Salisbury trails

I'm sure that you have noticed that I have not been posting any of my inane blogs.
The reason being, the great spring weather. When the weather is nice you will rarely find me indoors. And of course in the evenings, I have to monitor MLB.
But on this rainy June day, I want to tell you about two discovery's I have made. In a past blog I told you about my daily walking experiences. As you know we all seem to evolve into a set routine. So my walks to the seashore and the Salisbury beach State reservation were becoming rather mundane.
So with an eye for a different route to tread. I found surprising close to my complex, two extraordinary trails. This trails are for biking, walking and jogging, Salisbury residents should swell up with pride for possessing these great recreation areas. Not only are they well maintained, the they are are beautiful.The Salisbury Point Ghost trail goes threw a thickly wood area. There is a canopy of trees, arched over the trail. Which on a sunny day makes for a nice long shady walk. It takes about one hour to walk from one end to the other, So it's about two hours round trip. Maybe longer if you stop to read the signs. These signs tell you about the ghost trains. And also about the great train robbery of the early 1900's.
The second trail is an absolute gem. This trail know as the old eastern marsh trail has just been completed. This trail is paved and takes about a half hour to traverse. The marsh scenery is awesome,the birding is awesome. I can only imagine how beautiful this area will be at the height of the leaf peeping season.
I had this trail all to my self on this rainy day. And I was rewarded by having a hawk circle over me and swoop down and capture a fish right before my eyes.
Every one young or old should walk these trails at least once.

DR. HERMANN LEMP

I have three very intelligent daughter's that I love very much. They are about the same height and fair of complexion. That's where the similarities end. They each have diverse life styles and outlooks on life.
How ever, it is plain to see that some where in their genes,they were blessed with intellect and an insatiable craving for caffeine. They say that characteristics in hereditary some times skip a few generations. So I'm thinking some of their psyche and caffeine fixes, can be tied directly to their great great grandfather. antiqbook.com/boox/cum/36393.shtml
He was an electrical engineer and an inventor with hundreds of patents to his credit. I can boast that he was a genius because it is true. All you have to do is google, Hermann Lemp and you will find reams of historical information about him. I can also can verify the fact, that somewhere between the time I was born and the time I entered the first grade I lost my second n. Right there is proof positive, that his genes skipped my generation.
So though my great grandfather is famed for his development of generators, alternators and diesel engines. I think he had a caffeine addiction similar to my girls. Hence his invention of what was called a controlling device. (see picture to the right) Which at the time was the first electrically controlled timer, So that you could smell the coffee perking,when the alarm clock rudely started your day.
In my great grandfathers day coffee had silly little nick names like java, Joe or a cup of mud. And the only embellishment was cream and sugar. Not only was it inexpensive, but the servers were proud to boast that their establishment served bottom less cups. But in this day and age, it seems as though the more outlandish the name, the steeper the price. So with names that would give an orthographer a headache. Cockamamie concoctions, that would make a soda jerk proud, my daughters proudly imbibe and extol the virtue of a variety of lattes. So if Hermann was around these parts today he would probably be sitting around with the girls, sipping on an exorbitantly priced cup of coffee. Commiserating with them, the fact that if their father wasn't so miserly, he could be having a delightful cup of Joe with them.
However that is their father's curse. I just cannot enjoy trendy things at inflated prices. You have all heard over the years all the old adages about doing stupid things. Like jumping off of a bridge etc. So my excuse is I am not going with the flow, because I am trying to be circumspect. And also somewhere in the Lemp genes there must have been a tight wad of epic proportions.And his genes are predominate in me.
I don't want you to think I am slighting Joe, I will get to him on another day.
Getting back to my missing n. It's still there on my birth certificate. I always thought that it was my fault that it was missing on everything else. I really struggled my first two years of school, For traumatic reasons, that I touched on in previous blogs. So when I over heard my first grade teacher tell another teacher, that she had a few pupils, who could not spell their names. I some how figured that I was the culprit in the case of the missing n. But know I think that who ever enrolled me into that school, must be responsible for that dastardly deed.
The teachers were very stern and rigid in their approach back then. So if I misspelled my name I am sure I would have had too print it correctly on the blackboard it least one hundred times.
I remember the same first grade teacher forcing my brother Noel, a natural southpaw to write right handed. This went on for weeks, he just could not do it. He was belittled and made fun of.
The school systems of today may be to lax. But it least they are aware, that every shy or retiring student, may have more problems,than stupidity.

In the past week I have been in a funk.I don't know how to describe it, but two or three times a year I get into a malaise that lasts about two weeks.When I get like this,every thing seems to be a little off center. Kind of like the Elvis song "didja ever" when nothing goes right from morning until night. Every thing seems like a major chore and depressing.So I have to constantly give my self dope slaps, tell my self to stop feeling sorry for my self. All I have to do is look around and see friends and associates really going through trying times. And realize that my problems are minor. My sixth grade teacher once said to me, what you need young man is a kick in the pants to fly right. So when I look around and see what other people are going through. I have to say what my teacher told me back in the fifties ,still applies.
This brings me to a subject that goes against all the principles I give credence to. That being, by talking about things,you can jinx them. Now I know,that saying "knock on wood" is nonsense. I know that baseball players, talking about a no-hitter is nonsense. I don't believe in life after death, ghosts or any other super natural occurrence. But I truly believe that by verbalising you can jinx something. Now I know this does not fit into my over all out look on things. So I am just going to chalk it up to our expanding use of the airwaves. What can be done with computers, phones and gadgets,was unheard of fifty years ago. So maybe fifty years from now telepathy will be an excepted way of communication. Scary if you think about it. A man could probably get arrested for lewdness, just watching a woman walk by.
I know my main problem is that I hate where I live. And having to recertify every year, with all the bureaucratic bullshit that goes with it. Is enough to sour any one's disposition. So I am going to go by the old saying "always expect the unexpected" and hopefully find a new abode before 2010 is over.

Fantasy

I know you probably think I'm dreaming about Jennifer Aniston again. Or maybe about finding a rich old maid. But no, I am not thinking about Jennifer today. And in reality, if I did find a rich old maid who would show any interest in me, I am sure she would look like two ton Tony Galento.
No I am talking about how much fantasy baseball, politics and the stock market have in common. The more I get involved in these pursuits, the more I realize that the tortoise of racing fame had the right idea about handling adversity. His modus operandi, go slow and keep your cool. Is advisable if you practice any of these three persuasions.
Before I get into my take on their similarity, I want to tell you about the Massholes and the Roosters of Sunsport's, Nolan Ryan league. About fifteen years ago I enrolled my son Joey into this league. At that time he was far and away the youngest player in the league and his team which I dubbed the Roosters finished dead last for the next two or three years. Well Joey hated the name of his team. And he thought he was getting to old and too cool to be called Joey. So he changed the name of his team. And demanded that every one call him Joe. So with the new names and two or three years of experience under his belt. He went on to dominate the league for the next decade.
I still think that anybody who has every seen a bantam rooster strut around a farm yard. Would agree that a bantam would make a great sports logo. Joe is no longer in the league, he has grown up and gone on to more worldly things. I am still in the league. My team the Massholes, so appropriately named by my daughter Diana, is still a yearly contender at sunsportsamerica.com, buts it's just not the same with out Joey!
So like the tortoise I've learned that in fantasy baseball I need to be conservative. To stick with the proven veterans and keep the rookies on the bench. I could not estimate the number of times a phenom has blinded me. The same goes with the market and politics, stick with the blue chips and things will more than likely have a lot more stability to them. The market and politics are in my mind the two places where temporary insanity is the rule,not the exception. Any place where rumors and greed rule, is a good place to avoid.
So my advice is avoid financiers and politicians who promise change. If we did not run off chasing fads and rainbows. We might have a sound economy, Kerry Healey and Hillary Clinton.
So like the Tortoise, go straight, calm and slow and avoid all detours

Journey back home

As hard as it is for me to believe, my high school graduation class will hold it's fiftieth anniversary this coming August.
As much as it would be out of character for me to attend. I am actually entertaining thoughts of making a cameo appearance. I base this uncharacteristic thought on a couple of things. The first is the relating of my childhood experiences has seemed to mellow me some what. The second is just curiosity, for I have not seen any of my old class mates in years.
Now I have always been the type of person who avoided camera's and mirrors. The reason being I was always disappointed when I got to view my image. The reason for this of course was a lack of self confidence. On the other hand, the majority of my class mates would fall all over them selves when ever they saw a camera. And few could resist the opportunity to preen in front of a mirror.Of course all the preening and camera mugging was just an attempt to fit in.
As far as academics went, I was a mediocre student at best. So fitting nicely with my inferiority complex ,was the feeling that the majority of my classmates were a hell of a lot smarter than I. However over the years I have learned first hand that good study habits and common sense, very rarely go hand and hand. Some of the most educated people I know are as dumb as a door knob.
Marring money, winning the lottery or inheriting, does not make you successful. Just very fortunate. So it will be interesting to see how many are still pretenders, and how many have accepted their lot.
I really doubt that the majority of people were any different then I was. Peer pressure and all that goes with it makes the high school years a sweet and sour proposition.
So when push comes to shove, I will again be a no show. So many times over the years I have vowed I would attend functions, visit with family or be more social in general. With the end result being, I end up alone, feeling as though I was missing something. But that's me, and try as I may it's just my nature.
As nostalgic as I get, I hate to go back to my old haunts. I am a person who hates change. I would much rather remember the small town atmosphire of my youth. Today those areas just seem like extensions of Boston.

Reluctant Sox watcher

Today's blog is going to be about baseball a combination of sentimentalism and sarcastic raving.

I, like all kids of my era, was addicted to America's game. Playgrounds and sandlots were busy places. In those days you would have to be there early, or risk not getting into the game. This of course was also true for football, hockey and basketball. But baseball was favored. I think the main reason it was so popular was, that unlike other sports, size was not a factor. Plus the fact that pro baseball was heads and shoulders ahead of all other sports. I would say that next in line was boxing followed by pro hockey and college football.
I had a morning paper route (It was expected that paper would be on stoop by 6 a,m,) that introduced me to my life long love affair with box scores. In those days Boston had eight daily newspapers (yes I remember the names of them all). Most games were played in the afternoon and where ever you went you heard the familiar voice of Curt Gowdy calling the game on WHDH radio.And of course Ilene Hennessy saying "Hi neighbor have a gansett".
Every spring,Henry Meyers who was the druggist and owner of the Ryal side drug store would ask the local kids for their predictions for that year's American league pennant race. He would then write the picks on the wall in back of the comic book rack. He would spend the rest of the season needling us about our picks. We had of course all picked the Red Sox, because as everyone knows all ten year old kids are optimists.
My first memories of Fenway park, came from the generosity of the Beverly Mass. recreation department. Every summer they would herd all of the playground kids on to buses and take us to a major league baseball game. Always an extremely hot day, and the competition was always one of the league doormats. But to a baseball junky it was utopia!.
I had many Fenway park experiences when I was young. And I am not going to bore you with a long narrative about them.
But as an example of how times have changed. I want to tell you about opening day April 11, 1969. It was a very cold drizzling, windy day. Four or five First National buddies and I had been talking about attending for weeks. So when the day dawned cold,wet and ugly it did not slow us down one bit. I remember Johnny O'Connell and Buster Goodrich being with me.But for the life of me,I cannot remember who the other guys were.
But the point I started out to make was the announced crowd of 10,277. I feel safe to say that was an inflated figure. In this day and age, there is that many people hanging around outside of the ball park. All hoping to buy a ticket from a scalper. The Sox lost to Kansas city,and I froze my butt off. Little did I know the serenity of Fenway park and all of pro sports,would in the next couple of years dive head first into the toilet!
I still get all out of sorts, if I some how miss my daily box score fix. But as far as everything else about baseball and all pro sports goes, I have became extremely jaded. Again I place the blame on the media. But in fairness to them,we are a society that would follow the pied piper into the ocean.
I will admit that I was a fan of the first sports talk shows.Guy Mainella, Clif and Claf and Eddie Andelman. The formats were humorous, enlightening and brief. Now I refuse to even consider watching or listening to any of the garbage that is aired to day. ESPN is with out a doubt the biggest piece of dog shit on the airways today.Not only do they deal in deceitful rumors. They some how manage to hire one sex deviant after another. If Chris Berman and his ilk are a disgrace nationally, then locally WEEI and the big fat blowhards led by Glen Ordway are a close second. They bring buffoonery and ignorance to a new level.
The way major league baseball and Fox broadcasting handle the world series is a complete joke. Not only are they saying tough shit!, to the people in the northeast who have to work for a living. They are practically eliminating the kids from their audience all together. What they should do is start the games an hour or so later. I hear a lot of people on the west coast are upset because the games are starting when they are usually having happy hour. Why not, they don't care that the kids they are eliminating with late starts, won't give two squats about baseball, when they are old enough to buy all the cars and beer they are shilling.
So the old Red Sox jingle which I use to croak to Lisa and Becky "I'm a Sox watcher" still holds true. It's just does not feel the same anymore.
Trivia Question
Which athlete played for three different Boston pro sports teams?

There is a sucker born every minute!

In February I wrote a blog about Mr. Schadenfreude. In that blog I told you how he was doing all he could to block the residents of Great Meadow Village, from using a donated shed as a designated smoking area. He had the support of some lower level bureaucrats, and all the bluster and threats that they could muster. So after a lengthy moratorium the daring residents decided on the bold course of civil anarchy. They began using the shed for it's intended purpose. They are now puffing to their hearts content. Once again proving that lower level bureaucrats are usually all bark and no bite. When they found out that the aged rebels from Great Meadow Village were taking a stand. They did what all low level bureaucrats do.That is to stick to the old stand by. Which is of course is, do nothing. And the upper level officials did not want to get involved. Simply because there was no money to be diverted.
So I decided I would go ahead, finish, and install the flower boxes that I made last spring. This being my way of being a good neighbor,while avoiding becoming a member of the tenants organization.
So as soon as the last violent nor'easter started to peter out I appealed to the smoking clique to give me a hand, panting and installing the boxes. My goal was to have them up and planted in time for Easter weekend. After all they were the one's who originally asked me if I could some how magically install four flower boxes for them, at no cost to themselves .
Now I could call them lazy bastards. But you know how I feel about motherhood .So as not to insult their mother's, I will just call them blowhards. They sit around all day expertly expounding on all subjects. They are so knowledgeable it's amazing that they are not all millionaires.
However it's a horse of a different color when you ask them to actually do something. Here is a few of their excuses. "I'm allergic to latex"-- "I'm blind in one eye"-"I've got an ingrown sex organ"- "I'm over weight". No shit Dick Tracy, you and all the rest of the blowhards.
Well with the help of Dale Brinkley, the tenant's maintenance man. I beat my dead line. The boxes are hung on the shed and planted with Pansy's. In June I will pull out the Pansy's and put in Supertunias.
So now I have a whole growing season to maintain these boxes. All The while the kibitzers will tell me that I'm doing it all wrong. And I will be wondering if P.T. Barnum was referring to me!

Wandering Aimlessly

Last fall I noticed that I was becoming very lethargic and a possessor of a large rump.I was also living proof that having large love handles does not turn one into a sex symbol. This did not make much sense to me. I have always had a small appetite and gave up chugging beers ages ago.
A-ha! Dawn over Marblehead! the reason for my funk was the fact that I had always been a very active person. And my new sedate life style was just not burning off my meager food intake.
I decided to get back to a more energetic routine. Taking long walks every day became part of my new regimentation. I soon learned that like every other phase of life. A walker will become a creature of habit.He must walk where there are sidewalks, and This limits his range some what. As walking in the street is reckless bravado at best.
My favorite walking route is a straight line. From my house to the ocean and back. It is a round trip of seven or eight miles. It has sidewalks all the way, hard on the feet, but good for the butt. I stroll this route every day, weather permitting.

Like motorists who have a multitude of peeves with their fellow motorists. so do
pedestrian's. Many pedestrians are just as wrathful as their motorist counterparts.
So the attitude that some of them display should probably be called sidewalk rage.
On my route to the beach,the sidewalk I refer to is just wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
There is a multitude of people using these sidewalks.Joggers,power walkers, cyclist, amblers,dog walkers and folks with prams.
The majority of pedestrians are amblers. These people are courteous and always have a friendly greeting. It goes with out saying I fall into this group.
Strider's are the look at me! and look out for me type. They refuse to move from the center of the walkway and will drop their shoulder and ram you, This is the type who as a motorist like to wave at you with one finger and lean on their car horn. The horn of course is to warn you that you are dealing with someone much more important. And the finger wave of course to brag about their IQ.
Power walkers seem to all be females. I may be wrong about this. But other than the
Olympics, I have never seen a male power walker. The lithe power walkers. Headset
firmly in place, arms pumping, hands clinching some kind of a weight,blow right by with out ever looking at you. The more weight challenged power walkers cannot seem to master the arm swing and hip gyrating movements of their slender counterparts and seemed resigned to an exercise in futility.
Cyclist on the most part are mostly grammar school kids. They ride predominantly on the sidewalk and when they are alone they are very courteous. However when in a group, it's best to just get out of the way. The obnoxious spandex crowd on the other hand, prefers to ride in the middle of the road. They love proving, that what all motorist call them is true.
Joggers seem to be a very serious group. They are courteous but rather impatient, as they all seem to be trying to keep or beat a set pace. As they run, they are constantly glancing at their wrist watch. This brings on a frown and a picked up pace.
Dog walkers can be a real dilemma to the ambler. Their usual greeting is don't worry he won't bite. Now my reaction to that is, look pal the name is Tucker not sucker. My advice is to just gave them both plenty of leeway. You must also be wary of land mines. Some dog owners are conscientious and scoop faithfully. Other's are more inclined to be slovenly. All though there is one dog owner who reaches down with his bare hand and picks up the feces and puts it into his pocket. I have seen him do this on several occasions.(his kin must love hugging him)
The young people who are out pushing strollers, only come out on sunny warm days. They are coutreous and happy, They make me feel melencoly, because they have no idea how difficult the chore of parenthood is going to be.
As I near the beach, another type of walker comes streaming out of the parking lots, These I classify as the strutters. These are also the hey look at me type. They are different than the striders. The strider thinks he's important.The strutter thinks he or she is God's gift to creation and dresses accordingly. These people have no destanation. They are just strutting to be seen.

Shape wise, I am now back to being mean and lean. I feel much better physically. But now I must do something about my jeans, I do not like the baggy assed look.

Thing's I would like to do Revised 3/24/2010

To follow up my other two list, I am adding my "things I would like to do list". This list of course will not have anything practical on it. The things I list will have no chance of transpiring. The chances of Jennifer Aniston knocking on my door, and then winking at me. Have much better odds of happening, then anything on this list.
This blog is inspired by a reader. Who stated there was something on my list of things I would never do,that she always wanted to do.
Things I would like to do!
1. own my own farm
2. visiting rural Russia
3. write a novel
4. find a trove of old coins
5. learn how to whistle
6. buy a fixer upper
7. visit rural parts of Europe
8. own a cottage on a small pond
9. walk and chew gum at same time
10. hit a curve ball
11. open mouth with out inserting foot
After seeing my amateuristic attempts at writing a blog, it's plain to see I will never attempt to write a novel. But sometimes when I am reading a book, I day dream about improving the plot.
I already have had a couple of readers accuse me of being pretentious in my excessive wordage. All I can say about that is, I only use what I feel comfortable with. I try to use words that leave little doubt as to what I am trying to say. Many words have more then one meaning and can be interpreted in a variety of ways. For example. In the fifties if I said, Pierre and Randy,were having a gay old time, fooling around out behind the barn. People would interpret it totally differently than they would today.
So the point I am trying to make. Is that by being a compulsive reader I have expanded my vocabulary. Like I stated in a previous blog.I dozed through most of my English classes. And I would be lost with out the spellcheck icon on my computer.
Two authors who really built up my vocabulary. Charles Todd and his inspector Ian Rutledge series, And M.C. Beaton with her very witty stories about Scottish constable Hamish McBeth.
Charles Todd and M.C Beaton"s tales of these two policemen took place in the early nineteen hundreds. Along with their great stories,I found that the vernacular of that era and of Britain to be almost an alien language to us in America. So I spend a lot of time looking up words they use. So that I can completely understand what they are trying to say.
Another author I really admire is Donald E. Westlake. I find this author to be by far the most humorous I have ever read. His stories about John Dortmunder and his gang of thieves, proves that all humor does not have to be demeaning or slapstick.

I am sure that I will think of more imposable dreams to add to the my list. But That's it for today.
3/24/10
Normally I just add to my lists,without mentioning it.
But so many readers have giving me a jab about my thinly veiled referance to Jennifer Aniston.That I feel compelled to add her to my list.
I did not want to be preceived as a dirty old man, so I tried to sneak it by. I figured it would just be my little joke. So now that I have been exposed,

12. have a rasslin' match with Jennifer

Yucca's

This blog was going to be a list of things I would like to do. But A person emailed me, with a plea for advice on how to take care of his Yucca plants. This is puzzling to me. In this day and age, there is a plethora of gardening websites. That plus the fact that few people take the advice that is given. As all gardeners know, most garden maintenance is tedious labor. And most wannabe gardener's enthusiasm quickly peters out.
But this person is one of the few people who does listen and actually has become a very good gardener. I feel that I have him buffaloed.
So I passed on my skimpy expertize, pertaining to the care of his Yucca's. I also emphasised that Yucca plants have a much better chance of staying with you until death does you part. Much more so, than any wedding vow. Yucca plants although not as invasive as bamboo, nut grass, and violets to mention a few have a very persistent root system.It is almost impossible to get all of the Yucca roots out of the soil. And the next thing you know, new little Yucca's appear. So unless you are transplanting the Yucca or any of it's ilk. My advice is to nuke them. And most times, bamboo will just laugh at the herbicide, and at you to.
Back to the reason why talking about Yucca plants, made me switch from blogs about my inane list. To Yucca plants and memories of Army bases and Fort Dix in general.
I cannot prove this statement to be fact. But I have been on a number of army bases, and they all look the same. Sand and Yucca plants. Which I believe is some kind of military strategy. Now the Yucca plant when properly cared for has a beautiful large showy bloom, and will bloom yearly. But as it is a succulent it can survive in poor arid soil, stay olive green and ward of any predators. Ideal for harsh conditions.
In basic training I was never picked as the supernumerary when assigned guard duty (a soldier who acted as a reserve sentry, who was picked because of his spit and polish. In the civilian world he would probably be called a rump swab. This solider got to hang out in the orderly room. While us other worthless saps, wandered around in the dark trying to stay awake and remember the order of the day) I also always ended up on the much despised pots and pans detail, when ever I was assigned to KP. Now the reason I never got any of the tit details when I was assigned to these duty's is simple. I was one of the privates who felt as though it was his duty to help close up the beer garden every night. How could I possibly be one of the first KP's to enter the mess hall at 4 a.m. Or to to have the presence of mind to break new starch for the guard detail inspection. Christ I was lucky to have a semi spit shine and a remotely close gig line.
Don't get me wrong I loved basic training, and enjoyed most of it. Guard duty, KP,close order drill and policing the area where however my downfall. Our field first was diminutive, a real prick and a fierce leader. He was dapper in his tailored fatigues and appeared as if he cracked starch every day. When this master sergeant chewed out your ass, he made Sgt's Snorkel and Fatso Judson sound like choir boys.
So my life long dislike of Yucca came from getting my hands sliced front and back by the razor sharp leaves of Yucca plants while policing cigarette butts and gum wrappers in and around those wretched plants. All the while this little shit is strutting around with his swagger stick. Screaming "all I want to see is assholes and elbow's"!

My Do,Do list

After I bored most of my readers to death, with my absurd "things I would never do list" . I have decided to add insult to injury. I am going to do this by listing things, I do almost every day or seasonally. So as the opposite of my things I would never do list, It is my list of things I do, do. Most of my readers. I am sure will heave a sigh of relief, and say to themselves well he's finally got that right. But I am sure all my readers have some kind of do,do list. So here is my humble routine.

My do.do list
1. fly a flag daily
2. tend to house plants
3. take hypertension meds.
4. tend to flower beds
5. do USA Today crossword
6. read (mostly mysteries)
7. check email
8. check credit card accounts
9. check facebook
10. read box scores
11. take a long walk
12. pick up mail
13. household chores
14. color eggs (seasonal)
15. carve pumpkin (seasonal)
16.Thanksgiving, go to Lisa's in a.m.
17. Christmas eve, kids come to visit
18. Christmas a.m. go to visit Joe and Diana
19. 1st week August go to Priscilla's for Dylan's birthday
20. tend to my fantasy baseball team
21. display greens for Yule and winter seasons (seasonal)
22. put pansies in flower boxes as forerunners to summer annuals.
23. first and last of course is to tend to daily hygiene

24. watch the Patriots with Joe

25. with Diana, watch and critique our favorite TV shows

So just like my "I would never do that list", I am sure I have missed a few things.
Naturally illicit and shady shenanigans have to go unmentioned.
I am sure most of my readers, have do,do lists, much longer then mine. But as you can
see by my two lists, I do tend to tread on the wild side.
So my advice to my readers is this. When dealing with any superiors,be they bureaucratic or management types. proceed with caution,or you may very well end up on a different type of doo-doo list!

I would never do that!

Almost every day, I hear someone say. Wow! I would never wear that! or I would never do that! I have those same sentiments two or three times a day. So I decided I would list the things that I would never do. The list is quite long, and I am sure I have many quirks that I have omitted as I am quite fastidious by nature. I also am sure that most readers could care less about my list.
But if they do bother to scan my list, it will trigger thoughts of their own, "I would never do list"
List of things I would never do.
1. Wear a Beret,a Fez or a Scally cap
2. get a tattoo
3. listen to opera music
4. get a haircut from a stylist
5. run for office
6. join any club or organization that would have me as a member
7. ring up my own groceries
8. pump my own gas
9. wear shorts in public
10. wear clogs
11. go to the beach
12. do karaoke
13. watch soap operas
14. wear a bow tie
15. wear leather pants
16. listen to rap music (or any of today's so called music)
17. eat sweet potatoes
18. eat any tofu concoction

19. buy a lottery ticket

20. compose poetry

21. wear an earring

22. take a sea cruise

23. visit a brothel

24. ever again say I do

25. run in the Boston marathon

As you see I could go on and on with this list, because I am such a wild and crazy guy.

Far fetched

In response to a statement from a reader of my blogs. I can only repeat what I have vowed in previous blogs. That is to tell things the way I remember them sans hearsay. And to express my opinion of how I felt about said occurrences,then and now. As you know as we get older,we tend to view things in a different light.
This person I consider to be a brother, though we are not related. we lived in the same house as family for many years.The five year difference in our ages,seems to have caused us to reflect differently on our childhood.
He stated that after reading my blogs, he now understood where my far flung ideas came from. The way I interpreted that statement,was that to him my blogs were far fetched and nothing more than a figment of my imagination. So I asked him, if by far flung he meant whacky? His reply to my question was a vague reference to how he had finally seen the light and was now a devout Mormon.He went on to say how he believes the bible to be true and that someday he expects to have his own spaceship and to be transported to another dimension. I hope for his sake everything he believes is true. And that someday his hope that he too will be resurrected will transpire.
He went on to say.That he could relate to the attitude of the elders at Emmanuel church. Because of his experience's as an employee of Walmart. He had to regularly deal with out of control kids. and with parents who were just as delinquent.
After reading all his remarks about religion. I came to the conclusion, that he was
referring to the comments I made in my blog "Supposition" In which I stated that I am a agnostic. I also said that I did not believe in the tall tales of the bible. UFOs or any other unfounded hearsay. So if I offended him in any way I am sorry. I know that religion to some people is worth going to war over.
The point I was trying to make is, that there is always a good common sense answer to all of our ignorance's. I do not see how you could be an agnostic,without being a realist.
As far as the church hypocrites he defends. I don't think we were any worse acting then their kids were. And probably not nearly as sneaky.
I am sure his attempt to get me to try to see the light was done with affection and concern for my soul. However I feel quite comfortable with my beliefs.
The one thing that I have always wondered about crusaders! are they trying to convince me.or themselves?

Emma Nutt part two

I do not claim to be overly bright or a very gifted computer user. I think this puts me somewhere in the middle of the pack. And as far as using this medium for paying bills and communicating goes,maybe a little below average
In my last blog I was very critical of Comcast's product delivery and website. I did not do this to be malicious. I was just venting, and sharing my thoughts with whom ever might be interested.
To my surprise I got a response in the comment section of my blog. I was surprised on two fronts. One being that most all of my readers, shy away from the comment section. And respond via email. The second surprise being the respondent. A Mr. Mark Casem from the customer relations department at Comcast. His response was that he would like to address the issues that concerned me. So he invited me to contact him. My first reaction was oh Christ, big brother is watching me. But after talking things over with my daughter Diana and looking at blogging in general, it only makes sense sense that they would monitor and react to negative blogs.
So on March second I sent him my email address and telephone number. I figured that would be the end of this little story. But the very next day I received a phone call from Janis Falzone, who is the New England Representative of the customer relations department. She invited me to unload all of my real or imagined grievance's. Well I was on the phone with her for a good half hour and found her to be a good listener and sincere. Now these are traits you would expect to find in a diplomat. So she certainly seems to be well suited for that position.When we parted she promised to look into my allegations and then she would get back to me.
To give the devil his due, I was impressed with,what seemed like good intentions.

Talking about being average, that's just about where I feel I fit in, as far as coping with all the little every day vexations.But when it comes to coping with the new age blister packs and child proof packing. I am mediocre at best! With these new reclosable plastic bags,where it says tear here. For me that's mission impossible, and I promptly reach for my scissors. As far as child proof bottles go. First I have to fumble with that plastic seal around collar, and then have a trial and error sequence until I get it lined up right. This has to be done well in advance of when needed. Especially with any medication that I am hoping to get instant relief from. As far as blister pack goes, it is a perfect name for this type of packaging. I understand the concept.The product is well protected from damage in transit,and is not easily opened by shoplifters.
So the shoplifter just takes the whole package.This still leaves the consumer who purchases one of the packages that the thief missed, a real dilemma. How to get the aptly named blister pack open. After much trial and error,I suggest a reciprocating saw.

Emma Nutt

On February 25th, the north shore and southern New Hampshire experienced a severe storm. The storm, snuck up on the guys and gals of the local media outlet's. Now as we all know forecasting the weather in New England is a crap shoot at best. Even with all the modern equipment,the forecasters get it wrong as often as they get it right. But major storms the meteorologists usually can't miss. That big black blob on the radar is a sure indicator. This turns the media meteorologists into leering, grinning, soothsayers of gloom and doom Warning you to run to your local supermarket and purchase enough groceries booze,candles and toilet paper to last you it least a month. Because there is a good chance you might not be able to get there until tomorrow. So this storm robbed them of their chance to show you their compulsory film footage of panicky shoppers, knocking down the doors of local hardware outlets in search of those elusive snow shovels. I have yet to meet one of those poor souls, who seem to be constantly losing their shovels. Or are just realizing, here on the cusp of March that winter has made an appearance.
This reminds me of Don Kent. Unlike today, where we have access to a gazillion media outlets. In the fifties we had only three TV stations and radio. And on both TV and radio WBZ was the media giant. And Don Kent of WBZ was the heavyweight of meteorologists. And his nickname? You guessed it.Everybody called him Wrong Kent!
So when you look at the big picture, trees down, street and basement flooding and beach erosion. My exasperation with Comcast seems trivial. However, having related to you in previous blogs of my run ins with telephone and video providers. Every confrontation I have with Comcast seems to be magnified.
So naturally Comcast was down and out shortly after the storm started, and still in that mode long after all it's competition was back up and running. This of course was no surprise, as their track record even in nice weather is spotty at best. It seems that if a bird craps on one of their coaxial cables it can shut down the whole system.
How can you trust a company who's major emphasis is to avoid any personal contact with it's customers. The only thing you presume from that kind of attitude is that they know, that they have major issues. And that they expect to be swamped with complaints. Now I know complaint is a badly misused word for problems. For example a doctor might say the patient was complaining of a gunshot wound to the head. Now how can that be complaining? To me that's a fact. To me complaining is when you are bitching about minor issues. So if that's what they think I can understand the smoke and mirrors of their telephone system.
But you know and I know that in this day and age, there is no company ethics or pride. The only thing that counts is the bottom line. So the way the system works is promise them a good deal, with no intention to honor it. Knowing full well that the majority of irate customers will never get past their diabolical customer relations land mines.
Trying to pay your bill on line with Comcast is like playing Russian roulette. There is no way to explain to you how convoluted their system is. You would just have to see it yourself. I pay a number of my bills on line and on the sites where I do they are user friendly. so to give the devil it's due,Comcast is not user friendly in any phase. So it least they are consistent. And the one most annoying stunt is every thirty seconds they have a pop up that ask you if you will do away with paper bills . You can not proceed unless you answer this. Even though there is a box that says check here, to not be asked again. So of course they think, like their phone system, you will finally cave in. So after trying to trick you into paying your bill twice and doing away with the paper trail, they think they have you. Fat chance! How could you trust them to be up and running when it comes time to make your next ransom payment.
The simple solution is to take pride in what they do and give the customer what they promise and then they would not need a bunch of anti linguists.
The one thing switching to Comcast made me do,is get a cellphone. The reason of course is that once any part of the system went down,they all went down. So of course I could not call them to find out if they were just dumping on me that day. Or was it the whole surrounding area,they had decided to abuse that day. Needless to say I really fumble around with this tiny bit of electronic gadgetry. I miss the old days where you picked up the phone and Emma Nutt or one of her ilk, pleasantly greeted you. She would ask what number you wanted and you would reply Walker 233 (Walker was the Beverly exchange) and someone from the business you were calling would actually answer in a civil manner. And I know you might not believe this, They actually spoke English.
Telling you about the Beverly exchange reminded me of the old radio ad that would ask you how many cookies could Andrew eat? Which was of course was Andrew 8 8000.

Shank's mare

Take Shank's mare is a familiar term to anyone that is my age. That's the term kids would often hear, when they asked their parents for a ride. In my case I did not have a parent with a car. So when I asked someone for a ride, the usual response was "take a hike". Which of course had a totally different meaning than a parent saying walk, The exercise will do you good.
So along with Victor Bernson,I became a veteran hitch hiker. Thumbing was very prevalent back in the fifty's. In this day and age of political correctness and fear. Thumbing a ride is an exercise in futility. Not only are your chances of getting a ride slim and none. But if you are unlucky enough to get a lift, your life and health insurance premiums better be up to date.
Bicycle's of course were all kids main form of transportation.
Which brings me to a story about Victor. He was the same age as I, and we were more like associates than close friends. Living in the same place, and sharing the same experiences. We were sort of paired up by fate. He was just the opposite of me. Dark,handsome and out going.
Once when we were about twelve, he limped around for a couple of weeks.He claimed that he had hurt his tailbone while playing football. I of course was sure, that he had tripped over his ego. But anyway back to the story , which proves people are not always what they appear to be. The YMCA was running a candy sale as a fund raiser. The prize to the member who sold the most, was an English bicycle. Victor bragged to anybody who would listen, that he was going to be the proud owner of a new bike. As time went by it became clear that Victor was probably going to finish in second or third place. So he approached me with a proposition. He figured if that if I got into the competition, I could sell candy to all the people that he had already hit up, He would then submit my sales as his. His theory being, people would not buy from the same kid twice. But would buy again from another kid. The carrot for this deal was that he would give the bike to me. This of course would be after everybody saw his picture in the newspaper. And after he puffed his chest out and told all of doubters,"see I told you so"
Well, I did not want to do it, for a number of reasons. The main reason was of course that at that age, I was firmly in the wallflower mode. Especially with adults, and any girl of my age who might happen to answer my tentative knock on their door. That plus my brother Harry, who at that time I hardly knew. Had just giving me a practically new Schwinn bicycle.
Victor persisted, and I finally gave in. Lo and behold the theory was correct. All of Victor's customers and many new one's, went out of their way to help out the skinny little blond haired runt. Thus Victor was the proud owner of a brand new English bicycle. And to my surprise(and everyone else) he insisted on holding up his end of the bargain and give the bicycle to me. And to Victors surprise I took it.
Anyway with the number of kids at eight Virginia avenue, things that we had were more or less interchangeable And at that time we were both on the cusp of teenage. In the fifty's no self respecting teenager would be seen dead on a bicycle. I don't recall every seeing a bicycle at Memorial junior high or at Beverly high school. I don't recall seeing any bicycle racks there either.
So in our early teens we became masters of thumbing and hitching rides.Some days we had no trouble getting rides. Other days we would end up walking all the way to our destination. So we were forced into learning some great short cuts. I'll just list a few of our favorites. Up County way extension into the woods, follow the bridal path to the United Shoe golf course, across golf course to McKay street and north Beverly, This was short cut to Memorial junior high, Shoe Pond and Beverly airport, where in 55 and 56 they held SCCA automobile races on the fourth of July.
Another favorite was up Beverly Hills ave to Sunset drive into the woods, over Folly Hill to the cattle underpass of rte 128 to Cherry Hill farm. At that time it was a model dairy farm owned by the Hood milk company. This was also our gateway to the Topsfield fair grounds. Into the woods off of rte 97, over the chain link fence and into the fair. Back in the fifties it was always held on Labor day week, and the greyhounds were the big draw. For us kids it was rather sweet and sour, as it was also the first week of the school year.

Mr. Schadenfreude- aka Mr. Rattus- addendum 4/27/10

I consider my self to be a contrarian, not because I am argumentative. But because I feel free to form my own opinions. There is a surprising percentage of people who"go along to get along" I express my thoughts, and if they are contrary,so be it!
But the person I am writing about today is a contrarian in a different sense. He is just a mean son of a bitch, period. I Will not tell you his name. But his neighbors will know right away of whom I speak. Also I do not want to embarrass his mother, nor did I mean her any disrespect when I called him a son of a bitch. It's just that all the other names people call him would have have to be censored. And then this blog would read like a traffic jam,beep,beep,beep,beep etc.
So I will just refer to him as Mr. Rattus. Some people say the only time Mr. Rattus will smile, is when there is a death in his family. I dispute that, I actually saw him smile. One day when he came into the parking lot and saw Simmie's tow truck hooking up to my pickup truck, he broke out with a grin from ear to ear. Plus the fact any family members would have disowned him years ago.
For me to dump on Mr. Rattus. I must first tell you about the place I live. It is named great Meadows Village. It is located just off of Salisbury square on Beach road. It is elderly housing,subsidized by the state of Massachusetts. Now you might ask what is a person of only sixty-nine doing living in a place like that? Well the answer is that it makes sense financially for a retired person to live here. I realize that in this day and age, people of my age are not to far removed from teenyboppers. but in order to be one step ahead of the baby boomers, I took one giant step backwards and became a resident of Great Meadows Village. After all I am hoping to make it to old age some day. ( I will leave it to your imagination, as to how some of these old retards like to alter the logo. By turning great, into a three letter word,starting with g).
Needless to say I don't much like living here. I don't feel as though I really fit. This is no reflection on the majority of the good people who do live here. It's just that the asshole factor chaired by Mr.Rattus and his ilk, far out weigh any positives.
Being a bit reclusive and a little anti-social. I should of heeded one of Groucho Marx's famous quotations "I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member" But I let common sense prevail and here I reside,for better or for worse. We'll see!.
As a resident of Great Meadow Village, I did listen to Groucho and refused to take part in the tenants organization. This organization is chartered to represent the tenants and handle any petty disputes. But basically all it does is plan parties and throw silly little socials. The main reason it has no clot, is that Mr.Rattus makes the organizations, elected officers life so miserable that there is a constant turn over in board officers. I have seen more presidents come and go than Tiger has had dalliances.
To be a good neighbor and to offset my snub of the tenant's organization,I maintain some strategically located flower beds for all the tenants to enjoy. This gesture of goodwill, I paid for out of my own pocket. Little did I know that this would burn Mr.Rattus's rectum. And be the start of a feud.
Now I know feuding with a neighbor is inane. But this man is a bully. and just like back in the school yard, sooner or later someone has to say enough. I have watched as he has driven two different women tenants out of the unit that is over his. They did not go easy it took months,but after many shouting matches,police visits and court dates, he just wore them down. I have seen him throw screaming fits at visitors who mistakenly park in his allotted parking spot. He has filed so many complaints with the police department,that the Chief is at his wits end with him. He has to respond to his nonsense,just to protect his department. I saw him cuffed and arrested for screaming at and physically pushing another elderly tenant. Two years ago he was put on probation for a year by the housing authority. Any stunts and he would be evicted.Needless to say there were many hi-jinks,but he is still here. I'm not going to bore you with all the other transgressions. His type is protected by the inane judicial systems and bureaucrats who are only tough when it comes to dealing with the meek. Bullies themselves.
So in my further adventures with Mr.Rattus,we come to the big wooden shed that was donated to the tenant organization by a local contractor. This shed was to replace the big tent that was used by the tenants who were smokers. Because by law they could not smoke in the community hall. I was approached and asked my advice about flower boxes. They wanted a box under each window. I responded that I would make and maintain them as part of my gesture of taking care of the flower beds and being a good neighbor.
In steps Mr. Rattus with an injunction preventing them from smoking in the shed. The law being that it was a state building, thus no smoking. now the smokers have to stand out in the elements and smoke. There is no longer any room to put up another tent. So the shed sits empty, Mr Rattus makes quick checks two or three times a day to make sure no one is sneaking in there and smoking. On a few occasions he has caught them, and ugly shouting matches follow. What a guy! So the flower boxes I made still sit in the maintenance shop. I will either give them away or just leave them where they are until the great shed fiasco is resolved.
Mr Rattus has reported me to the administrator many times. On one of those occasions I wish what he had reported was true.
If cats and dogs were humans, cats would be the gentry and dogs would all have to be registered as sex offenders,Just look at the way dogs great each other!, their toilet manners and not to mention public fornication. Where as cats do all of these things in private. So when Mr. Rattus reported that my cat's piss had landed on his head and face, after Igor had relieved him self on my deck.(Igor is a misnomer,he was no monster). I was elated, even though I knew it could not possibly be true. But I had to respond to this heinous charge anyway.
So as spring approaches,and I plan my flower beds I do not expect to see Mr. Rattus prancing around with rainbows arching out of his butt. My experience is the only people who suddenly see the light are the one's who get hit by lightning or those who are strapped into an electric chair.
Addendum: April 27, 2010
Recently I was asked by one of my neighbors, if I thought Mr. Rattus was ill or if maybe he had mellowed. The reason being, said rat had not publicly, made life uncomfortable for any of the residents for a couple of weeks. I agreed with the sick part. But assured my neighbor , that the rat was probably in his nest plotting some kind of nonsensical revenge, for some imagined slight.
Today he oozed out of his warren with the news that he was petitioning the court to have a rose trellis evicted from the property. How something as charming and harmless as a trellis has offended his sensibilities, seems incredulous. But the truth is, he feels that any land abutting his unit is his. But of course as all the tenants know the lawns and gardens are common property.
However he will go to court where the judge scared shitless of the do-gooders of our society will take a real bold stance. That being that he will take it under advisement, or some other kind of legalese jargon. Such as the last case ,which was just as inane, where he bravely came back with a no finding verdict.Which will mean he just hopes this trivial nonsense will just go away.
But the rat will be proud of himself and he will be strutting around and acting like he was the mayor of Gotham.
There are many happy people when ever a despot or a tyrant buys the dirt farm. As sad as it is to say. This is the only person I know, who will actually bring smiles to the majority of people who know him, when his time comes.

Full Moon Theory revisited

As I stated in my blog about the full moon,I think we all are a little ditsy.The fact is that we all have phobias. Now some people will tell you that they are not afraid of anything.But there is actually a name for that. It's called phobophobia. Which means fear of phobia.Which makes it one of the few phobias that I don't have. Most people have a few. If they were to stop and think about it, realize it's probably more then they thought. I'm going to relate to you some of my phobias,with out their fancy long names. I'll bet that most of the few people who read my blogs will be able to relate to some of them.
Fear of heights. This has developed as I have aged. When I was a young man,in mid winter, I would climb up the steeply pitched roof of my house. Day or night,ice,wind or snow. I just had to readjust that UHF antenna,so I could watch a fuzzy broadcast of the big bad Bruins. You could not get me to do that now,for love or money.
Before I get to my most serious phobia,here are a few Minor irritants. People who have to keep touching you while they talk to you. People who pick food from your plate. People who talk with a mouth full of food. People who invade your space. And of course,one I have mentioned before. The smug look down their nose at you type .With that Holier than thou look. AKA smell-a-farts.
This brings me to a problem I have had all my life,"social anxiety".I'm sure this problem goes all the way back to my youth,relating to some of the incidences I have touched in previous blogs. To this day an invitation or summons of any kind upsets me. This condition has caused me to upset my children and ex wives many times. I know it's foolish but I have a real dread of any type of socialising. With this comes a claustrophobic feeling,along with the urge to avoid mirrors and cameras. I still get a shaky feeling when I have to sign some thing in any ones presence.My signature looks like I have been on a bender.
I know it all probably boils down to an inferiority complex. But it's my nature and I try hard to overcome it.Common sense tells me to just ignore these feelings and relax a little.But that's like trying to shut down all those thoughts that run threw your head at night when you are trying to go to sleep. I just can't do it.
To end this dreary blog on a brighter note, the name for the full moon in May, is the Flower moon. The Indians who named it, were also taken with the beauty of spring.
All and all I don't feel like the village idiot,just a little abnormal like everyone else.

Palace of fine foods

Today as I was walking up and down the aisles of the local Market Basket,the old adage "the more things change.the more they stay the same" popped into my head. The
first thought being being signs. I am talking advertising signs and price signs. Now what's the difference you might ask. And as John Karolides would say "I'm going to tell you now so you'll know"
In 1958 First National stores opened up a brand new super market on the corner of High street and Purchase street,in Danvers. It was just before rte.128. I am told that at one time a hospital was on this site. In later years it was Coleman's sporting goods.I think there is a Walgreens there now.
This is where I first became aware of window signs. At the grand opening, there was three big signs in the front windows. Announcing that this was the PALACE OF FINE FOODS. I have no problem with signs like that or any kind of seasonal signs. It was weekly sales items and regimentation of these signs that bothered me. I have always
liked the natural light that streamed through those big widows. Rather then the alien fluorescent sheen of the overhead lighting. But the company insisted that every Saturday night we changed six or eight 4x8 window signs in exact accordance
with the corporate schematic.
Now so not to bore you to death, with all my little bitches about window signs,I'll get to my main bitch. When I was a store manager The Somerville division alone had well over 100 stores and the total for the company was well over 600. So just how many man hours and how much money went to make these signs.
So I would make my quarterly payroll projections, knowing that they would be kicked back to me. With this admonishment! cut the hours, You need to project a higher sales per man hour. So as any store manager knows cutting the hours means cutting the front end service. Sort of like the road to Perdition!
So now you can see why every time I looked at those signs, I would wonder how many baggers and checkers we could have, if we did away with the print shop instead of clerks.
Remember that at that time over ninety percent of the stores were like the Danvers
store free standing units. Set back off the road on busy thoroughfares. So the signs
could not be read from the street. I always thought it was a pretty safe bet, that
once a customer pulled into the lot and parked we probably had them, That plus the fact the items on those window signs were prominently displayed and signed on front end caps.
So today at the Market Basket on rte.one in Seabrook New Hampshire the windows signs
are still there. If you know that stretch of road,you know that anybody who takes his eyes off the road to read window signs, either has a death wish or is searching for his cell phone.
So that brings me to price signs on merchandise displays. In this age of scanners
most items do not get individually price marked. It never seems to amaze me how many of the smaller and secondary displays have no signs. It is a fact the impulse sales of these smaller displays generate a high gross profit,and are there to off set the low gross profit of the advertised loss leaders displayed on the end caps.
So if your looking for impulse sales. Why in hell would you risk losing a sale,by failing to put a sign on the display.
Back in the FNS hay day,even though we marked everything individually. Lack of a price sign would promptly bring the person responsible for the display, a swift kick right where the pants hang slack!
My next thought was the slovenly appearance of the clerks in all departments. Back
in the FNS days the male grocery clerks all wore white shirts and neckties,the females all wore pink smocks. In the perishable departments the personnel all wore long white wrap around smocks.
There was no problem telling the customers from the clerks, as there is today. Now
that sullen guy moving cans or packages around, might be a clerk,a vendor or a shop-
lifter. You'll never know,as most seem to be hard of hearing and in a sudden hurry to get to another part of the building.
This same appearance and attitude permeates the check out stands. In the FNS days
you actually had to know how to to operate a NCR cash register,do fractions and actually count out the change into the customers hand and say thank you! like you meant it.
Now in this day and age,here I have to say "honest to God". All the clerk has to do
is wave the part of the item that has the universal pricing code on it past the scanner. That's it. No thinking, the computer does that for him. And again I must say "honest to God" these geniuses manage to find away to stumble around this chore
like it was a mine field. Then when all is said and done, the computer spits out a mile long receipt, that has along with a list of your purchases, enough propaganda and empty promises on it to make the CIA proud. He then proceeds to wad up your change and the humongous receipt into a ball and slap it into your hand.
As far as the express register goes. In this day and age it should be referred to as the local. Because it sure as hell makes a lot of stops. Any manager who knows what
he's doing, puts his weakest link where it will hurt him the least. So the person who
ends up on the express lane,is not trying to make your life miserable.He or she can
do that with out trying.
Surprisingly, most things are still the same as they were fifty years ago. The same kind of shelving. The aisles just wide enough to get a pallet down them. The eye
straining fluorescent ceiling lighting. The coffin style meat cases with the tinted dome lights, that make the beef appear redder. The check out stalls and conveyors and refrigerated produce counters. The shopping carts,and tile floors.
F@#$%$%^&*()(*&^%$#@!~ing plastic bags,are of course new.
I could probably drag this narrative out a lot longer.But I am going to cut it off here. But I am going to come back at a later date to relate to you some of the interesting things that happened to me at the palace of fine foods. And tell you about some very interesting people I met, including my first wife.

Biochar

Today I am going to try to relate my thoughts on global warming. I feel that you have to first accept the fact the earth is and has always has been constantly changing. You know like the ice age, and all the other ages you are always hearing about.
We see and hear about it every time there is a coastal storm. Some idiot has his house or parts of his property washed into the ocean or his basement has filled up with water. The fact that he never should have built his house that close to the ocean, or in a natural wet land. Is of course not his stupidity, but it's that dam global warming.
Now I'm not going to say that a lot of today's fears about the ozone layer are true or false. I just do not have the knowledge or the expertise to expound on it.But I do think that like all things,it's probably partly our fault and partly the earth's evolution. You all know my feelings about the news media.They feel the best way to beat their competition, is to scream gloom and doom. So much of what is said about global warming, should be taking with a tablespoon of common sense.

This brings me to biochar. To me this is a subject that makes great sense in slowing down the shrinking of the ozone layer. Basically what it does is capture and store carbon.Which is then put back into the soil to be slowly released back into the atmosphere.That's it in a nutshell,but of course it is way more complex then that.
I suggest that you google this subject. I think you will find that there are many ways to meet our problems head on,and do more good then bad. Or you can listen to Al Gore and all the other chicken little types who run around screaming "the sky is falling,the sky is falling".
Not only is biochar potentially good for the atmosphere,it also bodes well for farming and agricultural waste management. I have always felt bad when ever I had to cut down a tree or a bush. The good they provide,filtration of pollutants and noise, soil erosion and releasing of carbons into the atmosphere. That plus the beauty and shade they provide, made me feel like I was being disloyal to a true friend.
In the past I thought that biochar was a limited field. Because for it to be practical,it meant just using dead or diseased trees. And of course cutting down healthy trees would be counterproductive.
However this brings me to a new twist of biochar the use of chicken manure.The much maligned member of the poultry family. Now I love raising poultry as much as I love gardening.To me the two always went hand and hand.My best gardens were always the result of heavy doses of aged chicken shit.
I know the subject of raising chickens commercially is a sore subject with the do-gooders. They say it is inhumane to raise them for mass markets. They believe organic free range is the only way to go. But just try to raise a few chickens in your own backyard. They will jump up down and scream that you are ruining the neighborhood, and then treat you like you were an unregistered sex offender. The only thing I am going to say on the subject of raising chickens commercially is this. Skinless chicken is believed to be the healthiest meat there is. Mass raised birds would not exist if not for the farmer and the consumer.So a short difficult life has to be a better alternative to no life at all. Because if there was no demand for it, those birds would never have been hatched. Over crowding poultry causes the pecking order to pick on and wipe out the weak. So the do-gooders say stop it. But we have over crowding in our cities and the human pecking order is just as brutal as any chickens beak. Yet the do-gooders solution to that problem, welfare and political correctness. This makes as much sense as free range poultry. It brings out the rodents,foxes and weasels. Not to mention the vultures. And as far as anything organic goes, I put that right up there with the great spring water scam.
http://www.usatoday.com/tech/news/2010-02-10-cheap-carbon_N.htm If you read this article from todays tech section of the USA today newspaper you will get a much more rational explanation of how they process the manure into carbon briquettes.
For years chicken manure has been a problem.There has always been a problem with it leaching into ground water and fouling it. With this process that will cease to be a problem. This process will not only help the ozone layer. It will make a good heat source, as well as a good fertilizer.

Paradoxical

Writing a blog has got me questioning my idiosyncrasy's. Things that interest me I embrace right away. Things that don't, I usually shun.When I was a student,I dreaded English class. Just the thought of spelling, punctuation and grammar was enough to give me a headache.So naturally I really struggled . Needless to say the grades I got in my English classes were not anything to boast about! So the fact the I cannot start the day with out doing USA Today's daily crossword puzzle. Or that I am a compulsive reader seems odd. The fact that I am actually pretty good at solving crosswords. And that all the books I have read over the years, would fill a decent sized library, seems odder still.
So I agreed to write a blog, for a couple of reasons. One being a chance to relate to my children some of my experience's in life. The other being,they seem to delight in my inane out look on life in general.
Writing a blog is harder than it looks. The sentence structure and punctuation, still escapes me. Some authors composition just seems to flow. While with others, it seems to grind. after I reread what I have written, my reaction is wow! I hope I am not embarrassing myself here. Thankfully the computer will do a spell check for you.
But even then misspelled words slip by. because they were used out of context.
So in my next blog,I am going to go back to my Ryal side days. I will do this, with no fear of making grammatical or punctuation mistakes. Because I have made you aware,that I slept through most of my English classes. And do not pretend to be any great shakes as a writer.

Full Moon Theory

Recently on Facebook, my daughter Lisa took a survey.In her survey she asked her friends if they thought a full moon really got lunatics active. At least a dozen responded and all but one agreed. That yes it was true. The one conflicting pollee
to that consensus was of course yours truly. Now this either makes me contentious or a freethinker. As we all know, according to the news media, all poll results are one hundred percent correct. Give or take five or so percent. So this of course makes me contentious.
However in my defense, this is a subject that I have done a little homework on. My mother was confined to Danvers state mental hospital, when I was not quite six years of age. As I have stated in previous blogs, mothers are the most important part of the family. I feel certain that if my mother had got the right mental health care,things would have turned out differently for my father and the rest of the family.
We all have at times, a little mental unbalance, be it anxiety,depression or some kind of phobia. I have a few idiosyncrasy's, that I will probably relate at a later date.
I once visited my mother at the state hospital.Her response to my greeting was "your not my Herman, my Herman is dead". So trying to cope, as a teenager. I thought I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. You know, the stigma of mental illness, peer pressure, insecurity and ignorance. So my solution was to turtle.
I could go on and bore you with my conclusions of how my mother ended up as she did.
But I'm just going to say, that looking back, I now have a different prospective. I'm
sure the patients were drugged to make them docile. Which would account for all the inmates acting like zombies.
It is no wonder she could not accept me. In the state she was in, she probably would not have recognized her husband either.
After researching the history of the hospital. I have decided that the name of this institution is a misnomer. With deplorable conditions and orderlies acting like wardens. The name should have been Danvers state Attic.
I can only wonder? What did this poor little woman do to deserve a fate like that.
I realize that conditions improved in the sixty's. But the fact is she was committed in the late forty's. However in the later years, Priscilla Herrick and her mother,
went to visit my mother. They found conditions to be much improved, over what I had
experienced. And seemed to have bonded with her. They tried to get me to go and visit her with them. But I just could not do it. But I am very appreciative, that they brought a little sunshine and companionship into her life.
So in closing, I put the full moon theory right up there with the tall tales of the Bible and Paul Bunyan. I also do not believe in UFOS and I'm a little skeptical about our walk on the moon.

Two John's part two

I have been getting a few gentile jabs as to why I have not posted the second part of this blog. The reason being was that I was probably hasty in naming the blog.
Although both John's made a lasting impression on me. The John I talk about today had a much more profound effect on my life and my soul.
Of course I am sure you all know I am talking about John Karolides. Not only was he like a father to me,he was also my friend. His passing at an early age was not only a shock,but a great personal loss also.
Ever since I decided to relate how I felt about these two men,I have had a delemma.
How do I put into words how I feel about John Karolides. In my mind John was definitely a paradox. To his friends and associates he was a macho man. You could not go anywhere, with out somebody hollering out a greeting to John. It did not matter if it was in East Overshoe, New Hampshire or local. It seemed like everyone knew him and that he knew everybody.
Even though he intimidated me at times,he was the only person that I really could talk to. I could tell him things that I would never tell anyone else. Not only would he listen to me. He would not make light of what I had to say.He would give me good sound advice,usually with a reference to a similar experience of his own.
John had a real feel for his ethnic heritage and valued his family above all else.
Especialy his grandchildren. It was a delight to see them light up and go racing to greet him yelling "Lumpy' "Lumpy"
I spent many hours with John,hunting,fishing,bowling and just hanging around with him and his cronies.It was always just bullshitting,but I learned a lot about Peabody's leather hay day and the Karolides clan in general.
To me John was the best friend I ever had. He was a man of great character and he was very proud of who he was. I remember fondly his wife Muriel ragging on him for some trivial thing and him pretending to be humbled by what she was saying,all the while winking at me behind her back.And her grinning at me,when he was not looking.

So,as there is many things I would like to say about John, I just cannot find the words.To this day I still get a melancholy feeling when ever I think of him. so the only thing I can say is I am proud to have known him! and every one else in the Karolides clan for that matter.

Cabin Fever

The changing of the seasons, always has a had a physiological effect on me. To me autumn has always been depressing. The weather is invigorating, the changing of the foliage to red and gold.Apples,pumpkins, mums and asters. Football, corn stalks and all the Halloween mania is very enjoyable.Yet there always is a feeling of foreboding within me. The turning back of the clocks and the shrinking of daylight hours is very depressing. For someone who enjoys gardening, looking ahead to winter is like house arrest.
Every winter I make a vow, that I will only keep one or two house plants because my apartment is so small. Well I just took a quick inventory and twenty two is the count as we head into February. Now anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact, that I will not be able to resist starting a bunch of annuals from seed come March. So I put a large pot of water to simmer on the stove to keep the humidity level at a point where the plants and I can coexist. I start searching for signs of spring And yes with it getting lighter earlier in the morning and staying lighter a little longer each evening, there are signs that another dreary winter is slowly starting to lose it's grip. Today at the library, I actually saw little eruptions in the mulch, and the tiny shoots of daffodils. Early I know, but a good sign, never the less.I know we are in for more than our share of crappy weather well into April. But, I know I am not the only one who starts searching for signs of spring. I know a person who claims that Groundhog day is her favorite holiday. I know people who venture into low spots searching for pussywillows, and who cut branches off of fruit trees for forcing. And people who cannot wait to purchase that first flat of pansy's
There was a time when seeing a robin was a true omen. But now so many of them winter over,that it seems as though they have adopted that old adage "misery loves company". But soon that dull winter plumage will start working it's way back to it's familiar red. Trees and shrubs will start budding up.The days will get longer. We will turn the clocks ahead. A ump will shout play ball. and we will be back to the most uplifting time of year. Spring the great antidepressant

bobbers

One of the things I loved the most as a kid growing up on the sea coast was fishing. We had the best of both worlds, fresh water ponds, the Ipswich river. Tidal rivers and the harbor.
Shoe pond on McKay street in the section of the city known as Shingleville, was where I got my start. I had a cheap fiberglass rod with a Zebco push button reel. This was strictly worm and bobber fishing. I caught my share of Bluegill and yellow Perch but I never caught a Bass or Pickerel there, but I loved every minute of the time I spent there.
Putnamville reservoir had just been created, when it came to our attention. We kids thought that it was huge. But as reservoirs go, it really is on the small side. Some say that the land was at one time a golf course. But according to Jim Connors (I think) it was farm land and swamp.This body of water is on what I believe is Locust st. or route 35 between Danvers center and route 97. The reservoir is feed by draining water from the Ipswich river. This reservoir belongs to the Beverly and Salem water supply. They acquired the land in the late 40's and had it ready to go in 1951. They also own Folly Hill reservoir, which is one big under ground holding tank. It is Located on the Danvers and Beverly line off of Elliot st. on rte. 62. (We use to have great fun playing in the Folly hill area, but that's a story for another day.) They then drain water from these two spots, into Wenham lake, which is on 1A bordering Wenham and Beverly, via what must be under ground conduits.
I caught my first big bass in Putnamville resevoir and plenty of pickerel. It was really a hard place to fish back then because the newness of it made it rather sterile. You know no blow downs, cat-o'- nine tails or lily pads. Today it looks a lot more natural. Also at that time there was no boats allowed, which was under-standable because it was after all, drinking water.
Wenham lake was a much stricter operation. No trespassing signs were posted every-where The fishing tales were of course Bunyanesque in proportions. So as there was no fishing or swimming allowed , every kid in the area had to try it at least once. Every summer you would see articles about groups of teens getting hauled into the police station. Mostly for skinny dipping. I'm sure a closer look, would turn up some of Curt Gowdy's touted Narragansett GIQ bottles. Kids caught fishing would just get the bums rush. Take my word for it, the fishing was over rated!
Right up the street in Hamilton,there is a place called Pleasant pond. When I was a kid it was called Idlewood lake. This is a reclaimed trout pond. What that means is that somebody with clout, got the fish and game department to kill off all the vegetation and fish in the pond. Every spring, just prior to opening day the state stocked it with nursery grown trout. So the only time we would go there was on opening day. As you know there is a law that states that anyone who goes fishing on opening day must freeze his ass off. By the way the same rule applies for opening day at Fenway park.
Idlewood lake was a fancy name for a little pond with a bunch of summer cottages spread around it's shoreline. As it was a reclaimed trout pond, you could only use artificial lures or flies to fish it. You know yuppie style. So it was not much liked by us kids.
We fished the Ipswich river some. It was really a decent place to fish in the fall. By then the springs high levels would have dropped, plus the syphoning, both legal and furtive, created pools where the fish would be forced to congregate.
Now getting to the salt water fishing. I remember fishing for tinker mackerel from the Hall-Whitaker bridge that spanned the Bass river. I also remember jigging for pollock off of the B&M railroad bridge and catching silver hake one right after another,off the old Glover wharf. A McDonald's stands there today, it's right before you get to the Beverly-Salem bridge. The Glover wharf was a very busy pier.It had fishing boats,barges and tankers tied up to it constantly. It also had a large well weathered warehouse of some sort. This building was a favorite roosting spot for gulls and pigeons. The off white speckled roof with it's own particular odor mixed in with the pungent coal tar creosote pilings and salt water smells, had a very familiar ambiance.
I remember renting rowboats either at Glover wharf or Salem Willows, and catching more flounder with drop lines than you would believe. I remember what seemed like millions of alewife's bouncing all over the shore at the end of the bass river. A nor'easter or some thing must have confused them as there was no stream into Shoe pond. I remember digging my own bait, both earthen and salt. Setting minnow traps in the marshes. Searching for night crawlers with a flashlight. Being cold,wet and smelly! After writing this I can't help but wonder why I don't go fishing anymore. I really should correct this oversight.