Easter Sunday Celebration...

Even though we don’t ritualize Easter, or any holiday for that matter, I try to celebrate every new moment that I’m offered.

Today I’ve got a full schedule planned.

Carla is home safe after working 24 of the last 36, with no sleep in between, so she’ll be down for the count.

My plans? I’ll walk the dogs around the lake, passing the familiar Limpkin as she wades in the shallows for Apple Snails. Got to go do my gym thing, maybe pull a few weeds out from around the Hibiscus in the front yard as an excuse to get some sunshine. That’s intense right now. A cloudless sky makes everything appear to be color enhanced. We had a drenching rain two days ago, so the landscape is bright green, plants are in bloom everywhere.

It’s as if the rain lifted off a thin film of grey, the whole earth burst out of its chrysalis.

Chica will get a bath. Little bitch rolled in something dead on our walk earlier.

I also plan to vacuum the whole house, we’ll see. Don’t put your money on that one to place or show.

After I get some chores done, I’ll take time to sit out on the back deck with iPhone & earbuds singing Pandora tunes. A belated celebration of yesterday’s date, 4/20, will accompany sips of my delicious vodka that I infused with organic strawberries, mint and honey. Each sip demands attentive praise, a warm smile from within.

There’s a recipe for crispy chicken wings I want to try. Baked, not fried. Fat, organic wings, with celery and chunky blue cheese dressing with a side of mashed baby red and purple potatoes, and steamed asparagus with hollandaise.

Every moment of my day will be filled with an almost giddy thankfulness for just being.

The Grand Ole Opry star, Minnie Pearl used to say as the price tag dangled from her straw hat: “I’m just so proud to be here!”

Me too, Minnie, me too.

What Is the Worst Restaurant Experience You Ever Had?

A Facebook question asked, “What Is the Worst Restaurant Experience You Ever Had?”

People spewed horror stories. Terrible service, disgusting food, rats, roaches… It all made me want to Lysol my own kitchen and then have dinner at home.

Growing up in this tourist town, both daughters waitressed as teenagers and told us horror stories about the kitchens in some of our favorite spots. We still go to them anyway. I’ve managed to block the images from my mind. It’s just the way many kitchens are, I tell myself.

All in all, what I don’t know can’t necessarily hurt me…until I do know it, especially if it is an image which can’t be erased.

That’s how it was with one place back in my bachelor days.

I worked a graveyard shift at the Defense Intelligence Agency. A computer operator working with an IBM 360-65 mainframe that took up more floor space than two basketball courts and had less power than a cheap cellphone does today.

Being DIA though, the place was not easy to get in and out of.
Arlington Hall Station was home to NSA and DIA, and very secure.

When I drove up to the front gate at night, the guards stopped me to check the pass on my front bumper and the ID on a chain around my neck. That one they hit with a hand-held ultraviolet light to make sure it was legit.

If security was satisfied, the gate lifted. Once parked in my assigned spot, cameras on tall metal poles turned their heads to follow me as I walked up to the entrance into the first perimeter of a 12 foot metal fence topped with concertina wire. That’s where a stationary camera greeted me and I said into the speaker: “Haller, DS5B2”

A narrow 20 foot corridor lead me to the front door. There sat a guard behind thick glass. He checked my badge again with the ultraviolet light and looked up “Haller,DS5B2” to see that I was on the access list for that evening.

Once inside, the unfriendly halls were lined with unlabeled, locked doors that ushered me down a long hallway. There, at another blank door,I pushed a red button and stood in front of an overhead camera and waved. On the inside, the guard had to recognize me in order for him to buzz the door open as I entered a small room with another locked door on the far side. If the guard saw that it was really just me and everything was OK, he reached under his desk and buzzed the far door.

Almost inside, standing in a dark hall, I faced a huge steel vault door like you see on bank vaults, only much bigger. A cipher box mounted on the wall had four numbered keys for me to enter the code I was given the day before; it changed every day.

A huge hiss as air blew out, 20 tons of steel slowly opened and air pressure equalized on both sides.

Once we were in, we were in for the night. We didn’t want to leave and have to go through that security gauntlet again until our shift was over.

So in the middle of the night, we always elected one guy to make a food run for all of us.

Jack-In-The-Box was the closest 24 hour place around, Jack-In-The-Box it was. Every work-night we repeated the same routine. A few times when I was the lucky courier, I picked up our orders at the drive through window from a guy who was always there. He was the only person working at 3am. Cook, cashier and food lover.

Yup, he was a food lover alright, but not in a good way

In the middle of the night on our graveyard shift, one of the guys read a news article in the Washington Post. Sitting up straight he blurted: “Oh Shit, Listen to this!” “Area Jack-In-The-Box closed. Night Shift Employee Caught Masturbating on Food!”

That particular employee had worked there for about 6 months, almost exactly the same time that we had been buying food from him every night. There was reference to “Local military” shops that ran 24-7 and needed to be fed! What a great service Jack-In-The box was providing!

Someone had complained. They identified a smell in the special sauce that caused them to dissect their food. Two appropriately named Jumbo Jacks.

Newly installed kitchen surveillance cameras caught him adding his own secret ingredient to the special sauce.

The terms "special sauce" and "food porn" would never be the same.

After that, all the guys concentrated on outlets for our boredom other than going out for food.

That's when we talked the girl Airman, an Airwoman? into ditching her panties one night for a sit-down formal portrait after climbing up onto the giant copy machine that spit out briefings for the Joint-Chiefs-of-Staff each following day. I think of that particular run of copies as “Pixilation’s For Peace” … it was during the Vietnam war years and with enough distance, if you had long arms, background dots morphed into mans best friend.

All upper brain activity in the guys ceased for the day. No war efforts were discussed.

The Joint Chiefs probably could have heard the chants of “No more war, no more war…” outside the Pentagon, if their brains still worked, but they didn’t.

Anyway, all of my crew started bringing their lunches and stopped going out for fast food altogether.

One guy on our graveyard shift who had always defended Jack-In-The-box “Special Sauce” as being the best burger and taco sauce he had ever tasted, never lived it down.

With great effort, he finally got himself a transfer. Guess he couldn't take the heat.

Savings We Can't Afford...

Boredom saved us a bundle of $$$ yesterday!

Carla and I were both off work at the same time. It doesn’t happen all that frequently. Bright, sunny day in the low 70’s. “Lets get the hell out of the house and do something different.” We agreed.

Where to? The beach? Historic downtown? A long bike ride? Maybe we should do yard work or even clean 10 years of dust off the plates and glassware on display in the bay window. We’ve only talked about doing that for seven years now. The dust is so bad that a blue glass dolphin paperweight and a little green pig sport thick dust rugs like hair. I ran two fingers down the opposite sides of each one to make them look like they are wearing fresh Mohawk haircuts.

Beware the punk dolphin and his angry pig friend.

But no, we decided none of that would hit the sweet spot. We were after some real excitement. 

Somewhere in conversation, the idea of going to Costco came up. We’re not members and the closest store is a 50-minute drive. But we’ve talked about joining longer than we have about dusting.

So off we went.

The bottom line? It was awesome! We saved so much money it’s hard to believe.

We walked away from the new member station with double “Executive” memberships and new Visa cards with a $9,000. credit limit. The membership only cost $140. and the nice lady charged it to our new VISA card that we don’t even have yet! And listen to this, the VISA card is a cash-back deal. As best I can understand it, every time we use the card for anything, they send us a check for $60. The Costco cards are “Executive” membership cards, and it sounds like we get a check back for $60. whenever we buy anything with them too. We’ll be swimming in $60. checks! No wonder Costco is so popular!

We figure that we’ll go back to Costco tomorrow, in & out 5 times, and buy a $1.00 item each time…and get 5 $60. checks next week! And each time we spend the $1.00, we’ll use our new VISA card and get another 5 $60. checks! That’s 10 $60. checks! $600. for spending $5.00!

I can’t believe other people haven’t thought of this. I guess we’re just extra smart. I mean, I didn’t listen to every detail of the way it works, but I really tuned in to the part when the saleslady kept saying: “And then you’ll get ANOTHER $60. Check!” and was proud of our smart decision to join.

You ever been there? It’s a double football field indoor arena crammed with miles of awesome values. King Crab legs and lobster tails for miles. It’s probably best suited for a family of 12 or 15, but we figured that we can freeze or store at least half of what we bought. And looking at the prices? We would be foolish not to buy in bulk like that. Anything less than packing the car would almost be wasteful.

We limited ourselves to the basics though. $388. worth. You know, things like vacuum packed cooked octopus, or maybe that 64 pack of Ferrero Rocher chocolates.That, plus the $140. to sign up came to $528.00. But we saved so much by buying our necessities in bulk that it’s a no brainer. Plus, remember that we also have all those checks for $60. that will start rolling in next week!

Hard to believe that after all these years, we are finally saving so much money by shopping at Costco!

We really wanted to go back again next week, but I crunched the numbers and realized that I'll have to get a second job before we can afford to save like that on a regular basis. 

Weeds, Immigrants, and Anyone Who Came Here after I Did...

People love a good scapegoat. After all, my problems can’t be the result of things I’ve done to myself. They must be the fault of some minority (insert blacks, Hispanics, Muslims, immigrants…) You know, the Bad guys.

I will keep electing liars and con men, thieves and thugs. I’m all for Citizens United, let corporations buy the votes of our representatives on Capitol Hill so that we, the people are completely unprotected from our own ignorance.

We get what we deserve.

I’m as guilty as everyone else. but I promise not to be going forward. I’m looking in the mirror now and repeating to myself: “If it’s to be, it’s up to me. If it's to be, it's up to me..."

My lawn is a good example of what I'm talking about.  I spray it with chemicals to keep it green like a golf course. I want it to be nice, but it's being ruined by immigrant weeds! Damn those immigrants!

Just look at the damage they do and the way they breed. Before long my whole lawn will look like this. They're ruining my yard!

Left or Right?

All living things have only two directions from which to choose. They can seek pleasure or avoid pain. Often these are one and the same.

That’s great for amoebas, but higher life forms get to think about such things.

I’ll go out on a limb here and call humans “higher life forms”. Subconsciously, it’s still about seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. Every time we shift in our chair, that’s what we’re doing. But consciously? We get to choose. A million times over throughout our lives, we make decisions, one direction or another.

Should I have that drink or smoke? That piece of cake? Should I go for a run? Should I take that job and make money now or get more education in hopes having a higher earning potential later? Should I buy that car, or marry that girl? Have children now or in a few years?

Lots of choices to make along the way.

When it comes to our health, it’s pretty obvious what we need to do, and just as obvious that often, we simply don’t. I plan to quit smoking, we think. Not right now, of course, but tomorrow for sure.

We only get one body on this journey. Yes, our parts are increasingly available for replacement or overhaul. Knees, hips, livers, even hearts and lungs can be transplanted. But none of that lets us off the hook. By age 45 or 50, we are no longer protected by our youth. It behooves us to pay more attention to our diet and exercise, especially if we haven’t done so in the past. If we are what we eat, we are also a product of the way we live. Couch potato or marathon runner, the result of our lifestyle walks a mile in our shoes or maybe rides in a complimentary scooter at the grocery store…in our shoes.

This is where we talk about short term pain for long term gain. It almost hurts to pass on that fresh doughnut and go for a jog instead, but the long-term results are worth it.

We are not alone. Like it or not, we all lead by example. Aside from any responsibility to ourselves, don’t we have a responsibility to our co-workers, our kids, friends, wives, husbands, everyone we know or meet?

It’s never too late to embrace a healthy(er)  daily routine for improved life and longevity.

My mother had always been quite active, but certainly had never done any weight training along the way. With a goal of regaining some strength lost due to old age, she started a few weekly weight training classes when she was 88. By age 89, I remember her calling me into her kitchen: “Look what I can do!” she boasted while lifting two plastic bags filled with groceries, one in each hand. “I can open jars again too!” Mom said as she unscrewed the top on a large jar of pickles.

She felt supercharged by her daily exercise routine and weight resistance training. That lady lived another 5 years in good health before her candle simply winked out in her sleep.

At age 71 I’m more focused than ever before of the choices I make and have decided to outlive Mom by one year. 95 and I’m done. But I know I’ll never make it if I don’t get my fat ass into the gym in the mornings. The sad fact is, I would rather stay home and have a double vodka instead, but I know that plan wouldn’t even allow me to hit 75, much less 95.

Eat a moderately healthy diet, do regular exercise, get enough sleep, and be generous with your attention and care for others. Right? I’m preaching to myself here.

Most mornings, I’m huffing away on one of the cardio machines that look out into the parking lot of “Anytime Fitness”. There's also a popular breakfast place  next door. Cars pull up and empty out. It’s shocking to see so many people who are not young, routinely carry the physical weight of their poor decisions into the diner for breakfast. Soft, gelatinous humans, walkers and oxygen tanks, canes and wheelchairs, huge bellies that lead the way. All turn left. The rare few that turn right, into the gym, generally come in by way of their own power and generally look good for their age. 

We don't need to read the countless studies that tell us that group will live longer. more active and better lives.

When drivers and passengers step out of their cars and stand up, I can tell you which way they will turn simply by looking at them.

Left or right. It’s always a choice.

Little Voices in the Breeze...

We shared a thoughtful visit to that that pier, blown by gusty breezes that spoke of a celebration of life along with indelible memories that still call it home today.

Twenty-eight years ago, we moved from Virginia to St Augustine. Back then, our rental house was on the opposite side of the lake that we back up to now, in fact, you can see our old neighbors house from our current backyard.

We had one of those $19. plastic pools on the concrete slab just outside of the sliding glass doors. It was half filled with dirty water, grass clippings, and dead water bugs. Way too warm to be refreshing but hey, it was fun for the girls anyway. They loved it. Hannah and Ruth were 3 and 8 at the time so sometimes they ran out back and just stripped down and jumped in. Little girls giggling and doing cartwheels on the shaded, soft grass, no one to see or care. Except for our immediate neighbor who was 112 years old, petrified like King Tut. He squinted out through the blinds of his bedroom window to spy on the girls. He didn’t like them to not be in proper bathing suits and told us so. Improper for the girls to be in our back yard in wet underpants even though he was the only one who could see them. He disapproved behind Venetian blinds bent just so.

I didn’t tell him to go have intercourse with himself because I knew he was long past having intercourse with anything. Just a lonely old man, waiting to die, angry that he hadn’t been able to take a proper shit in 30 years.

I felt sorry for the guy.

Ruth, Hannah and I often drove over to The Riverview Club where this pier stretches out into the Intercoastal. They stared, wide-eyed, down at the bait fish and crabs, dropping bits of crackers to entice them. I cast live shrimp up and down the pier. Flounder can’t resist live shrimp. Cleaning Flounder right there and bringing home fresh fillets, I was puffed up with my ability to do so. Such a manly man.

Dredged in cornmeal and Old Bay, fried lightly in Olive oil…hard to beat.

I was obnoxious with Carla demanding that she praise my obvious survival skills and ability to put fresh food on the table that was both delicious and “free”.

Fast forward those 28 years and we can still hear the chatter of little voices lifting above the heat snakes slithering up from the bleached wood of the hot decking. “Dad, will we see a Manatee? Dad, can we jump down into the shallow water?” Dad, what are jelly fish really made of. I know it’s not really jelly. Right?”

When Carla and I were younger, it worried me a bit that I wanted her so much. Physically. I was helpless, hooked, and rather obsessed. My concern was that as we aged and the physical part of our relationship was somewhat less of an overwhelming drive for me as it had been, that possibly we would grow more distant. Maybe the bond wouldn’t be as close.

We didn’t start out as best friends as many couples claim to. We were like Johnny and June: “We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout.” I had no choice but to marry the girl as soon as I could.

Remembering that long-ago concern recently, I realized that the opposite has happened. We are closer than ever. At age 71, the physical drive isn’t as overwhelming as it used to be. It no longer makes me crazy like a guy 10 feet underwater desperate for air.

At the gym these days, I walk on the treadmill, I no longer run. It’s like that. But since our girls grew up and left home, Carla has really come into her own professionally and I’ve learned to focus on who she is more than who she isn’t.

There was a time when I thought she should be more like me, organized in her approach, methodical. A planner. But now I believe that I would be a better person if I could be more like her. Free-spirited, living in the moment, spontaneous.

Turns out that it’s best for each of us to be exactly who we are.

It’s only taken me about 40 years to understand that. I’m a slow learner but better late than never, right?