Devour These Cookies

 

Not a plug for Betty Crocker just what I had on my shelf.

      This is a great little recipe I've used for many moons. I love its simplicity in addition to the short time it takes to go from bowl to plate. If you need to have a quick 3 dozen cookies for a pot luck or just feel like a treat with afternoon coffee or tea these surely fit the bill.

    I've experimented with this recipe over the years and discovered a few things. First off, these cookies are made to be devoured the day they are made. I've found even with a good sealed container they tend to get really crispy by the next day which I guess makes them perfect for any dunkers out there. See me with my hand raised over here? A half slice of bread tossed into the container with any left over will keep them soft and chewy the next day.

     Your experiments may turn out better than mine have. I've found that making large cookies hasn't produced good results.  Using mini sized chips or chopping up candy bits smaller produces chewier cookies. The main advice I'll share is the recipe works best when the oven is up to temp before baking.

     Enjoy.




Quick Cake Mix Cookies

Prep time: 10 minutes or less

Preheat oven to 350

In a medium sized mixing bowl combine:

1 Boxed Cake Mix

2 eggs

1/2 cup of oil

If desired add extras: nuts, chips, coconut, raisins, etc. Use confectioners sugar for a sweet dusty finish or add your favorite extract to flavor plain yellow or white cake mix.

Drop rounded teaspoons (1.5" or so) onto ungreased cookie sheet about 2" apart

Bake for 8-10 minutes depending on your oven on middle rack. I've found when I can really smell them they are usually done.

Cool enough to prevent burnt fingers before devouring.

Store leftovers in a sealed container.

Makes about 3 dozen

The Best Thanksgiving Ever

   

    To say this Thanksgiving was the best one ever wouldn't be an overstatement at all. When I was faced with a diagnosis of cancer as a late birthday present in February I knew I was in for the fight of my Life. This was much more than a drunken brawl at a bar or a party over something that in all reality was always just an example of stupid shit that many of us are guilty of in our younger years. When it came to thinking about the possibility that I would not be here for Thanksgiving let alone Christmas that was something I couldn't allow myself to do. Forget about talking about it either because the idea of having that conversation felt akin to giving in and I refused to do that.

     We had an awesome Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday made with love by my amazing wife. We have both worked in call centers since the turn of this century and anyone else out there who works in one of those salt mines of the city knows it is very rare to get a holiday off. We have become accustomed to the practice of Thanksgiving on the weekend that follows it, which ends up being a nice way to start the holiday season with a running start. I devoured my whole plate before she finished hers, which happens rarely even though my portions are still small compared to my pre-diagnosis meals.

     When we called Mom and Dad after dinner we got the conversation started about why this was the best Thanksgiving ever and talked about the ones to come and it felt really good to do that.  Later my wife and I continued the conversation after that door opened.

     I could only imagine what went through her mind on a daily basis at the beginning of this battle and hearing from her what it was like then was enlightening and further hardened the cement in the conviction that I am so thoroughly loved. I told her back when we first decided to be together that she can tell me she loves me all she wants though I'd rather have her show me. She has never disappointed in that regard. She still shows me every day and it's been vital for me in this past year and still is.

     My thinking at the the beginning of this challenging year was foggy at best from the pain, drugs or being carted from one doctor or test to another that was happening on any singular day. I do know I wondered how my girl was doing and I 'd ask. And she, in her own similar to my "do it myself" fashion said she was fine and wouldn't let on what was going on for her. The clarity I have now versus the lack of recall I have for much of those first couple months makes me grateful.

     Our after dinner conversation evolved into how thankful we both were for having this holiday together and about the ones we have yet to come.  Just being able to share this holiday together made it the best Thanksgiving ever. As I finished that sentence a thought came to me in the form of a question.

     Isn't every holiday the best one of its kind ever if you get to celebrate it with those you love and who love you?

     My holiday wish for each and every one of you is that the answer to that question is a resounding yes.
 

                                                              HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Fibber McGee's Cyber Closet

     It's been a couple of weeks since I last updated my blog here and figured I better get on the stick soon. I've sure had no want for topics to write about though the time to sit and do it has been pushed around by other necessities that needed handling.

     I'm still in recovery mode and the time to actually sit and type does have its limits much to my chagrin. I have a few posts that are partially done (6) though they need some editing and a pic or two to tart them up a bit. I keep finding things to write about so instead of finishing one I start another and go until I hit the wall and have to stop for the day. I willing to bet there is more than one or two of you with a handful of unfinished projects stuck in a closet somewhere. The old silver teapot I was going to make into a lamp just winked at me from its space on the bookshelf above my head. Getting to that one is still a ways off.

     I've wanted to put together another post to more or less help let the saga of this year pass quietly into the night. No such luck yet though everyday ends with a sense of progress and I go to sleep at night expecting further progress in the days to come.

     The wall has been hit for today so it's time for some meds and a nap. I'll be back you can count on it.

Worse Than a Bad Relative

This was taken a couple weeks after I first started chemo and before I started to melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. My kitty companion nurse couldn’t answer the phone or the door but she sure could lay down some stinky farts. This recliner I'm sitting in has been both my hangout spot and my bed since the beginning.

     After my first post about dealing with the scary C word for most of this year I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pen another one. After giving it some thought I decided to go ahead and do it. Back at the beginning before my hands started to be uncooperative and I felt like a double order of dog shit and biscuits 24/7 I started a journal over this bout with lung cancer.  


This experience has monopolized my thoughts and my days since February and as much as I had no desire to stay stuck in what many perceive as a negative it sure has been a learning experience. Those opportunities I've heard and often them called myself by the acronym  A.F.G.O, aka, Another F***ing Growth Opportunity. It sure has been. I figured tossing some pictures in the mix wouldn’t hurt either. I also have a request I’ll save to the end. For better or worse here we go.

Never too far from me

    

     When I looked back a few months before my diagnosis I can see how things evolved. I felt something may have been wrong for a while since I felt so lousy and run down on a regular basis for months before I landed in the ER. I considered getting an MRI for the pain in my shoulder a couple times since that had been a constant issue. Even with insurance the outright ridiculous cost made it easier to put off. I figured I'd pinched a nerve in my arm or something because the pain, the tingling or both would disappear from time to time.  


     The MRI on 2/5/16 found a mass about the size of a billiard ball. It was in my upper left lung and pressing on my throat and spine. A PET scan a couple weeks showed how lucky I am since it was all localized and hadn't spread to my lymph nodes. Even after I told the Doctor what had been going on he said there was no way of knowing how long it had been growing. I’ve never asked the doc for a prognosis though I know from my research that the numbers for Stage lllA adenocarcinoma suck. I decided early on, “Nope, we aren’t having this shit in my house”; it would be worse than the relative who drinks all your booze then leaves a mess in your bathroom. You know sooner or later they would eventually have to leave. I planned on making this turn out the same way.

     You sure need to keep your sense of humor because cancer will definitely try to steal your dignity. The daily task is not only keeping your chin up but also trying to find some humor in whatever form it takes. We've for sure had more than an abundant share of our own laugh out loud moments. Humor is definitely a port in a storm during an experience like this. You have to keep your mind turned to the good around you though not be afraid to yell Foul! when you need to.

Yes Virginia there was a chin under under all that fur. My Mrs. had never seen my chin, it took her a bit of getting used to. I had to shave my face for the last 18 radiation treatments. The reason for that shows up below. This was taken after round 3 of chemo about halfway through radiation.

            First the hair had to go, it wore me out moving it out of the way to eat and what not.Tying it back became too uncomfortable.

Then I had to get rid of the French Connection from my chin to my ears. Shaving with a blade became too difficult when I couldn't bend back to see my neck.  Getting used to an electric razor has been interesting endeavor.

Mom and Dad came from upstate NY to visit for a weekend a few weeks after radiation ended. It was such a seriously big boost to both our spirits that words just really can't  express.  Thanks and Love to you both.

These are, as I called them, my Radiation Kids . They had to talk me down off the ceiling that last week. I was so done with getting filled with poison and being zapped by lasers at that point. I had already graduated to my Doctor Who suspenders weeks before this was taken since my belt didn't have enough holes to hold up my pants.

This is the reason for the shave. I named it my Count of Monte Cristo mask.  My Mrs. wasn't a big fan since she knew how tough the last rounds of radiation was on me. The black buttons snapped onto the table and held this sucker right against my face so I couldn't move my head while I was broiled with lasers. It's stuck in a closet waiting for an indecent burial. The candy was a surprise for sure from my Radiation Kids  and I was surprised when they told me it wasn't something they often did. I figured I must have received the World's Worst Patient Award; my lovely wife Dani will attest to that moniker.

About 2 months after radiation and chemo ended and I finally started to put back on some of the weight I lost.

This is what a gallon of Magic Mouthwash(real name for it) looks like. This stuff is pretty much a life saver if you can't swallow without a lot of pain. Take it from me, don't think more is better, it is not. I made that mistake only once and was numb all the way to my stomach. What a thoroughly strange feeling.

     

     There are a couple of things left I feel the need to mention and one comes in the form of a request. If you have a persistent feeling something doesn't seem quite right about you go to the damn doctor that's what they're for. You are your best advocate. If you have questions, ask. Write your questions down prior to any doctor visits or tests. It makes those questions easier to keep track of since it is quite easy to get distracted by all the machinations you're put through during the process. The doctors and nurses will get tired of questions. Tough, there are much worse things then being the World's Worst Patient if it keeps you alive. If something doesn't seem right or changes in midstream verify what is going on. Everyone may be nice and appear helpful though incompetence too can have a smiling face.The Magic Mouthwash above was suggested by another former cancer patient and we had to ask for it since it wasn't suggested as an option. When you're being told you need to eat but everything tastes like black pepper or dirt nothing is very appetizing. If it also hurts like hell to swallow, food becomes another thing to fight through so make yourself more comfortable. This stuff is liquid gold and comes in different mixtures for different conditions.

     One of the things I've had to force myself to get accustomed to is I can't just bounce around the stores at this juncture. Out of necessity I've become one of those cart people that get in your way at the grocery store. Even now I'm pretty sure I can drive a car better than I can one of those. I now have somewhat of a deeper appreciation for what it's like to get around on wheels at least part time. Tooling around a store on one of these jokers is often not a lot of fun since they are generally not maintained worth a crap. Often found rickety is the phrase I would use. Still there are moments when it can be fun; like after you knock over an entire rack of shirts at Walmart. 

As a final request please be mindful of those folks in the carts since I could be one of them. The toes you save may be your own. 

Thanks for stopping by. Comments and shares are appreciated.

From the desk of  Greg Davis, thanks.

I Hope You Got a Better Birthday Present

     This post has been probably the most difficult one to write of any that I’ve posted here. It has taken me the better part of a year to finally just put it out there. It was not because I was planning to rewrite War & Peace or something ridiculous like that. Even now sitting here tapping out some edits of these words I find myself hesitating to continue.

     Why so hard you ask? Well, there are a couple of reasons behind that and they are interconnected I’d have to say. I can’t say with any conviction which one carries more weight than the other though that can and has changed from day to day over the past 8 months. Anyone that knows me or has over a long stretch of time and thankfully there are still a good few of them around, knows I’ve been known to keep stuff to myself. The other is there have been many days I wasn’t up to it. Actually there were quite a few of those days and contact of any kind was too much to handle at that juncture.

     Back in February on my birthday my intended Facebook status for the day was coming to the conclusion that as the calendar page changes and the days roll into years the only thing anyone truly wants for their birthday is another one. Within a few days I wasn't sure I'd be able to fulfill that desire.

     Before I was able to actually update my status that day I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t catch a breath and was gulping air like the goldfish that jumped from his bowl to the counter. Needless to say I scared the living crap out of my lovely wife when I woke her from a dead sleep to call 911.

     So off to the ER at the nearest hospital I went to endure what passes for emergency medicine for the next 8 hours or so. After blood work, a chest x-ray and some pain meds they decided to keep me for observation.

     That night I saw a parade of doctors and nurses either just checking in or checking vitals. If your doctor ever tells you they are putting you in the hospital for rest and observation you can tell them from me that they are full of shit; especially the rest part. Granted I often sleep only in 2 hour stretches anyway but having someone else wake me up every 2 hours to poke me and fiddle around gets old real quick.

     By the time I got to day 3 I knew something was up. I spent that day having what felt like every test known to man. They stuck a camera down my throat to look at my gizzard then I rode the Stargate machine, otherwise known as a CT scan. The pain in my back made the MRI virtually unendurable and they had to fill me with goofy juice so I wouldn’t fidget. I dubbed the MRI tech Cruella DeVille for her sparkling bedside manner.

     Later that day the doctor who I’ve spent the most time with these past months came to see me while I was waiting for another test. When he told me he was an oncologist I wasn’t surprised. My initial reaction was more like scared and pissed and in that order. I liked him immediately. The fire in his eyes communicated to me he would do his best to help me whatever it took.

     He told me I had Stage lllA adenocarcinoma small cell lung cancer that he saw in my left lung and he wanted to start me on chemotherapy as soon as possible. Some of the horror stories I’ve heard about chemo flashed through my mind as I listened to him tell me the plan.

     Over the next two weeks I spent a good part of many days sitting in waiting rooms for tests, bloodwork, etc. Since I was feeling pretty much lousy as a constant state of being at that juncture doing all this really wore me out.One of those trips included getting a little plastic and metal power port attached to a big vein just below my right collarbone. It’s used to administer chemo and take blood so I wouldn’t end up being looking like a pincushion. The damn spike they use to access it is over an inch long and it’s buried to the hilt when they use it. Thankfully they use freeze spray most of the time before doing that though the image of it going in is a bit freaky. And with no freeze spray it would bring me right off the chair. Fun was not had. I still have it and it’s not a problem other than the weird feeling I get when I happen to run my hand across it.

     After my first chemo treatment I was still continually fighting to breathe and I was worn out. My days turned into a series naps in my recliner when I wasn’t going for tests or doctor’s visits. My doctor put me back in the hospital after one visit when he became concerned about my breathing. So off to the ER again I went from inside the hospital this time for more tests. The ER doc looked at my CT scan and determined that the tumor had grown since I had started chemo. It hadn’t changed size it had just moved. Since oncology was not his specialty nor was reading CT scans he started a chain of events that landed me in the hospital for the next few days and also start the mapping out of the next several weeks. My Oncologist and Radiologist decided they wanted to push the start of radiation ahead and do both together. Little did I know what would transpire in the coming days.

     I’m not going to bore you, though I may have already, with the details of the hell the next 6 weeks entailed. This is the part where I talk about the cure being worse than the disease. It’s definitely true when referring to what we know of medicine here in the US. Losing over 60 pounds in the matter of a few weeks will knock the ever living shit out of you. By the time radiation ended I had 3 more stays in the hospital ranging from 2 to 5 days. The last one was for a blood transfusion after I crashed in the oncologist’s office and would have bitten anyone that got close enough to me. This happened during my last week of radiation. I was done with all of it. I was beat up, beat down and just plain tired of feeling like I wouldn’t make it through the night and enduring  other days hoping that I didn’t. Those were some dark days, very dark. Thankfully one of my radiation techs talked me off the ceiling to finish the last 4 days of radiation since I was having none of it.

     Since then I’ve been slowly building myself back up. Of course we all know patience is a virtue and there are days I don’t feel so virtuous. Patience with myself to get back to a sense of normalcy hasn’t happened fast enough for me, though it’s getting there.

     The good news is this. My first CT scan 2 months after treatment ended showed the mass had shrunk from the size of a billiard ball to be the size of the ball that comes with a set of jacks like I used to play with as a kid. Even better was the last one 2 months later that showed the tumor as nothing more than a shadow, basically gone plus the node I had from a dose of valley fever in my right lung is now gone too. Also, the part of the tumor that was pushing my spine and causing my pain is stable and hasn’t changed though the pain still reminds me its around. My voice is improving but I still sound a bit like a villain from a 40s gangster flick. Talking for an extended period of time still tuckers me out pretty well too.

    I do get tired out pretty quickly and the nueropathy in my hands and arms makes writing both therapeutic and taxing. When I get to the point of having to retype almost every word I know it is time to quit for the day. Naps have become an important part of my day to regroup and recharge. Life has become simple; Eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, do what I can when I have the energy to do so.

     As of today, I’m doing good though right now I’ve reached one of those simple points; it’s time for a nosh and a nap.

     Thanks for reading, as always comments and shares are welcome. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere just yet.  

No You Didn't See Me in the Funny Papers

     I know it has been a right good while since I’ve dropped a few words here and at the risk of being cryptic I’ll ask you to bear with me a bit longer in that regard. I haven’t been locked up, in a coma or hiding in a cabin in the mountains in case you’re wondering. This year has been one for observing, a lot of that in fact, and there has been much to see in the view from my chair.

     One thing I did do, which in hindsight I seemed to have spent an inordinate amount of time on, almost to the point of literary paralysis, was attempting to decide what my niche or target audience would be. That question crops up repeatedly when reading blogs, books or magazine articles about the writer’s life. Many days just reading became a singular accomplishment in itself.

     Several, if not many times I sat hands poised above the keyboard with a blank document open in front of me and I somehow managed to find something else that jumped in line ahead of what I had in mind to put to paper.  I sure cannot say that there hasn’t been enough happening around the globe to leave me at a loss to write about.

     I’ve never liked being pigeon-holed and I imagine most folks don’t like to be either. That particular feeling for me is akin to standing in a hole buried up to my chin while waiting for someone to use me as a Whack-A-Knoll. What I did learn however is that I have a myriad of interests and any posts in the future will continue to be my usual mixed bag of whatever I’m tickled to write about.

   


     In between my bouts of research and some forced inactivity I did manage to get a few bits of short fiction at least partially in the can. Getting to the point where I force myself to stop trying to tweak and edit it further or getting distracted to work on another idea has become the proverbial double-edged sword.


     I also spent some time going back through the posts I’ve already dropped here and realized a few things; I definitely need to bone up on my editing skills and my blog layout is in dire need of a sprucing up. Those projects will be good for days when my muse is asleep.

     To say this year has been one full of profound challenges and startling epiphanies would be a gross understatement. One exceptionally positive note has been the many examples in my experience that reinforce my gratitude for the people that show me they love me which repeatedly reinforces the feeling that I am the luckiest cuss in the world.


     Reconnecting with some old friends and peers has frequently left my heart full and my face wet. You or I can read a pithy post any day of the week on Facebook or any social media site how big a role friends and family play in one’s Life. Often though it is easy to overlook taking the time daily to consciously be grateful for those folks being part of our daily existence. There are definitely situations that can arise at any time that can cause one to just get stuck in dealing with what is on the plate right in front of you to the exclusion of anything or anyone else.  Whether that is right or wrong it is how it is. The last guy who we were told had an almost perfect batting average ended up with holes in his hands and feet so the bar has been set rather high.

     In some ways it’s hard to believe it is almost October. This year has flown and in other bouquets of moments has been somewhat agonizingly slow. I’ve learned much, so overall it has been a grand success in more ways than one.

     For now I’ll put a bookmark here and ask that you keep your eyes open for my next entry. To those of you who have been reading since the beginning I thank you for your support.  Comments and shares are appreciated and welcomed whether you read on a PC, tablet or phone and comments should be open on all devices.

From the Vault: One for Father's Day

Connecticut Defense Council Auxiliary Police ID, probably WWII era

(I found this among some of the things I had written and though it has been out there on the web previously I felt it needed a little edit. So I fixed the writing faux pas’, added a little and thought it was worth re-posting in honor of Father’s Day)

Yesterday, April 5^th, was my dad's birthday, he would have been 107. I've wondered more than a few times what he would have thought of the changes the world's been through in the 40+ years since he passed and the discussions we would have had about them. I’m sure his analytical mind would love the idea of the Internet but the endless posts about where I’m eating a sandwich or the myriads of bathroom selfies would be lost on such a private person as he. I bet he sure would love the animal videos though.

He left home at 14 and hooked on at a number of shipyards up and down the east coast. I still have a piece of paper written in his spare efficient block printing of his "resume', which is just a list of the places and the hourly rates he worked for from 1922 onward. 

He used to tell a story of living in New York during those years. He lived in a 3rd floor walk-up and to help pay his room and board he made horseradish for the landlord. His telling of the story of having to stand by the window and having to grate this gnarly root by hand never failed to produce a laugh from those in attendance. He always told this story with a bit of a grin, as he knew that good times and bad times often overlap and the differences weren’t always discernible in the moment. Onions apparently have nothing on grating fresh horseradish when it comes to making tears. He said you couldn't wipe your eyes because that made it worse, so he'd have to stop periodically to throw water on his face. Sometimes he'd shred his fingers instead of the root and be just a total mess with tears running down his face and bloody fingers that stung like hell from the horseradish  juices. Needless to say he found other accommodations quickly.

He managed to keep working pretty much all through the Depression, which was an uncommon feat in those days. I worked for a while at the same place he and my Mom met and it was also the last job he had right up until he passed. I heard a few good stories about him from some of the guys that were still around from the time he worked there. 

The guys in the shop gave him the nickname “The Gray Ghost” because he had an uncanny knack for walking around the corner just as a group of guys would decide it was goof off time for a few minutes. They said he was a good boss and always fair, though you didn't fuck with him or any of his crew. One day a guy from another department was giving one of his crew a real hard time and preventing him from getting his job done in their mutual work area. When my Dad went down to find out what was going on the guy got pushy and mouthy. One punch later he was on his back, lights out. I still grin when I picture Jonesy telling me that story just shaking his head with his big bugged out eyes, his battered hard hat reversed on his head. "Nope, no sir no one fucked with the guys on Bill Mark's crew ". He was also not without his moments. One day he happened upon Little Charlie B_____ hammering away at something on a workbench, his hand choked up on the handle near the head of the hammer. Dad stopped and said to Charlie, “Don’t you know how to swing a hammer by now, doing it that way will take forever. Give me that.” My Dad took the hammer, gripping it at the end of the handle like one should and took a swing with it. The hammer head flew back over his shoulder and skidded under another bench about 10’ away. My Dad’s face got beet red, he turned to Charlie and handed him the empty handle and told him it was time get a new hammer then walked out of the shop. Hilarity ensued among the witnesses though it took Charlie a couple of minutes to stop shaking.

I wonder sometimes what my Dad would think of the pussification of America, where you can't tell someone, "You're an idiot for doing that" but it's okay to be rude as hell to someone you've asked for help in a customer service position. He always had a good word for the waitress or the checkout person. He always took our cars to the same mechanic, even though he could fix them; he used to say, "Those guys need to make a buck too." I feel fortunate to have put my wrenching days behind me since I found a good honest mechanic too.

The house I grew up in was the first stick built house he'd ever owned. He had always lived in apartments or trailer homes. That house was a bit of a fixer upper and he put a lot of time into improvements after we moved in. I remember him wrestling big rocks out of the ground with a long pry bar on the hilltop in our backyard. Then he'd roll them down the hill where he would split them with a hammer and chisel to add to the stone wall he built to keep the back hill from washing on to the red brick patio he laid. He had most of it done but never was able to finish the wall before he passed. 

He didn't know a lot about playing sports, though he did play golf and do some caddying for a while when he was younger; well before golf became more mainstream. I guess he gave up golf and pipe smoking when he married my Mom. He coached my little league team when I was 12. We spent a lot of time practicing my pitching in the driveway. His shins were always black and blue that summer due to bouncing balls that hit the dirt from what passed as my fastball in those days. We got to share the first ever season of Monday Night Football, though I never got to see the end of games since they ended at midnight on the East Coast. He would stay up to watch the end and leave me the scoring that happened after I went to bed written on small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

                                                             

                                                        Family Friend's backyard 1960's.

My uncle used to tell me frequently that he was the smartest man he had ever known, they did a lot of projects together at my uncles house. He also told me after Dad’s funeral that he'd never seen so many people at a funeral before. Dad's was the first funeral I ever attended and for years after it didn't matter who passed I refused to go. I remember sitting next to my Mom and shook so many sweaty dead fish-like hands that to this day I always look sideways at anyone who shakes my hand that way. That experience really threw up a lot of walls in my young mind and I never wanted to attend another funeral; that attitude changed as I got older, though that is a story for another day.

He left me a tough legacy to follow to be respected by so many. I wonder sometimes what he'd think about what I've done with my life, both the successes and failures and the hope I'd done well in his eyes just to keep on keepin' on. Like most things I write I don't know where this came from, I guess I just fell through the hole in the paper.

Thank you for taking the time to (re)read this and to all the Dads out there, Happy Father’s Day.

The Drought Ended for at Least One Team

The Golden State Warriors just won the NBA Finals; I’ve surprised myself the past several weeks by watching the NBA playoffs and enjoying actually sitting and watching the games again after a long hiatus. This was a good Final series mainly because it was hard to pick which team to pull for with long championship droughts for both teams; with no championships of any kind in Cleveland for 50 years they became my sentimental favorite.

The NBA has been virtually unwatchable for a long time. The former commissioner created street ball with refs and those guys were not very useful either.  Jordan made palming the ball acceptable the way he brought the ball up the floor; it would have been called traveling in the real OLD days, as in pre 1983. I think Kobe should send Mike a couple truckloads of champagne for getting the extra step allowed which helped him score probably 3 to 4,000 more points over his career. I watched Dr. J in his prime; he didn’t need that extra step. Stern oversaw an influx of too many young players not bothering to improve their skills and being more interested in making the Top Ten Plays on ESPN, thus becoming the standard fare the past couple of decades.  The past few years with Miami putting together their Big 3 then making 4 straight trips to the Finals and winning twice was unprecedented; the Lakers have tried that experiment twice and failed miserably both times. When it comes to the Finals, great teams win championships and that’s what the Finals this year was about.

It was fun to watch the way the Warriors moved the ball around; sometimes the ball didn’t touch the floor after the first pass.  Stephon Curry is just a fabulous player and one of the best shooters I have ever seen. Steve Kerr’s championship pedigree paid dividends while he coached his butt off. Even with the team he had he still had to use them right and he did.  This is a young solid team that should be in the conversation for at least another few years.

Cleveland just didn’t have enough left in the tank after going up 2-1; their energy level after that game just wasn’t there the last three games. The Cavs grit and scrappiness got them the lead in the series, but it wore them out. The last three games they had too many shots that hit the front of the rim and would just drop; a glaring sign their legs were approaching jello. Lebron James had to do too much and the other guys just didn’t step up after they won Game 3. Even with Tristen Thompson banging the boards like a boss they just didn’t have the horses.  Cleveland fans are left to wonder what might have been if Kevin Love and Kyrie Irving had been able to play the whole series.

If anyone had told me I would be watching the NBA Finals this year back when the season started I would have choked on my coffee from laughing.  I write the words “I enjoyed it” with more than a dash of incredulity. Only time can answer the question, Will I watch next season?

Finally Another Triple Crown

     Today, I finally got to see another Triple Crown winner in my lifetime; the third and final example of the most exciting 2 minutes in sports.  I don’t think I really fully appreciated the last three since I saw them happen in a span of just five years during the 70’s. Who would have thought it would take 37 years for another horse to do it again?  For my wife it was the first time she'd witnessed a Triple Crown winner live; both of us were both yelling as we watched the horses came down the final stretch and American Pharoah pull away at the end, great stuff.

Last year I was really rooting for California Chrome to pull off the Triple Crown and it really exposed the pettiness behind the scenes in horse racing. It’s hard for a horse to race 3 times in less than two months, especially with the travel involved. With other trainers not really trying to win the Triple Crown but instead working to prevent someone else from doing it is akin to a jealous ex-lover knocking someone off because they don’t want any else to have them. It is way past the stage for a serious look to a change in the timing between races. It wouldn't cheapen it since an owner would still need a hell of a good horse to beat the best 3 times in a row. 

I guess I wonder if horse racing would be as popular if it had been designed around something other than betting. No doubt viewership wouldn’t be as high nor would it also be for the 4 major pro leagues ; teams getting fined for not reporting injuries doesn’t have anything to do with appeasing the oddsmakers in Vegas does it? Nope sure doesn’t and by the way, I am the REAL Easter Bunny.

The past couple years I’ve started to gravitate more and from the major pro sports and toward something different, like bull riding. The rules are real simple: 1. Ride for 8 seconds, 2. Don’t get killed. The riders all root for each other since they all have a common opponent: the bulls. If there is any trash talking it must be in the locker room because you don’t see it on event night, it’s rather refreshing.

Congratulations to American Pharoah’s team for a great accomplishment and a two-fisted one finger salute to the trainers that skipped races and ran their horses only in the Belmont, this year at least it didn’t matter.

Thoughts for a Mother's Day

 Circa mid-50's: Dad and Mom before I came along. Probably at Ocean Beach.

I haven’t celebrated a Mother’s Day with my mom since she took her step in 1985.  Over the ensuing years I have many times thought about who she was, the way she lived her last few years and the things she gave me that I carry today.

My folks were as different as night and day. I”d have to say my Dad was more of a “speak softly and carry a big stick” kind of guy. My Mom on the other hand was a 4'11" firecracker that you never knew if she was going to go off being silly or if she would just fall asleep with her crocheting in her lap. Though I've nurtured my own warped sense of humor, I’m sure I get my goofy, cornball sense of the ridiculous from her. She was a study in opposites. She would tell me dirty jokes as I got older but still wouldn't say the word pregnant.  Whether it was someone we knew or one of their critters the reference was always, “she’s PG” and it always made me laugh.

She was born the 9^th of 10 children in a small New England town. She often referred to the house where she grew up as "14 rooms and a path". Unlike my Dad, who left home at 14, my Mom was the one who stayed at home and took care of both her parents in their last days. I never got to meet either of them.

No doubt coming of age during the Great Depression had a profound influence on how she lived her life going forward. She was a great saver of all manner of things, especially small bits of paper.  She would cut up envelopes or trim any blank parts left on any piece paper she came across; basically any paper that had not been written on was fair game.  She kept them in a small inbox-like container near our kitchen phone.  It wasn't uncommon to find a note from her on the kitchen table cobbled together with these little scraps. I would come home to find a jigsaw puzzle without a solution spread out before me.  I almost needed a decoder ring to follow the narrative from beginning to end while deciphering her left-handed scrawl. This I inherited, the scrawl not the jigsaw notes.

She was a switch board operator for several companies, both large and small and also did clerical work along the way. My Mom and Dad met while she was working the main gate at General Dynamics in the 1950’s. She did some clerical work part-time before I hit school age then became a stay at home mom until I went to junior high. Her last job was as a receptionist at a nursing home and she was there until she got sick.

She hated this motorcycle though still asked me to take a picture.

In 1980 she developed breast cancer. I remember her doctor telling me after the surgery that the cancer had probably made its way into her bones. I didn't find out until after she passed that he didn't expect her to last a year. She hung on for over 5 years. She never lost her sense of humor or her love of good food and friends. She lived those last years with as much dignity and grace as humanly possible. She suffered in silence often and rarely complained about anything except the length of my hair or that I needed to stand close to my razor in the morning. She was pretty close mouthed about a lot of things. Dick, the nice fellow she kept company with the last few years she was with us, filled me in on much of what happened those last few years while I was living in another state.

Anyone who has experienced going through a deceased parent or relatives stuff knows how surreal it is. I kept turning around expecting her to be standing behind me in the door. Her sense of humor outlasted her. She loved to clip stuff from the newspaper whether it was comics,cartoons or Hints from Heloise. I found an envelope with part of her collection stuffed inside a box of filled with plastic fruit. Knowing her I'm sure she left them that way because she knew I would get a laugh. It worked; that find had us in stitches. What is the deal with plastic fruit anyway, I've never understood it. 

Believe it or not I did actually pay attention once in a while and was fortunate enough to gain some useful lessons from her; treat everyone with the respect they deserve but don't swallow bullshit unnecessarily. Keep your cards close to your chest though don't be afraid to love. Appreciate little things and remember that happiness is not about having what you want it’s about wanting what you have.

I have been blessed with a teacher and mentor who decided I would heretofore be known as her adopted son.  I've also been blessed with a mother-in-law that is a great lady even though she repeatedly kicks my tail at Words with Friends. I think she lets me win sometimes just so I’ll keep playing. Any man would be grateful to be as fortunate as I.

If my Mom was around today she’d no doubt be sneaking forbidden people food treats to my cats, loving my pretty little wife almost as much as I do and telling me I need to cut my hair.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s out there for doing what you do. We do appreciate you. My hope is we all make sure we show you that instead of just tell you.

Inside Out Seasons

There is a phenomenon that I’ve experienced twice a year since moving to Arizona that I don’t’ remember experiencing in any other places I’ve lived.  It happens in the spring and again in the fall though the manifestations are complete opposites.  It’s been occurring here again at my abode the past week creating a nightly debate on whether or not to open the windows before bedtime. Spending 6 months stuck in air-conditioning breathing the same recycled air gets tiresome and I always attempt to put it off as long as I can.

During both spring and fall the temperature inside and the temperature outside just don't seem to match the season.  In the fall the outside temp can be around 74, 75 and inside the house it can struggle to hit 66.  If I dress based on the inside temp I’m overdressed.  When spring rolls around it can be cooler outside at around 75 and inside the house my thermometer tells me its 85.  No matter where I’ve lived here apartment, house, and now a trailer it happens, though I’m not sure if living in this trailer makes that discrepancy more noticeable or not.  Either way those occurrences become the best times of year to sit outside with a drink in one hand and a book in the other.

Spring has sprung in virtually every part of the country by this point in the year. Some locales are still experiencing cold nights after a day of glorious sunshine and open windows. Spring in most places means the snow shovel can go back in the garage and it’s time to string up the hammock in anticipation of those lazy days of summer. Spring brings rain that helps trees regain their foliage, flowers to bloom, and can cause flooding if the snowpack was rather deep the past winter. We have those bursts of nature out here in the desert southwest only we have flash floods instead, because drainage is afterthought and water goes where it wants to.

Here in Arizona we experience spring with a daily prayer that we won't have to turn the A/C on just yet. The average first 100 degree day is May 2nd and since we've already hit 100 this year you know the old A/C has been earning its keep. 

We've already prepared ourselves for that boiled owl feeling that occurs every Arizona summer, that time is fast approaching.  Because everything is air-conditioned here one is willing to venture outside, hopefully without burning your hands on the steering wheel before a trip to the grocery store.  The sun so hot I froze to death could very well apply if you work in an office out here. Most buildings here in summer typically have a temperature setting rivaling that of a meat locker; stepping outside will make you shiver.  It is not uncommon to see someone waiting for a bus in 110 degree heat with a sweater over their arm and it just looks odd, really odd. 

Summer here can be like winter in other places; that extreme in temperature you just learn to deal with because you live there. We sure do get some gorgeous sunsets though.

I Bet You Won't Finish Your Popcorn

This first weekend in May 2015 wields a double edged sword. The weekend that essentially started on Thursday could be either sports fan nirvana or the final debacle for a degenerate gambler.

The yearly talent crapshoot known as the NFL draft kicked off the weekend on Thursday. Teams have probed, poked and tested about 2,000 of the young men they see as the top college talent. All that evaluation is done in the hope they will find the next Peyton Manning and not the next Ryan Leaf. After a season that offered as much if not more coverage given to off the field issues than to the play on the field, the word “character” became the hacky sack of every broadcast.  I guess watching Jameis Winston throw the football makes everyone forget about the other stuff.  For every Tyrann Mathieu there are 5 Justin Blackmon’s it seems. Only time will tell if all the character questions had merit, though I will be surprised if more than 3 of the top picks in this draft play out their rookie contract.  The most popular bets available on the draft define insanity; you can bet on where any player will be drafted, who the first running back drafted is and which conference will have the most players drafted. I will bet that any players unfortunate enough to be drafted by those whoopee cushions known as the Redskins and Browns will come to camp stocked up on Prozac to cope with the insanity.

Saturday presents us with the most exciting two minutes in sports followed later by the richest fight in boxing history. The Kentucky Derby is the only “pre-game” that rivals the Super Bowl. At least with the Derby there are other races to watch instead of seventeen human interest stories about a player’s gardener’s dog’s barber. Well, all the pre derby stuff is worth watching just for the big crazy hats isn't it? The races yes, for the hats no, no it’s not.  It was unfortunate that California Chrome missed the Triple Crown last year since it was a neat story of a great little horse, though it only furthered the notion there will never be another Secretariat.  My pick, Carpe Diem, didn’t carpe enough, which is why I don’t bet on horse racing unless I happen to be at the track in Saratoga Springs. I hit the trifecta the last time I went though it sure wasn't enough to retire to St. Thomas.

I hope the Mayweather-Pacquiao fight lives up to the hype after waiting so long for it to happen. Apparently it is already the richest fight in boxing history and at $ 90.00 for pay-per-view in standard def I think I’ll stick with plain old Netflix.  I went to a pay-per-view event for Tyson- Spinks (I didn't buy the tickets) and that was over before I finished my popcorn.  I hope anyone that made the investment on this fight gets to finish theirs. These guys are both long in the tooth for boxers though I expect the fight to go the distance. I don’t see either being able to knock the other out, unless it’s happens to be of the Hollywood double knockout variety.

Behind these big three, the NBA and NHL playoffs are in full swing and into the second round. I’m going on a short limb and wagering these early rounds will have more drama than the finals in either league.  We can’t forget baseball still has over 135 games to go before their playoffs begin. That season seems so long because of the number of games, though time wise it’s really only longer than the NFL.  If you’re a fan of any or all of the sports action this weekend I wish you luck in having the time to finish your popcorn. For all you gamblers out there I hope you managed to hang on to enough gas money to get to you to work Monday. If not, I hope you have a good pair of shoes and a friendly looking thumb or maybe even some leftover popcorn.

When I think of You I Touch My...Screen

A while back I penned a post about the growing fascination with our cellphones wondering if we were heading for a kyphosis epidemic. I’m still convinced that scenario is a possible repercussion of walking around bent over our phones and will manifest eventually, though maybe not in my lfietime.  I just never saw the allure of staring at that little itty-bitty screen so much.  Count me as surprised there aren't more viral videos of someone walking into a signpost or in front of a bus because they just had to finish making that Facebook post.

I think the lack of allure for me was a mixture of my general attitude toward the telephone as necessary luxury nuisance and the various incarnations of phones I packed around while riding the wave of the ever expanding cell phone craze.

I kicked up a fuss at getting my first cell phone about 15 years ago. After carrying a beeper for many years I didn't want to go back to that tethered feeling. I had to acquiesce; I knew the cell phone wasn't going away any time soon.  Back then choices were fairly simple. Did it make calls? Yes, unless you had Qwest and were in NIMBY city USA, Scottsdale; cell towers were frowned upon and there weren't enough of them. During the good old days it took 3 dropped calls to find out I needed to bring home coffee AND bread.

As my thoughts fast forward through the years my face reflects on the seeds of my discontent; the cell phones I've owned. Or did they own me? I remember a Nokia candy bar phone that I liked for its plain, simple design. It was great until the cover started coming off every time I put it back in my pocket.  The first phone I had that held music was a monster of an LG with a full keyboard. More than once that monstrosity reminded me it was in my pocket if I bent over to pick up something off the floor. That phone however, got me hooked on having a full keyboard; fold-out, slide-out didn't matter as long as it had a real keyboard with keys. I've had some crappy phones because that was my thing. I had one phone that was a touch screen phone but it had the full keyboard too. Despite many threats to end its life by pitching it into the street, it just kept being its contrary self. I was not going to get a touch screen phone. Never say never right?

A couple of months ago, prompted by a poke in the ribs from my Mrs, I picked out a new phone. I think she was more tired than I was of hearing me swear at the lousy phone and cell provider I had. I decided on an LG Optimus, my virgin excursion into an all touch screen phone. I must say I am pleasantly surprised. I really like this phone. It may not be as sexy as similar phones out there, though it sure has done right by me; the battery life alone is a big upgrade over my last few phones.

I've spent more time fiddling with this phone just looking at apps or playing games than I ever previously had any desire to with any of my old phones. The touch screen keyboard has some space between letters making it easier to use. It will save words I use a lot too, which are a benefit to whom ever is on the other end of my texts; well most of the time anyway. Surprised yourself didn't you, you ol’ dinosaur?

I’d write more but I just checked my Weather app and it looks like it’s going to be a good day to get out and pull weeds. Right after I go win this game of Trivia Crack.