Today's thoughts

Category: CREATURE FEATURES (Page 36 of 38)

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! (Plus dogs and cats)

Retirement is not without Hassles: What’s with that Name? Part 1 #136

A name is how we are known, addressed, or referred to in life.  I seem to have some unparalleled experience when it comes to names.  In fact, I was born with a different name than what I grew up with, have had my name changed, altered and misspelled, have been labeled with a nickname, and have given my name to others.  I’ve also named several businesses, animals, and children, and been called a few names in the process.  As a result, I tend to be very sensitive when it comes to the precious brand that each of us possesses through our name.

I was born Jerry Lee Bannister by a mother I never knew.  The adoption agency called me “Mickey,” maybe because of my big ears.  Correspondence to my prospective parents stated “your Mickey is quite a boy,”  but my parents fortunately put a stop to that.  My legal name for life then became Michael Lee Johnston, however my friends called me, “Smiley.”

When I got in the business world, I began to emphasize that my last name was “Johnston with a T,” since it was often mistaken as simply Johnson.  Fortunately, very few misspelled the name “Mike,” whereas “Michael” could get some vowels reversed on occasion.   For many years, I let these misspellings go unchallenged, but soon realized the importance of protecting my brand.  This became particularly significant in the age of e-mail, since misspelling meant non-delivery.  I am very specific with the “T,” and my wife has become equally emphatic.

Wives are typically quite familiar with name changes, since this hassle many times accompanies the marriage licensing process.  Some women maintain their maiden names, while others use hyphenated versions.  My wife, for example, changed her legal name to Johnston, but maintains her maiden name for business purposes.  It gets a bit confusing at times, but she established brand recognition for her maiden name in business long before she met me, although she also used a hyphenated version in her previous marriage.  Name changes through marriages are a sign of the times.

I suppose I could have been Mickey Bannister-Johnston, Jerry Lee Johnston, Michael Bannister, or Mike Johnston, instead the nickname “Smiley” eventually prevailed over all other options.  I did have a wide smile and a big mouth growing up, so it was probably an appropriate label to give me.  It started at a week-long camp that I attended in Junior High School.  I didn’t like the name, “Smiley,” and couldn’t wait for camp to end so I could get my identity back.  However, it caught on and spread through the school like wild fire.  I fought it all through high school.  It wasn’t that it was a bad name; it just wasn’t my name.

I definitely had an identity crisis throughout High School, and hated to use the phone where you always needed to identify yourself.  If I said it was “Mike” or “Michael,” they didn’t know who was calling, and I refused to call myself “Smiley.”  This was particularly problematic when it came time for a prom date.  We would all gather at a classmate’s house and try to muster confidence to make that critical call, with the guidance and support of close friends.  I hid in the corners, or pretended to make calls, and would finally have to make the “ask” face-to-face at school.  I honestly think this aversion to the phone eventually affected my ability to make cold-calls in business, and my reluctance to participate in group call-outs.  I learned to hate the phone!  With today’s technology, we finally have Caller ID, so I no longer have to fumble through an explanation on who is calling.

“Smiley” no longer exists, and “Jerry Bannister” is my second Facebook identity.  I used my birth name in an attempt to make connections with the Bannister family name.  This came about as part of my efforts to learn the identity and whereabouts of my birth mother.  I had to rely on the help of a few close friends to get me started with this page, but now I have hundreds of Bannister, Banister, Bannistor,  and even Bannester friends on Facebook.  Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a connection with my birthmother, Edna Faye Bannister, presumably of Rome, Georgia. (See post #104:  Dual Identity).  I do, however, wish Jerry Bannister a happy birthday every year on Facebook.  I hardly ever forget since it’s the same day as mine!

Giving another a name is a privilege and happens only rarely in life.  It usually starts with a pet.  For example, I was able to name my dog “Smiley,” hoping that it would become his brand rather than mine.  I also helped in the naming of Tinker and Tally, our two schnauzers.  (See post #133:  Puppy Love).  I have yet to name a cat, and the names I came up with for a white mouse, a chameleon, some fish, and a few turtles have escaped me.  I’m sure they were clever!  I also helped name my son, Adam.  He was named after the actor Pernell Roberts, who played Adam Cartwright in the T.V. series, Bonanza.  I also gave my son Adam his middle-name of Michael.  This happened, as I recall, on the way to the hospital.  We had pretty much decided on the name Lee, since it also was the middle name of both my father and I.  Apparently, ego got in the way, so he’s Adam Michael Johnston, my favorite namesake.

I still find it touching to go to the veterinarian, with the dogs and our cat, and see the name Johnston come up for each of them – Tinker, Tally, and Frankie Johnston.  Since my family tree starts with my adoption into the Johnston family, my pets, my son, my wife, and my granddaughter are the only living Johnston ornaments on the tree.  Roxie, a schnauzer that we lost to a speeding motorist, was also a member of our exclusive Johnston household, and is buried in our hearts.  All the other Johnston cousins out there have their own tree that includes my adopted parents and grandparents that gave me the privilege of the name.

Long ago, I had the opportunity to name a business, “Hall of Ivy.”  It was a plant shop that grew to five locations with the slogan, “bringing the outdoors in.”  I had a radio jingle prepared, a logo, and hired an advertising agency.  I didn’t have much to do with the actual business, but I did some occasional “Plant Parties.”  This involved taking a truckload of house plants to a private home, and hopefully returning with only few remaining.  It was similar to  a Tupperware party in those days, where the host invited guests and received bonus plants for helping to sell them to their friends and family.

I made a common marketing mistake on the name, “Hall of Ivy.”  It was originally just a hallway of plants in a mini-mall, but “grew” well beyond that.  The business eventually also evolved into selling fresh flowers and arrangements, so the name no longer represented what was sold or it’s size.  I didn’t have that foresight when selecting the original name.  Several big companies have also made similar marketing mistakes.  One of my favorite examples is the insurance giant, “Massachusetts Mutual.”  Their original sales territory was strictly the state boundary of Massachusetts, but when legislation eventually allowed them to expand nationwide, their name would no longer represent their customer base.  “Nationwide Insurance” has a similar challenge in the international marketplace.  In what I consider to be an ingenious marketing move, “Massachusetts Mutual” simply shortened their name to “Mass Mutual,” representing the masses rather than just the state.  It was an easy fix to a short-sighted decision on the original name.

Very few of us grow up to be known by just one name.  Beyoncé, Sting. Adele, Prince, Elvis, Cher, God, Santa, and Madonna are the primary examples, not necessarily in that order.  “Smiley” might have grown to that level if I had not fought it!  Most of us have at least a first and last name, that were initially the decision of a parent.  Some of those parents were also a bit short-sighted when they named their children.  For example, the Baals should not have named their son, Harry.  Also, a name like Candy Kane, was maybe cute for young girl, but what about as an adult woman?  I struggled with finding a name for our son that kids couldn’t “make fun of.”  For example, naming a child who has big ears, “Mickey” – who would do that?  I thought I was safe with the name Adam, but the kids ended up saying Ad-dumb.  Sometimes you just can’t win!

Ask any numerologist “What’s in a name?” and they will give you some additional food for thought.  The baby books will tell you which are the most popular, but many of us are driven to find something unique.  There’s a reason why Adolph is no longer popular.  There’s also a list of the 100 most unfortunate names in human history, if you need help?  Just remember, even a “creative” twist in the spelling of a popular name, just to be different, can lead to years of frustration in communication – miss-spelled e-mails, driver’s license errors, graduation diplomas, business awards, etc.  Poor Meaghan, for example, is plagued with constantly correcting everyone’s spelling.  What’s with that name, anyway!

If you are given the honor of coming up with a name, please put some thought into it.  What’s in a Name? Everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Creature Features: Puppy Love #133

I’m married to a true dog lover, so if I’m going to live with her I have to be one, too!  She feels a kindred spirit.  I’ve always been around dogs, but never wanted to put the work into owning one.  I can’t remember the circumstances of having dogs in my former marriage, but there was Smiley, the golden retriever who would stand in the shallow water of the lake for hours and stare at her reflection, and Gizmo, the schnauzer with bat ears who did nothing but bark and pee.  I probably wasn’t very helpful in their care, but they were both part of the family.

My parents did not have a dog until after I left for college.  I’m not positive how that happened, but I’m sure my younger sister was the influence.  It was a Brittany spaniel  with the creative name of Britt.  My mom was scared of dogs, in-part due to the one who bit me when I was three years old.  I still have the clipping that reads:  Boy, 3, Bitten By Dog, Gets Anti-Rabies Shot.  It was not front-page page news, but rather almost the size of a classified ad, and the poor dog was kept under “observation.”  Rabies shots are supposed to be very painful, so if I associate that with dogs, it’s no wonder I was a slow adapter to puppy love.

When I met my current wife, she had a part-Chow, part-Shepherd, named Belle that was probably scared of me.  She would not let me walk her outside the neighborhood, stopping abruptly at the edge of the housing addition, or wrapping herself around a mailbox to emphasize that we had gone far enough. I slowly got to know Belle, a critical first test in the new relationship with my wife now of 16 years.   When we eventually got married, we then adopted Tinker, making a “Disneyesque” combination.   Tinker and Belle were an inseparable pair for several years, and I slowly learned how to love.

As I think about all the dogs in my life, there are fond stories that come to mind.  Perhaps this sentimental journey is the result of recently reading, “Call of the Wild,” and watching the movie, “Megan Leavey.”  These were stories of dogs that worked hard and saved lives.  I can’t say that was the case with any of my pets.  They just simply make me smile.

I’ll start my stories with Gizmo, who was out doing her business in our back yard twenty years ago.  When I went to let her in, it was a raccoon who sauntered in instead.  It was very dark outside and both animals were about the same size, so I mistook it for the dog.  Gizmo was then trapped on the other side of the screen door barking at  the bandit, who had proceeded to boldly eat out of his food bowl.  I might not have even noticed the clever thief if it had gone straight up the stairs.  If so, it probably could have done a lot of damage, but Gizmo’s barking alerted me to the culprit.  I chased it around with a broom, three-stooges-style, while Gizmo continued to bark until the masked coon eventually got the message and fortunately ran back outside into the night.

One of my favorite Gizmo tales, was the night I stopped for To-Go at my favorite Bar-B-Q joint.  I was so hungry that I ate the baked potato like an apple on my way home.  I wanted to dig-in right away when I got to the house, but Gizmo, of course, needed to go outside  and was barking like a maniac.  I could smell the Bar-B-Q sauce as I waited patiently for her to finish, and was careful not to let another raccoon through the door.  I could just taste it, but thought better of getting the runny sauce from the pulled-pork sandwich on my new suit.  I reluctantly went into my closet to change into something more casual.  By the time I got back, there was nothing left but the empty Styrofoam container on the floor.   Giz was a chunky little dog, with not much vertical jumping ability, but somehow had gotten up on the counter and devoured my treasured sandwich, along with some cold slaw and baked beans.  I was stunned and angry, but Gizmo licked her smiling lips and held back a belch.  He was then forever known as the BBQ Gremlin.

Smiley preceded Gizmo, and was a lake dog, who absolutely loved the water.  Gizmo, like the Gremlins character he was named after, avoided water, but faithfully guarded our home from intruders.  We would lock him in the front office, with a window overlooking the street, where he could bark at all passers-by.  His radar-like ears could hear from afar any “enemy” approaching.  Unfortunately, he was immune to potty training, though we tried everything, and chose to pee on the carpeting, which is why we would confine him to that space.  It was a small room, so we could afford to replace the carpeting on a regular basis.  He also liked to poop in shoes, so we had to warn our house guests.  Smiley, on the other hand, was outdoors most of the time by choice, so we didn’t have to buy Spot Shot by the case.  Smiley got his name from me, a childhood nickname that was hard to shake.  We thought by giving the name to the dog would make my friends think twice about calling me “Smiley.”  When they did, they would get a big, hairy dog in their lap and a slobbery kiss.  I was still called “Smiley,” despite the efforts to change the habit.  It wasn’t a bad name; it just wasn’t my name.

Tinker loves BBQ, too.  Her favorite restaurant in Austin was “Rudy’s.”  Just the mention of the name “Ruuuudys” sends her into a tizzy, even years after dining there.  It was not the best brisket in town, but it was dog and family friendly with an expansive backyard patio filled with picnic tables.   She would join us at the table like she belonged there, eating her meal off of waxed paper like the rest of us.  Portland is also dog-friendly but the rainy conditions are not always suitable for sitting outside with the pups.  Tinker got to go out to eat a lot more frequently in Austin.  Tinker’s new adopted sister, Roxie, died at a young age, so Tally then became the second member of our schnauzer family. Tally does not have Tinker’s voracious appetite, but enjoys any opportunity to be outside, and tends to favor fish and vegetables.  She’s always full of joy, and walks with the confidence of a race horse.

Tinker is part-schnauzer, part-poodle and very smart, but she’s getting old.  She’s very savvy on the streets, having to fend for herself in the woods.  She wisely ate acorns to keep her digestive track active.  I especially enjoy watching her move from shadow-to-shadow as we walk, keeping her paws cool on the exposed pavement. Tally, even at 7 years old, still has a lot of puppy-like energy and now confines her chewing to stuffed animals as opposed to furniture and shoes.  She’s left a lot of scars in the wood of our bed and coffee table that we’ve yet to have refinished.  They will always serve as memories of her first year with us, dealing with separation anxiety.  Adopted animals always come with issues, but there are so many homeless pets that it feels good to give them a solid home.  There are other stories of Tinker in posts #13, #33, #67, #76, and #130.  Tally is also the subject of these posts, plus #77: Chew on This – a favorite of mine.

Both dogs love to ride in our convertible, hoping that we’ll take them for ice cream.  We have to be careful about using the words “go” or “ride” because they will get too excited for words, and their tails and ears will drop like a starter’s flag if they find they are not accompanying us.  We also have to secretly pack our suitcases for travel so they don’t get disappointed.  They are spoiled, greedy little children if they don’t get their own way, and love to have their tummies rubbed, unless there’s a cookie or food scrap that would take immediate priority.   They also like the fact that I’m retired and can spend the afternoons with them.

As we plan to travel more in the future, Tinker and Tally will probably be our last dogs, but the gravitational tug to have a dog will always be in my wife’s nature.  It will be tough to not have them in our lives.  Probably the best time of day for both of our dogs is “Ham Time.”  They wait poised at the refrigerator after their final outing of the night, anxious for their bedtime snack of sliced ham.  For health reasons we’ve recently switched to sliced turkey breast, but as quickly as they chow it down, they’ll never know the difference.  When Tinker hears “ham time,” I’m sure she thinks of “Rudy’s.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Worn and Torn #130

I had some hassles with Google this morning that prevented me from adding any content.  I’ve since switched over to a different provider to allow me access to my site.  In the meantime, I spent some time this afternoon at the Vet with our dog Tinker.  She has a couple of lumps that seem to be interfering with her motion and comfort levels.  A couple hundred dollars later, we’re resting comfortably at home.  Pet. Vet. Debt.  (see post #67:  Schnauzer on Steroids).

I also had lunch with a friend. bought some office supplies, and tried to get some business cards ordered.  It’s only early June and I’ve already overspent my monthly retirement budget.  I’ll have to find some ways to conserve.  Our pets are expensive to keep healthy, but well worth the investment.  They are my steady companions at home, and I sometimes measure my own mortality based on the state of their health.

My wife had several cats and a dog, named Belle, when we first got together.  They would all keep a close eye on me during the courtship process.  Belle would have been 25 years old this year, and Macy the cat, who also eventually approved of me, would have turned 23.  They’re chewing on the Pearly Gates now, watching the progress of our new pet family consisting of Frankie 16, Tinker 12, and Tally 7.  Frankie was our first joint investment just before we got married.  Tinker was adopted as Belle’s companion, and Tally was adopted after we lost Roxie in an accident.  I’ve watched them all grow older with time passing quickly.

All of us feel a little worn and torn.  Tinker has especially been going through a rough time with allergies, ear infections, rashes, back problems, and lumps.  It’s a good thing I’m retired and have all this extra time to spend with the Vet.  Tally always enjoys tagging along to support her ailing sister.  Simple dog math puts Tinker in her 80’s, but “old age ain’t no place for sissies” as my mother used to say, quoting Bette Davis.  It’s hard to watch Tinker grow old, knowing that I’m growing old myself, and that someday I might need the help of a doctor.  I doubt that I will seek the help of a veterinarian, unless my ears start to itch.

 

Worn and Torn

I’m worn and torn,
From wear and tear.
I’ve lived too long,
It now seems unfair.

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In-shape and fit,
Started out as a hunk.
Now my spirit is dead,
And my muscles all shrunk.

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For too many years,
I just didn’t care.
After just a few steps,
Now, I’m sucking air.

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Drinkin’ and Smokin’
More than I should.
Tastin’ and Eatin’
All that I could.

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All those temptations,
I should have fought.
This Hangover has hung over,
Longer than I thought.

,

I’d sit on my ass,
Smokin’ a doob.
Watching others exercise,
On the boob tube.

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I’ve been hard on myself,
And that’s made me soft.
At overindulgence,
I often scoffed.

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Can’t give blood,
Cause I’m on medication.
I’ve set the standards,
Of our overweight nation.

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I have a warm heart,
And a few good parts,
But my cholesterol,
Is off the charts.

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Mark Antony’s quote,
“Lend me your ear.”
What’s that you say?
I can’t hear.

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My smile is crooked,
And a few teeth missing.
And these wrinkled lips,
No longer worth kissing.

.

Do the eyes have it?
Not any more.
And who’d want a nose?
That does nothing but snore.

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My voice is no louder,
Than most mimes.
And I’ve bitten my tongue,
Too many times.

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When I die,
I want to share.
I’d donate my organs,
But who would care?

.

Copyright 2017 (revised from 2009)  johnstonwrites.com

 

 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Vulnerable #122

I got a note this morning that Dr. William S. Stark, 69, a professor of Biology at St. Louis University, abruptly ended his four-decade daily running streak after 14,876 days (almost 41 years).  He was #9 on the official U.S.A. active running streak list as compiled by the United States Running Streak Association.  I do not know him, but we had one thing in common – running every day.  If any of you are interested you can find the list and details at www.runeveryday.com.

I have very few athletic accomplishments to tout in life, even if you take into account my Super Hero post #120, and the theory of “the older you get, the better you were.”  I was never a long-distance star, but have completed 3,080 consecutive days of running and rank tied for 211th on the list.  To maintain the streak, it takes nothing but discipline.  It doesn’t matter how fast or slow I go, and believe me I’m pretty slow, all I have to do is complete a mile.  This morning I completed 3 miles, which tends to be my norm, along with my wife and our 2 dogs.  They walked while I run loops to stay close-by.  On occasion, our dog Tally will run with me.  I coughed and sniffled the whole miserable way.  Tomorrow, I will be on my own and will run at a little faster pace.  I only hope I feel better!

I’ve kept pace with Dr. Stark the last 9 years, but he started long before I ever new about this every day running challenge.  I likely will never catch him, since he was forced to stop  nearly 12,000 days or 32.8 years ahead of me.  I would have to live until I’m almost 99 years old and continue to run every single day to catch him.  He does drop off the active streak list, moving me up one position, at his expense.  I felt his pain, as he described the hernia that plagued his daily run, and the necessary surgery that ended his streak.  He said he would take a break and then start another one.

My daily run is what keeps me going.  To even think about not being able to do it is troubling. I’m not sure I would have the same attitude as Dr, Stark.  He’s only 3 years older than I am and still working, so he’s already got more ambition than I do.  Hopefully, he enjoys teaching as much as he does running, so he will continues to feel accomplishment.   I only enjoy having completed my run each day, and don’t necessarily look forward to it.  In fact, I was not at all enthused about doing it this morning after being up most of the night with a nasty cough.  I also really haven’t moved from my desk since gladly unlacing my running shoes.

This cough and cold is the first chink in my body armor since I can remember.  I don’t think I’ve missed more than a day or two of work in all my years, and haven’t spent a night in a hospital since infancy.  I’ve had an attitude of invincibility most of my life, and to even think of Dr. Stark’s situation is scary for me.  Yes, it’s only a cold and my concern silly, but missing a day is one thing; missing a day of retirement is a near tragedy.

I’m enjoying my retirement, and realize how fortunate I am.  I’ve seen friends and family pass away, and I’ve heard stories of others where one illness has led to another.  I don’t like the idea of my body and mind deteriorating with age, and that my life is vulnerable.  I’m thankful I don’t have heart problems, weight problems, or memory problems.  I’m not in a hospital bad, in need of assisted living, or in a wheelchair.  Retirement, however, is a function of health, and life is precious.

I went out of my way to serve the community as part of my career, serving on boards, lending a hand, teaching, providing exposure, and writing checks.  Between work and community, I got pretty burned out.  I must not have had time to be sick!  Since the first of the year, I’ve been pretty selfish with my retirement time.  After all, don’t forget the ME in retireMEnt!  By design, it’s been all about ME, “my time,” and travel.  Hopefully, over the years, that will evolve and the urge will strike to get back into volunteer work.  My retired friends have found some worthwhile causes to occupy their time.  I’ve been a slacker, and apparently it’s made me sick!

Retirement is not without Hassles” Pick a seat #121

Go Ahead.  Pick a seat.  Any seat.  “We’ll sell you the whole seat, but you’ll only need the edge,” the commercials often boast.  At some events, the people around you never sit down, so what benefit does a seat really offer? If the guy in front of you is so big that he blocks your view, or if her hair-style is so tall or wide that you can’t see around it, should you get a refund?  What if the guy behind you accidentally spits a mouthful of wine on you as he laughs out-loud?  Or the woman in front of you throws up ?  I’ve even had a young lady sit in front of me holding a bouquet of balloons, and several instances of umbrella interference.

A seat is only as good as those sitting around you, and all of these annoying incidents have happened to me through the years.  I’ve experienced off-key sing-alongs in my ear, embarrassing foul language, smoke, annoying chatter, spilled beer, errant mustard, bad breath, body odor, blocked vision, and finding others in my seats.  Maybe, I’ve even been a bad neighbor, standing at an inappropriate time, being late to my seats, or just being for the wrong team.  You can pick your friends, you can pick your seat, but you can’t always pick your seat-mates.

You may go to the concert excited about your seats.  I’ve learned to couch my enthusiasm. Before you ever find your seats, you have to find a parking spot.  It’s the first irritant that typically shapes your event experience.  A parking pass is a luxury, but often times they oversell them relative to the number of spaces they have available,  Finally, you find a seat for your car.  Next, you fight the mob and security to get access to your seat, or you stand in line to buy a seat.  Home seat home – you finally get settled in.  Then, it’s up and down to accommodate late, hungry, or bathroom-bound neighbors.  If you’re lucky, you’ll “take a seat and make a friend,” or, on the other hand, spend your eagerly anticipated evening making an enemy.

I’ve put a lot of thought into what makes for a Good Seat, and what goes wrong to make it a Bad Seat.  Often times, it’s not the location or the proximity to the action.  It all comes down to who’s in the neighborhood, coupled with the mood you’re in once you’ve battled the crowds.  The older you get and the more events that you’ve attended, the more likely you will stay home and watch it on T.V. or just claim that you were there.  What’s in a seat?

A seat can be a stool, couch, chair, bench or pew.  A Bench Seat could apply to where a player has a seat when they’re not playing, or be a seat that features a continuous pad running the full width of the cabin, as in a pick-up truck, for example.  If there’s a center console or a stick shift, there may be Bucket Seats instead.  A pew is a Hard Seat, as opposed to a couch with a Soft Seat.  There can also be the seat that is part of a chair.  Or, you can make a seat out of something else like a curb, a step, or a box.  That seat may not, however, have the same comfort as a Box Seat, and you may need to get out of the way of a car that pulls up or a pedestrian that needs to use the stairs.

Picking the right seat is not always easy.  preassigned seating takes the pressure off, but doesn’t give you a choice of where or who to sit next to. This probably dates back to the classroom with the teacher saying, “please find a seat,” or the more demanding “take a seat.”   Should I sit up front and act like I care, or sit in the back and give the perception that I don’t?” Today’s modern ticketing systems take some of the hassle out of finding a seat, but as a result ticket prices have gone up and resale brokers have flourished.

Sometimes the seat you pick can make a big difference.  Particularly on an airplane.  If you take the Left Seat in the cockpit, you better be prepared to fly the plane.  The Right Seat is for the co-pilot.  There can also be an Ejection Seat, so if you sit there don’t push any buttons. There are usually Drop Seats for the crew that are used during take-off and landing,  You also typically have your choice of an Aisle or Window Seat, if you’re not stuck in a Middle Seat. The Exit Row and Bulkhead seats will give you a little extra space, and you definitely don’t want a seat in the last row, or be too close to the restrooms.

Trains are a little less complicated, as are buses.  In both cases you still have Aisle Seats and Window Seats, but rarely a Middle Seat.  You might even leave your seat for a seat in the bar car or the observation deck if you’re riding the rails.  You may not even have an Assigned Seat, depending on how much you paid.  This is especially true if you have a seat on the Subway or Metro, and stay out of the Handicapped Seats unless you’re unfortunate enough to be regularly seated in a wheel chair.  And, please save a seat for Senior Citizens like myself.

As you travel to your next event, you may prefer the Driver’s Seat over the Passenger’s Seat, and want to avoid being or having a Back Seat Driver.   There can also be Folding Seats, designed to save space in the back of a SUV.  Never be in a Folding Seat when it’s being folded away!  You also don’t ever want to be on the Hot Seat, but a Heated Seat can be comforting on a cold day; nor do you want a car that’s not running properly because it needs a Piston Seat.  Small Children have to be in a Car Seat, but be careful if you’re riding with James Bond; he may have had an Ejection Seat installed.  An antique car may also have a Rumble Seat – let’s get ready to Rumble, but not from the Front Row please!  And always wear your Seat Belt.

A Front-Row seat can be special at most entertainment events other than auto racing, 3-D movies, or a Gallagher concert.  I was once excited to have a Front Row seat at a Heavyweight Boxing match.  Instead, it was bloody and gruesome.  In hockey, a front-row seat is usually protected by glass.  Baseball has followed this precaution, installing safety netting to protect the fans from nasty projectiles.   You won’t have a Dugout Seat unless you’re on the team, but you could buy a Bleacher Seat, Box Seat, or even a Lawn Seat at some stadiums.  Those in the bleachers may wish to purchase a Seat Back for a little more comfort. If you happen to be an athlete, the last seat you want is a Seat on the Bench.  Some fans decide to go without a seat, settling instead for a standing room only ticket, hoping eventually that they can steal an Empty Seat  If you really want to save money, purchase a Nose-Bleed Seat or Restricted View Seat.  Or, you simply may want to watch it on television from your seat on a bar stool.  Bartender, give me a double – Seat on Seat.

Most concert and sporting event venues offer VIP Seats.  These could be a Sideline Seat, Cushioned Seat, Lounge Seat, Suite Seat, or other Special Seat.  They can be pricey, but ideal for corporate entertaining or impressing a date.   Luxury seats make you feel rich and important and can be the envy of your friends that are in the Cheap Seats or don’t have a seat at all.   Being a backstage guest at a concert is a unique experience and usually involves a pass not a ticket.  There are likely not even seats for you back there, as is the case for the pits, infields, and locker rooms that other fans also may never get to visit.

There’s a seat for everyone when you include Bicycle Seats, Saddle Seats, and Sliding Seats, although they are not very comfortable.  They are, however, useful for peddling, horseback riding, and rowing.  Seat can also apply to your posture while guiding a horse.  It’s more than just a seat on a saddle.  Others might enjoy a Side-Car Seat, as a motorcycle or race car passenger, but the only time they look at any man’s Trouser Seat is when when he’s having some pants fitted.

In the world of finance and politics, there are seats that need to be earned like Congressional Seats, Senate Seats, Parliamentary Seats, Exchange Seats, and Board of Trade Seats.  You’re not supposed to get one of these seats “by the Seat of Your Pants,” but there are exceptions. Then, there’s the County Seat that really isn’t a seat at all.  But the best seat of all is a seat on the Throne.

So get off your seat, or buttocks, and use your brain; it’s your Seat of Learning.  Pick your next seat, but be careful since there are unfortunately many instances of forgery.  You could pick a seat that somebody else wants, and when they ask for your ticket at the door, it’s no longer in your possession.  Similarly, they could scan the digital code on your ticket and find that it’s a fake – you might be left on the outside picking your nose.

 

 

copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com

 

 

 

 

Creature Features: What have I stepped in? #112

Step in and out of trouble.  Step it up.  Step off the deep end.  Step up to the plate.  “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”   Step outside.  Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.  But most importantly, watch your step and be careful what you step in.

When you’re in unfamiliar territory, step softly.  We should have paid more attention to our dog, but typically you’re trying to avoid stepping in what a dog leaves behind.  She is having trouble adjusting to the Texas grass.  It’s apparently not as soft and subtle as the grass up North where she lived as a puppy.  She walks on it gingerly, hopping from bare spot to bare spot, as if it hurts her feet.  And when the grass is wet forget it.  She would rather hold it in until it makes her sick.  She skirts the edges, prances with her paws up as high as possible, and acts like she’s walking on a bed of hot coals.  When she finally finishes circling and squats to do her business, she has that look of disgust that comes with just having used the cheap toilet paper in an airport stall.

It was the same look that my wife had the other night after stepping on something unpleasant.  After finishing a romantic dinner on the patio of the Four Seasons, we were then invited to make our own smores.  I, of course, was like a little kid on a campout, roasting marshmallows and enjoying the flight of the bats and the lake view.   There is nothing better than a sizzling marshmallow nestled between two graham crackers and half a Hershey’s chocolate bar.  It was dark when we finished, and it wasn’t until my wife’s shoe stuck to the sidewalk and she developed a noticeable limp that I realized that something was wrong.   With the help of a napkin and a knife we were able to scrape the marshmallow off the bottom of her Jimmy Choos.  Or should I say Gooey Choos.  Her hopping around reminded me of the dog on the grass, and I could laugh only because I never dropped one of my marshmallows.

The very next day, we walked to breakfast at the Magnolia Café.  The Jimmy Choos were secure in the closet and she was wearing the opposite extreme in footwear, a pair of cheap rubber thongs.   She had noticed some discomfort on the walk there, and as we were leaving the restaurant she began to limp slightly.  I was beginning to think that there was some correlation between dining and limping, when she instinctively pulled off her sandal.   I then helped her remove a screw that had penetrated through the rubber sole and into her heel.  Ouch.   Before I even had a chance to make a crude joke about her encounter, I slipped in a patch of mud on the sidewalk and nearly fell.  Fortunately, for the sake of my mother’s back, I righted myself before I stepped on the crack.   In cleaning the sticky mud off the bottom of my sandal, I too discovered that a screw had embedded itself in my sole.  We had both been screwed.

Our dog enjoyed her Magnolia breakfast and watched me clean off my sandals.  She had a grin on her face, probably thinking I had stepped in the obvious.  It certainly looked like I did.  Along the route, she had avoided the grass wherever possible, only tolerating the sharp, coarse blades of Bermudagrass in emergency situations.  We always carry poop bags with us and are conscientious about picking up after our pooch.  However, others aren’t as thoughtful and many lawns are like a minefield.   So, be careful out there.  Watch out for screws and marshmallows or don’t take any shit!

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: DIY #107

Just because you’re retired and have more time, doesn’t mean you’re any smarter.  I have to remind myself of this!  Most retirees are on a fixed budget, but this does not translate to “I can fix anything.”  If you couldn’t handle “Do It Yourself” on the weekends all these years while you were employed, you probably still won’t be able to deal with it now that you have more time.  It only makes sense that you should try, especially since it might be a good way to save some money on home repairs.  After today, I’m having my doubts.

I was always good at electrical repairs, having some training with “Heathkits” and Amateur Radio Clubs while I was in High School.  I learned to solder, completed some certification testing, and enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together.  I also had friends that excelled at electronics, but come to think of it they went on to earn degrees in Engineering, Chemistry, and Biology.  My degree was in Marketing, not home repairs.

For those of you not familiar with the Heath Company, they are located in Benton Harbor, Michigan, not too far from my home town in northern Indiana.  From 1947 until 1992, they manufactured electronic kits, saving you money if you could put them together yourself. They were one of the original D.I.Y. companies, with one of their biggest sellers the O1 Oscilloscope, a necessity in every home.  Just kidding!  Supposedly, no knowledge of electronics was needed to assemble a “Heathkit.”  The kits taught Steve Jobs, for example, “that products were manifestations of human ingenuity, not magical objects dropped from the sky.”  I was four years older than Steve Jobs, but obviously not as deep, so I learned to simply build some walkie-talkies, radios, and even a reel-to-reel tape recorder, while he was probably building a computer out of spare parts in his dorm room.

The last item that I bought from Heath was a fully assembled reel-to-reel Sony tape recorder. This was because the one I tried to save money on never worked properly, and I was beginning to see my limitations in D.I.Y.  As a side-note, my Grandparents were going to drive me to the factory to pick up my purchase.  They insisted that we stop and pick blueberries on the way.  I was anxious to get my Sony, so I was very disappointed that we were stopping. They said I only had to fill one bucket, but it was still like waiting for my Grandpa to come home from work on Christmas morning so I could open my presents.  He worked for the Post Office.  Well, I “delivered” my bucket full of blueberries, but got caught by my Grandmother stealing from her pail to fill mine.  To this day, I want nothing to do with “Pick It Yourself” or “Do It Yourself.”

A good friend in High School named Grant, who I met while working as lab assistants for our chemistry teacher, eventually went on to get a P.H.D. in Biology, to teach and research at Boston College.  His room at home was a teen-age electronics wonderland, filled with remote control everything, and could operate anything from his bedside, long before it was a household standard.  He was also fascinated with phones, and frustrated with his sister who was always talking on it.  One night I helped him dig a trench from his house to the neighbors. We then buried a wire connecting the two phone systems and built a switchboard that allowed him to transfer his sister’s conversation over to the older neighbor’s rarely used line.  It worked great for a couple of weeks, but one Saturday morning after we had spent the night experimenting with explosives, there was an army of phone company trucks parked next door.  In a panic, Grant went out to the property line and cut the wire with a shovel.  We could see from the window the repairmen slowly pulling up the buried wire that suspiciously ended just before his house.  To make a long story short, the phone company representative must have recognized genius. For some reason, he didn’t report the incident, but rather showed my friend how to hook up his own line to the telephone pole, where he enjoyed free phone service for the next few years.

Grant’s genius extended into the classroom, where he could control the clocks remotely, moving the hands forward fifteen minutes so we could get out early.  He also rewired the language lab outputs so he could listen to rock-n-roll while the rest of the class learned German. Since his single dad was always traveling, Grant’s basement became an extension of our Chemistry Class experiments.  We would “borrow” equipment and chemicals to make fireworks, and perfect our formula for nitrogen triodide, a contact explosive recipe that we bought for $1 through Popular Science magazine.  The trick was to distill pure ammonia and combine it with iodine crystals.  The mixture remained stable as long as it was wet, but once it dried and someone touched it, there was a small explosion, leaving a faint iodine stain.  It was perfect to paint on the pencil sharpeners in the classroom.  Surprise!

One night the two of us made a batch of “nitro” in my parent’s basement.  We found that by saturating newspaper with the mixture and then tightly wrapping a small wet wad with dry newspaper made what we called “cracker balls.”  If you threw them on the ground once they dried, they would explode with a resultant purple stain.  We had made hundreds of these throughout the night and left them in the basement to dry while we got some sleep.  When we got up the next morning, they had somehow exploded, leaving iodine stains everywhere.  I was worried that my dad had taken some trash down to the incinerator and accidentally stepped on them.  I checked the shoes in my parent’s closet for stains, with no sign of accidental discharge.   We’re not really sure what set them off, but spent the whole day cleaning and painting, hoping to hide the signs of our experiment-gone-wrong.

Grant was also the one who taught me about auto repair.  He claimed that the average auto mechanic probably had a lower IQ than we did, so we should be able to fix anything mechanical.  When we were in college, he always had auto parts laying around his apartment, as the Fiat he was driving needed constant repair.  I had the same problem with a Triumph GT- 6 Fastback that I bought with graduation money.  I took his D.I.Y. attitude and tore apart the engine in my Dad’s garage, with carefully labeled parts strewn everywhere.  My mom was the only one in the family with a tool kit, since my dad had zero aptitude for repairing anything.  You can imagine the horror on his face when he hit the garage door opener to discover that his pristine garage floor was littered with engine parts.

I did get that car back together and running, despite a few remaining nuts and bolts, but it was never the same.  I realized my low potential for D.I.Y., and apologize to all skilled service people for Grant’s assumption that I was smarter than they were.  Grant, who was smarter than most, got his multi-million dollar lab and eventually worked himself to death.  In fact, he was such a workaholic that they found him in that lab on Thanksgiving morning.

This all now takes me full-circle to the point about having more time in retirement, and falsely thinking that because of that luxury, I could save a few bucks on Do It Yourself home repair instead of calling in a professional.  Will I ever learn?

I went to the hardware store and bought two things: a replacement switch for a light-dimmer and a metal bonding adhesive.  I had to go back for another switch, and ended up ordering a third option on-line, after talking with a support technician.  It will be a few days before it arrives and then what?  I will undoubtedly end up calling that  electrician that I probably should have called in the first place.  To make matters worse, the “sure-fire” adhesive didn’t work either, making its purchase a complete waste of money.  As a result, I wasted several hours of “my time,” proving once again that just because I’m retired, I’m certainly not any smarter.  The next time someone recommends D.I.Y., my response will be “Do It whY?”

Old Sport Shorts: #98 Cub woes, Sox hopes

It’s been five straight losses for the Cubs – three to the Dodgers and two to the Padres.  I can’t remember the last time that has happened, but it used to be the norm before last year’s Championship season.  This particular road trip started with the Cubs adopting an “Anchorman” theme for their traveling attire.  Their Ron Burgundy (Will Ferrell) outfits attracted a lot of attention, including a special baseball card featuring Kyle Schwarber and Anthony Rizzo that Topps produced for the occasion.   Disco-era dews, gold chains, and flashy suits were supposed to set a carefree tone for the trip west.  Instead, the World Champion Cubs have played like Ron Burgundy!

After some quick research, the Cubs did have a five-game skid back in July of last year, so it’s no reason to panic.  The rest of their division have struggled, as well, and the Cubs only remain 1.5 games behind the first-place Brewers and tied with the Cardinals.  However, they are only 2 games ahead of the last-place Pirates.  It’s not so disturbing that they lost to the Dodgers, but San Diego is 21-33 for the season.  The Cubs are now below .500 at 25-26, after a decent first half of the month.

It’s too early to tell if the Cubs can regain their swagger from last year.  They have not been plagued with injuries, just poor starting pitching.   Also, Kyle Schwarber, despite great expectations, is hitting a miserable .174 with only 8 home runs, and only Miguel Montero (.309) is hitting over .300.  They’ve also only scored 8 runs during this five-game losing streak, while giving up 29.  The month of June will tell the tale, as they return to division play at Wrigley with a four-game series against the Cardinals.

It’s time to fly the “W” again, as Jake Arrieta takes the mound today with a disappointing 4.92 ERA.  Jake has struggled in his starts so far this season, so let’s hope he can get it together in sunny San Diego.  The last time the Cubs won back-to-back World Series, it wasn’t easy either.  Back in 1908, they won 99 games, but still needed two key umpire decisions to even return to the Series.  We’ll need that kind of magic this year!

Apparently, even Joe Madden has finally bought a leisure suit, so they haven’t totally given up on the “Anchorman” theme.  Hopefully, they can salvage one game today and head home in style.  If not, I would certainly not miss the Ron Burgundy look.

Meanwhile, on the south side of Chicago, the White Sox are 3.5 games behind the division leaders, Minnesota and Cleveland.  The Indians, hoping for World Series revenge against the Cubs, are in a better position to get there than the defending Champions.  The Indians have won 27 games, keeping pace with the Major League leaders, including the Red Sox, who battle the White Sox today.  White Sox fans gave Chris Sale a standing ovation in his return to the Windy City last night, and proceeded to get the win 13-7.  The White Sox won the series opener after taking 3 out of 4 from the Tigers.  They hope to recapture their momentum with Mike Pelfrey on the mound against Drew Pomeranz.  Let’s see if we can “Guarantee” a home field victory for the Pale Hose!

While Cleveland is looking for revenge, I’m still looking for a Cubs vs. White Sox World Series rematch.  Another Cubs World Series would be even sweeter if they could beat the White Sox and get retribution for the 1906 loss.  Let’s Go Back-to-Back!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Inspiration #86

Practice for retirement should include a river cruise.  It’s as close to what I can imagine retirement community life would be like.  Got gray hair, dyed hair, or no hair?  Well my friend, welcome to travel at the slowest possible pace.  Mix that with the physically and mentally challenged, and it can be like running in molasses.

I’m actually enjoying the snail’s pace, especially since I have a tendency to push forward without smelling the roses.  However, I just might be in an alcohol-induced coma!  Just like a luxury retirement community,  one  has many choices aboard including guided tours, painting classes, lectures, group dining, and theme buffets.  A piano player entertains during the cocktail hour.  They’ll even bring in accordion music to get you really fired up!

We traveled today by bus to Monet’s Garden.  With a river cruise you’re always close to shore and alternative transportation.  You also have the convenience of not switching hotel rooms every night, plus great food and an abundance of spirits.  Even molasses for your crepes and to slow your speech.

I haven’t had a lot of “my time,” so there are many words stuck in my head.  I’ll sneak away from the group activities on occasion and get them out of my head and on to a page.  I certainly don’t associate my writing with greatness, but I’m sure that the French artists worked in a similar manner.  They’d get a picture in their mind and become obsessed with getting it on canvas before it dissolved from their memory.  They create masterpieces, while I vomit words!

With any form of art, it’s not necessarily created for fame and fortune.  It’s simply something that you imagine in your mind and hope you can share it with others.  Many artists, unfortunately, do not achieve notoriety until long after death.  Claude Monet was obsessive, continuously perfecting varieties of a similar vision on canvas.  He at least enjoyed a degree of wealth from his passion.  Sadly, many artists never do!

There were no drunken squabbles over dinner last night, as incorrectly predicted.  Just a very pleasant sunset, as viewed through my wine goggles.  The boat is safely docked in Rouen for the next few nights, with a variety of guided tours available tomorrow.  These include the nearby chapels that Monet obsessively painted when he wasn’t in his garden, where we are today.  I might even check- out Joan de’ Arc’s bar.

Merci – I’m grateful to get these words out of my head!  I’m also glad I could share them with you on this once blank page.

Creature Features: Chew on this #77

I had to throw away a few more arms and legs this morning.  Our schnauzer, Tally, was busy chewing away last night on stuffed animals.  Here’s a poem I wrote a couple of years ago about her nasty little habit:

 

Stuffed

 

She likes to undress them,

With her sharp teeth.

Our dog likes to find out,

What’s underneath?

.

She’ll act like she loves it,

Assure it – No harm.

Then gnaw on a leg.

And chew off an arm.

.

If it squeaks,

She’ll tear that out.

Dissect it’s insides,

And spew it about.

.

Off comes it’s head,

Oh, here are its eyes.

She’ll rip it apart,

No matter what size.

.

Today was another,

Stuffed animal feast.

There’s nothing left,

Of this cuddly beast.

.

Despite how cute,

Destruction her quest.

Until it’s an empty shell,

She simply won’t rest.

.

Just like Thanksgiving,

She’s fond of the breast.

But it’s the stuffing,

That she likes best.

.

Then after a while,

She’ll cast it aside.

And for dessert,

Enjoy a rawhide.

.

Who’s the next victim,

Of this Canine Crime?

No more- she’s stuffed,

For now it’s nap time.

.

copyright 2015 johnstonwrites.com

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