I WANNA LEARN MORE -- REALLY? -- WHAT? -- HMMM, LEMME SEE...

Of course you do.  So don't we all. But you know what?  I hear this a lot.  I hear it practically every day.  Every day! Now look, it's been a long time since I came to the conclusion that the world is full of people who never threw the pointy hat away when they were let out of the classroom corner.  But I didn't ever think that there would be so many asking me to teach them something that they could learn simply by looking out the kitchen window.
That's only one of the foibles.  What about when someone buys a new gadget and unfolds the little paper that has the directions of how to put the thing to use and still can't get it done?  
"Hey, You, [yes, that's my name] how do I get this thing to work?"
 "Hmmm, lemme see...Oh, right here, slide this little guy over to the right and you're in business."
"Neat-oh! how dz'ya do that?"
"I read the directions."
"I wish I could do that, but I don't understand technical language .  I guess I should learn how to do that."
To which I find myself thinking more than sometimes, 
"Phew, I'm glad I don't have a doctorate!"

Most of the time I hear it from church goers.  "I wanna learn something new."  Oh, that's a good one.  I jump all over this one.  
"Dz'ya go ta church yesterdee?"
"Uh-Huh"
"What did Jesus say to the Pharisees yesterday?"
"Jesus talked to the Pharisees yesterday?"
"Yep, sure did.  You were there right?"
"Yyyeeahhh, I was."
"Looks like you missed an opportunity to learn something new."
End of that conversation.

I don't want to belabor the point too much, but I do have another one that I hear a lot: "I wish I could learn Spanish."
Huh?  Spanish?  Here in Southern California?  Not a chance, not here!  
I hear this so often, that it chokes me every time because I know that the speaker is just making small talk conversation.
People who talk like that don't have a clue of what it takes to learn another language.  Right, Donna?  Right, Kimberly? 

It's an interesting world that we live in.  I won't make it any more interesting for you by telling you that I'd like to learn more math.  Now that, my friends would be pure Stercus Taurorum from the Pisces himself.  Right, Laura?  Laura knows how futile that statement would be since she wasted a ton of time trying to explain "x" to me over her kitchen table some years ago.
So, no, I don't ever say "I want to learn something new."
I just look out the kitchen window and it works all the time. I can prove it...just ask me about the sex lives of hummingbirds.

SLOW FOOD

I received this list of "When I was a young one growing up..." and I decided that the person who generated it had left out some items that are dear to me.  I have written about them here and there in the blogs that I maintain, but I decided that since my brain was already on the train because of the email, that I would send the entire "meal" to you all.

NOTICE:

There are many of you who are reading this who were not born and brought up in the USA.  If you want to share your dearest nostalgia filled memories, send them and we will all enjoy them on this blog.

SLOW FOOD

'Someone asked the other day, 'What was your favorite fast food when you were growing up?'

'We didn't have fast food when I was growing up,'

I informed him.

'All the food was slow.'

'C'mon, seriously. Where did you eat?'

'It was a place called Home,'' I explained. !

'Mom cooked every day and when Dad got home from work, we sat down together at the dining room table, and if I didn't like what she put on my plate I was allowed to sit there until I did like it.'

By this time, the kid was laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to suffer serious internal damage, so I didn't tell him the part about how I had to have permission to leave the table.

But here are some other things I would have told him about my childhood if I figured his system could have handled it :

Some parents NEVER owned their own house, never wore Levis, never set foot on a golf course, never traveled out of the country or had a credit card.

In their later years they had something called a revolving charge card. The card was good only at Sears Roebuck. Or maybe it was Sears & Roebuck.

Either way, there is no Roebuck anymore. Maybe he died.

My parents never drove me to soccer practice. This was mostly because we never had heard of soccer.

I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only had one speed, (slow)

We didn't have a television in our house until I was 9.

It was, of course, black and white, and the station went off the air at midnight, after playing the national anthem and a poem about God; it came back on the air at about 6 a..m. And there was usually a locally produced news and farm show on, featuring local people.

I was 21 before I tasted my first pizza, it was called 'pizza pie.' When I bit into it, I burned the roof of my mouth and the cheese slid off, swung down, plastered itself against my chin and burned that, too. It's still the best pizza I ever had.

I never had a telephone in my room. The only phone in the house was in the living room and it was on a party line. Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn't know weren't already using the line.

Pizzas were not delivered to our home but milk was.

All newspapers were delivered by boys and all boys delivered newspapers-- I delivered a newspaper, 7 days a week. It cost 7 cents a paper, of which I got to keep 2 cents. I had to get up at6AM every morning.

On Saturday, I had to collect the 49 cents from my customers. My favorite customers were the ones who gave me 50 cents and told me to keep the change. My least favorite customers were the ones who seemed to never be home on collection day.

Movie stars kissed with their mouths shut. At least, they did in the movies. There were no movie ratings because all movies were responsibly produced for everyone to enjoy viewing, without profanity or violence or most anything offensive.

If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren

Just don't blame me if they bust a gut laughing.

Growing up isn't what it used to be, is it?

MEMORIES from a friend :

My Dad is cleaning out my grandmother's house (she died in December) and he brought me an old Royal Crown Colabottle. In the bottle top was a stopper with a bunch of holes in it.. I knew immediately what it was, but my daughter had no idea. She thought they had tried to make it a salt shaker or something. I knew it as the bottle that sat on the end of the ironing board to 'sprinkle' clothes with because we didn't have steam irons. Man, I am old ...

I might be older than dirt but those memories are some of the best parts of my life.

Don't forget to pass this along!!

Especially to all your reallyOLD friends

I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but, I cannot conceive how he could look up into the heavens and say there is no God. - Abraham Lincoln

That's the email.  Since I do not have any REALLY OLD friends I am sending this to all my readers, young and not so young.  

What follows is real life.  I did not make any of this up.  I couldn't...my brothers and sister are watching me! :-)

​My response to the email.

I am not going to forward this before adding my own non anonymous and very real memories about growing up​.  They came to me as I was going down the list above.

I shared a room with my brother.  When boy #3 came along we made room for him.

I was 12 before my parents relented and allowed us to have a radio in our room.  9:00 PM curfew on it. no weekend exceptions except for the Joe Louis /Jersey Joe Walcott fight.

No, it didn't have FM - that wasn't invented yet.

I went to school on the city bus, got there for the 8:00 AM start and didn't get out until 3:30.  

When I or anyone else misbehaved, we got whacked with the ruler.

If you didn't have passing grades, you were held back.

I remember that when I got to be in the 6th grade, at the end of the year, the 6th, 7th graders helped to clean the school to put it in "moth balls" for the Summer.  I was a member of the volunteers who reported one week early to get it out of "moth balls" for the September opening.

Hey, I even remember that the comedians on the radio never got beeped!

I was forbidden to listen to Bob Hope because he was too racy.

I was in 2nd year high school before we got a television. (Now it's been 5 years since we have a television in the house!)

I saw two movies before I was 12, "Dumbo" and "The Song of the South."  Miraculously, both were in Technicolor...Yep, Technicolor...they don't call it that any more.

We had to obey the air raid sirens and shut off all the lights or risk getting a citation from the air raid warden for violating national security.

Every home had a clothes line...the sun dried scent came from God, not out of a box.

If you had a back yard it had a Victory Garden where you worked with your parents to make the garden produce your vegetables.

I played baseball in the summer time.  I walked to the play ground and back home.

I got my first two wheeler bicycle at age 13.  When I got old enough, 15 or 16 I guess, I could pedal my way to the "away" games at fields up to 5 miles away.  (Al, for us that was Woodlawn, Center, and in my case, Fairview.)

I also remember the country going crazy on August 15, the day we were finally not killing nor getting killed any more in World War II.

Talking about that, what ever happened to the "Draft."  

I remember when all airplanes had propellers and all train engines ran on steam.

I'm so old, I remember the way the St. Louis Cardinals beat the Boston Red Sox in the seventh game of the 1946 World Series.  It was an October day, not November.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  But, in fact, at my age, even yesterday is getting pretty fuzzy.

There were only 16 major league teams then.  The Boston Braves were my favorites.  They only played 154 games per season.
My favorite professional ball players were Birdie Tebbetts and Bobby Doerr even though they played for the Red Sox.
Ted Williams was a bum, as far as I was concerned.  We didn't go to Boston often.  It was a nearly three hour drive to cover the 105 miles.
Professional football was not a significant attraction. Boston had a team.  I think it was the Redskins.  As I remember it, they were bad and weren't making any money.

I remember when Dick Tracy had a wrist radio connected to the Chief.  In fact, I remember when "Peanuts" was just being published and "Snoopy" walked on all four legs.

I remember when the daily newspaper went from 15 cents to 25 cents for 6 days and my father stopped delivery he was so mad.  The humorous part of all this is that he could only hold out for one week!

I was 11 years old on the night when our youngest sibling was born and none of us even knew that Mom was in the "family way."

Let me put a final period to this by saying that we old people don't talk about the "Bad Things" we did because we know that it would only make you young people laugh that we could even think that what we did was actually bad.

With memories like that, I can go happily to my eternal rest, so don't "Cry at my Funeral."

THIS WAS DONE WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CLEANING HOUSE

ME & "The Voice from the Kitchen"

This is one of those things that crops up on you when you are cleaning house.  You're doing it not because the place is dirty, but because you were told to do it.  So you do it until you get to finding something of great value, like a great picture of the person who ordered to clean up in the first place.  That is the beginning of a great day on the cleaning up circuit.
There are several more of these snap shots in a million places around the house.  This, despite the fact that there must be another million snapshots captured in electronic bits on flash drives, SD chips and in the cloud, that just have to be printed in hard copy so that "I can have an album."  Dream on dearest!  You have so many pictures captured on electronic media that it would take an album the size the Louvre Museum to capture them all in anything more substantial than ions and neurons and isotopes.  I have come to the conclusion that the great blessing of snapshots is that they give me a break when I start to clean house.  I always start in the places where I opine that there is the highest chance of finding interesting old snapshots right here!  Wow, got it, here's one of gran'ma Dion.  Don't believe me, here, take a look ... See, I told you.

Edward - Gran'ma - Ray

There are all kinds of things that you can find when you're cleaning house.  Heck, you can even find pictures of people whom you don't know and maybe never knew.  The worst part about that is that some of them look sneakily like someone whom you SHOULD know.  Now that is a guilt trip sneak attack.  Be careful not to ruin your day.  Here, let me try to do it for you.  I'll start you off with an easy one.

Lea - Ora - Rose
You name the guys

One is Theo and the other one is a guy whose name I have honestly forgotten.  If it comes back to me I'll let you know...I know his surname was Snowman,  O, I got it now, Everett.  See, I told you that was an easy one.  Now you get to guess where he was from and where he ended his days.  Do you know who was married to whom, by name of course, in the picture?
Somewhere in this ocean of faces, there is a Cecile, a Gloria, a Lionel, a Donald, a Mina, a Betty, an Al and a few more besides all the poor anonymous ones who have gone before us even though they have contributed to the shaping of who we are.  In some ways it is a good thing that I don't have some of the elements of the "shaping."  You know, stuff like the suit coats, suspenders, hats, full length dresses and a bunch of other stuff.
Now I know that ther are many of you who don't know these people in particular, but if you are an adult of any age, you know what this is all about.  It is about the human condition.  It is the river of humanity of which we are part.  You have the same mysteries in your lives.  You have similar collections of numerous faces, bodies, poses, geographic puzzles, old cars, funny hats and crazy hair do's.  Sometimes you see a 100 year old picture and you know exactly who the captured face belongs to, only to be disappointed at the five year old picture of your long lost cousin whom you can't recognize because the picture is five years old but the cousin is 75.

All of this tells you that I did not get much house cleaning done.  The Voice from the Kitchen is not going to be happy that I spent my time with photos and then ruined the rest of the day writing this silly blog post.  I can't help but think that I had better keep looking over my shoulder because she's out to get me, 4 SURE!

You want more pictures?  Don't look at me.  Go to your own attic::-)

SOMEONE GOT BLESSED ON THANKSGIVING -- THIS IS A BLESSING?

http://undoratrace.quora.com/The-man-who-
found-this-wallet-is-a-liar-and-a-thief

We start this 
article with a
story...







Before you continue reading what I am about to narrate, I suggest that you read the story to which you will be brought by clicking on the link just below the picture.  You 
will get more out of what you read below.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the United States.  That means that on this day we are committed to thanking God for the material and spiritual gifts that He has showered upon us in the year just past.  The Atheists also express their gratitude in the manner that they choose. I just thank God that I have the health to follow orders from the Voice from the Kitchen.  That's at the root of this story.  It takes place in the very environment that I described to you yesterday.  So, brace yourselves, this is a true story coming your way.

The person in charge of the household celebration had gone to the supermarket down in the valley.  There she bought a thermometer that she was sure would help to measure the inside temperature of the turket meat that she was going to prepare.  I was about other matters when of a sudden she asked for my thermometric engineering expertise.  
"Honey, how do I use this?"
"Hmmm, what's it for?
"You know, to see how hot the turket meat is."
"This is the wrong tool.  It can't do what you want."
"But it says 'Oven thermometer' doesn't it?"
"It sure does, but what we should have is a 'Meat thermometer' the one that has a long spike on it."
"Oh, I didn't know."
"I'm running now.  This will only take a minute."
"Oh, and by the way, please get a bag of ice and some ice cream."
"Now it's gonna take 30 minutes.  OK?"
"Go.  Go."

So, I go.  I have two options.  I go for the one that I think is going to be a slam dunk.
Ten minutes into the foray I realize that I not getting anywhere in this store, Rite Aid, the one with the French Canadian sounding Manager.  Langevin, from yesterday.
So I walk four doors down to the Chinese super market.  This, I am sure is the jackpot for the thermometer.  Don't forget the ice cream.  Not a hot item in a Chinese place, (Did I say hot?) but they will have to have a meat thermometer. 

Since I am wearing sweat pants without a pair of pockets, I take a shopping cart and put my wallet on the baby seat part in front of the handle.  I run to all the relevant places and find nothing.  Finally, I ask a stocker and he says, "We don't have."  So I park the cart and decide to run back to Rite aid for the ice and the ice cream and perhaps, find the thermometer.  I no sooner go through the Rite Aid door that I realize that I do not have my wallet.  

Aaaabout FACE...zoom over to where I had parked the cart.  No cart.  To security. Tall, handsome, young African, not Somali, wrong kind of nose, I get beyond that and ask about my wallet.  Nope.  To the Customer Service.  Nope. They request that I leave my name.  I do.  D-I-O-N, that's French, I say.

Security says, "Vous parlez francais."
 I say, "oui, et toi, Côte d'Ivoire?  Camaroune? Algérie? Maroc? Congo?"
Bingo, Congo.  We exchange more words in French.  As we're doing that he spots a cart with some baby chinese cabbage laying over my wallet.  He goes over, grabs the wallet and gives it to me.  I open it.  Oh Yeah! I just made my Thanksgiving contribution to a poor soul who needed it more than I.  Everything else is intact. Security and I make a few wise cracks in a language that you don't understand, and we take leave of one another.  I head for Rite Aid, buy the ice cream and ice.  I also find out that they have just sold their last thermometer...the one that could have been mine.

NOW, you think that I'm making this up.  Hey, old people like me don't have that good an imagination.  One last stab in the deep dark corners of Joe's (Jose's, really) 99¢ store.  
"Buenas tardes, Jose."
"Buenas tardes, Señor."
"¿Tienes termometros para medir le temperatura de carne en el horno?" (Do you have meat thermometers?)
"Si! Muchos.  ¿Caro o barato?  (Yes! Many.  Dear or cheap?)
"Cheap."
"$3.50."
Great day.  Robbed twice in a half hour :-)

Hey, there's a happy ending.  The ear to ear smile on the queen when she beholds my conquest.  

Happy ending 2.  She still doesn't know the wallet story.  
Oh, that 15 minutes I was talking about?  Try 60 after all that.

I hope that you enjoyed the introductory story.  No, my wallet did not have $800.00, not even $80...half of that at most...But like I say, someone got to eat better because of it. As a sign of gratitude, the person left me all my important, non cash, items.

Thank God.  It's only money.

AN OLD WHITE GUY LOOSE ON THE SAN DIEGO STREETS

Before I tell you about my Thanksgiving day adventure, let me tell you what happened to me two weeks prior to November 26.

The Voice from the Kitchen and I were in San Diego for a couple of days on the weekend.  We try to do this every week but it's hard to be regular at it because of the commitments that we keep making that prevent it.  So, anyway, this is the barber shop that I "frequent."   The quotation marks there are to make you notice that I use the word loosely.  I mean, I get a haircut once a month whether I need it or not. This last time, I happened to be without my internal combustion engine powered wheels, so I had to make do with the "horsepower" that the Lord gave me -- two gout impaired short legs.  Well, actually they're not THAT short.  They are long enough to reach the ground. Now what's to complain about that?

This establishment fits perfectly into the fabric of the section of San Diego, California in which we have our main residence.  It is owned and operated by a young Chaldean man. He and his "brothers" are the workforce.  They have been operating now for about three years.  The rest of the extended family are in the retail business...Two liquor stores and a general store operation, directly across the street from the barber shop.  I am one of the charter clientele of the barber shop because I am friendly with the rest of the family... I used to drink, remember?
I don't drink any more but I do buy my lottery tickets at the liquor store because they keep promising me that they have an "in" with the Man upstairs.  I believe it too.  Know why? They speak Jesus' native language, Aramaic.  If you ask them what nationality they are they always say, "I'm Chaldean. I'm Catholic."  If you talk to them long enough, you'll find out that they talk Aramaic.  

These guys (no women in this place, except the mothers of the children who are there for haircuts).  Also, no soft background music here.  This place is LOUD.  I mentioned that to them once about 2 years ago.  I said that I wondered of Jesus was loud like they are.  The owner said, "Of course He was.  How do you think He could talk to those people on the hill?"  That kind of put me in my place.  I can't help but think about a loud Virgin Mary, His sweet Mom.  You think she whispered in His ear at Cana?  At this point, I think not.  

I have more about these guys, but let me tell you about my walk home through the heart of Linda Vista.

Here I am, a white guy walking down the street in a region where there is practically no majority ethnicity/nationality.  On the way home I drop by the Chinese owned "96¢ store for some of their scented tea light sized candles.  I get out of there and after a few steps I pass the Korean Baptist church on the one side and the Vietnamese sandwich shop on the other. Then there is the Hmong car repair shop; the San Salvador jeweler; the Mexican flower stand; the little Mexican grocery store; the Chinese supermarket; the Thai restaurant; the Chinese herbalist pharmacy; the Vietnamese jewelers and haberdashers with the obligatory PHO eatery in the mix.  I can't forget the Bank of America branch in which not a single person of European decent works.  Our favorite is the Brazilian VP.  Oh, and finally there is a Rite Aid pharmacy and a McDonalds...I do know that the Mac House is all Latino and that the Rite aid has a white manager, probably from Rhode Island, Langevin.  I've never met him.  There are some Filipinos in the mix too, of course.  They have a small eatery going just off the common.  Yeah, we have a common in Linda Vista.  Not a single, solitary little white Congregationalist church to go with it though.

Getting close to my home base I pass the Methodist church.  The pastor there is a guy who was the Methodist pastor in San Mateo, Isabela, Philippines when I was there. We knew one another and had a polite relationship.  I have never seen him here because I don't spend much time in the neighborhood.  
Finally, I pass the Catholic Church, Holy Family.  The last time I was at the 10:00 AM Mass there, there were twelve white people in attendance in a full church, including the priest. He's a part time guy.  The full time pastor is Vietnamese. Nice guy too.  Young.  

Now the crowning truth.  We live at the top of a key-hole shaped cul-de-sac with 8 residences (houses).  There is one Latino from Sante Fe, New Mexico whose been living in his house for over 40 years.  Turns out that Spanish is not his strong suit.  Then,of course, there is Belle and the two Hapas that she brought into the world.  One of them is gone, so we have two full blooded Filipinos substituting for him...Belle's sister and her husband. That's all

So that's what happened to me two weeks ago.  That's a culturally rich mile.  I should do a PowerPoint show for you.  

IT'S BEEN ONE MONTH SINCE I LAST WROTE TO YOU -- and since November 25, 2010 since # 1 -- 74,000 times viewed since then

Luke 13:6-9 - Parable of the barren fig tree

I have the picture above as the symbol for this article.  I have made up my mind to cultivate this tree with more effort to increase its productivity over the next year.  With God's help,I can do it.

Hey, wanna see what I wrote then? Click here to see it. 

It was the evening of Thanksgiving.  This is the evening of Thanksgiving.  The thoughts do not fly quite so often these days for two reasons.  I have too many things on my plate, among which are two Bible studies, contract work with a translation company and various and sundry other projects that come and go.  One of them is regularly communicating with the Lay La Salette Missionaries around the world and organizing and heading pilgrimages to Israel and various places in Europe.  If I am not mistaken,I think I wrote a piece every day for about 450 days straight.  When I look back on it, I can't imagine how I did it.  And that is not all.  There are topics that I have judged are not what I want to discuss here, for reasons of my own.  But I do want to fulfill my dream of leaving autobiographical material to my sons and to those with enough sense to click and see what lies behind the dead guy who dared us "No Crying at my Funeral."  

  That is a blog that is tied to an online Catholic magazine "ParishWorld.net."

I do not produce weekly for that blog and when I do it is mainly to comment on spiritual and/or doctrinal material for my own sake or the sake of the publication for the good of the faithful readers.  It is a blog that has a religious personality and I compose it when I have something to connect to my general spiritual attitude. I can say, quite honestly that readers of that bog will not cry at my funeral.  They will raise their eyes to heaven and thank God that I have now become His face to face problem.

I have two other blogs that I maintain at varying levels of regularity.  One is quite narrowly focused on the activities and beliefs of the Missionaries of Our Lady of La Salette  and the other is one that I save for my patented rants and that I do not "market" actively.  I simply take the chance that the thoughts that appear there may amuse whomever happens to trip over them by accident during a Google browsing session. That's why over 8 years only 4,000 pairs of eyes have been offended by the content.  

Now it is Thanksgiving again and everyone has gone home after a sumptuous meal of turkey, ham, Lebanese salad, Indian spicy cabbage with sausage, rice and bread, Camenbert following a bracing 1 ounce apéritif of "Makers 46" accompanied by vegetable "lumpia" made by genuine, pure blooded Filipino hands.  The Kentucky bourbon is in the midle of that multicultural pot-pourrit as a political comment.  Too bad that Mitch wasn't here.  (No, I am not a Democrat.  If you followed my blogs, you would know that I vote my mind so that I maintain the right to attack any politician, or all of them collectively.) This year is the first year ever that I voted a straight ticket --  Zero incumbents.

I have a fairly long list of ideas that I would like to unveil for you.  I have them all listed in a very visible part of my computer.  I am reminded of them every day, several times per day.  All I need is the discipline that I had four years ago and get them captured in a blog post for your enjoyment.  

Well,I am now falling victim to the el tryptophan syndrome, so I leave you with a hope and a prayer that you will have many things to thank God for in the coming year.

Oh, BTW, remember, "No Crying at my Funeral."

AGE APPROPRIATE ANSWER

This is an underlining thought to a thought that I caught because it caused this one to run though my inter aural space.
This evening the Voice from the Kitchen yodelled a command for me to wash the dishes. So, of course I obeyed.  
As I was doing the chore, I wondered what I was going to do to save the water  that I soiled as I made the dinnerware clean.  It then came to me; a good way to do that would be to wash the non-carpeted floor areas of the house.  What the heck, it had been at least a year since the last time that I had done that particular piece of housework.  
After the dishes, I scooped the left-over water into a small bucket and found the floor mop. That in itself was quite a feat.  I am not too familiar with the storage space that is dedicated to housecleaning implements.  Somehow, my inner intuitive GSP led me directly to where the mop was standing in a dark corner of the house.  It was in the bathroom off the master bedroom.  The floor there is tile, so I decided to mop it after the kitchen floor.  
Now, I have to tell you that housecleaning is not a very intellectually challenging operation.  So, my mind was whirring away at other things when, of a sudden, a picture of my mother popped into my head.  She was mopping the kitchen floor as I arrived from washing the kitchen floors of the old ladies who used to hire me for such a task.  I had a "route" of six Saturday morning customers.  I would use a bucket of hot water, "Octagon" brown soap, a hand brush, a rinsing cloth and, yes, a drying cloth.  

Hey, 65 years after I still find the pictures.  One BIG problem! It looks like this could have 8 sides, but I could not find a picture of an 8 sided bar like I know existed when I was using the stuff.  In fact all the pictures of unwrapped Octagon soap showed 6 sided cubes.  BUMMER!
Anyway, on that day long time ago, I "caught" Mom mopping the floor and so I asked, "Why aren't you kneeling down to wash the floor like you should?"
"I don't have to kneel down to wash the floor," says she.
"Sister says that the floor can only get clean if you kneel down and brush it with Octagon Soap."
"Does sister kneel down to wash the floor?"
"I don't know, I was never in her house."
"For now, you obey sister.  I am older than sister so I have learned how to clean a floor with a mop as well as you can by kneeling down.  I know because your grandmother taught me how to do it.  When you grow a little older, I'll teach you how to use a mop.  For now, keep doing what you are doing."

The only thing strange about the response was that my mother seemed to know sister's age.  Did sisters have age?  I didn't think so, but for some strange reason I let it slide.  Many, many years later I married one.  Now I know, sisters do not have age.

This evening I carried that true conversation around in my head for a long time.  On top of that I kept asking myself why I had not had the presence of mind to challenge the sense of the answer.  

I'll tell you, it sure ain't easy being a 12 year old child.

It also ain't easy being 12 + 65 child either!

ORANGES -- CALIFORNIA vs FLORIDA --

I found this in one of the "alternative press" fish wrappers that is published weekly in San Diego, California.
San Diego has at least 8 of these publications in at least four languages: English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Chinese.  Beside that, there are at least two Filipino papers that appear in Taglish.  Taglish is actually "hapa English" which is Hawaiian for "Half English, half Tagalog.
This ad appeared in one of my favorites, City Beat.
It made me laugh because we in California love our beer so much that we'll use anything to brew it.  No such thing as conservative beer brewing here, no siree!
I did get to wondering though, if the bewers really get the freshly picked oranges or do they sweep the fallen ones from the ground and "salvage" them by turning them into beer?  I guess we'll never know that.  Look at that gorgeous ad picture and you'll see that they are really telling us that these are the best of the best oranges.
I have to tell you that this is not the strangest fruit that I have ever considered as being the root of the beer that I was drinking.  In some countries where bananas are king, some beer is made from bananas.  I actually have drunk some of that. ONCE!  That was enough. Especially when I tell you that it happened in the country where San Miguel is king.  I had all it took to be able to brag about the experience.  After that, I went back to the real thing.  
Oh, about the bragging thing.  It has been 40+ years since that happened and this is the first time that i have had the chance to talk about the experience.  So see, i haven't abused of the right to brag about it at all, now have i?  i'm so humble about it that i am even using the miniscule "i" in the story.  
Hey, notice that word miniscule?  That's ancient English for "lower case."  That just automatically slipped out, really.  Things like that happen when your brain is stuck on the mystery of how and why anyone would waste perfectly good orange juice and make it into beer.  The other thing that is bouncing around in my head is how many construction guys with 30" upper arms are walking around with 12 packs of Orange Juice Beer.  Oh well, only in San Diego, I guess!
Finally, my parting comment is, this makes me glad I stopped imbibing 3 years ago.  Just in time to make it easy for me to swear off "Artfully Crafted 100% California Orange Beer."

LAUGHS IN THE DENTAL OFFICE? YEP.

I want to spend a little time with you all before I choke to death on the dentist's forceps.  I am not a very adept person in the dentist's office.  I never know whether to joke or scream in pain.  Over the last 25 years or so, I have gone for the humor.
Frankly I could have chosen a better venue, but I had to pass the time so I opted for the humor.
1. 25 years ago.  I haven't been to the dentist in perhaps five or six years.  The Voice from the Kitchen got so strident that I gave in.  I stopped by a dental clinic on the way home from work and I fell in love.  The dentist was an old man's dream to look at.  Oh, was it ever going to be easy to get past the pain in this environment.  So, of course I set up and appointment for the initial screening visit.
Three days later, here I am again and there is my ANGEL.  We sit down and we start talking business.  Big mistake.  The woman is straight from Dante's 7th level!  Complain about the fact that it is impossible to make a living with the low remuneration schedules that the insurance company offers.  I nod my head for about 20 minutes and she says, "I'll proceed to the examination now."
I say, "Sorry, my dinner is waiting.  I'll be sure to floss before going to bed."  I have not seen a better looking dentist in 25 years.
2. 9 years ago.  Another good looking dentist, and a true angel with gossamer wings.  I love this person.  I like the black Korean eyes that caress my pain away even before the pain starts.  It's about the 6th visit when I am in the home stretch of a long treatment plan.  I always have long treatment plans because my visits to the dentist are very, very few and far between.  Anyway, we are now in the home stretch of a root canal procedure and I hear my angel gulp and say beneath her breath, "OOPSS.!  I immediately start shaking with laughter, raise my left hand as a signal to interrupt.  Her eyes are laughing and we look at one another and I say simply, "OOPSS, eh?"  I thought I had her, but I didn't.  She came back and she said, "Thank God I didn't say "shit."  It took us five minutes to settle down so that she could get back to work.
3. 9 years ago.  Same clinic.  The owner is always in the hallway cornering clients and pushing extra cosmetic services. One day about halfway through the treatment plan mentioned above he cornered me as I was heading for the door to leave, and said, "You should get implants, they will give you more self-esteem."  (Aside, did you all get that?)
I say, "Boss, I don't get my self esteem from my teeth.  I get it from a source somewhat south of there."  He and I saw one another in the hallway again,of course, but my self esteem was never again mentioned.
4. Two days ago.  Different provider.  Totally different atmosphere.  Latest technology.  Friendly, young dentist.  Friendly, good looking assistants.  I am now in the middle of a rather protracted treatment plan, of course.  Four days before the humorous incident, I had a tooth crumble and what was left was a very sharp stump.  It is one that had to be taken out, next to another one that had to go.  Since the sharp edges were sawing my tongue in half, I asked for an extraction of the two side by side bad boys as quickly as possible.  REQUEST GRANTED.
Enter.  No wait.  Come in, sit down, open your mouth,turn this way...Hmmm, OH, yeah, mean.
Shot,shot, wait for anesthetic to set in,  Open mouth,insert forceps, wiggle, wiggle, yank, yank.  Done!
Up flies my left hand, wagging two fingers ferociously (I can't talk 'cause his hands are still in my craw).
He backs away, and I say, "You have to take out the neighboring one too."
He says, "Why? It's still in perfect shape."
I say, that's not what you said a month ago."
So now the three of us don't know whether to cry or laugh.  We opt for the laugh.  The young lady (third hand, type) offers to go get the chart.  The dentist fires up the electronic record of the tooth we are talking about and there it stands in all its glory, healthy as it was when I was 21 years old.  I spare you the entirety of the joviality that took place, but we did enjoy ourselves while the error was found and corrected and I still have the tooth and the co-pay that I saved.

So see, dentists are not all that bad...except the for the stunningly good looking ones!

IF YOU THINK THIS IS SOMETHING NEW, YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH

I have to tell you a funny story.  It's not a belly buster, but it is funny.  It is all the funnier if you know me a little bit.

About six months ago we bought a combination Internet Modem/Router. It's an "all in one" piece of electronic equipment and it works very well.  About two weeks ago the family bought me a new computer and it too works very well.  It is a little disappointing because you really have to look around some pretty nasty corners if you're going to find the DOS command center.  I found them, so we are quite comfortable electronically speaking.  

You have to know that because this is a story about human foibles and the desire that certain people have to try to make human foibles a thing of the past.  If not that, then some try to make them a thing monopolized by a certain age group.  So down to here you have the foundation for what comes next, that is, the "Rest of the Story."

One day we came home after spending the weekend in San Diego, some 100 miles away.  We settled in for a quiet Sunday night with pictures of work plans for tomorrow dancing in our heads. Truth to tell, it was a great night, and in the morning, after the usual rituals, it was time to attack the work.  Well, as it turned out the only thing I was attacking was the electronic equipment.  I could not get the Internet to come alive.  I kept getting the message that the router was denying access.  I tried everything that I knew how to do and everything that the machine would allow me to do as the "administrator."
NOTHING!
So, I decided to resort to the telephone and fight the impatience that always attacks me when I have to be put on hold forever while I wait for a technical expert to walk me through the fog of ignorance that has overtaken me.  Believe it or not I had to talk to the cable provider, the computer geeks and finally the router manufacturer before getting any satisfaction.  But I did get satisfaction.  In fact, two doses for the price of one impatience attack.  I didn't even have to show any special discount card or anything.  It was great.

So here I am on the telephone with the cable router manufacturer's geek after about 45 minutes of dead-end efforts.
Me: I can't get on the Internet.
Him:  Hmmm, sounds like bad news.
Me: It is.  I can't work at my telecommuting job.
Him: I'm sorry.
Me: I'm not looking for sorry, I'm seeking a solution for a mysterious problem.
Him: Yes,sir, so I've heard.  I think I know what will solve the problem.  First you have to promise me one very important thing.
Me: Sounds like the Voice from the Kitchen.  I don't promise her anything.  But, hey, if it's going to help get to work, let's give it a try.
Him: Ok.  Here we go.  Whatever I tell you, no wise cracks, no threats, no guffaws and no gutter language.  Got that?
Me: Sounds great!  Yeah, Got it.  Let's go with it.
Him: Good.  Write the name of the router in the address bar.
Me: Check.
Him: Go to router number 123456.
Me, (to myself):  How the hell does he know that?
Me, (to him): Check
Him: Go to Password.
Me: Check.
Him: Write zyxwvu9876ABC
Me, (to myself): Holy...?
Me, (to him): Check
Him: Go to parental control
Me: Ahhh?  Is this where I am supposed to follow the behavior instructions?
Him: Yes, sir. (Notice the "sir," there?)
Me: OK. Check.
Him: Click on the little box in front of the words "Parental Control."
Me: Check.
Him: Good.  Now click the box in front of the word "ON."
Me: Silence.  Choking noises.  Horrible case of the giggles.
Him: Sir! Remember the deal.
Me: Oh yeah, right.  
Him: You have not yet clicked to turn "Parental Control" on.
Me: No ...!
Him: Sir, the FAA can get you for that.  I knew this would happen.  Most people cooperate.
Me: Oh, OK.  There! I clicked it.
Him:  Hmmm.  I'm testing it.  Sir.  I will stand by now while you try to get on the Internet.
Me: (One minute passes) ...Well, I'll be...?  Yep, there it is.
Him: This is a rare case, but we see it about once or twice per month.  We don't know why.
          Enjoy the Internet, sir.  You can go back to work now.
Me: Hmmm...Ahhh, thanks, I think.  Have a good day.

This was three months ago.  I have not had a problem since.  Clean living, I guess. :-)

Oh, the twofer one reward:
1. The router works and is reliable.  Yes, I still get risque images on Google.  Go figure.
2. A good laugh for my trouble.  Parental control, indeed.