Looks like I will be sporting my Archie Bunker campaign button this November, since I don’t have a button for Pat Paulsen. I remember my dad hated that this joke candidate was able to get into the voter guide. Even then I thought that parody and mockery have a place in political discourse.
Dad should have ran, I would have voted for him, “the cribbage candidate”.
Had to get this matchbook at a street sale, after embarrassing myself by letting a lecherous HEHEHEHE laugh escape while reading the comic. Very curious about this GEM razor with “guiding eye”… Not sure I want it watching me shave though.
Ever prepared, my mother-in-law kept these extra pockets on hand, for about fifty years I’d guess?
It was just in case there was a need for pockets mounted externally, over pink pants and a pink belt, although I guess any color would work. I can’t tell if the man in the picture is smiling because he is pleased with his new pockets, or if it’s a precursor to murderous rage.
My sister and her husband live in Oregon and raise bees. Not sure about their marketing strategy. I do want to buy a t-shirt, so that’s a good sign, I guess.
RUSTIC IS MAGIC!
I finally got this flooring saw that I’ve had my eye on. After I figured out how to use the dumb thing, well you know, everything needed sawing all of a sudden.
We had a problem where the dog goes all Cujo when we leave him here alone. When we come back, he tries to literally claw through the wallboard so he can bark at us and possibly bite us. As you might imagine, it did quite a number on the sheetrock, not to mention the curtains.
I had a bright idea while I was buying the saw, I got some “furring strips” and used some leftover blue-gray stain, to beef up that wall, and hopefully it won’t be as much fun to claw. Teresa says, “That one has a hole in it!” “It’s a knothole! It’s rustic!”, I reply. “It looks kind of uneven there-” “It’s rustic! Rustic folks don’t have straight edges!” She just doesn’t understand, I’m getting back to my rural roots here.
One warm summer night, a few years ago, I was leaving work- about 4 am, I work nights. I stopped to chat with one of my old co-workers who was walking in.
Just then a big old seagull came out of nowhere, and crapped on the back of my head, and all down my neck. My friend could barely contain her mirth; but to her credit, I was able to swear her to secrecy about it. (Otherwise, I would have never heard the end of it from the guys in the warehouse.) She claims that it’s supposed to be good luck to have a bird poop on your head. I don’t buy into that notion. Maybe if it was just a baby robin, not a seagull the size of a velociraptor.
Drove home hunched forward, with paper towels on the seat, and the windows rolled down.
I had left work a little early, so it was just getting light out when I got home. For some reason, I had the spare car keys, so- no house key! I COULD NOT roust anyone for the longest time. Tried going in the back yard and throwing pebbles and random stuff up at the bedroom window, but Teresa had the fan on and she sleeps like a log. I went around and rang the doorbell some more, tapped on windows, finally started banging on the door Fred Flintstone style.
Eventually my daughter came to the door. I ripped off the shirt I was wearing and said something about “What if the house was on fire?!! You would all die in your sleep!!” She didn’t say anything, just looked at me, bewildered, as I swept past her and took like a 45 minute shower.
This is why I always wear a hooded jacked to work.
Teresa’s maternal grandparents living in Renton, Washington, in 1957. I would bet that this was taken late on a Saturday afternoon, before some kind of lodge meeting. Note the extra large TV antenna across the street. Pointed towards Seattle for maximum viewing pleasure. We lived in North Seattle when I was young, we could usually pull in the network stations from Seattle OK, but I wanted to watch cartoons on Sunday too, and the only game in town for that was KVOS Bellingham, which our antenna wasn’t optimized to pick up clearly, if that was even possible. So I had to settle for watching that whiny Casper and contend with the extra ghosts generated by poor television reception.
Teresa’s grandfather was an ironworker, I wish I had gotten to know him better. He probably had some stories to tell.
The Mrs. bought some books at a thrift store a while back, and found a Hallmark card inside- (Estimated to be from 1975)
The card says on the front, “I’m always telling other people how neat I think you are” (Next to a generic chubby cartoon bear), and inside, “Today, I’m telling you.” below that, a typewritten note, all in caps;
I DON'T THINK YOU KNOW THIS, BUT SOMEONE YOU KNOW THINKS YOU'RE PRETTY COOL. I'D
NEVER HAVE THE COURAGE TO TELL YOU FACE TO FACE , BESIDES, YOUR GIRLFRIEND WOULD
MOST LIKELY KILL ME. SO, I'M TELLING YOU HERE- I THINK THAT YOU ARE ONE OF
NICEST GUY'S I'VE EVER KNOWN DON'T EVER CHANGE, BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE OF A KIND!!!!
MAYBE ONE DAY IF I'M LUCKY, I WILL MEET A GUY HALF AS SWEET AS YOU.
I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT YOU TOUCH PEOPLE WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT.
THANK YOU!!!!! YOUR SECRET ADMIRER........
I mulled this letter over for a few days, wondering what his reaction was. Or did his girlfriend intercept it? There could be trouble.
I asked my wife a few more questions about this, turned out it was in a sealed and addressed envelope (no return address) in a box of stationary donated to the Goodwill after all these years.
He never got the letter! She must have chickened out (Or came to her senses, depending on how much romance is in your soul)
Here’s my mother reading to my sister Evelyn, who is obviously not paying attention. These days, Evelyn routinely beats me at Scrabble, so she must have gotten some book learning somewhere.
I think being read to helped me get a jump on things scholastic. When I started school, I was immediately able to understand the subtext in the Curious George books.
Remember the one where he gets a paper route but decides to make boats instead of delivering the newspapers? Being a wise monkey, he knew that the Internet would develop, and was trying to develop new markets for the newspaper.
Maybe I should have cropped this more, but I had to get that awesome lamp in the picture.
When I was a kid, I used to like to go over to the neighbor’s house when they weren’t home, and pretend I was driving one of the “project” cars in their backyard. I came home smelling of motor oil and sadness, but maybe that’s what kids were supposed to smell like back then.
Many years later, my brother Buddy told me that there was a car in the woods behind our house, and he and his friend Danny actually drove it around back there until it got stuck on a stump. That sounds like a great day for them.
(NOTE: the blog this is supposed to link to is gone, sadly)