Eggs made to order....

Cooking the perfect egg is perhaps the easiest yet hardest thing to do.....I guess it just depends on whether you are cooking it for yourself or cooking it for someone else and of course how picky you are if you are cooking it for yourself.


Did you know the US egg consumption is 256 per capita per year. With a population of 310 million people...that is 79,360,000,000 per year or 217,424,000 per day. That's a lotta eggs!

My preference for how I like my eggs has changed over the years. When I was a young Skeeter boy growing up, I have to admit I was slightly on the spoiled side and back then my favorite type of cooked egg was a soft boiled egg. My Mom, or should I say my Mommy, would place it upright in a little holder and then crack the upper part of the shell and cautiously remove it. God forbid if a piece of the shell fell into the egg itself.

Later I moved on to a simple fried egg, usually sunny side up, and perfect for dipping my toast into the yummy soft yolk often times leaving behind the fried white portion of the egg. And then later going with the more popular "over easy".

I'm reminded of how eggs were cooked and served in Basic Training when I was in the U.S. Air Force many years ago. As you moved through the chow line keeping your mouth shut and not speaking to anyone in front of or behind you, you were allowed to say only one of two words as you shouted out how you wanted your eggs cooked. It was either "fried" or "scrambled". If your choice was "fried", the cook would simply scoop up your egg on a wide spatula regardless of how long it had been on the grill, even if it was still runny. If you asked for the latter, "scrambled", the cook simply made two quick chops with his spatula and there they were, scrambled made to order.

As I matured in age, so did my epicurean skills. My ability to cook the perfect omelet filled with mushrooms and cheese and other delectable items and of course I needed the curved-edged omelet frying pan as well.

Later moving to the Southwest for the last 50 years, my tastes buds then began calling for the simple but delicious taquito, the fresh flour tortilla filled with scrambled eggs, fried ground sausage and covered with hot sauce, sour cream and grated cheese.

These days I've regressed back to the days of when I stood in line waiting for my scrambled egg. I usually wait until all of the other items we are having for breakfast, whether it be French toast and or maybe bacon with fried potatoes or possibly grits. I'll crack a couple of eggs, one handed I might add, and just quickly throw in some grated cheese, stir them a few times with a wooden spoon and I'm good to go.

As I said in the opening sentence, cooking eggs perfectly can either be simple or difficult, and I guess that's the same thing about life, it just depends how you want to approach it.

Remembering Christmases past.....

I'm sure many of you, like myself, often use events in your life to try to remember where you were living or what you were doing or where your family was or just plain trying to think of days gone by with using Christmas as the baseline.

This morning, Pattye and I, were thinking of those past Christmases and after about an hour into it, I pretty much had clogged head-brain trying to connect so many dots together. Let's face it, after almost 70 years of events, that's a lot of brain matter to try and organize.

My early days growing up in Dayton, Ohio first come to mind as I turn the clock back to so many years ago.

As far back as I can remember we pretty much celebrated Christmas, at least the opening of presents, always on Christmas Eve followed by my brothers and I heading to Midnight Mass at Our Lady of Mercy Church.. I'm not sure how that particular tradition began, but I'm guessing it had something to do with having two older brothers who had found out about the "secret" of Santa and were anxious to dig into the treasures early.

I do know one year, I'm guessing I was around 7 or 8 years old, and Dad had arranged, or heck who knows, maybe it was the real guy himself, showed up at the door at around 7:30 in the evening on Christmas Eve and he scared the bejeebers out of me. I was just at that age when I started to have some doubts and Holy Crap...there he was.

Another neat Christmas was the year Dad had found someway to get a train set up in the basement. Although I wasn't allowed to use the controls I can remember the wonderful excitement of watching the Lionel train engine pull its cars past the little depot with the plastic man standing outside holding a lantern.

Another year, Dad used the basement for the "special" surprise and he had somehow arranged to get a pool table down there and yet even another year a ping-pong table.

As the years went by the settings changed. The locations changed. The family members changed. But the one thing that remained the same and still remains ...are the memories. The smiles on the children's faces, the smiles on everyone's faces. And always the glistening in the older folks eyes as they too remember Christmases past.

Merry Christmas

A special someone who influenced my life...

The other morning a friend of mine from the "hood" reminded me of someone who had a major impact in my young life while growing up in Dayton, Ohio. A  person who taught me that different races of people were in fact treated differently, if not disparagingly, during the 50s, 60s and on. But she did it silently and with examples of just being a good, if not great person.

A special person, who long after I had left Dayton to conquer the world elsewhere in the Southwest, would continue to send me a birthday card well into my late thirties. A person, who was my protector, and yet I never knew her more than just someone who was always at our house.

The other morning when  Denny, the older brother of one of my best friends while growing up in Dayton, made the comment, "Tom, with all of your writings over the years, you've never mentioned Ethel, your Nanny."

Whoa, whoa, whoa.....yes, he was absolutely correct, I had never written about the person who helped teach me right from wrong but she was NEVER my Nanny. Hey, people I grew up in a small, white clapboard house with two older brothers and one bathroom. Well, two bathrooms if you considered peeing outside behind the garage or downstairs in one of the stationary tubs, when you had to really go.

But, a Nanny?......Never. Or did I have a Nanny?

I always thought of Ethel M. Lewis was just someone who was in the house everyday to help my Mom out before Mom headed off to work for my Dad at his small machine shop on the West Side.

And even though I rode the yellow, electric public transport at an early age to get downtown either for trouble or pleasure, it never dawned on me, that Ethel rode it every morning and every afternoon to and from our house, just so she could be there as our arbitrator among us arguing boys, someone who made sure we never went hungry at lunch, someone who made sure we had clean sheets and clothes but I never once thought of her as a Nanny.

Heck, I didn't even know the term Nanny at that age.

But better than all of those things that she did for our family, and I guess a Nanny as well. She was my friend.

I didn't see her as black. I didn't see her as a maid. I didn't see her as a housekeeper. I simply saw her as Ethel.

Anyone who ever came by our home in my early years, all of them knew Ethel. She was always there. Always my protector. Always my friend.

It's been probably 50 years since I have thought of her, and I am so thankful that Denny, reminded me of my friend. And yes, even though I grew up far from being a silver-spooned child I guess in fact she was my Nanny.

Webster defines a Nanny as a  woman who is paid to care for a young child usually in the child's home.

Yep, I guess she was. But she was a friend first.

Sometimes it's just the smallest of things......

Call me crazy, call me odd or just call me nuts, so to speak, but yesterday I found something that continues to bring me the broadest of smiles.

I've lived in Texas for over 40 years and I've never seen before this curiously-designed, almost-personified happy little item, just laying on the ground. We were at the Dallas Arboretum and there it sat with all of its many little brothers and sisters either waiting to be swept away by workmen with their leaf blowers or taken back up once again high in the trees from which it first grew by a resourceful squirrel making ready his winter cache'.

I give you the Bur Oak Nut.

I'm very familiar with most of the native trees of this Great State starting with, of course, the pecan, the state tree. Texas has over 250 natives trees, including over 50 oak trees alone. One reason I am so familiar with all of the different trees is that for the last 30 years I've had to dig and scoop thousands of pounds of wet leaves out of swimming pools with the Swimming Pool  company we started in 1989. Despite counseling and cautioning pool owners about the importance of landscaping around their pool, they ignore our advice and make the wrong decisions, they will often  add the wrong trees.

And sadly, I guess that's why I've missed seeing the Bur Oak.  From a swimming pool perspective, you really don't want these relatively huge projectiles falling into your pool, let alone hitting you in the noggin.

Bur Oak trees are extremely drought tolerate due to their long taproot which is why they are the dominant tree of north central Texas. Bur Oak trees produce the largest acorn of any oak species that are 1 1/2 inches long and are almost completely covered with a furry cap.

And it is that furry little cap that I tell you looks like a little animated character waiting to have eyes painted on him, a little dot nose and a smile that will cause anyone who takes a moment to appreciate all that we have in the world that God has surrounded us with even if it is simply a nut on the ground.

Okay, maybe it's just a nut some animal will digest or maybe just be swept away. But for me, it's my little friend that I found while spending the day at Dallas's beautiful Arboretum. I'm gonna put a face on him and keep him in my truck. I think I'll call him, Skeeter.

Money and good Scotch make for a great election campaign....

As I close out this chapter of the Mid-Term Elections of 2018, I’m reminded of my first encounter into the “real” world of politics.. This was back almost fifty years ago when I was a student at the University of Oklahoma.

I had a part-time job in 1970 working as a chauffeur for a well respected young businessman in Norman, Oklahoma. Bobby owned a successful restaurant, the Boomerang, which in addition to great hamburgers and onion rings,  was a popular hangout for college kids just wanting to decompress and drink beer. Bobby was paralyzed from the waist down from a diving accident but that never stopped him from being both popular and successful. My job was simply to help him ingress and egress from his high-end Ford station wagon and then drive him to whatever destination he decided upon.

We developed a trust for each other, his of me being that he was physically dependent upon me to ensure his safety and privacy when as some of you know, often times people paralyzed can begin to suddenly experience extreme uncontrolled shaking and spasms and loss of bodily controls. I trusted Bobby because he simply allowed me to do all I could to remove him for what he thought was just embarrassing situations. Bobby had nothing to be embarrassed about. He was more of a man than most people I knew back then.

In addition to the many other enterprises he was involved in, one included being the Campaign Treasurer for an up and coming young political figure who was on a mission to unseat a 30 year member of the U.S. Congress. The candidate,  was the son of a well known, both locally and nationally, retired college football coach. Nuff said, okay?

Jay, the candidate, had through his father, many connections throughout the country including a young political adviser out of Washington, D.C.. Jim Brady, the adviser, would fly down to Oklahoma City each week to see how the campaign was going. I would pick him up at the airport, we would head to the liquor store, get a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, then I would take him to his hotel and leave, after of course helping him empty that bottle. Jim later went on to become the Press Secretary for President Reagan and took one of the bullets that was intended for President Reagan. We remained friends until his death in 2014.

Anyway, to continue, one day Bobby,  Jim and I headed over to the local bank and Bobby had me wheel him into the safe deposit area. Jim decided to wait in the car and after signing in, Bobby had me open a deposit box, the kind of box that is a about a foot deep, and inside was I’m guessing thousands of hundred dollar bills. I stared and Bobby looked at me and smiled and said, “Campaigns are expensive”. He had me take out a fistful as he made some notations in his ledger and we closed up and left. We headed back to Bobby’s house, enjoyed a little more of the Johnnie Walker Black and I went on to my afternoon classes.

Yep, I loved politics back then.

Later that year I found myself in Basic Training in the U.S. Air Force and didn’t find out until a few days after the election that Jay had lost the election. I guess he didn't quite have enough of those hundred dollar bills.

Politics haven't changed much over the last 50 years. It's all about raising money, saying things people want to hear and drinking good Scotch at the end of the day.

Another fine memory on this special day...

This being "International Walk to School Day", (I'm serious Alexa just told me), I'm reminded of my early formative years while walking to school with one of my best friends, Bobby R. I would leave my house at one end of our block and meet Bobby at his house at the other end of the block and we would head out towards Our Lady of Mercy, a fine parochial school in Dayton, Ohio where the nuns there would try their best to break my spirit.

We worked our way one block over to Siebenthaler where we would begin the long trudge up the steep hill as we peered closely into the gutters along the busy street with one goal in mind, finding cigarette butts to smoke along the way. We hadn't yet either gotten up the courage to sneak "cigs" out of our parent's packs or maybe we just didn't know how to be that crafty yet. Heck, we were only in the third and fourth grades, respectively. But that was okay, there were always plenty of good butts along the way that would given us several good puffs before they burned our fingers.

Back then there weren't many filtered cigs and if there were, they were the sissy-menthol kind. We always went for the real thing. Luckies, Camels and Pall Malls. You could usually find a good Pall Mall in the gutter because they were a little longer and people wouldn't smoke them down too far.

As we spotted our prey, we would shout out loud and race to beat each other to the prize. Bobby always carried matches with him so he got dibs on getting the first puff. It was so great. Each of us would take a good deep inhale and then cough the crap out of our young lungs and smiling as we felt that rush of excitement and a short high.

I continued that habit, no, not getting butts out of the gutter, but smoking for most of my life. Quitting once after my first child was born and then later starting up again. Fortunately, I came to my senses about 50 some years later and finally gave up the horrible, disgusting routine.

Yep, great memories.

So as you remember back this morning when you had to make that trudge uphill both ways, in 5 feet of snow, share your story with your kids and your grandkids as they make their trudge to the family car as they celebrate International Walk to School Day.

For my gearhead enthusiasts.....the importance of putting it in the hole properly

Just so you know, a "gearhead" is a term of endearment for people interested in cars/racing etc. And "putting it in the hole properly" refers to a story I'm going to tell about spark plugs. So, any of you perverts who thought you were getting a weirdo confession by me, then no such luck. I do think you'll find the story entertaining, as well as informative.

And speaking of informative, once again, the Internet comes thru as the single source of information. Misinformation that it is. I swear there is more written about any topic that is incorrect than it is correct....anyway, let's move on.

Last week, my ever faithful steed, my workhorse that has carried me over hill and dale, my companion for over 13 years, well, she threw a shoe. She must have stumbled over something but we hobbled back to the house, with first stopping at Autozone to diagnose the ailment.

I could have gone home to get my own evaluation kit, an OBD Code Reader but I'm too cheap to buy one.

(Hmm, methinks I might be losing some of you with this story. Nonetheless, I'll continue)

Anyway, a OBD Code Reader is one of those little devices you can plug into your car too see what is wrong with it, or at least what the error codes are telling you.......ugh, now I know I am losing more readers...

Anyway, it said my #3 cylinder wasn't firing. Which meant 3 options. Either a new spark plug, a new wire or perhaps a coil pack. (For you real old timers this is what we kinda used to call a distributor). Period.

Well, two things. I haven't kept a car long enough in my last 55 years that I needed to replace the spark plugs but I have always loved working on cars.

So, I get new plugs and new wires. I do a little Youtube viewing to refresh my thoughts and I proceed.

Dang it. For some reason my 5/8 socket is missing. This is what is needed to remove the plug. I head over to a neighbors house who has all the tools in the world and borrow a socket.

Dang it. For some reason my extension is missing. Hell, it's probably attached to my 5/8 socket. So, back to my neighbors house.

The plugs come out. Yep, they are really worn. The wires come off. Yep. They are really worn. I put in   new plugs one at a time. Except when I get to #4, which is right up next to the firewall (WHY AM I WRITING THIS? I DOUBT ANYONE I KNOW HAS ANY IDEA WHAT A FIREWALL IS!!!) So as I put it in the #4 plug I get the dang thing cross-threaded. I take it out. I put it back in. I take it out. Back in. Out. In. Out. In. The final time I very, very carefully put it back in. Crap. Still cross threaded.

I guess it's time to limp down to one of the best mechanic shops in Richardson and pay the price. Well, they said it would be 3:00 pm before they could look at it. I'm thinking, "Heck, that gives me a couple of hours to keep trying to fix it". So I go back home. Take it out. Put it in. Out. In.Out In.

What's that definition about "If you keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results, that's insanity". Well, have me committed then.

I'll go ahead and end now just for the sake of the one last final true gearhead who is still reading this.

The #4 plug is still cross threaded. BUT, it's in there nice and tight. No compression loss. And should be safe. The mechanic did put in a new coil pack, which was the reason why it was still misfiring after the new plugs and wires and not the cross threaded #4. I had priced one and it was $60.00 They did it for a total of $105.00 for parts AND labor.

My steed runs like she did as a young colt. Everything is fine, except my pride.

Just like I have decided to no longer get on a ladder and climb to the top of our steep roof, I think the time has come for me to put away my sockets. I deserve to rest.

Oh, I did find my 5/8 socket and yes, it was attached to my extension. And yes, I also found my gap gauge (you gearheads know what I mean) that I haven't used in 55 years. I had used a plastic credit card which is pretty close to the gap I needed, by the way. Although, here again, the Internet said nowadays plugs come pre-gapped. Well, some do, some don't.

All in all. I guess it was a success and it gave me yet another story to tell.

VROOM!!

That's what friends do...

I hope everyone has had a chance to have a best friend in life whether from a long time ago when you were neighbor kids playing together or now in the present time when you needed someone to be there to listen to you or maybe be there if you had an illness or simply someone you could trust to share your ideas.

Fortunately, I have had that best friend from both my childhood and who has remained as such to now almost sixty years later.

 Eddie Stout didn't live far from me...actually only a few blocks away... But that short distance that separated us included one the tallest hills, Wampler Ave., in the world, .....well, our world at least... seeing that at our young age our world pretty much was just about the distance we could pedal our bicycles. Even still, the "hill" always stood in my way whenever I ventured out to Eddie's and my meeting place, Loos School.

Yes, those were the days back then. Eddie and I, even though at different schools and one school year separating us...when I say one school year it's because  Eddie was considered a child wonder back in those days and he was able to skip a school year even though we were born in the same year. I knew a lot of kids who went backwards a year and even two years, but Eddie is the only person I have ever known in my life who skipped a year.

Eddie and I honed our baseball skills together usually on a roughened dirt field behind Loos School and then later on down at Triangle Park in Dayton, Ohio. Some years together on the same team and some times as competitors. We learned about music and rock and roll with Eddie introducing me to the Beatles before anyone else in the neighborhood had any idea who they were.

As we moved into high school our friendship strengthened. We learned to trust each other, depend on each other and learned skills, traits and knowledge that would make both of us successes in our lives. Sure, we picked up a bad habit or two along the way but that added to our cache of wisdom later in life when we had to make life decisions.

And now, after all of these years gone by, Eddie and I still communicate often several times a week commenting on whatever catches our eye. Every message, every email, every comment always leaves me laughing and I hope I do the same for him.

And then today, Eddie sends me a package out of the clear blue just because, well, just because he is Eddie. A truly good soul. A truly great father, husband and especially a wonderful grandfather. And most important to me...a truly great friend.

He had seen an item on Facebook that I had posted a few years back that had some video of me as a young Skeeter boy rowing a little boat at a little lake in Michigan that we used to go to every year. Klinger Lake was outside of Sturgis and Eddie had remembered going to that same lake years later to the wedding of a nephew and he commented as such.

And now today, I receive a ball cap from Eddie that says, Klinger Lake. Maybe in some people's eyes that might not mean so much. But to me it means the world.

He thinks of me. What more can you ask of a friend other than "think of me". He was always there. He has always been there. And he still is my best friend after all of these years.

Thank you, my friend.

On turning 70

Editor's note: As my 70th birthday quickly approaches, I was surprised the other day when I got a call from the  AARF acknowledging this milestone in my life. If you're not familiar with this organization, it was recently formed to accommodate those seniors who are a little more outspoken than the members of the more traditional AARP. The AARF, American Association of Retired Farts, was inquiring if I would like to do an interview for their upcoming online edition on what it's like to turn 70. I told them I'd be happy to help and they said I could begin anytime and to just email the story when I was finished. Somewhat confused, I asked, "Who is doing the interviewing?" They replied, "You are". When I asked, "Who am I interviewing?" They replied, "Yourself". They said they are on a limited budget and they had been told that I used to interview people for a living.  I said that was true, so they thought who better to interview me, than me....so anyway, here goes.

You've come a long way, Skeeter

AARF: Mr. Kender, I want to thank you for taking the time to share your feelings and emotions about what it's like to turn 70.

Me: Well thanks for taking your time to be here. What would you like to know?

AARF: From what I have learned, you seem to be fighting this journey into the septuagenarian period of your life, what's up with that?

Me: The problem isn't so much turning 70 as it is wondering where in the heck have I been all these years. I mean, come on, I know it sounds like a cliche' but it seems like just yesterday I was in grade school doing all kinds of crazy stuff with my friends Eddie Stout and The Jer like goin' down to the Stillwater River to catch crawdads.

AARF: Of course we all have those memories, but that's part of life and growing. It's those memories and events in your life that make you who you are. Do you feel like you've made some accomplishments along the way?

Me: I've had some successes and of course some disappointments. I've had a chance to get a good education, work in various careers, heck, even work for a celebrity for a period of time. I also had the opportunity to serve my country in the U.S. Air Force.

AARF: When you say "opportunity" to serve in the military, didn't most of the people your age have to serve during the Vietnam War?

Me: Yes, there was a mandatory draft and some of us enlisted. Regardless of how we got there,  I made the most of the situation and learned as much as I could.

AARF: Back to this turning 70 thing, and by the way, you seem to get off subject a little, is that typical of you?

Me: First of all, you forget I am playing two roles here...so cut me a little slack. And yes, I do have a problem staying on point. We didn't have labels like ADD back in the day, it was more like "Tommy doesn't exercise self control" "doesn't stay on task"...Hey, I'm creative...my mind is always working....uh, what was the question?

AARF: I was just trying to get you back to the 70's thing, that's why I am here. Do you find yourself getting a little testy now that you are getting older?

Me: Dang right I do. I don't have the patience with people like I used to. I don't know if they are getting more dumb or I am getting smarter. Either way, I just get tired of seeing and hearing the hate and anger that's happening. It's caused me to get more angry. Neat thing, now I can get away with it. People will just say, "Oh he's just some old fart"...hence, the creation of the AARF. I do have to give full disclosure here. I started the organization, myself.

AARF: What do you think has changed most about you as you get ready to take that first step into your next decade of life?

Me: I find that I have to be more cautious of my surroundings. I have three little tests or checks before I leave the house. 1. Teeth in. 2. Zipper up. 3. Shoes tied. If I can get two out of three, then it's safe to leave.

AARF: What about health? A lot of people your age seem to be experiencing a decline in their health.

Me: Twenty years ago when I turned 50, see right there...that's what just really upsets me TWENTY YEARS AGO WHEN I WAS 50.....ugh, I hate this, anyway...I said to my very close friend at that time Bill Boren, "Any day I live past 50, I feel I am on borrowed time". I was living pretty hard. Drinking, smoking, eating poorly and over the past few years have quit a lot of those bad habits.  I must say, I feel better now than I have in a long time. Sadly, Bill didn't make it much further.

AARF: What about regrets, any that you can think of over the last 70 years?

Me: I have a whole list, but I have learned to move on. I do like the quote from Benjamin Franklin though, " Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."... One thing I do wish I had learned years ago and have a small regret. It was learning to dive off of the high dive at Phillip's Aquatic Club, I always had to jump.. Other than that, I'm fine

AARF: Any thoughts or goals for the next 10 years?

Me: I have a lot of writing to do. I want to get a lot of my stories down on paper. I'm real deep into electronic automation and geek stuff like that and I want to feel like I made a difference in people's lives.

AARF: Mr. Kender, I want to thank you for sharing some thoughts. I was hoping it might be somewhat funnier based on your earlier work. But, nonetheless, it was informative, boring, but informative.

Me: Well, I said I am dragging my heels and fighting this whole 70th bithday, so I'm not at my best. But I did want to do something to ease the pain as my journey as an old fart continues.

You never know what you'll find until you find it

Let me preface by saying that for the last couple of months I've really kinda been out of sorts. I've been frustrated and confused with knowing that my 70th birthday is soon approaching. To me it's just unfathomable. It just doesn't seem possible. I've had my heels dug in refusing to accept it. So, I spent some time trying to figure out how this could be happening. And guess what?.....IT'S NOT....I'm not turning 70, I'm actually turning 65!!!.

Now I am sure some of you naysayers out there are scratchin' your head-brains and thinkin' this is just another Tommyboy scheme. Just another of his ploys of stretchin' the truth...just another of his Skeeter tricks. Well, you're wrong. I'VE GOT PROOF.

And, it not only shows that I am only 64 but it explains a whole lot of other questions as well.

I decided to go through a treasure trove of old family pictures and memorabilia that my brother, Dave, and sister -in-law sent me a couple of months ago and wow, did I truly discover a real treasure.

Apparently my real birth certificate had somehow gotten stuck down inside the flap of this old cardboard box and simply by chance was I able to discover it.

I started looking it over, not paying much attention to it until I spotted the birth date. August 16, 1953...NOT...August 16, 1948. For all of these years I have been under the impression that I was older than I was and which now means I can put off my 70th until 5 more years down the road. People have told me, "You don't look like you will be 70"...Well, heck no...I'm only 64 fixin' to turn 65.

More importantly it explains how all my years growin' up I was constantly being told by the nuns at Our Lady of Mercy, "Tommy, act your age"......"Tommy, grow up" or being told by my brothers, "Tommy, quit acting like a baby"......when in fact, here I was like supposedly ten years old when  I was only five. No wonder I got check marks for " unable to get along with others" or "does not accept supervision"...heck, I was 5 years younger than my peers.

Now I realize this is hard for all of you to comprehend because it certainly was for me when I found all of this out. But it could happen right?

Obviously there will be some repercussions because of all of this. I'm probably going to have to return some of my Social Security payments. I will have to get a new drivers license and the mountain of paperwork will be huge. But now I have time to do it. Five years of time.

And to all of my friends who I have whined to about turning 70......"Tough luck, suckers" I'm a new man!

Livin' La Dolce Vita

I’ve come to the Island, South Padre Island, with the intentions of relaxing, resting, becoming inspired and simply having fun. And, I guess maybe checking one or two items off of my bucket list and I guess doing some writing.

For too long, I’ve been searching for that purpose, though down here, that might better be said, searching for that porpoise. Nonetheless, it has always been me searching, trying to find the reason for my being. Trying to find what makes me tick, trying to understand.

But all it took was for me to wake up and see a sunrise. That’s it. All of the desires and wants are secondary to being able to see God’s presence before me each morning. The first one on Sunday was more than I expected. Spectacular. Beautiful. Powerful. Inspiring.

The next one was totally different in appearance but with the same emotions. Then today, today was a little different. We were up a little earlier than the days before and as I sat out on our balcony, I began to get a little nervous wondering where my sunrise was. I’ve pretty much quit looking at a clock or watch for the past few days but I knew the time for God’s masterpiece was nigh. But where was it?

I began reflecting on the previous day and began trying to put some order into my nervousness. Albeit foolish nervousness, yet the anxiety began to build. Where is my sunrise, God? How come you are late? What’s going on?

As I have been told all of my life, my plan isn’t necessarily His plan. My timeclock isn’t necessarily His timeclock. My purpose isn’t necessarily His purpose.

And suddenly there He was in all of His glory shining on me, shining on my beach. Shining on my island. Shining on my world. I guess my faith was tested again at least in my mind. He was coming. His sun was coming…..when He was ready.

I have found and now am living La Dolce Vita. I am living “the good life”. Not because I am fortunate enough to be able to be on an island and see both His sunrises and sunsets but because I was simply reminded as long as I can see the sun and feel the sun, I am still alive and that my friend, is “the good life”.

Sure, basking in the warmth. Walking in the sand. Hearing the roar of the waves. Feeling the coolness of the water all adds to the senses. But just being thankful for being alive as I learn of more and more acquaintances moving along gives me La Dolce Vita.

Do I need the beach to enjoy it more. Sure, I’m only human and there is nothing wrong with worldly pleasures. But if I lost it all today, all I would need is that sunrise.

Peace.

"To everything....turn, turn, turn"

Beautiful song, beautiful lyrics and a beautiful meaning.

Although Pete Seeger is credited with writing the lyrics to this song, as most people know these are verses from the book of Ecclesiastes with Pete adding the title and the phrase... turn, turn, turn. The Byrds then recorded it in the early 60's and I've been singing it all my life but never really listening to it, at least listening and understanding.

And then, one of the lines that I have been singing all of this time finally meant something to me:

"And a time to every purpose, under Heaven"

Tonight I was up at midnight having a conversation with my 15 year old grandson, Caleb. He and his brother, Nathan, are spending the weekend with us while my son-in-law, Ben and daughter, Kassidy, are celebrating Ben's birthday on a much needed weekend getaway in Oklahama City. Their two other boys, "The Littles", Owen and Brendon, are with Ben's Mom and Dad.

The weekend got off to a little bit of a rocky start after we had gotten home Friday afternoon from picking them up from a halfway point from Ardmore, Oklahoma. We had pretty much said goodnight to the boys later that evening only to have to Caleb wake us up and tell us he was hungry and it was 8:30 at night. I guess we had forgotten how teenagers have a bottomless pit for a stomach and time really doesn't have much meaning. Plus the fact we are old, as in "go to bed early old". Anyway, they wanted a pizza, we wanted sleep and the compromise was crackers.

Tonight however was different. 

I got up at midnight, just to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be, lights turned off, and dog not left outside. And not surprisingly, Caleb was awake and on his tablet.

I guess he was a little surprised I was awake and we exchanged some pleasantries and I let him get back to doing his thing, and me simply doing a walk-through.

And then I decided to talk. Better still, I decided to listen. 

It dawned on me, when was the last time I had kept quiet and listened to what other people had to say? When was the last time I allowed someone else to share their ideas and dreams without interruptions? When was the last time I listened to a teenager and was willing to think that they have dreams as well and something intelligent to add?

I kind of broke the ice a little as I shared some of the stupid things I did when I was his age. I caught myself holding back talking about the real stupid stuff like sneaking my Dad's car out of the garage in the middle of the night with my friend, Bobby R., but I did tell him about my smoking and the regrets for those actions.

And then it was his turn.

He told me of his wanting to be able to build a high-powered, extremely fast computer. He told me of how sometime later in life he wanted to start a business of having people who would work for him making company logos and he would sell the logos to different businesses. He told me how he might consider the military. He had a lot of ideas and I encouraged him and told him they were all doable.

We touched on his frustrations with his current laptop not working up to the capacity that he needed to do some of his gaming. Some of that frustration showed earlier in the day when he started yelling at the laptop and I told him to close it and not open it again while he was here. He apologized and I forgave him and moved on.

I opened the door a little wider and mentioned how anger and frustration is what is splitting this country in half. I wasn't surprised at all either when this 15 year old told me he was so tired of hearing the anger from people only because they have different views on politics. Hearing the anger makes him angry.

This was a wakeup call to me. And once again I heard the song in my head and the wonderful lyrics.

"A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together"

As I have written so many times before and asked the same question, "Why am I on this earth? Why am I here while my friends move on to another place?  Once again, the answer was right in front of me. I'm simply here to help a young boy, a young man, find his dreams and listen to what he has to say.

There's no place like home...

One of the neat things about time travel is the ability to not only go back in time, but to be able to go forward in time.

 I've been time travelling for all of my adult life and even some periods of my adolescence. Back then though it was called "day-dreaming" or "inability to focus" and then later a medical tag was placed on one's inner focus and us "imaginers" as I like to call it, were labeled as ADD or some other nonsense.

Even still, with all of the fun and excitement of taking your mind to wherever you wanted to go, there was always comfort in getting back home. I like to compare it or relate it to when you are returning from a long vacation and the warm feeling you get as you finally get to your street and you can see your house still standing right where you left it.

Or like the first joint you ever smoked, or so I am told, and you are really seeing things as never before but there is that anxiety of thinking "I wanna get home, I wanna get home".

For the last couple of months I've been on a journey into the future. It has been truly eye-opening and just like that long vacation, it felt so good to get back home.

This  last trip took me forward to the year 2017 and the first couple months of 2018. I could see myself vividly in the mirror. I didn't look too bad, but I had definitely aged. My hair was grey. My skin sagged. My posture had curved slightly and ugh....I was having trouble hearing and I could not believe I would soon be 70 years old. Thank goodness this was simply my mind's trip in the future. There was no way I was that old.

I still felt reasonably well though and despite the fact I didn't sleep like I used to, I still woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take on another day.

One of the sad parts of this recent time traveling journey was seeing the passing of friends, some of whom I had known all of my life.

I made notes during this trip and fortunately they were still in my mind when I woke up. I had written that I was going to take better care of myself both physically and mentally. And, I was going to try and enjoy each day as if it was my last.

It felt good to be back home. It felt good to know I was only in my late 30s and had a whole lifetime ahead of me. It felt good that I would be able to see and talk to those who would leave my life much too early. And then, oops it dawned on me.

I had accidentally set my timer on my mental time machine back way too far. My programming had gotten fouled up from me not paying attention. And, the trip to the future that I thought I had been on was in fact a trip to the present.

I guess I'll need a slight tune-up on my "head-brain traveling machine" before I go off on another journey. And whether I go to the past or go to the future, I'll always be happy to get back home, despite the fact that my body has aged even though my mind is as young as ever.

For me, it all started with Ovaltine....

What makes us who we are today? What patterns did we learn early on to set our wheels in motion? What stimulus did we receive that is the basis for our being?....Pretty heavy thoughts, huh?......Nah, at least not for me, because my habits, my methods, my personal rules all began with Ovaltine.

If you have never had the pleasure of experiencing this concoction of barley malt, milk serum (whatever the heck that it is) rapeseed oil (yikes) and other ingredients, well my friends, you need to try it.....NOT!...and yes, they are still making it after over 100 years.

My first encounter with Ovaltine all started not because of it being a breakfast drink or a breakfast substitute, my initial contact was because of some persuasive, controlled advertising by the hawksters who decided back in the 50s to find a way to sell more product by offering something a heck of a lot better than that yucky drink. They offered a prize. One that every little boy and little girl desired.
The Captain Midnight Decoder Ring.

The way the scam went, was you simply sent in a label from the product and probably a dime or a quarter and a self-addressed stamped envelope and you got his incredible spy decoder ring that you would use to decipher messages broadcast at the close of the Captain Midnight Show on early television in the 50s. Prior to the TV show, there was a radio show of the same name as well as a radio show called, Little Orphan Annie, that also sent out messages.

Well, I begged and begged for Mom to buy a jar of Ovaltine. I wanted it so bad I found myself making bargains with her, cutting deals, doing extra chores just so I could have a chance for that decoder ring. We finally came to an arrangement...If I drank, or if I could coerce my brothers to help drink, the whole jar of Ovaltine, then she would send away for the prize.

This was my first lesson in learning that sometimes you have to make sacrifices, sometimes you have to struggle, sometimes you have to do a lot of hard work to get something that you really wanted. Even though in the end,  if it wasn't everything you expected, at least you learned to fight the battles to win the war.

As I grew older and the cereal companies grew wiser, they began to put prizes in cereal boxes as well. I can remember this cool scuba diver that was in a box of Cheerios, wrapped in plastic and placed down in the bottom of the box. You added a little baking soda to the diver and placed him in a tub of water and he would float along the bottom occasionally letting out a bubble....After you ate enough Cheerios you would begin to see part of the toy and start asking for seconds just to receive the reward for your efforts.

After that came Cracker Jacks....oh yeah....and they are still making that product and of course it has the secret ingredient to sell more product.....the toy inside. At least Cracker Jacks had a lot better flavor than the dreaded Ovaltine.

All in all, at least for me, they were all good lessons, although sometimes the reasoning was flawed.

I worked hard to get to the end result. The toy, the gift was dangled in front of me by the Madmen of Madison Avenue and they knew I wanted it. Their goal was to sell product. My goal was to win the prize. And I guess, somewhere along the way we both got what we wanted.

Later in life I learned that the end goal isn't so important as the effort that one puts into it. If we are rewarded a prize with little effort, then we have learned nothing. If we are rewarded a prize for just showing up, we have cheated ourselves of one of the most important things in life. The prize of learning.

By the way, after I got my Captain Midnight Decoder Ring, I couldn't wait for the next episode to air and send the message out after the show. I watched patiently as the codes went across the screen and I copied them down.

The message was...."Drink more Ovaltine"........that too was a lesson I learned and can remember some 60 years later.....

So many topics...so little time

Gosh, where do I begin. My head-brain is just racing with so many subjects it's hard to prioritize. I mean, I like my manic state and once I get it under control, well then I can produce a lot of inspirational thoughts, at least to me that is, until that ugly cloud of insecurity blows in over my being and I end up deleting half the stuff I put up.

First thing on my mind has to do with purple chickens, green ducks and pink rabbits. No, I haven't fallen off the wagon, it's just that it's gettin' near Easter time and well, you know how we have forgotten about the meaning of Easter for the most part and we focus on the secondary reasons such as candy, chocolate bunnies getting their heads bitten off and the poor little barnyard animals that some people think is a good thing to spray paint some iridescent color and offer them for sale.

OK, I confess, I got a purple chicken one Easter. Of course I didn't get my Mom or Dad to buy it for me because they had better sense than that. I bought it myself. It was pretty neat for awhile and I kept it out in the garage until it started to shed the purple feathers and started to bulk up. Dad thought it might be time to "take it to the farm" so it would have a good life out in the country. Yeah, right. I saw that chicken a couple of weeks later at my Grandma's house out in the back yard and it had grown huge. Next time I went to visit it had disappeared I'm sure into a plate of fried chicken.

The next thing on my mind is the recent passing of Stephen Hawking. Though controversial with his interpretation of how the universe began there is no denying that someone like Stephen only comes around once every so many hundred years. I really look forward to hearing from him soon and I'm sure he will be contacting me/us. The irony of Stephen's life is that he didn't need a physical body to produce the incredible theories and mind-blowing suggestions that he offered. He did it while his mind was trapped in a twisted horrible shell of flesh and bone. But that was ok, we didn't judge him on his appearance, we saw in fact an incredible human being. It's a shame we can't do that more often with the people we see and meet.

Thirdly, this morning Pattye and I were talking and I asked her a question while I was having a brain "fart". I said, "What was it that the Tin Man wanted in the Wizard of Oz?". She looked at me a little surprised by the question and answered correctly. "He wanted a Heart." And then I followed up with, "Oh yeah, and the Scarecrow wanted a Brain and the Lion wanted Courage". She then said to me, "What did Dorothy want?" I answered so quickly, I was almost like a school kid raising their hand shouting "I know, I know".

And then I blurted out "Shoes". Well, she kinda laughed, then I kinda laughed and then I thought, "Man am I a dumbass or what".

And then finally, after thinking about Stephen Hawking some more I began to wonder as I often do about why God allows mistakes to happen. Of course, Stephen wasn't a mistake, it's just that his body turned out to be a crappy one. But he had a beautiful mind. It's kinda how God makes artichoke hearts. Those outside leaves are horrible and you have to pull them through your teeth in order to get just a taste of the delicious flesh until you finally get down to the heart.

I still question His design on avacadoes, but once again, despite the large seed, the flesh is so wonderful. I just wish there was more meat and less seed.

There are so many of God's creations that I'm still trying to figure out. I keep working on it though. It's just those dang purple chickens that I keep seeing that gets me sidetracked.

Oh, and in the coming weeks, lets try to remember the real reason we celebrate the upcoming holidays of Easter and Passover it will do all of us some good.

Rites of Spring, "When a young man's fancy lightly turns to .....

One of my favorite poets...yes, I like poetry, probably even love poetry even though it took me 50 years to learn to appreciate it...anyway, one of my favorites is Alfred Lord Tennyson. And, one of my favorite poems by said author is Locksley Hall. And, one of my favorite lines from that poem is "In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." But until you've discovered love, the only thing that Spring reminds a young person of is either Baseball or Spring Break.

Since I've written about Baseball in the Spring, I guess that only leaves me to write about that time-honored tradition of college enrolled students or an occasional high school student or anyone for that matter who wants to participate in the Rites of Spring, i.e.  Spring Break . Spring Break is the passage of youth into...yep, that wild child syndrome, that kids gone crazy lifestyle that we hoped our parents would never find out about.

When the cult movie, "Where the Boys Are"  surfaced in 1960, I was just 12 years old and couldn't even imagine what an experience of heading off to the beach for a week of drinking, kissing, smoking and more kissing would be all about. Heck, I was still enjoying playing sandlot baseball and picking through neighbor's trash that was set out each Saturday morning. All that kissing and stuff was left for the older kids, for my older brothers and their friends. Well, that was until I saw the movie.

I guess it was hormonal and at age twelve, I guess I was curious as the "professionals" say. I loved that movie. I mean, come on, Yvette Mimieux. Who couldn't get "excited" over her. And on top of that her name sounded just like Corvette. I wasn't even in high school yet and already I was making my plans to go to Florida in the Spring while there was still snow on the ground in Dayton, Ohio. Pack the car full of my friends, get some of that near-beer, as we called it, and meet some girls and kiss them. Yep, that's about all I could imagine.

Fast forward to 1969 and I find myself at the University of Oklahoma and it's Spring Break. I hadn't done any of the crazy things that so many of my peers did the prior three years. Almost all of them headed off to South Padre Island, Texas or Mexico. I'm not sure what I did the earlier years. I know for sure it wasn't studying.

So here we were. School was out for a week. We had no money. But.....I had a Volkswagon bus. A truly hippe-mobile, though I was far from being a hippie. Sure we'd do a little doobie every now and then but nope, we were alcoholics, none of the stuff that altered your mind, we just did booze. So, we decide to head for Mexico.

I'm not naming names, but there were 4 of us. We had $10.00 each and one of us had a gasoline credit card. Hell, we didn't even have a spare tire for the bus.

We drove straight down I-35 from Oklahoma City to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, almost 700 miles ....stopping only to relieve ourselves every now and then and buy more beer if needed.

We arrived some time around 6:00 in the evening and as soon as we crossed the border, we started asking everyone we saw, "donde esta la ciudad del muchacho"....it was our rugged translation of "Where is Boys Town". Now that's not to be confused with the movie "Where the Boys Are". For those of you who aren't from around here...that stood for "Boys Town" as in..."Where are the hookers".

OK, so let's pause for a second. None of us were actually going to do any of that stuff. Sure we were stupid but we weren't dumb. We just wanted to go there. You know, just kinda look around. Unfortunately one of our group succumbed to "pleasures of the flesh" and he spent his entire $10.00 on a hooker. He did say it was money well spent, but he was already broke for the week.

The second member of our group decided to buy a taco from a vendor on the street. He gave the guy a dollar and the guy gave him a taco and some change. About an hour later, he realized he had given him his $10 bill by mistake, so now we were down to 1/2 of our loot and we had only been in Mexico for less than 12 hours.

We spent the next few days travelling along the border towns in Mexico and driving across the border to Texas at night to sleep in the bus. We headed over to Matamoros, Mexico got lost looking for South Padre and later ended up a few hundred miles north arriving in the middle of the night at Port Aransas and woke up with the bus submerged in the sand when the tide came in. Fortunately we had about 20 other college friends to pull us out.

We made it. We celebrated Spring Break and we lived to tell about it. Yep, it's a Rite of Passage by golly.

So, to all of you young-uns out there getting ready to make the big escape in the next few weeks. Here are two words of advice. Have fun. It's what life is all about and you'll have a story or two to share 50 years later.

"Changes to my Bucket List"........

A couple of years ago I wrote about my bucket list and my desires or dreams to have a chance to do a number of things before I departed this planet. Well, like everything else in this world, plans change. Goals change. People change. And of course, Life changes. But that's okay. That's how we grow. That's how we experience new things.

 And now I am adding something new to my bucket list. Something I had never thought about before until watching a series on Netflix. And when I Googled some information about the subject matter, I was floored.


First though, I am asking everyone, please don't let me become sedentary and sit and do the same thing day in and day out. Don't let me become something no more than a blob of flesh taking oxygen in and blowing carbon dioxide out. If I don't do things myself, then somebody shove me outside and lock the door until I move around. There are so many things I want to do and though I feel like I am doing them now, but a few things are really, really important. Yep, they are on my bucket list.


So, I've decided to review my bucket list from a few years ago and see what I have accomplished and add the new item. Right at the top.


Aw crap. Now as I look at it, I haven't crossed anything off of it yet. Well, that's okay. Tomorrow is a new day and maybe I can get started soon.


And now I add the newest dream.


I want to see wild horses run!....Yep, that simple.

Did you know there are 33,000 wild horses in the United States? The facts and yes, the myths, are a great read. The horse evolved in the Americas, but became extinct between 8,000 and 12,000 years ago. When the Spanish arrived on the American mainland in the 16th century, they brought horses with them and re-established the animals on the continent.


There are hundreds of different places around this wonderful country of ours to watch these marvelous creatures run free and I hope to have a chance to see them some day.


I'm gonna get started on that bucket list first chance I get. But I guess I have a few Sunday morning chores I have to do first.


Oh, and yep, I need to update my list also.

I really do want to see the horses run though.

A time when people took on responsibility...

There was a time in this great country of ours that if something needed to get done, if someone needed help, if some kids needed a place to simply play baseball, well then it got done.

There wasn't any contacting your council person and whining that, "We need another park". There was no petitioning the State asking for funds to build some pavilion for people to gather. There were no protests with people carrying signs wanting more government-paid for, more government- sponsored programs. The people of that time, that generation,  just simply got things done.

I was reminded of all of this when I received a true treasure trove this past week. One that brought back so many memories of  my youth in Dayton, Ohio, of my parents, of my brothers, of many relatives that I barely new and of a time when people took on responsibility.

My brother and sister-in-law sent a box of memories that they have had in their possession ever since my Mom and Dad's passings years ago.  Dave and Kutchie asked among family members who might want to be the new curator of the Kender treasure chest, I jumped at the opportunity.

And when I began to slowly remove each item, it dawned on me  how we have lost the presence of mind of taking on responsibility for ourselves and our community.

One of the first things I saw in this vault of remembrances was a picture of Dad and some other men as they constructed a backstop for a baseball diamond in a field that Dad had purchased off of Wolf Creek Pike. There was a need in that part of town for a place where kids could simply play a game they loved. A place where they could actually have bases, and a pitcher's mound, and benches and a home plate. And Dad decided to do something about it. He took on the responsibility of getting it done.

The Dayton Daily News published a picture of them working with Dad standing on a stepladder and the other men hoisting the chain link fence that would provide the barrier for any overthrown balls missed by the catcher. And then I saw more clippings of Dad from the same newspaper, and an interview telling his story of his growing up in a isolated Hungarian community in Dayton where the people worked together to make things better for all. I can remember him providing jobs for immigrants from Hungary who came to this country legally during the Hungary Revolution in 1956, and gave them the opportunity to learn a trade at his small machine shop, B. O. K. Mfg. near West 3rd Street and Broadway. I saw pictures of him gathering his All Star team as they got ready to play the season ending finale. You can't imagine the pride I had.

And then I realized. I have written numerous stories about my Dad  but I was always writing about missing Dad and how I felt as I now approach an age when he left this earth. But I don't think I ever said the two simple magical words, Thank You.

I didn't say Thank you for your contributions to the city where you grew up and where I grew up. I didn't say Thank You for the time, money and effort that you devoted to bringing the American pastime of baseball to so many kids. Thank you for organizing  a group of volunteers to bush hog a forgotten piece of land and build backstops, and benches and preparing an overgrown field that became a truly a Field of Dreams.

I never took the time to say Thank You, Dad. Thank you for being there. Thank You for setting a example that if I could be merely a shadow of what you contributed to a community, I would be a blessed man.

I guess I just saw you as Dad. A lot of the things you did either I didn't know about or maybe you simply kept to yourself.

You were a good man.

Death and Tragedy....the two worst wake-up calls one can face

Sadly, today I share my heart with the passing of our fallen police officer in Richardson, Tx. this past week with the families and citizens of Westerville, Ohio,  who not only lost one, but two officers in the line of duty.

Tragedy in itself is enough to destroy a person's faith, but when accompanied with Death, the double blow may often result in a complete knockout of one's beliefs. The complete destruction of one's psyche as he or she tries to understand the whole purpose of this universe.

We live in a world of hate today, from both sides and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you who continue to wave the red flags in each other's faces simply because of the political party they choose to belong to. I'm sick of the baiting of each other with bullshit stories in order to try and win your arguments.

I'm sick of the news people, the news editors, the news networks who will do anything, say anything to boost their ratings. As a matter of fact, for years I was a news junkie. I couldn't get enough of it. Now, I simply turn it off. I listen to music in the morning , during the day and evening. And no, I'm not burying my head in the sand, I'm simply turning off the lies, the deceit, the hate and the anger.

If you want to do something then contribute to your own well being. Contribute, not necessarily money, but of your time to bettering this world. Re-posting memes is not contributing. Can't you create your own thoughts? Meditate. Reflect. Exercise. Do something. Learn. Read. Write. Photography. Painting. Sing. Learn to play an instrument. Anything positive.

Ask anyone who is suffering from a terminal illness what they treasure most and it often will be "time".

People, your time is running out. Make the most of what you have left.

I have invested more time and energy in my latter years to right many of the wrongs I caused  in my younger life of destructive behavior and causing turmoil. I guess sometimes it takes certain people longer to grow up. So I'm asking you to take a reality check. Get your physical body in order. Get your mental body in order. Do the things that make a positive effect in this world, not the hate mongering. If you disagree with a person's point of view, then sit down with them and ask them to explain where they are coming from. Just don't call them fascists or bleeding hearts.

These tragedies are a wake up call. So please, wake the hell up and do something good.

And, as always, Peace, my brothers and sisters.

We are what we eat AND what we read....

There is an axiom, We are what we eat..." Well, I'm taking it one step further. "We are what we read"

I've always had a voracious appetite for learning. Now, that's not to be confused with having a hunger for going to school, although of course that's where we are supposed to learn. I've always wanted more and more when it has come to learning and a good portion of my education has come from books. Once again, not to be confused with school books but with novels, biographies, historical novels and of course magazines.

I know, I know..that some of you who have known me most of my life will jump at the conclusion, "I knew Tommy read those girly magazines" Well, that's partly true, but honestly I read them for the articles....I know, I know...but I really did.

Some of my favorite magazines growing up were Popular Mechanics, Popular Science and Popular Electronics. Sure I read comic books and Mad Magazine as well, but I really loved the Do It Yourself (DIY) magazines that put your mind into action as you began to create and build that hover car or time machine.

Fast forward 60 years later, and for the most part all of my reading is still pretty much the same categories, novels etc., but of course now you have to add the Internet. Despite the horrendous amount of misinformation, there is just a magnitude of good information. Things and facts and just plain stuff that we would have never been able to learn about years ago by going upstairs and looking at the expansive collection of Collier's Encyclopedias we had in our home. And going to the library to search out a simple fact often turned into an all day affair.

As most of us know, nowadays all of our online searches are recorded. Yep, oh sure you can delete your searching history from your laptop or tablet or phone, but the requests you made of Google are stored on their servers. Even the requests that I make of my wonderful yet frustrating new best friend and nemesis, Alexa, all of those requests plus the cussing and yelling at her are all stored. I don't care tho, people think I'm nuts anyway, so what's a few more pieces of facts do anyway, lock me away for even longer?

I did look at the last couple of months of searches I have had on Google specifically being "bookmarks" that I can return to. I'll let you all decide if I am normal or what. Maybe a little nerdy, I guess, but I must say the ability to seek out so much information is incredible.

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I think I'm getting tired-head.

Later