Guns Don't Kill; Money, Power and Corruption Kills

When you're gone from the homestead for a week, at this spring time blooming, one expects much yard work upon returning. I was after that lawn-cutting job with edging and trimming to boot. Shortly after the equipment 'clean up,' I was all over the project putting together my newly purchased three-seat backyard swing. Let me underscore a historical family tradition; this old boy has always had a backyard swing and that ain't never changing. I know two facts about myself: (1) I ponder best when swinging in the summer breeze and (2) I print smaller on rainy days; the latter informational item carries no particular significance, just is!!

I can report that my inaugural swing yesterday did not disappoint. It was a smooth to and fro' sway and the pondering was ...well, let me elaborate on the pondering. I was thinking back to those summer days as a young East St. Louis boy when I'd hear older folks sometimes bemoan that if someone did not stop doing whatever they were doing, "You're going to cause me to end up IN Alton." Explanation: The city of Alton had a State Mental Hospital thus the person's comment suggested they were going to 'lose their mind' and end up in that mental place.

Jacksonville, Illinois, as many communities across this nation also had a State Mental Hospital. Okay, back-in-the-day, before the plethora of medicines (pills), we placed the moderate to severe insane in such facilities. Let's be very clear regarding the events that find most of these mental hospitals closed, and mentally ill people in half-way houses subjected to 'willy-nilly' medicating and consequently emerging as one of the 'talking points' in America's rising gun violence.

Hardliners always vote for stricter laws to incarcerate the criminals and the insane, however when it comes to paying increased taxes to maintain prisons and mental hospitals we don't 'walk-the-walk.' In fact, Mr. Conservative, himself, Governor Ronald Reagan closed a bunch of mental hospitals in the 1970's and in the 1980's,  President Reagan closed more mental hospitals nationwide. If you like looking at 'numbers' then spend a little time researching the number correlation of mental patients displaced by hospital closings and the escalating 'homeless' population in our American cities.  ...And Jesus said, "That which you do for the least of My people you do also for Me."

Shamefully, we will see a continuation of many Congress persons voting against common sense gun-control measures due to 'checks being passed behind the backs' from the NRA to the lawmakers.

If you're ever nearby Decatur stop by and join me for a backyard-swing; we can cubits-a-spell after we ponder for a moment.

I'm Too Old for That

It's good to be back home where I most assuredly belong! Mel and Gerry have been expanding the Nana-Boompa roles this past week as we assumed the week long babysitting, chief house made, cook and cab driver for five of our grandkids while their parents were vacationing in sunny Mexico as they noted their 25th wedding anniversary. I am tired and my wife is exhausted; physical and mental capacities ain't what they used to be.

Keeping pace with activities' schedules can be both fun and a bit challenging; keeping track of a 23-month old very independent child who misses her mommy and cries every time an older sibling leaves for school, etc. is nerve-racking! Gerry and I have 15 grandchildren and one great-grandchild; we have held week long camps at our home with all the grandkids minus their parents, however there is a whole new issue in play when the grandparents are in their mid-seventies and the responsibility includes a pouting, non-communicative unhappy, 'I miss my mommy kid.'

Last Friday, I was on the telephone 'reporting' the baseball pitching events of the Barrington high school freshman baseball pitcher to his Mexico vacationing mother (daughter Dawn) and my wife was seeing one of the other children off on the morning school bus. I hung up the telephone and was asked by Nana, "Where is Ashlyn? I did not have a clue and could immediately gather by my wife's suddenly enlarged eye-balls that we were on the same page, as they say.

If you have ever momentarily misplaced a toddler in a store or looked up assuming your toddler was next to your side only to discover she is nowhere in sight then you know the enveloping sickness of gut, increased heart rate and swirling imagination. Folks, the challenge: find this 17 pound barefooted grandkid in this 22-room house consisting of three-floor levels, a five car garage and check the doors to make sure they are locked; don't incorporate any thoughts about the large recreation lake adjacent to the yard.

Question for consideration: When racing about a huge house looking in closets, under beds, behind furniture and screaming a kid's name for seven minutes and then noticing one door unlocked, how long do grandparents wait before dialing 911? Answer: They don't!

Four of South Barrington's finest joined our searched which continued another ten or 12 minutes. Suddenly without warning or fanfare the missing kid whose face you have been imagining on a milk carton peeks out from a doorway. As they say, 'All is well that ends well,' however, I NEED A BREAK FROM GRANDKIDS!

Remove the 'speck' in your Eye First

I never considered myself a very good math student and my late Lansdowne Junior High School  math teacher, Miss. Lucille O'Brien would return in dreams to haunt me should I pretend or misrepresent. I loved Miss O'Brien but I detested her 'multiplication stand-sit' classroom contest. Here's how it worked: All 23 seventh grade math students started the game 'standing' as Miss O'Brien came near your desk and quickly gave your, "7 X 8;" and one must respond with correct answer within three seconds. I spent little time standing.

I can handle simple arithmetic...Tucson 6 (13), Aurora 12 (59), Oak Creek 7 (20) and Newtown 26 Boston 3 (141) = 54 killed and (233) injured in most recent American gun and bomb attacks.

Let the above one-sentence paragraph stand alone...as I make my point with the following. You know that the older of the two Boston brother-bombers was killed and his younger brother hangs to life from shooting injuries. Meanwhile, our glorious Congress persons are calling for a 'full-scale' investigation of government agencies that recently questioned the older brother concerning his suspicious activities with terrorist group communications and found nothing. Obviously, our illustrious elected officials suggest that some one dropped the responsibility-ball. They gotta be shitting us folks!!!

Now wrap your head around the fact that these Congress persons recently defeated a bill that simply called for back ground checks on anybody wishing to buy a gun. These phony clowns are in the pocket of the National Rifle Association and claim that a back ground-check law would not help because 'criminals would NOT subject themselves to background checks.' I said 'wrap your head around this crap.' Here is my follow up question for these gutless cowards: Why do we have speed limit laws? Folks who wish to drive 100 miles per hour in a 50 mile per hour zone are not going to follow that rule. Why have any laws when we know some will not follow the law?

I find this kind of querulous faultfinding- pretense-fakery to be the epitome of 'shell-game' deception.

I will be away from this typing machine for a few days; God willing, I shall return.

You Crap Your Friends, etc., etc.

Well, I see where the movie industry has made some overtures to address America's expectation to share a degree of responsibility for the violence plaguing our culture; welcome new and more specific  'movies content-ratings!' I suppose the movie makers and parents can now feel comfortably smug..

Should the reader detect a bit of haughtiness in my attitude towards such poppycock, so BE IT!  We Americans pretend with the best of God's people. I think that our commercial-advertisement indoctrination has us on the perpetual cusp of 'tell me more, tell me more, tell me more!' Whereas the intent of the movie makers may have substance the fact of acting upon these 'new' film ratings and any desired positive outcomes therein is predicated upon the notion that parents will PARENT!! Please don't hold your breath.

Sometime ago, my parents' generation, the one Tom Brokaw references as the 'greatest generation,' dared to tell we children, "You are to be seen and not heard and you will do what I tell you to do." I never doubted for a moment that my parents loved me and likewise I never thought for a moment that they worshiped me; this parenting attitude left little confusion in my life and gave me balance. Over time, a parade of child advocates began telling us that we were doing a harmful injustice to kids by not listening to them and considering the child's "feelings." In a brief matter-of-time a larger question would become problematic and it remains unanswerable today; 'Who is In Control?'

My 13-year-old triplet grandsons have an 8th Grade Formal Dance soon. Many college age students flood the sunny shores of the South in an expression of some self-ascribed rights-of-passage in the annual 'spring-break rituals.' The parking lots of most high school facilities will find later model automobiles in the student section than that of the faculty section; bet on it. If school age kids don't wish to sweat and take showers after a demanding physical education class, then we shall make no such requirements and instead, we shall blame McDonald's menu for child obesity. If our kids dislike home work we will chastise the teacher who has those expectations and if our athletes wish not to be 'yelled' at, we can dismiss that mentor.

Who are we crapping with this 'new' movie-ratings system?? The children will make the final choice; after all, we must entertain and listen to our youngsters' thoughts, desires and feelings. Actually, I am positive that my grandchildren are mature and responsible enough to negotiate the middle-school 'formal' dance and no doubt they will be trustworthy to make good choices on college spring-break moments. I'm not sure that my neighbor's grandkids are ready for these experiences.

You Think This; I Think That

I have observed drastic environmental-change in my personal restaurant experiences. 'Way' back-in-the-day, I entered the eating establishment and the host ask one question, "How many in your party?" A few years passed and a second question might be forthcoming, "Would you like a table or booth?" Those days offered 'ashtrays' at each table. After many medical research reports on the effects of 'smoke' albeit first or secondhand, our journey traversed through choices of 'smoking or non-smoking' into the now pristine NO smoking laws. I will forever hold to the opinion that if the seemingly eleventh (Biblical) commandment is our Second Amendment then our capitalistic principles are equally sacred and should protect the risk-taking business owners who provide employment opportunities for cigarette-smoking workers.

Hold on to your bonnet as I advance the latest self-centered narcissistic opinion. Just yesterday morning, I read in a local newspaper these words offered in a 'Letter-to-the-Editor:' I quote, "I think restaurants should have a NO CHILDREN SECTION."

I shall begin a new paragraph because I wish not to diminish or detract from the above self-serving philosophy with other abating words. Here is my perception:  a hard reality; our society is NOW cluttered with a generation of folks who see ONLY their needs and opinions considered. I hear neighbors speak against taxes that would assist education and support that selfish-attitude unabashedly with the logic, 'I don't have kids.' The anti-tax right-wing champion,, Grover Norquist recently stated, "Americans want one thing from our government; leave us alone." That is NOT an honest statement or sincere sentiment; it is bull crap and anybody with an IQ above 70 knows that!

Some may not wish to pay education taxes or increased wages for firemen and policemen but we WANT our young people educated, our home kept safe from burglars and all fires to be extinguished in a timely manner. We want our local government to fix the potholes on OUR street but screw the neighborhoods on the South side of town. We'd like the federal government to disarm Iran and North Korea and keep us safe from terrorists without causing long-line waiting at airports or any extra financial burdens. LEAVE US ALONE?  REALLY!!

Blah, blah, blah to the idiots eating dinner in the 'childless dinning room.' I will hope that those people remain childless; it is good that they would not procreate.

Give Me Deep Anchors

 A few days ago, I read a recap of a college baseball game in which the coach of the one-run losing team was quoted saying, " A misplayed pop fly and a misjudged fly ball cost us the game." The news article and coach's comments caused me to think of my personal coaching experiences, which spanned thirty-nine years and my many opportunities to speak on a ten-year nation-wide seminar circuit that carried me to over 120 engagements from coast to coast; mostly these seminars were State athletic director's conventions and coaching clinics.

Among the myriad of suggestions and coaching tips offered to these professionals, I recall a list of 'do's and don't's' for the school mentor. I told coaching hopefuls and recall specifically telling my coaching-son that anytime the coach is being interviewed by the media, the coach would be wise to remember two very important factors. First, the sport's writer already has an idea of 'how' he wishes the storyline to read; don't play the fool and fall into his trap. Secondly, the coach should remember that his printed quotes will be read by his players' grandparents...don't be hurtful with placing blame. If you are one of those 'bottom line' people then please consider this raw-reality entwined in every athletic event: during the unfolding course of any contest a myriad of circumstances and situations will occur that could be offered as 'turning points' causing a win or lose.; it just happens that those events seemed magnified near the close of a game.

The years that I was a varsity (head) coach, I conducted pre-season players' seminars every year. I outlined and discussed how every player should posture himself when being interviewed by the press; never blame nor complain and be free with praise for others...this was our theme and it became the responsibility of players and coaches to carryout this approach; non-negotiable!

Now, what is said amongst players and coaches in closed practices might be a tad different; that's a family thing!
Speaking of 'family,' my father is responsible for some of my 'coaching philosophies.' He was big on simple fundamental-anchors of behavior. Not only did he often caution me NOT to "let your mouth overload your ass," he also was quick to tell me never to embarrass his ass with stupid statements from my lips.

People Lurking in the Shadows

I went to my trusty Thesaurus to look-up the synonyms and antonyms of the word 'terrorist.'  I could not find 'terrorist;' only terror. Terror is fear, alarm, dismay, horror, dread or fright.  I checked a second Thesaurus and still no 'terrorist' word listed. I certainly wish to have at least one additional synonym for 'terrorist'...something will pop up, surely.

Meanwhile fear of stuff, horror of situations or fright of some people is nothing new; we had those fears, and horrors 'back-in-the-day' just as we do today. School bullies (then and now) are not a new phenomenon. Usually, the bully was disarmed when stood up to or a bigger boy in the neighborhood stepped into the mix. I recall two gang-groups feared back in the 1950's East St. Louis. The 'Dukes' and 'Pachukes' were greasers who sported 'duck-tail' haircuts and some noticeable gang-member tattoo. Interestingly, these 'gang-guys' were tough when presented in groups but lost some courage when isolated one-on-one.

Recently, I viewed that television program hosted by Chris Hansen (NBC) which deals with trapping pedophiles attempting to 'hook-up' with young kids; nothing new!!  I remember once waiting in a ticket line at St. Paul's Social Center in East St. Louis. I was waiting for the doors to open for a professional wrestling match event that night. I was 13 years-old. My friends already had their advanced tickets and waited for me to meet them inside the Center. I must have been in line for 10-minutes when an older gentleman standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had ever had 'oral-sex?' I cursed him and called him a couple of choice names; he left the line immediately and disappeared into the night. Once inside the arena, I told my friends what had happened and 'Poochie' Gigalotto was pissed. At intermission, I spotted the guy who had made the 'sick' remark and pointed him out to my buddies. 'Poochie' walked over to the guy and dropped the guy's ass to the floor with a right-hand to his jaw. 'Poochie' then walked to the concession counter and bought a 'Baby Ruth' candy bar and went back to his seat. Me, Terry and Eddie each got a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Pepsi; we all liked to pour the peanuts into the soda and then eat and drink as we swigged. World Champion pro-wrestler, Lou Thesz was the featured wrestler that night. Thesz was a St. Louis native.

I guess the first ever 'terrorist' attack that I recall in my lifetime was that 'sneaky-surprise' attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese. Of course more recently, we have had similar terrorists attacks; 911, Atlanta and Oklahoma City bombings and this week's Boston Marathon bomb-attack...oh, Oh, OH, I just thought of that synonym for terrorist>>>CHICKEN SHIT!! It's an East St. Louis (street) colloquialism. Hot Damn, I knew something would come to mind!!

Call'em Like Ya See'em

"Hot Damn!" That was a slang expression often used by maternal grandfather, E.V. Bennett; I seldom use it.

Perhaps it is an observation or then maybe a self-discovery...

At age seventy-four,  I am  less the participant but instead more of a spectator. I  am not positive when these diametric forces settled this matter but, as today's youngsters like to say, "It is what it is." Birthday markers along my personal journey noted some changing participation roles. At age six it was time to become and 'play' the part of a first grade school boy. At age 13, I was the teenager dealing with peer pressure demands of all sort; clothes I needed to wear and silly social games I must play. The United States government wanted to make my acquaintance when I turned 18 years old.  Uncle Sam expected me to register for the draft so they might add my name to a possible (future) 'club membership.' Each of the aforementioned age  statuses beg the question for active participation. Moreover, age twenty-one was at my doorstep sooner than I could say,  'Jackie Robinson.' At twenty-one, I thought I should participate in that traditional activity called, marriage. I did just that and brother that created all-kinds of activity participation. However, that is exactly what has culminated in my current status of S P E C T A T O R.

At seventy-four, my children and grandchildren now telephone my wife to tell her where and when I should show up as a spectator. Interestingly, this spectator role only requires me to say, "Okie Dokie! Being a spectator ain't all that bad; no more worrying about personal accomplishments or meeting performance standards.

I have noted as a spectator, I am for the most part ignored. I have no say in matters and I suspect that I should likely keep opinions to myself. There have been confusing messages at times. Sometimes my kin will ask an opinion but I don't think that they particularly care for that opinion if it  suggest that their kid is anything short of 'perfection.'  I spent a lifetime in sports' arenas mostly as the participant orchestrating things. Today, this spectator checks his ego at the arena door. Once in awhile, I will yell encouragement to players for whom I wish to do well; people will glance at me as if to pose the question, "Who the hell if the old grey headed fart making stupid comments?"

"Hot Damn, It is I; the spectator!"

If you have ever attended a 'dance recital, you will likely agree that this particular event-activity should definitely have a United States Supreme Court mandated  'TIME LIMIT !

Hey Good Lookin' ...

I am suspicious regarding comments on 'how good I look.' Upon seeing old-friends and associates that I have not seen for awhile, these reunion moments have someone telling me, "You look great;" I know better!

From the moment of birth when folks see the newborn they feel compelled to make assessments about 'looks.' In the case of babies, people will use words like, darling, cute or beautiful and conclude adding their opinion regarding whom the child's looks favor. Personally, I have seen a few not so cute babies but I have never shared that sentiment.

Mothers do a good job 'spit-shinning' toddlers causing them to 'look' good. When kids reach the teen years they seem to figure out from commercial ads, 'how' they are supposed to look so they might 'fit-in' with peers. One day the 'look-thing' enters some sort of contractual agreement as couples pair-off.

As years pass, the look thing appears to fluctuate. I believe women have a 'looks-setback' during those child-bearing years while the male counter-part remains somewhat stylish. Soon after having their children, women begin to 'rocket' to new 'look' heights. Coincidentally, at this point, those guys begin losing their hair and gaining prominent 'pot-bellies' from too many tailgate parties. I base these opinions from my repeated every five-year high school reunions; that's as scientific as I get.

Now, in my seventies, I am happy and thankful to be among the living and as my counterpart-seniors, we likely pay more attention these days to hygiene than we do to our 'looks.' This is due to the fact that we are constantly at the doctor's office taking our clothes off for another 'examination.' Perhaps, I may look good for my age (at times) but let's face it, I use to look better standing next to someone older than me and that pool-number is shrinking.

I recall, paternal grandmother, Rosedelle commenting while  standing next to a casket at a wake visitation saying, "He/She sure does make a beautiful corpse." No one ever took issue with grandma's statement, I suppose at times she was correct.

What Is Wrong with Us?

Last Tuesday afternoon while driving  to Champaign, Illinois, I heard the 1968 song sung by Dion, 'Abraham, Martin and John.' You recall the song's haunting lyrics of the four lives cut short by assassins' bullets.

Abraham Lincoln is held in highest regard by presidential historians; perhaps our nation's greatest leader. The Southern states bitterness towards Lincoln culminated in John Wilkes Booth's act of vengeance. John Kennedy, our first Catholic President had to overcome pre-election claims that should he be elected, the Vatican would 'call the shots.' Kennedy's administration pushed for civil rights and reigning-in organized crime activities. Kennedy would die at the hands of Lee Harvey Oswald, if you accept the 'lone gunman theory.' The Reverend Martin Luther King epitomized non-violent protesting as he sought equality for people of color. One could not be surprised to learn of King's assassination. Then there was Bobby Kennedy, the privileged guy from great wealth and comfort who followed the calling of Christ at his mother's urging, to 'do for the least' for Christ's people. Bobby was murdered for that commitment.

Each of the aforementioned murdering tragedies occurred in ugly cultural conditions. That American climate has not improved and if anything, our society's ugliness and hate-rhetoric has escalated. This hate-filled environment created by prejudicial attitudes and greedy-groups' desires for power is our most profound sickness eroding the foundation of America's supposed Judea-Christian principles.

I pray each day for the safety of our leaders. I cannot understand why it is that in this great country there is more stringent laws governing the 'sale' of Sudafed than the purchase of GUNS...as my Father would say, "That's bassackwards!"

..."anybody here seen my old friend John, he freed a lot of people but it seems the good die young; I looked around and he was gone."

Thanks; But No Thanks

I am 'well-known' by folks I have never met; let me explain. One needs only to examine my daily mail to realize my consumer-profile  has always been most obvious.

Once upon-a-time,  my mail suggested an exciting life style; I was offered endless credit card deals, vacation packages, college loan applications, automobile deals and endless career program pursuits. These days, the mailings I open tell a much different story. Sellers have a bead on me. These folks know that I don't work and 'parts' of my body do not work. Hear me out. I receive weekly discount offers on Flomax and Viagra and the hearing aid hustlers send me birthday card greetings. Marketers at every assisted-living senior citizens' facility within 100 miles of Decatur mail weekly brochures to my residence. One diabetic supply company telephones me weekly to inquire of my blood sugar numbers. Happy Hollow Cemetery & Cremations, Inc. frequently sends me planning options-brochures.

Just this week, I received my third offer to purchase a 'Scooter.' I am told the scooter will cost me nothing. The "Store' will arrange the purchase free through my insurance; they obviously have a better understanding and working relationship with my insurer than do I.

My identity may not have been stolen but shall we agree that my identity is well-documented.

Visit and Recall While Ye May

The Rock & Roll Hall-of-Fame is located in Cleveland, Ohio; the first inductee was Charles Edward Anderson, aka Chuck Berry. Berry was born in 1926 and still performs occasionally at the 'Duck Room' on Blueberry Hill near the Washington University campus (St. Louis). At age 87, Chuck will sometimes 'drop' a chord or forget lyrics. Since most of his followers are old senior farts who forget where we park our auto at Wal Mart, we give Chuck a 'PASS."

Once in awhile, I 'burn' new CD's of various artists and send them to friends.  (Note: This 'burn' process consists of transferring song-recordings from wax records and cassette tapes onto a CD). My current dilemma is this: I came across some vintage Chuck Berry classic 45 wax records and I 'burned' several CD's but I cannot remember if I sent these same  recordings to my same friend and if so, which friends. My wife is constantly telling me that I should 'write things down.' I did write a list of names in a booklet and for the life of me, I cannot find the book! Searching for the booklet, I came across some speech notes, which I had planned on using in a Topeka, Kansas presentation about eight years ago. I think there is some good stuff in those notes so I filed them in a category entitled: 'Speaking notes Never Used.'

Speaking of speaking, I just agreed to give a speaking-presentation one year from this month at the West Central Illinois Scholar-Athlete Banquet. While I was confirming this arrangement via a telephone conversation, the thought occurred to me, Holy crap, should I be so bold as to think at age 75, I will still be around. I immediately dismissed the depressing thought and now I face the probability of not being able to locate these Topeka, Kansas notes.

I hayda say, if it ain't one thing it's another.

Ps. I do recall, this morning where I was last night. I sat in the Illini baseball stadium and watched Eastern Illinois University win 8-4 over the Fighting Illini. Grandson Caleb Howell had two hits, scored a run and drove in a run. While at the game. I had a nice visit with Richard "Itchy" Jones, former 'everything." "Itchy and I played American Legion and college baseball against one another in the 1950's. Other ties to each other are documented when my Mason City basketball team played 'Itchy's Jacksonville team in 1964 at the JHS Bowl, a place I would later call my coaching home for twenty-one years. We spoke of many topics during our long visit and agreed that we were both truly blessed.

Play Ball !

Ah, winter is finally over; it's official, 'The boys of summer are back! The baseball season began anew this past week  and now the mesmerizing journey unfolds from the first spring bud-bloom until the autumn colored leaves fall. Recently, a grandchild inquired of me , why is the Cardinals' baseball season so important to me. I suppose the simple and direct answer is, Cardinals' baseball is one of few staples that endured from my youth into my senior years; an unimpeachable certainty.

I offer the following personal random recalls for consideration:

     A ten years old boy embraces endless summer days playing sandlot baseball
     Smells of dirt, freshly mowed grass and leather baseball gloves
     Awaiting the bread truck driver to show up at the local grocery store where he'd pass out baseball cards to excited kids
     Anticipating my father coming home from work so I could impress him with a 'new' pitch
     Dressed in my little league (all wool) baseball uniform on a St. Louis July day as I peddled my bike to the Park
     Leaning over home plate determined not to allow the 'older' pitcher's fast ball to intimidate me
     Shielding my eyes from a bright summer sun against a cloudless 'high-sky'
     Walking onto the pitcher's mound saddled with that incredible 'in-charge' moment
     Giving no thought to a 'pitch-count' as the game entered the eleventh inning
     Negotiating two bus transfers and a street car ride with friends as we headed to Sportsman Park with our 'Knothole Passes' to watch
     a St. Louis Cardinals or Browns game
    
Indeed, the Boys of Summer are back and it will stir the emotions of the little boy inside as I am awakened to a flood of precious memories. Baseball carries the sounds of my life's experiences. I watched the Cardinals' pre-game festivities yesterday. I saw a tribute to my childhood idol, Stan 'The Man' Musial.  I saw other St. Louis Hall-of-Fame greats whom I cheered throughout my life.

The faces in the game change but the game stays constant with it's slowly unfolding  meticulous nuances and cadence.




    

    
    

Where Art Thou Sanity?

It's NUTS out there! I am beginning to look at my backyard as perhaps the outer limits of my adventures. Please consider these recent events: Just this week, an Arkansas town, population 1300, passed a town ordinance requiring all citizens to own a gun.' Immediately, upon passage, they town council said that the ordinance would not be enforced. Huh?

A Colorado prison warden was murdered at the front door of his home when he opened the door. One week later a Texas District Attorney and his wife were slaughtered in their home; some six months after the DA's assistant district attorney was shot to death in his work place parking lot. Two nights ago, a Seattle night club closed at 2 AM and a confrontation erupted in the nearby parking lot amongst patrons. When the dust settle in Seattle, police reported three dead from guns shots and fourth in critical condition. All this crap is happening in upscale neighborhoods while Mexican drug cartels entrench their operations deeper in our American cities. Meanwhile, Congress and the Supreme Court debate the 'definition of legal marriage.'

If I dare look to my television for some escape and diversion from this societal madness, I must choose Fox News, which is singular in theme day-in and day-out; it's President Obama's fault or turn to MSNBC who plays the broken record, "The Republicans are obstructionists!"  I could look to 'other' TV programing , i.e., Reality TV or sports. If I select sports, I can work on ignoring over-paid, self-centered athletes butchering the "King's English' in post-game interviews.

I fear for my grandchildren who grow up believing "Real Housewives of New Jersey, Survivor and 'The Bachelor' are truly 'REAL.'
Actual 'realities of life' are found in stopped up toilets, infants with 103 temperatures at 3 AM, making the house and car payments on time and wondering if the boy your sixteen year-old daughter is dating respects women.

Oh, those television shows 'Fear Factor' and 'Survivor' are silly. If you wish to understand fear and surviving, ride the afternoon route with school bus drivers in inner city Chicago, Peoria and Philadelphia. Folks, I am putting together my new backyard swing this weekend and disconnecting the television..

Ps. I may be away from this typing machine for a   spell. I am headed to the doctors office this morning

Friendship History

This coming Friday offers an all too familiar scene for my wife and I. We must bid a final farewell to a dear friend. I suppose when folks arrive at our respective ages, 72 and 74, folks must acknowledge life's end-game realities, which by-passes nobody. Two days ago, I received an email from Mike Simon, son of Sam Simon. Mike asked me to be a pallbearer for his ninety-year father.

The year 1962, Gerry and I along with two-year old son, Steve moved to Assumption, Illinois where I began a thirty-nine year coaching career. Farm community, Assumption was a profound cultural-shock for the East St. Louis city-dwellers; it is a two-year experience that we cherish to this day. Sam Simon was a high school history teacher who was sixteen years my senior. He and his wife Marilyn took the young Roustio family under wing and became life time friends.

Sam was a World War II veteran who had a quick wit and an even quicker mind to recall every card played in a game of pinochle or Hearts; a desired card-game partner to understate the fact! Assumption had a population of 1300 or 1350 depending upon the direction you entered the community; Western traffic saw a sign reading 1300 and entering from the North stated 1350.

Since moving to Decatur nearly sixteen years ago, Gerry and I have re-kindled our socializing friendship with the Simons and Zubers (Vinnie and June) and other Assumption folks.  (Note: Assumption is a mere 23 miles South of Decatur). A couple of years ago, Sam and Marilyn sold their home and moved into an assisted living home in Vandalia, Illinois to be nearer daughter, Becky who lives and teaches there. Two months ago, the Roustios and Zubers  celebrated Sam's 90th birthday with a luncheon outing. Marilyn is fast moving towards the darkness of Alzheimer and now is left alone  with discombobulated understanding of events.

We shall continue to reach out to Marilyn and remember Sam with great fondness.

Can't adjust? Adapt to Swing!

As a young baseball player, my coach once told me that I needed to 'adjust' my bat-swing to hit the ball to the opposite field. I never did care for the word, 'adjust' but I do like the word 'adapt.' I have seen three-legged dogs that have adapted to their limitations as I have observed some blind people who have 'adapted' to their dark world. The difference between 'adapting' and 'adjusting' is one of intentional design.

My children have pointed out to their mother, who in turn inquires of me, why it is that my right-hand tends to tremble at times. Recently, I was in my doctors office for a six-months med-check and I ask the medicine-man why my hand does, at times, tremble. He examined the extremity and said, "You have a 'senile' tremor. Holy crap, I thought, explained in that context (senile-tremor) it ain't gonna-get-better!

My hand does not tremble all the time but I have noticed on occasion that while eating soup, I find myself wiping off my nose once-in-a-while. This carries extenuating circumstantial problems. I must conscientiously consider making some 'adjustments' soon. Perhaps eating soups and consuming drinks through a straw is an option and certainly, the clock is ticking away at those times standing at public urinals. Sitting down on the commode is an 'adjustment' I can make to avoid the embarrassment of wetting on the fellow's shoes standing next  to me.

I am headed to the backyard this morning. I purchased a $300.00 three-cushioned swing with a large curved overhead canopy. I must put the thing together. I am anticipating 'swing-weather' around the corner and I wish to be prepared. I notice that I do my best 'pondering 'while'  sitting on a swing and especially in a light drizzling-rain. If you are ever in Decatur anytime this summer, stop by and swing a spell with me; we will swap ponder-thoughts.