Render under somebody else

Yesterday I had to go into a rendering plant. Let me tell you, if anything could make me vegan, it would be a trip to a rendering plant.

For those of you who don't know, rendering is the process through which animal by-products, the stuff which doesn't go into our meats (or at least isn't supposed to), are made into useful products such as greases and bone meals. This means they get all the bones, honed out carcasses, and entrails left over from the butchering process. Can I get a great big eee-yuck from everybody out there?

And that's as close as I will come to a description of the process, because it gets worse. You do not care to see what I saw yesterday. Truly. And rendering plants smell awful, as you might expect. As an added measure of enjoyment, it feels as though grease is just hanging in the air all around you. You feel slimy when you leave. I felt as though I were still smelling rendered whatever all the way home. It was a 200 mile trip by the way. I could not shower quickly enough when I got home, nor get fast enough what I wore directly into the washer. With an extra rinse.

Some political wag somewhere opined that you do not want to see how laws or sausages are made. I would emphatically add that you do not want to see the rendering process either. Like I said, it could almost make me vegan. I had to make myself eat a Big Mac for lunch just to get over it.

Fifty years ago

Fifty years is a lot different when they're behind you.

Fifty years ago today I raced home from school in time to see the Detroit Tigers win the World Series. That seems so long ago. Of course, at eight years old I wasn't exactly looking fifty years into the future. I doubt I could have imagined fifty years then.

Now I can. Wow. Time does fly.

Picking up the pieces

One of the nice things about aging is that you get to talk about your health. That's because most of the people your age take health more seriously than they used to, and like to brag about it when it's good and moan about it when bad.

Well, other than that I still can't shake occasional dizzy spells and light headedness, mine's pretty good. I have blood work twice a year with regular checkups and all my numbers are where the doctor wants them. Other than my vitamin D. I've been taking a vitamin D supplement every day for two years now. In order that I never forget, I leave the bottle right at my bedside. It's the first thing I see, so therefore the first thing I do in the morning is take my vitamin D.

I noticed awhile back that the gel caps I buy begin to stick together slightly once a bottle is in use. As a result I've gotten into the habit of shaking it in order to loosen up the caps. Naturally I did that this morning as has become my habit. And I learned a valuable lesson today: make sure to shut the bottle after use.

I suppose I shook it harder than necessary even if the cap had been properly closed. But for whatever reason I slung gel caps all across my side of the bed. It took me ten minutes to pick them up...and I'll probably never find them all, depending on exactly where they skittered as the fell across the floor, to hide under the bed or dresser or book case.

So close your meds. And don't shake things up too much.

Rainy day Cloyce

Back in the old neighborhood, so me Pops story goes, there was a house painter. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Anyway, he was a good house painter, but he would not work when it rained. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Only Cloyce apparently took it to extremes. As Pops tells it, one day three drops of rain fell. One hit Cloyce.

He postponed his jobs that day. Hey, a man has to have principles...

Intimidating the locals

So we've vacationed in the little town of Hessel, Michigan for coming up on forty years now. Just down the road a piece is Cedarville. Sometimes, it seems, the two villages get a little bit fractious with each another.
One year when my sons were teenagers, there was some small dispute between the towns during our vaycay. Apparently Cedarville was trying to muscle in on Hessel's action, you see, trying to take over an antique boat show which Hessel had hosted since its start. A few Hessel citizens were complaining about that one day as my boys and I stood nearby.
After listening to the complaints for a couple of minutes, my sons walked over to the tiny crowd. Both of them were punching fists from one hand into the open palms of the other. My oldest grunted to get their attention. "Uhmm. We're from Detroit. Ya want us to take of this?" he asked.
The four people looked at them and replied nervously something like, no, that's okay.
But Hessel has kept its boat show ever since.

Not a bum

Me Grandpa Joe rode the rails back in the 1920s. He hopped freights whenever the spirit moved him. Consequently, he lived all over the United States in his late teens and early twenties. I have to admit there's a part of me who admires that roaming lifestyle. Go where you decide when you decide. It was certainly easier to do that a century ago, to stay off the grid and just live your life. Ah well.

He wasn't a bum, though, as many folks think of those who traipsed around the nation as he did back then. He was a hobo. Hobos worked their way around. When Joe got off a train somewhere, he looked for a few weeks' work. Even hobos needed a couple bucks.

Consequently he worked on many farms and in factories, and even a couple stints on ranches, once in Montana and once in North Dakota. Part of his job in Montana, oddly, interestingly enough, was taking the ranch owner's wife to Church. Joe was a serious Catholic and went wherever he landed; in that case the rancher wasn't and didn't attend Church, but his wife was and did. So when Joe was there he drove woman to Church. He was going anyway and at the time it saved the boss the trouble. It didn't hurt that he apparently made a couple extra dollars on an off day doing what he would have done anyway.

But to the real point. Hobos worked (well, okay, other than with the stolen train rides) while bums just wanted a handout. Hobos looked down on bums. Joe was a hobo. Don't call him nuthin' but that.

Fake threats

I like when you can joke with people. Especially folks you only meet once.

A few weeks ago I left very early for a sales trip. I was wide awake and staring at the unentertaining TV and figured, might as well get started. What this meant was that I had a lot of extra time to kill. So, when I came across a truck stop a couple hours out of Detroit, I figured I may just treat myself to a sit down breakfast.

I ordered an omelette and once finished eating I sought out the waitress to pay directly, as I don't like leaving cash on the table. She had given me the bill a few minutes before.

When she came out from the kitchen and started towards the register, I slapped the bill on the counter and said in mock anger, "Let's settle this!"

In a perfect reply she demanded, "Right here, right now!"

We both laughed, then I paid and was on my way. It wasn't the worst start to a day.