Life is going on, as it must. The worst of the sadness over our cat's death is behind us, and life is starting to get closer to normal at home. Not that you ever forget a little friend like that, but now we are remembering the wonderful memories she left behind.
When we talk about Frisky now, it is more with fondness than sadness. Not that we don't miss her, because we sure do. But we move on, and soon we will have to make a major decision: whether to get another cat, even though we still have Maggie, who has been with us for 15 years. That's going to need some serious thought.
(I promised some photos of Frisky, but this post got too long. Next time.)
Today has been a monumentally wintry day. We got about three or four inches of snow last night, which isn't much, but it was part of a weather system that brought 50 mph winds to the region and temperatures diving below zero. This morning, it was -16F (-27C) this morning when we got up, and the wind was howling. The wind chill was rated at -42F (-41C). Snow had drifted about a foot or so in the front walk, so I shoveled that this morning before walking to work.
It's just a block or so, but I was walking right into that -42F wind chill. The wind was blowing really hard at that time, and some big trucks were driving past, too. It was a chilling experience. On top of that, the wind had blown up a three-foot-tall drift in front of the office door, and I had to barge through that.
On Thursday, I'm taking my wife to the hospital in Iron Mountain for a medical test. More on that later. At the same time, my friend S is having gallbladder surgery down in Oshkosh. That surgery is much easier for the patient than it was 30 years ago when I had it--I have a big scar on the side of my belly as its legacy. Today, they do it with a laparoscope, with just a little hole.
We (all of us) are assuming S will be feeling well enough next week for visitors, because we are driving down to visit her and her husband. We last visited last August and went to a number of places. Since it's mid-winter, this visit won't be anywhere near as ambitious. The main events are going out to dinner together and then watching a few movies. We drive down next Tuesday and drive back Wednesday. And we won't stay at that ultra-lame Super 8 again.
When we visited last summer, S gave my wife a necklace she had made as a present. While thinking about it last fall, I suddenly realized what my wife could make as a gift for her and her husband: My wife makes big terrycloth bath towels. Big, thirsty ones, about the size of beach towels. S and her husband could use them at home after baths or showers, when using their hot tub and at the nude beach they visit in summer. I think they would get a lot of use.
One can be purple (which seems to be S's favorite color) and the other can be gold--with a Green Bay Packer fabric for binding at the top and bottom. Her husband is a devoted Packers fan. They sell a variety of fabrics with Packer colors and logos on it, and it's quite popular among the faithful.
So I talked the idea over with my wife, and she agreed it would be a good idea. But the stores up here don't sell the colors of terrycloth we need, so we decided to drive down to a fabric shop in Rhinelander to get it.
Then life intervened--a long football playoff season and a trip to Detroit for the state finals. Basketball starting right away. My father-in-law's death. One thing after another. With time running out before out visit, we decided last Saturday we'll make the trip by hook or by crook. Then our kitty died. We were heartbroken, but we agreed we had to go ahead with the shopping trip.
So can you imagine how we felt once we finally got to the shopping center with fabric store ... and discovered that the Hancock Fabrics store had closed! Nothing inside. And there are no other fabric stores in the area that have what we need. Grrrr!
My wife didn't seem surprised, though. Fabric shops are closing all over, she said. People simply don't make clothes any more. It's cheaper to buy stuff imported from the other side of the world. It's not hard to find quilt fabric shops--a lot of people around here quilt. But fabrics and patterns for clothing--that's another matter.
So during next week's trip, we plan to stop at some hobby/fabric stores in the Green Bay/Fox Cities area to get what we need. Then she can make the towels so we can present them during our next visit, whenever that is.
But that's a secret. Mum's the word. OK?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Heaven gets a good kitty
Last time I wrote, it was about a fun time we had last weekend.
This weekend is a very sad one at our house. The Angel of Death came to our house Saturday morning ... and when she left, she carried our kitty's soul with her.
Her name was Frisky. And this isn't going to be easy to write. It's hard to see the keyboard with your eyes tearing up. My emotions ... I'm just very sad. But I knew it had to happen. We got Frisky in February 1992. Sixteen years ago.
She replaced our first cat, named Princess, whom we had gotten in early 1976. She had lived with us for 16 years, but suddenly she was an old cat. She lost a lot of weight--just skin and bones. The vet tried to rehydrate her, but it didn't do much good. We told her to put Princess to sleep. And I cried so hard. We both did. Our eyes were red and raw. She was, after all, our first child. Even if she was a kitty, she was ours, and we loved her very much.
It was midwinter, there was snow all around, and there was no way we could dig a hole to bury her skinny little body. In the end, we placed her into one of those heavy old cardboard beer bottle creates (Pabst Blue Ribbon longnecks), took her into the woods and placed her on a favorite blanket under a tree, where she could hear the birds singing and feel the sun shine down on her in spring. And that's where we left Princess go for all eternity.
It was a very sad house for a month. But then we decided it was time to get a new cat. We went to the animal shelter near Iron Mountain with the kids (they were both in school then) and looked the cats over. We found this young, tawny, ticked cat with a soft meow. A slim angular head like an Abyssinian. David came up with the name. He called her Frisky because she was jumping all over the place. Very active. It seemed like a good name.
About six months later, we got a second cat. A long-haired calico kitten. Just a little thing. For a while we couldn't come up with a name. She had this odd habit--she liked to suck my oldest son's shirt. One day I was home, sick with the flu, when the lightbulb came on. "We ought to name her Maggie," after the Simpsons' baby who is forever sucking on her pacifier.
Since then, Frisky and Maggie have been members of our household. My oldest graduated, went to college and then took a job near Detroit. My youngest graduated, stayed at home for a few years and then moved into his own apartment. Frisky and Maggie stayed with us and time passed. Over 15 years.
Late last fall, I observed that Frisky (who was never a fat cat) was getting thinner. Lighter. She didn't eat that much. Sometimes she hardly ate at all. I pointed it out to my wife. Was it time to start saying goodbye? Was it time to start bracing ourselves emotionally for that inevitable day?
Around Christmas, I noticed that her fur wasn't as silky smooth as it had been all these years, and that there were places where she didn't want us to brush her. I started saying, "Our poor kitty!" when I saw her. Then her mouth started looking deformed on one side. We talked about it again. But Frisky didn't seem to be in any pain. She was jumping up onto chairs and up to the kitchen table. She wanted water, and we had to change it several times a day for her.
And she suddenly had her appetite back. She had lost some teeth, and regular cat food was too hard for her to eat. But she liked chicken. For the last couple weeks, my wife would cut up chicken breasts into little tiny chunks for her to eat off a saucer. And she was suddenly interested in milk--for the very first time. Whenever I got out milk for our supper (one of my duties), Frisky was there, demanding some. And if I wasn't fast enough, she would jump up on the chair and then the table and start lapping it up from one of the glasses that had just been poured. That happened just Thursday night, I think. She was curious about our food. "You don't want this," my wife would say. "Kitties don't eat chili."
I was having lunch Friday when I saw her sitting by her water bowl. But she was just sitting there. Like she had fallen asleep. She was there for a long time. Friday evening, she was curled up in one of the armchairs--with Maggie next to her, also curled up. My wife had put Frisky there. But she climbed upstairs on her own Friday night. When I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she was there on the floor, lying down. I bent down to pet her head, and she looked up a little.
But she clearly was losing strength, and I could tell the end was coming. I got up Saturday morning and went to the computer (as I usually do when I get up) to check the mail, the news and the blogs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frisky slowly walking to a piece of carpet located just outside the bathroom, where both the cats like to sleep at night--so they can keep tabs on us. A little later, I went over and petted her for a minute or two. She was just lying there. I went into the bathroom to shave, and when I turned on the razor, I saw her raise her head for a moment to look at me. Then she lay down again. I petted her and went to work.
That morning my wife took a shower. When she came out, she sat on the floor next to Frisky and petted her for a minute or so. She told me later that Frisky's breathing was very shallow. About 11:30 or so, I came back--we were going on a shopping trip to Rhinelander. My wife was upstairs getting ready, and I went to check on Frisky. She was lying on the same piece of carpet, very still. I put my hand on her--and discovered that the kitty spirit that lived inside for 16 years was gone. I was on all fours on the floor, petting her with my left hand, and started to cry. "I'm sorry, kittycat," I told her. "I'm sorry."
My wife went into the basement and came back with the same cardboard beer crate that once carried Princess. We put some old carpet at the bottom and I picked up Frisky's body, hugged it to my chest, sobbed for a while, petted her fur, kissed her and then put her inside.
A little later, we found a place in the pines along a road. Somewhere where the birds will be singing again in a few months and the sun will keep her spirit warm. We waded through a foot and a half of snow to a site that we thought would be nice. I put down the beer crate, picked up the blanket and that little thin cat body, hugged and petted her one last time and then placed her at the base of a small tree. We stood there for a minute or so, holding hands, trying not to cry. And then we turned around, grabbed the beer crate and trudged back through the snow to the car.
****
I've taken many pictures of Frisky over the years. And I have many memories. In a few days, I will share some of them.
This weekend is a very sad one at our house. The Angel of Death came to our house Saturday morning ... and when she left, she carried our kitty's soul with her.
Her name was Frisky. And this isn't going to be easy to write. It's hard to see the keyboard with your eyes tearing up. My emotions ... I'm just very sad. But I knew it had to happen. We got Frisky in February 1992. Sixteen years ago.
She replaced our first cat, named Princess, whom we had gotten in early 1976. She had lived with us for 16 years, but suddenly she was an old cat. She lost a lot of weight--just skin and bones. The vet tried to rehydrate her, but it didn't do much good. We told her to put Princess to sleep. And I cried so hard. We both did. Our eyes were red and raw. She was, after all, our first child. Even if she was a kitty, she was ours, and we loved her very much.
It was midwinter, there was snow all around, and there was no way we could dig a hole to bury her skinny little body. In the end, we placed her into one of those heavy old cardboard beer bottle creates (Pabst Blue Ribbon longnecks), took her into the woods and placed her on a favorite blanket under a tree, where she could hear the birds singing and feel the sun shine down on her in spring. And that's where we left Princess go for all eternity.
It was a very sad house for a month. But then we decided it was time to get a new cat. We went to the animal shelter near Iron Mountain with the kids (they were both in school then) and looked the cats over. We found this young, tawny, ticked cat with a soft meow. A slim angular head like an Abyssinian. David came up with the name. He called her Frisky because she was jumping all over the place. Very active. It seemed like a good name.
About six months later, we got a second cat. A long-haired calico kitten. Just a little thing. For a while we couldn't come up with a name. She had this odd habit--she liked to suck my oldest son's shirt. One day I was home, sick with the flu, when the lightbulb came on. "We ought to name her Maggie," after the Simpsons' baby who is forever sucking on her pacifier.
Since then, Frisky and Maggie have been members of our household. My oldest graduated, went to college and then took a job near Detroit. My youngest graduated, stayed at home for a few years and then moved into his own apartment. Frisky and Maggie stayed with us and time passed. Over 15 years.
Late last fall, I observed that Frisky (who was never a fat cat) was getting thinner. Lighter. She didn't eat that much. Sometimes she hardly ate at all. I pointed it out to my wife. Was it time to start saying goodbye? Was it time to start bracing ourselves emotionally for that inevitable day?
Around Christmas, I noticed that her fur wasn't as silky smooth as it had been all these years, and that there were places where she didn't want us to brush her. I started saying, "Our poor kitty!" when I saw her. Then her mouth started looking deformed on one side. We talked about it again. But Frisky didn't seem to be in any pain. She was jumping up onto chairs and up to the kitchen table. She wanted water, and we had to change it several times a day for her.
And she suddenly had her appetite back. She had lost some teeth, and regular cat food was too hard for her to eat. But she liked chicken. For the last couple weeks, my wife would cut up chicken breasts into little tiny chunks for her to eat off a saucer. And she was suddenly interested in milk--for the very first time. Whenever I got out milk for our supper (one of my duties), Frisky was there, demanding some. And if I wasn't fast enough, she would jump up on the chair and then the table and start lapping it up from one of the glasses that had just been poured. That happened just Thursday night, I think. She was curious about our food. "You don't want this," my wife would say. "Kitties don't eat chili."
I was having lunch Friday when I saw her sitting by her water bowl. But she was just sitting there. Like she had fallen asleep. She was there for a long time. Friday evening, she was curled up in one of the armchairs--with Maggie next to her, also curled up. My wife had put Frisky there. But she climbed upstairs on her own Friday night. When I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she was there on the floor, lying down. I bent down to pet her head, and she looked up a little.
But she clearly was losing strength, and I could tell the end was coming. I got up Saturday morning and went to the computer (as I usually do when I get up) to check the mail, the news and the blogs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frisky slowly walking to a piece of carpet located just outside the bathroom, where both the cats like to sleep at night--so they can keep tabs on us. A little later, I went over and petted her for a minute or two. She was just lying there. I went into the bathroom to shave, and when I turned on the razor, I saw her raise her head for a moment to look at me. Then she lay down again. I petted her and went to work.
That morning my wife took a shower. When she came out, she sat on the floor next to Frisky and petted her for a minute or so. She told me later that Frisky's breathing was very shallow. About 11:30 or so, I came back--we were going on a shopping trip to Rhinelander. My wife was upstairs getting ready, and I went to check on Frisky. She was lying on the same piece of carpet, very still. I put my hand on her--and discovered that the kitty spirit that lived inside for 16 years was gone. I was on all fours on the floor, petting her with my left hand, and started to cry. "I'm sorry, kittycat," I told her. "I'm sorry."
My wife went into the basement and came back with the same cardboard beer crate that once carried Princess. We put some old carpet at the bottom and I picked up Frisky's body, hugged it to my chest, sobbed for a while, petted her fur, kissed her and then put her inside.
A little later, we found a place in the pines along a road. Somewhere where the birds will be singing again in a few months and the sun will keep her spirit warm. We waded through a foot and a half of snow to a site that we thought would be nice. I put down the beer crate, picked up the blanket and that little thin cat body, hugged and petted her one last time and then placed her at the base of a small tree. We stood there for a minute or so, holding hands, trying not to cry. And then we turned around, grabbed the beer crate and trudged back through the snow to the car.
****
I've taken many pictures of Frisky over the years. And I have many memories. In a few days, I will share some of them.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Down hills of scrunchy snow
Really cold weather and January go hand in hand where I live.
Last winter, they weren't dating--it was mild. This winter, the heat has been turned down in the relationship. Not that it's been terribly cold--but "terribly cold" to me is when the low falls to about -30F (-34C). It hasn't been that bad, but lately we've had high temperatures below zero and some lows down to -20F (-29C).
When it gets really cold like that, the snow sort of talks to you when you walk on it. It says "Scrunch!" I've never walked on fields of Styrofoam, but if I ever did, I imagine it would sound a lot like that--scrunch, scrunch, scrunch as you amble along.
The subzero weather also frosts many of the windows. Like the door to our office. Here is what it looked like last Saturday morning ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfeset08-Icydoor-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And here is the frosty lock. It still worked, by the way, but it was cold to turn ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Icylock-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Regardless of the weather, one of our local communities held its mid-winter celebration last Saturday, with a number of events, both indoors and out. I didn't get the chili cookoff assignment, but the Cardboard Classic was deemed right up my alley.
The Cardboard Classic is a sled race that uses cardboard boxes (which are later burned in a big bonfire). On this day, the temperature never even made it to zero F, but the sun was out, the wind was minimal, the kids were out and so was I. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch.
So were the groomers for the snowmobile trails around town ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfeset08-Groomers-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
The first step for Cardboard Classic participants is walking to the top of the ski hill. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch. Here are some of them ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-uphill-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Note that nice-looking pencil-shaped sled in this picture. You'll be seeing more of it later ...
Races were held in a number of categories, mostly split up by age. The process was the same for most races: Climb to the top of the hill, wait for your race, try to stay warm, get in your sled, push off and hope for the best ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-RacestartA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
One key factor is that cardboard boxes don't come equipped with a steering mechanism. Something they overlooked when designing them, I guess--not much call for them. Many of the kids going down the hill just wanted the ride, so they were entirely inside the sled--not dragging legs or arms to steer themselves. Chaos sometimes ensued.
For example, take that fine looking fire truck in this picture. No rotating red light or siren, but it looked pretty awesome going downhill ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Firetruk1-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
... until it hit a rough patch and flipped over ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Firetruck2-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
It's crazy at the start of each race because the cardboard sleds are going every which way. Several times, I had to jump out of the way ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-RacestartB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Sleds pointing downhill were suddenly pointing uphill. Like this girl, who passed right behind my legs ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Backwards-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
The pencil sled finally got its turn to show its stuff and started sliding downhill. But we all know one thing about pencils: They have a tendency to roll ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Like this one did ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And in the end, the pilots of this sled had to become pencil pushers ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilC-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Others had to push their sleds, too, if they had too much weight to glide easily downhill. Sorry, girls...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-pushers-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Eventually, though, everyone managed to get to the bottom of the hill ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Downhill-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
They also had some snowboarders ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Boarders-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And sledders ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Sledder-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Eventually the races ended and I went home. But I returned that night. It may have been nearly -10F (-23C), but they were going to shoot off some fireworks, and I didn't want to miss that.
First stop, though, was the bonfire, which was blazing brightly. It was fueled, in part, by the sleds that had made the run downhill that afternoon ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-bonfire-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
My wife came along, but she opted to watch the show from inside the chalet at the bottom of the hill. But I didn't want to take my pictures from inside a window. I had to be out in it. And I was. The show was worth it ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-FireworksC-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest-fireworksB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-fireworksA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
So what if I got a little cold? I had some freezy fun.
Last winter, they weren't dating--it was mild. This winter, the heat has been turned down in the relationship. Not that it's been terribly cold--but "terribly cold" to me is when the low falls to about -30F (-34C). It hasn't been that bad, but lately we've had high temperatures below zero and some lows down to -20F (-29C).
When it gets really cold like that, the snow sort of talks to you when you walk on it. It says "Scrunch!" I've never walked on fields of Styrofoam, but if I ever did, I imagine it would sound a lot like that--scrunch, scrunch, scrunch as you amble along.
The subzero weather also frosts many of the windows. Like the door to our office. Here is what it looked like last Saturday morning ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfeset08-Icydoor-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And here is the frosty lock. It still worked, by the way, but it was cold to turn ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Icylock-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Regardless of the weather, one of our local communities held its mid-winter celebration last Saturday, with a number of events, both indoors and out. I didn't get the chili cookoff assignment, but the Cardboard Classic was deemed right up my alley.
The Cardboard Classic is a sled race that uses cardboard boxes (which are later burned in a big bonfire). On this day, the temperature never even made it to zero F, but the sun was out, the wind was minimal, the kids were out and so was I. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch.
So were the groomers for the snowmobile trails around town ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfeset08-Groomers-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
The first step for Cardboard Classic participants is walking to the top of the ski hill. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch. Here are some of them ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-uphill-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Note that nice-looking pencil-shaped sled in this picture. You'll be seeing more of it later ...
Races were held in a number of categories, mostly split up by age. The process was the same for most races: Climb to the top of the hill, wait for your race, try to stay warm, get in your sled, push off and hope for the best ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-RacestartA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
One key factor is that cardboard boxes don't come equipped with a steering mechanism. Something they overlooked when designing them, I guess--not much call for them. Many of the kids going down the hill just wanted the ride, so they were entirely inside the sled--not dragging legs or arms to steer themselves. Chaos sometimes ensued.
For example, take that fine looking fire truck in this picture. No rotating red light or siren, but it looked pretty awesome going downhill ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Firetruk1-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
... until it hit a rough patch and flipped over ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Firetruck2-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
It's crazy at the start of each race because the cardboard sleds are going every which way. Several times, I had to jump out of the way ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-RacestartB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Sleds pointing downhill were suddenly pointing uphill. Like this girl, who passed right behind my legs ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Backwards-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
The pencil sled finally got its turn to show its stuff and started sliding downhill. But we all know one thing about pencils: They have a tendency to roll ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Like this one did ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And in the end, the pilots of this sled had to become pencil pushers ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-PencilC-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Others had to push their sleds, too, if they had too much weight to glide easily downhill. Sorry, girls...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-pushers-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Eventually, though, everyone managed to get to the bottom of the hill ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Downhill-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
They also had some snowboarders ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Boarders-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
And sledders ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-Sledder-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
Eventually the races ended and I went home. But I returned that night. It may have been nearly -10F (-23C), but they were going to shoot off some fireworks, and I didn't want to miss that.
First stop, though, was the bonfire, which was blazing brightly. It was fueled, in part, by the sleds that had made the run downhill that afternoon ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-bonfire-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
My wife came along, but she opted to watch the show from inside the chalet at the bottom of the hill. But I didn't want to take my pictures from inside a window. I had to be out in it. And I was. The show was worth it ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-FireworksC-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest-fireworksB-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Wfest08-fireworksA-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
So what if I got a little cold? I had some freezy fun.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Survey says ...
It's been really quiet lately. The blogs are fairly quiet, too. Few people are posting at the moment. It's mid-January, and that mid-winter funk seems to have snuck up on everyone. I'm just as guilty as anyone.
So it's up to me to jazz things up a bit. Because I have the results of a recent survey about ... umm ... err ... sex.
There. Did that get your attention?
Late last week, I was watching the regular nightly news broadcast on CBC when the topic sudden switched to sex: the results of a survey recently conducted by Chatelaine, a Canadian women's magazine.
Chatelaine (and its sister French language edition) wanted to know about the sex lives of its readers. So it asked. And 3,911 women answered.
"Each revealed to Chatelaine her honest and candid opinions (we'd expect nothing less)," said the magazine at its website, "though, overall, the women we polled held firm to a fairly conservative notion of sexuality. Only half, for instance, feel they should initiate sex with their partners at least some of the time. And even fewer ever want to dominate those partners in bed."
So what are the findings? Well ...
"Almost half" say they have sex every week. But 29% say they "can't remember" the last time.
53% say they want more sex than they get.
70% of married readers think their spouse is the best lover they've ever had.
44% were under 18 when they first had intercourse; 91% of married readers had sex before they wed.
81% have not had cybersex.
22% have had phone sex with their partner; just 5% have had phone sex with a stranger.
35% say "emotional availability" to another person constitutes cheating.
81% like receiving oral sex--but 33% don't like giving it. (Hmmm!)
Nearly 10% are curious about open relationships; but only 4% have tried one.
5% have tried group sex; 11% have tried bondage; 3% have tried S&M.
27% say love is "everything" when it comes to having great sex; 41% say it's not everything "but it's most important."
57% of English readers say they have an orgasm most or all the time they have sex; 72% of French readers say they do.
1 in 4 routinely fakes an orgasm.
28% of readers say they have "sworn off sex" at least once in the past.
37% of readers say they have been cheated on.
1 in 5 have enjoyed a purely sexual, emotion-free relationship in the past.
7 or 8 sex partners in a lifetime is the norm among readers; 77% say they don't mind being honest about that number with others.
43% of French Canadian women say they initiate sex about as often as their partners; only 32% of English Canadian women say that.
22% of readers never masturbate; another 29% do so less than once a month.
38% own a vibrator.
31% say they would rather have a root canal than spend a day at a nude beach; the other 69% pick the nude beach.
50% say their body image interferes with sex.
A parting thought: It comes from a woman who was interviewed about the survey results. Told that the survey says 1 in 4 women routinely fakes orgasms, she said, "Well, I think it happens once in a blue moon with any woman, right? ... You don't think so?"
I hope she was talking about faked orgasms in general--not her own personal experience.
So it's up to me to jazz things up a bit. Because I have the results of a recent survey about ... umm ... err ... sex.
There. Did that get your attention?
Late last week, I was watching the regular nightly news broadcast on CBC when the topic sudden switched to sex: the results of a survey recently conducted by Chatelaine, a Canadian women's magazine.
Chatelaine (and its sister French language edition) wanted to know about the sex lives of its readers. So it asked. And 3,911 women answered.
"Each revealed to Chatelaine her honest and candid opinions (we'd expect nothing less)," said the magazine at its website, "though, overall, the women we polled held firm to a fairly conservative notion of sexuality. Only half, for instance, feel they should initiate sex with their partners at least some of the time. And even fewer ever want to dominate those partners in bed."
So what are the findings? Well ...
"Almost half" say they have sex every week. But 29% say they "can't remember" the last time.
53% say they want more sex than they get.
70% of married readers think their spouse is the best lover they've ever had.
44% were under 18 when they first had intercourse; 91% of married readers had sex before they wed.
81% have not had cybersex.
22% have had phone sex with their partner; just 5% have had phone sex with a stranger.
35% say "emotional availability" to another person constitutes cheating.
81% like receiving oral sex--but 33% don't like giving it. (Hmmm!)
Nearly 10% are curious about open relationships; but only 4% have tried one.
5% have tried group sex; 11% have tried bondage; 3% have tried S&M.
27% say love is "everything" when it comes to having great sex; 41% say it's not everything "but it's most important."
57% of English readers say they have an orgasm most or all the time they have sex; 72% of French readers say they do.
1 in 4 routinely fakes an orgasm.
28% of readers say they have "sworn off sex" at least once in the past.
37% of readers say they have been cheated on.
1 in 5 have enjoyed a purely sexual, emotion-free relationship in the past.
7 or 8 sex partners in a lifetime is the norm among readers; 77% say they don't mind being honest about that number with others.
43% of French Canadian women say they initiate sex about as often as their partners; only 32% of English Canadian women say that.
22% of readers never masturbate; another 29% do so less than once a month.
38% own a vibrator.
31% say they would rather have a root canal than spend a day at a nude beach; the other 69% pick the nude beach.
50% say their body image interferes with sex.
A parting thought: It comes from a woman who was interviewed about the survey results. Told that the survey says 1 in 4 women routinely fakes orgasms, she said, "Well, I think it happens once in a blue moon with any woman, right? ... You don't think so?"
I hope she was talking about faked orgasms in general--not her own personal experience.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The Ice Bowl--plus 40
[I]If you watched the NFL playoff game from Green Bay last Saturday afternoon, you saw a winter wonderland, as the Packers defeated Seattle at Lambeau Field with snowflakes dancing all around.
Because the New York Giants upset the Dallas Cowboys in the other NFC semifinal game, the NFC championship game will be played at Green Bay this Sunday evening. Snow is not in the forecast, but cold weather is: Green Bay's forecast high for Sunday is +8F (-13C).
Long-time (read: older) football fans remember another championship game played in Green Bay, 40 years ago, when it was even colder. The gametime temperature: -13F (-25C).
I recently did an interview with a couple who went to that game, and they told their story. This feature appeared in our paper a few weeks ago, and I thought it might be interesting to read now, since they are about to play another championship game in the Lambeau Field icebox.
Hope you enjoy it ...[/I]
CRYSTAL FALLS—If everyone who claims they attended “the Ice Bowl” really was there, Green Bay’s Lambeau Field would have held several hundred thousand spectators on Dec. 31, 1967.
Instead, the National Football League’s record book says only 50,861 spectators were there in person, enduring 13 degree below zero weather to watch the Packers defeat the Dallas Cowboys 21-17 in the NFL’s 1967 championship game.
Two of them were Dick and Janet Hendrickson of Crystal Falls. Forty years later, they shared vivid memories of the unforgettable game, some Cowboys fans who weren’t ready for the subzero weather—and how they almost didn’t get there themselves.
The only souvenirs they still have of the mythic battle on the frozen gridiron: a tattered olive green blanket and a wine flask.
The game is most remembered for the weather: The temperature at kickoff was 13 below, and it never got any warmer.
DURING THE 1967 SEASON, the Packers compiled a 9-4-1 record, winning their division, and defeated the Los Angeles Rams 28-7 in Milwaukee to win the Western Conference championship.
That meant they would play the Eastern Conference champs, the Dallas Cowboys, in a rematch of their 1966 title game. That one was played in Dallas, and the Packers won 34-27 after a goal-line stand in the final minutes. Green Bay had also won the 1965 championship, so the Packers were attempting to win an unprecedented third straight NFL title.
The Hendricksons, who were in their early 30s then, occasionally got to see a Packer game. As the weatherman forecast a frigid Sunday in Green Bay, they got an unexpected chance to see the big game.
IT CAME FROM DALE and Nancy Valine, who operated the Bright Spot restaurant, near where Lortie’s plumbing shop is today.
“He asked us if we wanted to go,” said Janet. “Whoever had the tickets wasn’t going to go and sit in that cold weather—they weren’t as brain-damaged as we were.
“So Dale asked us if we wanted to take advantage of it.”
Packer tickets weren’t as hard to obtain then as they are now, she said. “But that one—we said, ‘Why not?’” The Hendricksons and the Valines agreed to go down to the big game together after arranging for someone to watch the Hendricksons’ three kids.
“Dick’s parents and my mother thought we were absolutely nuts,” she recalled. “But they were all willing to take care of the kids.”
The big day arrived with subzero weather gripping Iron County and expanding into Wisconsin. The Hendricksons picked up the Valines that morning and started south on U.S. 2-141. But they didn’t get far.
“WE GOT DOWN TO the Brule River Hill,” remembered Dick, “just before the Brule River. And then the rear end started to howl like crazy! I told everybody, We’ve got to turn around and go back and see if we could pick up another car—this isn’t going to make it down there.
“I told Dale [Valine], You’re going to have to try your car.”
Neither family had a garage. They went in back of the restaurant, where the Valine car was parked. Dick said Dale got behind the wheel and turned the key. “His wouldn’t even turn over!” Their hopes of seeing the big game were dwindling rapidly.
Fortunately, there was a third option. Dick had a four-door 1959 Chevy (“the old clunker,” as Janet called it) that he drove back and forth to the Republic Mine, where he worked. “So I tried it, and sure enough, it went. No problem.
“The only thing wrong with that, the heater wasn’t as good as the other was. We didn’t care as long as long as we got out of town.”
Since they had lost so much time due to the car problems, the four Packer Backers drove all the way to Lambeau Field without stopping for a meal or a motel room.
“This is how naïve we were,” said Janet. “To think we’d even find a motel at a championship game. But we didn’t have any choice. If we didn’t find a room, we were just going to come back.”
BESIDES THE SUBZERO cold, spectators and players also had to deal with wind out of the north. “I still feel the temperature was 17 below,” said Janet, “and the wind chill factor was worse than that. And you could see the steam—everybody’s breath was just rising.”
Forty years ago, Lambeau Field didn’t have the ring of luxury boxes it has today, so fans were more exposed to the elements than now. Also, part of the north end of the field was open—the grandstand didn’t go all the way around—and that’s the direction from which the arctic wind was gusting.
“I think we drank a lot of coffee—Dick went down to get a lot of coffee,” Janet remembered. “Beer just didn’t taste good that day.”
The Hendricksons and Valines were seated on the 20-yard line at the north end of the field, near a pair of Cowboy fans. Janet noticed that they weren’t dressed for the occasion.
“She had street clothes and a little poplin jacket on. That’s all she had.” The man wore a leather jacket. They were seated among the Packer faithful who know how to dress for subzero weather.
“WE WERE DRESSED TO the nines for cold weather.” Her brother-in-law had served in the Air Force and was stationed in Alaska; his heavy parka, with a fur-lined hood, had been passed down, and that was what she was wearing. If she turned her head quickly to see something, the hood would get in the way. Her outfit included socks, boots and multi layers of long underwear.
“I had my hunting clothes on, I’ll tell you that,” said Dick. “A hood over the top, of course, and my insulated boots. I think I even had my wool pants that time—my hunting clothes. We both had choppers on our hands.”
He stayed warm enough. As for Janet, only her knees got cold. Both had newspapers that they put their feet on—the papers added more insulation from the frozen concrete bleachers.
Nearby, the two Cowboys fans weren’t dressed for the occasion. “I felt sorry for some of those people as I looked around,” Janet said. “But then I thought, Dumber than a box of rocks.”
“They had a wine flask,” Dick recalled. “I think they must have emptied it. She was pretty well looped.” As the game went on and the cold weather took its toll through her thin clothes, she started freezing. “I felt sorry for her.”
In the end, she had to be helped out of the stands. “They passed her right on down like this,” Janet said, holding her hands over her head. “Seeing some human body being passed down, like it was a corpse. But the fellow with her couldn’t help her walk. I think she was just passed out—totally out of it.”
They left behind their wine flask and the olive green blanket. Janet claimed them and took them along after the game.
THE LONGEST PART OF the game, she said, was halftime—the marching band that was supposed to perform couldn’t because their instruments froze up. Fans could only sit in the subzero cold and wait for the players to return and action to resume.
It was a thrilling game. The Packers led 14-10 at halftime, but the Cowboys scored on a halfback option play early in the fourth quarter to take a 17-14 lead. The Packers drove into scoring range but missed a field goal. They got the ball back with 4:54 left to play, 68 yards from the Dallas end zone.
You know the rest of the story—of how the Packers drove downfield and, with no time-outs and just 16 seconds left, quarterback Bart Starr took the snap on third and goal at the 1 and followed his blockers across the goal line. “A really, really great game,” said Dick.
The fate of the woman from Texas remains a mystery to this day. The brutal weather conditions took a toll on many. Players and spectators alike suffered from frostbite after the game. “They had ambulances taking people away.” Many cars couldn’t restart after the game, so the tow trucks were kept busy, too.
BUT IN THE END, none of the Crystal Falls contingent got too cold. The 1959 Chevy “clunker” started again, and the group’s first post-game priority was finding a motel. Several places had no vacancies, but then they found a place with cancellations. “The room that we wound up in was the bridal suite!” Janet laughed.
That night, she realized just how cold it was. It was New Year’s Eve, and everyone went out to celebrate the end of 1967 and the Packers’ victory. As usual in that era, Janet said, the women were dressed in “high heels and nylons and whatever.”
“I told Dick, ‘This is 18 times colder than it was at the game.’ But do you think that was going to keep us in the motel?”
The next day—New Year’s morning—they were at a Big Boy restaurant when Packer linebacker Ray Nitschke came in. “I had to sneak over and get an autographed picture. He was married to a girl from Bruce’s Crossing, and I had gone to school with her brother, Bruce Forchette. We were always fans of his.
“Our son, Dale, took that picture to school. ‘Did your dad get that picture for you?’ ‘No, my mom did!’”
THE PACKERS’ THIRD straight NFL title marked the end of an era. After they defeated Oakland two weeks later in the second Super Bowl (played in sunny Miami), Vince Lombardi stepped down as head coach, and Green Bay would not return to the NFL limelight until the 1990s.
It was also the last time an NFL championship game was considered more important than the Super Bowl. The American Football League’s New York Jets and Joe Namath changed that one year later.
As for the Hendricksons, their sons still may have the pictures and other mementos. Others, such as the ticket stubs, were never kept. But they did keep the empty wine flask and the blanket left behind by the Texans. Today, the wine flask is … somewhere. The blanket is still in their home.
“We never knew,” Janet said, “that 40 years from now, this was going to be the most famous football game ever played!”
Because the New York Giants upset the Dallas Cowboys in the other NFC semifinal game, the NFC championship game will be played at Green Bay this Sunday evening. Snow is not in the forecast, but cold weather is: Green Bay's forecast high for Sunday is +8F (-13C).
Long-time (read: older) football fans remember another championship game played in Green Bay, 40 years ago, when it was even colder. The gametime temperature: -13F (-25C).
I recently did an interview with a couple who went to that game, and they told their story. This feature appeared in our paper a few weeks ago, and I thought it might be interesting to read now, since they are about to play another championship game in the Lambeau Field icebox.
Hope you enjoy it ...[/I]
CRYSTAL FALLS—If everyone who claims they attended “the Ice Bowl” really was there, Green Bay’s Lambeau Field would have held several hundred thousand spectators on Dec. 31, 1967.
Instead, the National Football League’s record book says only 50,861 spectators were there in person, enduring 13 degree below zero weather to watch the Packers defeat the Dallas Cowboys 21-17 in the NFL’s 1967 championship game.
Two of them were Dick and Janet Hendrickson of Crystal Falls. Forty years later, they shared vivid memories of the unforgettable game, some Cowboys fans who weren’t ready for the subzero weather—and how they almost didn’t get there themselves.
The only souvenirs they still have of the mythic battle on the frozen gridiron: a tattered olive green blanket and a wine flask.
The game is most remembered for the weather: The temperature at kickoff was 13 below, and it never got any warmer.
DURING THE 1967 SEASON, the Packers compiled a 9-4-1 record, winning their division, and defeated the Los Angeles Rams 28-7 in Milwaukee to win the Western Conference championship.
That meant they would play the Eastern Conference champs, the Dallas Cowboys, in a rematch of their 1966 title game. That one was played in Dallas, and the Packers won 34-27 after a goal-line stand in the final minutes. Green Bay had also won the 1965 championship, so the Packers were attempting to win an unprecedented third straight NFL title.
The Hendricksons, who were in their early 30s then, occasionally got to see a Packer game. As the weatherman forecast a frigid Sunday in Green Bay, they got an unexpected chance to see the big game.
IT CAME FROM DALE and Nancy Valine, who operated the Bright Spot restaurant, near where Lortie’s plumbing shop is today.
“He asked us if we wanted to go,” said Janet. “Whoever had the tickets wasn’t going to go and sit in that cold weather—they weren’t as brain-damaged as we were.
“So Dale asked us if we wanted to take advantage of it.”
Packer tickets weren’t as hard to obtain then as they are now, she said. “But that one—we said, ‘Why not?’” The Hendricksons and the Valines agreed to go down to the big game together after arranging for someone to watch the Hendricksons’ three kids.
“Dick’s parents and my mother thought we were absolutely nuts,” she recalled. “But they were all willing to take care of the kids.”
The big day arrived with subzero weather gripping Iron County and expanding into Wisconsin. The Hendricksons picked up the Valines that morning and started south on U.S. 2-141. But they didn’t get far.
“WE GOT DOWN TO the Brule River Hill,” remembered Dick, “just before the Brule River. And then the rear end started to howl like crazy! I told everybody, We’ve got to turn around and go back and see if we could pick up another car—this isn’t going to make it down there.
“I told Dale [Valine], You’re going to have to try your car.”
Neither family had a garage. They went in back of the restaurant, where the Valine car was parked. Dick said Dale got behind the wheel and turned the key. “His wouldn’t even turn over!” Their hopes of seeing the big game were dwindling rapidly.
Fortunately, there was a third option. Dick had a four-door 1959 Chevy (“the old clunker,” as Janet called it) that he drove back and forth to the Republic Mine, where he worked. “So I tried it, and sure enough, it went. No problem.
“The only thing wrong with that, the heater wasn’t as good as the other was. We didn’t care as long as long as we got out of town.”
Since they had lost so much time due to the car problems, the four Packer Backers drove all the way to Lambeau Field without stopping for a meal or a motel room.
“This is how naïve we were,” said Janet. “To think we’d even find a motel at a championship game. But we didn’t have any choice. If we didn’t find a room, we were just going to come back.”
BESIDES THE SUBZERO cold, spectators and players also had to deal with wind out of the north. “I still feel the temperature was 17 below,” said Janet, “and the wind chill factor was worse than that. And you could see the steam—everybody’s breath was just rising.”
Forty years ago, Lambeau Field didn’t have the ring of luxury boxes it has today, so fans were more exposed to the elements than now. Also, part of the north end of the field was open—the grandstand didn’t go all the way around—and that’s the direction from which the arctic wind was gusting.
“I think we drank a lot of coffee—Dick went down to get a lot of coffee,” Janet remembered. “Beer just didn’t taste good that day.”
The Hendricksons and Valines were seated on the 20-yard line at the north end of the field, near a pair of Cowboy fans. Janet noticed that they weren’t dressed for the occasion.
“She had street clothes and a little poplin jacket on. That’s all she had.” The man wore a leather jacket. They were seated among the Packer faithful who know how to dress for subzero weather.
“WE WERE DRESSED TO the nines for cold weather.” Her brother-in-law had served in the Air Force and was stationed in Alaska; his heavy parka, with a fur-lined hood, had been passed down, and that was what she was wearing. If she turned her head quickly to see something, the hood would get in the way. Her outfit included socks, boots and multi layers of long underwear.
“I had my hunting clothes on, I’ll tell you that,” said Dick. “A hood over the top, of course, and my insulated boots. I think I even had my wool pants that time—my hunting clothes. We both had choppers on our hands.”
He stayed warm enough. As for Janet, only her knees got cold. Both had newspapers that they put their feet on—the papers added more insulation from the frozen concrete bleachers.
Nearby, the two Cowboys fans weren’t dressed for the occasion. “I felt sorry for some of those people as I looked around,” Janet said. “But then I thought, Dumber than a box of rocks.”
“They had a wine flask,” Dick recalled. “I think they must have emptied it. She was pretty well looped.” As the game went on and the cold weather took its toll through her thin clothes, she started freezing. “I felt sorry for her.”
In the end, she had to be helped out of the stands. “They passed her right on down like this,” Janet said, holding her hands over her head. “Seeing some human body being passed down, like it was a corpse. But the fellow with her couldn’t help her walk. I think she was just passed out—totally out of it.”
They left behind their wine flask and the olive green blanket. Janet claimed them and took them along after the game.
THE LONGEST PART OF the game, she said, was halftime—the marching band that was supposed to perform couldn’t because their instruments froze up. Fans could only sit in the subzero cold and wait for the players to return and action to resume.
It was a thrilling game. The Packers led 14-10 at halftime, but the Cowboys scored on a halfback option play early in the fourth quarter to take a 17-14 lead. The Packers drove into scoring range but missed a field goal. They got the ball back with 4:54 left to play, 68 yards from the Dallas end zone.
You know the rest of the story—of how the Packers drove downfield and, with no time-outs and just 16 seconds left, quarterback Bart Starr took the snap on third and goal at the 1 and followed his blockers across the goal line. “A really, really great game,” said Dick.
The fate of the woman from Texas remains a mystery to this day. The brutal weather conditions took a toll on many. Players and spectators alike suffered from frostbite after the game. “They had ambulances taking people away.” Many cars couldn’t restart after the game, so the tow trucks were kept busy, too.
BUT IN THE END, none of the Crystal Falls contingent got too cold. The 1959 Chevy “clunker” started again, and the group’s first post-game priority was finding a motel. Several places had no vacancies, but then they found a place with cancellations. “The room that we wound up in was the bridal suite!” Janet laughed.
That night, she realized just how cold it was. It was New Year’s Eve, and everyone went out to celebrate the end of 1967 and the Packers’ victory. As usual in that era, Janet said, the women were dressed in “high heels and nylons and whatever.”
“I told Dick, ‘This is 18 times colder than it was at the game.’ But do you think that was going to keep us in the motel?”
The next day—New Year’s morning—they were at a Big Boy restaurant when Packer linebacker Ray Nitschke came in. “I had to sneak over and get an autographed picture. He was married to a girl from Bruce’s Crossing, and I had gone to school with her brother, Bruce Forchette. We were always fans of his.
“Our son, Dale, took that picture to school. ‘Did your dad get that picture for you?’ ‘No, my mom did!’”
THE PACKERS’ THIRD straight NFL title marked the end of an era. After they defeated Oakland two weeks later in the second Super Bowl (played in sunny Miami), Vince Lombardi stepped down as head coach, and Green Bay would not return to the NFL limelight until the 1990s.
It was also the last time an NFL championship game was considered more important than the Super Bowl. The American Football League’s New York Jets and Joe Namath changed that one year later.
As for the Hendricksons, their sons still may have the pictures and other mementos. Others, such as the ticket stubs, were never kept. But they did keep the empty wine flask and the blanket left behind by the Texans. Today, the wine flask is … somewhere. The blanket is still in their home.
“We never knew,” Janet said, “that 40 years from now, this was going to be the most famous football game ever played!”
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Hey, I'm a popular guy!
You're not going to believe this. You really aren't. But it's true.
I'm popular! Yay, me!!!
You may be asking yourself, "Self, why is this mild-mannered, ordinary, boring writer-type person suddenly so much in demand?" So I will share with you the secret of my success.
I'm popular (short-term) because I live in Michigan, I'm a registered voter, and Michigan holds a presidential primary this Tuesday.
Only thing is, it's just a Republican primary ... and I'm not a Republican. But that doesn't matter. Even if Barack Obama isn't shoveling out my sidewalk or Hillary Clinton isn't carrying in my groceries, I still have all those Republicans eager to do my bidding. If it's OK with them, it's OK with me.
I should explain first about the primary, so I'll quote from the story I wrote in last week's paper.
[QUOTE]State officials decided to move [the primary] up to Jan. 15 this year in hopes that Michigan would be among the first states in the nation to voice their choice in the 2008 nominating process.
The primary was approved by the Legislature late last August and signed into law by Gov. Granholm on Sept. 4. But it hasn’t gone without challenge.
On Nov. 9, the primary was struck down by an Ingham County circuit judge. The state Supreme Court reversed that ruling on a 4-3 vote on Nov. 21.
But neither of the political parties wanted Michigan to leapfrog states like Iowa and New Hampshire. The Republican National Committee decided on Nov. 5 that Michigan will lose 30 of its 60 delegates at the 2008 national convention.
Not to be outdone, the Democratic National Committee decided on Dec. 1 that the Jan. 15 primary violates party rules—and that Michigan (and Florida, which did the same thing) would be stripped of its entire 156-member delegation to this summer’s convention.[/QUOTE]
As a result, both Obama and John Edwards (among others) pulled their names off the Michigan ballot, which will only list Clinton, Christopher Dodd, Mike Gravel, Dennis Kucinich and "uncommitted."
All the Republicans are listed, though, so the media is paying some attention to Michigan. And though I haven't seen a single satellite truck roaming the many backroads of the rural U.P. countryside, some of the candidates are after my vote.
One night last week, while watching a movie with my wife, the phone rang. The (recorded) voice said they wanted me to take a 45-second poll. OK, what do you want to know? It was on behalf of Gov. Mike Huckabee, and even after I identified myself as a Democrat, it said things like "Did you know that you will be able to vote in the Republican primary?"
This "poll" went on to "ask" me if I was aware that Huckabee is the only Republican candidate endorsed by a certain manufacturing group. It went on like that for a while, most questions starting "Are you aware that ...", until I finally said, "Are you aware that we're well over 45 seconds now?" and hung up.
The next day, I was at my home computer in the late afternoon when the phone rang. It was Sen. Sam Brownback from Kansas. [I]The [/I]Sen. Sam Brownback from Kansas. Well, his recorded voice, anyway. The senator told me that he wants me to vote for John McCain during the primary on Tuesday. Even though Brownback's opinions on various social issues facing this country are poles apart from mine, I feel flattered that Brownback (or his digitized voice) thinks so highly of my political acumen that he would ask me to do this favor for him on Tuesday.
Not that I'm going to. But it's nice to be popular, don't you think?
Imagine how big my head would be if I lived in Iowa or New Hampshire!
I'm popular! Yay, me!!!
You may be asking yourself, "Self, why is this mild-mannered, ordinary, boring writer-type person suddenly so much in demand?" So I will share with you the secret of my success.
I'm popular (short-term) because I live in Michigan, I'm a registered voter, and Michigan holds a presidential primary this Tuesday.
Only thing is, it's just a Republican primary ... and I'm not a Republican. But that doesn't matter. Even if Barack Obama isn't shoveling out my sidewalk or Hillary Clinton isn't carrying in my groceries, I still have all those Republicans eager to do my bidding. If it's OK with them, it's OK with me.
I should explain first about the primary, so I'll quote from the story I wrote in last week's paper.
[QUOTE]State officials decided to move [the primary] up to Jan. 15 this year in hopes that Michigan would be among the first states in the nation to voice their choice in the 2008 nominating process.
The primary was approved by the Legislature late last August and signed into law by Gov. Granholm on Sept. 4. But it hasn’t gone without challenge.
On Nov. 9, the primary was struck down by an Ingham County circuit judge. The state Supreme Court reversed that ruling on a 4-3 vote on Nov. 21.
But neither of the political parties wanted Michigan to leapfrog states like Iowa and New Hampshire. The Republican National Committee decided on Nov. 5 that Michigan will lose 30 of its 60 delegates at the 2008 national convention.
Not to be outdone, the Democratic National Committee decided on Dec. 1 that the Jan. 15 primary violates party rules—and that Michigan (and Florida, which did the same thing) would be stripped of its entire 156-member delegation to this summer’s convention.[/QUOTE]
As a result, both Obama and John Edwards (among others) pulled their names off the Michigan ballot, which will only list Clinton, Christopher Dodd, Mike Gravel, Dennis Kucinich and "uncommitted."
All the Republicans are listed, though, so the media is paying some attention to Michigan. And though I haven't seen a single satellite truck roaming the many backroads of the rural U.P. countryside, some of the candidates are after my vote.
One night last week, while watching a movie with my wife, the phone rang. The (recorded) voice said they wanted me to take a 45-second poll. OK, what do you want to know? It was on behalf of Gov. Mike Huckabee, and even after I identified myself as a Democrat, it said things like "Did you know that you will be able to vote in the Republican primary?"
This "poll" went on to "ask" me if I was aware that Huckabee is the only Republican candidate endorsed by a certain manufacturing group. It went on like that for a while, most questions starting "Are you aware that ...", until I finally said, "Are you aware that we're well over 45 seconds now?" and hung up.
The next day, I was at my home computer in the late afternoon when the phone rang. It was Sen. Sam Brownback from Kansas. [I]The [/I]Sen. Sam Brownback from Kansas. Well, his recorded voice, anyway. The senator told me that he wants me to vote for John McCain during the primary on Tuesday. Even though Brownback's opinions on various social issues facing this country are poles apart from mine, I feel flattered that Brownback (or his digitized voice) thinks so highly of my political acumen that he would ask me to do this favor for him on Tuesday.
Not that I'm going to. But it's nice to be popular, don't you think?
Imagine how big my head would be if I lived in Iowa or New Hampshire!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
iTunes in the blender
I really don't know what I want to write about tonight. I put on iTunes and set it to "Party Shuffle," so we'll see where it takes the music and where the music takes me. Right now, it's playing Ernest Tubb's "Our Baby's Book" from the 1940s.
I had a busy Tuesday. In the morning, I had an appointment with my cardiologist. More on that later. Then a photo assignment. Then trying to catch up on things at the office. Then, my wife and I went to Iron Mountain.
Near Florence, Wis., we saw evidence of how warm and wet the weather has been lately: a lake where you normally see ice fishermen and shacks on a thickly frozen surface. Like this picture, taken last February ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Feb07-Iceauger-2-07.jpg[/IMG]
This is what that same part of the lake looks like this week ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Ice-wetlake-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
You couldn't get me out on that ice. Not this week.
Now, do you remember my adventures last September in getting my dad's guns into Michigan? (Short recap: My dad died in 1995. My mom moved into the nursing home in 2005. Over the summer of '07, my wife and I spent a lot of time cleaning out her house, and that's where we came across my dad's deer rifle and three handguns. Since I don't hunt or have any use for guns, I decided to have someone sell them to raise a little money.)
[URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/5226/Guns+and+woodpiles.html"]Here is what [/URL]I posted at the time:
Just before Christmas, I got a phone call from the department where the guns were registered. Three months after the fact, the Michigan State Police had decided that they did it wrong. So, they told me, I have to take the guns back in my possession, take them to my local police department and register them there. After that, I can drive them right back to the gun dealer--back where they came from--and transfer the guns to him. With lots of forms to be filed, of course.
(By the way, the deer rifle and one of the handguns have been sold.)
In short, it's a lot of jumping through hoops and filling out forms. So the main event on Tuesday, was stopping at the gun dealer's place, filling out a bunch of forms, picking up the remaining two handguns, putting them in my car's trunk and taking them home.
On Wednesday, I took them to my local police department and registered them in my name again. Of course, that meant filling out more forms in triplicate; then the local PD had to call in to the federal authorities to make sure (A) that the guns weren't hot or wanted, and (B) that I wasn't hot or wanted. Or something.
It took about an hour, but we got all that done. Some time next week, I'll drive back to the gun dealer's place, fill out even more forms and transfer the guns back to him so he can sell them for me.
Those should be the last hoops I'll have to jump through because of the guns. I hope.
While down there, we also visited my mom. She was OK but in a quiet mood. It was a gray, cloudy day--typical January weather for the U.P., notwithstanding the fact that we were across the border in Wisconsin, so our mood was a little gray and overcast, too. From there, we had supper (at Subway), went to a girls basketball game (had to cover that) and then went home.
Today, the weather was back below freezing, and all the water-covered ice on the sidewalk has frozen. Walking is still treacherous though not as bad as earlier. My wife put some salt on the walks.
****
As for the cardiologist:
As you may/may not remember, when I had my physical in October, [URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/26310/Lots+on+my+plate.html"]he detected a rapid heartbeat[/URL]--an atrial flutter. So in early November, I drove up to Marquette for some tests.
Everything went well. The cardiologist sent me a letter, and the last paragraph reads: "Given the fact that you do have good exercise tolerance with normal heart function and no evidence of coronary artery disease, your long-term prognosis remains excellent."
For years, I have had a problem with atrial fibrillation. Had--it's been mostly controlled with meds. At our appointment Tuesday, the cardiologist said he wants me to consider undergoing a Mini-MAZE operation. I won't go into what it all entails, but, he wrote in the letter, "The advantage of these procedures is they could eliminate the atrial arrthymias permanently with establishing sinus rhythm long term without the need for any antiarrthymic drugs or blood thinners."
I'd love to have the operation--the meds cost money, and one of them means the blood drives won't take my blood donations, something I did a lot before this. But it's not realistic. Our expensive Swiss cheese health insurance plan only covers part of the cost, and the doctor said the procedure would involve several days in the hospital. That's serious money, and the insurance would only cover part of the cost. Plus, it's elective surgery.
So I told him that I can't do it this year. Maybe next year or the year after that. Odds are, though, that tomorrow will never come.
I didn't tell him that.
****
Ernest Tubb was just on again, singing "Slipping Around." Great song, and pretty close to life. But it wasn't all E.T. on iTunes. I had some Hendrix, Zappa, the B-52s, The Who, Dire Straits and even Lester "Roadhog" Moran and his Cadillac Cowboys.
A more eclectic mix of music is hard to find.
I had a busy Tuesday. In the morning, I had an appointment with my cardiologist. More on that later. Then a photo assignment. Then trying to catch up on things at the office. Then, my wife and I went to Iron Mountain.
Near Florence, Wis., we saw evidence of how warm and wet the weather has been lately: a lake where you normally see ice fishermen and shacks on a thickly frozen surface. Like this picture, taken last February ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Feb07-Iceauger-2-07.jpg[/IMG]
This is what that same part of the lake looks like this week ...
[IMG]http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b289/drdog/Ice-wetlake-1-08.jpg[/IMG]
You couldn't get me out on that ice. Not this week.
Now, do you remember my adventures last September in getting my dad's guns into Michigan? (Short recap: My dad died in 1995. My mom moved into the nursing home in 2005. Over the summer of '07, my wife and I spent a lot of time cleaning out her house, and that's where we came across my dad's deer rifle and three handguns. Since I don't hunt or have any use for guns, I decided to have someone sell them to raise a little money.)
[URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/5226/Guns+and+woodpiles.html"]Here is what [/URL]I posted at the time:
Just before Christmas, I got a phone call from the department where the guns were registered. Three months after the fact, the Michigan State Police had decided that they did it wrong. So, they told me, I have to take the guns back in my possession, take them to my local police department and register them there. After that, I can drive them right back to the gun dealer--back where they came from--and transfer the guns to him. With lots of forms to be filed, of course.
(By the way, the deer rifle and one of the handguns have been sold.)
In short, it's a lot of jumping through hoops and filling out forms. So the main event on Tuesday, was stopping at the gun dealer's place, filling out a bunch of forms, picking up the remaining two handguns, putting them in my car's trunk and taking them home.
On Wednesday, I took them to my local police department and registered them in my name again. Of course, that meant filling out more forms in triplicate; then the local PD had to call in to the federal authorities to make sure (A) that the guns weren't hot or wanted, and (B) that I wasn't hot or wanted. Or something.
It took about an hour, but we got all that done. Some time next week, I'll drive back to the gun dealer's place, fill out even more forms and transfer the guns back to him so he can sell them for me.
Those should be the last hoops I'll have to jump through because of the guns. I hope.
While down there, we also visited my mom. She was OK but in a quiet mood. It was a gray, cloudy day--typical January weather for the U.P., notwithstanding the fact that we were across the border in Wisconsin, so our mood was a little gray and overcast, too. From there, we had supper (at Subway), went to a girls basketball game (had to cover that) and then went home.
Today, the weather was back below freezing, and all the water-covered ice on the sidewalk has frozen. Walking is still treacherous though not as bad as earlier. My wife put some salt on the walks.
****
As for the cardiologist:
As you may/may not remember, when I had my physical in October, [URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/26310/Lots+on+my+plate.html"]he detected a rapid heartbeat[/URL]--an atrial flutter. So in early November, I drove up to Marquette for some tests.
Everything went well. The cardiologist sent me a letter, and the last paragraph reads: "Given the fact that you do have good exercise tolerance with normal heart function and no evidence of coronary artery disease, your long-term prognosis remains excellent."
For years, I have had a problem with atrial fibrillation. Had--it's been mostly controlled with meds. At our appointment Tuesday, the cardiologist said he wants me to consider undergoing a Mini-MAZE operation. I won't go into what it all entails, but, he wrote in the letter, "The advantage of these procedures is they could eliminate the atrial arrthymias permanently with establishing sinus rhythm long term without the need for any antiarrthymic drugs or blood thinners."
I'd love to have the operation--the meds cost money, and one of them means the blood drives won't take my blood donations, something I did a lot before this. But it's not realistic. Our expensive Swiss cheese health insurance plan only covers part of the cost, and the doctor said the procedure would involve several days in the hospital. That's serious money, and the insurance would only cover part of the cost. Plus, it's elective surgery.
So I told him that I can't do it this year. Maybe next year or the year after that. Odds are, though, that tomorrow will never come.
I didn't tell him that.
****
Ernest Tubb was just on again, singing "Slipping Around." Great song, and pretty close to life. But it wasn't all E.T. on iTunes. I had some Hendrix, Zappa, the B-52s, The Who, Dire Straits and even Lester "Roadhog" Moran and his Cadillac Cowboys.
A more eclectic mix of music is hard to find.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Notes to you: Weird weather
Winter seems to have gone off on a brief vacation this week. On Sunday, while watching the NFL playoff games, I took a break to check out the weather. The thermometer said 47 F (+9C).
Huh? The calendar said Jan. 6. Just after New Year's. Up here, deep in the woods of the western U.P. of Michigan. Was that strange!
Then, on Monday, we were busy at work (editing photos, finishing up stories, laying out the paper on our computers, finishing last-minute stuff before the deadline). Outside, it was foggy. Then it was raining lightly. Walking down the alley to my house was a bit tricky--wet, smooth ice is never easy to walk on if you plan to stay upright. Not impossible; not easy, either.
The sidewalk to the back door of the house was even more treacherous, because the ice was under an inch or so of water. I eventually took the safer route and walked over the saturated snow. Then I had to run to the store, but that was uneventful.
A few hundred miles away, in the southeastern corner of Wisconsin, some tornadoes blew through. Tornadoes. In Wisconsin. On Jan. 6. How's that for strange? Glad it wasn't here.
On Tuesday, I had a bizarre, busy day. An appointment with my cardiologist and a picture assignment in the morning. Around noon, I drove down to Iron Mountain for a number of things, including a visit to my mom. Then supper. Then off to a girls basketball game (Forest Park at North Dickinson, if you're interested). Then I go home. We were supposed to be get light rain changing to light snow, but not much of either.
****
Saw an interesting story recently. It's about New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who is entertaining thoughts about running for president as an independent candidate. He had a meeting today in Norman, Okla., with a bipartisan group, and the headline of the Yahoo article was "Bloomberg, Moderates lament state of U.S."
It included this passage:
[I]A joint statement read by the meeting's co-host, former U.S. Democratic Sen. Sam Nunn, led off with the line: "America is in danger."
He went on to say that the country's standing in the world has sunk to unprecedented lows and problems such as budget deficits, energy supply and environmental degradation are not being addressed.
"We are failing to address them primarily because rampant partisanship has paralyzed the ability of government to act and lead," Nunn said.
Democrats and Republicans are more concerned with "energizing their bases" than appealing to the political center, he said.[/I]
Actually, that's what I'm afraid of, too.
****
In other news, the race may be over. In fact, it may have just ended.
Not the presidential race. The next-generation DVD format war.
If you haven't been following it, there are two rival formats that have been trying to outjockey each other for high definition DVDs. One is called HD DVD, and the other is called Blu-Ray. The different studios have been supporting one format or the other.
But late last week, Warner Brothers Entertainment announced it would stop making its movies in HD DVD later this year and only issue Blu-Ray discs (along with regular DVDs) after that. Many articles I have read since say that the Warner decision decides the battle--Blu-Ray will be the winning/surviving format. Once Warners stops making HD DVD discs, Blu-Ray will have 70 percent of the market.
Of course, I've been around long enough to remember a big decision I had to make about 20 years ago: whether to get a VHS or a Betamax video recorder. I went with VHS for what seemed to me a very good reason: I could record longer on VHS tapes than on Betamax tapes, and they were less expensive to boot.
That was then. What about now?
I'm planning to sit this one out. The new TV I hope to buy later this year will be a digital model with a wide screen. But it's not going to be a wall-size model. The DVDs I have now? They're good enough for me. Maybe in time I'll feel different, but I don't think so.
Huh? The calendar said Jan. 6. Just after New Year's. Up here, deep in the woods of the western U.P. of Michigan. Was that strange!
Then, on Monday, we were busy at work (editing photos, finishing up stories, laying out the paper on our computers, finishing last-minute stuff before the deadline). Outside, it was foggy. Then it was raining lightly. Walking down the alley to my house was a bit tricky--wet, smooth ice is never easy to walk on if you plan to stay upright. Not impossible; not easy, either.
The sidewalk to the back door of the house was even more treacherous, because the ice was under an inch or so of water. I eventually took the safer route and walked over the saturated snow. Then I had to run to the store, but that was uneventful.
A few hundred miles away, in the southeastern corner of Wisconsin, some tornadoes blew through. Tornadoes. In Wisconsin. On Jan. 6. How's that for strange? Glad it wasn't here.
On Tuesday, I had a bizarre, busy day. An appointment with my cardiologist and a picture assignment in the morning. Around noon, I drove down to Iron Mountain for a number of things, including a visit to my mom. Then supper. Then off to a girls basketball game (Forest Park at North Dickinson, if you're interested). Then I go home. We were supposed to be get light rain changing to light snow, but not much of either.
****
Saw an interesting story recently. It's about New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who is entertaining thoughts about running for president as an independent candidate. He had a meeting today in Norman, Okla., with a bipartisan group, and the headline of the Yahoo article was "Bloomberg, Moderates lament state of U.S."
It included this passage:
[I]A joint statement read by the meeting's co-host, former U.S. Democratic Sen. Sam Nunn, led off with the line: "America is in danger."
He went on to say that the country's standing in the world has sunk to unprecedented lows and problems such as budget deficits, energy supply and environmental degradation are not being addressed.
"We are failing to address them primarily because rampant partisanship has paralyzed the ability of government to act and lead," Nunn said.
Democrats and Republicans are more concerned with "energizing their bases" than appealing to the political center, he said.[/I]
Actually, that's what I'm afraid of, too.
****
In other news, the race may be over. In fact, it may have just ended.
Not the presidential race. The next-generation DVD format war.
If you haven't been following it, there are two rival formats that have been trying to outjockey each other for high definition DVDs. One is called HD DVD, and the other is called Blu-Ray. The different studios have been supporting one format or the other.
But late last week, Warner Brothers Entertainment announced it would stop making its movies in HD DVD later this year and only issue Blu-Ray discs (along with regular DVDs) after that. Many articles I have read since say that the Warner decision decides the battle--Blu-Ray will be the winning/surviving format. Once Warners stops making HD DVD discs, Blu-Ray will have 70 percent of the market.
Of course, I've been around long enough to remember a big decision I had to make about 20 years ago: whether to get a VHS or a Betamax video recorder. I went with VHS for what seemed to me a very good reason: I could record longer on VHS tapes than on Betamax tapes, and they were less expensive to boot.
That was then. What about now?
I'm planning to sit this one out. The new TV I hope to buy later this year will be a digital model with a wide screen. But it's not going to be a wall-size model. The DVDs I have now? They're good enough for me. Maybe in time I'll feel different, but I don't think so.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Holiday leftovers
[I]This was originally posted at drdog.vox.com on Jan. 5.
[/I]
I've got a few things left over from the holidays to write about. If you read [URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/31535/Good+vibrations%3F.html"]the "friends only" post[/URL] on efx2 about buying a "special" gift for my wife, you likely are curious about what happened.
Yes, I did get one--a small, unassuming one. Since I had never seen one before (except in a picture), I didn't know what to expect. How much does it move? How loud does it buzz? Will it, umm, tickle her fancy?
But because of the funeral and then my older son being here for Christmas, it didn't make its debut until a few nights later, after he left for home. We were playing around in bed, our usual foreplay, when I remembered that I hadn't given it to her yet. So I reached down to the floor next to the bed for the package.
The one I bought has a small switch on the side, and you wear in on a finger. I took it out, put it on and hit the switch. It buzzed softly.
First I tried it out on her back and shoulders and neck, rubbing her there for a few minutes. Then I had her turn around and used it to stroke her neck and breasts, especially around the nipples. Then my hand went further south, to realm sof mystery and the caverns of desire. Mmmmmmm!
It took a few minutes to work out a technique, since the bumps on the end of the "finger" are on one side. Eventually, I started finding the magic button.
We tried it again about five days later. (Remember, we're not kids; we're both in our late 50s.) That time, things seemed to go faster. By the time I reached for it, she was already ready, and the things moved along quickly. I found the good place. Then I lost it. Then I found it again.
She seems to like it, though I see no evidence whatsoever that she has tried using it herself (it's just a reach away, on a shelf). When she goes to bed, she normally does one of two things: reads a book and/or plays with one of our pussycats. Believe me, I have wondered many times how our life would be if she would play with her pussy as much as she plays with her cats.
(Sigh)
*****
Can I tell you about something else? From my father-in-law's funeral? Just a little thing that made me shake my head sadly.
It was during the church service, when the priest announced that the Eucharist (which we Protestants call "communion") would only be available to Catholics. So we sat it out. We, who sin as much any other human. We, who are sorry for our shortcomings and who depend on the grace of God. We were not welcome to the Lords' table. And while I am not particularly religious, my wife is. She may be a Lutheran, but she is relgious.
I went to church back home on the Sunday before New Year's. Usually I don't, but I didn't have to work on Sunday. The bulletin shows a different policy: "All who believe in Jesus Christ as their Savior are welcome to come forward for communion." In short, Catholics welcome.
It's like the old days, when (at least here in the States) cemeteries had separate Catholic and Protestant sections. And no doubt they believed that when they went to Heaven, there would be separate Catholic and Protestant sections. (If, that is, they concede that anyone from another faith would ever get there.)
Can you imagine a Heaven like that? Maybe they would have barbed wire barriers and armed guards to protect one section of Paradise from any perceived threat from the people living on the other side.
Religion. What can I say?
[/I]
I've got a few things left over from the holidays to write about. If you read [URL="http://drdog.efx2blogs.com/31535/Good+vibrations%3F.html"]the "friends only" post[/URL] on efx2 about buying a "special" gift for my wife, you likely are curious about what happened.
Yes, I did get one--a small, unassuming one. Since I had never seen one before (except in a picture), I didn't know what to expect. How much does it move? How loud does it buzz? Will it, umm, tickle her fancy?
But because of the funeral and then my older son being here for Christmas, it didn't make its debut until a few nights later, after he left for home. We were playing around in bed, our usual foreplay, when I remembered that I hadn't given it to her yet. So I reached down to the floor next to the bed for the package.
The one I bought has a small switch on the side, and you wear in on a finger. I took it out, put it on and hit the switch. It buzzed softly.
First I tried it out on her back and shoulders and neck, rubbing her there for a few minutes. Then I had her turn around and used it to stroke her neck and breasts, especially around the nipples. Then my hand went further south, to realm sof mystery and the caverns of desire. Mmmmmmm!
It took a few minutes to work out a technique, since the bumps on the end of the "finger" are on one side. Eventually, I started finding the magic button.
We tried it again about five days later. (Remember, we're not kids; we're both in our late 50s.) That time, things seemed to go faster. By the time I reached for it, she was already ready, and the things moved along quickly. I found the good place. Then I lost it. Then I found it again.
She seems to like it, though I see no evidence whatsoever that she has tried using it herself (it's just a reach away, on a shelf). When she goes to bed, she normally does one of two things: reads a book and/or plays with one of our pussycats. Believe me, I have wondered many times how our life would be if she would play with her pussy as much as she plays with her cats.
(Sigh)
*****
Can I tell you about something else? From my father-in-law's funeral? Just a little thing that made me shake my head sadly.
It was during the church service, when the priest announced that the Eucharist (which we Protestants call "communion") would only be available to Catholics. So we sat it out. We, who sin as much any other human. We, who are sorry for our shortcomings and who depend on the grace of God. We were not welcome to the Lords' table. And while I am not particularly religious, my wife is. She may be a Lutheran, but she is relgious.
I went to church back home on the Sunday before New Year's. Usually I don't, but I didn't have to work on Sunday. The bulletin shows a different policy: "All who believe in Jesus Christ as their Savior are welcome to come forward for communion." In short, Catholics welcome.
It's like the old days, when (at least here in the States) cemeteries had separate Catholic and Protestant sections. And no doubt they believed that when they went to Heaven, there would be separate Catholic and Protestant sections. (If, that is, they concede that anyone from another faith would ever get there.)
Can you imagine a Heaven like that? Maybe they would have barbed wire barriers and armed guards to protect one section of Paradise from any perceived threat from the people living on the other side.
Religion. What can I say?
The grand scheme for '08
[I]When efx2blogs unexpectedly got severely incapacitated lately, I quickly formed a new blog at http://drdog.vox.com.
Efx2blogs.com is back in operation now, but I [U]plan[/U] to double-post from here on. I've been through Modblog and efx2 1.0 and efx2blogs 1.0, so I'm rather tired of starting all over. And over. And over.
This was originally posted at drdog.vox.com on Jan. 3:[/I]
What am I trying to do here today? What is the grand scheme of things?
I am trying to write some "new year's resolutions" for 2008, that, I hope, won't be traditional stuff.
It's untraditional already--it appears a few days after the start of the year. Well, I make 'em up as I go along. Anyway, here's what I came up with:
1. I'd like to be happier. Too many days are just a grind, without a lot of fun. Today, for instance. Well, today is a cloudy, coldish winter day, so it goes without saying.
2. I want to hold off getting a new car until 2009. My buggy now has 140,000 miles and is doing fairly well. But I would like something with a little more room. So maybe I ultimately won't be able/want to wait. We'll see what the money situation is like. A lot of uncertainty in this one, as you can see..
3. New widescreen TV by the time the Stanley Cup playoffs start in April. Hockey on a digital TV sounds pretty cool. So do all my widescreen movies. It won't be a huge one--it may not even be HD. But it will be a big step up over what sits in the living room now.
4. I want to get away more. Our of town. Road trips. Sometimes by myself, sometimes with my wife. That should be a lot easier than last year, since we won't have to clean all the stuff out of my mom's house again. Speaking of which...
5. Selling my mom's house. Or renting it out. It's costing me too much money, what with heating, taxes and insurance. Let some one else pay..
6. Finding a nude beach/lake I can visit fairly often. Once in a while, anyway. If that guy would ever write back, it should take care of it. Maybe I need to enlist S to help--she would be happy to.
7. Freedom Fest again this summer. Nuff said. Will need a new tent for that, I think. Must do research into that.
8. New upstairs windows on the house. Replace the crappy old ones.
9. Go to bed earlier. Especially when I'm feeling horny. Blogs can wait.
10. More interesting blog entries. Fewer "day in the life" stories. More philosophical, more controversial topics, more stream of consciousness entries, which can take weird turns.
11. Let my wife be herself. Flip side: Let me be myself. Everyone is happier that way.
12. More sexy movies. More foreign movies. So what if she doesn't like subtitles? Tough. Take a chance!
13. Clean up household clutter. Get rid of stuff I don't want to keep. Sounds easy ... in theory. But I have to do some of that before I can get the new TV.
14. See a live hockey game. Not a kids game, either. If only my weekends weren't so crazy.
15. Get away from the prudes and the closed-minded people. Let's live life a little.
16. Find something else to cut out of my diet (following the trail blazed by white bread and 2% milk). Sugared soda could be next, except my wife likes them, David likes them, and I have this fondness for root beer. Meat? That's tough, with my wife around; most of her recipes involve meat somehow. But maybe a meatless day or two each week isn't out of the question.
[I]Since this was originally posted, I have come up with two more resolutions:
17. Take my wife out for a movie date much more often. At least once a month. A nice dinner, a good movie. Sounds like nice, relaxing fun.
18. Treat the lawn for weeds before the dandelions pop up their lovely yellow heads in April.[/I]
Efx2blogs.com is back in operation now, but I [U]plan[/U] to double-post from here on. I've been through Modblog and efx2 1.0 and efx2blogs 1.0, so I'm rather tired of starting all over. And over. And over.
This was originally posted at drdog.vox.com on Jan. 3:[/I]
What am I trying to do here today? What is the grand scheme of things?
I am trying to write some "new year's resolutions" for 2008, that, I hope, won't be traditional stuff.
It's untraditional already--it appears a few days after the start of the year. Well, I make 'em up as I go along. Anyway, here's what I came up with:
1. I'd like to be happier. Too many days are just a grind, without a lot of fun. Today, for instance. Well, today is a cloudy, coldish winter day, so it goes without saying.
2. I want to hold off getting a new car until 2009. My buggy now has 140,000 miles and is doing fairly well. But I would like something with a little more room. So maybe I ultimately won't be able/want to wait. We'll see what the money situation is like. A lot of uncertainty in this one, as you can see..
3. New widescreen TV by the time the Stanley Cup playoffs start in April. Hockey on a digital TV sounds pretty cool. So do all my widescreen movies. It won't be a huge one--it may not even be HD. But it will be a big step up over what sits in the living room now.
4. I want to get away more. Our of town. Road trips. Sometimes by myself, sometimes with my wife. That should be a lot easier than last year, since we won't have to clean all the stuff out of my mom's house again. Speaking of which...
5. Selling my mom's house. Or renting it out. It's costing me too much money, what with heating, taxes and insurance. Let some one else pay..
6. Finding a nude beach/lake I can visit fairly often. Once in a while, anyway. If that guy would ever write back, it should take care of it. Maybe I need to enlist S to help--she would be happy to.
7. Freedom Fest again this summer. Nuff said. Will need a new tent for that, I think. Must do research into that.
8. New upstairs windows on the house. Replace the crappy old ones.
9. Go to bed earlier. Especially when I'm feeling horny. Blogs can wait.
10. More interesting blog entries. Fewer "day in the life" stories. More philosophical, more controversial topics, more stream of consciousness entries, which can take weird turns.
11. Let my wife be herself. Flip side: Let me be myself. Everyone is happier that way.
12. More sexy movies. More foreign movies. So what if she doesn't like subtitles? Tough. Take a chance!
13. Clean up household clutter. Get rid of stuff I don't want to keep. Sounds easy ... in theory. But I have to do some of that before I can get the new TV.
14. See a live hockey game. Not a kids game, either. If only my weekends weren't so crazy.
15. Get away from the prudes and the closed-minded people. Let's live life a little.
16. Find something else to cut out of my diet (following the trail blazed by white bread and 2% milk). Sugared soda could be next, except my wife likes them, David likes them, and I have this fondness for root beer. Meat? That's tough, with my wife around; most of her recipes involve meat somehow. But maybe a meatless day or two each week isn't out of the question.
[I]Since this was originally posted, I have come up with two more resolutions:
17. Take my wife out for a movie date much more often. At least once a month. A nice dinner, a good movie. Sounds like nice, relaxing fun.
18. Treat the lawn for weeds before the dandelions pop up their lovely yellow heads in April.[/I]
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