tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83065644273952536172024-03-14T08:07:52.324-04:00Den of the Beastly BearMy true stories blog about life, and the crazy S*@t that happens there!Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-6100397243657707182017-08-21T19:49:00.004-04:002017-08-21T20:11:50.480-04:00Eclipses...then and now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Howdy Folks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I sit in the grass next to my Father as the Eclipse begins. I take a hit from the bottle of Jack and pour a measure for him. The Perdomo 10th. Anniversary Champagne Noir cigar I'm smoking wafts it's snow white smoke skyward as I pick a stray piece of grass from Dad's tombstone. It's something he would have liked, smooth and mellow much like the man himself...well in his later years at least. My Father would have been 80 today you see, were it not for the Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm suddenly struck by a coincidence; I was sitting next to my Father, drinking Jack Daniels during the last Eclipse I witnessed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well over thirty years ago, my family would go camping during the Fourth of July Holiday. It was an annual pilgrimage made by several families together, some friends, some relatives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> This one night a group of the guys was sitting around the campfire, my Dad, Uncle Bob and a few other adults and three teenage boys, myself included. Uncle Bob produced a half gallon bottle of Jack Daniels (my Fathers spirit of choice), cracked the seal and started passing the bottle around. The first several passes skipped the teenagers until Jack started working his magic and the rules were relaxed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I remember vividly the huge full moon that warm July night, the smell of the fire and the distant trill of frogs and crickets looking for love. The talk was warm and companionly, gentle ribbing and chuckles at this one's expense, before moving on...to that one as a target. This was a special night, and we were allowed to stay up late with the adults as there was to be a lunar eclipse that night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The hours wore on, the bottle emptied. On this pass, as it got to my Father, he stood up from the log we were both sitting on and hoisted the bottle high. Once certain he had everyone's attention he spoke, with much bravado for my quiet Father.<br />"I was in the Marine Corps., been around this crazy world and I've been drunk on damn near everything there is to be drunk <i>ON, </i> and I'll tell you...there is NOTHING better than Jack Daniels!"<br />With that, he raised the bottle to his lips, tipped it back to take a mighty swig and stopped short.<br />"Well, will ya look at <i>THAT!" </i>He said, gesturing at the sky "Something's eating the moon!!!" He then, very uncharacteristically ...giggled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Which of course set us all into gales of laughter, Uncle Bob went to relieve my Dad of the bottle and said "I think you've had just about enough there...." but as he reached for the bottle he tripped over a root, stumbled into my Dad, and they both went over the log!<br />As quick as they were down, my Dad bounced back up...stared into the bottle and exclaimed: "Didn't spill a drop!"<br /><br />I smiled at the memory, poured the last bit of Jack on Dad's grave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ground out the butt of my cigar, held the bottle high and said: "Well, will ya look at that...something's eating the sun!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was no laughter this time, just a single tear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Treasure your parents while you have them, for time is shorter than you think.</span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-65458487591276358882017-08-16T22:02:00.002-04:002017-08-16T22:02:56.694-04:00I...am not myself...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So today something amusing happened to me, so I thought I'd share.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Losing half your body weight has some interesting side effects. Not only do I no longer <i>have</i> to shop in the Big and Tall section of clothing departments...but I now can walk in <i>ANYWHERE</i> to shop!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I now sometimes have the opposite problem and find something I like, but all the sizes left are too big...go figure!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So, today at work I was brought a trainee to show the ropes of driving a Hi-Lo. He had been driving a couple days in another department, and we like to bounce them around throughout the plant to expose them to different aspects of the job, different environments, and let them work around different people. This produces a more well-rounded driver capable of fitting in almost any job assignment given them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> This particular fellow looks vaguely familiar, but when I heard his name I drew a blank...after all, I don't meet so many "Ludwigs" that I would forget one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After he's been working on my dock for a couple hours, he mentions that he used to work with one of my regular drivers, Scott. They both drove for the same trucking company that I did, first for GM and later for Penske when he bought the division. At break time, we were talking about the changes that had gone on with Penske that had prompted each of us to transfer back to GM.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Talk then turned to people we knew and what had happened to them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ludwig- "I guess a lot of guys from the Flint terminal came over here."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Scott- "Yeah, I know a bunch of us are here..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me- "Doug Cramb is here on third...and Jackie, remember her?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ludwig- "Yeah, I ran into her the other night. Larry Nevers is on first, I see him every now and then... And Joe Ormerod, he's on second like us, he's in material but I don't know where."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Scott and I exchanged glances, Scott starts cracking up and makes an elaborate "TADA!" motion towards me. I raised my hand and waved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ludwig looks at me, then at Scott, back to me and says "<i>Holy SHIT </i>you've lost a lot of weight...I never would have guessed that was you!!!" A look of complete astonishment on his face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Scott- "He hasn't been himself for a while now...in fact, he's half the man he used to be!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> And so realization struck me that Ludwig looked familiar for good reason, all be it I had not seen him in 20 years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ludwig- "You don't remember me do you? Well, you probably wouldn't. I wasn't there very long before you left, I remember there was a lot of talk when you left...other guys thinking maybe they should too."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So folks, there you have it. Another benefit of my weight loss...I am now incognito, hiding in plain sight! Lol</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">May you all be recognized and remembered for all you do!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-40789478722510384822017-08-02T18:07:00.001-04:002017-08-03T17:34:05.731-04:00Escalation of Benefit or The Stripper Corollary...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den Of The Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I find myself of late, wasting <i>WAY</i> too much time on that soul sucking venture known as Facebook. So I thought I'd write another missive to you all.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXW6nWQqS3lCAyfjfzUvOaY1wIWmNu4138nD4gh06503P5E6yjQpsv9XGbuGVGuZ0VX1MqzPHOn6_i-3qMauaV0NkqBrXG5N2JThTaqFUAEMTGBtVz9s1pMVszhxrytIzEpzY-_Lxse3M/s1600/abc_ntl_mays_090714_mn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXW6nWQqS3lCAyfjfzUvOaY1wIWmNu4138nD4gh06503P5E6yjQpsv9XGbuGVGuZ0VX1MqzPHOn6_i-3qMauaV0NkqBrXG5N2JThTaqFUAEMTGBtVz9s1pMVszhxrytIzEpzY-_Lxse3M/s1600/abc_ntl_mays_090714_mn.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> About my title today, Escalation of Benefit is something we are all familiar with. Every time you see a TV pitchman say "But wait, there's more..." you are seeing Escalation of Benefit. It is an age old marketing/advertising ploy used to separate you from your hard earned cash when you are vacillating on a purchase. But it need not be as in your face as Billy Mays screaming "<i>But WAIT there's MORE!!!" </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Sometimes the escalation is insidious and small, such that you don't realize you are being manipulated. Hence the second half of our working title today "The Stripper Corollary".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Now I'll ask you ladies, and those who have never ventured into such an establishment (yeah right) to bear with me for a moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Allow me to explain. When one patronizes a strip club, one pays a cover at the door. One is then reminded that there is also a 2 drink minimum, these are the preliminary means of separating you from your cash. The dancers perform on stage for tips, usually dollar bills...maybe a $5 spot here and there. But the main means of emptying your pockets is the lap dance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>So, you come in, pay your cover, buy your drinks and sit down to watch good looking women dance in various stages of undress. That's when the first stripper comes over. They always send the ugliest one (relatively speaking of course) first. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PJR4hkFAz3CBNl7EIKpjdQhz_tBubK0OGhqAwE9abHJ0KDwEu80YG0046kGAXeQUbkMKNiky8XcTbTp7Rx3NyLNVebm6qR4N6prL1zv5LHFVVJjYWhd-NbV0ZGkkQ-rdS7LdqElEVMw/s1600/111007_ugly_woman_shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="337" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PJR4hkFAz3CBNl7EIKpjdQhz_tBubK0OGhqAwE9abHJ0KDwEu80YG0046kGAXeQUbkMKNiky8XcTbTp7Rx3NyLNVebm6qR4N6prL1zv5LHFVVJjYWhd-NbV0ZGkkQ-rdS7LdqElEVMw/s200/111007_ugly_woman_shirt.jpg" width="168" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You politely decline and send her away, and the next prettiest one approaches.(Escalation of Benefit) </span><span style="font-size: large;">This continues until the girl is so fine you concede(this varies by each guy), and BAM there goes $25 A SONG. Now, generally speaking in all clubs it is verboten to touch the ladies as they are performing this service for you. The dancer <i>will,</i> however, lead you to </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">believe </span><span style="font-size: large;">that should you bump up to the VIP room there <i>may </i>be </span><span style="font-size: large;">more</span><span style="font-size: large;"> to be had.(But wait, there's more!) Should you fall into this trap, you're now out an additional $50 and all you will get is a longer dance. So now you're out $75 you didn't plan to spend, on something you didn't really want in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> What brought this to mind is a friend that had broken up with her significant other, for the third time since I've known her. She was adamant that she was now DONE! Had met a nice fellow and they were going to start dating. Until the Ex found out. Then he started Texting (ugly stripper), she didn't respond. Calling (next prettiest stripper), then showing up to talk to her at work (they work at the same place in different areas), she was still adamant and discussed this with me. I tried to explain what was happening, told her of Escalation of Benefit and The Stripper Corollary. Next, he showed up and openly cried in front of the other employees (something this narcissist would <i>never </i>do) telling her how wrong he had been. Again she sought my counsel, I again reminded her that this all stems from the fact that she had met someone and he found out through the grapevine and now was going to do and say <i style="font-weight: bold;">ANYTHING</i> to try to get her back. When next I saw her she didn't bring him up at all, then I heard that she had gotten engaged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Wow," said I "that was fast, she just started dating this guy..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh no," they told me "She's engaged to her Ex."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Holy Shit, she bought the lap dance..."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2MrWPhBagrysBc7O_37wJgV8sc6BAFAgTHI4HlWuD1114BC7vLo8mxso3qqMFAU9lj_DvTglAqZmTJLDwNn9CX2SY3xFddy1-DXBcoykaV1wIAYZrxia_QHsRyPWz2p19lLiNIzm8RQ/s1600/68a42892fc84ed1c554725334f5f7a6f_width_600x+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="600" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2MrWPhBagrysBc7O_37wJgV8sc6BAFAgTHI4HlWuD1114BC7vLo8mxso3qqMFAU9lj_DvTglAqZmTJLDwNn9CX2SY3xFddy1-DXBcoykaV1wIAYZrxia_QHsRyPWz2p19lLiNIzm8RQ/s200/68a42892fc84ed1c554725334f5f7a6f_width_600x+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hope you all enjoy some <i>true</i> benefits in your life...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-85057364085969708542017-07-19T20:04:00.000-04:002017-07-19T20:04:55.890-04:00A Funny thing happened on the way home from Buffalo...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AQWHhw1clsPFFFufdUHhKOyNtKz4Y0EhM_EAl8Ux9VJXjVB5xDLZ3X9w03tV7xuVeAqEhlK4SzMpYJwHlXHxzZrhS2InRtLrTbxIr3Rf2pyNGTSTNgqKBDZpinbNz_oVSf1sO-d7V-Y/s1600/2014-05-27+16.56.49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="347" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AQWHhw1clsPFFFufdUHhKOyNtKz4Y0EhM_EAl8Ux9VJXjVB5xDLZ3X9w03tV7xuVeAqEhlK4SzMpYJwHlXHxzZrhS2InRtLrTbxIr3Rf2pyNGTSTNgqKBDZpinbNz_oVSf1sO-d7V-Y/s400/2014-05-27+16.56.49.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of The Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> As many of you know I took a vacation out to Buffalo, Wyoming the week of the 4th. of July. My main reason was the 6th. Annual Longmire Festival, which transforms sleepy little Buffalo into the mythical Durrant, WY. in fictional Absaroka County. The setting of Craig Johnson's Longmire novels.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Now Buffalo is a 21 hour 42 min. drive from the Den. So I broke the journey up by stopping a little past the midway point, in Sioux Falls, SD. I stayed at a chain Motel, famous for "leaving the light on for you" and having the added benefit of an outdoor pool. I booked a room for the return leg of my journey as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The trip out was uneventful, Buffalo a delight. So it was with a heavy heart that I set about returning home on Sunday morning. This, being the shorter leg of my journey, I sidetracked to both Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument. I got to Sioux Falls around 6 pm. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxTnz-x270zP5_hd3G-NuGvI4QPPT8RsDMNyfRjWSJ09cPaj-4kCmgsXKAMjB9Iimy7I-yYL-VjcG3ozNYOA7a1TmSRuxoSD-S7127udGq4dSNgnrS6yAEcD9RO6hox6-6yt8p1d2ank/s1600/20170709_124225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="858" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxTnz-x270zP5_hd3G-NuGvI4QPPT8RsDMNyfRjWSJ09cPaj-4kCmgsXKAMjB9Iimy7I-yYL-VjcG3ozNYOA7a1TmSRuxoSD-S7127udGq4dSNgnrS6yAEcD9RO6hox6-6yt8p1d2ank/s320/20170709_124225.jpg" width="169" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was dressed, as pictured on the right. What you can not see, is I have a small lapel pin on my shirt pocket...a souvenir from Longmire days. It is a mock-up of a Sheriff's badge from the show, no bigger than a nickel and made of pewter. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-R4jSCwXI5XqKrILt_NUOAHxPIfnxizfPutmMS26H-qFHb3A4iMyE-YfCCL4yJ94T2dy7_hpZFDc_svbybD8RYTRaI7r5W0Io_pYnM9y6Y4C4yDM3NQwolttCYBT1toy8ZIt7Xr0O4gE/s1600/20170719_163927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="431" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-R4jSCwXI5XqKrILt_NUOAHxPIfnxizfPutmMS26H-qFHb3A4iMyE-YfCCL4yJ94T2dy7_hpZFDc_svbybD8RYTRaI7r5W0Io_pYnM9y6Y4C4yDM3NQwolttCYBT1toy8ZIt7Xr0O4gE/s200/20170719_163927.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> As I went in to register for my room, I passed another guest heading to the pool. I gave him a nod as we passed and I headed in. The Night manager, an American Indian woman of middling years checked me in. A stout 5'6" tall with close cropped jet black hair; she wore sturdy heels with a floral print skirt and a blue blazer. As she was handing me my key, she leaned in to read my pin, saying "Wow, that's cool...where did you get that?" I explained, and she said she too was a fan of the show.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After securing my room key and feeling a tad peckish, I set out for tacos for dinner. They have a very decent little chain out west called Taco Johns; I ordered up a couple small "street" tacos and an order of Potato Oles (tater tot crowns with seasoning salt). Upon my return, I parked near the stairs as my room was on the second level. Removed my suitcase from the car and went to change into my suit and enjoy a little pool time. As I got to the base of the stairs, I encountered the same guest from when I first arrived. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> He was lounging against the wall at the base of the stairs, partially blocking the base. Dressed in swim trunks and barefoot. As I walked up, I noticed the distant, unfocused stare of the chronically high/drunk. I excused myself politely, as he moved aside he seemed to stare intently at me as I passed him by...I paid it no mind. Mid-thirties, short dark hair, slight of build and a uni-brow...he didn't seem like much of a threat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I changed quickly. Grabbing my phone, key-card, and a cigar I headed for the pool area. A quick stop at the car for a Rainier beer from the cooler and I was ready. I found a seat at a table in the far corner of the pool enclosure, set down my stuff in my hat, turned brim up to catch any luck to be had...and jumped into the pool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After soaking off the road, and enjoying the cool waters after a day marked by triple digit heat, I returned to my table to partake of my cigar and have a cold beer. I lit the cigar and had no more than popped the top on my beer when I heard loud, angry voices coming from the upstairs balcony of the motel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I told you to get the Hell off the property!!! This is the third time, and I'm not telling you again. I won't have you harassing my guests...get OUT!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I could see down the front of the hotel, and there was my friend from the stairway with the night manager hot on his heels. He had a backpack slung over his left shoulder and some clothes and shoes in his right hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You're in for quite a shock you fat bitch, I just bought this place...and you're FIRED!" He retorted to her barrage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I know the owner, and he <i>didn't</i> sell this place...keep moving, I want you gone..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I TOLD you, I JUST bought it...call your manager He'll tell you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I AM the night manager..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Then you should know. Oh, you are soooo fucking fired!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This circular argument lasted all down the front of the building, down the stairs, and past the pool...when suddenly his attention focused on me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Ask him," He said pointing in my direction. "He can check for you; he's a Federal Marshal. Just ask him..." He Opined.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not asking him anything; I told you to get! He's a guest here, and you will not harass him either. I already called the cops so get off the property!" She deadpanned, not giving an inch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Have him look it up! He's got his phone...let him check with the Marshals, they'll know. They can prove it to you!!!"</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvHf-sbZm8vzFNtky3T-hLeUCXBkZO-vwTDrqHDFMeMaMfDwyZvJ1nDEr_sTEjV7LCbS1JJExd1coSxab-7bbUh-1DL8pPcYFm9x6fGruvrzL1HDyMi1gMPedTw1vqdzD8HPRQuXsWF0/s1600/600x600bb-85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvHf-sbZm8vzFNtky3T-hLeUCXBkZO-vwTDrqHDFMeMaMfDwyZvJ1nDEr_sTEjV7LCbS1JJExd1coSxab-7bbUh-1DL8pPcYFm9x6fGruvrzL1HDyMi1gMPedTw1vqdzD8HPRQuXsWF0/s320/600x600bb-85.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Now folks, all I can figure is that this poor tweaked out idiot had been watching way too much "Justified." Saw the hat and the mini badge, which does bear a resemblance to the one carried by the Marshal service, put two and two together in his chemically altered mind and got eight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As she was escorting him from the property, the owner of the restaurant next door came out to see what all the commotion was about. Our altered friend then tried to enlist his help against her. Complaining bitterly about his treatment and the lack of help from the Federal Marshal. Once he was off the property, the manager retreated to the office to await the police.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> She didn't have long to wait before an SUV with two of Sioux Falls finest arrived. She met them at the door, and while I was too far away to hear the conversation, her animated body language and wild gesticulating in the direction of our friend led me to believe she was still pretty wound up. And then the gloves came out...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Our friend, still tightly in the grip of whatever he was on...failed to see the danger signs. So when they walked over to him his first words were "Thank God you're here..." he then went on to tell them how mistreated he had been and how that Marshal would not help him either "But I pay YOUR salary, you've GOT to help me!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yikes!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz9oMxciqvSiYAhfRt9jAjvAA2ohhVjzNUVGtqUx4zQezPu6mZquF2s6j84K72EYL93FHdiaDLTSYgEGIogz5R8BNEzvbJ_5MJDFdI3aWNb97Yvt016R_uyyhdQOTI7c5coLYOzr_Q0M/s1600/20170705_201242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1357" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz9oMxciqvSiYAhfRt9jAjvAA2ohhVjzNUVGtqUx4zQezPu6mZquF2s6j84K72EYL93FHdiaDLTSYgEGIogz5R8BNEzvbJ_5MJDFdI3aWNb97Yvt016R_uyyhdQOTI7c5coLYOzr_Q0M/s320/20170705_201242.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, it wasn't long before he was wearing a set of steel bracelets and being led on tiptoes across the parking lot with an officer on each arm...in complete shock. It turns out; he was not even a guest at the motel!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">All I could think was, the only way this could have been better?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Was if I'd gotten to see a live Tasing! Just like on "COPS"! Lol</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hell, I got a show with my room!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I know it's been a while folks, thanks for hanging in there!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-2327626196699215252016-12-31T23:45:00.000-05:002016-12-31T23:45:01.503-05:00A Year, ALREADY???<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Where did the year go...?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hello friends!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Where oh where has the past year gone? I was just looking and discovered I have not posted a THING this whole year!!! What the Hell?!?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, right off the bat let me say I have no excuse!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The past year has brought some changes to my life, both at work and personally, none of which should have affected my writing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As those of you who have been long-time readers know that I tried my hand at some fiction challenges over at a little site called Yeahwrite. I did very well, winning top slot in only my second entry. But as I continued to place highly in the comps I noticed a change in the vote counts, taking me from consistently at the top of the boards to the middle and then the bottom. Now I'm not saying everything I posted was great, it wasn't. But I started hearing from people that DID vote for me, loved my piece and couldn't understand how I got such a low number of votes when the number was already higher when they voted than it ended up. A couple of emails to the "editors" (note the quotation marks) clarified the problem. Unless you were an editor yourself, you could not accrue a fan base, because they monitored the IP addresses of the voters and anyone that voted for your pieces more than three times would have their votes thrown out! Well, let's say that left a nasty taste in my mouth for comps. I was not the only one to complain or leave, and now they no longer even do the micro story competitions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have some ideas I'm kicking around, and I promise this coming year I WILL write some fiction...whether it will be any good I'll let you folks decide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At work, I changed positions at Flint Assembly. More a lateral move really, and against my will, but it has worked out in my favor, and I've not been this happy to go to work in quite some time! I have a GREAT crew, and that makes all the difference! The only downside is that I use my computer much more for work and can't just knock out a blog. Perhaps with my new 2 in 1 laptop/tablet my lovely wife got me for my Birthday I may be able to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On a personal note:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Those of you that have never met me, or not seen me in years may or may not know that I let my weight get away from me. I've always been a bigger guy, at 5'11" not really tall, but wide. I was 255 lbs. When I graduated high school, wore 36" pants and 2XL shirts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Five years later, when I got married, that had climbed to 275. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, through changes in jobs, so injuries and just plain not giving a shit, I ballooned up to 387!!! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I took charge, joined Weight Watchers and dropped 153 lbs.!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Took me 18 months.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Again, change of job and circumstances and 9 months later I had put back all but 10 lbs. of what I'd lost!!! Talk about depressing!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There I stayed for the next 12 years....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My health deteriorated, diabetes became a very real issue...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As did high blood pressure, high cholesterol, sleep apnea, and hormone problems. While I didn't "feel" bad, I was headed down a slippery slope. My Doctor pleaded with me, cajoled me, eventually threatened me that my next step was insulin dependence as I was maxed out on medication.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"But overall, I'm pretty healthy..." I retorted "I'm rarely sick, and can do most things a guy my age can do!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Joe," she said, "you're on 9 DIFFERENT medications, a sleep apnea machine AND you need Hormone replacements...you are the DEFINITION of unhealthy!!!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I had to agree.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> January of 2016, I made a conscious effort to get back. I changed the way I ate, started being more active, watched <i>what </i>I ate, and started losing. But, it was too little too late, despite my best efforts my blood sugar continued to spiral out of control.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I broached the subject of Bariatric surgery (which I'd contemplated for a long time), and she agreed that I should look into it and referred me to one of the top surgeons in the state.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I went for a consultation, that's all, just a consultation. By the time I'd left I had made up my mind, and scheduled my surgery. I managed to drop 50 lbs. by the date of my surgery. Had my surgery on 5/24/2016. Three days later I was home, my wife took this picture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">About 337 here...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let's fast forward to today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No longer do I wear size 58 waist pants, I'm in 36's.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No more 5Xl shirts, some XL's are a little big on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am off ALL Diabetes Meds and blood sugar is normal</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last cholesterol was 117 combined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Off one and looking to lose another High blood pressure med, but it runs in my family, and I may never be completely off them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm going to the gym, eating around 1000 calories a day and today, weigh in at 221 lbs! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I put off surgery for years, through a combination of fear and a feeling that doing so was "cheating" and that I would be a loser that needed such intervention. I wish now I had done it sooner!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We took our first Carribean cruise in November, I was still a little over 230 then, but the difference is dramatic, see for yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I still have at least another 21 to go, but I'm confident I'll get there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So That's what I've been up to and like I said I have no excuse for not writing. Some have told me I should have been chronicling my journey all along. Perhaps they are right, but it has been a deeply personal experience that I wasn't sure I was even going to share. Guess the cat's out of the bag now...Lol.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Got this in with time to spare...so I can say I wrote SOMETHING this year! Goodbye 2016, Hello 2017!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I hope the new year brings health and wealth to you and yours, and all the joy you can stand!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Bear is Back!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be well folks!!! Much love to you all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Beastly Bear.</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-86612786756450392662015-12-23T12:21:00.000-05:002016-02-19T16:13:46.296-05:00Santa's helper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Merry Christmas Folks!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">WARNING, THIS POST IS NOT CHILDREN FRIENDLY!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuA74JKgQkl3AHVn4hAZbWw7wn1V10XwLp7G_9GyO7mrwy7FWpwEqOmOpiHywKbu2fxidpkBKdv7uR6BMY9xxCJHkYP2LI786kMxJUWuga5xp-LLoKOI2_gwtgTWz1QZUyFxXmtCRBaZE/s1600/042f9a7043c709162cdf5f22d5fd1ce6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuA74JKgQkl3AHVn4hAZbWw7wn1V10XwLp7G_9GyO7mrwy7FWpwEqOmOpiHywKbu2fxidpkBKdv7uR6BMY9xxCJHkYP2LI786kMxJUWuga5xp-LLoKOI2_gwtgTWz1QZUyFxXmtCRBaZE/s320/042f9a7043c709162cdf5f22d5fd1ce6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When I was a kid, the nearest enclosed Mall to us was The Pontiac Mall. Opening in 1963, just a year after yours truly arrived on this good green earth, it was a fantastic place! Decorated, as it was in late 50's post-modern/futuristic design. Lots of tile and metal sculptures!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fountains ran the length of the main concourse, which to us were seen as wishing wells, we'd throw in coins and cast our wishes to the fates.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The main fountain was right in the middle of the mall, in front of the S.S. Kresge store. The special thing about this fountain was, every year at Christmas time...it became the home of Santa's Igloo!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The fountain was covered, Metal trees removed and a huge flocked half dome was erected over </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29yYbYfu2fUnQlcvA6b5nSYARVgk6NfHbqbuddflTj_OSx49Ma1HtW0vO_E7r0bOTgFXmbC1h3wguQbMHpZLchyphenhyphensJYjKDfd1sVN5ElCzxABt1nB8IA3p2OQE3GANO5RUCOLu0UBT8Sfs/s1600/PONTIAC_MALL.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29yYbYfu2fUnQlcvA6b5nSYARVgk6NfHbqbuddflTj_OSx49Ma1HtW0vO_E7r0bOTgFXmbC1h3wguQbMHpZLchyphenhyphensJYjKDfd1sVN5ElCzxABt1nB8IA3p2OQE3GANO5RUCOLu0UBT8Sfs/s1600/PONTIAC_MALL.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Fountain viewed from S.S. Kresge</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">it, resembling a giant igloo. Decorated with animated elves, hammering away or sawing wood for toys. Candy canes, and a seal balancing a brightly wrapped present on its nose! Stairs on one side led up to Santa's throne, where we would tell him our fondest wishes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was THE place to see Santa as I was growing up, and I made more than my share of trips up to see that jolly old elf.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Fast forward to 1981, I had graduated High School earlier that year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had spent what free time I'd had from school and my part-time job at the sporting goods store in drama, debate and speech and acting competitions. Things that don't translate well out of school, other than I could argue your socks off...in a convincing Russian accent! Lol</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">That November, I was strolling through the mall doing some Christmas shopping when a fellow about my age stopped me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey, you went to Kettering didn't you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah," I said looking him over. About my height, maybe 40 lbs. or so heavier, red hair and freckles.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"You were in drama, right?" He asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I was," I told him. Looking closer, I had no idea who he was. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, you don't know me. I went to Mott (our rival school), but I've seen you in plays...you're pretty good. You looking for a little extra Christmas money?" He asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I've got a job over at Gell's, behind the mall...why?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm one of the Santa's they hire for the mall, and we just had a guy quit, you'd be perfect, and I know they'll work around your schedule. Whatdaya say?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I don't know..." I hemmed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come on, I'll introduce you to the boss!" He said, starting off towards an "employees only" door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"> In short order, I was in front of the "Head Elf" herself! Money was discussed, I tried on the suit and accouterment, and she said</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ok, let's hear your best Santa..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I lowered my voice, projected from my diaphragm, gave some</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ho Ho Ho's" and my best "Merry Christmas!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The boss lady nodded her approval and said, "You're hired, when can you start?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Thus started my career as a mall Santa!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What a blast I had! I still have a box with Christmas lists; pictures kids had drawn for Santa, and little gifts...army men, candies, handmade ornaments and the like. One big drawback to being Santa...you know how Santa seems to take a lot of breaks? Well, it's not so we can sneak back for a nip of Christmas cheer, oh no!!! Nor is it because the job is so taxing. It's because some overzealous parent forced little Tommy to sit on Santa's lap when he really, REALLY didn't want to...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What he wanted to do is use the bathroom...and he did, right on Santa's lap! Each Santa has one coat, but four pairs of pants to change into that are laundered nightly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So when you see Santa taking a break, chances are good that he just got peed on!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">My favorite story happened about halfway through my tenure there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In between kids you were encouraged to wave to the passing shoppers...give a hearty "Merry Christmas", maybe even call out a "Hello Billy..." on the odd chance that a "Billy" was walking by with his parents.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, Friday night. The Mall is full of people bustling home with their treasures, when what to my wondering eyes should appear?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Why two girls from school, they're practically here!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas Lisa Meyers! Oh, and there's Gretchen! Have you two been good this year?!?" I called out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They stopped dead in their tracks, wondering I'm sure, just how in the Hell this mall Santa knew their names? A quick moment of whispered discussion and they got in line to see me; it was just <i>Killing</i> them! When at last it was their turn, they each took a knee.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"High Santa!!!" They beamed brightly, then under their breath <i>"Who are you???" </i>I gave them some hints, but I was too well disguised. When I finally whispered it in their ears, they gave a delighted squeal and posed for a picture with each kissing one of Santa's cheeks! Well, word went out and before long I had one or two girls from school each night...I could get into this!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But alas, all good things come to an end...as it got closer and closer to Christmas the line of kids dwindled down to but a few and the powers that be, called it quits. I got fond hugs from all the elves I worked with (good looking College girls all), and we each got a commemorative picture of us as Santa. I'd include it if I knew exactly where that box was at.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But every Christmas I'm reminded of those magical days and the unreserved love of children I'd never met, who looked at me with eyes full of wonder and belief in the magic of Christmas. Why it's enough to keep this old Grinch going each year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And a Very Merry Christmas from The Beastly Bear!</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-11603363770980307102015-12-18T15:22:00.000-05:002015-12-18T15:22:48.879-05:00You're kidding me, right?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">Hi Folks, I know it's been a while...sorry!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Back when Mama Bear and I were just dating, back in the archaic 80's, we went out to eat a lot. One of our favorite places to go was for a pan pizza at a chain restaurant that rhymes with Pizza Slut.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You could sit down, order a beer (or Pepsi in Mamas Bear's case) and enjoy an appetizer while you waited for your piping hot pizza to be delivered right to your table. We went probably once a month, but when that craving hit, nothing else would do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> One particular evening, I had picked up Mama Bear and we drove to the closest location of the chain. For a delicious Meat Lover's pizza. The lot was not particularly full when we arrived, which was somewhat unusual as they were quite popular at the</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">time. </span><span style="font-size: large;">There were several around, and though not as common as say McDonalds they were plentiful, but we had our favorite. We walked in and waited by the obligatory "Please Wait to be Seated"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">sign, though it was clear we had our pick of seating locations. After a brief wait, a bubbly waitress came and seated us and took our drink orders.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I had to be up early the next day so we just went with a pitcher of Pepsi. She brought us to full glasses and the pitcher, then asked if we wanted an appetizer. We ordered our normal garlic toast, half with cheese half without. She left us with our drinks and went to turn in the appetizer order. Small talk about work ensued until she returned to take our actual order.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"All right, what can I get you folks?" she bubbled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I think we're gonna get a medium meat lovers pan pizza..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, I'm sorry..." she seemed to deflate and adopted the pookey lip. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"We're out of pizza."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I beg your pardon?" I asked skeptically unsure if I had heard correctly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah," She explained "our truck didn't come in today so we don't have any dough." Then she brightened again and said, "But we do have salads...and pasta, so what can I get you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm confused," I said "the sign outside doesn't say Salad Hut or Pasta Hut...we came here for pizza, and that's what we want."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well we don't have any, so you'll have to order something else."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She said, a little snip to her voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"No, I don't...in fact, you should have told us as soon as we walked in that door that you didn't have pizza, instead of seating us, taking our drink and appetizer order. So we're leaving!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"But you already ordered food...you can't just leave!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Watch me!" I said, as we got up to leave I peeled off $3 for the pops we drank and we walked out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"> As we got in the car we looked at each other and burst out laughing, shaking our heads at the absurdity of it all. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well," I asked "what now?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Still craving a meat lovers pizza..." Mama Bear said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ok, we'll try another!" So we drove the 4 miles to another location. This one had more cars in the parking lot and was noticeably busier. We walked in and waited behind a family of four that had walked in ahead of us, as the waitress came and showed them to their seats. She came back, welcomed us and then said,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Before I seat you, I need to let you know that we aren't serving pizza tonight. We do still have salads and pasta though if you'd like."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Lot of that going around," I said, "we just left your Walton Blvd. location and they had the same problem. Except they seated us and took our drink and garlic bread order before letting us know..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's just wrong..." She said shaking her head.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's why we left..." I assured her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"OK, well thanks for letting us know. We're gonna try somewhere else."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"> Outside the door, we looked at each other and started cracking up, again...what are the chances? When we settled in the car, I asked</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now what?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I still want pizza!" She said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"We can try the one on the other side of town..." I offered.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Let's do it!" She replied emphatically.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"> So we drove all the way to the other side of town, parked and walked in. We stood by yet another "Please wait to be seated" sign, and waited for the Hostess.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Just the two of you tonight?" She asked, menus in hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah," I said. "before you seat us, can I ask if you're serving pizza tonight?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She looked at me as if I were a world-class moron.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ummmm, yeeeeaaaahhhh."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey, if you'd had our night so far, you'd know that question is not out of line..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Here's hoping you all get what you want...with a little less effort.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-47641266087500017052015-10-30T22:13:00.001-04:002015-10-30T22:13:37.101-04:00Tooting my own horn...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Beastly Bear Fiction</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Those that know me already know, those that don't will find out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not really one for blowing my own horn, never have been.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Probably stems from my school days where I was quite accomplished in Drama Club. I won several "best actor" awards in local and regional competitions and was duly proud. In discussing this with my extended family, I was later told that someone I was very fond of thought that I was very conceited about my successes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I never spoke of them again.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Fast forward to this week.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I entered the <a href="http://yeahwrite.me/">Yeah Write</a> weekly micro story challenge. This weeks prompt was "where can I get one of those?". You may not use the prompt in the body of the story or in the title, but you must convey the idea so that even someone that doesn't know the prompt would understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I lucked upon a pretty good idea I thought, going with a Depression-era story.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Lo and behold, I actually won this week by a single vote. Just eking by EagleAye and his <a href="https://momusnews.wordpress.com/2015/10/28/a-curious-encounter/">"Curious Encounter"</a> (he is really great, check out the link to his site). Only fair he took third last week with one more vote than me. Lol</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My deepest thanks to any that voted for me, and a deeper thanks to those who took time out of their day to read all the entries and vote.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So this is my Horn blowing post! I still have tons of room to improve, (as not even half of the 36 voters thought I was one of the top 3) but this is encouraging. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, I will wear my badge proudly and display it here as well as my regular blog <a href="http://denofthebeastlybear.blogspot.com/">Den of the Beastly Bear</a>. Stop by if you enjoy my writing, there I tell true life stories in what I hope are entertaining ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There, now you will hear no more about it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-34452541010896067612015-10-26T11:36:00.000-04:002015-10-26T15:23:26.749-04:00Not so Evel Knievel...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(Please note the new button in the upper right that will take you directly to my fiction/challenge site! Thanks.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'll bet you're all dying to know just how this motorcycle obsession of mine started, aren't ya?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">No?!?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well that's just plain rude, but I'll let it slide this time!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As you may have guessed, it started with dear old Dad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See, Dad had himself an old burgundy and cream Indian motorcycle. Which I pestered him endlessly for rides on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One day Dad asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in the truck with him. He had something he needed to pick up. Of course, I was as eager as any 8-year-old boy to spend time with him. So we piled into Dad's '68 sky blue and white Chevy pickup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Out we drove into the countryside, past farms and fields bouncing down dirt roads. The sun peeking through the canopied trees over the roads. Until, at last he finally pulled into a small farm with an actual red barn and little white country house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The thing I remember the most? The smell. You see in front of the barn was a pen filled with 10-12 hogs, and the smell was, in a word atrocious! I was fascinated however, so wandered off to watch the pigs as Dad talked business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, a price was agreed upon, money changed hands and the doors to the barn parted. Revealing this...well not this <i>particular</i> one but you get the idea!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A bright yellow minibike with a 5 hp. Briggs & Stratton engine! I couldn't believe it! A bike of my own!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">On the ride home rules were discussed, the consequences for the breaking of those rules reinforced by stern words and harsh looks! Dad <i>was</i> an ex-Marine after all!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't wait!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I was after all the terror of our neighborhood on my Raleigh 3-speed banana seated bicycle!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">My first time, Dad fueled her up and showed me how to start her up. It was a she of course! After the engine warmed up, Dad pointed me towards the middle of the back yard.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He explained the centrifugal clutch, hand brake, and engine stop. "Start out slow..." He admonished me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When I was fully prepared to Dad's satisfaction, my helmet was donned and I was ready. Mom and sisters came out to watch the maiden voyage...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So with fantasies of Evel Knievel and Ceasar's Palace fountains I was off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Things went swimmingly at first as I accelerated into the yard. "Wow," I thought. "I'm a natural..." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When another thought occurred to me...<i>I've never driven this fast before!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-size: large;">And that's when panic set in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, I was instructed in what to do...grab the brake, the brake? Where the <i>HELL </i>is the brake?!? I know I was told, but where is it? My bike had peddle brakes, no that's not it. As I searched in vain I neglected to pay attention to where, exactly the bike was headed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Just as I remembered <i>handbrake!</i> My forward momentum was suddenly arrested by my Mother's prized Forsythia bush!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">While the bike stopped suddenly, I did not...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And just like my hero, I Evel Kneiveled right over the handlebars into the woody bush. The bush, however, had other ideas and having bent under my weight sprang back launching me back over the bike and onto the lawn. Arms and legs all akimbo, flat on my back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"OH MY GOD BOB! I TOLD YOU HE WAS TOO YOUNG!!!" I knew <i>that</i> voice!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly Mom was there ripping at the helmet as Dad retrieved the bike, I wasn't sure which of us was in more trouble.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, thinking fast I hoped up, disentangled myself from my Mother looked to Dad and said "Can I try it again???"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">He smiled at my Mom, patted my shoulder and said "Sure, just remember the brake is up here." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">And that my friends was the start of it all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">May your travels be fair and your crashes few.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Be well Folks,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-42090083311770549052015-10-20T12:27:00.000-04:002015-10-20T12:27:48.889-04:00The things you see when you're not paying attention...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I'm generally credited with being a rather observant person, but every now and then even I miss a thing or two.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I've spoken of my experiences driving for Perry Drug Stores. I worked there for 11 years and let me tell you, you see a lot, you just don't always know what you saw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">One hot August day, on the South side of Chicago...115th. and Washington Ave. to be exact. My stalwart, though not overly bright companion Leon <a href="http://denofthebeastlybear.blogspot.com/2014/01/sometimes-im-so-ashamed.html">(of the Coca-Cola perm incident)</a> and I were unloading the truck. We had newly installed liftgates that allowed me to bring the load to their door, one pallet at a time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The sun was beating down on us like a hammer, and the humidity hovered around 98%. As we toiled away, a white van pulled into the alley from the other direction, ahead of my truck. Three men got out, all dressed in white coveralls with company logos on the left breast pocket. We watched as they took particular interest in the air conditioning unit attached to the wall of a business farther down in the plaza.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As hot as it was, we assumed heating/cooling repairmen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tools came out next and among animated discussion, the A/C unit was removed...plywood blocked the hole and they loaded up and pulled away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well it wasn't but about 15 mins. after they left we heard:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"AWWWWWwwwwww HEEEEeeeeelllll NOOOOOoooo!!!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This exclamation drew our attention to the skeletal, 6'4" white pants and pink polyester frocked black man that sashayed our way with great haste! I could only assume this was a hairdresser of some type, that or we were about to be assaulted by a RuPaul impersonator. Eyeliner and all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When he was close enough he pointed one thin arm back towards the place his A/C unit used to reside and said. "<i>WHAT in the HELL happened to my Air conditioner, Humph???"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He looked back and forth between Leon and I, as if we were the culprits to blame for his misfortune...Leon couldn't take the pressure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"They tookted it!" he blurted out, staring at the ground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Who "tookted" it?" </i>he demanded air quotes and all. Before crossing his arms under non-existent breasts which clearly showed his name, LaVonn in bright red stitching.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"The repairmen," I interjected taking some of the heat of that gaze off Leon "just a couple of minutes ago, didn't they tell you they were taking it?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>No, cause I didn't <u>call</u> no damned repairman..." </i>he said, head weaving as his eyes flashed to me. He looked me up and down and didn't like what he saw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>God DAMN!!!</i>" he stomped his foot, spun on his heel and sashayed back the way he'd come.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What the hell was THAT?" I said to Leon, starting to chuckle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Joining me, Leon explained. "He own dat hair salon a couple doors down, he alright but damn he shore is mad!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">About a half hour later the cops were there, took our statements, asked us questions we obviously didn't know. Come to find out this crew has been ripping off air conditioners all over the neighborhood the past week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"We'll get'em," the cop said. "or somebody will." with that he gave his partner a smile and off they went to fight crime and write reports.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Couple weeks later when I rang the buzzer, Leon could hardly contain himself with the news. "Dey got'em, Oooo boy dey got'em!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Got who Leon? what are you talking about?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Dem brothers what ripped off the air conditioner from the hair salon!" He replied.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Good, I'm glad the cops got them..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Ohhh da cops didn't get'em, no sir..." he was beside himself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Somebodies from the neighborhood catched'em takin one, an dey whooped dey asses wif baseball bats! Cops come and had to take dem away by ambalance!!!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"What about the guys that caught them? They get in trouble?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Leon shared with me a big broad grin. "Ahhh nobody <i>seen</i> dem..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And he busted out laughing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm not for vigilante justice, but you don't screw with a man's A/C in August!!! Just sayin'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hope you're all a little more observant than I...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-41248242603479039222015-10-13T13:55:00.000-04:002015-10-18T12:36:24.673-04:00Demonsitting!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back in the bygone days of yore when I was not gainfully employed in any significant manner, I sold my soul into the bondage of babysitting...or more to the point Demon sitting!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You see, there lived in our hamlet a single Mother named Maria, who was a Nurse by trade. Divorced, she had custody of her children Carl 6, and Lisa 8. Such sweet looking children...little would you have known that they were, in fact...demon possessed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I came to be lured into this Faustian bargain as <i>every single </i>female in the neighborhood of child watching age had been approached and run screaming when asked. Citing previous hellish encounters, those that didn't flee sat gibbering nonsensically to themselves as they rocked, hollow-eyed and trembling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Having a date, and at her wits end Maria asked me if I'd be interested. I was skeptical at first, but the lure of $15 for about 3-4 hours work was to my '70s era mind the deciding factor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was 14 at the time, not tall but big for my age and frequent visitor to our schools weight room during gym class. What had I to fear?!?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That first time was the sweet-spot, that made me think how foolish these girls had been to turn down such easy money. Perhaps it was that they were not familiar with me that kept them at their best behavior. They listened, ate dinner and went to bed with absolutely zero problems. They were polite and well behaved, the picture of contrite compliance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was not to last...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When asked if I'd be willing to do it again, I was quick to say I would. Remember now, the minimum wage was $2.35 at the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This should have been a clue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">From the start Maria had told me, in front of her kids even, that should they require it...she was more than ok with me paddling their asses. I assured her that I didn't think that would be necessary, and turning to the monsters...I mean children said, "Right guys?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got open-mouthed, wide-eyed nods.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As our times together progressed, and they became more familiar with me they started acting out. Not in big ways, but subtly pushing boundaries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, the masks came off and I learned just why I was the <i>only</i> one brave, nay foolish enough to watch them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They had a slightly older cousin, a toe-headed little blond child of the corn that I sometimes watched with them for an extra $5. I can't recall her name but things were always more of a problem when she was there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One night things were quiet, the kids were playing in the playroom...soft talking and giggles were all I heard. I was in the living room looking at Maria's new coffee table book, "The Treasures of King Tut". The exhibit was making it's U.S. debut and was all the rage. The Bee Gee's were softly singing "More than a Woman to Me" off the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack when I heard a "Smack" followed by an ear-splitting shriek!!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGhsuPl1qJzM6cLNZpdBIsvzzjj2IAGtQygUpIgd6VznrFFRBn2VUP9d0-ilnFuaZFhlykWJTxov4Si-pWl-G-LLTFAjQ5czkLL3IAnGXACdQZBPOqNpcurUVVO62o52B_KpOwBJ_FNs/s1600/1361558447_katana_samurai_by_kungfoolai-d4gypfo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGhsuPl1qJzM6cLNZpdBIsvzzjj2IAGtQygUpIgd6VznrFFRBn2VUP9d0-ilnFuaZFhlykWJTxov4Si-pWl-G-LLTFAjQ5czkLL3IAnGXACdQZBPOqNpcurUVVO62o52B_KpOwBJ_FNs/s320/1361558447_katana_samurai_by_kungfoolai-d4gypfo.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I sprang off the couch and was almost to the playroom when Lisa shot out the door and down the hallway perpendicular to the one I was in, screaming like the devil himself were after her...and he was. Carl, hockey stick over his head like an irate Samurai was hot on her heals. I glanced into the playroom where the cousin was cradling her arm and crying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I backtracked, heading them off as they came up the other hallway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I turned sideways to let Lisa shoot past me, then turned full on filling the opening and blocking Carls path. He showed no signs of slowing down even as I reached out and snatched the hockey stick from his grip. This brought him up short, and he looked up at me with a perplexed expression on his face for a heartbeat...before drilling me right in the nuts!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was at the perfect height, and his straight-armed shot could not have been more effective had it been delivered by Muhammad Ali.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He put everything he had into it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Air left my lungs, my knees buckled and my vision dimmed...and then the little shit laughed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You know the saying "Don't poke the bear"? There is a reason it remains in our common vernacular.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Surprise and pain gave way to anger, and as I straightened up...Carl knew. As he tried to back away I snatched him up by a handful of Scooby doo T-shirt, brought him to eye level and said "ENOUGH!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I carried him that way for the 5 or so steps to his room, opened the door and tossed him on his bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You come out of this bedroom for <i>anything</i> other than the bathroom for the rest of the night and you won't sit right for a WEEK! Got me???"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He nodded and I slammed the door like a thunderclap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pictures bouncing, but not falling off the walls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lisa, who had seen my handling of Carl was frozen to the spot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I knelt down and quietly asked her if she was ok, did Carl hit her with the stick too? She shook her head and the tears started, I scooped her up and she clung to my neck as we went to check on the cousin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She was still crying and had a nasty welt on her forearm so I moistened a dish towel and filled it with ice. I cracked it against the counter a couple of times to break it up into smaller pieces then applied it to her arm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There were no VCR's or cartoons to watch so the two of them ended up on my lap looking at the book with me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Carl came out only once, to use the bathroom and apologize, then started crying when I made him go back to bed. I told him he could have seriously hurt the girls, maybe broken his cousin's arm. His excuse was "They wouldn't play with me..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My response was "Well, who's playing with you now???"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When Maria got home I told her everything, she listened intently, asked if I was ok and...was I free next Saturday? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">*sigh* "Sure."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I came to dread watching them, it was <i>something</i> every damn time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I got a part-time job at the sporting goods store and was able to buy back my soul...it just wasn't worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let's hope your experiences were better than mine!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4hoa-A2jcunuuALt1r-8-r7XU_atXmCPvYsNeUsfcRSgLNmmQg0uLuU6TaAO01rnSJSZBU-0D7rdT5GbjYjedroOO-kHEGBjKtHo5g76PWIcmMHVm5KZVOJUmKI5bUgOCm3kE-YMn7E/s1600/1234850_10151561501976326_318165019_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4hoa-A2jcunuuALt1r-8-r7XU_atXmCPvYsNeUsfcRSgLNmmQg0uLuU6TaAO01rnSJSZBU-0D7rdT5GbjYjedroOO-kHEGBjKtHo5g76PWIcmMHVm5KZVOJUmKI5bUgOCm3kE-YMn7E/s320/1234850_10151561501976326_318165019_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-64494377673207789242015-09-24T22:02:00.000-04:002015-09-24T22:14:22.300-04:00A Beastly Short Story...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCZbd3z6q-7WWer3bKr_qmuv6zXErHQff2Rbux1MlZ4njn4Er2T7-sZdU51M5TndiIBz2HU9ZI1rLaDktkeA0nKP1w5i0meuXzClcLUYt0TVQF4mPXhlj6bRw9JnAqDxVkiKq57ENPyU/s1600/10155690_618200514924717_137744963096595883_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCZbd3z6q-7WWer3bKr_qmuv6zXErHQff2Rbux1MlZ4njn4Er2T7-sZdU51M5TndiIBz2HU9ZI1rLaDktkeA0nKP1w5i0meuXzClcLUYt0TVQF4mPXhlj6bRw9JnAqDxVkiKq57ENPyU/s320/10155690_618200514924717_137744963096595883_n.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We're gonna try something a little different tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was chatting with Kathy over at <a href="http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/">The Giggling Truckers Wife Writes</a>. She asked if I'd edit something she wrote, give her my take and make any suggestions that struck me. I was once again deeply honored that she would ask little ole me to do such a thing, as I think SHE is brilliant! She was writing a 100-word short story to a picture prompt. She had already written a great story, but it was too long. She kicked around a couple ideas with me, maybe changing her take. She settled on a rewrite of her initial idea, and it's a good one! You can find it at the link above.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But our discussion was rolling around in my head, and I started writing my own little story for the prompt in my head...and thought "I should write this down.". I however, did not follow the 100-word restriction as I wasn't doing the challenge.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, here is my foray into short fiction using the same picture as Kathy. You have her to blame...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hope you enjoy.</span><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sunset</span></b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">As Jane poured the last of the wine into her glass, she stared out at the setting sun and wiped away a tear. She thought it a metaphor for her relationship with Dave, who lay motionless in the bed where they'd just made love. For the very last time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">High School sweethearts, they'd been together through 20 years and two kids, good times. But that was over now, and never would be again. It was the affair.... </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: white;">An intern, barely out of college. Wide-eyed and so impressed with him, he thought she didn't know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white;">So for their anniversary she rented a room by the sea. His favorite wine and they'd make love one last time before she told him she knew. She loved him so much, it was the only way she could let him go. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So when it was over and he lay drowsy and spent, she got up for more wine.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Her purse was right there, and she asked over her shoulder "Were you thinking of her?"</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">"What are you talking about?" He asked hesitantly.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">"I said, were you <i>thinking</i> of her?" She said slowly as she turned and leveled the revolver at his chest.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">The windows were open and she could hear them coming, a distant wail over the crash of waves. Everyone's windows were open, a gentle breeze blew in off the ocean so she was sure everyone had heard. She finished her wine, raised the gun to her head and looking out on the last sunset of her life. Joined him in the next.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, there you have it...something a little different from your friendly neighborhood Beastly Bear. Please let me know what you think...I am truly interested.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-57723970979989226552015-09-08T16:35:00.000-04:002015-09-08T20:08:45.633-04:008 Pics of Happiness Challenge<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJtdpMe8jJEXYwx_0c9JXu1_CsvH_csN7rHLqq9aFK1I8ywBEVyO32FfhvuLT9pyrx1qtA0sD6hgRcoXQ6ynuBha1UJJIz2GknhcKubx9sl29rNJ1cUI4TaL-rkE3p4zX5SFNXkK_jhc/s1600/received_1630919623832140.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJtdpMe8jJEXYwx_0c9JXu1_CsvH_csN7rHLqq9aFK1I8ywBEVyO32FfhvuLT9pyrx1qtA0sD6hgRcoXQ6ynuBha1UJJIz2GknhcKubx9sl29rNJ1cUI4TaL-rkE3p4zX5SFNXkK_jhc/s320/received_1630919623832140.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: xx-large;">Den of the Beastly Bear </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wow, it's been a while...time sure does get away from you! It's been almost 3 months since my last post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've been tagged by my good friend Kathy over at <a href="http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/">Giggling Truckers Wife</a> in the 8 pictures of Happiness blog prompt. Always one to support my friends, and perhaps needing a boot in the ass...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Here goes:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLftT0WdWqRWrkvjOzwPOs7bCvTTLiIjMVGHRL3R4LtKeef2cUXNzKNk8C_FjxlugXHEUjck4tzXLb_9oOqJxBxdnZ04u0Aqy-W-wZ-T4R8tlTDcaue4-SRmStQKCtFYfDNufsTcssW4/s1600/263558_2185588277650_6632722_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLftT0WdWqRWrkvjOzwPOs7bCvTTLiIjMVGHRL3R4LtKeef2cUXNzKNk8C_FjxlugXHEUjck4tzXLb_9oOqJxBxdnZ04u0Aqy-W-wZ-T4R8tlTDcaue4-SRmStQKCtFYfDNufsTcssW4/s320/263558_2185588277650_6632722_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty, pretty damn expensive! Lol</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#1) These two ladies! Momma Bear Kathy and Princess Bear Kaitlin. Without these two I might have more money, but my life would surely be diminished in ways I might never understand.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTlORLDG1Pt2XIrlNJiR3gD6RlcVutXh01L4cd2xcBOYH1NQ_lfU8ASITxISu9RFAaTPg5-lwY90goK9Rz-5V3aDOXqaWFZ6piLqOIoYgkFVNeujqfJ5eKHCbbSBWpWS6t2Lvjtmbnpo/s1600/2012-05-26_10-35-58_687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTlORLDG1Pt2XIrlNJiR3gD6RlcVutXh01L4cd2xcBOYH1NQ_lfU8ASITxISu9RFAaTPg5-lwY90goK9Rz-5V3aDOXqaWFZ6piLqOIoYgkFVNeujqfJ5eKHCbbSBWpWS6t2Lvjtmbnpo/s320/2012-05-26_10-35-58_687.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Squirrel Patrol</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsRR0rw8_I5yQltwciayZZD4Pyc22hAkZK_NR603wa2I5UD_ArUsqeVKVoAvc6uxIKpv39VKNzYgZ-l0Jn0Riknm-3X-82QbDQ39uF_xAxZW-XyWk1tgFG9h9mD58GYPjluKxkd3oI4U/s1600/IMG_20131123_211128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsRR0rw8_I5yQltwciayZZD4Pyc22hAkZK_NR603wa2I5UD_ArUsqeVKVoAvc6uxIKpv39VKNzYgZ-l0Jn0Riknm-3X-82QbDQ39uF_xAxZW-XyWk1tgFG9h9mD58GYPjluKxkd3oI4U/s320/IMG_20131123_211128.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovin' her Daddy</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#2) My Mocha, our rescue pup. The sheer joy she displays when I come home, the unconditional love, the quiet companionship...she's my baby.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCZbd3z6q-7WWer3bKr_qmuv6zXErHQff2Rbux1MlZ4njn4Er2T7-sZdU51M5TndiIBz2HU9ZI1rLaDktkeA0nKP1w5i0meuXzClcLUYt0TVQF4mPXhlj6bRw9JnAqDxVkiKq57ENPyU/s1600/10155690_618200514924717_137744963096595883_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCZbd3z6q-7WWer3bKr_qmuv6zXErHQff2Rbux1MlZ4njn4Er2T7-sZdU51M5TndiIBz2HU9ZI1rLaDktkeA0nKP1w5i0meuXzClcLUYt0TVQF4mPXhlj6bRw9JnAqDxVkiKq57ENPyU/s320/10155690_618200514924717_137744963096595883_n.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably should be something from Craig Johnson or George R.R. Martin</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#3) Books!!! What can I say...if I'm not talking I'm probably reading!!! Talk about cheap entertainment?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You might pay upwards of $10 for a 90 min. movie, for that same money I might be entertained for weeks!!!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6IQ4Y0YDfgcxaKYaiGPTBj0-3Dhyphenhyphenivjw-txkgmZ4Ngz4d25Xr_gIxfBDxObqYWeguzqRcvsQMPnduMm77sLplKSrdFbkbzFu3bKOniCxFwDWcjwLptskZPw7fJN2puIN-9QgYwhzEd8/s1600/311787_389496424438771_524532599_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6IQ4Y0YDfgcxaKYaiGPTBj0-3Dhyphenhyphenivjw-txkgmZ4Ngz4d25Xr_gIxfBDxObqYWeguzqRcvsQMPnduMm77sLplKSrdFbkbzFu3bKOniCxFwDWcjwLptskZPw7fJN2puIN-9QgYwhzEd8/s320/311787_389496424438771_524532599_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Guncrafter Industries 50GI conversion on my Glock 21SF</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#4) Shooting. Rifles, pistols, shotguns, bows, you name it!!! If it shoots, I like it. There is a certain zen mastery thing going on to take this tool, bend it to your will and hit a target from several feet to several hundred yards away.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKNT1BpmohHFywGHjsV-b3VvUbujAdXazctOdPxypUosGYnLXOf5YEWcU9VnkVlpQqSfbKtgcHpdep1Zai1n826POhnBtB3CMo13mMCqXTQMpPhaFdGobWm_jCfQy0ONbtIY8bStrrXI/s1600/MV5BMTgzMzg4MDkwNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODAwNDg3OA%2540%2540._V1_SY317_CR4%252C0%252C214%252C317_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKNT1BpmohHFywGHjsV-b3VvUbujAdXazctOdPxypUosGYnLXOf5YEWcU9VnkVlpQqSfbKtgcHpdep1Zai1n826POhnBtB3CMo13mMCqXTQMpPhaFdGobWm_jCfQy0ONbtIY8bStrrXI/s1600/MV5BMTgzMzg4MDkwNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODAwNDg3OA%2540%2540._V1_SY317_CR4%252C0%252C214%252C317_.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome movie, just make sure you watch the directors cut (European version)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#5) Movies. Old or new, doesn't matter...my favorites I'll watch every time they are on. They don't even have to be particularly good for me to like them...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't get Momma bear going on how many times she has had to set through Ronin or The Fifth Element!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmAkQfuv0fx6_UTHXET8bFfwAlJKnTPYuwXnBYwda-qiPJSQXOY-55_TP-Rl3sTIJjE7HSKLC_TPyK5xIWXJmATM8Thjt591GJhQ9WpJlrOjYT8991MmsMZzb7Iz_2twO3y3EwRDTu8A/s1600/m_04072a135ad8448d916292761fed4518.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmAkQfuv0fx6_UTHXET8bFfwAlJKnTPYuwXnBYwda-qiPJSQXOY-55_TP-Rl3sTIJjE7HSKLC_TPyK5xIWXJmATM8Thjt591GJhQ9WpJlrOjYT8991MmsMZzb7Iz_2twO3y3EwRDTu8A/s320/m_04072a135ad8448d916292761fed4518.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got the music in me!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#6) Music. 60's, 70's, 80's even the 90's after that, let's be honest...music started to suck. Don't believe me?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Two words: Justin Beiber</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWawI4lslRW-n3lKclsiNVrs67JosNsR2RD9jQEZJUTITuKVW87oFItV_8jkHmCJTXk529pY3E2ImamBl7y4UA1_QX3UXIrciTz1Z4kQIutrYHMLrwA8lCCv-e8pRuLdUQOm-FTQZcVk/s1600/37178_f61b33a43f8589ae88977374b74adf57.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWawI4lslRW-n3lKclsiNVrs67JosNsR2RD9jQEZJUTITuKVW87oFItV_8jkHmCJTXk529pY3E2ImamBl7y4UA1_QX3UXIrciTz1Z4kQIutrYHMLrwA8lCCv-e8pRuLdUQOm-FTQZcVk/s320/37178_f61b33a43f8589ae88977374b74adf57.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 2010 Triumph Rocket III</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#7) The Ride. Remember when we used to just go for a ride? No destination, no timetable, just pick a direction and go...see where the road takes you. In a car was nice, but there's just something about taking your special someone on the back of your bike. The feel of the wind, the smell of the air that you'd miss in your car, but most of all their arms around you as you cruise into the night.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUOfuRnEOC1m2yoc3RcLIGw_ai3vxxzikfRrvG0SaPoNz8lwj0QQMcAqIeBjkfun8QVtWbTryiy0lRoPGUSADm22qnaRTboCae68-WyILmnPQ3MCc-6VojGFHR36gKU99-gDg9qeNq4c/s1600/mobile-32181-1392391670-37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUOfuRnEOC1m2yoc3RcLIGw_ai3vxxzikfRrvG0SaPoNz8lwj0QQMcAqIeBjkfun8QVtWbTryiy0lRoPGUSADm22qnaRTboCae68-WyILmnPQ3MCc-6VojGFHR36gKU99-gDg9qeNq4c/s320/mobile-32181-1392391670-37.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhhh, the sea after a storm...</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#8) Solitude. Sometimes there is a simple joy associated with just being ok to be alone with your thoughts. No conversation to keep up, no one to accuse you of not listening, not helping, not caring...etc. Sometimes it's just good to be alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ok folks, there you have it...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My 8 pictures of Happiness. I guess according to the rules I must tag other bloggers...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Here are the guidelines for the eight photos of happiness bloghop:</span></div>
<ol style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #660000; font-family: Neucha; font-size: 20px; line-height: 25px; list-style-position: outside; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<li style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 50px; padding: 5px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tag me in your post.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 50px; padding: 5px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Link to the creator of the tag. In this case <a href="http://vidyasury.com/2015/09/happiness-is-homemade.html">Vidya Sury</a></span><span style="color: #cc0000;">!</span></span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 50px; padding: 5px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Show off your own 8 photos of happiness and have fun picking them!</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 50px; padding: 5px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You can add a little description of the photos or just let the photos speak for themselves. Easy!</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 50px; padding: 5px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tag others. Essentially, spread the happiness and make the world a better place!</span></li>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I am happy to tag the following bloggers! </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">No pressure, but imagine actually refusing to have fun!</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I therefore pass the torch to:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jo at <a href="http://jo-mywanderingmind.blogspot.com/">My Wandering Mind</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sherry at </span><a href="http://faithfriendsflipflops.blogspot.com/" style="font-size: x-large;">Faith, Friends & Flip Flops</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Families newest Blogger, my Niece</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rachel at <a href="http://recatalyst.blogspot.fr/2015/09/10-topics-you-must-cover-on-your.html">The Responsibility Catalyst</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And the ever irascible Joe at <a href="http://joeh-crankyoldman.blogspot.com/">Cranky Old Man</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be well folks, Hope you've had a great summer!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-86009715684439115452015-06-05T23:04:00.000-04:002015-06-05T23:04:33.478-04:00Catching up...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hello Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Contrary to popular belief I have NOT, as may have been reported...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In fact dropped off the face of the earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or as my mother would say "I'm not stinkin' yet!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As I have been castigated by no small number of readers to "Get off your lazy ass and write a new blog", I shall endeavor to comply.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It has been a busy and event-filled couple of months since I last regaled you with my limited talents. Here's a brief update.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I finally have in my possession the Smith & Wesson revolver stolen from my Mother's boyfriend (who was more like a step-father to me) several years before his death. It's recovery and subsequent return took <i>way</i> longer than necessary, directly due to the now outgoing Chief of Waterford PD. I detailed the beginnings of this saga earlier in the life of this blog. Once we told them that we did not want it destroyed but, in fact, wanted it back that the games began. First we had to produce a copy of the will, "That should be enough". Then after a few weeks I called back, "Well, can we get a copy of the death certificate?", that was supplied. Now the Evidence Officer, Mike was a pleasure to deal with! It was the Chief making these demands. Next they wanted a copy of my Mother's Drivers license as she was the executor of the estate. Again weeks go by. Finally, Mike tells me that "The Chief would feel better if you filed the will in Probate Court, that way there'd be no way someone else could show up and lay claim to it."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well," I told him "we are not hiring a lawyer and filing in Probate, just to get back a thousand dollar revolver! It'd be cheaper to just go buy a new one...we're NOT doing that." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"See if your Mom can get the lawyer that did the will to call the Chief and talk to him, maybe that will work.", it didn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So it was that I bided my time...and low and behold the Chief becomes embroiled in a political scandal such that he is placed on leave and eventually forced to retire. Awwwwwwww.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I called Mike back up, it's been almost a year at this point since he initially contacted us. And asked him to run the whole thing by the acting Chief, and get <i>his</i> take. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Long story short (I know, too late right?) two days later we had it back, and it's now registered in my name and has become my "go to" everyday carry gun. At 14 oz. loaded it is nearly a half pound lighter than my Kahr PM9.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Next adventure, after 20 some odd years I am once again a motorcyclist! I bought myself a used 2010 Triumph Rocket III!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Been wanting one of them since they were introduced in 2004, and finally made that happen. The fellow that had it before me took immaculate care of her and added all the extras I would have. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She's 2300 cc's, sports 146 hp. and 163 ft. lbs. of torque...and even with my grizzled old butt on her, she moves right along!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCexURj-njCvP2UbcN6iBX26G8YLd0utUQif3RHdMlORI3K_Jc6Ot51TgPU_ijFPJguppjI8hWW2U_ujgnzCe-NXPgMUz7e7bMLBqKfKgeAh0ZccJqFjmAYG9kumQCWcnSxQ1-HwVwZOg/s1600/20150411_195514.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCexURj-njCvP2UbcN6iBX26G8YLd0utUQif3RHdMlORI3K_Jc6Ot51TgPU_ijFPJguppjI8hWW2U_ujgnzCe-NXPgMUz7e7bMLBqKfKgeAh0ZccJqFjmAYG9kumQCWcnSxQ1-HwVwZOg/s320/20150411_195514.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I did have to make one change, the stock mirrors were woefully inadequate, and not very stylish so I had to change them out to these...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So a portion of my time and energies were devoted to finding, trying and buying those things I no longer had. Leather jacket, new helmet, gloves, and boots. Added a Blu Tooth com/entertainment system to my helmet so I can listen to music, books on tape, and take and make calls should I feel the need.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Next thing occupying my mind/time was some home improvements. For the last few years, we've wanted a couple trees removed and the trim on the house wrapped. After getting a quote from a guy Mama Bear used to know during her time working for a builder, we decided to get the siding and gutters replaced as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Before</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGt6GuWTAAqRKvWOwAGbOM1Y4R9JOhGDiEDLO8DhSuRQpKXBB8dQEMOgGz2zPxcDW_FI_OsQDsc_YhEuNHATsKS1OMc82BUs2ha-pagRvreVyi-pSbWT_Jo24DiuqpQGzI1ZFaOy-HzdY/s1600/20150410_115157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGt6GuWTAAqRKvWOwAGbOM1Y4R9JOhGDiEDLO8DhSuRQpKXBB8dQEMOgGz2zPxcDW_FI_OsQDsc_YhEuNHATsKS1OMc82BUs2ha-pagRvreVyi-pSbWT_Jo24DiuqpQGzI1ZFaOy-HzdY/s320/20150410_115157.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Trees Down</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNiaF6ojpxJZ57c1SVfWn1SlvkJgb1SBl7_GCIWKZh32t9kaDA7TsOKJwWl18qSgV2wBdfuWXrwpjxmxL6dnt4s5CCNhlvRq7V_jC8YVYnvFY_6BMnqVw4n8NuKScteJYRSABE3-eJCo/s1600/20150410_133959.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXNiaF6ojpxJZ57c1SVfWn1SlvkJgb1SBl7_GCIWKZh32t9kaDA7TsOKJwWl18qSgV2wBdfuWXrwpjxmxL6dnt4s5CCNhlvRq7V_jC8YVYnvFY_6BMnqVw4n8NuKScteJYRSABE3-eJCo/s320/20150410_133959.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't yet have final pictures yet. We also had the center two columns removed from the porch, which really opened it up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The work was done and I was getting ready to take pictures when I got up one morning, hit the restroom, and as I was washing my hands I noticed the water pressure was really low.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No problem," I thought. "I think they're flushing the fire hydrants this week, must be that."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I went downstairs to let the dog out, I passed the door to the basement..."That's funny...the water softener shouldn't be running until 3 AM." But we'd lost power recently and I thought perhaps the timer was off and I'd have to reset it. When I walk back by the door, it didn't sound quite right so I opened it, looked down the stairs to see a couple inches of water, WHERE NO WATER SHOULD BE!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I flew down the stairs and saw there was a geyser of water coming from the water softener. I made my way to it as quickly as I could and tried to turn off the water, but my hands were wet and I couldn't get a grip. Putting a hand up to shield my face I noticed one of the couplers after the bypass had let loose. I yanked the bypass lever, and the geyser stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I don't know about your basement, but our basement was FULL of almost 30 yrs. worth of accumulated crap, most in cardboard boxes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sooooo, a 20 yd. roll-off dumpster, an industrial strength dehumidifier were procured and the clean-up began. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, being allergic to mold and mildew...I was instantly in dire straights when we started cleaning up...well not instantly, I made it a whole day before my sinuses went ballistic and the asthma kicked in. Let me tell you, being a couple hundred pounds overweight and toting shit upstairs over and over is not helped by an inability to breathe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After all the wet and ruined was pitched, it seemed like as good a time as any to go through the detritus of our lives...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If we haven't seen it or used it in the last 2 years it got chucked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is not an easy, or a simple thing. It brought up many memories...some good, some not. It made us re-evaluate those treasures we just HAD to have that now sat forgotten in the basement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Amid this madness, one of my <i>FAVORITE</i> authors was once again quasi-near us. I took a day off from my toils to drive down to Dayton, OH. Yes, it was Craig Johnson...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzhXbvUWKzNu2lJ4rnVAOabZuIu_TYs_egVHl3aK9k-tTO1Dyz1BaBt5A4VK3s_9_A9DNLMOg5RVs4usjM54qAEahYW0pbw-owUXFmzT5aDrScseXpJIFYsL6vTjJcEPqkCaX5oRMN70/s1600/20150529_191503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzhXbvUWKzNu2lJ4rnVAOabZuIu_TYs_egVHl3aK9k-tTO1Dyz1BaBt5A4VK3s_9_A9DNLMOg5RVs4usjM54qAEahYW0pbw-owUXFmzT5aDrScseXpJIFYsL6vTjJcEPqkCaX5oRMN70/s400/20150529_191503.jpg" width="225" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">No</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"> Camaro this year and Mama Bear had to work so it was just me running down to listen to him give a talk, a reading from his new book and to get some signed. As usual he was warm and personable, greeting every reader like a long lost friend! A rare commodity among NYT Bestselling Authors. The only other author <i>anything</i> like that, in my experience, is George R.R. Martin. </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">After the book signing, I headed to one of my favorite places for a burger </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">(Hardee's Mushroom and Swiss </span><span class="" style="font-size: large;">thickburger</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">, nothing else comes close!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once we had the basement behind us, I started on the garage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At which time Mama Bear suggested that, perhaps, we should get rid of the 15-year-old half fridge and put a full sized one in the garage instead. This would just require removing some cabinets...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, yesterday morning the dumpster was removed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The majority of my inside work is complete, now I have to put my efforts towards removing the surface roots that were <i>not</i> included in the stump grinding. Then there is the trimming of the hedges, and the removal of some upstart little (well not so little anymore) elm tree that is attempting to kill my Rose of Sharon bushes...off with his head!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That about catches us up, gentle readers...all the news from the Den.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I realize my excuses for not writing are lame at best and hope that you will deem to forgive me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4hoa-A2jcunuuALt1r-8-r7XU_atXmCPvYsNeUsfcRSgLNmmQg0uLuU6TaAO01rnSJSZBU-0D7rdT5GbjYjedroOO-kHEGBjKtHo5g76PWIcmMHVm5KZVOJUmKI5bUgOCm3kE-YMn7E/s1600/1234850_10151561501976326_318165019_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4hoa-A2jcunuuALt1r-8-r7XU_atXmCPvYsNeUsfcRSgLNmmQg0uLuU6TaAO01rnSJSZBU-0D7rdT5GbjYjedroOO-kHEGBjKtHo5g76PWIcmMHVm5KZVOJUmKI5bUgOCm3kE-YMn7E/s320/1234850_10151561501976326_318165019_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-7070894698275024322015-03-13T21:50:00.000-04:002015-03-13T21:50:49.176-04:00The Cereal Allegory...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIeKHZlv7FEUKeVx-D-OdUMmsIDA-dpuVrvd6SNLRtu_-8JUTAwwUNR6yDiMC3teaR4-IwZGZg17sHtUejWQZVlky1c4moR2oI3SO4oxxvwF0T7y7srvd9HAeUeVSMgF5_KLN_iZobJk/s1600/received_10152590327308778-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIeKHZlv7FEUKeVx-D-OdUMmsIDA-dpuVrvd6SNLRtu_-8JUTAwwUNR6yDiMC3teaR4-IwZGZg17sHtUejWQZVlky1c4moR2oI3SO4oxxvwF0T7y7srvd9HAeUeVSMgF5_KLN_iZobJk/s1600/received_10152590327308778-1.jpg" height="400" width="316" /></a> </div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Let's lighten up a little after those last 2 blogs.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDifyR4Q4n5N4HdwGVQgXKXG01_N0HD3gGbMkaZM4DtQus7IFHc8qnjKyKe-v6tn4UrG2sifmU2_XYmHiEQ69yZFNLKytfgOBXCzEf3J6nHgwMJdfcRNcfXnh7mJk9EV6eZEjEmlGqen8/s1600/3113834423_e7159829ba.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDifyR4Q4n5N4HdwGVQgXKXG01_N0HD3gGbMkaZM4DtQus7IFHc8qnjKyKe-v6tn4UrG2sifmU2_XYmHiEQ69yZFNLKytfgOBXCzEf3J6nHgwMJdfcRNcfXnh7mJk9EV6eZEjEmlGqen8/s1600/3113834423_e7159829ba.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anybody else remember cereal variety packs from their childhood?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As one of three kids (sometimes 4 when my step sister stayed with us) we always found it hard to agree on which breakfast cereal we wanted.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuVTcJQgdzVBnxjn3uf0-xFUUnY_HDxsWNMIJMt7WSHfRtcqKIT5obIrhs4b55-qiflzCIHroW-l7Pb12K8DU9VdEk4UabtmLwB67aOlRshGCxThyy2C6-u1IahXccHBD6cgfgghLrdk/s1600/dcs-868b_1z.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuVTcJQgdzVBnxjn3uf0-xFUUnY_HDxsWNMIJMt7WSHfRtcqKIT5obIrhs4b55-qiflzCIHroW-l7Pb12K8DU9VdEk4UabtmLwB67aOlRshGCxThyy2C6-u1IahXccHBD6cgfgghLrdk/s1600/dcs-868b_1z.jpg" height="278" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">My twin sisters were fond of the "Two against one, we win!" rule,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">which I of course thought was complete crap!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">This is where the variety pack would shine. Everybody could have what they wanted, and no-one "Won".</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWW0jvEb01FERhqpimSZ5P0QdmFhlqTDVWlheuDP0GzPYmo57IygyWWIpPRbTpq3zBR91SgCgMlFLhbiaTUo2KhFhWOz3fXXRCdlWDg11OsegXiAXA1HPRrwRrZ3XvuSyuH7J7RNaRI4/s1600/Fun_Fun_Fun_014.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWW0jvEb01FERhqpimSZ5P0QdmFhlqTDVWlheuDP0GzPYmo57IygyWWIpPRbTpq3zBR91SgCgMlFLhbiaTUo2KhFhWOz3fXXRCdlWDg11OsegXiAXA1HPRrwRrZ3XvuSyuH7J7RNaRI4/s1600/Fun_Fun_Fun_014.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">What was even better is you didn't need a bowl! That's right, any 5-year-old with a sharp knife and a spoon could eat right out of the box! And they were DESIGNED that way. They even had perforations showing you right where to cut. Hey, it was the 60's & 70's</span>...<span style="font-size: large;">don't judge!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As I got older and started dating and later married I developed a little thing I like to call "The Cereal Allegory". I try to impart this wisdom to men I meet that are thinking of getting married.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It goes something like this:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When you are dating, it's like you're eating from the variety pack.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You meet and date many different types of women.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Like "Rice Krispies". She's nice, interesting, but she just won't stop talking.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Or "Fruity Pebbles". She's colorful and sweet...almost too sweet and in the end lacks substance.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Then there's "All Bran". Kind of boring though you know she's good for you, you just need a little more excitement.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">There's "Raisin Bran". "All Bran's" cousin...she's a little more put together, a little more hip drawing you in with her fancy clothes (Raisins). But in the end it's a soggy mess too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Frosted Flakes" may seem appealing. She starts out sweet, but underneath you realize she really IS a flake as she starts telling you about her <u style="font-style: italic;">first</u> suicide attempt on your very first date. Yikes!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Then there's "Muesli". At first you get that really 'cool chick' vibe until you discover she's some new age hippie vegan that refuses to shave...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">As a modern man of the world, you might even try "Coco Puffs"!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, you find what you believe to be the perfect breakfast cereal(woman), "Lucky Charms"!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Why is she perfect? Well, because she takes the boring every day(crappy oat cereal) and does special things(tasty marshmallows)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">to make it all palatable.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">What special things you may ask? Going to a movie she can't stand just because you want to see it. Surprise sex. Showing up at your place with a pizza, a six-pack, and a hummer because you've had a bad day at work. Those kinds of things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So you say,"I'm In! That's it, I'm gonna sign a contract that I'm only gonna have "Lucky Charms" for the rest of my life!" And you Propose.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">You get married and for a while everything is great, you slog through the crappy oat cereal because the tasty marshmallows make it all worth while!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But after a few years you start to notice there are more and more bits of crappy oat cereal and fewer and fewer tasty marshmallows.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Your single friends keep reminding you of the variety they are experiencing...how "Sugar Smacks" really likes that kind of thing and is all kinds of 50 Shades of Grey.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So you complain to management...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Management kindly reminds you that tasty marshmallows were not specified in your contract, and perhaps if you picked up your socks more often...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" you reply. "Tasty marshmallows were certainly implied if not exactly specified."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">At which point she smiles, reminds you that you are free to break your contract at any time. It'll just cost you half of everything you own.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Plus child support.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And alimony.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And half your retirement.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So you suck it up, pick up your socks and move on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Still wanna get married?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Thus concludes The Cereal Allegory.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Now, I'm sure there is a female corollary to all this...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Something to do with cards and flowers, moonlit walks along the beach and probably portion size.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But I'm a man and can only speak of that which I know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, before the hate mail starts to arrive please note this is all in good fun and not meant to hurt anyone's feelings nor are the specific girls based on anyone living or dead! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well maybe...but I'm not saying!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hope you all have a great weekend!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-29051175352751549682015-02-27T18:00:00.000-05:002015-10-30T15:08:47.785-04:00What NOT to wear to school for Halloween...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As I have mentioned in previous blogs, back in the early 80's I had taken a job at my old High School as security/hall monitor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Most of my adventures revolved around keeping the kids from smoking at the ends of the buildings, catching those skipping classes or smoking in the bathrooms. Pretty mundane stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">There were some more interesting events, told <a href="http://denofthebeastlybear.blogspot.com/2014/03/youre-freak.html">here</a> and <a href="http://denofthebeastlybear.blogspot.com/2014/03/not-what-i-expected.html">here</a>. But aside from a few drug buys interrupted, fights stopped and girlfriends rescued from overly jealous hormonal boyfriends, my days were pretty dull.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Back then, Waterford Kettering was a pretty WASPish place. I think our ethnic diversity amounted to 3-4 African American kids, 1-2 Hispanic, and one Asian kid in a school of about 700. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Drugs were just starting to infiltrate our suburban location, mostly pot...and booze.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The first thing I did every morning was to stand outside as the buses disgorged the kids. I made sure they all made it into the building and none wandered off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">At the beginning of the year, this was a nice way to start the day as the mornings were cool before the heat of the day. But as the year wore on it got downright cold.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">A bright spot as it got colder was Halloween. In a time when schools still encouraged kids to be creative and dress up, it was entertaining to see what all the kids came up with.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Clowns were abundant, as were Hobos. Pirates were as popular as zombies... A couple more enterprising kids even dressed up as their favorite member of the band "Kiss".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As I said, it was a simpler time...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So as I stood and watched the nearest bus empty, a couple in love dressed as Raggedy Anne and Andy, a Princess Leia, Indiana Jones...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And a Member of the Klu Klux Klan....wait, A WHAT?!?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Yes, it was true my eyes were not deceiving me... A bona fide Klansman dressed in full regalia, hood and all and carrying an aluminum baseball bat. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When he saw me he tried to get into the school before I could intercept him. But students admiring each others costumes got in his way and I met him at the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I held up a hand to stop him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Off with the hood!" I told him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Why?" he asked defiantly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Because I told you to, and give me the bat while you're at it!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"It's part of the costume," He grumbled as he handed it grip first to me and pulled the hood off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I recognized him immediately, Hiram.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This kid had already made a name for himself that year, smoking, walking out of classes, fighting...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One of those kids who were under the impression that if he wanted to do it, we should just leave him alone and let him do it, no matter what "it" was. We had already locked horns a couple times, and the year was young. Because of suspensions, Hiram had almost missed as much of the school year as he'd attended.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Hiram, what in the world is wrong with you? You can't wear this," </span><span style="font-size: large;">I indicated his outfit, "as a costume in school. You've </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">got</i><span style="font-size: large;"> to know that."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"It's NOT a costume...it's a uniform, and I wear it to meetings!" </span><span style="font-size: large;">Hiram replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You're kidding me, right? You're a member of the KKK?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah," he answered defiantly "my whole family is!!! So what?!?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you can't wear it in school, you're gonna have to change..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I can't," he said smugly. "I'm not wearing anything underneath it!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"In that case we're going to have to go up to the office and have you call home, they can bring you up a change of clothes."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">*Heavy sigh* "Whatever..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So I walked him around to the front of the school and into the offices. Instead of walking him through the halls and giving him more of the attention he was after. As we entered the building, Hiram pulled his hood back on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The secretaries gave a collective gasp as we walked through the doors... Which turned to nervous giggles, I walked him into the Assistant Principal's office and told him to sit down, indicating a chair. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I plucked the hood from his head and tossed it into his lap as he sat and I explained the situation to Mr. Bennetts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Howard Bennetts, our Assistant Principal was a kindly, bespectacled and Grandfatherly man. With a soft voice and an understanding nature. But even he "Tut-Tutted" when I explained why I had brought Hiram to the office.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">For a moment, he studied Hiram through his thick lenses...heaved a long-suffering sigh before he spoke.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"And a weapon Hiram?" Mr. Bennetts asked shaking his head.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"It's part of the costume..." Hiram grumbled.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I thought you said it was a uniform," I added.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Why the Hell is he even still here?!?" Hiram pointed at me, voice raised a couple decibels in his annoyance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Enough of that now Hiram," Hiram collapsed back into himself in dejected fury "now give me your phone number so I don't have to look it up...I assume someone is home." the slight rise at the end of Mr. Bennetts sentence making the last a question. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hiram nodded in silence.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We waited and when it appeared he had no more to say, Mr. Bennetts cleared his throat and asked:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"The number?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Fine!" Hiram said and he ripped off the number in a quick staccato.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"You know my Dad works nights, and he's gonna be pissed. You waking him up for something so stupid."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You let us worry about that Hiram." Bennetts calmly replied as he dialed the phone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hiram was right...his Father was NOT pleased. Mr. Bennetts explained that Hiram had worn an inappropriate Halloween costume and would be needing a change of clothes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He did not mention what that costume happened to be.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">20 minutes later a plus sized version of Hiram showed up with a paper bag of clothes and a lip full of tobacco. His face thunderclouds as he stomped into the office.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Just what the Hell is the problem here?!?" He said addressing Mr. Bennetts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Well," Bennetts calmly started "He can't wear THAT in school." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Indicating Hiram's attire.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hiram's Dad turned and regarded his son a moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Why the Hell not? It IS Halloween ain't it???"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"And he was carrying that." Bennetts pointed to the bat I still held, and lifted to show him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"School policy clearly dictates that clothing or dress designed to disparage, intimidate or demean others will not be permitted."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Unh-Huh," His Dad looked at Hiram "You plan to disparage, intimidate or uh...what was that other one?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"demean" Bennetts offered.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"demean anybody?" His Dad asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"NO!" Hiram sullenly replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Well, there ya have it...you can send him on to class then, he ain't hurtin' nobody!" Hiram's Dad said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Whether he intended it or not, he can not wear that in school. I hope you can see it from our perspective. We have students and their parents that would find this <i>quite</i> offensive <i>and </i>inflammatory!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What he is wearing is part of his heritage! This is still America ain't it? Freedom of expression and all??? I don't have a problem with what he's wearing!!!" Hiram's Dad had swelled up with indignation and was working himself into quite a lather.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I'll put this simply," Mr. Bennetts said calmly, hands flat on his desk "Either Hiram changes or you take him home, unexcused.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And the way his attendance has been he really can't afford that. The choice is yours."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hiram's Dad glared at Mr. Bennetts for a minute then tossed the bag of clothes in Hiram's lap. Without even looking at him he rumbled:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Go Change..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As Hiram changed in the office restroom his Dad continued to fume but remained silent. When Hiram was done and had handed the bag back to his Dad, his Father turned to go.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Could you take this home with you?" I asked extending the baseball bat grip first. He glared at me, then at Hiram and made no move to take the bat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You brought it with you, you can bring it home!" And with that, he stomped out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I looked at Hiram, much deflated now in jeans and t-shirt, I told him:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I'll hold onto this until the end of the day, you can get it from me before you board the bus."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hiram nodded and Mr. Bennetts released him to class.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Well, the apple certainly didn't fall far from THAT tree, did it? Thank you for staying, I had previously only dealt with the mother..." Mr. Bennetts said to me when Hiram was out of the offices.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"No problem, I admit to having been a little curious..." I confided.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now I know."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The rest of the day passed uneventfully, aside from the obligatory school rumors. Which depending on the one you believed either had me stopping Hiram from attacking a black student with a baseball bat to Hiram's Dad being the Grand Dragon of the local Klan and they'd be marching on the school in protest! Or variations thereof.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I went to Hiram's bus as the kids boarded for home. I saw them come and I saw them go...but Hiram didn't appear. I later learned that he had ditched after lunch... So I put his baseball bat into the break room I shared with the other security folks and custodians.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It sat there all year...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">And when school let out for the summer, I took it home. It now rests in my garage, some 30 years later...I've never had the heart to throw it out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It reminds me of a troubled young man, that I hope found some peace and understanding in his life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I hope you all have peace in your lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-91742253088096309772015-02-23T12:45:00.000-05:002015-02-23T19:26:47.907-05:00Sometimes I wonder about People...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes I wonder about people...Ok, so MOST of the time I wonder about people.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When I was driving for Perry Drugs we had routes that were "bid" on by seniority that were guaranteed overtime, the rest of the week we rotated through "local" deliveries (those that didn't require an overnight stay).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">There was this store manager down in Dearborn, everyone called her "The Nazi"! (Long before Seinfeld's Soup Nazi!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">5'1", Blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun with not a strand out of place and blue eyed. She was pretty, but ruined it with the "I'm short and a woman so I've got to be a colossal bitch so everyone will take me seriously!" attitude. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The stories I had heard of her being "difficult" were legion, but I had never really had a problem with her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I arrived one day to deliver her store, the third of four for me that day and when I arrived they were not ready for me just yet. I had run straight through, skipping my breaks and lunch in an effort to beat the heat of the day as much as possible. It was August, which in Michigan is often worse than July. Because they were not quite ready I walked out to the floor and bought a Coke and a $.25 bag of chips to tide me over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was in the back room waiting for the stock guys to get everything the way they wanted it, eating my chips and sipping my Coke when in she blew like a hurricane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She started in on the stock guys for not being ready, then she whirled on me. Clapping her hands like she was rounding up hogs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Come on Driver, COME ON. You can eat chips on your own time, get your <i>ASS IN GEAR</i>, we've got a truck to unload!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I finished my chips and tossed my bag in the trash, summoned up all the charming I could muster and asked her:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey, are you married?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">All of a sudden she went from power-mad ubër Nazi to coquettish young girl, she kind of patted her bun and blushing said:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Why yes, yes I am. Why do you ask?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Because I didn't marry you. And I don't live with you. And I don't have to sleep with you. So...<i>I</i> don't have to put up with your shit! You will treat me with respect and not clap at me like your little french poodle, or I will pull that truck down the street to the nearest restaurant and take <i>BOTH </i>my breaks and my lunch and you won't see me for an hour...we understand each other?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She spat and sputtered a second with an "I never...You can't talk to me like that...I should call your boss..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Go ahead," I told her walking for the door "remember that you used profanity in speaking to me first, in front of these witnesses you've been treating so well...see ya in an hour!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Wait, WAIT!" she called after me. "I apologize, I shouldn't have started out that way...it was rude."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I stopped and told her "I'm sorry too...but I <i>really</i> hate being clapped at...I'll get the truck set up, OK?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"OK"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that was that, the one, and only time I had a problem with her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know why it was so common for Store managers to be disrespectful of their drivers, why they thought they were in charge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had to tell more than one that "We operate on the Navy principal here..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What's that?" They'd ask.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"See that door there?" I'd say pointing to their back door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Everything the other side of that door is your ship, and this..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'd say indicating my truck "this is my ship. Now the Captain of <i>that </i>ship doesn't tell the captain of <i>THIS</i> ship what to do..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes their arrogance came back to bite them in the ass.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We had an AutoWorks store in Saginaw, the last stop of the route.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The auto parts stores got some pretty heavy stuff. We had these green plastic totes they shipped less than whole cases of things in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">These tubs were 28"X18"X18", filled with shock absorbers they easily topped 60 lbs. If they happened to have motorcycle batteries they could be even heavier. Now our trailers were 48 feet long and we had 45' of rollers. So by the time we got to the last store, the rollers were waist high at about a 30° angle and a 45 foot run to build up speed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a conscientious driver, I liked to warn the folks in the store if a box or tote was heavy. They couldn't tell just by watching me, as I did this all day every day and I was built for this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So one day I arrived at the Saginaw store, set up my rollers and started sending their load down. The Store manager was a fella that made Davey Jones look muscular...5'4" and a buck twenty soaking wet, if that! So as I started getting to the heavier things (Light on top, heavy on the bottom) I called out my usual "Heavy!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Manager waited until the box made it down to him, then called up the rollers to me...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>Hey</i>, we're not a bunch of women down here that you gotta tell us what's heavy and what's not...just send that shit down the roller and let us worry about what's heavy and what's not!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I was just trying to be nice, but hey...if that's what he wanted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Ooooooookay.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I aim to please.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I continued to send down cases without speaking another word.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As I got to the bottom row, I picked up a green tote full of shock absorbers. I looked down the rollers to be sure the Manager was paying attention...he wasn't. He was talking to someone out of my limited field of vision and just had his hand up in a casual "Stop" position. I waited for him to finish his conversation, instead he waved for me to send it...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I gave it no shove to help it along, none was needed...I merely let go. As the tote accelerated down the rollers, you could hear it gathering momentum in the pitch of the rollers whine. By the time it reached the bottom of the roller, I'd guess it was going 10 MPH.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The tote hit his hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His hand hit his shoulder.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He and the tote hit the ground and skidded to a stop 10 feet further in the store than where he started. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He leapt to his feet, fighting mad!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"You Mother Fucker, you did that on purpose!!! You trying to kill me?!?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I looked confused:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you're not a bunch of women down there...you don't need me to tell you what's heavy and what's not...I just send the shit down the rollers and let you worry about what's heavy and what's not. Maybe you should pay attention instead of talking to your buddy."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">With a great deal of grumbling he resumed his position at the end of the rollers...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Moral of the story: When someone's being nice...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't be a dick!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes I just wonder about people...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Don't let people wonder about you...Lol!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-9955897160350887392015-02-14T11:44:00.000-05:002016-02-19T16:19:00.335-05:00I'm only going 22....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think one of the most stressful things a parent goes through, has got to be teaching your child to drive...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">In your head you know they're growing up, in your heart you don't want them to venture out into that cold, cruel world without you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When Princess Bear's time came to start driver's training, I was still in possession of my 2004 Pontiac GTO. So I thought I'd try to teach her how to drive a manual transmission. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Off to a large deserted parking lot we went. We swapped seats, and with some trepidation, she pushed in the clutch and slipped it into first.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Now, you've watched me do this a thousand times...start easing off the clutch until the car starts to move, then give it a little gas before letting the clutch out the rest of the way..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She gave me a nervous smile and nod and said "OK."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">And did it perfectly!!! First try!!! Holy Cow, I got another Danica Patrick here!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Alright, speed up a little more...take your foot off the gas, push in the clutch and drop it in second, let the clutch out and give it gas again."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She did, again just perfectly... "this is going to be a breeze!" I thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As we came to the end of the parking lot and she slowed down to make the turn I was so impressed with my obvious ability to train a complete novice in driving a stick, I forgot to tell her to clutch and downshift... The car shuddered a few times and stalled.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She looked at me in horror like she'd screwed up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"It's OK Bug, my fault... I should have told you to at least push in the clutch when you make a slow speed turn. You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't hurt the car. Just restart it and we'll start over."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Now she was rattled, four or five times she started it and stalled it trying to take off. I could see she was becoming more and more frustrated as she went.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Try giving it a little gas and let the clutch out a little slower, then once you start moving give it more gas."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She gave a determined nod "OK".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She started the car again, eased off the clutch...and as the car started to roll, she punched it!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The car shot forward as all 350 horses came online and screamed their displeasure! Panicking she mashed the pedal harder and the RPM's shot to redline as the end of the parking lot raced towards us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Brake Katie, BRAKE!!!" I said, panicking myself at this point.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So what does my darling daughter do? Looks down to see which pedal it is!!! Not enough time...we'll never stop in time!!! I reach over, grabbed the wheel and turned hard to the left...power sliding as the ass end of the car started to come around, and she finally figured out which pedal stopped the car.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We sat in silence for a minute, hearts racing and breathing fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I think we're done for today if it's OK with you," I said. (And while I still had rear tires)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She simply nodded. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She never asked for more lessons in the GTO.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When gas prices skyrocketed, I turned in the lease on my GTO and bought a Chevy Aveo 5 door hatchback...I know, no one was as disappointed as me! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Katie quickly named it Daisy!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">An automatic, Katie LOVED to drive Daisy....and no matter how many times I told her to stop calling her fathers' car Daisy, she persisted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We put many miles in, in that little car. She much preferred driving it over Momma Bears' Acadia SUV. Part of the reason for THAT was Momma Bear herself...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">A little too high strung when riding shotgun with a new driver...voices were raised, tempers flared, and nobody learned anything. I was always a lot more laid back, rarely even raised my voice but more often would ask "What are you doing?". Let her evaluate what <i>she</i> thought I was talking about and have her tell ME what she thought she was doing wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When we got snow on the ground, I once took her out to see how the snow affects how the car handles. While still driving in our neighborhood there is a 90° turn near a small cul de sac, as she was in the middle of the turn I reached down and grabbed the emergency brake!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The car immediately went into a skid. She did EXACTLY what she was supposed to do, turned into the skid...almost saved it. We just put the nose into a little snow bank. And she burst into tears!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Why are you crying?" I asked, "You handled that perfectly..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I almost wrecked your car..." she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"No, you didn't, you wouldn't have even skidded at all if I hadn't pulled on the E-brake to see how you'd handle it."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You what?!?" The tears were gone just that fast. "On PURPOSE???" Uh-oh</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Well, um... yeah. I just wanted to see if you knew what to do..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"That's MEAN!!!" and those were the last words she said to me that drive.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As she became a better, more confident driver...and her sixteenth birthday approached she started talking about getting a car. Of course, as any good parent does, I told her I didn't have the cash to get her a car. So it was her plan that I should let her drive my 1982 Corvette Collectors Edition. Yeah, right! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I saved letting her drive that because I knew that was what she'd always want to drive once the genie was out of the bottle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So a month or two before her 16th. Birthday she was going over to a friends' for a while.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We fired up Daisy and let her drive over there, windows down in the warm July morning. Several of her friends were all meeting over at this friends' home. As I drove back, I decided I'd get the Vette out and give it a bath and a wax job, clean the wheels/tires and take it when I went to get her...and let her drive it home. Show off a little for her friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When I pulled up into the driveway at the appointed time, all the girls and a couple of guys were all hanging out on the porch. As Katie walked out from the group, I got out of the car and met her half way. Tossed her the keys and said, "Drive me home..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The smile on her face made it all worthwhile...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We got in; she adjusted the mirrors and the seat, and when everything was as she wanted it, we slowly backed out of the driveway. She beeped the horn, gave her friends a wave, and we were off. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Through the neighborhood, she was really going slow. When I asked her why she said, she was scared...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Scared?" I ask, "Of what? It's just a car Katie, just like any other..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"But what if I break it?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"That's what insurance is for..." I explained. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">She started to loosen up and get comfortable by the time we made it to the main road.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">No one was coming and after a complete stop, she smoothly pulled out on the road. I had the T-tops off, and I was enjoying the scenery when the seat of my pants notified me we were going a little faster than the 35 MPH speed limit on this road.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I glanced over at the speedometer and saw it was at 45 and climbing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nonplussed I asked her "Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah, 35MPH...why?" She asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The speedo had now topped 65 with no sign of slowing down...luckily it was a long straight road with not a soul on it but us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You don't think you might be going a little fast?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Dad, I'm only going like 22..." She said in "annoyed teenager" voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You might want to check the large gauge NEXT to the tachometer (which was at 2200 RPMs), cause if you're waiting for IT to reach 35, we'll be doing about 110 MPH down this road!" I answered in "long suffering Dad" voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Oh My God!" She said, slowing down. "I thought it <i>felt really </i>fast, but I thought it was just because we were in the Corvette," She told me in "not so cocky now" teenager.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"This is why, whenever you get into a vehicle you've never driven before...familiarize yourself with the gauges, where they are and what they show, OK?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"OK," She said, and the smile was back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We didn't go right home, but took a little drive...letting her enjoy herself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">When the big 16th. Birthday came...we gifted her with a '95 Black Chevy Monte Carlo. I put butterfly decals on mini windows to make it more of a "girls" car, and a vanity plate with her initials. I think the smile says it all!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF_1DjHTFj6hxCdq9-I59hVJH556B-plhIQmRO0lJKc7YBLBvmGKSLhj3DSXZ5qr6cMb4hu9HzyJdtCqAlNvPnF26nxY7SurTBbT4yeqXC_VFfA1HNV5w0VFHHR_pIXe7kPt-bPbK2jE/s1600/100_0671.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF_1DjHTFj6hxCdq9-I59hVJH556B-plhIQmRO0lJKc7YBLBvmGKSLhj3DSXZ5qr6cMb4hu9HzyJdtCqAlNvPnF26nxY7SurTBbT4yeqXC_VFfA1HNV5w0VFHHR_pIXe7kPt-bPbK2jE/s1600/100_0671.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Though I made sure she knew which one the speedometer was!!! Lol</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Drive Safe and Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-35661444161551703942015-01-28T13:18:00.000-05:002015-01-29T03:01:36.824-05:00Revenge of the Strong Back...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once upon a time, many moons ago...I worked for a truly horrible boss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was driving tractor/trailers for Perry Drug Stores, a local business that was growing by leaps and bounds!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His name was Harold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What made Harold a horrible boss you may ask?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, to start with Harold suffered from megalomania compounded by severe narcissistic tendencies! Add to that a general bad attitude and you have Harold. He was the kind of guy that you'd say "Good morning" to and just get a grunt in response, like you weren't worth the effort of forming words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now put a guy like that, in a job he really has no experience in and put him in charge of 27 drivers that have been doing this for years and you can see the potential for conflict.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You see Harold had no business being put in charge of drivers and transportation. He had only gotten his previous job as Warehouse Manager because he happened to live next door to the owner of the company. The owner having taken pity on Harold when he lost his job as the Menswear manager of a recently defunct department store.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Harold was in his late fifties or early sixties at the time. Bald and overweight, with a head shaped like a football. He wore glasses too big for his face which accentuated his overlarge eyes. His jowls and lack of neck lent him the aspect of a giant two legged toad. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a nickname, folks were rather evenly split between "Frogger"(from the old video game) to the less flattering Jabba the Hut!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvW7ERms3pHAcQQFnoPmyYR56_yEwAlWaWvtquwpIS5IkTseomsJMkkEWiCiV32mjS8mMw52BxEkS5MP2GukIxsGO0FIekSCnyrgEfmiM6C1vf3H9Is1lr9hy2qW8t1geyj9eTFVaJTbI/s1600/Jabba_the_Hutt.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvW7ERms3pHAcQQFnoPmyYR56_yEwAlWaWvtquwpIS5IkTseomsJMkkEWiCiV32mjS8mMw52BxEkS5MP2GukIxsGO0FIekSCnyrgEfmiM6C1vf3H9Is1lr9hy2qW8t1geyj9eTFVaJTbI/s1600/Jabba_the_Hutt.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But being a classic narcissistic megalomaniac Harold thought he knew <i>EVERYTHING! </i>There was no talking to him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things really came to a head for me personally when Harold was showing off some new routes he'd laid out to some other drivers and I. As he gave us his supremely confident thoughts on how wonderful his plans were, I happened to notice an error in timing and distance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I politely said "Excuse me Harold, but the way you have that route there set up." I pointed "I don't think it..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You don't get to think!" Harold rudely interrupted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You're nothing but a strong back...you leave the thinking to the strong mind. You just do what you're told!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I felt the heat starting to climb, both from anger and the embarrassment of being treated so in front of my friends and colleagues. I knew there was no winning so I clamped my mouth shut before starting something that would surely see me fired.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now friends, I've been called many a thing in my time but stupid isn't one of them. The lowest I've <i>ever</i> scored on an IQ test is 137, and a couple over 140. So when I say that stung...even though I knew better, you'll understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I bided my time...as opportunities to best a fool come often in this world, and this one came sooner than I expected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Within two weeks of my dressing down by Harold, I had a local run to downtown Detroit on West Jefferson Ave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now when I say downtown, I mean <i>DOWNTOWN. </i>The company had been experimenting with palletizing our loads and put lift-gates on the back of all our trailers, as a way of speeding up the unloading process. But not all our stores were set up for it yet, such a store was the first on my route.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I buzzed the rear door, and the assistant manager came out and we walked together to the back of the truck to break the seal. When we did and I rolled up the door I noticed we had a problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The truck was loaded to the very back, with four shrink wrapped pallets tall enough to brush the door overhead blocking our way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Are those for us?" the manager asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll crawl up and see..." I replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They weren't.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In fact, they were not for any store on my route! You see Perry Drugs was expanding so quickly that they had outgrown their current truck loading bay capacity. We compensated by loading the routes in waves. We filled all the bays and loaded those trailers, then pulled them out and loaded a second route on another trailer, in the same door. These four pallets belonged on the first wave trailer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, there was no working around them, and no room to move them to one side. The manager nixed the idea of unloading two on the ground outside the truck so I could get to his load, as downtown Detroit has a tendency to see things "walk away". If you know what I mean...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I asked to use their phone (<i>WAY</i> before cell phones) and called Harold. I explained the situation to him, suggested I drive back to the warehouse to pull these four pallets off, then return to my route.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This would put me no more than 2 hours behind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No, no, no..." Harold replied "You're just trying to screw me out of overtime on a local run!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Well I don't know what you expect me to do Harold..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you recognize the store number that they belong to?" he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Then this is what I want you to do. You take those four pallets and deliver them to the store they go to, then get your ass back and finish your route...got it?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">*heavy sigh* "Got it, deliver them to the store they belong to then finish my route...you sure?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes I'm sure Goddammit...now do as you're told!" *CLICK*</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I should also mention Harold's phone etiquette left something to be desired as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What did he say?" asked the manager</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Deliver them to their correct store." I replied</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Where's that?" He asked</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Muskegon Heights..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Geography lesson boys and girls! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoGB3Yv6eF969-X69FS2kSgqFP2cY1Lt6FGS9Iiqvx8sbQ_lDWEklZjs9F93AqyzhMSNwxHMv2sIBXPVEnX1rp5Vxazp03UFxTFevs2SVCuTjIWiCNYZz8avTtbFpk7evK6hv-TTKglA/s1600/Mich-LP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoGB3Yv6eF969-X69FS2kSgqFP2cY1Lt6FGS9Iiqvx8sbQ_lDWEklZjs9F93AqyzhMSNwxHMv2sIBXPVEnX1rp5Vxazp03UFxTFevs2SVCuTjIWiCNYZz8avTtbFpk7evK6hv-TTKglA/s1600/Mich-LP.jpg" height="400" width="327" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hold your right hand up palm facing you. This gives a fairly accurate representation of the shape of Michigan's lower peninsula. Detroit sits about where the lower part of your thumb attaches to your palm. From there, draw a line diagonally across your palm to the other side of your hand. About midway up...<i>THAT'S </i>where Muskegeon Heights is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In a truck about 4 hrs. and 200 miles!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So that's what I did!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I returned to my original route and that first store...some 8 1/2 hours later, the manager was apoplectic!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Where the hell have you been? Your boss is furious, he said as soon as you showed up you were to call him at home!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I shrugged, "OK"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't help but crack a grin as I dialed the number and waited for the connection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hello"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey Harold, you wanted me to call?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Where the fuck have you been?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In my minds eye I saw his red face, veins and eyes bulging as his Blood pressure soared. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"They've been blowing my phone up all God damn day, they had to get drugs from other stores to fill orders cause you're so late!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"I was doing what I was told..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"What...?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Remember, 4 pallets on the end of the trailer...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't belong on this route...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I suggested bringing them back to the warehouse, but YOU said deliver them to the store where they go."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well<i> Where the fuck did they go?!?"</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Now see...one would think that would be the first question a strong mind might have asked..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>WHERE???"</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Muskegeon Heights." I calmly replied.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Well why the fuck didn't you tell me that???"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You didn't ask me that, you asked me if I knew where they went...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I said 'yes' and you told me to deliver them where they go. I'm just a strong back doing what I was told!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You son of a bitch..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Look Harold, I gave you a reasonable solution. But you're so worried everybody's trying to screw you over, and that you know better than everybody. You just don't listen."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"You just get busy and finish that fucking route and I'll deal with you tomorrow..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"Deal with me? How are you gonna deal with me?!?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I was following a direct order from my immediate supervisor..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*CLICK*</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Satisfaction...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Harold livid...check!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">8 1/2 hours of overtime...check!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Smarter than the boss...double check!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That was not the last time I hoist Harold by his own petard!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Every time I came off clean...he just couldn't help himself and made it just too easy for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I made him eat those words so many times...he had to have regretted them...maybe not.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But I sure enjoyed rubbing his nose in them.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It was quite lucrative as well, because every time he told me to do something stupid it made me money!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I've had better bosses since, and certainly none worse...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And I hope none of you have one as bad!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-83878571855306131192015-01-23T11:56:00.000-05:002015-11-09T19:26:59.552-05:00The Value of Friendship...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
Hi Folks!<br />
<br />
It's been another couple of Blustery snow filled days here in Michigan, typical January weather.<br />
As I pass by the many lakes in my area, I see makeshift hockey rinks and ice shanties. (for those of you unfamiliar, these are little portable buildings put on the ice to shelter those "ice fishing", done through a hole augured through the ice.)<br />
<br />
I see groups of kids sledding down hills, and having snowball fights. Groups of friends just enjoying spending time together. Then I spy perhaps the loneliest thing you'll ever see, a guy ice fishing all alone in the middle of the lake. No shanty, no cover, just a guy sitting on a bucket fishing through a hole in the ice!<br />
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These things take me back to my childhood...and the value of friends.<br />
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When my family first moved to Waterford, it was the summer before 6th. grade. While the move from what was then Auburn Heights was a mere 20-minute ride, to a kid that age I might as well have left my friends on the moon!<br />
<br />
When school started up I found myself in the classroom of a fairly "hip" young teacher, Mr. Gesaman. Mutton chop sideburns and bell bottoms! Two of the very first friends I made there were Dave Porter and Ron Henesly. Because of them I met other friends, Ed Musiel and Jeff "Freff" Evans, and Mark Delph.<br />
<br />
Ron moved away later that year, and a couple years later so did Mark. I guess I'd have to say that, at that time Dave was far and away my best friend, and I spent most of my time either at his house or off on some adventure with him.<br />
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During the summers, we rode our bikes endlessly...walked the woods and fields near our homes. We had games of capture the flag with friends in the storage area of a concrete tube manufacturer...who chased us out whenever they saw us! We explored abandoned houses and buildings armed with our trusty BB guns or "Wrist Rocket" sling shots... In fact, Dave was the sole witness to one of the most spectacular feats of marksmanship I ever pulled off. We were walking a two track behind the local grocery store heading towards the woods behind. I had my slingshot and Dave had his Crossman BB pistol (this was a time when this was a normal thing for two boys to be doing). As we walked I found a beautiful stone...just the right size and almost round, though a little light for it's size. I had it locked and loaded, ready for anything.<br />
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Suddenly just feet before us a rooster pheasant rose in a great cackling roar! As it raced away from us we were stunned for a second just watching it go. I realized I could never hit it, but man if I'd had a shotgun...<br />
<br />
Being it <i>was</i> hunting season, and I <i>did </i>have a small game license I decided to try!<br />
I took a step forward, drew the slingshot and let fly all in one motion. We watched in amazement as the rock flew like a guided missile and struck the pheasant right between the wings!!! We heard the hollow <i>"thunk" </i>as it hit, saw feathers fly...but he was already too far away! All that happened was that he cackled a protest as he redoubled his efforts to put distance between us.<br />
<br />
We looked at each other and just busted out laughing...<br />
<br />
Dave and I often made these sojourns into the woods. It was an interesting piece of property. At the far side ran the Clinton River which emptied into Woodhull Lake before meandering through other lakes and ponds on it's way South and out of the county heading for Lake St. Clair. There were fields and woods, a large swampy area that if you traveled deep enough into became high ground again before the Lake.<br />
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I believe it was in January of '77 that Dave and I took a long cold walk back into those woods, and I'm glad he was with me.<br />
<br />
You see Dave and I fancied ourselves Mountain Men in training! We loved the outdoors and fully believed if left to our own devices we could survive just fine. So when it happened that we got a nice snow storm, and we'd finished shoveling our respective driveways. It was decided we'd go and see what the woods looked like with a fresh coat of snow.<br />
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It was always nice in the winter because the swamp froze solid. Whereas in the summer you had to pick your way from log, to dry spot, back across another log...and you always ended up at least once slipping off into some foul smelling black muck. Come winter you could just walk straight through!<br />
<br />
The high ground by the lake was one of our favorite spots, we had constructed a makeshift lean-to there and someone else had added a small fire pit so if we got too cold we were set. As we made it to our lean-to and surveyed the area we noticed that the temperature was really dropping. While it had seemed pretty nice when we started our hike. A wicked wind had come up, the sky had darkened and it was bitingly cold.<br />
<br />
We were both in jeans, for boots I had on the rubber buckle boots that you pull on over your shoes...so they were not real warm. Dave was wearing his down-filled coat, and I had on my green Army Surplus rubberized parka (with the fake coyote fur around the hood!). We both had on flannel shirts, and while I wore a stocking cap Dave sported a navy headband that matched his jacket.<br />
<br />
Deciding we should head back, it was also thought that if we followed the ice along the lake shore and then cut across, it would save us about 20 mins. Now we were well into January at this time, and the ice was thick enough to support cars. A favorite past time of the teenage set, drive onto the lake drink beer and do donuts! So we never gave walking across the ice a second thought.<br />
<br />
Our plan was going along quite well, and as we walked along we kept our minds off the cold by discussing cars, and girls, and fishing, and girls, and pizza, and girls...well you get the idea.<br />
<br />
Now why it was that we were walking with the heaviest of us going first (me of course, I've always been stouter than Dave's thin frame) I'll never know. But as we cut across the lake it never dawned on us that we were walking right towards the inlet of the river and thinner ice.<br />
<br />
The ice was scoured clean of snow here as the wind howled across the lake unchecked, and we shuffled more than walked to avoid slipping. I was about 10 feet in front of Dave when I heard the first <i>crack!</i> I stopped and put my hand up for Dave to stop as well and he did.<br />
<br />
"What's up?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"I thought I heard the ice crack..."<br />
<br />
"You wanna turn back?" he said.<br />
<br />
"Naw, we should be ok." And I took another step.<br />
<br />
As I looked down I saw the ice starting to spiderweb crack around me...the lines racing away from me in all directions.<br />
<br />
"Dave we better..."<br />
<br />
That's all I got out as the ice disappeared from under my feet! I experienced that moment of panicked weightlessness before gravity reasserted itself. As I plummeted towards the icy water, survival instinct kicked in and I threw my arms out to my sides in an effort to keep from going under. I was partially successful as I only went under to my chin before bobbing back up. I tried in vain to pull myself out of the hole as I couldn't touch bottom, but as I tried the ice kept breaking making my hole ever larger. This was not good!<br />
<br />
Then someone grabbed the hood of my parka and pulled...it took me a second to remember in my flailing that I was not in fact alone.<br />
<br />
"Joe, Joe...I got ya...try to float on your back with your shoulders on the ice and I'll pull you out, when the ice stops breaking you can use your hands to help me!"<br />
<br />
I looked over my shoulder, and there was Dave. Laying flat on the ice on his belly to spread his weight over the maximum area, one hand on my hood the other on the ice. So I tried to relax and float on my back like in the pool, except the cold of the water felt like needles on my skin! Slowly Dave pulled, re-positioned and pulled again gradually easing me out of the water and onto the ice. I used my hands until I could get purchase with my feet then pushed with them as well.<br />
<br />
My boots were full of water, and my wool gloves wanted to freeze to the ice so we made our way off the ice so I could empty my boots without my jeans freezing to the lake.<br />
<br />
Then came the walk home...which was excruciating!!! I was so cold and so numb I barely remember the walk home, I do remember keeping my hands in my armpits while we walked so I didn't get frostbite on my fingers. My pants froze to my thighs, the bottoms were frozen tubes bending only at the knees. I was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering when we finally got back to my house.<br />
<br />
My Mom actually had to get the hair dryer out to get my pants off my thighs....and my legs peeled like I had a bad sunburn in the days that followed. For years after my thighs would burn in the cold weather.<br />
<br />
I shudder to think of what might have happened had I not struck up that friendship in 6th. grade, maybe I wouldn't have been out there at all...or maybe I never would have survived to pen this missive. To get a chance to thank my friend once again.<br />
<br />
So Thank You Dave. For your friendship, and for your help that day.<br />
<br />
Dave moved not long after and we lost touch though happily we found each other again through Facebook. He even reads this blog from time to time...poor guy!<br />
<br />
Ed Musiel is still one of my closest friends, in fact, he brought me a mighty fine Micro Brew for my Birthday last month! Thanks again buddy!!!<br />
<br />
Jeff Evans careered out of the Army and has settled in Virginia and when he's in town (and schedules permit) Ed and I will meet him for a beer or two and swap tales of days gone by.<br />
<br />
To the rest of you, value your friends! Treat them well. You never know when they just might be there, when you REALLY need them.<br />
<br />
Be Well Folks!<br />
<br />
Beastly Bear<br />
<br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-43326834312516500662015-01-15T11:51:00.000-05:002015-12-30T16:03:09.555-05:00Oh those Peculiar Pets!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi folks, hope the new year is treating you all well!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The other night Mama Bear and I were watching the Tonight show with Jimmy Fallon, when the ubiquitous "animal guy" came on...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know about the rest of you, but as a cub I LIVED for those spots! Whether it was on Merv Griffon, Mike Douglas, Johnny Carson...I ate it up. Mutual of Omaha's</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Wild Kingdom was standard Sunday night fare at my house as well.(If you're over forty you know what I'm talking about...if under, ask your Parents or Grandparents. Lol)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are, and always have been an "animal" household. We've had, in no particular order dogs, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits, chickens, a duck, a turtle, an alligator, a Garter snake, a crayfish, a parrot, parakeets, a cockatiel, and any number of tropical and non-tropical fish. Not all at once mind you...but over the course of years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And yet, I was not satisfied...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While it was true that the more unusual (and non-fluffy) of those pets were mine, I longed for something more "exotic". Some shirttail relations of my parents had raccoons, which they fed KFC every night. But they got mean as they got older so the parents vetoed that idea as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In spite of the popularity of 60's TV show "Gentle Ben", starring Ron Howard's little brother... I was also told in no uncertain terms that I would NOT be having a bear as a pet either!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicqHF1JbyuL4Y8CctTs_87hPX_eRlQnc5g_AysSJhB4v6ehyEPHoXuOauv_iJNbwOBOp-XrwH3WqhVMGKXXtDWhy_W6iyxQl26m-bc1E9po1AONs5chZEqGqqyDgtGr71Q0Jakq0olAM/s1600/Aquila_chrysaetos_-Devon_Game_Fair,_Honiton,_England_-falconry_display-8a.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicqHF1JbyuL4Y8CctTs_87hPX_eRlQnc5g_AysSJhB4v6ehyEPHoXuOauv_iJNbwOBOp-XrwH3WqhVMGKXXtDWhy_W6iyxQl26m-bc1E9po1AONs5chZEqGqqyDgtGr71Q0Jakq0olAM/s1600/Aquila_chrysaetos_-Devon_Game_Fair,_Honiton,_England_-falconry_display-8a.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At various times, and depending on my mood...I had detailed plans, drawings, and flow charts describing how the perfect pet for me was a mountain lion cub, a wolf pup, a bobcat, or in deference</span><span style="font-size: large;"> to</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">my Grandfathers Audubon</span><span style="font-size: large;"> society leanings...a hawk, a raven, a falcon, or especially an eagle!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I knew my prayers could be answered when we found a pet store locally called "Peculiar Pets"!!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeiOCy6bzuFubztM-ZJoFVR2n3wSuUcgCfXlOOMJ_0U46If02mxa8DVaWJS7GQ6wKuI1kh-D15l_AN_CKTG8kFtVJhwtzmNziMzNGpZWUfR9n8QBCC5fU-gpNYtBx3-KM_GcRKyPhJw4/s1600/kinkajouladder.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeiOCy6bzuFubztM-ZJoFVR2n3wSuUcgCfXlOOMJ_0U46If02mxa8DVaWJS7GQ6wKuI1kh-D15l_AN_CKTG8kFtVJhwtzmNziMzNGpZWUfR9n8QBCC5fU-gpNYtBx3-KM_GcRKyPhJw4/s1600/kinkajouladder.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nirvana for a kid like me! Ferrets (before they were common), Albino skunks (De-scented), Monkeys, lizards, snakes, Rodentia ad nauseum, birds of every color and variety...and from the Amazon rain forest the Kinkajou!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This too was vetoed due to their nocturnal nature, their diet of only fresh fruit, and $200 price tag. Which, in the mid 70's would buy you a "beater" car!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, I locked in on something I thought I could sell my Mother on...after all if you got Mom's approval it was a done deal!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">From my earliest years, I had been a "bug hunter"...turning over rocks and boards and logs in search of new creepy crawlers. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Wonder</span><span style="font-size: large;"> of wonders, Peculiar pets had an Insect and Arachnid area.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Madagascar hissing cockroaches...boring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Black emperor scorpions? My past experience with crayfish caused me to shy away from pets with claws...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Though watching one spear a fly out of the air with its tail was something to behold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then I saw them, Tarantulas! They came in several colors and sizes, the most popular (cheapest) being the Mexican Red-legged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I had done a little homework. Checked a book or two out of the school library, so I knew they looked far more frightening than they were. And while their fangs were certainly intimidating, their bite was no more dangerous than a bee sting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had the $10 in my pocket earned from mowing the neighbors lawn over the course of several weeks...now to talk Mom into it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Mother, God bless her, was no chicken...she may not have liked "spiders and snakes" as Jim Stafford used to sing. But she encouraged me to be fearless when it came to animals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I dragged her over to show her the variety. She marveled at the colors and markings and admitted that in their own way they were, quite beautiful. This is where I got to show off my knowledge a little, tell her how little they really ate... A cricket or two twice a week would sustain them just fine, and a big brown grasshopper would be a rare treat when I could catch one. How it was a misconception that they were poisonous. How we already had a 5-gallon aquarium not in use, with a screen lid that would make a perfect tarantula habitat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was laying it on pretty thick...and the proprietor took notice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">An informed shopper...he smelled a sale in the air!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"So, I see you're looking at the Red-legs eh? Beautiful aren't they?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"They certainly are...I just worry it may be too much for him" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My mother replied nodding in my direction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Nonsense," the salesman tutted "he already knows more about them than most of the folks I sell them to. Would you like to hold one?" This last he directed to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I couldn't say yes fast enough. But he looked to Mom for confirmation that it was "OK" before lifting one out and placing it in my outstretched palms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I get all mine from a breeder, so they have been handled since they were young and are well used to it." the man explained. "Anyone used to the handling of small animals like hamsters and such won't have any problems with them. Just respect them like any other of God's creatures and you'll never get bit."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The spider, for his part...sat perfectly still for a moment. Turned 90° to his left then a 180° right, surveying his new surroundings before starting a slow walk across my palm. I slowly put one hand in front of the other and he contentedly crawled onto that one, a process </span><span style="font-size: large;">I kept repeating as my accomplice worked on my Mom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You see the hairs on his abdomen? How they lay down nice and smooth? That shows he's content and unafraid. Now if those hairs stand straight up like he's trying to make himself look bigger...well, then it's time to put him away because he's getting upset!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mom nodded listening carefully, oh man I was going home with a tarantula!!! See if she wasn't really listening, there was no way I was getting one...But the fact she was paying attention boded well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"If you don't, the first thing he'll do is brush those hairs off his abdomen at you...that can cause a nasty but temporary rash. If that doesn't convince you to leave him be he will rear back and lift his front two legs and display his fangs. If you try to touch him then, he will strike." He explained.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Is that really true?" Mom asked, "That their bite is no worse than a bee sting?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At this point, the guy motioned for me to let him hold it and I reluctantly returned him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes and no," the man said, "their venom is no more poisonous than a bee sting unless you're allergic. But their fangs..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At which point he produced a pencil and used it to pull forward gently on a fang to show us. "Can reach up to an inch long and can make quite a hole if they get ya good, but like I said if you respect them you'll never get bit."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This caused a little uncertainty in my Mom, and she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Have YOU ever been bit???"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I have," He said, "But that was a wild caught spider...not one raised by hand. I won't kid ya, it hurt...but no lasting damage."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The spider had stopped walking after the indignity of having his fangs displayed. The salesman was gently stroking his carapace and abdomen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"So, shall I ring him up?" He asked hopefully.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"P-L-E-A-S-E Mom? I promise I'll take care of him..." I pleaded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you're going to have to. Because I'm not sticking <i>my</i> hand in there..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"YES!!!"</i> I screamed inside, finally I'd have a way cool pet!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then it happened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The salesman had the tarantula in his hand about waist level, facing my Mother and I. I was closer, but off to the side. He was facing my Mom and she was not getting too close, perhaps 5 ft. away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It happened fast, but from my perspective time slowed to a crawl...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The spider leapt...there is no other term, leaving the salesman's hands...up and out!!! I saw the legs flare as if putting on air brakes as he came in for a perfect 8-point landing...right on my Mothers left breast!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She gasped and her whole body went perfectly still...well rigid really! Her eyes were the size of saucers. I saw in them the struggle to keep from sweeping it off onto the ground and stomping it into a hairy paste.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Um....I guess I should have mentioned they can also jump about 6ft. horizontally and 4 ft. vertically." The salesman chuckled...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Here let me get him from you..." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the time it took him to speak those words, my Mother had started to hyperventilate. Making little mewling sounds. As gently as possible so as not to disturb the spider, who seemed quite happy from his new vantage point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now the salesman was in a quandary. He was a bit perplexed how exactly to get the spider without appearing to be intentionally "copping a feel". He made several aborted attempts before my Mother said through clenched teeth:<br />"I don't care what you touch just as long as you get this damn thing off of me!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, he laid the back of one hand on top of Mom's breast and nudged the aft end of the spider with the other. Who obligingly crawled into his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As he put the spider back in his cage. And I think he knew...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I, on the other hand, was still hopeful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"We're still getting him, right???"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Without a word my Mother grabbed me by the upper arm with surprising strength, you know the one. The "Follow me NOW" grip and walked me "briskly" out of the store. My toes barely touching tile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The drive home was pretty silent, I knew better than to whine or beg. She wasn't mad, she was scared...mad you can talk to. With that leap, that spider nixed any chances of me ever having a pet tarantula as long as I lived at home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Years later, as a married man...king of my castle and all. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I broached the subject with Mama Bear. She politely informed me that in THIS instance...the King's opinion didn't matter for squat!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure she envisioned something like this....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo6BDh9JZoLPSSnlbc4FJbQhSWFdDwkN6EG6SC2AW0o2qQNXfvakQVpkB9XG4GSWF2JReGYXNcc3VLJP3Q1oPaGMFBbRrBY1HNVoaZC9kF1l8ECxnbJLQzFaCAoAr49LYdKmR3CxmRqI/s1600/article-0-04D3FCF60000044D-956_233x309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbo6BDh9JZoLPSSnlbc4FJbQhSWFdDwkN6EG6SC2AW0o2qQNXfvakQVpkB9XG4GSWF2JReGYXNcc3VLJP3Q1oPaGMFBbRrBY1HNVoaZC9kF1l8ECxnbJLQzFaCAoAr49LYdKmR3CxmRqI/s1600/article-0-04D3FCF60000044D-956_233x309.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once again, my dreams of owning a tarantula were dashed...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hope 2015 sees all YOUR dreams fulfilled!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span></div>
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-30713264275502115352014-12-31T14:23:00.000-05:002014-12-31T14:30:39.957-05:00Then the rains came! (Or What a Difference a Day Makes!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitR5ueKLa0O3D2GW8iIr69zIR-pmJQGlQxGEQG7Egr-PjUKqUrjUFWqr3sq3n3hsC-ywS7jIeUyk3yf3iL47PQEqB6hoxwJt76M2VOlZEfpGBy0b6PSLK51CwjVcFFFwoBJEGv_a8X6oQ/s1600/article-2218572-15867902000005DC-567_634x415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitR5ueKLa0O3D2GW8iIr69zIR-pmJQGlQxGEQG7Egr-PjUKqUrjUFWqr3sq3n3hsC-ywS7jIeUyk3yf3iL47PQEqB6hoxwJt76M2VOlZEfpGBy0b6PSLK51CwjVcFFFwoBJEGv_a8X6oQ/s1600/article-2218572-15867902000005DC-567_634x415.jpg" height="261" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So there we were in Vegas, our first "out of town" vacation since we got married.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our first night we saw Siegfried & Roy, thanks to Paige and Pat. The next day was the big wedding day. Thursday we had all to ourselves to explore Vegas before flying out on Friday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We didn't have a lot we wanted to do. Walk the strip, watch the fountains....and because I <i>am </i>a Star Trek geek I wanted to do "The Star Trek Experience" at the Vegas Hilton.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We got an early start, bopped down to the lobby and asked the concierge about times and travel. She gave us the rundown, suggesting the free shuttle to the strip and catching a cab later to the Hilton.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"But you really shouldn't leave the hotel..." She said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Why not?" I asked perplexed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Well there's a flash flood advisory today!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Flash flood? We're in the desert!" I told her assuredly "Besides we get flash flood advisories at home all the time..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">She looked at me quizzically "Where are you from?!?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Michigan" I replied as we waved goodbye and set off on our adventure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Per her instructions we hopped the free shuttle to the strip downtown. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">As we stood getting our bearings and deciding how we were going to attack Vegas in such a way as to see as much as possible, when the first raindrops began to fall.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Just a few drops, certainly nothing to prevent us walking the strip.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">As we were standing in front of a souvenir shop, I popped in and bought a $3 sun visor to keep the rain off my glasses.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">So we set off...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We had gone no more than a block when the sky opened up! Not a torrential downpour mind you, but a good hard Midwest summer rain shower.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Laughing at our luck we dashed into the lobby of some little hotel on the strip, it's name escapes me now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We decided that we'd flip our plans, and go see the Star Trek Experience <i>first. </i>Let the rain run it's course and then come back and walk the strip, I mean how long could it last? It's Vegas BABY!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We called for a cab, and sat down to wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">As we were waiting we couldn't help but notice how people were acting. Locals would come to the doors, look up at the sky in wonder, shake their heads and walk away with an "end of days" look on their faces.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Finally curiosity got the better of me...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"What's up? You guys act like you've never seen rain before!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Not like this!" the counter man said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Rains like this about once a week in Michigan." I told him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">"Well take it back to Michigan with you," he said "we're not used to it!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Took about 40 mins. for our cab to arrive as they had suddenly became <i>VERY busy!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;">We got to the Hilton and made our way to the Star Trek Experience. This took a couple hours to go through...then drinks at Quark's bar, even got the souvenir glasses from our Romulan Ale! Lol</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, all told about 3 hours since it had started to rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What we had no way of knowing was that while we immersed ourselves in intergalactic space travel, a full 4 inches </span><span style="font-size: large;">of rain had fallen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">That in itself would be bad enough, but as was later explained to us Las Vegas sits at the bottom of a big rock bowl! Therefore everything that falls in the mountains around Vegas, flows downhill <i>INTO Vegas! </i>Hours after the initial rainfall, the waters continue to raise. This combined with the lack of storm drains meant that flash floods are serious business in Vegas!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: large;">The Hilton had sandbags set up at the front doors. At the time this seemed excessive seeing that it set up on a about a 10 foot high raised plateau.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When our cab arrived, our cabbie informed us we were lucky to get a cab. Dispatch had just stopped taking runs and was advising all their cabs to seek high ground!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">HOLY CRAP!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On our way back to the Rió we couldn't believe how bad the flooding was already! At certain points the water was 3-4 foot deep!!! Our cabbie told us he'd lived in Vegas for 35 yrs. and had NEVER seen anything like this!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">The Rió Suites Hotel just happened to be high ground, so our cabbie was more than happy to take us there!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Once back in our room we turned on the TV and watched the mayhem unfold, happy to be safe and dry. Paige and Pat had made it back much earlier than us so we were glad they too were safe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">At one point the waters were so high, there was an overpass near the hotel marked 14' 8" with 3 foot concrete barriers along the top. Water was flowing OVER those barriers!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We watched transfixed, as the waters overflowed the flood canals. Eroded the banks and sent hapless mobile homes downstream to be torn apart by the fury of the rapids.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We didn't realize we were making National news until Kathy's Boss Bob and his wife Cheryl called us from home. They were watching Princess Bear for us, and were hoping it wouldn't become a full time thing!!! Lol</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Clip from the Today show the next day.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/5HQdpAdqQpY" width="420"></iframe>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So we remained trapped at our hotel until we headed to the airport the next day! The strip? Shut down, every casino flooded. By luck the airport was completely spared.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">And people wonder why we don't travel much! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">You know you have bad luck when the place you visit experiences a "100 year" event as the News called it. We couldn't even say "It was hot, but it was a <i>dry </i>heat!" Lol</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Only we could cause it to rain in the desert!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Well folks, there you have my final post of 2014.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Number 153!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I started with high hopes of doing a daily blog, over optimistic to be sure as I notice it's been 2 months since my last post. More like every OTHER day...on average.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To those of you that have read these, and maybe shared them with your friends I say a heartfelt "Thank you"!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I hope I've made you laugh a time or two, or at least entertained/informed you! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks, and Best Wishes for 2015!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">As Always,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Your Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-19079222562201641842014-10-27T12:42:00.002-04:002015-03-03T22:47:32.610-05:00My Day Bodyguarding for Richard Gere...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I find it hard to believe, looking back...that Mamma Bear and I, after marrying in '87 didn't get an "out of town" vacation until 1999.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">That year, my wife's cousin Paige asked us if we would "stand up" for her and her fiancé when they got married in Vegas.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">VEGAS you say? As in Las Vegas?!?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Hell YES we would!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Her Fiancé Pat worked at the same GM plant that I did in Pontiac. We were down the first 2 weeks in July for a model changeover, and they decided that was when we'd go.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We flew in on Tuesday the 6th., and we took a taxi to the Rio Suites Hotel to get our rooms without incident.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">That night as a special "thank you" for coming out with them, Pat and Paige took us to see Siegfried & Roy at the Mirage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was amazing to say the least, and we were so grateful to see these legendary performers live!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">After the show we came back to the Rio, gambled a little, had a few drinks and went to bed. We had a big day the next day as they had the Candlelight Wedding Chapel already booked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Set across Las Vegas Boulevard from Circus Circus Hotel and Casino and next to the Riviera it was a Vegas landmark! In doing a little internet reconnoitering for this, I discovered that sadly it no longer resides there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Moved when the land it sat upon was sold in 2007, it made it's way across town to be preserved as part of the Clark County Museum complex. It's sign is now in the Neon Museum alongside other historic landmark signs! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Celebrities that have married there include Bette Midler, Barry White, Michael Caine, Clayton Moore (the Lone Ranger for those too young to remember), and Richard Gere! Well, almost...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Pat and I met up after breakfast, he in his black suit...looking dapper. Me? I was in a grey pinstriped double-breasted. We took a cab to the chapel while the girls made sure Paige was stunning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So we arrived well before they did, but what to do?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, when in Vegas...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So we walked next door to the Riviera to get out of the heat. July in Vegas, it was hovering around a 110° F. "But it's a dry heat....."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">YEAH RIGHT! Tell that to the 2 Michigan guys in suits!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So we stepped into the casino where it was cool and dark. A light haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Though it was early a few die hards were already trying their luck at the one-armed bandits. There was a bar close to the door, and Pat and I walked over and got a couple cokes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We did not have direct line of sight to the Wedding Chapel's drive so I wandered over by the door so I could see out. As I was standing there, two women approached me...looking "touristy" in "I ♡ Vegas" T-shirts and visors.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Amid much giggling, and looking towards the bar one of them asked me: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Are ah...um...are you his bodyguard?" indicating Pat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">This set off another round of giggles.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I must have looked a little confused as I asked "What?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Richard Gere," they said pointing to Pat "are you his bodyguard, can we talk to him?!? P-l-e-a-s-e...."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Um, yeah you can talk to him...but that's not Richard Gere, and I'm not his bodyguard. His name's Pat and he's marrying my wife's cousin in about 15 mins."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">They looked crestfallen and asked "You're not lying are you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Then I looked, really looked... Damn, I could see it....</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Gere</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If ya squint a little, look just right...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I guess he does look a little like Richard Gere...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Lucky Bastard!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">After assuring them I was NOT in fact lying they moved off in search of other celebrities... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I walked back over to Pat, chuckling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"What was that all about?" He asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Evidently, you look like Richard Gere, and I look like your bodyguard..." I told him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Gotta be the sunglasses..." Pat said, indicating my gold tone Gargoyles™ with a laugh. I'd been wearing them looking out the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We finished our cokes, looked at our watches and started for the door...when we heard:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Excuse us....can we get a picture???"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We turned around to 2 different ladies, older than the first pair yet similarly attired, readying cameras.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Sorry ladies...not Richard Gere..." I said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Dammit Gloria I told you so!" One said to the other, as they too wandered off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Come on Buddy, I better get you out of here before you cause a riot!" I told him as we hit the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">We walked back over to the chapel and were standing outside waiting as the girl's arrived.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As the cabbie pulled into the drive, Mamma Bear said to Paige:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"There they are...ready?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"Holy SHIT!" said the cab driver, turning around.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"You're marrying </span><span style="font-size: large;">RICHARD GERE?!?"</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stunning couple!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-37048765582902767262014-10-24T11:26:00.000-04:002014-10-24T15:26:50.978-04:00Take a Chair...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Remembering my Wife's Grandmother's passing made me think of one of my favorite stories about my Mother's Mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandma Helen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My family comes from the Thumb area of the state of Michigan. By and large farming communities settled by English, German and French Canadians.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tight knit communities where everybody knew everybody.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandma lived in Lexington, a small coastal community 25 miles north of the larger port city of Port Huron. An hour and a half drive, North and East of where we lived.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Back in the halcyon days of my childhood. When "Race Relations" meant shaking the winner's hand even though you had lost, and the only sex on my mind was the sex of the friendly dog I'd found. (Cause if it was a girl, there might be puppies!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I used to spend a week every summer with my Grandma Helen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A robust woman of good German stock, a devout Catholic and hard worker she brooked no insolence from anyone, let alone a young boy. She still wore 50's style house dresses and aprons, well into the 70's. Her dark hair perfectly coiffed in a short neat style, she was a force to be reckoned with! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before we went anywhere I was always admonished to behave myself, as how I acted not only reflected upon my parents but on her as well. She loved me fiercely, but misbehaving brought fierce and swift reprisals.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She would not have me sully her good name.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"You'll be gone and I'll still have to live with these people." she'd say.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She was semi retired at the time, but still cleaned houses for a select group of folks older than her, and would take me along.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She also supplemented her income by taking in lodgers to her modest home, just North of town.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One such lodger was a fellow named Paul. Paul was a tall, lanky string bean of a man, who wore his thinning hair with plenty of Brylcreem plastered to his head. He had a large bulbous nose crisscrossed with the broken blood vessels that marked a penchant for alcohol. He had deep set, rheumy eyes that always looked like he'd just finished a good cry, but a ready smile for all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember Paul well as he lodged with my Grandma for several years. Never married he was always present at holiday dinners as he had nowhere else to go, and Grandma wouldn't hear of him being excluded. Much to my Mother's chagrin.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On a couple of occasions during my summers there, Paul would walk me down to the ice cream shop closer to town for a cone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He in his navy work shirt and pants (which is all I ever remember seeing him in) and me in shorts and a tee shirt! I always wondered why he just didn't burn up it was so hot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Paul's one failing, according to my Grandmother was his love of "the hooch". While he paid his bills on time and went to work everyday, he drank up every last dollar he made, and that's why he had never been married. It sometimes "made him belligerent" she confided.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The incident happened on a hot July day...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Grandma kept a sizable garden in her back yard, cucumbers and tomatoes, cabbages and carrots, radishes, strawberries and lettuce.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That day we worked in the garden. While Grandma weeded, it was my job to check the plants for and remove, any insects I found.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We had started early but the was a lot of garden to check and it was well after lunchtime when we finished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had sandwiches and split a Fresca, and after cleaning up Grandma had me take a nap on the couch in front of a fan.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Afterwards as the sun moved to the West and the back yard became cloaked in the house's shadow, we went back outside. Grandma set up a couple of old style aluminum lawn chairs, one for her and one for Paul when he got home from work. A little folding table held sweating glasses of fresh lemonade. As she read, I occupied myself with my Tonka trucks and plastic army men...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While I'd napped Grandma had started a roasted chicken, boiled potatoes and left them in the pot to be warmed up when Paul got home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The time Paul should have been home came and went, and as time ticked by Grandma became more and more agitated. When Paul finally showed up, he staggered down the back porch stairs and weaved his way over to my Grandma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Just where have you been?" Grandma snapped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I had some stops to make..." Paul slurred, then belched.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You've been warming a stool down at the beer garden again haven't you? You reek of booze!" I was young, but I recognized that tone!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Aw Helen...Don't be that way..." Paul whined.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't you 'Aw Helen' me! You take a chair before you fall on your drunken face, you can't even stand still!!! I'll get dinner ready. Maybe some food will sober you up." Grandma said pointing to the vacant lawn chair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paul puffed himself up, taking obvious umbrage at being called drunk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I am not DRUNK!" Raising his voice and his chin in defiance. "And I ain't taking no Goddamn chair!!!" Paul declared...and promptly pissed himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Never before and never since did I see a reaction like what happened next!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the instant it took Paul to realize he'd just pissed his pants, Grandma was up and out of her chair like a shot! She snatched up the lawn chair intended for Paul and swung it like a baseball bat!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The chair caught Paul across the shoulders, rocking him on his feet and folded up giving Grandma a better grip.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"How DARE you!" She yelled at him "Piss yourself in front of my grandson like a common bum!!! Won't take a chair huh?!? I'll give YOU a chair you son of a bitch!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The beating continued. Paul did his best to protect his head and face, and make his way inside the house but in his state of inebriation he was no match for my enraged Grandmother!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"God dammit Helen...quit!" Paul squealed as he stumbled up the stairs, blows raining down on his head and shoulders. This only intensified the attack! Finally the chair came apart and she threw the pieces at his retreating back. They bounced off and clattered against the screen door and house.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She was in the house right behind him...and I was right behind her, I wasn't gonna miss THIS show!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She snagged him by the scruff of the neck and guided him through the laundry room and kitchen and right into the bathroom. He was half a foot taller than her, but I could have swore she had him up on his tip toes! There she shoved him into the tub, clothes and all and turned on the shower...cold water only! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'll not have you leaking piss all through my house! You get out of those clothes and wash yourself, I'll bring you clean clothes..." She fumed at him. "Just leave those in the tub!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes Helen..." I heard meekly over the running water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She fetched him clean clothes and set them on the toilet, closed the door and started dinner. Heating up the potatoes then mashing them with a little butter and cream, reheating the chicken and heating up the peas. Muttering to herself the whole while...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The table was already set. It was a much subdued, wet and sober Paul that emerged, about the time the food was hitting the table. A good sized lump on one side of his head.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>This </i></b>time when Grandma told him to "Take a chair..." with a look, he hurriedly complied!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't think I ever saw Paul drunk again... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8306564427395253617.post-17635348611557078742014-10-23T11:22:00.000-04:002014-10-23T20:25:39.238-04:00Never Say Never...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Den of the Beastly Bear</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hi Folks!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I may have mentioned, I try to NOT be a jerk...like most of you. I bite my tongue, let things slide, swallow my opinions... all in the name of getting along.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But every now and then you meet one of "those" people. You know the ones, the ones that get under your skin...till you just CAN'T let it slide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">From 1997-2001 I worked at General Motors Plant 6 in Pontiac, MI. building pickup trucks. I worked third shift, 10 pm-6 am and the shift attracted some "different" folks.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Like our buddy <a href="http://denofthebeastlybear.blogspot.com/2014/07/a-storm-blows-out.html">James</a>.</span>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For a while I worked on the final line, across from a guy we'll call Keith. Keith was a heavy set, red haired Hispanic guy of about 25 yrs. of age. For the most part an affable guy....for the most part</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Keith's Achilles heel, personality wise was his overwhelmingly high opinion of himself. From his perspective, his Associates degree from the local community college made him a God of all human knowledge. This caused him to go on long tirades about whatever the topic of the day was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Google was in it's infancy, with Yahoo being the search engine of choice for most everyone. Nobody had smart phones...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Keith, having taken computer classes at the community college...would often turn his tirades against the "Stupid old Men" in Congress that wanted to regulate the Internet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"They</span><span style="font-size: large;">'re trying to regulate something they know nothing about!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's just stupid!!! If you're going to have an opinion on something that important, you should really educate yourself about it...otherwise you just sound ignorant!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Good lord I don't know how many times I heard THAT while working across form him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While I tried to let these tirades just roll off my back, there were times I just couldn't keep my mouth shut...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I often poked holes in his faulty logic, pointed out hypocrisies, and corrected him when he said something so flat out WRONG I just couldn't let it go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Should you disagree with him, his first line of defense was the taunt: "And how many years of college did you go to?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To which I would answer "It's knowledge Keith, not College that's important here...don't believe me? Look it up on the Internet!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I always got the feeling that Keith spent his early life as a spoiled, indulged child. He'd never be able to play poker as his every thought was revealed by his face. He had very little ability to reign in his emotions. Light skinned with freckles across the bridge of his nose, his face would go crimson at the slightest bit of anger.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember one particular rant that he went on was about the nepotism employed by the Union in getting their kids into the plant. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I just looked at him...though I knew the story, I asked innocently.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"So...how'd you get hired in here?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"My Dad's a Skilled Trades Electrician, he got me in...."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Uh huh..." I said</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Mr. Pot, meet Mr. Kettle...news flash, you're both black!!!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His face reddened, veins stuck out on his forehead...I thought he was having a stroke.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"It's not the same thing..." he stated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes it is," I interrupted "it's exactly the same thing. Everybody in here that's been hired in the last five years, is here because they KNOW somebody or a parent works for GM...EVERYBODY!!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He snorted his derision of my opinion and stopped talking to me the rest of the day, a common punishment for disagreeing with him....ah, silence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Things REALLY came to a head one day when he started a gun control rant/argument...a subject with which I am quite well versed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'll not bore you with the whole <i><b>long</b></i> argument, but when he said to me:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Nobody needs a semi-automatic to gun to shoot deer, where you shoot 3 bullets every time you pull the trigger!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"That's not what that means Keith. What you're describing is the 3-shot burst setting on a full auto machine gun/assault rifle, and <i>nobody</i> hunts with those! What semi-auto means is that when you pull the trigger the gun shoots 1 shot, then the gun reloads itself and is ready to fire again the next time you pull the trigger. But you must pull the trigger every time, 1 pull = 1 shot." I replied calmly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You're full of shit," he said face coloring "that's not what I was told..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had had enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Look Keith, I don't know who's filling your head with the stupid bullshit you've been spewing for the last 2 hours, but to anyone that knows what they're talking about...you sound like an idiot!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You want to regulate something you know nothing about!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Just like those old men that want to regulate your Internet...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And that's just stupid!!! If you're going to have an opinion on something this important, you should really educate yourself about it...otherwise you just sound ignorant!!!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ok, maybe that was a little over the top, throwing his own words back at him...but it felt so right!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">His face went from pink to bright red, then he crossed the line.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Fuck you, you MOTHER Fucker!!! I'm sick of your fucking bullshit..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What bullshit is that?" I interrupted calmly "You mean the bullshit where I tell you that you're wrong and uninformed? Seems I have to tell you that a LOT!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Fine Mother Fucker! I'll never talk to you EVER AGAIN!!!" he vowed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh please," I answered "we both know you have neither the willpower nor the maturity to make good on that threat!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He went from crimson to purple, and I thought his head might just explode as he declared:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I will NEVER, say another WORD to you, as LONG as I LIVE!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">spittle flying as he enunciated every word!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Never say never..." I replied.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next day I figured he'd be over his funk as usual..so I greeted him with my typical "Hey Keith!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got nothing but the "look of daggers" in return.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Really?" I said, shrugged and went to work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After about a week of this...I couldn't help but start pushing his buttons. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of Keith's MANY rants was about his hatred of country music. I happen to be a fan. But out of respect for my coworker's feelings, I never played any on my stereo. In my car I had a 90 min. cassette of Marty Robin's "Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs", it don't GET more country than that!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I came in, offered my daily "Hey Keith!" to more daggers...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I popped my cassette into my stereo and hit "play"!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Keith's face went immediately crimson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey man, I haven't listened to this in a while...and I kind of miss it. Do you mind?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"All you have to do is ask me to shut it off and I will..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Cool..." I said, and went about my business.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Was it childish? Absolutely!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I was determined to break him and his foolishness...so every day we played out the above scenario! This lasted a month...until Keith put in for a different shift rather than speak a word to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This bothered me not in the least, as I got rid of a class "A" jerk in favor of a nice girl from first shift.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A couple months went by and I didn't give Keith another thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then one day as I was walking out of the plant, I looked up and saw Keith walking in...talking to a buddy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Hey Keith, How ya Doing?" I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Without missing a beat Keith replied:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Ok Joe, How are you?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I leaned in, looked him in the eye smiling and said:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Told ya!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Be Well Folks!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Beastly Bear</span><br />
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<br />Joe Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03337984962516170189noreply@blogger.com9