An Admirable Life; A Treasure to Cherish!

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

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    An Admirable Life; A Treasure to Cherish!

I wonder if it's true??  As we age, as we "step lightly" into the Golden Era of GeezerHood, do we ponder about, let our thoughts preoccupy and dote less on ourselves, and far more about

those good people in our spheres of friendship and family?  I hope that's the case, as selflessness is an attribute for which we should actively and consciously strive! Doncha Think?     

Here's a case in point.  There's a young woman I know...  I'll call her Beth, sometimes, more affectionately, Bethie!  She's a treasure in my life, a gift, brave, strong and remarkably resourceful.   She's a grown woman, and this story focuses on her life in adulthood.

Apologies for the unwanted
jwording ust above, or, just below
theimage of the Graduate!!
Thank you!

She earned a BA degree, subsequently a Master's Degree,  and became an educator in various organizations before joining a high school English Department.  Sadly, because, it seems, too many of our elected officials apparently believe that corruption and mediocrity are the attributes needed to blunder into public office, the teaching profession became marginalized.  Worse -- arguably perhaps the only profession that has the power to cure all of society's ills -- teachers, and education generally, were stripped of important rights and benefits in our state, and others as well.  Government officials can be and are, far too often, fatuous, insipid and outrageously short-sighted! 

Beth eventually left her teaching career and, following some other professional forays, joined a company in the IT field, and became a trainer, succeeding admirably.  She left that position after being courted by a stronger organization.  She was termed a valued and much sought-after "unicorn," her previous employer suggesting that she was merely "lucky" to be considered for a move into sales and marketing.  Today she thrives in her current

employment, and continues to be regarded as and is a highly valued asset, one whose future shines brightly.

Along life's pathway, Beth married -- back in 2004 -- but divorced about 11 years into the marriage.  She and her husband were simply not well matched, and the two parted amicably, having produced two remarkable children, whom they cherish, and of course share in separate lives and households.  A free spirit, Beth has charisma, great exuberance, a lively personality...   attributes her family would not part with for any bribe or promise.

Her children, now 12 and 10, they, Beth and and her parents enjoy frequent get togethers and travels.  She and the kids are delightful, fun and silly, the latter a trait her family prizes highly.  On a trip to Florida -- just to cite examples -- her son and "Papa," the grandfather, swam daily in the pool and played lots of games, including "elevator," amid squeals of laughter.  Romped like carefree fish in ocean waves as well.  Both children are excellent swimmers.  On one memorable occasion, Beth's daughter and Papa sat on the 

balcony, overlooking the sea.  Asked how she was enjoying Florida and various adventures therein, the young girl expressed her answer using the word "very" roughly 1,000 times.  Papa counted the "very's."  Funny stuff...  I mean, to those of us with silly bones! 

Just this past year, Bethie always thoughtful and generous, treated her parents to a week in that very popular northeastern peninsula, a holiday filled with great fun and too much good eating.  You know, like pizza, a rare treat for the parents, if not for the other members of the vacationing quintet!  We swam,

swan-dove, boated, biked and generally frolicked our way through a week of adventure.  Relaxing, renewing...   (Well, for the most part!!!...  Holidays can be taxing, sometimes required a long rest following the holiday!!)

I hope I've done justice to the subject of this writing, to someone I love more than I can adequately express...   my daughter, Bethie.  True, I'm quite proud of her and all that she's accomplished, all that she is and has become!  But being proud, I've long thought, is more a means of self congratulation.  Far more importantly, and perhaps a better way to praise, I'm filled with admiration for her, for her strength, her courage her determination. As a single parent, she's a champion.  As a soccer player, she's also a champion, come to think upon it.  

As you, Beth, continue along life's tricky pathways, I know you'll always choose the right way, the best course for you and those you love, the true pathway that leads to happiness and success, self fulfillment and genuine gratification for all whose lives you touch.  Oh yeah...  Hope you and SLC have a great weekend together!!! 

Humbly Submitted, 01-10-20 -- Joel K. 

  

  

Collecting Characters with Character!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

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

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Collecting Characters with Character...!

Certain collections cannot easily be given a definable value, such as the remarkably interesting characters met and "collected" along one's personal "La Strada."  Unlike precious coins or stamps, we store them in a vault of memory, and bring them out to brighten a mood or relive a funny moment in time.  (Laughter is sweet music!)         

The above is an ersatz
illustration of a man
shaving his ears!

A few Illustrations:    In spite of the punishing effects of strong drink, Mac was a fine-looking man who always dressed well, and kept himself groomed right up to shaving his ears regularly.  His essential diet consisted of bourbon and an occasional imported beer.  Those who knew him rarely saw him actually consume food.  On one occasion, with a group of friends having dinner at a fine restaurant, he ordered an enormous steak, held it aloft on his fork and announced, "Now isn't that is a beautiful thing to behold."  He put it down on his plate, never touched it again, turned to his right and boomed, "Garcon, more whiskey for Table Six."  

One of his companions belched, shoved his plate to one side -- it consisting only of the juice of his own former slab of porterhouse and some terrified-looking bones -- and asked, "Gonna eat that thing, Mac?"  The insatiable companion then devoured another enormous cut of meat as Mac looked on in admiration. 

"You're like a pack of wild dogs," said Mac.  He beamed at the man and added, "Save me a

Not exactly a "pack" of wild dogs...
but maybe you get the idea, eh?! 

bone! I got a big animal at home."  

In geezerhood, I think about the characters I know and those I've met.  Often I consider the taverns I frequented and "collected" over time, extraordinary characters "collected" as well.  Some during the hard drinking days of my youth and robust middle age, some of more recent vintage. The aforementioned "Mac" was part of that earlier collection.  As was Bill H. A group of us drank frequently at his home on an Air Force base near Tacoma, WA. When the table became crowded with empty beer and booze bottles, he'd order his patient wife,  Flo, "Un-ass this rig!"  (He had served in the Navy prior to making the Air Force his final career choice, always spoke like a sailor...  or a pirate, maybe!)  She ignored him saying, "Billy, you and the boys emptied 'em, you haul 'em to the bin." He'd grin at her affectionately, and dump down another beer.  Bill had an exceptional sense of funny; he shared his gift generously.
"Jere The Hair," lived in a complex that had a large swimming pool.  He and the manager were not good chums. They'd frequently had words! About to change lodgings, "The Hair" decided he would break every rule posted on the pool's gate, and he'd do it all in one remarkable gesture of defiance...  at midnight. "The Hair" dressed in full golf regalia, including plus-fours and two-tone cleated golf shoes, a glass of whiskey and a liverwurst sandwich in hand, a golf bag full of ancient clubs on his back.  "Fore," he yelled at the very top of his voice and jumped into the pool swinging a mashie niblick as he leapt.  The manager appeared, his face a purple mask of rage, and ordered "The Hair" to vacate his apartment without delay, to which my friend replied, "I'm already packed, you miserable cesspool of a...!" (The actual language Jere included, following the initial insult, has been omitted for the sake of propriety!)

This is not the saloon of which I write,
but it's a fair representation of
"The Shootin' Star"!

There was a great saloon in a small Western town frequented by two wonderful characters -- King Arthur and Kid Shimmel, both self-proclaimed "real cowboys."  King Arthur would enter each day and hand the bartender a brown paper sack.  The "King" would drink himself into another level of consciousness, and then proclaim, "Dod a'mighty, I had me a accident." ' The "King" would retrieve his paper sack.  He'd wobble to the men's room, clean himself up, change his underwear and then return to the bar for more of the nectar that carried him away, until he, himself, was carried away by his "fellow cowboys."
  
Kid Shimmel owned the oldest pickup truck anyone ever imagined could still function.  One memorable day, driving into town for supplies, "The Kid" stopped at a school crossing.  He didn't urge the pickup forward for what seemed like half an hour.  Finally, filled with irritation he stuck his head out the side window and shouted, "Get the hell outta the road, ya damn fool kid!" The "damn fool kid," as it happened, was an inanimate "Safety Susie" stop sign used at many school crossings.  When laughter subsided after someone told of the incident, one of the saloon's fellow habitues suggested that "The Kid" might want to consider prescription glasses,

Possibly an image of "The Kid's"
Pickup truck!  (Possibly not!)

even better, public transportation. 

I want to make it clear that I use the term "character" not in any pejorative sense, but in the most respectful of ways.  I love and admire interesting and colorful people...  characters! My own parents and those of my wife were characters -- fun, colorful, ideosyncratic, eccentric. Our lives, today, are filled with marvelous characters.  We no longer "collect" them from saloons, but rather from coffee houses, private homes, movie palaces and other personal and "cultural" enclaves.     Examples!?...

See how happy the broccoli is!
I like to eat broccoli (but in
smaller chunks)!

SwH makes me laugh like almost no one I've ever known. We're dining in a fine Italian restaurant. I'm enjoying minestrone, an Italian vegetable soup that has a large portion of broccoli floating on top.  I like broccoli.  I try to cut it into pieces to enjoy with, not just one, but a few mouths-full of soup.  I use my spoon to hold the thing in place, a standard butter knife to cut. She watches me, a look on her face that suggests, "Are you a completely ineffectual buffoon?" I don't succeed in severing the mass of broccoli.  She stabs it with her fork and stuffs it into my mouth. I'm laughing so hard the patrons on either side begin to cringe away from us. I fear they'll summon the management.  Oh...  and she has a way of doing funny weird things to my ears!  It tickles! 

Alie is among the funniest, goofiest persons I've ever known.  She finds humor in nearly every conceivable thing, person, event and circumstance, no matter how mundane. We're sitting in a coffee house discussing "Buff-Colored 'White-Out' " and possible alternatives.  A friend just had a book of poetry printed on tan or ecru or buff-colored paper, and sadly found typos in the copies.  We offer to help, and try to find a product to obliterate the errors.  Our quest includes a

spirited discussion as to the exact color of the paper; it also includes a visit to our local art supply store, having been told they might offer a "buff-colored" paint-marker or some other product for our purpose. They didn't. SwH and I were walking homeward; Alie was driving. She arrived at our home ahead of us having had to pick up something she'd left there.  Upon our arrival we find the house papered with sticky notes, each carrying a message or object lesson suggestive of the elusive poetry-book paper color.  Hours later we're still finding sticky notes!...  "This is possibly ecru... This might be pale lemon... This could be a shade of light camel, or possibly timid tan...  This hat has a hue of pale gold-ey yellow..." and on and on... 

I feel I must add Rob C. and Bill W. to the list of our favorite characters.  Both have brilliant
minds. Rob is largely self-taught, a voracious reader and consumer of information, obscure and otherwise.  I ask him, to cite an example, about crisscrossed, overhead electrical cables perched over a rural roadway.  I receive an astonishing dissertation on "dirty grids," efficient rural usage of power distribution and much more!  Bill collects films, currently films that feature

Rob knows about Power and
Electrical Stuff...  like Dirty Grids!

mirrors and reflection.  He's a scholar on many levels, and happily shares his world view and esoteric ideas with those of us in his spheres of influence.  Apart from being smart beyond my poor level of comprehension, both men are exceptionally funny.  

Time to bring this edition to a close!  I'll save others for subsequent entries in these memoir postings. Here's the point: Characters -- whether or not one likes the use of the word or accepts it as complimentary and affectionate -- color, edify, brighten, even strengthen our lives.  We need them to populate our experience, to broaden our vision.  In my callow youth, I collected bars and taverns and their often rum-affected denizens whose words and deeds delighted me, though unfortunately I recall too little of their banter and behavior.  

Today, mired in robust if hoary "geezerhood," I'm grateful for those with whom I happily interact and whose company I thoroughly enjoy.  This episode is merely an homage to those delightful and colorful characters whom I hope to continue to enjoy and benefit from as I wander deeper into advancing spheres of consciousness.  Suggestions for future topics are always welcome.  Oh, and I have a book in print...  just in case you're interested!!  Thank you, and good day or good morrow or good night!                 
Special Note:  This episode of "Memoirs of a Geezer" is dedicated to...  well, is a kind of homage to marvelous characters, especially those of exceptional character as well.  With apologies, only a very few were able to be sketched herein, but future entries may well include others who have made lasting impressions on the perpetrator.  I'll try to warn you in advance, and will endeavor to use fictitious names to avoid embarrassment and lawsuits!  Thank you!  Oh...  and Good Night to All...

Humbly Submitted 05-23-16 -- Joel K.

        

             



     



       

Grandparenting and the Illusion of Dignity!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

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

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    Grandparenting in the Geezer Age:   Or, Losing One's Dignity?!...  
                                          Um...  If Indeed One Really Ever Had Any Dignity!!??

There are those abroad in the land who insist that human beings possess or should possess some actual dignity, a kind of dignified demeanor.  Especially, I suppose, those who strut about in expensive suits purporting to be your "Average Top-Flight Business Executives."  As for me, any pretense at having ever had any actual dignity was expunged at a quite early time of life.  Allow me to elucidate...

My elder brother was large and strong vs. my somewhat smaller stature, and only a year separated

This is a slightly exaggerated
image of one having been shot
with an arrow, causing the leaking
of one's complement of dignity!

our ages.  He punctured me with steel-tipped darts, once shot me in the leg with a blunt-tipped arrow and frequently "flipped" me into walls when practicing his jujitsu!  (Possibly the bloodletting that resulted caused the draining of ill humors, including any quantity of dignity I may have possessed!!)  My reward was a quarter a flip, if injured in the process (bruises and scars included with no additional fees paid!), and if I promised not to "rat on him" to mater and pater.  I'm not sure if those episodes constitute a "an early loss of any hope of a dignified persona," but there's more, and far more recently...  that is, here in the present, in the time of "GeezerHood."

During a recent trip to the warmer climes of the southern tier, I was cavorting in a swimming pool with my grandchildren, the issue of our elder daughter.  I was floating on an orange, buoyant noodle, having decided to assume the character of an adventurer.  I announced to the grandchildren, "I am Emilio de Leon, bold voyager, and I have just traversed the Atlantic Ocean from West to East on a Flotation Noodle.  Am I in Espana?  El gente de Espana," I proclaimed, "Estoy Aqui!"

In a swimming pool with
grandchildren, having been
pressed into service as an
elevator!  The image below
attempts to illustrate the
challenges of being an
elevator, and being choked,
 to the great amusement
of grandchildren!  

At which point, the children spat mouths full of water into my noble visage, and then commanded in unison, "Go back where you came from, you silly old goat!"  I of course demurred, and then tried speaking to them in French, in case I was mistaken as to my destination on the shores of the European continent.  

"Where are the cheering throngs?" I asked in my best accented French.  (Où sont les acclamations des fouls?)  More jets of expectorated pool water struck my noble countenance, once alight with victorious pride, now awash in mock rejection and humiliation!

"Go away," the children shouted gleefully!  "Go back to your own side of the ocean."  Finally, I "identified" the children as the fabled "Spitting Barracuda" of the Eastern Atlantic.  At that point their determination became unstoppable!  Oh my!  What fun we had on that lengthy and prune-skinned occasion!

During the previous year, with another set of grandchildren, progeny of our younger daughter, I was coerced into service in the self same pool as an elevator.  "Going down," I would announce as the children ordered me into character.  "Second floor -- foundation garments, ladies' frilly frocks, pumps, stockings, millinery..." the final words a choked and gurgling gasp as the "elevator-traveling" children pulled me under the surface.

Are all grandparents so employed by the offspring of their own children?  I've often been a horse -- to most an almost cliche grandparental role -- but also, and quite frequently, a helicopter, a robot, a fire-breathing dragon, a sword-wielding villain, a pack mule, a bovine...

As at least one of the grandchildren has grown older -- the eldest of four -- the expectations of grandparental interaction have changed appreciably.  He, now 11 years old, is a remarkably talented, self-taught juggler.  Though he craves an audience for his art, it is hardly a chore for the watcher, but rather a pleasure to witness his skill and talent.  Just as often, because he's a Harry Potter devotee and much attracted to the "Mario" electronic games, he urges his grandparents to sit with him as he displays his magic wand collection or translates the images in Mario books to the actions of the games themselves.  He also has recorded the musical "overlays" that accompany the games, has entire CD's devoted to "Mario Music."

And here's another example.  July 3rd has become a cherished family gathering day, all of us together to witness the spectacular fireworks show at Milwaukee's Lakefront.  There's lots of idle and play time between arriving in mid-afternoon until the skies go dark and then wild with loud and colorful explosions!  Our two granddaughters, ages 5 and 7, have developed a ritual of

The first-born grandchild
(at left) with his "Baba,"
the name he conferred
upon her even before he
could speak in sentences!

placing small stickers on my sunglasses until the lens are totally obscured.  At other times during the afternoon, they climb upon me, strike me with illuminated wands and other light-up souvenirs, and then all four of them sit on me, one 7-year-old on my throat, the others on various parts of my torso.  Unable to move, my groans of discontent and choked pleas of mercy drive the four of them into convulsions of mirth.  It becomes a prolonged source of glee (with a bit of pushing, jockeying for a better position!).

One of our granddaughters, the older of two, has a most remarkable gift for and sense of humor.  She has often placed a stuffed moose on my head; the moose has large floppy antlers.  She proclaims, "There's a moose on your head" or, "There's a flying moose on your head!"  The phrase has become so popular with the grandkids, my daughter made a T-shirt for me that sports the aforementioned legend, along with an appliquéd moose.  

I could go on, but it may be time to put this episode to bed, perhaps along with a pair of grandchildren who are spending the night.  I love my grandchildren with all that's in me, and my interaction with them may have nothing at all to do with dignity, or the lack thereof, but merely with my own devotion to absurd behavior, a kind of reversion.  So, what the hell, who says one cannot go on being a cow or an elevator, a robot, an aardvark, a reviled visitor to foreign shores.

Sometimes, one simply cannot resist the urge to misbehave, or to adopt various obtuse roles just to join in the fun, to entertain.  I mean, it isn't that long until the grandchildren enter their teenage years and beyond.  Then, when we grandparents behave like silly imbeciles, our grandchildren will look at us with self-conscious displeasure and announce, "OMG...  Why does he have to act like that...  and in front of my friends...  so embarrassing!"

Until that happens, I will endeavor to play the fool, to be myself and to enjoy the moment and

the silliness that pervades their youthful deportment until they, our grandchildren, become more "grown up" and dignified as adolescents and adults (I hope they never actually lose their senses of silliness!!).

Special Notes:  1.)  None of that which my sweet, wonderful grandkids do to me, as described herein, is mean-spirited or discouraged by the perpetrator of this post.  It's all in great fun, and actually encouraged, often precipitated by my own words and deeds.  I thoroughly enjoy their funny and guileless behavior.  Cards and letters, Email as well, may be sent in care of this medium, anytime!  2.)  No pelicans or other creatures were harmed in the making of this blog posting.  Thank You! 

(Special Note of Attribution and Gratitude:   The perpetrator of this blog extends unending thanks to our beautiful, talented and endlessly creative grandchildren, without whose support and silliness this writing would not have been possible:  C, age 11, almost 12; S, age 7, more than almost 8; L, age 7, age 8 in fewer than four months; S, age 5-1/2!  B and P, among many others, of course, are enormously grateful every day of our lives to have them in our lives!!)

Humbly Submitted 07-18-15 -- Joel K.