Monday, December 10, 2007
REDNECK HOME & GARDEN
Our dear good friend, Delightful Doris (aka Frau Helga) has long been a fan of her adopted country (she is Deutchland-born) but of late seems to have been steeping herself in our Redneck culture.
What seems to have done it was our picture of the redneck grill a couple of weeks ago (a toilet with the bowl filled with charcoal and the grill laid across the top). Said she was going to have to look at making one of those as the centerpiece of her backyard.
As an aid to the (unique?) thinking processes of our latest Redneck, here are some other ideas.
What seems to have done it was our picture of the redneck grill a couple of weeks ago (a toilet with the bowl filled with charcoal and the grill laid across the top). Said she was going to have to look at making one of those as the centerpiece of her backyard.
As an aid to the (unique?) thinking processes of our latest Redneck, here are some other ideas.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
THE DEACON’S MASTERPIECE
Beyond Ogden Nash, I’ve had precious little interest in poetry – and when “free verse” came along, that finished me off.
Oliver Wendell Holmes must’ve felt the same way; in his voluminous writings, there’s only about 7 or 8 poems (he may’ve been the one who said, “There’s one saving grace to my prose: it could always be verse”).
I read the following in grammar school, in Chicago and, for some strange reason, it’s always stuck in my mind, lousy memory and all. Yet, for all that impact on me, I’ve never run across anyone else who’s ever heard of it, let alone read it.
Let me share it with you. It’s cute, catchy, has a novel premise and, as a bonus, gives us a pretty accurate picture of language circa 1800.
Enjoy!
The Deacon's Masterpiece; or The Wonderful "One-Hoss Shay"
A Logical Story
Have you heard of the wonderful one-horse shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it--ah but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits, Have you ever heard of that, I say?
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, Georgius Secundus was then alive, Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, -In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still, Find it somewhere you must and will,--Above or below, or within or without,--And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.
But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,") He would build one shay to beat the taown'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; It should be so built that it couldn' break daown,"Fur," said the Deacon, "It's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' Stan' the strain; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."
So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thins; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees. The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these;The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"--Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em, Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he "put her through." "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"
Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren--where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; -it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.Eighteen hundred increased by ten;--"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came;--Running as usual; much the same.Thirty and forty at last arrive,And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.
Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know but a tree and truth.(This is a moral that runs at large;Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.FIRST of NOVEMBER,--the Earthquake-day--There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be,--for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thins, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, And the panels just as strong as the floors And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out!
First of November, 'Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive.Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay."Huddup!" said the parson.--Off went they.The parson was working his Sunday's text,--Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the--Moses--was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill,--And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock--Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground! You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do when they burst.
End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say.
-THE END-
Oliver Wendell Holmes must’ve felt the same way; in his voluminous writings, there’s only about 7 or 8 poems (he may’ve been the one who said, “There’s one saving grace to my prose: it could always be verse”).
I read the following in grammar school, in Chicago and, for some strange reason, it’s always stuck in my mind, lousy memory and all. Yet, for all that impact on me, I’ve never run across anyone else who’s ever heard of it, let alone read it.
Let me share it with you. It’s cute, catchy, has a novel premise and, as a bonus, gives us a pretty accurate picture of language circa 1800.
Enjoy!
The Deacon's Masterpiece; or The Wonderful "One-Hoss Shay"
A Logical Story
Have you heard of the wonderful one-horse shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it--ah but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits, Have you ever heard of that, I say?
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, Georgius Secundus was then alive, Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, -In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still, Find it somewhere you must and will,--Above or below, or within or without,--And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.
But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,") He would build one shay to beat the taown'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; It should be so built that it couldn' break daown,"Fur," said the Deacon, "It's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' Stan' the strain; 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."
So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thins; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees. The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these;The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"--Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em, Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he "put her through." "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"
Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren--where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; -it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.Eighteen hundred increased by ten;--"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came;--Running as usual; much the same.Thirty and forty at last arrive,And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.
Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know but a tree and truth.(This is a moral that runs at large;Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.FIRST of NOVEMBER,--the Earthquake-day--There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be,--for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thins, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, And the panels just as strong as the floors And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out!
First of November, 'Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive.Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay."Huddup!" said the parson.--Off went they.The parson was working his Sunday's text,--Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the--Moses--was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill,--And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock--Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground! You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do when they burst.
End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say.
-THE END-
Saturday, December 08, 2007
A BIT OF THIS, A BIT OF THAT …
In no particular order of importance, neither Karen nor I were 100% accurate in yesterday’s event forecasting. Seems there WAS another alternative, and Michael, my oncologist, took it.
Yeah, my blood count was down, but not quite enough to justify a full-blown transfusion, so a blood picker-upper was injected. No, not Procrit (we’ve already established that, in my body, at least, it does about as much good as sterile saline), but something else that’s supposed to just as good, if not better. Two weeks of this stuff – taking us to the Friday before Christmas – and then we’ll see.
Speaking of the Friday before Christmas, that’s when our kids from Ohio are supposed to get to town for our brief Xmas celebration together. They’ll be gone by Sunday evening, back to Ohio. Son Tracey is adamant that he, his wife, Sharon, and urchin Kayla always spent Christmas in their own home, and I can’t say as how I blame him for that. In the many years of my former marriage, we spent TWO Christmases in our home. The rest of the time, it was a trek to central coastal South Carolina, to Gramma and Grampa’s, and I don’t care WHERE our home was at the time.
I cherish the memories of those two Christmases..
Speaking of my “natural born chilluns,” they’ve had birthdays. Daughter Carla turned FORTY-FOUR on 11/25, and son, Michael, turned 42 – or, as he prefers it, the 21st anniversary of his 21st birthday.
If all one leaves behind is a genetic legacy, I got a couple of good ones.
Michael, incidentally, is a computer wunkie, as is his sister. In my note to him, I expressed my intense displeasure with the new Vista operating system. He agrees with me: “Stay away from it,” saith he.
And, finally, but by NO means lastly, got another phone call from Mary last night, once more checking on my health.
Mary’s an interesting gal all by herself (I’ll have to re-run a piece I did on her last year sometime); she is, for the benefit of you quilters, owner of Zoe’s Trunk in suburban Phoenix.
She also makes most of the big quilt expositions (Paducah, etc). If you go to these, keep an eye out and say Hi!
More later, dudes and dudettes.
Yeah, my blood count was down, but not quite enough to justify a full-blown transfusion, so a blood picker-upper was injected. No, not Procrit (we’ve already established that, in my body, at least, it does about as much good as sterile saline), but something else that’s supposed to just as good, if not better. Two weeks of this stuff – taking us to the Friday before Christmas – and then we’ll see.
Speaking of the Friday before Christmas, that’s when our kids from Ohio are supposed to get to town for our brief Xmas celebration together. They’ll be gone by Sunday evening, back to Ohio. Son Tracey is adamant that he, his wife, Sharon, and urchin Kayla always spent Christmas in their own home, and I can’t say as how I blame him for that. In the many years of my former marriage, we spent TWO Christmases in our home. The rest of the time, it was a trek to central coastal South Carolina, to Gramma and Grampa’s, and I don’t care WHERE our home was at the time.
I cherish the memories of those two Christmases..
Speaking of my “natural born chilluns,” they’ve had birthdays. Daughter Carla turned FORTY-FOUR on 11/25, and son, Michael, turned 42 – or, as he prefers it, the 21st anniversary of his 21st birthday.
If all one leaves behind is a genetic legacy, I got a couple of good ones.
Michael, incidentally, is a computer wunkie, as is his sister. In my note to him, I expressed my intense displeasure with the new Vista operating system. He agrees with me: “Stay away from it,” saith he.
And, finally, but by NO means lastly, got another phone call from Mary last night, once more checking on my health.
Mary’s an interesting gal all by herself (I’ll have to re-run a piece I did on her last year sometime); she is, for the benefit of you quilters, owner of Zoe’s Trunk in suburban Phoenix.
She also makes most of the big quilt expositions (Paducah, etc). If you go to these, keep an eye out and say Hi!
More later, dudes and dudettes.
Friday, December 07, 2007
BEHIND THE SEENS
DO YOU KNOW WHAT SANTA LOOKS LIKE.IN THE SUMMER?
NO ???
NO ???
Sorta takes the joy out of Christmas... doesn't it..?
Thursday, December 06, 2007
La-La Land
Mary called from Phoenix this morning, just inquiring as to whether I was in the hospital or just dead. Reason for asking? No entries here on the blog: that’s her trigger.
Blessed child.
No, the truth of the matter is that I was in La-La Land.
It went like this: I was alright after last Friday’s chemo, and then through the weekend. On Monday, my get-up-and-go began to get up and go. Finally, yesterday (Wednesday) morning, I had one of my spells, one of those where you go into a coughing and sneezing jag and, somewhere in the back of your mind, is the knowledge that you’re going to upchuck.
THIS time I took that faint mental niggle to heart and grabbed my trash can. Again, two small spasms producing little in the way of liquid. Meanwhile, Karen administered one of my “emergency” Finegran (sp??) tablets. These nice little tablets have two effects: one is to kill any nausea and, two, put you to sleep.
And that’s what I’ve done mostly for the last 24+ hours: sleep. It’s what I want to do now, but I need to finish and post this.
Tomorrow is chemo day again. Karen’s money is on them slapping me in the back in the hospital for a couple of short days, giving me at least one unit of whole blood, plus my chemo.
We’ll see. In the meantime, if you don’t see me on here Friday or Saturday, that’s probably what’s happened.
P.S. Major trauma: I finally got rid of what’s been left of my mustache. It’s the first time Karen’s ever seen me like that.
Have a good day, my friends.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
LEARN FROM TV
I am passing this on to you because it definitely works, and we could all use a little more calmness in our lives.By following simple advice heard on the Dr. Phil show, you too can find inner peace. Dr. Phil proclaimed, "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started and have never finished."
So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Kahlua, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how freaking good I feel.
Please pass this on to those whom you think might be in need of inner peace.
So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Kahlua, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how freaking good I feel.
Please pass this on to those whom you think might be in need of inner peace.
Monday, December 03, 2007
CHARLES SCHULZ WISDOM
This came into my hands some time ago. Rather than hold on to it like a miser, this seemed like a good day to Share.
A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.
All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.
Aunt Marion was right... Never marry a musician, and never answer the door.
Big sisters are the crabgrass in the lawn of life.
Decorate your home. It gives the illusion that your life is more interesting than it really is.
Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.
I have a new philosophy. I'm only going to dread one day at a time.
I know the answer! The answer lies within the heart of all mankind! The answer is twelve? I think I'm in the wrong building.
I love mankind; it's people I can't stand.
I think I've discovered the secret of life - you just hang around until you get used to it.
If I were given the opportunity to present a gift to the next generation, it would be the ability for each individual to learn to laugh at himself.
Life is like a ten speed bicycle. Most of us have gears we never use.
Life is like an ice-cream cone, you have to lick it one day at a time.
My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?
No problem is so formidable that you can't walk away from it.
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?' Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'
That's the secret to life... replace one worry with another.
The way I see it, it doesn't matter what you believe just so you're sincere.
There's a difference between a philosophy and a bumper sticker.
Try not to have a good time... this is supposed to be educational.
Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There's so little hope for advancement.
--Charles M. Schulz
A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.
All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.
Aunt Marion was right... Never marry a musician, and never answer the door.
Big sisters are the crabgrass in the lawn of life.
Decorate your home. It gives the illusion that your life is more interesting than it really is.
Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.
I have a new philosophy. I'm only going to dread one day at a time.
I know the answer! The answer lies within the heart of all mankind! The answer is twelve? I think I'm in the wrong building.
I love mankind; it's people I can't stand.
I think I've discovered the secret of life - you just hang around until you get used to it.
If I were given the opportunity to present a gift to the next generation, it would be the ability for each individual to learn to laugh at himself.
Life is like a ten speed bicycle. Most of us have gears we never use.
Life is like an ice-cream cone, you have to lick it one day at a time.
My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?
No problem is so formidable that you can't walk away from it.
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?' Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'
That's the secret to life... replace one worry with another.
The way I see it, it doesn't matter what you believe just so you're sincere.
There's a difference between a philosophy and a bumper sticker.
Try not to have a good time... this is supposed to be educational.
Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There's so little hope for advancement.
--Charles M. Schulz
