What About Bob?

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 15:24:00 +0000

They'll figure it out

In my leisure it's not unusual for me to take command of the kitchen (like any good captain would) and whip up something new for dinner. Nine times out of ten it's a good thing.

Have you noticed that cans of food in the super market are getting lighter? Yup, one way to boost profits is to cut what's in the can so the manufacturer can produce more cans of whatever using the same amount of contents overall but less in each can and earn the same amount of money. They're happy. The consumer is once again screwed.

If you cook a lot or even a little you know that recipes call for stuff in ounces or pounds. Take for example Christmas Pasta, a favorite of mine for well over four years. You can find it under Christmas Pasta on the FoodTV website. Anyway, the recipe calls for 32 ounces of crushed tomatoes. No such animal. Crushed tomatoes have been downsized to 28 ounces.

When the manufacturers decided to reduce the amount in each can of tomatoes they knew well what recipes call for. They're not calling for 28 ounces of tomatoes but for 32 ounces. I guess in making this decision they thought that the consumer would figure out what to do. They'll figure it out!

So I add the 28 ounce can of crushed tomatoes to my recipe and then add a 14 ounce can of chopped tomatoes. I figured it out. Actually, the addition of the chopped tomatoes make for a better sauce.

Today I'm cooking Knife and Fork Beef Stroganoff Burgers. You can find this on the CBS TV web page under the Rachel Ray show. It calls for 2 cups of beef stock. Unless you use bullion cubes it's going to be hard to find 2 cups of beef stock on the shelves of your local market. The cans have been downsized to 14.5 ounces. Yup. I come up with 29 ounces of beef stock via canned beef stock instead of the 32 called for in the recipe.

Am I splitting hairs here? Probably. But the thought remains that time and time again the consumer is hoodwinked and few know that they've been had. It's the principle of the thing. For the manufacturer it's not the principle but it's about business.

Today I'll make up the small difference in stock with a little water. Should be no big deal.

I wrote here eons ago when Dreyers's ice cream cut the amount in their containers big time and sold them for the same amount of cash. Like we wouldn't notice? That means we run out of ice cream sooner all due to a reduced size of Dreyer's ice cream which equates into more sales for Dreyer's. I should quit while I'm ahead in the name of clear arteries and lay off the ice cream. Ya think?

Wifey says life is not so much how you take it but what you make of it. She's right. If you don't change up in life when it's called for you'll be driven crazy. Nuts. Whacko. Loco.

I just know that good Lord puts modern day challenges before us. He does that to keep us thinking. When this happens I just know what his thinking is: They'll figure it out.

And we will, won't we.......

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:54:00 +0000

Some things I just don't understand

Yesterday in the Wall Street Journal it was reported that the annual cost to support one solder in Afghanistan is a million bucks. The article went on to state that 250-350 thousand of that amount is in fuel costs.

One soldier = a millions bucks. I can't quite understand the rationale behind the thinking to increase the troops in Afghanistan when the stakes are so high ....in lives....in money. And the results of our efforts there are likely to come up short. For what?

My gawd, we could wipe out starvation the world around if the money used to fight this war was put to such a noble cause. While we're on this subject and BTW: Wifey and Bob just made a sizable contribution to the Lalmba Foundation to help fund their African medical and education endeavors.

Okay, where was I.......America needs to get back to minding their own business and looking after its citizens. We can't even stem the tide of illegals floating over our borders let alone win a war on the other side of the world. Who are we trying to kid anyway?

Sitting here at the computer, composing this an old Beatles song runs through my head: Get Back. I'm think America needs to get back. Get back!

"Get back, get back
Get back to where you once belonged
Get back, get back
Get back to where you once belonged
Get back, Jojo
Go home

Get back, get back
Back to where you once belonged
Get back, get back
Back to where you once belonged
Get back, Jo"

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 15:17:00 +0000

Sometimes it's a reach

I've always felt that if you're going to maintain a blog that it's important to write in it. Why keep the damn thing open if you don't do that regularly? Often times though it's a reach to write anything of substance.   Hmm, what to write, what to write . . . goes through my mind at all hours of the day and night. Is this place an obsession of mine? After posting 1,200 pieces of Lord knows what, you could say just that. Bob is obsessed.

I could write about Wifey's visit yesterday to the church Gracie and her family attends.   Grace's family were chosen to light an Advent candle and recite several Scriptures. This is a different church, one that professes that one must accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior as being the only ticket into Paradise.   The Devil is denounced at every opportune moment - he's everywhere they say. During choral singing hands are waved in the air which adds a different touch to our church going experience. The church also teaches that women must serve their men . . . no bitching . . . just do what it takes to serve your man. Need I say more about the foundation of this church?

Wifey and I have attended religious service since we were both in diapers. To state that we must openly accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior before we are allowed into Heaven makes us stand there with our mouths open and muttering "Huh?" Doesn't that sentiment go with the territory of being spiritual/religious? I mean if you go to church or of a God fearing, Jesus loving nature that pretty says it. YOU BELIEVE!

Different stokes for different folks.

That's the sum total of what's in Bob's bank of things to write about. Hopefully it will be replenished come Tuesday.

It's Monday.   Happy work week, people.

Cowtown 12 Days Of Christmas

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 16:12:00 +0000

Where I Want to Be

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 20:55:00 +0000

Gracie's other grandmother's memorial service is at 2 today. I'm thinking anywhere but there. I so very much hate things like that.

So, during the services in my head I'll be sailing somewhere warm. Drink in hand. Chicken wings frying down in the cabin. Wheel in the other. This song playing on Sparkle Plenty's sound system.

Where I want to be.......

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 22:16:00 +0000

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 21:56:00 +0000

Not the Land of Milk and Honey

What do you think of when you heard that American is the land of milk and honey? I think horseshit, that's what I think. Back in the day you could rest assured that America was prosperous enough to earn that moniker but no more.   Unemployment rate in double digits.   Scads of home foreclosures.   Children living in squalor and suffering from malnutrition.   Need I go on? This is not the America we used to know.

But you could think of the new America in different terms.   Change milk and honey to fat and sodium. Plenty of that stuff going around. Check any food container label or the nutritional analysis of the fast good that you choke down two or three times a week. Loaded with salt. Loaded with fat.    Or America could be referred to as being the land of Pork and Corruption.   But milk and honey we are not. What's happened to us?

During the time of Milk and Honey movies used to be worth seeing. They even had a message for the audience or a moral. Gone.   I'm thinking that films made today reflect our culture, our society, who we are as Americans.   That's a pretty sad state if films are used as the stick to measure who we are.

Then there's music.   Music today focuses on and play to the idiots of our culture.   Most musicians can carry a tune unless there's a bunch of F bombs in the lyrics.   Lowbrow shit. Nobody is writing music that's going to endure the test of time - like was written during the Milk and Honey period.

Then I read today about a criminal on trial in Florida for Lord knows what.   So that the jury doesn't get the wrong idea on who this guy is the court has hired a makeup artist to cover up some of the tattoos on him - like the Swastika on his neck for one.   If I were the judge I'd want the jury to know everything about the scumbag and not protect him.   Geeze. Points out that who you are is defined not only by the company that you keep but also on the tatt's you put on your body. The makeup artist is your tax dollars at work and what a waste that is.

Enough of counting my blessings. Have an LOL on Bob while you're at it.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 14:58:00 +0000

Brrrrrrrr

Cold is not the word. Freezing! It's been under 20 every morning this week. For some under 20 is a heat wave. For those living in sunny California under 20 is colder than a tiches wit! It's close to the winter equinox what the hell do I expect? Now all we need is rain to fill the lakes and make the farmers happy. At this time of year our neck of the woods should have well over 10 inches of rain. We've only gotten 4 inches. What I hate about that it is likely we'll get 40 days and 40 nights of it - - - non-stop. It's nice to have a little rain now with sunshine inbetween.   Looks like that is not happening this year.

With the cold weather we've had the wood stove brightly burning every day with a little supplemental heat from the forced air system. Wifey heads off to the gym each morning by 5:30 and I head to the wood pile to gather enough to kindle a burn in the stove.   Nice routine unless you love lard assing in bed all morning . . . which we do not. Gotta make hay while the sun shines.

Gerald, our window washer, is coming out to wash all of them inside and out.   That's one chore I absolutely hate. Bob does not do windows.   Everything else but not the windows. Gerald does a great job so why mess with something if it's not broken. A while back Gerald thought he could make a living by playing Internet poker . . .you know, the games that are available on line that are based "off shore".   He lost his ass (predictable) and is back doing what he knows and what Gerald does best . . . .he does windows.

Yesterday I wrote about Marina Bob and his soon to be installed set of false teeth. What I didn't mention is that Bob is a recovering meth addict who lost his chompers due to the use of that terrible drug. New teeth for Bob is like a success story for him.   Off the shit. Gainfully and happily employed. Well liked by those who frequent the marina.   That hole in Bob's smile is gonna be fixed real soon. There will be photos here of our steak dinner.

The picture posted here is of the holiday cheer that's anchored on the front lawn.   What else would I have on the lawn other than Santa skippering his boat?

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 21:04:00 +0000

Frozen nuts?

WHOO HOO! WELCOME TO POST NUMBER 1,200!!!

Yes, frozen nuts. Yesterday I made the 10 minute drive to the lake to check on Sparkle Plenty. When I arrived it was clear as a bell and 38 degrees just outside of the truck. A long walk down the dock and to the end of the marina 38 degrees it was not. Ice covered a large portion of the boat's forward deck. A stiff wind was blowing from the south west which probably created a wind chill of 32 or less.

It didn't take long and Bob done did froze his nuts off. Cold fingers (damn gloves with holes in the fingers are worthless in that kind of weather).   Cold nose and everything else.

I did what was needed. Opened up the cabin to check the dehumidifier. Looked for cabin leaks. Took a leak. :) Fired up the engine. Usually starts with a couple of cranks. She wasn't going to give it up that easy in that weather After about a half dozen attempts the little engine came to life albeit rocky.   I kept it running for about 10 minutes . . . . just enough time to warm it up and give the batteries a charge.

Bob, the marina manager just had to talk. Here I am freezing my nuts off and Bob walks all the way down the dock to my boat and wants to talk. Bob tells me that he is having the remainder of his upper front teeth removed on December 22nd in preparation for false teeth. Bob lamented that it was going to take $500 to be "put under". That's a must, he said. Just can't handle being awake when someone is using tools in his mouth. That's an interesting picture . . tools in mouth. Hmm......crow bar anyone?

Bob thought that insurance would cover half of the 500 but wasn't sure about the other half. Making minimum wage doesn't leave a lot left for things like anesthesia. I slapped Bob on the back, told him that everything would be covered and that I was proud of him to be taking care of business.

Me: When it's all said and done and you're feeling up to it, I'll be buying you a steak dinner to celebrate.

Bob:   You'd do that for me?

Me: You bet.

Bob shakes my hand and gives me a big hug. It was truly a Bob moment.

What Bob doesn't know - at least not yet - that I'll be covering anything his insurance doesn't to make certain that he goes ahead with this procedure. And why not? It's the season to give until it hurts. Don't you know?

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 20:41:00 +0000

Hello? HELLO?! Is Anybody Up There?

While sitting early Friday in the dermatologist's parking lot waiting for my 7:10 a.m. appointment, I snapped this. A marvelous sunrise as this often catches me off guard. So overwhelming. So thought provoking.

We're taught or at least I was that up there . . . way up there, is heaven. It's where all the good people go. Naturally when I look up to marvel the heavens I think about Mom, Dad, Grandma Nellie, Wifey's mom and dad and wonder if they're up there watching down on who's left to mind the home fires. I did that Friday. I thought - - - Hello? Anyone home up there? Can you see me? What are you thinking?

Do you do that? Do you think anyone is home?

While I sat and enjoyed the sunrise onn Friday I remembered the words of my father-in-law when I suggested to him at age 67 to get a comprehensive health check. After pondering my suggestion for what seemed to be forever he put on that shit ass eating grin of his and responded with, "And then what?"

Me; And then what? Then what would be that if there was an issue you'd be taken care of. You've often said that you'd live to be more than 80, probably 90. Getting a physical is one way to do that.

Father-in-law: And then what?

Six months later he died of a heart attack on the steps of South Lake Tahoe's Little Harvey's Casino and Inn.

And then what . . . came into focus.   He had always done life on his terms. He died living his terms and being in complete control of all that was around him. He didn't want what came with the results of a physical exam that called for a heart by-pass or something like that and lose control. Plain and simple. Father-in-law was never a good patient for any physician. Why would he want to start at age 67? And he didn't.

Spending half a day a week ago in the hospital brought "And then what?" to mind.   The place is like a little shop of horrors. You know what I mean. I blew the whistle that something seemed wrong "And then what?" earned me a visit to the hospital. The old boy knew just that - - - and before answering the question of "And then what" deeply thought about what life saving steps would mean to him. A little shop of horrors.    Was it worth it? If something went wrong during surgery, "And then what?"

I guess it comes down to weighing going through an ordeal in the name of living longer or just taking the "fuck it" way out and let the chips fall where they may. Either way the question will remain the same for both scenarios: And then what?

You often hear people mention that they want to die doing something they enjoy. Like the mountain climber who ventures onto a shaky ledge when he should have taken the longer way around it - - - only to have it collapse pitching him into a 2,000 foot head long dive onto the valley floor.   At a ripe old age why not go out doing what you love to do instead of being tortured in the little shop of horrors.

Me? I'll go out doing what I love.   Struck by lightning while sailing in an electrical storm. I've been known to do things like that.   If nothing else I will be fully charged . . . ready for the big journey into the unknown.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 20:03:00 +0000

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 18:09:00 +0000

Random Rambling

Written last week but published Monday, 12/07:

#1 While working on Sparkle Plenty yesterday: Man approaches and obvious he wants to talk.

Him: Nice boat.

Me: Yeah, it's a real tub, isn't it. Are you camping or do you have a boat in one of the slips?

Him: I'm living out of my van. Just here for the night. Headed for Eureka to find a cheap place to camp. Been doing this for about three years now. Heat soup on a little stove in the van. Try to stay warm at night. Living on Social Security. They were taking 100 bucks out of my check for health care. I'd rather have the money. Major health problem comes up I'll solve it with Mr. Smith and Weston.

As I walked back to the parking lot I noticed one of the boats with a lot of animal crap in it. Bob, the marina manager tells me an otter has taken up residence and has a habit of shitting where he sleeps. Here's hoping Mr. Otter doesn't move down the dock to Sparkle Plenty.

#2 On Tiger Woods: What's the big deal? Adultery happens all the time. That shit is in our genetic makeup. We act like Tiger's little fling or flings is something new all judging by the press it is getting.   Boys are going to be boys and girls are going to be girls. Doesn't make it right but nonetheless adultery will always be a fact of life. Get over it and let's get on with something that matters like global warming, the senseless killing of our troops, and watching out for China to start the next major world conflict.

#3 This year we're forwarding a major donation to an African village in support of their school. It feels right.

#4 I'm loving the new contract lens prescription. It's nice to put all that's in front of me in focus.

#5 College football: It would have been nice for Oregon State to knock down Oregon last week. It was just not meant to be.   Saturday Nebraska (my home boys) goes against Texas for the Big 12 Championship. Go Huskers!

#6 Visiting with the dermatologist this morning and hoping the facial treatment is coming to an end. Visited the hospital yesterday for more tests and everyone remembered who I was for what I think is my horribly red and crusty forehead Hard to forget a face like that! Hopefully the end for this process is near. It will be nice to be able to appear in public without a hat covering that mess up.

#7 If this is the season to be jolly why am I feeling less than that? Try listening to a song on You Tube called the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Andy Williams) and then let me know if it moves you towards holiday spirit.

#8 Turn signals on cars. If no one uses them why put them in new cars?

#9 The kicker within this post happened Friday:

Me: I've been experiencing tingling sensations on the left side of my face. This landed me in the E.R. as Wifey et. al. thought is was a stroke. Everyone thought Bob was about ready to buy the farm.

Dermatologist: Oh, that's a side effect of the topical ointment you're applying to your face.

Me: I called your office last week and asked if that was the case. I was told that the ointment wasn't a factor.

Dermatologist: Well, it is. What you're feeling is the drainage down your neck and a tingling sensation all due to the wounds on your forehead.

I guess I should have smacked the dude. He did have it coming or at least his office assistant did.

So I went through hell in the ER, tests, stuck with needles for nothing.....If this isn't a good example of "life" I don't know what is. I am relieved but I'm also pissed that what I went through could have been prevented.

Someone once said that it's better to be pissed off than pissed on. Well hell, I am pissed and I'm all wet with piss, too. I got the two-for one special. Hahaha on Bob!

The ultra sound test on the carotid arteries?    Blockage in each artery from the base of the neck to the head are rated on a scale of 1-7 - seven being major duty blocks. Both arteries were completely clear and not even a ONE on this scale.   This was the best news of the week.

I'm out of stuff to ramble about.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 14:58:00 +0000

Is it Wednesday?

It has to be. Supermarket ads in this morning's paper fairly well spell out that indeed it is Wednesday and for those working stiff it marks mid-week. Time is flying and to where I have no clue.

Yesterday's visit to the hospital for ultra sound on each of the two carotid arteries was all good.

Me: Looking good?

Nurse: I'm not a physician trained to read these outcomes but in my humble opinion it's all good.

One more test - - - full brain MRI. I'll ask for a discount on this one since Bob presently operates with half a brain or better yet, a bird brain. Surely there's consideration for one of both of those.

If all looks well on the MRI results there's still the question of why the tingling sensation continues on the left side of my face. What it is? I wonder.......

Enough of this Thanksgiving dinner table talk.....doesn't that happen to you? Aunt Mable or Uncle Popsy - - don't relatives of age always discuss what ails them during the once a year family gathering? Don't want to be labeled as one of those. You've heard enough of what ails Bob to last for quite some time.

That aside life is good. In fact life could not be better. I planned it this way. I did. What I wanted in life I started planning for at an early age - - - at about 9 or 10. In varying stages what was planned was definitely attained. Not rocket science. Not magic. Just plain old looking ahead, plain old common sense, plain old hard work, reaching for the brass ring and holding on to it.

As I look where I am in mid-week and what's planned for today there's a big smile on my face knowing how sweet life is.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:19:00 +0000

Nothing is as easy as it looks

That would be Murphy's Law #14. It isn't. Nothing is as easy as it looks. Take that neighbor of yours. You think they've got it made. Everything on the outside is picture perfect. Money. Good looks. Expensive home and cars. Well paying jobs. Model marriage. Storybook kids. Their shit doesn't stink. It all looks good and easy.

Once you get to know people like that it's an easy statement to make when it's said, "It ain't no bed of roses." Everyone is human and with that comes the human condition. Nothing is easy. If anything can go wrong it will. Shit happens to all of us. No exception to that rule. But you knew all this, didn't you.

What you didn't know is what's in the pictures posted here. Take the first one: It's the lake and the ramp from the parking lot down into the marina where Sparkle Plenty is moored. The ramp during the summer months was straight across onto the docks. Straight. No incline. That's how much water has been dumped from the lake since the first of October. There are a ton of small islands popping up around the lake that makes navigation a serious deal for Bob. You see Sparkle Plenty has a wing, leaded keel. Couple thousand pounds of lead. The draft on her is about 5 feet from waterline to the bottom of the keel. Hit a partially submerged island and you've got a problem removing the boat from whence she was wedged. Nothing is as easy as it looks. So I sail carefully.

There remains about 40 feet of water under the boat in its berth. I like that.

Slightly out of focus here (posted the wrong photo leaving the in focus one on the desktop by error) is Grace decorating our tree this past Saturday. Next time I'll post the better of the two. You thought posting pictures on Blogger was easy but oh, no! Nothing is as easy as it looks. I like things just right - perfect. This post is not exactly right and it bothers me. Nonetheless here it is.

Yesterday's appointment with the family physician went well.

First words:

Dr: "Judging by your forehead I see you've been seeing Doc Kraffert."

I had to laugh. Apparently more than a few people have fallen victim to Kraffert's skin treatment approach.

We talk for a while and go over what's happened over the past week. Wifey sits attentively listening and contributing when asked.

Dr: "Well, if we were backpacking in the high Sierra and you began to exhibit these symptoms I'd tell you to take a couple of aspirins and cowboy up. But since we're not and in the interest of being certain that what you're experiencing is not just a matter of banging your head while sailing (which I did royally last week) let's go through with the tests at the hospital and see what the results are. I doubt that there will be anything other than a picture of fine health.

There is an outside chance that you are having mini-strokes or that you have shingles or possibly Bell's Palsy. Time and the tests will tell. You do need to get your blood pressure under control (I always have high blood pressure during any visit to any physician). Buy a monitoring device and keep track of your b.p. daily."

So, it seems all good. But one can never be sure. One of Murphy's Laws states, "If anything can go wrong it can and it will."

Ultra sound test on the carotid arteries today. MRI sometime this week. Hopefully shit doesn't happen.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 15:34:00 +0000

The Need to Tinker

There are few, if any, cars on the road that were manufactured in the year I was born. I'll bet that you can say the same. The cars that were built in that year that are being driven need constant tinkering to keep them running. Bob is convinced that like an older automobile that his body needs periodic tinkering to keep it "on the road".

Take for example the recent run-in with skin cancer which resulted in a face peel which at this very moment sees Bob with a forehead and a nose beet red, crusty and bleeding in spots. Now that's what I call tinkering at it's finest. It's going to be a good thing or so I'm told - - - worth the hassle. I'll be glad to be able to be seen in public again. Looks like that's going to happen in January.

Then Friday Bob has symptoms of a stroke. That's right. The left side of Bob's face tingled off and on. That's a sign of a major stroke. I think, "Shit, more tinkering".

A trip to the E.R. at the local hospital. Have you sat in an E.R. waiting room lately? It's terrible. Mostly plum packed full of losers that made loser choices that earned them a trip to the E.R. One guy had his hand wrapped in a towel having just stuck it in the radiator fan blades of car. A woman with a barf bag moaning loudly. There were a few others who sat quietly and thought about the what came next in tinkering to keep them up and running.

There were tests. There was an M.R.I. There were talks between three physicians as to how to best tinker with Bob. There were talks of keeping Bob for a few days. One physician asked Bob, "Do you like hospital food?" Now that's a tinkering question if I ever heard one. Hospital food is not conducive to tinkering. This I know.

At the end of four hours in the E.R. there were no answers but only questions. The MRI didn't reflect any bleeding in and around the brain. Blood tests were good. So in the spirit of tinkering and practing the art of practicing medicine there will be more tests this week. Ultra sound on the arteries in the neck. Contrast oriented MRI. Investigate the possibility of Bell's Palsy. Tinker. Tinker and more tinker.

Over the past few days Wifey is nearly beyond herself thinking that Bob will drop dead at any moment. I tell her that Bob is not going to go that easily . . . that it's going to have to take a lot more than this to put me down. Wifey halfway believes me and frankly I halfway believe me, too. I'd feel a lot better if there were more cars on the road that were made in the year I was born.

This will be a week for tinkering. Keep Bob on the road. And keep Bob on the water sailing. Tinker. Tinker. Tinker.

As George Burns once said, "If I knew that I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself."

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 16:20:00 +0000

Too Smooth 4 Sailing

Yesterday on the lake: 76 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. Absolutely no wind at all. Flat water lake surface. It was way too smooth to sail.

Since there's no wind we motor out to the middle of the lake. Wifey curls up on the deck and takes a nap. I screw around with the sails actually thinking that I can get the boat to move without absolutely any wind. Three other sailboats sit just like we're sitting. We wave at each other.

After her power nap Wifey hands me a plastic tumbler filled with liquid.

Me: What's that?

Wifey: It's Coke. I thought you'd like it in a glass.

I take the Coke and pour it out over the side of the boat.

Wifey: What's that all about? I take the time to get you something to drink and you pour it out?

Me: That was one of the tumblers that I took a leak into the other day. I just couldn't pee over the side and I didn't want to use the head. It was handy so I peed in it.

Wifey: I am thinking you would have let me drink out of that damn thing and not said one freaking word. You'd do that, wouldn't you. And peeing in drink cups. That's so very wrong, Bob.

Bob with a big smile on his face.

Me: As Capt of this boat I can very well pee anywhere and in anything I want. And yeah, I probably would not have said anything . . . think I'd want to be killed over something like that?

Moral of this story: While sailing with Bob open your own drink cans and never EVER drink out of any cups or tumblers. Nothing is sacred on the good ship Sparkle Plenty.

On this Thanksgiving Day I am thankful to be able to live to tell this story. Yes, Wifey would have killed Bob dead over a plastic tumbler used to pee in.

Happy day to each one of you!

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 14:21:00 +0000

Done Deal

It hit 77 degrees in Cowtown yesterday. That broke a record for the warmest temperature in Cowtown for November 24th. Today will be close to that but no record.

This morning:

Me: Time for some sailing today. Weather's right. There will be some wind. Let's go do it.

Wifey: That would be good for my spirit. I need that.

Me: Done deal. Let's hit the lake around noon.

If Thanksgiving day is anywhere near today's weather we'll sail before putting that very delicious looking prime rib in the oven. 'Tis the season to still be sailing.

Anchors aweigh, Matey's!

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 15:49:00 +0000

Should Have Known Better

Grace spent the night last night. She asked if we could go out to dinner at Red Lobster. Grace just loves shrimp and sees the ads on TV with the RL plates loaded with the stuff. She just has to go.

Last meal I had at the RL was shit. That was a couple of years ago. I should have known that shit doesn't turn to roses overnight and brought shrimp from the market to eat at home.

We both order off of RL's wood fired menu: Sirloin steak with skewered shrimp. Popcorn shrimp was the only shrimp on the kid's menu (and Grace doesn't like popcorn shrimp) so we planned on sharing our meal with Grace.

Server: Would you like baked or mashed potatoes with your meal?

We both choose baked with condiments on the side.

Salads arrive. Mine has obviously sat in it's bowl in the refrigerator complete with dressing for quite some time as the dressing was had sunk to the bottom of the bowl and the lettuce was sticking to the bottom. This should have been an omen. Even Olive Garden provides a fresh bowl of greens and tosses it at the table.

Main course arrives. Steak. Check. Shrimp on skewers. Check. Baked potato with condiments on the side. Check. Mashed potatoes, too?! And no vegetable?! This makes no sense.

The steak is over seasoned. Big time. A lot of spice and too much pepper. The skin of the baked potato has been coated in salt and oil and is inedible. I summon the wait person.

Me: There's no vegetable with either of our meals.

Server: Doesn't come with vegetables.

Me: You're kidding. In an age where obesity is rampant and this is RL's contribution to stop it by serving no vegetables and two starches?

Server: That's how it comes.

Me: And we asked for baked potato which is here but both plates have mashed on them. Why?

Server: The wood fired meals come with mashed potatoes.

Me: So why did you ask if we wanted mashed or baked?

Blank stare from the server. She's obviously tired of Bob's questioning.

The bill comes. We complain again in regards to the meal and the over seasoning of the steaks.

Server: It's new seasoning and that's how it comes.

You'd think at least one meal would have been comped. Nope. $54 bucks to eat shit. I should have known better than to come back to a place where it was nearly guaranteed we'd have a terrible experience. Eating at RL is just awful.

We leave and drive home. I get on the Internet and write to RL regarding our experience via their website. It probably won't do any good to complain 'cause it didn't do any good last night. I expect nothing nor do I want it. With the good that they serve how RL stays in business is beyond me. I've definitely had my last meal there.

Consider yourself warned.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 13:54:00 +0000

Post Script

Grammy # 2 died late Saturday.

She was 60 years old not 62.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 16:34:00 +0000

Life is not always fair

Gracie's other grandmother (The mother to Gracie's mom) checked into the hospital last week. Grammy #2 wasn't feeling well. The first hospital she checked into couldn't find anything wrong and passed her over to an assisted care facility for some rehab. That didn't work out as Grammy #2 still didn't feel right. Time for a second opinion at another hospital.

Second hospital did tests. And more tests. At the conclusion of the tests it has been determined that Grammy #2 at age 62 is dying and nothing can be done to reverse it. That has come as quite a shock to everyone except Bob. Life long habit of smoking. Life to extreme excesses. Grammy #2 has done a number on herself. I hate being right.

There's a vigil at the hospital. Family members take turns sitting with poor Grammy #2 who most likely won't live the week out. Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately, Grammy #2 is so doped up she has no clue who is sitting with her and what time of day it is. The medical staff feel it's better to keep her pain free as they opine that it's much more difficult to achieve that level if left un-medicated and alert.

I've cried over this. But the tears were not so much for the dying but for those soon to be left behind. The tears were also in memory of how each of our parents died and the effect their loss had on both of us. Years later those wounds still sting.

Why is it that we know death comes sooner of later and that the process of birth/life/death/infinity woven into our existence . . . that's we're so unprepared for it? When death knocks on the door it often comes as a shock. A surprise. We're ripped to pieces. The general sentiment is that life can be so very unfair.

I wonder if in her last hours if Grammy #2 is going over her life and answering fundamental questions.

Have I lived fully?

Have I loved well?

Have I just been taking up space?

One would hope or pray that the answers could come up, Yes, Yes and Nope.

What would your answers be?

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 17:29:00 +0000

The Revelation

It's coming. I just know it. The revelation will come if not this year then certainly in the next.

Grace: I know there's no Santa Claus.

Me: How do you know that?

Grace: Someone told me at school and then I asked my mom if she was Santa. So now I know there is no Santa Claus. Santa is mom and dad.

I've thought a lot about the deal about whether there is or is not a Santa. Probably spent more time thinking about that when I should have been planning the next move in the stock market. Knowing Grace is going to come up with the revelation that there is no Santa I want to be prepared. You see, I believe in Santa. I do. And no seven year old kid is going to convince me otherwise.

Me: Grace, there is a Santa. There is. And I believe there is a Santa.

Grace: Papa! Not really. Have you ever seen the real Santa come down the chimney and put presents under the tree.

Me: Yes, Papa....I believe in Santa and you should too. No, I've never seen Santa come down the chimney and put presents under the tree. Do you know of anyone who has? But before you answer that I want you to think about something. You believe in God and and you believe in Jesus. Right?

Grace: Yes, I believe in God and Jesus.

Me: Have you ever seen God or Jesus or do you know anyone who has seen them?

Grace: No one ever told me that before. Maybe they have.

Me: But even though no one has ever seen God or Jesus they still believe in them.

Grace: That's because they are real. Santa is not.

Me: Ahhh, that's where you're wrong. Just because you've never seen Santa doesn't mean that we should not believe in him. Believing in Santa is believing a part of the spirit of Christmas that brings families together to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Jesus is the reason for the season but Santa also makes it a special time for families to join together. That's why I'll always believe in God, Jesus and Santa.

Grace will probably not know what to think or say right then. But then neither does any member of the family know what to say when I expect this personal belief of mine with them.

Grace just turned seven. I'm hoping for at least one more year of innocence on the topic of Santa. There are too many harsh revelations in this life that are tough pills to swallow for our youngest. I am hoping this one stays in the bottle for a little while longer. I hate the thought of once more being the only one in the family who believes in Santa Claus.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 20:03:00 +0000

Don't know what to think

Dermatologist appointment this morning:

Me: Lab results should be back. Were the edges of the biopsy clear?

Dr: Nope.

Me: Oh, great. Now what?

Dr: I think that I got all of it. Let's continue to treat the area with Alvara (topical treatment designed to remove pre-cancerous growths and eliminate basil cell carcinoma). Time will tell.

Me: So, how will I know if time will tell? Will the lesion surface if it continues to grow?

Dr. It's likely that it won't surface and that it will burrow further into your nose and into your respiratory system. That's if it comes back and we don't detect it.

Me: What about surgery?

Dr: You wouldn't like that. It would leave you with a huge dent in your nose and scarred. Surgeons operating on this area tend to take more than they should. Stupid practice but nonetheless it's done more frequently than not. It would not be pretty. If it were me I'd do what's just been recommended. Ointment. Watch the area carefully.

There's no choice but to play the hand that's just been dealt unless I go under the knife. Honestly, I don't know what to think or what to do. It's hard to fathom how such a small thing can become life threatening.

Pins?

Needles?

I'm on them.

The photo: Taken professionally of Wifey and Gracie. They're sitting on the boat having another one of their girl to girl conversations.

Priceless.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:17:00 +0000

Crabby Tuesday

I'm crabby: I can't see a damn thing. The visit to the optometrist yielded a new prescription for contact lenses which I'm wearing right now. Left eye bumped to a 4.0 with the right 50 leaving me with blurry distant vision. The screen of the computer is blurry.   Back to see the optometrist this afternoon.

If there are mistakes or if some of this post doesn't make sense it's because I can't see what the hell I'm doing Bare with me.

I'm also crabby over this: Spaghetti for a Thanksgiving Feast? Each year at this time Gracie's school invites parents and relatives to join the students in a Thanksgiving feast complete with turkey and all the trimmings. This year the cafeteria manager decided for lord knows what reason to serve spaghetti instead of turkey. How un American is that?! I knew that broad was a commie bitch in disguise!

Bob's really crabby about this: Then I learn that we're billions in debt to the Chinese all thanks to bailing this and that out. If that's not bad enough there's the trade deficit between the U.S. and China. The experts say trade between the two countries should be a buck in and a buck out. Doesn't work that way. China's sending shit loads of their goods here but only allowing a trickle from the U.S. to enter their country. So we're being double screwed by China.

Bob is crazy crabby here: If we fought World War II like we're fighting the war in the Middle East we'd all be speaking Japanese or German and driving cars manufactured in their countries. Well, this is half right. Won the war but lost the battle of vehicles. My thoughts are that if you're going to fight a war then fight the damn thing and be done with it. Civilians in the way? That didn't stop Give 'em Hell Harry when he ordered two big ones to be dropped on two Japanese cities. That didn't stop the Allies from firebombing a half dozen cities in Germany and Japan. So now we don't do that and the big wigs wonder why we can't win a war in the Middle East.    Gotta do what ya gotta do if you're going to fight a war. If you can't or won't do "that" then don't get in the middle of a war that you don't plan on winning.

Bob is hiding out and crabby because: My forehead looks like I've got jungle rot. Red. Blotches. Crusty skin. Open sores. All thanks to my dermatologist. I've been invited to a few functions this week which I have begged off. Can't stand being seen like that.   And we're not even half through the process of peeling a couple of layers of skin off. Shit.

It felt good to get that load off my mind. But I'm still crabby. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:05:00 +0000

Hut, one, two, three, four, HUT!

It's Veteran's Day. I'm a veteran and don't feel like celebrating. The local Elks Lodge will toast the veterans with a shot of cognac promptly at high noon. I ask, why in a time of "war" toast those of us who served and lived to tell about it? Toast those fighting on the front lines and pray that they come home to tell about it at a future Veteran's Day celebration.

I also don't feel like celebrating or making a big deal of this day as back then serving was something everyone who was able (and not chickenshit) did. A stint in the military was the law of the land. Those who served and were lucky to come out of Viet Nam alive finished their tour of duty and got on with their lives. For me, no thank you's are necessary. It was the price of living in a Democracy.

One good thing about Veteran's Day: A cable channel or two will run war movies all the live long day. Whoo Hoo! Break out the beer and the buffalo chicken wings. Put new batteries in the remote control. We are going to war on TV today. It's going to rain so that's the perfect excuse to plop my fat white ass in front of the TV. Gotta wear my combat helmet . . . break out the .45 sidearm. Cradle the M-16 in my lap. I'll be good to go. Lock and load, people. Lock and load.

Here's Gracie wearing Bob's military uniform. Last week she begged me to dig it out and I did. Damn uniform reflects a back in the day Bob. It's a size 37. Check your closet. Anyone you know with any meat on their bod small enough to wear a 37? Good lord, no! I was all of 140 pounds. 5'10" A lean, mean, fighting machine. Perfect fit for a size 37 uniform jacket.

Meanwhile, pray for our troops and forget those who been there, did that and served their country in the process - - - as well we should have.

Whooooahhhh!

supersuperbob@hotmail.com (Bob) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 14:30:00 +0000

Grace turns seven

Last weekend Grace turned seven. Most of the kids in second grade turned seven long ago and are about to or have already turned eight. Most definitely Gracie is the youngest kid in second grade at her school. That said, even though the youngest she can run with the best of them.

She opened the gifts from us on Friday at our home. On Saturday she had her party at her mother's home complete with most of her BFF's and other relatives.

As you see below, Grace just had to sit with her very best boy friend. She has it all figured out that they're getting married after college and having a slug of kids. Tell me, just where do kids come up with this stuff at age seven? Our rant to Grace remains the same: Do the high school thing. Then college. Grad school. Well paying job with a future. Grow up, become a mature woman. Play the field. Date only those with their shit together with a great job and money in their wallet. Go from there.

Life plays out differently. First off, who listens to their elders anymore? Life's errors could be avoided if they would only listen to those who have been there and done that.

Hmmmm. Like you and I really listened to our elders back in the day? Learning the hard way is how life usually plays out for most of us. Growing up it was pretty much my deal to screw things up. Dad used to say, "Bob, you just can stand prosperity. You always mess up a good thing." Many of life's lessons for Bob was learned from the school of hard knocks. Even then I often still didn't get it and I'd go back for more messing things up. Why would I expect Grace or anyone else to live the first part of their lives any differently?

Grace's after high school education has strings attached. We've set aside a sum of money adequate for her to go all the way through grad school and then some but with conditions not mentioned here. Use your imagination. If you know Bob you know well what the conditions will be for Grace to receive her college money.

College isn't for everyone. If Grace decides not to take that path and be happy doing something else so be it. We'll be happy with whatever she does and where ever she ends up. The good Lord willing, I'll be there to enjoy that.