Overachiever, Underachiever
Last week I was asked to give an impromptu speech, to 20 people at a Toasmaster meeting. The topic was to have something to do with school and overachieving or underachieving. That was an interesting exercise.
I decided to discuss high-jumping during 11th grade. For two years, I went to Evergreen high, which is in the mountains, just west of Denver. The altitude of 7,200 feet makes for some mighty thin air.
I was a reasonably good athlete, especially for a small school. Some people refer to this as “the big fish in the small pond” syndrome. There were only about 140 kids in our graduating class. Some of the boys had to work, others liked tennis or gymnastics. Still others were cowboys or in the school play or chasing girls. This means there were not many fellows available to go out for the track team.
Considering all of that, our coach still put together some fairly good teams; largely because he exploited that altitude issue. Whenever we went to the flat-lands of Denver, where the altitude was a mere 5280 ft., our guys could run all day, but when the city kids came to our home field, they huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf.
I was the third discus thrower, the third shot-putter and the first high jumper. We usually had track meets with one or two other small schools. I jumped 5’ 8” nearly every time and that always took first place in those meets. At the end of the year we had a district meet which was comprised of all of the schools in our district and I took first place there too, with a jump of…you guessed it, 5’ 8”. Other fellows from our school, also did very well.
The top few finishers at each event then went to State where the competition gets much tougher. There were about 10 of us from our small school who made that journey. Up to that point, one could easily label me an “overachiever”, but things were about to change.
There were so many good high-jumpers in our state, that they started the high jump at my highest level. Good ol' 5’ 8” may have been hot stuff where I came from, but it was small potatoes at the state meet.
The Western Roll (see video) is the customary way to jump over a high bar. The jumper tries to throw his feet up into the air and become parallel to the bar, then simply “roll” over it. During warm-ups, players and coaches from other schools noticed that my style was different. It resembled a diving technique in which I came off of one foot, not two.
They assumed everybody had to use the Western Roll, so they went to the officials and tried to have me disqualified, but my coach had heard that argument before. He whipped out the rule book and all it said was the jumper had to leave the ground off of one foot. There was no mention of the Western Roll.
Just then they raised the practice bar to five-foot nine-inches. It was my turn to take a run at it. Even though I could always jump 5’ 8”, I never did get any higher. It must have been a psychological block or something. This time was no different. I knocked the bar off its stand. When the other competitors realized I was never going to pose any threat to them, they stopped complaining.
When the meet started and the jumps counted, I was one of the first couple of guys eliminated. That was when I experienced serious “underachieving”.
It is ironic that a simple event like high-jumping can make one fellow both an overachiever and an underachiever, but it did.
Now I would have a hard time jumping over a donut, but I am still an overachiever when it comes to eating them.
What about you? To contribute your own expereince or comment on this one, simply click on "comment" and join in.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Infamous Chutes
The Infamous Chutes
My great-niece has made the junior varsity volleyball team. Her experience has caused me to revisit my own youth and recall some of my favorite memories involving athletic activities. Such was the case when we jumped off of cliffs into the South Platte River, near Deckers, Colorado. I was 16 at the time. I had my first car, a 1950 Plymouth.
One such trip I was joined by my usual gang of Ivan, Lee and George. We stuffed a bunch of old inner tubes (for you younger folks, all car tires had inner tubes at the time) and rope in th trunk of my car and headed for the mountains, about 50 miles away. After a winding and steep dirt-road pass we arrived at the best spot. It was called “The Chutes” (see video).
The Chutes was a popular spot for adolescents. If you have ever seen the movie American Graffiti you might know what I mean. The older kids tended to bring plenty of beer with them. Over the years there were plenty of problems like under-aged drinking, auto wrecks, fighting and people cutting their feet on the glass that accumulated when other people threw their beer bottles in the river.
None of that mattered to us. In fact, I think it was part of the lure. Well anyway, in the spring and early summer the Platte is very full with rapid water and lots of white caps. Upstream from the Chutes, the river narrowed to half its usual width forcing the same amount of water through a very narrow mini-canyon, much like the effect you get when you squeeze a garden hose to create extra water pressure, only this was on a much, much bigger scale. That incredible pressure forced the water to “shoot” through the next 100 feet or so; hence the name.
Immediately after the Chutes, the river returned to its normal width. The water mellowed substantially into a deep and delicious swimming hole. The current is deceptively active but compared to the Chutes it was like a walk in the park.
The first time I went to the Chutes, my friends introduced me to one of their favorite activities. We tied our inner-tubes together as if to make our own raft. Then we found a good place to enter the river above the Chutes. As our makeshift raft neared the Chutes the river noise level was noticeably louder. We hadn’t even reached the most dangerous area and Ivan fell out of the flimsy raft. Everybody else, including me, was slipping into survival mode. There wasn’t enough time to pull Ivan back in the raft. I made him hang on to the outside of the jumbled mass of inner-tubes. He grabbed it with all of his mite.
As we rounded the next bend, the water noise was deafening. I was really scared for my life. Even though I was a good swimmer, I wanted out. The trouble was we had passed the point of no return. The water was going too fast. There was no going back.
Even though I had seen the Chutes from above, I was not even remotely prepared for what it looked like from eyelevel. The first real glance from the raft challenged all of my senses. The roiling water was sending water spray 10 feet over my head. My ears were overwhelmed with the roar. The entire ride was going to be a lot longer than it looked like from above. All sorts of scary thoughts and questions entered my mind at the exact same time. Oh my God, what have I done? What will happen to Ivan? Will the raft even hold together? What do I do if I fall out? Please Lord… Closer. Closer.
Then the inevitable moment came. The river began to narrow. Water was crashing in from the sides and thrusting us forward with incredible force. The make-do raft was bouncing all around. Just then one of my questions was answered. The ropes started breaking apart; and, we weren’t even to the toughest part. Then the rope was stretched beyond its capabilities. As it succumbed to the torment, the raft seemed to explode into a bunch of individual inner-tubes. It was every man for himself.
I barely hung on for another second or two. Like a cowboy on a championship bull, I was being bucked all over the place. Then it happened! My tube flipped over just before I hit the most dangerous part of the Chutes. I was forced under water. I was a good swimmer and I held my breath as long as I could. I bounced off rocks and I was turning over and over, underwater, in every direction at the same time.
The water was too active to provide a hint of where the top was. I didn’t know what to do as I was washing down stream. I began to swim as fast as I could but I did not even know what direction to go. I realized I might die. Then, suddenly, my head popped up out of the water, downstream about 50 feet from the Chutes. I gasped for fresh air and then I gasped again. I thanked God for sparing my life. I used what little energy I had left and swam to the side of the river, exhausted, and crawled up on shore. I thanked God once more because I really meant it.
All of my other buddies, including Ivan, had already come up. I was the last one. Later one of the more experienced guys told me that I should not have fought it. “Just relax and the river will carry you downstream, then you can pop up effortlessly.”
“Humph. Why didn’t somebody say that earlier?”
Eventually, we learned some safer way to enjoy the Chutes, like wait until a little later in the season when the water level subsides and don’t fight the water. We enjoyed many safer rides after that.
Another activity that was safer had to do with that large pool of water right below the Chutes. As I said, the water was deep and relatively mellow there. There was also a cliff about 35 feet above the water level. Over many years the water had carved a bit of the canyon wall, thereby inviting the bravest to jump off the cliff and into the running water. Naturally, I could not resist. One day some tourists came by and took pictures of us. They sent me copies later that summer. I think I still have them somewhere.
About 15 years ago somebody told me the authorities implimentednew regulations frobidding cliff diving and unsafe water craft like home-made inner tube rafts. Now it is a favorite place for Kayakers. Watch Video. It is not hard to understand. There have been quite a few injuries, and drowning.
Fortunately, I was not one of them.
Now, I get pleasure out of less dramatic things.
I hope my great-niece will enjoy volley ball.
To comment on any article or to add your own experince, just click Comment and follow the directions. you can also become a follower.
My great-niece has made the junior varsity volleyball team. Her experience has caused me to revisit my own youth and recall some of my favorite memories involving athletic activities. Such was the case when we jumped off of cliffs into the South Platte River, near Deckers, Colorado. I was 16 at the time. I had my first car, a 1950 Plymouth.
One such trip I was joined by my usual gang of Ivan, Lee and George. We stuffed a bunch of old inner tubes (for you younger folks, all car tires had inner tubes at the time) and rope in th trunk of my car and headed for the mountains, about 50 miles away. After a winding and steep dirt-road pass we arrived at the best spot. It was called “The Chutes” (see video).
The Chutes was a popular spot for adolescents. If you have ever seen the movie American Graffiti you might know what I mean. The older kids tended to bring plenty of beer with them. Over the years there were plenty of problems like under-aged drinking, auto wrecks, fighting and people cutting their feet on the glass that accumulated when other people threw their beer bottles in the river.
None of that mattered to us. In fact, I think it was part of the lure. Well anyway, in the spring and early summer the Platte is very full with rapid water and lots of white caps. Upstream from the Chutes, the river narrowed to half its usual width forcing the same amount of water through a very narrow mini-canyon, much like the effect you get when you squeeze a garden hose to create extra water pressure, only this was on a much, much bigger scale. That incredible pressure forced the water to “shoot” through the next 100 feet or so; hence the name.
Immediately after the Chutes, the river returned to its normal width. The water mellowed substantially into a deep and delicious swimming hole. The current is deceptively active but compared to the Chutes it was like a walk in the park.
The first time I went to the Chutes, my friends introduced me to one of their favorite activities. We tied our inner-tubes together as if to make our own raft. Then we found a good place to enter the river above the Chutes. As our makeshift raft neared the Chutes the river noise level was noticeably louder. We hadn’t even reached the most dangerous area and Ivan fell out of the flimsy raft. Everybody else, including me, was slipping into survival mode. There wasn’t enough time to pull Ivan back in the raft. I made him hang on to the outside of the jumbled mass of inner-tubes. He grabbed it with all of his mite.
As we rounded the next bend, the water noise was deafening. I was really scared for my life. Even though I was a good swimmer, I wanted out. The trouble was we had passed the point of no return. The water was going too fast. There was no going back.
Even though I had seen the Chutes from above, I was not even remotely prepared for what it looked like from eyelevel. The first real glance from the raft challenged all of my senses. The roiling water was sending water spray 10 feet over my head. My ears were overwhelmed with the roar. The entire ride was going to be a lot longer than it looked like from above. All sorts of scary thoughts and questions entered my mind at the exact same time. Oh my God, what have I done? What will happen to Ivan? Will the raft even hold together? What do I do if I fall out? Please Lord… Closer. Closer.
Then the inevitable moment came. The river began to narrow. Water was crashing in from the sides and thrusting us forward with incredible force. The make-do raft was bouncing all around. Just then one of my questions was answered. The ropes started breaking apart; and, we weren’t even to the toughest part. Then the rope was stretched beyond its capabilities. As it succumbed to the torment, the raft seemed to explode into a bunch of individual inner-tubes. It was every man for himself.
I barely hung on for another second or two. Like a cowboy on a championship bull, I was being bucked all over the place. Then it happened! My tube flipped over just before I hit the most dangerous part of the Chutes. I was forced under water. I was a good swimmer and I held my breath as long as I could. I bounced off rocks and I was turning over and over, underwater, in every direction at the same time.
The water was too active to provide a hint of where the top was. I didn’t know what to do as I was washing down stream. I began to swim as fast as I could but I did not even know what direction to go. I realized I might die. Then, suddenly, my head popped up out of the water, downstream about 50 feet from the Chutes. I gasped for fresh air and then I gasped again. I thanked God for sparing my life. I used what little energy I had left and swam to the side of the river, exhausted, and crawled up on shore. I thanked God once more because I really meant it.
All of my other buddies, including Ivan, had already come up. I was the last one. Later one of the more experienced guys told me that I should not have fought it. “Just relax and the river will carry you downstream, then you can pop up effortlessly.”
“Humph. Why didn’t somebody say that earlier?”
Eventually, we learned some safer way to enjoy the Chutes, like wait until a little later in the season when the water level subsides and don’t fight the water. We enjoyed many safer rides after that.
Another activity that was safer had to do with that large pool of water right below the Chutes. As I said, the water was deep and relatively mellow there. There was also a cliff about 35 feet above the water level. Over many years the water had carved a bit of the canyon wall, thereby inviting the bravest to jump off the cliff and into the running water. Naturally, I could not resist. One day some tourists came by and took pictures of us. They sent me copies later that summer. I think I still have them somewhere.
About 15 years ago somebody told me the authorities implimentednew regulations frobidding cliff diving and unsafe water craft like home-made inner tube rafts. Now it is a favorite place for Kayakers. Watch Video. It is not hard to understand. There have been quite a few injuries, and drowning.
Fortunately, I was not one of them.
Now, I get pleasure out of less dramatic things.
I hope my great-niece will enjoy volley ball.
To comment on any article or to add your own experince, just click Comment and follow the directions. you can also become a follower.
Water Ski at Night
When I was about 10 years old, my dad adopted boating as a hobby.
He took me to all sorts of lakes and taught me to water ski. One of the first lakes we frequented was Sloans Lake in the middle of North Denver. By the time I was 11, he had taught me to ski on one ski. When I was on the shore I could barely hold on to the heavy ski but strangers were impressed that such a young fellow could ski like that. Naturally, their awe served as motivation for me to get better.
Over the years, Dad realized there were some less crowded lakes to enjoy. He was the vice-president of the local 7-Up plant at the time. One week he drove out to Riverside Reservoir which is north of Denver, near Greeley. Dad cut a deal with the caretaker of the lake, wherein Dad would supply the caretaker with all of the 7-Up he could drink in exchange for granting our group exclusive access to the lake. It wasn’t until 35 years later that it dawned on me that there must have been more to that deal than I always believed; like throw in a case of scotch here and there or something similar.
Anyway, we went back to Riverside nearly every weekend for 5-6 years after that. It was a huge lake, which was used for irrigating all of the thirsty farms in the area. We usually went out there for the weekends or longer. Our group grew quickly. It was normal to share our weekends with 8-15 families, lots of tents and campers, 4-5 boats and fabulous barbeques.
There was an island near the far end of the lake. One of my favorite memories is when we lit fires both, on the island and at home base, then we water skied back and forth between the fires at night. The skier kept a water proof flashlight in his trunks in case he fell and so the boat could find him.
One time, my Uncle Keith was skiing near the island and I was in the boat. He swung real wide behind the boat and then cut back sharp to the other side of the boat wake. When he got out about as far as a skier could get, he found himself in the middle of a flock of geese who were resting in the water. At just the right moment, he reached down and grabbed one of those geese by the neck, just like an eagle would catch its prey. Well, you can bet that goose was not enjoying himself. It was flopping all around and my uncle was screaming like a wild man. We laughed so hard we almost gang-peed our pants. After about thirty seconds he let the goose go. It flew off and rejoined the flock.
When we got back to the shore we told everybody the crazy story and it became a legend to that small group of dear friends. It took me many years to realize how special those days were. I guess I always just thought everybody had a loving Dad, a private lake, a nice boat, special friends and water-skied between fires at night.
These are among the fine things that a young lad can enjoy when others around him know how to embrace life.
I miss those days.
To share your expereince or comment about mine, just click on "comment" at the end of any article/story. You will be asked to set up an account so we will know who is participating, but you do not get any junk mail or anything like that.
He took me to all sorts of lakes and taught me to water ski. One of the first lakes we frequented was Sloans Lake in the middle of North Denver. By the time I was 11, he had taught me to ski on one ski. When I was on the shore I could barely hold on to the heavy ski but strangers were impressed that such a young fellow could ski like that. Naturally, their awe served as motivation for me to get better.
Over the years, Dad realized there were some less crowded lakes to enjoy. He was the vice-president of the local 7-Up plant at the time. One week he drove out to Riverside Reservoir which is north of Denver, near Greeley. Dad cut a deal with the caretaker of the lake, wherein Dad would supply the caretaker with all of the 7-Up he could drink in exchange for granting our group exclusive access to the lake. It wasn’t until 35 years later that it dawned on me that there must have been more to that deal than I always believed; like throw in a case of scotch here and there or something similar.
Anyway, we went back to Riverside nearly every weekend for 5-6 years after that. It was a huge lake, which was used for irrigating all of the thirsty farms in the area. We usually went out there for the weekends or longer. Our group grew quickly. It was normal to share our weekends with 8-15 families, lots of tents and campers, 4-5 boats and fabulous barbeques.
There was an island near the far end of the lake. One of my favorite memories is when we lit fires both, on the island and at home base, then we water skied back and forth between the fires at night. The skier kept a water proof flashlight in his trunks in case he fell and so the boat could find him.
One time, my Uncle Keith was skiing near the island and I was in the boat. He swung real wide behind the boat and then cut back sharp to the other side of the boat wake. When he got out about as far as a skier could get, he found himself in the middle of a flock of geese who were resting in the water. At just the right moment, he reached down and grabbed one of those geese by the neck, just like an eagle would catch its prey. Well, you can bet that goose was not enjoying himself. It was flopping all around and my uncle was screaming like a wild man. We laughed so hard we almost gang-peed our pants. After about thirty seconds he let the goose go. It flew off and rejoined the flock.
When we got back to the shore we told everybody the crazy story and it became a legend to that small group of dear friends. It took me many years to realize how special those days were. I guess I always just thought everybody had a loving Dad, a private lake, a nice boat, special friends and water-skied between fires at night.
These are among the fine things that a young lad can enjoy when others around him know how to embrace life.
I miss those days.
To share your expereince or comment about mine, just click on "comment" at the end of any article/story. You will be asked to set up an account so we will know who is participating, but you do not get any junk mail or anything like that.
City Champion at 8 Years Old
When I was 8 years old, I was the City Champion Tennis Player. Really!!
I dropped down quite a few lines in hopes you would have a moment to be impressed, but common decency implores me to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The fact of the matter was that my mother entered me in the City Tournament Tennis matches. I don’t have any idea why she did that. I don’t think I even owned a tennis racket and I don’t remember showing any athletic ability.
Somehow, I showed up at the tournament, racket in hand, and ready to go. They teamed me up with another kid who was really good, but I couldn’t tell the difference between a tennis racket and a spaghetti strainer. I had no idea how to keep score or who should serve next or anything other than I was supposed to smack the dickens out of the fuzzy little ball if it ever came my way.
We played doubles against all of the other teams. My partner was a good server and he could return many of the balls that made it to our side of the net. I was an expert, too. I was really good at swing and miss. Well anyway, we won match after match, thanks to my excellent partner. I never did know his name or contact him after that. It would not surprise me if he went on to become a professional tennis player or golfer. He sure had the potential.
Even though I had no idea what I was doing, the experience was not wasted. I think being a “champion” tennis player, even in that very dubious way, encourage me to try other things. Within two years, I took up swimming, my first bowling league, water skiing and little league football.
Oddly, I never did play much tennis after that. I think I left my racket out in the rain and it drowned. Too bad we didn’t take up swimming together.
You are invited to make a comment at the bottom of any article. You may have to set up an account so we can be sure who is contributing, but it is easy and you won't get any junk mail or anything like that.
I dropped down quite a few lines in hopes you would have a moment to be impressed, but common decency implores me to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The fact of the matter was that my mother entered me in the City Tournament Tennis matches. I don’t have any idea why she did that. I don’t think I even owned a tennis racket and I don’t remember showing any athletic ability.
Somehow, I showed up at the tournament, racket in hand, and ready to go. They teamed me up with another kid who was really good, but I couldn’t tell the difference between a tennis racket and a spaghetti strainer. I had no idea how to keep score or who should serve next or anything other than I was supposed to smack the dickens out of the fuzzy little ball if it ever came my way.
We played doubles against all of the other teams. My partner was a good server and he could return many of the balls that made it to our side of the net. I was an expert, too. I was really good at swing and miss. Well anyway, we won match after match, thanks to my excellent partner. I never did know his name or contact him after that. It would not surprise me if he went on to become a professional tennis player or golfer. He sure had the potential.
Even though I had no idea what I was doing, the experience was not wasted. I think being a “champion” tennis player, even in that very dubious way, encourage me to try other things. Within two years, I took up swimming, my first bowling league, water skiing and little league football.
Oddly, I never did play much tennis after that. I think I left my racket out in the rain and it drowned. Too bad we didn’t take up swimming together.
You are invited to make a comment at the bottom of any article. You may have to set up an account so we can be sure who is contributing, but it is easy and you won't get any junk mail or anything like that.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Inspiration from a Teenage Girl
Inspiration from a Teenage Girl
My precious great-niece has inspired me.
Bobbi has barely entered the hallways of high school and she has already made the junior varsity volleyball team. We have been exchanging a few comments on Facebook, where she is enjoying all sorts of support from the other participants there.
My precious great-niece has inspired me.
Bobbi has barely entered the hallways of high school and she has already made the junior varsity volleyball team. We have been exchanging a few comments on Facebook, where she is enjoying all sorts of support from the other participants there.
In a botched attempt at sarcasm, I tried to encourage her to quit. She missed the sarcastic part and really challenged my suggestion. I have now learned about a gritty side to her that I did not know about previously…and, I like it. She is really determined to do her best.
Bobbi is headed down a challenging but rewarding path. I know, I learned a lot from athletics, including perseverance, team work, dealing with successes and failures, and how much we can accomplish when we have passion and apply ourselves.
I was wondering what kind of things inspired others; Athletics or otherwise. What powerful lessons did you learn as a result of applying yourself at something?
One of my most interesting life-experiences occurred when I was on the junior varsity football team at Western State College, in Gunnison. One of our opponents was the prisoners of Canyon City. Yes, we really went to the State Penitentiary.
I was 17 at the time. Some of the prisoners looked like they were in their 40’s. We took showers in the open with guards parading overhead with rifles at the ready.
During the game, I made a tackle near the sideline and rolled end over end into the feet of the players sitting on their bench. I was scared to death that they would kill me right then and there, but oddly they patted me on the head and congratulated me for a good hit and encouraged me to get back in there and do it again. Interestingly, the prisoners ended up being the cleanest (good sportsmanship) team we played all year.
That was great experience for me.
I will share a few other expereinces in the next few days.
What about you?
What team or group did you join that provided valuable life experience?
It is easy to participate. just click on "comment" you will be asked to set up an account, but it doesn't really mean anything. You are not put on any mailing lists. I picked Google.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Crusin the Elb River
One of my favorite trips was just a few years ago with a high school buddy, Mark Walker and his very special wife, Ligia.
Prior to that, I had always wanted to go on some sort of a cruise, but Patty was afraid she might get sea sick, so whenever the conversation came up she found some skillful way to change the subject.
Then one time Mark suggested we join him and Ligia on a river cruise. They were very well traveled and they were thinking of a trip down the Elb River from Berlin, Germany and ending up in the Czech Republic in Prague. The Walkers pointed out that river cruises are much calmer than the ocean cruises and after some minor arm-twisting, Patty agreed to give it a try.
We flew nonstop to Munich then took another plane to Berlin where a Mercedes van picked us up at the airport and delivered us to our boat. The cruise lasted about 5 days. We ate like kings and visited all sorts of river towns that were struggling for survival by catering to the tourists. There were quite a few memories along the way, but my favorite part was a giant fortress in Konigstein that was over 300 years old. When we stood on the top of the wall it was fascinating to imagine what the original occupants must have lived like so many decades earlier. The picture above is part of the main wall. Notice how small the people are on top of that wall and ask yourself how they could have built such an incredible structure.
Eventually, we landed in Prague which was our final destination. It is a beautiful town but man oh man is it crowded, even though we were there near the end of the tourist season. I bought a coffee cup in one of the gift shops there. One of the highlights was a 400 year old Catholic church that was about 6 stories tall. The stained glass windows and open ceilings made a person gawk in awe and wonder how they could have built such an incredible building way back then. There was also the popular Charles Bridge that is over 600 years old. It still carries hundreds of people a day from one side of the river to the other. Our second day there, I had back problems and never got out of my room, but I only missed a few sites.
After we were back and had a chance to reflect on the trip, I thought it was certainly worth it, but I knew I would probably never go on another cruise. Fortunately, Patty never did get sick and she enjoyed the entire experience. But as far as I was concerned, it was an awfully long boat ride for relatively few sights.
Next time, I would just fly to a particular destination, say Berlin, and stay there for a few days. Then, I would fly to another city, perhaps London, and enjoy that place on a more thorough basis. At least I found out what a cruise was like. But we have boats, restaurants, relaxation and other cruise benefits right here in Colorado. I will pass on the boat ride next time and fly instead.
Now I am going to go have a cup of coffee in my Prague cup, thanks to Mark, Ligia and Patty.
Where have you travled? To fill us in just click on "comment" then sign up as a follower. I use Goggle. It is fast and easy. You may need to click through a couple of times.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Planning those trips
Planning those trips
When it comes to your vacations, are you a great planner or do you just like to wing it?
Patty’s sister, Mary Ann, is the all time best planner. The sisters were both born in a small town on the Mississippi River known as Burlington, Iowa. They were barely of school age when their parents moved to Colorado. That all set up a natural place for all of them to go whenever they had vacation time.
Mary Ann and Patty have always clung to their Iowa roots and especially their aunts, uncles and cousins. Patty has cherished all of their trips back home, but Mary Ann…well, let’s just say that Mary Ann is extra special. Patty has gone back to the home town nearly every year but Mary Ann has gone there a lot more than that.
The trip to Burlington takes about 15 driving hours and it is so far from a major airport that the high cost of flying does not usually justify the modest time savings. So, most trips are via the same old auto route: East through the flatlands of Colorado and all the way across the endless corn fields of Nebraska, passing through Omaha, and then they travel through the rolling hills and pig farms that make up so much of Iowa.
If you have never been through the open spaces of the Midwest, you might be surprised to learn how picturesque the old farms can be. It all represents a charming and seemingly simple life.
Since the two sisters have made that trip so many times and since they visited the exact same people each time, you would have assumed them to simply pile in the car on the designated day, just as you would head to work day after day without much thought; but that is not how it has gone down, at least as far as Mary Ann is concerned.
The elder sister seems to use the planning of the trip as a way to extend her pleasure. She likes to analyze all of the details and make her plans well in advance. All of that seems okay but the odd part is Burlington is such a small town that there are only so many things to do. Besides, they are mostly just interested in enjoying their relatives. So they do the same thing every trip.
They take the same highway, they visit the same people in the same order, they visit the same old favorite park, they eat at the exact same restaurants and Mary Ann even plans on eating the exact same meals; like a pork sandwich which she always plans on eating at the ever familiar Iowa Tavern.
One year Patty had the audacity to suggest they try out a particular Bed and Breakfast, just for a change of pace, instead of the usual Comfort Inn and the whole idea was like fingernails on the chalkboard to Mary Ann. Reluctantly, she went along with it and that too eventually became part of the travel ritual for them.
All of this planning seems a bit odd to an outsider considering the modest objectives and the fact that they have repeated the trip so many times and that they are both smart enough to remember where everything is, but such an outsider misses the entire point.
Their simple objectives are in harmony with the people they love to visit in the old home town. These are simple folks who enjoy the simple things: Church, family, tomatoes, parks and pork sandwiches.
Extended planning is just a way for Mary Ann to spend more time with a memory of people and a place that means a lot to her. Sometimes the thrill of the chase is a great form of pleasure to certain people. So she planned and planned and planned, even though she knew exactly what she was going to do, who she was going to see and even what she was going to eat.
Naturally, the family members have always teased Mary Ann about the quirky planning, but now, after many years, there is only one aunt left. Aunt Grace was the cranky one, but oddly everybody liked her anyway. Now she is 96 and rolled up safely on a floor in a seniors building, so she won’t fall out of bed. She doesn’t know anybody anymore. But Patty and Mary Ann can take pleasure in knowing they shared many great moments with their family and Mary Ann probably got more out of those visits than anybody. All because of excessive planning.
What about you? Do you make intricate travel plans or do you play it by ear? Do you utilize an itinerary to pack a little more pleasure into your time off, or would you rather not abide by schedules and take an impromptu side-trip once in a while?
To share your ideas, simply click on comments and you will need to sign in as a follower. It is easy to do.
When it comes to your vacations, are you a great planner or do you just like to wing it?
Patty’s sister, Mary Ann, is the all time best planner. The sisters were both born in a small town on the Mississippi River known as Burlington, Iowa. They were barely of school age when their parents moved to Colorado. That all set up a natural place for all of them to go whenever they had vacation time.
Mary Ann and Patty have always clung to their Iowa roots and especially their aunts, uncles and cousins. Patty has cherished all of their trips back home, but Mary Ann…well, let’s just say that Mary Ann is extra special. Patty has gone back to the home town nearly every year but Mary Ann has gone there a lot more than that.
The trip to Burlington takes about 15 driving hours and it is so far from a major airport that the high cost of flying does not usually justify the modest time savings. So, most trips are via the same old auto route: East through the flatlands of Colorado and all the way across the endless corn fields of Nebraska, passing through Omaha, and then they travel through the rolling hills and pig farms that make up so much of Iowa.
If you have never been through the open spaces of the Midwest, you might be surprised to learn how picturesque the old farms can be. It all represents a charming and seemingly simple life.
Since the two sisters have made that trip so many times and since they visited the exact same people each time, you would have assumed them to simply pile in the car on the designated day, just as you would head to work day after day without much thought; but that is not how it has gone down, at least as far as Mary Ann is concerned.
The elder sister seems to use the planning of the trip as a way to extend her pleasure. She likes to analyze all of the details and make her plans well in advance. All of that seems okay but the odd part is Burlington is such a small town that there are only so many things to do. Besides, they are mostly just interested in enjoying their relatives. So they do the same thing every trip.
They take the same highway, they visit the same people in the same order, they visit the same old favorite park, they eat at the exact same restaurants and Mary Ann even plans on eating the exact same meals; like a pork sandwich which she always plans on eating at the ever familiar Iowa Tavern.
One year Patty had the audacity to suggest they try out a particular Bed and Breakfast, just for a change of pace, instead of the usual Comfort Inn and the whole idea was like fingernails on the chalkboard to Mary Ann. Reluctantly, she went along with it and that too eventually became part of the travel ritual for them.
All of this planning seems a bit odd to an outsider considering the modest objectives and the fact that they have repeated the trip so many times and that they are both smart enough to remember where everything is, but such an outsider misses the entire point.
Their simple objectives are in harmony with the people they love to visit in the old home town. These are simple folks who enjoy the simple things: Church, family, tomatoes, parks and pork sandwiches.
Extended planning is just a way for Mary Ann to spend more time with a memory of people and a place that means a lot to her. Sometimes the thrill of the chase is a great form of pleasure to certain people. So she planned and planned and planned, even though she knew exactly what she was going to do, who she was going to see and even what she was going to eat.
Naturally, the family members have always teased Mary Ann about the quirky planning, but now, after many years, there is only one aunt left. Aunt Grace was the cranky one, but oddly everybody liked her anyway. Now she is 96 and rolled up safely on a floor in a seniors building, so she won’t fall out of bed. She doesn’t know anybody anymore. But Patty and Mary Ann can take pleasure in knowing they shared many great moments with their family and Mary Ann probably got more out of those visits than anybody. All because of excessive planning.
What about you? Do you make intricate travel plans or do you play it by ear? Do you utilize an itinerary to pack a little more pleasure into your time off, or would you rather not abide by schedules and take an impromptu side-trip once in a while?
To share your ideas, simply click on comments and you will need to sign in as a follower. It is easy to do.
your favorite trip
What was an unusual or favorite trip?
Do you take a motorcycle, sleep in a tent, escape a rain storm or go to some exciting place?
Would you rather visit people or monuments and historical sites?
What was your longest vacation?
The most beautiful place you ever saw?
Someplace you want to see again or someplace that you think is over rated?
Tell us all about it.
Do you take a motorcycle, sleep in a tent, escape a rain storm or go to some exciting place?
Would you rather visit people or monuments and historical sites?
What was your longest vacation?
The most beautiful place you ever saw?
Someplace you want to see again or someplace that you think is over rated?
Tell us all about it.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Travel Directions
Travel Directions
I have a wonderful cousin who lives with her husband, 250 miles away in Grand Junction, Colorado. We don’t get to see each other enough but I always enjoy our visits. This week my wife and I were driving from California to Denver and we were able to stop by to spend a little time with Genise and Rod.
We always get along well, but this time the fun started before we even got there. It all has to do with the differences between how women and men handle driving directions. Before I tell you how we differ, please be assured that I am not saying “all women are this way” or “men have a better approach” or anything like that. I am merely observing that we tend to approach the matter from two different perspectives.
My theory is that women think in terms of landmarks and men think in terms of directions and distances: For instance, most men will say “Go north about a half-mile and make a sharp right” But women will say something like “Look for the big blue house with the windmill in the front yard.” All of this is okay as long as women are giving directions to women and vise versa. But things don’t always work out like that.
As you probably guessed, when it came to getting directions to my cousin’s home, I did it all wrong. I say “I” did it wrong because I have been aware of this communication variance for a long time. The bottom line is when Genise gave the driving directions, I should have just handed the phone to Patty. It would have been a lot easier, but Patty was driving and I was on the cell phone and writing down directions.
Here are Genise’s directions (with variations just in case you were thinking of dropping by unannounced) and what happened as I tried to interpret them for Patty. The information flowed from female to male to female: an obvious problem.
Genise: Take the Fairfield exit that goes toward Happytown (so far so good)
Pass the loop (after the exit we went about 3/4 mile and I had not seen any such loop, but Patty said we passed it way back there). When it comes to understanding another woman’s directions, the score is: Patty 1, David 0
Go quite a ways, just pass the river, to highway 27, by the McDonalds
Me: “Stop, stop, stop! Does ‘quite a ways’ mean 3 blocks or 35 miles or what?” It meant about 2 miles. Once that was settled, I wrote down “river” and “Highway 27” (The male in me heard “Highway 27”, but I barely heard the part about “by the McDonalds”)
We crossed the river fairly quickly, but highway 27 was nowhere in sight. Patty said she didn’t think that was it.
A little while later we crossed the “real” river. (As it turns out the first river was just a large irrigation ditch, but it was flowing full of water and it certainly looked a lot like a river to me.) Score: Patty 2, David 0.
When we got to highway 27 the most obvious exit was going to take us the wrong way on a one way street. Patty was driving at a turtle’s pace in the left lane and trying to figure out my interpretation of Genise’s instructions when I remembered that part about McDonalds. It was another half block ahead.
By then, I was a bit humbled but Patty was cruising along like a Local. Score: Patty 2, David minus 1.
Go near the top of the hill and turn left on Sea Row. That doesn’t sound too tough, but It was actually C Road and since it was my responsibility to get it correct, the Score is: Patty 2, David minus 2. (sigh!)
Go about 1 ½ miles (by then she could have said “quite a ways” because I previously learned what that meant) and you’ll see the wagon. Go left. (ok, I’ve got it – look for wagon?)
Patty saw the wagon right away, but naturally I missed it (I am supposed to be the navigator but Patty is doing that better too.) score Patty 3, David minus 3,
But the street names didn’t jive. I thought we should have called for updated directions, but Patty just kept going. 1 ½ miles later (quite a ways) we saw another wagon: a bigger wagon. Patty went left. Score: Patty 4, David minus 3
Our house is the one with the white fence (no address number) Patty pulled into the driveway.
I have a wonderful cousin who lives with her husband, 250 miles away in Grand Junction, Colorado. We don’t get to see each other enough but I always enjoy our visits. This week my wife and I were driving from California to Denver and we were able to stop by to spend a little time with Genise and Rod.
We always get along well, but this time the fun started before we even got there. It all has to do with the differences between how women and men handle driving directions. Before I tell you how we differ, please be assured that I am not saying “all women are this way” or “men have a better approach” or anything like that. I am merely observing that we tend to approach the matter from two different perspectives.
My theory is that women think in terms of landmarks and men think in terms of directions and distances: For instance, most men will say “Go north about a half-mile and make a sharp right” But women will say something like “Look for the big blue house with the windmill in the front yard.” All of this is okay as long as women are giving directions to women and vise versa. But things don’t always work out like that.
As you probably guessed, when it came to getting directions to my cousin’s home, I did it all wrong. I say “I” did it wrong because I have been aware of this communication variance for a long time. The bottom line is when Genise gave the driving directions, I should have just handed the phone to Patty. It would have been a lot easier, but Patty was driving and I was on the cell phone and writing down directions.
Here are Genise’s directions (with variations just in case you were thinking of dropping by unannounced) and what happened as I tried to interpret them for Patty. The information flowed from female to male to female: an obvious problem.
Genise: Take the Fairfield exit that goes toward Happytown (so far so good)
Pass the loop (after the exit we went about 3/4 mile and I had not seen any such loop, but Patty said we passed it way back there). When it comes to understanding another woman’s directions, the score is: Patty 1, David 0
Go quite a ways, just pass the river, to highway 27, by the McDonalds
Me: “Stop, stop, stop! Does ‘quite a ways’ mean 3 blocks or 35 miles or what?” It meant about 2 miles. Once that was settled, I wrote down “river” and “Highway 27” (The male in me heard “Highway 27”, but I barely heard the part about “by the McDonalds”)
We crossed the river fairly quickly, but highway 27 was nowhere in sight. Patty said she didn’t think that was it.
A little while later we crossed the “real” river. (As it turns out the first river was just a large irrigation ditch, but it was flowing full of water and it certainly looked a lot like a river to me.) Score: Patty 2, David 0.
When we got to highway 27 the most obvious exit was going to take us the wrong way on a one way street. Patty was driving at a turtle’s pace in the left lane and trying to figure out my interpretation of Genise’s instructions when I remembered that part about McDonalds. It was another half block ahead.
By then, I was a bit humbled but Patty was cruising along like a Local. Score: Patty 2, David minus 1.
Go near the top of the hill and turn left on Sea Row. That doesn’t sound too tough, but It was actually C Road and since it was my responsibility to get it correct, the Score is: Patty 2, David minus 2. (sigh!)
Go about 1 ½ miles (by then she could have said “quite a ways” because I previously learned what that meant) and you’ll see the wagon. Go left. (ok, I’ve got it – look for wagon?)
Patty saw the wagon right away, but naturally I missed it (I am supposed to be the navigator but Patty is doing that better too.) score Patty 3, David minus 3,
But the street names didn’t jive. I thought we should have called for updated directions, but Patty just kept going. 1 ½ miles later (quite a ways) we saw another wagon: a bigger wagon. Patty went left. Score: Patty 4, David minus 3
Our house is the one with the white fence (no address number) Patty pulled into the driveway.
We were all happy to see each other. We hugged and laughed about the differences in how we perceive directions. When it came to understanding the directions, Patty beat me by 7 points.
As it turns out, all of this happened right in the middle of peach season. YUMMY! We went to a neighbor’s house and bought two big boxes full.
As it turns out, all of this happened right in the middle of peach season. YUMMY! We went to a neighbor’s house and bought two big boxes full.
To the Locals, peaches represent work, but to outsiders it was mouth heaven. Genise told us that every year they have Peach Days in August. We missed it by one week. Apparently, Peach Days have been going on for decades, but I never knew it. Next year we are planning on attending.
When we do go back to Genise and Rod’s, Patty won’t need directions. She will remember the loop, the river(s), the hill, the McDonalds and the wagon(s), but not me. All of that landmark stuff just doesn’t make sense to a smart fellow, like me. I think in terms of distance and directions.
I suppose I could get one of those Global Positioning Systems (GPS). That will work just fine as long as it has translations from Girl Talk to Guy Speak. At least now, I know that if it tells me to go “quite a ways” it means approximately 2 miles.
Now I am going to go eat one of those big, fat juicy peaches, thanks to Genise, Rod and Patty.
I hope I can find my way to the kitchen. It is about 35 feet to the north.
Isn't traveling fun?!
To add a note or two just click on comment and then sign in as a "follower", (I use Google) It may take a couple clicks.
When we do go back to Genise and Rod’s, Patty won’t need directions. She will remember the loop, the river(s), the hill, the McDonalds and the wagon(s), but not me. All of that landmark stuff just doesn’t make sense to a smart fellow, like me. I think in terms of distance and directions.
I suppose I could get one of those Global Positioning Systems (GPS). That will work just fine as long as it has translations from Girl Talk to Guy Speak. At least now, I know that if it tells me to go “quite a ways” it means approximately 2 miles.
Now I am going to go eat one of those big, fat juicy peaches, thanks to Genise, Rod and Patty.
I hope I can find my way to the kitchen. It is about 35 feet to the north.
Isn't traveling fun?!
To add a note or two just click on comment and then sign in as a "follower", (I use Google) It may take a couple clicks.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
All Gased Up and Ready to GO!
Let's talk about traveling
One time I heard somebody say that "the travel part of travel is the worst part." I thought the idea was good but it needed developed a littel bit, so on a facebook post the other day I said it this way:
The travel part of travel is the least fun part of travel up until the travel itself returns us home... Once there, we are torn between the comfort of our favorite pillow and knowing where everythng is against the angst of returning to an inescapable parade of responsibilities. The paradox lives on until the travel-bug bites again.
Traveling is a fascinating part of the American lifestyle.
One thing that strikes me is how we take the sites in our own back yards for granted. For example, we live near the beautiful Rocky Mountains, but there have been years in which we scarcely visited them at all. I know people who live inland in beachtowns and they tell me they don't feel a need to visit the ocean. People who live in Washington DC know what is there but they don't see any urgency to delve into the details. Most Arizonans vistit the Grand Canyon at least once, but do they really lend it the awe that strangers do? And so on.
In my own case, I have lived in Colorado for nearly 60 years (yikes!). There is a famous silver mining family, Horace Tabor, who put our state on the map 120 years ago. One of his famous mines is just an hour and a half away in Leadville. I visited that town and enjoyed a tour just two years ago. What the heck took me so long? The same thing goes for other Colorado destinations.
I could have ridden the famous narrow-gauge train between Durango and Silverton anytine in my adult life, but I finally got around to it 3 years ago. I have not been to Aspen for 35 years. Now Steamboat Springs has become a popular skiing destination, but I would barely recognize it. Central City and Black Hawk have become middle-sized casino towns, but I have only been there once and that was about 10 years ago. I have not visited the Denver mint for 40 years. We have an art museum which was opened in the 70's. I went there the first year and the walls were nearly bare; I have never gone back. All sorts of small towns have regular fun local events but color me absent.
In case you are wondering we also have the great sand dunes, the Coors brewery, a great downtown area, and hidden cliff houses in Mesa Verde. And a whole lot more, but you get the point.
There are other cool places and activities close by. I have never attened the Cheyenne Frontier days in Wyoming although the action is a mere 70 miles away. Just a scant 5-hour drive from here is the world-renowned Mount Rushmore but I finally visited it for the first time a couple of years ago. While others have come from far and wide to see giant busts of the dead presidents I guess I was just busy visiting whatever it was that those same people ignore in their part of the world.
Then there is Yellowstone National Park which is within a day's drive. Perhaps it has always been so close, it just never seemed exotic enough or something. I feel like I have betrayed Old Faithful and Yogi Bear.
As the years drip by it just seems I never get around to the neat things that are within a tank of gas away, but I always seem to have enough time to watch plenty of reruns on TV.
Traveling leads to all sorts of adventures, and Americans are blessed when it comes to the opportunities and places we can enjoy; but perhaps we ought to take another look at the beauty in our own neck of the woods once in a while.
I am certainly going to do that, right after I watch a few hundred more reruns of The Simpsons. Sigh!
To tell us about your travel adventures or thoughts on the topic, just register as a "follower". It just takes a minute and you are ready to go.
One time I heard somebody say that "the travel part of travel is the worst part." I thought the idea was good but it needed developed a littel bit, so on a facebook post the other day I said it this way:
The travel part of travel is the least fun part of travel up until the travel itself returns us home... Once there, we are torn between the comfort of our favorite pillow and knowing where everythng is against the angst of returning to an inescapable parade of responsibilities. The paradox lives on until the travel-bug bites again.
Traveling is a fascinating part of the American lifestyle.
One thing that strikes me is how we take the sites in our own back yards for granted. For example, we live near the beautiful Rocky Mountains, but there have been years in which we scarcely visited them at all. I know people who live inland in beachtowns and they tell me they don't feel a need to visit the ocean. People who live in Washington DC know what is there but they don't see any urgency to delve into the details. Most Arizonans vistit the Grand Canyon at least once, but do they really lend it the awe that strangers do? And so on.
In my own case, I have lived in Colorado for nearly 60 years (yikes!). There is a famous silver mining family, Horace Tabor, who put our state on the map 120 years ago. One of his famous mines is just an hour and a half away in Leadville. I visited that town and enjoyed a tour just two years ago. What the heck took me so long? The same thing goes for other Colorado destinations.
I could have ridden the famous narrow-gauge train between Durango and Silverton anytine in my adult life, but I finally got around to it 3 years ago. I have not been to Aspen for 35 years. Now Steamboat Springs has become a popular skiing destination, but I would barely recognize it. Central City and Black Hawk have become middle-sized casino towns, but I have only been there once and that was about 10 years ago. I have not visited the Denver mint for 40 years. We have an art museum which was opened in the 70's. I went there the first year and the walls were nearly bare; I have never gone back. All sorts of small towns have regular fun local events but color me absent.
In case you are wondering we also have the great sand dunes, the Coors brewery, a great downtown area, and hidden cliff houses in Mesa Verde. And a whole lot more, but you get the point.
There are other cool places and activities close by. I have never attened the Cheyenne Frontier days in Wyoming although the action is a mere 70 miles away. Just a scant 5-hour drive from here is the world-renowned Mount Rushmore but I finally visited it for the first time a couple of years ago. While others have come from far and wide to see giant busts of the dead presidents I guess I was just busy visiting whatever it was that those same people ignore in their part of the world.
Then there is Yellowstone National Park which is within a day's drive. Perhaps it has always been so close, it just never seemed exotic enough or something. I feel like I have betrayed Old Faithful and Yogi Bear.
As the years drip by it just seems I never get around to the neat things that are within a tank of gas away, but I always seem to have enough time to watch plenty of reruns on TV.
Traveling leads to all sorts of adventures, and Americans are blessed when it comes to the opportunities and places we can enjoy; but perhaps we ought to take another look at the beauty in our own neck of the woods once in a while.
I am certainly going to do that, right after I watch a few hundred more reruns of The Simpsons. Sigh!
To tell us about your travel adventures or thoughts on the topic, just register as a "follower". It just takes a minute and you are ready to go.
traveling
The travel part of travel is the least fun part of travel up until the travel itself returns us home... Once there, we are torn between the comfort of our favorite pillow and knowing where everythng is against the angst of returning to an inescapabl...e parade of responsibilities. The paradox lives on until the travel-bug bites again.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Do you like cats?
Do you like cats?
Sharon's touching comment at the end of the previous post got me to thinking about cats.
I have never had a cat. They seem a bit too independent to me. Then there is this matter of the necessary room. I don't really know why some cats are so difficult to train while others use a box effectively. Is it the cat or the owner? Is there a differnce between a "house" cat and one that goes outdoors?
I have been in homes where the stench from one cat was so overpowering it made my eyes water, but other homes have several felines with no such problem. Why? This issue alone, is enough to make me avoid getting a cat.
So what is it about cats that make them so popular? Is it their playful swatting of strings and other objects?
What do you think about cats?
To comment, just sign up as a follower (I picked Google).
Sharon's touching comment at the end of the previous post got me to thinking about cats.
I have never had a cat. They seem a bit too independent to me. Then there is this matter of the necessary room. I don't really know why some cats are so difficult to train while others use a box effectively. Is it the cat or the owner? Is there a differnce between a "house" cat and one that goes outdoors?
I have been in homes where the stench from one cat was so overpowering it made my eyes water, but other homes have several felines with no such problem. Why? This issue alone, is enough to make me avoid getting a cat.
So what is it about cats that make them so popular? Is it their playful swatting of strings and other objects?
What do you think about cats?
To comment, just sign up as a follower (I picked Google).
Friday, August 7, 2009
Doggie Heaven
Doggie Heaven
We have had to put down 2 dogs in our lifetime. What a gut wrentcher. Fred was a 50lb cross breed: half Saint Bernard and half German Sheppard. She was the size and shape of the sheppard with the long hair of the Saint. We got her as a puppy and enjoyed her for 15 years.
Sabbath was a Newfoundland that we got from the Dumb Friends League. She was jet black and a good friend for Fred. When our kids were small they would climb all over Sabbath and she would just look at them as if she was saying "thanks for the attention" I will always remember how her eyes rolled up in her head when she was injected. It was sad to lose her but she was not really "living" at that stage.
We all dread days like that but one old quote says it well: "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
So it is.
What about you? Have you ever had a similar experience?
To respond just sign in as a follower
We have had to put down 2 dogs in our lifetime. What a gut wrentcher. Fred was a 50lb cross breed: half Saint Bernard and half German Sheppard. She was the size and shape of the sheppard with the long hair of the Saint. We got her as a puppy and enjoyed her for 15 years.
Sabbath was a Newfoundland that we got from the Dumb Friends League. She was jet black and a good friend for Fred. When our kids were small they would climb all over Sabbath and she would just look at them as if she was saying "thanks for the attention" I will always remember how her eyes rolled up in her head when she was injected. It was sad to lose her but she was not really "living" at that stage.
We all dread days like that but one old quote says it well: "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
So it is.
What about you? Have you ever had a similar experience?
To respond just sign in as a follower
TV Pets
TV Pets
Pets are such an integral part of our lives, but with the exception of cartoons, TV has had a difficult time including them.
Very few TV series have included dogs as regular characters. Some of the TV programs that provided somewhat regular roles to dogs are/were; Frasier (Eddie), Lassie, My Three Sons (Tramp), Married with Children (Buck, then Lucky in later episodes), Rin Tin Tin, and The Beverly Hillbillies (Duke). Can you name any others?
A long time ago there were roles for horses. There was Hi Ho Silver, Mr. Ed and Fury.
I could not think of a single cat with an ongoing role.
A couple odd pets include Flipper, the dolphin and Gentle Ben the bear.
But when it comes to cartoons, there is a much better representation of our 4-legged friends. Most of the ones I knew about come from years gone by. How many do you remember?
Garfield is the only cat I have heard of
Here are some of the better known TV dogs
Huckleberry Hound
Pluto - one of the old-time favorites
Scooby Doo - "Roh Roh"
Underdog - a Super hero
Astro of the Jetsons
Brian on Family Guy- perhaps the most normal character on the program
Santa’s Little Helper of Simpsons - intellectually on par with Homer
Lady Bird of King of the Hill - She does what dogs do: take naps
Who knows some modern day pets in cartoons, and what are the traits of those pets?
To particiapte, simply register as a follower. it is easy and you don't get put on any mailing lists. It's just for us.
Pets are such an integral part of our lives, but with the exception of cartoons, TV has had a difficult time including them.
Very few TV series have included dogs as regular characters. Some of the TV programs that provided somewhat regular roles to dogs are/were; Frasier (Eddie), Lassie, My Three Sons (Tramp), Married with Children (Buck, then Lucky in later episodes), Rin Tin Tin, and The Beverly Hillbillies (Duke). Can you name any others?
A long time ago there were roles for horses. There was Hi Ho Silver, Mr. Ed and Fury.
I could not think of a single cat with an ongoing role.
A couple odd pets include Flipper, the dolphin and Gentle Ben the bear.
But when it comes to cartoons, there is a much better representation of our 4-legged friends. Most of the ones I knew about come from years gone by. How many do you remember?
Garfield is the only cat I have heard of
Here are some of the better known TV dogs
Huckleberry Hound
Pluto - one of the old-time favorites
Scooby Doo - "Roh Roh"
Underdog - a Super hero
Astro of the Jetsons
Brian on Family Guy- perhaps the most normal character on the program
Santa’s Little Helper of Simpsons - intellectually on par with Homer
Lady Bird of King of the Hill - She does what dogs do: take naps
Who knows some modern day pets in cartoons, and what are the traits of those pets?
To particiapte, simply register as a follower. it is easy and you don't get put on any mailing lists. It's just for us.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Here Kitty, Kitty
Here Kitty, Kitty
If I was in charge of rounding up the animals for Noah’s arc and if there was only enough room for 2 dogs or 2 cats, I would have to say bye-bye to kitty.
As a young fellow I held some sort of unexplainable hostility for cats. I was even mean to them on a few occasions. I didn’t kill them or anything that dramatic, but by the time I was 13 I had sent a not-so-friendly kick into the side of a feline or two and I was known to throw a few rocks at the fuzzy little critters. To illustrate that I was an equal-opportunity jerk, I did some similar things to a few dogs; but overall I did not hold the same contempt for dogs. Naturally, I regret all of that now. None of them deserved it.
One of the reasons I was so stupid was I did not separate the actions of the animals from the actions of their owners. For example, if a cat got out of its own yard and somehow wandered into my yard, I felt entitled to teach "it" a lesson, rather than chat with the cat's owner. Or if the neighbor’s dog just wouldn’t stop barking, I held misplaced hostility for the canine instead of the 2 legged human in charge. If a strange dog pooped in our yard, I got angry with "it" not the owner.
Along the way I grew up. I began to kick the owners and throw rocks at them instead of their pets. (Just kidding)
By now I have "met" lots of pets that I liked. In 1972 I met Sassy. She was a Siamese cat who belonged to some elderly friends. Sassy was the first cat that liked me. Whenever I visited them, she would rub herself all over my legs. Eventually she jumped into my lap and I knew I was supposed to pet her. Before long I liked it. Altogether now, "Ahhhhh"
Over time, other cats have shown the same loveable quality and won me over. I am happy to say I don’t hate cats any more and I have even made a couple donations to cat shelters.
Six decades changes a fellow, sometimes for the better.
But I still like dogs better.
What about you?
To tell me what an idiot i was, just register as a follower. You are not placed on any mailing lists.
If I was in charge of rounding up the animals for Noah’s arc and if there was only enough room for 2 dogs or 2 cats, I would have to say bye-bye to kitty.
As a young fellow I held some sort of unexplainable hostility for cats. I was even mean to them on a few occasions. I didn’t kill them or anything that dramatic, but by the time I was 13 I had sent a not-so-friendly kick into the side of a feline or two and I was known to throw a few rocks at the fuzzy little critters. To illustrate that I was an equal-opportunity jerk, I did some similar things to a few dogs; but overall I did not hold the same contempt for dogs. Naturally, I regret all of that now. None of them deserved it.
One of the reasons I was so stupid was I did not separate the actions of the animals from the actions of their owners. For example, if a cat got out of its own yard and somehow wandered into my yard, I felt entitled to teach "it" a lesson, rather than chat with the cat's owner. Or if the neighbor’s dog just wouldn’t stop barking, I held misplaced hostility for the canine instead of the 2 legged human in charge. If a strange dog pooped in our yard, I got angry with "it" not the owner.
Along the way I grew up. I began to kick the owners and throw rocks at them instead of their pets. (Just kidding)
By now I have "met" lots of pets that I liked. In 1972 I met Sassy. She was a Siamese cat who belonged to some elderly friends. Sassy was the first cat that liked me. Whenever I visited them, she would rub herself all over my legs. Eventually she jumped into my lap and I knew I was supposed to pet her. Before long I liked it. Altogether now, "Ahhhhh"
Over time, other cats have shown the same loveable quality and won me over. I am happy to say I don’t hate cats any more and I have even made a couple donations to cat shelters.
Six decades changes a fellow, sometimes for the better.
But I still like dogs better.
What about you?
To tell me what an idiot i was, just register as a follower. You are not placed on any mailing lists.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Sruggling Saints
Struggling Saints
In a category of Strange ButTrue, I am having an interesting relationship with a 175 lb Saint Bernard.
It all started 10 years ago when my son, Adam, got a Saint who he named Bella. Everybody likes Bella and my wife got involved with a shelter that provides for the needs of abandoned Saints.
It is sad when any pet gets abandoned but it seems to happen to Saints more than other species. They are especially cute puppies but they get very big, they shed, they eat a lot, most of them drool, and they leave poop bombs around the size of footballs.
Recently a nearly-deaf 8 year old female named Saddie was taken to a kennel and then the owners just never picked her up. The shelter that we work with was called to the rescue.
The managers needed a short-term foster home for Saddie and my tender-hearted wife agreed to love the gentle giant for the stated time. We have performed this function twice before: Once with Ben and another time with Camen.
All of these gentle giants take to Patty right away. She walks them and feeds them and brushes them and talks baby-talk to them and gives them treats and she is a master belly scratcher. Who wouldn’t love all that attention?
When we went to pick up Saddie we expected the same thing would happen, but this time things are different. No matter what kind deeds that Patty employs with Saddie, the 4-legged monster seems to prefer my company. Imagine that!
I have been nice to her but no nicer than I was to Ben or Caymen and I am definitely not as attentive as Patty is. Still, Saddie hangs around me, not Patty. We have guessed that the deaf Saddie must have been owned by some other fellow who was good to her. Perhaps he lost his job or something like that and just couldn’t care for her any longer.
Such is the plight of too many Saints and other critters as well,
To comment simply register as a "follower" You will not be put on any mailing list
In a category of Strange ButTrue, I am having an interesting relationship with a 175 lb Saint Bernard.
It all started 10 years ago when my son, Adam, got a Saint who he named Bella. Everybody likes Bella and my wife got involved with a shelter that provides for the needs of abandoned Saints.
It is sad when any pet gets abandoned but it seems to happen to Saints more than other species. They are especially cute puppies but they get very big, they shed, they eat a lot, most of them drool, and they leave poop bombs around the size of footballs.
Recently a nearly-deaf 8 year old female named Saddie was taken to a kennel and then the owners just never picked her up. The shelter that we work with was called to the rescue.
The managers needed a short-term foster home for Saddie and my tender-hearted wife agreed to love the gentle giant for the stated time. We have performed this function twice before: Once with Ben and another time with Camen.
All of these gentle giants take to Patty right away. She walks them and feeds them and brushes them and talks baby-talk to them and gives them treats and she is a master belly scratcher. Who wouldn’t love all that attention?
When we went to pick up Saddie we expected the same thing would happen, but this time things are different. No matter what kind deeds that Patty employs with Saddie, the 4-legged monster seems to prefer my company. Imagine that!
I have been nice to her but no nicer than I was to Ben or Caymen and I am definitely not as attentive as Patty is. Still, Saddie hangs around me, not Patty. We have guessed that the deaf Saddie must have been owned by some other fellow who was good to her. Perhaps he lost his job or something like that and just couldn’t care for her any longer.
Such is the plight of too many Saints and other critters as well,
To comment simply register as a "follower" You will not be put on any mailing list
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