Some Day's You Just Wanna.....

Open up a can on somebody!!!!

And you know what kind of a can I'm talking about!

Not that I'm whining, or that I've never given anyone else reason to want to open up a can on me, but some days I feel like the guy in the commercial who's trying to explain to the person on the other end of the line that he works with a bunch of monkeys.

I'm not going to go into any details, but suffice it to say that I work in what I consider to be a stressful job. A wise person once told me that, "Stress is the condition that arises when the mind overrides the body's desire to OPEN UP A CAN on someone who desperately needs it!"

I'm really not such a bad sort, and I would never resort to violence, and now I don't have to, because....

I finally found a CAN...

Of.....

You guessed it....



It's truly amazing what just having it around has done to my stress levels. When people come to me at work and ask stupid questions (yes, contrary to popular belief, there really are stupid questions), I just look at the can, and somehow find the strength to smile and say, "Well, let's see, how's about if we look here......" And after solving their problem, they leave, I look good, and they have no idea how lucky they were.

I really hope I never have to open it up for real, cause... like... things could get ugly. Oooooh Yeaaahhh!!!!!

What Have I Done? Part II

My very first post entitled "What Have I Done?" was really more about what have I, or my daughter? gotten myself into, in terms of blogging. But I started thinking the other day about what I've done in my lifetime and all the jobs I've had. So here its is: My List of Things that People have paid me to do starting at age 14:

1. Tractor driver doing summer-fallow work on a farm
2. Haying (bales)
3. Cutting (if you know what I mean) and branding calves.
4. Working the water pistol game at the local fair carnival.
5. Working the "toss a dime on a dish" game at the local fair carnival.
6. Scraping Manure off the feed lot fence in preparation for painting.
7. Doorman/ticket taker at the local movie theatre.
8. Meat delivery/bone pickup/carcas boner at a meat packing plant
9. Wheel move irrigation system manufacture and assembly.
10. Public library janitor and various other venues including a bar cleaning up vomit from people who mixed too much beer and who knows what else with chili and chips. (I figure this one and scraping manure off the feed lot fence would qualify for the "Dirty Jobs" show.
11. Sears plumbing and heating and paint and wallpaper department sales person.
12. Underground sprinkler installer and repair man (Private industry and city unionized employee.
13. Chartered accounting student with major public accounting firm and with smaller firm that specialized in bankruptcy.
14. Chartered Accountant large public firm
15. Special Projects Accounting Manager - small oil and gas explorationa and production company
16. SEC and FASB Accounting Research and Compliance Specialist with a large oil and gas exploration public company.
17. Chief Accountant responsible for financial reporting, Tax and Treasury for the small Canadian subsidiary of a major multi-national oil company.
18. Global consolidations accountant for the parent of the small Canadian oil company.
19. Retail accounting and audit supervisor same company
20. Transportation (pipeline) Budget and finance coordinator for same oil company
21. Budget and Finance coordinator for the Rockies business unit (refining, pipelines and marketing) of same company.
22. Accounting and Planning Manager for the Venezuelan subsidiary of same company.
23. Currently the primary finacial data organizer/chief data miner for the U.S. marketing department of this same company. Yup, that's it. At some point I stopped being an accountant and now I'm a data miner and specialize in telling people how to get their financial data out of one of the largest computer systems in the country, quite possibly the world. Not as glorious as it sounds - Especially when looking for historical comparative data out of 2 predecessor companies we refer to those projects as "Dumpster Diving for Data".

Okay folks. Nothing happening here, move along!

Show and Tell - Walking Sticks

There they are. Right by the door. Waiting to be taken for a walk. Some I made myself. Others I purchased. There's a bunch more in the attic somewhere. But I'm not energetic enough to photograph those. The tall ones are for hiking in the mountains. The short ones are for setting a pace around the neighborhood. And yes, I'm just eccentric enough to use them.

And hats to shade my head.

Word of the Week Wednesday

The word of the week is "STUPID".

Have you ever noticed how many different ways we have of saying something, with out really using the real word? Take the word "STUPID" for example:

Unintellegent
Dumb
His elevator doesn't go all the way to the top
The lights are on but nobody's home
A few bricks shy of a load
Doesn't have both oars in the water.....

I could go on, but you get the picture. How many other ways can you give me to say that somebody's not playing with a full deck?

And don't worry, if you choose not to comment, I won't think its because
you're a lamebrain or any thing like that... oops, there I go again. You can't use lamebrain or not playing with a full deck either.

Come on.... Show me whatcha got... I dare ya! I double dog dare ya!!!!

Quasimodo Takes a Vacation

Quasimodo had been ringing the bell, well.. it seemed like forever. So one day he decided he'd like to take a vacation, so he put an add in the paper for an assistant Bell Ringer to fill in for him while he was gone.

He only got one application, so he asked the applicant to come for an interview. When the guy showed up, he was a skinny little bit of nothin'. He only weighed about 90 pounds soaking wet. Quasimodo told him that he couldn't give him the job due to his small size, but the little guy pleaded, explaining that he needed the job to help support his poor dear Mother.

So Quasimodo consented to give him a try, and took him up to the top of the tower to see the bell. After climbing the 300 stairs to the top, the poor fellow could hardly breath. Upon catching his breath and looking around he noticed that there was no rope attached to the huge and heavy bell and there was also no clapper inside the bell with which to ring it either, and he asked Quasimodo how he was supposed to ring the bell.

Quasimodo said, "Here, let me show you" and proceded to push on the bell until it swung out away from him. He then braced himself so that when the bell swung back it hit him in the head, causing a resontating "BONNNNGGGGGG"!!! Then he stepped aside and said, "Okay, now you try it!"

Somewhat nervous, but determined, the little guy gathered up his courage and strength and grabbed the side of the bell and push as hard as he could with both hands. To his surprise, the bell swung out fairly easily. He then braced himself the way he had seen Quasimodo do, and let the bell swing back towards his head. The huge bell hit him square in the face, knocking him back over the railing of the tower and he fell 300 feet to his death.

Soon some people were passing buy on the sidewalk, and pointed to the body and asked, "Who is that?" "I don't know", said another passerby, "but he's a DEAD RINGER for Quasimodo".

Okay, same preamble, different punch line: "I'm not sure, but THE FACE RINGS A BELL".

Sorry but it's the best I could do today.

What Goes Around, Comes Around

A while back, I seem to remember a certain young Mom (initials DYM) posting an entry about her youngest child, Magoo. You remember - the one about how he's always into everything, breaking stuff, pulling stuff out, falling down, playing in the toilet, never let your eye off him 'cause if you do he'll burn the house down kinda stuff.....

Well, I also remember an old Bill Cosby routine where he's talking about kids and he mentioned Adam and Eve and about when they got kicked out of the Garden, God cursed them by saying, "Multiply and replenish the earth".

We've all heard parents say to one or more of their children, (not that any of us would have said it or even thought it ourselves), "I hope when you get married and have children, you have one just like you!!!"

I know it may be hard for some of you to believe, but DYM got into her fair share of mischief as a child as well:




Notice the crumbs left in the cake pan. Notice the crumbs left on the plate. Notice the crumbs on her hands and face. But especially notice the look on her face - you know the one - the one that says, "I think I may be in trouble, but if I smile real cute maybe they won't notice, or at least maybe they'll think it's so funny they'll take a picture and send it to Grandma."

DYM went on to get in other kinds of mischief, most of which I won't mention here, but I seem to remember a conversation she and I once had about her driving. "You're driving too far to the right, try to stay in the middle of the lane", says I. "Dad, I know precisely where every piece of car is at all times. I'm very good at depth perception and spacial relationships", says she. "Okay, but try to keep to the center of the space where the car is", says I.

A few days later I come home to find two small bolt holes in the top of the drivers side front fender of the car, caused by my depth perceptive, spacial relationship expert bouncing the left front tire off the cement curb that supported the security card reader into the parking garage at the office where she worked afternoons her senior year in highschool, causing the mounting bolts on the bottom of the card reader to embed themselves into the top of the fender. If I remember correctly, that the same cute smile got her out of that one as well.

So, to all of you who struggle with over-active little bundles of joy, "Don't sweat the small stuff!" If I say to my kids, "I hope that you have a kid just like you!", I honestly do mean it as a blessing, not a curse. I could not wish for a better family, and I'm so proud of how they've turned out and how they continue to develop. They truly are a blessing.

....In Which Grammy and Papa's True Identities are Revealed

I suppose most of us have an alter-ego that we identify with; that in a way shapes our thinking and how we see ourselves. Mine comes from many happy memories from my childhood and parenthood. Mine involves magic (no, I'm not a wizard even though I have scar on my forehead), wonder, joy, anticipation and just downright fun.

Children of all ages love me and are drawn to me, whether they believe in me or not. Most want their picture taken with me, even the big kids and adult kids, although they are often embarrased to admit it. People's eyes light up when they see me and there is nothing like the feeling I get when a youngster who truly believes climbs onto my lap and whispers their wish in my ear.

Most of the year I go about in disguise but come December I can quit pretending and reveal who I truly am, and if Grammy's available she likes to join me as:




That's right folks we are Santa and Mrs. Claus. I've got the suit and the belly and I'm working on the beard although the real full one may have to wait until I'm retired.

One day this past Christmas season, we were invited to the local community association children's party and to the YMCA. In all that afternoon we had about 400 kids. What makes it all worthwhile are the ones who say, "All I want is for my little brother to have the best Christmas ever." Or the little girl whose house I went to on Christmas Eve who said, "I know you! We were just watching a movie about you." Or the little girl who said, "Oh, I don't need anything but I wanted you to have this", and then gave me little toy car with a ribbon tied around it - just for Santa.

Then there was the one who said in response to the question about what he wanted for Christmas, "OH, I have a list! Are you sure you want me to read all of it?"

There are the ones who aren't quite sure if they believe anymore, and the ones that are only there because Mom wanted a picture and they are embarrased. To them I say, "Don't worry, we'll have this posted on the internet for all your friends to see by tomorrow morning." They give a nervous laugh and go away wondering if I really will.

All I can say is that you're never too old to believe in Santa Claus. I know I sure do. And believe me being Santa is really cool especially because Mrs. Claus is such a total Hottie!!! Isn't she gorgeous?

Trust Me on this one - USE SUNSCREEN

If you're a bit squeamish, you may not want to view the picture further down the page. I don't think it's that bad, but you never know. I'd hate for someone to lose their lunch on their keyboard.

About 3 years ago, I was installing an attic staircase in the garage, and Grammy was holding it in place while I was securing it in place from below. She thought I was done and let go. I wasn't done, and caught it with my head. No big deal, just a scratch that healed in a few days. But then about a month later, it seemed to open up again and over the course of the next few years it never fully healed. Most of the time it was just a small indentation in my forehead about the size of a pinhead and occaisionally it would bleed. Finally, when I went to a dermatologist about something else on my arm, I asked him to take a look at my forehead. He said the arm was fine, but that I had a Basal Cell Carcinoma on my forehead caused by too much sun over the years. Then he said, "but if you're gonna get cancer, this is the kind to get, because it doesn't spread out of the skin and it won't kill you". He then recommended that I have it excised or it could get larger and cause some permanent disfigurement

Hence, my trip to the plastic surgeon last October who confirmed the Demetologist's diagnosis and after numbing my head (Grammy might argue that I was already a numbskull) started cutting, and cutting , and cutting and lasering, and cutting. Apparently it was larger than it appeared on the surface. When I got home I looked like this:

Move over Harry Potter, there's a new Wizard in town:



But, not to worry, the surgeon said it would heal just fine and in 6 months to a year it would be almost invisible. And now four months later I see that he was right:



So, folks, take my advice and WEAR SUNSCREEN, or better yet, BIG HATS!!!

Tune in tomorrow when Papa and Grammy's true identities will be revealed (don't you just love a little suspense? I'm sure you can hardly wait.)

Why Computers Sometimes Crash

Does it count if I steal shamelessly from someone else? Oh, well, even if it doesn't, here goes anyway. Someone sent this to me and I had so much fun reading it out loud to myself that I just had to pass it on. But you have to promise to read it out loud. If you can't make that commitment, then STOP NOW and read no further:

If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
And the bus is interrupted at a very last resort,
And the access of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
Then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.

If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
And the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
And your data is corrupted cause the index doesn't hash,
Then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash.

If the lable on the cable on the table at your house,
Says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
But your packets want to tunnel to another protocol,
That's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall...

And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
So your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse,
Then you may as well beboot and go out with a bang,
'Cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang.

When the copy on your floppy's getting sloppy in the disk,
And the macro code instruction is causing unnecessary risk,
Then you'll have to flash the memory and you'll want to RAM your ROM,
And then quickly turn of the computer and be sure to tell your Mom!


Well..... That certainly clears it up for me. How about you?

Xerxes Beard

Ask any of my kids what that green, straggly wispy moss is hanging from the trees in the forest, and they'll tell you without a moments hesitation that it is Xerxes Beard - not Spanish Moss, not Tillandsia Usneoides, but XERXES Beard.

When the kids were little and we used to car trip all over the place, we used to play a game to keep them occupied. Starting with the letter A, and working our way through each member of the family and letter of the alphabet, we had to name something that we could see out of the window of the vehicle that started with that letter: Apple tree, Barn, Cow....... until one day we got to my turn and the letter X. Realizing that there was a serious shortage of xylophones outside the car in that particular part of the country, I happened to notice all the moss hanging from the trees so I said, "Xerxes Beard".

"What?", they asked. I decided to give them a history lesson and told them of Xerxes, a King of ancient Persia, who had a long wispy beard strangely similar to the moss in the trees, and that because he was so famous, the moss had been named after him. I won the game, by the way. I don't know how long it took before they realized that I made it all up, but to this day that is what they call it and I'm sure that's what they will teach their kids to call it. I'm shooting for an entry in the dictionary.

I've since used this same tactic on several other occaisions when I was pretty sure my audience didn't know the correct answer and for darn sure, neither did I. It's all in the delivery. If you say it with enough conviction, and your "facts" are at least plausible, chances are they'll believe you and you won't have to admit that you really don't know.

I'm sure most of you have done the same thing, so c'mon folks let's hear your version of "Xerxes Beard".

,,,IN WHICH PAPA MEETS GRAMMY'S MOM

I think that in order to really know someone, or know yourself, for that matter, you need to understand where you came from. Many of you have been getting to know DYM and Heather from One Woman's World for some time, but I relate the following so that you might understand that they come by their wit and their unique way of expressing themselves honestly.

I had never met Grammy's family until about 2 weeks before the wedding, and they didn't call it off, so I must have done something right.

The day I flew in, Grammy picked me up at the airport and took me home to meet the parents. The first evening was a bit formal, "Hi, nice to meet you.", "I want you to entrust your only daughter to me for the rest of her life and send her off to live three thousand miles away in a foreign country.", "How do you like me so far?".... the usual kind of stuff.... you know.

Anyway, the next morning, was Sunday and we were all getting ready for church. I was ready early - trying to make a good impression, and standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.

Grammy's Mom starts coming down the stairs in a below the knee floral dress belted at the waist. Now you need to understand that Grammy's Mom, unlike Grammy was not a small woman. Nor was she fat, just solid, perhaps matronly, and rather tall. She had given birth to Grammy somewhat later than was the custom, sometime in her early forties, so she was now in her early sixties, white haired with streaks of grey, and very "proper". Got the picture?

As she's coming down the stairs, I noticed that her slip was hanging down below the hem of her dress a good two inches. Realizing that such a proper, even elegant woman would not want to be embarrassed by that situation in public, I decided it was my duty to inform her so she could make the proper adjustments before leaving the house. Having only known her for less than 24 hours, and not yet knowing what to call her, as any respectful prospective son-in-law would do, I discreetly called to her and said, "Um, Mrs. ________, your slip is showing."

At this, she never missed a beat. She pulled her self up to her fully height, squared her shoulders and in the most serious tone she could muster, said "It proves I'm a nice girl and wear one!"

Well, at that moment, I knew this was a family I could love. It didn't take long for me to call her Mom, although she would answer to just about anything, including, "Hey Lady!!!" if nothing else worked.

It's now over 30 years later and she has long since left us, but she still lives on in our memories, and in her daughter and grandchildren. If Great Grammy were here today, she probably wouldn't have a blog, but she'd be proud of her family and would not hesitate to correct some of the twisted english that sometimes appears in the posts of DYM, One Woman's World and now Grammy Rules, even though they learned at least some of it from her.

What Have I Done?

I'll tell you what I've done. I've given in to "Kid Pressure", but DYM says that it's all Blackbird's fault. Truth be told, I've kinda wanted to have a blog, because it seem's to be the cool thing to do, but I don't know if I can stand the pressure of coming up with something to say everyday, or even every other day... or so. When my kids were little they always wanted to hear stories about when I was little, so I may get a lot of that out here, as well as what ever else pops in to my head from time to time.

Anyway, like I said in my profile, I like woodworking. I've dabbled a little over the years, but I got more serious about it about 3 1/2 years ago when we were able to buy some good equipment. So, I enjoy taking stuff that looks like this:










And turning it into stuff that looks like this (this actually did come from the pile of wood in the first picture):

So, someday when I retire in the next 4 to 8 years, that is what I would like to do with my time, make stuff for around the house and for my kids and grandkids, and maybe the occaisional thing to sell. But I will never take custom orders. My philosophy is that if someone sees something they like that I've made, I'd be happy to sell it to them for the right price, but if I take orders then they've suddenly become my boss, and I've spent too long getting out of that racket, and I don't want to go there again.

Okay, so much for day one.

TTFN