I am a Genius.  A different kind of Genius, to be sure, but a Genius none the less.  My dog is a Genius as well.  In fact, though his name is Bear, I call him Genius.

He does Genius things all throughout his kingdom.  His kingdom, of course, being the backyard.  A large yard it is. Half of an acre.

He has room to run and play and do Geniusy type things.  Like dig a hole.  Bark. Run up and down the fence.  Chew on a stick.  Chew on the kids’s toys.  Chew on the deck.  Chew on the fence. Chew on the back door. Chew on the trampoline. Chew on the swings. Chew on the slide.  Chew on the…  Oh, well you get the picture.

Many other Geniuses have come and gone over the years.  Einstein, Edison, so many others.  Perhaps the most Geniussy of the Geniuses was Wyle E. Coyote, Genius.

He even had his own business cards that said he was a Genius.  He was always doing Geniussy things, like chasing the Road Runner.  Dropping large boulders on his own head.  Running through oil pits, buying cool stuff from the ACME company.

My kids even like to see his Geniusness in action. (As if my own Geniusness or Bear’s Geniusness was not enough for them).

Here is a good example of Genius at work: Genius At Work

This past weekend, my dad reminded me of a funny saying from my Granny.  Granny has been gone now for 12 years – actually she has been “gone” for more like 15+ years as she had Alzheimer’s for the last several years of her life.

Pre and post Alzheimer’s, Granny was always saying something funny.

On more than one occasion, she described how she and my grandfather were in a car and needed to get someone’s attention, so they had to “honk ‘em down.”  I don’t remember too much more detail about it (I am sure my dad does), but just remember after she told us that, we laughed that if you didn’t behave Granny was going to “honk you down”.

Before she had Alzheimer’s, Granny was funny anyway.  Something about her just caused us to laugh. I don’t think that she meant to be that way necessarily.  She just was.

Like when she rode all the way from Oklahoma to California with us on vacation one year.  My Grandfather had died not too long before, so Mom and Dad took Granny, we 3 kids and drove cross country to see Granny’s sister. 

Along the way, Granny wanted to stop at every curio shop along the way. I forget exactly what she was looking for, but she kept thinking that things would get cheaper as we went further West.  The opposite was true.

My dad tells the story about how Granny kept complaining that the backseat was really hot while we were driving. For two weeks, she sat in the backseat of the ‘69 Ford Ranch Wagon with us kids driving half way across the Continental United States. She kept complaining about how hot it was.

Dad kept telling her it was all in her mind.  Upon return home, some time later Dad found that the tailpipe, running under the seat right where Granny was sitting, had a hole in the top of it.

She didn’t sign up for the part of that episode that makes it now funny, she just wanted to go see her sister. 

Somehow along the way, we also picked up a lot of rocks. She thought that they were “beautiful”, so we kept stopping to pick up rocks.  I think that to this day, most of those rocks are still in my parent’s garage.

There are a lot of funny Granny stories (at least they are funny today). Perhaps more to come…

It’s been a couple of years since I have heard this song. Something made me think about it today and I found the video online. 

A lot of secular pop, rock and country music lyrics aren’t what I find useful. For some reason, these seem to be…

http://www.cmt.com/videos/chris-cagle/26282/what-a-beautiful-day.jhtml

I am a sentimental person. Probably to a large fault.  That said, it is who I am, I recognize it, and try to deal with it.  One of the challenges in being sentimental, however, is that I have a hard time letting go.

For example, while I was in college, my parents gave me the “Gold Chair”.  This chair was a rocking chair that also swiveled. They had re-upholstered it in the 1970s, in a lovely fabric of “Harvest Gold”.  You know, the kind of color that now makes you think, “What in the world was wrong with these people??????”.  (not just my parents, by the way, but most adults in the 1970s – who thought “Harvest Gold” and “Avocado Green” were colors found in nature).

So, there I was, a college student, in my own apartment, with the following items of furniture:

• 1 Full size bed – purchased from my parent’s neighbors for $25, headboard  and footboard, mattress, box springs and frame rail. What a bargain. I think the sheets may have even been included.
• 1 dresser – painted “Harvest Gold” by my mother when I was a young boy.
• 1 folding card table – Samsonite brand, used by my parents for Rummy or some other card game they played with friends before I was born.
• 2 oversized pillows – so visitors would have something to sit on in my living room.
• 1 black and white TV – given to me by a friend who couldn’t take looking at snowy pictures any longer.

And the Gold Chair.

What was important about the Gold Chair, is that when I was a little boy – no older than 5, because it was in the “old house”, which was where we lived prior to moving to where my parents live now – I used to sneak out of bed at night.  Mom and dad would watch the “Tonight” show with Johnny Carson after the late news.

I would get out of bed, go sit behind the Gold Chair (which at the time was bronze – prior to the re-upholstering), peek out from behind it, and watch Carson. That is the significance of the Gold Chair.

Perhaps not so meaningful to you, but a critical piece of my childhood development. (Some might say it is why I am the way I am today, whatever that means).

A few years after receiving the Gold Chair from my parents to furnish my first apartment, I met a wonderful girl and we got married.  I have heard for years that when two people marry, they bring certain “things” from the past with them.  Into our marriage, I brought the Gold Chair. 

We have never argued really. Occasionally we have a difference of opinion, but we mostly get along great. Regarding the Gold Chair, however, we had a difference of opinion.

I believed it to be a gift from my parents, with strong memories of watching Johnny Carson when I should have been in bed attached to it.  Besides that, it was comfortable.

Jen believed it to be a hideous piece of squeaking furniture, the color and condition of which would be an embarrassment to any new wife trying to make a home.

I believed it belonged prominently displayed in our living room of unmatched furniture.  She believed it belonged in the dump.

So we compromised.  It ended up in the baby’s room.  To this day, one of my favorite pictures is of my oldest daughter in the Gold Chair, mostly covered in stuffed animals.  What a blessing that chair was.

We moved several times and finally the Gold Chair ended up in our bedroom, covered with unmatched socks. I don’t recall exactly how it came to be, perhaps I was just in a weak moment or worn down from years of being told how the Gold Chair needed to go, but I took it to the dump. To this day, I can’t drive by the Creek County dump without thinking of the Gold Chair and all of its glory.

All has been made better, though not necessarily well, by the fact that I now have the Grandma Murphy Chair and Grandma Murphy Couch prominently displayed in our living room.  That’s another story for another time.

Ah, sentimentality.

I just finished reading an article about how the sale of bottled water is declining. Mostly due to people realizing that they can drink from the tap for a whole lot less money.  It appears that during $4+ per gallon gasoline days, $4+ per gallon water is too much as well.

Water is great, until it’s not.  About a year ago, I had the opportunity to clean out a flooded basement.  The walls leak when it rains and the sump pump could not keep up.  Actually, the pump could keep up, it’s just that the hose from the pump to the outside yard had a kink in it.

Since this happened in a house where no one lived continuously, the pump ran for days (weeks?) trying to pump out water through an opening the size of your average drinking straw.  The water was coming in through various leaks in the walls about the size of your average fire hose.

Simple nuclear physics proves that water coming in a large opening can not be discharged through an opening 300 times smaller.  At least, not without some other giant force of nature acting upon it.

So, by the time it was discovered, the water was 1.5 feet deep in the basement, the pump had been running continuously -to the point of being too hot to touch, the wood burning furnace was full of water and I am afraid of snakes (stayed tuned for more about snakes).

The hose issue was discovered and remedied fairly quickly, by unkinking it. Sort of like you do when you are washing the car and the hose gets twisted.  The pump continued to run, only now it was much more effective. After about 10 hours, the water was down to just a 1/4″ deep or so.

Next began the joyous and day long process of removing 65 years’ of Grandpa’s junk that had accumulated in the basement. Not only was there a lot of junk, it was wet and molding.

Speaking of molding, the entire basement was turning into an 8th grade science project.  Sort of like when the power went out and the refrigerator quit working for several days (weeks?).  Not only did the mold take over, the frozen orange juice concentrate in the freezer unfroze. In some terrible freak of nature incident, the orange juice turned into – hold your nose and put the kids to bed here – maggots!

I don’t know how it happened, nor do I want to, but after several hours of pressure washing the fridge in the driveway to no avail, we threw it in the junk pile in the back of the barn. 

But I digress.

So I learned that bleach or vinegar kill mold.  I also learned that 8 gallons of vinegar are needed to kill all of the mold on the walls and ceiling of a basement. I also learned that the ceiling of a basement is also the bottom side of the floor. When the basement ceiling/floor floor is soaked to the point of being moldy, it doesn’t squeak.

What does any of this have to with the price of lobster in Amarillo?  Not a thing.  I was reminded of it this past week, however, watching the video and seeing the stories about the flooding in Iowa.  I have friends and co-workers who are living through that nightmare as I write.

Homes washed up against the railroad bridge. Who knew a home could float?  Not me. It is pretty amazing to see that water can do such damage, yet to think that we pay $1 or more for a bottle of it.

So, next time you are about to open a bottle of ACME brand water, or whatever, think of those people in Iowa and along the Mississippi River.  Water is great, until it’s not.

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2008/june/17.22.html

Usually, when the term “election year politics” is used, it is with a negative connotation.  As if politics in non-election years is better.  The underlying theme, though, seems to be that politics is bad.  But is it?

Certainly, many of the participants in the political process – “politicians” – are bad actors. But does that make the process bad?  I would suppose that it depends on your definition of the term politics.

To research this, I went to www.dictionary.com and looked it up.  Here is their definition (why they get to choose what the definition is, instead of me choosing the definition is for another time):

1.
the science or art of political government.

2.
the practice or profession of conducting political affairs.

3.
political affairs: The advocated reforms have become embroiled in politics.

4.
political methods or maneuvers: We could not approve of his politics in winning passage of the bill.

5.
political principles or opinions: We avoided discussion of religion and politics. His politics are his own affair.

6.
use of intrigue or strategy in obtaining any position of power or control, as in business, university, etc.

7.
(initial capital letter, italics) a treatise (4th century b.c.) by Aristotle, dealing with the structure, organization, and administration of the state, esp. the city-state as known in ancient Greece.

On the surface, are any of these really bad?  I don’t think so, though #6 could be argued, perhaps. But even then, is the use of intrigue or strategy bad in and of itself?  Again, I don’t think so.

So what is left is the intent of the use of the methods or maneuvers, intrigue or strategy.  If these are used for “good” intentions, then all should be well.  If, however, they are used for “bad” intentions, then that seems to be where politics gets its bad name.

So then, who decides what is good or bad?  My idea is a good one, unless you don’t agree. Your idea is a bad one, if it is in conflict with my good idea.  But if politics is as described above, doesn’t the good/bad perception depend solely on which side of the argument you are on?

I was flipping through the channels this evening and paused on the local PBS station.  Barry Manilow was singing and people in the audience were going wild.  Not just old people, like Barry (he’s 65 this year), but even younger people were dancing and seemed to be having a great time.

Barry doesn’t look 65. He looks waxy (I’m not sure if that’s a word, but that is what he looks like).  Take a look for yourself below.

http://www.manilow.com/images/Ads_ManilowLIVE.jpg

So, I thought, “Hey, does Barry have a website?” It turns out that he does, www.manilow.com.  Not only a website, but he’s got all sorts of things going on.

There’s http://barrymanilowhomepage.prodege.com/, where you can win Barry’s velvet red suit. Not sure what I would do with it, but it would make for a great story at a class reunion or something.  Imagine the conversation:

Former classmate: “So, what have you been up to all these years?”

Me: “You know, the usual.  Good job, beautiful wife, wonderful children, and I won Barry Manilow’s red velvet suit last week.”

I can picture the crowd gathering now. Even the jocks and cool people suddenly want to be my new friend.

Then there’s also www.Barrynet.com, the My Manilow Network, www.barrymanilowhomepage.com. You can buy tickets at www.frontrowmanilow.com and download all sorts of Barry ringtones for your cellphone.

At www.Manilow.com, you can apply for the Manilow Fund for Health and Hope Visa card. 

Of course, what would life be like without a 10″ Barry Manilow stand up doll. One of many other items available at http://www.starz.bz/barrymanilow.  Boxer shorts, hat pins, glassware, watches, calendars, books, bobbleheads, and even BarryGRAMs (whatever they are) are available there.

Oddly, at the bottom of manilow.com, it says that Barry Manilow is a registered trademark. Does that mean that he isn’t real?  Maybe he really is wax after all.

T

I’m sitting here this evening watching the weather on TV. Tornados are potentially on the ground a few miles away.  I am reminded of a tornado experience several years ago.

My first job out of college was working for the Boy Scouts.  Job #1 with the BSA was to be the Aquatics Director at summer camp.  Before I could be certified as an official Aquatics Instructor, BSA,  I had to attend National Camping School. So off to camp school for a week I went.

That year, 1990, National Camping School for my region was held at a camp in East Texas.  For the uniniated, East Texas is full of TALL pine trees.  There, more than 100 adults seeking certification for everything from Aquatics to Rifle shooting, spent each day learning the details of the safety rules, policy, etc. of the BSA.

My “expertise” was water sports. Never a great swimmer, in one week I was to learn how to swim, lifeguard, canoe, row, water ski, and sail.   Sleeping in tents in the campsites, each “troop” (a group of adults assigned to a specific campsite) left camp each morning for the dining hall and then to their various program areas.

On about day 3, we left for breakfast and the sun was shining.  By lunchtime, clouds had rolled in and the rain was coming down. Camp leadership asked for 1 member of each “troop” to go back to his campsite and tie down the tent flaps (tents were left open that morning when the sun was shining). I volunteered to go for our troop.

So, off I go in a downpour about a halfmile back to the campsite.  No raingear, or anything else, just me in a swimsuit , tshirt and running shoes.  As I run to camp, the rain continues to pour and the wind begins to howl.

Arriving at camp, I begin my job of tying down tent flaps.  After about 10 minutes, the rain is coming down unmercilessly. THe wind picks up and I finish my job.  Hearing really high winds, I decided to take cover in the campsite latrine (outhouse).

THinking that if a tree limb were to fall, having a wooden structure over my head might be a good thing.  About 10 minutes later, the rain stops, the wind stops and I exit from the outhouse.

Walking back to the dining hall, I see trees fallen all along the trail. Walking past another campsite, I see an outhouse completely crushed to the ground by what had been a 60 foot tall pine tree. Walking past the swimming pool, I see the fence crushed by a large tree that has been blown over.

Arriving back at the dining hall, the power is off. Local radio is describing the TORNADO that has just swept through the area.  It occurs to me at this point that I have just ridden out a tornado while sitting in an outhouse.

T

A couple of weeks back, I tried to get home from Green Bay, WI through Chicago O’Hare and St Louis (American’s routing, not mine).  Due to a business need, I ended up needing to delay departure from 0905 on a Friday to after 1200.

I tried to change the departure time. No problem with changing, only it costs $800 more, not including $150 change fee.  Something about being a more direct route without a stop in St. Louis. 

I finally ended up renting a car from GRB to ORD, $92.  Then, caught a flight from ORD to TUL for $250.  I don’t understand how a flight from GRB to ORD could cost $550 more. 

Then, the flight is delayed, then canceled.

I meet Hamesh, the cab driver and wait in the “non priority” line at Holiday Inn Express because the sign for the “Priority Club” (of which I am a member and which was checking people in at about 12 times faster than the non priority line) is hidden by the line of people trying to get a room because their flights, too, were canceled.

I got home 24 hours later than I originally planned. Oh, well. At least I made it home.

T