THE UBER BOOK... "Travels in the 'Dining Car' "...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

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

This Episode:       THE UBER BOOK...   (Working Title, now Correctly Entitled):

                                 Travels in the "Dining Car"...   (With an Appropriate Subtitle:)   

From Chapter One --
"Revelation"!

    Some few years ago, SweetHeart and I decided to take on a new career, a fresh if unexpected challenge in the annals of Geezerhood.  Not at all to pocket extra coinage for frivolous gambols and playthings, but owing to financial exigency.  I would not presume to suggest it hasn't been fun; we have each other's enjoyable company, and we listen to good books and often talk like truckers,  berating obnoxious fellow motorists as we ply our toothsome trade!

Yes, dear friends, readers and devotees, we became food delivery drivers back in 2017 (at least I think that's when it started!?...), and here in 2021, a year or so removed from the onset of the great "Damnpenic," we continue to deliver food products from a great variety of purveyors, restaurant "partners" of the parent company for which we labor so sedulously, mostly flawlessly...  Honest! 

"Talkin' Like Truckers"!

Getting Aboard...  Starting Out!

As one result of our endeavors -- now in our fifth (I think?!) year -- we thought it important to share our activities, our assigned tasks, with the masses, by telling the story of our adventures in print.  Our book is entitled...
Travels in the "Dining Car"...  (subtitle) The Adventures of Uber Eats Food Delivery Drivers! 

So who the hell cares, one might justifiably inquire of the authors, or to no one in particular, perhaps someone stumbling upon this bit of blog writing, sitting by oneself and exclaiming loudly to a vacuum of space!  

Who cares?!  Those who have been cast into the abyss of unemployment or underemployment, loss of income, ageism, redundancy, tossed onto the scrap heap of "downsizing" and "economic cut-backs."  All those damn euphemisms concocted by the rich in order to excuse themselves for acts of unspeakable litter -- otherwise known as what they consider"discarding human detritus."  Hurling their castoffs onto the mean streets of

Anxiety Dominated at
the Outset!

want, exploiting tragedy to rid themselves of the need to pay wages and salaries while stuffing more and more wealth into their own bulging bank accounts and mattresses.  Jerks!!  Unconscionable swine!!      

Getting back to the question (if you've forgotten the question -- it's, "Who Cares?"):  One need only be aware of the fairly newly minted "Gig Economy," in which so many of our fellow citizens find themselves...  yourselves...  ourselves!  (See paragraph above to determine if you qualify under the broad heading of "Gig Economy" or wholesale disenfranchisement!)

What to do?  Get angry, make a statement, protest in your own manner, write a book perhaps...

Ours is neither a grim complaint nor a diatribe, but rather a humorous, fun and funny dissertation on what it's like to embark on a wholly new career with modest compensation, unlike the professions of our illustrious pasts.  Sort of an amusing meditation on being launched, unwillingly, into the dark waters of the gig economy!  

Because of its delightful flavors, its both sweet and savory explorations of social and

"I'm Sending You Out
with Angels..."

cultural interactions with a huge variety of personality types, we think, nay, we know!...  Our tale will resonate...  It's empathetic.  People will love it!  All we need now is a literary agent who will don a bib sporting a silly graphic and simply tuck in!! 

As the word count piled up, 15 Chapters and an Appendix into the process, SweetHeart wisely suggested we include illustrations.  Thanks to eager and talented granddaughters, we can incorporate gorgeous, evocative and emotive depictions of the diverse feelings we experience as we discovered and now continue to plod on into economic travels, both unknown and startlingly new!

Would you like a teaser?  Of course you would.  Here's a brief passage from Chapter Fourteen, describing "Strange Delivery Instructions, etc....."  

"The Hunt"

       "...We enter the building. It’s really tall; it contains a great     many apartments. The key pad is an alphabetized conundrum that   requires the visitor to use an “A to Z” button. It lists only last names with first initials. The Uber Eats application lists only first names with last initials. We try to match the “F” family name to the first initial, the “M” for Muriel, needless to say. That almost never works. We spend way too much time trying to decipher the alpha-numeric keypad.

       Often, they don’t work at all. The one we’re staring at is no exception. We curse the architect and the person who or the contractor company that allegedly designed the “easy-to-use” alpha-numeric keypad feature. We stomp impatient feet and call them all bubbleheads, including the food recipient who failed to provide intelligible instructions, cursing vigorously all the while!..."

    A few of the brilliant illustrations are included herein, while most of the text, meaning the story itself, will have to be read by fans and devotees once the book has been published...  in one fashion or another...  I have a plan, sort of...  Please be patient, and thank you for your rapt attention to this brief, um...  well, I guess "introduction" is as good a descriptor as any!  Thank you again!  Stay safe, get vaccinated, and think seriously about telling your own stories, sharing them with others!  

(A Brief Note of Dedication and Gratitude:   Thank you, Lucy, and thank you, PhiPhi for your beautiful artwork, for your talent, your generosity and your diligence.  This writing is dedicated to you, beautiful and extraordinary young women, priceless treasures in the lives of authors and tireless workers who know too well who and what are truly of greatest value!) 

   

Losing a Great Friend too Soon, too Young... It Just Aint Right!!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

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

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Losing a Great Friend too Soon, too Young...  It Just Aint Right!!  

We'd often get together at the weekend for prodigious night-clubbing and drinking.  It was a Friday night.  We decide -- or maybe he decides -- to venture to a night spot we'd often frequented. (Long gone now, it was called "Beneath the Street," I think...)

A splendid looking chap...
Dashing, even! 

The Everly Brothers are appearing, and we somehow snag a table "expensively" close to the stage, as if we'd bribed the head waiter.  No head waiters there, just servers, "beverage hosts" and bouncers.

Pat disappears, and I don't really notice where he's gone, as I'm pleasantly floating on a euphoric bubble of booze-inspired semi-consciousness.  Don and Phil, the Everly Brothers, sit down at my table.  "Hey, how you doin' this fine evening," asks Don, or maybe it was Phil...

"Uh...  I'm doin' fine, thanks," I say, somewhat bewildered.

"What did you think of our set?" asks Phil, or Don maybe.

"You two are great," I say in reply.  "I love your style, your singing and the tunes you do.   I love the old stuff, your signature tunes."  

"Lemme buy you a drink.  What are you drinking?  Miss!!" one of them calls out, "Give our friend, here, whatever he wants!"  This from Phil, or maybe it was Don.  I accept!

"I guess I'll have another of these," I say.  "Nut brown ale."  

"Wanna jolt of something stiffer?" asks Don (Phil?).  

"Nah, thanks, the beer's just fine."  

It goes on like that for 15, 20 minutes, the length of their break between sets. They return to the

stage. I muse that my great friend, Pat -- sometimes I called him Gord -- was in Armed Forces Radio (and Television) in Germany.  He had extended his enlistment to do something he loved. And he was great at it, with an excellent, sonorous and "pear-shaped" tonal quality to his superb voice, a bonus in such work, probably needless to add.  

He met many celebrities in Germany through his work, including "Jack," who became an NBC newscaster in Los Angeles and married an actress named Joan.  Pat and Jack became and remained good friends in spite of the distance between LA and Milwaukee. Pat was best man at their wedding. 

Eventually, Pat returns to our table, explaining that he was visiting, catching up and sharing stories with Don and Phil whom he came to know through Armed Forces Radio.  

"So," I ask, "Why were the Everly's so friendly toward me of all people?"  

"I told them you're a big-time Milwaukee DJ.  'He'll play lots of your music if you're nice to him', I told the boys!"  

We laughed.  I cursed and complained at him with jovial good humor.  He was like that, always...  full of practical jokes, silliness, fun and great humor.  He loved to put me in crazy and     sometimes embarrassing circumstances.  That was his way, and I thoroughly enjoyed the sport! He was among my very closest and most cherished friends.  He was in SweetHeart's and my wedding, and we were in his.  His wife -- we call her Joey -- was and is a treasure, and remains a great friend whose company we enjoy enormously. 

Pat died in April of this year, far too young, far too soon.  We were in the military together, and spent some 18 months stationed in Turkey.  We had great times and many adventures, loaded with mischief.  Late one evening, returning from our duties, our second shift in "Research and Development" in the Air Force Security Service, we "borrowed" one of the shuttle buses in order to get to the Airman's Club before closing time, but that was one of our tamer episodes. We raised lots of hell in Istanbul, drank way too much, traded in contraband, once were caught up in a minor revolution...  Pat enjoyed the time my feet were run over by a taxi cab outside a pavilion (an Istanbul night spot!).  What a sense of humor.  Far more than that, he had a gift for comedy, fun and wildly silly humor!!

He loved being of Irish descent; a DNA test proved him to be predominantly Irish. He and Joey, Steve and Andrea were able to visit Ireland, a trip he greatly enjoyed.  And there may even have been some pubs involved...  

Too many years passed that we did not see or interact regularly with one another on a personal level, but we did always manage to meet on occasion, to speak via telephone and trade nonsense. SweetHeart and I visited him in hospital during his final days, told stories, even sang one of his favorite tunes. He seemed to enjoy the occasion, at least we hope he did! 

Pat was -- like SweetHeart and other great friends still are -- a treasure in my life.  I loved him more than I ever told him, and wish I had done so.  I'll miss him every day.  But like the aftertaste of a favorite dish or a nut brown ale (or, these days, a Diet Pepsi Cola with a wedge of fresh lime), a memory will rise in my throat and move to my heart, and I'll savor, once again, his memory, our friendship and the times we spent together.   

Humbly Submitted, 05-23-18 -- 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.

        

             



     



       

Great Adventures in Literature -- Writing, Publishing and Promoting a Book!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

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

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        What an Adventure!  Writing, Publishing...  
                                A Long, Rutted Road, an Exciting Journey into Literature!

I believe it began in 2008...  or thereabouts!  (When does Geezerhood actually begin?  Does *AAARPFGP make the rule, set the standard?)  In any case, I was certainly in the grasp when it began. The process of writing a book-length work of non-fiction has been and continues to be a great adventure, a humbling and, at times, arduous task.  Maybe even a kind of love affair, or perhaps merely an obsession! 
  
The photo at left is a kind
of professorial pose struck
by an author who is also
the Perpetrator of this Blog!

My wife, Sweetheart, and I, together with my wonderful and generous sister, Karen -- she who took the lead role, and who sadly died just this past year -- accepted the duty of providing hospice care for my aging father -- he who was suffering from two forms of cancer, and rampant dementia, a condition that heightens the challenge considerably.  As with other caregiving activities before and after my father's, it was extraordinary, intimate and a bit daunting as well.

Somehow, I knew I had to write about the experience.  My father's hospice period lasted a remarkable 19 months, so lengthy a time we had to have him re-certified for hospice care not once but twice!  It often seemed he simply refused to exit!  Cancer of the liver finally claimed his life in February of 1996 (twenty years ago this month!).  We had other challenges to face -- additional caregiving, my own personal demons and the necessity to earn a living intervened -- until finally I was able to begin the writing process, whenever time and discipline allowed.  

The result:   And Good Night to All the Beautiful Young Women:  A Tale of "Episodic Dementia" -- The Parent Becomes the Child...  It's not a bad book, my dears, or so I've been told!  In fact -- false modesty aside -- we're reliably told it's quite good!  And funny too, owing in large measure to my father's comedic personality!   

Since its publication, Sweetheart and I have engaged in what our literary advisors urged, 

encouraged and term, "shameless self-promotion."  I / we have used facebook, word of mouth, Email, press releases, a television appearance on WTMJ-TV's The Morning Blend, an "Author Event" (presentation of the "backstory," chapter descriptions, a reading, Q&A session and book signing!), consignment sales and other methods and media.  It has truly been a grand adventure...    so far...

We anticipated some 32 bodies at the "Author Event" held at Boswell Books on Downer Avenue in Milwaukee.  More than 70 actually attended!  We deemed it highly successful and

The anticipated "throng" of 32 or so
eventually turned into more than 70
attendees at the "Author Event"!

gratifying, especially given the time and effort devoted to the entire process of writing, editing, deciding on the publication method and subsequent promotion.  At this juncture, I must pay tribute and extend enormous gratitude to two phenomenal editors, Kurt C. and Sweetheart too, of course, both of whom kept things heading in the right direction!... Wonderful, thoughtful and endlessly bright and patient editors!  Giant thanks to my good friend, Larry L., as well, who has been a source of great inspiration, at times lending his literary brilliance to the project.

I also extend thanks to all of those wonderful people who wrote and posted reviews on Amazon

and Barnes & Noble, the two commercial "bookseller" web sites on which the book is available for purchase.  In particular, I thank Donna P. and Peg R., both of whom offered great support and encouragement and marvelous reviews, not to mention the dual gems of their love and friendship.  The list should also include brother, Kris, as well, for his most welcome support and encouragement.  He is one of my favorite people, favorite brother, too!  And Jaynie, of course.  I thank her most sincerely for her love and constant support.  And, oh yes, my beautiful cousins whose places of residence include nearly every region of the country.  They really are beautiful cousins, smart and talented too!

Finally (in the spirit of the Academy Awards) I wish to thank my publicist, producers, hair stylist, costume designer and everyone in Boise, Idaho.  Oh yeah!  My agent...  I love ya, Baby! 
   
So now what?  We've been talking about "book tours," and agonizing a bit, well, quite a lot to be truthful, over the probable or improbable efficacy of such an undertaking.  We've tentatively targeted Dallas, New Orleans, Los Angeles, New York -- or somewhere on the East Coast -- or possibly Florida, other key markets.  I don't know??!!  Affordability is a major factor... We'll give it more thought, lots more thought!  

And what about foreign markets?  I mean, Chinese people have aging parents, don't they?!...  or are aging parents!  Russians, Europeans, South Americans, Australians??  Or is all of this merely colossal, self-delusional presumption??!!!  But what the hell, one can't be blamed for dreaming, even fantasizing!

Perhaps we need a gimmick!  A pet goat!  A dancing wallaby!  Or a monkey, maybe!  We could all wear little red fez's, or brown felt fedoras like G-men wear.  (My father was a G-man, you know, an FBI guy!)  
"Step right up, people!  Watch the monkey play the bassoon and ride a goat...  and then buy a book..  or two, even!  Mustn't dawdle, only a few copies left...!"  (I'll have to work on my "sidewalk pitch" routine!!)

Another brilliant thought!  Maybe it's the second book that sells the first!  I just gotta keep

working on that mystery novel.  In the meantime, suggestions are most welcome.  Sweetheart

and I will continue to consider ideas, no matter how ridiculous.  (Hey!...  Can writers attract "Angels"? You know, like Bialystock and Bloom?...)  Stay tuned!  This adventure is far from over!! 

* American Association of Almost Retired or Possibly Fired 
   Geezer Persons!  

Humbly Submitted 02-29-16 (Leap Day!) -- Joel K.

[Special Note:  The perpetrator of this blog posting offers special notes of gratitude to several remarkably fine and talented co-conspirators...  maybe collaborators is a better choice of words... whose names are listed in the body of the above writing.  So, for those of you mentioned, you'll simply have to suffer through the entire passage to find your specific note of gratitude.  Thank You, and Good Night to All You Beautiful Young (and Older) Women, and Men!]             

       

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.