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GO BRAVES but you make me crazy!

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  Of course all I have thought about today was Baseball. How do I think it’s going to go?!? I think I’m gonna beg, plead, cross fingers, pray, scream, walk the floor, use words that I haven’t used since last night and try to keep from having some sort of medical episode. I have no idea how the Braves are going to make out. I’ve looked at the stats, the trends, listened to all the talking heads and other experts, and I have come to the only conclusion that I can—that perhaps the Lord will be a Braves fan tonight. I love and hate these sons of,uh, guns. They make me crazy. They have given me more anxiety in the last 2 weeks than my three kids gave me in 18 years. My twitches and nervous tics now have twitches and nervous tics. And as much as I carry on, these sons of ‘guns’ are our sons of ‘guns’; to say, we can cuss them but be damned if I let anyone else do it, especially the Philly lunatics. They have overcome more obstacles this year than most any team, and they have made it this...
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Taking the Stairs

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I just saw a commercial advertising an electronic stair lift that you sit in that takes you to the top or bottom of your stairs. The commercial uses fake old folks actors, and you know they’re fake because they are all happy and grinning like opossums while they make the automated trek up the staircase.  What is annoying to me is the speed, or lack thereof, by which the senior citizen ascends the stairs. They could literally crawl, fall, stop, drop, and roll up (or down) those stairs faster.  I know not what course others may take, but I’d want to ascend or descend those steps at a faster speed than I could using my own power. In fact, since you have to strap yourself in, may as well make it like a carnival ride. Something that startles you, gets that adrenaline flowing or makes you gasp or your stomach flutter. I’m no engineer but something spring loaded or sling shot-esque with an expectation of ‘Hold my beer and watch this’ while landing safely onto or into something to bre...
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Doing Doo Diligence

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Weezie and me, that is, Weezie and I—us, have been pretty good about getting our walk in most mornings. I wave at most of the vehicles that drive by not so much as being neighborly but as a thank you for not mowing us down on the way in and out of our neighborhood.  We, that is, Weezie and me (see first sentence above) start off slow. Well, I start off slow and Weezie drags me along for the first few minutes. Her little legs and feet’s walking about 8 steps to my one. I figured my stride is about 2 feet long so that’s 2680 steps for me to walk a mile but that’s 21,000 times the Weeze has to put down her little 4 paws. I’m not sure because math sucks but it’s a lot and that’s that.  Regardless, Weezie was a little more sluggish than usual this morning. She did a lot of extra sniffing starting out and just one minute into our stroll she decided to go potty (numero deuce).  I unrolled one of those doggy poop bags from the leash and did my business to take care of her busines...
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Big Sister Lynn

 My big sister Lynn is something.  As babies, she fed us, bathed us, wiped and diapered our butts, essentially raising 3 kids prior to her own.   By virtue of her being a decade older, she was conscripted into service. She didn’t deserve all the extra baggage that came along with that, not the least of which included duties as a ‘built-in’ babysitter, a chauffeur-dropping us off at our grandparents house before she could go out on a date or with friends, and on more occasions than I can recall, taking us along everywhere she went—to the pool, lake, clothes or grocery shopping, or any number of tasks that my parents had her accomplish.  In short, she was exploited at every opportunity and as far as I know, she never complained. It was as natural to her as breathing and she took to it like a duck to water. Back in those days she would, if necessary, chase you down until you were exhausted from running away, tackle you to the ground and then pop your backside to make yo...
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Not the Best Man

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Our son Joe is a married man. His wife Johnna, as well as the family he married in to, are some of the most wonderful folks you could ever meet. It takes all of 23.5 seconds to love these folks. They're all 'ate up' in the good looks department, too. Not unlike one of those frames you purchase at the store that already has a picture of a beautiful family under the glass. There ain't one hair out of place on any of them.  We had a most epic weekend, traveling to Saratoga Springs, New York, for the wedding. While the first day of travel brought on significant challenges, we slayed that dragon with a combination of tact, diplomacy, and possibly a veiled threat to dismember an attendant or two. We haven't been made aware of being added to the no-fly list, so we will see.  In my capacity as the appointed Best Man (of which I am not), I did make a few remarks and offered a toast. I believe I touched most of the bases, but I will post it here if for no other reason than to...
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