1976 - Chapter 13

  Becoming a teenager was interesting for me.  Having worked for Jim Fitzgerald at his auto body shop since I was ten years old, I had gotten used to the daily routine of getting myself up for school, out the door and to the bus on time, and keeping my grades in the solid A's and B's.  After school, I would rush home, eat a fast meal, and ride my bicycle 3 miles up the highway to Fitzgerald's.  I would be there by 4 o'clock p.m and often work until 9 or 10:p.m.  On Saturdays, Jim Fitzgerald would pick me up at 7:am and we would work until 5 o'clock.  We all ignored child labor laws because I never had a work permit; I wasn't even old enough to work until my fourth year there.  I just enjoyed the money I was saving, spending, and the work experience.  But there was another benefit at the time that was more important than the money, to a teenager; It got me out of the house.

  When you have an alcoholic father and a mother who is abusive both physically and mentally, there is great value in getting a job early to a kid like me. I was falling into a kind of "mental funk" in 1975 that some might describe as severe depression...whatever it was, it gradually left me at some point later in my life. My brother, Ron, I remember gave me some kind of Christmas gift in 1975...a plastic mold "SMILE."  He said that I'd been too sad lately...So, it was noticeable.  So, for my January birthday, which was often completely ignored and forgotten by my parents, they grabbed me in a very hostile manner from my bedroom when no other siblings were in the house.  They proceeded to sit me in a chair in the kitchen, then yell and scream in my face for over an hour about what a terrible person I was, about the music posters on my wall, and increased my room and board.  Happy birthday to me.  That was my whole birthday gift that year.  I was devastated.  Not because I got no other gift.  I had long gotten used to that, of course.  But, all I needed to get by in my depression was to be left alone, and these two, my parents, decided to take it personal...and very very wrong.

  This could three ways.  I could be driven to suicide...the most likely result, with parents like these.  But I believed at the time, and even now, that the best revenge is to live well, and outlive your enemy.  The second possibility was that I could go psycho and go on a killing rampage, turning my depression into an "I'll show YOU" kind of result; But I despise having to react negatively to negative parenting.  The third possibility is what I decided worked for me. I turned my heart into a stone toward those two adults, realizing that they one day have to answer for their sins.  But from a different perspective years later, knowing it was their demons they visited on me, as their parents who made them this way (as I would later discover many more horror stories of those people, also).

  From this day forward I paid my bills, I paid my mother her room and board...much more than she ever charged any of my older brothers.  In addition, I still had to bring home two bags of groceries each week.  Also, because my mother would get sick from moving her arms over her head, and my brother, Bill, somehow managed to avoid the job every week, I still had the chore of scrubbing the shower every week, after working 40 hours, going to school, and staying up all hours of the night to bring home honor roll grades.  Yes, I was quite a horrible teen. The worst.

  One saving grace was that in October of 1975, Saturday Night Live debuted with the best medicine for depression and escape from life that I could have asked for.  I never missed an episode.  Also, coming into his fame and changing my sense of humor forever would be, Steve Martin. These two influences may have helped save my teenage years from being a total disaster.  I'm even a little embarrassed to remember back that as my friends and I recall Steve Martin's appearance on SNL, that I actually stood on the school lunch table and yelled "I'm getting happy feet."  It was very much out of my normal character, but part of the new, happier me.

  My parents set me free that year.  I became completely independent of their influence, realizing that my work ethic, and future were in my own hands, and that on my 18th birthday, I would be moving out on my own. The clock was ticking and the next five years would prove to get more interesting.

Unknown Delight found in Champhai

I went to Champhai to meet, and engage Lalri Moitei Mawii. This was planned for months already, but specifically when was not.  Finally, as time and opportunity stared me in the face, I very quickly threw my passport, visa, some small gifts, and very few clothes into a suitcase...and with the help from my great sister and equally great bro-in-law on some mechanics of how and when to launch this journey...I set the trip into motion.
  What I found from the beginning is that it would be set with obstacles, and that it seemed these obstacles were only meant to test my fortitude. I became more calm with each one...truly against my old nature.
  First, the airline ticket I had found on Tuesday evening for Wednesday afternoon flight at a great price...had vanished by Wednesday morning as I called my bank to clear the large transaction on my credit card...vanished due to an earthquake in Indonesia as I slept.  Some variations and $250 later, and my actual ticket was secure for April 16th and 66 hours of flights and layovers, to be followed by 9 hours of jungle mountain blind curve driving to reach, in two hours, my first hotel, and the next morning the remaining driving to reach my destination at 3:30pm.
Thats a chunk of travel. 9,000 miles if you draw a straight line. I'm certain I did not travel the straight line route.
  The first person of interest that I met was on the flight from Mumbai (Bombay) to Kolkata (Calcuta). His name was Dhruv, and we were able to talk shop...steel furnaces. He speaks perfect english, and he clued me in to the fact that Gowahati Int'l and Domestic airports are at different locations, and my itinerary does not indicate the details I need to know.  He very graciously took me under wing...at the Kolkata break set up with his father that they would personally take me from the International to the Domestic airport on "their way home."
Dhruv's father offered his cell phone to call Moitei, which I quickly accepted, having no SIM card to function in this part of the world.  They dropped  me at the proper location, we exchanged contact info., and I was on my way to Lengpui Airport. Walking about 40 yards toward the building, I began to be accosted by locals looking to the American for spare Rupees, or to use "my taxi" instead of the other one; One taxi driver was even so bold, that 20 feet from the entrance to the airport building, he yelled at me "No entry there. Get in and I'll take you where you need to go." He seemed very upset when I told him that I was going in. It was at this moment when I heard my name being yelled...and running up to me with cell phone in hand, was Dhruv. Moitei had called back, and these exceptional people turned the car around to bring me their phone.
After a fast, but heartwarming important exchange, I hung up, thanked Dhruv profusely, and was again on my way into armed security at the entrance of the airport, and beyond.
  On the plane from Gowahati to Aizawl, I sat with a nun; She was the hard working kind in this part of the world, not the kind who sit back on their laurels.
She was a nice lady who seemed to tolerate my sense of humor, God bless her.
  It is worthy to note that although the vast majority of the Indian and Mizo people (Mizo are the tribal people in the independent Indian state of Mizoram, who have their own Mizo language, are 95% Christian, and have an Asian more than Indian appearance,) were more than pleasant if I made contact, and especially when I told them why I was travelling, or if they thought they could be of any assistance...yet, there is the smallest element of racism among the Indian and Mizo men...certain individuals who will smile at you on the surface, yet have every intention of denying you whenever possible.  As long as I used my gut and had my radar on, this was not a problem.  The one exception...when the muslim male flight attendant on the 9hour flight across from Mumbai to Gowahati was asked FOUR TIMES for a replacement headset because mine were completely useless - a common problem on these flights - he continued to apologize with a smile and say "OK"...but I never did get them in over four hours of waiting.
  Once I landed in Aizawl, it was apparent that I was the only foreigner traveling to this remote place.  Actually, the airport is in Lengpui, and the taxi ride would be another 3 hour twisting ride through the mountain jungle of what we knew as Burma in the 1960's. As I wandered aimlessly into this VERY small airport, I was finally spotted by a security guard, who spoke only enough english to determine that I needed to fill out the foreigner information document before moving out into freedom. This guard's name was about 15 letters long, but started with a Z...so, I call him "Z" for my own humor sake, and he seems to go along.  He is also chewing on the local Mizoram favorite, paan, a leaf which has slightly stronger properties than nicotine or caffeine, turns the tongue and gums red while you chew it, and it is normally rubbed with some sort of white paste for taste (I couldn't suss out what this was) and wrapped around a betelnut to complete the treat.  The Mizo chew this endlessly, it seems, and if you have none, just ask the next person...it's like a mint or stick of gum here.  Since Moitei's mom, Vani sells much of this paan, I thought I would make conversation with Z about it, and after inital embarrassment about his red teeth and gums, I explained how I know what little I know about it. This worked well, because then he wanted to loan me his cell phone to call Moitei, and Zara, who is my contact in Aizawl.  Zara spoke then to Z, who arranged the best taxi driver I have ever had; Fast, furious, and accurate through the mountain jungle terrain.
  I arrived at Zara's house, where I was taken in as family, made very comfortable, had tea, talked about myself and Moitei, my trip, and met Zara's sister, mother and father. After resting a bit, they called me a taxi to get to my hotel. Zara accompanied me to assure I was comfortable there, and also had me call Moitei again on his cell.  After I got settled there, Zara assured he would return to see me off in the taxi the next morning also.
  After about three hours of listening to music on my laptop, plugged into the electrical converter purchased specifically for this trip, the laptop went BLACK, and would be useless for the remainder of my trip. This was supposed to be my main communication instrument. I was uncharacteristically calm about it. I was in Aizawl, Mizoram, India. After a seven hour drive through the mountains tomorrow, I was FINALLY going to have my face to face with Moitei, and become engaged.  This trip was all about that, and no minor inconveniences were going to dampen my mood, especially after the 66 hours of flights I had just endured.
  The next morning, Wednesday, I was up before the rooster crowed (literally...in Mizoram, you hear the rooster at 4:30am this season of year) and showered. The Aizawl hotel had hot water for the shower...but not a drop to waste...I had to be very very fast. I was packed and ready, had breakfast and was having a four-cup pot of tea when Zara arrived as promised. We had tea as we waited for the taxi to arrive, and I was on the road on time.
  Moitei had her say in something very important...each time I had an extended taxi ride, she would ask to speak to the driver, or to Zara, or whoever on the trip seemed to be in charge. Like magic, I would have an english-speaking travel companion who was very gracious and friendly, and on our stops when we took food, would take me "under wing".  How beautiful a woman who would think of such detail for my comfort...but this is only one example of her selfless personality and care that she shows.  I took this as lucky chance at the time. Looking back, I pieced it all together, and realize that the odds of the ONLY ENGLISH SPEAKING traveler to sit beside me was very slim.
  After a few moments within picking up the last taxi fare as we start out, the taxi pulls over, and one person from the taxi prays for the journey.  This is a very Christian culture, and you can see it all over.  I was very comfortable with their living what they believe.  My own beliefs run similar. My own country is changing to make that very difficult to live...can you imagine if you asked a taxi of mixed company to pull over to pray before a three-hour journey? The Leftists would be all over that. But I digress. After several hours, we stopped in a town hotel/restaurant for food.  I found it very difficult to pay for food on these stops. We sit...the owner starts bringing you food...hard boiled eggs, rice, salt, cumin and turmeric flavored chicken mizo dish, sweet pastries, egg rolls, and juice, water, tea (usually LOTS of milk and sugar already) and the occassional Coke. When it came time for the paying, I was quick enough...but they don't bring a bill...someone from the party approaches the hostess and tells what we ate.  But the person would never tell me...always telling me, "you're my guest", or "don't worry about it". I was forced to learn to be gracious, having no choice.
  One thing I left with some of the Mizo...they seemed intent on completely crushing the eggshell to remove it. My method has always been the disect method, wherein you break a fine line around the perimeter, remove the large end first, then the small end...two pieces. After watching me, they thought they might adopt the "Ohio" method, as I dubbed it.  The Mizo are fun. They have a great sense of humor, always seem to be smiling if you greet them, and ready to help each other as a community, and as Christians. I found them to be a warm and generous, beautiful tribal people. Thank God they are so remote. The rest of the world has not infected them too bad.
  As the taxi stopped at my destination in Champhai, I forgot all my goodbyes, I forgot about looking for the crazy traffic that could run me down as I exited the taxi, I forgot about my luggage and paying my fee to the driver...I looked to the left and saw Moitei sitting in a beautiful green and white top at the front of the hotel restaurant, waiting for me, and as she saw me too, she said, " Oh my God."  She, to me, was the only person who existed at that moment.  We hugged in the street as she came down to meet me, and she then reminded me that people were waiting on me, and to pay the driver.  The hotel boy, Tattoo, had already taken my luggage , and headed to my room.
  But, my lovely Moitei was so much more beautiful than all our Skype videos had allowed me to capture.  This woman was, by God's plan, set aside for me all her life, and here we are.  Her nature, her spirit is such that she calms me by her presence.  As excited as I am to finally see her, I am also finally calmed to be with her...she really is the woman in person who she was online, and more.
  My time in Champhai from then went very quickly.  The only thing that I can say I truly cannot do without long term, if I were to ever move to this lovely remote haven, is hot showers.  I would have to bring my own 40 gallon propane powered hot water heater...not electric...because the electrical supply is totally unreliable and overworked. All else is totally tolerable, and I learned quickly to love it.
  The best of Champhai, are the people, and their nature, and willingness to be friendly.  Not only to you. That would be insincere...although I felt completely warmly taken in by everyone I met; Everyone wanted a picture with me, and I felt humbled, because it was I who wanted the pictures...these beautiful people were gracious enough to invite me to their homes, and be so friendly.
 
 
 

Brain Babies Have An Angry Kick

Up from the ashes, after enduring a pattern of migraines for five of the last seven days, I'm hoping the pattern is once again broken. My best friend and I keep my sense of humor during these horror pains by referring to them as "brain baby kicking", borrowed from a favorite superhero. It's a great way through pain, laughter. I've used it since I was seven years old, and shredded face and four limbs in a bicycle accident that took two months for exterior recovery, a year for the severe concussion to fully heal, and may be the culprit for my early retirement predicament I find myself in, according to the neurology team of the Cleveland Clinic. With four brothers, you are guaranteed that you BETTER learn to laugh at yourself or you become MUD forever. So laughs ensued, some at my expense, most to my healing benefit, which lasts to this day.

How's this, Champion? Two, count 'em, two paragraphs. He's growing into a scholar. Anyway, as I reflect on the pressure that brought on the tension that helped bring on the mass of pain, I paid another months mortgage (yay), but left our bank account on zero. That's good, considering that times are harsh, and we just narrowly avoided a late fee...again. So, no complaints. Many people have it far worse, right? Right. Here's the thing. Pay attention now, it gets wiggy.

On Saturday, my wife suggests that we treat ourselves to our favorite Chinese restaurant take-home for supper. I compliment her great idea, because it is at this time of year, and after her payday, as this was, that we generally do this, having sacrificed for an awful long time. However, I am quick to ease her into the reality that we are broke, and have food in our kitchen...also, a fortunate situation that could be far worse, and may be soon, but not today. She seems to immediately and surprisingly comprehend that the bank account is near $0 and that our mortgage is good for another two weeks. We cook and have a great supper. Zoom ahead to Monday, today, Jan.17th...two days have passed. It's Martin Luther King Day, a bank holiday. My wife decides that half a tank of gas in her car will not get her to work, a mile away, and fills up her car with HER BANK CARD. Apparently this magic card takes money from some far away magic place that has no bearing on our zero bank account. She proudly presents the $36 receipt to me when she gets home (a marked improvement from the usual 'surprise' I normally would have to find out on my own,) and the party ensues!
I repeat to her that which I said about our account being zero on Saturday, to which Lucy replies "But Ricky, you didn't say I couldn't use my card!" At least that's how I remember it. So you see, that is why we laugh. We cannot wait until the pain is gone, until things are better, until we're understood...because that may never come. Then we will have missed out on a lot of great relief. It is. We don't go bobsledding enough.

January 10th 1922 - Ireland's Geo.Washington - Arthur Griffith is elected

Why should we care? I'll tell you. Anyone worth their salt has read about the details of our beginnings, including the personality conflicts, and opinion differences of our Founding Fathers, and how they came to a peaceable common goal to bring Revolution to form a more perfect union. "The Real George Washington" is a book I highly recommend for that subject. Arthur Griffith did not serve long as The Irish Free-State President (later to grow into The Republic of Ireland.) He died from overwork...that's on his official certificate of death. Why he is worth mentioning is both what he accomplished prior, and how the Republic revolution played out compared to ours just as Pres.Griffith was dying. Arthur Griffith was the founder of Sinn Fein, a Republican political party which means "We Ourselves". He was among a group of Founding Fathers who put a vote out into the 36 counties in 1911 asking the Irish population if they chose independence, and if they were willing to fight for it. The results, of course, were overwhelming to overthrow the British, with a close vote only in the upper NE state known as Ulster. Still, it was only close, and not against the rest. We know Ulster these days as Northern Ireland. So began negotiations by Sinn Fein, which Griffith had already formed to represent such views in 1905. British snooty negotiations are notoriously slow, and WWI brought slow to a standstill. Thus, the notorious Easter Uprising of 1916 which is the hallmark of the Irish Revolution. Many of the original Forefathers were summarily executed by the British, with only a handful surviving by various odd circumstances. Griffith was arrested after the Uprising, even though he took no part in it. With the threat of Britain conscripting the Irish for WWI, Sinn Fein, holding a political majority, established an Irish Parliament, Dail Eireann, and quickly moved to declare Irish Independence. At this, of course, the British balked, which brought on the need for the Irish Volunteer Force in 1919, later to be known as the Irish Republican Army, or IRA. I ask why this group is on the US terrorist list, when their only target remains British occupying forces to this day in Northern Ireland? Thats a blog for another day. Our Revolutionary Army were certainly not liked by the British either, were they? Anyway, When it became clear over the two years of activity of the IRA that the British were beaten, not only on Irish soil, but on their own, if they didn't give Ireland independence, the Dail sent Eamon deValera to sign a peace accord, and gain a signature for the Independent Republic of Ireland's 32 counties. The British hadn't been beaten so badly since the American Revolution, and NEVER so quickly and completely. The signatures were certain. It was only a matter of a short trip. But. In 1920 President deValera went to the US to meet with President Wilson and get recognition for the Irish Republic. Wilson, being a huge Socialist Liberal Democrat may have never read about the origins of OUR country and what it takes. So, he had no mercy on deValera and the Irish people, and sent him packing. This may have had a horrible ripple effect through the next 90 years, because when Eamon de Valera walked into that meeting with the winning hand, that previous cut must have started to ache. He gave away Ulster, and the populace that voted for independence that still lives there. People mistake that for a Protestant - Catholic thing. rest assured, that is a British spin cover so that they don't have to take blame for being where they have no business. If they left...just packed up and left, peace would be automatic, and the Republic already has utilities in place to absorb Ulster into the union seamlessly. That's why we should care about Arthur Griffith. Not all revolutions go like ours. We were blessed. Other countries accepted our independence...not like Wilson did to the Irish. By the way...there were 10 million Irish in 1840. By the time the British had burned out, murdered, and pursued the mass population to the small portion of the southwest corner of the island, the Plague had engulfed Europe, and the food shortage was starving millions. THAT is the key to what the British want with Ireland. No one in Europe wanted potatoes, they were considered poison and at best tasteless and poor people food...so as the British troops burned, murdered, and pursued the population, they loaded ships with every scrap of Irish food and took all to England. History writes that the potato famine forced the Irish to the US in the 1840's. There's a little truth in every lie. The Irish were only allowed to eat potatoes...the rest of the food was shipped to England.  History leaves that out. After the British designed "potato famine" 5 million Irish were gone. That's called genocide, and when Hitler did it to 10million Jews they got a country. History writes the number at 2.5 million and true, many ran off to other countries, but they were refugees from the British policy, not the potato famine. And the true number is 5 million. Now...the whole point of this piece today? It's the history that we DON'T know that is important, to verify, and put into perspective the history that we THINK we know. When WE have made ripples in our historical waters...really every day, good, or bad, big, or small...who writes the changes in? That's what makes me write. Genocide is not a little two year potato famine. A two and-a-half year financial struggle for Social Security Disability is not just "red tape." It is two denials by two different self-righteous beaurocrats who never laid an eye on me during a puking blind migraine, or hemaplegic migraine attack, or at any time actually. Will these beaurocrats continue on my tax money, being paid year after year, only to retire with nice health benefits and a 401k? Or will they come up missing never to be found, and with no clues? History is a funny thing, and how it is written, and who gets to write it. It's too bad Arthur Griffith didn't get the chance to get those signatures instead of de Valera. How much more peaceful would a 36 county Irish Republic be.

Our Collateral Effects

Taking care of business. Yes, it's BTO day, but it fits with the feeling of what I want to address with this piece today. I have a positive feeling after over two years of strained finances, failing health, and all the peripheral damage that comes with it, including strain on family and friends (thank you all), and I have that positivity due to the continued support of each one of these. In a recent post I said that 2011 is my year and God save any one who gets in my way. There's more than one reason for that. My dad passed away six years ago. Although we, his kids love and miss him, and remember him for fond memories, it is a true mystery how he did it. How did he get through his life with two houses, one wife, and seven successful, respectable kids...really, quite a great life for a guy who really never had a clue as I look back on it now. I can only say that because I still hold him in the highest reverence, because he really did, and still does hold my respect, despite making tremendous mistakes in life. But he was no quitter. And THAT is what I'm trying to get at. Forgetting his mistakes for the purpose of this, they don't matter. But even with everything else, this man had a lifetime of mountains to climb, with no reason to think he could succeed, and no gear, and he just kept taking care of business, every day. He had no easy childhood, which I'll leave vague. In addition, he lived through the Depression, and Prohibition, which employed my grandda as a rum runner...I'm told, the only work he could find at the time. I know my dad was in the Army for a while. He worked on the railroad. He drove truck quite a while. He worked more than one job at a time more than once, at gas stations, factories, motels, cooking (he was a great short order cook), and I'm sure some I never knew about. He and my mother started their family with my oldest brother born in 1954, and my dad smoked, drank heavily, and never stopped working. I grew up watching his work ethic and his respect for showing up every day to his job, for paying his bills, and NEVER did we know when my parents were having money issues. Of COURSE he made the price of food the topic at dinner...he had five sons to deter from raiding his pantry while he worked all day! Lets say that's the reason. Anyway, they went on to have two more girls, the last in 1979. By this time, my dad had stopped drinking, and started rescuing other alcoholics, which he was quite good at, even proud of, although pride isn't really the right word for this man. He was now working all day, and taking care of business several nights a week at AA. This man would freak out at the paperboy in the 1960's if he rode his bicycle into our patio...after having been repeatedly told, of course. But was the kindest man to a person in need you would ever meet. If you took only this man's flaws, he would never pass any test, as any of us. But, put his nature together, his actions, reactions, tests and horrors, history and amazing feats, and he just kept going. Step by step. Day after day. Always a surprise to me, always respected by me, to the very end. His collateral effects on me have only now become apparent, and only because my best friend asked how I've done it...that is, gotten through the past two years and kept my sense of humor and sanity (we assume.) Never have I given it a second thought. I've just always trudged through every hard time with shoulders firm and feet set, and my will set on auto-pilot. Well, it turns out that my dads collateral effects have been my well invested inheritence for a long, long time. I am not exactly like my dad, but the taking care of business gene has certainly embedded itself deeply and surely into my DNA strand. I never thanked him for that. Thanks Dad.

Our Colors Were Born on January 4th 1796

Our Founding Fathers of this great and unique country, contrary to what the current president openly has said about it, took great pains...we could call them labor pains...to carefully choose the colors and design of the flag, just as they had the Constitution and Bill of Rights. They chose the colors from the French Republic flag, for whose government they had close ties with. In fact, the French Revolution waged in 1789 utilized bloody techniques that tested the resolve of our founding fathers to remain allies of the French. The two political parties at the time, the Federalists headed by George Washington, and the Democratic-Republicans headed by Thomas Jefferson, were split dramatically on this matter, and it was no small thing. These same men who pulled it together enough to form The Declaration of Independence, the Constitution with the Bill of Rights that still stands today as one of the finest documents still to rule any free country, and the Continental Congress...yet, they were drastically split on foreign policy.  As devastating and infuriating as the current liberal socialist agenda is, I have forgotten that his reign of terror is limited to four years, and that our brilliant form of government cushens us from too much of a bad thing.  History reads like an unbelievably good book of horrible presidents. Yet, we survived to tell about it. It's a most positive badge we wear as a country, that such polar opposite citizens can take turns governing this huge super-power country and perform a changing of the guard in an orderly fashion for nearly 230 years. For two years I've lost sight of this fact and been genuinely concerned that this country wouldn't survive this clown in the Whitehouse. Being an avid history buff, I should have known there was previous similar history, although I'm certain not as radically socialist. So...to wrap up...the Red, White, and Blue started with Revolution, tough debate with deep differences, and those differences have never stopped. It's the debate that has kept us strong, and the original documents that we use to back them up, and that we stand on, that make even these low ebbs worth sticking around. As long as we remember to keep citizens rights with our citizens, and we remember the first word in illegal immigrant is ILLEGAL, thereby voiding any and all rights. then all will be well...again...soon...in two years. Maybe I'll run for president. My platform? Close all but one, small federal prison. Two cells. Thunderdome. Two go in, one comes out. No need for a third cell, ever. Vote for me. Also, move tax day to the day before election day. God Bless us, every one.

Mon Jan 3rd - Business As Usual - Customer Service Is NonExistent

Today began the new business year.  My fresh outlook on what has been undeniably a health and economic trial by fire year called 2010, was tested already this day, but not shaken.  A new pain medication I started in December was up for refill, the first I have had to pay any out of pocket, my doctor being very sympathetic to my drug costs and financial circumstances.  I dropped off this and another pain med refill off, and was told the wait for pick-up was 1hr to 1hr-15minutes.  Quite a long wait, but I was told this was typical for this day of the year. OK. I didn't fuss. Of course, I knew that if I would have gone to my regular "ma'n'pa" pharmacy, I would have sat for 5 or 10 minutes while they filled my order while I waited. When I leave, they all yell "thanks, John!" For reasons I won't go into, I used this large chain parmX today. I hate to. I hate to shop at any chain store. No business where you don't deal with the family knows what customer service is anymore. Great Scot hands you your groceries and says "there ya go" never thank you. Krogers, Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Circle-K, CVS, any Fremont or Northern Ohio business I visit I have noticed, that they have the attitude that they are doing YOU a favor to serve you, and you're very fortunate to be verbally acknowledged at ALL. Often the whole transaction takes place with no exchange of words. I feel like I've interrupted a bad day with "Shaniqua's" baby daddy. Sorry to bother you...geez. Why is the economy so bad? If you're a retail business owner, look at your customer service. I'm not kidding. I regularly pay higher prices at my ma'n'pa parmX because they cannot compete with the chain whores, but they DO give customer service. When I walk in it drives my wife crazy (who is a big chain store supporter for price sake) because it's like Cheers when Norm walks in..."Norm!"...but I'm hobbling into the pharmX and it's "Hi, John!" everytime, without fail.  Back to real time and the chain whore 75minute wait for two pain med refills. I actually left the store to accomplish other things, including take my daughter to a meeting, drop videos at the library, and grab a bite to eat. I returned 10minutes AFTER the 75minute estimate wait time, waited another 10minutes in line, only to be told that the prescriptions weren't ready! "Give me another 5minutes" she says. I informed her that I have to be somewhere, and please hurry, and I move to the side. My daughter will now be picked up late, in the dark, and in the cold. The pharmX worker takes the next guy in line, and that takes about 6minutes. Of COURSE there is only one functioning worker tending this counter on this busy day, which I have already been told is typical for this day of the year...are you catching my drift? This ace then proceeds to call the next person in line to the counter.  At this point it might be important to mention that my lungs were strengthened by award-winning Sousaphone playing in school. It stays with me. I let it be known at this point that I was still waiting in that 60 to 75 minute prescription that was now going on 2hours and I had somewhere to be. I know..."me,me,me." Well this is the year of ME AND VINNIE and God be with anyone who gets in our way. You got a problem with that? You're in my sights Obama and minions!

New Year's Day

All is quiet on New Year's Day. A world in white gets underway...wait. Sorry, that's U2, and it's 52 degrees and raining here in northern Ohio this year. It is quiet, though. Almost too quiet. Like Charlie is out there waiting to make his move. Ah, it's good weather for Charlie. Alright, back on topic, that being New Year's Day. I have never been one to share my opinion unless my chain was rattled, or someone actually asked, which is rare, understandably. I have a tendency to (as my daughter tells me) give waaay more detailed and usually researched information than the answer requires. This is not completely my fault. It is my observation that people do not respond with an aknowledgment of understanding at any point throughout my answer, thus leading to an extended detailed explanation until I receive the required acknowledgment. Breathe. Anyway...my best friend for many years thinks it a good idea for me to blog. It's something that, until today, I was SURE I would NEVER do. That is why he became my best friend. First of all, his point. He thinks my words might inspire him or someone else. I warned him that I can be extremely sharp-tongued, even offensive, and down-right opinionated, and I make no apologies for it. That is why I have been sure I would never blog, and others would share my enthusiasm for my silence. Yet, he started a blog himself, and with a short blog of his on how I (almost anonymously) inspired him, he inspired me enough to try this. Now back to my point. Why he became my best friend. We are polar opposites. At least we started that way. As years go by, of course, I think we, like people start to look like their pets, begin to morph our behaviors, some by nature, some by need. In the mid-90's when we both were moonlighting a second job at a busy convenience store on the night shift, his handling of a black racist woman wih humor was the night I decided that this fast talking wirey psych-type might just be the side-kick Ying that my analytical black and white Yang personality needs. This woman had, for years tried to make our lives hell with her attitude, and I can say I have a clear hatred for such people, who refuse to live in peace. She would later be fired TWICE from a local nursing home for the typical stealing/misuse of resources one would expect of someone who thinks that they are "entitled" to everything. She just made me angry, but he actually made me laugh at his handling of her. She just got more irritated, and he didn't even care. He called her out. I still made no move to friendship. He and his wife did. Fate and distance have tested our friendship over these years, but the rest as they say, is history. I'll finish with this. Birds of a feather flock together, as the saying goes. But then those birds may all fly into a jet engine together. I encourage anyone seeking a true friend to look for a COMPLEMENT to your self, not yourself;  A Honeycut to your Hawkeye, a Lennon to your McCartney, an Arthur to your Tick.