Sudoku and life

This puzzle was fresh and new when I started, I had a fair amount of confidence it was going to be easily solved. Answers fell onto the page pretty quickly and I was seeing how the end would go from the way the beginning was progressing.  But somewhere a number didn't fit, well that's odd, but I can just keep going and that will probably resolve itself easy enough, sometimes that happens you know.  Problems just sort themselves out on their own sometimes, right?  But then another number didn't fit and another number that I was sure had to go in a square made another number in an adjacent square not work anymore.  What's going on here?  I buckle down and try harder but the more I try the more wrong answers I get.  Finally, I quit trying and go to the answer section.  I'm not going to cheat, just get a little help.  I start erasing wrong answers, but I don't write down the correct ones, that would be cheating, I just need a reset to get rid of the wrong answers.  Fair enough right?  I'm human, I make mistakes right?  Right.  Then I go back to work, this time with less enthusiasm but still I'm going to get this puzzle done for sure.  The trouble is the page is messy from erasing all the wrong numbers and the new numbers don't look so spiffy as I write over the erased squares, but, with a little more help from the answers section I get it under control and pretty soon the puzzle is complete.  All the numbers are right now and I made it to the end.  Not like I expected, the puzzle is tarnished and no one is giving me accolades for a puzzle well done, my head droops a little and I go on to the next puzzle.  Time goes on and eventually I have completed a whole book of puzzles, some well done, most rather mediocre, a few done really badly.  This puzzle book is my life, at one point enthusiastic and full of answers, but eventually tarnished and just glad to get by with whatever help I could find along the way.  No greatness here, never have been great, never will be, but that's OK, daydreams of greatness don't bring greatness, Greatness brings its own set of problems that I don't want anyway, so I'll just keep on doing what I know best- getting it done the best I can with whatever help I can find.

 

My children’s toilet paper revenge

 Please understand I really wasn’t trying to be so hard on you kids, times were tough, money was scarce, so we made tough choices.  Toilet paper was just not very high on the list of niceties in our day. We bought the cheapest one to get the job done and if I had to choose between putting food on the table or nice toilet paper in the bathroom I’d do it again. Fortunately now it’s no longer a this or that decision, we can afford good food and nice cushy toilet paper.

I think I have uncovered a revenge plot while visiting some of you lately. I think the minute my car pulls onto your street the orders are given to make the big toilet paper switcheroo and everyone jumps into action swiftly switching out nice cushy two ply toilet paper in all your bathrooms for the cheapest thinnest single ply toilet paper you keep just for this occasion. This toilet paper is what my friend Dan calls “John Wayne” toilet paper because he says “It don’t take no crap from nobody” except he doesn’t say crap. It’s probably imported from China and made from recycled wax paper.  

So look, I get it, we put you through a lot but please have a heart and put the cushy two ply back in the bathroom.

The old daddy birdie

 About once a year birdies all over the world talk about their daddy birdies with reverenced tones about how good a daddy birdie they are and sometimes special gifts are given or dinners and special messages sent to their birdie daddy.  This happens to me, I have six birdies who send me good wishes on this day and I sometimes wonder how this all came about.  I never set out to be a good birdie daddy, it just happened, but how did it happen?

Well my first memory of a birdie daddy was when I was just a little birdie and my mommy birdie and daddy birdie let me sleep in their special nest with them, I loved it!  It was so warm and cozy!  But after a while I got pushed out of their nest into my own little nest and it wasn't so warm and cozy and I was scared and felt alone.  My older brother and sister birdies were all sleeping in their own birdies nests and doing quite fine so I decided this was just the way it had to be.  Besides a new little birdie was now sleeping with my mommy and daddy birdies and she was so cute and tiny!  At least our nests were all close together in the same tree so it wasn't too bad, but still I sometimes cried at my mommy's nest door to come in but she said no and so I eventually gave up on that idea.  Plus I got to be a bigger and bigger birdie and I didn't even fit in their nest anymore so it was all good.

In time my older brother and sister birdies flew away from our tree and found a new birdie to live with and they began having their own little birdie families.  I found that interesting, but somewhat sad because I missed them.  Also the little birdies they had were meesy and seemed kind of gross to me.  They would fuss and cry over just about anything and then spit up their food and worst of all they would poop in a diaper that the big birdies had to change- Phew!  It smelled really bad and I hated the thoughts of getting my hands messy with anything as gross as that!

Then one day a pretty little birdie offered me some delicious cookies and I really liked them!  They were even better than my mommy birdie's cookies.  She kept giving me cookies and I decided I liked that pretty little birdie and that we should make our own nest in a new tree just like my older brother and sister birdies did.  Up until then I never really thought about how nice it would be to have my own nest in my own tree.  My pretty little birdie had all kinds of ideas on how to make the nest nicer and we set about working on the nest with much enthusiasm.  Pretty soon I found out that mating was more fun than playing football, working on the farm, or even eating!  

So mating and working kept my busy for a good while, until my pretty little birdie said she was going to have a little baby birdie just like my brother and sister birdies had.  I was surprised that baby birdies could be had so easily!  I wasn't so sure I wanted one of those crying, fussing, spitting up, pooping baby birdies but once they start to come, you can't send them back I was told.  When the babie birdy hatched I found he was so cute!  And the other birdies said he looked just like me!  How could I not be happy about that?  Yes, the baby birdie was fussy, cried over I don't know what, and made some pretty smelly, gross messes, but my pretty little birdie took such good care of him I rarely had to bother with any of that.  In fact taking care of the new baby birdie became my pretty birdie's passion and she fussed and coddled him day and night.  Sometimes I felt like I was all alone in my own nest with my new little family even though we were all together.  In time things eased up a little and me and my pretty birdie would spend some time together and wouldn't you know it?  Another little birdie was on his way!  By then the first little birdie was getting a little big for the nest and we set him up with his own little nest.  It was just perfect and I thought any little birdie would just love it!  But he didn't, he stood at the door of our nest and cried to come in just like I had when I was a little birdie.  I knew we wouldn't all fit in one nest once the new birdie arrived so we worked at making the first little birdie as comfy as possible in his new nest and given lots of time and crying on his part, he finally agreed.

And so it went, another new little birdie would show up and the one before it had to be pushed out of the nest.  It got easier though as the older birdies started sleeping together in their new nests and they kept each other company.  This happened six times!  By then my pretty little birdie was showing signs of wear, yes, she still gushed over the newest baby birdie, but the gushings were not quite as enthusiastic and she was getting woefully behind on keeping all the nests up in our tree.  Of course I was busy during the day working for our food and to pay the forest manager for our tree but when I got home it was MY turn to spend some time with the birdies.  At first I wasn't sure what to do, but I found they like being read to, being told stories and in general just being played with.  Eventually I found we could watch cartoons together while my pretty little birdie desperately tried to get the nests all in order.  Cartoons were the greatest!  I could just lay around and do nothing but enjoy the cartoons and I was watching all the birdies at the same time.

In time the little birdies didn't want to just watch cartoons or be read to, they wanted to play soccer or be taken to music lessons and things like that so I kept pretty busy doing those sort of things.  And even better, I found the older the birdie, the more they could help me with work around the yard!  In fact they became so good at helping me that other birdie families hired them away from me to help them do their work!  But no worry, there was a steady supply of fresh birdies moving up the ranks to help me.   That is until the last birdie came up the ranks and then wasn't there to help me anymore, that was a sad day for old daddy birdie.  By then I was an old birdie and lots of things had gone on over the years.  All the baby birdies had grown up and left our tree and their nests and even my pretty little birdie wasn't so happy to be with me anymore. I had grown tired and not so fun to be with anymore.

But!!  On that special day my baby birdies, now much older, still tell me I was a good daddy birdie. I sometimes don't believe them when I think how I never really wanted to have a bunch of baby birdies and sometimes I wasn't even the good daddy birdie I could have been.  However, I think I'm graded on a curve and that's good for me, there were so many bad daddy birdies out there that made me look better than I really was.  Plus!! my baby birdies grew up to be smart, good, birdies and that makes me look even better than I deserve also.  

So all to say, even though I didn't know what I was doing, I tried to do my best most of the time and with the help from my former pretty little birdie we got them all out of the nests and it seems to be just enough to get happy daddy birdie greetings every year.

Love you crazy birdies, daddy birdie

Death stop bothering me

 Life is full of fun and money, tried sex once was sweet as honey.

Who would know that fun would pass, and sex and money they don't last?

All the while the years click by, seconds, minutes, days, they fly.

While hanging on to time quite tightly, thoughts of death sneak up nightly.

But I push the thoughts away, besides- I lived another day.

What could possibly go wrong, with a man so smart and strong?

Hearts don't fail or cancers come to people over sixty-one.

I'm sure of that as people die (sometimes younger ones than I).

Then I think of all my chores, on thoughts of death I slam the door.

Somehow death can't tackle me, I'm sprinting on eternally.

(I could keep that lie alive, better at age twenty-five).

Ugly thoughts of end of life are brought to me by aching knees, various pains, and short memory.

This old body's showing signs of something I would call decline.

What the Heck? This shouldn't be! It's not the plan I had for me.

Don't ask me how, don't ask me why, somehow I thought I'd never die.

I'd keep on chugging endlessly, strong body, mind, and energy.

The details they do fail me know, but I'd succeed someway, somehow.

Aren't I the captain of my ship? barking orders from my lips?

Don't I decide which tack to sail? who gave the order I should fail?

I'LL NOT HAVE IT FOR ONE MINUTE! I'M THE CAPTAIN I SAY DAMN IT!

oh, so sorry, got worked up, just don't want to drink that cup

That cup of human frailty, for it brings loss and misery.

I'm fighting off that dark, dark, night when my life will take its flight.

To places I have never been, "no thanks" I'll stay right here again.

I want to be my own good god while walking on this earthen sod.

I chafe against any bit, that tries to make my will submit.

But I know what fool am I, mortality I can't deny.

And whatever makes me think I can pull back from the brink?

Have I had so much success, I think I'll never make a mess?

If I look back on my lifes trail, what gives me hope I will not fail?

Scattered all along behind, failures are not hard to find.

I've failed before will fail again, it only a matter of how and when.

So I have to honestly, think about my destiny.

Thought I hate to admit, to a higher power I must submit.

I'm not really any good at fixing me the way I should.

It's going to take a better plan to make of me a better man.

I look around and see, there's one who's call a Deity.

He's been trusted for so long, and even worshiped by a throng

of people oh so much smarter, the Bible seems to be their charter.

Though it says lots of things, there's one theme of which it rings.

And that theme is "live by faith", and you will find unending grace.

Grace to me the chafing one, to whom he says "please be my son".

Grace to get you through your trials, grace to others too (who wouldn't normally bring you smiles).

Grace to live, grace to die, and grace to trust he doesn't lie.

So now take a deep, deep breath, stop that worry about death.

And where we will go after that, my Good Lord didn't build no shack.

He's been making quite a place, it's all a part of his his good grace.

If faith it takes then faith it'll be, but solid rock faith you won't find in me.

It's stammering, stumbling, weakly me, until I reach eternity.

When that comes faith won't be needed, in fact faith will be unheeded.

We shall see him face to face, then all we'll think about is grace.

But faith for now however weak, is all my friend that we should seek.

A conversation with Jesus before death

 When I found out Sue Gansz (Shotts) was dying from COPD I wasn't too surprised, she had been a smoker and was on oxygen for a while already.  I knew she was a believer and I started to imagine a conversation she might have with Jesus in her last days.  Thoughts formed in my head and they evolved into a poem which I started, stopped, restarted, then finished after she died.  Here is the poem.

Hello Jesus, Susan here

Hello Jesus, Susan here

I'd like to talk, can you come near?

My voice is low, breathing weak,

It's getting hard for me to speak.

I know I'll see you any day,

but just a visit now I pray?

I want to ask of things ahead,

I'm thinking, thinking on this bed.

Hello Susan, Jesus here

Of course you know I'm always near.

So ask away I'm here for you

There's nothing more I'd rather do

Than talk with you and calm your fears

I want to wipe away your tears.

Oh Jesus, first I want to say

That life has drained me day by day.

I started off so strong and smart

but things have happened from the start.

Habits came and took their toll

while disappointments dimmed my soul.

Here I lay on deathbed sad

just wishing for the life I'd had.

So soon this life on earth is through

but there's much more I want to do.

I want to trade this weakened me 

for one who's strong with energy.

I want to run and not grow tired

I want to think with thoughts inspired.

I want to jump in mighty leaps

I want to never face defeats.

I want to write a hundred books

I want to have the cutest looks.

I want money to fall from trees

and rake it up whenever I please.

I want to eat and not gain weight

with heaps of goodies on my plate.

I want to sing upon a stage

with fans who think I'm all the rage.

I want to learn, I want to teach

I want to tan upon the beach.

I want to drive a car real fast

but never run it out of gas.

I want to laugh, I want to play

but mostly, I want the old to go away.

Jesus I've said a lot of things

please tell me what my future brings.

Oh Susan dear, you make me laugh!

in heaven you will make a splash!

I think though when you see this place

these thoughts of yours will be erased.

Once you see the Holy Fire

It's hard to keep these small desires.

You know I've spent a lot of time

making heaven so divine.

It only took me one short week

to make the earth of which you speak.

But if these things you still must do

then You Go Girl! I tell you true.

Thank you Jesus, you're so kind

but one more thing is on my mind.

I hate to ask, it might be sin

but such a state of hate I'm in.

The Devil's had with me his way

I really want to make him pay!

Could you lock us in a room

and leave me with a sturdy broom?

With which I want to beat him sore

and have him begging for no more?

For all the trouble he has caused

revenge is mine! and then I'd pause

And follow you in every way

never to sin another day.

Susan, Susan, what you ask!

I do not think that you can grasp,

The trouble that the Devil's in

he is the father of all sin!

I have the biggest axe to grind

that Old Snake- he's mine, all mine!

But when I throw him in the pit

stand close by me and on him spit!

He will give you no more trouble

I'll vanquish him on the double.

Now Susan dear you need to rest

you're passing through the final test.

Thank you Jesus, it's hard to breath

please send your angels with all speed.

Thanks for taking time with me

my fluttering eyes now angels see.

Rest well my child, they're almost there

your limp body they will bear,

And bring you to me oh so fast

then we will hug in one sweet clasp!

The Spirit of God from that embrace

will have you singing Amazing Grace!

Then voice and body ever strong

you will roar with the heavenly throng!

Voices from the junkyard

 

Trees! you give them an inch and they take a mile!

I'm a Jeep!  Jeeps don't belong in junkyards!

So he says to me "I'm taking you to a car show" Does this look like a car show?

Heh, heh, come on man, take me home, I'll be good!

I swear Henry, if you tell me that story one more time about how you beat a Studebaker Hawk back in '62, I will jump in the crusher!

Oh sooo many miles!  I just need to rest my weary frame on this tree for a little while then I will be ready to go.

                Tailfins! yes tailfins! that's why I'm here, he said he didn't like my tailfins anymore!

Fame! Fortune! I tell you I had it all!  I was running with the Jet Set then someone slipped a little Ethyl in my tank.  Man did I fly!  I wanted more and more until I was guzzling Ethyl by the tankful.  Pretty soon the pistons cracked then the valves went, after I blew out both mufflers I was towed here in disgrace.  I could have been a show car! now look at me- oh what a world.

So I does all dis work all my life see?  Den I have a little engin trouble and whamo! they sticks me in here.  Some gwaditude huh?

When I got here I had a few dings, I admit it, but just look at me now!  The bums who work here are the worst!

Oof! Oof! I've been pushing on this tree for years, one of these days it's going down and I'm driving right outta here!

From scooter to sports car with a little help from dad

In my last post I told you about my scooter and how in the end it went to my mom's cousin to be chopped up for parts to make a motorized trike, and that my dad got a 1958 Mercury Parklane convertible in trade for the scooter.  So then in place of a scooter I was the proud owner of the Mercury convertible.  But there was one problem, I didn't want the big old convertible- I wanted a little sports car.  My older brother Bob had recently bought a red Triumph TR4 sports car from Joe Fodrocy and I was just nuts about it.  My dad was really in love with the Mercury and he thought I would like it too, but it just wasn't my style and so I reluctantly had to tell him that I didn't want the big beast, and that I wanted a little sports car.  He took the news rather well and so that started me on a hunt for a little Triumph.  I finally found one by snooping around the back fence at the local British Import dealer in Muskegon called E&B Motors.  Behind the fence I spied a little black TR4 that looked like nobody loved it anymore.  I called the service manager there and he told me it was a 1963 Triumph TR4 that the owners had brought in for repairs but he wasn't sure what they wanted to do with it since it was in bad shape mechanically.  He said it no longer ran.  A day or two later he called me and said the owners would sell it to me for $250.  That was great news but as a junior in high school, I didn't have a regular job and $250 was hard to come by.  Dad to the rescue! He said he would buy the Triumph for me if I gave him the Mercury, I didn't even have to think about it!  A few days later we towed it home from the south end of Getty Street to our garage on Central Rd.  It had no brakes and I'm not sure how dad managed to keep from hitting me as I was the tow driver and he was in the brakeless car behind me.  Regardless, we got it home and into our little garage and it fit right into that little space.  I was on cloud nine!  I'm not sure exactly what was wrong with the car- I was only 16, but dad was a pretty good mechanic and he said he would help me rebuild the engine.  He pulled the head off the engine; got underneath the little car and the next thing I knew we were pulling pistons out of the engine.  He took the head to old Amel Heinz to have the valves ground, and I think he changed the crank bearings and put new rings on the pistons.  I didn't know exactly what was going on, but I was out in the garage the whole time just dreaming of driving the little car.  Eventually he got it all back together and we started it up and it ran pretty good!  I was so happy!  I had a few things to finish up on it and spent many hours in the cold garage with a small wood stove giving off a little heat to keep me from freezing to death.  Sandy came over and did a pretty good job of making me believe she was also interested in the car.  Mostly she just watched me work on it and froze in the cold garage in spite of the small wood stove.  I think I spent more energy working on the car than feeding wood to the stove.  Eventually I got it all back together and licensed and insured.  I think dad paid for that too.  Old Joe Fodrocy relined my brake pads and shoes with a machine that he used to reline brake pads for auto shops during WWII.  Parts were hard to come by for a British car in the US at that time. The car was a blast to drive, it had a four-speed manual transmission, and it was so fun to shift gears, in fact, I liked shifting so much I not only shifted up all the gears, but I also downshifted all the gears which really made the little car rumble and pop when I downshifted.  The fact that I had removed the muffler and put on what was called a "cherry bomb" in its place really gave it that sweet raucous tone that I loved.  My older cousin didn't though, he lived right across the street from Sandy and he heard it every time I came and went with my shifting and downshifting ways making a ton of racket.  He said it woke up their babies at night, but I just laughed and took it as a compliment to my little car.  It was the excuse for Sandy and me to go on our first date, I was just sure she would love learning how to drive a stick shift car and so we went to the blockhouse with a picnic lunch and I showed her how to drive it.  It was a great success, she learned to shift the car and I devoured a picnic lunch fit for a king.  I didn't think it could get any better than that and so the dating began.  My brother Bob lived in Kalamazoo at the time and he invited me to bring the car there and spend a few days with him so we could fill all the rust holes with Bondo and make it look better.  We did exactly that and most of the car ended up with black primer on it to cover up the patches.  The car wasn't very fast, but it was so fun to drive, it was just like a little go cart and could zoom around corners like no other car I had ever been in before.  The American cars of that time were bigger, heavier, and had really cushy suspension for a soft but sloppy ride.  This little car was like riding a skateboard, it wasn't too comfy, but it would turn on a dime.  Getting in and out of it was somewhat of a trick, you had to squat down next to the open driver's door, stick in your right leg under the steering wheel, than slide your body onto the seat, once there, you would have to pull your left leg up as tight to your body as possible while still being able to shove it down under the steering wheel next to your right leg.  Once you were in it was fairly comfortable with your legs straight out in front of you because the seat sat almost all the way down on the floor.  It felt like your bottom was about 4 inches off the pavement.  I do think if I stretched a little I could reach down from the open window with my left arm and touch the ground.  It had a convertible top of course and I drove it everywhere I could with the top down.  In time the reality of not being able to drive it in the winter- too low to clear the snow on the road, and the fact it had a tiny heater, made me look for another more traditional car.  My brother Bob took the car off my hands and paid me what I had in it, I think about $350.  He did a great job of cleaning it up, fixing it, painting it and eventually sold it for a decent sum, I think over $3000.  He offered it to me when he decided to sell it, but by then I was a married man with children and it wasn't practical to own it any longer.  There was one more brief affair with a sports car, a little red Triumph Spitfire, but that came around the time we were married and it just didn't hold my interest too long, it needed a lot of work and I ended up trading it for the only truck I ever owned.  It was a gas sucking Ford F150, I think it was a 1966. The only thing I can say about that truck was that it moved us to Alpena shortly after we were married and I sold it pretty soon after that.  Then for some reason, babies started showing up every couple of years, and babies and sports cars don't mix well.  My favorite Triumph ever made was the TR6 and it is still a pretty good-looking little sports car after all these years.  But it was British made during an era when British made cars were not well made so it isn't worth owning, besides I'm not sure I could do that tricky manuever to get in anymore.