May 23, 2009

For Tiffinie: I give you 'Scout'. On your travels to Alaska and the Bering Sea, for months of fishing, waves and missing me, I present the next best thing; Scout The Warrior.

Scout'll hold those critters at bay for you; growling, barking, as a new member of your crew. Now, he may be young and kind of small but through the years he'll grow mean and tall. Battle plans are in his dreams, ferocious, sturdy, a real killing machine. Delusions are in a big bear's mind, to even think lil' Scout can't tow the line.

Precious as a pup can be, I know that Scout will keep you free. To work those nets of fish and more, you'll need your strength to do the chore. So fit your foot inside your boot, leave the critters to this cute Malamute. Have a grand old time with fun abound, family and friends know you're safe with Scout around.

'Red skies at night, sailor's delight. Red skies in the morning, sailor's take warning.'
Have a good time with your brother and snatch up record catches. See you when you return home.

May 10, 2009

Happy Mother's Day

Yes, Ladies, if the shoe fits, wear it. Enjoy it. Dance in it. Because, you get one whole day to be celebrated for it. Child birth. That moment in time when you endure 2, 12, 24, 38 hours of mind numbing, body tearing, gut wrenching pain. But, it is all worth it when on May 10, 2009, your child gives you a day to sit back, relax, and enjoy your efforts. Congratulations!

I didn't mind my 2 hours and 43 minutes of labor. Of course the epideral hadn't taken effect before they wheeled me into the delivery room. How were they to know that she was in a flippin' hurray? They didn't. Each delivery is different, unique; just as the child is. Text books are for throwing out the window. Some are quick and easy, as the child is during their years of growth. Then there are the 36 hours of acid burning agony and the next 21 years of shear terror to follow. But we love them anyway.

So Moms of the world, enjoy. Drink a glass of wine and sit back. Let them finally, make the meal, do the dishes, wipe the table while you watch. Tomorrow is soon enough to redo the dishes, clean the kitchen and get your life back to normal. :-) <3

May 4, 2009

The Class of 1945, some are still alive...

This is a picture of South High's Class of 45. How did they survive? They began High School at the start of WWII. Following the devastation of the Depression and then celebrated their graduation with the ending of the war. They had sports, but the football helmet was made of leather and padding. Not fiberglass and metal. They had school dances with balloons and streamers, slow music followed with a little bebop. Class rings and Letterman's jackets, poverty and death, basket ball champion banners and discrimination, very few jobs but they all worked with pride. That was in 1945. For the most part, this class of students have witnessed a lot! They watched the bombing of Pearl Harbor, retribution in Japan, Korean War, Tani min Square, Kent State riots, the assassination of Kennedy, Watergate and the impeachment of Nixon, landing on the moon, the great floods of the mid-west, the gas wars, terrorism, Gulf war, the fall of the Twin Towers, the damage to the pentagon, the Iraq war, the recession's of 1984, 1992 and today's borderline depression of 2009. To them, it must seem like their life has come around full circle with nothing learned for the future. What a shame.

Immunize - wise?

I remember when we (the students) were called down to the cafeteria for our i
immunizations. You remember, come on! The sugar cube and the shots. Oh what a wonderful day! We were told that these would last us a lifetime. Who's? As soon as that needle came out, kids were dropping like flies, throwing up, passing out, crying and the only thing we have to show for it is a scar (it's the sort of round one on the left shoulder). Small pox - yep, step right up and get your guaranteed 100 percent, never have to worry again, vaccination. Yeah, well, my parents back then, would believe the government. Today, not so much. Proof, give us proof. Because the scar on my arm is no longer a guarantee against the disease. This time, when I'm told to form a line, I'll take mine in a tall glass of bourbon and 7-up, please.