. The nurse turned to me and said, "Okay, we're giving you six months Mr. Cosgriff."

Feigning horror I replied, "I wish you wouldn't put it that way."

The young woman stared at me before bursting into laughter. "I see what you mean." Handing me a card with the time and date of the appointment (August 16 at 8:30 if you must know) she then said very certainly, "We will see you in six months, Mr. Cosgriff."

"Thank you," I said.

Presidents Day 2021

Today in these United States of America it's Presidents Day. And I'm not sure I like it.

While there are several men who have served in the office whom I believe deserve recognition I hardly believe that they all do. James Buchanan merely sat on his hands as Civil War threatened. While he has arguably been a good former President Jimmy Carter was an inept actual President. Richard Nixon was, well, Richard Nixon. I'm not sure how much glory, laud, and honor they merit.

Then there's the ones who did nothing particularly notable or horrible who are lumped in with the truly deserving on the holiday. What did Benjamin Harrison actually do except be William Henry Harrison's grandson? And what did General Harrison himself do as Chief Executive but become a trivia question (the shortest served President)? 

Perhaps what is meant is to acknowledge the public service they each presumably represent. My argument there would be whether they all were so definitely public spirited. I won't cite examples here because I don't want my overall point levelled down to mere personal opinion. But do any of us really believe that each and every man who sought the office did so out of altruism? I am ready to name several whom I firmly believe were simply on ego trips. I don't doubt that you could too.

At the risk of broaching that argument which I just finished saying that I didn't want, I only see three Presidents worthy of a holiday: Washington, Lincoln, and Reagan. Washington in particular I would argue deserves a holiday precisely because he's Washington, a man who did more for this nation on more levels than President alone to make him a singular figure in our history. All the others so far as I'm concerned, even the very good ones, don't rise to where they merit such praise. 

Nonetheless, Happy Presidents Day. I suppose it just is what it is.

Best themes

There's a Hawaii Five-O marathon this weekend on the Decades channel. I've watched my share of episodes and intend to watch several more. But one thing above all else which seeing this classic show has reminded me: the Hawaii Five-O theme might be be the best TV theme ever. It just rocks.

Granted, many show themes are memorable. I always loved Hogan's Heroes: it's a great military cadence. Interestingly, it's closing theme may be better than than opener. On that angle, the closing credits for The Bob Newhart Show season two are outstanding. They may be my favorite closing credits ever. It rocks really well for a farewell.

St. Elsewhere had solid opening credits, as did its sister show Hill Street Blues. Andy Griffith's whistling opening is justifiably outstanding. One ranking I found on the Internet actually argues that the Gilligan's Island theme is the best ever. Although I like the song, calling it the GOAT of TV themes is a stretch.

All that being said, I'm open to suggestion on what truly is best. Just be aware that the Hawaii Five-O is the standard you're up against so far as I'm concerned.

Wither baseball

I'm disappointed. I just read where Spring Training baseball games won't start until February 28. They were supposed to begin the 23rd. Rats.

Five days aren't all that much I know. But with a truncated 2020 season and who knows when we'll actually get to attend games what with the powers that be continuing to move the fences (there's something of a baseball like pun, eh?) on COVID issues, five days is still a maddening delay. I want baseball now. Every delay without it is another paper cut.

Cloyce cash

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 find the place and 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. 

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, several 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 Mr. 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.

 

Taste or sentiment?

I'm a sandwich guy; I suspect many if not most guys are. Oh, I like more prepared foods. I even fire up the barby and grill red meat regularly during the summer months and even at times in the winter. And I can't wait to get back into restaurants and have full, more complete meals. But day in and day out, give me the quick lunch, slices of vegetable matter and meat matter between two starch planes as our friends the Coneheads would say. 

Yet you can't make a sandwich without bread, and I found myself without bread yesterday. So it was off to the neighborhood market in search of such a staple. 

While there I found that bologna was on sale. I like bologna: fate was with me that it be marked down. Eckrich too, not some knock off. Along with it, sharing the sale price, was cotto salami.

I haven't had cotto salami in years, perhaps not since I still lived with me folks way back when. I wasn't sure if I wanted it but then thought, hey, why not? I seem to remember it tasting good when I was a youth.

You know what? It tastes excellent. Far better than I can recall in fact. It's got the texture of bologna with a bit of the hard salami taste. But I do wonder whether it really tastes that good or if it's only sentiment talking, a flavor of growing up down the block coming back to me through the taste buds.

Or maybe it's just really good. Or maybe it doesn't matter, eh? Just enjoy it.

Winter 2021

I really don't care that it's going to be cold this week. Winter hasn't been too bad this season when you think about it. December and January were warmer than usual with a lot less snow; so what if February is colder and snowier? We're only four weeks from being past the worst of a normal winter.  That's fine by me.

To be sure, a lot of the nation has fared worse than we have. From what I recall there were storms which passed south of us that slammed the east coast hard. Sorry, easterners. I can live with that from the D.

Psychologically this has been about the easiest winter for me that I can remember. So again, February, go ahead and be cold. Winter, have your last hurrah. I scoff at you.

You don't think I'm poking the bear, do you, anyone?

Marty the consumer

I love Rural King stores; I believe I've established that. As a matter of fact, I shopped at the one in Michigan yesterday.

I was wearing an obviously knock off Carhartt coat, a brown coat garnished with the Rural King logo so it counts as designer, as Mom and I went into the store. Lo and behold, the exact same coats were on sale for $20 from the $30 I had spent on the one I wore back when I purchased it in November. So I thought I'd buy one. And then I thought, hell, I'll buy two. That way I won't need another coat for twelve or fifteen years. Further, by using my Rural King Harvest Visa card I got an additional 5% off, not only the coats but my entire purchase.

So as not to make it totally about yours truly, and as I was low on Keurig coffee, I bought an 80 pack of coffee pods for another twenty bucks. The brew was Founding Fathers brand coffee, which promised that half of their profits go to aid military families. Cool; that made the decision on which coffee to buy rather easy.

So I suppose my point is that even old Marty can be bitten by the consumerist bug. But I did also do a small part to help military families. I just hope I don't sound too much like a commercial for Rural King. 

But I do plan and stopping at the ones in Newark and Marion Ohio as I spend next weekend in that fair state. 

Good for the soul?

I went to confession yesterday. I don't point that out for any other reason than to set up a joke.

While talking to me brother Phil (whom I employ) I casually remarked, "Yeah, I needed to go to because I've been shorting you on your pay."

"Why would you tell me that?" he asked.

Continuing into what I thought a good joke I responded, "I don't care that you know. But it bothered me that God did."

AND NOW, the punch line.

"Oh. I suppose I have to go confess my wanton embezzlement." Phil replied.

Banking on it

It's not easy to feel bad for a bank. I'm not exactly overwhelmed with grief about it either. It isn't actually even closing, but rather moving into new digs a few blocks away. So it's getting a new building, that's all. Still, my bank, the building I've went to for over forty years, is closing.

In a bit of serendipity the new place is actually right smack on the corner of Michigan and Turnbull, the site of old Tiger Stadium. And I mean smack on the corner, right where the old ticket office was where I bought literally hundreds of tickets to Detroit Tigers baseball over the years. That part is kind of cool.

But the bank building I've went to is closing. I still have accounts there; at least one of my children still does, and they all live out of state. Just the same, when I walked out of it yesterday I thought, I've been coming to this bank a long time. Me Pops actually met Sparky Anderson there: it was the old Tiger skipper's bank.

Yes, I have had many more many worse changes in my life. This one obviously pales compared to those and I don't want to draw too fine of a point. It's more a shaking my head type of reflection: everything eventually changes, right now down to the mundane and trivial in life. 

Why we even think of such things as ours is perhaps the really interesting question. I'll leave that for another day.

Short political statement

I can't be leftist or liberal because they trust government too much. They're far too statist.

I can't be libertarian because the trust the individual too much. They're far too relativist.

That leaves me as a traditional thinker, a conservative. We might quibble that what I'm calling conservative is the classic liberalism of the American Revolution. But, whatever. It's conservatism in today's United States.

Just my quick philosophical thoughts on a cold, snowy Friday in February. Does that warm your heart at all?

Nicknames at work

We've had our share of characters come through the Old Barn. I've described some in detail and a few in passing but I haven't really mentioned the bulk of them. Here are a few glimpses of other notables who have stepped through the door. 

There was California. I never did learn his actual name nor why he was nicknamed for the state. What I do remember is that he sounded exactly like Huckleberry Hound. You could hear him singing My Darling Clementine like he owned it. If you heard his voice from behind a screen you'd swear it was the guy who voiced that bluish Hanna-Barbera hound dog. 

Speaking of voices, there was a guy who sounded exactly like Eeyore, the woeful donkey from Winnie the Pooh. Eeyore's main complaint was that he could never get a girlfriend. "Who'd want to date a guy who does what I do (clean sewers) for a living?" he often lamented in that dullish monotone. Then he found a girlfriend. He told us about it one day, in exactly the manner Eeyore would have. "I got me a girlfriend. Now I have to paint her kitchen." 

Grandpa Joe christened one guy 'Cash' Adams. Mr. Adams would walk into the door and Joe would say, "There's Cash Adams. He gets cash and pays cash." Grandpa explained to me that he wasn't sure he could trust the guy so he came up with the moniker to embarrass him from asking for credit. Apparently it worked. 

I'll end today with Mr. Clean. I don't know that anyone called him that to his face as he was a muscular, mountain of a man. But he always wore a white t-shirt and had a big gold earring in his ear. Yes, he looked just like the guy on the bottle of cleaning fluid. 

I was thankful he was just a super nice guy, because he looked like he could rip your head off. 

 

Loose wires

A good theft protection system on your car can cost a couple hundred bucks easily. Well, back in the day we had a cheap and easy theft protection system. We took off the wire which went from the coil to the distributor on our old cars. Forty years ago no engine was going to start, no way no how, without the coil connected to the distributor. It was foolproof.

I don't know if it's that simple anymore as ol' Marty is way behind on car technology. I'm not sure who came up with the idea but I think it was either me Pops or me Grandpa Joe. Smart guys, them Cosgriffs.

Sure, it was a bit of nuisance to pop the hood and remove the coil wire, especially late at night or in the winter or even just after a long day. But that last person who drove a given car on a given day (we traded cars back and forth a lot in 1979) had to remember to get the coil wire.

It wasn't so bad. Things were helped by the fact that most coil wires attached the same way, meaning you didn't have to keep them sorted. You just grabbed one in the morning and put it on whatever vehicle you meant to drive. It was weird though to sometimes see a small pile of seemingly random short black wires on the old man's desk though. 

Sure, you'd have the occasional aggravation of absent mindedly getting out to a car and have the engine turn over for several seconds without even trying to start when it dawned on you there was no coil wire. You'd have to march back into the house to get one. It was not unlike the I forgot my mask feeling I'm sure most of us have felt recently.

But, hey, you still had the car rather than some miscreant.

Groundhog Day

So what's the verdict? Six more weeks of winter or do we barbeque the little twerp and hire another one? 

Glitz up for Groundhog Day

It's the First of February! And as I've already taken upon myself to create new holidays (remember Christmas Eve Eve? Of course you do! Well, Ron might not) I declare this Groundhog Eve. So, Happy Groundhog Eve everyone!

And it just so happens that I've developed a list of Groundhog Eve decorations, right on time for this festive occasion. Do you have you Groundhog Tree up yet? How about Groundhog garland for around the handrail of your staircase? And of course your home would not be complete without the Groundhog wreath garnishing you front door.

Just talk to me and I guarantee you'll get the best, low prices. But hurry: the money that I'm getting from that Nigerian prince won't pay itself back. Perhaps you could join me in the effort. We'll split the proceeds evenly, exactly His Highness promised to do with me.