Wednesday, January 31, 2007


Jillianna is 8 today.

Seems like only yesterday we brought home this cute little bundle of fur.

There will be a small party this afternoon. Grace wants chocolate cake.

I don't know what the birthday girl wants but it's a good guess that she'll love a new Nylabone, a bowl of kibble and a little steak that is accidently dropped on the floor during our dinner.

Jilli loves to play ball. She can toss the ball back to you, catch the ball, chase the ball and find the ball when it's hidden.

Jilli loves the game of find the ball. It's uncanny as to how quickly she can find a well hidden ball.

She'll sit obediently, smiling the dog smile that she does so well, while the ball is hidden and wait for the command, "Jilli! Find the ball!" Dogs do smile, don't you know?

On command and after several acknowledging barks, Jilli comes running. Jilli can track the path taken to where the ball was hidden. Regardless of which room or the location outside, Jilli's nose follows the path to where the ball is.

I think this to be really exceptional. Candace says it's what dogs do. Jilli is gifted but gets no credit from her other master in the find the ball department.

Finding a can of Budweiser, even if well hidden, might be a chore for Old Bob. The whifter gets a little out of whack now and again.

Even with a bad nose, I could find that can of Bud. No problem. This game could be played much in the same way that Find the Ball, Jilli! is played in our home.

I'd sit outside the front door on all fours, smile on my face, waiting for the command, "Bobby! Find the Bud!"



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Tuesday, January 30, 2007


Do I always dip to the right when I'm thinking and looking at something?

There are family pictures where I lean one way or another and never sit exactly straight. But then, I've never been a straight guy, either.

Wait a minute - I've been straight in other ways. Don't get the wrong idea.

I could be on to something here. During right minded thinking the human body has a tendency to lean to the right. Could that be true?

Being in a right minded state of mind would I continued to lean to the right if I had started walking?

More things for Old Bob to think about.

They say left handed people are the only ones in their right mind. Since I'm right handed I would not know a thing about being in my right mind as evidenced by some of the stupid entries into this blog.

The picture was taken at the Sundial Bridge. Nice place to walk, morning, noon or night.

It's close to 70 degrees outside again today with no sign of rain in the forecast. Looks like we're in for one long hot summer in Cow Town.

As they say, if you can't stand the heat get the hell of out California. Or was it get out of the kitchen?

I'd better check on Grace. It's my afternoon to watch her and it's been awful quiet around the house for the past few minutes.

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Monday, January 29, 2007


According to Grace, this is Mr. Clown Head. Her name for the character I've concocted.

Grace knows Mr. Clown Head is Old Bob. But Old Bob tells Miss Grace that this is not true.

Grace says that Mr. Clown Head has my eyes. She also says that Mr. Clown Head wears the same clothes as I do and puts on my shoes. Miss Grace is pretty observant for a four year old kid.

I tell Grace that Clown Head is Clown Head and that Mr. Clown Head is not me.

When you least expect it, Mr. Clown Head pops out of no where. He does not speak but he does make interesting noises.

Mr. Clown Head does funny things. He dances. He runs around. He tries to do flips.

Grace laughs and says to Mr. Clown Head, "Papa, you're so silly!"

And then Mr. Clown Head disappears. No where to be found.

One day Mr. Clown Head will be Grace's.

I suspect that Grace will play Mr. Clown Head for her grandchildren who will say, "Oh Grammy Grace, you're soooooo silly!"

If nothing else, Mr. Clown Head will always bring back fond memories for Grace. Posted by Picasa

Saturday, January 27, 2007


Unless you've sailed . . . Moreover, unless you've sailed and skippered a sailboat you know not of the intoxication that's offered up by the sea.

Once baptisted, the sea, the water, it beckons constantly and lends no peace to those it intoxicates.

For those who find themselves landlocked and without a craft, it is torture. Torture until once again the wind fills the sails, the forward motion of the boat pushing it across the wind, halyards and forestays in chiming rhythm with the music loved by every sailor.

I am restless with the need to sail again, to feel the wind in my face, to sense the motion of the boat and to listen to the wind chime like sounds it creates.

I ask myself why it is that life is so very difficult that the next sailboat is oh so illusive. For whatever reason, it is not within my grasp today but surely it will be tomorrow. It just has to be.

Years ago I found interest in the book The Wander by Sterling Hayden. It's about sailing.

After recently reading again The Wander, I grow even more impatient in my search for the next sailboat, the one with my name on it.

A Quote From Sterling Hayden's Book, Wanderer

"To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea... cruising it is called.

Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

'I've always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can't afford it.' What these men can't afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of security. And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine - and before we know it our lives are gone.

What does a man need - really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in - and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That's all - in the material sense, and we know it.

But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade.

The years thunder by, The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?"


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Friday, January 26, 2007


I forgot to mention it but during yesterday's sushi lunch, there was a parade of Red Hat ladies into the banquet room.

Did someone invent this club so that anyone who became a member had license to look stupid in a red hat?

Guys don't wear red hats and meet each other for lunch once a month.

What kind of a hat club would guys invent if they wanted to look stupid?

The hat on backwards and look stupid at age 50 and older club?

As a culture, we sure do stupid things.

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I don't particularly care for fish that's cooked but I love sushi. Now that's a contradiction if I ever heard one.

Yesterday it felt like I should take a break from what I usually eat. It's not always a healthy choice. I should know better and I do know better.

The day started with Shredded Wheat with banana and milk.

Lunch, 9 piece sushi tuna washed down with water.

Dinner, grilled Ahi steak and lots of vegetables.

I feel so damned healthy this morning I could shout!

They say that it's possible to get worms from eating raw fish. Now that's a possibility which is never good to think about. Then again, the worms could be used for the next fishing outing if they could be coughed up. Yuck!

You are what you eat. Or so they say.

I could eat sushi again today. Tomorrow. The next day. And so on. Oysters on the half shell are also a favorite worth eating most any day of the week.

Two tickets to a charity crab feed on the 3rd are sitting on the desk. We'll go, crack crab, eat the other stuff that's served with the crab, drink the complimentary wine (designed to oil everyone up so they buy all of the goods offered at the auction at a high price) and then fall into bed smelling like something the cat dragged in.

It's time for breakfast. Will it be left over pizza or Shredded Wheat?

Decisions, decisions, decisions . . .

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Thursday, January 25, 2007


Jilli most always sleeps with her tongue sticking out. I have taken that to be a sign of contentment and deep sleep. Why else would a dog hang their tongue out while alsleep.

Being covered with a blanket is important to her. At night she'll sleep soundly under a pile of blankets or pillows. It's a wonder she doesn't suffocate.

I wonder if I sleep with my tongue sticking out? No one has taken a picture of me sleeping for quite a while. If sticking your tongue out is the key to a good night's sleep I'll be getting right on that tonight.

Dinner with a friend last night was a nice diversion from the every day routine of being on vacation. We went to a little place tavern that serves only steaks - two kinds. One with fat and the other without. Comes with salad, baked potato and French bread. No vegetables. My kind of meal.

Customers cook their own steak on a grill inside of the restaurant. Nice touch. Almost like being at home.

We had a leisurely meal and talked, talked talked! We even bumped into a mutual acquaintance who also wanted to talk, talk, talk.

It's been nearly 70 degrees in Cow Town every day for the past week. Clear and sunny. Unless the wind comes up, you can bank on a nearly balmy day. Mr. Gopher came back so part of our warm afternoons are spent tracking this critter down.

Yesterday I bought poison pellets. Care has to be taken that the dogs don't get into one of the holes with pellets in them. Each are covered with a bucket with a heavy rock on top so little paws can't tip them over.

In our house you must love dogs and be mindful about their safety.

I also bought one of the gadgets that stick in the ground and emit vibrations and noises. The thinking is that gophers and/or moles hate these sounds and leave.

Today, if the pellets were not successful, I'll fire up the Gopher Vibrator. But if this little rodent has bought the farm, I'll take the Vibrator back and ask for my $24 bucks to be returned.

I wish I had access to fire power from the US Air Force.

Hello Air Force? I'd like to call in a strike on my backyard.

An air strike would be the real deal - no more messing around with this rodent. One missile would do the trick.

Of course I'd need a new backyard but at least it would be gopher free.

I'll do anything to get that pesty rascal.

Better get out there and check my buckets.

Happy HNT! Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


"On account of being a democracy and run by the people, we are the only nation in the world that has to keep a government four years, no matter what it does. "

. . . Will Rogers

Time remaining in President Bush's term of office: 726 days.

I like Wednesdays. Food articles are published in the newspapers on Wednesdays. Cooking is an on again, off again hobby. Anything new and interesting in the paper on Wednesday gets me cooking.

Noon on any Wednesday marks the half way part of the work week. Still one half to go until the weekend. Better than waking up on a Monday with zero down and five to go.

Bloggers celebrate a couple of days each week. One day they celebrate is HNT. It took me a while to figure out what HNT meant. Old Bob is slow to go on some these Internet terms.

HNT is Half Naked Thursday. So, those who participate in HNT post a half nekked picture of themselves on their Blog every Thursday.

Bob will pass on being a member of that club.

Here's Max, Grace and Candace under one of our backyard oak trees. It was taken during Max's last visit.

I like the picture because (1) It's a good one and (2) Grace has bangs.

Recently Grace mastered the fine art of how to manipulate scissors. It wasn't long before she decided to change her look by cutting off her bangs.

Candace still cuts her bangs now and then inbetween haircuts. And then she crabs that her self imposed scissor cut doesn't look right.

I suspect when she's older that Grace will continue to cut her bangs, too. Why is it that girls never learn about hair and scissors?

Happy Hump Day and if I don't see you, HNT to you, too!Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, January 23, 2007


In reference to the war in Iraq, Will Rogers once said:

"If Stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?"

As long as Bush is in office, stupidity seems to be the only answer.

The other evening one of our kids called to speak to me. Seems that one of their step children who resides out of town was caught making napalm.

At first I was concerned as it seemed this boy and his friends had set a structure on fire. When I learned the boys were "only" making napalm it became no big deal to me.

Burning crap, making bombs, setting traps - everything weird . . . that's what boys do best.

Most women don't understand what makes men tick nor do they understand why boys and men do weird things. And yes, men sure as hell don't understand women. But that's another story . . . that men are from Mars and women from Venus thing.

As a lad I made pipe bombs with my cousins and lived to tell about it. At 9 years of age my brother loved to take bullets and make them explode by hitting them with a hammer. Both my brother and I delighted in putting bullets in the burn barrel and the fireplace. Gasoline, matches, gun powder - anything flamable were like a toys to me and my friends. We were always doing something ultra destructive with those things.

Important facts: No one was ever close to being hurt. Nothing was ever burned down (but it was close a couple of times).

Once in a while I get my kicks by playing Caddy Shack. Remember that film? Whenever there are gophers or moles in the lawn I get out my favorite toy, The Giant Destroyer! No gopher or mole is safe when Old Bob goes to war.

The Giant Destroyer is basically a smoke bomb. Uncover the hole made by the rodent, light the Giant Destroyer, place it in the hole and cover it with dirt. You can buy Giant Destroyers at Ace Hardware.

As a school administrator lighting Giant Destroyers in the name of saving the school's turf from gopher damage was the highlight of the day. Kids, parents, teachers thought Bob's screw was loose when I went to war against gophers armed with Giant Destroyers.

We had a older man at the school who was hired to kill gophers. He set traps. He put Juicy Fruit gum down the gopher holes. It was his notion that any gopher who ate the gum would die as he believed that the Juicy Fruit would mess up their digestive tract.

If nothing else, the school's gophers had sweet breath.

There's been a mole in my lawn for nearly a year. He comes. He goes. He makes me think that I've finally gotten him.

Yesterday was the last straw. At 9 yesterday morning there were two mounds of dirt in the lawn. Mr. Mole had been busy the night before. It was time for decisive action and Weapons of Mass Destruction.

I had a plan.

Step One: Place water hose down the hole, turn it on full blast for 30 minutes.

Step Two: Wait 30 minutes for the gopher to think all is fine - IF he survived the flood of water.

Step Three: Place a Giant Destroyer down the hole. Cover the hole with dirt.

I loved yesterday. Such pleasure. Such fun. I felt whole. It was like being 11 years old again and igniting my first pipe bomb! :)

If you're a woman, I don't expect you to understand or appreciate any of this. Boys are always going to be boys regardless of age.

Heaven help the gopher if there are more mounds in the lawn this morning. If there are piles of dirt on the lawn I'll say out loud,

"Mr Gopher? Of course you know this means war!"

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Monday, January 22, 2007


Here's a picture. Two losers each thinking that they're God's gift to democracy.

Didn't we learn about inexperience and leadership with George Bush. The guy on the right has two years experience in the House. And he thinks that it's time to be president?

Talk about illusions of grandeur.

If one of the two turn out to be the best the Democratics can do in 2008, the USA is in deep shit.

Hillary Clinton went to an elementary school in New York City to talk about the world. After her talk she had a question and answer period.

On little guy raised his hand and the Senator asked for his name.

"Kenneth" he said.

Clinton: "And what is your question, Kenneth?"

Kenneth: " I have three questions.

First, what happened to your medical plan?

Second, why would you run for president when your husband shamed the office?

Third, What happened to all of those things that you took when you left the White House?"

Just then the bell for recess rang.

Mrs. Clinton informed the boys and girls they would continue after recess.

When they resumed Hillary said, "Okay, where were we? Oh, that's right, question time. Who has a question?"

A different boy put up his hand, Hillary pointed to him and asked him for his name.


Clinton: "And what is your question, Larry?"

Larry: "I have 5 questions.

First, Whatever happened to your medical health care plan?"

Second, why would you run for president after your husband shamed the office?

Third, what happened to all those things you took when you left the While House?

Fourth, why did the recess bell ring 20 minutes early?

Fifth, what happened to Kenneth?"

My thanks to my eighth grade girl friend, Joanie (Yes, there is such a person and yes we still stay in contact) for this little ditty about Hillary.
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Twenty five of our troops were killed Saturday. 25.
How much is enough? How many more of our troops will perish? How many times do we have to have our faces rubbed in the Iraq crap before a solution is framed to end the violence, that a timeline is firmly set in stone that allow Iraq to fully govern and police themselves and a plan is drafted to bring our troops home?
When will this happen? Will 3,000 more American men and women have to die in the interim?
And I wonder, does our president have the IQ to figure any of these things out? Some say he's not the brighest bulb in the pack, that he's one fry short of a Happy Meal.
Shame, shame, shame on him.
Now that Rummy is out, there's no one to blame except where the buck stops.
If you had a son or daughter fighting in Iraq what would run through your mind if they were killed or maimed? For what? That's what I'd think. For what.
Americans generally unite for just causes.
What is just about this cause?
What next, Mr. President?
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Sunday, January 21, 2007

ON . . . OFF . . . ON . . . . OFF. . .. ON. . . OFF

I love a good hot morning shower. Couldn't start the day without one.

Yesterday morning was grocery shopping time. More than a few people were in the store with hair that looked like it had not been washed.

Hair that stood up on end or hair that was mussed around. Then there was just plain old greasy hair.

How can people go without bathing? Yuck.

Standing under a hot shower is my thing. For a long time. Shaving under the shower is also my thing. Lots of water and soap make for a close, comfortable shave. Sounds like a commercial.

On, off, on, off, on, off. That's what I hate most about taking a shower. Someone (and there's only one) is turning the hot water on and off, on and off. . . making my hot shower cooler than I like it.

From hot to luke warm showers disturbs my top of the morning Chee.

When I was a kid my brother and I used to do that on, off, on, off deal when mom or dad were taking a shower. We'd take turns doing the on, off faucet trick.

Once in a while we'd go in the garage and turn the valve off to the water heater. This would completely cut off hot water to the shower.

Then mom or dad would pound on the wall and holler for us to stop using the hot water. We always made the excuse that the two of us were washing the dirty breakfast dishes.

On day dad found us in the middle of our on, off faucet fun. It was one of the days we chose to turn off the hot water heater while mom was in the shower. There we were in the garage, one hand on the hot water valve, laughing hysterically and dad walked in.

There were two red butts in our house that night. Sitting down was hard for a couple of days.Posted by Picasa

Saturday, January 20, 2007


In Knowing People 101, that class we all took in community college, didn't they teach us that we can save people?

When a relative or someone you know keeps screwing up their life it's"MAN OVERBOARD!", you throw a life ring at 'em, they grab it, they stop screwing their life up, they are forever grateful to you and they live happily ever after.

You saved them. Right? Yeah, right.

I wish life and people worked that way.

There's a little voice in the back of my brain that speaks up when I try to help or save someone from themselves.

The little voice always has a lot to whisper into this thing called a brain that's been with me since day one.

It says: "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make the horse drink it."

"People are about as happy as they let themselves be."

"You can't save people from themselves."

"I took my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry!" I don't know why the little voice keeps whispering that one to me but I think he probably owned a Chevy at some time in his life.

"Stupid is as stupid does."

"Shit happens to shitheads."

And . . . "Mind your own business!"

Candace and I . . . we have the best of intentions when it comes to what seem to be feeble attempts at stopping (helping?) people (relatives) to stop screwing up their lives. At least it seems like they're screwing up their lives.

Maybe they're not. Maybe they like life in chaos that has little or no consistency, stablility or logic.

Maybe it is a matter of tolerence and acceptance. What's acceptable and tolerable to to some is not acceptable and tolerant to others.

In this world of diverse thinking and all over the board life styles, they say opposites attract.
Does that mean if you love, love, to brush your teeth that you're attracted to someone who never brushes their teeth?

Does that mean we marry someone who is really screwed up so we can throw the life ring to them which in turn will make their life more meaningful?

Well, whatever the case, I have stopped saving people from themselves.

No can do.

Forget it.

Nada, no more, hasta la vista, adios amigo.

Minding my own business, that I am. Not looking over my shoulder to help anyone.

I'll save the life ring for the sailboat I'll buy this year. It will only be thrown to those sailing with me who fall over board (either by accident or who are pushed) who are worth saving.

If you are pushed overboard or ordered to walk the plank (ARRRR!) you can forget the life ring. It won't be happening. Sink or swim. Your choice. Just remember to keep your nose above water.

You may not want to go sailing with old Bob. I'm one of those moods.

You've been warned.

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Thursday, January 18, 2007

(Would you like fries with that glacier?)

They say our glaciers are receding and that one day there will be no glaciers.

Like the glaciers, many snow capped mountains will one day no longer have any snow on them. Or so the scientists say.

That's why I'm waiting for the glaciers and snow capped mountains to disappear before I attempt my assault on Mt. Everest.

When there's no snow on Everest I'll just walk right up to the top with no problem at all. No slip sliding away. Easy as pie on the fourth of July.

Mount Shasta is close to Cow Town. If you're in the right part of town it's easy to spot.

I read the other day that Mt. Shasta's glacier is growing larger with every year. The US Geological Survey has measured it year after year. They've concluded that Mt. Shasta has the only glacier in the world that is not receding. Hard to believe but they say that this is true.

I wish I had the only hairline in the world that wasn't receding. I got hairs a plenty in the sink when I comb my hair every morning. Them hairs are a plenty. Well, actually there are only a couple of hairs every morning . . . more than I like to see.

It's just one of those days today. Same old, same old which in itself is better than terrible old, terrible old. Status quo or same old is often a good thing especially if you're swimming a long distance and all you can muster is to keep your nose above water.

After Candace finishes reading her a book, I think I'll watch some cartoons with Grace.

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Wednesday, January 17, 2007


Have you ever wondered why children turn out to be however great or however horrible they become in adulthood?

Or do you wonder why children turn into criminals and then into convicts? What happens to our children? Where do they go astray?

I firmly believe that children learn what they live. Years ago, during a visit to Sausalito's September art fair, I bought a framed poster entitled, "Children Learn What They Live". The poster became my tool as I worked with parents who had thrown up their hands in despair and confusion over the inappropriate behavior of a troubled child.

I often heard, "I don't know where he gets this kind of behavior from. We don't allow that to happen in our home." I could have pointed out that in all likely hood their problem child learned the behavior from his or her mother and/or father. Sharing the poster more or less said that.

Here are several variations on the theme Children Learn What They Live.

A CHILD that lives with ridicule learns to be timid
A CHILD that lives with criticism learns to condemn
A CHILD that lives with distrust learns to be deceitful
A CHILD that lives with antagonism learns to be hostile
A CHILD that lives with affection learns to love
A CHILD that lives with encouragement learns confidence
A CHILD that lives with truth learns justice
A CHILD that lives with praise learns to appreciate
A CHILD that lives with sharing learns to be considerate
A CHILD that lives with knowledge learns wisdom
A CHILD that lives with patience learns to be tolerant
A CHILD that lives with happiness will find love and beauty

If a child lives with criticism, he learns to feel discouraged
If a child lives with hostility, he learns to feel angry
If a child lives with violence, he learns to feel afraid
If a child lives with dishonesty, he learns to feel suspicious
If a child lives with judgement, he learns to feel guilty
If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to feel ashamed
If a child lives with disorder, he learns to feel confused
If a child lives with disappointment, he learns to feel helpless
If a child lives with silence, he learns to feel lonely

If a child lives with protection, he learns to feel safe
If a child lives with honesty, he learns to feel trustful
If a child lives with peace, he learns to feel calm
If a child lives with sharing, he learns to feel thankful
If a child lives with understanding, he learns to feel encouraged
If a child lives with laughter, he learns to feel happy
If a child lives with creativity, he learns to feel inspired (turn off the TV!)
If a child lives with choice, he learns to feel free
If a child lives with community, he learns to feel supported
If a child lives with accomplishment, he learns to feel confident
If a child lives with meaning, he learns to feel fulfilled
If a child lives with love, he learns to feel tender


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Tuesday, January 16, 2007


This entry is number 150.

Happy Anniversary!

The scene: Yesterday in the master bath, Grace taking a leisurely dip with all of her rubber duckies.

Candace leans down to wash Grace's hair.

G: Grammy?

C: Yes, Grace.

G: Grammy? Why are you old?

C: Why do you say that, Grace? Why do you think that I'm old?

G: Because all of the skin around your neck is like this (Grace makes a motion around her neck in a 4 year olds attempt to demonstrate what she means).

Thank goodness Grace didn't say anything about Candace's butt. Never ever talk about a woman's butt even if you're a female. Never. I have scars to remind me of this.

I have "old neck" but only on the left side - the side where the sun has beaten on my neck while driving and sailing. The right side is like the neck of a 30 year old. Old neck happens with a lot of sun.

Maybe if I stand with my right side to the fast food counter that offers of senior discounts will no longer be offered. I hate senior discounts.

Candace did a good job explaining to Grace how we're all different whether skin color, freckles, hair and what have you. Then there was the explanation of age as you get older and what happens to your body. I thought that Candace would be offended with her comments but instead she was pleased with the opportunity to bring some new information into Grace's life.

Never mind explaining that both of her grandparents are 15 times older than she is.

Being four years old I think Candace's lesson will have to be presented to Grace more than once for her to get it. Even at my age, I don't get this getting old thing and what happens to the body, mind and soul. Being 15 times older than Grace is a tough pill to swallow.

It's interesting to me that at age four Grace is conscious about what she wears. Last week she threw a royal fit over wearing a sweater that I recently bought her saying that it made it her look fat. At her mother's Grace is allowed to pick out what she wears each day. Apparently her mother has given up the daily war over what Grace should wear.

Giving up this early in Grace's life and allowing her to pick and choose what she wears to school is not something I'd recommend at age four. Patience. Guidance. Patience. Guidance. Guidance. And more patience. That's the role of parents.

After all, children learn what they live. . .

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Monday, January 15, 2007


I cannot take credit for the following:

"If we could reduce the world's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look like this:

60 Asians
12 Europeans
5 Americans and Canadians
8 Latin Americans
14 Africans

49 would be female
51 would be male

82 would be non white
18 white

89 heterosexual
11 homosexual

33 would be Christian
67 would be non-Christian

5 would control 32% of the entire world's wealth
and all of them would be US citizens

80 would live in substandard housing

24 would not have any electricity
(And of the 79% that do have electricity
most only use it for light at night)

67 would be unable to read

1 (and only 1) would have a college education

50 would be malnourished and 1 dying of starvation

33 would be without access to a safe water supply

1 would have HIV

1 near death

2 would be near birth

7 people would have access to the Internet

If to take a look at the world from a condensed perspective, the need for acceptance, understanding and education becomes evident.

Think of it!

If you woke up this morning with more health than sickness, you are luckier than the million that will not survive this week.

If you have ever experienced a war,
the loneliness of imprisonment,
an agony of tortures
or a famine
You are happier than 500 million persons in this world.

If you are able to go to church, mosque or synagogue without
fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death,
you are happier than 3 billion persons in this world.

If there is a meal in your refrigerator,
if you are dressed and have got shoes,
if you have a bed and a roof over your head,
you are better off than 75% of people in this world.

If your parents are still alive and still married,
then you are a rarity.

If you have a bank account,
money in your purse/wallet,
and there is some trifle in your
coin box,
you belong to 8% of well provided
people in this world. "

Think about it.Posted by Picasa

Sunday, January 14, 2007


Well, here it is.

Where all of my presidential type stuff will be stored for eternity.

The fart spray bottles. The silly string cans. The handcuffs. The Whoopie cushions. All that stuff will be in my library.

It will be just like the Ford, Clinton, Reagan, Nixon and Carter libraries.

Everyone will be able to view all of the stuff I've collected.

The trailer will roll from town to town. We'll tow it in every parade.

We'll sell hot dogs and a Chinese dish that's called Moo Goo Guy Pan out of the back to meet the cost of maintaining the library and to buy Bud beer to drink driving down the highway.

Coming to your town real soon. Watch for it!

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Saturday, January 13, 2007


I ask myself, 'Why do you have all these stupid things that you've collected over the years? What are you going to do with them? When I'm in a better place (heaven would be the Corvette testing facility - that would be going to a better place), what will my relatives do with the things I've collected?'

Take for instance this hat. Love this hat. A gift from son Max. It's Korean. It has special meaning. I wear it around the house. If I had a Corvette I'd drive that puppy with the top down and wear this hat.

Stupid is as stupid does or so they say.

I have neat stuff collected (more like confiscated) during my years in school administration. There's this slick Ninja knive, a pair of handcuffs (taken off of a first grade kid), a fake gun, several small knives, fart spray, string spray, firecrackers, flying pigs, a "Rush is Right!" coffee mug (was Rush ever right?) - . . so the list goes on.

Then there are the things I've collected. 12 Looney Toon coffee mugs, a remote controlled fart machine (good for placing in a bathroom, waiting until someone is there and locks the door and let it rip), the Helmet Man helmet, Mr. Clown Head, Bevis and Butthead figurines that talk, a pile of stuff collected on e-Bay relating to my home town, copper banks, Billy Bob teeth, a boob shaped pacifier (courtesy of my former first grade teaching staff), a Whoopie cushion (also a "gift" from the same teachers), gold medalions from a casino that I won a long time ago . . . the list could go on and on. I have a bunch of stuff.

I collect neat stuff that only old Bob and 12 year old kids like.

Stupid is as stupid does.

I feel somewhat obligated to do something with this collection of mine. It's understandable why our past Presidents build a library to store all of their papers collected while in office. They probably stored a lot of good stuff there, too.

Do you think President Nixon had a whoopie cushion or if Bill Clinton had a fart machine? If they did you can bet it's on display in their library.

Maybe that's what I should get - my own library. People would flock to the library to see my Bevis and Butthead talking machine. Or maybe it would be to check out my collection of knives, handcuffs and fart sprays.

I can't bear to throw or give anything away that's valuable. Building my own library would solve that problem.

Stupid is as Stupid Does. That would go over the front door of the library.

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Friday, January 12, 2007


Somewhere in life each of us had to learn how to take pictures with a camera.

My first camera was bought by saving a lot of boxtops from cereal boxes and sending a dollar to a post office box in Chicago.

She was beauty. A Dick Tracy camera. Definitely worth all of the boxtops and the buck.

I took a lot of pictures with my Dick Tracy. Some of the pictures were of my next door friend, Doug. Together we would usually play cowboy after school and on weekends.

We'd usually fight about who would be Gene Autry and who would be Gabby Hayes. Or who would be Roy Rogers and who would be the bad guy. Sometimes we would argue about who would be the Indian and who would be the cowboy.

Whoever got to be the bad guy was usually shot, tied up and then hung from the willow tree in our backyard. Hanging meant tieing a rope around the ankles of the bad guy, throwing the loose end over a sturdy branch and hauling the bad guy feet first up to the top of the limb.

I'd usually tie off the loose end and leave Doug hanging from upside down for a while. He'd get mad for leaving him "hung" for so long and then there would be a couple of 6 or 7 year old kids punching it out just like they did in the old west.

After college Doug ended up being a news director for a television station in San Jose. I should copy some of the old pictures I took with my Dick Tracy camera and send them to him.

Grace took the picture posted here. It's a nice picture of what her mother and Candace look like from the neck down. I think I know why Grace cut their heads off.

When Grace pushed the button down on the camera to take the picture the camera went down along with the button.

Other than that it's a pretty good body shot of the two ladies.

Maybe Grace needs a Dick Tracy camera to fine tune her skills with the camera.

What happened to my Dick Tracy camera is anyone's guess. If I still had this camera it'd be neat to let Grace practice taking pictures with it.

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Thursday, January 11, 2007


Ever check out the on-line edition of the Oregonian? Great paper. Often their editorials make more than a lot of sense - it's like the gospel. Believe it or be damned.

Here's today's Oregonian editorial speaking to last night's Bush speech:


'New way forward' is too little, too late

The poor execution of the war has exhausted America's patience

Thursday, January 11, 2007
The Oregonian

If we were still optimists, we might believe that President Bush's speech Wednesday offered a path to success in Iraq. Or at least a real recognition that American strategy -- military and political -- must change there.

But the lessons of the last four bloody years in Iraq leave no more room for optimism. And the president's repetition of familiar themes about the need for "victory" brings us no closer to believing that 21,500 more U.S. troops and some tough talk to the Iraqi government will turn things around.

It is time to concede that victory in Iraq is a mirage. It is time to begin withdrawing American troops. A U.S. military solution to Iraq's civil war seems beyond reach now. If there is a political solution -- within Iraq or regionally -- our continuing occupation of the country would seem to make it harder to achieve.

We cannot leave precipitously and, in any case, we have obligations to those who have worked with us in Iraq, especially in Kurdistan, which is hemmed in by hostile neighbors. But we must show -- not merely declare -- that our commitment to a recalcitrant Iraqi government has reached its limit. America's greatest national interest in Iraq now should be to withdraw its young men and women from an unproductive fight.

The immediate political burden falls not just on the president, but also on the Democratic Congress, which should do all that it can reasonably can do to change the United States' direction in Iraq. Even if it can't stop the deployment of additional troops, it should steadily hold the White House accountable for its decision to send them to war.

The president still believes victory can be salvaged from Iraq's turmoil. He says victory is essential to create a Middle Eastern state that is America's ally in the war on terror. But his new way forward leans heavily on some dubious assumptions.

It assumes that the Iraqi government will finally treat Sunnis, Kurds and Shia with equal favor: that the Iraqi army and police forces will become more disciplined and reliable, and that sending 21,500 U.S. troops to join the 132,000 already there will make a decisive difference in the level of security in Iraq.

Bitter experience argues against those assumptions. Add the escalating costs in American blood and dollars and the obvious strains on the Army, Marines and National Guard and America's course is clear.

The president's speech Wednesday would have been far more persuasive if it had been delivered 18 to 24 months ago, when it was becoming clear that the United States had underestimated the resistance of Iraqi insurgents and foreign fighters. It wouldn't have been too late to believe that a new military approach, combined with the outcomes of the successful Iraqi elections, could still lead to the emergence of a peaceful, democratic country.

But that moment has passed. It's too late now to believe that an increase in U.S. troops is anything more than what Oregon Sen. Gordon Smith has called President Bush's "Hail Mary pass" in hope of a victory.

Great Britain says it won't increase its forces in Iraq, and most of the rest of the military coalition has disappeared. The president is almost entirely alone in believing that the United States can still effect a victory in Iraq.

The most encouraging things to come from the president's speech are the recognition that previous tactics have failed to stop Iraq's civil war and the promise that America has reached a breaking point with the Iraqi government if it fails to act to quell the insurgency. Both developments are long overdue.

But a sustained, heavy commitment to Iraq is too heavy a burden on American troops, their families and the military. Congress should call the question. And American troops should begin coming home. "

I don't think that anyone could have put this sentiment any better.

The nearly forgotten comedy team of Laurel and Hardy: Laurel once said to Hardy, "This is a fine kettle of fish you've gotten us in."

Are you listening President Bush?

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Wednesday, January 10, 2007


As elementrary school kids we used to walk well over a mile to school. Unless it was raining walking to school was fun. We'd walk with our friends and the distance to school seemed short because we'd do all kinds of stuff to pass the time.

We'd kick rocks down the road, throw rocks at each other and have dirt clods fights which were cool until you were hit with a dirt clog with a rock in the middle of it.

We'd practice spelling tests. I remember misspelling the word "neighbor" on a practice test. One word I missed. Mr. Crumpacker, the teacher (his real name) asked the girl who lived across the street who also walked home with me to help me learn the word.

Jeanne taught me to tie my shoes. She also taught me to spell correctly the word neighbor. I always spell this word right.

Walking to and from school we'd also tell jokes, exchange riddles and sing songs.

We'd cross a set of railroad tracks put pennies and rocks on them. Expecting to find a derailed train all wrecked up the next day, we found only the bare metal tracks much the same as they were the day before. It was always puzzling to discover that the rocks and the pennies were gone and nowhere to be found. Who took them? What had happened to them, we thought.

Often we'd find cigarette packages that were empty which had been discarded out the window of a passing car. Back in the day, trash was not saved to be disposed of later. It was thrown out the car window.

If we found an empty pack of Camels we'd point to the front of it and ask an unsuspecting kid if they would rather sleep on a camel or sleep on the ground.

This question was cool because each kid we'd ask would explain why they chose one over the other. Usually they chose the ground to sleep on.

Then we'd laugh, turn the package over and on the back of the Camel pack was this giant mid eastern building that kind of looked like a hotel but really looked like the Taj Mahal.

We then said, "We wouldn't sleep on a camel or the ground! We'd go around the corner and sleep in a hotel!"

And you thought I'd get into how horrible it was to walk to school - braving sub zero weather, rain, sleet and snow just to get an elementary school education.

Walking to school was a lot of fun.

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Monday, January 08, 2007

Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?

A lot of the old songs are dying out. They're just not being sung or passed from one generation to the next.

As a boy my friends and I sang a lot of songs at school or we sung them after school and at home. The songs were from the days of the old west, songs that were sung by Doughboys in the trenches during WWI as well as music sung by everyone during WWII.

You don't hear anyone in our schools singing those songs today. Maybe you'd hear some rap crap or Justin Timberlake stuff.

Here Max and I are doing what we do best: Drink beer, talk and throw peanut shells on the floor. It's alright to do that at this place. Maybe we should have started singing one of the old songs during our lunch at Logan's Roadhouse.

They do a lot of singing in the taverns of Europe but do you ever hear singing in any bar in America? Usually not. They'd think we be nuts if the two of us started singing Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous at Logan's Roadhouse.

That's a WWI song our boys sang in the trenches inbetween bullets. Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous was most likely sung many times over in every bar, tavern, saloon, or pub by these guys. Many a beer has been hinkied, dinkied and parlez-voused with this tune.

Three of my grandmother's six brothers served during WWI on the front lines. These boys were hell on wheels and loved a good fight. The brothers were probably were pretty good at singing Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous until it came time to put up their dukes and fight like a man.

Sing this song. You'll be smiling just like our fighting Doughboys did 90 years ago when they sang it. You don't need to drink a beer to sing this song! :)

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

You didn't have to know her long,

To know the reason men go wrong!

Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

She's the hardest working girl in town,

But she makes her living upside down!

Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

The cooties rambled through her hair;

She whispered sweetly "C'est la guerre."

Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres, Parley-vous

She'll do it for wine, she'll do it for rum,

And sometimes for chocolate or chewing gum!

Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?

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Sunday, January 07, 2007


January 1st through the 5th was mostly spent in bed. No, this was not a John Lennon/Yoko Ono love in (remember when these two spent a month in bed in the name of peace?).

This was a knock you down, kick your ass, make you cry Uncle! flu.

You do not, I repeat, you do not want to get this stuff. Honestly, I thought I'd bought the farm. It was that bad.

My first day up and out was Saturday. It was like someone hit the switch and the flu was done, over, gone, kaput, finished, out of sight, nada . . .

To celebrate and to show that I have an iron tummy, I hit Jack in the Box at 9 in the morning for a Jumbo Jack and diet soda. Felt good and I kept it all down!

Candace called during her daily shopping spree and asked if I wanted anything. Yes, I said. Make it a KFC breast/wing meal with sides of cole slaw and mashed potatoes.

At 2:30 in the afternoon, while enjoying the Colts kick Kansas City's butt in playoff football, I feasted on my KFC meal.

Candace didn't feel well for dinner and passed on eating anything. So, called Round Table and asked them to deliver one of their Artisan pizzas.

At 7:00 p.m. I sat down to consume part of the best pizza in the whole world and watch the best football game I've seen in years: Dallas vs. the Seahawks. Whatta game. Whatta pizza.

I can't believe that I ate like that yesterday after not eating for nearly a week. I guess if the flu didn't kill me off all of the fast food consumed yesterday was no big deal.

Fast food restaurants should give out coupons that are redeemable for a heart by-pass procedure. That's the least that they could do for their customers.

We're off this morning to shop for sinks for our guest bathroom and new faucets for them. Remodeling of the most of the house should begin this month so these things need to be bought before that begins.

The picture? That's Helmet Man. When I become Helmet Man I put on this hat, put in the Billy Bob teeth, flick the switch on top and the red beacon comes on and starts spinning. A beep, beep sound goes with the spinning beacon.

I've had the helmet for years. When I wear it people either say, "Neat! Where did you get that?" Or they get a look on their face that can only mean that they're thinking, "Who the hell is that nut?".

When Grace hurts herself I become Helmet Man to help her stop crying. She usually laughs, the tears stop and Grace says, "Papa, you're soooo silly!". Grace has my number.

Grace also knows Mr. Clown Head. Mr. Clown Head does all kinds of silly things that makes Grace laugh. But that's another entry in this blog some other time.

Geeze, it feels great to be back with the living. It's no fun being sick.

Where was Helmet Man when I needed him?

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Tuesday, January 02, 2007


Late New Year's eve we took the dogs and walked the Sundial bridge. Frosty! Colder than a titches wit!

Half way through our walk across the bridge Jilli starts clawing at my pantleg. She was shivering and wanted to be cradled in the warmth of my arms.

There were a few people walking the bridge that evening, all in bright spirits and asking "Ohhh, what kind of dogs are those? They sooooo cute!"

I should lend out the dogs to single men needing dates. Meeting women would be a breeze. All it would take is a walk on the bridge - or anywhere.

Guys? Get a cute dog. That's your dating tip for the day.

We finished our walk, headed back to the truck and took a leisurely route home.

As it seems to be our custom at this point in life, we were in bed by 11:00 and just in time to listen to some neighborhood idiot firing his handgun. Apparently he or maybe she could not wait until midnight to celebrate the new year.

It went like this: bang! bang! bang bang! bang! bang! for six shots.


Then bang, bang all over again until it was time to reload.

This load and fire deal went on for about 20 minutes.

At midnight there was the noise of celebration mostly coming from weapons being discharged. I sat up in bed and waited for a stray round to go through the roof. It didn't. 2007 is off to a great start.

Don't you just love self portraits? It was pitch black dark on the bridge. You couldn't see a thing except for the bridge's illuminated deck.

It's a wonder that this picture is halfway centered. Doesn't Candace have nice teeth?

I woke up New Year's morning with a splitting headache and major body aches. It felt like someone had put a load of bricks on my head and then kicked me a number of times on the body.

Having consumed not much of anything alcoholic the night before I wondered if my condition was the result of food poisoning or maybe I had the flu.

Today the condition persists so it must be a case of the flu . . . or what Candace and Grace have had for the past week.

Oh joy.

Hopefully this is as bad as it gets and that I'll be on the mend tomorrow.

Grace will be over after preschool today as her mother is working. If I feel better this afternoon I'll make Bob's Chili. A good dose of my chili should burn out anything foreign I'm keeping inside of me.

If Bob's Chili doesn't kill me it should cure me.

I'll have to post the recipe some time in the not so distant future.

I gotta go lay down.

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Whiskeytown Lake, Very Northern California, United States