Today would have been my Dad's 76th birthday. Usually today will be filled with me remembering good and bad times with Dad, and that gets me depressed. Then I decide to go drink while depressed, and next thing you know I am at home, drunk and bawling my eyes out in grief. Every. Single. Time.

But today I am going to try to not go out and get drunk. I'm not saying there won't be tears, but I am trying to not go anyplace today - not even for soda (oh, that will be a hard one).

I met Ryan Roulette last night. He is the driver of the VFW car in the ARCA racing circuit. He made an appearance (a planned one) at our VFW post last night. There were quite a few people up there to meet him, so I figured if I just 'saw him in person' I would fine, even if I didn't shake his hand. So I was sitting at the bar, and he ends up sitting next to me and we chatted for about 15 minutes. He seems pretty nice, and I wish him luck in the race this weekend out at PIR. Even shook hands, plus got his autograph (which I am giving to my brother).

That reminds me of another race driver I met, that some of you may have heard of: A.J. Foyt. In my memories of Dad, there was one time we went out to this farmstead out in the middle of nowhere there in Indiana, and it turned out to the the Foyt's home. I even got to sit in one of his older race cars that he still had out in the barn, covered by a tarp. I think that is where my love of racing started, and I was all about formula ones and the Indy 500 for years. I think it was 1978 when I first went to an Indy, with Dad and two of my uncles. Inside track grass. Remember it was a walk from where we parked to get all the way to the inside track grass.

Welp, I think I am gonna get done with this today.

PeacE

 I may, or may not have, shared about how my sleeping habits have been skewed for the past couple weeks. Aside from being sick over the last weekend, the sleeping has been erratic and seemingly, non-existent. I tend to sleep more between 8am and noon, than any other time of day. Regardless of this issue, a couple nights ago I had some strange dreamings (go figure) and one point stuck in my head after I awoke. We have to go back many years to when I was in second grade...

A short background. I grew up in Kirklin, Indiana. A small town that actually gets a dot on the map, but pretty much straight north of Indianapolis on 421 (the Michigan Road). Being a bit more rural, I was bussed to the school of the area, Clinton Central. I attended there from Kindergarten thru about half of my 5th grade year... but enough. We gotta drop back a bit.

Second grade was never a big remembrance. I think for many of us, aside from a catastrophic event, those early years are just blips, some may have small memories attached, but it is what it is. Mine are, until this one. I don't remember what time of year it was - fall, winter, spring. I just remember we had library day where as a class we would go to the school library. They had a 'pit' - a recessed lower area - where the librarian would read some sort of picture book to us. At the end, she would encourage us to go find a book we could 'check out' of the library for a couple weeks.

I never went book hunting. The picture book readings were stupid. I didn't want to look at picture books, so had no intention of checking on out. I think this went on for a couple weeks or so, and the librarian noticed I never went to look for books like the other kids. She gently confronted me, asking why didn't I...blah blah...I vaguely remember telling her it was because I had no interest in picture books, as there is no story to them. She took me aside, and we went back over the side of the library that was for 4th grade and higher, and she pulled a book off the shelf, handing it to me. "I think you might like this one then," she said. I glanced at the cover, which had a picture that looked interesting. Then I read the title.

"Nope. Not interested. I already read this one," I told her. She gave me a weird look. "My dad gave me several books he had as a younger kid, and the Hardy Boys was one of them. They are boring. You know they solve the case in every book."

With a nod, she placed it back on the shelf, and led me back to the main desk.

"Come back tomorrow at recess time, and I bet I will have something to interest you," she said. I think I just shrugged, and went on as it was time for the class to return to our rooms.

The next day, at first recess, I remember telling my teacher that I was to report to the library for recess, and she let me go. I walked in to that quiet sanctum, headed for the main desk, and the librarian sat there, watching me approach. In one movement, she placed a hard-backed book on the desk. No picture on it. Looked really thick (my 2nd grade eyes). "Take this and read it. In two weeks, come back and tell me if you like it, or if you need to finish it, or whatever.," she said.

"There's no check-out card," I mumbled. Remember those? Check-out cards?

"This is not a book from the library," she said. "It is my personal one, and as long as you read it, return it, and tell me about what you read, you can borrow it as long as needed."

Wow! Talk about special privilege!

Let's call that the end of that memory. The book she handed me that day was Tolkien's 'The Hobbit', and two weeks later, I was asking her to let me have it one more week, as I was almost finished reading it. This was one person in my life that helped encourage my reading...one of many. As it turns out, her son was also in my class, and we became somewhat friends, though, he was more for destructive ideas, versus my reading ones. Over a summer I spent time at his house (running through the woods, destroying whatever at his whim) and he at mine (can I kill your rabbits?). Sigh.

So this odd memory came up, and since there is nothing else to do at 3am, I did some googling (is that a word now?) to come up with some information. First thing I came across was yearbooks. That school, the same year I graduated, and saw names/faces. That son was there. As were many people that I was not happy with. Another story, another day. But Google did lead me to the obituary of Mrs. Gruelach. That librarian that knew I was something different and encouraged me to read more, above my level, and enjoy it. She passed away in 2018, and admittedly, I probably have not thought about her since ... 5th grade? Circa 1981? or so?

So, yeah. I'm a bit depressed. I'm sure the lack of sleep has nothing to do with that...duh... but in ways, I'm truly sorry I didn't know before. Obviously living out in AZ to get news like that from IN, well.... Is what it is. She is missed.

PeacE

 Friday when I logged out of work, I had that happy inside feeling, because I saw there was enough workflow items that I would be working on Monday. Yesterday, it lasted most of the day. About 30 minutes before I logged out for the day, that flow ended, but within minutes they had added more. It looked like Tuesday was going to be good! I slept in a bit later today, and when I did log in, that work flow was gone. People were beginning to ask 'is there more for the work flow?' and I'm sitting here on my hands doing nothing.

I don't know the details, but evidently RM And The Wife met up or something yesterday. When I got home from the bar last night, I had a bag waiting for me. RM was clearing out more stuff (she writes about it enough) and came across some things she thought I would want. This included a couple report cards (remember when kids actually got them?), an immunization booklet with a few of my early years shots listed, some trail mix packages, and some packets for sweet tea. I respect that she thought I would want these things, but really? In the report card 'pouches' there was a mothers day invite to tea at the school (I am guessing) circa 1978. I sat here thinking a bit, that would have been Kindergarten for me... damn I feel old. Though I appreciate RM giving them to me, they will all probably end up in the trash. I have no memory attached to them, and so they have no value to me. I am sure it is probably much different to RM...

Well, work things just got weird... I have the Teams chat in the background as I am writing here, waiting to see/hear about more work. I just got added to a "new" chat channel, so it sounds like they are moving me to another section. But a few minutes later, it is gone. So again, I have no clue. Guess I will be doing this for awhile this morning....

PeacE

This morning I awoke as the Wife's alarm going off about 6:10am. As I lay there a moment, I realized that I had slept all night, with no recollection of any wake-ups. This is the third night in a row this has happened, and I am pretty sure I know why: my CPAP part replacement came in on Monday. It feels wonderful! I feel so much more rested! And woke with this song in my head this morning....

 If one were to ask the Wife, I have the worst memory of anyone she knows. Unless it comes down to stupid trivia facts no one wants to know, then I can't forget anything. And it is true. She'll tell me one thing one day, and the next, I won't recall being told at all. And that is when I am sober! Sure, I have memories and stories of things that have had happened. I am able to look at pictures and remember. Someone can start telling a story, and I'll remember that have heard it before.

Sometimes there are memories you don't want to remember. I logged into FB this morning, and one of it's "features" is of 'Memories of this Day' which is nothing more than posts you have made a year(s) previous on this day. Mine brought up the passing of one of my best friends. Yes, I have thought about him much over the past seven years, and it was always the good memories - I think the only bad one of is of his passing. So yay, happy Monday to me.

Not much in the mood for writing more today.

PeacE

 My First Time at a Bar

Let's preface this a bit. I would have been about 10'ish in age. Parents were separated, if not divorced by this time. I lived with my Father. Dad worked about 30-45 minutes away from where we lived. I was alone  many times: before/after school, school breaks, etc. I had things to keep me busy during those times. I had chores. I also raised rabbits in the 4-H program. Household stuff, too, since it was just Dad and I. I got an allowance, as well.

So, I think it was during the summer of my 10th year. I'm guessing, but it 'rings right' in mymemory, which somehow showed up today.

I had finished the chores of the day I needed to do. School was not in session, so I was pretty much free to do whatever. Kirklin is a small farm community, or at least that is the way I remember it. People know everyone, blah, blah. I had saved up my allowance and probably had about $20 in ones and change. I decided to "go out on the town".

Now Kirklin then was small. Had the one blinker in town, flashed green for 421 (the Michigan Road) and yellow for State Routes 38/39 (combined through town). That was a 24/7 light. One of those 'blink you missed it' type towns. But they had a few amenities.

That day I walked the few short blocks up to the Rexall Drugstore (on the corner - and they used to do the shakes there too) bought some penny candies, and stepped back outside. I was about 10 (stated before) and was pretty familiar with the layout of town, but maybe not all businesses. The General Store (Hanson's) held nothing for me. Though, I remember back in the day getting butcher cuts (I think?). Coming out of the Rexall, I decided, I was old enough, and a man, like my dad, I was going to the bar. Yes, there was one there in that small town.

I don't recall the name of the place, yet I can probably point it out where it would have been if we drove through town today. The building is long gone. It was one of them old ones, from years before my time, that had to be taken down to either make room for something new, or just to keep from hurting anyone, I'm sure.

I walked in and with the confidence of my 10-year-old self, climbed up on a barstool in the middle of the bar. There were a couple "old farmers" down the way from me, but I didn't care. The female bartender, with a smile on her face, asks me "What will it be?".

"I need a beer. My Dad has one to relax every now and then, and I think I been doing a good day's work, that I could use one about now," I replied.

"Do you have a preference?" she asked.

I had no clue, so I said "Whatever the special is."

She walked away, to get my 'special' and I looked over at the two older guys at the end of the bar, who were giggling. No idea why they were, but they weren't making me look bad. The bartender comes back with a brown bottle, pops the top, and sets in it front of me. I nod.

"That'll be a buck," she says. I lean to my side, pull my "wad" out of my pocket, pull a dollar off, stuff the rest back in, and slap in on the counter. She smiles at me, and takes it, ringing it up as a sale. I take a sip, and ohhhhh... that's some good root beer! No wonder Dad likes to have one every now and then. This one tastes colder than any we bought and put in the fridge!

The bartender comes back and start talking to me. "So, who's your daddy? Do I know him?"

"I'm sure you do. His name is *** and he was a cop here in town til not too long ago." I say as I take another drink.

She doesn't say anything, and gets a weird look on her face. Them two older gents quiet down, their laughter going away.

"Oh, really," she says. "And does he know you are up here?"

I looked her dead in the eye, and said, "No, Ma'am. In our house we raise men that don't blab about stuff that don't need to be talked about. I'm taking a break having this beer. What's that got to do about my Dad?"

She guffawed. Might have been the first guffaw I ever known about. And them two older men, they was damn spittin' up their own drinks. By this time I was pretty close to finishing the bottle, and was scowling, because I didn't understand the humor that everyone else was having, at my expense. I drank down the last it that was left, and jumped down from the barstool.

"Ya know, most people leave a tip for the server," the bartender said to me. So I reached into my pocket, feeling the prolly $2.50 in pennies I had in there, and grabbed a small handful. I pulled it out and put it on the bar. 

"There ya go. Have a good 'un," I said and walked out the door. I dunno I gave her fifty cents, or more. I know it weren't a dollar, because I didn't use a full handful. And I heard laughter from all three as I walked out the door.

Later that evening, after Dad and I had fixed dinner and were eating, Dad asks, "How was your first beer?"

I froze. How'd he know I was at the bar? How'd he know I ordered a beer? HOW???

"Tasted like a good A&W. No wonder you like to have one every now and then," I said. Dad was smiling. He chewed his bite of food, then set his fork down.

"Don't ever go to the bar again without me," he said. "And whatever you do, never ask for the special. If you want a beer, you can ask me anytime."

That truly was the last time I was in a bar, until my teenage years. But by then, I was more 'world-wise' and wasn't there for a drink, but to collect on a newspaper delivery tab. I never got to 'share' a beer with my Dad, as he passed away enough years before I was of age. But I think back to that small-town community thinking...where everyone knows everybody, and every says whatever. I know that is how my dad knew about that day, and when I mentioned his name, they knew if they did something wrong, he'd hear about it too. Least, that's what I figure.

** That memory popped up tonight while I was out with a buddy at the pub. I don't know what triggered it, but I was glad it did. It is one I am saving back in notes, but I felt like sharing.

PeacE

 I got the email yesterday mid-afternoon. Finally, the Company has a project for me to get back to work. It actually doesn't start until Tuesday, but it is supposed to last three weeks. So today is another day off.

Today is also my Dad's birthday. Though Dad passed away in 1985, this day has always given me emotional issues. Some years are worse than others. I guess much of it depends on where I feel, emotionally, and other factors going on in Life. This year, the day hasn't started out bad. I think being in a good mind-set, and comfortable family-wise and financially, the stress of regular Life isn't bad, and that probably is a figure of the equation.

I don't have a Dad memory to share today. I think sometimes in the past I have shared one, but the ones that I have had this morning, so far, I think will just keep to myself. Most have been smaller bits and pieces, and not much of a story. Like scenes from motorcycle trips we used to take. Or Gun Shoots we would do on the weekends. Saturday afternoons spent watching B&W war movies, or westerns, on TV.  My heart aches that he never had a chance to meet my Wife, or his grandchildren/great-grandchild. Though, truthfully they might not be here if it weren't for his passing, as I would probably never moved across the country had he lived. Thoughts I have no need to dwell on....

I'll spend part of today going around on the internet, checking what kid of things there are to do in Tucson. I should probably get our hotel booked for the couple nights later this month. What will truly happen is some Warcraft this morning, then go to the bar this afternoon.

PeacE

 When the alarm went off this morning, I knew it was feeling like Monday all over again. When I awoke yesterday, I just couldn't get out from bed. It was feeling chilly in the room, thanks to the final onset of cooler weather in AZ, and I was snug and warm. I reset the alarm for an hour, then another hour, before I knew I needed to get started on work. So the work day was a little longer in the day than usual due to my later start. I like how the hours to work are somewhat adjustable, as long as I complete 8 hours and am working during what they consider the "core hours" (middle of the day). Today though, there was a slight change. When the alarm went off, I got up and turned our heater on. The Wife did not complain. Then I reset the alarm for an hour, but within 10 minutes, I decided sleep wasn't happening, and got up anyways. I could have started at 7am for work, as I like to do, but decided I would wait until 7:30.

The Wife brought me a surprise the other day. Whilst cleaning out some of the final boxes and whatnot from the storage room, she came across a milk crate full of books. It was easy to tell they had been sitting in there for ages due to the amount of dust that settled across the tops. I was back in our study when she brought it in and said she thought I needed to go through that crate right then. I kind of rolled my eyes, and to placate her, took a glance. Inside were three photo albums that we had thought, were burned in the shed fire we had a few years back. These are special as my Grandma had put them together many years ago (she is now passed) and it consists of photos of my Dad (also passed) and many others of them growing up, plus the earlier years of my childhood. Many, many pictures I thought I would never see again. It truly brought tears to my eyes. We sat and went through one the other night, and I have to re-visit the other two, but will soon, to relive those memories.

The middle Son just got back home from dropping our youngest off at school, for the one of two days he goes. He was nice and brought me a breakfast sandwich from McD's. He is helping his uncle today with moving stuff... at least for awhile. I am not sure how tired he will get considering he worked last night. But I am leaving that to him, as he knows his body and schedules better than I.

At this point I should get off this and get ready to start working.

PeacE

 Once again that train rolled in this morning at that special time it loves. I actually was a bit miffed more than usual this morning, because as I woke at that ungodly hour, I realized that the dream I was having was quite enjoyable. No, no... No babes in bikinis with breasts bouncing out of their tops, while delivering me ice cold beers. No, naked Nubians with palm fronds gently waving above me, offering me grapes and dates to snack on. I was in high school. As a teacher. An English teacher to be more precise. Teaching and trying to instill my love of reading to a class of high school students.

The d00d family has been known to produce some teachers. I can think of three uncles that taught from Dad's side. From both sides, many were Pastors, Ministers, missionaries of one type or another, and Sunday School volunteer teachers. Many were some kind of combination of several of these titles. So it is no huge surprise that at one time in my life I wanted to be a teacher. A Professor, no less, of English Literature. I kept that little dream alive inside until my senior year of high school, and the one class that changed that idea. English Literature.

My senior year I needed only four credits to graduate. Of those four, only two of the classes were mandatory: Government and English. The junior year we had studied U.S. Literature, so it was no surprise that senior year would cover English Lit. I was excited! This is something that I had been waiting for! There were several teachers that taught this class (I think 4) and I ended up with Ms. B. Rumored for at least the prior three years, as being one of the worst teachers to get assigned class with  due to her hard grading scale, what was acceptable in class, etc. That one teacher that puts up with nothing. And I will admit, I was a little bit of a sarcastic juvenile... not the class clown, but openly sarcastic in class.... often. (RM, you may learn something about me!)

Needless to say, the year started off just as well as one can imagine. I spent some time in the hallway, excluded from class, with the "after-class talk" from teacher. But my homework was always done. I was ahead of the class in any reading we were required to do. I had the highest grade in the class... why wouldn't I? I loved this stuff! Then came the Spring... and a thesis paper. Yes the biggest paper we as high schoolers probably would ever write, and it made up 90% of our whole spring semester. I was ready! I have been waiting this day!

Obviously the topic would be on an English author/poet/playwright - cool! A biographical paper! No. It is to be a critical analysis of any work that the author being assigned to us had composed. We were to bring out three critical points in any work from one author - which was being assigned to us - by drawing the name from a hat. From my memories of that day, I still say it was rigged. Ms. B. put several small slips of paper in the hat, explained each contained the name of one author. There were no duplicates, so no one was going to be able to share work. We would spend library time, to look up sources of information, and of course, lots of time building our thesis, which was being graded in stages. Ms. B. announced that drawing would be by seating rows, except for me. I was to be the last to draw a paper. (See, I told you it was rigged, but my young mind did not realize this).

Each student drew a name and announced it to the class. Most of them we had talked about, if not read some of their work, so there was not problems of having to read someone's large manuscript prior to at least knowing one piece of written work they had completed. At last it was my turn, and before I could go up, Ms. B. announced that I would be doing my paper on Bram Stoker. 

I recall the sly, seemingly sinister smile that played across her 45+ year old face; the glint of malice and satisfaction of getting back at a sarcastic teen that had been a mouthy little troublemaker for at least half the year. As I looked at Ms. B. and what appeared to be her "gloating look", out of the corner of my eye I see students kind of look at each other....questioning who is Bram Stoker? Being the smart-ass kid I was (and maybe still am a bit) I gave Ms. B. my best Clint Eastwood smile, and said, "Sounds like an easy paper to me. I've read Dracula twice already." Her smile faltered just a bit, and her eyes showed signs of sadness, that maybe I had taken some of the "wind" from her "sails". But life went on.

I spent days going through tome after tome of information on Stoker. If I found any information at all, it was only related to Dracula, though there were supposedly a couple smaller works he had done as well. Creating a critical analysis was not going to be easy if everything was only  referring to his one book - that should make it easy, right? Not really. Even though I was living here in the Valley by then, there were some things that you weren't supposed to reference in your homework: sex was almost always prohibited, drinking (usually referring to alcohol, but could also include partaking of drugs - it was the "say no to drugs" era) and just smut in general. I cannot remember my complete thesis to this day, but it consisted of the three topics I was going to discuss: the use of blood as an aphrodisiac, the use of sex and virgins, and the third I don't remember, but it went just as far as the other two points.

The day we had to show our thesis statement for grade was interesting. As with seemingly everything since the start of the thesis paper, I was always last. Last to be called on for attendance, last to be called up to discuss where my progress is on the paper, etc. It was a small, petty thing Ms. B. did, seeming to be the teacher way of retaliation. I didn't care. When I presented the thesis, she brought up that maybe I could find some other points. I said no. All the sources provided by the school library, only pointed at Stoker's one work, and these were the only three things I could determine from that analysis in which to write my paper. 'Surely,' she would say, 'there has got to be newer works that provide other information.' I flat out told her, if there was, our school did not have them. I had no access to the main public library as it was 15 miles away. If everyone was to use the same available resources (school library) then this is what it would be. An eyeroll from her, a long sigh, and she nodded. I saw her right my grade (an A) for thesis creation. Then with that long look that only women can do, she turned to me and said, "But it will be on you to write this in such a way that it will not be a sex-driven piece of drivel, that will cost you a repeat of this grade, and my job." Literally, that's what I remember her saying..... but it was 30 years ago.

Needless to say, the weeks went on, and I wrote. I tore it up. I re-wrote. I tossed it away. I used a thesaurus for the first time ever in my life (I think). I wrote two copies, did the red pen edit on both. Scrapped them and wrote again. My grade did not suffer. I could always show work that the first paragraph was done in the time frame required, etc. It was just that the content and phrasing would change constantly. If Ms. B. ever noticed that change she never said. She always made me stand next to her while she read silently each addition I made to my paper. Then she would give me that look, and repeat that I knew what was on the line. Finally the due date came, and being called last yet again, I turned my paper in, smiling at Ms. B. with a confidence that only a brave kid could show. A Confidence that showed that it made no difference to me how it turned out, but if I was going down, I was taking her with me.

Life went on for the next two weeks. We had "busy work" during class, as Ms. B. read through the papers. Sometimes we could see her smile. Other times we would see that red pen come out and expressive hand movements as she noted some form of good/bad. I felt the true feeling of Dread as the 2-week period came to a close, and the date of grade reveal was upon us. Being last throughout that semester, I watched as each day thinking, is that the last paper (mine) to grade? How many red slashes will we see? Will I pass?

Finally the day arrived, and I, more than most in my class, felt the most anxiety about what this day would reveal. Ms. B. actually smiled as she addressed the class with the starting pleasantries. She was glad to see so much growth of knowledge in her class over the last year, and how great students we all were. Her eyes and smile met everyone as she spoke.... except me. She regaled stories of how in past years her students have written great papers, many on the same authors, and how some this year had brought out points she would never have suspected. At this point, I was pretty much feeling in the gutter. I knew it hadn't panned out... and now was I going to pass or not?

"So many good papers were written this year,' said Ms B. "But only one paper received a grade of A+. There are a good number of A's, and lower grades, in this stack before you, but only one made an A+, and I will read that one to the class." I sat slouched in my seat, my mind just kind of wandering, trying to figure out how bad this was going to be, when I hear the first sentence of my paper. As I sat up in surprise, I saw the slight smile and quick look Ms. B. sent my way over the top of the paper, as she continued reading. At the end, she mentioned something about not revealing who wrote the paper, and maybe some remembered I had Stoker, but it was the furthest thing from my mind at that time. 

The rest of the class time was spent with her giving us "free time" and her walking around the room in random order, passing back our papers. Ms. B. never approached me, never gave my paper back, and never made eye contact the rest of the class period. As the bell rang, Ms. B. spoke out, asking for me to stay a minute after class. This had been a common off and on thing for the year, usually to chastise me for my outburst or whatever. Today was different. 

Ms. B. spoke about how she had seen at the beginning of the year I was going to be a problem. The mouthiest kid in class, always had something to say about anything, especially if it went against what point she was making. But after seeing my first basic paper early in the year, knew it was because I was ahead of the class. There was no way for her to "push" me intellectually as we did the required material, as I had already seemed to know it all. She explained her intentional positioning me to the end of the list for everything, because I needed the least help. how she saved Stoker for me, because in her words, she had never had a student capable of finding anything to write, or at least to be able to stand up to the "system" and use what was given. She continuously commented on how the topics I was using to make sure I used them in the right way, not just to flagrantly say them to say them, but to truly make them part of the reason, and why they had to be used. Ms. B. showed me my paper, with the "A+" in bright red at the top, then surprised me even more, and asked if she could keep my paper, to use for following years as an example. How do you say no to that, especially after that little talk?

Over the past 30 years since that one year, I have thought about Ms. B. quite a bit. And I know this all sounds like that feel-good movie you see on Disney, but it is true. And I have seen similar things happen in real-life where all it takes is one person to see someone's potential, and drive them to it. Especially when they don't even see it themselves. My dream changed that year. If I were going to teach, it was going to be high school... not some professor at some small college. And though that part of my dream has not come true (well, as of right now anyways) it is always here with me...because of a high school English Literature teacher.

Today would have marked the 65th birthday of my Dad, if he were still alive. Over the past 28 years, the memories I still have of him in my life have faded somewhat. Many are fuzzy, and some are just more of a feeling than others. I don't get over sentimental about today, though, I admit in certain pass years I seemed more depressed on this day, or around this date, than other years. This year, I don't find my self feeling bad about Dad not being here still. Though, I am a bit heavy-hearted about my FIL's passing away.

I've been trying to come up with a memory of time with my Dad to share with you today. One that isn't too personal, but yet reminiscent of the time we had together. There are always bits that keep popping up in my mind, but no particular story to go with them.

Back when we were bachelors, Dad & I, before he remarried, we had a few "hobbies" we liked to partake of. In the nicer weather times, we would often spend most of a Saturday afternoon on his motorcycle, cruising whatever direction called to us. At times it felt we had been on every country road and highway in the Clinton County and surrounding areas. Trips via farm roads towards Kokomo, or Monticello, were common. Sometimes we would just head north through Logansport, Rochester, through some of the Amish area around Wakarusa, to visit my grandparents, uncles and aunts in Elkhart.

When we weren't on the motorcycle on the nice days, we probably were fishing. While living in Kirklin, we fished the reservoir at Cicero. We also had a nice spot by this bridge on a county road I can't remember the number of, where we could fish in Sugar Creek. Once we moved into Frankfort though, we found some place new. There was a couple man-made lakes about 10 miles out, that they would charge like $3 a day per pole. If I remember right, it was called B&B Lakes. They weren't large, but they stocked them well. Many a weekend we would pay the extra to camp overnight in the tent there, cat fishing in the dark hours with the bells clipped to our pole ends. One year when I was in scouts, trying for a hiking merit badge, we even planned out a 10-mile hike that ended there. Carrying our packs stuffed with our camping gear, MREs, fishing tackle. Dad had served in the Army (Vietnam '68-'69) so he literally out marched me there. That hike was spent doing civic duty as well, as we collected tin and aluminum cans from the roadside. When we returned home, a magnet would help us sort them, then send to a recycling center for a few dollars. Also about that time I had a beer can collection and was able to add a few to it.

I always had a great time fishing with Dad. He taught me about how to tie hooks on the line, that to not bother catching carp because of the mud vein, how to hold the barbs on a catfish so you didn't 'stick' yourself when getting the hook out. we would sit there watching our lines/bobbers and he would eventually start telling me stories of his younger days, or occasionally one of his war stories. We would make plans about where we would like to ride to on our next trip, about family, and racing. The Indianapolis 500 was the first race I ever attended. It was 1978, and two of my uncles had driven down from Elkhart the night before. We lived in Kirklin then. I remember staying up most the night learning to play poker with the men, using chips, and then the seemingly long walk at the track. We sat on the inside track on the grass. I recall seeing pictures years later that Dad had taken at that race. I don't have them now though. I fell in love with Formula 1 racing back then. Now it has moved on to Nascar, as I don't care much for the open wheel racing much anymore. I was back a couple years ago to the 500 Museum, and though it had been remodeled since my first visit so many years ago, I still felt like the kid I was when Dad took me there. Even did the ride around the track. That was something.

Enjoy your Friday.

PeacE

As far back as I can remember, I have always loved going to the library. Yes, even those times I was required to go for research on school papers, or other class assignments, I still always thrived on going to a library. I still remember the first time my Dad got me a library card, and I was able to check out the first books on my own from that little library back in Kirklin, IN. I don't know the exact three books (personal limit for a kid's card) I had selected, but seem to recall they were in the fantasy fiction genre that I seem to love so much. The thrill when Dad allowed me to get an adult card in Frankfort, IN, though I was not even 11 years old yet, and being able to peruse through the even larger amount of books available... Oh! The personal joy!

There is nothing that brings a more satisfying feeling than going through shelf after shelf of books, and finding one, that after reading it just feels you with joy at finding it on your own. The fulfillment of looking up that research information for whatever reason, and the hunt through the Dewey decimal filing system to locate that specific article/book. The wonderment of all that information around oneself, be it for research, or entertainment, and feeling like you own and control it.

But I feel the way of the Public Library is slowly disappearing. I know many of you older (well, closer to my age anyways) readers would agree. With the internet growing and many places putting all the information out on the 'Web', the days of physical books is declining. Even I have not been in our local branch for nigh on 2 years now. Of course, budget cuts hurt libraries. I know our local branch has changed the hours of operation and cut them so badly, even my kids are unable to get time to go there for school work, as they close too early in the day. Some days, they are only available for a handful of hours.

Libraries offered so many services, and in the larger towns and cities, many of those services are available. Aside form the obvious 'borrowing' of books, services for computer access, media (video, DVD, CD), being able to reserve new releases, and periodicals (magazines, newspapers, etc), one could even just sit in there and read, without taking any materials from the place. 'Going to the library to Study' was always a valid excuse to parents to get out with friends - well, maybe for some people. I always preferred to actually go to the library. If someone didn't know certain information, they would go to the library to find out what they needed (in most cases). Now, the phrase is "Google it!" or "Look it up on the Web".

Physical books have character. As an avid reader, the feeling of a book open in my hands, turning the pages, feeling the weight of printed text on paper, all is a comforting feeling. It brings good memories of my friends (the books) that I have held and recall in my memories of how I traveled through worlds with them. How they taught me ideas and sometimes even, morals and ethics. How I learned how something works, or why and how it happened. The printed word was not the only thing there. Pictures of all shapes or sizes, in color, in plain black and white, and yes, sometimes even sketched. Oh, and how like real people these books are. Each has an odor that tells you about itself. That new book smell as you first open the pages was rare in a library, but sometimes you might be the second or third, and that scent lingered. Sometimes it was the smell of age, as if the book had been unused for many years, waiting for your questing for it to arrive. Many have worn corners, sometimes pages ripped and repaired by tape, sometimes not. Unknown marks and smudges from food, or dirt, or as many of us prefer, we don't want to know. Some I read, even let me know about previous readers and how they cared for the books by showing the bent corners of pages to mark reading spots (obviously did not know how to use a bookmark), or I could scent the smell of smoke from a cigarette, and occasionally a nice pipe.

I sigh with contentment. Yes, I love these places and for what I learned from them. I'm happy to say, that so far my older children have been able to have some sort of affection for books, though in the age of computers, I wonder if I should say, they show the love of reading. I wonder about if I should take them all for trip to our local branch, to let them experience a small portion of what I had when I was younger, before they are gone - the children and the libraries.

PeacE

I woke early today. I mean, after all, 4:30am is not my usual wake-up time. No idea why I awoke so early, and being unable to fall back asleep, I went ahead and got up. Maybe because I was in bed and out by like 9:30'ish last night. I know I have been sleeping better since the CPAP machine, and maybe was body was just saying I got more than ample amounts of sleep last night. I definitely do not feel tired at this point.

Monday morning. I was reading through my friends' Facebook status messages this morning. Many of them are back in the Midwest area and are mentioning snow. Especially those up in Michigan. One friend commented that in her area, they have closed (at the time of her posting earlier this morning) 163 schools. She is up near the UP of MI. Several others commented on varying amounts of snow, but the main message was if there was some out there, be careful driving and being out in it.

I miss the snow. Growing up in central Indiana area, we always seemed to have snow by Christmas. Some years were heavier than others, but that I can remember, nothing like 1978. I remember walking to school in less than 12" (Lincoln Elementary was only like 6-7 small blocks from our house - though, it is completely gone now). I remember one of my winter chores being to shovel out the walk in front of the business my step mom ran. We lived in the apartment above it. Then my Dad would let me warm up, then tell me to go across the street and do Mr. Robinson's walk. He was a retired gentleman I am guessing in his late 70's. By 6th grade, I was as tall as he, though he was a bit stooped. During the summer, Dad could always find me over at Mr' Robinson's, shirking my chores, just to hear that guy tell stories of growing up. Sometimes he would pull out his guitar and play some tunes. Other days it was a harmonica, or a banjo. He was very talented, musically, and with story-telling. I am happy I got to meet him in my life, and somewhat regret not ever knowing what happened to him. After I moved away, I am sure he passed away at some point.

Well, I got a few hours to kill before I need to get up and out of the house. Today I ABSOLUTELY need to get go shopping for some clothes. Tomorrow is the scheduled date for my Jury Summons. Though I am supposed to call after regular business hours tonight, to get a recorded message that will state what group numbers are required to show. I am hoping mine is not mentioned, so I won't actually have to drive downtown. As it is, having to get up like 2 hours early, drive the 3-40 minutes to downtown, find the "free parking garage" they tell us jurors to use, wait for the free shuttle, and arrive at the jury summons room - all by 8am.... Not looking forward to that hassle. That's the main reason I hate these things. Either way, I need to get out and fins a nice pair of pants r two. And maybe a new shirt. I am hoping to get the next size or two down in pants. Crossing my fingers, at least one size. For some reason, the sizes differentiate between denim shorts, and say, slacks, or Dockers type pants. Example, if I were wearing a 36 waist in blue jeans, it may actually be a 38, or sometimes a 40, in slacks. I don't know if it is because the denim has a bit more give, or it is measured before wash shrinkage - I have no clue. Just seems to work that way. And I wish I WAS back down to like a 38 or 40....sigh. Getting there SLOWLY.

The Reverend Mother invited our three boys over last night, to do her "Annual Bake Time with Grandma". She loves getting each family's kids for a few hours at some point before Christmas to "help" her do some baking of cookies, and other treats. I believe she gives most of it away as gifts to co-workers, or people from church. Or maybe donates it all to some shelter - I never paid attention. I know the kids usually come home with a ziploc bag of samples they made. Usually for them, but my boys are nice they will offer some to Daddy... though, come to think of it, they didn't last night, and I would have to say no anyways. Damn diet. Besides, the Wife brought home Cold Stone Creamery ice cream for her and I last night.

Daughter will be in sometime tonight for an overnight, then back to school for the week. Saturday they start the break at college, and she will be home until about the 11th of January. During her break we will need to get her car in to the shop to fix that damn dent. I got a shop that says they can do it during that time, I need to call them later this week to see about scheduling a time for next week.

That's all I got for now. If you got snow, and gotta be out in it, be careful.

PeacE

Whoo! Wait a busy day so far! God, I love being back in my old position! In 2 weeks I have closed a possible 4 loans - which is half of what the other 2 processors have completed for a whole month! Dman, I like it when I am good!

Here's today's linkage to funny: Tuesday Funny Pic

Freddie was posting today about smells from her younger years, and that got me to thinking about my growing up days. I know from my birth through 12 years I had a variety of animals either I raised or were being raised by the family. My sister and I both had horses (hers white, mine brown) named Sugar and Spice, respectively. I personally don't remember them as I was pretty small (HA! Me using that word to describe my size), but Grandpa had some old fmaily movies on 8mm that shows me riding the horse and Dad hanging on beside me. Then there was the hog we had penned int he backyard. He didn't last long, and to this day I wonder if Dad just got rid of him, or had him butchered up. I know we used that same pen for our large dog we got sometime after that, named Pumpkin. He was some sort of hound, but I never knew what kind. He eventually was sold to someone that lived over 50 miles away, and 2 days later showed back up at the front door as we were leaving. Dad had to drive back out with him to the new owner's place. I remember he weren't to happy 'bout that deal.

I started raising rabbits for 4-H when I was about 9. Plus we had a few mixed breeds Dad & used to butcher in the late fall. Nothing like a good rabbit stew on snow days from school! After we moved from there "into the city" just the step-mom's damn chihuahua named Marybell. Nastiest little f'ing dog I ever met. Dad and I always called her Turtlebait behind my SM's back. I swear, that dog couldn't get any fatter, as her belly already rubbed the ground 2 inches across her chest. Wouldn't let anyone near my SM - not even dad. Sounds bad, but I was glad the day they had to put her to sleep...

But we were talking of animals and smells. Nothing like the smell of a good pig farm that always reminds me of home. The teasing the kids in the car "Who farted?" and the laughs as everyone blames everyone else. Or the better times when someone is able to squeeze one out, loud, whilst we're funnin' around. Makes me think of roadtrips we did to my grandparents up in Elkhart, IN, and playing 'Zap 'Em' with horses. How many of you remember that game? Count your zaps, and hope no one sees a cemetary and shouts "Bury 'Em!" before you do, and lose your points. Heh, I was never good at that one. Nor "Road Alphabet". That's why I usually read if I could.

So there ya go. A little of my past to bore yourself and help you sleep. Good news for those of you interested is I have the results from the Dr. on my younget's heart. There is a slight muscle tension near one of the valves in his heart, but is nothing abnormal. The heart murmur may appear over the next several well-check-ups, but will eventually disappear. All that damn worrying for nothing, and extra medical bills too. Gotta luv it. Alright, enuff of me already. Y'all have a good one, and we'll catch up wit' ya menana.

PeacE