Tribute to Fathers

[Hi, y'all. With Father's Day coming up this Sunday, I thought I'd be a lazy slug share a favorite old post with you about... what else? Fathers. When I used to blog five days a week, Friday posts always included a Weird News Stories of the Week feature. Although the news from the original 2011 post may not be new any more, the stories are still plenty weird, so I'm leaving them. (Weird is good, right?)  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.]

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Thought for the day:  I never got along with my dad. Kids used to say, "My dad can beat up your dad." I'd say, "Yeah? When?"  [comedian Bill Hicks]

If I remember right, that picture of my father, brother, and me was taken on an Easter Sunday. A long time ago. You know, back in the Dark Ages. We were mostly happy in those days, living in a tiny rental home in a fairly quiet neighborhood, with a decent-sized yard, and some room to roam around us. Things were never quite the same after we left there and moved into a row home with a postage stamp yard, and wall-to-wall people. I often wonder if our lives would have been different, easier maybe, if we'd stayed in what we thought of as the country.

He was a very difficult man with a lot of personal demons, our father, but I guess he did the best he knew how. Now that he's been gone for a number of years, I do my best to remember the good times. Like the years we spent in that home, and the day my mother took that picture. Back in the Dark Ages.

I had another post prepared for today, but in honor of Father's Day, I opted to post something about fathers, instead. The bulk of this post is a re-run of a Father's Day post from 2011, originally titled, In Honor of Toasted Marshmallows, which describes my Smarticus pretty darned well. He can be tough and crusty on the outside... sometimes too tough... but on the inside, he's very sweet and gooey. Both qualities made him a wonderful dad, especially since he had me to balance things out a little. Because he tended to be too hard on our boys, and too easy on our daughter,  I had to be the Enforcer with our daughter, and the Mediator for our sons. (I mean, really, grounding them for life was a tad too much...) Anyhow, he was, and is, a terrific farter father, and I'm pleased to say both of our sons are superior farters fathers, as well. And you know, no matter how tall our kids are, I'm pretty sure they'll always look up to their dad.

This picture was taken quite a few years ago, too, but not in the Dark Ages. Our kids are no longer small enough to climb all over Smarticus, but... our grandchildren are. (Some of 'em, anyway.)

Never raise your hand to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected. [Red Buttons]

There should be a children's song: "If you're happy and you know it, keep it to yourself, and let your dad sleep."  [Jim Gaffigan]

Okay, shall we revisit that old slightly edited post now?

888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Thought for the day:  Howcum a man can wait patiently for hours on end for a fish to bite, and can wait patiently in the freezing cold for hours on end, waiting for a deer to come by, but can't tolerate so much as a ten minute wait for food in a restaurant ... where it's a sure thing?

[seniorark.com]

You probably wouldn't be surprised to know the highest volume of long distance phone calls always occurs on Mother's Day. Not that there aren't plenty made on Father's Day, too. But most of them are collect. Why is it moms get the thoughtful gifts, while dads can usually count on getting aftershave or yet another tie they'll never wear? And when Father's Day rolls around, why do the kids think it's okay to buy dear old Dad something from the discount bin at the Dollar Store, and what's more, pay for it with change left over from the cash he gave them to buy something really nice for Mother's Day? As Bill Cosby put it, Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope.

Just because the phrase Pull my finger is in the lexicon of  fathers worldwide doesn't mean they aren't as sentimental as mothers. Not at all. They just don't show it as easily. Very often, they're like toasted marshmallows: crusty on the outside, and all sweet and mushy on the inside.

In honor of Father's Day, I'd like to share some excerpts with you from an article you may have seen before. Geezers has appeared countless places without attribution, but as best I could discern, it may have been written in 2001 by a West Virginia chaplain by the name of Koren Fae Rawlings:

[morguefile]

Geezers are easy to spot. At parades, they're the ones standing a little taller and often saluting when the flag passes by. At sporting events and at ceremonies on national holidays, they're the ones who stand erect and hold their hands over their hearts when the national anthem is played.

If you bump into an old geezer on the sidewalk, he'll apologize. Pass a geezer on the street, and he'll nod, maybe say hello. Geezers trust strangers and are courtly toward women. They hold the door for the next person, and always, when walking, make sure the lady is on the inside.

Geezers have moral courage. They're the ones staring down those making offensive remarks or acting in an offensive manner. Geezers seldom brag unless it's about their grandchildren.

This country needs geezers. We need their decent values and their common sense. We need their breadth of experience, their depth of knowledge and high ideals.

Thank God for all Old Geezers.
+++

And thank God for fathers.

Mark Twain said, "When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." And Charles Wadsworth said, "By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."

So give your dad a break. Even if he's not the affectionate sort, and his last hug felt more like a wrestling hold, let him know how much you appreciate him. Because he may not tell you how to live, but he lives, and lets you watch him do it.

To all you fathers, a very happy Father's Day. And to all of you who still have fathers, go ahead ... make him happy.  Pull his finger.

And now, 'tis time for the (ta DA!)

Weirdest News Stories of the Week

Pull my hoof

Cows have taken a bit of heat for the amount of methane they produce, and some countries have even considered imposing a "methane tax" on the people who own them. In 2008, researchers in Argentina hooked cows to the bizarre-looking contraption on the left to collect their methane, quantify it, and ascertain how much it contributed to the country's greenhouse emissions. As it turned out, they contribute quite a bit. Final results indicated that as much as 30% of the country's greenhouse emissions consist of cow farts and burps.



*** Now, the Australian government is taking a hard sniff at camel belches. With an estimated 1.2 million feral camels roaming the outback, each belching approximately one hundred gaseous pounds of methane every year, that racks up to a global warming impact equivalent to 1.1 tons of carbon dioxide. Per camel. The recent legislative proposal would allow sharpshooters to earn carbon credits by killing camels, and then these credits would subsequently be sold to global polluters to offset their own emissions. Bureaucrats are expected to reach a decision on this proposal by the end of the year.

I'd walk a mile for a roll of Tums. [morguefile]

***  The city of Nederland, Colorado, is offering to sell the celebratory rights for ... a dead man. When 89-year-old Bredo Mortoel died, his family decided to preserve his body, in hopes of one day being able to bring him back to life. So his body,  packed in dry ice, resides in an outdoor shed, and for the past ten years, this small mountain town has been celebrating this deceased man on ice with an annual festival, replete with a parade of hearses, frozen salmon tossing, and coffin races. Believe it or not, it's been a very popular festival, but you know how the economy is. The Chamber of Commerce says the festival has simply become too expensive, so they're trying to sell the rights to it, and hope an event company will step up to keep this unusual festival going.

our daughter and her husband

*** Ever wonder what those Scotsmen wear under their kilts? The answer became clear for recent groom Angus McClure, who sat his kilt-clad bottom on his new bride's knee. Unfortunately, his bare and poorly-wiped bottom left a brown "skid mark" on her pristine gown. Let's just say she wasn't at all impressed. In fact, she decked him, and a knock-down, drag-out, free-for-all followed. Police say they've seen nasty wedding party brawls before, but none quite this nasty. Seven people were hauled off to jail. The bride and groom? Once they sobered up, the report is they reconciled, and fortunately, have no memory of the melee. Let's hope no one took pictures.

                             
                                             Have a wonderful Father's Day, y'all.

                              Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

In Honor of Toasted Marshmallows

Thought for the day:  Howcum a man can wait patiently for hours on end for a fish to bite, and can wait patiently in the freezing cold for hours on end, waiting for a deer to come by, but can't tolerate so much as a ten minute wait for food in a restaurant ... where it's a sure thing?

You probably wouldn't be surprised to know the highest volume of long distance phone calls always occurs on Mother's Day. Not that there aren't plenty made on Father's Day, too. But most of them are collect. Why is it moms get the thoughtful gifts, while dads can usually count on getting aftershave or yet another tie he'll never wear? And when Father's Day rolls around, why do the kids think it's okay to buy dear old Dad something from the discount bin at the Dollar Store, and what's more, pay for it with change left over from the cash he gave them to buy something really nice for Mother's Day? As Bill Cosby put it, "Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is 'soap-on-a-rope'."

Just because the phrase, "Pull my finger" is in the lexicon of  fathers worldwide doesn't mean they aren't as sentimental as mothers. They just don't show it as easily. Very often, they're like toasted marshmallows: crusty on the outside, and all sweet and mushy on the inside.

In honor of Father's Day, I'd like to share some excerpts with you from an article you may have seen before. "Geezers" has appeared countless places without attribution, but as best I could discern, it may have been written in 2001 by a West Virginia chaplain by the name of Koren Fae Rawlings:

Geezers are easy to spot. At parades, they're the ones standing a little taller and often saluting when the flag passes by. At sporting events and at ceremonies on national holidays, they're the ones who stand erect and hold their hands over their hearts when the national anthem is played.

If you bump into an old geezer on the sidewalk, he'll apologize. Pass a geezer on the street, and he'll nod, maybe say hello. Geezers trust strangers and are courtly toward women. They hold the door for the next person, and always, when walking, make sure the lady is on the inside.

Geezers have moral courage. They're the ones staring down those making offensive remarks or acting in an offensive manner. Geezers seldom brag unless it's about their grandchildren.

This country needs geezers. We need their decent values and their common sense. We need their breadth of experience, their depth of knowledge and high ideals.

Thank God for all Old Geezers.
+++

And thank God for fathers.

Mark Twain said, "When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." And Charles Wadsworth said, "By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."

So give your dad a break. Even if he's not the affectionate sort, and his last hug felt more like a wrestling hold, let him know how much you appreciate him. Because he may not tell you how to live, but he lives, and lets you watch him do it.

To all you fathers, a very happy Father's Day. And to all of you who still have fathers, go ahead ... make him happy.  Pull his finger.

And now, 'tis time for the (ta DA!)

Weirdest News Stories of the Week

Pull my hoof

Cows have taken a bit of heat for the amount of methane they produce, and some countries have even considered imposing a "methane tax" on the people who own them. In 2008, researchers in Argentina hooked cows to the bizarre-looking contraption on the left to collect their methane, quantify it, and ascertain how much it contributed to the country's greenhouse emissions. As it turned out, they contribute quite a bit. Final results indicated that as much as 30% of the country's greenhouse emissions consist of cow farts and burps.



*** Now, the Australian government is taking a hard sniff at camel belches. With an estimated 1.2 million feral camels roaming the outback, each belching approximately one hundred gaseous pounds of methane every year, that racks up to a global warming impact equivalent to 1.1 tons of carbon dioxide. Per camel. The recent legislative proposal would allow sharpshooters to earn carbon credits by killing camels, and then these credits would subsequently be sold to global polluters to offset their own emissions. Bureaucrats are expected to reach a decision on this proposal by the end of the year.

I'd walk a mile for a roll of Tums.

***  The city of Nederland, Colorado, is offering to sell the celebratory rights for ... a dead man. When 89-year-old Bredo Mortoel died, his family decided to preserve his body, in hopes of one day being able to bring him back to life. So his body,  packed in dry ice, resides in an outdoor shed, and for the past ten years, this small mountain town has been celebrating this deceased man on ice with an annual festival, replete with a parade of hearses, frozen salmon tossing, and coffin races. Believe it or not, it's been a very popular festival, but you know how the economy is. The Chamber of Commerce says the festival has simply become too expensive, so they're trying to sell the rights to it, and hope an event company will step up to keep this unusual festival going.

*** Ever wonder what those Scotsmen wear under their kilts? The answer became clear for recent groom Angus McClure, who sat his kilt-clad bottom on his new bride's knee. Unfortunately, his bare and poorly-wiped bottom left a brown "skid mark" on her pristine gown. Let's just say she wasn't at all impressed. In fact, she decked him, and a knock-down, drag-out, free-for-all followed. Police say they've seen nasty wedding party brawls before, but none quite this nasty. Seven people were hauled off to jail. The bride and groom? Once they sobered up, the report is they reconciled, and fortunately, have no memory of the melee. Let's hope no one took pictures.

Have a wonderful Father's Day. Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Meeting the President

Thought for the day: Don't worry about the world coming to an end. It's already tomorrow in Australia.


I wonder how many people around the world believe that fellow who claims tomorrow is Judgement Day. One rather amusing side story to his prediction is that a bunch of atheists are allegedly making money hand over fist by selling post-rapture pet care services to people who believe they'll be heading for Heaven tomorrow and leaving poor little Fido behind. (What's the chance any of them will get a refund on Monday?)

A couple days ago, I told you that my unexpected detour into amateur radio led to a meeting with the President of the United States.

Here's the story:

Many hams worked to make it happen, but because I happened to be serving as Georgia Section Manager when everything finally fell into place, the Georgia Emergency Management Agency Director and I got together and signed a formal Memorandum of Understanding. Hams had a long history of working with GEMA and other state, federal, and local agencies during emergencies, but this was the first time we were afforded such a high level of respect, and the first time our role was acknowledged and delineated in writing. It was quite a Big Deal.

Wow, is that who I think it is down there?

Later, in June of 2004, when the G-8 summit came to South Georgia, the Director called on us to deliver. Again, quite a Big Deal.

During annual G-8 summits, the heads of state from Canada, Japan, England, Spain, Germany, France, Russia, and the U.S. get together, and in 2004, as if the big eight leaders weren't enough, other world leaders, particularly from the Arab countries, were also planning to attend. Ergo, there'd be a LOT of prime terrorist targets in one location at the same time. Of the likely terrorist targets named by intelligence agencies, this summit was near the top of the list. Intel was scary and tension was high.


The director requested various levels of support from the amateur radio community, including a four-person A-Team of operators to deploy to South Georgia to provide back-up communications in case the fit hit the shan. My husband and I were two of the four. A network of hams worked in a number of supportive roles, but we went to ground zero.

The Cloister, site of the G-8 summit

The bigwigs stayed on Sea Island, at a very exclusive resort called the Cloister. Very expensive, very opulent, and somewhat secluded. Ground zero was a hop, skip, and jump away, at McKinnon Airport on St. Simon's Island, at  the MACC, or Multi-Agency Command Center. We were there in support of GEMA, and our base of operations was their enormous mobile communications vehicle, but the entire compound was crawling with Secret Service, FBI, GBI, National Guard, NORCOM, GA State Patrol, and all kinds of military, law enforcement, hazmat, and SWAT teams. Guns everywhere. Even a battery of SAMs. (surface-to-air missiles)  Helicopters buzzing overhead, two of which were designated Air Force One. Amazing. And incredibly tense, especially for the first couple of days, when intel suggested the possibility of a dirty bomb or bio-attack.

But the food was awesome. I mean, the government spared no expense. Huge steaks. Biggest breakfasts you ever saw. Fresh seafood. Low country boil.

By the evening of the low country boil, tensions were ebbing, and everyone was in a festive mood. Our mission was coming to an end, and though we'd certainly experienced some interesting happenings, we hadn't experienced any attacks, and we were all still breathing. Or more like panting. (South Georgia in June is hot, hot, hot.)

First, the distinctive black Special Service Suburbans with the dark tinted windows drove up and down the runway, which wasn't especially new. Then a team of snipers climbed on top of the outhouses. Um, okay, that was a little new. Then two Air Force One helicopters buzzed overhead. Always interesting, but not new. Then one landed, and Condaleeza Rice, President Bush, and his Scottish terrier Barney got out!

First off, let me tell you that Condaleeza Rice is a teeny tiny woman with a great big smile. Up until that time, every picture I ever saw of her in the newspaper made her look like the world's biggest grouch, always with a frown or scowl on her face. Not so in person.

A little while later, my hubby and I were in the chow line, when a Secret Service man burst out the door and told everyone to freeze. (I mean, crap, we were just about to scoop the shrimp onto our plates, too!) Then, out came President Bush. WOW. On a funny aside, one of the orders everyone got before deploying was ... NO CAMERAS. You would not BELIEVE how many cameras appeared when the president and Ms. Rice arrived. (And yes, we got pics, too.)

So, bottom line, President Bush shook my hand. I thanked him for coming to visit us, and HE thanked ME for being there. I know. Awesome, right? No matter what your politics are, shaking the hand of any President of the United States makes for an experience never to be forgotten.

One last comment on the experience. In the midst of all the tension, the Georgia State Patrol had a vehicle that made us laugh out loud. It was a little armored vehicle with a battering ram on front. And on that battering ram, there was a bright yellow smiley face and the words, "Have a nice day." Actually, we had a bunch of 'em.

And here we go, it's time for the (ta DA!)

WEIRDEST NEWS STORIES OF THE WEEK:


** In New Mexico, border agents made a bust that was full of bologna. Literally. They caught a man who was trying to smuggle 385 pounds of the contraband into the country. For the record, it was the largest bologna bust in the history of that crossing. Somehow, I doubt if that fact will prevent the other agents from giving the agent who caught it a major ration of ... what else? Bologna.

** In a society fraught with frivolous lawsuits, frequently based on injuries caused by, let's face it, a lack of good old-fashioned common sense, warning labels have become more and more ridiculous. (Like on a can of peanuts, the warning, "This product may contain nuts.") For the past fourteen years, a non-profit group based in Atlanta has been hosting a Wacky Warning Labels contest, and here are this year's five finalists:

• On a ballpoint pen package: "Swallowing the pen cap may obstruct breathing."
• On a dust mask: "Does not supply oxygen."
• On a hot tub cover: "Avoid drowning. Remove safety cover from spa when in use."
• In a bicycle brochure: "The action depicted in this brochure is potentially dangerous. The riders seen are experts or professionals." (They were also young children ... with training wheels.)
• On a leather holster, designed to look like a PDA: "For gun only, not a functional day planner."

** In the Czech Republic, the Prague Zoo is dishing out something unusual in those ice cream containers. Dung. Elephant dung, to be precise. It's the latest fertilizer fad amongst Czech gardeners, and the program was the bright idea of zoo director Miroslav Bobek, whose surname, by the way, literally means "dung." (Poor guy. Think he was destined for this job, or what?) Ah well, at least this stinky souvenir, which sells for just under four dollars a carton, has substance, so it's a better buy than, say, canned cow farts.

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Royal Weather

Thought for the day:  Shotgun weddings could be considered a matter of wife or death.

Just like most days, we turned on CNN this morning so we could feed our brains with the latest news whilst feeding our stomachs with Cheerios. (We're multi-taskers.) But unlike most days, CNN was nattering on and on about the Royal Wedding. To tell the truth, we hadn't planned on watching the blessed event, since our noses were still a wee bit out of joint about not receiving our royal invitation in a timely manner. Not that we would've gone, mind you. Being groped at the airport by a sweaty 300-pound TSA agent with bad breath isn't our idea of a romantic encounter, so we prefer to opt out of that particular experience, thank you very much. Still, an invitation would've been nice.

But, there it was on our TV, and we were too blooming lazy to change the channel. The solemn walk down the aisle. The crowds partying in the streets. The sure-to-be-rebroadcast-a-zillion-times double kiss. Jolly good, eh?

One thing newscasters and partiers in the street talked about was the weather. Never having been to London myself, I can't attest to it first-hand, but from what I've heard, London doesn't generally rate terribly high on the scale for great weather. Lots of fog and drizzly rain, yeah, but a perfect Chamber of Commerce day with wall-to-wall sunshine and gentle breezes? Not so much. But the Royal couple was blessed with off-the-scale beautiful weather today.

A good omen, some said.

On the other hand, my wedding day started out with showers. Not the oh-boy-another-blender kind of shower, but the wet falling from the sky kind. Know what people told me? That it was a good omen. That Heaven was shedding tears of joy for me. It didn't cry for long, though. Ended up sunny and nearly 100 degrees by early afternoon. Not sure what kind of omen that was supposed to be, but nearly 42 years later, we're still going strong, so I guess some of that good juju must've worked.

Anyway, I got to thinking about the role weather can play in our writing. For example, it can serve as a direct reflection of the story's tone or a character's emotions. It's no accident that dispositions are commonly described as stormy or sunny, or that unpleasant occurences invoke images of a "dark day." Think of the various possibilities for making weather a supportive element that emphasizes some aspect of your story. Blizzards can serve as a backdrop to feelings of isolation; thunderstorms can dramatize terror or fury; glorious sunshine like the Royal couple were blessed with today can backlight happiness and optimism.

Or the weather can serve as a stark contrast.

Yesterday, when I was preparing a garden for planting, I couldn't help but think about stark contrast. The sky was pale blue, polka dotted with bright white clouds. Lots of sunshine, and enough breeze to keep it comfortable. Yet, just north of me, under that same pale blue sky, and carressed by that same gentle breeze, hundreds of people were dealing with the staggering aftermath of tornadoes.

Remember that old song, sung by Dusty Springfield, with the lines

Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world ...

Those people dealing with the loss of their homes, everything they owned, and even their entire towns, must have felt a little like that. There's a certain disconnect when you are suffering and grieving, and the world goes on as usual, sunshine, gentle breeze, and all. But it is this kind of contrast that I believe adds an extra level of oomph to our stories.

Do you consciously make weather a meaningful element in your writing? If not, can you think of any books you've read where weather does play an important part? Oh, do tell.

Since I'm asking you to show me yours, I'll show you mine first. In Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, the story takes place in Baltimore during an unseasonably hot dry spell, marked by daily bouts of thunder and lightning, and empty promises of rain that never comes. Until the end of the story ...

OK, I know you've all been waiting for it, so here it comes. It's time for the ...

Weirdest news stories of the week:

** Brewdog, the same illustrious beer-maker already credited with creating the world's strongest beer, not to mention serving beer in dead animal carcasses, has now released another extra special brew in the UK to commemorate the royal wedding. Called "Royal Virility Performance", this India Pale Ale is laced with ... Viagra. Yep, that's right. Downing three of these babies allegedly delivers the same upping power as taking a single Viagra. Think of all the twenty-somethings in the UK who are partying hearty in the streets while getting schnockered on these brews. (You KNOW they won't just stop at three!) Think of them passing out. Littering the streets. Lying on their backs with flagpoles raised on high. (a patriotic lot, to be sure) The unusual ale's bottle has some amusing lines on it, like "Arise Prince Willy." And the brewers claim that they've sent some of their new ale to the Prince, so he can enjoy a (wink, wink) stiff drink on his wedding night.

** Also in commemoration of the royal nuptials, a British firm has plans to sell bottles of "Royal Wedding Day Air." As I write this, a team of "trained professionals" is collecting samples of the air so they can capture the essence of this magical day. Hoping to sell these bottles as a collector's item, the company compares it to a fine bottle of champagne, and says the whole family can gather around it to take a healthy sniff. No idea what the price will be for this "collector's item", but I suppose it beats canned cow farts, eh?

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Thought for the day:  A baby is God's way of saying the world should go on.

Today's thought for the day comes from a picture that once belonged to my mother, and is now hanging on the wall behind me. One year ago today, our youngest grandson entered the world, and two days later, my father left it. As we went through the ordeal of cleaning out my parents' house, this old dime store picture that was hanging on their kitchen wall helped me put things into perspective.

Life goes on. And it is good.

I never expected to miss my father. He was an extremely difficult man, to say the least, and became even more difficult after my mother died in '96. But, to my surprise, I do miss him. Time has a way of softening the dark memories, allowing the good ones to shine through. For that, I am grateful.





Whatever happened to good neighbors?

 Yesterday, we had an unexpected visitor. Her name sounds like Pow-ee, although I have no idea as to the correct spelling of it, and she's my age or maybe a little older, and is originally from Taipei, Taiwan. She's lived several streets away from us for almost twenty years, and although we've seen her walking in the neighborhood a few times and always waved and smiled at her, this was the first time we actually met her. 
My husband was on the side of house chopping wood when this tiny little bit of a woman, less than five feet tall, came into the yard yelling, "Helloooo."  She was wearing a long duster-type coat, or at least, it was long on her. Very long. She was looking for some help finding an address that was written on a piece of paper. There was also a phone number on the paper, so my husband told her to come on into the house, and we could call the number.

Pow-ee visited with us for almost an hour. She's quite the chatterbox, and even though her English is a little broken, we enjoyed talking with her. She was really fired up over the strange lack of neighborliness in this country, although she didn't put it in quite those words. She said she just doesn't get it. Says where she comes from, neighbors are like family, and will do anything they can to help each other. Then she told us about a couple who live next door to her now. How they'd asked her to call a taxi for them, and she gave them a ride instead. She gave the woman a ride to work, and would've been willing to do so every day, because, after all, they're neighbors.

But the next day, that woman passed her by with no acknowledgement. Didn't look at her. Didn't say hello, didn't wave, nothing. As though she didn't know her at all. Pow-ee doesn't understand how anyone could treat her this way. Neither do I.

She spoke of another neighbor who's ignored her request that he not plant trees on the edge of her property. Even after the police got involved, this neighbor continues to thumb his nose at her and does whatever he wants, without regard or respect for her. She doesn't get it. Says where she came from, the elderly are always respected.

Is she right? Have Americans forgotten how to treat each other? Yesterday, Grammy got on her soap box in an  "L is for lunacy" rant about the lack of civility and empathy in today's young people. Is the disconnect between neighbors just another manifestation of that? Or do some of us still know how to truly be a good neighbor? I certainly hope so.

Our new friend came back to visit today. She didn't stay as long this time, but she came to bring us several bags of Oriental treats. After all, she said, we're neighbors. She says we're "her kind of people." I think I like that. And I think I'll bake her some chocolate chip cookies this weekend. After all, we are neighbors.

+++

When I was a kid, there was a small farm not far from our house, and behind the tiny barn was a small mountain of mule manure. Some of us kids thought that was a great place to play king of the mountain. My mother was never impressed with my aroma when I returned home from one of those ventures, but my father claimed to love the smell of manure. Said it was "good luck", and a "walk through the tulips." If he were still here, I would've had to buy him one of the products I'm about to tell you about in this week's weirdest news story. He would've loved it.

See y'all on Monday. Until then, take care of yourselves. And each other.




What's that smell?



Weirdest news story of the week:  You're gonna get a three-fer this week. The first story was one I passed over last week, but decided to bundle it with two others I found this week, for a genuine bovine trifecta. In the first story, a young German girl wanted a horse, just like almost every girl dreams about at one time or another, right? But when this young girl was denied the horse of her dreams, she settled for the cow her family already owned. Not only does this young lady saddle and ride that cow, but she's even trained it to jump hurdles. The locals have gotten used to the strange sight of this young girl trotting the countryside on her cow, but it seems that her parents are now considering getting her that horse she wanted. In the second cow story, a couple tried to board a plane at JFK airport this week with a dead cow in tow. The carcass was neatly wrapped, but the staff denied this couple their odd request. (TSA never said anything about dead cows!) And now for the third story, and my personal favorite. A German company has recently come up with a new product that's scored a financial home run for them. Called "Countryside Air to Go", it's a can filled with "the air sucked out of an aging wooden stable, straw-lined and filled with gas-producing cattle." As the company's ad says, "Simply put your nose to the tin and peel back for the authentic smell of the country." That's right. It bears the distinctive aroma of cow farts. Evidently, former country-dwellers who've had to move to the big city miss the ol' scent of home and have been forking over five pounds a pop for the pleasure of snuffling up the pungent aroma. Know anybody you'd like to grace with this unusual gift? Check it out at http://www.stallduft.de/  Oh, and word has it that the company is planning to add products bearing the smells of horses, pigs, straw, and manure. My father would've loved it.