Parrot and the Plumber

 

I thought I’d written this story down years ago; but it isn’t in my files.  Either it was misplaced or filed under a title that didn’t match up with my memory.  The cartoon image posted on Facebook reminded me of something that happened back in 1979 or 1980 soon after joining the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Back then there was a program called Home Teaching, basically ministering to members by assignment in the hope that each would feel connected to the Ward through a monthly visit. I had an elderly woman under my stewardship and learned that she was dating a fellow who was deaf. From what I could figure, she intended to take the relationship to a higher level and perhaps even marriage.

The idea occurred to me that I should take steps toward being able to communicate with this fellow in order to more effectively complete the Home Teaching assignment.  That led me to find out where to take a course in American Sign Language (ASL).  It turned out such a course was offered via the Houston Community College that used the Waltrip High School building for night classes; that was only a couple of miles from our house in Oak Forest where we were living at the time.

I can’t remember if there was a charge to take the course, more than likely; but it must have been nominal or I wouldn’t have gone forward with taking the class.  I showed up at 6:45pm for a class that was scheduled to start at 7:00pm.  Before entering the classroom, I noticed several pink slips stuck to the frame indicating classes which failed to meet the required number of students and would be cancelled.  I didn’t see ASL as one of the cancelled classes and so I went in, finding there were only two other individuals who’d showed up as yet.

I took a seat behind them while continuing to wonder if this was the class for ASL since neither of them seemed to notice my entrance.  I quietly asked, “Is this the class for ASL?”  There was no reaction from either; “Must be” was the thought that came to mind as I let out a soft chuckle.

The ASL class was a hoot from day one.  I learned the alphabet along with a smattering of commonly used signs with each new lesson.  The instructor, make that instructors, since members of the deaf community often gave the lessons that were wonderfully entertaining; almost as if this were a late night television show.  They passed along jokes that could be made along with cautions to avoid making signs near your nose as those often-had sexual implications.

We were encouraged to attend a deaf community’s performance of some Russian play that was put on at a small theater near Washington Avenue.  I’ll admit up front that most of the performance went way over my ability to read their spelling of Russian names that flashed by me eyes so quickly as to be a blur. 

There was a final exam that we needed to take to obtain a passing mark in the class.  We were to stand in front of everyone and give a talk about anything we felt comfortable with, using only those signs we’d learned in class.  I thought about what I could talk about for a few minutes during the week prior to the scheduled exam.  That’s when I remembered a couple of the long-winded jokes my father would drop on us while we were a captive audience driving toward a vacation spot.  Dad could draw out a joke for a very long time, miles and miles of Texas roads to work with gave him all the time in the world to drop a really lame joke on all of us.

Let’s see, which one would be a good fit?  There’s the ‘Beer that made Bill Famous walk me’? No, how about the ‘Cush Maker’? No, even that’s too lame; what about the ‘Parrot and the Plumber’?  Bingo! That one could last at least four minutes.

The night of the exam we found out the judges would all be from the deaf community.  They’d determine if we’d learned enough to pass the course. 

I stood up in front of the classroom and began explaining about the plumber who had to walk up several floors carrying his heavy toolbox to reach the apartment where his customer was waiting.  Upon reaching the top of the stairs and being nearly exhausted, he knocked on the door.

The customer apparently was not in the apartment; however, there was a trained parrot who inquired, “Who is it?” 

“It’s the plumber”, came the response.  Waiting for the customer to open the door and waiting some more since the customer wasn’t in the apartment, the plumber again knocked on the door a bit more forcefully this time.

“Who is it?”  The parrot inquired as the scenario played out time and time again to use up the required number of minutes in front of the deaf community.  I could tell from the positive responses on the judges faces that my dad’s joke was being well received.

Getting to the punch line, the plumber’s frustration culminated in his having a heart attack and dropping to the floor outside the apartment door.  The paramedics arrived to treat the man and were asking if anyone knew who he was.  The parrot quickly responded, “It’s the plumber”.

I passed the test according to the judges from the deaf community.  One of them came over to me expressing his delight in my story about the talking butterfly.  You guessed right, I’d used the wrong sign all through the entire joke.

Oh, in case you were wondering; that dear Sister didn’t continue her relationship with the deaf fellow.  I’d had a lot of fun getting to learn ASL and used those skills only sparingly over the years, to the point of nearly forgetting most of what I may have learned so long ago.

 

Between Three and Five Worked

 

Yesterday the Check Engine light came on in our Hyundai Sonata while we were driving near Palestine, Texas.  We didn’t panic as we were only a mile or so away from Walmart where they have an automotive department.  They checked things out and found we were a quart low on oil and suggested that rather than add a quart, perhaps it might be better to do an oil change, replace the filter and check all the fluid levels.  That sounded reasonable and we handed them the key while we went inside the store to purchase some sneakers and blue jeans.  They were finished before we had even cleared the cash register.

The Check Engine light was still blinking; but the fellow said that it didn’t appear to be associated with anything major.   That didn’t sound too reassuring so we decided to drive to O’Reilly’s on our way home where they could put their fancy computer diagnostic thingy on and tell us exactly what was wrong. 

There was definitely something wrong as we couldn’t get the car to accelerate properly.  We managed to get the car up to sixty-one miles per hour; but no further.  The speed limit on the road between Palestine and Buffalo is 70mph; going only 61mph made the hair on my back stand up.

The fancy diagnostic thingy didn’t give much of an answer, only that it might be several items that only the Hyundai folks would be able to fix; but…and this was something of a peace of mind moment…the car could be driven down to Houston without damaging anything, just no faster than 61 miles per hour.

It should be noted that here in Texas, if the speed limit reads Seventy-Five then folks interpret that to mean Eighty to Eighty-five.  Folks in a hurry or just bored tend to push that up to 90 or 95mph which tends to be the speed where the DPS steps in and reminds them to be a little less aggressive. Anyone going less than 70mph is fair game for abuse or worse. 

I decided the best way to get the car into Houston with the least amount of abuse would be to wait until all the bars had closed before heading toward the freeway entrance in Centerville. This strategy was gained from working as a night shift police officers; most drunk drivers have either been arrested for DWI, hit a tree and gone to the hospital or gotten home before 3am.

I hit the on ramp headed south just before 3am going exactly 61mph.  Traffic was very light, mostly commercial trucks that were widely spaced.  I figured I could be on the north side of Houston near the Hyundai dealership before morning rush hour started around 5am.

Most of the time while tooling on down the freeways the idea of having so many 18 wheelers to contend with wasn’t one of my favorite choices; but since these trucks are, for the most part, driven by professional drivers who know the rules of the road, then having them escort my crippled car down to Houston was just what the doctor ordered.

When I’d see headlights moving up from behind at a quarter mile or so, I’d flip on the emergency flashers for a few moments and then switch them off.  Then, as the headlights got closer, I’d flip the flashers on again so they’d figure out I was having some kind of issue.  They were courteous, using blinkers and moving over as they passed.  I flashed my high beams letting them know they’d cleared sufficiently to return to the slower lane.  This went on all the way until I reached Conroe or about an hour and a half from when I left Centerville.

There must be something about getting into a major metropolitan area that brings out the beasts.  I had to be extra careful as Mario Andretti’s kin folk darted in and out from behind large trucks that were only going 75mph.  I had no idea that many race car drivers were up practicing impromptu lane changes at half past four in the morning. 

I arrived at Denny’s at 5am, right across from the Hyundai dealership where I had my appointment scheduled for 7am.  I managed to loosen my grip on the steering wheel long enough to let the blood flow back into those fingers. 

It’s hard to beat a Grand Slam breakfast after passing the advanced driver’s test in Texas.  It was quite peaceful catching a nap in the parking lot there at the Hyundai Service Department waiting for the sun to come up and be greeted once they opened for business.

 

Another Dr Pepper If You Please

Some gifts keep on giving long after first being shared.  For example, this morning, as part of a habit after taking my vitamins, I tore off a page of the calendar which has a trivia message as part of the incentive to keep up to date.  If I’d taken my vitamins, I get to read that day’s trivia.

Today I read, “Vending machines kill more people than sharks per year”.

I was reminded of an old police incident involving the “Killer Dr Pepper Machine”.  Some of this incident was included in an unpublished novel, Pecaw’s Gift; but that’s a whole other story as they say around here. 

Upon using the search engine on an older thumb drive I was surprised to find my Field Training Officer’s (FTI) report, the original as sent to the police academy while a Probationary Police Officer (PPO) was in training. If memory serves, the rookie officer was Dan Starr, a fine officer and well worth having as a friend all these years.

There were 25 areas of interest that needed to be addressed on a regular basis, documented to show the department had fulfilled its obligation to properly train each rookie police officer; his or her knowledge of laws, procedures, familiarity with locations, map use and so on, each item matching a given number 1 – 25.

It was fun reading the summary as it was written, not complete sentences; but sufficient information to cover the training.

 

Self initiated investigation Accidental Death of a Juvenile 1601

Pech at 01:47 hrs. # 56396886.  FTI heard call being dispatched

to unit 5f22 and had PPO volunteer to take it (3,12,13,17,25). 

PPO was familiar with the location (10) and drove to it in

reasonable amount of time.  FTI and PPO arrived to find that an

attempt had been made to burglarize a soda machine but that the

machine had fallen on one of the suspects causing his immediate

death (6). PPO talked to HFD and determined that it was necessary

to call the ME and JUV.  PPO was given instruction over the phone

as to how to investigate and protect the crime scene (23).  FTI

called for CSU and protected the scene while PPO was on the

phone.  PPO talked with witness/(suspect) to determine what had

happened.   PPO showed good judgment and command bearing while

interviewing both family members and other police officers who

were at the scene (1,4,24).  PPO kept extensive notes so that he

would be able to make a report later on.  PPO and FTI had to hold

back the mother of the dead juvenile when she arrived to keep

her from disturbing the body (22).  After the scene was secure

and all the other support units had conducted their investigation

PPO and FTI transported "witness" to central so that he could

make his sworn statement.  FTI and PPO stood at a safe distance

to avoid being stuck by lightning when statement was signed (4).

PPO then finished his report (14,15,16). PPO left off weather

on the front of report and also that the soda machine was a

damaged article.  PPO then took the complete report to records

so that it could be entered into the system right away (5). PPO

and FTI then took witness home and completed the call (18).  PPO

stated he understood what was needed in homicide reports (2).

PPO also looked up locations in Key Map (9)._____________

 

I’m told the family of the deceased young man, the suspected burglar of a coin operated machine, the one who got crushed under the soda machine; his family tried to sue for damages on the grounds the soda machine had not been properly secured to keep it from tipping over.  I never bothered to find out if that information was accurate or not; I was too busy laughing.

Choose Wisely

 

While drifting back and forth between getting up and starting my day or remaining under the covers enjoying the last vestiges of dreamland, I was supposed to be thinking about a meaningful message to share with everyone, one that might soothe anxieties left over after this past week’s presidential election.  The longer I enjoyed the comfort of my surroundings, the more it became clear what I was to write about; and it had little if anything to do with politics.

I was reminded of a talk given by Douglas Callister many years ago, Your Refined Heavenly Home.  His introduction to that talk continues to hold my attention and acts as an anchor for my hopes and goals.

“The nearer we get to God, the more easily our spirits are touched by refined and beautiful things. If we could part the veil and observe our heavenly home, we would be impressed with the cultivated minds and hearts of those who so happily live there. I imagine that our heavenly parents are exquisitely refined. In this great gospel of emulation, one of the purposes of our earthly probation is to become like them in every conceivable way so that we may be comfortable in the presence of heavenly parentage and, in the language of Enos, see their faces “with pleasure.”’

Isn’t that an odd thought to have lingering in your mind prior to getting out of bed?  It gets worse, that thought was coupled with a scene from the movie, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, specifically the part where the ancient knight who’d been guarding the Holy Grail cup observed the drinking from the ornate cup rather than the true Holy Grail cup. “He choose, poorly.”

It didn’t take much imagination to figure out that Christ would have had a simple cup, not some fancy or elaborate cup.  Sometimes the simplest of items are exquisitely refined.  

Look at the nearly invisible purple flower that springs up in the middle of your lawn and consider its beauty.  If you were too busy while mowing the yard its intricate design might have been overlooked; but you weren’t too busy and stopped momentarily to appreciate its creation, no more or no less than an orchid on display at the local flower shop.

Elder Callister’s promptings were intended to have us expand our thoughts, our aspirations to a higher level, to see ourselves as offspring of Heavenly Parents.  Why settle for mediocrity when we’re supposed to be heirs to His Kingdom.  He then quoted Brigham Young to drive home the idea of the need for spiritual refinement.

“We are trying to be the image of those who live in heaven; we are trying to pattern after them, to look like them, to walk and talk like them.” To prepare us to do this, the 13th article of faith encourages: “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” Refinement is a companion to developed spirituality. Refinement and spirituality are two strings drawn by the same bow.”

It was at this time that I wondered how we would be dressed in His Kingdom.  Would we be in fancy clothes that are custom tailored from the finest materials?  The answer came back quickly, no; we’d probably be dressed in pure white or perhaps we’d be in the robes of the Holy Priesthood.  We’d be happiest dressed that way, the symbolic garments worn while performing ordinances in the Temple, the House of the Lord. Yes, that’s the way the Lord would have us while in His presence.

Would there be a grand piano with Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky playing their favorite pieces? Maybe there’s a never-ending bookshelf containing works by imaginative writers like Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury and William Shakespear; each book being read aloud by the author in such a way as to carry us into his world?  I sort of doubt that.

God tends to limit His words; being an individual of action, not needing to, perhaps not having to explain the magnificence of creation.  When God described the grand creational process of this earth, He said in measured tones that “it was good.”  God left the flowery language for poets and writers so they’d have something to do instead of punching a time clock at the steel mill.

Being aware of the thoughts of others as they try to describe His creations is the ultimate library. It’s hard to beat listening to the creation story while attending the Temple, “Here is matter unorganized”, how’s that for an understatement? Then there’s one of the more important statements made by our Father in Heaven, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness…”

Appreciating thoughts expressed by someone who has a completely different point of view, that is one of the goals we should reach for, spirituality at the highest level.  We are expected to take all these wonderful expressions with us after we leave mortality.  Isn’t that what Elder Callister wants us to understand?

There you have it, grounds to have me committed.  I’m caught between mortality and the eternities, hoping we all arrive in one piece, our testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ leading us home.  Oh please, choose wisely.

 

 

Difference Between Jubilation and Gloating

 

Donald Trump has proven victorious in the presidential elections; it would be difficult to condense the political snobbery into a short sentence.  Yes, the candidate I voted for won and, along with that, the country also put Republicans in control of both the House and Senate.

Those who supported Democrat candidates are a bit down in the mouth and don’t appreciate the rhetoric being tossed around on social media outlets, basically claiming to hold the higher ground of civility. Come again? (That’s a way of saying BS here in Texas)

These same folks ignored inflammatory and divisive attacks aimed at anyone supporting Donald Trump or folks wearing a MAGA cap. They didn’t complain when a Democrat member of Congress stood before a microphone and bellowed loud and clear that even if Donald Trump won the election, they wouldn’t validate the vote or allow him to take office. 

I posted a simple response to one of them, “We should behave more like adults. That said, there is a relief valve going off, one that lends hope to the idea of our Constitutional Republic having survived for the moment.” 

Since that moment, a few other thoughts have surfaced regarding the feelings being expressed today.  There is a difference between Jubilation and Gloating, but how can we tell the difference?

Several of my friends and family have been diagnosed with various forms of cancer.  The mere mention of the word cancer left them hollow through their spirit.  After months of treatment which tormented them physically, mentally and spiritually; a few of them were told their cancer was in remission.

Their whole demeanor changed as they left the clinic.  Some clinics have a bell affixed to the wall by the exit door for patients to clang when they are told such great news.  That’s the definition of Jubilation.  These individuals are relieved that life will return to a more normal existence.  Then, on their way home the idea hits them, “How long will my cancer be held in remission?”

The same might be true for how many of us feel this morning. There is a glimmer of hope being expressed through our Jubilation, the hope that our Constitutional Republican form of government still has a chance to survive.  But how much longer will it survive with of all the efforts to reduce this once great nation to its knees and be no better than a third world communist regime.

If our Jubilation sounds like Gloating, perhaps it is; but for today at least, Make America Great Again is the phrase on our lips.  God Bless America!

Are We Reaping the Whirlwind?

 

Today is Election Day and about half of our nation’s inhabitants are unable to discern political ideologies on the ballot.  Too many think we are voting for a President, an individual we can all admire.  The real test for voters is figuring out what is being offered by the political powers behind these candidates, Capitalism and a return to a free-market system or Socialism which is nothing more than a precursor for Totalitarian Communism; it really comes down to that choice. 

Are we voting for an arrogant individual who lacks social finesse or for the promises he’s made to Make America Great Again through capitalism and hard work?  MAGA has become an interesting combination of letters.  For those looking to return America to being powerful and worthy of the Lord’s blessings this is a battle cry for righteous effort.  On the other hand, MAGA is a dirty word, a label used when taking out the garbage as some have said.

We could vote for a woman of dubious character, an admitted prostitute who claims to be Black to sway a portion of the public purely along racial association; but who has proven to side with socialistic programs which redistribute wealth to gain votes, supports murdering unborn children in the womb while claiming to support children’s rights and the rights of women. 

The massive media outlets can no longer be called news outlets as they are nothing more than propaganda machines for the party currently in power. So much information to take in; but can any of this information be trusted?

What are we to do?

In the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 1:6 there’s a warning attached to the blessings associated with all who dwell in this country. Each time the news comes on revealing the state of degradation which has overrun society, and worse, has been proclaimed the norm legally and approved by those in leadership, this one verse haunts me.

Wherefore, this land is consecrated unto him whom he shall bring. And if it so be that they shall serve him according to the commandments which he hath given, it shall be a land of liberty unto them; wherefore, they shall never be brought down into captivity; if so, it shall be because of iniquity; for if iniquity shall abound cursed shall be the land for their sakes, but unto the righteous it shall be blessed forever.

From listening to or reading the opinions of my friends and associations, there is something which troubles me.  Those who have shown support for the Democrat’s candidate ticket are highly educated individuals; but unfortunately, their education was an indoctrination process put in place through a carefully orchestrated agenda put in place by the Soviet Communist Party almost 70 years ago.

The bullet points of the Communist agenda were carefully carried out seamlessly; taking over public schools, universities, the entertainment industry, news media outlets, the courts and every aspect of our society until we’ve become unaware of who we once had been because we no longer resembled our old society.  

Some of you are shaking your head wondering what kind of pills I’ve taken.  Don’t take my word for it, these warnings are part of the Congressional Record dated January 10, 1963. Or, you can read about them in, The Naked Communist, written by Cleon Skousen, there isn’t much wiggle room for interpretation.

The problem, at least as I see it, those warnings, the ones from the Book of Mormon and those in our Congressional records have been ignored or swept under the rug, mostly by those in charge of educating each successive generation until the present day.  The perfect storm has formed, and this Election Day might well be when We The People find out if the judgements of our Lord are about to come down on us for having become so rebellious and sinful a nation.

You and I Can Still Be Neighborly

 

As Election Day and all the political challenges are at peak, let’s remember to be neighborly regardless of which candidate we support.  I read a short post from a friend of mine who had political signs stolen from his yard simply because he supports a presidential candidate that one of his neighbors thinks is a total disaster.  I’d rather he didn’t support that candidate either; however, stealing a political support sign from his yard doesn’t say much for the neighbor’s character.

I remember driving past a friend of mine’s house during a previous presidential election season. We differed on our political values and didn’t let that interfere with our friendship. He’d erected a huge banner over the entrance to his house declaring his support for Obama; that didn’t surprise me as I glanced over at his home situated at the edge of a well to do residential community. 

The next morning, I called him, mostly to joke with him for having supported the wrong candidate as I said, “Hey, somebody went by and vandalized your house”. 

“Yes, they did and got spray paint all over our front door too”.  That didn’t sound right as I listened to my friend explain how his Obama for President banner had been spray painted over night by someone who didn’t appreciate his political leanings.  I had no idea that my wanting to joke with him about our differences had become a criminal act by someone else who strongly disagreed with his political choices.

Stealing political posters and signs isn’t being neighborly, doesn’t advance the notion that our country invites different political ideologies to compete for public support.  Regardless of which candidates are elected or, as many suspect, which candidates are installed despite popular voter counting, we will continue to be neighbors and should act accordingly.

Loving Your Country No Matter What?

There was a simple statement made on a poster that caught my attention, “Loving your country doesn’t mean agreeing with everything; it means defending it no matter what.” This was on social media and posted by Susan’s Stars, not sure if that’s an individual or a group of like-minded folks; but the statement struck me as too inclusive, maybe that’s not the correct term.

The first part of the statement didn’t bother me at all, “Loving your country doesn’t mean agreeing with everything…”  That would be true for individuals, groups or in this case, nations.  We are commanded to love as Jesus would love, regardless of agreeing with them.  However, loving the individual, group or nation doesn’t automatically include defending improper actions.

I remember an old saying often taught in church, “Hate the sin, love the sinner”; but that the line isn’t in the Bible, rather it was attributed to Mahatma Ghandi according to author and pastor Adam Hamilton.  The point of such a statement reflects the lesson we’re supposed to have learned from our Savior.  We are all sons and daughters of our Father in Heaven and therefore deserve love; but we must reject sin as actions which are at odds with eternal laws and commandments.

“If we say that we have not sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” 1 John 8

I’m sure there were many in WWII Germany who loved their Fatherland and claimed to have defended atrocities committed to millions who perished in death camps, no matter what. Could those same individuals say to their Savior, “We have not sin”?  Then the truth is not in them.

Nobody can defend atrocities committed against humanity simply because they love their country, not then and not now.

A perfect example of the proper handling of this thought process happened in my presence years ago when I was a police officer.  I remember a mother handing her son over after he’d committed a terrible crime.  She still loved her son; but wasn’t going to let him get away with violating the law and hurting others.  She could not defend his actions regardless of the idea that “he was her son, and she loved him no matter what”.

May we follow the exhortation to extend love to all; but identify and renounce sinful actions apart from the individual.  We need to hold individuals, groups and yes, our nation’s leaders accountable for actions which violate eternal laws and commandments. Why else would we be blessed with the power of discernment, to recognize good from evil?

 

 

 

 

Our Thurbie Tree

This story is from many years ago and had been posted to my Stories Page; but I neglected to include a link that would make it easier to find.  I’m posting it again after reading that so many of my friends have recently had to part with a loved four-legged member of their family.

I read where Mover Mike’s dog Amber had died the other day, and he had written a poem while involved in his loss.   We had a dog named Thurbie a while back.  You may be familiar with the works of James Thurber.  He was almost blind and did his work up close, very close.  He drew a picture of a dog, well almost a dog; that was our Thurbie. 

Thurbie was mostly black, low to the ground and he might have had four legs; we were never sure about that.  Thurbie looked more like a black rug that moved around and so we just assumed that he had legs.  We had him for several years, his having shown up like most of the others, after finding the hobo’s “X” on our front door.  We never really knew how old he was, middle aged puppy or there about.   When he died, he took our hearts away with him.  Lucy took him to the vet and he never made it back home.  I went to the local garden store, it being spring, and wanted to buy a dogwood tree to plant in the yard.  I spotted what I thought was a dogwood tree and asked the nurseryman about it.

“Oh, that’s not a dogwood tree at all.   It’s actually a variation of the red bud, only with white flowers.  Some folks call it a “False Dogwood” because it looks so much like one.”

“That’s perfect then, I’m planting it to honor a false dog” how much better could it be.  So, I planted the Thurbie tree in the front yard and each year about this time it comes into bloom, beautiful white flowers that last about a week or so and then blow off to who knows where.  The tree has never flourished much, remaining kind of low to the ground, more like a bush than a tree.  I suppose it’s only right since Thurbie was kind of low to the ground too. 

That tree died and was replaced with an Oak tree that has done much better.

Moscow On The Hudson

 

It’s been a quiet kind of afternoon with Lucy away for the week.  I’d gone into town to pick up a package at the post office which made it convenient to stop in for a haircut prior to heading home.  Being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Fortunately, we have a nice selection of movies on DVD; I know, only old people still have movies on DVD.  There’s a certain satisfaction that goes along with the tactile ability to hold a piece of plastic, a piece of plastic that contains a movie paid for with hard earned cash.  That can’t be done with ownership of digital information which gives access to that same movie, digital information stored away in a cloud rather than something that takes up a place in your bookshelf.  Where was I?

Looking for a movie that hadn’t been watched in a while, I picked Moscow On The Hudson. Robin Williams stared in this as a saxophone player from Russia.  The circus band he played for was to visit New York City while closely chaperoned by agents of the KGB to prevent individuals from defecting during their short stay.

His character showed the brutal conditions of existence in Moscow for the average person; waiting in long lines to obtain a few rolls of inferior grade toilet paper, long lines to obtain a pair of shoes, and accepting the wrong size if your particular size was no longer available.

In contrast, while shopping at Bloomingdales in New York City, items which we take for granted, these items were plentiful and like candy falling from heaven to those permitted to a thirty-minute shopping spree prior to returning to Moscow.  Sometime during that short visit Robin Williams character’s mind could no longer take being a subject of Russia, the thought of being returned broke upon him and he declared out loud his intention to defect.

Why am I writing about this movie, a movie that didn’t do all that well at the box office when it was released in 1984, a movie that many probably never heard of?  I’m not sure I can put my finger on the exact reason; but it stirred something in my spirit, a darkness of sorts that acted as a warning? 

He attended a swearing in ceremony for citizenship, accompanying a female friend and love interest.  She’d been waiting a little over a year for the opportunity, studying America’s founding documents and history while hoping to qualify for the blessing of citizenship.

Prior to their taking the oath of citizenship the judge, in all solemnity explained to them,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, good morning. Today you will become citizens of the United States of America. No longer are you an Englishman, Italian, a Pole or whatever, neither will you be a hyphenated American. From this day you are no longer a subject of a government, but an integral part of the government, a free man. May you find in this nation the fulfillment of your dreams of Peace and Security and may America in turn never find you wanting in your new proud role of citizen of the United States. Will the petitioners please rise. Now let us take the oath of allegiance.”

Maybe the open borders policy implemented by the current administration which ignores immigration law and a constitutional mandate to enforce those laws, maybe that’s part of what bothered me while watching this movie. I don’t believe individual liberty can coexist with a totalitarian one world order, the sort of imposed government some have planned to replace our constitutional republic.

Could it be the impromptu man-on-the-street type of interviews conducted on the up-and-coming generation, interviews which ask basic questions like, “How many stars are on the American Flag?  What’s the nation’s capital? What year did America declare its independence?  From what country did we declare our independence?  Questions like these for which the individuals had no clue as to a correct answer; could this be what was bothering me as the movie presented such a dark presence?

A little later in the movie, while sitting in a café there’s a minor confrontation with a fellow who’d also come from Russia. Unable to understand why this other fellow doesn’t appear to have a deep appreciation for the opportunities afforded in America, it struck something deep in his soul as he lashed out at him.

“In Moscow we fought for an inch of freedom! Here you take it and pour shit all over it.”

Doesn’t that pretty much sum up how many of us feel about the way our government has treated their constitutional responsibilities?  Maybe it includes a statement about the quality of our public schools.  Is that why I felt tears forming as the movie came and went past my consciousness. 

I don’t expect much will change even if, by some miracle, the right individuals get elected in November.  Thousands of entrenched bureaucrats, those who actually determine laws and how this nation is run, those unelected players will never give up the power they’ve been wielding.

What happened to the America written of by our founders?  Why don’t we have folks in positions of leadership who put American citizen’s best interests ahead of their own selfish interests?  I’d rather be thought of as a fool than give up on what was once written.

“…And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

 

 

 

 

Changing a Light Bulb

 

It used to be a simple task to change a light bulb.  If the one in your table lamp quit, unscrew the old one, take a new one out of the box that’s in the cupboard and screw it back in.  That’s it, you’re done.

This morning while preparing a bagel, when I turned on the vent-a-hood light to better see where the pre-cut bagel separation needed to be completed so the two halves of the bagel would slide down into the toaster…where was I, one of the light bulbs in the vent-a-hood had burned out.  I prefer the warm glow given off by the vent-a-hood lights over the cold white given off by the overhead kitchen lights.

I then remembered how much fun it was replacing one of those fancy two pronged bulbs; sarcasm mode engaged. Think about Ralphy in the movie, The Christmas Story, when he was helping his dad change the flat tire when he accidentally lost control of the lug nuts; that same terminology comes to mind.

The vent-a-hood actually came with a specially designed suction cup tool to assist in replacing a light bulb.  If you happen to misplace that tool it could be replaced for about $25.00. Our house is now seven years old; but that replacement tool is a permanent fixture in our Junk Drawer and will be there long after any nuclear explosion has wiped away our civilization. Twenty-five dollars for a suction cup that might cost all of a nickel to make, Geesh!

Lucy was going to be away getting her hair done for the next hour; what better time than now to get this chore out of the way.  I went to the main closet, the one in the den where only the most important stuff is stored, where I knew I’d placed a package of replacement Two-Pronged Light Bulbs, the kind that fit the track lights as well as the vent-a-hood. 

I found two spray nozzle replacements for the outside water hose, three emergency flashlights, four dual purpose screwdriver sets that let you change from Phillips to Flat head; all were unopened and still attached to the cardboard just like we’d seen them at the store.  Not seeing those light bulbs as I dug some more.

I had to move some of the empty ammo boxes out of the way to get a better view of the other junk.  We buy these ammo boxes when Harbor Freight puts them on sale half off; they make for great containers at Christmas gifts for the guys in our family.  You can put their favorite candy bars, bags of pistachios, a small emergency flashlight or even a box of ammo that fits their favorite weapon. That’s when I found a pack of tie down straps, still attached to the cardboard and ready to use.  Hmm, those were supposed to be in the back of my truck.  Still no Two-Pronged Light Bulbs.

I rearranged some of the battery chargers that work with my power hand tools.  Found a stack of electrician’s tape, that stuff sure comes in handy; but not today.  I put that with a container of bungie cords, love having extra bungie cords. 

Maybe I put those Two-Pronged Light Bulbs up with the regular light bulbs. I got out the step stool ladder and checked above the freezer next to the cans of baked beans and mayonnaise; no, they’re not there either.  Better go back to looking in the den closet.

Found the new staple gun with two boxes of staples we were going to use when reupholstering the fabric covered dinning room chairs.  I wonder where we stored that new fabric?  That can wait another year or so; today’s project is to replace a Two-Pronged Light Bulb in the vent-a-hood. 

Aha! There’s the package of Two-Pronged Light Bulbs, right where I knew they’d be behind the roll of drywall tape.  I put the ammo boxes back, closed the door to the closet and turned off the closet light.

The suction cup tool worked exactly as it was supposed to and the Two-Pronged Light Bulb was replaced in less than a minute.  Piece of Cake!

 

Officially a Senior Citizen

 

In case you were wondering if you qualify as an actual Senior Citizen, something most of us do when we stumble around the kitchen early in the morning; but in case you weren’t sure how to tell if you’ve become a senior citizen.  There are some subtle hints the world will hand you, like trying to get up from the living room floor after cutting out coupons with your grandchildren.

Think of this as a follow up for Jeff Foxworthy’s, “You might be a Redneck if…”

Yesterday, while at the grocery store, a young man picking up a dozen eggs down the refrigerated dairy isle stopped momentarily to admire my normal attire.  We do our grocery shopping while on our way home from serving at the Temple so I was dressed in a white shirt, dress slacks with dark suspenders to match.

“Nice outfit, man”.  This wouldn’t have been noteworthy except the same thing happened a couple of months ago when we were at Arby’s getting a late lunch.  His remarks, “Nice outfit, Man; looks like something an old man would wear.”

We watched the movie, Somewhere in Time, where the young man traveled back in time by convincing his mind he was going to meet the love of his life, suggesting to his mind the details of that time trip.  He purchased a men’s suit tailored for the early nineteen hundreds with coins to put in the pockets and in every way sold the idea to his subconscious mind.  Maybe there’s a Senior Citizen’s Clothing Shop where old guys purchase dress slacks with matching suspenders, Somewhere Nearby.

While going through yesterday’s mail, there was a coupon…how should I put this, a coupon that could be applied toward cremation services.  I’m not making this up, I promise.  The invitation was to attend a free dinner while the services offered would be explained. 

I’m sure they’ve considered having soft food, something easily chewed and then they might have miniature cremation urns as salt and pepper shakers to advertise various styles available.  Just for fun they’d have little placards for assigned seating with your name in fancy lettering along with, “Do Not Resuscitate”, no reason to assume you’d want the Heimlich Maneuver applied in the event you started choking.

Apparently, Facebook advertisers haven’t been able to keep up with my recently acquired Senior Citizen status.  I’ve been receiving promptings to purchase a brand new 2024 Hyundai Sonata, a new Ford Escape or a new Toyota Tacoma.  If we’re going to use the discount cremation coupon, why would we be purchasing a new car?

Most vehicles are sending information electronically to Big Brother as to exact location and speed relative to some orbiting satellite, it figures they retrieve lots of other information as well.  Last Wednesday the oil light on the dashboard flickered and flashed momentarily, then went back off as we were driving to Madisonville.  Our 2017 Hyundai Sonata has over 175,000 miles on it so the folks going through the data supplied figured it was time to upgrade with a newer model. 

We immediately had our local mechanic check things out.  He wanted to know how our car lost nearly 4 quarts of oil without having a leak and didn’t appear to be burning any oil.  We’ll keep a sharp eye on the panic lights displayed on the dashboard, never quite sure if this was a fluke or the bearing of bad news.

I’m still curious about the coupon for a free meal while being entertained by the cremation company.  Do they have a discount rate for Senior Citizens?

We purchase gift cards all the time while shopping at Kroger, especially when they offer four times the gas points on Friday.  We picked up a gift card yesterday to use at Texas Roadhouse and those gas points added nicely to our card.  There’s a new Texas Roadhouse in Huntsville that should be open for business next month.

Will Kroger offer extra gas points for obtaining a gift card at the crematorium?  Would we want a discount package or the deluxe cremation service?  Better to plan ahead and have that cremation card handy than to head down I-45 without one.  

Can you envision the State Trooper going through my wallet after the really bad wreck. “Dispatch, notify Sam’s Crematorium to pick up one of their customers with a Deluxe Gift Card. Not sure who it is at this time, pretty badly mangled; but nice outfit.”

 

That Must Have Been Exciting

 

I went to plug my cellphone onto the charging cable a while ago and noticed some damage near the end of the cable where it’s supposed to attach to the base of the phone.  Upon studying the cable a little closer it became evident that the damage had been caused by one of the cats chewing into the cable.

So, that would explain why, two days ago, my nightstand had been moved over.  I’d found my cellphone on the floor next to the nightstand but thought I must have accidentally knocked it down during the night.  It would also explain why the other end of the charging cable,  the end that plugs into the outlet, why it had been pulled away from the outlet just enough to where it no longer made contact with the outlet.  At the time I pushed the charging unit back in and made sure the cable was connected properly, never considered that an event had occurred. 

I’m only guessing; but one of the cats must have tried to chew on the charging cable and got bit by electricity, enough to throw the phone to the floor, dislodge the charging cable from the phone and at the same time pull the cable away from the outlet.  While trying to escape, she pushed the nightstand a couple of inches away from where it normally rests. 

Which of our kitties lost one of its nine lives?  I’ll probably never know; but I bet she leaves my cellphone alone from now on.