Friday, February 27, 2009


During my 9th grade summer, everytime the Raspberries "Go All the Way" came on the Radio, I would walk down the street to Cathy Cavenders house in hopes she would be outside.
If she had been, I don't know exactly what I might have done but I sensed there was an opportunity there.
She never was, so I would go back to my house and wait another hour for the DJ, Mark E. Baby to play 'Go All the Way" again and I would hike back down to Cathy's and lurk for a while.
I did that all summer long.
It averaged about 108 degrees in the shade down here that summer and I never once saw Cathy. I was lucky not to get sunstroke.

It was that fall, when we started High School that I found out Cathy and her family had moved to Pheonix at the start of the summer.

I like to think that was the summer I lost my shyness, because I was never afraid to go on up and knock on the door after that.
Still, I hate that song.

Thanks UF Mike, for this memory.


Ol Grizzbabe, she's pretty fast!
She correctly points out that none of my buddies held it against me that I picked Lori to go to the store. (see yesterdays post) In fact, I deleted a paragraph saying that because, well, it was a boring enough post as it were.
Grizzbabe is my first blog friend and she now has the dubious honor of being my first friend to be laid off as a result of this Economy.
Ya'll go by and wish her well.

She and I, we have come a long ways together.
She encouraged me to start this blog back when I used to leave comments one place or another.
Whenever I start to stray from eating right I think about her because she and I both got the Diabetes last year. I thought about her last night while I was putting butter and honey on a big slab of cornbread and decided I’d only eat half.

Grizzbabe! I love her!

Thursday, February 26, 2009


In the Second Grade, up in Detroit, we had a class project. The teacher, Mrs Sherman “The German”, (we kids used to call her) brought in a little portable stove She announced that we were going to make Rice Crispy Treats and Popcorn Balls.
We learned what ingredients would go into them, and all about the process of melting the marshmallows and adding butter and how it would stiffen up as it cooled.
We were all very excited.
Then she did something that I don’t suppose could ever happen again in a Second Grade class anymore…maybe not even an Eleventh Grade class…
Mrs Sherman announced she was going to pick two students to go to the store across the street to get the ingredients!
Mrs. Sherman said there was a kid in the class that all the parents said was always very polite, always said “Please “ and Thank You” and even said ‘Yes Ma’am” and “No Sir” all the time, and that lid was going to represent our class at the store.
Who do you suppose that could be?
It was me!
See, I was recently moved to Detroit from Texas, and my Southern upbringing demanded a certain gentility that the other boys did not have. I hate to say it, but by the time I was in the fifth grade I was as big a punk as the rest of 'em.
But back to the story...

Mrs. Sherman then asked that I pick a partner to go with me.
I looked at the room…there was my best friend Greg, waving his arms like a madman…then there was Paul who always bullied me , smiling like he was my best buddy.
And Dave and Neil and Pete and Fred, all wanting me to pick ‘em so we could go to the store.
You know who I picked?
Lori Sandburg, the foxiest little Second Grader there could ever be.It was the most natural pick in the world.

At the store, after making our purchases, I must have said “Thank You” a million times.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


Thanks all for wishing my girl a big Happy Birthday yesterday. Embedded in the post I left a few links, and if you are anything like me the chances are slim you followed any of them.
So, today I will take this opportunity to inflict upon you maybe my favorite little story about my little girl.
Moments like these are just priceless.

Her Cowgirl Boots were Red, and her Little Jacket was pink. We bought those boots about 5 sizes too big and it seems like she wore them all the time between the ages of 4 to 11. Like any other young girl, she loved Horses but her love for them was way uncommon.
She had about 100 of them in her room; some were to play with and others were fancy Horses, only for show.

Sometimes I would take her to the store for a Candy Bar and she would study and examine each and every one of them asking
'How much for this one?"
'Those are 89 cents Baby"
"Oh my, that's too much" she would say and scrunch up her nose and put it back.
She would spy one that was slightly larger and look up to me with those big pretty eyes
"How 'bout this one daddy?'
"That's 89 cents too."

And she would hug that Candy Bar and raise her face towards God, grinning so big her eyes would close and you could feel the Heavenly bliss emanating from all her pores.
Then she would gaze longingly at the other selections and put it back, moving on to see if there weren't maybe a slightly better deal for her 89 cents.
We would generally spend about 45 minutes looking through the Candy Bar section before she would really get down to business and ask

"Daddy, how much are carrots?"
"Carrots are about 89 cents a package Babe"

Then we would drive to the Grocery store and get a bag of Carrots so that we could go around the corner and down to the Creek to feed Brownie.
Brownie was the Chestnut Mare that lived in the little plot of land that the local water tower was on.
In her Red Cowgirl Boots and Pink Jacket, she and Brownie would work that 89 cent bag of Carrots for all it was worth.
I've never spent ANY money to any greater effect.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Today my little Water Baby turns 20.
This is maybe my favorite picture of her because it shows just how happy a child she was!
One of my favorite things to do with her when she was lirttle was teaching her how to make fart sounds. when she got older we would go out in the backyard and plant flowers. Click here for one of my favorite stories about her.
Like all little girls, she grew to love here for a story about her and Brownie.
As of last month, she now has a horse of her own. I think the name is Brandi.

When she grew up and started going to High School she joined Choir and the Marching band. she gets that from me because when she was young I always had the Music playing and we would dance. That is to say she would stand on top of my feet and we would sway back and forth or else we might run in circles with our arms know...dancing.
I started this blog two and a half years ago in large part to chronicle her Band experiences. The following comes from one of the posts...
"If there is a purpose for this (blog) other than as a record of this year for my Daughter and the pleasre of having written it, it would be directed to anyone out there reading this that is responsible for hiring of new employees.... my daughters band is not the only one that is participating in a workload I have described and any member of any band is going to have to demonstrate the Qualities and Attributes I have so poorly attempted to describe to you during these several posts. When a former band Participant comes to you hat in hand I would give them the highest recommendation one can, sight unseen.
Also, for any parent whose child may be so inclined, as wholesome as it is for the child...

Click here to read more about the band

Anyway, I am so proud of my girl. She graduated and tried to go to Texas A&M and came home feeling defeated. She has learned how to bounce back, my Water Baby has, and she is going to the local Community College now, and working too, and is even living with a boyfriend and they are engaged! She says they don't plan to marry real soon, but probably in the next few years.

Click here for more about her boyfriend two little birds!

And stop by her little blog and tell her Happy Birthday! (click here)

By the way...she doesn't make fart sounds anymore!

She's a lady...her mother takes full credit.

Also...its National Pancake Day!


Friday, February 20, 2009


This will be the first of a series centered around the fourth step of my program. I am to do a "searching and fearless Moral Inventory" of myself and to get started I am supposed to try to tell my life story. For many of you that have been around for long, you know I have been tellling this story for some time, but I have been praying for a little guidance towards finding some other parts that my be relevant to this inventory.
I sense that some of the little things may be in fact, quite large...

Do you remember the book “The Cross and the Switchblade”?
It was about a dude, Nicky Cruz, growing up in a Harlem gang, getting addicted to Heroin, carrying a Switchblade knife and making Zip guns and stuff.
It was supposed to inspire me to be a good kid and stay away from trouble but what it really did was inspire me to go get a Switchblade knife and think about smokin’ me some pot and bangin' chicks and stuff.
In the Ninth Grade I used to flip spit wads with my Switchblade in class, and carve crosses onto my desktop.
This says less about the book, and more about me, and a desire to color outside the lines.
I have always been that way.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


I had a dog, a Dachshund, named Steve Jr. but I was too little to say "Steve Jr.".
I called him "Do-Do", childspeak for Dog I suppose.
When a truck ran Steve Jr. over, I got a new Dachsund. Her name was Do-Do and I had her for 12 years.
Do-Do was a good dog.


When I was a kid a goat ate my bicycle.
Granpa shot that goat.


My Aunt Glesnal wrote my mother a letter back when I was 3 that seemed to insinuate that I had spit in Mom's face and stood in a corner for 4 hours before I would apologize.
I have no memory of that.
It also made mention that I had nearly burned the house down, setting fire to my bed. I remember that full well. I got some matches and lit a thread that hung down from a tattered sheet. I remember the rush of adrenaline I felt as the tiny flame raced up the thread, my frantic futile effort to extinguish as it reached the dry and threadbare fabric , and how quickly the linens and mattress became engulfed with flames. Smoke filled the room.
I couldn't run, I couldn't hide it and I couldn't take it back.
I also remember the pots and pans full of water Dad threw to put out the fire before he spanked my butt. That was probably the best (worst) spankin' I ever got

Aunt Glesnal concludes the letter by saying "I'd shoot me a dog".
I would assume this is a reference to me.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


211 Posts in 210 days.
This stands as my 508th.


Shoot, I missed Kims birthday on my Blog!
Kim is the liveliest of the Sisters of Mercy and has quickly become my best friend.
She is the Sister that stops by here now and again.

She has been an almost constant companion at times and one of the best sidekicks I've ever had.
Its no real secret that I have gone completely soft on her, and for guys like me the line between friends and something else is really blurry and totally movable, but right now she is too good a friend to try to be anything else, and inflict myself upon her, unless she says so.
She ain't said so....yet.

Her Birthday falls on Valentines Day...that makes her an Honest-to Goodness Lover-girl.
You may be wondering what I gave her.
I gave her Softballs.
Really. Softballs.
Get yer head out of the gutter....I gave her 6 brand spankin' new Baseball Softballs, the kind with red stitching, and then we went out to the street and played catch. Thats one of the things we like to do.
Then we went to the Batting cages.
When she swings that 34" bat and her pony tail does this whiplash thing it makes me wanna run the bases!

Interesting fact....Kim was granted a special place in the Boys Baseball League when she was a little girl...and she was the only girl in the league. She pitched a game and almost had a No-Hitter until her father went to the opposing side and coached one of the boys as to how to hit her pitch.
He hit one out of the park. Kimmy still wonders why her father did that...but thats just the beginning of the story.
35 years later Kimmy met Jo's husband, the one I told you about yesterday that died last year.
His name was Tim and he was a great guy.
When Tim met Kimmy that day at Jo's house he studied her face for a bit .
"I know you" he said "Your Dad showed me how to hit your pitch and it cost you a no-Hitter"
"You're that Son-of -a-Bitch?" says Kimmy.
"I could do it again for ya!" says Tim.
Kimmy's Dad set that one up rather nicely, doncha think?

The three of them became best of friends, and I don't know what Jo would do without Kim these days. Kim keeps the house clean and tries to help raise Eric and help jo through what must be a torurous period of her life.

So you see now why I love Kimmy so much.
She keeps me going.
Click here for another story about Kimmy.

Happy Birthday Kimmy!

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


I took the Sisters of Mercy (Jo, Kim, and Stacy) to dinner Saturday night, along with Jo’s 11-year old son. We’ll call him the Master because he is a major Dungeon and Dragon player..
I should take this opportunity to talk a little about Jo and her son. Years ago the ExMrs Bulletholes suspected that Jo and I were having an affair. She thought that for 5 years and she was wrong.
She was wrong until the sixth year.
So my friendship with Jo helped to break up my marriage.

Jo married a year before I was divorced and the Master was born.
I didn’t see Jo for 10 years until September when I ran into her and Kim, also a good friend from old days.
And this is where the story starts.
Jo’s husband died last year and very unexpectedly too. Complications of the Diabetes.
It has left Jo and the Master in tatters.
Kim and Jo and the Master all live together. And they found me when I really needed a friend. We are taking good care of each other as best as we can.
I play a very male role in the house with regards to the Master.
I told XMrs Bullets about this a while back.
She says "You know, I thought that boy was yours for years, right up until I actually saw him and how much he looked like his Dad"
I said "Yes, I know you did, but he obviously is not"
She managed a thin grin and says
"This is all very ironic, is it not?"
"Yes, very ironic" says I.

So, these are my Sisters of Mercy, and it includes a cousin, Stacy, who was with us for Valentines Dinner.

In preparation I went to Albertsons and picked up 4 Valentines cards.
I grabbed 3 Heart Shaped boxes of Chocolates.
I swung by and picked up a wheel of Brie, the most sensual of all the Cheeses, and some Table Water Crackers, the most Romantic of all the thin crisps, and even 2 packages of Boursin, the most spreadable of all the Cheesespreads.
On to the Wine Department, where I grabbed two bottles of the bubbly stuff and a bottle of Poully-Fusse’.
In the Flower Department I picked up 3 of those plastic-glass looking Roses for a buck a piece. I wish I had gotten more of those.
It was in the check-out line, when the lady behind me rolled her eyes and asked if I had forgotten anything that I realized what a slut I must look like.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


As I recall, Valentines Day started back in Roman days, when Caesar or somebody decided to outlaw marriage. There was a Cardinal that continued to pair people up in an underground ceremony, breaking the law and the Emperor's rule. The Cardinal was eventually found out, imprisoned and when he would not confess, bow down and promise not to do any more marriage ceremonies, Caesar had him crucified or something.
The Cardinals name was Valentine.
I'm not sure how accurate all this was, but you can research it yourself.
The word Lapernical-something keeps coming to my mind too, but thats not what I want to talk about.

I'd rather talk about my first love.
She was the daughter of a Preacherman. Her name was Teddy, she had short and curly
Chestnut hair, just long enough to put into cute little Pigtails. Her eyes were blue, like her swimsuit, which also had little flowers on it. She wore black leotards to our tap dancing class, and I hate to say it but I wore them too.

We were only four years old, and we took swim lessons, and Tap dancing lessons together and she was in my Sunday School Class too.
Sometimes when Mom and I went to the store we would see her and her Mom.

Every time we went anywhere, I would always hope that we would see Teddy.
I always looked forward to seeing Teddy at the pool for swim lessons.
Had it not been for Teddy being at Tap Dance lessons, which I cried all the way to and from, I might would have cried the whole way through those classes, in front of all those little girls.
I kept it together for Teddy in particular.

Maybe thats what love is on some simple level...always hoping to see someone and keeping it together when you do.

Friday, February 13, 2009



How does it feel to be
One of the beautiful people?
Now that you know who you are
What do you want to be?
And have you travelled very far?
Far as the eye can see.

How does it feel to be
One of the beautiful people?
How often have you been there?
Often enough to know.
What did you see, when you were there?
Nothing that doesn't show.

How does it feel to be
One of the beautiful people?
Tuned to a natural E
Happy to be that way.
Now that you've found another key
What are you going to play?

Baby you're a rich man,
Baby you're a rich man,
Baby you're a rich man too.
You keep all your money in a big brown bag inside a zoo.
What a thing to do.
Baby you're a rich man...


"If you had $1,000,000, what would you do with it? "
From Barbara

“If all of a sudden you were given $5000, and had to “spend it wisely”, what would you buy?”
From Leslie

Really, I like Barbaras question better.

Thursday, February 12, 2009


I told ya’ll about my son the Rip last month. He has been living on a Sofa at his mothers house for the last 8 months or so. He has been doing well since deciding that he would go ahead and cave in to the “Corporate American Bullshit” as he called it, and get a job. He has had that same job for almost 6 months now and it’s a pretty good job for a punk-ass kid like him. He has a car and everything, and surprisingly, he has not wrecked it, or tore it up, or painted it some kind of Psychedelic color or anything.
He hasn’t gotten busted for dope or alcohol so you might think things are well with him.

Anyway, I told you last month he had gotten himself a girlfriend.
And his mother had called me, concerned about everything they were doing on her couch all night long, and how her husband wasn’t too happy with that arrangement, and how the Rip was gonna have to find another place to get his freak on. And I told you that I had made them a little place in my spare bedroom where they could come every now and then and play “House.”

Well, it only lasted about two weeks. They stopped coming over.
So I asked the Rip what happened to Maddie, that cute little girlfriend of his.
He says “Oh, that’s done”
“Done?’ I ask ‘Whats that mean, “done””
“Done” is his one word answer.
So I say:
“Don’t just say “done” boy, like you are ordering up a steak, or finishing up a deadline. Say “Oh, that didn’t work out” , or “we split up” or “she broke my heart”. Give it the respect it deserves”
Of course he doesn’t get it.

So I talk to his mom the next week. She says she asked him what happened.
He told her that “She was too much like you, Mom”
‘Whats that mean?” she asks.
“Oh, she wanted to know everything all the time like where I was and who I was with and what I’m doing tomorrow. I couldn’t take it anymore. I need my man time”
I just cracked up.
I said “yeah, he will find out that "man time" is way over-rated”

So his mom goes on to tell me about all the text messages he gets from girls. Some are pretty bawdy. So I tell her
“You know that kid is hung like nobodies business”
She smiles and says “He won’t let me see”
I say “He won’t let me either, but I saw him a while back getting out of the shower. Good God-A-Mighty!
Theres a pause and she says slyly
“He gets it from you, you know”
I shake my head
“No, you haven’t seen this kid. Its unbelievable!”
and we both crack up.

Very strange to be able to have a conversation like this with an Ex-Wife!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


I was eating a Twix Bar when I saw her making coffee. Between the notion that maybe I shouldn't eat all that candy, and an urge to go help her make coffee, I made my move.
I got up, went to the coffee room and set half of the Twix Bar on the counter.
"Would you like a piece of Candy?" I asked, sweeter than rain.
She looked up at me and what a surprise...tears were running down her cheeks, her eyes were all red, and it was apparent that she had been upset and crying in the coffee room all by herself for some time.
I struggled for something appropriate to say at such a moment. Asking her if she wanted half a Twix Bar suddenly seemed pretty lame. So I lowered my voice to a deep whisper, almost as deep as Barry White, gave her my best grin and moved a little closer, face to face and said
"You look like you could use a little Chocolate, baby"
It was perfect!
She wiped her face with her sleeve, busted out laughin' and leap'd into my arms!

Monday, February 09, 2009


Talos, Man of Bronze, from "Jason and the Argonauts", 1963
In the the Greek Myth, Jason must sail to Colchis, at the end of the world, to find the Golden Fleece and regain his fathers Throne as king of Thessaly.
This movie made a huge impression on me when I was a boy. It was not just the huge bronze statue of Talos, chasing Hercules and Hylos, or Hercules strength, or Poseidon holding back the clashing rocks; it wasn’t the Harpies plaguing poor Phineas, or the 7-Headed Hydra and the Skeletons that rose up from the earth as Children of the Hydras Teeth that left me so affected when I was but 7 years old…though Harryhausen's special effects in this movie were terrific for the day.
It was the conversation between Zeus, Jason, and the Goddess Hera after Hermes transported Jason in a dream to Mount Olympus that really affected me.
Zeus, king of the gods, told Jason he would assemble a crew for him, and build him a ship, and supply him with maps and all he needed for the voyage.
You know what Jason said?
He said
“Thanks very kindly Mr. Zeus, but I’ll find my own crew, I’ll build my own ship;
I’ll make my way as best as I can if you don’t mind it too much, no disrespect intended.
And Zeus turned to his wife Hera and said:
‘Sometimes the Gods are best served by those who need their help the least”

I told my sponsor this in answer to his question last week of what it is I think about God, and what my relationship to Him is based on.
I figured he would tell me I had a really bad attitude, and my idea about what my God should be was way off.
Instead, he just grinned at me and said
“Yes, God will require some action on your part. I think you are ready for Step 4"


I went to see ’Gran Torino” Friay Night at the Movie Tavern. Its one of those Theaters that you order dinner and they serve hard liquor and I imagine they might even have a bottle of Dom Perignon laying around somewhere. Its a Movie Theater that doesn’t smell like Popcorn, nope…it smells like a bar!
A few years back, my kids took me there to see ‘Soccer Dad “ with Will Farrel, and all I really remember was that when they turned the lights back on at the end and I stood up and looked around there were a lot of drunks passed out in their seats.
I wondered how much they paid the the poor SOB that had to go shake ‘em out of those seats.

So Friday night Kim and I got our tickets and stood in the line to be seated and I began to notice that there were a lot of women in my line.
So many that I was compelled to do a quick count of my line and the entire lobby….
There were 49 women and only 6 men! And the 5 men besides me that were there were sitting at the bar, watching "Sportscenter", completely oblivious to what was going on behind them.
And in line with me to see Gran Torino, a Clint Eastwood movie, I was the only dude!
Shit! The guy is almost 100 years old and he still packs ‘em in.
And these women were dressed to the Max!
Miniskirts, Go-Go boots, Black Lacy things, Frilly little pink and mauve things, all that lipstick and eyeliner and rouge.
They all had that lean, hungry look too.
I can still smell the Chanel.

I told Kim I hadn’t seen this much Poontang since I snuck into the Girl Scout Camp back in 1972.
My line peaked at 55 women and just me.
Then I found out we were in the wrong line.
We were in line to see ‘He’s Not That Into You”.

I’m going back in tonight….alone.

Friday, February 06, 2009


I know, I've been getting a little heavier on occasion than any of us would like.
This was my assignment this week, to answer questions about my ability to control drugs.
Sometimes you start writing one thing and end up wth something else entirely by the end, and such was the case with this. In fact, it wasn't until the day after I wrote this that I really understood the way it ended, and what I had written.
I won't explain it any further, I'll let you decide.
My sponsor sure liked it.

Can I control the use of Drugs?
The only way that I can control the use of Drugs is by not using, and past performance shows that I will use again and again, and anything short of total abstinence is inadequate. Once I use a Drug, it will do exactly what it is designed to do, and moreover, it will affect me in ways I cannot control. I am likely to increase and continue my useage until my life again becomes so unmanageable, and my behavior so bad that once again, an outside influence (Jails, Institution Death) will have to step in. Drugs affect me in ways I cannot control.

We did not use drugs, drugs used us!
At first I did not quite get this one, but if you consider the countless hours spent chasing or waiting on drugs, the unsavory characters I befriended and placed my trust in to get drugs, and the places I went to placing my life and property in jeopardy I can say that indeed, drugs pushed me around. Drugs became the motivational factor in the better part of my life.
Truly, I handed my integrity over to Drugs, and did things that no one in their "right mind" would do.

The management of my life was interrupted several times by jails.
Even the times I was in jail for non-Drug charges, the charges were completely Drug related. It was the fact that drugs had made my life unmanageable that I was there for countless charges of Registration, Insurance, License and Vehicle Inspection charges. I would rather spend my money, resources and time on dope than to take care of my business.

I fully accept the fact that every attempt to stop using drugs failed.
If I had a dollar for every time I quit or said "this is the last time", I could buy a Marijuana Farm.
I stopped all right; long enough to justify using again; long enough to collect another paycheck so I could spend every last thin dime leftover (and more) on my next high; long enough to pay rent late.
I controlled my using so well I lost the trust of my wife, my inheritance, my home, my car, my friends. I was actually surprised and indignant when I lost my marriage, the respect of my kids and my will to do a days worth of work.
My sense of soul vanished like wood to smoke, beyond all repair, and as answer to what I had done to myself declared to all who would listen...
Man is not a Spiritual Being.

"The only way that I can control the use of Drugs is by not using..."
That is the first sentence I wrote, but by the end of this piece, I came to a conclusion that seemed to be a product of my subconscious and it rendered the first sentence moot.
That last sentence, in italics, just seemed to appear on the page and I didn't know what I had written until the next day. It leads directly to my next assignment, which I may post next week.


Spartacus by Denis Foyatier, 1830

I went to the Doctor yesterday for my check-up.
She says "Steve, you have done a fantastic job of getting you sugar levels under control. We've never seen anything like this before. How have you done it?"

I explained that I had been a Chef, and taken care of an old blind diabetic man, and that I had a girlfriend a long time ago who died from diabetes, and how I was an addict going to NA and that fit right in with what I was doing here, and how I didn't keep no Marshmallow cookies around no more, and ate a big breakfast everyday, and all about the Sisters of Mercy, and that maybe soon I wouldn't even have the Diabetes no more because thats just how things go for me, and everything I write about here at the Mailbox that ya'll read everyday sometimes...

And of course I told her all this in my own foolish laughing happy and wise style and when I got through she says...

"Steve, you are such a TRIP!!!"
"I am Spartacus!' I cried

Doctor said I was a Trip!
Thats a trip!

Thursday, February 05, 2009


Grizzbabe and E asked what I am eating these days to help control my Diabetes. Mainly I am just plain eating less, and one thing that has helped is to not keep things around that I am prone to binge on.

Ice Cream and Chocolate Marshmallow pinwheels are out. I buy Vanilla Wafers and those really lousy Hydrox cookies. The sheer lack of quality keeps my intake down to one or two.
I don't buy a whole gallon of milk, I just buy a half gallon and try to stretch it.
For a while, I didn't keep any bread products, because I can eat a half loaf and not even notice it. but I am back to having bread, and one thing I do is buy the most expensive loaf in the whole store, and the cost alone seems to inhibit my intake.
I am willing to bet this would work on other items as well, like juice and Yogurt and stuff.
I used to eat 4 serving of yogurt at a time.
All soda'a are diet. I use Splenda, which I will talk to my Dr. about today, as I keep hearing bad things about it.
These are all the usual things people do, I think, but I have two other things I have discovered.

If I get up and have a good breakfast, with Bacon and Eggs, a piece of toast and maybe a little Oatmeal, my appetite is greatly reduced for the rest of the day.

And I have completely rediscovered Vegetables! I use them in everything!
Brocooli and Yellow Squash, man I'd forgotten how good they are!
I take a can of Campbells Chunky soup and only use half the can with a whole bag of Frozen Stir-Fry Vegetables, I use the soup as a seasoning, and I get two meals out of it. Sometimes I'll put this Vegetable stew on top of half a baked potato.
Or I'll take a frozen pasta dish and add a bag of vegetables....Voila...two meals again.

Al these damn prepared foods have like 30% of your salt intake for the day, even the ones supposed to be healthy, and by cutting them in half with vegetables, we get around that problem.

Anyway, my glucose numbers are good, my diet is way better than before.
Still, I'm not losing any weight.
The only thing lacking is a little workin' out.
You know, Sexercise.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009


Took one of the Sisters of Mercy to Red Lobster last night. My daughter, the Water Baby works there.
Red Lobster was actually my first job, back in 1973. I went from Dishwasher to Fryman in three days. I absolutely loved it and that got me started towards being a Chef gfor the next 24 years.

Anyway, I owe E and Grizzbabe posts about how I've changed my diet and what I am eating these days.

Two hours after dinner last night (which was excellent, by the way) I found myself in front of the Refrigerator, hungry again. I pulled out the leftover Chinese from when the Credit lady came by and started to chow down.
Then it hit me.
I told myself
"Self, you just finished spending 60 Clams at the Red Lobster and now you are eating again?
Self, this is how it starts.
Self, the next thing will be that after polishing off this Mongolian Beef, you will wait 15 minutes and then be making yourself a little Fried Bologna Sandwich. After that you are out of control, Self, drinking Hot Chocolate and making S'mores.

So after two bites I put it back, and did not miss it at all when I made Pancakes this morning.


Her name was Debbie and she had 3 kids who by the Grace of God were not with her.
This happened yesterday, just down the street from me. (click here)
The reason I am postinng this tragedy is that I am starting to learn to pray again, and I invite anyone compelled to do so to pray for Debbie's family.
And the driver of the sand truck.
No, I did not know her.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009


My daughter, generally known in these parts as Water Baby, has an original poem of hers up.
Go take a look here...

"'A faerie who lies scoff' the gentry of fae
then how do I lie and I do, as I lay. "


A day late for Poetry Day...I heard I wasn't I am!
For Water Baby, my favorite faerie...

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.
w.b. yeats

And set to music by the incomparable
Loreena McKennet.

Monday, February 02, 2009


The call came during dinner.
“Mr. Bulletholes?”
“Mr. Bulletholes, I represent Portfolio Whatever and I am calling about your Capital One Account. According to our records, you owe $1000 and I am willing to work with you to get that amount down.”
“Who are you ?” I say, and she repeats the whole thing.
“But I don’t have a Capital One Account” says I.
‘So you claim you have never had a Capital One Visa Card?” She asks.
“Not that I recall, but never is a long time. When is this from?”
“This is from 1998”
“Oh, my!’ I exclaim ”That was a long time ago. I have no recollection of that account”

And its true…I do not recall having a Credit Card in 1998. I remember having a Divorce, a Foreclosure and a Bankruptcy that year. Somehow the notion that some idiot would extend to me a credit card at that point in my life has slipped my mind.

I tell her this and then she makes the request she and I go round and round on for the next 20 minutes.
‘Mr. Bulletholes, if you will give me the last 4 digits of your Social Security Card, I can verify this is your account.”
“Ma’am, I will not give you any portion of my Social Security number”
She does not understand why, and the argument ensues. I won’t bore you with the details but after a bit I think I have found a solution.
‘Ma’am, why don’t you tell me what the last four digits of my number are, and I will verify for you!”
She says “It doesn’t work that way.” And we argue some more.
So I say ‘Why don’t you send me something in the mail that will let me know you are a legitimate business, and allow me to respond in that manner?”
Again ‘It doesn’t work that way”
So I say “Well, we aren’t getting anywhere here are we?” and we begin to argue about my Soc. Sec. # again.
Finally I sense her exasperation and she says “Mr Bulletholes, you obviously are not going to be responsible and take care of this bill so I am terminating this call. Goodbye!”
There is silence on the line, I do not hear her hang up. After a time I say “Are you still there?”
“Why don’t you hang up?”
‘I’m waiting for you”
Well, I’m waiting for you”
“No, you hang up”
” No, you”

Its like I’m in the 2nd Grade all over again and we argue about the Social Security # again. She doesn’t understand that I am unwilling to give it to her.
She says again she is going to hang up and I wait. I sense that she is upset, even desperate.
She doesn’t hang up. This is baffling me now so I do what I do so well and ask a real simple question in a very kind voice.
‘Ma’am, why don’t you just hang up? Really, I want to know.”
She is hesitant and seems to be fighting back tears
“Because ... I…can’t!”
‘You can’t?”
‘No sir, we are on Auto-Dial and YOU have to hang up. I can’t”

Well, that does it for me. I just crack up and she laughs too. But hers is not a real laugh, it’s a laugh designed to make me her friend.
I say:
“So I could just set this phone down here and go back to watching my Ken Burns Civil War Tape? Its 12 hours long you know. Fascinating stuff, I could even turn it up for you and we could listen together. Did you know there were more than 600,000 Americans die in that War? Or that 'Dixie " was written by a Yankee? I’m in the part about the Monitor and the Merrimac right now. The Monitor had 52 patenable inventions created during its constuction. Can you imagine?"

She’s being quiet, and not laughing so I try another angle. I lower my voice and say

‘You know baby, I hate thinking I have you over a barrel right now but I have another idea….you sound kinda good to me, if you know what I mean, and I don’t know where you live but if you are legit you probably have my address. Maybe we could find a way to work this out over a little Chinese takee-outee or something. What say, babe?”

Long pause, then...
"Are you done now ?’ she asks.
"Yes, that ought to do it” and I hung up.