Life Without Discomfort

Last week, I was in Utah visiting family. While there, I set up Skype on my sister in law’s computer and then went to a nearby McDonald’s to see if it worked.  Just as I was finishing the call, an older man walked by and stopped to look. After I finished the call he said, “Do you think I am too old to learn to do that?” I said “That all depends upon your definition of too old.” He looked at me with that odd look that I often get when talking to strangers and I continued. “My definition of too old is DEAD. Go for it.”

He laughed and asked if he could sit down. We chatted for a few minutes and I showed him how Skype works and asked him if he had a computer. He said yes, but his wife was on it twenty four hours a day.  My response was “so…your wife is a genealogy fanatic.” He looked at me with that “how did you know that “ look and slowly said yes. “Not only that” he said,” but  she has tracked down the burial places of hundreds of dead ancestors and has dragged me all over the country to show them to me.”  I said, “That’s not so bad. She could be dragging you all over the country to visit her living relatives. It’s a lot easier visiting the dead ones. You don’t have to be polite when you visit the dead ones.”

I suggested he buy a cheap laptop with a camera and that way he could visit his wife’s living relatives online without having to go to the trouble of driving or flying to make the visit.  That way, when he got tired of listening to the conversation, he could feign transmission problems, shut off his video, or disconnect his microphone thereby making a quick exit back to his shop, or garage or any other quiet, safe place.  He seemed quite taken with the possibilities. I did explain that if used it, he had to remember some basic rules.

·         Always make sure you are dressed. That means more than just underwear.

·         You are not a professional baseball player so never pick your nose or scratch anything.

·         Remember, the camera picks up everything in back of you too, including voices.

·         Always remember to disconnect before making rude comments about the person you were speaking too.

When I was a child, my dad would take us to visit all his widowed aunts.  We guessed he was trying to insinuate himself into the wills of these old ladies. Refreshments were usually presented but there was never any variety.  By the time I was ten, I had guessed that some super salesman had sold a railroad car of stale fig newtons to every old woman in town who could have been even remotely related to my father.  My apologies to Nabisco, but they are not on my preferred eats list even today. It’s really too bad we didn’t have Skype when I was a kid. Think of the flatulance I could have avoided.

Please... No Repeat of History

My nephew recently emailed one of my daughters asking about all the recipes that belonged to my mother. Mother passed away last year and I guess he had an idea that perhaps it would be a good idea to compile a book of his favorite grandmother’s concoction so they could be enjoyed by future generations.

A great idea, I guess in theory but not in real practice. You see, he did not grow up in the house and he didn’t have to eat the stuff. I am not saying that my mother was a bad cook, but I have often joked that we said a blessing on the food after we ate instead of before. She was very good at cooking many things, particularly if the process involved boiling or frying. All vegetables were boiled beyond their useful measure until they were devoid of any color or taste. Then, at the insistence of my father, they were always covered with a white sauce. Therefore cooked veggies were always creamed veggies. Creamed corn, creamed cabbage, creamed Brussels sprouts, creamed carrots; you could hardly tell one from another. There were never any leftovers. We just called them “evidence”

Pot roast was a Sunday special. The process involved taking a blade pot roast, covering it in flour and beating the crap out of it with a hammer, back side of a meat cleaver or any other heavy object available at the time. The meat was then seared (mostly blackened) in a pan on both side and then simmered (boiled) in water for approximate 7 hours or until the meat no longer resembled beef. The gravy was always great.

It didn’t matter that she had a broiler pan as part of her gas oven, all meat was fried. Steaks, chops, burgers, hot dogs, fish, duck, rabbit and the occasional pheasant. The only meat I ever remember being cooked in the oven was a turkey. Most chicken was boiled, not fried. In retrospect, I guess stewing hens were cheaper than fryers.

Mother was always an advocate of the hearty breakfast. Her father always had a bowl of Cream of Wheat cereal. Never with milk but just with a half a stick of grade A butter. She was always shoving a large steaming bowl of oatmeal, Cream of Wheat or Roman Meal (i.e. dog food) in front of us at breakfast. No matter how hard I tried, there was never enough sugar to make it palatable. I would usually let mine sit until it had hardened into the shape of the bowl and could be used as a door stop. I left home at age nineteen and have never eaten a bowl of hot cereal since.

So, I rest my case hoping that my nephew will reconsider, since if we don’t view history in all its truths, history is bound to repeat itself. Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

The Police Blotter and More

My son has recently been sending me the crime blotter from the City of Oak Harbor. I find them most amusing and searched for other small towns that have similar problems. Here are a few:


June 8, 2 p.m., Newport Harbor: A sailboat was unable to cast off because a squirrel atop its mast refused to come down. Police, in a rare breach of protocol, did not shoot the squirrel. No further information is available.

September 3, 1:20 a.m., Thames Street: A Lakefield, Massachusetts, man indiscriminately exposed himself to people near the corner of Thames and Mill streets. But when police approached, he didn't expose himself to them, which may have hurt their feelings. It's no fun to be excluded. After a short chase, police arrested the man.

12:58 p.m. — A man driving on Highway 525 near Harbor Avenue said a bicyclist darted in front of the driver and he had to slam on his brakes. When the bicyclist was asked, “Are you stupid, or what?” the bicyclist shared an inappropriate hand signal with the motorist and kicked toward the car.

The stupidest criminal trick of the last month, cited in San Diego Magazine, involves the woman who flagged down two men in a car in Oceanside, exposed a breast and revealed she was a prostitute. She jumped into their car, explaining she had to get off the street because there were so many cops in the area. The two men, plainclothes officers, arrested her.

Man mistakes brother for trashcan. At 11:24 p.m. Sept. 15, police responded to a report of a drunk driver in a neighborhood on the 16300 block of Orchard. A man ran into a parked car while driving a scooter intoxicated. The man said he thought he saw his brother, which was just a trashcan. He was arrested. [Love this so much! An intoxicated scooter and a trashcan brother. It's why I read the paper.]

A man driving a moped erratically was stopped by Mount Pleasant police, and when they asked if he had any physical problems that would interfere with his ability to pass a sobriety test, he told them he was a "fat (expletive)."

Stupid is not always just found the police blotter. The following are insurance claims I actually handled:

A man found mice in his cabin in Island Park and threw flea bombs under the cabin to get rid of them. Burns cabin to the ground. Claim paid.

Woman spilled large quantity of grease in her oven. Her solution was to turn on the self cleaning oven. Result: large fire in kitchen. Claim paid.

Woman reported she damaged her sons garage door when she drove into it. He is blind but owns a car. He lets his friends drive and his mother drives him to the store a couple of times a month. She pulled into the driveway and instead of putting it in park she put it in drive and went through the garage door, taking out the water heater, washing and dryer and driving out the back side of the garage. I suggested she let him drive next time. Claim paid.

Man offered to cut down a very large tree on a vacant lot owned by his brother. The tree fell the wrong way and hit a neighbor’s house causing $45,000 in damage to the house and contents. The man said he did not feel he was responsible since it was his brother’s tree. Claim paid

Man reported his truck and boat trailer were stolen from the parking lot at Pt Defiance. He called back two weeks later to report that the police found the truck and trailer in the upper parking lot at Pt. Defiance. Not stolen, just misplaced. My conclusion was that no fish were caught but lots of beer was consumed. Claim was withdrawn.

Man reported that his 9hp Honda outboard had been stolen for the third time this year. He wanted to know how to prevent this from happening again. I suggested he quit parking his boat in the street and to put the outboard under his bed. Claim paid

In the aftermath of hurricane Ivan, a man from Louisiana reported that he lost the contents of two freezers that held venison, shrimp. oysters, pork, crab, alligator, various varieties of fish and a couple of possums. We sent a field adjuster to the home and found out that there were no damaged food items. In fact he did not even own any freezers because he didn’t have electricity on the property. Claim denied.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

It's A Dangerous World Out There

Yesterday, I received another promotional flyer from my credit union offering me insurance.  Never mind that I am 68 years old and am, according to my doctor, quickly sliding towards the reading of my will. No, this insurance is a little different. It’s called Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance. Because I belong to the credit union I already have $20K in such coverage as part of my account. The flyer was to get me to buy additional coverage.  I have discovered over the years that insurance salesmen always try and sell me a policy that really benefits the family. Their family, not mine, so I am always careful when I am around them. 

I am not trying to minimize accidents. I recently heard of a shake cutter out in Grays Harbors County that lost his left arm and left leg at a mill. It looks like he is now all right.  I also read recently that most fatal auto accidents occur within five miles of your own home.  I think I’ll move ten miles away just to make sure I am safe.

The brochure says that if I die of some accidental cause like getting hit by the garbage truck on my way to the mailbox, my beneficiary will receive the whole amount.  The whole amount is also payable if I lose both hands above the wrist. The loss of both feet above the ankle and both arms also qualify for full payment. If I accidentally lose one hand all I get is $10K. The fine print says I have to prove that I lost them accidentally and didn’t just leave them lying around at the bus station. Cutting of my fingers in the table saw doesn’t pay anything. Besides, the saw doesn’t care anyway.

If I lose both arms and legs and am so badly maimed I also lose both eyes, the most I can collect is the amount list on the policy. Oops…I just read the extra fine print. Since I am over 65 I can only collect half the amount listed on the declaration.  The most I can get for a lost hand is $5K.  Oh my! The extra extra fine print only printed in Mandarin, says that any loss must occur on the 30th day of any month that does not have an R in it. (May, June, July, August) It also says that the loss must occur within five miles of my home. Now I am definitely moving.

 It also says that if I only lose both legs I cannot collect or file suit against the insurance company (Mutual of Humptulips) or anyone else. I did some research and found case law that indicates such cases have always been thrown out on Summary Judgment.  Judges have unanimously agreed that the plaintiffs in such actions didn’t have a leg to stand on.

I think I would be money ahead if I set up an account with the credit union. I could make a $100 deposit every time I nicked myself on a saw blade, narrowly missed being killed on the freeway, or showed up without thinking at the gun range on Wacko Wednesday.   That’s the day the nut cases show up to practice with their cannons and assault rifles. My guess is that I would have the $20K in short order. It could then be converted to some interest bearing account to be used accidentally on toys and good food.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

On the Pill

I am getting to the age when things have started to fall apart. My hair is thinning. My eyesight is failing. My finger nails have deep ridges in them. I have osteoarthritis in my right hip, and my eye brows are beginning to look like the broom in my shop. I became a little concerned when my doctor told me earlier this year that my cholesterol was too high. He also said that my blood pressure was too high and asked if I smoked, drank alcohol, worked in a stressful environment, lacked physical activity or suffered from obesity. I answered no to all of the above. Being relatively inventive, I asked him would it help if I took up drinking and smoking, got a stressful job, stayed up late, quit riding my bike, gained 50 lbs and then quit. The only response I got was that doe in the headlight look. He suggested I watch what I eat and see if both could be lowered by diet alone. So, I went on a no fat, no taste diet that simply consisted of my usual food but without the following: butter, red meat, cheese, ice cream and anything else that might taste good. I have eaten so much chicken I cluck when I try to speak.


Recently I went back in for a bloodletting and the results came back exactly the same. BP too high and cholesterol level way to high. He now has me taking two BP pills, a cholesterol pill, a vitamin, an aspirin, and an anti-inflammatory for the arthritis in my hip.

Friends are very helpful and often suggest home remedies or a collection of natural health products, none of which are any good. My wife’s aunt and her husband were once convinced that if they purchased a juicer they could have all the benefits of fresh fruits and vegetables in liquid form. They bought the juicer, two cartons of carrots and made a gallon of fresh carrot juice. Three days later they both looked like they had been spray painted with safety orange. Another friend decided that he could lose a ton of weight by taking chromium tablets. He lost the weight but threw his blood chemistry off so badly he had to spend a few days in the hospital on dialysis. One of my oldest friends suggested I tape some magnets to the areas where I have the most pain. He guaranteed I would see improvement almost immediately. The magnets didn’t work and I quit when I got stuck to the refrigerator door when I got up in the middle of the night to get a snack.

Another well meaning friend gave me a bunch of sticky back holograms. I was told if I stuck them on the area where I experienced pain, the pain would go away. It seems that the holograms would redirect the forces of the universe for a realignment of my cosmic construction. All I got out of it was a temporary tattoo of a goat.

Speaking of goats. I did see an interesting product in my local Walgreens. It’s Epimedium, also known as Rowdy Lamb Herb, Barrenwort, Bishop's Hat, Fairy Wings, Yin Yang Huo (Chinese: 淫羊藿), or my favorite, Horny Goat Weed, It is suppose to be a natural alternative to Viagra. I wonder if it has the same four hour warning.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

Ever Wonder Why I Hate To Shop?

When I was a kid the only time you got new clothes was a few things at Christmas and the majority when school started in the fall. The routine was something like this. We would get in the car and head to JC Penny where after what seems like many hours we went home with exactly the same stuff we bought last year, except newer. The list was always the same. Six pairs of briefs, six pairs of socks, two pairs of Levi’s (never the Levi brand because they were too much money) one pair of shoes and a few t-shirts. None of the clothes ever fit, nor were they designed to. As I look back on it now, the rationale was that anything that fit today would be too small tomorrow. Never mind that the pants legs were six inches too long. You were expected to grow into it. Just as I was getting to the point where things were suppose to fit, they wore out and/or fell off. I always had two pair of shoes; one for everyday and one for Sunday best. When the every days wore out they got resoled or a new heel put on and a little polish made them fit for formal wear. When they finally fell apart, the old ones got tossed and the Sunday best became the everydays. It was then time to go buy new shoes. I always enjoyed the process of the shoes because our store had an x-ray machine you could put your feet into and see where the bones were in relation to the shape of the shoes. Someone finally found a relationship between too much x-ray exposure and death and the machines disappeared from the stores.


Last week I went into a Red Wing Shoe store in West Valley Utah to buy a new pair of shoes. There were three construction workers already there trying on a variety of work boots. They had a job at Kennecott Copper mine and were turned away from the work site because they didn’t have the proper safety footwear. Their employer gave them a purchase order and off they went to the shoe store. The scene took me back to my childhood. Boy were they excited. They tried different boots, traded what they thought was good with the co-workers, raved about how comfortable the boots were, traded again. One big guy got so excited he had to use the restroom three times. The only thing missing from the scene was the Back to School sign in the window.

I remember when I was no longer excited about buying clothes, and for that matter shopping period. When I entered junior high school, my mother took us to JC Penny’s for the annual event. An event I might add, that turned out to be the last time I ever went shopping with either parent. My mother denies the circumstances of the events, but total recall of the day is so burned into my memory that there can be no error in the telling. My 13 year old brother, who had already been to junior high school, had been dating since the age of 11 and could grow full beard over a weekend, reminded my mother that since I was going to be taking PE I would need certain equipment.

My mother spotted a clerk twelve rows over, and in the loudest voice I ever remember my mother using, and pointing directly at me, shouted “Hey! We need a jockey strap for this boy right here. And you better make it an extra small”. No hint of ever growing into this piece of clothing. From that day forward I did my own shopping for clothes.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

Watch Out For The Bikes

I recently was a volunteer with the Tour of Utah. This is a pro bicycle event known as a stage race. Every day during the event the racers show up at a different place and follow a prescribed route to the finish. The Tour of Utah is considered a very difficult event because of all the mountain routes. For example, the last day started in Park City, went to Camus, Midway and down Provo canyon. From there the route goes over the Alpine Loop, past Sundance and down American Fork Canyon. It then proceeds over the Skyline Road into Salt Lake Valley. The final indignity of the day is that it concludes at Snowbird Ski Resort at the head of Little Cottonwood Canyon. The total route is a little over 100 miles. The rider with the lowest time at the end of the week wins.

Most of the time I was busy being a Race Marshal. It simply means that I wore an official orange shirt and told people where to go. I like telling people where to go.For example: There were Two Older Women with lots of hanging jewelry and other parts at the Criterium in Park City. I shall refer to them simple as TOW. I had just closed the street crossing to Main Street because the racers were practicing and riding past at about 45mph. TOW said, “How do we get across the street. We have reservations at the Gold Spoon and our other rich friends are already there.” Me: “I am sorry ladies but the course is now closed for safety reasons.” Tow: “Well you just don’t seem to understand. We have money and therefore are entitled to special privileges.” Me: “I am sorry ladies but the road will be closed until after the race. At that time you will be able to cross. Oh and by the way the racers will be going around this city block as fast as they can for the next hour and forty five minutes.” Tow: “But that young man is out in the street. Why can’t we go there too?” Me: “Ladies, that young man is Levi Leipheimer, a professional bike racer. You can tell because he has a racing bike strapped to his @ss. At that point l avoided any further eye contact, turned my back and pretended that I had suffered a major hearing loss. There were 15,000 people watching the race is Park City that day. I did not hear or see from TOW after the initial encounter.

On day two I was assigned to a right hand turn into the city of Goshen. My job was to stop all vehicle traffic at the approach of the Highway Patrol and not let anyone proceed until the last racer had passed the intersection. I was dropped off by the shuttle van about an hour before the racers were to pass so I swept the rocks out of the street, ate my sack lunch and drank two liters of water. Then I looked around for a restroom. Goshen is what you find when you look up “End of the Earth” in the dictionary. The one lane streets are wide enough for four lanes in each direction but there are no stores, gas stations churches, or portable toilets in the entire town. I did manage to locate what turned out to be city hall and when I explained my situation to Foghorn Leghorn he said he understood completely since he too was the proud owner of a 68 year old bladder.

When I returned to the intersection I saw the flashing lights of the police coming into town and I dutifully stepped into the middle of the intersection and stopped all traffic. In less than three minutes the entire peloton had passed from one end of town to the other. When I was sure there were no riders who had been spit out the back of the group, I allowed traffic (50 pickup trucks) to continue. As I waived them through, many of the drivers waved back. Sort of. I had a great week.

Thanks for listening. I feel much better.