Check out my new blog!
Cookin' With Wag
I posted the best stuff first so it's at the bottom. Enjoy!
--Wag--
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Book Readers introduction
As mentioned in my prior post, I put up a couple of introductions to new groups this morning.
Here's the second one.
--------------------------------
I posted a LONG introduction on the motorcycle board a moment ago. I won't bore you with that same intro. Suffice it to say, I'm looking forward to the discussion and commentary of this board. Looks like some good people and discussion here!
Probably the only good thing my parents ever did was instill a love of books within me. My grandmother on my father's side was a big boost too. One of the very few worthwhile things my dad ever did was read to us as kids but he never just read a book to us. Somehow, he brought them to life. He was no great actor, I'm sure, but to him, books were not just meant to be read to the kids. They were meant to be dramatized. Scary books became terrifying. Love stories made us cry. Dick and Jane were real people. We wanted to know what the giant octopus was going to do to the sailors in the boat. We couldn't wait to hear if the troll had billy goat gruff for lunch.
A blanket to hide under or a tissue to cry in was required equipment whenever dad read a story to us. I don't have kids but when I read to nieces or nephews, I try to do the same thing. I'm not that good at it but I've learned something very very important: The kids don't care. They ALWAYS love it, no matter how badly I do the story. Yes, in the mind of a child, it brings a story to life.
You can picture the graphic: A book is opened and out comes a parade of knights in shining armor, spacemen, creatures, faraway lands with snow-covered mountains and lost mines all clamoring for your attention and giving you the best of worlds both real and imagined.
Yeah. You know you've been there before. In front of the fireplace, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and a cuppa hot comfort. Lost in a book.
Until you have to pee again. :-)
As I've grown up, my love for books has grown more and more and more. I still read fantasies and sci-fi and still love them dearly. Books like Lord of the Rings (30 plus readings to date), Dune, Aztec, Dragonriders of Pern and others of their peers. Lately, I've started reading more non-fiction and find that there is just as much thrill as there ever was in the fiction. Biographies of Lincoln and Einstein, histories of New Mexico, discussions of the flaws of philosophy, essays on religion and morality and truth and fiction, histories of tragic world events.
I read with a pencil. A pencil allows me to talk to a book. If you're ever at my house and you see one of my books, you'll see that I write in the margins a LOT. A pencil allows me to become a part of my books and my books to become a part of me. What better way to own my books than to write in them and converse with them so I remember them better?
Yeah, I love to read. As I look through some of the discussion here on this forum, it's obvious that there are a lot of other like-minded people here. I hope we can all have fun together!
--Wag--
Here's the second one.
--------------------------------
I posted a LONG introduction on the motorcycle board a moment ago. I won't bore you with that same intro. Suffice it to say, I'm looking forward to the discussion and commentary of this board. Looks like some good people and discussion here!
Probably the only good thing my parents ever did was instill a love of books within me. My grandmother on my father's side was a big boost too. One of the very few worthwhile things my dad ever did was read to us as kids but he never just read a book to us. Somehow, he brought them to life. He was no great actor, I'm sure, but to him, books were not just meant to be read to the kids. They were meant to be dramatized. Scary books became terrifying. Love stories made us cry. Dick and Jane were real people. We wanted to know what the giant octopus was going to do to the sailors in the boat. We couldn't wait to hear if the troll had billy goat gruff for lunch.
A blanket to hide under or a tissue to cry in was required equipment whenever dad read a story to us. I don't have kids but when I read to nieces or nephews, I try to do the same thing. I'm not that good at it but I've learned something very very important: The kids don't care. They ALWAYS love it, no matter how badly I do the story. Yes, in the mind of a child, it brings a story to life.
You can picture the graphic: A book is opened and out comes a parade of knights in shining armor, spacemen, creatures, faraway lands with snow-covered mountains and lost mines all clamoring for your attention and giving you the best of worlds both real and imagined.
Yeah. You know you've been there before. In front of the fireplace, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and a cuppa hot comfort. Lost in a book.
Until you have to pee again. :-)
As I've grown up, my love for books has grown more and more and more. I still read fantasies and sci-fi and still love them dearly. Books like Lord of the Rings (30 plus readings to date), Dune, Aztec, Dragonriders of Pern and others of their peers. Lately, I've started reading more non-fiction and find that there is just as much thrill as there ever was in the fiction. Biographies of Lincoln and Einstein, histories of New Mexico, discussions of the flaws of philosophy, essays on religion and morality and truth and fiction, histories of tragic world events.
I read with a pencil. A pencil allows me to talk to a book. If you're ever at my house and you see one of my books, you'll see that I write in the margins a LOT. A pencil allows me to become a part of my books and my books to become a part of me. What better way to own my books than to write in them and converse with them so I remember them better?
Yeah, I love to read. As I look through some of the discussion here on this forum, it's obvious that there are a lot of other like-minded people here. I hope we can all have fun together!
--Wag--
Biker introduction
I posted an introduction of myself to a new local biker group this morning. It tells a bit about me that I thought would be appropriate here. Another intro to a local book group will follow in a moment.
Here we go.
-------------------------
Hello, everyone. K. invited me to check out the group and consider joining up. Thank you, K. Very much appreciate the thought.
It was a close call, whether or not to join. For the most part, it has to do with the fact that I already prowl around four different motorcycle forums, a gun forum, a book forum and wish I had time for several others in which I've participated over the last couple of years. It just takes time to be a worthwhile participant in such a forum, that's all! I don't do too many things halfway and when I do, it's guilt-trip time! Unfortunately, I have to pick and choose. I hope I can contribute here in a worthwhile way.
In my profile, I said my interests are something like, piano, motorcycles, books and guns. If you ever figure that one out, let me know. I'm still working on it. I should say, those are my primary interests. If something catches my eye, I'll dabble in it for a while to see if it sticks.
I've been riding motorcycles of various flavors for 35 years, give or take a year or two. I don't recall how old I was when a buddy let me try to ride his motorcycle. I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10 years old. I got on it and he said, "Pull in the clutch." I pulled it in. He said, "Kick start it." I kick started it. He said, "Give it some gas." I gave it some gas. He said, "Now, let go of the clutch!"
I let go of the clutch.
In an instant, I was on the ground, the motorcycle was 20 feet away on its side. The kicker was not that he was mad or that I was hurt (I wasn't) or that the bike was damaged (It was, slightly). The kicker was that there were about six of my friends standing around at the time, watching. One or two of them nearly got tagged by the runaway bike. Try to live that down over the years!
I was hooked. Naturally.
"Dad, can I have a bike," I asked a couple of days later.
"Sure, son. Save up the money and I'll help you buy one. In fact, I'll pay for half of it."
"Really?"
"Sure, son. What kind of bike do you want?"
"I want one like Ron Harris has."
My dad went a little pale and he lowered his newspaper to stare me down. It was that decidedly un-fatherly stare that let's you know that what's about to be said next is the gospel truth, you aren't going to be given a chance to debate the truth of it and if you do, you're going to learn the truth through the seat of your pants 'cause you were too stupid to learn it through the other end of your anatomy.
"You mean the motorcycle?"
"Yeah, Dad." It was difficult to put any excitement back into my voice because "the look" had already answered my original request. Dad put his paper back up to reading position and I couldn't see his face any more as he ended the conversation with the atomic bomb:
"No, son, you can't have a motorcycle. You'll kill yourself with it."
I love that movie, "A Christmas Story." You can see why. You also understand, if you know the movie, that the surest way to make a kid want something is to tell him he can't have it. In fact, with the exception of books, most or all of my interests today have stemmed from the stern denials of my parents. I spent days trying to figure out the best way to dramatically end my life in such a way that my parents would agonize forever over how badly they had treated me. Good grief, Charlie Brown, I mean Ralphie, I mean Wag!! LMAO
I wanted a motorcycle so bad that for years, I was in pain and suffering. Especially since I had to watch ALL of my peers since they ALL had motorcycles. Ron was not really a friend after I wrecked his bike in that glorious tenth of a second. He sure wasn't going to let me ride his bike any more. A couple of years later, his family moved and I never saw them again.
Another kid moved to our school and he and his family had LOTS of motorcycles and they were the newest and bestest of the day. I had to sneak in my bike riding because, of course, my abusive father and mother would've literally killed me if I had been caught riding a motorcycle. I had an uncle with an old beat up Yamaha (I think) which my dad would let us ride from time to time because we were being "supervised" by my uncle, as my father thought. But my buddy had a great RM125 and and an RM80 among others and we would sneak in rides as often as possible. Our secret, somehow, never leaked.
My bosom buddy didn't necessarily tell me that his bike was my bike but he acted like it and let me ride whenever he could.
My family moved halfway across the country when I was between my junior and senior year and that ended my bike riding days. Sad, too, because we moved to the hill country of Missouri and the riding there would have been perfect. But the hunting was great too! I wasn't allowed to have a gun but was allowed to borrow grandad's 20 guage for hunting squirrels and birds of various kinds. Just couldn't have one of my own. Dammit. Oh, well. Guess what I started buying lots of as soon as I moved out and could afford it?
Before that, however, the moment I could afford it, I bought a CB400. Mostly, I bought the motorcycle so I could commute without having to take the bus. The freedom was exhilarating! It was my first ever motorcycle, of course. A few months later, a hit and run driver took me out as he ran a red light. Bastid. I mostly recovered in a couple months from relatively minor injuries.
Back on the bus. It was about two years later that I bought a 750 Shadow. Very much like the Magna of the time, not at all like the Shadow of today. I rode it for a year or so, but it developed some expensive repair needs that I didn't have the equipment or the money to solve. So, I sold it to a guy who had the willingness and the wherewithal to deal with it's issues. A couple years after that, I bought an 1100 Katana and absolutely loved it.
It had been bored out to a 1260 and had the engine blueprinted, a full system exhaust and airbox mod and a couple other things, I don't recall. It was keeping up with the 1100 Gixxer race bikes of the day and my world was complete! I kept that bike for about two years and then sold it to my sister's brother. I don't think she was all that happy about it. Took the proceeds and bought a piano to resume work as a musician. Different story there for a different time.
I went 12 years without a bike and regretted every moment of it. Every time I saw a motorcycle on the road, my heart nearly broke in two. But money was tight and it just wasn't feasible. It would have been one thing if I HAD to ride, but I didn't so I waited for the right opportunity. In truth, I really thought I'd never ride again. In the meantime, I kept up with the other important things in my life but the hole that was left in my heart just wouldn't heal up.
Finally, at the end of 2004, I finally got a bonus which made it possible to start shopping around. I found a 2003 Hayabusa for sale with only 4,000 miles on it and some custom mods. I didn't even know what I was buying, really, I just liked the sound of the bike when the sales guy started it up!
Sold!
Now that Busa has 50,000+ miles on it and will likely get another 50K in short order. I can only hope!
There are more details to the story but I'm sure they will get filled in over time.
Looking forward to meeting some of you I don't know and refreshing other acquaintances. Cheers!
--Wag--
Here we go.
-------------------------
Hello, everyone. K. invited me to check out the group and consider joining up. Thank you, K. Very much appreciate the thought.
It was a close call, whether or not to join. For the most part, it has to do with the fact that I already prowl around four different motorcycle forums, a gun forum, a book forum and wish I had time for several others in which I've participated over the last couple of years. It just takes time to be a worthwhile participant in such a forum, that's all! I don't do too many things halfway and when I do, it's guilt-trip time! Unfortunately, I have to pick and choose. I hope I can contribute here in a worthwhile way.
In my profile, I said my interests are something like, piano, motorcycles, books and guns. If you ever figure that one out, let me know. I'm still working on it. I should say, those are my primary interests. If something catches my eye, I'll dabble in it for a while to see if it sticks.
I've been riding motorcycles of various flavors for 35 years, give or take a year or two. I don't recall how old I was when a buddy let me try to ride his motorcycle. I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10 years old. I got on it and he said, "Pull in the clutch." I pulled it in. He said, "Kick start it." I kick started it. He said, "Give it some gas." I gave it some gas. He said, "Now, let go of the clutch!"
I let go of the clutch.
In an instant, I was on the ground, the motorcycle was 20 feet away on its side. The kicker was not that he was mad or that I was hurt (I wasn't) or that the bike was damaged (It was, slightly). The kicker was that there were about six of my friends standing around at the time, watching. One or two of them nearly got tagged by the runaway bike. Try to live that down over the years!
I was hooked. Naturally.
"Dad, can I have a bike," I asked a couple of days later.
"Sure, son. Save up the money and I'll help you buy one. In fact, I'll pay for half of it."
"Really?"
"Sure, son. What kind of bike do you want?"
"I want one like Ron Harris has."
My dad went a little pale and he lowered his newspaper to stare me down. It was that decidedly un-fatherly stare that let's you know that what's about to be said next is the gospel truth, you aren't going to be given a chance to debate the truth of it and if you do, you're going to learn the truth through the seat of your pants 'cause you were too stupid to learn it through the other end of your anatomy.
"You mean the motorcycle?"
"Yeah, Dad." It was difficult to put any excitement back into my voice because "the look" had already answered my original request. Dad put his paper back up to reading position and I couldn't see his face any more as he ended the conversation with the atomic bomb:
"No, son, you can't have a motorcycle. You'll kill yourself with it."
I love that movie, "A Christmas Story." You can see why. You also understand, if you know the movie, that the surest way to make a kid want something is to tell him he can't have it. In fact, with the exception of books, most or all of my interests today have stemmed from the stern denials of my parents. I spent days trying to figure out the best way to dramatically end my life in such a way that my parents would agonize forever over how badly they had treated me. Good grief, Charlie Brown, I mean Ralphie, I mean Wag!! LMAO
I wanted a motorcycle so bad that for years, I was in pain and suffering. Especially since I had to watch ALL of my peers since they ALL had motorcycles. Ron was not really a friend after I wrecked his bike in that glorious tenth of a second. He sure wasn't going to let me ride his bike any more. A couple of years later, his family moved and I never saw them again.
Another kid moved to our school and he and his family had LOTS of motorcycles and they were the newest and bestest of the day. I had to sneak in my bike riding because, of course, my abusive father and mother would've literally killed me if I had been caught riding a motorcycle. I had an uncle with an old beat up Yamaha (I think) which my dad would let us ride from time to time because we were being "supervised" by my uncle, as my father thought. But my buddy had a great RM125 and and an RM80 among others and we would sneak in rides as often as possible. Our secret, somehow, never leaked.
My bosom buddy didn't necessarily tell me that his bike was my bike but he acted like it and let me ride whenever he could.
My family moved halfway across the country when I was between my junior and senior year and that ended my bike riding days. Sad, too, because we moved to the hill country of Missouri and the riding there would have been perfect. But the hunting was great too! I wasn't allowed to have a gun but was allowed to borrow grandad's 20 guage for hunting squirrels and birds of various kinds. Just couldn't have one of my own. Dammit. Oh, well. Guess what I started buying lots of as soon as I moved out and could afford it?
Before that, however, the moment I could afford it, I bought a CB400. Mostly, I bought the motorcycle so I could commute without having to take the bus. The freedom was exhilarating! It was my first ever motorcycle, of course. A few months later, a hit and run driver took me out as he ran a red light. Bastid. I mostly recovered in a couple months from relatively minor injuries.
Back on the bus. It was about two years later that I bought a 750 Shadow. Very much like the Magna of the time, not at all like the Shadow of today. I rode it for a year or so, but it developed some expensive repair needs that I didn't have the equipment or the money to solve. So, I sold it to a guy who had the willingness and the wherewithal to deal with it's issues. A couple years after that, I bought an 1100 Katana and absolutely loved it.
It had been bored out to a 1260 and had the engine blueprinted, a full system exhaust and airbox mod and a couple other things, I don't recall. It was keeping up with the 1100 Gixxer race bikes of the day and my world was complete! I kept that bike for about two years and then sold it to my sister's brother. I don't think she was all that happy about it. Took the proceeds and bought a piano to resume work as a musician. Different story there for a different time.
I went 12 years without a bike and regretted every moment of it. Every time I saw a motorcycle on the road, my heart nearly broke in two. But money was tight and it just wasn't feasible. It would have been one thing if I HAD to ride, but I didn't so I waited for the right opportunity. In truth, I really thought I'd never ride again. In the meantime, I kept up with the other important things in my life but the hole that was left in my heart just wouldn't heal up.
Finally, at the end of 2004, I finally got a bonus which made it possible to start shopping around. I found a 2003 Hayabusa for sale with only 4,000 miles on it and some custom mods. I didn't even know what I was buying, really, I just liked the sound of the bike when the sales guy started it up!
Sold!
Now that Busa has 50,000+ miles on it and will likely get another 50K in short order. I can only hope!
There are more details to the story but I'm sure they will get filled in over time.
Looking forward to meeting some of you I don't know and refreshing other acquaintances. Cheers!
--Wag--
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Book Review
The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz
The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom, A Toltec Wisdom Book by Don Miguel Ruiz
rating: 4 of 5 stars
I like this book a great deal. At the risk of fulfilling a prophecy of the book, let me first make a disclaimer or two.
1. It is not the end-all solution to all the world's problems.
2. The presentation of the first few pages is a bit off-putting to those who are realists such as myself.
Having said that, however, it's easy to read past the "uncomfortable" bits and glean some very good, very helpful and best of all, very motivational thoughts. The book "feels" good, if you will.
I thought The Four Agreements tended to suggest that we quash all emotion but I also think that likely wasn't the true intent of Mr. Ruiz. His approach makes it a bit difficult to tell for certain except for one very quick sentence. My opinion, regardless, is that emotion is an essential part of our being and it is required of us to be fully human. Therefore, it should not be quashed It is, however, important to master how we express our emotions when we are beset by them.
It should also be mentioned that it's not possible to understand the agreements by reading the flyleaf. Oh, no! You have to read the book in order to fully understand the full scope and intent of it, especially as the agreements relate to oneself. For example, it's important to be impeccable with your word, the first agreement. Not only to others but to yourself. It's hinted at in the flyleaf but you have to read the book to get the full depth of what it means to be impeccable with yourself, too.
This is a book about kick-starting thought processes. It's a book about re-thinking why you believe what you believe. Did you choose your beliefs? I feel you did, even if you did it unconsciously. Do you know why you chose your beliefs? If you did it unconsciously, you may not know why. You should find out. If you just accepted your beliefs as they were spoon fed to you by your parents or a religious leader, perhaps you believe blindly. Maybe you're okay with that but I believe everyone should exert some introspection and make a determination as to why.
Doing so will do one of two (or many) things:
1. It will affirm your current faith and drive you to a long life of fulfilling those beliefs with greater passion and ever greater satisfaction, without the snobbishness which comes from those who believe dogmatically and unthinkingly
or
2. It will set you on a path of self-discovery and personal growth, driving you to a long life of self-fulfillment and confidence, knowing that it is important to believe in the idea of discovering new things whenever possible, throughout the rest of your life.
I can see that it would be easy to become dogmatic about The Four Agreements or Mr. Ruiz's other works. My feeling, however, is that we can benefit the most by using this kind of writing as a launching pad for a lifetime of continuous self-introspection, discovery and refinement of belief and thought.
--Wag--
View all my reviews.
The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom, A Toltec Wisdom Book by Don Miguel RuizMy review
rating: 4 of 5 stars
I like this book a great deal. At the risk of fulfilling a prophecy of the book, let me first make a disclaimer or two.
1. It is not the end-all solution to all the world's problems.
2. The presentation of the first few pages is a bit off-putting to those who are realists such as myself.
Having said that, however, it's easy to read past the "uncomfortable" bits and glean some very good, very helpful and best of all, very motivational thoughts. The book "feels" good, if you will.
I thought The Four Agreements tended to suggest that we quash all emotion but I also think that likely wasn't the true intent of Mr. Ruiz. His approach makes it a bit difficult to tell for certain except for one very quick sentence. My opinion, regardless, is that emotion is an essential part of our being and it is required of us to be fully human. Therefore, it should not be quashed It is, however, important to master how we express our emotions when we are beset by them.
It should also be mentioned that it's not possible to understand the agreements by reading the flyleaf. Oh, no! You have to read the book in order to fully understand the full scope and intent of it, especially as the agreements relate to oneself. For example, it's important to be impeccable with your word, the first agreement. Not only to others but to yourself. It's hinted at in the flyleaf but you have to read the book to get the full depth of what it means to be impeccable with yourself, too.
This is a book about kick-starting thought processes. It's a book about re-thinking why you believe what you believe. Did you choose your beliefs? I feel you did, even if you did it unconsciously. Do you know why you chose your beliefs? If you did it unconsciously, you may not know why. You should find out. If you just accepted your beliefs as they were spoon fed to you by your parents or a religious leader, perhaps you believe blindly. Maybe you're okay with that but I believe everyone should exert some introspection and make a determination as to why.
Doing so will do one of two (or many) things:
1. It will affirm your current faith and drive you to a long life of fulfilling those beliefs with greater passion and ever greater satisfaction, without the snobbishness which comes from those who believe dogmatically and unthinkingly
or
2. It will set you on a path of self-discovery and personal growth, driving you to a long life of self-fulfillment and confidence, knowing that it is important to believe in the idea of discovering new things whenever possible, throughout the rest of your life.
I can see that it would be easy to become dogmatic about The Four Agreements or Mr. Ruiz's other works. My feeling, however, is that we can benefit the most by using this kind of writing as a launching pad for a lifetime of continuous self-introspection, discovery and refinement of belief and thought.
--Wag--
View all my reviews.
Memoirs of Don and Emily - Part 3
Most of my free time was spent with Grandpa. Grandma and I got along swimmingly, of course, but Grandpa and I had a lot more in common with each other. As I spent time with him, I realized just how tough his life had been. Grandma didn't get into that kind of discussion with me but Granddad told me much about her life as well and I came to know that they had not had an easy life in any sense of the word.
I sometimes think about how they saw the world change around them. I don't recall the exact years of their births but seem to recall they were born early enough to know the pain and suffering of the Great Depression. As a result, they knew the need for hard work, whether it be physical or mental. They clawed their way through most of their lives with a minimum of the physical necessities. Whatever they had was valuable and important and luxury? Puh-leeze! They simply didn't have any.
Their most valuable possessions after their religion was their education.
Based on some VERY personal conversations I had with both Grandma and Grandpa, I won't discuss their religious beliefs here.
As for their educations, they felt that above all other things, this was the most valuable possession they owned. I came to realize that it was true. With their educations, they were able to rise above their surroundings. The people surrounding them and the circumstances surrounding them. With education, they moved past the suffering of the Depression and of poor circumstances and essentially lifted themselves up by their bootstraps. Anyone else out there ever build their own house brick by brick? I know some have but very very few.
Education, to them, was critical. I should mention that it didn't just mean that they had a sheepskin on the wall, though they both had that as well. Grandpa in particular was the kind of man who, if he wanted to learn how to do something, would ask, study, research and do whatever it took to find out how to do what he wanted. He demonstrated how education can frequently be obtained outside the walls of institutional learning. Often, that wasn't good enough and he found it well within his capacity to add creativity and inventiveness and make it better thah what had been originally conceived in his mind or the minds of others. Hence, his ability to build a house from the ground up, grow every plant known to man, keep his home and yard in good repair and generally, make his life more and more comfortable as he moved through life.
Interestingly enough, even though I never knew any of the details of their finances, they lived quite conservatively and never to excess. Grandpa drove the same ol' beat up pickup truck for as many years as I could remember, before and after my stay with them. Grandma drove the same ol' Pontiac that she had when I was a little kid. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think I ever saw either of them with a new car. Seems like they must have bought a new car after their bad accident a few years after my departure but I don't recall that I ever saw it. Amazing, though, to think that they valued thier possessions enough to make something like that last for 20 years, give or take.
I think it's notable that they took very good care of their furniture, too. It seems that most of what they owned they had had for a long, long, LONG time. It was so well cared for, it seemed, that it could be considered only slightly used but I know it had been around a while. One thing is certain, their conservativism made it possible to have a very comfortable retirement. Some of that came from their pensions but much of it also came from their apparent habit of saving and watching their spending very closely.
Midway through my stay with them, Grandpa bought a computer. To this day, I'm not 100% sure what his original motivations were but I do know that it was a boon to me. I didn't have to use the manual typewriter for term papers any more! Grandpa diligently taught himself to use the computer and I did likewise. Sometimes, I would stay up until 4:00am on a weekend, just learning how to do what I wanted to do with it. I made every effort to make sure I didn't take too much of Grandpa's time on the computer and even though he never said anything to me about it, in hindsight, I wonder if he ever felt any frustration at how much time I was spending on it. Grandpa did use that computer, though he tended to use it more as a glorified typewriter and expressed a significant degree of frustration with it. Still, he learned, I taught him as much as I could and he learned well.
Amazingly, he was, as I hinted above, the kind of man who could learn throughout his life. Even though later on he had to carry around a stack of note cards to keep in touch with what he wanted to do, he could learn new things quite readily. The computer was one of them and in spite of his frustrations, he adapted to it well. After several years, however, he finally gave it up and went back to writing letters by hand. I wasn't personally offended, of course, but I felt that it was a bit of a step backward. Still, it was always good to get a letter from Grandpa or Grandma in their own handwriting. Grandma didn't eve learn to use the computer and I never knew why. She just used her typewriter and signed in her own hand.
I should mention, those of you who are descendants of Don and Emily have all of that innate intelligence they had. Don't deny it, you know you do!
Well, I started out to write more about some of the philosophical conversations I had with Grandpa but I think I'll hold on to that for next time!
--Wag--
I sometimes think about how they saw the world change around them. I don't recall the exact years of their births but seem to recall they were born early enough to know the pain and suffering of the Great Depression. As a result, they knew the need for hard work, whether it be physical or mental. They clawed their way through most of their lives with a minimum of the physical necessities. Whatever they had was valuable and important and luxury? Puh-leeze! They simply didn't have any.
Their most valuable possessions after their religion was their education.
Based on some VERY personal conversations I had with both Grandma and Grandpa, I won't discuss their religious beliefs here.
As for their educations, they felt that above all other things, this was the most valuable possession they owned. I came to realize that it was true. With their educations, they were able to rise above their surroundings. The people surrounding them and the circumstances surrounding them. With education, they moved past the suffering of the Depression and of poor circumstances and essentially lifted themselves up by their bootstraps. Anyone else out there ever build their own house brick by brick? I know some have but very very few.
Education, to them, was critical. I should mention that it didn't just mean that they had a sheepskin on the wall, though they both had that as well. Grandpa in particular was the kind of man who, if he wanted to learn how to do something, would ask, study, research and do whatever it took to find out how to do what he wanted. He demonstrated how education can frequently be obtained outside the walls of institutional learning. Often, that wasn't good enough and he found it well within his capacity to add creativity and inventiveness and make it better thah what had been originally conceived in his mind or the minds of others. Hence, his ability to build a house from the ground up, grow every plant known to man, keep his home and yard in good repair and generally, make his life more and more comfortable as he moved through life.
Interestingly enough, even though I never knew any of the details of their finances, they lived quite conservatively and never to excess. Grandpa drove the same ol' beat up pickup truck for as many years as I could remember, before and after my stay with them. Grandma drove the same ol' Pontiac that she had when I was a little kid. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think I ever saw either of them with a new car. Seems like they must have bought a new car after their bad accident a few years after my departure but I don't recall that I ever saw it. Amazing, though, to think that they valued thier possessions enough to make something like that last for 20 years, give or take.
I think it's notable that they took very good care of their furniture, too. It seems that most of what they owned they had had for a long, long, LONG time. It was so well cared for, it seemed, that it could be considered only slightly used but I know it had been around a while. One thing is certain, their conservativism made it possible to have a very comfortable retirement. Some of that came from their pensions but much of it also came from their apparent habit of saving and watching their spending very closely.
Midway through my stay with them, Grandpa bought a computer. To this day, I'm not 100% sure what his original motivations were but I do know that it was a boon to me. I didn't have to use the manual typewriter for term papers any more! Grandpa diligently taught himself to use the computer and I did likewise. Sometimes, I would stay up until 4:00am on a weekend, just learning how to do what I wanted to do with it. I made every effort to make sure I didn't take too much of Grandpa's time on the computer and even though he never said anything to me about it, in hindsight, I wonder if he ever felt any frustration at how much time I was spending on it. Grandpa did use that computer, though he tended to use it more as a glorified typewriter and expressed a significant degree of frustration with it. Still, he learned, I taught him as much as I could and he learned well.
Amazingly, he was, as I hinted above, the kind of man who could learn throughout his life. Even though later on he had to carry around a stack of note cards to keep in touch with what he wanted to do, he could learn new things quite readily. The computer was one of them and in spite of his frustrations, he adapted to it well. After several years, however, he finally gave it up and went back to writing letters by hand. I wasn't personally offended, of course, but I felt that it was a bit of a step backward. Still, it was always good to get a letter from Grandpa or Grandma in their own handwriting. Grandma didn't eve learn to use the computer and I never knew why. She just used her typewriter and signed in her own hand.
I should mention, those of you who are descendants of Don and Emily have all of that innate intelligence they had. Don't deny it, you know you do!
Well, I started out to write more about some of the philosophical conversations I had with Grandpa but I think I'll hold on to that for next time!
--Wag--
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Affairs
Affairs are (almost) never about sex. There is (nearly) always something else troubling the relationship which leads to the affair. Many times, it's an emotional issue between the two people. Other times, one or the other of the two has baggage which has never been confronted and which poisons the relationship. Most often, people get married too quickly and start popping out kids too fast before they understand all of the dynamics of their "new" relationship.
It's too late for many people but I'm a real proponent of the following relationship steps:
1. Have all the sex you can with as many partners as you can before you get into a serious relationship of any kind. Do this from the age of 14 to the age of 25. Remember not to have sex with minors, always use condoms every damn time, don't knock anyone up or get knocked up and don't spread diseases. Do everything you want to do now and enjoy yourself without doing anything illegal.
2. A couple of years before you think you can handle a relationship, learn how. Take some classes and read some books. Listen to intelligent people who have had successful long-term relationships. It's going to have the potential to save your neck.
3. Practice a few times. Have a couple of "long-term" relationships of about six or twelve months and see how it goes. You need to know how to pick 'em, know how to work with them on the relationship, resolve issues large and small, talk about what you want long-term. Boot the other person to the curb as soon as he or she shows an inability to have a trusting, mutually beneficial relationship with you. Always remember though, you could get lucky on the first try and find your lifemate right away so be open minded to the possibility.
4. About the time you're in your late 20's to early 30's and you find, "the one," live with that person for no less that three years. I recommend at least five years, depending on how the relationship is going. By this time or at some point during, you both should have finished your degrees, gotten yourself well established in a career, decided where you want to live for the next 30 years and bought a house that you can afford in that area. All issues about roles, money, kids, etc. should have been talked through during this live-in period.
5. Get married. AFTER you have some pre-marital counseling.
6. The make-it or break-it issue of most marriages (after money) is kids. If you decide to have kids, now is the time. Remember, they will change your lifestyle quite radically. Be sure you're ready to be tied down, quite literally. Remember, it's okay to not have kids. If you decide not to, again, sack up and get snipped or tied off so that it's never an issue in the future. Don't give me any, "I'm not sure," crap, either. Make a friggin' decision already! You're too old to not know by now. If for some reason you do change your mind after you've cut off all ties to your genetic seed, adopt.
7a. If you had kids, raise them with a sense of responsibility and take care of their needs as a responsible parent. They are people. Treat them as such. They are growing things in need of direction and guidance. Give that to them, even if is isn't always warm and fuzzy or lovey-dovey to do so.
7b. If you don't have kids, enjoy life just as much as everyone else who has kids. Yes, it can be done!
After all of that, if you feel you still have to have sex with some bimbo or stud muffin even though you did #1 above, then you know what? Have enough class to go to your lifemate and end the relationship FIRST. If you don't have the sack to do that, then go ahead. Fuck the shit out of him or her and live the rest of your life as a coward and a fool.
Just some thoughts.
--Wag--
It's too late for many people but I'm a real proponent of the following relationship steps:
1. Have all the sex you can with as many partners as you can before you get into a serious relationship of any kind. Do this from the age of 14 to the age of 25. Remember not to have sex with minors, always use condoms every damn time, don't knock anyone up or get knocked up and don't spread diseases. Do everything you want to do now and enjoy yourself without doing anything illegal.
2. A couple of years before you think you can handle a relationship, learn how. Take some classes and read some books. Listen to intelligent people who have had successful long-term relationships. It's going to have the potential to save your neck.
3. Practice a few times. Have a couple of "long-term" relationships of about six or twelve months and see how it goes. You need to know how to pick 'em, know how to work with them on the relationship, resolve issues large and small, talk about what you want long-term. Boot the other person to the curb as soon as he or she shows an inability to have a trusting, mutually beneficial relationship with you. Always remember though, you could get lucky on the first try and find your lifemate right away so be open minded to the possibility.
4. About the time you're in your late 20's to early 30's and you find, "the one," live with that person for no less that three years. I recommend at least five years, depending on how the relationship is going. By this time or at some point during, you both should have finished your degrees, gotten yourself well established in a career, decided where you want to live for the next 30 years and bought a house that you can afford in that area. All issues about roles, money, kids, etc. should have been talked through during this live-in period.
5. Get married. AFTER you have some pre-marital counseling.
6. The make-it or break-it issue of most marriages (after money) is kids. If you decide to have kids, now is the time. Remember, they will change your lifestyle quite radically. Be sure you're ready to be tied down, quite literally. Remember, it's okay to not have kids. If you decide not to, again, sack up and get snipped or tied off so that it's never an issue in the future. Don't give me any, "I'm not sure," crap, either. Make a friggin' decision already! You're too old to not know by now. If for some reason you do change your mind after you've cut off all ties to your genetic seed, adopt.
7a. If you had kids, raise them with a sense of responsibility and take care of their needs as a responsible parent. They are people. Treat them as such. They are growing things in need of direction and guidance. Give that to them, even if is isn't always warm and fuzzy or lovey-dovey to do so.
7b. If you don't have kids, enjoy life just as much as everyone else who has kids. Yes, it can be done!
After all of that, if you feel you still have to have sex with some bimbo or stud muffin even though you did #1 above, then you know what? Have enough class to go to your lifemate and end the relationship FIRST. If you don't have the sack to do that, then go ahead. Fuck the shit out of him or her and live the rest of your life as a coward and a fool.
Just some thoughts.
--Wag--
A Hypothetical Question
As a manger, I hire and fire from time to time as needed. Hiring is always an adventure, however, the task is usually simplified by all the people out there who can't spell, use grammar or other English usage problems. Those resumes always go right to the circular file, so to speak.
As a footnote, over the years, I've noticed that said circular file fills up ever faster and the "keep and interview" pile take a lot longer to fill up.
I was thinking, however, What if it were the other way around? What if you sent a resume out knowing that it was spotlessly perfect? You've had all your brilliant friends read it and there is no doubt.
Unbeknownst to you, the guy on the other end who gets your resume is a moron and can't spell. He sees a word on your resume, spelled correctly but because of HIS inability or lack of education, he thinks, incorrectly, that the word is spelled wrong and boom! Your resume ends up in the above-mentioned circular file. Well, not mine, but his.
You get to lose an opportunity because of this idiot and surprise, surprise, you'll never get to know. I wonder just how often this actually happens but I bet we'll never find out.
--Wag--
As a footnote, over the years, I've noticed that said circular file fills up ever faster and the "keep and interview" pile take a lot longer to fill up.
I was thinking, however, What if it were the other way around? What if you sent a resume out knowing that it was spotlessly perfect? You've had all your brilliant friends read it and there is no doubt.
Unbeknownst to you, the guy on the other end who gets your resume is a moron and can't spell. He sees a word on your resume, spelled correctly but because of HIS inability or lack of education, he thinks, incorrectly, that the word is spelled wrong and boom! Your resume ends up in the above-mentioned circular file. Well, not mine, but his.
You get to lose an opportunity because of this idiot and surprise, surprise, you'll never get to know. I wonder just how often this actually happens but I bet we'll never find out.
--Wag--
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Tax simplification
Question from Jeff Dunkel
"Do you think that a consumption tax or flat tax would be more fair to taxpayers than the current income tax system?
1. Eliminates evasion. Nobody gets to be paid, "under the table." Even illegal aliens get taxed.
2. People get to choose whether to pay taxes and how much to pay. If you don't want to pay the taxes, you don't buy the product.
3. Simplicity. There are no tables and no exceptions. I believe there should be no exceptions based on type of product, income of consumer, etc.
4. Overhead management task for the government is greatly reduced. Instead of tracking a huge number of individual and corporate taxpayers, we track a far smaller number of businesses who are acting as tax collectors.
Potential problems.
1. Some tax collectors could still evade. Even today, we hear of companies who run off with the sales tax receipts!
2. Black markets will be created reducing receipts.
3. Bartering will increase, also reducing receipts though somewhat minimally.
4. Current tax specialists may lose work volume.
Ironically, as messed up as our current tax system is, I continue to hear that we need to change to flat taxes and yet, along with those proposals, a series of caps, exceptions and variances for any number of reasons which pretty much sabotage the entire concept! If we can shoot for a consistent simplicity, we aren't helping ourselves.
The biggest obstacle of any "new" tax system is that of educating the public about how it works. Since everyone is pretty much familiar with how sales tax works, educating the general public about consumption tax is markedly simplified.
Just brainstorming.
Lou
"Do you think that a consumption tax or flat tax would be more fair to taxpayers than the current income tax system?
It seems that one of the biggest complaints is how some people pay too much and some too little in taxes. If you could start from scratch, and it was necessary to choose a taxing system to raise revenue, do you think the current income tax system, flat tax, or consumption tax would be best?"
My response:
1. Eliminates evasion. Nobody gets to be paid, "under the table." Even illegal aliens get taxed.
2. People get to choose whether to pay taxes and how much to pay. If you don't want to pay the taxes, you don't buy the product.
3. Simplicity. There are no tables and no exceptions. I believe there should be no exceptions based on type of product, income of consumer, etc.
4. Overhead management task for the government is greatly reduced. Instead of tracking a huge number of individual and corporate taxpayers, we track a far smaller number of businesses who are acting as tax collectors.
Potential problems.
1. Some tax collectors could still evade. Even today, we hear of companies who run off with the sales tax receipts!
2. Black markets will be created reducing receipts.
3. Bartering will increase, also reducing receipts though somewhat minimally.
4. Current tax specialists may lose work volume.
Ironically, as messed up as our current tax system is, I continue to hear that we need to change to flat taxes and yet, along with those proposals, a series of caps, exceptions and variances for any number of reasons which pretty much sabotage the entire concept! If we can shoot for a consistent simplicity, we aren't helping ourselves.
The biggest obstacle of any "new" tax system is that of educating the public about how it works. Since everyone is pretty much familiar with how sales tax works, educating the general public about consumption tax is markedly simplified.
Just brainstorming.
Lou
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Memoirs of Don and Emily - part 2
Note: Again, this is a more expanded version of a post I made to our family online group. I take a bit more license here to be more honest and less politically correct than I was with my family. My reasons for doing so may be a bit obscure at the moment but over time, it may become more apparent.
Also, to clarify, Don and Emily are my grandparents on my father's side.
----------
Watching Grandma and Grandpa interact with one another during my year with them was sometimes an adventure, sometimes a treat, other times curious and always educational, even if to determine, "Hey, I better not do that!" Grandma and Grandpa had been married for a lot of years and that meant a successful relationship, right? Ummmm, yes. In many ways, yes. In other ways, not so much but to be fair, I think most relationships are like this. Some couples live together for decades and cannot be said to have a successful relationship. Many times, they have just been roommates for a very long time and avoided divorce only because it was supposedly, "bad."
Other couples do have successful relationships and after a few years of learning how, they move right along, happy and content and able to confront issues with maturity and tact. Note, I did not say, "without anger and strife." Successful couples can still get frustrated and angry with each other but how they deal with those issues is what makes their relationships succeed.
Those are the two ends of the bell curve. Most normal people reside somewhere in the middle, of course, as did Grandma and Grandpa. From day to day, they might even move back and forth along the curve from good, to better and back again. There were some indications that Grandma and Grandpa might have been better off divorcing, however, they were comfortable with each other and could manage their feelings because of their vast experiences with each other.
Grandpa used to grow the most beautiful garden. His green thumb could be seen from space, to be sure. Or at least, from the top of the water tower! It was a luxury beyond compare to have the best and freshest produce of my life. During season of course. When the apricots came on, I indulged to the point of being stupid about it. It didn't matter how much I ate, though, I could never put a dent in the production of that apricot tree. I've never enjoyed store-bought apricots since because they simply don't have nearly the exquisite flavor I remember. Grandpa gave them away by the bucket load and still finished the apricot season by dumping a lot of it in the trash. Even the birds had their fill. The same was true of the peaches, plums, nectarines, etc. Grandpa wanted all of them and had them. Even a pomegranate tree, a fig tree and a Thompson seedless grape arbor!
I think Grandma was the only one who bore a slight resentment about all the produce but probably not just because of the produce itself. The problem was, Grandpa would get up first thing in the morning before the birds, even, and go pick all the produce in the garden that had ripened the previous day. Later, Grandma would go into the kitchen after getting up and find several dozen pounds of produce in the kitchen, on the counters, in the sink, in a bag on the floor, all waiting for something to be done to it. Grandma complained a bit. Not a lot. She knew the benefit of the garden but dangit; she just didn't like the frequent surprise and the implied expectation that it was her job to deal with all of this. She never complained to Grandpa about it that I heard, though. She mentioned it up to me just once after weeks of putting up various produce.
Then she rolled up her sleeves and canned or dried all of it. I would come home at the end of the day to a kitchen counter and a dining room table loaded down with jars of apricots, corn, green beans, peaches, or whatever else she had spent the day preserving. The jars were beautiful. Most of them disappeared into the basement storage and were never seen again, unfortunately, but there were plenty of times when we did retrieve a jar during the winter for a dessert. Good stuff. A significant amount of that stored produce, unfortunately, went bad as things do and had to be disposed. This was more of a testament to how much produce was harvested and canned by Grandma and Grandpa rather than that they didn't necessarily handle it right. It was just too much for them to keep up with.
Two things drove them to create all of this sustenance: The church was a driving force for food storage and insisted that people put up a year's supply to carry people in the event of an disaster. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course. In the early years, however, the church didn't promote the management of such storage and quite a few families out there put up food only to find that they hadn't taken care of it properly and it became a total loss. Grandma and Grandpa seemed to know what they were doing but were overwhelmed with the quantity of food they produced and they refused to waste any of their garden's production. Church duty called and they kept working it.
I wonder just how many people these days even know how to do this any more? Is there any need any more? Grandma wasn't about to waste any of it, that's for sure, and Grandpa wasn't about to not grow it so long as he had space to grow stuff. The other driving force behind their production and storage was that they had been children of hard times and they worked hard and sweated and bled and produced for themselves and then saved and saved and saved, whether it was money or the production of their garden. They were the hardest working people I ever met alongside my maternal grandparents and nothing ever stopped them.
In spite of a few minor snipes they directed toward each other, they never fought with each other while I stayed with them in Thatcher. There were a couple of occasions when Grandma would bring up something Grandpa had done thirty years ago and he would sit there nodding his head and giving an, "Uh huh," now and again. Later, he would tell me, "I suppose that actually happened but for the life of me, I can't remember it. It's just not worth arguing about." He was right; it wasn't worth arguing about but if she had a reason to bring it up to him again these many years later, who was he to say that her need was not important? Let her go on about it. There was a minor complaint in his comment but not to her.
By the same token, Grandpa would undertake to accomplish a project to the inconvenience of Grandma and her daily comfort. The garden produce was a significant example. She complained to me a couple of times in terms of, "I wish he wouldn't . . , " but she didn't mention it to him. She knew it made him happy to be doing things and working on something or other. I'm sure that if they had lived in Thatcher long enough, Grandpa would have had a skyscraper on the property, built by his own hand still producing fruits and vegetables worthy of a property with five times the acreage!
There was a plaque hanging in the kitchen which I'll never forget. I don't recall if Grandpa made it or bought it in a store but it expressed his feelings for Grandma in, "the most perfect terms," his words to me. It said,
"I don't love you because I need you, I need you because I love you."
This profound statement has remained with me ever since. It suggests more thought than I can even write out over time and the more I reflect on it, the more meaning it has and the more I engage in a relationship with my life mate, the more it suggests what that relationship is all about. I seem to recall that Grandpa had given the plaque to Grandma later on in their relationship, something that bears a great deal of meaning well beyond the empty platitudes a young man often uses to flatter his woman.
After so many years of marriage, Grandpa was still deeply in love with his wife. Grandma was in love with her man. Quite often, I could see it in their eyes when they spoke of each other to me in private. When Grandpa told me of the plaque and how he felt about it and about Grandma, his eyes grew misty and touched with an emotion that he wouldn't ever let out for another person. He never let it out for me to see except for that small bit that he couldn't hide, then he moved on to a different topic. Grandma sometimes told stories of Grandpa's past accomplishments with a similar touch of feeling in her face and a barely perceptible tremble in her voice which spoke of admiration, adoration and pride.
When it is said, "Love knows no bounds," I think it's right and good to say that Grandma and Grandpa were an example of that kind of love.
--Wag--
Also, to clarify, Don and Emily are my grandparents on my father's side.
----------
Watching Grandma and Grandpa interact with one another during my year with them was sometimes an adventure, sometimes a treat, other times curious and always educational, even if to determine, "Hey, I better not do that!" Grandma and Grandpa had been married for a lot of years and that meant a successful relationship, right? Ummmm, yes. In many ways, yes. In other ways, not so much but to be fair, I think most relationships are like this. Some couples live together for decades and cannot be said to have a successful relationship. Many times, they have just been roommates for a very long time and avoided divorce only because it was supposedly, "bad."
Other couples do have successful relationships and after a few years of learning how, they move right along, happy and content and able to confront issues with maturity and tact. Note, I did not say, "without anger and strife." Successful couples can still get frustrated and angry with each other but how they deal with those issues is what makes their relationships succeed.
Those are the two ends of the bell curve. Most normal people reside somewhere in the middle, of course, as did Grandma and Grandpa. From day to day, they might even move back and forth along the curve from good, to better and back again. There were some indications that Grandma and Grandpa might have been better off divorcing, however, they were comfortable with each other and could manage their feelings because of their vast experiences with each other.
Grandpa used to grow the most beautiful garden. His green thumb could be seen from space, to be sure. Or at least, from the top of the water tower! It was a luxury beyond compare to have the best and freshest produce of my life. During season of course. When the apricots came on, I indulged to the point of being stupid about it. It didn't matter how much I ate, though, I could never put a dent in the production of that apricot tree. I've never enjoyed store-bought apricots since because they simply don't have nearly the exquisite flavor I remember. Grandpa gave them away by the bucket load and still finished the apricot season by dumping a lot of it in the trash. Even the birds had their fill. The same was true of the peaches, plums, nectarines, etc. Grandpa wanted all of them and had them. Even a pomegranate tree, a fig tree and a Thompson seedless grape arbor!
I think Grandma was the only one who bore a slight resentment about all the produce but probably not just because of the produce itself. The problem was, Grandpa would get up first thing in the morning before the birds, even, and go pick all the produce in the garden that had ripened the previous day. Later, Grandma would go into the kitchen after getting up and find several dozen pounds of produce in the kitchen, on the counters, in the sink, in a bag on the floor, all waiting for something to be done to it. Grandma complained a bit. Not a lot. She knew the benefit of the garden but dangit; she just didn't like the frequent surprise and the implied expectation that it was her job to deal with all of this. She never complained to Grandpa about it that I heard, though. She mentioned it up to me just once after weeks of putting up various produce.
Then she rolled up her sleeves and canned or dried all of it. I would come home at the end of the day to a kitchen counter and a dining room table loaded down with jars of apricots, corn, green beans, peaches, or whatever else she had spent the day preserving. The jars were beautiful. Most of them disappeared into the basement storage and were never seen again, unfortunately, but there were plenty of times when we did retrieve a jar during the winter for a dessert. Good stuff. A significant amount of that stored produce, unfortunately, went bad as things do and had to be disposed. This was more of a testament to how much produce was harvested and canned by Grandma and Grandpa rather than that they didn't necessarily handle it right. It was just too much for them to keep up with.
Two things drove them to create all of this sustenance: The church was a driving force for food storage and insisted that people put up a year's supply to carry people in the event of an disaster. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course. In the early years, however, the church didn't promote the management of such storage and quite a few families out there put up food only to find that they hadn't taken care of it properly and it became a total loss. Grandma and Grandpa seemed to know what they were doing but were overwhelmed with the quantity of food they produced and they refused to waste any of their garden's production. Church duty called and they kept working it.
I wonder just how many people these days even know how to do this any more? Is there any need any more? Grandma wasn't about to waste any of it, that's for sure, and Grandpa wasn't about to not grow it so long as he had space to grow stuff. The other driving force behind their production and storage was that they had been children of hard times and they worked hard and sweated and bled and produced for themselves and then saved and saved and saved, whether it was money or the production of their garden. They were the hardest working people I ever met alongside my maternal grandparents and nothing ever stopped them.
In spite of a few minor snipes they directed toward each other, they never fought with each other while I stayed with them in Thatcher. There were a couple of occasions when Grandma would bring up something Grandpa had done thirty years ago and he would sit there nodding his head and giving an, "Uh huh," now and again. Later, he would tell me, "I suppose that actually happened but for the life of me, I can't remember it. It's just not worth arguing about." He was right; it wasn't worth arguing about but if she had a reason to bring it up to him again these many years later, who was he to say that her need was not important? Let her go on about it. There was a minor complaint in his comment but not to her.
By the same token, Grandpa would undertake to accomplish a project to the inconvenience of Grandma and her daily comfort. The garden produce was a significant example. She complained to me a couple of times in terms of, "I wish he wouldn't . . , " but she didn't mention it to him. She knew it made him happy to be doing things and working on something or other. I'm sure that if they had lived in Thatcher long enough, Grandpa would have had a skyscraper on the property, built by his own hand still producing fruits and vegetables worthy of a property with five times the acreage!
There was a plaque hanging in the kitchen which I'll never forget. I don't recall if Grandpa made it or bought it in a store but it expressed his feelings for Grandma in, "the most perfect terms," his words to me. It said,
"I don't love you because I need you, I need you because I love you."
This profound statement has remained with me ever since. It suggests more thought than I can even write out over time and the more I reflect on it, the more meaning it has and the more I engage in a relationship with my life mate, the more it suggests what that relationship is all about. I seem to recall that Grandpa had given the plaque to Grandma later on in their relationship, something that bears a great deal of meaning well beyond the empty platitudes a young man often uses to flatter his woman.
After so many years of marriage, Grandpa was still deeply in love with his wife. Grandma was in love with her man. Quite often, I could see it in their eyes when they spoke of each other to me in private. When Grandpa told me of the plaque and how he felt about it and about Grandma, his eyes grew misty and touched with an emotion that he wouldn't ever let out for another person. He never let it out for me to see except for that small bit that he couldn't hide, then he moved on to a different topic. Grandma sometimes told stories of Grandpa's past accomplishments with a similar touch of feeling in her face and a barely perceptible tremble in her voice which spoke of admiration, adoration and pride.
When it is said, "Love knows no bounds," I think it's right and good to say that Grandma and Grandpa were an example of that kind of love.
--Wag--
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Memoirs of Don and Emily
Note: This is a more expanded version of a post I made to our family online group. I take a bit more license here to be more honest and less politically correct as I was with my family. My reasons for doing so may be a bit obscure at the moment but over time, it may become more apparent.
Also, to clarify, Don and Emily are my grandparents on my father's side.
------------------------------------
Memoirs of Don and Emily
Early in 1982, my father came to me and said, "Son, with 10 kids to feed, I'll never be able to help pay your way through college so if you want to go, you better keep your grades up and hope for some scholarships." That was about the extent of that conversation. A 16-year kid now saddled with the challenge of paying his own way through college. We were hillbillies living 10 miles out of town and job prospects were slim at best even IF we had enough cars running to get me back and forth. Fortunately, I wasn't the first teenager in the world to have that problem thrust upon him and I'm pleased to know I was not the last!
The scholarship idea sounded pretty good, though. Free money! Of all the advice I ever received from my father, this was probably the only one that ever turned out to be of much value over the long term and probably the only advice of his I even really remember. I started working hard in school for the first time and brought a 2.90 GPA up to a 3.67 by the middle of my senior year. Not bad for a year's effort. I think that's the same GPA I had when I graduated or perhaps slightly better. At some point in the middle of my senior year, I wrote a letter to Grandpa and asked if he would be willing to house me while I went to school at Eastern Arizona College in Thatcher where he and Grandma lived.
In the meantime, I applied to EAC and also applied for Pell Grants and several other scholarships and grants.
Grandpa returned a very complimentary letter. He informed me that I had been polite and deferential and that it had surprised them to read a letter from a "young man" with that much maturity and grace. He stated that because of my letter, he and Grandma would love to have me come and stay with them! I don't think they quite realized at the time what they were really getting into! In his letter, they offered to drive from Thatcher, AZ to Sullivan, MO for my graduation and then I could ride back with them to start a summer semester at the college. I accepted their offer immediately, of course.
Shortly after that, due to my improved grades plus the poverty level in which we lived at the time, I received several grants and scholarships which not only paid for my tuition and books but also room and board. EAC also accepted me as a student and I was off and running. Grandma and Grandpa were extraordinarily generous and refused any sort of payment for boarding me or for any of their other costs for that matter. They also insisted on paying for numerous perks which added to my personal comfort. In short they spoiled me quite badly!
One of the more important things they did was to get legal paperwork completed so I could be on their health insurance while I was in school. I don't know how much that cost them but it was plenty, I have little doubt. I'll be eternally grateful to them for all of the extra assists they gave to me. It made my life during my first year of college worry and stress free.
Sometimes, the juxtaposition of their generosity was slightly humorous. Early on, they bought me a cassette player radio combo which was not top of the line but was quite good. It was the alarm clock I needed the most but it was helpful to have the music and everything else along with it. Some nice little features for its day. The point is, it was pretty high tech for the time. At the same time I started my first English class, they also bought me a typewriter. Not the IBM Selectric which was pretty high-end back then but an old run-down manual typewriter. Yup. No power at all. The damn thing worked, though! I did all of my term papers and compositions on that thing for a year. I wonder to this day if they thought it would, "build character!" I suspect they got it just out of nostalgia. I wish I still had that typewriter, just for the memories.
As a result of their monetary generosity, I was able to really focus on my schoolwork and took 21 hours of core classes the first semester and 22 the second. Grandpa helped me tremendously with my first summer English Comp and Critical Thinking class. Because of his tutoring, I was able to pull an easy 'A' in that class and in several others for which I wrote term papers, etc. I don't think I ever got less than an 'A' on any term paper while I lived with Grandpa and the education I received from him was priceless beyond compare. It has served me to this day. Granted, I'm not the perfect writer but I'm light years ahead of where I would have been without his assistance.
The nice thing is, he didn't just point out errors I had made, he told me why they were errors and coached me on form and style, usage and grammar, etc. Things I had missed, somehow, while sleeping, er, sitting in high school English classes!
Ahhhh, the memories. Grandma and Grandpa both insisted on focusing me toward things they felt were important. Piano was very high on the list, probably #2. Not only did they pay for my private lessons but, at their insistence, every morning at 4:30am, I rose and showered and then hit the piano for at least 90 minutes of practice before classes. As time went on, they both expressed to me on several occasions that it helped them sleep better in the early hours of the morning. On occasion, Grandma would have a headache in the afternoon and if I happened to be playing or practicing, she would lay down for a nap and the piano would soothe her to sleep. It's a comfort to me to know how much they appreciated it and it was an honor then to play for them.
As a footnote, Grandma loved Chopin but at the time, I wasn't capable of playing any of it. It was a pleasure years later to finally be able to play, "Fantasie Impromptu," and, "Ballade in G minor," among others for her on a couple of occasions. The ecstasy in Grandma's voice and in her eyes was all I needed to see and hear in order to motivate me to excel at the piano for many years afterward.
More to follow as time allows!
--Wag--
Also, to clarify, Don and Emily are my grandparents on my father's side.
------------------------------------
Memoirs of Don and Emily
Early in 1982, my father came to me and said, "Son, with 10 kids to feed, I'll never be able to help pay your way through college so if you want to go, you better keep your grades up and hope for some scholarships." That was about the extent of that conversation. A 16-year kid now saddled with the challenge of paying his own way through college. We were hillbillies living 10 miles out of town and job prospects were slim at best even IF we had enough cars running to get me back and forth. Fortunately, I wasn't the first teenager in the world to have that problem thrust upon him and I'm pleased to know I was not the last!
The scholarship idea sounded pretty good, though. Free money! Of all the advice I ever received from my father, this was probably the only one that ever turned out to be of much value over the long term and probably the only advice of his I even really remember. I started working hard in school for the first time and brought a 2.90 GPA up to a 3.67 by the middle of my senior year. Not bad for a year's effort. I think that's the same GPA I had when I graduated or perhaps slightly better. At some point in the middle of my senior year, I wrote a letter to Grandpa and asked if he would be willing to house me while I went to school at Eastern Arizona College in Thatcher where he and Grandma lived.
In the meantime, I applied to EAC and also applied for Pell Grants and several other scholarships and grants.
Grandpa returned a very complimentary letter. He informed me that I had been polite and deferential and that it had surprised them to read a letter from a "young man" with that much maturity and grace. He stated that because of my letter, he and Grandma would love to have me come and stay with them! I don't think they quite realized at the time what they were really getting into! In his letter, they offered to drive from Thatcher, AZ to Sullivan, MO for my graduation and then I could ride back with them to start a summer semester at the college. I accepted their offer immediately, of course.
Shortly after that, due to my improved grades plus the poverty level in which we lived at the time, I received several grants and scholarships which not only paid for my tuition and books but also room and board. EAC also accepted me as a student and I was off and running. Grandma and Grandpa were extraordinarily generous and refused any sort of payment for boarding me or for any of their other costs for that matter. They also insisted on paying for numerous perks which added to my personal comfort. In short they spoiled me quite badly!
One of the more important things they did was to get legal paperwork completed so I could be on their health insurance while I was in school. I don't know how much that cost them but it was plenty, I have little doubt. I'll be eternally grateful to them for all of the extra assists they gave to me. It made my life during my first year of college worry and stress free.
Sometimes, the juxtaposition of their generosity was slightly humorous. Early on, they bought me a cassette player radio combo which was not top of the line but was quite good. It was the alarm clock I needed the most but it was helpful to have the music and everything else along with it. Some nice little features for its day. The point is, it was pretty high tech for the time. At the same time I started my first English class, they also bought me a typewriter. Not the IBM Selectric which was pretty high-end back then but an old run-down manual typewriter. Yup. No power at all. The damn thing worked, though! I did all of my term papers and compositions on that thing for a year. I wonder to this day if they thought it would, "build character!" I suspect they got it just out of nostalgia. I wish I still had that typewriter, just for the memories.
As a result of their monetary generosity, I was able to really focus on my schoolwork and took 21 hours of core classes the first semester and 22 the second. Grandpa helped me tremendously with my first summer English Comp and Critical Thinking class. Because of his tutoring, I was able to pull an easy 'A' in that class and in several others for which I wrote term papers, etc. I don't think I ever got less than an 'A' on any term paper while I lived with Grandpa and the education I received from him was priceless beyond compare. It has served me to this day. Granted, I'm not the perfect writer but I'm light years ahead of where I would have been without his assistance.
The nice thing is, he didn't just point out errors I had made, he told me why they were errors and coached me on form and style, usage and grammar, etc. Things I had missed, somehow, while sleeping, er, sitting in high school English classes!
Ahhhh, the memories. Grandma and Grandpa both insisted on focusing me toward things they felt were important. Piano was very high on the list, probably #2. Not only did they pay for my private lessons but, at their insistence, every morning at 4:30am, I rose and showered and then hit the piano for at least 90 minutes of practice before classes. As time went on, they both expressed to me on several occasions that it helped them sleep better in the early hours of the morning. On occasion, Grandma would have a headache in the afternoon and if I happened to be playing or practicing, she would lay down for a nap and the piano would soothe her to sleep. It's a comfort to me to know how much they appreciated it and it was an honor then to play for them.
As a footnote, Grandma loved Chopin but at the time, I wasn't capable of playing any of it. It was a pleasure years later to finally be able to play, "Fantasie Impromptu," and, "Ballade in G minor," among others for her on a couple of occasions. The ecstasy in Grandma's voice and in her eyes was all I needed to see and hear in order to motivate me to excel at the piano for many years afterward.
More to follow as time allows!
--Wag--
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
A better place
Why is it when people hear of another person's passing, they offer this comfort to survivors: "They're in a better place."
Is that really always the case? How would you know, anyway? A few years ago, I wrote a paper for a class about people's right to die. A key source document was Derek Humphries,' "Final Exit." The whole thing about it is, What is life?
A fundamental question is, can a person in a wheelchair enjoy his or her life? Absolutely. Can another person confined thusly have a miserable existence? Of course. Who gets to decide which one gets to enjoy life and which has to suffer? Assuming there is no god making this decision and that life just happens, who gets to decide? Congress? May the stars fall from the sky first. The family? Who's to say they will make an unbiased decision. A court? No better than congress and assuredly not unbiased, people.
The point made by that long ago paper is that the decision should be made by the person whose life is in question. There are those who can enjoy a life as a paraplegic or quadriplegic. I suppose they are to be admired. Let them live their lives as best they know how. Nobody else is in a place to determine what is right for those individuals. Only the individual should decide.
By the same token, if a helpless confined person decides that life has already ended for them, who are we to say they are required to live? The decision is no more ours than the decision that a guy should die if he wants to live. Why would we be in a better position to tell a person he should live if he wants to die?
I'm not talking about your healthy individual suffering from depression who is looking for a way to commit suicide. No, those people should be helped with whatever it is they need in order to make the decision to live. They have a treatable problem and should be assisted to take every opportunity life has to offer.
No, I'm talking about the person whose physical ability to live has been severely impaired and for whom opportunity has been severely limited.
Sooooo, having said all of that, my original point is, why is it that people think that when someone dies, they should say, "It's just as well. They're in a better place now?" How on earth or heaven would they know? Suppose you're a believer, maybe the guy is now in hell treading flames? How would you know that the person is sitting on the right hand of a (sadistic) god? Regardless, what if there nothing after this life, maybe the guy really wanted to live, not die, how does that put him in a better place? I should think that it's only a better place if the person was really interested in dying in order to end suffering at the end of a well-lived life.
Maybe I'm picking on a point which hasn't much impact but hey. how many people have ever thought of this? I've never heard it discussed.
--Wag--
Is that really always the case? How would you know, anyway? A few years ago, I wrote a paper for a class about people's right to die. A key source document was Derek Humphries,' "Final Exit." The whole thing about it is, What is life?
A fundamental question is, can a person in a wheelchair enjoy his or her life? Absolutely. Can another person confined thusly have a miserable existence? Of course. Who gets to decide which one gets to enjoy life and which has to suffer? Assuming there is no god making this decision and that life just happens, who gets to decide? Congress? May the stars fall from the sky first. The family? Who's to say they will make an unbiased decision. A court? No better than congress and assuredly not unbiased, people.
The point made by that long ago paper is that the decision should be made by the person whose life is in question. There are those who can enjoy a life as a paraplegic or quadriplegic. I suppose they are to be admired. Let them live their lives as best they know how. Nobody else is in a place to determine what is right for those individuals. Only the individual should decide.
By the same token, if a helpless confined person decides that life has already ended for them, who are we to say they are required to live? The decision is no more ours than the decision that a guy should die if he wants to live. Why would we be in a better position to tell a person he should live if he wants to die?
I'm not talking about your healthy individual suffering from depression who is looking for a way to commit suicide. No, those people should be helped with whatever it is they need in order to make the decision to live. They have a treatable problem and should be assisted to take every opportunity life has to offer.
No, I'm talking about the person whose physical ability to live has been severely impaired and for whom opportunity has been severely limited.
Sooooo, having said all of that, my original point is, why is it that people think that when someone dies, they should say, "It's just as well. They're in a better place now?" How on earth or heaven would they know? Suppose you're a believer, maybe the guy is now in hell treading flames? How would you know that the person is sitting on the right hand of a (sadistic) god? Regardless, what if there nothing after this life, maybe the guy really wanted to live, not die, how does that put him in a better place? I should think that it's only a better place if the person was really interested in dying in order to end suffering at the end of a well-lived life.
Maybe I'm picking on a point which hasn't much impact but hey. how many people have ever thought of this? I've never heard it discussed.
--Wag--
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Nobody is crying to get OUT!
America seems to be taking a beating these days. We get verbal abuse from every population in the world but the fact is, this is a damn nice place to live. Millions of people all over the world are risking life and limb to get here for one thing and one thing only: Opportunity.
Nowhere else on earth does it exist in such abundance. Look at Saudi Arabia. Rich with oil money to the extent the really don't have a clue what to do with it. At least, the people who have it. That means, the royal family and their people. They're rolling nicely. The average Saudi, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have a whole lot of it and more importantly than anything else, seems to have little opportunity to get any of it.
There's that word again. Opportunity. Look at Mexico. Same thing. Most of South and Central America. Cuba. China. Indonesia. With the exception of Europe, where is ample opportunity besides America? Even comparing Europe and the U.S., the opportunity you have in Europe is taxed to oblivion. Oh, wait. Don't forget about Canada but there again, you're taxed to death!
Only in the U.S do we have the wealth of opportunity so great WE don't really know what to do with it. Opportunity great and small. Opportunity far and wide. Opportunity for education, experience, wealth, leisure, social interaction with your chosen people. Opportunity exists for health, peace, prosperity, information, religion . . . . Even the opportunity to say how much you love it here. Or hate it here.
What saddens me is just how many people who are here, enjoying all of these opportunities (or choosing not to), are so intent on expressing their hatred of it. But what's always more telling than words, as we all know, is action.
These people aren't leaving. When was the last time you heard of a boat full of people drowning en route to Cuba? Illegal (non-criminal) American immigrants in Mexico? People risking their lives and well-being and even their families to get from America to China? Never? Me either.
People stay here. They speak loudly with their actions that frankly, this place is a pretty damn nice place to live. Indeed, it's the nicest place on the planet to live. There is no better place.
You know what else we have the opportunity to do? Change things. We have the opportunity to make changes to everything under the sun and improve everything we see. We get to change out our leaders and get them to do what we want. I don't think there are very many other places in the world where this can be done quite as well as here.
Frankly, I'm impressed with this country. I still believe in it, in spite of it's flaws, in spite of it's weaknesses. I see that even though we frequently waste the opportunities which are so freely given to us by this great country, we still have ample left to go around.
It's a grand thing, isn't it?
--Wag--
Nowhere else on earth does it exist in such abundance. Look at Saudi Arabia. Rich with oil money to the extent the really don't have a clue what to do with it. At least, the people who have it. That means, the royal family and their people. They're rolling nicely. The average Saudi, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have a whole lot of it and more importantly than anything else, seems to have little opportunity to get any of it.
There's that word again. Opportunity. Look at Mexico. Same thing. Most of South and Central America. Cuba. China. Indonesia. With the exception of Europe, where is ample opportunity besides America? Even comparing Europe and the U.S., the opportunity you have in Europe is taxed to oblivion. Oh, wait. Don't forget about Canada but there again, you're taxed to death!
Only in the U.S do we have the wealth of opportunity so great WE don't really know what to do with it. Opportunity great and small. Opportunity far and wide. Opportunity for education, experience, wealth, leisure, social interaction with your chosen people. Opportunity exists for health, peace, prosperity, information, religion . . . . Even the opportunity to say how much you love it here. Or hate it here.
What saddens me is just how many people who are here, enjoying all of these opportunities (or choosing not to), are so intent on expressing their hatred of it. But what's always more telling than words, as we all know, is action.
These people aren't leaving. When was the last time you heard of a boat full of people drowning en route to Cuba? Illegal (non-criminal) American immigrants in Mexico? People risking their lives and well-being and even their families to get from America to China? Never? Me either.
People stay here. They speak loudly with their actions that frankly, this place is a pretty damn nice place to live. Indeed, it's the nicest place on the planet to live. There is no better place.
You know what else we have the opportunity to do? Change things. We have the opportunity to make changes to everything under the sun and improve everything we see. We get to change out our leaders and get them to do what we want. I don't think there are very many other places in the world where this can be done quite as well as here.
Frankly, I'm impressed with this country. I still believe in it, in spite of it's flaws, in spite of it's weaknesses. I see that even though we frequently waste the opportunities which are so freely given to us by this great country, we still have ample left to go around.
It's a grand thing, isn't it?
--Wag--
Friday, July 04, 2008
Writer's Block
Thank gawd I don't make my living as a writer. I've had a bad bout of writer's block lately. For the last couple of years, eh? Mostly, I can't decide if I want to be funny, which is difficult enough as it is, or if I want to be serious.
My wife told me the other day, "You're funny!"
I responded, "Yeah, but looks aren't everything!"
Ba dum dum.
Commentary is good but all too often, I feel like I'm just reinventing the wheel. I mean, just how many more opinions do we need about global warming, the pending political elections, religion, the crappy economy, etc. We do NOT need another movie reviewer on line, that's for sure.
Funny and sad at the same time: The other day, I bought two new stocks. They both tanked within 5 minutes of being bought. It's as if the other people who owned them were just waiting for me to buy and then all together, they all sold off all at once. I didn't lose a LOT of value but definitely an instantaneous loss.
THAT is a sucky economy. A recession is when your co-worker gets laid off. A depression is when YOU get laid off. Anyone know who originally said that?
Jeez. I'm writing about the economy without prior warning. My apologies. That's what I get for writing at 3:30 am.
I should just go surf for some porn but even that is boring any more. At least it doesn't require conscious thought.
Or just go back to sleep.
G'nite.
--Wag--
My wife told me the other day, "You're funny!"
I responded, "Yeah, but looks aren't everything!"
Ba dum dum.
Commentary is good but all too often, I feel like I'm just reinventing the wheel. I mean, just how many more opinions do we need about global warming, the pending political elections, religion, the crappy economy, etc. We do NOT need another movie reviewer on line, that's for sure.
Funny and sad at the same time: The other day, I bought two new stocks. They both tanked within 5 minutes of being bought. It's as if the other people who owned them were just waiting for me to buy and then all together, they all sold off all at once. I didn't lose a LOT of value but definitely an instantaneous loss.
THAT is a sucky economy. A recession is when your co-worker gets laid off. A depression is when YOU get laid off. Anyone know who originally said that?
Jeez. I'm writing about the economy without prior warning. My apologies. That's what I get for writing at 3:30 am.
I should just go surf for some porn but even that is boring any more. At least it doesn't require conscious thought.
Or just go back to sleep.
G'nite.
--Wag--
Thursday, July 03, 2008
How to attract hot chicks
Posted this elsewhere recently but thought it would fit in well here.
True story which has happened to me on more than a couple of occasions. Details have been changed to protect the innocent.
Scenario is, I'm sitting in my office as I generally do at my job. Nobody has bothered me all day. I'm getting a trainload of work done. 4:00 rolls around and I'm doing well.
All of a sudden, I have to fart, but I'm doing well so I don't want to get up to go outside. Lean over and tear off an SBD. It's a rank mutha, too.
Almost like there was a director in a crappy comedy movie making this production, the hot chick from marketing walks in and needs to discuss something that A) could have waited till next month to give the air time to clear or B) it's too damn late for the discussion to do any damn good at all. It's worth mentioning that marketing personnel ALWAYS call me on the phone for such discussions because their building is a half mile or so away from ours.
In the meantime, the SBD continues to scream its presence. There is no way you could miss it. She doesn't say a thing and keeps a straight face. I work hard to extend the discussion as long as possible both because she has great hooters but also because I shouldn't have to suffer with the fumes all by myself.
Sooooo, since this happens over and over again I can only assume that farts attract hot chicks. In fact, I'm beginning to hypothesize that farts can actually breach time and space and teleport hot chicks right to your side. Further testing is required.
Try it some time! Keep some Febreze nearby.
--Wag--
True story which has happened to me on more than a couple of occasions. Details have been changed to protect the innocent.
Scenario is, I'm sitting in my office as I generally do at my job. Nobody has bothered me all day. I'm getting a trainload of work done. 4:00 rolls around and I'm doing well.
All of a sudden, I have to fart, but I'm doing well so I don't want to get up to go outside. Lean over and tear off an SBD. It's a rank mutha, too.
Almost like there was a director in a crappy comedy movie making this production, the hot chick from marketing walks in and needs to discuss something that A) could have waited till next month to give the air time to clear or B) it's too damn late for the discussion to do any damn good at all. It's worth mentioning that marketing personnel ALWAYS call me on the phone for such discussions because their building is a half mile or so away from ours.
In the meantime, the SBD continues to scream its presence. There is no way you could miss it. She doesn't say a thing and keeps a straight face. I work hard to extend the discussion as long as possible both because she has great hooters but also because I shouldn't have to suffer with the fumes all by myself.
Sooooo, since this happens over and over again I can only assume that farts attract hot chicks. In fact, I'm beginning to hypothesize that farts can actually breach time and space and teleport hot chicks right to your side. Further testing is required.
Try it some time! Keep some Febreze nearby.
--Wag--
Friday, January 18, 2008
Biker T-shirts
Check out this site for Bike T-shirts! Motorcycle t-shirts, that is!
Great service, fast delivery if you want it and you won't come away dissatisfied. Of course, I get shirts and hoodies with my Busa logo on them but they have stuff for all bike brands.
Enjoy!
--Wag--
Yes, the site is owned by the guy who runs the Busa Board I use all the time. Nice guy and you'll love the product!
Great service, fast delivery if you want it and you won't come away dissatisfied. Of course, I get shirts and hoodies with my Busa logo on them but they have stuff for all bike brands.
Enjoy!
--Wag--
Yes, the site is owned by the guy who runs the Busa Board I use all the time. Nice guy and you'll love the product!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
