just some weird thoughts

    First off...I feel really young this afternoon.  That's because I went to a meeting of the Ogle Lee Retired Teachers.  Enough said.
    The rain is really quite interesting.  It was raining and blowing so hard this morning, it set off my outside motion detector lights.  I have never seen them on before.
    Those lights are my first line of defense.  Some of you may know me as a carefree, happy, fun loving individual.  But some of you also know me as a paranoid, hypochondriac, manic depressive  who catches every disease mentioned on tv.  I hated watching ER (for you young people, that was a tv show set in a Chicago hospital that featured a young George Clooney) because I would catch the disease of the day.  In one episode a guy showed up in the ER with a hatchet in his head and I got a headache!!  Seriously!
    And paranoid....I have been known to put chairs in front of doors in hotel rooms and in my house.              You never know when someone will break in and a chair will maybe slow them down.
    Now someone as paranoid as me might buy a weapon...and I have.  I have a can of wasp spray.  It sprays for 20 feet and there is no chance Jackie will use it on me, or vice versa, just because we are having a disagreement.  Well, almost no chance.
    I am obsessive compulsive.  I check the door three times at night.  I check the door three times when we leave.  If we are going on vacation I walk through the house at least twice to make sure faucets are off.  When I was teaching, it was not unusual for me to pull out of the Tilton parking lot, then turn left and pull in to check the gym door.  Then I would pull out and repeat the process, for fear I accidentally unlocked the door while checking it.  My record was four trips.  That is true.
    I am convinced one day I will go out for milk and be found 12 hours later in Intercourse, PA, mumbling incoherently and looking for my car while eating a shoe fly pie with my fingers.   I can see the police calling and telling Jack they found me in Intercourse......course I will be senile and won't remember any of it.
    Every time I ride the L in Chicago I am convinced I will be A: mugged; B: fall onto the tracks; C:  be on a train that derails; D: all of the above.
    And for anyone who is still wondering what to do in life.....I have a dream/nightmare that because I don't really pay attention to what is around me, I missed the whole start of Second City in Chicago and because of that I am not famous and John Belushi is.  Course, he is also dead.  But you get my drift.  I was taking guitar lessons at the Old Town School of Folk Music when I should have been taking comedy lessons up the street.  I thought I would be a Bob Dylan, or a Bob Wagner.  Or Joan Baez, after surgery.
    Final thought..... In May I am starting a regular  column for the Rochelle News Leader.  It will be an opinion column on local happenings.  I am filled with dread. It's only once a month.....but for some reason having to do something puts a pressure on me I don't usually have.  That may be a good thing,
I hope.
     Maybe  I am still trying to figure out what I want to do in life.

Red means stop......what is so hard about that?

     Red means stop.  That has to be understood, or there will be no meaning coming from this tale.
     Actually had a good/crappy day.  I'll start with the good.
     I went to the zoo.
     I had a great cup of coffee.
     It was sunny and fairly warm.
     I went to the zoo.  It is always fun being at the zoo.  Today I played with paint.  We had golf balls and trays of blue and yellow paint.  You put a golf ball in a tray and rolled it.  Then you put the ball in an oatmeal container that had paper in it.  Then hop like a frog and shake it.  (OK, I felt a little pervy when moms were jumping and I kept saying "That's right, shake it!  Shake it good.")  Then you take the ball out and the paper and you have a cool looking pictures. (My hands are blue.  Evidently, the water soluble paints are not so water soluble when it comes to getting blue off your hands.)
     On my way home I stop at a little coffee shop and hand a candy bar latte.  It has caramel, hazelnut syrup, chocolate syrup, two shots of espresso and steamed milk......and a giant chocolate chip cookie.  (Which was actually lunch, because I got out of my rut and went to a different restaurant only to learn they don't have soup.  And I did not have enough time to walk across the park to the place that does.)
It was sunny and fairly warm.  Enough said.
     Now the crappy.
     At the zoo animals in my area are labeled green, yellow, or red.  Green means everyone can handle them...take them out, have kids pet them or just look at them.  These are animals that have undergone a training regime to accustom them to people.  Yellow means the animal is not quite there yet and can be handled only by keepers.  Red means don't take them out.  Period.
     I took out the baby gecko and had him out for about 10 minutes and went to put him away and.....he's red!  Just then a keeper came up and looked at me and said, "Terry!??"  I explained I looked at the green species tag and missed the huge red tag, and the note that is on the list I am supposed to check that said "DO NOT HANDLE." And the big clue that no one else had taken him out today.
     I felt so stupid.
     On the plus side, I served as a reminder to all volunteers to always check labels and notes, not assume a color is what it has been in the past.  And the keepers learned that even though the gecko wasn't used to humans, he did alright.  I was apologizing so much, I think the keeper was taking pity on me.
    Now I have to try to get the paint off my blue hands.....otherwise people will think I have an oxygen deprivation issue!
   

Where is my typewriter????

     I was Skyping my sister in law Joan in Wisconsin today, when we got a second Skype call from Julia in Switzerland.
     I grabbed my laptop and called Julia while Jackie continued talking to Joan.  After a few minutes, we switched and I talked to Joan while Jackie talked to Julia.
     Pretty boring, huh?
     Joan and I were marveling about our ability to Skype.  Now I am 60 plus.... or 9 in dog years.... and if you are under 55 you can't imagine how life has changed for people in my age group.
     In 1987 Commodore computers were selling for $1,495.  They sold over 1 million in 1991.  They were the leaders in the almost new PC market.  In 2004, over 173 million computers were sold in the world.  Then in 1995 Windows 95 was introduced and the home PC market shot off like a rocket.
    What are we doing with those computers?  We are using them to reconnect with old friends on Facebook, creating new friends, commenting on every topic under the sun, looking up information, finding dates, following our favorite sports teams, viewing porn, and all sorts of other activities that are pretty easy and common to do on computers.
     We are communicating.  Skype has been around for just a few years, and considering the world wide web became available in 1990, and AOL went live in 1993, is just a baby in the communications field.
    When I was a kid, we had those old rotary dialed phones.  And there were party lines.  Your phone had a particular ring and when you heard it you answered it.  If someone else was on the line, you could not use the phone but you could surreptitiously listen in on their conversations.
   Our entertainment consisted of the Saturday afternoon matinee at the Music Box or Rivera or even the Uptown or North Center theater, all in the neighborhood in Chicago.  We could watch three channels on our black and white tv and I was ecstatic when a fourth channel.... public television... was introduced.  My teen years featured Gunsmoke, Have Gun Will Travel, Bonanza and Lawrence Welk. (I think Lawrence Welk explains the strange fascination for theater parts featuring dresses.)
    Two nights ago I rented a video from Red Box.  I have watched on demand movies from Comcast.  People have Netflix, Apple TV, and other ways to watch movies, tv shows, or whatever.  We can watch the Rover on the surface of Mars ..... an inconceivable experience when I was a slim kid  and looking up at he stars.
    And boy do we have cell phones.   Computers and Kindles with Skype.  Navigation systems with sexy voices (at least I think they are sexy) telling us that we missed a turn and they are reprogramming.
     Reprogramming.
    The world is becoming smaller.  Communications are instant.  Important news stories reach us almost as they happen and fade from our minds just as quickly.
   It's an exciting, scary, fun time to be alive.
   And my typewriter?  Well, I finally broke down and got rid of it last week.  Took it to an electronics recycling center where the wires will be stripped and recycled, possibly into the next amazing electronic device that we all will accept as normal and not pause to marvel at its genius.

Organic yogurt, burglars, and memory loss

     I know you are asking, "How are these related?"

     I'll explain.

     Jackie and I went shopping Thursday.....Woodman's in Rockford... and I bought some Stonyfield Farm Organic Yogurt.  Now this is a little more expensive than Yoplait.  It was 89 cents for one cup.  But we had a coupon for $1 off a purchase of three.  So I bought three cups and put them in the cart.

     Went though the checkout lane, used the coupon, went home, unpacked the groceries and put the Stonybrook Farm in the fridge, top shelf, right.  I remember doing that as well as I remember putting on  on pants that Thursday.

    Fast forward to Sunday morning.  I get up, open the fridge and there is one.....(1) .... uno..... une...a solitary, lonely, all by itself Stonyfield Farm Organic Yogurt black cherry on the shelf.  

    Knowing I did not eat any, I checked the fridge.  Then I checked the pantry.  (Ever since I stored the Exit 99 checkbook in a shoe for safe keeping and then spent several days looking for the checkbook because I forgot I put it in the shoe, I discovered  I have maybe been guilty of putting things in the wrong place.)  However, there was no yogurt in the pantry, freezer, cupboard or refrigerator, which I checked a second time.

    Asked Jackie.  Nope, she hadn't eaten any.  Checked the car to make sure they did not roll out of the bag.  Nada.  Nothing.

    That's when I realized someone was coming in the house during the night and eating my yogurt!  Seriously!!  How else can it be explained?

     Someone was dubious, but she had no explanation either.  

     Then I wondered, what else was missing?  So I sifted through the recycle bin for the slightly damp receipt and scanned down.  Cheese:  check.  Broccoli: check.  Cool Whip:  check. 1 (0ne) Stonyfield Farm yogurt:  check.  One.  Only one.

     The coupon was accepted, but the product was not purchased.  I know I put three in the cart.  I know I put three in the fridge.  So either I didn't do what I was positive about or someone is eating my yogurt at night when I am asleep or being strangled in addition to finding my store receipts and altering them.

   (Side note:  I had a nightmare that I was being strangled in my sleep Saturday night.  I fought off the person, who shall remain nameless, and managed to live through the night.  When I woke up Sunday a thread ... and I mean a huge one, at least two feet long.... from the blanket was wrapped around my arm.   Come to think of it, the person in my nightmare was using a thread to try to strangle me.....hmmmmm)

     So Sunday after church I had to buy more yogurt.  It's not Stonyfield.  But it'll do.

     And tonight I will double lock the doors and check the windows.  Just in case.

Cornering a market......

    Industrialists corner a market when it will economically benefit them.  If aluminum producers sense a rise in aluminum prices, they will buy up as much as they can to ensure they have a workable, economical supply to meet their demand.
     I too have cornered a market or two:  Scraps of paper that don't seem to have any value except for scribbling notes near the telephone.   Notebooks, partially used but still containing paper.  File folders.
Dividers.
     I swear, I am borderline hoarder!!  I have a 4 inch stack of spiral notebooks with paper in them....some have a lot of paper, some have a little.  At the start of the school year I bought notebooks because they were on sale....these are not included in the pile.  Pne of the pads is a legal pad with numbered lines.....made in 1995!!  Cripes, it can vote if it was human!!
     And folders....some in good repair, some used once or twice.  A stroll down life's lane:  house ideas; life list; bucket list; home ideas; places to go before I die from being buried under unwanted/unused stacks of paper.
     I have folders for: VCCT, Exit 99, BRAT, St. Paul's, park district, evaluations....and one that has some notes in French from when Emily was in high school.
     I should just toss them......or more accurately, recyle them.  But I can't.
    They still have life.  They still have a use.  They still have a contribution to make to society.  I am talking notebooks, right?
     Which is more than I can say for for the scraps of paper.  Note cards.  Recipe cards.  Envelopes of various sizes.  Some yellowed with age, some reflecting a time and society which sent notes though the postal service, not through space.  Those went into the recycling bucket.  Except for the ones on pads....they went by the telephone for making notes.
     I  know someday I will die.  Not to be morbid, but that seems to be the one constant in life. Along with government taxes, Chicago Cubs futility on the diamond, and corruption in Illinois government.
I have visions of my funeral....complete with music.  I'll just say it will be Amazing, Grace.
     I don't want to leave Jackie a pile of stuff she will have to deal with.
    And I sure don't want the kids to open a box and say, "WTF" (That does mean, Wow, that's funny...for those with sick minds.  Doesn't it?)
     So I'm going to make a list of things to sell on e-bay.  I am putting Jackie in charge of monitoring sales and income.
     I think I can find a notebook or two for that.

Just a dog.....

You know we don't have a dog.  And we never will.
There are good reasons for that.  They shed.  They slobber.  They make a mess in the yard and sometimes in the house.  You have to feed them.
Oh yes, you say, but you once had a dog.  We did.  Snooty.  A mixed breed of a mutt that Julia and Emily could climb on, lay on, chase, even share their food with.
Oh yes, I had to clean up the yard.  And the house when she had an accident.
And then there was the winter when the snow was deep..... 79?.... and the damn dog had to use the driveway as a yard.  I did not realize the problem that would cause until spring time when the snow melted and there were these huge blobs of brownish crap  on the roof of the garage.  It seemed I should have aimed the snow blower away from the garage, not at it.  I don't remember how many rains it took to wash that off!
And the dog had a tumor under her left front leg.  When she walked, it looked like she was carrying a basketball.  The tumor was inoperable without causing muscle damage to the front leg, rendering it useless and making her a three legged dog.
Emily was in sixth grade.  That would be 87 or so.  The tumor got bigger, the dog got to the point where she could barely walk.  And it was time to say good bye.
It was the hardest thing I had to do....I took our dog into a vet office, knowing I would not bring her home.  No more picking up the messes in the yard.  No more buying dog food and cleaning the water bowl.  No more yapping in the middle of the night to go out or scare off the imaginary intruder.  No more Snooty.
You know, we don't have a dog.  And we never will.
But Emily has dogs.  Libby is my favorite.  She's the mutt that captured our hearts from the day Emily brought the foundling home from a vet clinic, where she had been dumped.
She's a messy dog.  Sheds.  Drools like crazy.  Demands attention from anyone within arms' length.  And if you don't pet her, she'll lean on you until you do.
For 13 years she has been there, protecting Emily, playing catch with me.  Being my listening buddy and gladly putting up with my kvetching as long as I was petting her.  When she was younger we would wrestle all over the house.   She'd chase a ball.....never bring it back, but she would always chase it.  And tug of war was an outcome whenever she had something in her mouth she wasn't supposed to have.
Over the weekend Libby started bleeding from her ear.  Last November she had her spleen removed and they told Emily she had a rather aggressive form of cancer.  Today the vet said she had a growth in her ear that was bleeding, possibly a manifestation of the cancer which produces tumors throughout the body.
Libby is not in pain, or at least obvious pain.  But the bleeding can't be stopped without a pretty involved surgery which may solve the problem, or may not.  And it won't prevent another tumor from forming in the same ear, or another ear, or elsewhere.
I know she's just a dog.  But I'd be lying if I didn't say it's hurting like hell right now.  Emily has to make the call.  I know what I would do, and I think Em knows what has to be done.
I know she's just a dog.  But she's the dog who backed the greyhound away from Emily after Emily was attacked.  She's the dog that Emily brought home from the vet, saving it from a life of uncertainty while giving it a loving home, plenty of food, and a lot of attention.  She's the dog who is, and will always be my friend.  I will miss her.
I will be with Em when she takes Libby for that last vet appointment.  I will hold my daughter, and my wife, as we all shed tears.
But I won't have another dog.

Who is my daddy?

Going through boxes can be a difficult task.  I am trying to tackle one or two boxes a week, maybe I can reduce the amount of "stuff" we have accumulated.
We?  Hell, it's the crap I have that causes the problem.
And honestly, sometimes I don't know what to do with it.
Pictures are my main focus this week.
Family History:  My father came to America when he was an infant.  Born in Pozin (Posen) Germany, by the time his mother brought him that part of Germany was in Poland.  So of all the people in my dad's family, he is the only Polish immigrant.
He was born in 1901....so he would be 112 if he were alive today. And he'd be grouchy, because that was his nature.
I don't know him.  Seriously.
He married my mother in 1937 or so.  I actually interviewed my mother a couple of times before she died and have notes.  I should put those in writing and maybe one day I will.
Anyway, she didn't know much about him either.....so his life before 1937 was a blank.  He was 36 when he married.....not exactly someone who did not have life experiences.
So here are my questions.  Look at the pictures and see why I am puzzled.

This could be a picture of my brother Carl, or even me....but it's dad!

My dad (on left, I think) at Camp Grant in Rockford during WW I

Pops in uniform, with a friend or his dad?

He's a doughboy.

Taking aim at the future

With a bunch of guys at Camp Grant....he's in the middle

This is marked Gallup NM 1926

Another Gallup 1926

At some point, he worked at a Glenn Ranch, or Glenn Canyon Ranch.  Note that Mrs. Raney is leaving.

To a good friend, from Cookie

Another reason I am confused.....did his parents own this store?

Man of leisure in California

So, there are some of the mysteries.  What did he do from WW I to when he got married?  I know he was in the service at the very end and was mustered out after training.
And in 1926, how adventurous do you have to be to drive in the west.  Did all of them travel together?  Did they take a train then rent a car, or drive the whole way?  Who are the other people?
Do I have half brothers and / or sisters running around in California?  Inquiring minds want to know.
What I realize is the importance of labeling pictures.  And talking to your parents.  You may find a whole lot that you didn't know.
I think it's kind of neat that I have a direct connection to WW I..... even if he was a short term doughboy who never saw action against his homeland.