It's All in the Timing.

Today is me brother Phil's birthday.

The thing about his birthday which can never be forgiven is that it was in May. Specifically, of course, the 31st. The last day of the month. He could have held out.

Why, you ask (you did ask, didn't you?), is it such a big deal? Well, Bill and Ella Cosgriff had eight kids, so (check my math) there were 10 of us. And the birthdays were spread out quite evenly. Dad was born in January, Mom February 16, me older brother Bill in March, me in April, etcetera. We already had a birthday in May through me brother Patrick, and in July due to me sister Susan and brother Ed. This left June to fill the gap. And Phil was due June 13, which was interestingly me Grandpaw Hutchins (me Mom's dad) birthday. It would have been serendipity all the way around, family birthdays every month of the year through July and a shared birthdate with our beloved Grandpaw.

Then Phil skunks it all up.

Happy Birthday ya lout.

The War Effort

Me Grandpa Joe, during World War II, had his role on the home front. He worked at Willow Run, Michigan, where the Ford Motor Company made military aircraft, specifically B-24 Liberator Bombers. That thought got me to thinking about something else.

When our kids were toddlers and going through potty training, we would ask them from time to time if they needed to make 'bombers', that is, go number two. It was nothing more than a cutesy parental way to explain the process. Yet like other ideas, it had unintended consequences.

Several years after the boys had learned to manage such bodily functions, they happened to be with me as I was with a cousin. We were talking about Joe, specifically his war work. "He made bombers at the Willow Run airplane plant," I remember saying.

My sons stared at me, that awkward, confused, wondering stare which asked, "What in the world are you talking about?" What could the government possibly do with those? Did I mean that their Great Grandpa Joe's effusions were, uh, effective as munitions? His peculiar output was part of the war effort?

Of course not. Now that they're over the confusion, they understand.

To Wick or Not to Wick

This past weekend I bought three T-shirts which were advertised as 'wicking'. That is, they're supposed to draw off water and moisture. As they were only $7.99 and pocketed (I like pocketed tees) I bought them. But now I have a problem.

How do I wash the things? 

A Thought for Tuesday

A post on Facebook yesterday caught my eye. Yeah, I know, earth shattering. It's never happened before.

Mild and poor humor aside, the post claimed that diversity breeds tolerance. I immediately thought, it does?

We've had diversity for all of human existence and I see little evidence of tolerance bred by it. Indeed I find far more intolerance as a result of new people, new things, and new ideas along the way.  That's sad, but endemic to the human condition. Wars and rumors of wars abound. Let's all just get along because diversity is our strength? I'm not sold.

On the other hand, when people on all sides are reasonably open minded (in short, reasonable) we've had a decent amount of peace and solidarity. But it isn't because we're diverse. It's because on those far too few occasions, we've been unified. We don't emphasize our differences. We rejoice in our similarities.

Memorial Day 2024

Today is the day where we remember those who gave their lives for our country defending our nation in war. I think this year I want to especially remember those who died because of the wars and battles they fought while not having actually been killed facing the enemy.

I'm thinking specifically about me Pops youngest brother, me Uncle John. While he didn't die until 2005, I don't think he ever completely left Vietnam. Pops always said Zeke was different after the War. I believe there were others with similar trials who, even after they came home, were still fighting. They deserve our thoughts and prayers too. Give them a minute this Memorial Day.

Holy Assurance

Today's Gospel ends with perhaps the most famous and significant promise of Christ: "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age", St. Mark tells us. Jesus then ascends into Heaven before the confused Apostles.

If there is a greater assurance that God loves us I can't imagine it. He's always here, He will always look out for us. We forget that when all is well and, myself included, wonder where He really is in times of trouble. We're only human. When we're happy and content it seems as though that's the way it ought to be. When difficulties arise, we question everything. 

There's no need to question. We don't understand - we can't, at least not fully, understand - anything of the world. But He is with us. It'll be all right in the end. 

Reviewing Reviewers

I spent most of this morning reading reviews of my own books. It's a valuable way to measure how good or bad they may be. Of course, I like my writing. But my opinion of me is quite skewed.

The extremes you can toss off without much thought. There's the occasional one which gushes as though I've written the Great American Novel. I haven't. My stuff is decent enough but won't be mentioned in literature textbooks two hundred years from now. Then there's reviews which rip a book to shreds. I pass over those equally. I think I can honestly say nothing of mine is shallow or amateurish. Yet for whatever reason the reader was terribly offended. Oh well.

It's the ones which are constructive, or at least are obviously trying to be, which are the most useful even where I disagree. I've been told I use too many adverbs. I'm not sure that I do, but the issue comes up enough that I need to consider it. Similarly, a book is occasionally dinged as in need of a professional edit. That might be useful, I admit. Yet those things cost (one to two thousand dollars is not unusual), and I'm not sure there's a real return on investment there. As I'm doing this writing thing mostly on a hope and a prayer, I'm willing to do what promotion I can on the cheap and see how it all plays out.

On the whole, things look good. Each book (five are currently available) ranks between 4.3 and 4.7 on Amazon's five star scale, and the general interest readers appear to like them. And that's my intended audience. Not grammar geeks, though grammar is far more important than we think, but folks who just like to read. Enough so to give even my scribbles a chance.

The Obvious

Several years ago me brother Phil had the opportunity to repair a drain snake cable. I don't recall where me or me Pops were that day, but so it goes.

The man brings in a large cage type snake to have an end installed on a cable he had broken. It's important to know that the unit was cage style, because that means you could see approximately how much cable was in it. The particular machine Phil dealt with had a capacity of 100 feet of 3/4 inch cable. This too is important to understand.

There was around 20 feet of cable in the machine, me brother guessed. "I can put an end on that, but it's really not enough to work with on main sewer lines," Phil advised the guy.

"But you can do it?" he said. Being told it can certainly be done, he instructed Phil to do it. So Phil did, and the man paid him.

Me brother went outside to help him load the machine onto his pickup truck. Then the man let the truth come out. "I rented this from a place and lost over 80 feet of cable in a sewer, so that's why I wanted you to put an end on it. Do you think they'll notice?"

Phil had to stifle a laugh. "I imagine they will," he opined, in as kindly a manner as he possible

What do you think? I bet you'd notice it was missing. Things like that are pretty obvious. 

Human Definition

Should we be defined by our careers? To a point, I suppose, but generally no. Even then, where our jobs may be of great importance, can what we do for a living be as important as what we do among family and friends in our personal lives?

Don't get me wrong: work is necessary, just, and holy itself when seen as a way to glorify God through the talents He has given us and by our efforts to use them wisely and well. Yet I would rather be known as a good Catholic and decent human being than a guy who knows a few things about drain snakes. Anyone can learn that. But only I can be the me who acts rightly and treats others well.

I think that's what gets lost in the recent Harrison Butker speech. We shouldn't care per se about the degrees we've earned or the jobs we hold. They're mere means to an end. One ESPN reporter (I'm too lazy too look up who she is or what she said exactly) remarked that the sportsball network won't be beside me on my deathbed but my family and friends will. That's because she's more important to them than her career may be.

This of course applies to men and women alike. And it requires decisions which the individuals involved in given situations have to sort out for themselves. But career versus family? That decision shouldn't even be close. Prioritize you life well, and don't be defined by the less important things in this world.

Far and Wide

Coming back from Newark, Ohio, the home of the famous Ohio Cosgriffs, I was forced into a detour because of road work. Man proposes; such is life.

The rerouting took me quite a bit farther into the Buckeye countryside than I expected. While tooling north on Sate Route 37 I happened to notice that the farmlands whipping by me were going at a certain speed which matched the pace of the opening credits on an old TV show. Indeed I commenced to humming and singing the little ditty as I drove along.

Your challenge today, reader, is: what show am I talking about?

It's probably too easy, but, hey.

Cheap Chips

I don't mind a good sale. 29 cent kettle chips are a good sale.

Right inside the door of the Rural King store in Heath, Ohio, was a grocery cart full of 8.5 ounce bags of kettle chips for that price. Sure, the sell by date was the next day. But that's only a recommendation. Salty potato chips will certainly keep for awhile, or at least the week or two it will take me to eat them, right?

I only bought a couple, but ought to have gotten more. By the time I decided to do exactly that and rerouted myself to the front of the store, they had sold out. 

Of course they did. It was too good of a sale.

Making the Donuts

You know, Mondays aren't as bad as they used to be. I still joke about how awful they are, but the jokes aren't really accurate. Monday has become simply another day of the week. Okay, today's Monday. Go make the donuts.

Have I matured that much? Nah. It just is what it is and I've accepted it. But it does make the first day of the week easier to handle. 

Perfect in Columbus

After the second Columbus Clippers game of my life, the team is 2-0. They've won both games I've attended. It must be me.

Last night's game was good, a 5-2 win for the hometown nine. An interesting sidebar was when Anthony Gose came to the mound for Columbus in the seventh inning. I remember him when he was with the Detroit Tigers as an outfielder; he played for Toronto and Cleveland as well. That was between 2012 and 2016. He's trying to get back to the big leagues as a pitcher. Good luck to him.

Anyway, Columbus has two wins against no defeats with yours truly in attendance. I wonder what they would pay me to stay in town and go to every game? I know a lot of people would pay me to stay out of Michigan. Some of them aren't even family.

The All So Inclusive NFL

Harrison Butker, a kicker for the Kansas City Chiefs, is being criticized by many on social media for making a very Catholic speech at a very Catholic college. Butker himself is, you might guess, very Catholic. He's so Catholic in fact that the very inclusive National Football League doesn't want to have anything to do with him. The League issued a statement to assure the world that Butker's beliefs weren't their beliefs.

You know, there was an easy, considerate way around this, NFL. Just don't say anything. What is there, really, to say? A Catholic is out there spouting Catholic beliefs. There's no shock value there. Let his words hang in the air without comment.

But you couldn't do that. You had to make sure the world knew you were so tolerant and inclusive that his words required intolerance and exclusivity. The League probably doesn't appreciate the irony of the oxymoron.

I do. My new team is the Kansas City Chiefs. I hope they win every game on a Harrison Butker field goal.

The Seventy-Four Percent Solution

According to MLive, an online news source which concentrates on statewide issues here in Michigan, 74 percent of students at Michigan's public universities get 'A' grades. That's 3 out of 4.

That's also patently absurd. Outside of a classroom full of Einsteins and Mozarts there's simply no way 74% of kids deserve such high grades. I read one wag who said that it's the college equivalent of participation trophies. It isn't a bad comparison.

This is wrong on many levels. To begin with, the students who are actually good at mastering and applying subject matter should be insulted. They're set right down with the slackers. I wonder too whether such a system gives the others who can't, uh, make the grade, feel a certain superiority. Y'all ain't so hot, y'all that can earn better reviews of your work. We smart too.

But as colleges aren't actually teaching that much which is true and worthwhile, as they've become too often glorified high schools, perhaps it doesn't really matter.

Good Eats

As I was coming in from western Michigan on a sales trip yesterday, I found I had time to stop for a late lunch at one of the places me Pops liked. It's the 115 Truck Stop, located at Exit 115 on Interstate 94 about 100 miles west of Detroit. Where did they get the name from?

Anyway, I had chicken fried steak and boy howdy, was that some good eatin'. The steak was covered in sausage gravy and the hash browns were crispy and buttery and the scrambled eggs just right. It even came with pancakes, fluffy, light pancakes on which I poured too much syrup. But hell, my doctor was nowhere to been seen.

I've stopped there before when time and circumstances allowed and I surely will again. If it weren't so far away I'd be out there once a week just for that chicken fried steak. Even at that, a 200 mile round trip ain't so bad for good eats, is it?

The Ides

Today is May 15. The Ides of May. Why should March get all the notoriety? The Ides are simply the middle of a month. Every month has them. March isn't alone.

Oh, sure, some Roman emperor get assassinated on the Ides of March and no one else can have their day. But that's just Shakespeare being all dramatic and stuff. Shakespeare was the original drama queen. 

The Ides of May. Beware them too.

Protesting What?

As I stood pumping gas into my new old van (as opposed to my newer older van you might recall) I noticed a home made sticker on the pump. It was very home made: they were the rectangular stickers we used to use to mark VHS tapes. There's no other employment for them these days I suppose.

Anyway, the sticker proclaimed 'philanthropy is not justice'. 

Hmm. Well, maybe not, but I think so. I mean, as philanthropy, which is what any one of us do when we contribute to a worthwhile cause, is a good thing, I'd call it justice in the sense that we should help those people and righteous causes in need. It's a kind of justice anyway.

What I can't figure out is what the author of the sticker is protesting. I mean, even if it's not justice, philanthropy is good, isn't it? So why appear to knock it at all?

I'm flabbergasted. But it's not like that hasn't happened before.

A Moment of Panic

I had to put in a few hours at the old barn yesterday, trying to stay on top of repairs. On one job a bolt had come slightly loose, yet was also frozen in place. I'd have to heat it to get it out and intsall a new one.

Duly igniting the torch with the part anchored in a bench vise, I proceeded to get that thing cherry red. Turning off the torch, I grabbed a wrench. To my horror I realized that I was tightening the bolt. Nuts; I'm going to be stupid and make this problem worse.

Only I didn't. It was a rarity, one of those left threaded screws which occasionally pop up in the mechanical world. Thinking it was right thread I was tightening it. But that actually did the job. The parts came together properly.

Lucky or good? In this case, I'm happy with lucky.

Dinner Plans

We were having a difficult time deciding where to eat last night. I suggested, "We might try that new German place. Worst case scenario is we could get sausage."

See, German sausages are bratwurst, liverwurst, knockwurst and such. So a worst case scenario at a German restaurant would be sausage. Huh? Huh?

Well, I find it hilarious.

Back to Normal?

We'll see how long this lasts, but as of yesterday evening Facebook appears to accept that my blogs are not spam. They have yet to offer an explanation of what happened, and I want to know. I think I'm owed one. Heck, I'm man enough to accept that if I were doing something wrong I can take it. But tell me what it was.

For those who don't know, Facebook spent all this week taking down my posted blogs as spam. My review requests were going unanswered until I reached the point where my good friend Bugs Bunny would say, "I hope you realize this means war!" I began absolutely pelting them with blogs which they would immediately remove. I would them immediately, ahem, request a review.

Yet if you're going to go to war you have to bring out the big guns. In my case, I got me son Charlie involved. In about ten minutes the problem was resolved. You don't mess with a veteran.

The real test comes in about five minutes, when I post this. But Charlie is in for the weekend. We'll open up fire again if we must.

Blank Blog

 This is a blank blog to test facebook.

What's the Idea, Facebook?

All right, Facebook, what's going on? Five straight days now you take down my blog claiming it's spam. It's not. It's my everyday blog through Blogger. You've let me cross post it to my Facebook page for years, and now I can't?

You've got some explaining to do. Start right now.

Future Fear

Don't panic. It's a phrase we need to hear more often. Indeed, we ought to take it to heart. 

Panic drives us, it seems. Who could have imagined a toilet paper shortage during the scamdemic? Yet there it was, and all fear driven. The scamdemic itself was panic inspired of course.

The Detroit Tigers are 19-18 after a bad loss yesterday. In one of the baseball groups online which I frequent, one fan the season was over. Yet I remember an 11-19 team which won their division in 1987. Panic.

Let it go, folks. Ninety nine and three quarters percent of what you fear will never happen. Don't even fret the quarter percent left. It's going to happen anyway. You'll live with a lot less stress.

In The Interim Generation

Reader Eric Myers had this to say about my Book The Interim Generation:

I am a fussy reader. Not just any book will make my favorites list. For me, a book must have the complete package if I am going to continue to read more books from that writer… and if I am going to recommend that book to others. The Interim Generation has everything.

What grabbed my attention immediately were the delightfully intricate characters. No stereotypes or templates here. Each one is well-formed, fully dimensional and comes with an array of strengths, quirks, and foibles.

We were off to a good start but remember, I am demanding.

The next pleasant surprise was the story. The author, while respecting the genre, had his own take on what an adventure thriller should be. There were fun twists and interesting developments. A lot of time went into creating this storyline.

Along this incredibly fun journey were immersive settings, realistic dialogue, and heroes to cheer for.
The ending was a bit of a surprise, yet incredibly satisfying.

Well, Done, Charles Martin Cosgriff. Can’t wait to read your next one. I am pleased to recommend this to everyone.

Thank you, Eric. FYI the book is available here I hope you enjoy it too!

Get the Robots

I've seen it too much, and it's time to do something about it. I say, bring in robo-umps for calling balls and strikes in baseball.

It appears to be working in the minor leagues. In the one AAA game I saw live in Columbus, Ohio last year, they were used on appeal; the umpire was overruled each time but one. I get it: they're human. But if part of sportsmanship is getting the calls right, we need to take that human element away.

We have appeals now anyway; why not on balls and strikes? The umpires themselves should be in favor it, quite frankly. It would make them more anonymous and take pressure off. It would help the integrity of the game.

As it is, I'm seeing far too many bad calls, balls and strikes both, to not as a fan want the change. When we actually know and rue an umpire's name being announced (looking at you, Angel Hernandez) and Aaron Judge being tossed after nine years without being told to leave a game, something's wrong. And the fix is easy.

Leading the Blind

Truly going from the sublime to the ridiculous, my blog yesterday, The Ladder, was taken down by Facebook after I initially posted it. The explanation was, 'It looks like you tried to get likes, follows, shares or video views in a misleading way'. Those are facebook's precise words

Really, now. All I did was post it exactly as I post my blog entries every day. Yet yesterday 'The Ladder' was taken down because I was somehow attempting to mislead you-all into reading it.

There was no misleading involved. I wanted readers to read it. Just as I always do. There was no evil, vile and despicable intent. It was what I do nearly every day with my blog: post it to facebook.

Obviously I reposted, and all was fine that second time around. Still, I'm appealing the removal on the grounds that it was stupid and wrong. I'll let you know what happens.

The Ladder

It wasn't just a ladder. It was The Ladder, the one we used every time extra upward steps were needed at the Shop. "Get the ladder, boy," me Grandpa Joe would say to me when a light burned out. 

The Ladder was a wooden, ten foot step ladder and a staple at the old barn. I'd love to know how old it was. Joe might have gotten it from his brother, me great Uncle Bill, in Illinois, just like he did the bench grinder which was bought in 1928 and we used until 1990. The Ladder could have been that old. It wouldn't surprise me.

I'll bet I was many miles up and down the steps of that thing. Replacing lights, whitewashing the old barn once a year, fixing windows; I even employed it a few times at my house for this or that.

It was rickety for as long as I remember. Someone had to hold it as a safety measure when in use, except when leaned against a wall unfolded. The old red ladder was out of alignment and warped something awful. Holding it up for others required your strength; it about had a mind of its own.

Me Pops left it up against a wall in a far corner of the Shop about fifteen years ago and we ain't used it since. On top of all else the wood was clearly rotten. Yet he couldn't throw it away. So it sat and stuff piled up around it. Until yesterday, that is, when I reluctantly tossed it into the dumpster I rented for an old barn clean up.

Tease me if you want, but I darn near shed tears as I carried it out. The choice felt callous, yet was the right one. It was just a tool and was no longer safe. It needed to go. That didn't stop me from setting it up one last time and climbing up, carefully, six steps. I even got out me phone and took a couple pictures of the view. Silliness.

The true issue is sentimentality, of course. Right before I grabbed it for the dumpster I heard Joe grumble plain as day, "Get the ladder, boy." Well, it's been got.

Taking out the Trash

The dumpster is parked just outside of the old barn. It's only about half full right now, but I have it until Monday, so every bit will be used. It'll be full by pickup.

The chore is long overdue but will be worth the effort. I ordered a 30 yard dumpster but should have got a 40. Oh well. There's so much junk to clear that I'll need another one next month anyway to finish the job.

The weather prognosticators will give you a temperature and follow it up with a 'real feel'. The two numbers rarely align. A temp of 54 might feel like 57. Age is like that. After three hours working at filling that 30 yarder Friday, my 64 year old frame has a real feel of 81. But, back at it later today.

No bites from radioactive spiders yet either. I don't know if I'm happy or disappointed by that.

Mom's Turn

We know all about Dad jokes, right? As a dad, I've proudly and defiantly told my share. But what about Moms? Why don't Mom jokes get their day? Well, let's rectify that. Here's a Mom joke, from me very own Mom.

Mom suffered with diabetes the last twenty or so years of her life, but that didn't get her down. When declining a sugary treat of whatever kind she would explain, "No, thank you. I'm already so sweet I have to take pills for it."

Right on, Mom!

People is People

I like people. I really do. I firmly believe that I'm a people person. But man, sometimes I don't understand people.

At the old barn, I routinely fix things which nearly any one of you could fix yourself. I'm talking about stuff so easy that a kindergartener could figure it out. So you see how I got the job.

But anyway, a common chore is replacing the wrong bolts with the right ones. I won't go into a lot of depth here, but a guy will replace, say, a steel 3/8 bolt with a standard 16 threads per inch, something you can get at any hardware, with a wood screw. Wood screws have many more threads per inch and, more importantly, are not meant to hold metal parts together. They're made for holding pieces of wood together. Hence, ahem, the term wood screws. Yet this very morning I replaced a wood screw with the proper steel bolt.

Why would anyone ever consider that changing steel bolts for wood screws might be a good idea? Yet I probably make a couple hundred bucks a year just replacing wrong screws and bolts with the right ones.

I like people. But at the end of the day, they're people, right?

Hockey History

On our visit to Toronto this past weekend, me son Frank and I went to the Hockey Hall of Fame. There were lots of good things there, although it did seem to be mostly team jerseys. Still, it was an interesting look at the players and all who made the game what it is today.

As we looked over a display about hockey dynasties, I told my son about how the Edmonton Oilers might have had one more Stanley Cup to their credit if it hadn't been for an 'own goal' in the 1986 playoffs. Edmonton scored against itself on a bad pass from defenseman Steve Smith, and the Calgary Flames bounced the Oilers from the Conference Final that year. "I remember watching it on TV, and I was as shocked as everyone in the arena," I told Frank. If you're interested, Here it is  

Lo and behold, we came across a video screen playing 'the ten worst blunders in hockey history' and what was number one?

Steve Smith's own goal. 

Serendipity. Unless you're Steve or the Edmonton Oilers.