No KIDDING...Made In America!!!

Lady Sam, (Samantha), whom I've know for nigh on 30 years, has made me proud to announce her venture into formulating, creating, engineering and ecomically providing very special wardrobe attachments and accoutrements for those who appreciate quality and affordability of well-made American goods.

Having spent much of my life in the manufacturing end of domestic and imported articles, coupled with true customer service, I am absolutely, painfully selective when offering a recommendation of anything or anyone. Therefore, here you have it! Please visit her site and be amazed at how easily she can make you happy!

Visitors always welcome at http://www.littlesweetieonline.com/

SAVE ME!!!

It's rare that I see typos in a book, what with Spell-Rite, Spell-Check, et al. Some time ago, I noticed single spacing at the end of each sentence, which was 1 short of all I had been taught in English classes! Born curious and being a counter, ( a whole nuther story), I donned my Polish CSI babushka and happily announce the following, after deciding on what would become the sample average for this installment:

Average book of 200 pages
Average page size of 5-1/4" X 8"
61 characters per line---including spaces
31 lines per page
= 1891 characters per page---including spaces

26 sentences per page
200 pages
= 5200 total spaces

5200 spaces
divided by 1891 characters per page
= 2.7498677 saved pages per 200 page book

So...there IS an environmental benefit! Some quantum-quasi mathematician can extrapolate the number of saved trees. I'm off to another wonder. By the by, the above data resulted from reading, "Dancing Naked in the Mind Field" by Nobel Peace Prize winner, Kary Ellis...a bio-chemist with a great sense of humor...should you choose to believe that! (Seems he also likes to count)

TGINM!!!

In the event you email me today and I'm out and about, please feel free to use any or a combination of the following to satisfy your need for a response:

Wow
Thanks...I wasn't aware of that
Probably chocolate
I'll be sure to pass it on to 9 friends within 14 minutes
I agree
Outlaw decaf and Bridge
Barcolounger
We certainly should
3 speed
I wasn't even aware he/she/it was ill
Purple
That's a crying shame
Window seat
Hooda thunk
Frasier
I feel safer already
The campaign is way too long
My gosh, 15 years already
Buick Roadmaster
Bubble gum taster
Coulda fooled me
Seams to the left
2 weeks
Push broom
Holeee Krapp
Dish and cone
Ed

P.S. There were no reported traffic related injuries during Passover. Kudos to those who celebrated the unabridged version, thereby keeping folks at home! Shalom!

Taking Time To Take Time...from 2006

A recent newspaper article announced that America has become an "Impatient Nation." According to an Associated Press poll, "Americans want it all now. Or awfully close to now." With time, I've learned to be aware of what is around me, and, when you're "there", you act in response to what has been presented. In certain circumstances, the result can be overwhelmingly comedic.

In the fall of 1976, I purchased the last of the "Big Ones"...a 1976, 2 door Pontiac Bonneville. Penelope, as I came to call her, was a light metallic blue and the roof was padded under a white leather-like material on the rear portion. Penelope was a looker! She had all the factory power one could get at the time, including air conditioning, power windows, power seats, tilt wheel, cruise control...AND...an AM-FM radio with a built-in 8 Trak tape player. Talk about the cat's meow! Having grown up without air conditioning, I seldom used it when driving solo. My all-time favorite was the cruise control option. Often, I joked about engaging it on our long driveway. The route from home to business was via Canal Road, which, incidentally, paralleled the Ohio Canal. Since I'm drawn to studying weird subjects, I determined that if I set the cruise control at 38 miles per hour, I could arrive at work without catching any of the traffic lights on red. Being but 3 miles per hour over the posted speed limit pretty much assured not being stopped by any of the local police departments, who usually had radar setups along the way.

One morning, my commute became inordinate when I noticed a car so close behind me that I could barely see his hood ornament in the rear view mirror. Included in the view was an irate man who was waving his fisted hand akin to one of those old wind-up tin toys of a monkey banging a drum. Since I didn't have time to explain my methodology, I continued as always. On an occasional glimpse into the rear view mirror, my "tail-gaiter" continued his tirade. As luck would have it, I did indeed catch a red light. My tail-gaiter maneuvered into the left turn lane and I stayed the course. (Here's the good part, if you remember what I said at the outset.) At a precise moment only fate or God can determine, our eyes met and I felt compelled to zip down the power window. In turn, Mr. Upset zipped down his passenger side power window, most likely to question my lack of paternal connection. The seventies form of road rage did not include shooting. Before he could utter one syllable, I asked, "Why are you in such a hurry to arrive at a job you probably hate?" Milli-seconds passed. His face then adopted that look of, "Holy Crap!" and he broke up laughing as would one who just heard a Don Rickles comeback. When the light became green, he waved and we each continued to do another day on earth. I sometimes wonder if he quit his job that day or changed his attitude.

Years passed and I found myself living in the quaint city of Berea, Ohio, smack in the path of railroad lines connecting Detroit and Cleveland. The main drag, Bagley Road, had twin tracks cutting across. Front Street, which took commuters to the airport and the interstate into Cleveland, had 2 separate sets of twin tracks. Drivers were doomed to sit at least once per day at one of those crossings. Hundreds of trains passed through Berea each day, around the clock, and one simply could not time any intervals because there were none! When it was my turn to sit, I'd merely put the transmission into "Park" and enjoy the fate or God given time to rest. Observing those around me, I saw many people waving a fisted hand akin to one of those old wind-up tin toys of a monkey banging a drum. Did they really think the train's conductor cared if they were late for the hair salon appointment? Did they really think the train's conductor would stop and separate the cars for them? What did they think? I snickered very often during those respites.

I like the self checkout provided by the grocery stores. Yet, I still enjoy the conversation with a human at the register and those in line with me. If there's a delay, there again is another time to rest and reflect. Too many of us can't or won't see those opportunities.

How sad.

Observations & Ponderings 4-24-08

We celebrated Earth Day on the 22nd…humankind’s attempt at reducing waste, thereby saving the planet. Would the same term be used on the 7th planet from the sun or would they hopefully opt for another word?

“You know” is interjected so seldom these days, that it now catches our attention when it’s invoked. Remember when Mark Spitz did it so much that it caused sponsors to stop using him as a spokesman? Another phrase dying a slow death is, “Duh.” Fret not, it’s already been replaced by, “I mean.” Many folks use it and it makes no sense. Troy Aikman said it about 7,000 times during the past football season playoffs. I’m wondering when we’ll see the demise of, “and also.” Not to be outdone is, “I was gonna say” followed by the person saying what they were gonna say! Let us not overlook those who say, "exactly" instead of the good, old-fashioned, "yes!"

While watching “Friends” on late night teevee, do you find yourself doing that 4 clap thingie during the musical intro?

Cubans are now allowed to have a cell phone. Annual contract cost is equal to about 6 months wages. Phone and time charges are extra. That probably takes care of the other 6 months wages. Wotta world..."Ola, Juan...I'm dying of hunger-o, but I gotta phone!"

TeeVee commercial: Nivea says to rub their product on to prevent or get rid of cellulite. The women in the commercial look to be no older than 18 and I'd be surprised if they weighed any more than the average anorexic.

Bait & Bait: Read the small print on any car commercial. "Starts at $19,222......Model shown $37,489" or words to that effect. Okaaaaaaaaaay!

Wake UP, baseball! The term should be, "RsBI." They all say, "RBIs." That being true, why don't they pronounce it as, "Run Batted Ins?"

C, C and C

People who fly out of bed and hit the floor on the run have either an underdeveloped bladder, are in search of something to do or in dire need of counsel.

Me? The preference is that 4-letter word…s-l-o-w. Allow the body to awaken piece by piece. Stretch. Fantasize that I’m Bill Gates and whisper, “Boy, I am REELEE RICH!” Unlike Billy Crystal, who wrote that he has a good pee, then gets out of bed…I do the opposite. Still foggy in the brain and unaware yet of evil people, I slowly stoke the personal furnace with Comics, Coffee and Crossword.

Ides Of April

No time to relax
Nigh the day of tax
Robins return
Crocus dots the lawn
Winnipesaukee ice retreats
A daring Harley on the streets
White, then brown snow melts
Baring again rock boundaries
Hills become temporary streams
Frost heaves abound
Streets grow
From receding snow
Parking spots re-appear
New buds grace tree limbs
As a woodpecker sets a din
Bring the spring
Oh God above
Spread Thy color
And the season’s love

Archived Obituary---Goodbye, Old Friend.....

There won’t be any flowers or a casket at this funeral. The lone pall-bearer will be a tow-truck driver. Interment will be at B & O Auto Parts. Certain organs might be salvageable and will be legally sold, not donated. The “Old Gray Mare” didn’t have a heart, per se, but did she EVER have compassion!!!

She passed on Thursday, June 3rd, 1999 at 4:30 PM. Born in Berea’s First Congregational United Church of Christ, she was the first motorized child of the outreach program called Church Street Ministries.

For eleven years, she worked out of this very small church, doing what even the largest organizations do not---DELIVERING food, clothing, furniture, appliances, beds, holiday packages and many other items to the needy throughout Cuyahoga County and, on occasion, outside the county.

The “Old Gray Mare”, since 1988, delivered more that 500,000 pounds of goods to those who had no means of transportation---natural disasters, fire victims, refugees, those displaced from abuse, recovering addicts and alcoholics, mentally and physically challenged, homeless people trying to resurrect their lives, the many good folks caring for their abandoned grand-children, homes for single parents and a ton of others.

During her 11 years, she serviced more than 9,000 people. She also chauffeured many hundreds of kids to work camps across the country where they learned to interact with people of different cultures, colors, religions and ethnic backgrounds. The “Old Gray Mare” was a traveling classroom wherein people of all ages both volunteers and court appointed community service men and women could learn the ABC’s of St. Matthew, chapter 25, verse 35---feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick.

She did all this and so much more but at 4:30 on Thursday, June 3rd, 1999, she drove the last of 130,674 compassionate miles. She physically and mechanically ran out of gas. Sure, there will be another van to support the mission of this tiny church and it will continue so long as there are those who need help---and the generous people, churches and organizations who helped purchase and maintain her. We’ll definitely miss “The Old Gray Mare”. May she “rust” in peace.

Toil in the Soil aka Garden Critters

Scanning the world of blogs prompted this offering to pass along that which I’ve learned from other gardeners and self-experimentation.

My veggie garden was on a 3-acre lot where my in-laws lived. The back end of all the residential properties abutted a golf course. Give or take, most lots were 1200 feet deep in that nice village. My guess is that the rear 800 feet of each property was left as natural. Being that hunting was prohibited, it was awesome to watch the abundance of fox, deer, squirrel, skunk, groundhog and multitude of birds and butterflies enjoy what was theirs.

Year 1 of the garden was akin to a child at Christmas: Pumpkin vines with leaves as large as elephant ears; Tomatoes that quickly outgrew the stakes; Kohlrabi resembling a softball with hair; Carrots with palm tree sized tops; Green peppers that looked like small bird cages! Somewhere is a photo of my favorite daughter standing on my shoulders trying to reach the sunflower blossoms! OOO yeah…it was a garden to “die for!” The stress of work was quickly gone each day when I’d toss the suit, don the jeans and head for my evening therapy to pull a weed, plant a seed or turn one of three compost piles. Many, many jars were filled with a bountiful harvest for northern Ohio winter meals. All was good!

Year 2 of the garden was akin to a child at Christmas watching Sheriff McJailem put all the furniture on the tree lawn because dad couldn’t make the mortgage payments. It was probably mid May, (although I don’t care to remember exactly), when I tossed the suit, donned the jeans and headed out for my evening therapy to pull a weed, plant a seed and turn a compost pile. (This is where you squeeze the arms of your La-Z-Boy) Near as I can figure, one of the animals noticed the neat rows of growth anywhere from 2” to 8” high. They didn’t observe my garden earlier because animal brains are fairly small and since they don’t read or play video games, their cells are used for survival and where to sleep at night. “Whichever” animal must have sauntered over, sampled the odd looking row of strangers and uttered, “OH-----MY-----GAWD!!!” That then HAD to be followed by a shout of, “Hey GUYS, Bob’s got lots of goodies here!” (Can you just picture all of God’s creatures with knife and fork, wearing a napkin around the neck?)

I absolutely remember standing slack-jawed, totally paralyzed, eyes unable to blink. It was 1000% worse than the first dent on your new car or even a “Dear John” letter, if you know what THAT is. There IS humor in le calamitie! I honest to Buddha remember whispering, “Look how neat the deer were…nothing trampled…hoof prints on each side of each row.” If not for grocery stores, we all would have perished during that bitter northern Ohio winter of nineteen hundred seventy-whenever.

Being 2nd generation American of mostly Polish, ergo stubborn, ancestors, Year 3 of the garden required an entirely different farming methodology while still respecting those whose land I invaded. By the way, since nature dictates it WAS the land of the animals, garden rustling charges were never filed.

For years, I was an avid reader of Organic Gardening Magazine…testing and implementing lots and lots, (garden humor), of suggestions proven true by trustworthy “old-timers.” I also listened to advice from those anxious to share. What follows will hopefully save you time, energy and an evening with myocardial infarction.

Rabbits: To prevent burrowing, I dug down 18” and installed quality chicken coop wire fencing. Bunnies are cute, but since you don’t see them driving a John Deere, you need not spend extra $$$ on a deterrent. They’ll back off when that wiggly nose touches the fence.

Groundhogs: Dumb as a shingle and twice as stubborn…you have to wonder about a creature rushing up to date a 70 MPH Michelin Radial! If you have many of these, stay with an 18” trench, BUT, use a cyclone-style fence. Not familiar? It’s used for keeping your children at school during the day. Groundhogs WILL ga-naw through chicken wire. They don’t just appear and their tunnels can be fairly long. If you find a burrow opening in your garden, the most humane method is to turn the garden hose on high to make sure the critter is no longer in the tunnel. Once evicted, the other end of the tunnel must be blocked with heavy stone or cinder blocks. These buggers will try to hide their tunnel entrance, so look under bushes, etc., or have someone watch for the stream while you run the garden hose. Odds are, he’ll move on. If he persists by digging another tunnel, you’ll have to repeat the process.

Deer: Allritey then! If you and your neighbors have a great, and I DO mean great, sense of humor and can live with my ethnic G=mc theory, (Garden = Much Care), with practical application, this will give you peace of mind! I installed a steel fence in an easy paced weekend. The posts were the style you drive in with a sledgehammer. You’ll need a brave assistant for steadying the post and wielding a level. The material was a round gage having holes just right for deterring most anything but a mouse…and what can THEY carry off? Okay, now you have a 4’ fence to protect the crop! Following installation of said fence, I was bragging to one of the locals about my newfound expertise. He, without losing a breath as he spat a full ounce of cherry flavored Mail Pouch into a Campbell’s can some 9 feet away, mumbled, “Deer kin jump more’n 4 feet, ya know.”

“ARGH!!!” Followed by, “What to do, what to DO?!?” Think, Bob, THINK! Whenever I find myself at a loss on similar problems, I hurry to the garden supply store, but not just ANY garden supply store. Petitti’s was my mainstay because he worked the “floor” when he started and never laughed at a question. To this day, you can still see Angelo doing his “thing” even though he has a bazillion acres and his own growing farms. There I am, slowly walking…looking super intelligent to anyone less than 4 years old…praying for a cloud to open, hence dropping a leaflet containing “THE ANSWER.” Well, THAT didn’t happen! To make an already long story short, I bought those green, rubber coated, bamboo looking, 8’ high tomato stakes…1 for each fencepost. I securely fastened 1 stake to each post with cut clothes hangers. You might not find these anymore, so buy some thick, galvanized wire. Here’s the humor part. Think of a sliced loaf of bread. I ran monofilament fishing line across the garden, from one green stake to another. From left to right, connect the 1st stake on each side. Then connect the 2nd stake on each side and so on. Don’t allow much sag in the fishing line. I had a spool of plasticized foil…the material used to cover candy bars, which had a shiny finish. It was 36” wide. I cut 4” strips and fastened them to the fishing line at about 3’ intervals. It looked like the grand opening of an old Route 66 gas station, but the skinny foil moved at the slightest breeze and it was enough to keep the deer away. Visitors got a good chuckle, but it worked! Thank God it was about 80 feet behind the house, so animals and the occasional UFO had the only view.

Squirrels: We had plenty of trees and bushes. The furry-tail scooters kept busy and got fat on all the nuts and berries. If these little guys are eating your plants, they don’t have enough natural food. Most wildlife will feed on ornamentals when theirs has been taken away. If your home is in a newer development, odds are the contractor bulldozed much of it.

Morning doves: I do believe they operated a radar station…each time I planted corn, those winged poachers would burgle the rows, unearthing only the soil wherein the seed were placed! I finally claimed victory by placing a paper Dixie cup, bottom side up, over each seed, turning it slightly to embed the cup. Of course, I poked a slit in the cup’s bottom that allowed the corn stalk to exit. By then, the doves weren’t interested. (Did you ever notice how they act as if you can’t see them?)