Just Wandering

Through the fault of my maternal Grandfather I’ve lived a life lusting stories to tell. Many of my lifes choices, good or bad, were made simply from that desire… to tell a story.

In the year 1917 my Grandad ran away from his home in Southwark , London at the age of 13 to find a temporary two or three year home with Gypsy’s . True Gypsy’s that existed throughout Europe at that time roaming the countryside in colorful horse drawn wagons to prey on the unwary townsman and villager alike. He was taken in by a gypsy leader known as King Ely who taught him the skill of hand carvng clothes pins for a living. And the unwritten Romany language . Not many years later he was trapped in a coal mine and though I’ve never really wanted to be trapped in a coal mine …. I envied that story of adventure he had to tell.

My endless quest of stories that would hopefully equal my Grandfathers finally brought the inevitable last month…. travelers diahrea in another foriegn land . Five days of not being able to stop followed by three days of not being able to go . I awoke that morning in South America feeling just fine but within fifteen minutes found my prayers to God for death going unanswered. Intestinal infection as it turned out forced my necessity to seek medical attention on the third day.

Cruz Roja , or Red Cross as we know it has a very professional and caring staff in Cartago Colombia . I sat impatiently in the waiting room as by 08:00 there were already 25 people ahead of me and knew all too well it would not be long before the need of the “bano”. { banyo}
In fear I raced down the hall to the door marked “bano” and on entry was immediately relieved at its sparkly clean appearance . I turned to quickly lock the door only to turn back to have that relief shattered by the fact that a previous occupant had stolen the toilet seat…… along with all the paper . And at that point, desirous of a story to tell or not…. I knew my life was suckin hard .

From the window of the taxi back to the house, and only moments from crapping my pants  I noticed a man delivering numerous large burlap sacks from his horse drawn wagon on that very busy street . And it reminded me of the story my Grandfather told of how he met my Grandmother while he was delivering sacks of coal in London from a horse drawn wagon ninety five years ago .

From the front door of our home in Colombia it takes but fifty nine paces before entering the door of “Albertecos Tienda”… or Alberto’s corner store. Fifty nine quick paces before entering a completely different world and I tramped those paces at every given opportunity.

That corner store has been a corner store in that neighborhood likely since 1920 . The hardwood display cabinets are original as are the glass fronts, some of which were cracked when I first visited that “tienda” thirty years ago…. and remain so today .

Sit at the table and slowly indulge a local beer and you’ll find time to notice the original tile floor. It’s traditional South American color scheme is well faded and well worn. The walls also are traditionally colored and have been repainted at least once since 1920 as some of the area’s of crumbled plaster from walls and ceiling are the same color as the rest . You’ll also find time to notice the endless parade of people who enter to buy one cigarette , a local soda, six teaspoons of cooking oil and a plantain… maybe an onion or a razor blade. And you’ll notice those people because they never fail to offer a …..

…. ” Buenos Dia ” to any and all present. And never fail to stop for a friendly chat….. with never a reference to politics .

” Politics interfere with happiness ” explained a wisened member of the barrio when I asked about the seemingly disinterest in the subject.
“Do you discuss politics a lot in the United States ?” he asked

I quickly changed the subject and created happiness with an offer of a free cerveza .

All those parades of people who come to spend their money nickles and dimes at a time were Albertos livelihood, and his neighbors. They were welcome to chat and hangout with or without spending a penny

They brought laughs and smiles and jokes each and every one.

The day we left we took those 59 paces to the corner to say goodbye. Though we were there only three weeks the staff at the tienda and all present members of the barrio cried . I stood there choked unable to say the word goodbye in either language …..and looking past their tears knew  I was looking back at true happiness .

On a political chat forum I was recently told that ….

” You have no credibility as you’ve told us you married an alien invader … your wife is an alien invader .”

My response to that truthfull accusation is with pride

“Yup … I told you about “my alien invader wife” ….. who I’m proud to say has done more for America than most people I know .

She’s never collected a social benefit …she purchases her own medical insurance even though it sometimes takes some very very long work days to do so . Any and all debts , medical or otherwise.. paid in full and have never been paid late.

She employs people …. sometimes at the same money she makes…. just to make sure they can get by .

There are times she works for elderly people for Jack Shit…even free, simply because they need the help and because their own “American” families can’t get off their ass to take care of their own .

And she’s just spent 7 weeks trying desperately to hire more Americans …… and failed. Of 30+ applicants only five could pass a background check @ $29 a pop. Of those five …
One applicant doesn’t want to work Mondays or Fridays …one doesn’t want to work Mondays or Wednesdays….. another has a home address that comes up as a Dominoes Pizza and the latest is a 28 yr old who needs a ride to work because she’s lost her drivers licence for life…..

Unfortunately there are no more bites from the immigrant comunity…. it would appear they are all too busy working instead of whining .

And personally I’d be a bit more proud of my U.S.  citizenship if  immigrants like my wife weren’t better at being Americans than we are .

We were getting nervous as my upcoming surgery was imminent and finding an employee to take my spot for a few months was proving to be …. difficult .

However, just in the nick of time we found Walt.

Walt showed up for the job interview with his “Make America Great Again” hat.

The hat didn’t get him hired….. what got him hired was he had arms and legs…spoke English. And he laid claim to handyman skills and expressed willingness to work the cleaning side of the business .

Typical of all my American hires … Walt couldn’t start Wednesday but Thursday was OK .

On Friday he informs us he needed the following week off as a sister in law was coming down from up North .

The next week his first try out on the handyman side of the business was a two and a half hour paint touch up . After an hour and a half he needed to go home…… and as far as finishing the next day…..

” Well Rich, I’d like to, but the wife and I have someone coming to the house to clip the dogs toe nails .”

Clip the fucken dogs toe nails …looked me right in the eye…and that’s what he said.

Next Tuesday evening Walt phoned at 7:15 to say he was sorry but he can’t make it in to work …

“Gotta take the wife in to a Doctor as she’s really ill…. heat stroke.”

Turns out that after a few Brandy and Sevens he took a nap , woke up at 7 p.m. and thought it was tommorrow morning . After I explained the time frame he said he’d be able to make it at the usual time…

” Glad the Missus is feeling better Walt ” I said

Week three and the Monday morning start came with a call from Walt …

” Sorry, can’t make it… gotta rush to the hospital ”

Tuesday was the explantion that another day off was necessary as the trip to the hospital yesterday brought the prognosis of …. hemmorhoids .

So… here we are… helping make America great again …one fucken hemmorhoid at a time .

Well it seems our desire of hiring people into our small company is just that …..
a desire . The girl who replaced the girl with all the “tats” has informed us that …

” I don’t really need to work … my husband makes really good money ” .

He cuts grass at a local mobile home park so I’m not really sure how “good” that money could be but I’m certain its not enough to fix the non operating AC in her car that pisses half a quart of oil wherever it’s parked.

So far the response to our ad for help five mornings a week have brought quite a bit of response with two top contenders. However, one doesn’t want to work Mondays or Fridays and the other isn’t interested in Modays or Wednesdays. .

Third runner up has mentioned she doesn’t like to mop floors. Thats a pretty telling statement to make to the owner of a cleaning company during a job interview , but hey… sign of the times right?

There’s a lot of email response that come between the hours of 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. In example the 25 yr. old single mother of three with virtually no spelling or sentence structure skills. Likely because at 1:30 a.m. she’s an incoherent mess.

And of course next is the 28 yr old who explains that she’s “lost” her drivers licence but really needs a job because she also is a single mother . Of a child named …. Moonbeam.

I’m thinking my best bet is to be really patient and wait for that time when I’ll be given the opportunity to hire ….. Moonbeam.
ya know ya just can’t make this shit up

Petty Theft …

I was just lamenting our inability to enjoy our long awaited vacation to Colombia this May to some clients of ours . We’ve lost some employees and our attempts to replace them have proven to be in vain and so our plans have had to be put on hold.

” Colombia ??” asked one of our clients ” Aren’t you afraid of crime ?”

I explained how I felt much safer in Colombia than I did in Ft. Myers and my only real look out in Colombia was for petty theft. I explained that it wasn’t wise to hold your phone out in plain view or wear expensive jewlelry while walking the streets ..

” Well I wouldn’t want to live like that .” said the client and I didn’t push the issue .

Two days later we discovered that someone has helped himself to the the four valve stem covers on my tires . They cost $1.99 for a set of four at Advanced Auto and probably cheaper at Walmart ….

Guess that just goes to show how fortunate we are to live in such a wealthy country….. what if people were really hungry ?

A Million Jobs

Being small business owners the wife and I have found the past four years an endless struggle to grow the business. Finding customers is not the problem, in fact they seek us out. The problem has been our inablity to find enough suitable help even though we offer higher than usual local industry standard wages. Two weeks ago we were on the search yet again. This time it was different….

Two days went by with out a single response to our ad … zip, zero.. nada.

” Let me see this ad ” said the wife getting worried….. and upon seeing it she informed me the problem was the last line I had written in the ad …. that line informed the prospectives that they ….

” Must be able to go two hours with out playing with a phone ”

This I wrote due to the chronic problem of employees thinking it is their right to not stop telephone use while vacuuming and dusting.

” What if it’s an emegency ? ” they always lament to which I can’t help but push my belief that ” Jimmy changing his picture on Face Book ” isn’t a friggen emergency.
So I deleted that line and instantly the responses started to flow in ….. the first four responses had mug shots . Then a couple or so informed me they “might” be available next Tuesday or… maybe Thursday . The rest emailed me between the hours of 2 and 3 a.m. until finally the pick of the litter appeared …… with all of her tattoos.

She arrived at 7 a.m. unusually punctual for a first day on the job and I was delighted by that fact. That is until she opened her yap to inform me she needed to leave At 9 a.m … only three hours early. She turned out to be quite the worker for a whole week before performing the usual no show no call act.

Still… considering she replaced a young guy who showed up 1  1/2 hours late on his first day she still holds pick of the litter status ths month….

Ya know… when Mr. Trump laid claim to bringing millions of jobs back to the United States I felt it a worthy endeavor…. but I did question what would happen when only hundreds of thousands showed up for work….

I’ve posted something similar in the past…. but this may be worth a repeat at this time ….

From then till now … I can’t help but notice the differences .

Over the past many years I’ve spent a lot of time at gun ranges. They used to be a place where Dad brought the kids to learn marksmanship skills and firearm safety. Plink the .22 at reactive targets for a few years and then ultimately the annual pre season deer rifle sight in. Or those with a more competitve bent would come to practice their competitive skills.

More and more over the years I’ve noticed more and more “Rambo wannabe’s”. 40 year olds dressed in cammo and little bandoleers of ammo on their forearms as they practice their 50 yd sniper skills. And talk about “When the shit hits the fan” scenarios.

A few years ago when we were suffering another one of those “Oh my God the Dems are gonna confiscate everything ” periods I met a young guy at the range. He had sauntered up to the 100 yd range where I shot my .22 target rifles from the 50 yd range where he proudly shot basket ball size groups with his wonderfull black gun.

During our discussion he hinted at his desire to be involved in a militia and informed me he had just spent three weeks pay on AR 15 magazines.

” Three Weeks Pay !…. what the hell are you gonna do with all of them ?” … I asked

My question must have struck a cord as he immediately came back harshly with  …..

” When the shit hits the fan, what are you gonna do with out them? ”

My answer was that I’m gonna shoot someone from very far away…. then walk over and pick up his gear

The wife and I are veterans of numerous hurricanes after 16 years here in SW Florida. In fact one of them wrecked our home requiring many months of hard effort to it put back into livable condition, … while having no other choice but to live in it.

I can’t hide the fact that Hurricane Irmas promised category 4 and our past experience caused us a great deal of anxiety. That fear caused us to drive 60 miles to purchase plywood scraps to cover our windows as our Home Depot stores were unable to provide the need. We spent a day in preparation nervously covering our windows and bracing the garage door and worrying because we were unable to aquire enough D cell batteries…. or even peanut butter.

The day of the storm we lost our electricity very early in the day causing us to spend many anxious hours listening to the radio reports of its steady, frightening march towards us. Like Hurricane Charley in 2004 Irmas path shifted at the last moment, but this time… the winds shifted in our favor. Our house was spared, as were we , the same horrible experience of thirteen years ago.

Five days without power and no Air Conditiong in a Florida summer is a mere inconvenience compared to what those not far away are going through now, or what we ourselves have suffered in the past ….however.

Not long after the power came on the wife called to tell me the air conditioner just crapped out. So I abandoned an overly burdened work schedule to spend a half day attending to a seized AC compressor fan motor. By 5:30 p.m. the deed was done and I decided to mow the lawn before indulging that wonderfull world of “conditioned air”.

As I finished my lawn I thought it would be nice to mow the neighbors as he hadn’t yet returned from evacuating from the storm. Within a few minutes I managed to sink my lawn tractor into his swail with mud mud over the wheels . Before I towed it out with my pickup I just couldn’t help but scream out the question ….

“When does it it fucken stop suckin !! ”

The neighbor has just arrived home and I spied him through the window. He seems somewhat perplexed at his partially mowed lawn… and the sinkhole the size of an Ariens 17.5 HP lawn tractor on his front yard.

With the look on his face…. I’m thinking denial of all knowledge

On a recent trip to Colombia I couldn’t help but repeatedly repeat the question…

“How can they possibly not think this is a recipe for disaster?”

This of course in reference to what I saw on Colombia’s busy city streets on a daily basis. Two cars for instance, and a motorcycle, all side by side while attempting to pass another motorcycle on a blind curve….
“Why are we doing this!” I wanted to scream while wondering why no one else saw this as a recipe for disaster.

In a normal world would not a family of four on a 100cc motorcycle speeding in heavy traffic be considered a recipe for disaster? or three bags of concrete on a motor scooter, huge television singlehanded on a motorcycle , likewise?
Not convinced?… how about two  men on a motorcycle with the passenger holding a car windshield horizontally as they sped and wove through heavy traffic…. just gotta be a recipe for disaster.

We’ve just received a phone call informing us of the inevitable. Two friends have just been involved in a motorcycle accident . Flaco and Adriana came off the bike in traffic and poor Adriana is going to be in the hospital for some time.

Fortunately Flaco and the motorcycle came out of it relatively unscathed and a good thing too as the motorcycle was a loaner from another friend, Albert. And poor Flaco has enough problems as it is. You see, Flaco is just about blind. I witnessed myself when he would have to get his eyes within 12 inches of a plate of fried delicasies in order pick the particular morsal he desired.

I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard it was in fact Flaco who was driving .

“Why in Gods name was Flaco driving??” was my obviously foolish question.

“Adriana doesn’t have a motorcycle licence.” said the wife completely understanding

I’ll likely never get the gist of South American logic so I’m thinking that the question of why Abert would loan his motorcycle to a blind man shall just hang for a while …..

Hire American .. Buy American

I own a small business that in part, cleans and maintains ten buildings of a 55 + condo community in Florida. I started the company three years ago in order that my wife could remain working there as she had for other companies for the previous nine years.

She loves where she works. She idolizes the tenants that for twelve years have made her feel a part of their lives. And she is exactly that…. a part of their daily routine of retired life in South West Florida. They see her daily making sure their hallways are clean and social rooms presentable. She makes sure their Bingo Hall smells nice on Tuesday before they play. Many come from the north at summers end in escape of frigid winters and on arrival seek her out like long missed kin and she so relishes that.

I do hope that continues. After twenty nine years from planting her adventurous foot on that riverbank in Texas she goes forward every day with a work ethic and attitude my country sorely needs. She employs people and pays far more than industry average… and counts our numerous blessings as well as share them.

But I felt the first sting today and I loathe to mention it to her. A fairly new  tenant of the community, having heard the chatter of the cleaning crew, came to question me …..

” Don’t you think you should hire Americans ?”

And so I had to be impolite and remind the lady that her unemployed grand children who come to visit in order to use the pool have never answered one of my job adds…. nor likely any one elses.

I do often lament the destruction of the manufacturing base of my country. I whine no end at the loss of important jobs and skills now used on foriegn lands. This loss has come at the price of our self sufficiency and I view the fact that we are no longer self sufficient as the single largest breach of our defence as a nation….

There was a time not very long ago when everything we used, consumed, or sold at profit was made right here in the United States. Its quality was such that the entire world lusted for our goods and were willing to purchase them.

Now I type this out on a Chinese product that sits on a Chinese desk. I ate a hamburger tonight as I refused to purchase Chinese fish at the supermarket. My day was frought with stripped cheap shit Chinese screws and easily bent cheap shit Chinese nails that I attempted to install with cheap shit Chinese tools…. and this list could go on infiniteum.

Two weeks ago another cheap shit Chinese household product gave up the ghost and we were delighted to find on the internet a wonderfull quality U.S. made replacement. We purchased it online immediately. The little flag and Made in USA sticker were just too much to ignore and I’m delighted to say it arrived by UPS today.

Its wonderfull… its quality is evident and its one of the few items we still manufacture in this once great manufacturing nation. It sits right now on our stove in order that we might ogle it for a while before putting it away…… it is without doubt the finest Chinese Wok we’ve ever owned.

  I’ve been late on a few bills these past few months. It’s not lack of funds that have caused these deliquency warnings to pop up in the email and post box. Instead its the abundance of things that meander through my mind and all of them usually at the same time. Thus creating what would seem to be ….forgetfullness .

This has caused me this past week to seek out the help of modern technologies and thus enroll many of my staple bills into this wonder of modern life …..auto pay. That should solve the problem.

I came in from work yesterday to collect an ugly envelope from the mail box. It was from the dreaded Internal Revenue Service though happy I was indeed to immediately spy they claim to have made a credit of $134.06 towards my 2014 tax return. What they further informed however was that as of yet, I have not filed that 2014 return and should do so ….. right now.

Quickly two questions sprung to mind….

1. If I hadn’t filed for 2014….how would they know I was worthy of a credit?     and

2. As I received and cashed a rebate of a whopping $42.00 that year…. mustn’t I have filed?

    Past experience has taught me that this cannot pass smoothly.

As I sat downloading proof positive of my filing my 2014 taxes in readiness of the forth coming battle the phone rang. It was my bank calling to inform me that my debit card transaction for $163.00 worth of clothing at Marshalls in Tampa has been declined.

” Thats great news !” I said and further elaborated the fact that both my debit card and I were 112 miles south of that point….and neither of us have ever set foot in Marshalls of Tampa.

The results were the cancellation of my debit card whilst I await a new one with new pin. A security precaution I fully understand. And the results were also that all my auto pay payments are unlikely to be on time this month. I don’t believe I would be quite so forgetfull if my mind wasn’t constantly filled with the likes of IRS letters and stolen debit card numbers…..and late paid bills.

There are those who feel they may have been steered from disaster by a guardian angel.  A being or presence that has subliminally or otherwise guided them past danger or protected them from harm and I understand fully that belief. In fact I have a brother whose very life can be attributed to what could only be divine intervention and not mere coincidence.

Like everything in my life “my” guardian angel can’t be normal. My guardian angel seems to possess a need to constantly steer me towards “incidents” thus justifying her existence as a G.A. when I walk away unharmed. Or perhaps my guardian writes a blog thus needing stories to tell other heaven dwellers . My family laughs over my seemingly endless list of walk aways and recently on a trip to visit my Father we sat in front of the television news to see a picture of an aircraft being struck by lightning.

“Jeese Richard, how come that has never happened to you ?”        my Father asked with a laugh.

“When it does….I’ll walk away. ”     I laughed too, but ….I could feel someone listening.

Three days later something had happened to my plane on a connecting flight out of Newark creating my “initial” two hour delay on my trek back to Florida. Four hours later on a replacement plane I finally heard the Captain calmly inform  …..

“We are now beginning our descent into Ft. Myers”

He then further informed us of very turbulent weather in our path and that all cabin attendants should now take their seats. In short order only the seat belts prevented one and all from bouncing off the ceiling during 30 foot free falls while little paper barf bags were filled by many .

Suddenly in the midst of yet another of that aircrafts many elevator imitations I witnessed it…… an incredible bright flash as lightning rolled right over the starboard wing. Instantly the pilot had us hurtling towards the moon in replication of a space bound rocket. We then found ourselves suddenly on route to a more immediate landing at Sarasota where a crew of technicians needed to perform a two hour inspection before we could fly on to Ft. Myers. A little over an hour later we were informed that our aircraft wasn’t flying anywhere.

Later on the minivan cab taking me to Ft. Myers Airport to retrieve my vehicle from long term parking was floundering in backed up traffic on the highway. For no other apparent reason than to add to my story a tractor trailer had jackknifed ahead of us to end up on the median with its load puked out of the back door.

Only six and a half hours later than expected I crawled into bed with the wish that one day I might take a boring trip without incident …… and not hear an angel laugh

Throughout my life I’ve had a tendency to attract and be attracted to incidents beyond the average experiences of average men. Little choices, correct or otherwise seem often to lead me into the Twilight Zone.  Someone told me yesterday it’s because I’m a story teller and actively seek the origins of tales to tell. That may be so …. but….

The day had arrived. Five weeks of a visiting sister in law from South America and we were finally on our way to Miami International to catch her long awaited return flight. Nearing Miami we got off the beaten path in order to lunch at a very nice Colombian restaurant… “Mi Pequeno Colombia”. The food was outstanding though I must confess the thought of her missing her flight put a ball in the pit of my stomach and so I rushed it along .  I was beyond determined that no missed flight would  occur.

With a belly full of empanadas, maduros and chicharone we headed back to the highway where my normal predisposition to the abnormal reared its ugly head. A few miles was all it took to realize….

“We’re lost”

The wife eventually convinced me to exit the highway to seek directions and I could hear the time ticking away loudly in my mind. The exit we chose naturally enough, took us to another endless stretch of highway until somewhere in a very industrial area we came upon another exit. The exit veered right and low as it started at the beginning of a bridge. Just beyond the exit law enforcement had a car pulled over and the hapless young driver stood there with no shirt or shoes, his appearance the epitome of  someone royally screwed.

I could see him and the officer up on the bridge as I entered the gas station below to seek directions. One short minute was all it took to be given proper guidance and in that time I exited the station to discover the routine traffic stop had blossomed into a full blown “jumper” situation. Well I got in the pickup and wheeled it around to stop at the four way stop sign and we had front row seats. We could hear the officer try to calm the blubbering jumper who edged his way further along the bridge to sit directly in front of us.

Other patrol cars sped into the intersection from different directions to block access and I sat there torn… I mean I really wanted to see the scenario played…… but I could hear the clock ticking….and the ball came back to the pit of my stomach.

I tromped on the gas to fly between the patrol cars as I glanced up at the jumper directly overhead and veered a hard left to accelerate up the ramp to gain access to the highway.

We barely made highway speed when we saw the sign…..

Miami International Airport   exit 1 mile

As they often do the neighborhood kids came to knock on the door yesterday.

“We need air in our bike tires .”   was the familiar chorus.

And as I often do I got off my ass to search for the well-used   bicycle pump as it appears no one else on the street owns one. Unfortunately one had a slash and was in need of a new tube and so I couldn’t help to dispel the disappointment. I mentioned this to the wife later that it was unlikely her father would ever do anything to rectify this…. as he never does.

“Screw all these Fathers around here….let the kids ask them to fix things. I’m sick of this shit.”  was my lament

My Mother died one year ago today and the wonderful crew I worked with at a local Big Box store all signed a sympathy card. I still have it…and likely always will. It is covered predominantly with the traditional  “Sorry for your loss”  as in all fairness, who knows what to say in times as that?  But buried in the center of all those sincere condolences, in tiny letters, was scribed……..

“A Mothers job is never done….even from above.”

A friend, about to be a Mother herself for the second time, knew what I needed to hear, and what I needed to remember.

I drove home today in the pouring rain and passed the house with the abandoned bicycle on the front lawn and I could hear her. I could hear my Mum say …..

” Aaahhhh…. poor little thing ”       just as I’ve heard it a thousand times or more with her incredible ability to instill sympathy. And so I entered the house to tell the wife I needed to go back out. She smiled knowing I was heading out to buy a tire tube.

The rain has stopped, and I can hear that little girl laughing right now as she races up and down the street with her friends. And it’s wonderful….and my Mother did that.

There have been numerous occasions over the past year or so where my neighbor and I have come nose to nose while still unable to see eye to eye. The reason being is that I live in Florida and Florida is the land of the yapping fucken dog. There are other dogs in the neighborhood but none have the stamina of the dogs across the fence, little Izak and Abbie. Those two little fuckers can….and frequently do….bark nonstop for three to four hours at a time.

Squirrels send them into a mental frenzy and hours long nonstop marathon of yap and bark. So do pedestrians , kids on bikes , a simple leaf blown across the yard….. or me. I’ve explained my neighbor in no uncertain terms that enough is enough and if he can’t train his animals…I’m more than willing.

Sunday I walked into the back yard to find myself stared down by a very large Boxer type dog with a tail.

” Who are you ?” I asked.

The tail wagged in answer as the neighbor came out to inform me that…

“This is Cooper …isn’t he nice?”

And he went on to explain that he just couldn’t train little Abbie and as she was such a nuisance to the neighbors he got rid of her. He also explained that poor little Izak still needed company and so….enter Cooper, stage right. Cooper it turns out is a quick study and within twenty four hours little Izak has taught him that going berserk and bark marathons are the normal procedure in his new home.

It would seem I’ve seen my last tail wag from Cooper as well. Now, only days later it’s a long low angry growl with a straight tail. Then a sudden eruption into a nutso attempt to get over the fence every time I go out to grill or water a pepper plant . He’s already close to succeeding and I fear it’s only a matter of time before I’m sharing space in my yard with Cooper.

So I now listen to a shrill little yapper and a deep bass big dog bark…. constantly. Seems the Third World is right…. God intended dogs be food items

 There is something wrong with leadership today …and something very wrong with many that aspire to it. I’ve never really used my blog to make a political statement before but permit me an observation if I may…..

My new bosses normally dark brown eyes turn black when she’s angered.

After four years I have just left left the comfortable position of a pussy job at a local Big Box Store to find myself a member of an all girl cleaning crew. It wasn’t long at all into that very first morning before I learned that there are two ways to vacum a very long hall , really good ….and better. Add the fact of a neglected lint bunny behind a dryer to the poor choice of vacuming really good as opposed to “better” and there I stood …berated before the cold, coal black stare of she who must be obeyed.

And I stood alone as all the other girls banded together to glare me down and show unison with the boss. I may be the owner of the company but they knew who it was important to side with. It was more than evident they needed to show intolerance towards he who pisses off the “real boss” and thus creating an uncomfortable morning for all…..

There it was….. early in that very first morning of my new position when I found myself sent home early… sans pay and in disgrace. I was informed in more than one language that I needed to go home to paint the house and leave cleaning to the pros as the black pupils of those eyes quickly overpowered the dark brown iris’.

“Yeah” chimed in the three employees fearing a miserable black eyed morning.

And so I left, tail between my legs, to head home to paint the house.

Once home I discovered my hasty retreat from the job had caused me to neglect shutting the pickups tailgate. Some where on Beacon St. two brand new batteries to leaf blowers used to sweep entry ways used the opportunity to commit suicide. Obviously fearfull of  the return home of the Black Eyed One they lept from the back of the truck….as probably should have I.

I hadn’t noticed the approach of the Big Box customer when suddenly ….

“Do you think this lubricant has a strong aroma?”    This is what I  heard as an aerosol can was thrust before my eyes as I toiled over an intricate order of windows and doors on the computer screen.

“My wife can’t abide chemical smells. I need to lubricate my sliding patio doors but it mustn’t smell …  she doesn’t like smells, she says they are an irritant.”

Being a good employee of the Big Box where I spend my days I held back and didn’t express my total understanding of irritants. Instead I took hold of the can and twisted off the cap to do some exploratory research by spraying some into the cap…. and beyond. Not only did the product prove itself to be odiferous….it put dark speckled stains over the top of my light colored  soft leather shoe. I knew right away those speckled stains would never disappear….and I knew right away that a seed had just been planted.

Three weeks later while on lunch break I found myself in the men’s room stepping back from the urinal at precisely the same moment as did my neighboring urinal user. Like practiced choreographers we both stepped back, left foot first while right thumb and fore finger tugged the zippers sky ward and on impulse I proclaimed ….

“Man…. you splashed my shoe.”

And staring at my shoe the poor victim proclaimed his most sincere apologies.

“I am really sorry, this is horrible. Buddy I had no idea.  Please …I am very sorry.”

“I’m just messing with you Man, those are really oil stains.”  Is what I confessed as the look turned stern and disbelieving .

Suddenly I was confronted with a question as the intensity in his eyes made evident his confusion and anger.

“Why would you do something like this?”

And so he stormed out before I could answer.  I stood there washing my hands and used the mirror to look myself in the eye as I asked that very same question ….

“Why would you do something like that?”

But deep down I knew why ……

I just needed this story to tell

I can see him now…right now as he stands glaring, stoic, and as usual… mute.  When I turn away I can still feel his relentless stare through the glass sliding door. And how he came to be so inappropriately named Oscar I really couldn’t say.

For many there are aromas that invoke a memory of Christmas’ past. The aroma of baked goods or of meals cooking in the oven. And of course the exquisite pungency of a Christmas tree… a given for yuletide reminiscence . But for me it’s not the aroma itself that brings me back.  Instead it’s the memory itself of an aroma that brings forth those past happy Christmas Day’s. I can remember when Oscar smelt strongly of campha wood as he stood beneath our Christmas tree year after year. The aroma of spruce and campha mingled is unique and Oscar brought this particular olfactory memory to me from the Philippines. He was adopted into my family in 1966  when my father brought him home from  a stop in the Philippines on his first trip back from Vietnam. He has proven to be the only family member, adopted or blood, to share with me so many  Christmas days while far from home.

That olfactory indulgence of campha is a memory now as Oscar has long lost that wondrous smell over these many years. Once a block of campha wood himself in a past life Oscar was carved by an artisan in the Philippines into a perfect replica of a water buffalo. And into a family member

I once had an  “Every thing must go” moving sale and a lady from the Philippines asked….

“How much for Oscar?”

But Oscar is family…and not for sale. And though I haven’t had a Christmas tree in my house for years I have had that wonderful aroma of campha and spruce….even if it really wasn’t there.

It usually happens in threes’ they say and it usually happens in threes’ frequently say I. The wife’s pay for instance… it generaly arrives habitualy by direct deposit to our account on Friday mornings. This Friday it didn’t happen as some form of glitch forced her employer to provide a hand written check….
That very evening I sat before the puter to order on line a new rifle barrel that I’ve long lusted over. I placed the order to that distant manufacturer of fine rifle barrels and offered my payment via PayPal. I was immediately rewarded with two quick emails in response. They both wished to congratulate me simultaniously on orders #1888 and #1889. And it didn’t take long to notice my PayPal acount had been hit twice for the one and only required barrel . It is with great hope this can be rectified with some degree of efficiency…but somehow I know better
Saturday morning as we made our rounds I noticed the allure of the bright green OPEN signs above the drive up of our bank.
“Lets just stop and deposit the check.” Is what I said to Mags.
And so we did just that. We signed the check and filled out the deposit slip and placed them both in the clear plastic cylinder. I pressed the button and watched as the vacum sucked both cylinder and check away at great speed and suddenly…..suddenly I found myself wait for a response longer than I ever have before. That wait was so friggin long it forced me to exit the vehicle and walk over to the bank itself where I discovered that…they aren’t open on Saturdays.
I came home to access my work schedule on line. The Big Box where I work gives internet access to our ever changing schedules and the ability to print it out. Well at that very moment the printer gasped its last living breath on earth while the money required to to replace it sat at the end of a vacum tube hopefully only until Monday