The Apple Falls

They say they apple doesn't fall far from the tree. They say that because it's true.

Me Pops would routinely get, I thought, very hung up on time. He would always want the first appointment of the day with his doctor, typically 8 AM, and would be in the waiting room at 7:15. Dad was the prototypical dad: it doesn't hurt at all to get there a bit early. 

I generally felt he thought too much about how much time something would take. Back in the day, he might be sending me on a pickup that was four miles from the old barn and hasten me along with the admonition, "You better go, it's going to take most of the morning." Not really, I would think to myself. It could take maybe as long as 45 minutes if things worked modestly against me, but no big deal.

Yesterday morning I was sending me brother Phil out for two stops, one in Oak Park, one in Ferndale. They are near northern suburbs of Detroit, neighbors, in fact, as they share city limits on one side. At most they're six miles from the Shop. We're looking at no more than a 15 mile round trip. Even factoring in the inevitable down time at both stops it would take Phil an hour, hour and a half or so, tops, outside of a catastastroke, as me Grandpa Joe used to say, to get the job done.

Still, as Phil pottered around the old barn for a few minutes before leaving I found myself thinking, "You oughta get going, boy, it's going to take you most of the day." I didn't say it, but I thought it.

Either way, the apple has fallen.

Tiring

It's all so tiring, life, isn't it? Everything in politics is a catastastroke, to use the term me me Grandpa Joe invented Sports are analyzed to death. I just want to see a batting average or win-loss record, that's all. The future is bright but might be dim, depending on who's doing the talking. And in all three cases, there's a wave of detail rolling over you from the ocean of media available.

I understand details, if something's your specialty. But part of the trouble with the world is the constant barrage of them, and from all sides. It's really too much. I'm not sure anyone can get it all down pat.

I wonder if that's the point. I remember a shop foreman I saw frequently when I was delivering me Grandpa Joe's welders. A big sign in his office proclaimed, 'If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull'. Don't worry about actually making sense. Overwhelm the masses with too much information to readily comprehend, even if it's nonsense. When that doesn't work, well, create a new wave.

Maybe the best thing to do is ignore it all and act on common sense. I think so. And yes, it exists. The rolling tide hasn't erased basic right and wrong from the chalkboard. It certainly doesn't keep us from understanding hits divided by at bats.

What the Future Brings

A week ago we weren't expecting any snow for this coming Friday in Detroit. This morning the local weather scientists are saying we should get 4 to 8 inches. Yesterday it was supposed to be 2 to 4. Who knows what tomorrow might bring.

I get it, I get it, I get it. Weather prediction isn't quite an exact science. Chuck Gaidica, a renowned weather reporter around these parts, once remarked that after 5 to 7 days all bets are off on forecasting. 

Makes sense to me. What is so irritating on the matter is that so many prognosticators (I don't think Gaidica is among them, to be fair) tell us that because of ever increasing global warming, a phenomena surely closely reliant on weather, we'll have a catastastroke in ten or twelve years. Never mind that the ten or twelve year countdown to doomsday seems to start over, oh, every 10 or 12 years.

If you can't tell me last Friday how much snow we'll have this Friday, I ain't got much confidence in what you assert for a decade from now. Period. End of report.

Sensor-ship

I am against censorship, the one which we are usually thinking about when it comes to free speech. But I am also against sensor-ship. Our cars especially have too many whistles and bows which tell us all sorts of things which are generally unnecessary.

Check engine light? That's a frequent 'warning' which in the high ninety-ninth percentile means absolutely nothing. But folks panic when they see it come on. Tire low warning light? I have dealt with several vehicles where the problem wasn't the tires but the sensors themselves. Yet it comes on and everything's a catastastroke. 

If your engine is running fine and you're not low of fluids or something is obviously wrong (an unusual noise or some such), ignore check engine signals. If your tires look fine then the sensor is likely too, uh, sensitive. 

You know who benefits from this over refinement? Your car dealers and mechanics, who make money on your fear. I say, don't give them the satisfaction.

To Everything

I am not a believer in climate change in the sense where it's an impending catastastroke, to use one of me Grandpa Joe's coined terms. But I do believe the climate changes over time. Greenland had a growing season a thousand years ago; that's part of how and why the Norse were able to settle there, at least for a while. The glaciers covered Texas a few thousand years before that. The climate changes. I'm not sure we can do much about that or how much we even actually affect it. Nature, too, is resilient. She'll fight back and win her share of battles.

So in that light, I do wonder if the seasons are slowly shifting. My furnace kicked on this morning and I had to layer in order to be warm for my morning walk today. It's May 17th, if you hadn't noticed. We're nearly two months into Spring here in Michigan. It seems rather late for such necessities.

I don't recall May being so cold so late when I was in my teens, yet the last several have been chilly. The leaves have been slow to show up on the trees and the flowers aren't blooming. I only just mowed the lawn for the first time last Saturday; the grass just wasn't growing. Conversely, October and November seem to me to stay warmer later than way back then too. As such, I can't help wonder if the seasonal calendar is becoming off a bit. It's something I'm merely curious about, because even if it's true I see no need to worry. It's just how the climate has gone about its business for all of history.

Yellow Powder Explosion

I like ramen noodles. I never had a problem with that until recently, when my clumsiness caused a minor catastastroke.

As any fan of ramen knows, you boil the noodles and then add a packet of seasoning, typically chicken, beef, or shrimp, although as with so many things there are many (far too many) other flavors available. The chicken seasoning is yellow, essentially a bright yellow and heavily salted power.

Last Wednesday I went to stir in chicken seasoning from the ramen noodles I had just boiled. Opening the little foil packet, which is at best an inch and a half by two inch rectangular pouch, it slipped out of my hands and towards the floor, bouncing off my left pant leg and stove door as it fell.

You've seen the short videos of glitter bombs exploding on You Tube, perhaps? Glitter rushes everywhere and impacts everything. I felt as though there was yellow powder over the entire kitchen. Except, of course, for the shadow outline of me across the cabinets behind where I stood. That yellow powder went everywhere.

I had never imagined so much color coming from something so small.

Let it go

"Don't have a catastastroke." I think it was one of Grandpa Joe's favorite phrases. Yet I'm sure your interest is in the term 'catastastroke' It's so unique that I'm not sure how to spell the word. But Joe used it a lot.

That's kinda ironic really. Those who still remember him no matter how fondly also remember how he could stir up a honest's nest on a dime. He got mad quickly, and often, it seemed, without significant provocation. But when the time was right, he was the first to caution against that catastastroke.

I think I get what he meant. Maybe he didn't live his own words as well as he could have but that can't make his point wrong. We're all hypocrites to one degree or another yet that doesn't condemn the good we do or the best things we say. I think what Grandpa meant was actually fairly simple. Don't make things more than they are, and when things get tough, just relax and deal with it.

So go out there today and deal with your work or your chores or what have you. And if things go poorly, well, deal with it. Don't have a catastastroke.

It's a catastastroke

"Don't have a catastastroke." I think it was one of Grandpa Joe's favorite phrases. Yet I'm sure your interest is in the term 'catastastroke' It's so unique that I'm not sure how to spell the word. But Joe used it a lot.

That's kinda ironic really. Those who still remember him no matter how fondly also remember how he could stir up a honest's nest on a dime. He got mad quickly, and often, it seemed, without significant provocation. But when the time was right, he was the first to caution against that catastastroke.

I think I get what he meant. Maybe he didn't live his own words as well as he could have but that can't make his point wrong. We're all hypocrites to one degree or another yet that doesn't condemn the good we do or the best things we say. I think what Grandpa meant was actually fairly simple. Don't make things more than they are, and when things get tough, just relax and deal with it.

So go out there today and deal with your work or your chores or what have you. And if things go poorly, well, deal with it. Don't have a catastastroke.