HEAVEN MAY BE DIFFERENT THAN YOU THINK

My very good friend Bentley (his first name is really Alan but just Bentley sounds so much more English Upscale) has informed me that although we both believe in a life hereafter ,and can achieve some sort of immortal glory based on our works on earth when we die; as we await the great resurrection, he believes we will be assigned to a temporary place in heaven according to our last and final dying words here on earth.
Yes, until the resurrection, we will be with all those other people who said the same thing we did when they died. Here are the categories ranked in order of most said to least said.
Oh s—t.
Hey watch this.
I’m not drunk; I’ll drive myself.
I can drive, talk on my cell and text at the same time. Watch.
The guns not loaded, see.
I wasn’t cheating on you. Put down the gun.
I’m fine. I make a doctor’s appointment next week.
If one pill will work, a whole bunch must be even better
No big deal. It’s not 220 Volts is only 110
What’s this bare wire for?
No I don’t think 92 is too old to be driving.
Sure the water is cold but I can swim to shore.
Lets cross here; the crosswalk is too far down the street.
If I throw up every time I eat, I won’t gain any weight.
I don’t feel good.
Good bye, I love you all.
Oops!
Huh?

I on the other hand, I believe that I will get to use my “Bank Time” when I get to heaven’s gate. I will be met by one of those guys that checks recommends at the temple, who will look for a long time at his computer screen and say “Well brother Frank it looks like you lived a pretty good life but there were a few sour deeds in your life for which you will need to spend 952 hours in Hell before being assigned to one of the above mentioned categories. At that point I will whip out my little black “Bank Time” book and explain that I spent many more hours than that in faculty meetings, PTA meetings, elementary school concerts, children’s Sacrament Meeting programs, parent- teacher conferences, Blue and Gold dinners, eating freeze dried food on week- long hikes, owning a 1985 Chrysler New Yorker, and preparing for my last colonoscopy. I will tactfully explain that I have already spent that time in Hell and have documents to prove it. I recommend that each of you keep track as well.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better

The Office

Sometime towards the end of September, I got a call from the Human Resources department of State Farm Insurance. They asked if I would be willing to come back to work for sixty days, they were shorthanded and honestly, it was flattering to be considered a good enough employee to be asked back. I figured what the heck, work for sixty days and be able to fly to Cartagena Columbia first class to visit Emily and her family or sixty days home detention.
The first problem was HR. My assigned rep. Bea Esser said that because I had been retired so long I would have to take a drug test and pass a background check. She said she would send me the paperwork overnight. Two days later it got to me. She sent it FedEx to the wrong address and wrong name. Three day delay. I finally got a call three weeks after she first called andlearned I was cleared to come to work. Obviously they did not speak with my parole officer Willy Bolt. After I had been working for two weeks, I got a letter from the medical specialist Lou Pole saying that my retirement package health insurance was being cancelled because I was a full time worker. The only problem was that I was actually listed as a seasonal employee and not qualified for any benefits. I called and spoke to Donatello Nobatti who told me a mistake had been made and he would take care of it. I am still waiting for the confirmation of reinstatement by mail. Actually, I am entitled to work 900 hours a year before it impacts any of my retirement benefits. Those responsible have been sacked.

I cannot watch “The Office” on TV because it is too much like where I work. The above photo is the row where my cubicle is located. I say cubicle but in reality they should be called rabbit hutches. Feed and water are provided in little bins on the side of each cube. If management feels rewards are in order, food appears in a vacant cube or at the end of the row. There are four rows just like this in my office. The managers, pit bosses and stat freaks have partitioned booths at the end of the rows. The big boss, Dan Defino, has a corner office with windows. Speaking of the big boss, there was a ‘Stand Up Meeting” a couple of days ago where we were all given a pat on the back for rendering exceptional customer service. I looked around at the group and immediately picked out the current office suck-up. Luke Howard Fitzhugh had on the exact same shirt and tie, pants and shoes as the Big Boss. Obviously someone is looking for a promotion. My guess is that he has already reached his level of competence and should be promoted to a management position within days. Holly Unlikely, the trainer said she did not think the promotion would come until after National Bosses Day. Something about gifting.

The Office is just like the classes I taught for thirty years. There are slow learners, those that don’t play well with others and those who parents need to read to them 90 min each day. There are those who try to cheat and manipulated the computer system to show they do more work that they actually do. One example is the electronic phone message. If you return a call you are suppose to use the pull down menu to add your name as the one who returned the call. Since I am a trouble maker, I pull a lot of those messages, make the call and then give credit to anyone of a half a dozen adjusters who I think could use the points. It really kills the manager’s stats. I think I’ll change my name to Dale Neverknow.

Most days I really enjoy it, but there are a few days where upon leaving the office I quote Martin Luther King Jr. “Free at last, free at last, Thank God I’m free at last.
Thanks for listening. I feel much better

Its Official

As I have long suspected, I have been married for all these years to Mother Theresa, (only hotter). This was confirmed to me in no uncertain terms today. My dear wife has been in miserable pain for three weeks, taking Vicoden, Tylenol and a variety of other meds for a severe pain in her left leg. It was finally diagnosed today as a herniated disk which is pressing on a nerve. Her doctor now has her on oxycontin pending an injection of steroids.

In spite of all this, I came into the kitchen today to find her making a big pot of soup on the stove; and she asked me to take it to a family down the street where both parents and all their children have the flu. How do I deserve this woman? Move over Mother Teresa.

Thanks for listening. I'm sure she'll feel better soon.

In Response to Your Many Requests (one)

Due to overwhelming demand, I am posting a photo of our son; the afore mentioned, in the previous post. Sorry girls he is married.

An Hour At Cabela's

My son Matt is in town with his wife to attend the wedding of one of her friends and when I invited him to go to Cabela's with me this morning he jumped at the chance. Cabela's, for those of you who don’t know, is a giant toy store for men. Not only can you buy toys there, you can also buy all kinds of costumes. Rustic camouflage costumes seem to be the most popular. In fact, Cabela's carries so much camo gear that you really can’t see it. You can even purchase a camouflaged porta-potty so you can poop in the woods and not even the bears will notice.
Hunting season is fast approaching and it appears there was a sale on shotguns and rifles. Either that or the entire male population of the county was trying to arm themselves. You have to take a number to be served at the gun counter and the count was up to 2345 when we walked by, so my guess is there are going to be a lot of dead ducks and deer around here or else there will be a huge upswing in the number of armed bank holdups in the next few days. It also appears like the ammo shortage that materialized last fall is finally easing and so I bought 200 rounds of 22 ammo to replace what I shot last week. The shortage was caused by Seth, Rupert and their idiot third cousin Beauford. It seems they have been roaming the country since last November. They would go into any store that sold ammo and asked how much was on hand and proceed to buy every round. The perceived shortage caused ordinary hunters and plinkers to clean off the shelves in self defense. Looks like the Three Amigos may have been arrested on bootlegging charges because I am now able to find ammo for my 22’s in most of the usual outlets. Either that or they returned to their regular seasonal jobs as your children’s 3rd 4th and 5th grade teachers.
Matt and I wandered through the store past dozens of tables set up for the manufactures of duck calls. Each table had at least two reps blowing on their respective duck calls, looking and sounding like two five year olds trying to best the other in the age old game of “Let’s see who can get Mom to scream first”. Matt asked if I wanted to attend a class. Picture this: Thirty chairs set up in rows, filled with old and middle aged men, each blowing on a duck or goose call, trying to imitate the calls being made by the representative from Get a Goose or Duck Quick or Call It In and Blow It Up, Waterfowl Calls LLC. We watch for a couple of minutes but I started to laugh and bring attention to myself so we moved on.
Matt wanted to know if I wanted to sit in and learn how to call a duck. “Are you nuts” I said, “I already know how to call a duck.” “Watch this…..Heeeeeey Duuuuck!!! “ At that point we were asked to leave the store.
I was again struck with the unfairness of life and the prejudice that surrounds those of us who are past 65 and are rapidly picking up speed on our way to the reading of our wills as we walked down the giant stairs to main checkout area and passed an attractive young female employee who was headed up the stairs. She looked at me first, since I had on a bright yellow shirt and a red hat, but there was no indication she even noticed I was there. Her eyes quickly passed to my son, who is young and handsome. Her eyes widened, she broke into a warm smile and began to immediately drool.
I stood naked in front of the mirror the other day after my shower and said to myself. “Johnston you better die before Barbara because this is not dating material and you wouldn’t survive on your own.” Next time I go to Cabela's I will wear camo, and then I will have a reasonable explanation, in my own mind, for why no one notices. Come to think of it, no one ever did.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

For as young as I feel, how did I get this old?

I just got back from spending three weeks with my 93 year old mother. She seems to be doing well but she sure has a lot of old friends. She asked me to take her to a church senior singles dinner. Of the eighty or so guests, my mother seemed to be in the best shape. Lots of geezers with hearing aids and the main topic of conversation was “Do you want to know what the matter with me is this week?”
One of the women, who appeared to be in charge, is trying to be an Elvira wannabe. Lots of jewelry, fake eye lashes, etc. She was wearing a black wig that was a good 18 inches of piled jet black hair and where Elvira is a 38DD this woman appears to be a deflated 38 long. She’s pushing 80 as easily as she is pushing her walker. I have always thought that the best form of birth control over the age of 40 was nudity but this woman would have taken the topic off the menu all together.
My observation of senior activities is pretty basic. It is all about the food. The event was a success or failure depending upon whether the food was edible. As you know, salads do not make my list of great foods so in my senior opinion the meal was a dud. They did serve root beer floats and I ate mine first and left the rest. The only other man at the table asked if was not going to eat my dinner and I told him I was waiting for something that used to have a face. He was quite hard of hearing so it didn’t really matter what I said. Mom is pretty perceptive and offered to buy me a burger on the way home.
I didn’t spend all my time at mothers. I volunteered to be a race marshal for the Tour of Utah and I worked at four of the seven races that week. The first was a Prolog up City Creek Canyon and back. The next time was at the Miller Motor Park in Tooele where they did a time trial on the banked track. The fifth stage was from Park City, through Camus, Midway, down Provo Canyon, over the Alpine Loop and eventually up Little Cottonwood Canyon to Snowbird. It was 92 miles and they did it in about four hours. My last day was the Criterium in downtown Salt Lake where the group of 140 riders raced around two city blocks at 35mph for 90 minutes. Great fun and my ID got me into the VIP tent each time for a free meal. I took my bike on this trip and tried to ride every day. I discovered a circle route that took about an hour and burned 2200 calories. No matter where I rode it was uphill both ways. I would be glad to do a 50 or a 100 mile ride with of you. You only have to promise that when you are 67 you will do the same ride with someone who is the same age you are now.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better

This wasn't the A train

Barbara has been in Oak Harbor helping out with Linda and Eric’s new baby and looking after Tyler, Jared and Alex. When I called and asked how much longer she would be needed, she said about fifteen years. She said she could talk for a few minutes because they just got back from the beach and she had the boys in the tub. Five seconds later she said she had to go. The exact words were…”the boys just came in from the garage and they each have a hammer, I have to go.”

Since Amy was playing with a band at the Indian casino in Anacortes I decided to take the train, spend the night at Eric’s and then take in the show at the casino before returning the “Fun Grandma” to Olympia. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My experience with trains is limited to a couple of trips back to Illinois as a kid and lots of trips on the SNCF in France. French trains with the exception of the TGVs are not necessarily clean, overbooked but usually on time, except for the frequent strikes where the workers load up a train in some large town, pull out of the station, travel to some small village that has a bar-tabac and then go on strike for seven and one half hours. I always traveled 2nd class which meant sitting on my luggage in the vestibule between cars from Lyon to Marseille or anywhere else for that matter.

The Cascade which travels between Portland and Bellingham is the local equivalent. My misfortune was that it was two hours late leaving Portland and I was thirty minutes early at the Lacey station. It’s obviously a government enterprise because although you can purchase a “reserved” seat ticket online you have to go the station to pick it up. The stations is manned by volunteers who know nothing about the schedules, requirements, or amenities and whose only qualifications are deafness, boorish attitude and proof of ownership of a Lionel train set as a kid. Oh I forgot the incontinent part. Having finally got on the train I found out that “reserved seat” means that you go from car to car until you find a vacant seat that does not have a tag on it. Only once you set your butt on the seat itself does it becomes your “Reserved” seat. All in all it was a nice trip and I saw the industrial section of almost every town we passed. What a thrill. No one threw themselves in front of the train and no one tried to beat the train to the crossing so it was pretty uneventful.

Public rail transportation is becoming popular again. Seattle just opened a train line from downtown to the airport. Originally the line was supposed to end two miles from the airport but Sound Transit reconsidered and the new station at the airport will open soon. Seattle also has a short line that goes from Lake Union to downtown. Originally the city, in typical French fashion, decided to call it the Seattle Lake Union Trolley. So… it has now become known as the SLUT. Next time you visit, let’s go ride the slut.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.