The Favorite Child

Saw a news piece last night about a radio talk show host out west somewhere who admitted on his blog that his oldest son was his favorite.  Parents with tight sphincters across the land drew in sharp breaths and fired off nasty comments in his direction.  I guess it is okay to have a favorite kid, just do not under any circumstances let people outside the immediate family know.

Come on people.  Jeezum.  Every family with more than one kid has the "he's/she's your favorite" crap well entrenched into the family dynamic.  My oldest brother was my mother's favorite.  She would try to disavow it, but the years of accumulated incidents and situations told a different story. 

Being at least of average intelligence, once I figured out how to use my mom's favoritism for my oldest brother to my advantage, I was okay with it.  I figured out that included in the Mom Package that comes with pregnancy, a huge amount of untapped guilt is included.  And since I was the average weasly little brother, I would dip into that guilt whenever it suited my twisted little mind.  Parental overcompensation can be a wonderful thing when one wants to go to the movies or score those new high top Chuck Taylors that were silently screaming my name over to Brooks Sports Shop.

Of course it never worked on Dad.  My dad was the traditional old school dad.  He seemed to have little regard for any of us until we showed some smarts.  That is the impression he gave anyway.  All I remember hearing from him my first 15 years on this planet was, "When are you going to smarten up?"   Eventually he either decided I had indeed smartened up or he just gave up worrying about it and accepted me for the idiot I was.  We got along great once I hit my 20s.  Well, there was the drug bust and bailing me out of jail thing, but oddly he never said a harsh word.  Weird.

So after this news piece was over I asked my wife, "Did your mom have a favorite?"

She looked thoughtful for a second and said, "Well, Nancy was my dad's favorite.  It was hard to tell with Mom.  If she had a favorite, she hid it well................It was odd though.  After the 6 year marriage to Bob (her first husband)was over, she did tell me she had never liked him."

I looked at her.  "Did she like me?"

"Well, I told her that if there was a next time, I expected her to tell me what she thought of whoever I was hooked up with............" 

She let me twist in the wind wondering whether Grannie liked me or not.  Grannie was everyone's favorite.  One of those blessed people that seem to be friends with anyone she meets.  The consummate grandmother.  She cooked, cleaned and held a family together with sheer will while her husband drank away his paycheck.  I desperately wanted to know she liked me.  Because I came to love her.

Bobbi let me twist a while and then she smiled.  "Yeah, she liked you..........Don't have a clue why."

The timer dinged, the tuna melts came out of the oven and we sat down to dinner.

Later..................................................................

Missing Skills, Tired Bones and Morning Walks

Getting back into the Blogger gig has been a difficult process.  During my hiatus these past few months, the meager skill set I brought to the effort of writing has not followed me back.  When once not too long ago I could write about anything, I now scan the horizon hard for even one tidbit or kernel to expand upon.  It was much easier to express myself last March than it is here in mid September.  Even brain muscles atrophy if allowed to sit on the bench too long I guess.

My wife, myself and Stubeechka, the three-legged wonder dog, have taken up walking every morning over to Mary's Park across the road from our dooryard.  Stubeechka was recuperating from cancer surgery, my wife was trying to find muscles gone missing for several years, and me, well I was just along for the company.

When we started back in mid July, our pace was just barely faster than stopped.  My wife could not complete the 1/2 mile loop without stopping to catch her breath.  Being numb-er than a hammer, Stubby would dash back and forth.  She was so weak she would collapse after one loop like she had been runnin deer all day.  Now over 50 walks later, my wife moves at a good clip and even after two laps , she's barely breathing hard.  Stubby is back to her old self - bouncing around and happy as if she had a brain.

Besides the obvious health benefits of at least bringing some tone to the muscles, what really matters is we are hooked.  My wife is already agonizing over where we will walk once the expected blanket of snow covers up the trails.  For that matter so am I.  Stubby, well, I am sure she is not contemplating what is going to happen in the next five minutes, never mind what might be going on two months down the road.  Regardless, I am sure she will miss our walks over to Mary's Park. 

Minimal conversation passed between my wife and I those first few walks.  The only sounds, two geezers wheezing and the occasional twig snapping to pass the time.  Once our bodies had worked through the trauma of switching from Off mode to On, we might actually talk.  This morning my wife said, "When I started this walking thing I had hopes of losing weight."

I grunted in a way that told her I was listening but if the conversation was going to continue, she had to provide a follow up.

"But ya know, I feel way better and that's more important than the weight."

To which I replied, "Uh Huh."  Some silence followed and then I said, "Yeah, I lost another ten pounds this summer, but seemed to have plateaued again.  But yeah, I feel way better also.  Guess I need to ride more if I want to lose any more."

Her reply, "Uh Huh..........It'sdedicating more time that gets in the way.  I'm too damn busy to give up more time."

Me, well, I could scrape together some more time to exercise, but my wife definitely would have to search harder.  That woman puts in 16 hours a day for her accounting business.  Hardest working person I know.

This conversation stuck with me.  I considered the annual punishment I put myself through every Spring to aquaint my body with the notion of exercise.  Losing the winter layers runs a distant second to dealing with the discomfort of kicking aging muscles and bones back into gear.  But every Spring I remember my mother and how she caved and gave up.  That becomes my stimulus to push through the pain.  By May, I am usually very pleased I did it one more time.

While I sometimes regret not pushing harder, I realize that at least I am still pushing and I can live with that.

Later.......................................

Life As It Should Be

Life is as it should be.  It is not what it could be.  It is not what it would be.  Life is exactly what it should be because it is what it is.

We can rant and rave about our situation, their situation, or situations not even on our horizon.  But wishing it so, wishing it wasn't, and wishing upon a star does nothing to void the reality that each and everyone of us wakes up to everyday. 

Because it seems none of us are entirely at peace with our stations in Life, we form clubs, organizations, and gangs to protect what we have or to take what they have.  As if having what they have will somehow make us like ourselves more.  The group dynamic more often than not just increases the envy, disdain and fear others have for us and can become what we feed on.  I have found any substantial changes in my own reality are not the result of group efforts, but results of my own efforts and the luck of the draw.  Group Hope often sets us up for Group Disappointment.  And Group Fear more often than not is self fulfilling.

Until we can steer our self interest in the same general direction, the hate, discontent and disconnect many of us harbor will continue to result in what we have. 

~.~

Not sure where that came from.  Guess I should not have watched the news yesterday.

Later......................................................

4:00 A.M - When Wasted Minds Come to Mind

My eyes popped open at 4:00 AM.  As I had crawled into the sack at 9:00 PM  last night, I did not feel cheated or sleep deprived..  Six or more hours of sleep lately is not just a bonus, it often feels like a guilty pleasure.  I frequently harbor pangs of guilt I may have over slept.  Of course waking up at dark thirty in the AM can blunt those pangs and leave me floundering to find something to do until the Sun pops up in a couple of hours.. 

Brewed some coffee.  Puttered here, poked around there until the aroma of fresh coffee drew me back to the kitchen.  Full cup in hand, I contemplated what to do next.  Every project or chore I thought of meant making noise or depended on the light of day to seriously take it on.  There was always the Tube.  The Tube would fill the time until I could think of something.....Hmm .....Nah.  Fuckin TV doesn't just waste time, it wastes minds without the buzz one comes to expect when ingesting stupefying substances.

I could read a book.  Or maybe clean up a cranny or the odd nook..............Nah......  I have plenty of time left in the day to be productive or to expand my mind.  Gettin busy at 4:00 AM goes against my grain.  But I felt I had to do something.  So I dropped in here at "the BoZone".

Now that I am here, I wonder what I should write about.  I told myself I was not going to launch into some rant about the stupid human events that make up the background noise of my existence.  Besides unfolding far away from me and my door yard, the multitude of idiots out there who put their madness into play on the Global stage will follow through no matter what I say.  Humans talk about striving for perfection and happiness.  Their actions all too often  indicate a large portion of us are intent on being unhappy and well short of perfect.

That leaves me with only happy thoughts and conjectures.............Hmm. .......... The first  pleasant thought - 

CHAZ

Chaz has been around for a couple of years at least.  It was only recently he began to swing through my bike shop whenever the doors were propped open.  The little leech has suckered me into supplying him with sweet morsels torn off high end energy bars.  Or he scarfs up the occasional M&M dropped under the candy dispenser near the front door.

A strictly commercial relationship, I supply CHAZ with tasty tidbits and CHAZ makes me smile. 

Keep it 'tween the ditches...........................

All the hoopla over the recent book, "No Easy Day" makes me smile and frown at the same time.  Matt Bissonette, AKA Mark Owen, the former navy Seal who penned the account makes claims that in small ways differ from the official version.  Whether Bin Laden was killed in the room or while he stuck his head out of the door is of no consequence in my opinion.  The man is dead and gone.  For me that is all that matters.  And Matt's claim that the book is not political statement is not his call to make.  It has become one whether he wants it too or not.  His back handed criticisms of the President and his part in the affair  mean nothing to me.  Matt was but one cog in an mission machine made up of many cogs and much planning far above his pay grade and I assume intelligence.  The President had to make the decision to initiate the plan.  It was Matt's job to follow the orders to carry it out.  Had the mission failed who would be blamed?  Certainly not Matt.  The president would have had to eat the blame.

That the President is garnering some political capital from his decision is what politicians do.  I wonder what Bush would have done after the attack, given his publicity hogging landing on an aircraft carrier with a sign in the back ground that said "Mission Accomplished" and in reality, the mission had only begun. 

Politicians never miss a chance to bank good publicity.  It isn't right and it isn't wrong.  It is what pols do.  On the other hand what Matt did when he wrote the book was wrong on many levels.  The least of which was that he chose to disrespect the long standing tradition of the Seals to not talk publicly about their missions.  Not only is he bragging about his part in it, he is most likely going to make millions off the book.  Shame on him.  And the fact he did not not even use his own name tells me he is probably not someone I would want to have my back.  The Seals are better off without him.

Later.................................

Close Encounter

So I have been MIA awhile now.  Figured I'd stop by and put a few words to paper (so to speak).  Since I have not been watching, listening, or otherwise paying any attention to events outside my small parcel of the planet, I have cleansed myself of the need to vent over stupid actions by stupid leaders.  Besides, paying attention to what's in front of me is a full time job it appears.

GW Bush rode by me on a mountain bike last week.  Keith and I said, "Good Morning George".   Dubya grinned and we continued on our way.  Of course in tow behind him was a group of maybe 30 local riders who comprise what is called "Peloton 1".  There was security everywhere.  ATVs, big guys and gals on mountain bikes, and the appropriate number of black SUVs all over the area.  That was one expensive mountain bike ride. 

Keith and I had no clue the ex-President was in the woods over to the Smith Preserve in Kennebunk.  We were glad he was finishing up and we were just getting started.  We had the woods to ourselves once the sweep security rode/drove past us. 

I hated the man's politics and many if not all the actions he put in play during his reign as POTUS.  But seeing him grunting it out on a mountain bike has taken the edge of the animosity I have for him.   The fact we share a common interest and he is no longer large and in charge has mellowed my opinion of the man........but not what he did to us.


Later.................................

Not Sure What to Say

I never meant to be away as long as I have.  It just sort of happened.  I had to make room for the extra time and energy I was beginning to pour into other facets of my life - you know, family, work, yard, riding, more healthy endeavors than sitting in front of this computer. That's how it started and before I knew what was happening, I was not even turning the computer on unless it was bike shop related.  The blog became a guilty thought I began to file with the other guilty thoughts I carry as baggage from 60 years on the planet.

Besides, all the madness happening outside my small world was driving me bonkers.  Idiots deluding large crowds of more idiots with promises that Life can return to what we thought it once was because now we conveniently forget the ugliness that wrapped the pleasant moments we have pushed to the top of our memories.  Turning back the clock is a fool's errand and oftentimes seems to add to the decay instead of turning it around.


I was not sure what to write after so long an absence, but at least I wrote something.  I won't promise to be back soon, but I will try to once again make this blog part of my daily life.  I truly do enjoy the process of writing.

Later.................................

The Journeyman's Speedball

I know, I know.  I've been MIA awhile now.  No excuses.  Been busy .........Damn busy.   The bike shop has not been this active in......well, I guess it has been long enough that I just can't put my finger on it.  I am certainly not complaining about the serious uptick in business.  Now I just complain about being a beat, dog tired, tuckered buckaroo 24/7.

The image represents what has been keeping my candle flickering at both ends.............the poor man's speedball, Caffeine and Papst Blue Ribbon Beer.  One to keep the engine revving and one to take the edge off and keep me from red lining.

Apparently I was in the throes of a deeper funk than even I realized.  For several years I guess, I was lost, down, pissed, and hating my business.  I blamed the economy.  The economy certainly did not help matters.  It's tough to bring a smile to work when I knew the door was not going to open much.  But to be fair, we make our own way and I had made mine.  I lived down to my expectations.  Can't make much progress that way.

I won't bore you with the details, but once again, I look forward to the daily grind at the bike shop.  I used to love to work.  Apparently I still do.  I just had to work through some mental, emotional, private, don't even know exactly what it was stuff.  I can't say with any certainty the black dog is behind me for good.  He is at least on a tighter leash now.  Seems I have regained some control of the rowdy bunch inside.  Or maybe they just got tired of complaining.

My little friend above is one of the many beetles we have here in Maine.  I have no clue what beetle gang  he hails from.  He just showed up the other morning clinging to the side of my shop near the back door waiting for the Sun to turn the corner and warm him up enough so he could continue his journey from wherever it was he was to wherever it is he is going.  I hope he makes it.  His actual size is maybe 1/4 inch.  He certainly cuts an imposing well dressed figure when blown up 30 or 40 times. 

Anyway, just a short note to let everyone know who cares I am still here and will post as I can.

Later..............................

The Undone Gang

I took a few moments from my single minded focus on the bike shop this morning to check on the rest of the World.  The usual madness seemed to be unfolding just like it was when I checked last week.  Missing people are being looked for.  Other dead people missing even longer are being found instead.  Good government policies barely make up for the bad government policies.  My country is still embroiled in a military situation there seems to be no dignified escape from.  And last but not least, I notice the Brothers Four are still pissing down each others leg  for the right to take on Obama and piss down his leg.

Welcome Guests

Last week when I pulled into the bike shop parking lot I parked in my usual spot next to an aging and beat cherry tree.  Even though Time and the harsh elements of Maine have had their way with this tree, it still produces profuse bundles of inedible berries.  Inedible for me anyway.  Sour and nasty in my opinion.  But the birds love them.

The Brazil Butt Lift

I passed out on the couch last night.  8:00PM was my last awareness of time and the last thing I remember was I had a 24 ounce Papst in my hand.  It was St. Patrick's Day after all.  When I awoke at dark thirty in the morning, the Papst still had several ounces in it.

Being parched and in need of immediate hydration, I gratefully gulped down the last of the warm and flat beer.  Thirst quenched, I took a moment to get up to speed about my current situation.  Waking up on the couch was normal.  At least one cat on my chest, yep, normal.  And the TV being on was standard operating procedure.

It was what was on the tube that made me do a double take.  Spread across the screen was a close up shot of maybe seven sets of tanned buttocks wearing not much.  These were perfect and delectable buns.  The voice over informed me that I too could have buns like these if I would only call this number for the secret to a beautiful butt, oh and please do not forget that credit card.

Intrigued, but still in the throes of being half awake and half dead, I considered what it would be like to have buns that looked like the ones I was gazing upon at the moment.  Immediately I saw myself on some beach wearing a thong to show off my beautiful buns but I had forgotten to include time to exercise for those Amazing Abs.  Around front hanging over and hiding the top thong was my notable pot belly all hairy and stuff.  Yeah Mike, the chicks would not be able to resist.

Now that I have ruined your day with this image I can only say that if you have any notion of owning beautiful buns, make sure to also do what it takes to own Amazing Abs.  While you are at it, might as well beef up those pecks and deltoids at the same time.  Since you have gone this far, naturally a penile enhancement or breast augmentation would be a logical add on.  Along with comprehensive defoliation, add in some judicious skin tucking around the neck and maybe some material lifted from above the eyes and voila, you can once again know what it's like to be twenty years old.

Now you are ready to retire to Buenos Aires  and be available for that testimonial in the next Brazil Butt Lift infomercial. 

Later........................

The Sad Reality

The bike shop has pushed the rest of my life off center stage.  Hopefully I will find some balance sooner than later.  But I am afraid I am back into it. The repairs are not just trickling in anymore.  It would be helpful if I don't burn out until September. 

Do something long enough and no matter what goes on around this something one does day in day out, the rhythms remain the same, even if the resulting conditions change.

I changed my age old bike shop business model three years ago now.  And yes, it has changed the way I interact with my customers.  Mistakes become bigger deals as I have had to learn to walk a narrower financial ledge in order to keep the doors open.  No longer is dickering the exception, it is now the rule.The customer is coming in with the idea of spending as little as possible for the product or service they want.  The retailer (me) hopes to maximize his profit, but  has become used to settling for the minimum profit he needs to get by. 

Free Range Time Keeping

I have become used to the government and their tendency to fool around with the money I send them every year.  They often pretend to give it back, calling it a tax cut.  That never lasts because while they are thinking of ways to give it back, they are always considering more ways to take it away.  It is as if they had this big balloon filled with air.  Someone ensconced well within the gulliwots of the government belly decides the citizenry could use some of that air.  They tap the balloon and let some of it out, which in theory should give all us a little more room to breathe.  But we all know the government does not enjoy working with an under inflated balloon, so on the other side of the balloon, they plug in a pump to suck most, if not more of that previously released air back into the balloon. 

Pine Tree State Politics - An Update

Angry and indignant women carrying signs and chips on their shoulders congregate in front of a local AM radio station in Portland, Maine to protest that station's active role in spreading the hate filled nonsense of another brainless political hack.  These irate ladies demand the station cease broadcasting this man's message.

When interviewed, the station manager grins ever so slightly and tells us the man has an audience that either loves him or hates him, but it's the numbers that count.  As long as he has an audience, no matter their opinion, the station will not stop his broadcasts here in Maine. 

Waking Up Dead

George was fairly certain he was dead now.  The last time his eyes were open, they were looking down an empty subway tunnel under lower Manhattan.  George was a track checker and close to retirement.  It was his last full week at work and as he had done for 35 years previously, he trudged his section of tunnel looking for problems on the line, around the line, down the line.

Now George noticed he was walking on a dirt road.  Up high, the Sun sat on one side of noon or the other.  Trees swayed slightly under a kind and gentle breeze.  Outside woodsy smells assaulted his nostrils replacing the stench of the subway he had huffed 5 days a week for the last too many years.  He had a walking stick in his hand and he no longer limped.

The Ant Farm

I visited Conservapedia the other day to check out what movies they felt presented conservative values in a strong and positive way.  Surprisingly, there was no Ronnie flick near the top.  The top two conservative movies were "Witness", in at number 1 and "Spiderman" close behind at number 2.  There was the predictable assortment of biblical movies in the mix, 'Ben Hur" "The Ten Commandments", etc.  Ronnie did not show up until well down the list.  Seems conservatives value his political skills much higher than his acting skills.  Me, well I give him a low to mediocre grade on both.

Another Beacon of Light in the GOP

“Our country is falling apart economically, politically, culturally, militarily,” he said. “We are going down.”

Art Jones or Arthur Jones, the name he preferred back in his younger more passionately fascist days is a Republican candidate for Congress in Illinois' 3rd district.  He is sure the US is in the same state of chaos that Germany found itself following WW I.  As a former member of the Nationalist Socialist Party (NAZI) and an ardent student of Germany, Hitler and all the pomp and circumstance only men in brown shirts and hob nail boots can create, Art is also positive the Holocaust never happened.

Another of the DIsconnected - Disconnects

While the snow blew hard outside today, I managed to be productive and streamline some day to day, week to week, month to month bike business drudgery into a less haphazard process.  As I get deeper into the actual business part of running a retail business, I find I want more information with less digging.  Today, I designed my own spreadsheet to help me do that.  Call it an education in spreadsheet basics (courtesy of my loving and dear wife with the CPA - uh, this plug is absolutely necessary if I want her help in the future).  The new twist on the information I was hoping to find brought a deeper understanding of financial aspects I need to be paying better attention to.  It is as if I peeled back one more layer of this onion.

Ending Up With Extra Parts

I forgot we were in for an extra day this year.  I have one more day to catch up on all that I have fallen behind on.  I have one extra day to hold off paying any bills due in the first week of March.  24 bonus hours to either waste or use wisely...............Riiiiight.

I will admit that at an early age I thought the concept of time was silly.  At least the way we humans seem to be tied to it so closely.  It took many years before I grudgingly caved to the World's insistence on schedules, lead times, down time, and having no time.

Currently and Totally Disgusted

I recently broke one of my rules regarding the Internet.  I opened up and read the comment section of a political blog, the Drudge Retort.  I then went further down the rabbit hole by actually commenting on a few articles.  What was I thinking?  I gave up fencing with idiots many years ago.  Yet, here I was trying my best to bring sense into an arena where common sense has no place.  Yes, among the frothers and hate spewers, there were voices of reason.  But they were, as they always are, shouted down with brainless party hack regurgitations from minds obviously well soused with their side's kool aid.