My post yesterday turned into something unexpected for me. I sat with my better-half last night and went through the fifteen questions. I had fairly reasonable answers for most of the questions and the discussion was fun and informative. I was surprised by some of her answers, and she was just as surprised about some of mine. One question in particular I had a difficult time answering because I had to give it some serious thought. The question was “What person do you admire most?” I finally came up with my answer later in the evening, the individual that I admired most was my maternal grandfather.
Most of my early life from ages five through twelve required me to spend a great deal of time with my grandfather and he was a great role model. He worked an absolutely horrible job for US Steel in a Pittsburgh area steel mill which eventually was responsible for his death. He spent more than thirty years being lowered into recently emptied hot steel molds. He had no safety equipment for the most part and was lowered into hundred plus degree molds on a bosun’s chair. He then used a grinder to clear slag from the mold so it could be reused. He worked hard his whole life, took care of his family, was brutally honest in his dealings with everyone, and he passed all of his work ethic and honesty directly to me. That’s a gift that I’ve been using for more than sixty-five years, and I wish he was still around so I could thank him for it.
Here’s a picture taken of him in the early 1940’s.
I certainly hope some of you take the time for some self-reflection and that these lists I’ll be posting over the next few months are the perfect tool to help get the conversations started. Not only will you get to know your partner or spouse better, but they will also get to know you as well.
It is better to make a mistake with full force of your being than to carefully avoid mistakes with a trembling spirit. Socrates
I really want to break away from all of the Christmas hoopla for a few days. This post will not be about trivia but questions to help determine your values, your beliefs, and your life; love, money, sex, integrity, generosity, pride and death are all included. I’m going to supply you with fifteen questions (the first of thirteen installments) and these questions could help you to understand yourself a little better. I honestly think that doing it with a spouse or partner would be particularly interesting because of the conversations that would follow. Let’s get started . . .
For a person you love deeply, would you be willing to move to a distant country knowing there would be little chance of seeing your family or friends again?
Do you believe in ghosts or evil spirits? Would you be willing to spend the night alone in a remote house that is supposedly haunted?
If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having called someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?
If you could spend one year in perfect happiness but afterword would remember nothing of the experience, would you do so? If not, why not?
If a new medicine were developed that would cure arthritis but cause a fatal reaction in 1% of those who took it, would you want it to be released to the public?
Falling down is not a failure. Failure comes when you stay where you have fallen. Socrates
You discover your wonderful one-year-old child is, because of a mix-up at the hospital, not yours. Would you want to exchange the child to try to correct the mistake?
Do you think that the world will be a better place or a worse place 100 years from now?
Would you rather be a member of a world championship sports team or be the champion of an individual sport? Which sport would you choose?
Would you accept $1 million to leave the country and never set foot in it again?
Which sex do you think has it easier in our culture? Have you ever wished you were of the opposite sex?
The secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less. Socrates
You are given the power to kill people simply by thinking of their deaths and twice repeating the word “goodbye”. People would die a natural death, and no one would suspect you. Are there any situations in which you would use this power?
If you are able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the body or the mind of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?
What would constitute a “perfect” evening for you?
Would you rather be extremely successful professionally and have a tolerable yet unexciting private life, or have an extremely happy private life and only a tolerable and uninspiring professional life?
Whom do you admire most? In what way does that person inspire you?
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More installments will follow. Pour some wine and enjoy the discussion.
As I’m sure you all know, people love beer. With the holidays coming up I assume that all of you beer fanatics out there will be hoisting a few cold ones while watching many of your favorite football games. I’m not a beer person but I’m sure if you consume enough it will make for an even happier holiday season. I understand it also helps, if done properly, to “zone out” all of the miscellaneous holiday conversations you would normally be required to respond to. I’ve been told many times by friends and acquaintances alike that “beer is better than women”. This posting was sent to me by a friend, but it should be read primarily by the men. I’m sure a few beer drinking women will be up in arms over this post but please don’t kill the messenger. I’m just forwarding this along to the men out there who will be in need of some comic relief in the coming months.
WHY BEER IS BETTER THAN WOMEN
You can enjoy a beer all month long.
You don’t have to wine and dine a beer.
When beer goes flat, you toss it out.
Beer is never late.
A beer doesn’t get jealous when you grab another beer.
When you go to a bar, you can always pick up a beer.
Beer never has a headache.
A beer won’t get upset if you come home with beer on your breath.
If you pour beer right, you’ll always get good head.
A beer always goes down easy.
A beer is always wet.
A frigid beer is a good beer.
You don’t have to wash a beer before it tastes good.
Beer doesn’t care when you come.
You always know if you’re the first one pop a beer.
Hell, I think I’m having a beer induced epiphany. After reading all of this interesting information I just might have to try a beer or two over the holidays. I never realized just how much better beer was than women until I read this list. As an aside ladies, if you think this list was misleading or untrue, I welcome any contributions from all of you as to why beer is better than men.
This is a favorite post that I pull out once a year because it takes me back to a time when Christmas was still something special for a young kid. This is one of those incidents that stays with you for your entire life and the older you get the funnier it seems. At the time I wasn’t laughing all that much, but the prank was done with the best of intentions by my favorite aunt. Enjoy!
As a young child my parents made every attempt to make Christmas as memorable as possible for my sister and for me. I was almost 6 years old when this incident took place back when I still firmly believed the tales of Santa and his elves and all that good stuff. But in the back of my young mind, I secretly was beginning to have doubts. A lot of what I was being told by the family wasn’t what I was hearing on the playground. My friends had almost convinced me there was no Santa and that my parents were actually the real gift givers. My parents apparently began to suspect that I was wavering, and their propaganda was falling on deaf ears. In a conspiracy involving my mother’s sister, Annamae, they decided drastic action was needed. I’d been acting out and being a little disrespectful, so it was time for Santa to straighten me out.
It was about a week before Christmas, and we were visiting my grandparents. I was being a huge pain in the butt like a lot of six-year-olds can be. It was just after dark, and I was walking through the house to the kitchen. As I passed by a window in the hallway I glanced over and almost crapped my pants. There was Santa standing there staring right back at me and smiling. I was terrified and quickly ran upstairs and hid under the bed and refused to come out until the coast was clear. My parents let me know in no uncertain terms that Santa was out looking for those children who were being good and only visiting those that weren’t.
For the next day or so I was a perfect little angel but after dark I was afraid to look out the windows or to enter a dark room. Santa the terrorist had accomplished his mission. I saw him on two or three other occasions during the next few years, once at our home, and again in the cellar of my grandparents’ house. Unfortunately, I was already a nonbeliever by that time but went along with the charade to keep peace in the family and not to scare my little sister. By then I knew my parents were the ones I needed to suck up to and I did it in grand fashion.
Many years later while I was digging through a trunk in my aunt’s bedroom I discovered where Santa had been hiding for all these years. His retirement consisted of being hidden under a pile of sheets and pillowcases in an old trunk. My aunt laughed like crazy when I confronted her, and we both enjoyed the moment very much while I modeled the hat and beard one last time. It was a real Hallmark moment for both of us.
What I never told her, or my parents was that there was some lingering collateral damage from their actions. My first case of Christmas PTSD. To this day during the Christmas season, I’m careful in dark rooms and try never to look out the windows after sunset. In the malls or stores where Santas is holding court, I usually just walk on by without making eye contact. The guy still scares the bejesus out of me. LOL
I’m already getting a little bored with Christmas so here’s my change of pace. Mish Mosh is always interesting and it will help to get me out of this holly, jolly, mindset I’ve fallen into. Weird and strange facts which someone (maybe even you) will find interesting.
Women tend to shave approximately 412 square inches of their bodies, while men shave only 48.
Tap water in New York City is considered non-kosher, as it has been found to contain microorganisms that qualify as shellfish.
December is the most common month for children to be conceived.
Fingerprints are unique to each individual, of course, but the same goes for tongue prints and lip prints.
A pound of peanut butter is made up of 720 peanuts.
During his nine-year reign as pope (beginning in 955), John XII was charged with multiple sexual acts and toasting the devil with wine. He was allegedly killed by a jealous husband.
Confederate volunteers in the Civil War were paid $11 per month in 1861. Their pay was increased to $18 per month by 1864, but by then the currency was almost worthless.
As General George Patton crossed a bridge over the Rhine River into Germany during World War II, he stopped in the middle and urinated into the river.
The working title of the Beatles hit “With a Little Help from My Friends” was “Bad Finger Boogie”
The human heart produces enough pressure to squirt blood more than 30 feet.
I already feel better since ridding my brain of all this holiday insanity, if only for just a few minutes. I’m afraid that I’ll be back at posting about the holidays and Santa and reindeer and mistletoe and snow and Christmas cards and OMG please stop me now.
Christmas has always been a season of giving from the Salvation Army Santa’s to Soup Kitchens, and the efforts of almost every religious group I can think of. I was curious about the generosity of previous generations but not only for the Christmas Season but generosity in general. So, here are a few samples of it from the past that have been long forgotten.
John D Rockefeller made his first contribution to a philanthropic cause at the age of 16, which was in 1855. By the time he died, 82 years later, the oil magnate had given away $531,326,842.
Ernest Hemingway gave to The Shrine of the Virgin in eastern Cuba, where he lived, Nobel Prize money he had won for the novel The Old Man and the Sea. “You don’t,” he said, “ever have a thing until you give it away.”
When he learned, in 1905, that one of his company’s batteries was defective, Thomas Alva Edison offered to refund all buyers. From his own pocket he returned $1 million.
About $330 million was donated by Andrew Carnegie to libraries, research projects, and world peace endeavors.
Gerrit Smith, a trader of Dutch descent, made available 120,000 acres of Adirondack wilderness to runaway slaves – a noble experiment with the help of his son, who was a professional reformer active in the Underground Railroad.
To help raise funds for the starving poor of Berlin, Albert Einstein in 1930 sold his autograph for three dollars for a signature and autographed photographs for five dollars each.
In his will, Tadeusz Kosciuszko, the Polish patriot who fought in Washington’s army in the American Revolution, specified that the US land tracts he had received should be sold and the money from the sales be used to purchase the freedom of black slaves.
From his own pocket, Superintendent of Finance, Robert Morris, met the American army’s demobilization pay in 1783. He was later thrown into the debtor’s prison, financially ruined in land speculation.
The Swiss philanthropist Henri Dunant devoted so much of his money and his energy to the establishment of the Red Cross that his textile business failed, and he became penniless. He was a cowinner of the first Nobel Peace Prize, in 1901, and left all of the prize money to charities, not to his family.
After reading all of these examples it just proves to me that generosity has always been around but in many cases, never acknowledged. It’s nice to know there’s a certain percentage of the population willing to make pesonal sacrifices to help others. That’s a Christmas wish if there ever was one.
Continuing the Christmas theme for this week, here are a group of Christmas limericks collected from far and wide places. I hope they put a holiday grin on your face.
I thought I would continue my Christmas craziness today with a description of my better-half’s last two weeks of Christmas preparation. I’m not a huge Christmas person but my better half is the poster girl for Christmas insanity. It all started approximately two and a half weeks ago when she began unloading the attic with a never-ending pile of boxes containing thirty years of Christmas paraphernalia. It’s not that she wanted to use all of that stuff to decorate the house but the more she looks through those boxes the more decorations magically begin to appear everywhere. I may lose my every so merry mind. There are wreaths on the front door, garage doors, across the deck which is also strung with yards and yards of tinsel and lights. I think I now have one of the largest collections of extension cords in this part of Maine. I’m so proud!
I need a short break from all this holiday cheer. Try to answer these five Christmas movie trivia questions. Are you a serious elf or just a poser? I’ll list the answers at the end.
In “A Christmas Story”, who gifts Ralphie a pink bunny onesie for Christmas?
In “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”, what is the name of the Grinch’s dog?
In “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”, how many lights are on the Griswold house?
In “The Nightmare Before Christmas”, what does Jack Skellington call Santa?
What is the highest-grossing Christmas movie of all time?
This is what my elf wants our house to eventually look like.
Let me say again that of this morning fully fifty percent of every surface in the house has something Christmassy on it. All the windows are decorated, small statuettes of every Christmas figure you could possibly think of are sitting on every piece of furniture within my field of vision. Help! I’m being held prisoner in Santas southern vacation home, and I can’t escape. There’s only one elf living here, and she is out-of-control. I’m reasonably sure if I stood still for more than five minutes, I’d have yards of tinsel hanging from my body with an appropriate number of silly little ornaments and bells attached. If I stood still for a full ten minutes, I guarantee she’d find a way to have flashing lights wrapped around me and twinkling “Oh So Merrily”. My only refuge from the Christmas madness is my man-cave. She has yet to visit there and I’m guarding the door to keep her out. Three more weeks of this and I’ll probably make the nightly news. I’ll be the guy dressed like Santa Clause threating to jump off the nearest bridge in Portland, Maine, “Film at Eleven!” Oh yeah . . . here are your trivia answers. How did you do?
Answers: Aunt Clara, Max, 25,000, Sandy Claws, Home Alone
I’m not sure how everyone else was raised to celebrate Christmas but for me it entailed much more religion than anything else. My late Mother was Catholic through-and-through which translated into sending religious Christmas cards, attending midnight masses, and donating time to local organizations involved with decorating town areas. Being a kid, I was unceremoniously volunteered to help with almost everything she did whether I liked it or not.
As we age things tend to change a little and my approach to Christmas certainly did. I was never all that interested in the religious portion of Christmas, but I went begrudgingly along just to please my mom until I reached the ripe old age of 13. Then I became what some people might call, difficult. I must have been way ahead of my time if what I’ve learned in recent years is any indication.
A few years ago, my three-year-old grandson came to make his annual Christmas visit. It was the first time he’d actually seen our decorated tree and all the trimmings. We’d been very busy wrapping gifts and there was a pile of them under the tree. I was sitting on the floor next to him when he quietly whispered to me “Are those our prizes?” I told him they were presents for everyone brought here a little early by a busy Santa. He gave me a long sideways glance while he thought about what I’d said. He must have decided Santa was still a real possibility, so the conversation turned right back around to the presents under the tree. I was again corrected by the little guy with “Grandpa those are prizes not presents” and “can we open just one.” I told him they couldn’t be opened until Christmas day but he insisted one of them had to be for him so we should open that one right now. Being chastised by a three-year-old takes some getting used to but I persevered and again refused his request.
Gifts and Presents are Really Prizes
My first thought was who put the word “prize” into his head. Neither my better-half nor I would do it and I’m certain his parents wouldn’t do it either. That leaves just his friends at the daycare center that he attends almost every day. That small herd of little people who have nothing better to do all day than to play, fight, wrestle, nap, and tell each other the facts of life as translated from what they’ve heard at home. Somewhere along the way someone slipped in the word “prizes”, and it seems to have stuck.
There was no mention of Jesus, his birthday, the Magi, church or religion. It’s taken less than two generations to wean the kids from religion at Christmas to a more secular and materialistic outlook. I suppose in another few years we’ll be calling Christmas “Prize Day”. If you’re a good little boy/girl, you win a prize but if you’re a bad little girl/boy you’ll get one anyway. We wouldn’t want you to feel like a loser.
Having Christmas as a religious holiday gave me a fun and interesting childhood. It’s sad to see society steal away some of the youngster’s fantasies at such a young age. I’m not religious now but the memories I have of my family when I was young still make me happy. Christmas is a holiday for the little children and not so much for the adults. It took me a number of years before I made the decision for myself that Christmas wasn’t for me. Let’s let the tots have their fun, they’ll be plenty of time in the future for society to screw with their heads.
I was never in high school during the 1950’s. I just wanted to be clear on that point because I was in then what is now called Middle School. To say there are differences between now and the fifties is the hugest understatement you will ever hear. As I’ve mentioned many times in the past, political correctness is responsible for accelerating that change. This article was initially posted in 2010 but I’ve updated it somewhat. Here are a few hypothetical scenarios showing the differences between then and now. When you first read them, you might think the scenarios are exaggerated to make a point. If you really look at it honestly you can also see how exaggerated, they aren’t.
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Scenario 1
Jack goes quail hunting before school and then pulls into the school parking lot with his shotgun in his truck’s gun rack.
1957 – Vice Principal comes over, looks at Jack’s shotgun, goes to his car and gets his shotgun to show Jack.
2022 – School goes into immediate lock down, FBI and media are alerted, Jack is hauled off to jail and never sees his truck or gun again. Counselors are called for all of the traumatized students and teachers. Media interviews replayed for days.
Scenario 2
Johnny and Mark get into a fist fight after school.
1957 – A crowd gathers. Mark wins. Johnny and Mark shake hands and end up buddies.
2022 – Teachers alert the police, and the SWAT team arrives only moments before the Media — Johnny and Mark are arrested. They’re both charged with assault and expelled even though Johnny started it. The Media interviews experts on how to control the terrible violence in schools and they are replayed on numerous stations across the country.
Scenario 3
Jeffrey will not be quiet and well-behaved in class; he disrupts other students.
1957 – Jeffrey is sent to the Principal’s office and given a good paddling by the Principal. He then returns to class, sits still and does not disrupt the class again.
2022 – Jeffrey is immediately tested for ADD and given huge doses of Ritalin. He becomes a zombie like creature. The family then applies to SSI, and Jeffrey is labeled “disabled”. The monthly government checks begin to arrive. The Media does a three-night special on the networks concerning the national pandemic of ADD and praises the benefits of Ritalin.
Scenario 4
Billy breaks a window in his neighbor’s car and his dad gives him a whipping with his belt.
1957 – Billy is more careful next time, grows up normal, goes to college and becomes a successful businessman.
2022 – Neighbor’s immediately call the police. Billy’s dad is arrested for child abuse; Billy is removed to a foster care facility for evaluation. He soon joins a gang. The state psychologist is told by Billy’s sister that she remembers being abused herself and their dad goes to prison. Billy’s mom then has an affair with the psychologist and makes a guest appearance on the Jerry Springer Show. Film at eleven!
Scenario 5
Mark gets a headache and takes some aspirin to school.
1957 – Mark shares his aspirin with a friend who also has a headache, and he feels much better.
2022 – Teachers immediately call police, and Mark is expelled from school for drug violations (zero tolerance). His car is then searched for drugs and weapons. Media proclaims continued drug problems in the school systems and Oprah Winfrey does a two-hour special.
Scenario 6
Pedro fails high school English.
1957 – Pedro goes to summer school, passes English and then goes to college.
2022 – Teachers are concerned for Pedro and his cause is taken up by the state authorities. Newspaper articles appear nationally explaining that teaching English as a requirement for graduation is racist. ACLU files a class action lawsuit against the state school system and Pedro’s English teacher. English is then banned from the core curriculum. Pedro is given his diploma anyway but ends up mowing lawns for a living because he can’t speak English.
Scenario 7
Johnny takes leftover firecrackers from the Fourth of July and puts them in a model airplane paint bottle and blows up a nest of red ants.
1957 – Ants die.
2022 – ATF, Homeland Security and the FBI are all called in. Johnny is charged with domestic terrorism for mishandling explosives. The FBI investigates his parents – and all his siblings are removed from their home and all computers confiscated. Johnny’s dad is placed on a terrorism watch list and is never allowed to fly again. Protesters and morons picket the family home because they are against domestic terrorism. A dangerous traffic jam is created by all of the Media vans attempting to get a little face time on camera.
Scenario 8
Johnny falls while running during recess and scrapes his knee. He is found crying by his teacher, Mary. Mary hugs him to comfort him.
1957 –In a short time, Johnny feels better and goes on playing.
2022 – Other teachers and Johnny’s parents accuse Mary of being a sexual predator and she loses her job. She faces 3 years in State Prison and when released becomes a well-educated street walker. Johnny undergoes 5 years of therapy and drugs and eventually finds God, shaves his head, and is now working full-time at the airport playing a tambourine.
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Do you honestly think I exaggerated a bit? Some of this is certainly tongue-in-cheek but a lot of it isn’t. I’m glad of two things; one is that I’m not a kid attending school these days, and secondly, that my children would have been taught by me the basics on how to best survive liberal academics and their constant propagandizing.
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