...Beep!!... The Courtship of SweetHeart and S*** Head!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        ...BEEP!!...  The Courtship of SweetHeart

                             and S*** Head!  

In the early 1970s -- in those halcyon days before GeezerHood kicked in --  I began to woo my SweetHeart.  Interested in traveling there to investigate the possibility of purchasing a small-town newspaper in west central Colorado, I asked her to join me.  She responded, "Well...  (long pause)...  if you expect me to drop everything and follow you around the country, you're sadly delusional!!"  (She may even have added, "stupid"!)  

"Gosh," I responded quickly, "I wouldn't expect you to do so out of wedlock."  That was my highly romantic marriage proposal!  It has become the stuff, perhaps not of legend, but of stories told to family and friends, engendering considerable amusement.  

I was at the time employed as a public relations counsel by a major advertising and PR agency in Milwaukee.  My brilliant career in that capacity ended as the agency, through mismanagement and other factors, closed and locked its doors for the last time.  Shortly before the end, I was booted out, terminated, unceremoniously discharged, made redundant...   I suppose, as one of the newest members of the firm, my dismissal was considered prudent, a money saving exigency.  My immediate supervisor knew the end was near!  Figured I was more than merely expendable.  

I took a job at a saloon, knowing full well that a person of my talent and experience would soon find a new career suited to my personality, skills, successes and educational achievements.  Eventually?...  

My courtship of SweetHeart then in full bloom, her family having accepted the idea on a somewhat tentative level, I was permitted to call upon her at her family home.  On one of the first of those visits, driving my "Woodie," a disreputable, rusty and battered station wagon of questionable vintage, I parked in front of her house on a rainy Saturday.  [That same day, an enormous tree limb, dislodged by lightening (I think?), fell on the "Woodie" implanting a crater-like dent in the roof, adding yet another facet to its personality!]

But, moving on...   I approached SweetHeart's family home, the front door being open with no one in sight.  I knocked.  "Hello," I shouted several times.  "Anyone at home?" I asked, rather timidly. Finally, a woman's voice paraded across what seemed like several rooms to the doorway at which I shuffled, confused and quizzical.  

"Honey," the voice began, "say, 'Say Beep.' "  

"What?" I mumbled, now more perplexed and bewildered.  "I'm sorry," I added.  "What should I do?  Do I come in now?"

"Honey, say, 'Say Beep,'" the voice insisted again, this time in a more urgent and commanding tone.  I entered the house.

"Um...   Beep," I said, haltingly, the word falling off my tongue in a somewhat diffident volume, as if clearing my mouth of a rancid nut by means of a polite cough, vs. a rude 'Pi-tui!"

As if I had pressed a formidable, red "launch button," beeps resounded from every corner of the house.  I caught on!  My task was then to find all of the "beepers," family members who were making their various locations known, hiding places, by means of the beeping.  I wandered slowly, but deliberately, if somewhat cautiously, into the home's various rooms and passageways.  A louder beep directly my pace into the main bathroom where I met SweetHeart's brother, Boobers, who was standing in the family bathtub.  I introduced myself.  "Hello, I'm the suitor," I said, stupidly.  We shook hands.

Johnny was under a bed.  He laughed at me as I reached under the bed extending my hand in greeting, perhaps even to help him dislodge himself.  Jimmy was in a closet.  Same greeting.  SweetHeart was in a different closet.  Re-united, the five us us chatted and laughed amiably as SweetHeart recounted in some detail the family tradition of "Beep," telling stories of other "Beep" adventures involving other "victims" in other parts of the country.  A particularly funny tale took place in Las Vegas, a story she told with colorful relish, as if chewing on, savoring a favorite dish.

Some several minutes passed as all of us continued to laugh and ruminate on our own personal adventures in foolish behavior.  Suddenly, SweetHeart's mother appeared.  "You don't play fair!" she announced with mock anger.  "I waited a long time!  You were supposed to find me too."  The comment was aimed at me.  I apologized profusely, and with true sincerity.  

Boobers said, "Sorry. Mom.  We got caught up in introductions and 'Beep' stories.  Couldn't help ourselves.  We'd have found you eventually...  I think."  That caused more merriment.

Don't remember which brother it was, Johnny or Jimmy, but I was told after several more minutes to go and find their "beeping" father.  I was directed to the home's basement Where "Big Artie" was apparently secluded in his workshop.  I tripped down some 13 basement steps.  

"Say 'beep' SweeetHeart's Father," I said, feeling like a buffoon in a cartoon!  

Slowly turning toward me, a hammer in his hand, his face bearing a look of pure contempt.  "I don't play 'Beep,' " he barked, his words hurled at me like a sack of paving gravel.

"Oh," said I, timidly, "I'm sorry, sir."  I turned quickly and went back upstairs.  Facing the three smirking brothers, I said, "He doesn't play 'Beep.' "  The smirks morphed into uproarious laughter, and it lasted a long while.  The brothers liked to tease and put certain people in amusingly embarrassing circumstances!  I got used to it...  Boobers and I became great pals over time -- the other two brothers too, but SweetHeart and I had less social interaction with them.

In a relatively brief passage of time, when I'd come to see and woo SweetHeart, Big Artie warmed to me.  He would actually put down his newspaper and greet me with some deference.  A rare occurrence among SweetHeart's suitors, she informed me.  I felt honored.  I think it was the fact that he and I were both fond of writing, and both of our careers required a degree of proficiency in written communications.  In time, we got on rather well, Big Artie and I. 

Now, some 47 years into our marriage, SweetHeart, our children and I -- even our grandchildren -- continue to enjoy "Beep."  It's become part of our family's traditions, sort of a heritage to cherish and pass on...  We played "Beep" when our younger daughter arrived on a weekend day several months ago, her long-distance boyfriend in tow.  (The young man lives in Salt Lake City...  It's a cross-country romance, but seems to be an enduring one!) He and I met in our bathtub (another tradition?).  To be clear, I was standing full-clothed in the tub.  We shook hands.  I like him.  He's a decent chap, and he loves our daughter. 

We are willing to teach all interested parties the basic rudiments of "Beep."  Click or call!  Politicians are well advised to learn, practice and play "Beep" at all political events, rallies and legislative sessions!  It could easily lead to a kinder and gentler political landscape.  We can help.  Call, click or stop by for affordable lessons.  Thank you!  

Humbly Submitted, 12-07-2020 -- Joel K.

 

      

What's Up, Doc?

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        ...What's Up, Doc?  

Is this, the dawning of the Age of a-...  GeezerHood...?    

If I'm honest, "dawning" is a bit inaccurate.  GeezerHood rolled over me some time ago, and on me it lingers, like a threadbare coat of peeling paint!  I guess when I think about labeling the Age realistically, we Geezers find ourselves in the Age of Doctor Visits and Medical Invasions and Interventions.  We have regularly scheduled imperatives, in which we're poked, prodded, pricked with sharp instruments and have latex hands and bratwurst-sized digits crammed into our private and more sensitive orifices!! 

With the readers' kind indulgence, I shall offer some true-life examples and episodes.  Some years ago, I contracted the affliction known as "scabies," or skin lice.  I visited a dermatologist who examined me as if the planet were already in the throes of COVID-19.  

He asked me to uncover various parts of my anatomy to view for himself the damage done.  At one point during the examination, I tried to hand the doctor my afflicted penis.  

"I'm not touching that thing," he said, drawing back from the apparently offending appendage.  

"But," said I, stammering, "aren't you a medical doctor?  Aren't you used to examining all manner of body parts, I mean, in a way that requires handling the part in question?"  He recoiled again.  I

left with several prescriptions.

Then there was Doctor Firefly!  I complained of a broken testicle.  During his investigation of the offending body part, Dr. Firefly asked about a rash present in the neighborhood of the aforementioned broken orb.  "How long you had that," said he to me, referring of course to the rash.  

"I dunno," said I in reply.  "Long time, I guess."  

He left the examination cubicle and returned with a small slice of paper, a prescription as it turned out.  Handing the paper to me he said, "Here, spray this stuff on your feet and your crotch'll clear up."  I related the tale to my three brothers-in-law at a family beer-drinking session in SweetHeart's family's living room.  (None of the three is still with us, sad to report!).  They all laughed merrily, and for a long time!  Dr. Firefly was a partner of the family's primary care doctor.

(One of the brothers told me that their father, the family patriarch, once complained to his doc, Doctor Hairingplug, that every time he, the father, drank manhattans, he's get a giant headache.  The advice came quickly, "Then stop drinking manhattans."  This, medical advice, too, the brothers and

👎

SweetHeart enjoyed relating when discussing health issues and sound medical advice.)   

More recently, at the advice of an ophthalmologist whom I consulted at the Eye Institute, I was advised to undergo cataract surgery on my cloudy right eye.  I did.  It, the surgery, took place in January of this year.  The projected 15-minute procedure took more than an hour.  Why?  The doctor told me, "The bag broke."  The "bag" is a sort-of "breakwater" barrier or membrane that surrounds the lens, and, I think, holds the lens in place.  Post surgery, I kept seeing the biggest "floater" I had ever witnessed in my field of vision.  It looked like a baboon riding a mule!

I had an appointment with an ophthalmologist our primary care physician recommended.  He told me the surgeon has actually done a fine job, and said that my vision was "nearly 20 / 20."  He added that I needn't have cataract surgery on my left eye for at least a year or two.  I thanked him profusely.  I'll go back in a year or so, a future appointment having been tentatively scheduled. 

Being an avid volleyball player for more than 40 years, during one of our championships matches, the Achilles Tendon in my right leg suffered a complete rupture.  We played in a 6-person league, but our team consisted of just four magnificent volleyballers, two men and two women, SweetHeart,

one of the women players.  Our male partner told me to balance on the court on one leg, lest the referee award the championship to the other team, given we were only four!  She allowed the remaining three to play on.  It was the third of three sets.  We won the championship, one of six or seven during our prime playing years.  

The ortho doctor sewed the two severed parts of the tendon together.  The doctor told SweetHeart he had a heckova time finding the two ends!  I wore a boot for several months, and eventually returned to the court, healed and leaping better and higher than ever!  (At least that's my recollection...  having recovered my one-foot vertical leap!).  Prior to that memorable occasion, I tore the muscle mass in my right calf.  Everything seemed to happen to my right side, and I'm not even that conservative!  

I cracked both of my ankles, each requiring medical or surgical intervention.  The most embarrassing, my right ankle, of course, occurred when I was searching a parking lot for my friend's vehicle.  To do so, I had to stand on a toilet to reach an elevated window, the only viewing vantage point to the parking area.  I slipped and my foot twisted painfully and landed in the toilet bowl.  I not only suffered the pain of a cracked ankle, but the embarrassment of a "soaker" that was all too apparent as I hobbled back into the bar room to await the arrival of my companion.  We were poised to attend a hockey match!!  (I had to hop a lot, and hobble too, needless to add, to reach my seat high up in the arena...  You'd have thought a kindly usher would have seated me on the players' bench, or kinda closer to ice, maybe...!)

There's another strange thing going on!  For an extended period of time, I keep banging my left elbow...  on door jambs, car doors, walls, windows...  I told my doctor about this painful epidemic of elbow-banging, showing her what I believe is a growing lump in that region of my arm joint.  "What

do you think," I asked.  "Should I get an X-ray?  I think there's something wrong with my house!  It may have shifted...  maybe the doorways have contracted!  What should I do?"

"Stop banging your elbow," my doctor advised.  She's a marvel.  A medical expert of the finest ilk.  I've been heeding her advice.  Amazingly effective therapy!!  (But now I'm banging the other elbow!). 

*************************************************************************************

Please forgive me, but I digress, a bit...   I should mention that today's my birthday, and it's Veterans' Day.  I'm a veteran.  We've had a free lunch, free coffee, a free pound of coffee, discounts at the shoe shop and at one of them big boxy stores too!  What a day.  We're soon heading out for an almost free dinner!  What a day, I say again!!  Thank you and good night to all my dear family members, friends and other devotees.  Happy Veterans' Day to all of our fellow brothers and sisters in military service, and its noble veterans!!  

Humbly Submitted 11-11-2020 -- Joel K.  

 

    

   

An Homage to Cribbage... All A-Board...!!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        An Homage to Cribbage...  All A-Board...!!

There are those of us who play and enjoy card games as if the activity were a kind of religious ritual, a passion, a necessary endeavor to ensure one's salvation or the attainment of true bliss.  And, there are those of us who have never quite embraced the apparent joy of playing cards and the many variations that lure the faithful to green, felt-topped altars and smoky recreation rooms or basement sanctuaries.  

Of course, there are exceptions.  Cribbage, for example.  GeezerHood, my current state of being, is a fine time to to haul out the cribbage board, I must admit.  And frequently!  

My family was and is devoted to the splendid game of Cribbage, a game of counting 15's, double runs, pairs, three and four of a kind, the fine art of "pegging..."  There is a degree of skill, but the cards dealt are of paramount importance if one is be the first to travel successfully along the 121 peg holes on the classic board. 

My brother claims to be among the world's finest cribbage players, if not THE finest!  He scored a 29-hand during his illustrious career, the highest point total one can achieve when playing the game -- three 5's dealt along with the "right Jack," and then the fourth 5 is cut, and is the same suit as the Jack!  My father and paternal grandfather (both now deceased) laid claim to the "best player" title.  Perhaps my dear brother feels entitled to be heralded as heir apparent to the throne.  Our dear friend, Jimmy J., would argue the point.

Somewhat recently, perhaps seized by a didactic fit of semi-lunacy, I asked my beloved grandson, Seany, if he'd care to learn the game.  He agreed.  I taught him the rudiments.   In our first outing, the little scoundrel actually "skunked" me.  The term applies to beating an opponent by 30 points or more, the number that constitutes a "street" in the game of cribbage.  There are four of them, perhaps needless to add, given the information offered in paragraph three of this writing.  There are also "double skunks," one of the ultimate humiliations one can endure when playing cribbage.

Seany seeks to play his Uncle Kris, my brother, and hopes to "skunk" him.  When informed of this outrageous suggestion, Brother Kris responded, "The kid's a real dreamer..."

There's a certain kind of hubris that attaches to the game, as many self-described astute players, or "experts" or champions, feel themselves so extravagantly superior as "masters of the game" that any upstart who might deign to refute their claims are forever labeled "anathema"!  (Deserving, perhaps, of "excommunication" from the exalted playing fields of cribbage!?)

My brother has actually constructed cribbage boards, even a cribbage table.  Although, regarding the latter, his zeal to execute the thing caused him to drill holes completely through the table.  (Maybe not a mistake, as an opponent's peg might disappear from view causing a "backward march" along the board...   "advantage to the champion"...   meaning the creator of the cribbage table!  ("Hey, if you can't keep track of where your front peg is supposed to be, you should be penalized...   Let me just move your peg a little further back...  There, that's better!" )  

My grandson has truly fallen in love with the great game of cribbage, and frequently asks me or his Baba (grandmother / SweetHeart) to make special dates to play a game or two (perhaps three, in case players need to determine the overall winner by means of a rubber match!)  He now controls possession of my favorite cribbage board.  I fear it may never return to my custody!!  

Seany's sister is almost 11 years old.  I call her Phi Phi (like "Fee Fee"), or Sweet Angel Face.  She, too, has taken to the game of cribbage, and is doing so impressively well.  She understands the cards or point counting process and the art of pegging.  She and her brother play frequently.  It is, after all, a family tradition!  It was imperative that both learn the game, and play regularly!

SweetHeart's grandmother had a way of making her grandson, SweetHeart's brother Boobers, a bit crazy when they played.  The grandmother would make a smirky face when she'd win, scrunch up her eyes and nose and smile with a kind of excessive "in your face" flavor.  Boobers' (actually Bob!) would turn purple in the face and become more than a bit angry.  He, too, considered himself the finest player on the planet.  Losing for Bobby was not a pleasant experience, and probably, according to him, a rare one!  (Hmmm...  We wonder if he's playing cribbage in some ethereal place or card table afterlife!)

Here's another thing.  Cribbage is often a pastime within a pastime.  Fishing, for example.  When

it's too dark to "toss a line in," what's there to do?  Play cards, of course...  Cribbage!  Oh, and drink beer, lots of beer.  Salted peanuts go well also with cribbage and beer.  My own dear father was, in a way, immortalized (if unseen!) in the picture above, painted by my brother, Kris, and entitled, "Dad Wins."  A copy hangs proudly on the east wall of my cluttered office.  (The fish board at right is a photo of a work of art, not a painting!)

At one point in my brilliant career in marketing communications of one sort or another, I had a cribbage board designed and built by a fine wood working professional.  The board sported the shape and logo of a well-know beer producing company, a client of mine at the time.  It had a hinged lid for storing playing cards and wooden pegs.  I packed it with logo'ed cards and presented it with great

aplomb and confidence to my client.  He kept it, but never placed an order for hundreds as I had hoped.  Possibly he felt it was a "one of a kind" treasure, a magnificent keepsake that should never be duplicated or reproduced en masse, an original that only he could possess!  (Jerk!)

Oh well, and what the hell, those are the ups and downs of life in commerce.  Success is and can be a capricious imp, and that in a way brings us back to the main topic.  Is cribbage, therefore, like life, a kind of metaphor?  Sometimes we're dealt a 12 or an 18 or a 24 hand, sometimes it's 19!  (It's impossible to score 19 in cribbage...  can't be done!)       

My brother, SweetHeart and I, with like-minded friends, have held Cribbage Tournaments, several in private homes, at least one in a popular saloon.  My brother has gone so far as to participate in a fabled cribbage tournament in Las Vegas, NV.  Amazing how pervasive the game has become over time...  like bowling, maybe??!  

In the end, I guess, we simply have to play the cards we're dealt.  (Don't you just love tired cliches?)  Those of us who are excessively fond of the fine game of cribbage will continue to play on, to count our hands and move our pegs ever closer to the 121st peg hole.  Hoping to win.  Hoping that one day we'll stare in wonder at three fives and a jack, praying to the gambling gods that our opponent will cut the fourth five! And then, at last, we can pass into oblivion knowing that our lives have been richly fulfilled!!  

(Special Note of Dedication:   For Brother Kris, SweetHeart, Seany, Phi Phi, Jimmy J. and all of our dear friends and relatives similarly obsessed with Cribbage and the lure of the Double Skunk!!) 

Humbly Submitted, 09-23-2020 -- Joel K.

 

 

    

On Tyranny... (Time to Stand Up for Genuine Democracy!)

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:          

On Tyranny!

(Time to Stand Up for Genuine Democracy!!)

An Excellent  Book that All Should Read, and Heed!  All Good and Thinking Americans would be well served to be aware and informed.  Read the 20 Lessons, and combat the tyranny in our own nation...  Recognize tyranny!  Redeem our Democracy! 

All of us would be wise, and well served, to read,  On Tyranny — Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century, by Timothy Snyder.  It informs us how to recognize tyranny and tyrants, and how easily people can fall prey to complacency and lemming-like behavior.  It is our duty as true Americans to combat tyranny and the tyrants in our midst.

Be an American; vote as an American, perhaps more importantly, as a humanist! None of us was born republican or democrat. The upcoming presidential elections should not be about repubs or dems or other political party devotees, but rather about true Americans who care about this country.  (By using our heads and hearts -- NOT manufactured fear and foreboding -- we can all make good and informed choices!)

And that brings us quite naturally to the definition of America, nationhood generally. This or any nation can only be defined, essentially and primarily, in terms of its body politic, its population of human beings, people, all of us!!  Not symbols, not one political party or another, not merely the wealthy, not any economic class.  Nor is a nation merely real estate defined by its political boundaries.  The nation is US!! All of us…. The People!!  By extension -- it is fitting to add -- we are a nation of human beings who embrace a common code of behavior, as embodied in our U.S. Constitution and canon of laws (at least most of us do!).

What about the rights of all Americans, any citizen’s right to free expression?  ”Demagogues exploit free speech to install themselves as tyrants,” to paraphrase Mr. Snyder, and tyrants try to control the press through misleading information, ignorance and lies.  Consider the oft-repeated and strident cry, “fake news.”  True patriots have long been advised to speak truth to power!  Do true Americans seek to sue major newspapers that are doing their duty, telling the truth as they see it, informing the nation’s citizens? Whether news or editorial opinion, the American Press has the right to exercise and the responsibility of Freedom of Speech, freedom of expression, freedom to expose tyranny.  

Genuine Americans are not racists or woman-hating, boorish, sex-abusive loudmouths who have been accused — perhaps legitimately — as sex offenders.  Any woman who votes for such an individual is voting against her own enlightened self interests, and should feel embarrassed and misguided in the act of political support of a demagogue, any demagogue! 

Some of us have canvassed, that is, gone door-to-door for republicans and democrats, Greens and Independents.  To be abundantly clear, we vote as Americans for the best and most caring candidates, meaning genuine Americans, authentic, thinking humanists.  How many of us are so dedicated and devoted to the principles of true Democracy to have canvassed for their chosen candidates?  A question we should all ask of ourselves!   

Try to recall the behavior of Nazi and Communist despots of the 1940s and 50s. Totalitarian regimes.  Killing or imprisoning those who did not agree with their policies, those who were not “the right kind of people” as Snyder writes, and rightly cautions American citizens to heed...

“…Hitler’s language rejected legitimate opposition: The people always meant some people and not others,  encounters were always  struggles …and any attempt by free people to understand the world in any different way was  defamation of the leader.”

What’s next?  Concentration camps!  Oh, wait, we have them at the Mexican border!

Sound like what totalitarian regimes referred to as justice? Hitler’s courts? Stalins? I mean, why would we want to hold a trial with truth, evidence, witness testimony? Apparently too many so-called public servants care nothing about due process and truth!! 

Regrettably, too many of our elected officials are bought and paid for.  C’mon Americans, let’s get back to real democracy, and elect a president in 2020 — senators and more congressional representatives as well — who truly give a damn about this country, meaning us, the people, the citizenry…. All of us!!  Not just their wealthy, the oligarchs, the plutocrats and other forces of greed and extravagant self-interest.  ("Citizens United" does not serve us, the People, but only the greed-driven, biased wealthy and overly-privileged who prefer exclusivity to inclusivity!!)  

Some chapter headings and imperatives from Timothy Snyder that we can heed:  Do not obey in advance!  (e.g. Challenge authority!)  Beware the one-party state!  Remember professional ethics!  Be extremely wary of paramilitaries!  Believe in truth!  Investigate!  Contribute to good causes!  Learn from peers in other countries!  Listen for dangerous words!  Be a genuine patriot  (Not a lemming-like follower of ignorance, fear, tyrants and their lies!).  As a Veteran, I was and am proud to have served in the US Armed Forces, but I was also aware of whom and what I was serving.    

Let’s review… To be sure we know how to identify a tyrant!  Tyrants try to pack the judiciary with like-minded stooges, you know, more lemmings who think and act as they do!  Tyrants practice and trumpet racism as their personal “religion”!  Tyrants accept no criticism of their policies and ideas, and use insults, lies, hatred of women, when necessary, even unlawful punishment to quell dissent…. Oh, and specious “flag-waving” and chanting to suggest that they are the “true patriots”!  

Of course, thinking citizens know who the true patriots really are.  Tyrants do their best to recruit “sheep,” using fear, fear mongering and propaganda to mobilize frightened citizens who will follow them, even against their own self interests!  Tyrants use religion to suggest to the gullible that they are “god-fearing” devotees of truth and justice…. Or they verbally abuse and insult certain religions to vilify those they despise, those who are not “our kind of people”!  Tyrants refer to certain populations of individuals as, for example, “shithole” countries, those nations whose populations tyrants consider inferior! 

Of course, there are other characteristics of tyrants, and truly good citizens know the signs.  Many of us genuine Americans would like to suggest that if our elected, so-called "public servants" are so enamored with Mr. Putin of Russia, why not emigrate, get directly into bed with the Russian, if indeed, as it surely seems, oligarchy, plutocracy and totalitarianism are the flags you choose to wave!! 

Oh, yeah…. One more thing! The “China Virus”!?  I guess what we are to surmise is that COVID-19 belongs exclusively to the Chinese, so what the hell is it doing here??!! (Let's all try to understand the meaning of Delusion!) 

One more observation:  all of the nation’s grocery stores are well stocked, no empty shelves!!  Another magnificent lie at the time the statement was made!!  Is it possible certain of the nation's brains were kidnapped by alien grocers?  (Some of us continue to have difficulty finding the products we need at our "well-stocked" grocery stores...  Though it could be the fault of the "hoarders' brigade" I suppose!) 

Humbly  Submitted, 08-27-2020 --  Joel K.

They Grow Up too fast... Now Even the Grandkids Want the Stories!

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:                                         They Grow Up too Fast...   

Now Even the Grandkids Want the Stories!!

We're driving along cheerfully, taking the newly-turned teenaged (13) grandson to his soccer camp.  Suddenly he demands, from the back seat, just behind SweetHeart, his "Baba."  "Baba," he begins in a loud and gleeful voice, "tell me how Papa proposed to you."  He, the grandson, is already expecting a risible result, beaming in anticipation!

SweetHeart dives into the tale, and with a significant degree of relish.  "At some point, when we were dating, maybe for about 10 months or so into what Papa likes to call our 'courtship,' I can't

Map of Colorado...  Showing Alamosa!

remember exactly when, Papa tells me he's interested in considering the possibility of buying a small, weekly newspaper in Alamosa, Colorado.  'I'd like you to come with me,' he says."

"Well," SweetHeart / Baba continuing the story, feigning indignation as she did at the time of the actual event, "if you think for one moment I'm going to put in for a transfer to Denver (she flew for United Air Lines, and had recently re-located her flight base from Los Angeles to Chicago!), drop everything and follow you all over the country, you're very much mistaken. But then Papa replied, 'I wouldn't expect you to do so out of wedlock.'  That's Papa for you...  Captain Romance!" 

"I mean," SweetHeart / Baba continued, "who uses the word 'wedlock'?!"  

Seany, our grandson, was immediately consumed with laughter.  "Yeah, 'Captain Romance,' " he

Photo of Seany when he was very young, and
Papa was feeding him an ice cream cone.  
One of our favorite pix...  Now he's 13!!

echoed amid peals of laughter.  "Tell me another story about Papa."

"Hmmm," Baba began, "when Papa was first going to meet my entire family, we were all going out for dinner.  Papa had the habit of wearing the same suit, or outfit, for each day of the workweek.  This was a Friday.  His 'Friday suit' was actually pretty decent...  sort of a light-colored suit with brown flecks, dark brown shirt and a nubby tan tie.  His best outfit.  I was happy, anticipating he'd show up in that very outfit.  I went to the door, answering his ring.  'What happened to your Friday suit,' I asked, shocked and disappointed at the way he looked, certain I'd be embarrassed when my family got a load of him.  He was wearing the Friday suit, but his shirt was a pattern of blue, peach  and white stripes, and he was wearing a brown tie with gold lions!  It was awful.  He said his 'Friday shirt' was in the wash."

Seany's laughing, enjoying the tale.  "I should have had 'Garanimals,' " says Papa. 

"What's that?" Seany asks.  "I've never heard of that...  Garanimals?!"  

Baba answers, "It was a kind of kids' clothing from the 70s or 80s.  Shirts and pants had tags that identified which went with which, so that kids could pick out their own outfits, and their moms would know everything would match.  Little kids could dress themselves, choose their own clothes

Wondering if anyone remembers "Garanimals"?

for the day."

"Tell me another funny Papa story," Seany requests.

"Our first date!" Baba begins, remembering in a flash of intuition.  "On one occasion, and it wasn't the first time, I met Papa at a bar.  He came in with no money in his pockets, left with a snoot full and 65 cents...   My friend, Donna -- who liked Papa and had a friendship with him --  told me that I'd probably only ever meet Papa in bars, and he'd never call.  On that occasion, however, Papa said he had to make a trip to Denver, and he'd call me when he got back.  He did.  He called me and asked me on a date, to go to a Marquette Men's basketball game.  We spent the first half of the game with Papa looking for a free parking space. We made it for the second half.   'Captain Cheapskate.'

"Papa's and my friend, Pat, when I told him about that episode, said, 'You better get used to it.' " 

Seany laughed through the telling of the "date story," and as it came to an end, asked, "Who won

the basketball game?"  

Baba answered, "I think Papa did.  He saved five bucks in parking fees."  We arrived at Mount Mary University, site of Seany's soccer camp.  He was still smiling and chuckling as he exited the vehicle, grabbing his soccer sack and water bottle as he did.  "You know, we're picking you up.  See you at three.  We love you." Baba concluded, as she and Papa waved a goodbye.  

  

(Special Note of Dedication:    To Seany, in honor of his 13th Birthday, and a very special occasion that he'll experience in November of 2020.  We love you to bits!!  -- Baba and Papa!)

Humbly Submitted, 08-15-2020 -- Joel  K.

  

 

 

  

 

  

  

The "Damnpenic"... Retaining Sanity and a Sense of Purpose in its Midst...!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:     The "Damnpenic"...  Retaining Sanity and a Sense of Purpose in its Midst...!

In an effort to discover pleasant psychological vistas in these daunting times, I made several ridiculous videos, not to make light of the seriousness of our current circumstances, but to spread a bit of humor in dark times.  Admittedly, it's quite possible that the intended humor escaped the notice of the masses, but, in the realm of happy GeezerHood, one does one's best.

Plunging ahead with the theme of this writing, I thought it a creditable idea to share some of our activities and outings, intended merely to spread suggestions, sort of like Milorganite on a withering and hungry patch of an aged lawn.  (All Geezers need nourishment, after all!)    

Daily Hikes, for example...   SweetHeart and I have grown quite fond of the walk along the Milwaukee River in the Milwaukee Rotary Centennial Arboretum, a beautiful stretch of trail on the east and west sides of the aforementioned river.  We tend to walk all the way from the end of Park Place, just past the Urban Ecology Center, to the water's edge, and then south, on the East Trail.  

When you visit, look for the magnificent and iconic stone archway that marks one of the  entrances to the trail system. 

Continuing...   as we trek, we pass under the North Avenue bridge to the foot bridge that spans the river leading to the River Revitalization Foundation HQ and a view of Humboldt Avenue.  We trek across the foot bridge, pause midway to enjoy river views on both sides, enjoy the sights and sounds of birds and other walkers and their dogs, and eventually head back from whence we started.  A delightful walk, or hike.

On other occasions, returning to the theme of Daily Hikes or Walks, we trek through a portion of Lake Park (designed by Freddy Law Olmstead, you may recall), head down to Lincoln Memorial Drive and work our way to Water Tower Place.  We then climb the serpentine sidewalk-paved elevation  toward the Historic Water Tower across from the old hospital, then wind our way back north and homeward. 

I didn't mention Grant Park yet, did I?  Trek the Seven Bridges Trail.  It is a beautiful walk, well worth the time and it doesn't require a great deal of effort.  At one end of the arc, you come upon Lake Michigan.  From there you can enjoy a gorgeous view, and then circle back to the entrance.  And, yes, if you circumnavigate the entire trail, you'll cross or at least see all seven wooden bridges.  A glorious wilderness in the city.  Wonderful stuff.  You can even pause, strike an heroic pose and contemplate nature, your own self identify, mortality, pelicans...  

Of course, there are other, more essential activities that we all must accomplish -- visits to the green grocers to purchase necessities, for example.  Not nearly as much fun as trekking in wooded places or along bodies of water....  

Other potential diversions?  The laundromat?  Big box stores, garden centers if one is an avid gardener, watering holes for those who enjoy a spirited beverage, the library, restaurants with outdoor seating, museums, backyards with nicely spaced seating and the company of jolly good chums, parks, high fashion clothing shops, coffee houses, the sewer tunnel off Lloyd Street?...  But what's actually open?  Might be best to call first!   

Somewhat recently, SweetHeart and I traveled north a ways.  A necessary drive.  We had shopping to do for essentials, a delivery perhaps.  We stopped in Port Washington.  The popcorn shop was open, as the owners had some gift cartons to ship.  Lucky for us!  We enjoyed some yummy flavored popcorn (caramel with chocolate, maybe nuts too all jumbled together) as we journeyed home.

On certain occasions -- fortunately for us -- we have dear friends who are bee keepers and chicken keepers (if that's a correct construction??!).  We enjoy backyard visits, splendidly enhanced by communion with the bees and chickens.  It's fortunate for us that we can savor such a pastime with good and generous friends.  We go home with eggs, honey sometimes too!  

Today we were pleased to enjoy the company of some wonderful friends who invited us to gather in their backyard for coffee and conversation.  Hadn't seen one another for quite a long spell.  Great time, long overdue.  Good conversation.  We've conjured other reasons to venture from home, other outings...  but just wanted to provide a sampling for our beloved family members and friends, along with our legions of avid readers.  (Well...  "legions" may be a bit hyperbolic!) 


Thank you!  Stay safe and healthy, and keep that nasty virus from your doors!!

(Special Note of Dedication:   For SweetHeart, Great Friends and all the Chickens and Bees who love us enough to donate their eggs and honey with such exemplary generosity!  Thank you!)    

Humbly Submitted 06-23-2020 -- Joel K.