Observations

Walking With My Senses

As I was walking today, I experienced a couple things that inspired a few of my sense to higher places. As a stroke of creative genius (or in a fit of over-inflated ego), I captured pictures of a couple of things my senses constantly seeking….

Smell

Since we lived in Ohio, I have missed the smell of lilac. And, while I cannot say for certain this is a lilac, it smelled LOTS like one. It may have only temporarily hijacked my sense because my lilac-sensor was out of practice. Regardless, whatever it was, I enjoyed it. The aroma/scent/smell tapped into a part of my brain I have not visited for awhile. I pictured our house in Ohio with the lilacs on the east side of the house. I pictured my nose stretching into their blooms with my eyes closed–trying to capture the moment a little longer.

Sight

All parts of the country (and world I am guessing) have their native wild flowers. I don’t necessarily love just this flower while forgoing all others. While working at my landscaping job many years ago, I took great pride in trying to memorize all of the names of the flowers sitting in the green houses at the nursery. (My pronunciation may not have been right, but I could spell them.) I love natures color. And, since spring is the season worthy of queen status, I love this time of year the most. (The wet Texas spring has certainly helped remind me how much I love it.)

Sound (No pictures here!)

When I walk, I don’t have the ear buds in. I just like listening to whatever is there to distract me. If I want to talk to myself, I don’t have to talk over any music. If I want to listen to the birds or the breeze or the the bicyclist/walkers who I walk past, I can give them a smile and “hello” without trying to convince them the music (or whatever the buds are delivering) are more important-I can try to be sincerely interested in them.

Touch

A bit of a stretch here—I am not in the habit of picking up things or crawling while on my walk. During a portion of the walk, the rains has gifted me with a partially flooded path. As I walk thru this part of the path, I tiptoe or pick my feel up to try and avoid the wet impact my normal gait would create. When the splash occurs, the droplets briefly run down my leg. I only feel the first one–my mind has gone gone back to a time when walking barefoot through the water and splashing were more acceptable. Everyone should have some memories involving water and unexpected wetness.

Taste

For some reason, I am not in the habit of picking up things and tasting them along my walk either…. Today was no exception. Today, I had an early-stage cold coming on. I have been brainwashed into believing using Zinc lozenges is a way to minimize the length of the colds uninvited stay. Although my sense of taste is generally left out of the walking experience, today I tasted every bit of medicine (homeopathic, but still medicine) before it was swallowed on its journey to whatever zinc does when it is invited by way of an oral invasion.

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Although not explicitly stated, this blog post is meant to be a little “thank you” to God. I am blessed to have each of my senses, my thoughts, and experiences. I don’t have to rely on a walk to be reminded of these things, but it is a pretty good catalyst. When I separate myself from the computer and most of my electronics (the phone that almost never rings does accompany me), I gain perspective. I am reminded of my size in comparison to the rest of creation, and I am reminded of my Creator. So, the question is, “Do I really like to walk OR do I really just like to use all of my sense to carry on a dialogue with my Maker?”

Women In My Life Today

As I attempt to bring some product over from China for my business, I have had the pleasure to encounter a few women today who provided some degree of help. The vocations of 2 of the 3 are known. Since the vocation of the last is unknown, I have taken the liberty to assign her a role that I found as humorous….

The Broker: Last night (Tuesday), the company representative from a Chinese company provided me a piece of paperwork referred to as an ISF (Importer Security Filing). After approximately 10 emails went back and forth last night (morning time for China), I realized even though our emails appeared to both be written in English, we were not communicating. (Before I ordered this product, I really tried to sort all of this out so this problem would not occur. Either I was unable to properly express this concern OR the Chinese salesperson just wanted the sale and was not concerned about any hiccups that might effect me on this side of the Pacific pond.) With my inadequate understanding of Chinglish, I was left with only one option–I needed to call the company in Los Angeles that was receiving the container from China that carried my stuff. As I spoke to Alexa this morning, I turned on my charm OR my absolute cluelessness could not be disguised. She gave me two options to resolve my problem:
1. You can go down to your local customs office and file the ISF
  with them (they will walk you through it) just make sure to take all your
  documents with you. Since I did not know what paperwork and I did not have much time before the cost of my importing went up (I believe I have 48 hours after the boat casts off in China to get the paperwork filed.), I did not see this as a viable option.
2. We can file the ISF for you, but you will have to wire transfer
  $200.00 and fill out a POA with our Customs Broker. I didn’t like the cost, but I believed the cost was a fair trade when balanced against the potentially higher cost of failing to file the paperwork in a timely manner. As part of this option, I needed to get a piece of paperwork notarized at the bank.
The Banker: I have worked with the banker quite a few times. She is always glad to give me a helping hand. Although I don’t recall, she claims I often have an entertaining story or two. Today, I can only recall my elevated stress level. I needed to get a deposit and a wire transfer done. Fortunately, these were quite easy. The challenge was the Power of Attorney document. It needed to be witnessed by someone other than a bank employee. So, being a resourceful person, I asked if any of the clients in the bank lobby were available for this task. Once permission was granted, I turned on my charm, or more appropriately, made a beeline for the only person in the lobby.
The Candlestick Maker: I have no idea what this person does. I didn’t need to know. All I needed was a signature confirming her as a “witness” who saw me attach my signature to the Power Of Attorney document. I needed nothing more from her. I didn’t need to tell her what I was ordering from China. I didn’t need to try and sell her on the legitimacy of what I was buying. Frankly, I did not even need her real name. I only needed to have a signature of someone or something as a “Witness”. If I were to choose someone to sign my document I would not have chosen a mousey woman like her to do it. My standards were thrown out the window when “eenie-meenie-minee-mo” was not an option. After I practically coerced her to sign, I did feel a bit badly. Those feelings were easily ignored in light of the pressing need to get the paperwork done. Conscious clear–Keep moving on!

As I continued to talk with the banker as I worked my may through the task, I did find out my tactics on “Mouse Woman” may have been solely responsible for removing the lobby as a potential recruiting ground for “witnesses”. Should I ever need a witness again (unlikely I would ever have such a tight time table, but certainly possible), I have my strategy planned. I will comb the bank parking lot or the health club nearby. I will bribe a person (or buy them Subway across the street) to have them volunteer as an associate or friend or fellow cabalists. Whatever the contrived story, it will keep the machine of business moving forward and the sweat shops of China active.

Honorable Mentions

The Model: As I was taking my walk along a long strip of sidewalk running parallel to a railroad track, I saw an object growing in size as approached the crest. As I continued to get nearer, I noticed a young lady in a one piece bathing suit on the railroad tracks. There was a gentlemen guiding her movements while he had camera in hand. He had her do a sitting pose one way and then the other as he tried to make the most of the mid-afternoon sun. Once I realized the photography session, I falsely assumed it was a girl getting senior pictures taken (or something like that) Although they may still have been senior pictures, my closer proximity revealed the coloring I attributed to being shadows were actually tattoos covering about 1/3 of the areas her bathing suit did not cover. I did not stare as I past. I looked down at the camera bag that originally grabbed my attention. I just said a little prayer hoping my daughters don’t decide to get tattooed in the same way.
The Phone Jockey: When coming home from my walk, Tru Green had placed their service paperwork in our front door. I usually don’t look at it, but this active brain of mind seemed to be demanding it be fed something. As I looked at the bill, it appears we only had 1 sq foot of our yard treated. Since I already prepaid for this years treatment, I will admit to feeling pretty ripped off. I called the customer service number and finally talked to someone (a she someone so she qualifies for being included) after being told a few times of the high call volumes and how I was insane not to leave a message. She checked old service orders, and seemed to confirm the recent order was probably a typo. She offered to have the technician call me, but when the “retreatment” option was offered, I did what any loyal customer would do – I said, “Yes, thank you!” Since this was just yesterday, I am anticipating seeing another work order again soon with more realistic numbers.

Snow Conspiracy Theory

(Again, me editing ability (as dismal as it may be) has precluded my life. If there are pictures of snow when it is warm and sunny out, it likely is not you, it is me playing “publish the old drafts”. Since this one was started in late February of 2015, it might be a little dated…)

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As I stared at all of the snow coming down, I thought fondly of some of the beautiful snowflakes I had seen growing up. Great, big bountiful snowflakes! Some as big as the tip of your little finger. And, although the average size was quite a bit smaller, I remember distinctly an orbital or spherical shape to them. Whether the circular shapes have been exhausted or Texas flat out refuses to allow them in the state is not known for sure. What I do know is the snow I was pelted by today was not normal!

It was like this snow was the result of a block of ice being ran through a cheese grater—a VERY fine cheese grater! The “snow needles” or snow straws or whatever they were had lots of company in north Texas today. Whatever created this snow seemed to be only creating one variety today. Just like in art class, only one type of snow flake is created. How exciting would it be if you folded the paper all over during art class while you were in elementary school and all you had when you were done was a hollow roll of paper? Not very! The circular stereotype for snowflakes runs deep. The orbital snowflake lobby has been contributing money for years to the art teachers retirement fund. Like the “flat earthers” of old, the “round only” flakers are content to allow the facts (actual touchable snowflakes that readily refute their bias toward spherical flakes) to lie right out there in the open.

The orbital snowflake lobby usually has a very easy job in the southern states. (If they don’t see flakes, they will believe what they see rather than asking their science teacher for the truth.) When the occasional snow storm does hit a place like north Texas, they have systems in place to close the schools down immediately. When the schools are shut down, the curious minds might are prevented from asking questions about snowflakes in a public setting. If a question is asked of Google, it will only cite answers on the internet. (Yes, Google does sometimes do funky things to search results.) And, everyone knows the internet can provide any answer you want based on how you ask the questions. So, the lies are protected when asked outside of the classroom.

In the north, they get so much snow. They don’t have time to look at individual snowflakes. Their curiosity is never sufficiently aroused to really ask these type of questions. All the kids in the north see is another driveway or sidewalk to shovel. They don’t see the uniqueness or beauty of individual flakes. So, the super-secret snow flake lobby is largely unconcerned with any rumors developing to dismiss the “orbital” snowflake shape theory. (Not a theory, but without serious questions asked, it has become one of those assumptions rarely questioned–practically a part of our society…like the theory of evolution….;-)

Regardless of what form it arrives in or what it does to school schedules, it has been great to be visited by this old friend from the north a few times this year. He and his companions (freezing rain & wind) made life a little more interesting and memorable this year. Even if I will never look at a paper snowflake again, it well worth sacrificing an “urban legend” to be a kid again–even for a few moments.

When Winter Makes An Appearance…

In an effort to clean out my drafts, I am really going for it today!

Winter has made multiple appearances in Texas this year. While it is not a “winter-free” state, it is not a state well equipped to deal with this uninvited visitor. (He is not unwelcome, but multiple visits of snow even wear on the hardiness of Texas snow drivers.)

This “draft” was started nearly 6 weeks ago. The image on the left is just showing what we are NOT supposed to see in March in Texas. The image on the right is of the variable rate toll road. It was so bad today (by local standards) the almighty “Wizard of Tollrates” decided he (It could be a “she”. If that is your preference, please substitute “Wizardess” or whatever is appropriate.) felt guilty charging people extra to use the less cluttered toll lanes.

While my daughters LOVED having a day off of school with snow, it did cost them getting the day off after Easter. The school builds 2 or 3 calamity days into the calender, but rarely uses them. This year the snow/ice decided they should!

Morale of the story: Eat, drink, and be merry because tomorrow could be a calamity day!

Gutter Check

As a nearly 5 year Texas resident, rain has not been a frequent visitor. When it rains, it can be just like a rain you might find in the midwest–just less frequently. There are the teasing rains and the downpour rains. The little sprinkles are not likely to reveal a special type of sin like what is only experienced when the heavens open and let the rain droplets all drop at once for an extended period. This morning was one of those days. And, the sin is failing to clean out the gutters.

My sin was not a singularity but something I allowed to occur in both the front and back yards. Although the contents of the gutters varied slightly, both front and back were full of similar stuff: monster pine needles, seeds and buds from our elm tree (the same elm tree that makes us toil endlessly to make our pool “floatee” free in the spring and fall) a few leaves from whatever tree is tall enough to contribute, and although not a contributor to the blockage, both gutters had a layer of the gravelly stuff originally attached to our roof shingles.

In the front yard, the surface was level. The ladder allowed me to stretch upward and the rains continued to come downward. After fishing around in the little creek previously referred to as our gutter, I grabbed a handful of organic material. Even though the first handful had changed the flow and saved the flower that was becoming pelted by the faulty gutter, I took a couple more handful to save myself climbing up on the ladder again later. (I was wet already, so a few more seconds did not matter.)

The backyard had the additional challenge of stairs. I mentally committed to “fixing” this one after the rain. However, since my clothes dried pretty quickly from the first installment in the “Set Our Gutters Free” project, I decided I could handle the second installment in the rain as well. When I reached the top of the ladder, the detritus was bobbing in the gutter like it was awaiting me. As I plunged my hand into its depths (not even up to my wrist) while precariously balancing myself on the top of the ladder, I had a slight feeling of vertigo. The porch steps (see picture below) were causing me to stretch further than I felt comfortable. Knowing the gutters would not clean themselves, I focused on removing this final sin (I have LOTS of other sins I seem to insist on committing, but for the sake of this post, I am only referring to the sins that prevent my roof and related systems from functioning as they were designed.). Once I threw the globs of tree dung to the concrete below and slowly reversed my climbing, I rapidly stepped out of the rain.

Once the rain stops, I will clean up the evidence of my sins against my house. As a homeowner (sometimes referred to as a “home moaner”), I sometimes fail to be as proactive as I need to be. And, as an infrequent blogger, I sometimes attempt to make the mundane entertaining. I guess I will have to leave these sins to be addressed at a later time.

The seeds, needles and leaves gifted to our house so that it might reside in our gutters until a time such as this.

This bucket was empty when the gutter began its excessive partying. After the party catalyst were removed, the buckets and its contents could somberly observe the tumultuous downpour.

When Old Men Play Catch

Since it was a nice Sunday afternoon, my daughter was seeking out someone to play catch with. As the most experienced and energetic (not much enthusiasm for throwing a ball at our house) candidate, it did not take the long for me to equate “catch” time as father/daughter time. She gathered my softball glove, got me a glass of water, and ushered me out the door.

As we started loosening up, I remembered why my control wasn’t what it used to be. When we still lived in Ohio, our long driveway was covered by WAY to much snow. Our very nice neighbor offered his snow blower. While I often refused, I chose to listen to my wife’s nudges and children’s loathing of forced labor in a Siberian climate. As I went into the neighbor’s garage to start the snow blower, I will admit to having a bit more energy than before he made his offer. I was relieved to realize my fingers and toes would not have to go numb an excessive number of times before the driveway was cleared for safe passage. The snow blower had a starter rope just like a lawn mover. So, I jumped in and pulled a few times. I thought maybe I had flooded it or in someway damaged this savior of the numb fingers. With a bit of adrenalin, I gave one last good pull. The blower did not start, but I felt an odd pull/pain in my right arm/wrist. Not wanting to make my neighbor in any way feel bad, I played off the pain. He took a look at the blower and quickly realized the gas line had been turned off. My gentlest tug could have now started it. My wrist was not up to shoveling, so it was good I had the use of the motorized snow launcher!

Since that day, whenever I try and throw a softball or baseball to hard, I seem to release at the wrong point. The ball goes off in some less than controlled direction. So, I am mostly a lobber now with limited control. Fortunately, my daughter was completely happy with this. I did change my throwing a bit to try and give her a chance to catch something besides lobs or parabolic throws. With her being left handed, I worked to spot my throw to try and strengthen her ability in her weak spots. Whenever a throw went the wrong direction, my first line of defense was, “You have to be ready for those.” rather than, “Sorry, your old man is not the throwing phenomenon he used to be.” She was understanding…even if she did have to visit the ditch/creek more than she would have liked. (Throwing a wet ball is good practice!)

Although she does have pretty good control, I did have to field a few grounders. These grounders were mostly happy little balls that found my glove with barely an invitation. Not all of the balls were happy. A couple balls, one specifically, were very vindictive. It refused my gloves embrace and launched itself at my exposed shin. Not wanting to make my daughter feel bad, I uttered a brave, “It’s okay.” and we played on.

It was early the next day when I felt the aching right arm. Amazingly, my mind tried to go through a list of other possible deliverers of pain before remembering the neon green ball from the previous day. Likely, since it had been close to a year since I had thrown a ball and I was throwing it differently to compensate for my snow blower injury, my pain was only reminiscent of the usual pain. When the pain left in a couple of days, the source was confirmed.

The shin injury has been a different matter. It seemed to take a little longer for the pain to more fully ripen. What started as a dull ache is now 6 inches of very sensitive leg starting below my knee. I have researched shin splints and entertained ideas of impending amputations. (I am reading a book with an amputee in it right now.) Despite my pessimistic optimism, the winner seems to be a bone bruise-the most painful shin bruise in recent memory, but just a bruise.

However, with my history of a couple of blood clots, my ultra-pessimism, “I don’t want my kids to be orphans” thinking kicked in. After a week of the non-diminishing leg pain, my wife hauled me to one of the “quickie” emergency room places. (It was my insistence that got us there. She was laughing and teasing me up until the point where the doctor mentioned how swollen and how much it probably hurt.) The doctor checked all of my pulses to remove any clotting concerns. While I was relieved, my wife took the opportunity to get a couple more paranoid jabs in. We were home in about an hour. We paid no bill while there. The cost for my peace of mind would be coming in the mail….

So, as I walk, stand or get dressed, I just smile. I assume the pain is temporary. (It was….this was nearly a month ago.) What is not temporary is the quality time I had with my daughter! To see her non-complaining run after one of my bad throws (well, she may have missed a couple of good throws) or to hear, “I am sorry.” after one of her bad throws, are times to cherish. I don’t remember really talking about anything. And, it is those moments with your daughters that mean everything.

Dirt Addiction

Since a young age, I have been like most boys. (This is dismissing any unique warping or branding done by my parents to make me uniquely me.) I like playing in the dirt. I remember the many sand castles (for the purposes of our discussion, sand = dirt = mud = clay). I remember the many hours spent working in my parents garden (my wife and I also had a garden, but since my adult gardening time was balanced with the parenting of a couple or preschoolers, the memories are less vivid.) I weeding, hoeing or grabbing the potatoes after my dad dug them up. There is something special in my epidermis that seems to at times crave the feel of dirt cascading over my skin.

I had one such experience again last week. This March in Texas the rainless days have been scarce. With the clouds being present and the weatherman proclaiming my likely success of staying dry, I drove to the plant store in the mid-morning. In previous years, this plant store had a “branch” [good choice in words since I am talking plants, huh?] less than 10 minutes from the house. Due to Texas and its access roads and the GPS not quite caught up with the slight changes in the exit ramps, I have yet to make it to the “new” store the quick way. (about 20 minutes by the GPS) The sod was the first thing on my list. The sod was a definite acquisition and passenger on my drive home. The “full sun” plant options left me vacillating between “cool” and reliable. And, when I thought I had it figured out I introduced, “What would my wife like?” to the equation. I bought some really nice geraniums to possibly make up (one of her favorites) for any sins I may have committed with my perennial choices.

This is where the “dirtiness” of my past comes into the picture. Although I gave some thought to wearing gloves, I refused for a couple of reasons. Yes, gloves are cumbersome. Yes, dirt under the fingernails is not sexy by nearly any standards…unless you are an ape or something maybe. After weighing the pros and cons I had available to myself at the moment, I chose to go gloveless. The tactile part of the planting process just out voted any of the negatives of going without gloves. Feeling the roots and associating the visual varieties of bed material (sand, clay, potting material from last years annuals, last falls remaining leaves, and any rocks or roots that have chosen to venture beyond their designated places) with how they feel is so peacefully pleasant….at least to me.

As I stood back and admired my completed work after a couple of hours of planted, I realized my hands would need to have a few layers of dirt removed. And, it was at this point, I realized the next few days would wear an asterisk. These would be days where I would be wearing a Vaseline sock. Huh, you say? Let me explain.

Using a trowel without gloves, gives one a proclivity to developing large blisters in the palm of your hand. And, I had a big one! As I stayed focused on my planting, the blister graduated past the “full of liquid” stage and went right to “Ow! Look what I did!”

What is the “glove”? It was an old basketball sock with finger holes cut out. I placed a good dab of vaseline in my hand before putting it on. Without it, I would leave vaseline on my mouse pad, pillow and anywhere else I frequented during the course of a normal day.

The “glove” came into play pretty quickly after the injury. As the natural healing process took place (you know the process…it is the itchy feeling with waves of great intensity. So intense I at times felt I could look down into the palm of my hand and see a hole through my palm where some flesh eating bacteria had enjoyed a very ample meal.), I tried to keep the palm soft rather than the dry non-malleable surface it had become.

A week after the injury and I am nearly past the “gnaw my wrist” off itching. In retrospect, the use of gloves will likely not be vetoed next time. I am retiring my vaseline glove. The close and intimate feeling of a gloveless hand removing dirt with a trowel is still pretty awesome. Palms that are not heat-sensitive, super-itchy, and able to fully stretch without nearly pulling the shriveled palm flesh off of the bone is REALLY awesome too!

Heard In The Shelves

I just feel like I am a better person when I am around books. My wit seems to become a little wittier. My sarc becomes a little more sarcasmier. And, my boundaries may become a little blurrier. I love reading a knew book. And, when my reading list far exceeds my available time (I realize I would gain more time if I wasn’t looking so much.), the second best thing is wandering through the shelves at a Barnes and Noble or Half-Price books or….the local library.

The local library has a great selection of books. Since my focus is primarily fiction, this is usually where I spend my time. While wandering the shelves somewhat aimlessly has been my previous modus operandi, the library put a new twist into my wandering. While I knew approximately where certain authors were before, the library has done a recent shuffling of books. I “think” everything is still there-the large print now have an entirely different area; the fiction books have now moved mostly 2-5 full shelves towards the bottom of the alphabet. (Meaning Dean Koontz books are now where Robert Ludlum books used to be.) As I am still trying to get my bearings on where to find my authors, I did put my “eavesdrop” ears on. The two library employees one row over were talking about their lives.

Man: “….I don’t make enough money to pay my traffic ticket.”

Woman: “Ask if you can do community service. That is what I did.”

Man: “I am working two jobs already to pay the bills. If I could do that, it would be great.”

Woman: “All you can do is ask. I didn’t have the money either, so they let me do community service in Hurst.”, she says as she wanders back to the door of the employee area.

I could continue to ramble. Anything typed would just dilute two truths of life touched on above:

Things change
It never hurts to ask – preferable nicely.

Sharing With The Oblivious

(I realize parts of what I am preparing to type may sound less than optimistic and positive. I write this and know it is a risk. By writing I hope to protect those who share their lives with anyone who is oblivious in any way…)

Finally, the rain decided to stop on our side of DFW. Since my days have been filled with dodging rain drops and attending track meets, my walking schedule has been nonexistent for the past couple of days. Today, the sun did a pretty good job convincing us it was breaking free of the clouds and dragging some blue along with it.

Unfortunately, it seemed like those I shared the sidewalk with were much more into their athletic pursuit then any social interaction that resulted:

No. 1

As I was walking, I passed a guy from church. He has a nicely trimmed beard, so I knew I had seen him this morning at church. As I said, “Hey, I know where you go to church. I saw you there this morning–“My Churches Name Here!” He didn’t disagree or grunt or much of anything…he just kept moving. He may have turned his head and stumbled through his next couple of steps….

No. 2

The “usual” rule when you are a bicyclist is to announce yourself as you are passing someone. A yell “on your left” or a “hug the side, Biff” is normally accepted. Two back to back riders made no effort to clue me in. The first one had horribly fat tires or some sort of odd “hitch” is his pedaling technique. I knew he was coming WAY before he got to me. No emotional or physical injuries resulted–just not feeling the love of a fellow “sidewalk bro”.

No. 3

I was walking on the correct side of the road. (In Ohio and Texas and I believe everything in between, this is on the left side.) Ahead of me I saw a runner coming on my side BUT he was coming from the other direction. (See previous explanation about correct side to run on.) Since there were no cars coming, I let him have the left side (his right) to himself. I walked in the middle of the road to let him by. As he passed me, I looked over and smiled and nodded a “hello”. He did not look at me or in any way acknowledge me. I guess he might be a pedestrian from a country where they drive on the other side. So, what he was doing was natural to him…??

No. 4

Three bicyclist passed me going the other direction. I should be grateful they formed a single line and did not dominate the entire sidewalk. But, again, their absolute refusal to grunt, groan or in any way recognize me as a human being rather than an obstacle to their sidewalk domination was a bother.

No. 5

This objection is a little more subtle. As I was coming into the homestretch, I cross a couple of nice little bridges that span a mostly near stagnant creek. With the rain, the bridges have allowed their egos to be buoyed above the level of the average “creek spanning” structure. And, today the bridge served as a home to nearly 20 relatives. As they posed for their pictures and filled the bridge entirely from left to right, my problem emerged. Since the entire walk had been done in “stealth mode”, I had not created any noises to announce my arrival. (the photo session also likely had something to do with this.) I had done a bit of “dipping and diving” through their midst before they even realized I was a stranger in their family. Since we were in Texas, I had weapons trained on me before I cleared the “cousins” on the far side. I willingly gave up the billfolds I had pick-pocketed. We agreed both parties played the game fairly and walked away without further confrontation.

No. 6

Remarkably, before I got back to the house, I passed a family with 3 kids and a dad. Their was a dog and a scooter in this party of “fun-lovers”. I tried to smile or make eye contact or something. They remained oblivious…

The Rest (The exceptions)

I did stumble across a couple of people who were not mute or wearing earplugs or blind…

My friends from Aldi’s: We waved. Agreed we hadn’t seen each other in awhile. Agreed to bring a thermos of tea/coffee and biscuits when next we meet.
At the tail end of the walk with my wife, we re-met the neighbors. (We originally met them 4 months ago, but being self-employed is not “best” when getting a loan approved to buy a new house.) We discussed what great neighbors we were and how lucky they were to live next to us….normal neighbor stuff.

That Or Nothing

As we went out for my son’s birthday today, we enjoyed a great meal at Pei Wei. I found out the Thai Dynamite Chicken was not only fun to anticipate what would happen in your mouth, it was fun to experience as well.

And, when you have 11 people [5 adults (6 if you count my post-teen son] and 5 kids. We were at two separate tables ) the conversation will span a variety of categories. My friends mother-in-law of 79 years (He has not been married 79 years; she is 79 years old) had just had cataract surgery in both eyes over the past two weeks.

Me: “Now that your eyes are all taken care of, you are ready to wear your bikini and sunglasses and work on your tan.”

M-I-L: A nod, but not much enthusiasm. Maybe a hint of a smile touching the corners of her mouth.

Me: “If not a bikini, I guess you could just wear a one piece.”

M-I-L: “It will be that or nothing at all.”

Me: “Well, I guess there are beaches for that, too.”

M-I-L: Big grin followed by “I suppose”.

Since being young, I have been convinced the “old” like to laugh too! Now, with me being more old than young, I am even more convinced of it. I am hopeful my kids and grandkids will not be afraid to try out their clean humor on me. Although I may add decades, I am confident my humor will survive at some level far into my retirement. (This is assuming my brain is working at a level where mental gymnastics are still possible.)

Don’t let the wrinkles fool you! Conversations like the one above will recharge the laugh bank accounts of both the young and the old. It is an privilege to make a smile appear on a wrinkled face. When I am old and wrinkled some day, I look forward to wearing a smile all of the time. And, if not that, I will do all I can to smile while helping to create a smile on a young unwrinkled face.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy