Second Curling

We didn't play very well last night. I think it was 12-4; whatever it was, it wasn't good. Still, I'm curling, and continuing to be welcomed back. That feels really, really good.

The game is great, but it truly is the people. Best fraternity I've ever been in, I tell you what.

My disappointment in my play was greatly lessened by the discovery that the curling club has Coffee Crisp candy bars. They're coffee nougat between crunchy wafers, covered in chocolate. I bought 4; I haven't had them in years. 

They're still great. If you can't win, take solace in coffee and chocolate, I say.

Oh The Pain

Years ago I realized that aging meant hurting myself in ways and manners I couldn't expect. Once I turned to answer someone, just a simple twist of the torso, and my back went out. Lovely.

You know how us Catholics like ritual, even quick, brief ones, right? Yesterday I approached a pew in Church and began to genuflect, exactly as I have for years. And I pulled a muscle in my leg.

The muscle on the top of my thigh popped. The pain was awful; I wasn't sure I could get up. Then, of course, I had to sit down, stand up, sit down again, stand up, kneel, blah, blah, blah as Mass went on. Being obstinate, I had to go through all the motions. Irish Catholic guilt is still a real thing, folks.

I may be using a delivery stick when curling tomorrow night. But it does feel better this morning though.

Sorryness

Me Grandpa Joe, while not exactly the most cautious worker himself, nevertheless coined the word 'sorryness' to describe a worker who wasn't considerate enough about his tools and equipment as he earned his daily bread. I think it's a useful addition to the language.

I've seen it at the old barn for years. One fella, more than one actually, would use the power unit of their drain snake as a cart for their cables, something you should never do. You can easily damage parts on the unit. Guys were routinely breaking off the toggles on the reverse switches doing that, then complaining about the quality of the switch when I'd charge them fifty bucks each to replace them. Then they'd do the same thing again, continuing to wrongfully use the machine as a dolly. Sorryness.

Other times on many different machines guys would break capacitor covers or switch boxes off their motors simply due to abuse. They weren't taking proper caution or time loading, unloading, or in the general use of their snakes. Then just as with the reverse switches, they try to blame the quality of the unit. Sorryness.

There's your English lesson today, friends, courtesy of Joe Cosgriff. You're already thinking of when to use the word, aren't you?

Just Wondering

Is a nuclear powered ship a fission boat?

Yeah, I like that one. Too much, probably. Happy Friday! 

That's Entertainment

I've said before that I don't always understand book reviews. One person on Amazon gave me three out of five stars for my Family Lore blog collection, saying:

There is nothing really to learn from this book other than just reading it as pure entertainment.

Um, Okay. I'm not sure that I was trying to teach anything but merely attempting to entertain as it is. In fact, teaching anything at all was nowhere near the front of my mind in putting that collection together. So, reading a book meant to entertain and admittedly 'pure entertainment' merits only 3 stars out of 5? What's wrong with mere entertainment anyway?

At times I just don't get book reviewers at all.

The Day After the Day After Curling

Today's blog may be a bit heavy on curling jargon, and I hope that non-curlers among my readership will forgive that. But this past Monday I began a new curling season with the Windsor Granite Club. It felt good.

It's subject to be a melancholy year. The Club is almost certainly closing after the 2023-2024 season, which is one of the reasons I decided to play. The Granite Club was *my* Club, so to speak, for around 25 years. When I heard the bad news I simply had to play there once more. A swan song, I guess, which, short of a minor miracle, it will be.

You want to talk about a happy homecoming? I can't tell you how many old friends offered a handshake with a hearty, "Great to have you back, Marty!" as the evening went on. It's humbling, it really is. 

I've said before, here, in fact: Just Stay Away that it's easy not to miss curling. Just don't go to a curling rink. One step onto the ice Monday, one thrown stone coming to rest exactly where I wanted it to, and all the old fire was stoked. Right now kapow.

My skip, a great old friend, wanted me to throw second and call the game. That was amazingly kind and complimentary of him. Once in the Curling House, the 12 foot circle which serves as our scoring target, I found that I was reading the ice very well and must confess that I'm far too pleased with the game I called. Me skip and I only had one serious strategic difference of opinion, but we went with his shot choice and, well, things happen.

I think I threw all right for being rusty; I've only curled two or four games a year recently but my weight (the force put into delivering the curling rock) felt good. By my count I only badly missed two shots; the other 14 were at the least useable. I pitched one pretty wide. That's been a problem of mine for most of my career.

We finished second 10-7 but won four ends. The guys around me played well. I was not and am not anywhere near as sore as I expected to be. I'm achy but that's about it. I think it helped that I made a concession to reality and bought a delivery stabilizer which allowed me to use my left arm to help hold my lard bucket self upright while throwing a stone, taking pressure and thus future pain from my legs. Of course, now all the Internet wants to show me are ads for delivery stabilizers, but that's another story.

So the verdict? I'm looking forward to next Monday. Very much indeed.

Carbonation Connoiseur

When I was drinking beer, I became familiar with many different styles and brands of that fermented beverage. But I don't drink anymore. I've adopted another drink: flavored carbonated water. Somewhat like beer, I discovered that there are many flavor options in that area.

The absolute best I've found is WalMart's Orange Cream. It tastes just like those old orange cream ice creams we ate out of toilet paper rolls as kids. Push Pops, I think they were called, because there was a plastic stick which you used to force the ice cream out. WalMart has a Red, White, and Blue mix of fruit flavors which is good too.

If Dollar General is to your liking, their house brand (Cloverdale, I think?) has a blood orange carbonated water which is outstanding. I had never heard of a blood orange, and I still haven't actually sought out and tasted one. But I like the artificial flavor of blood orange. DG's black cherry is great too.

Family Dollar's house brand, Silver Falls, has a strawberry kiwi water which is almost in a class by itself. They have a wild cherry which is great as well. Aldi's has a couple flavors of carbonated water too, but as I'm not at Aldi's very often I can't think of their flavors this minute.

Wait! Yes I can! Cranberry. They have a cranberry which is well worth the 64 cents per liter.

So there you have it. Everything is competitive and innovative these days, including carbonated waters. I'm having a good time discovering that.

Already Feeling It

Tonight I play my first regular season curling game in, I think, 6 years. I've played occasionally during that time, perhaps 2 or 4 matches a year, and I'm looking forward to it. For one, there's the anticipation of the routine of curling once a week. Two, it'll be great to see the guys again. Then there's the pain I will almost surely be in come Tuesday morning.

Okay, I'm not exactly looking forward to the oncoming aches. Yet they are oncoming and I do feel them. It's not unlike when you drop a hammer. There's that instant before impact where your toe already hurts. Similarly, both my legs feel sore right now and game time is 15 hours away as I write.

Wish me luck. We'll see what tomorrow actually brings, uh, tomorrow. Maybe it won't be too bad. Pain killers are pretty good these days. 

Holding On

His voice was tired and weak. An old friend had called just to chat; among what we spoke about were his upcoming medical tests. "They're looking at my heart, Marty. I don't know what they expect to find." He sounded sad, alone, and isolated, if that makes sense.

I begin to understand the despondency which seems to come with age. This friend, a man I've know over 50 years now, was clearly feeling down not just physically but psychologically too. And I began to feel down for him. It does make you think just that much harder about the passing of time, of things gone by never, it may feel, to be again. With that comes doubt. Doubt is scary.

C. S. Lewis I believe spoke of obstinancy in belief. If I take it rightly he meant that sometimes all we can do is hold on tight to what we know is true and damn the torpedoes. There are days when that's just all we have. In this case, it means remembering that this world, though important, isn't the end. We have a journey here and what we do and say and think and experience is critical. Yet it isn't all. There is more, and greater, on the horizon.

I promised my old buddy prayers and I will say them. I will also try very hard to be obstinate. I hope he can be too.

The Jury's Out

Me Pops had an old friend - I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name - who happened to be a prison guard at one point in his life. He used his position to get out of jury duty once. In fact, he used it so well that he got a whole bunch of folks off that day.

Dad couldn't recall the details of the trial, but it was an important one and the judge and the lawyers were having a very difficult time empaneling twelve hopefully open minded and rational people. When they were up to 11 jurors which everyone agreed upon, Cloyce's name was pulled. He took a seat among those the group.

The judge's very first question to Cloyce was typical. "Do you know anyone in this courtroom?"

"Well," Cloyce began, "I know the defendant from his being an inmate when I was a jail guard."

The judge's shoulders slumped as his chin hit his chest. He would have to dismiss the entire jury because they were all potentially biased against the defendant as they then knew he'd been imprisoned. Quickly enough the defense attorney moved for exactly that; the entire process would have to begin anew.

"I guess I mighta said too much," Cloyce allowed. "But those other jurors didn't seem to mind at all."

Money Left Over

My first stop yesterday was in the western part of Michigan, namely the town of Allegan. The good folks at Allegan Rentals wanted a cutting blade; as I was to be in the area for other things I took it to them.

The owner asked if I wanted a check or to send one, then said he'd just go ahead and pay. Stepping into his office he came back with a $19 check. 

Me brother Phil was with me. At being handed the check I turned to him and said, "Looks like you'll be getting paid this week."

"And you'll have money left over," he quipped without missing a beat.

Marty Diet

For lunch yesterday I ran through a Wendy's drive through. Okay, all right, I did not run. They frown on that. I drove my new old van. But you get the point.

As I typically do, I ordered far too much food. It was the Baconator meal, large size. Now here comes a joke for you to make, a fat pitch I'm quite confident you can drill over the fence. The one in the deepest regions of the ballpark in fact. I can even see the eye rolls which will accompany what you're about to read. It's okay. Swing at the fat pitch and roll those eyes. I would. I know Ron would.

Baconators have all that stuff which is no good for you. Most doctors say don't eat it; I'm certain mine would. Two quarter pound pieces of red meat on a huge buttered bun with gloriously melted cheese, a large fries along with it, topped with gallons of ketchup and mayo. And bacon, of course. Salty, crispy, yummy bacon. 

My drink? A Diet Coke.

It was too much food. I don't know the calorie count and I don't care. Too much. But I order Diet Coke with such blatantly bad food because I like the taste. Honest. And, full disclosure, I suppose it does help ameliorate the calories. Somewhat. But I genuinely like the taste.

Did you just roll your eyes at me?

Lack of Information

While in New York last month I took a call from a good customer who had a broken drain snake which, of course, he wished to have fixed. I told him I'd have me brother Phil pick it up.

After the call I texted me brother, 'Go pick up a machine for repair please'. 

A minute later he replied, "Okay. Pick up what and from who?"

I suppose he would need to know that. I still wrote him up for being impertinent though.

Enough is Enough

Me Pops had this old friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who apparently did not have the best marriage.

A couple of years after Cloyce lost his wife, the woman's sister's husband passed away. Awhile after the funeral, Cloyce got a call from his former in-law. She suggested that, with their respected spouses gone, perhaps they could get together.

"What did you say?" Pops asked on being told the story.

"I told her no," Cloyce responded. "I said I spent 40 years with your sister, and that was enough."

"Ouch," Dad said. "That even hurt me."

Monday Knee Slapper

You know that famous Simon and Garfunkel song The Sound of Silence? I just pulled it up on You Tube and hit the mute button. Yep. I watched The Sound of Silence without sound. Clever, eh?

No, you're right. That's just stupid. I'll go lock myself in my room with the light off. Hello darkness, my old friend.

Come on, now, with your week starting off with this it's bound to get better.

Running Along

This morning at approximately 7:30 we will begin seeing, cyclists first, then runners scurrying through Woodbridge, my neighborhood in Detroit. They will be frantically attempting to escape some keenly felt yet unseen and rather undefined danger, this being Detroit and the bulk of them being suburbanites.

All right, that's not fair, this morning anyway. It's the annual Detroit Free Press Marathon. It's running down Avery, right in front of my house, for the third straight year.

It is quite the compliment that Woodbridge is thought of so highly that it's become an integral part of the run. Mom thoroughly enjoyed it the first year it passed in 2021, although I don't think she understood what was happening. But that's okay, Mom. I'm not sure I get the point of it either. Running simply for the fun of it? That's borderline psychotic.

It is odd to see Avery barren of cars; they clear the streets to give the participants more room. I'll spend several hours watching from the front porch swing, hot pumpkin spice coffee in hand, and try to hang out until the final stragglers pass sometime around Noon. But with the cold I'm fighting I may surrender early and burrow under the eight blankets on my bed, and simply listen to the folks as they trod past. It's supposed to be cold and wet this morning and I can't seem to warm up enough this weekend, drat the timing. But there's always next year, and I'll be happy enough with what I do see. Sometimes it is just the sense of event which is entertaining.

Cold, Dark, and Drizzly

Oh my. It's dark. And it's 7 AM.

I like October. It really is my favorite month. But I don't care for the lack of sunshine. And it's going to get worse.

Maybe October isn't all that after all. Or maybe the cold I seem to have is affecting my judgement.

What Happens Next

Yesterday morning as I unpacked a parts order from Electric Eel (Electric Eel: for all your drain cleaning needs) I discovered that I had overordered by about 30 the number of spanner wrenches which I normally stock. A spanner in this case is used to disconnect drain snake cables from one another. I assume you want to know that.

A surplus of those tools isn't a bad thing. They're relatively inexpensive, about nine bucks a pop, and are a routine sell, so it doesn't hurt to have the extras. Opening the middle right drawer of my work desk, I dropped the bag of wrenches in. 

We know what's going to happen next, don't we?

We don't? Then let me tell us.

In the coming weeks and months, every time I open that drawer I'll shove that bag of spanners back, looking for whatever else I may have been seeking from inside my desk. In time, papers and detritus, the flotsam and jetsam of business, will begin to cover over the wrenches until they are camouflaged beyond the discovery of the most able spy.

Three years will pass, maybe four, and I'll be looking in the desk for umpteenth time for something entirely unrelated when that bag of spanners will again see the light of day. And I will ask myself in total and complete surprise, "How did those get back there?"

Anyone care to take a bet on that? I'll give you good odds.

The Fiftieth Cosgriff

Although it does not happen so much as it once did, I will still occasionally get a robocall aimed at me Pops. That's not surprising, seeing as I use the same business number from when he started up in 1966.

You've gotten them, I'm sure, where the computer voice begins, "This is a call for" after which there is a brief pause before the apparently same voice fills in, in this case, "William Cosgriff" before proceeding. Naturally enough I hang up on them.

One call did make me raise an eyebrow. "This is a call for," the voice started, then said, "William the Fiftieth Cosgriff." I was perplexed, even intrigued, yet went ahead and hung up.

A couple days later, and then again after that, calls came in for William the Fiftieth Cosgriff. I nearly hit 'one' to take the call. I was that curious. Then I remembered: his middle name being Leo, there were times where he sent things out as William L. Cosgriff. 'L' is the Roman numeral for 50. The artificially generated voice was translating the capital L as a form of fifty.

Sometimes artificial intelligence is as dumb as regular human intelligence.

Distractions

I had a box in my front hall yesterday which I wanted to take to the Shop. But I walked out of the house and into my new old van and drove off without it.

Heavy, disgruntled sigh. I loop the block and park in front of the house and get out of the van. 

My cell rings. I take the call, start chatting with an old friend on the other end, walk up onto the porch, unlock the door, and step inside the house. The conversation goes on another minute or two and we hang up.

Putting the phone in my pocket, I take out my keys, head out the door, lock it, and get back in the van heading towards the old barn. Without the box.

Heavier, disgruntleder sigh. 

I went back home. I did not forget the box a third time. 

The All Starrs

Well, he doesn't bill them as an All Starr band for nothing. Along with Ringo this past Saturday were:

Steve Lukather and Warren Ham from Toto. They performed Roseanna, Africa, and, one of my all time favorite rockers, Hold the Line.

Colin Hay from Men at Work. The band did Overkill, Who Can it be Now?, and Down Under.

Hamish Stuart from the Average White Band, who led everyone in Pick Up the Pieces and Cut the Cake.

Edgar Winter. I thought I liked alliteration; he killed his intros to everyone on stage with it! Of course, the band played Winter's Frankenstein, which may just have the coolest guitar intro ever. If interested, have a listen: Frankenstein It rocked the Masonic.

Ringo Starr and his All Starr Band. Great, great show.

Ringo Sings

Ringo Starr and his All Starr Band put on an excellent show this past Saturday in Detroit. It opened with Ringo doing a cover of Carl Perkins' rockabilly classic Matchbox. He had done the song as a Beatle and I've always loved it. It really got the crowd going, which I guess was the point, eh?

Ringo did several of his standards from both his Beatle and solo days, all of which you would expect. Octopus's Garden, Boys (the crowd, including yours truly, got well into the bop-shu-wop, bop-bop-shu-whop) Act Naturally, A Little Help From My Friends (in part directed as a thank you towards his All Starrs), and, of course, Yellow Submarine, which had great audience participation. He also sang What Goes On from the Beatles. It's the only Beatles song credited to Lennon-McCartney-Starkey, he pointed out to the crowd, and a pretty good B-side to the Nowhere Man single.

From his solo days came It Don't Come Easy, Back Off Boogaloo, I'm the Greatest (written by John Lennon, who thought Ringo would bring the right attitude to a self effacing tune) and Photograph. A lot of people sang along with these standards; it added great enjoyment to the concert air.

Ringo clearly picked things to please the crowd. And you know what? He did. 

All right, I haven't been to many concerts at all. But this was absolutely the best.

Sir Richard

I don't have a bucket list, but that doesn't mean there aren't things I like to do. One of those happened last night. I saw Beatle drummer Ringo Starr perform.

The Beatles have always been my favorite band. Since they had broke up when I was 10 there was never an opportunity to see them as an act. Yet even seeing one of them live was not something I ever imagined.

Well, me son and daughter in law solved that. I can't thank Charlie and Tarina enough for the tickets. It was a great show - more on that later; any decent blog writer knows it's advantageous to stretch his material - and a greater treat than I would have expected to actually see a music legend perform in concert.

Sir Richard Starkey, Ringo's real name and title (he's been knighted, you know) did some standards and played drums on several others. Again, more on that in due time. But, man, I saw a Beatle live. That was pretty cool.

Unless I Have To

Never will I ever, outside of having no other choice:

Drive an electric car. I hate that society through government power is trying to make us drive them, and is trying force the auto industry to make them. Nature is a lot more resilient than we think; climate change is not destroying the Earth. Besides, as P.J. O'Rourke said ages ago about fossil fuels, "Fat lot of good they did lying in the ground for millions of years."

Saturday rant over.

The Years Go By

I've long been told that the older we get, the faster time flies. I think it's true.

A year ago at this time I looked forward to a Hessel trip this past May. Now that and two other visits have come and gone. I've seen baseball games in two new stadiums. A long anticipated trip to New York City is three weeks in the rear view mirror. And now I'm back to pining for the next trip. Next trips.

I try to live in the moment anymore. That helps, but the moments still go. Even at that, I do believe I appreciate them more. 

I sound as though I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth. I suppose I am. I honestly don't feel melancholy as I think about the past four or five months. It's more a realization that, as I become an old timer myself, the old timers were right. Time does fly. Enjoy the minute.

I guess you just gotta get old to appreciate it, eh?

Temper Temper

I know very well that me Grandpa Joe would lose his temper too quickly. But damn, some days I understand why he did.

A customer called me yesterday asking about a part, which I have in stock. Upon telling him that the guy asked, "Will you be in your shop around three o'clock?" 

It was not an unfair question. As we do route sales as well as pickup and delivery, we don't really have set hours these days. "I plan on it, but if you're telling me you're coming at three I'll make sure to be here then."

"That's just it, Cosgriff. I'm busy, and I don't where I'll be at three."

In my mind, I hit the ceiling. I was instantly, mentally infuriated. "Why the hell are you asking me if I'll be available at three if you don't know you'll be able to come at three?" Instead I replied through gritted teeth, "Just call me when you're on your way."

I mean, really. You're asking me to commit to a time you can't commit too? 

Sometimes Joe was right to lose his temper. I think sometimes we all are.

Wild Cards

I've established that me Pops liked to play poker and that he held regular Saturday night games way back when. I asked him once whether he ever held a royal flush, the AKQJ10 all of the same suit. It's the highest poker hand possible, typically. He held royal flushes twice. Yet he lost one time with one anyway.

The games were almost always at his house, and his house rule was that the dealer called the game they were to play while he dealt. Typically it was a standard round of poker and only varied by whether it was draw or stud (don't worry about what those are as it's not important to the story). But he had this one friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who liked to do things differently. Cloyce invariably introduced wild cards into the game.

He might call the well known deuces wild, where twos could be any card you needed them to be. Or it might be one-eyed jacks and suicide kings were wild. He would sometimes call baseball, where threes and nines were wilds. Dad hated such variations. But he felt that in fairness he had to allow them.

Once when Cloyce called for wild cards, me Pops ended up with a true royal flush: 10 through ace, all hearts. No wild cards. Yet he lost to someone holding five sevens: three actual sevens with two wild cards.

That grated him, and I understand why. I think you ought to play the cards true myself. But fair is fair, and at least it wasn't Cloyce who held the five of a kind.

Tigers Go Out With a Win

I realize that the attention of most Detroit sports fans is on the Lions right now, and I get that. It's October, and the baseball Tigers (other than with Miguel Cabrera's retirement, which sold out Comerica Park yesterday) weren't going anywhere while the football team looks more promising than it has in ages. But, for me, it's still more about baseball, and there's always a tinge of sadness when the Tigers are done for the year.

When that last out is made, there's a finality which I rarely experience elsewhere. Listening to yesterday's game on the radio in the garage at Hessel, I sighed as they went to commercial when the game had ended. With the push of a button came the realization there would be no more Hessel baseball until about May next year. But the 5-2 win over Cleveland left us in second place even with the mediocre record of 78-64. And like the Lions, I think there are better days ahead.

For starters, if you take away the AL East against whom the Tigers were an abysmal 3-17 (or about that; I'm too lazy to look it up this morning) they had a winning record. Lift that figure to .500 and they would have been in playoff contention until late. The pitching has looked good. Even if Eduardo Rodriguez doesn't return we have several other reliable arms, plus Casey Mize returning from Tommy John surgery. I don't know what that is myself but it's saved a lot of careers. If we can improve upon hitting (the team was batting .233 last time I checked, a far from impressive number) we can compete in 2024, especially in our weak division.

Spencer Torkleson had a breakout year and Kerry Carpenter looks like the real deal. If Riley Greene is available after his own Tommy John surgery, seeing him in an outfield with Parker Meadows will allow the team to cover a lot of ground out there. Get another bat too, boys. Maybe a pair.

Yes, there's still another month of baseball and I will watch my share of it. But 2024 is stacking up to be interesting for the Tigers, and I will be pining for it.

A Different World

It's sometimes hard to appreciate how different the same place can be. 

I don't notice the change in seasons in and around home all that much. They're so slow and subtle that by the time you realize that the Sun isn't rising until 7:30 in the morning it isn't rising until 7:50. You don't get that it's been setting well before 8 until it's setting at 6:45. Then I visit Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula in late September and the differences from the Fourth of July, the last time I was here, are stark.

Yesterday I was star gazing at 6 AM. No sign of old Sol, not even a hint that he might be prowling about. But the stars were out in force even with a nearly full Moon, if you looked in the right direction. At the same time in July the Sun has obliterated the full Moon by almost a half hour. I've taken my morning walks then as early as 5, in a reasonable amount of dawn color.

Last night I went to the 6:30 Mass in Detour, around 35 minutes east of Hessel, for my Sunday obligation. Yeah, I know, like me Uncle Charles used to tease, I'm really a Seventh Day Adventist. That's funny if you appreciate religious humor. But however that may be, by the time Mass was over and I was making the drive back to Hessel, while it wasn't exactly dark it was surely the evening twilight. And it was dark by the time I was back at the house just after 8. 8 PM in Hessel three months ago? We would still have daylight for nearly two more hours, and twilight until about 11.

It's still great because it's still Hessel. It just doesn't look like it.