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randowolfwriter · 3 years

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Rocking that Solo (Intro)- Hot Dog Dilemma

Just a little one-shot from my self indulgent Older Warners au. Might consider doing more of these if it gets enough interest.

Summary:

A hot dog vendor meets the strangest girl (or puppy) he’s ever seen. Little does he know, she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

She was a weird child. Probably one of the strangest the hot dog vendor had ever seen.

At first, he figured she had really poofy hair tied back with a sparkly heart-shaped hair tie, but then she approached him and saw that it wasn’t hair, but a pair of really large ears. Rabbit ears maybe? Then he noticed that she appeared to be covered in fur, ink-black with the exception of white that covered her entire face with a red nose that looked awfully a lot like a cat’s. When she smiled, he noticed tiny little fangs that made up her canines, and when she stepped back for a bit, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes—she didn’t need any. Giant white paws were what she walked on all day, much bigger than her front paws that looked more like hands. Then the key indicator of her strange appearance was that she had a tail, a long black one that was hard to determine whether it better belonged on a cat or a monkey. She could have been an animal that just escaped from the zoo had she not been wearing a giant purple sweater with a jean skirt and asking him tons of questions like any girl her age would ask.

Yes, this indeed was the strangest little girl the vendor had ever seen, and yet, this wasn’t the first time she had visited him that day.

“You seem like a pretty cool guy,” She beamed through what appeared to be a Liverpool accent. “I’d love to have your job.”

“What are you doing back here?” The vendor barked. “Didn’t I tell you to get lost?”

“But I know where I am, so how can I get lost?” The girl inferred.

“I told you, I’m not bringing down the price of a dog.”

“But ten dollars is a little much, don’t you think? If I ran a hot dog cart, I would give everyone in the world a hot dog, and then I’d have the rest for myself.”

“Listen, little girl?” The vendor leaned over, trying to size himself up in order to intimidate her. “Are you gonna buy a dog or what? I haven’t got all day.”

Not once did she flinch from the vendor’s harsh demeanor, instead she kept smiling with a glimmer in those dark beady eyes of hers. “Well, I probably won’t since they’re so pricey. I just thought you should know that one of your cart’s wheels is missing.”

“What?”

The vendor tried to examine the wheel from where he leaned, but unfortunately, he couldn't. It was one of the front ones, which led him to move his lazy self to examine it. Clear as afternoon it was missing, despite it was there this morning when he wheeled the cart through the park. He only had a few customers that day, and none had bothered to mess with those wheels. In conclusion, it seemed that not only was this little girl strange, but she was also a wheel thief.

“Alright, where is it?” He grumbled.

“What?” The little girl asked coyly.

“The wheel? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” He could hear his voice raise at the girl’s bewildered expression. “I know you have it!”

“I swear I don’t-- well, I mean I don’t swear because Daddoo says it’s not nice to swear-- but I know I don’t have it. Here, I’ll show you.”

She then reached into the pockets of her skirt and pulled out a bunch of trinkets and trash she had collected over time. “See, I have a bobby pin, two pennies, a piece of lint, a heart sticker…"

As the vendor was preoccupied with the girl, another child appeared behind the hot dog cart. Just like the little girl, he had long ears that drooped like a puppy’s, white fur on his face that covered his black fur like a mask, a red nose, and beady black eyes that made him look more animal than human. The only distinction that he was more human than animal was a green sweatshirt he wore (yet he didn’t wear any pants.) The boy stuck out his tongue nervously as he watched the little girl prattle on to the hot dog vendor about the items in her pockets; it seemed like she had a lot for just two measly pockets.

Seeing that the vendor was distracted, the boy began piling hot dog packs, bratwurst packs, hot dog bun packs, small bags of potato chips, soda cans, anything he could get his paws on and threw them into a random sack that he pulled out of nowhere. Well, more like from behind him. But how he made a sack appear from nothing was really something.

Meanwhile, the girl did everything she could to keep the vendor’s attention on her at all times.

“See, I don’t have it. I only take things that can fit in my pockets,” she explained.

“Fine, so you don’t have it,” the vendor grumbled once more. “But how is it that it hasn’t been missing all day, and then suddenly you show up, and it’s gone?”

“Don’t know. Sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

The boy was taking an awfully long time. Every time he grabbed a hot dog packet or a bratwurst packet, his stomach lurched – the thought of eating meat was the bane of his existence.

Suddenly, the mustard bottle slipped out of his paws just as he reached for it, and rolled right in front of the girl and the vendor. To make matters even more awkward, the vendor stepped on the bottle and it squirted a dark yellow onto the pavement.

“Huh? How did that get there…” The vendor turned and finally noticed the boy. The boy let out a startled gasp and shivered where he stood.

“Um, hey! Wanna see me do a dance?” The girl chirped, trying to divert the vendor’s attention back to her. She then performed a couple of twirls seeing if that'd work, but it was too late. The vendor had already noticed the thief at his stand, her partner in crime.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” The boy immediately closed the sack and scrambled out of there. “You have to pay for that!”

“Run, Smakko!” The girl cried as she raced after him. As the boy sped off like a frightened hare and the girl caught up to him in seconds, it was clear that the two were related.

Twins.

She was the distraction, and he was what the hot dog vendor should have been looking out for. Now here they were, little dog-monkey rascals that were better off locked up in a zoo than running away with his product.

“When I get my hands on you two, I’ll make sure you’ll get what’s coming to you!” He roared after them.

“But you have to catch us first!” The girl shouted with a giggle.

All through the park, the vendor chased after them. The chase felt like it went on for hours with the kids’ insane energy and the vendor’s determination to get his product back. It wasn’t until the kids ran smack dab into an officer minding his own business that they were finally caught. Immediately upon collision, he grabbed the two kids by the scruff of their clothes and held them up like noisy kittens, mostly pertaining to the girl who kicked in defiance while the boy hung there like a wet rag.

“Are these two giving you any trouble?” The officer spoke in what also appeared to be a deep Liverpool accent. He sounded a little like Ringo Starr. For some reason, upon hearing the officer's voice, the girl settled down.

“You bet! Those mongrels there stole my hot dogs!” The vendor exclaimed, pointing a large index finger at the two.

“Not like you were using it anyway,” The girl spat.

“Those two need to be taken back to the zoo where they belong!”

“No worries, sir. I’ll take care of them,” The large officer said, eyeing each of them with a stern glare. “Now give the man back his dogs.”

The boy then handed the vendor the giant sack. It seemed lighter than what he thought it would be. “Well appreciated, officer,” the vendor thanked.

He gave the vendor a small wave, “No need for thanks. All in a day’s work." Then he gave the kids another stern glare. "Let’s go, pups.”

For some reason, as the officer walked off with the two kids curled in his arms, they seemed too content for having just been apprehended. Well, the boy still had that fearful look in his eyes as if it was stuck that way, but the look on the girl’s face was one that was not expected; she seemed too happy.

The further the vendor walked away from them, the more he realized that the officer himself looked kind of strange. He looked like any other big officer just patrolling the city and keeping the neighborhood peace, yet then he remembered his face...something was off about it. It was pale, almost like it was covered in fur, he had a big red nose, and he had beady black eyes, just like those kids…

Suddenly, he stopped and opened the sack to find that his cart’s product wasn't in there, just a bunch of stuffed rubber dogs that squeaked.

He’d been duped. Those weird kids and that weird officer were all related and they made off with his hot dogs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with it that easily. The vendor ran right up to them, his face red as the ketchup bottles that were just stolen.

“Thieves!” He screamed at them. “Who do you think you are?”

The officer then stopped and set the kids down, “Well, I know for a fact that I’m no Bizzie.”

Suddenly, he tore off the hat to reveal pierced dog-like ears sticking out of a baseball cap that looked like it had been beaten up over the years, especially with that giant bite mark that ate half its bill. Long unkempt black fur-- or it might have been hair-- flowed past his shoulders, while some even jutted out from his hat. Underneath the uniform, he wore a blue sweater covered with a brown leather jacket, torn jeans, and giant white paws that he walked upon just like the two kids. In likeness, this man could have been a rock star had he not had the black and white puppy-dog face like the kids and stuck out his tongue to compliment the look.

“What are you?!” The vendor shuddered in bewilderment. He couldn’t decide whether he was some mutated dog or probably the ugliest man he had ever seen.

“Why he’s my Daddoo, silly!” The girl giggled. “I’m Jojo,” then she pointed towards the boy identical to her, “and this is my brother, Smakko." Then she held out her arms and posed, while her brother seemed hesitant to follow suit. "And we’re the Warner twins!"

“I don’t care if you were the Olsen twins. I demand that you give me back my hot dogs this instant!"

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” the man referred to as ‘Daddoo’ asked, “but that wouldn’t happen to be your cart, is it?”

The vendor then turned to see his hot dog cart speeding right towards them. Without a moment to react, the vendor was hit right with the cart and sent flying down the path while the father and his children moved to the side just in time. Luckily for the vendor, the cart didn’t go right into the busy streets of downtown traffic, but it did crash him into a nearby tree, causing the poor man to see hotdogs flying over his head.

“Look sir, your wheel came back,” Jojo pointed out.

“Yes, I see that,” the vendor said dizzily, then passed out.

“Naughty kids,” the father scolded, “who taught you such awful manners?” Then a giant smile appeared on his face, his tongue sticking out once more.

“Now what do you say to the nice man?”

“Thanks for the hot dogs, sir!” Jojo thanked with a wave.

“Thank you,” The boy named Smakko only muttered.

The hot dog vendor perked up from his short comatose just as the father, with both of his strange puppy kids, the girl clinging to him like a koala and the boy clutching the bag filled with his product, walked away. No doubt about it, this was a horrible day, both personally and economically.

But really, why did it matter? The vendor's cart was surprisingly okay, despite the crash and the strange reappearance of the wheel. Not to mention, there was a lot more product than what the family made off with, but losing those profits was going to hurt him. He'd have to lower the price of those dogs, and bratwursts, and basically everything at his cart just to make up for the stolen product.

He went to authorities about it, but all they did was laugh, except for one, who seemed to shake in his seat at the mere mention of puppy-kids. Like they were going to be any help.

Eventually, the hot dog vendor had to shrug off this brash occurrence and continue with his business. People were still going to want hot dogs, and unfortunately be desperate enough to pay ten bucks for it.

However, this strange moment like a fly in the ear returned to him one day when he was visiting his family. His nieces and nephews were busy watching an old cartoon that he remembered was on when he was a kid called “Animaniacs,” which was considered one of the greatest cartoons of the decade. Of course, he didn’t think much of it now that he was a man in his thirties, but during this particular viewing, there was something that stood out to him.

The three main kids, with those long ears, black-furred with pale white faces, those red noses, and those beady black eyes…they looked exactly like the kids that harassed him at the park. Not to mention, the boy wearing the baseball cap looked exactly like the timid boy who barely spoke a word during their encounter. The boy in the show brimmed with confidence compared to the shy nature of the boy who had the gall to steal his hotdogs, yet had his sister do most of the talking.

Then another thought occurred to him. The father of those two children also wore a blue sweater, and his head was covered with a red cap similar to the boy’s in the show, except his was worn with age. Then there was that smile, that puppy-dog-looking face with his pink tongue sticking out as if to distract from the fact that he was a freak of nature. He also brimmed with tons of confidence. How could anyone go out in public looking the way he did, with that long unkempt hair, those piercings that bit at his ears, and the strange rock star vibe he gave off just by being near him?

No, it couldn't be. But maybe?

Could possibly the middle child, the hungriest, the quietest, and the wackiest of the Warner trio next to his chatty older brother and his sassy younger sister might have grown up into the man he encountered at the park? That strange man with his strange children who were also giant troublemakers like he was. Could possibly the father of those two twins might have been…

Wakko Warner?

#animaniacs #rocking that solo #wakko warner #jojo warner #smakko warner #animaniacs 2020 #older warners au #animaniacs ocs #abbs writings

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kevinsynnott · 5 years

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Memories

C. Kevin Synnott

Introduction = Here it is!

Preface

I believe laughter heals. Belly laughs heal completely. I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh. I do not tell jokes, but rather find humor in life's ups and downs and other everyday activities.

I always keep a positive attitude toward life to the best of my ability regardless of what may be in my path. I believe that acting in a positive fashion in situations is the best course of action rather than reacting in the same situations.

I believe perseverance will always pay off if I keep a positive attitude and keep failing forward.

Memories

I was born in Waterbury Connecticut on January 19, 1945. My family moved to Cheshire Connecticut in 1948. My mother Peggy, father Charlie, sisters Carol and Monica, my brother Neil, and I lived on the corner of West Main and Grove Streets. Across the Street was a building with the West Cheshire Post Office in one half and Keane’s Grocery Store in the other half. Mr. Keane and his wife Lucille and their two sons lived with Mrs. Keane’s mother Mrs. Logan in a large house on the corner of West Main and Warren Streets. The building is still referred to as the “Logan House.” The Cruess family from Waterbury bought the grocery store when the Keans moved to Florida. They expanded the store when the West Cheshire Post Office moved to the Notch area of town.

My mother was a remarkable woman. She was teaching second grade at Sacred Heart in Waterbury at the age of 19 after two years of college. She left teaching to start a family. She loved animals and opened a pet store in the basement of our home. My mother became a single parent with four children ranging in age from seven to 13 in 1957. I was twelve years old, adorable, and a delight to behold. The other three were horrible children. (They might disagree with this assessment. However, this is my story.) When she could not support a family as a single mother based on the Pet Shop’s revenue, she returned to teaching. Dr. Thorp the Superintendent for the Cheshire School System made this possible. He was a patron of the Pet Shop. The conditions for this return involved completing the final two years of her four years of undergraduate college and earning a master’s degree. Mom began teaching second grade and taking one course a semester. She completed this daunting challenge at 55 years of age. During her teaching career she taught at Chapman, Darcey, Norton, Doolittle elementary schools and Dodd Junior High when Chapman was being renovated.

The following memoirs are presented in approximately chronological order.

Colorful Home

Last year my niece Rebecca shared photos on Facebook of the home my family lived in when we were growing up in Cheshire Connecticut. This sparked a memory from my nephew Chris who wrote, “I remember the walls of the bedrooms upstairs were wallpapered with the comics from newspapers.” I responded, “True, but they were the colored comics from the expensive Sunday Paper.” Some may think this is boasting. It is not. It was not my intention to make others jealous.

Deceased Flock Member

When I was about seven or eight years old, we found a small dead bird in our backyard. All the kids in the neighborhood including my sisters and bother decided we needed to bury her properly (I have no idea why we thought she was a female.) We used a small old cardboard box as a coffin.

We formed a single line of 10 or 11 mourners as a funeral procession and proceeded up Grove Street to the middle of a wooded section. We were very serious as we walked very slowly to her burial plot. We took turns digging a hole. We carefully placed the coffin in the hole. We all said kind words about her during the eulogy. She was a very good bird. She was an excellent daughter and sister who loved her family. She always got up early to find worms. She was very good to her flock friends and neighbors. We concluded the ceremony with several prayers, then walked in a procession back home.

I should leave it there, but full disclosure is in order. Two weeks later I dug her up to see if she was still dead. Unfortunately, she was still dead. I reburied her and told her how much we all missed her. I said some prayers and left.

PDA: Then and Now

When I was 13 years old in 1958, I was walking down Maple Avenue in Cheshire, Connecticut holding hands with a girl. I said goodbye and headed home. It took about ten minutes to reach home. Someone had already called my mother to inform her that "He's at it again." Public displays of affection are different today. One can observe a couple of teenagers in a mall who are "an item." The girl puts her left hand in the boy's back left pocket, the boy puts his right hand in the girl's right back pocket, and they waddle through the mall. I never would have seen 14 if I had thought of that when I was 13.

Waddling in public alone is okay.

A Case of Mistaken Identities

My seventh grade class went to CHS. However, with the school system expansion in progress our eighth grade class went to CHS in the morning. Afternoon classes met at St. Bridget’s for the first half of the year and then the second floor in Dodd for the second half of the year. The first floor was used for elementary classes.

One day Bob S. and I were kept after class. I am certain that it was due to mistaken identities regarding some mischievous behavior during a class. The teacher assigned to monitor detention instructed us to clean all the erasers and the blackboard in the classroom where we were being held. We were doing an excellent job when suddenly for no apparent reason one of the erasers flew out an open window just as the monitor passed by the classroom. Bob was sent to see the principal. I was not so lucky. I was sent to my mother’s second grade classroom on the first floor.

Favorite Brothers and White Gold

We have snow headed our way this afternoon and evening. This reminds me of my first date when I was 9 years old. My brother Neil and I were would shovel snow together in the winter and mow lawns together in the summer to earn money. We would walk up and down our neighborhood streets knocking on doors looking for customers to shovel walks and driveways or mow lawns. Our competitive advantage over the other kids was that we were adorable. (This is my story and I’m sticking to it.)

One day in December 1954 when I was 9 years old and Neilly was 8 we shoveled the walkway for the parents of a girl in my fourth-grade class. When we were paid, I asked to see my classmate. When she came to the door, I asked her if she would like to goto the movies with me now that I had money. She said yes. We went to see a movie at the Cheshire Theater with chaperones. This was my first date (I cannot speak for her). The adults thought this was cute.

Bullying Gone Wrong

When I was 12 years old and my little brother Neil was 11 years old, we lived in Cheshire Connecticut close to the railroad train tracks. A canal ran alongside the tracks. It had been used to transport cargo barges. The cargo barges were pulled by horses on the path that eventual became the roadway for the train tracks.

One day I walked behind a neighbor's house and saw a kid my age pinning Neil to the ground with his knees on Neil's arms. He hit Neil, and Neil called "Uncle." The kid stopped and got up. He stood there all puffed up with himself with his hands on his hips. He said in a very loud voice, "Anybody else?" I said, "Yea, me." I threw him in the canal about four or five feet away. I stood on the bank and stared at him. He stayed in the water and did not move. The next day he said he slipped. (If he could slip five feet by accident, he should have tried out for the long jump on the track team.) He never bothered Neil again.

Cheshire Rifle Club

My brother Neil belonged to the Cheshire Rifle club in the 1950s. He was on the junior team then the senior team. My mother gave him a J. C. Higgins single shot 22 rifle for his Christmas present in 1957 when he was 11 years old. I went shooting with him once at the range. The shooting range was in the Chapman Elementary School. I remember walking with his rifle from West Main Street, on Willow Street, up Cornwall Avenue, and then over Oak Avenue to a sand pit. No one paid any attention to that behavior then.

The Men's Room Entrepreneur

When I was 14 years old our Neighbor Mr. Persio who worked as a manager at the very fancy Waverly Inn restaurant in Cheshire asked me if I would like to work one New Year’s Eve. I agreed to keep the men's room clean and treat the customers with respect.

I had a flash of inspiration (possibly the last one). I decided to hand each man a paper towel when he washed his hands. I also brushed invented lint off their suits. Almost every one of them tipped me 50 cents or a dollar (multiple times throughout the evening). To put this in perspective, the minimum wage at the time was about $1.00 an hour. I made a great deal of money that New Year’s Eve in 1960. There is money in imaginary dirt.

A New, New Year's Resolution

Rather than resolving not to make resolutions this year, I suggest sharing our drawers with others. We all probably have many items in dresser drawers that we will probably not wear again. We can search our drawers for one or two items of clothing once a month and donate them to people who need clothing. For example, we can drop the clothes in any one of the many charitable clothing drop boxes; bring the items to local churches or rehabilitation facilities; mail clothing to disaster areas, and so forth.

Also, old smartphones can help others. Many of us often upgrade our smartphones and keep our old functioning phones but do not use them. We can donate these phones to worthy causes. For example, Verizon has collected more than 10 million phones and given them to victims of domestic abuse. Individuals do not need a contract to dial 911. Many colleges, universities, and towns have Veterans Affairs offices that collect old smartphones and distribute them to soldiers.

Individuals who decide to donate their old phones must erase all personal information before doing so.

Using Favorite Brother's Head

I remember in my early teens we played a lot of baseball. One day we were playing ball in our backyard. My favorite brother Neil was pitching, and I was at bat. I hit the ball that was a sure fly out. Fortunately, it hit Neil on the top of his head and went over the fence for a homerun.

Thank goodness Neil had his head in the game.

Being a Semi-good Catholic in Cheshire

When we were teenagers growing up in Cheshire Connecticut, we were very good Catholic children. In fact, my favorite brother Neil and I were altar boys at St. Bridget's Church. Neilly was always a better boy than I was as I remember.

We would go to confession every week or two. I remember I would sit very close to the confessional door in order to hear other people's confessions. Then I would watch to see how long they prayed when they got out. This helped me determine what their penance was and how bad they were. (No, I never confessed this behavior.)

Sometimes when I was very bad, I would take the bus to the Immaculate Conception Church on the Green in Waterbury. I would confess my sins to a deaf priest. He would look through the screen so he would know when my lips stopped moving. It did not matter what I confessed; the penance was always three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers. It was worth the bus fare.

Summer Baseball at Humiston Elementary School

I have very fond memories of growing up in Cheshire, Connecticut in the 1950s. The summer days were special when my brother Neil, my friend Dan Sheehan, and I were in our early teens. A typical day consisted of playing baseball at Humiston Elementary School in the morning. Humiston School was on Spring Street with the front of the building facing the main road. The ball field was in the back on Spring. Home plate was kitty-corner across the square. The third base line was three or four yards from a fence that separated the schoolyard from St. Peter's Cemetery. Center field was along the building and the right field fence was parallel to Spring Street.

Kids from Grove Street, West Main Street, Robin Lane, Deepwood Drive, Ives Row, and other areas of town closer to Humiston School would ride their bikes or walk and meet at the school at the same time every day. We always had eight to nine players on each team.

One day something incredible happened. Most families at the time had milk, butter, and cream delivered to their homes. The driver would put the order in a small box next to the front door and place ice on the top. One day a milk truck was delivering milk to homes on Spring Street while we were playing a game. Home delivery milk trucks had open doors on both sides so the driver could go out either door depending on what side of the street the house to deliver to was on. One of the kids hit a homerun to right field over the fence on Spring Street as the milk truck passed by. The ball went through one door and out the other door without hitting the driver. He continued without knowing about the ball.

Another day one of us hit a homerun to left field and broke a window in the building. One of the kids yelled, "What if it hit Mr. Y?" Mr. Y was the custodian. Then another kid yelled, "What if he's dead. ? We all ran as fast as we could, jumped the fence into the neighboring cemetery, and hid behind the tombstones. We waited until we thought it was safe to leave. Then we ran home.

After the games, on most days, we went to Heath's Restaurant across from the new Saint Bridget’s Church on Main Street. Heath’s was owned by Mr. Ray Rochford and his wife Mary. They worked in the restaurant daily with their sons Dave and Ed, and Mrs. Rochford’s sister Mrs. Cook. Later the restaurant was called Ray and Mary’s. We would drink a glass of chocolate milk and eat a jelly donut from the Connecticut Time Bakery on Whitney Avenue in Hamden. Connecticut Time Bakery jelly donuts were the best jelly donuts that all jelly donuts are compared to, even today.

After our late morning snack Neil, Dan and I would go home for lunch. After lunch we would meet other kids and ride our bikes two miles to Mixville Pond to go swimming. Neil was a lifeguard there several years later. However, at this time we had what were called “mud breaks.” We all had to get out of the water for one hour periodically, so the mud would settle.

From time to time there were very special days. For example, I might have been picked to play on one of the teams second or third instead fifth or sixth. Perhaps I hit a homerun or got on base a couple of times. Our team might have won although an hour later not one of us would remember who won. On these very special days when we went to Heath's Restaurant after the games, I would have extra money from mowing lawns with Neil. This made it possible to buy a chocolate milkshake instead of a glass of chocolate milk and two jelly donuts instead of one. Mr. Rochford made the best milkshakes in the world. All other milkshakes pale in comparison, even today. He would make the milkshakes in a large metal container. First, he put in vanilla ice cream. Second, he pumped in chocolate syrup. Third, he filled the container with milk. Finally, he put the container in a green kitchen appliance to be stirred. I remember sitting there watching the green appliance stirring my milkshake impatiently, wondering if Mr. Rochford forgot it. He never did forget. I always ended up smiling with a chocolate milkshake mustache.

Since then I always refer to wonderful days as Mr. Rochford chocolate milkshakes and two jelly donut days.

A Deal with God

I remember in the ninth grade taking French I. I took this course because I did not do well in Spanish I twice. Towards the end of the year I realized that only Divine intervention would save me from failing. I decided to ask God to help me. I realized that I would need to offer Him something in return for His assistance. So, I made a deal. I agreed that if He helped me pass the class, I would be good for the entire summer.

I passed the course with a D. I was very happy and ready to keep my end the bargain. Then I learned that I needed a C to continue to French II. I informed God that although He did keep his part of the agreement, He must have known that I needed a C to continue to French II. After all, that was the goal of passing the course. Therefore, because of my values I could not with a clear conscience keep my end of the bargain.

Rationalization

My friends and I from time to time discuss the topic of rationalization. I was guilty of rationalizing my behavior often to feel better. I was adept at justifying any behavior to explain away why I behaved the way I had when it was clearly inappropriate. This topic so intrigued me that some time ago I decided to determine when I first started to use this self-defense thought process.

I engaged in a thorough internal memory search that led to my early teens. I learned that the first time I rationalized improper behavior was when I was thirteen. Two fellows and I were hanging out wondering what to do. Although it has been a long time since then I will not incriminate these fellows by using their real names. Consequently, I will refer to the first fellow as Tom and to the second fellow as Neil. (Wow, talk about a coincidence.)

Tom, Neil and I decided to visit Tom's neighbor's home. We went into the home through the back door using a hidden key under a pot Tom knew about. (Did I mention the neighbors were away on vacation?) We found our way to the basement where we noticed a large freezer. Upon closer investigation inside the freezer, we found a large ice cream cake. As I recall we thoroughly enjoyed eating that very delicious cake. Unfortunately, a short time later we felt extremely guilty.

We felt so guilty in fact that we went to Saint Bridget's Church in Cheshire to confession. After confession, we compared notes regarding what we said to Father. Tom said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I am guilty of stealing an ice cream cake." Neil said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I am guilty of stealing an ice cream cake." Finally, I went into the confessional and said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I ate stolen goods." (I was probably the one who boosted it.)

Be Where You Are Supposed to Be

When I was sixteen years old, I was a busboy at a fancy restaurant in Cheshire Connecticut called the Waverly Inn. I had to wear black pants, a white shirt, a black bow tie, and a black cummerbund.

One day at work I was not in the dining room where I supposed to be but in the walk-in cooler sitting on an empty milk crate eating freshly baked rolls and butter. Suddenly the door opened, and the owner was standing there watching me. He said, "Hello, how are the rolls?" I said, " Hello, very delicious." He responded, "Good" then left. I was back in the dining room before the cooler door closed. I forgot to mention that I was adorable.

I had to edit this post due to the avalanche of comments regarding my statement "I was adorable." The overwhelming consensus was that I should have mentioned my current state of adorableness. I apologize, but this oversight was clearly driven by the high level of humility I achieved .

The Pole Vaulter

I was on the Cheshire High School track team in for almost a complete season. I did not run fast, and I did not have the endurance necessary for long distance running. I suspect smoking cigarettes played a large role in that. I turned to pole vaulting. The pit high jumpers and pole vaulters landed in was not the thick foam pits of today. The pit consisted of sawdust and in the early spring chunks of ice. We had to be sure to land on our feet. The pole was metal not like the flexible poles of today made of fiberglass.

I enjoyed pole vaulting and practicing regularly with the team. The practice paid off. I placed third in a meet at a neighboring town and earned a point towards the letter I would not earn. I was very excited about this victory because I was certain I was on my way to the cover of the Wheaties Box. I walked with a spring in my stride, I smiled more, and exhibited the confidence of other great athletes.

That all changed several days later when I read in the sports section of the newspaper that a fellow on a university track team jumped higher without a pole.

My Brother the Lifeguard

My favorite brother Neil was a lifeguard at Mixville Pond in Cheshire, Connecticut for years when we were in our teens. This was the Town's swimming recreational area. Facing the water there was a ramp on the left side of the sand that went out into the water. There was an anchored floating raft 10 feet by 10 feet about 30 feet from the beach. Kids would play on the raft and dive into the water. A small snack bar on the beach was approximately 75 feet from the water facing the raft. I remember one day I was coming out of the water by the ramp; Neil was at the snack stand; and the other lifeguard was standing in the water. Suddenly, a man about 40 feet out in the water yelled for help. Neil took off running at full speed and hit the water just like the Olympian swimmers do when they start a race. The other lifeguard also took off at the same time. Neil swam past him and reached the man first. He saved the man and brought him safely to shore. Neil was always very modest when it came to these heroic actions. He never boasted about these lifesaving acts. He was credited with saving numerous people of all ages from drowning during his time as a lifeguard.

My Best Thinking at the Time

I had a VW Beetle when I was 20 years old. I enjoyed riding around different towns, smoking cigarettes, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming.

One day my car was parked in front of our home when another car hit it from behind causing a great deal of damage. I was not home at the time. However, my favorite brother Neil was home, and he took care of dealing with the police and the driver's insurance information and so forth. The car was taken to an auto body shop within walking distance of our home.

After waiting for two weeks for the car to be repaired I was told that the car would be ready in three days. They only had to attach the front bumper and adjust the headlights.

I felt trapped after all this time without a car and decided to take my extra set of keys and take the car from behind the auto body shop that night. It had been snowing, but the roads were clear. I was enjoying my ride smoking cigarettes, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming. Suddenly, an astute police officer pulled me over because one headlight was shining into the houses on the right and the other was shining straight up into the trees. I got a verbal warning. I thought I should turn around and head home. I was about twenty miles from home.

It began to snow again. I turned down this dirt road that led to a sand and gravel company. I got stuck in the snow and could not move. Fortunately, I came up with a brilliant idea. (Note: the consumption of the cold beverages unquestionably played a role in this thought process.) The plan was sound, but the implementation proved to be problematic. The Beetle had a throttle. A throttle for those of you under 60 was a knob one could pull out and increase the intake of gas without stepping on the gas pedal. I pulled out the throttle, put the car in gear and got out. The rear tires were spinning. So far, so good, I thought. I pushed and pushed and finally the car got traction and began to move forward. Unfortunately, it gained speed and I could not catch it. It stopped about fifty yards ahead when it hit a large boulder. The car was seriously damaged, but I was still able to drive it. I drove it back to the auto body shop and parked it were it was earlier.

The next morning, I walked to the auto body shop. I inquired if my car was ready. I was told that someone had driven into it during the night damaging it and that it would take more time to repair it. I told them that I was absolutely appalled. However, I was magnanimous and said that I did understand their situation.

Tan to Look Good Man

I was invited to a formal dance at a private girls’ high school when I was nineteen. I agreed to go to the dance and began to prepare for the big event. I rented a white sports jacket and I purchased a wrist corsage.

I wanted to look good and realizing that the dance was held in January I investigated methods of tanning because I had light skin. I purchased a bottle of Man Tan. This lotion when applied was supposed to turn the skin into a golden tan. I followed the instructions and applied it two days before the dance.

The day of the dance I was a bright orange. The color was in the skin and would not work its way out for weeks. I determined I could not let my date down, so I decided to attend the dance.

I recall ringing her doorbell and being greeted by her parents. Although they tried, they could not conceal their amazement caused by looking at the bright orange young man in a white sports jacket holding a wrist corsage in the doorway. They did recover and graciously invited me in.

We had a good time at the dance. Most, if not all, of the participants spent time, a lot of time "digging" the orange guy. We had many laughs that evening.

I did get the last laugh. The photos taken before and during the dance were in black and white. When the developed photos were returned by mail two weeks later, I looked gorgeous.

The Oilman

When I was in my late teens, I worked as a truck driver in the Cheshire Lumberyard. I delivered building materials in the spring, summer, and fall and home heating fuel during the winter.

I enjoyed delivering home heating fuel to homes in Cheshire and the surrounding towns. The one real concern I always had was encountering dogs at different stops. When I heard the dog's license and chain jangle, I would run to the truck and safety.

One day I stopped at a customer's house that I knew owned a large dog. I looked around carefully and did not see the dog, so I got out of the truck. Then I heard that dreaded jangle and jumped back inside the truck. I waited and waited, and I did not see any dog. Then it occurred to me that what I heard were the keys in my pocket when I got out of the truck. I recovered from my self-inflicted terror and was able to refocus on the task.

I may have overreacted that day since two weeks earlier I was bitten by a large dog. I was pulling the hose up a slight grade when this large dog came out from behind the house. It rushed at me and bit me in the stomach then walked away. I fell on my back. The hose went flying off in one direction and my "Then Came Bronson" knit hat went flying off in the other direction. I called the office on the two-way radio to report the incident. The manager asked if I was bleeding. One of the servicemen who was listening in on his radio cut in. He said, "That is extremely doubtful, that dog does not have any teeth." Knowing that I was gummed did not really help. I was still afraid of small dogs, big dogs, dogs with teeth, dogs with one tooth, and dogs with no teeth.

Enjoying Quality Time with The Oilman

Another day I had to make a delivery from the street to a house that had the fill pipe in the back left corner. The oil trucks were equipped with heavy rubber hoses that were 150 feet long. I knew the location of the fill pipe for this home meant I had to use the entire 150 feet of hose. Once I started to pull the hose I did not stop until I reached the fill pipe regardless of how far the fill pipe was from the truck. I wanted to keep my momentum strong. I got out of the truck and put the customer's ticket in the meter. I began to pull the hose. About halfway to the fill pipe I wondered why it was so much more difficult this time pulling the heavy hose than usual. I thought the hose might be tangled on the wheel in the truck used to roll up the hose after deliveries. However, I kept pulling until I reached the fill pipe. When I turned around and looked toward the truck, I was very surprised. Three little kids were riding the hose. The children were laughing and having a grand adventure. I laughed heartily at the sight.

Hose Pull Came up Short

Another morning I had to park on the street to make a delivery to a house that had the fill pipe in front of the house on the left side. The house was up a very long and very steep hill. The oil trucks were equipped with heavy rubber hoses that were 150 feet long. I knew the location of the fill pipe for this home meant I had to use the entire 150 feet of hose. On this day the snow, although not deep, was glazed over with a thin coating of ice. I got out of the truck and put the customer's ticket in the meter. I began to pull the hose. I struggled because each step broke through the ice and made traction slippery. I finally made it to the front of house. Unfortunately, I was two inches too far away to insert the nozzle into the fill pipe. I knew that I had to back the truck a foot to be able to reach the pipe. I carefully navigated my way back down the hill leaving the hose in place at the top. I backed the truck a foot. Unknown to me, this movement jostled the hose. When I got out, I heard a terrible sound. The sound was the hose sliding 149 feet 10 inches down the very long, very steep iced covered snowy hill.

Favorite Brother Comes to the Rescue

I went to the Newport Folk Festival three times in the 1960s. Although I never went to the concerts, I did have the opportunity to listen to music. There was always music on the beach day and night where I slept. When I was not at the beach, I spent a great deal of time in a dimly lit type of restaurant listening to rock and roll on the jukebox, drinking cold beverages, and daydreaming.

One year I was on the beach drinking cold beverages with several hundred other individuals when suddenly the Newport Police accidentally arrested thirty of us. I am sure that I was arrested by mistake because this is how I remember it. I spent the rest of that day and night in jail.

The next day we were informed that we could not leave without paying a $15.00 fine. I did not have any money, so I called my brother Neil and told him I needed $20.00 to get out of jail. Favorite brother wired me the money and I was set free. I was and am very grateful to have had such a great brother. I felt very, very guilty about lying to Neil about needing $20.00 when I really needed only $15.00. I used the extra $5.00 to buy some cold beverages. I confessed in 2016.

Speak Softly, Avoid Consequences

One day when I was in basic training the drill instructor ordered us to "Police the area." This meant for us to pick up litter. He then said, "If it doesn't move pick it up." I said to the guy next to me, "Hey, go pick up the Sergeant." My Irish luck was not with me at that moment. He heard me. Then………………………...

Living in Waterbury I

Forty three years ago I moved to Waterbury Connecticut. I lived in the Morris House for 10 months. The Morris House was a type of boarding house for men. I moved in with my matching Irish luggage (three large black plastic garbage bags). My room had a curtain for a door. The bed was an old hospital white metal bed. I remember one day I was taking a shower in the communal bathroom with snow blowing in a broken window. This was the most important experience of my life. I truly love this house.

A major part of my morning routine was to take a walk. Once or twice a week when I had a little money, I would stop to have a coffee at the lunch counter in the S. S. Kresge Department Store. This was part of a chain that evolved into Kmart. It was two blocks from the House on a corner across from the Green.

My routine crossed paths would some very interesting people. For example, I remember one fellow who would come in after me every week on the same day. He was a fascinating chap. First, he walked around the plastic chair he was going to sit in three times. Then he would tilt the chair up holding the back and tap the front legs on the floor three times. This would remove any real or imaginary crumbs. Then he circled the chair in the other direction and sat down. He ordered his coffee. When his coffee was served, he carefully added cream and sugar and stirred it vigorously. Then he lit a cigarette and doused the match in his coffee and placed it in an ashtray. I thought this was an awesome routine and looked forward to seeing him every week .

Interesting people still fascinate me today.

Living in Waterbury II

I learned over the years that the greatest pleasures in life are the small things. Every so often when I had an extra 88 cents, I would buy a brand-new pair of socks at the S. S. Kresge Department Store. After I had my coffee at the lunch counter, I would take my time and thoroughly enjoy looking at all the different colors and styles of socks on display. I would carefully choose a pair, pay for them, and leave the store. I always put my new socks in my pocket instead of a store bag. That way when I got home to the Morris House the guys would not ask what I bought. After lunch, I would shower and put on my brand-new socks. No one knew that I was wearing new socks but me. I always felt good when I was wearing new socks. Even today, many years later, wearing new socks is special.

The Evaluation

I was the director of a volunteer program in St. Mary's Hospital's Alcohol Program in Waterbury, CT in the late 1970s. The Program had two components. The first component was the Detoxification Unit which was a locked ward. Every day, 365 days a year, two volunteers led a one hour rap session in the morning and two other volunteers led a one hour rap session in the evening. The purpose of the sessions was to introduce patients to recovery from alcoholism and other drug addiction. A volunteer coordinator was assigned to insure coverage for the 14 sessions each week.

The second component was in the Emergency Room. We had a small office manned from 4:00-11:00 every day 365 days a year. Two volunteers covered two or thee hour periods waiting in the office to assist the Emergency Room staff if an alcoholic or family member came in for help. A different volunteer coordinator was assigned for each day of the week to insure coverage.

We had approximately 200 volunteers. Many of the volunteers were from the recovery community in Waterbury and the surrounding towns. Thanks to the dedicated volunteer coordinators and the other committed volunteers the program was very successful.

I was responsible for evaluating the volunteer coordinators and the other volunteers regularly and my supervisor was responsible for evaluating me annually. My annual evaluation consisted of the supervisor filling out a rating form related to my performance. Once I filled out the same form, we would meet to discuss the evaluations of my performance.

One year we met for my annual evaluation and as I recall the results were glowing. When we were ready to part my supervisor said, "I was going to mention something, but it is not that important." I said, "Please tell me." He replied, "No, it really is not that important." I said, "I insist, please tell me." He relented and said, "You do not take criticism very well." I responded in a loud voice, "You're crazy."

A Very Exciting Achievement

I attended Quinnipiac College part-time and full-time during the 1960s and early 1970s. I earned 30 transferrable credits. My dream was to be a college graduate, but I did not apply myself.

When I moved to Waterbury in 1976, I attended Post College primarily to receive my Veterans' benefits. However, something extraordinary happened when I started classes. I enjoyed learning. I completed my associate degree a year later. I was very excited. In fact, I was so excited that I asked someone in the Registrar's Office if the diplomas were ready and if the President signed them. I realized later that the President did not sign each diploma individually but that the printed diplomas included the President's signature. I laughed good naturedly because of my childlike joy and excitement. One month later, I received my diploma. I have not experienced that intensity of excitement or feeling of achievement since. I was no longer saying I could do something if I tried; I was trying to do something. Dreams come true if I try

My Wife Understands Me

When I was 64 years old, I said to my wife, "Regis I am thinking about getting a tattoo. I am also considering buying a HOG, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle." I added, "Yes, that's right and you can ride on the back and be my old lady." She asked, "What do you really want?" I said, "a flagpole." She said, "ok." Later, I got on my knees and thanked God that my plan worked. It is a great flagpole with a light.

How to Handle Marital Disagreements

Yesterday a young person asked me how I deal with disagreements with my wife without getting into a big fight. I replied when we have a disagreement I say, " Regis, I apologize for allowing myself to become provoked and I forgive you." She usually laughs. However, when she does not laugh, I remember that I have work to complete in the garage.

Regis's New Pants

Several years ago, my wife Regis came downstairs after dressing. She was very upset. I asked what was bothering her. She said, "Look at these pants, they shrunk two inches after being washed. I can't wear them." I said, "Maybe they will stretch with time." She responded even more upset, "They're totally ruined." Trying to be helpful I said, "Maybe you will shrink into them." I really thought that one through. Fortunately, I remembered I had something to do in the garage

The Cat with The Cheshire Grin

Years ago, we had a cat we both loved dearly named Perceval, also known as Perce-evil. He would jump up and hang off my butt when I was wearing nice slacks, but never when I was wearing dungarees. He also jumped up and grabbed the door frames and would slide down scratching the wood. That really bothered my wife. I would take him to the side out of hearing range from Regis and tell him how proud I was of him because he could jump so high.

I remember one evening when the family was relaxing watching television. I was in my recliner and Regis was on the sofa with Percy on her lap. She was looking at him lovingly rubbing his belly while he purred loudly. She looked over to me and said, “You know if he was a dog, we would both be dead.” Truer words were never spoken.

One Christmas we bought him a beautiful scratching post. He thoroughly enjoyed playing with the wrappings, the bow, and the box for weeks. When I die, I want to come back as my cat.

One Christmas I bought him a beautiful scratching post. He thoroughly enjoyed playing with the wrappings, the bow, and the box for weeks. When I die, I want to come back as my cat.

A Ringtone in the Classroom

I was at the desk in the front of the classroom with my roll book on a book stand taking attendance for a class of 35 college seniors. I heard a cellphone ring. I said, "Please shut off all cellphones." I leaned forward and continued to take attendance when I heard the ringtone again. I said, "Turn off all cellphones." Once again I leaned forward and continued to take attendance when yet again, I heard the ringtone. I said, "I will find out who the owns the cellphone and we will meet after class."

A student near the front of the class said, "Dr. Synnott, I think the sound is coming from your briefcase." I looked down and realized what had happened. I was wearing a navy blue tie with shamrocks and every time I leaned forward to take attendance it contacted the lectern and began to play when Irish Eyes are Smiling. The students thought that was hilarious and one asked, "Are you going to meet with yourself after class?"

Be Smart If You Lie, Hide

One day after class I received an email from a student who was absent. He wrote that he was sick at home and could not make it to the eight o'clock class. He said he would bring his report that was due during that class to the next class. I wrote back saying, “I saw you in the Library on my way to class at 7:50. I do not accept late papers.” The next class he said nothing.

Alcohol Abuse Lectures can be Humorous

For the past 39 years every semester I dedicate an hour to lecture on college students and alcohol abuse. The lecture includes information regarding students’ misperceptions regarding their peers’ consumption of alcohol. Students think that their peers drink more alcohol than they consume. The issue is that some students may drink more to fit in. They already fit in, but they do not know it.

Several years ago, I finished the lecture and assigned a case study related to the topic for students to analyze in their small work groups. I was visiting each group to see how they were progressing when a student asked, “Are you an alcoholic?” The girl sitting next to him was totally shocked and blurted out, “You can’t ask someone that. It’s like asking him if he has a tapeworm.” I kept a straight face and responded, “Yes, I am.” He then asked, “How long are you sober?” I looked at the clock and asked, “What time is it now?”

A Teenager in Love

One semester before a morning before class I overheard a female student who was very upset talking to her friends. I heard her say, "I cannot believe he cheated on me." She lamented for more than five minutes hysterically. Finally, she said, "The most horrible part is he is the only guy I did not cheat on."

Accidental Learning

When I was teaching full time, I was responsible for advising students regarding their plans of study and helping them choose courses. One day I received an email from a freshman girl who needed to make an appointment. She wrote, "Hi, like, my name is Tiffany and like, i just found out that you are like, my advisor and that like, i have to make an appointment to see you." She then described the times she could not meet. First, she wrote her entire schedule of classes. Second, she wrote, “i cannot meet on Monday mornings because like, me and Susie joined the Dance Club and like that is when we practice. i cannot meet on Monday afternoons because like, i have classes. i cannot meet on Wednesdays because like, me, Susie, and Jen go the Eastbrook Mall for lunch. i cannot meet on Thursday mornings because like, me and Julie work part-time. i cannot meet on Fridays because like, me and Susie leave early to go home for the weekend. i can meet with you on Tuesday afternoon at 1:00." I wrote back, "Hi Tiffany, my office hours are Mondays and Wednesdays from 8:00 to 10:00 and Thursdays from 1:00 to 2:00. I am looking forward to meeting with you."

Sue and Bob Axiom

Sue is a junior who has never missed a class in three years. She sometimes relates the story of driving during a blizzard to class, when two miles from campus she slid off the road into a snowdrift. She emphasizes the fact that she walked to the campus in snow three feet deep with a driving wind bombarding her with ice and snow. Yet, she made it to class on time. She also recounts the time she attended a wedding on the opposite coast on a Sunday at 2:00 and made it to an 8:00 class on Monday morning.

Sue loves everything about the course and me. I heard from the grapevine that she loves the textbook, the lectures, the group activities, her classmates, the readings, the class discussions, and the written assignments. She thinks I am funny (clearly a very bright and astute individual). In addition, she tells her friends to take my courses and that she will take me again for as many courses that I teach. She always participates and adds to the activities. I enjoy having Sue in class.

On the other hand, Bob who is also a junior never attends classes. I saw Bob only twice during the semester. He was present for the first class and the midterm examination. A friend turned in his written assignments. Bob hates everything about the course and me. I heard from the grapevine that he hates the textbook, the lectures, the group activities, his classmates, the readings, the class discussions, the written assignments, and even the color of the linoleum floor. In addition, he tells his friends to avoid taking me at all costs.

The time for evaluations has come. Sue is absent, of course. Bob is present, sitting in the front row with two sharpened pencils.

Tomorrow

This is a wonderful time to be living. Yet some people of all ages choose to settle into comfortable behavioral patterns of inactivity. They may contemplate engaging in different activities while sitting on the sofa, but think, “maybe tomorrow.”

I firmly believe that people enjoy learning once they begin to experience the benefits of participating in activities designed to engage their minds. Connecticut residents have many opportunities to do so. We have state universities and community colleges that offer credit and noncredit courses. Some individuals begin by taking one course, enjoy the experience, and continue taking one course a semester. For some, pursuing a degree is the challenge. For some, learning for the sake of learning is the goal. For example, the challenge of learning a second language is appealing to some.

In addition, high schools in many of our towns offer an array of adult education classes that interest people of all ages. Some enjoy the learning experience and continue for a high school diploma. Others enjoy the companionship of others engaged in similar learning activities. Physically challenged individuals, not able to attend learning activities in person, may join in the activities online.

How Thinking Changes with Time

When I was in my teens and twenties and dating; I was always concerned about whether she loved me. I wondered did she really love me; I mean really, really love me. Whoever I was dating at the time.

How times have changed. About two years ago I was driving down Route 6 in Andover when out of the corner of my I eye I noticed a woman wearing a bikini mowing her lawn. I almost broke my neck trying to see what kind of mower she was using.

Squirrels are People Too

Several years ago, I was driving home. My friend Dave who moved to Maine lived one town over from me at the time, was following me. Unfortunately, I hit a squirrel. I turned around and went back to make sure it was dead because I did not want it to suffer.

When I told Dave why I came back he said, “The poor squirrel was lying there in no pain because of the paralysis caused by being hit; relaxing and enjoying looking up at the sun and puffy clouds when he saw you coming back.” Dave said the squirrel probably thought, “Oh no, here he comes again to finish the job.”

Rigid Versus Rigorous Honesty

Recently a young fellow asked me what the difference was between being rigidly honest and being rigorously honest. I used the following example to explain my interpretation.

Let's say your sweet pea spends an entire day pampering herself. First, she goes to a beauty spa. There she begins the beautification process by being completed covered in seaweed for one hour. This treatment is by followed by the total mud treatment for 30 minutes. This process concludes with a full body massage.

Second, feeling relaxed and invigorated she goes to her favorite nail salon.

Here she enjoys the best pedicure they offer. Then she has her nails done. She decides to try something different. The manicurists attach one inch nails and then paints them with Christmas colors of red, white, and green.

Third, she has her hair done in a new style and color.

Finally, she goes shopping and finds the perfect new style dress. One shoulder is missing. A slit goes up the outer side from the bottom of the dress to her thigh. She settles on an off shade of purple even though it clashes slightly with her new hair color of burned blond with blue frosted tips. She decides to wear the new dress home to surprise you.

When she walks in the door you are flabbergasted. You think she looks hideous. She asks, "How do you like my new do?"

A rigorously honest reply might be the following: "I love it, you look gorgeous." Rigidly honest replies result in divorce.

Walking Straight Again?

I was in a car accident when I was in my early twenties. I walked with a noticeable limp as a result. Luckily for me, five years ago I was diagnosed with arthritis in the knee of my other leg. I walk with a limp as a result of the pain in that knee. Now that I limp on both legs it appears that I walk normally. Positive perception makes all the difference.

People Believe the Dumbest Things

Yesterday I was sharing with a friend who for some reason reminded me of the most mind boggling stupid thing I have ever heard. Several years ago, I was talking to a middle-aged man. He was an interesting chap who had some odd ideas, but I really enjoyed our conversation. However, towards the end of our chat he said, "I truly understand women." I smiled. He said, "No, I really mean it, I do in fact understand women, it's a gift." I just nodded and thought KMN. (For those of you who are less hip and cool, KMN means kill me now.)

Many people find the Holidays difficult.

Even those of us who enjoy them feel a sense of relief when they are over. We still have one more coming, New Year's Eve and New Year’s Day. If we encounter feelings of being overwhelmed, we can pause and write 10 good things in our lives that we am grateful for now. I believe living in the now is very important and that practicing this daily helps me when I encounter difficult times. The past is thought, and the future is thought. If I live in thought, I miss what good things are in front of me.

I refuse to allow the flood of advertisements beginning in August by Madison Avenue to change my love of the season.

New Happy Memories Replace Old Sad Memories

The holidays can be painful times for people due to unpleasant memories from past holidays. I believe that painful memories weaken with time. I also know that we can speed up this process. We can make new enjoyable memories. The new happy memories replace the older memories that can cause painful feelings. As time passes, we think more and more about recent good memories and less and less about old sad memories.

Several ways we can develop pleasurable new memories is by helping others. For example, we can happily give up a parking place for a stranger in a crowed parking area; pick up a piece of litter, so that a worker does not have to bend over to do so; leave bags of empty returnable bottles in bottle return areas at stores to surprise lucky patrons; drop change in a parking lot for children to find; sneak a dollar bill in the open hoodie of someone standing in front of us in line at a checkout; and visit or call a nursing home and ask to speak to someone who never has visitors. The list is endless.

Last Thing I want to Hear

Yesterday I started to think about what the last thing was I would want to hear. I believe the last thing I would want to hear is midway through a colonoscopy the doctor shriek, “What the heck is that”?

God Has a Sense of Humor

Yesterday I was thinking of last summer's heat to warm up. It reminded me of an experience I had when I was in my twenties. God showed me that He has a sense of humor. I had a new car with air conditioning. One very hot day with the temperature in the nineties, I was driving around town with the air conditioner on high, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming. I felt quite superior to the people suffering in the heat as I passed by them and the drivers of cars with the windows open. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when I ran out gas and had to walk more than a mile to the nearest gas station, and then walk back to the car.

Jack and Grill

Twenty or twenty five years ago my in-laws received an unassembled very fancy outdoor gas grill as a present for some occasion. The key word is unassembled. My father in-law Jack and I started to assemble the grill by laying out all the parts. There were at least 50 parts for this very complex grill. We competed the assembly in a little over three hours. We had several parts left over. There were several nuts and bolts and a small whatchamacallit. This did not concern us as this was common in most complex assemblies of this type.

We connected the propane tank, turned the on dial to high and pushed the start button. Nothing happened. We took turns trying to start the grill 5 or so times by pushing the button and getting the same results (sound familiar?). Then Jack said, "I guess we should look at the instructions.' We found that the whatchamacallit was labeled the igniter. We had to disconnect the propane tank and disassemble more than two-thirds of the grill to install the igniter. We reassembled the grill. We connected the propane tank again, turn the on dial to high and pushed the start button. The grill worked.

The Supervisor

Three years ago, I realized that the seats on our picnic table needed to be replaced. I began the project by removing the old 2" by 10" by 8' boards. I planned on using the same pressure treated boards to replace the old ones.

Fortunately for me my wife Regis, the Supervisor, was home from work that day and decided to help me. The Supervisor got comfortable on the breezeway steps in an excellent position to watch the project. She said, "Maybe we (me) could buy the composite material that doesn't need painting for the seats." I replied, "That's a good idea." I drove to Home Depot and purchased four 1" by 6" by 8' boards (the only size close enough for the project). I placed the new boards in place on the table. The Supervisor said, "The boards sag in the middle, you'll have to make a brace." I replied, "Yes, I can do that."

Then the Supervisor had another idea. She said, "It might be a good idea to replace the top boards with the same material." I said, "That's a good idea." I drove to Home Depot to get the boards. When I returned, I began to take the old top boards off very carefully in order not to damage the structure of the table. There was a total of 36 bolts and nuts holding the six boards in place that needed to be removed. It took approximately 45 minutes to remove the first bolt.

The Supervisor said, "Maybe you should rent a truck and take it to the dump." I was very grateful to the Supervisor for making that suggestion before I got to the last bolt. I immediately got my chain saw and cut up the table. The Supervisor has been known to change her mind.

How I Start my Day

I learned if I rush in the morning, that will set the tone for the rest of the day. If I give myself plenty of time, that sets a completely different pace for the rest of the day. I also

start my day on a positive note by looking in the mirror and saying, "Love you Kev, you look great." You might try this. (It will work better for you if you use your name.)

Take care!

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