Swine Flew Over the Osprey's Nest

By Don Winfield

Swain “Swine” Aquinas awoke with a start and a feeling of impending doom. Last night he was being sought by the Quincy, Massachusetts Police Department, and had taken refuge in an unlocked semi-trailer behind a warehouse on the Quincy docks. Swine made himself comfortable on the cardboard boxes of imported computer paper, and hunkered down for a short nap. The nap lasted nine hours when it ended with a startled Swine jumping to his feet and careening headlong into the aluminum wall of the trailer. Slowly opening the trailer’s roll-up back door, Swine could see he was in a totally different world than the one he’d fallen asleep in. He was in a truck stop parking lot. Drivers were laughing, tossing friendly insults at each other and the general mood seemed festive. Scanning the area with squinty eyes, half blinded by the bright sun, Swine could make out the truck stop sign. Florence, NC. “Holy shit!” thought Swine. “How could I have slept through a trip like that?”

When he could see nobody around the back of the trucks, Swine slipped out, leaving the door open. He made a bee line for the restaurant. The sign above the yellow door read ‘Mae’s Truck Stop & Strip Bar”. Swine didn’t give it much thought. He had problems of his own to worry about. Broke, filthy, and less than a dollar in his pocket, Swine felt more alone and lost than he had in all his 25 years. Being an impulsive man, Swine sat down at the counter and ordered up the biggest breakfast on the menu. “Once it’s in me they can’t take it back”, he thought.

While wolfing down three runny eggs, three link sausages, four hotcakes, a mountain of gummy home fries, and three mugs of burnt coffee, Swine felt a tad more human and his brain was working a little better. He’d spotted the shy red haired waitress who was working the counter, but she wouldn’t make eye contact. “Too bad”, he thought, noticing her eyes were bluer than the summer sky. When she caught Swine looking her way, she looked down, and scurried off to wait on another trucker. It was on one of her look down and walk away phases that the rejuvenated Swine had his first winning idea of the day. As the young waitress walked toward the other end of the counter, Swine bolted. Out the door and across the parking lot at a dead trot, went Swine Aquinas. He had no idea where he was going, but needn’t have worried, as his flight was suddenly halted by a size 16 work shoe stuck in his path. The shoe’s occupant, Harry “Steamboat” Coe, marveled at the flying young man’s spectacular trajectory. Swine flew four feet into the air, arms and legs flailing wildly. He did a half gainer with a twist to the left, and landed on his back in the gravel with a sodden "whoomp" as the air exited his lungs.

Before he could collect his wits, a huge hand grabbed his grubby shirt front and yanked his scrawny butt straight up. Swine found himself suspended in the air with his feet dangling a foot off the ground. “You planning to pay that bill, brother?" Steamboat asked. “That young lady’ll have to pay it if you get away, you know.”

Swine in fact hadn’t known that. Now he did, he didn’t particularly care. At the moment, however, he was jacked up dangling in the air, scared for his life, and ready to agree to anything that would get his feet back on the ground. He desperately wanted to continue his flight, but then he saw the pretty young red head holding the unpaid check in her hand. She was waving it at Swine, all shyness gone and replaced by obvious anger.

“Just where do you think you’re going, pal?” she demanded.

Pinky Helms was a pissed waitress. She’d been eyeing Swine on his stool inside, and thought he looked alright though a bit dirty and disheveled. She thought he’d clean up just fine. Then he up and bolts on her check! What a disappointment.

Pinky had seen a lot, including near-do-well check bolters in her four years at Mae’s. She’d learned early that that’s the nature of business along Interstate 95, the main corridor for travelers heading to and from Florida. Four years ago, Pinky’s mother had said, “wait here by Magic Mountain, sweetie. Mommy has to go to the ladies’ but I’ll be right back”. Three hours later, a family from Ohio became curious about the skinny teen walking aimlessly around the Goofy Lot crying and mumbling, “I can’t believe she left me and took off!”

The Bromleys from Akron offered her a ride, and in a confused stupor Pinky accepted. Although she lived only an hour and a half from Disney in Ocala, Pinky didn’t think much about her trip north with the family of four. By the time they stopped to eat at Mae’s Truck Stop & Strip Bar, Pinky had had enough of the parents bickering, the kids fighting, and the pet Jack Russell Terrier chewing on her clothing. She pulled her mamma’s trick. After excusing herself to go to the bathroom, she slipped out the back door of Mae’s and hid in the card board recycling dumpster until after the Bromleys gave up looking and hit the road to Ohio again. Mae’s owners noticed the young girl hanging around for two days, and offered her a job bussing table and dishwashing. A room to stay in came with the job, and a year later, Pinky became a full-fledged waitress, making barely enough to survive on and expert at fending off passes, pinches, and lewd suggestions. Her frugal lifestyle had helped her accumulate $6,437.68 in savings. She kept it in a savings account and used her Visa Debit Card to access it only in dire emergencies.

Pinky’s question to Swine about where he thought he was going caused him to pause. “Good question,” he thought. Here he is. Middle of South Carolina, no money, no luggage, no transportation, and absolutely no prospects. Harry had let him regain terra firma, and the three strangers stood in the middle of Mae’s lot just looking at one another.

“Well." stammered Swine. “I have no idea what’s going to happen next. One minute I’m dozing off in a paper hauler and the next thing I know, I’m 900 miles away from home, broke and hungry. At least I didn’t break my back when this dude tripped me.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Harry. “I saw you running, and Pinky coming after you waving that check. It was just reflexes, man.”

“No problem, I guess I deserved that crash.” said Swine, though he seriously doubted he really did. Still, the Quincy police were 900 miles behind him, and worse things could happen to a fellow. He didn’t regret stealing those Girl Scout Cookies and selling them on the street corner. He just regretted getting caught and having to leave the proceeds behind when the cops tried to grab him up. That was a hard earned $37.50 and would have bought him meals for a couple of days, ‘til his first paycheck from the shipping company arrived. “Oh, yeah,” he mused. “That job is probably gone now, too.” They’d warned him about ‘no-call-no-shows’.

“I’ll take care of your check.” said Pinky. “But, you owe me big time.”

“The truth is, I can’t promise to repay you ‘til I get work. Give me your address and I’ll send it to you,” Swine lied.

“Oh no, mister. I’m not letting you out of my sight ‘til I get back this $5.23 plus a 15% tip. Harry’s been after me to ride to the Keys with him on a run, and today’s the day we both get in that truck and head south.”

Pinky looked pretty determined, and Swine couldn’t think of anything better than going off to Florida with such a pretty young lady. He’d secretly always had questions about certain aspects of red heads, so what the hell? He and Harry looked at each other, and the deal was settled.

After Pinky went back into Mae’s and quit on the spot, she filled a small suitcase and a brown grocery bag with her worldly possessions. She jumped into the Peterbilt’s spacious cab with Harry and Swine and they were heading for the sun.

Over the course of the next 700 they all got to know each other. Harry was amused by the verbal dance of two young people, obviously attracted to one another, striking up a relationship. Harry may have been a truck driver but was a smart guy who could see where this was heading, and wished the kids luck and good fortune. He wouldn’t be putting any of his own paycheck on it lasting, but what the hell. “God bless ‘em.” he thought

Sixteen hours, four truck stops, and three greasy meals later, the happy band crunched to a halt in the parking lot in front of ‘Bob’s Bike and Kayak Rentals’, Big Pine Key, Florida. This was the final destination for the cheap Indian motor scooters and plastic Indonesian kayaks in the trailer. Bob’s was going to expand into the scooter rental business, and the kayaks were supplemental to the current inventory of rentals.

There were 25 scooters and 57 kayaks on board. Originally 60 kayaks had been loaded in Michigan, but Harry ran short of cash in Charlottesville, VA, and the 3 frat boys considered themselves blessed to be able to buy them for $50.00 apiece in the Micky D’s parking lot. He didn’t feel he needed to explain that to ‘Saint’, the current owner of Bob’s.

It was a splendid reunion of father and son, there in Bob’s Bike & Kayak Rentals. Thomas Swain “Saint” Aquinas, Sr., and Thomas Swain “Swine” Aquinas, Jr. recognized each other at the same time. They came running together with raised arms and loud exclamations of how long it had been and how surprised each was to see the other after 10 long years. Once within swinging distance, Swine hauled back and round house punched the senior Aquinas, knocking him backward six feet, landing on his backside.

Dazed, Saint just sat there in the gravel. “Why’d ya do that, son?” He inquired indignantly.

“Why’d ya leave me at 15 to live on my own in Quincy?” Asked Swine.

“Damn, son,” muttered Saint. “You know that if I’d been caught for that third assault, they’d have put me away for three to five. I’ll tell you what, boy. I’ll make it up to you starting right now.”

“Just how do you figure to do that, pop?” Swine asked suspiciously.

“I’ve outlasted the statute of limitations in Massachusetts. And now the rental business is really picking up. Seems the lower Keys are getting too full of tourists so they're spillin’ northward. You can be my partner here. I’ll sign a paper and everything making it all legal. Life is good here on Big Pine.”

Until now, Pinky had just been standing back stunned by the revelations unfolding before her. Swine turned to her and said, “What do you think Pink? Should we take the old man up on his offer? Oh, by the way pop, this is my new girl, Pinky Helms. I met her up in Florence, NC. Aint she pretty?”

“Now don’t that beat all? You talk about coincidence. My new wife, Bobby is a red head and her name used to be Helms too. Come on out here, Bobby, and meet my son and his girlfriend.”

At the door to the rental shop, there appeared a young looking 38 year old woman. She had the same pretty blue eyes and flaming hair as Pinky’s. Pinky took one look and began running toward the woman starting across the lot. As they reached each other, Pinky fairly flew the last five feet and landed on the other red head, hitting, kicking, biting and pulling her hair. Pinky had to be forcibly pulled off the other girl. Some of the spectators boo'd when it ended, but Harry grabbed one female in each hand, separating them and lifting them into the air.

An Osprey sitting high in a mangrove had been observing the whole scene with a cocked head. He sounded a little disgusted as he screeched his mating cry and took flight. Pinky took his cue and spoke first. “I really had to get that out of my system. It’s been a long time, momma. Good to see ya.”

Bad Day in Black Rock

The world will not forget Binghamton's Black Friday. The real one! Friday, April 3, 2009, is the day forever etched in history as the most violent day ever in Binghamton, NY. It was a lone gun slinger. Not just some madman, but a specific individual with a family, neighbors, likely some friends, and ex-coworkers. Ex-coworkers, because the tale is that one of the things contributing to his act of terror had to do with his lack of employment. Seemingly the other contributor which initiated his heinous act was his inability to be effectively conversant in the English language. This in the 28th year of his residence in the United States. As far as is now known his name was Jiverly Wong, though he was known by a few aliases.
Picture this scenario: Jiv borrows his pop's old Camry, straps on his pair of side arms (duly licensed), stuffs tons of extra ammo into his carry bag, and zips up the old Kevlar vest. Next he's out the door and soon parks the Toyota against the rear exit of the American Civic Association building on Front St. He is now effectively blocking panicked escapees' only escape route. Then it's in the front door, shoot the receptionists, and move left into a classroom full of eager immigrants trying to learn English, the language which has eluded his grasp for nearly three decades. In that classroom he shot as many as he dared then killed himself. It looks like he was ready for a standoff, but courage eluded him as cleverly as had English.
At 41, Wong probably had reason to be embarrassed about his lack of linguist skills. I was in a foreign country for only one year, many years ago, but could communicate effectively with the natives, in their language within a couple of months. I was lost until then, and it was seriously debilitating. People laughed at my clumsy Korean mutterings. It's got to be hard to struggle with a language for as long as Mr. Wong did and still have your fellow immigrants snicker when you speak the tongue of the community. No excuse for a slaughter!
He lost his job in the local Shop Vac factory when the jobs emigrated to Mexico in November. Hey buddy! Everyone is losing their jobs now, thanks to current economic issues. Not a reason to murder innocents! So, it's obvious that he was a stick of dynamite with a long fuse lighted many years ago, which finally reached the gunpowder.
To get back to the original premise, he was assuredly crazy. The sane don't pack heat and go on murderous rampages against the unarmed gentle people of the world, do they? But he was a person who lived with other people. The above mentioned family, friends, etc., if you will. Nobody saw this guy's meltdown? Hell, I can't wear a pink tee shirt under my sweater without everyone mentioning it. If I get new shoes, I hear about it all day every day for a week or two. So, nobody sees this dude melting down and does anything to get him some help? Maybe. Unlikely. You can't blame anyone but the shooter, but I hope that there will be a few people out there burdened with the guilt that they sat on their thoughts and worries and never lifted a finger to help get this man away from situations where he could harm anyone. I hope that those people step up and do what they can for the dead and wounded this asshole left in his wake. I am happy that he seems to have killed himself, because this is America. Alive, he would never have had to pay for his horrid crimes.

A Pirate Looks at Census?

Holy god almighty! The hottest news on the street is that the U.S. Census Bureau has drastically lowered the bar. How else can it be explained? They've hired me, a lowly pirate, to enumerate census. I don't know how many censae there are out there, but if one staggers into my field of vision, I mean to enumerate it. Some may escape enumeration, but hopefully most will not. Really! April 8th, I go for the 'Orientation' festivities. All the local freshly minted and newly unwrapped Enumerators will be herded to an as yet undetermined location, and be oriented en mass. I'm hoping for some new recipes and to sharpen my woking skills. "Make the most of it", I say somewhat optimistically. April 13th, the fun begins! A whole week of training. I hope I can keep my appetite until then. I'm all giddy. If this gets as interesting as it potentially may, there will be updates on these pages. Stay tuned and feel free to comment at will. How else can he tell if you're out there?
Keep on countin' on!

Another Walton Voyage? Huh???

When duty calls, one should really consider shirking. Jen Zarrelli from WSKG Public Broadcasting had a need, a desire, and a wish as well, I'm thinking. A concrete lawn object maker had donated a load of very heavy lawn decorations to the current public TV and radio auction. Problem: That ton and a half of concrete is 57 miles away in Walton and the auction is in Vestal. "Don, could you get some of your club members to help you get it?" "Uh, uh, uh, why uh, sh sh sh sure, Jennifer", says the suddenly speechless Pirate. Later, you wonder what the hell you were thinkin'...........hummmm......
As cargo in the rear of a 1500 Chevy van hurtling down 206 at somewhere just past the speed of light, you wonder it again. Ever notice how much faster even the most lumbering vehicles can go when you're sitting helplessly behind the driver on a lump of concrete?
Job done, and how many people other than the four of us who made the trip got to see a real live cowgirl dancing in the streets of Walton at dusk? Rare sight for a small motley band of pirates on a Tuesday evening, but it was free and well worth the price paid.
Thank you Mike and Nick Haruk. Thank you Cap'n Ross. You're welcome Jen. It was our pleasure! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Census Sense Us (A Civic Message)

Today I had a dejavu experience. I flashed back to the late 1980's and my days of working days for the US Census Bureau as an Enumerator while slaving away all night long on the 11-7 shift at the Psych Center. Visions of putting little pencil spots on maps of the southern NY region, and stopping frequently for 10 minute power naps so I could keep on truckin', danced before my mind's eye. That was in 1988. Then there was 1989 and I was elevated to an Assistant FOS, riding heard on Crew Leaders while they rode heard on hoards of sweaty Enumerators. By the final year of the big do, 1990, I was the FOS hisself! By then there were literally dozens of Assistants, Crew Leaders, Clerks, and Enumerators all lined up for my attention by the time I got home from work at 7:15 AM. Ah, those were the good old days! Days of pencil and paper enumerating and hauling ass all the way to VERY rural Greene, Delaware, and Sullivan counties to wake up missing employees. I recall trying in vain to hire local people to do the easy task of counting the population, out where there about every resident spent several hours a day with a cow tit in their hand. Back then, the hourly rate was more than the state was paying me for loonie mind games, and when I added my hourly pay to my mileage check, I was rolling in dough. Ah, but sadly it only lasts about 10 weeks each year, and it's over.
Today, I went to the Chenango Town Hall and took the Census Bureau employment test. Some of the terms are the same, and it all came rushing back! Amazing how some things remain static. Others, however, change drastically. The recruiter was talking about everyone getting a wireless handheld device and eventually, in 2010, a laptop similar to the ones you see in police cruisers. Yep, pirates and other learned readers, this time it's an all electronic and very high tech enumeration. I had some reservations about getting on board when I darkened the test site door. When he started mentioning the electronic aspects of the job, he had me locked in. All I need is an offer, and I'm abandoning my sword and eye patch for a handheld device! You chuckle, "look what a whore to high tech old Winny is". Well, old chum bucket, it runs a little deeper than that. If those unwashed Enumerators of the '80s could screw up paper and pencil people counting so badly, the mind reels at how genuinely afoul this electronic wizardry can go. Imagine it. Now, I'm seriously hoping they call me up. I really want to see how this goes.
The bottom line: The Census Bureau needs hundreds, no thousands, of employees to pull off this monumental task. If you have any desire to help or any need for some serious extra cash, call the site up on your old laptop and fill out the application. Around here, it's about $12.25 and up for Enumerators, more for supervisory slots, and the mileage is up to about $.50 per mile. After the 40 hours of paid training (+ mileage), you can pretty well name your own hours. If your schedule permits only every other week, or evenings, or weekends, they'll have a slot for you.
Be civic minded, have some fun on Uncle Sam's tab, and get to know some seriously entertaining people. You'll have stories to last you the rest of your life! The test takes a half hour, and it's pass/fail with only 70% to pass. Good luck!

The Toilet Seat

Ceann, the Yankee Irish drinking music band we so love has a sense of humor that anyone I know can understand. The toilet in the blog picture above is their tip jar. They just want anyone who chooses to offer up a tip to know that any funds they accumulate will be placed appropriately.
More people should be so honest. It's comforting to know that some people know themselves so well. Do you?

HO! HO! HO! HO! HO! HO!

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

This has been a wonderful year for the entire Winfield family. We are thankful for all the happiness and good times we've had this year, and we hope all of our friends enjoy the same in the New Year to come.

Merry Christmas everybody, and have a fantastic 2009!!!!!

Honk If You Give A Damn!

The privet hedge is now leafless. You may be wondering what that has to do with anything. Fair enough, so let me tell you about it. Six months of the year the bare hedge is not an obstruction to my view of traffic. I spend the other six months of the year slowly backing out of my driveway verrrrry carefully. I have a clear view from where the car is parked, and can easily tell if someone is northbound toward the hamlet. As I back into the road, I can clearly view the southbound traffic, and there is no problem there.
The trouble lies with the northbound traffic. Although the speed limit is 30 mph through our wide spot in the road, nobody slows much below 50-55,. Therefore, when you look to the south, a car that wasn't there scant seconds ago, is on top of you by the time your rear wheels hit the berm.
Enter the HORN! I have no idea why, in over 23 years of living here in 'the Springs' only about 3 folks have deemed it prudent to give me a toot to let me know they're coming. My hat is off to these people, and their caring for my safety. Sure, I may have seen them coming, because these safe drivers are not the ones doing double the limit sliding into the berg. I'm thankful for them and their ability to move their thumb an inch or two to save a life.
Yes, you'll get a 'bird' or two from the 10 year old as he teeters unsteadily down the road in front of your 3800 pound behemoth. But take a second to warn him that you're about to be crushing his body with your Goodyears. 'Bird' be damned, you may well have saved the little dude's life. He won't admit it, and he'll shout obscenities as you pass, ever knowing that maybe he's able to do that because you tooted.
A 14 year old boy got killed near here yesterday. A late November snow day from school, was his last day. He rode his sled down the family driveway into the path of a fairly slow moving vehicle. The driver says he saw him too late to stop. It was slippery, of course. The horn may not have played any part in this sad drama, but it makes one think of the possibilities.
So, as the Holiday Season comes upon us, let's all think a little about the other guy. He may flip the old "peg leg" at you, and he may yell out abuse. That's fine. Getting a one finger salute from a live person is one hell of a lot better than having their relatives standing over their bier, looking down, and saying, "that bastard should have blown his horn!"
If you care, blow your horn! Happy Thanksgiving!

English Losing Ground? Get Real ! ! !

They've really got me going now! I read an article this weekend about how the English language is losing popularity here in the U.S. That's just unacceptable. Can you actually wrap your mind around that?
Rochelle Sharpe, in Sunday's USA Weekend says, "The changes are due, in part, to the burgeoning growth of the Latino population, which has doubled in size since 1990". These are US Census Bureau figures, and possibly have some validity.
Any right thinking US citizen is going to think, "That's great! More people are coming to America just like our forefathers did, making this an even stronger and more prosperous nation." That has always been and should now be, true However, there is a trend afoot which is quite disturbing. About 1 of every 4 Spanish speaking households in America, speak Spanish exclusively. Many of these are illegal aliens, who for various reasons will not expose themselves to the English language or the American culture. They cannot find jobs, vote, or obtain valid driving privileges, They are less likely to attend schools, therefore never stepping outside of the boundaries of their tight knit families and communities. They're developing foreign lands inside of our 'land of the free'.
Ms Sharpe points out that there is no longer a widespread network of 'night schools' and other venues where immigrants can go to learn English. Our economy, pinched by a huge influx of illegals, can no longer support these schools.
Ms Sharpe seems to share the opinion that so many others do, that state governments are wrong to legislate English as being the 'official language' of their state. If English were the only language one would be able to use for acquiring Social Services, driver licenses, mortgages, and signing houring leases, etc., perhaps groups of immigrants could plan to help themselves. The Bosnian, or Iranian, or Hispanic etc., communities could collaborate to hire teachers to assist in the acquisition of English skills. This would help them integrate into the American culture, instead of remaining on the misunderstood fringes of mainstream America.
I believe Mr Sharpe is wrong. All states, perhaps even the federal government, should legislate English as being the official language of the U.S.A. We were built upon the premise that "united we stand, divided we fall" (among other important premises), and without that unity we are weakening our own communities, states, and the entire country.
Only 7.5% of the residents of Hialeah, FL speak English. You can be born, live, work, and die in Hialeah and never have to understand or utter a syllable of English! Imagine that.
I don't want to seem prejudiced against any ethnic group, and in fact I am not. I simply believe that there is nothing which divides people more than lack of understanding one another. Understanding has it's root in communication. If Americans and the immigrants who share the bounty of the United States, cannot communicate with each other, how long is it going to be before there is a movement or many movements, to start mini countries within this country. Visit Quebec Province and find out how that works for English speaking people there. You better know that poulet is chicken before you try to order breakfast in most of Quebec.
With any luck at all, I'll be dead before it gets that far along in Binghamton. When I see the Espanol signs go up in Laura's Lunch, I'm just going to throw up my hands and order a breakfast burito.
Buenos dias!

New SpringWidget

Get this widget!

Election Day! Our BIG Chance?

Good morning America!
It may not be an omen of what the day has in store for all America, but I'll bet it's a preview of what my day'll be like. The boss and I showed up at the polling place, an unkempt fire house in Sanitaria Springs, at 6:00 AM. We were hoping to beat the rush and we got there all shiny and fresh, ready to cast that important ballot for the "Winfield Dream Team" of politicians for 2009 and beyond.
Maybe it's just me.....The antiquated voting machine was refusing to cooperate. After about 100 years of faithful service, it had decided to balk at being awoken at such an ungodly hour to perform one day's more miracles. As I said, it could have just been me. My presence has that effect on machinery in general. "Hey, Winny's here, let's refuse to do anything 'til he's given up!" machines would bellow if they could.
At length, the berk from the Elections Board fumbled it into submission and the machine began to allow the endless line of hopeful citizens to cast their little ballots.
Days like this make you proud to be an American, don't they? You can bet that there are many people around this big blue ball that don't have the opportunity to perform this simple trick. We have the power to magically make world leaders out of minor and heretofore unimportant, generally insubstantial, and questionable individuals. What's up with that? That's real power!
Enough said. I hope my loyal readers are either going to, or have already gotten out to, vote!
It's not much, but it's the best we have.

Piratical Voyage Arrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Land Sailin' to Walton

"Over the river and through the woods" became more than just a lyric from an old song as A tiny band of Pirates boarded their land ship last night and set a course for beautifully pastoral Walton, NY. The Coast of the Catskills, PHC had been plotting a Tropical Rock assault on the village for many months. Tonight the siege would begin! Shortly after 7:30 PM John Frinzi (left) took the stage commanding the rapt attention of the collective masses in the grandly restored, very ornate Walton Theater. John's original work is a mixture of ballads and blues, relating tales of real life in America. From his flowing story of leaving rural America for an adventure in New York City and ultimately leaving to head back to the country, to snippets of life on the road and in the islands related in John's laid back, country 'down island' style, he was excellent. After John's wonderfully entertaining set, "Sunny" Jim White (right in yellow) captured the stage and the hearts of Walton's bon vivants (Parrot Head style) with a totally different take on the 'trop rock' genre. Upbeat, funny, and homey, Jim spun tales musically and between songs, that truly warmed the crowd and made one feel the spirit and style of life in the tropics. Again, original compositions by the artist was the order of the night, and the random Pirate was impressed at the quality of songwriting and performance "Sunny Jim" was capable of. Living for 2 decades in the Cayman Islands and Florida gives him a genuine 'down island' attitude and delivery. For the final set the two artists joined on stage to perform a series of original and a couple of covered tunes which proved to be the crowd favorite of the show. Alone they're good, together they're fantastic. Solo performances of this quality need no back up musicians, and these two performers have perfected their collaboration. After the show, the POTS members were invited to join John, "Sunny Jim", and the CotC members at the local bar. We sat on the deck enjoying the warm September night and making friends with the Coast of the Catskills members and two very talented 'Trop Rock' artists. The historic old Walton Theater was a valuable co-star of the show. The pictures of destruction following the flood of 2006 record a stark contrast to the nearly restored beauty she now enjoys. It's unbelievable what has been done in so little time by so few people. The Coast of the Catskills, PHC and it's members have been instrumental in the rebuilding. Their efforts in fund raising and donating countless hours of manual labor, has done much to further the restoration. CotC President Mike Ripa, his wife Renee', the club's Secretary Patty from Akron (don't ask), and member Chris were perfect hosts who did the monumental task of putting the show together. They rolled out the red carpet for POTS and gave us a personal guided tour of the facility. We were blown away by what we saw. Well done Walton, and well done Coast of the Catskills, PHC.

Please go to the urls below for more information:

www.johnfrinzi.com
http://www.coconutbeach.com/sunnyjim.html
www.waltontheatre.org

Friday, September 26, 2008

Talk Like A Pirate Day-POTS News Coverage

http://www.newschannel34.com/mediacenter/local.aspx?videoid=13690@wbgh.dayport.com&navCatId=3

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Talk Like A Pirate DAy 2008

Avast ye land lubbers!
September 19th has blown ashore and drifted away yet again, and once agin the world was a talkin' like we pirates do. It dawned a great good glorious day on the planet, and all sails were up fer the big doo. Piratical shenanigans and bad behavior was the order of the day, and scurvy pirates could be viewed anywhere ye looked. This old sea dog took great grand pleasure in the looks he got from fellow sailors on the I-88 shippin' lanes when he passed them in full pirate gear. The Mad Pyrate was on his way, pirate wench in tow, to be on the new fangled contraption called telly vizshun. 'Course the Harbor Master in the News Channel 34 port o call was a scurvy tyrant who common-deered our crew and parrot, and made us sing fer our supper grub. Before it was over, and the dust settled in the mall hall, we'd stuck the weather mate with a pirate pin and had a great grand jolly laugh on him and all the Susquehanna Pirate roamin' area.
Breaking free o the lines tetherin' us to 34's dock, our ship sailed a few leagues to the east and tied up at Delgado's Cafe for a right piratical feast. Grog flow'd like sea water, and soon the Pirates were feelin' no pain. Much singin' and merriment was shared by the crew and various shanghai'd townfolk, and $200.00 in gold and silver pieces were plundered from the gathered merry makers. The entire pile of booty went to a breast cancer charity called "Traci's Hope". A right worthy cause headed up by the late Traci's clan to help other folks in need of support during their bouts with the dreaded disease.
Batten down yer hatches, and man the guns! Keep sailin' with the wind at yer back 'til next September 19th, when we'll do it all over again, only better! Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, August 3, 2008

"The Year of Still Here"

Jimmy's still touring and going strong. Tonight, August 3rd, 2008, Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band will be at the Newport Folk Festival. After tonight they're off until they show up at the Boardwalk Theater in Atlantic City on August 24th. They're 'still here' and in perfect form. You can go to Buffettnews.com to pick up the recent concert set lists and information about the shows, tickets, etc. Having seen the Camden, show in June, I can vouch for how great the 2008 tour is. Jimmy may say he's still here, but to the concert goer it seems more than that. He's not just still functioning, he's still knocking the crowd dead with old and new material. He and the Reeferettes show little sign of aging and one can easily see why this act is perennially one of the highest grossing acts of the summer tour season. If you haven't seen them at all, or just not yet this year, go to Buffettnews.com and find some tickets. August 27th they'll be in Jones Beach, NY. That's close enough for any upstate NY Parrot Head to make the trek. You've never before or will again see anything remotely like a Buffett show. Phinz up!

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

News Channel 34 Covers Talk Like A Pirate Day

Ahoy Mateys!
You'll get a bang out of the below URL. It's the Pirates of the Susquehanna on TV. Really! Check it out and see us in all our resplendent glory. The shocking thing is, there's just about 40 more of us lurking here in the Susquehanna River basin!
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11
http://www.newschannel34.com/mediacenter/local.aspx?videoid=13690@wbgh.dayport.com&navCatId=3
Enjoy!

Talk Like a Pirate Day, International

Avast ye land lubbers!
September 19th has blown ashore and drifted away yet again, and once agin the world was a talkin' like we pirates do. It dawned a great good glorious day on the planet, and all sails were up fer the big doo. Piratical shenanigans and bad behavior was the order of the day, and scurvy pirates could be viewed anywhere ye looked. This old sea dog took great grand pleasure in the looks he got from fellow sailors on the I-88 shippin' lanes when he passed them in full pirate gear. The Mad Pyrate was on his way, pirate wench in tow, to be on the new fangled contraption called telly vizshun. 'Course the Harbor Master in the News Channel 34 port o call was a scurvy tyrant who common-deered our crew and parrot, and made us sing fer our supper grub. Before it was over, and the dust settled in the mall hall, we'd stuck the weather mate with a pirate pin and had a great grand jolly laugh on him and all the Susquehanna Pirate roamin' area.
Breaking free o the lines tetherin' us to 34's dock, our ship sailed a few leagues to the east and tied up at Delgado's Cafe for a right piratical feast. Grog flow'd like sea water, and soon the Pirates were feelin' no pain. Much singin' and merriment was shared by the crew and various shanghai'd townfolk, and $200.00 in gold and silver pieces were plundered from the gathered merry makers. The entire pile of booty went to a breast cancer charity called "Traci's Hope". A right worthy cause headed up by the late Traci's clan to help other folks in need of support during their bouts with the dreaded disease.
Batten down yer hatches, and man the guns! Keep sailin' with the wind at yer back 'til next September 19th, when we'll do it all over again, only better! Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Somewhat North of Disorder

The Walk, The Run, and More Work Work, Work!!!

A month later, and much has occurred. The picture on the right is of a rabies clinic held by the Front Street Animal Shelter at a fire station in Endicott, NY on a balmy July evening. This is one of 3 clinics that Meg and I have volunteered at in the past month, and I believe the number is 6 for the summer so far. Get your dogs and cats vaccinated. While you're at it think about the benefits of neutering that pet as well.
Not just rabies clinics have taken up the old retarded man's season, so far. The concrete walkway from the driveway to the front walk is about 2/3 done, as well. This back breaking job is best done in small dribs and drabs. I'm good for about 1 or 2 sections a day, because I need to save myself for the painting, building, rebuilding, and general maintenance that has been so badly neglected around the 'Springs Mansion' over the past 2 .5 decades. Nearly 20 years of working out of town, added to 6 years of too much stress and too little relaxation have left the estate in a sad state of disrepair. I don't expect to rectify all the problems in one summer, but I plan to continue making a dent in it right up 'til the winter winds blow me off the ladder.
My march toward updating the Mercedes to something from the last decade continues onward. The Dakota is in the paper and on the WWW at an obviously unreasonable price. No calls yet, so the price must drop this week. Nobody wants a guzzler unless they can steal it, I guess. Now's their chance!
How's the Margaritaville on the back deck going? Swimmingly, I'm happy to report! I've taken only one meal within the confines of the mansion since early June, and even the cold, rainy days we're experiencing this week are not dampening my 'island spirit'. Grill on redneck!
I'm not ready to seriously seek income yet. Somehow, I'll know when it's time to start (probably be hungry), but until then it's pushing at the barge in another direction for the gormeless retiree. Today, it's install mop board in preparation for finally carpeting Ash's room. It's rolled up on the porch and waiting for it's chance to shine in Ash's jungle. Soon come, mon. Soon come.

He's all that...........and a Margarita!

"Just look at the fool! There he is! Out on his deck for the second day in a row. I don't think he's doing anything! A month ago he was at his menial task, reaping his pathetic pittance and thinking he's atop the heap. Just look at him now!"
It's a different reality he's gotten himself into these days. Now it's listen to Radio Margaritaville out on the deck, bloggin' away at full hunt-n-peck, and suck' down these 'boat drinks' as fast as that broken down old blender can spit 'em out.
Ok, the blog doesn't make much sense in that tequila soaked haze, but how can you tell? He's still waiting for the honeymoon to teeter to an end. He'll go back to work (in his own way) in due time. Meanwhile, he's still adjusting to having only one boss. The infamous "She Who Will Be Obeyed", who was unaware herself of how many tasks she wanted to assign him daily. He says he doesn't mind a 'honey do' list, but hey! Where's the honey?
Yes, Lizzy, the time is coming soon when he'll be up and dancing. Get in line, dah-lin'! It's shorter all the time.
What he was doing and having a ball with, is something he challenges the gormless blog-o-phile in you dear reader, to give a shot. Think about your favorite tune. Now go ahead and write down a brand new verse to it. Oh yes. You can do it. It doesn't have to be good, salable, or even make any sense. Once you have an idea in your head, go right ahead and put it on paper. It doesn't do any good to just change a word here and there. Be original. Really go for it! Really!
Now, you feel 100% better don't you? That's the therapeutic value of the rush of creative juices flowing through your fingers.
Once you have it in writing, send it along to the old bloggmeister (me, bonehead) and let's see your stuff.
Meanwhile, He's left thinking about a quote from Saturday Night Live from many years ago. He'll alter Chevy Chase's famous line, as he sits there chillin' on the deck on a Sunday. "I'm retired and you're not!"
It really is all that! And a Margarita! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Out of the closet! (Not what you're thinkin')

Today began my 3rd week of "retirement". I got up, as usual, at 5:30 AM, (or so), and went for that first cup of coffee, again as usual. Surprise! The free for the summer daily paper was in the box by the sidewalk, and Meg had already brought it in. We subscribe to the weekend papers only. Something we started because we both left for work so early, and if we needed to see it the work sites both had a Press on hand. The Press-Sun Bulletin's spies must have learned I'm unemployed this summer. Maybe it's the deal they automatically sent to all the 'week-enders'? Nah! They somehow knew I was free to read their rag! Can you say paranoid?
I didn't get on the computer seeking my fortune. I didn't go outside and start one of the thousand or so jobs that need being done around the house. Hey, I fixed the broken washer hose yesterday, didn't I? This morning I didn't do crap! I did, however, begin to feel guilty for not doing any of those things, and as soon as Ash made her debut for the day, we began to plan our day of playing. Today it'd be bicycling in the county park system. More concisely, the county park which becomes one with the town park in Nimmonsberg. By 11:00 AM we were on our way and had a heck of a ride. The rain held off, and we stayed dry and comfy the entire time, ducking goose poop and avoiding crashing into pedestrians and trees. Just as we were leaving the park, we spotted a very familiar looking shaggy Newfoundland. Closer inspection showed that it was indeed Evelyn Lynch's 'Newfie' Duke, and cross Shepherd Kelly, out for a little exercise. Naturally, if you know Ash, we had to see the doggies and Ash had to run with them. Mrs. L. enjoyed Ash doing that because at 82 years, she does minimal running with doggies. Go figure that!

While eating lunch at Wendy's, the sky dropped its liquid sunshine in huge bucket loads. We decided we were lucky to have eaten 'in', and casually enjoyed our meal until the downpour subsided.
Making up my mind to sit and eat instead of dashing to the car and flying homeward up the highway, was a minor milestone in my new life. At that moment a door opened and I chose 'laid back' over the hustle. That didn't happen when Ash and I went biking last week. That was not the result when Ash, Lindsay (my granddaughter) and I went on a day long photo shoot on Wednesday. It hasn't happened when I took out a book to read on the deck any time during the past two weeks. It was a new and enlightening experience. Maybe I am going to be able to enjoy some retirement after all. There is light at the end of the frantic paced tunnel I've lived in for the past 30 years, and that light has a name. Well, if not a name, at least a description. That would be that I may have come closer to figuring out that I can actually slow down a little, and that the world will not end if I don't have to be somewhere doing some specific thing, at the very next possible moment. It's called slowing the pace a tad, and maybe I'll soon be able to wrap my feeble mind around the concept.

Once I've worked through that period, I may be able to relax a little and make some firmer plans for the future. Oh sure, I know generally what I'm going to do with my time and efforts in a work related field. Internet sales has long held an interest for me, and I'm heading there in due time. I'll be a-pyratin' on the olde web in awhile. First, I have to learn to live at a more relaxed pace and become more centered on what's important at this juncture. With today's exciting revelation, I just may be on my way there. Wish me smooth sailin'.

Meanwhile, stay tuned for the more or less likely possibility of publication of another log entry on my uneven and unsteady voyage from working class dog to esteemed CEO of my own piece of paradise. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr................................

The Big Round Ball and Other Worldly Things

----------------
Now playing: Jimmy Buffett - Margaritaville
via FoxyTunes The weather in Philly was like sitting on the thin top rail of a rickety board fence at the edge of a 200' drop to a rocky coast below. All day, the sun beat down keeping the temperature in the high 80's and lower 90's. The air was wet enough to ring out, and the occasional high cloud cover only gave brief respite to the unforgiving heat. You held your breath and waited to see if the rail was going to break or hold.
In the parking lot outside of the Citizen's Bank Park stadium, the DJs dutifully spun CDs and the Trop Rock bands gamely played their best renditions of Jimmy Buffett songs for the adoring mob of feathered, finned, and hula skirted Parrot Heads. It was business as usual at a pre Jimmy Buffett concert tail gate brawl. Literally thousands of sweaty, drunken, and festively be-decked party animals were milling about, playing red-neck horseshoes, limbo, and drinking games. Swarming from one 'pickup beach' pool to another, they were chillin' in the heat of the day. More Landshark Lager, jello shots, mass produced margaritas, and rum drinks were consumed between noon and 6:00 PM Saturday in that parking lot than every bar in Philly added together, served in the past week. That's a lot of bars and a lot of booze, amigo.
Once the party in the parking lots ended around 6'ish, all the Buffett fans who could still walk began to slowly gravitate toward the baseball park for the second reason they came today. Scheduled for 7:30 PM the show was now closing in on the crowd. At almost exactly the appointed hour, G- Love, a Philly phenomenon took to the boards with his small but tight band and did about 45 minutes of a mixture of hip hop and funked up rock tunes comprised of both original and covered material. As one incredulous spectator was heard to say,"the music is great but the lyrics could use some work". Well, what did they expect when they put this urban black dude up leading into a Jimmy Buffett show, before 30,000 or so Jimmy Buffett fans? In the words of Patrick Halloran of *CEANN, "whoever booked us should've listened to our CD". G-Love and his enthusiastic group were well worth a listen, but as they ended their set and the 'roadies' began to set Bubba up, the sky opened and water of biblical proportions crashed from the sky. Not just a shower, this deluge set out to drown the crowd, or cook them with the intense lightening which accompanied the storm. The gurgling PA system suggested the fans seated on the field head for cover inside the stadium. Too late! Parrot Heads are no fools, and by then every aisle and stair to the stadium main concourse was packed concrete solid with humans who had no choice but to stand there and soak. The storm lasted about 1/2 hour at its worst, but it took at least that to make it inside even with the head start our little party had. There were paper towels in the rest rooms to dry the face and glasses. Everything else just had to remain soaked.
Jimmy is one hell of a merchandiser, but there are limits to even his prowess. He couldn't possibly have ordered up that flood to sell what had to be a record number of tee shirts and hats. Could he? Even people who'd maxed out their credit cards on $35.00 to $50.00 shirts and $30.00 hats, were back for more, just to have something dry on their body. I'll bet Jimmy broke all existing records for shirt sales last night in Philly.
At 9:00 Jimmy and the Coral Reefers took the stage and played non-stop until about 11:00 PM. I don't know if the intermittent light showers, or some other magic of the night made this show so unique to this writer. Nadirah was in superb form, Robert was never better on the steels, Jimmy sounded better than I've heard him in years live, and the 'Reefers' rocked the stadium like never before. Some new tunes were introduced without mention of their newness, but Jimmy saved the best for last. The final song of the night was a solo acoustic rendition of "Defying Gravity". Jimmy introduced it as a tribute to his friend Tim Russert who passed away earlier in the week. It was not just sensitive and insightful, which it is, but sung by Jimmy with just his little '6 string', on that great stage before so many thousands of his fans, made it a soulful experience. Nobody sang along, nobody talked, and nobody walked away. That song on that night made me more aware of the meaning of being a Jimmy fan and a Parrot Head than I had ever even thought about.
He's 61 and who knows how long we'll have 'the man' himself getting on the stage to give performances like these or any other. If you were there and likely if you ever hear that particular performance of "Defying Gravity", you'll understand what so many Parrot Heads see, and why they give so much of themselves in the name of this unique performer and humanitarian. I, for one, am very glad to be sharing this big round ball with Jimmy Buffett.


*www.ceannmusic.com

Ya Don't Like It, Change It!

Really! That's where you sit when you drive? No frickin' way! It's just impossible to drive with your head below the dashboard. So why is it that when my son brings the car back, the driver's seat is alway all the way back and lying nearly flat. The kid's 5'7" and not particularly long of inseam, so I don't get it! That's gotta hurt on the long haul.
Now, the interesting part is that even if it's only a quick trip to the store a 1/3 mi. away. The seat will be completely out of sorts, the radio will be blasting when I start the car, and the station will be set to "jibba, jibba, jibba, yeah, yeah, yeah!" It's not a local station, it's everywhere there is anyone under 25 breathing.
The ladder incident: Last Fall a neighbor called to ask if he could use my 24 footer for a few days. He had a "job" and his ladder would not suffice. "Alright. Go ahead and grab it off the rack on the side of the shed", saith I. Time passed and eventually it showed back up on the shed hooks. It kind of stopped me. I couldn't exactly figure how it was different. The old brain ground away big time for awhile, and eventually I was able to ascertain that it was indeed different. My red plastic tips were ripped and nasty. My 24 footer was now about 15'. There was some kind hook-like apparatus clamped to the top. Hummmmmmm.......
A quick call, and about 2 weeks later, I had the borrower's attention. 'Up with that' was that my ladder had suffered an accident while it was being shortened. The piece of crap hanging on my wall was purpose built to the specs of a homeowner who needed a special ladder. Ouch!
Long story short: Pressure was applied, and my altered ladder was replaced by a suitable used one of roughly the same length and strength.
I guess the message is this: If you want to keep your shit intact, leave it hanging on the shed. Every man knows that once someone has moved your seat in any direction but back and forth to fit their inseam, it can never be made right again. Your space is spoiled forever.
Ok. So I'll let people drive my car and I'll lend out the ladder many times or until the guy up the road trades it for drugs again. That's a whole 'nother story! As a parent and neighbor, I feel duty bound to help the kids and other people out. As an American and NYS employee, I feel equally duty bound to bitch.
Keep your powder dry, mates!

Is It Quirky Or Just Plain Queer?

So listen up! Really! I'm not kidding! Are you listening? We can't get started until after you've heard the tunes, so you might as well listen now. I promise you'll love these guys. Play it LOUD! Hell, listen as you read.
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=15815606

It's some length of time I've deprived all my loyal followers of my priceless words of wisdom. (That's as close to an apology for anything I can muster, so it'll have to suffice.)
I was in front of the all powerful Oz the other day and learned that I am "quirky". Well, you probably imagine that those words set the almost gray matter-less space sometimes known as my brain cavity, into a complete grand suck to fill the vacuum. It did, and once I was sucked up enough to organize what would usually serve as thoughts for citizens, the 'olde pyrate' began to grin. "Quirky", is it? Let me tell you about quirk.
I know a man who has never answered a question in his life. Not one. This is not an engineer who draws schematics for a vacuum cleaner if you tell him you see dust under the TV. No, he'll tell you about fishing with an old mate many years ago and falling backward into the stream, if you ask if it's going to rain. His waders filled up with ice water, and he rode home 85 miles in his jockey shorts, no heater, in an airy Pinto. Query if he'll be attending an upcoming dinner and you get what kind of spices the Koreans use to make rotted veggies edible. No, he's not brilliant, just illusive by nature. Never be blamed if you never take a stand. That's not quirky, it's his "personality".
Another individual within my daily realm is angry, vicious, manner devoid, and enjoys the social graces of a warthog. "Colorful" is how she's known.
The list could go on forever, but it's senseless to pursuit. Everyone has their "quirks", but some are more forgivable than others. Some are mild, some are wild, but all can be forgiven unless they follow you home. You get the idea.
The music. I've never boosted Ceann Na Caca on the old blog before, but I should have. The boys are going to be in Binghamton on April 16th at McGirk's in Binghamton. Then, on the 18th, they'll be in Syracuse. You'll get all that info when you go their Myspace page to give them an ear. I can guarantee you you'll consider your time and beer money sell spent if you see either show. I just hope you got to Winny's old blog before you missed the show.
The boys are very "quirky"! You'll enjoy them as this humble little blog. Probably much much more.

Merry Christmas!

If you happen to be a Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, Wicken, or some other religion, please consider this as just a friendly greeting. I still wish you the best of everything you may be looking for. I hope this Christmas Letter finds you in good health, good spirits, and with a tasty beverage of your choosing in hand. In any case, cinch up that shoulder harness and hang on for the ride.

2007 has been a year. A year about like '06, '05, '04, and so forth. Those are the ones I can recall, so if your memories of us are prior to that, you know better than I, what kind of years we've had. They've all been successful trips around the sun, or we wouldn't be here to tell the tale.

All the kids who should be working are. The Marine is still a Marine, the student is still in high school, and absorbing only what she wants, not what they want her to. Good luck to the NY public education system, on that. She's probably not the first red head they've had to deal with. On the adult level, Meg and I are still grateful to the taxpayers of NY for providing us cushy benefit laden jobs to help absorb those tax dollars.

All our beasts continued their free rides in 2007, giving plenty of warm and furry love in return for the comfort we provide. It makes one wonder why they have to be so snooty and controlling, given their apparent lack of goals. Even the critters that make noises at night seem content as they've not been waking us up too much lately. Life is good in Sanitaria Springs! There is some question. however, regarding the night critters. My therapist says they could be in my head and he should know. He's beginning to repay me the $50.00 I lent him to get his Internet degree, so I'm certain of his qualifications. He makes Dr. Phil seem like a loudmouth red neck. Wait! Dr. Phil is a loudmouth red neck.

So far this year, sadly, no geniuses have been revealed to be sitting on the branches of our family tree. No international awards have been received, no huge promotions or renowned accomplishments heralded, and we still haven't won the lottery. We have, however, had three lovely short vacations south of the boarder. Once to Easton, once to Wilkes-Barre, and the infamous St. Clair fiasco. That was some conga line, but we may never be allowed to drive through Schuylkill County again. At least PA citizens now know how we party in NY, and we're fairly sure they'll rebuild St. Clair and forget about the whole sordid affair in time.

So, our dear friends, have a truly great Christmas and New Year 2008! Don't forget to designate a driver you trust. It really sucks to be found in a pink tutu, a big bow strapped to your butt, at 3:30 AM, on your boss' lawn. It's a humiliation you don't need, believe me. I'll leave you with that bit of advice as our gift to you for Christmas '07. Enjoy!

The Winfield Family

HEY! Where'd My Summer Go????

Ahoy!

Quite the nautical greeting, eh? Well, a Pirate needs to be a little naughty in his greeting, don'cha think? It was Summer on Wednesday, but by Friday Fall fell like a ton of bricks. It's Saturday. It's 45 degrees F, and I'm running the furnace. In perspective, I had to sleep with the A/C on several nights earlier this week. Hummm.....upstate NY in the autumn.
I got to see my brother Ron and his lovely wife Mitzie last week. Unremarkable, except that the last sighting was around the end of the sixties or mid 1970. I guess we're a private family. The occasional Christmas card or call when our oldest brother "Moose" is having a crisis in sunny Florida, is all we hear from R & M. It was truly wonderful to see and hear them. It was a whirlwind 1.5 hours with very fast catching up on 3.5 decades. I suppose all families are like this, but I'm only in one, so I'm not sure.
My son Chris and my favorite daughter-in-law Jaime, have settled into their new home in Rome, NY. New in the sense that I think of a new place. It's probably 100+ years of age, but new to them. I hear there is a lot of stuff to do with it, but I think that's a large part of the charm of an older home.
Ashley was in a horse show last weekend. Won prizes in quite a few categories in both English and Western, including an overall first in her class. Proud? Can't button my shirt or get my hat to fit! Next Saturday, she's at it again, and once again it's while I'm at work. Her mom, Pat, and possibly Heather and Lindsay will go and watch her awhile. I hope so, as she can use the encouragement. We all can use some of that now and then.
Ben just made Sargent. I haven't seen him in his stripes, but maybe he'll send a pic and I'll share it on the olde blog.
I'll end with the thought that Meg, Heather, Lindsay, and Dylan all worked the environmental clean up of the Susquehanna River, last weekend. I'm attaching a pic or two of that, for the readers' enjoyment.
Until the next time I get ambitious, have a great Fall!

HEY! Where's Summer Going?

Let's have a look at this font. Not too bad. We'll go with it this time. How do you like the green? Well, it's still Summer and things are still greenish. August has yet to burn the lawns of SS brown and crispy, and there are still some blossoms on the flowering plants. Warm nights are still to be enjoyed on the deck with a cold beverage in your sticky little hand, and the artificial stars twinkling under the umbrella can cover for any that are missing in the late summer fog.
I notice the doors don't shut all the way without an additional shove these days. That old dampness is creeping into every molecule of the woodwork causing things to fit poorly, and the cabinet doors are unable to make a solid connection with the little magnetic latches. Dog days of summer, eh? The dogs wish for a cooler time, so maybe they should call these the 'cat days of summer'. The cats seem to enjoy just lying around in whatever sunny spot they can find, and soak up the heat. I've always heard it was mad dogs and Englishmen who stayed out in the noonday sun. The cats haven't heard that one yet, I guess.
I look around and wonder if I'm going to get everything done before it turns cold this Fall. So much to do, and so many Coronas to keep from spoiling. That's a nearly unresolvable conflict. I may need to recruit some assistance on one end or the other of that deal.
All is well in SS. There have been many good times and a couple of bad ones, but by and large the boat just keeps chugging along. Summer concerts are all in our wake, with only one for Ash at the Great New York State Exposition (State Fair) yet to go.
Ash, Dylan, and Lindsay have spent most of their holiday from school at camp. Overnights and day camps have been blended to save only time for a little trip here and there with the families, with emphasis on beaches and water parks. It makes us think of when we were kids and only worried about our next pleasure, eh? They need these times, and too soon they are only memories, recalled in quiet hours with their own children and grandchildren.
I hear a hammock calling me, and a chilled 'Rita' is whispering "don't forget me", as the clock heads into mid afternoon. The umbrella is drying from this morning's shower, the deck will soon be ready for me to kick back, and it's my day off so why the hell not!
If you thought there would be some deep thoughts in the old North of Disorder blog this month, you're doubtless disappointed, but hang in there. I promise to think once again when September comes.
Arrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Lost Blogs. You Found 'em!

blogID=540760876253429648&postID=5571439828871292591pot.com/2007/02/spring-must-be-coming-im-feelin-crazy.htmlhttp://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=540760876253429648&postID=5571439828871292591

They Give More Than They Get

I stumbled, half asleep from the late night journey home, onto the front porch, and was suddenly startled fully awake. Something had landed on my back as I'd bent to pick up something left on the porch. Gathering my senses, I soon discovered a very small calico kitten purring and rubbing against my neck. I recall thinking she had probably wandered away, had seen a person, and was looking for some temporary companionship before heading home. I petted and chatted, then put her down and went inside and to bed.
That was my first introduction to "Baby", "KK", "BK", or "Baby Cat". It began an over 15 year relationship during which neither of us tried to tame the other. Soon, Baby was living with me when I was home from Utica and my job, and became a permanent part of my life. She came and went when she wanted, never looking thin or hungry. I'd spot her on the roof of my barn of an early morn, examining the birds nesting in my eves, planing her hot breakfast. In a short while, she might curl up on the back porch if it was warm out, or be looking to come inside to curl up on a comfy spot in the warm house.
Baby was the only animal allowed in my bed, and would only come when she decided to, but was never turned away. A perfect sleeping companion, she stayed near my face all night and if I awoke would reassuringly purr me back to sleep. She didn't mind my marriage and bringing other humans into the house, but when Tucker,the black and white male cat, came to stay, she never went into the cellar for a meal again. Always ate in the kitchen after that.
Last Thursday, in the wee hours Molly, Ashley's little Peekapoo, barked once and woke me up. I was later to find that she was alerting us to the neighbor who spotted my beloved KK dead in the street in front of the house. He was coming home from work, and spotted her laying in the road. He didn't want the kids to see what was possibly one of their pets in such a state, so he put her behind the guard rail. She was beautiful to the end, and even then she looked like she could pop up and sprint away. She was healthy and youthful even at 15 years, and met her end doing what she always loved to do. She was out hunting and roaming the neighborhood in the night, keeping it free of various rodents and pests. Some pets, like our family Lab, Andy, are larger than life forever in our minds. I still look for Baby, and catch myself when I realize she won't be where I expect her to appear, or jump up on my lap on the deck like she did Wednesday evening to share my burger with me. But she'll always be in my heart, and I'll never forget the unconditional love and understanding she gave me. I only regret that, sadly, we can never repay our animals for all they give. Love your pets with deeds as well as your hearts, for too soon they are gone, and only their memories remain to warm our lives.
Happy hunting Baby.

There's Spring Springing Up All Over!

Just when we all thought 'The Springs' was never going to break free from
Old Man Winter's icy grasp, the sun is out, the grass is green, and I'm on my second mowing! Ouch! All the water the ground has absorbed from the past year's flooding and snow storms, has made everything sprout up at a truly alarming rate. That's a good thing. Another good thing is that it's all that closer to Benny Boy coming home from his second foray into George's Folley. His phone-con the other night told us that he's heading this way from 'over there', and will be back in about 6 weeks. There's a couple of more stops for the ship to make, then it's home to Camp Lejeune. He's talking about re-enlisting, but has about a year to make up his mind. A lot can happen in that time.
Chris and Jaime were 'home' for a few minutes last week. It was wonderful to see them, share a meal, and then wave so long as they disappeared into the sunset. Maybe they will move back East in a short while, and we'll get to see and harass them more often. Why should they escape all the harassment? We love them and it would be nice to have them closer.
As everyone reading this is about to be involved in the same thing the olde Pirate is, (mowing, cutting branches, making flower gardens, getting a new septic system, looking jealously at new roofs), remember one thing: You have to sweat a little now to really enjoy those "boat drinks" on the deck all Summer long. Get out and work you scurvy lot! Then, kick back in that deck chair, put your sandals up, and let the world spin out of control. Don't let the little umbrella poke your eye out.

Don Imus

It's great, America! Yes, we'll miss Imus and his fund raising, belligerent banter with political big wigs, and posers in general. However, his firing is a door slam on all the crap we don't like on the radio. Sure, adults don't listen anyway, but our kids do! Think of it: No more derogatory rap and hip hop aimed against black women or women in general. It's the changing of the sacred cows on broadcast media, and America wins. Black women may no longer be called "ho" on the radio or TV. This means that all other aspersions toward them are also strictly forbidden whether the mumbler is an elderly white guy or some young black. Sponsors, tune in your radios, drop every show that promotes disparaging women, and get some wholesome noise on that box.

Not Easy Being Murphy

It's 5:15 AM in Murphyville and the day needs to be set into motion. I need to do a lot of loud barking and continue 'til dad comes downstairs and hoots at me to "shut up, Murph"! Ah, there he comes now, I'll just keep barking while he goes to the bathroom for his wake-up relief. Now, if I groan and squeak loudly, he'll remember it's time to feed the dog.
Wait! I better go to the door and bark a few quick bursts. He probably doesn't remember that I need to visit the lawn for a few seconds before I start breakfast.
Ah, that's better. Now, I can eat in peace. Boy, dad, that coffee sure smells good. If I watch carefully and never let that cup get more than 8 inches away from my face, some of that might jump out of the cup and into my mouth. He knows I love coffee. Sure, dad wants to look at the paper, but I can make it easier for him if my face is between him and the print. I have to keep him in touch with drool. The constant dodging of my beak and wet face keep dad alert and ready for whatever the day might throw at him. He thinks the puzzle will sharpen him up for the day, but I know it's my face in his business that works best. I wonder why dad stopped having breakfast before heading to work? Hummmmm...........
Oh oh! Here comes mom! Gotta bark real loud so she knows I'm still here! Gotta start her day off with a bang too!

May 26, 2007, 6:05 AM - It's been a few months since this blog was started, but 'being Murphy' only becomes more and more interesting. This morning, though Ashley is in Canada on a school trip, Murf dutifully went over to the stair door, stood really close, and barked really loudly! It's time for Ash to be coming down those stairs and she better be ready to pet the dog! That's Murphy's view of the situation, and he's sticking to it no matter what!

CHRISTMAS IN THE SPRINGS

The gifts are bought, mostly wrapped, and the tree is trimmed, waiting for the big event. This one will come, and hopefully so will many others. All the anticipation, planning, apprehension, and stress will come to an end, this time, and be repeated many times if we're lucky. The climax is joy, happiness, and the simple pleasure of the satisfaction of watching our loved ones enjoying the gifts, food, and company we share.
There is sadness in the world, surely. But in the Holiday Season, in the microcosm of our lives we should see only what we need. We deserve to cherish this time of unbridled pleasure and share it without guilt or shame. If we can provide well for our friends and loved ones, good for us. Good for all those who have and can share!
The sadness and strife in the world will continue after we are all dust. There's little we can do to stop it or bend it's path. Entire countries and wealthy organizations have been working at it for centuries, and not a dent made. People will continue to recreate and procreate, the rich and the poor. That means more for both columns, and nothing to be done for it.
So celebrate! Enjoy this time of year and reveille in its hedonistic saturation of your soul. It's what you work so hard for day after day. It's why you worry for your children, weep for your neighbors' losses, and volunteer your time and services to your community. You've worked for it, you've earned it, and now is the time of year to immerse yourself in the wonder of it all.
Merry Christmas!

Benny's Great Adventure

Ben had in mind to come home for the Thanksgiving Day weekend, so off he went shopping for some supplies to tide him over. Pulling out of his space in the Mall lot, he gets backed into by a pickup truck, and suvvers minor damage to the left rear fender and hatch of his Maxda 5. The tail light is a shattered mess without hope. Insurance info is exchanged, and bob's yer uncle.

That's fine, he thinks, he'll get home and get it fixed. Wednesday, AM, leaving North Carolina: lovely warm day so the sun roof is tilted up, open at the rear. 15 minutes on the road, there is a stone thrown up from a vehicle, and it glances off the glass roof, causing it to open up in the middle and disintigrate. When the rain started, duct tape to the rescur, sort of.

Benny got home late at night, and had called ahead to have the barn open to get his holy roof inside to avoid auto flooding. Good idea. that's where the car still is on Thanksgiving night, no light, hole in the roof, and awaiting work.

Can I use the Bug? Sure, but 3 miles away, a deer lies in wait on the driving lane. Bugs are short, deer are a big lump. The underside of the V-dub got wiped out, so we have no idea what will happen.

Can't wait for Benny to come enjoy the Christmas Season with us. Just kidding, none of this was his fault just really bad luck!

Keys to Happiness; Though Fleeting

"Boat drinks, the boys in the band ordered boat drinks........." (Jimmy Buffett). How appropriate for a few days in the steamy southern reaches of the Florida Keys, listening to bands and sucking on boat drinks.
Meg and I winged our way into West Palm last Wednesday, looking for Margaritaville, and some fun in the sun and sand. There was sun, and sand, and many margaritas, Coronas, and Mojitos. The streets ran like a sea of humanity to the walls of the shops, with revelers from all reaches of the world, and in every possible state of 'partiness' you can imagine. You just throw yourself into the crowd and go along with whatever happens next. The living imbodiment of 'imprompu' to the most extreme degree! MOTM (www.phip.com) was in full swing when we arrived. The Casa Marina was closed to the public, but filled with Parrot Heads from everywhere.
Meg and I were working Security and checking IDs at the door before we'd been there 20 minutes. Get right in and start 'doing'. That's not only the Parrot Head way, but we soon found it to be a way of life for Key West itself. Over 30 bands played non-stop, with more music than you could find and listen to playing at the same time, all over the city. One act followed another, constantly from 10 or 11 AM, to 2 or 3 AM the next day, for five straight days.
The people who make up Parrot Head Clubs around the world are the nicest you'll ever meet, as a group or as individuals. I learned about the ups and downs of living the rock band life, traveling from town to town setting up and tearing down. I learned about the paranormal events all around us, that we pitifully common folks cannot see or comprehend. I saw a semi-nude Viking riding a reposed bike up and down Duval St. at lunchtime, waving to the throngs and creating his own little world of photo ops for the diners and gawking tourists alike. We drank to the driving live band music, to the full moon of November 5th, and to the breathtaking sunsets on Mallory Square, barely missing the legendary green flash many times. It all ended too soon, and we did not learn enough, have enough laughs, or enjoy enough Cuban cuisine. Yet we did all of these things for 5 continuous days, without missing a beat or getting much sleep.
Was it worth the delayed flights, checking to see if a rented Saturn is amphibious, and spending 2 hours 2 feet in front of a booming bass speaker at a Jerry Jeff Walker concert? You bet your feathered parrot butt it was! Would we do it again? You bet your pirate's eye patch and wooden leg we would! To my friends, one bit of advice: If you ever get a chance to sit at the bar at Louie's Backyard and suck down boat drinks with the tide rising around your feet and the full moon over your shoulder, do it! You'll never feel so alive and so in touch with your inner parrot, as you will at that moment. Remember: "The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful........" (Jimmy Buffett), as reported by John Parrothead.