Super Wal-Mart Sunday, again.

I’m getting better at this, still undisciplined, but writing more frequently.  My first attempt at discipline started this morning as I was paying bills.  I pay everything online, I rarely buy anything online, but I do pay what I owe from this very keyboard.

I go through my e-mail folders one by one and write on a blank sheet of paper the amount, date due.  I start with my bank balances, then put in my anticipated deposits for the next thirty days.  If car sales are good, everybody gets paid at the first of the month, if they aren’t, well they get paid when they are due.

My home work station is on my Mom’s solid cherry dining room table and it’s in remarkably good shape, maybe not by her standards.  She talked my Dad into buying it for her in 1964 a few months after buying their last home across the street from the church we attended.  The table is squeezed into my apartment and even without the two extensions, it still accommodates the six original solid cherry chairs.

The table is where I pay bills, write this non-sense and serve very simple meals for my daughters on holidays.  I have a set menu for the most part and its neither healthy or cheap.  But it is based on favorites that my daughters remember from earlier times in their lives.  Comfort food for cold weather, sausage balls, oven baked macaroni and cheese,  low country boil and banana pudding to name a few.

But this table has a history.  It was only used on special occasions and was always covered by a table cloth with a pad underneath it and plates were set on place mats.  None of that now, although when I dust, the table gets treated to a massage of either Lemon Pledge or Orange scented Murphy’s oil soap.

My Dad paid bills as he sat at his desk which pre-dated the dining room table.  That desk which I sold years ago was originally mahogany finish until my Mom painted it sometime in the late 60’s and then wiped stain on it during a period of time in our family’s life that was known as “Mom’s antiquing phase”.  Nothing was safe.

Accent tables, their old bedroom set including the dresser and chest of drawers, her Lane cedar chest from the late 1940’s and the aforementioned desk and it’s Windsor backed chair, which I still have.  They were either painted off white or green and then wiped with stain and in those days that was called antiquing.  I’m not sure what my Dad thought about it at the time, but he never said a word.

Back to my present day use of the solid cherry dining table.  While I was paying bills this morning, I started writing down ideas on topics that I might want to explore.  By the time I finished and was ready to embark on my voyage to Wal-Mart, I had a modest list of two topics.  I was impressed with my efforts.

I usually make a list on the back of a business card before I go to the store.  There’s not much room, it keeps me on budget and gives me time to wander around observing life at Wal-Mart.  It’s been three weeks since my last visit to the Super Wal-Mart about six miles up the road.  I wrote about that trip when I came home as Irma approached, the topic was hoarding among other things.

Today I had a short list.  When I pulled into my personal parking space, yes, I have one.  It’s on the next to the last row away from the main door, but across from the cart corral.  It’s the third one from the end and it’s always there waiting for me.  As I walked to the entrance I noticed that it is a clear day with very few clouds and I could see the mountains in the distance and the wind was blowing in my ears with a slight roar.

Inside, it looked like a normal Sunday afternoon.  The last time I visited this Wal-Mart Supercenter, Irmageddon was bearing down and folks were buying like The Rapture was headed their way.  Not today.  Couples with children that had obviously been to church this morning, college students clogging the Ramen noodle aisle, and single women.  Not necessarily single, but alone and without their spouses.

No, this isn’t why I go, but hey, its an added benefit.  These women obviously work and have enormous responsibility at home, but on Sunday afternoon, they are out searching the aisles for family meals to be prepared in the coming week.  My guess is that their husbands are home watching NASCAR or the NFL and complaining about who is and who is not standing for the national anthem.

Since I had a short list, and today I had discipline and bought only what was on the back of a business card from a job I no longer have. My trip around the store lasted less than 30 minutes.  Back to the front of the store I began my search, as we all do, for the perfect check out line.  Wal-Mart has changed it’s stripes again and I was forced to accommodate a new option for checking out.

Apparently, the 20 items or less lanes are history.  They have been replaced by something called “Express Check” or whatever the signs said.  The “Self Check Out” lines are still there but are supplemented by the next great thing.  There is a new supervisor lurking in the checkout area.  The sign says “Lay-Aways accepted for all departments here.”  No need to walk to the back of the store just to pay on your kids Christmas list.

I selected basically the first attended line that I saw because I like to talk to the cashiers.  In my opinion, there is no more mundane job in America than running a scanner in a retail environment.  If I had to do that, I just think I would as soon lay in the middle of the interstate wearing a T shirt that says “DO NOT RESUSCITATE”.  My mission is to organize my shopping cart contents they way I want to carry them into my apartment, half-way keep an eye on the video read out as my items are scanned and to try and bring a smile to the face of the person whose job I wouldn’t take on a dare.

The line I selected today wasn’t the shortest one but I like to read the covers of The National Enquirer and the rest to find out if Princess Diana has been found alive in Myanmar or if Robert Wagner has finally confessed to murdering Natalie Wood.  I didn’t pay attention to the person and the cart in front of me when I selected that line, but I thought the lady running the scanner would appreciate my humor, small talk and buggy with only a few items.

After I had read the magazine covers and decided that UFO’s had not really occupied 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue I turned around to observe those behind me.  I encountered a brief smile from a young lady in her late 20’s,  about the age of my oldest daughter, whose shopping cart was full of healthy looking foods.  She immediately pulled her phone from her back pocket and disappeared into Facebook, her shopping list or somewhere.

I turned around and began to focus on the progress of the line and it seemed that while the line was shorter, my position had not advanced.  It was then that I noticed the lady in front of me was leaning over her cart and was also glued to the screen of her phone oblivious to the gap between her cart and the gentleman now being checked out.

As a courtesy, I sort of loudly cleared my throat in attempt to alert this lady the changing environment, but she didn’t look up.  Upon observation, it appeared that this lady was not a millennial based on her shape.  A few extra pounds but not many, but the jeans she was wearing dated her as someone of my generation.  She obviously was near my age based solely on hair color, and no, it wasn’t grey or white, but not a natural color.

Soon, she looked up and realized that she would soon be next to be scanned and escape the boredom of the check out line and moved to the front of her cart to unload.  As she turned to face me, my guesses were confirmed.  She was near my age, her hair was colored and to my surprise, she had been a candidate for elective surgery.

This was evidenced by the low neck top which gave way every time she leaned over the front of her shopping cart.  It wasn’t just that she was leaning over to remove items from her cart, she was getting the items from the cart that were near the back of the cart, you know the side we push from.

I wasn’t purposely trying to look, but she seemed intent on displaying her saline enhancements.  Now, this isn’t why I go to Wal-Mart specifically, but it is part of the overall experience.  The lady, as I said, was about my age and obviously has not read about the damage that tanning beds do to human skin.  But those are her choices and I’m sure that the gentleman that put that ring on her left hand agrees with her choices.

So, this week, there was no sense of panic or urgency brought on by the impending arrival of Irmageddon.  It was just another day at my local Super Wal Mart.  This trip was slightly more memorable than the last one, for a couple of reasons, but not that much.

Oh, and by the way, my list of topics I’d like to write about has grown to six.  Three of them were from my trip to the Super Wal-Mart, just slightly less memorable.  So much for discipline.

FOOTNOTE:  When I started writing this, I wasn’t sure how it would conclude.  Many other things came to mind on the drive home namely the three things I put on my list as soon as I got home.  If I’ve offended anyone, I hope you can accept my apologies.  As I say in my header, these are my observations about life.

Priceline.com

Several years ago, I don’t remember how many, the internet transitioned from strictly research, e-mail, chat rooms to commerce.  Soon thereafter, in those dark days of digital commerce came the marketers.  You know those three martini lunch, Madison Avenue Guys that understood cross-channel marketing.

Yeah, the internet was this great place and the next greatest thing but not everyone was using it.  The early adapters in those days “surfed the net” with mostly unfettered freedom using their desktop while at work.

I remember co-workers talking about doing Christmas shopping on-line and having UPS roll up to the mail room and drop off everything from baseball bats to Barbie Jeeps which were stored in empty offices and closets.  This was about twenty years ago and seemed so impersonal to me at the time.

I worked in retail as kid in high school and loved helping early and last minute shoppers make their decisions for all of the names on the lists that they carried in their coat pockets.  Face to face interaction was exciting, just the same as my first job, running a neighborhood paper route for the local afternoon daily.  Another story for another time, maybe.

Ordering things with the click of a mouse, which was just gaining acceptance in 1995, and entering a credit card number into a block on your monitor screen, well that just scared the crap out of me.  I trusted UPS and the emergent FEDEX but not a green or amber blinking screen.

UPS had been around for years and specialized in small package delivery.  Even in the small town I grew up in, brown trucks were a familiar sight.  But putting your credit information into a computer and sending it off to GOD knows where, that was a leap of faith.

See, I’m a procrastinator, especially when it comes to Christmas shopping.  I love going out the last day or two, when the deals are exactly the same as they are on Black Friday.  On Black Friday, people are determined, unyielding in their pursuit,  sleep deprived and generally lacking the holiday spirit.

But the day before Christmas is different.  Same mission, same unfilled list of gifts, same sense of urgency, but different.  The air is different, cooler, brisker and the sky isn’t quite as bright a shade of blue.  Black Friday, everyone goes out at night and gets a place in line and camps out on the sidewalks they would never sit on, much less sleep on.

The mood on Black Friday is like a bunch of homeless people descending on the line outside a soup kitchen knowing that they’re going to be greeted and served by people who won’t be there until this time next year.  It ain’t pretty.

Along comes the internet.  No waiting in line, your size, your color preference and slowly it begins to catch on.  After a few years, the internet begins to turn shopping into a bargain hunting experience, thanks to Google search results and paid ads.  Simple right?

Go to Google, type in what you’re looking for and the best bargains come up on the first page.  What a deal!  Then we learn about Google Ads and how companies pay to have their deals come up first.  The secret is algorithms.  Kinda makes you wish you had paid more attention in math class.

Anyway, this isn’t an attack on Google.  My point is there were always companies vying for your shopping dollar on line and there always will be.  One of the first that I remember was priceline.com.  Want a cheap hotel, flight or rental car?  It was all there in one site.

Remember Madison Avenue?  Priceline.com suddenly appeared on television with an instantly recognized spokesperson.  William Shatner, Captain James Tiberius Kirk, was suddenly the face of one stop travel shopping.  I know, the commercials were shtick, corny but they stuck in your mind.

The tie-in.  Today, we had a cabinet secretary resign over a growing scandal about abuse of travel on private planes under the guise of “it was the most convenient way to carry out the President’s aggressive agenda”.  Well that excuse lasted about as long geraniums without water for two weeks in the heat of summer.

Had Secretary of Health and Human Services, Dr. Tom Price, fresh off of another defeat of Repeal and Replace only consulted William Shatner about his travel arrangements, he might not be headed back to Atlanta tonight, probably in economy class.  Can you imagine a flight from DC to Atlanta on a Friday night?  Not a pretty picture.

Instead, Dr. Price joins Sean Spicer, Mike Flynn and others getting the weekend pass to private life.  Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz who clicked her heels and wished to be back in Kansas.  Dr. Price could, with a little more forethought, tapped his chest and said “Beam me up Scotty”!

Bits, bytes, baud rates, Viet Nam and Twitter

So today, Twitter doubled our President’s ability to outrage his followers and detractors and our ability to affirm his outrage or respond with twice the invective that we woke up with this morning.  Thanks, Twitter.

I’m typing as I watch Viet Nam on PBS tonight.  I was a teenager when that was going on and tonight, well I guess I’m a sextugenerian.  Sex is has little to do with me now, but here I am again in a radically divided country.  There are so many to thank for this sorry state of affairs that we find ourselves in today.

As the involvement of the United States in Viet Nam unfolded, mainframe computers were doing great things in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  Large corporations were automating payroll, inventory accounting and other mundane tasks into data bits in combinations of 0’s and 1’s.

NASA was racing to meet President Kennedy’s call to place a man on the moon by the end of the decade and computers on the ground performed the endless number of calculations needed to put man into orbit and bring him back home safely.

Somewhere, (notice I’m not an expert in this field), it was recognized that data needed to be organized so bytes were broken down into 8 character representations of 0’s and 1’s.  I’m not sure how things progressed from there, but doing (very) simple math I came up with 8×8 = 64, which by my total lack of math education corresponds magically to today’s  64 KB easily recognized standards.

So now there was a standard of recording and saving data to be processed electronically at a central location.  But what about remote locations dozens and even hundreds of miles from home office.  Record the data on some type of media and transport it to home office.

The preferred method had been to have couriers driving nightly runs to deliver “IBM Punch Cards” and magnetic tape from remote locations to CPU’s, Central Processing Units.  Upon receipt of this precious cargo, headquarters locations had up to date information from remote locations.

Somebody, and I have no idea who, came up with the idea of electronically transmitting all of this information over dedicated telephone lines, in the form of the aforementioned 0’s and 1’s.  Thus the term Baud rates.  They started at 110, 300, 600(this one is critical), 1200, 2400 and so on.  These were lightening quick speeds for the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. but hold on.

Imagine the future.  2,400 Baud rate doubled to 4,800 and then 9,600 and so on until it reached a blistering 256,00 bytes per second.  Remember 64?  Four times 64KB, well that’s 256 KB. And twice that, well 128 KB, then 256 KB, then 512 KB and so on and so on.

Fast forward to 2017, if you will.  Oh and move up thru the alphabet.  KB’s are passe, GB, well that’s the determining factor today.  My home speeds are somewhere around 60 GB and Charter promises that 100 GB are on the way.  Blistering speeds to watch movies, sports and yes, traditional television programming like sit-coms, news and documentaries like Viet Nam all on my iPhone.

My iPhone has more computing power than Apollo 11 in one hand held device that I look at more times a day than I care to count.  Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins traveled 238,000 miles to the moon and back with less computing power than most of us check numerous times daily, upon arising or the last thing some of see before we lay down at night.  Think about that.

What do we do with this awesome computing power?  We check e-mail, we research the countless questions of life, post thoughts, recipes, pictures and videos on Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram and countless other sites.  And then, there’s Twitter.

Twitter, transformed America and the world in 2006, with one constraint, what ever we had to say, well we had to get it done in 140 characters.  Not many of us were on Twitter initially, we were on Facebook for the most part, happy, ecstatic in the fact that we were connecting with relatives, long lost high school and college classmates and people with similar interests.

Twitter was a strange world to most of us.  Barack Obama was the Facebook president and we were amazed that he was speaking to us individually each and every day, whether we had time for him or not, he was there.  But after his election, a new phenomena appeared.  The Tea Party.

The Tea Party exploded onto the scene in America with a vengeance and soon eclipsed the “Silent Majority” of the Nixon years.  Otherwise normal looking  people, showed up on the news wearing tinfoil hats and waving “Don’t Tread on Me” flags, and they caught on.  Initially, I thought they were strange, but soon realized they were organized.

They reminded me of my years in high school when we were the guinea pigs for desegregation.  What were supposed to be the best years of my young life, became, and remain some of the worst of my 62 years.  But I wasn’t in college at the time, I was just behind the curve.  Those in the curve, well they were protesting the war and being shot as college students or dying in the jungles of Viet Nam.

But the Tea Party, they were different.  to them it seemed to be all black and white.  Their way or the highway.  But as time passed, the black and white side of it seemed to emerge as the defining issue.  Don’t Tread on Me flags in the back of pickup trucks were soon accompanied by Confederate flags.  Not exactly by coincidence, in 2009, America had elected it’s first African-American president.

Demographics indicated that America was trending away from it’s predominantly white European American heritage.  We were becoming a country of color, fueled by immigrants from all over the globe.  Soon, there came a new phenomena, The Tweet.

140 characters of whatever you could fit into a post with whatever you wanted to share with anyone.  This gave rise to a new platform to the early adapters with any theory they wished to put forth.  One early adapter was Donald Trump.  And he had a Tweet that he espoused over and over.

The first African American President wasn’t actually an American after all.  He was born elsewhere and Donald Trump had supposedly dispatched investigators to all corners of the globe in search of proof to back up this outlandish claim.  Constant tweets proclaimed that his people were finding “interesting things” everywhere they looked.

Well, you know what happened, Obama served two full terms and Donald Trump festered each and every one of those 2,924 days of his Presidency.  And now we have a 71 year old head of state that has simply been the owner of a small business that happens to have almost universal name recognition due to his suspect business practices.

Back to today and Twitter.  Donald Trump is the most successful exploiter of Twitter alive today.  Perhaps ever, but that remains to be seen.  Trump’s birthday is June 14, but today’s announcement by Twitter that is experimenting with a doubling of it’s 140 character restriction to 280 characters has to seem like an unexpected birthday present for Donald Trump.

The guy doesn’t have to go through editors,  talent bookers or television show producers, he just picks up his phone and, like all of us communicates with his desired audience. Neil Armstrong was the first man to set foot on the moon.  Donald Trump, with more computing capacity than NASA in 1969 can put the moon in his hand and declare it fake news, the gospel truth or even something he created, in an instant.

So I guess my question in this.  Why 280 characters as the new limit, why not limit it to 256 or more than generously expand it to 512?  Most newspaper guest columns are limited to 650 words, so why only 280 characters?  It’s all in the cloud, right?  there is unlimited storage in the cloud, or so they say.

Anyway.  Thanks, Twitter.  You’ve given the most disruptive individual on the planet twice the space to post his early morning rants, raves and re-tweets of what he saw on FOX & FRIENDS, and we all know the Trump theory of doubling down, right?

There’s nothing at risk here.  It’s not like we’re on the verge of war with an emerging nuclear power, threatening to abrogate major treaties covering climate change, nuclear weapons inspection or free trade between sovereign nations.  No sir, this is a stable world we live in.

Giving Donald Trump twice the space to piss off a dictator with nuclear weapons, in turn dictating patterns of free speech for American citizens , disregarding anyone that doesn’t look like him in the mirror, well all I can think of is this:  Thanks Twitter, you really shit in your loafers this time.

That, in and of itself, is a big accomplishment coming on the heels of Facebook selling targeted ads to Russians.  The summer of 2018 is headed our way.  It’ll be an election year, one of those off years, with only the House and one third of the Senate up for re-election or replacement.

The 50th anniversary of the summer of love.  I can’t wait.  If you think there have been people in the streets in the streets in 2017, hold on, it’s coming.  There will be many questions to be asked.  How did we get here?  How do we get back from the edge?

Most of the questions won’t be asked politely is my guess?  They won’t all be about the difference between 140 characters and 280 characters.  Nope. but they will be serious questions asked by new faces we don’t know just yet.  And after the questions have been asked, there will be answers.  I hope they are as melodic as they were in the past.

Too old and undisciplined to be a writer

Well here I sit on another Sunday afternoon with about 90% of my agenda for today accomplished.  The unfinished 10% gnaws at me with a hunger that’s not gonna let up until Monday comes and I go back to work tomorrow.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, make my coffee, lay out my clothes and watch Morning Joe and the local news for traffic and weather.  Of course, there is the period of reflection as I shower and shave. What happened to that youthful body and face that I’ve seen most every morning of my life?

You know what I’m talking about.  Your skin isn’t as taught as it once was, there seems to be a new wrinkle in your face every morning and of course, there’s less hair to comb each day.  Of course there is more hair growing out of my ears, my eyebrows grow almost as fast and, my god  is my nose really getting bigger?  I won’t go into the many other problems associated with settling into your early 60’s, but the list is long.

Out the door I’ll go and soon I’ll be at work and back among people.  I live alone and the period of time from Saturday night until Monday morning is almost like plugging an electric vehicle into a charging station for me.  I’m a car salesman in my 19th year of this my chosen profession.  Weekends are my time of reconnecting with me, a southern guy that grew up in the 60’s, desegregation, the Viet Nam war and some damn good rock and roll.

When you get to work and step out of your own car onto the asphalt, that is your field of play  and you assume the identity.  A problem is no more than the next opportunity, the goal is always to gather as much information as quickly as possible.  Most people shopping for a car will tell you everything you need to sell them a car in the first 5 minutes, except the final price they’re willing to pay.  The key is you have to train yourself to listen.

For me, that was hard and took a couple of years to master.  I was an only child and was raised to “be seen and not heard” but in school I was often “the class clown” which was the opposite.  It seemed that at the most inopportune time I could seize the moment and make my classmates laugh, without regard or forethought of the consequences soon headed my way.

Somehow, at age 62,  I have manged to harness this lack of discipline and have become a good listener.  I pay close attention to my customers or “ups” as we call them in the car business and respond to their stated needs and expectations and I “close” at a pretty high rate for my chosen profession.

Car buying, for most people is like going to the orthodontist for a root canal.  They know its going to be a good decision but they just hate it and that often results in a bad post purchase survey.  Despite my best efforts to address their needs and make it an enjoyable experience, occasionally, I get a bad survey and it costs me money.

But tomorrow morning, I’ll again don my Monday navy blue golf shirt and khakis and strike out in search of success.  Tuesday will be a different color golf shirt and so will Wednesday and so on until Saturday and I’ll be back right here again.

Today, I gained one new follower on Twitter.  The odd thing was, this person is a budding, but published writer about my age, but if you believe the bio, serious and with a plan for a writing career.  I was intrigued as I read that after a career in something else, this person had pursued a lifelong interest in writing, gone back to school to study writing and has a plan.

My plan, well, I don’t have one, at least as far as writing goes.  If I approached selling cars with the same lack of conviction that I have towards writing, well I’d be turning burgers at McDonald’s or hash browns at Waffle House.  My initial plan was to write once a week, every week.

My new follower on Twitter has a plan, but she is retired and apparently, financially secure.  Her plan is to write five hours a day for five days each week.  Well that is unattainable for me.  I leave for work around 7:30 in the morning and get home anywhere between 7:30 and  8:30 in the evening.  I’m not complaining, but my brain and my body are usually done for the day when I get home.

I’m not being critical of my new Twitter follower, not even jealous, but maybe a little envious.  Mind you, I wouldn’t trade my life, past or present, for anyone’s.  My journey through life has taken me to unexpected places, but nothing rivals being a parent.

But my new Twitter follower talks about the things that I know are holding me back from be a good writer.  The main one is discipline.  I don’t keep notebooks of ideas and thoughts like she does.  But then again, my compulsion to write is based on daily observations and I could probably use a notebook to help me keep track of story ideas.

Maybe one day, and maybe I might pick up a notebook in CVS tomorrow morning.  I have a 20% off coupon on my key ring and their store is across the street from my dealership.  In the meantime, I’m going to just continue along my undisciplined path, pretending I’m some sort of southern  sage of the keyboard,

Family Feud.

To say that this has been an interesting week, well in 2017, that’s really something.  How does a topic rise to “Top of Mind Awareness” or TOMA when everything this year has been absolutely surreal?  Well, that takes some work.

We started the year off in January with the inauguration.  You remember that, the third Friday of this glorious year in Washington, DC.  A dark inauguration speech, that apparently was a clip left on the cutting room floor of one of the Mad Max movies.  You remember those, right?

They started coming out in the late 70’s and lasted a few years and resulted in a few sequels.  Mel Gibson hadn’t really become controversial and Tina Turner became a movie star.  If you look it up on Google. you’ll no doubt encounter the term “dystopian future” somewhere in the  millions of Google search results.

Well, dystopian future and dystopian reality have become commonly used phrases in 2017.  Think back to the inauguration of our most curious occupant of the White House, Donald Trump, the 45th President of the United States.

I watched the speech that day at work, and thought to myself “that wasn’t very uplifting or inspiring, but at least its over.”  I didn’t vote for him, but like my Dad when refusing to renew his Time Magazine subscription in 1974 while Nixon was under assault from all corners, when he wrote “I support the President” on his renewal and declined another year and mailed it back in.

I thought, based on informed commentary by Mark McKinnon, whom I respect very much, “it isn’t going to be as bad as everyone fears or as great as everyone hopes”, so give the guy a chance and see what happens.  Well it turns out, at least from my perspective, the dystopian future is here.

In comments that surfaced several months later, George W Bush, the 43rd and perhaps its most in eloquent President of the United States, was reported to have said upon leaving the inaugural dais, “that was some weird shit”!  At this point in time, I can only say that I wholeheartedly agree.

Having said all of that, I guess I need to get to tonight’s topic.  Family Feud, we all have them with somebody that we have supposed blood or marital connections to.  It’s inevitable, unavoidable and just plain reality.  Without going into detail of my entire existence on this planet for the last 62 years, lets just enter into evidence the fact that I have more than one ex.  Wife that is.

One is my children’s mother and the other remains my best friend.  I know that seems odd when you look at it, but its the truth.  We all have best friends, we don’t always agree on everything, but when we talk, it seems as though the last time, well it was yesterday, right?

A lot of us have ex-spouses that we  have share responsibilities of children with and that is the “Supreme Test” in life.  How do you constantly put the well being of your children ahead of self interest?  Sometimes it easy, sometimes, it just plain hell.  Hell would best describe the path that I have walked for nearly 20 years, but it is a path I chose, and one that I walk daily.

When my oldest left for college in the fall of 2006, I was a custodial parent with full financial responsibility for all that lay ahead.  I thought I was up to date because I texted, took calls more than 3 or 4 times a day from my freshman daughter and sent in-depth e-mails to add my insight to what ever were her current problems.

Somewhere along the line, I joined Facebook.  Mostly to find out what was going on in the distant city 200 miles away where my oldest was attending college and then later to connect with family and long lost friends.  Facebook became a way of daily communicating and pictures and soon video of getting your message out to those you thought gave a damn, one way or the other.

By the time I joined Facebook, I had re-married and now had a hybrid family and suddenly more friends and family than I could possible imagine.  Initially, the hybrid family seemed to function, four children ages from 8 to 21, not quite the same, but trying to make a go of it.  My best friend and I found ourselves involved in a social activity that exponentially expanded our social network beyond our wildest dreams.

I began to write, as so many others did on Facebook about anniversaries, birthdays, other special events as so many do.  I would post pictures from the past to tie in with memories and my circle of friends kept expanding as did the positive comments and likes.

I’m in the car business and soon I started posted a series of comments under the heading of “If I’m lying, I’m dying”.  These were short stories about some of the more special people you run into when dealing with the public,  Well, lately, I’ve pulled back from some of the postings, because, well, people come in and talk to you, then go home and check you out online and in social media to see what’s been said about you.  Don’t believe me, Google yourself and decide if you’d want to do business with you.

Back to my children’s mother.  As part of the dystopian future, guess who joined Facebook recently?   Well apparently, my children’s mother went through my entire Facebook timeline, and like the nurse that she was, she took notes on everything of interest.  Should have seen this coming, but nope, missed it.

A few days ago, I received a text message covering many screens on my phone, attempting to litigate a failed marriage that lasted 15 years, but somehow covered the last 30 years.  It was rambling, not very flattering to say the least, and foretold a series of storms to come.

After consultation with my daughters, I decided to bring to an end my Facebook adventure.  I logged in and deactivated my account and then blocked the offending ex and her phone number.  I’m not sure, but I think I’ve broken my Facebook addiction, at least for now.  For now, I have this blog and it’s anonymous, at least as far as my children’s mother knows.

So Family Feud showed up in my life on Monday and I think I have dealt with it.  No need in arguing over the past, not sure I even care.  No, I don’t.  I miss Facebook, not checking my phone 20 times a day to see what has been posted, I just miss the pictures and comments.  Not all of them, but I will move on.  And based on recent reporting of the ads that  Facebook has been selling. it’s probably not a bad idea.

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If I only had wind chimes, I’d know

As an upstate South Carolina resident, I don’t have first hand knowledge of the force and destruction of a hurricane making landfall.  I’m about 4 hours from the coast, figuring in bathroom breaks, and this is the second time in my adult life that such a storm has gotten my attention.

Today and tonight, we are dealing with Irma, certainly on a lesser scale than the folks in Florida and the Caribbean.  The wind has been up most of the day and light rain has been falling since early morning.  During the morning, it was unusual, after lunch it was more than noticeable.

At this moment, Irma is bearing down on the state of Georgia as a tropical storm.  That’s timid by comparison to the havoc wreaked on Barbuda, Cuba and Key West.  As darkness has settled in, the winds in upstate South Carolina have intensified and the rainfall continues to pelt the ground in a horizontal motion that I haven’t seen for awhile.

The thought that strikes me tonight, is Irma for real or is she just a reincarnation of Hurricane Hugo in drag?  We’re about 10 days short of the 28th anniversary of Hurricane Hugo making landfall directly on South Carolina and I remember that like it was yesterday.  Hugo landed with a fierceness not seen in South Carolina in a generation.

Hugo was a monstrosity that made land fall somewhere around Sullivan’s Island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor and McClellanville, home to South Carolina’s shrimping industry.  Hugo came ashore, went far inland and made a turn towards Charlotte.  The devastation was remarkable at the time.

Hardwood and softwood forest were leveled by the force and fury of Hugo’s winds similar to what was seen after the eruption of Mt St. Helens in 1980.  The devastation and economic impact on the coast and the state in general were valued at $10 Billion, an enormous sum in 1989 dollars, but paling in comparison to Irma and Harvey in today’s dollars.

My earlier reference to Irma being Hugo in drag is because the conditions four hours from the coast are similar to that night 28 years ago.  In 1989, the Weather Channel was in its infancy, supported only by local news stations with in-studio weather folks repeating the facts that appeared on the AP/UPI wires.  Cable TV had a few basic channels and in larger communities, included The Weather Channel, CNN and WGN out of Chicago.

There was no internet yet, unless you wanted to log in to The Library of Congress to read the Declaration of Independence.  So, in 1989, without Facebook and Twitter, smartphones and an endless supply of “APPS”, there was basic cable, your local TV stations, community newspapers dependent upon the Associated Press or United Press International news stories.

Some of us had IBM or Compaq computers on our desk at work, most of us had dual 5 & 1/4 inch floppy disks and the higher ups had only one disk drive with an accompanying 5 MG hard rive.  Main frame computers communicated over phone lines at the blistering speed of 9,600 MB over dial up modems.  If you never used a dial up modem, stop by a pay phone on the sidewalk and it’ll give you and idea of what that was like.

Anyway, back to Hugo and Irma.  In October of 1989, my oldest daughter was a few months away from her 2nd birthday and my second daughter was a little over 5 years away from making her initial appearance.  At the time, we lived in a Victorian Cottage approaching 100 years of age, with soaring 11 foot ceilings, seven foot long windows and heart pine floors.

Needless to say, when you live in house like that you are appreciative of the woodwork, craftsmanship and ridiculous heating bills in the winter that come with owning a home with basically no insulation.  The winter heating bills coming on the heels of Christmas are something that they don’t talk about on “This Old House”.  Remember, there was no HGTV, Flip This House, or Property Brothers in 1989.  This Old House was available two ways:  SCETV or by magazine subscription.

OK., Hugo, right?  The night that Hugo came ashore everyone was tucked in tight and yours truly was watching out by watching The Weather Channel in a 100 year old house with no insulation and windows that rattled when the train went by a block away.  The thing I remember most that night were the wind chimes.  There was a set hanging on our front porch and another set on the neighbors side porch less than a few yards away from my rattling windows.

That night, I could measure the intensity of Hugo from 4 hours away from the coast by the music from the wind chimes.  The more melodious the sounds were, the calmer the storm seemed to be.  When the music became frantic, Hugo’s winds were roaring through a town 4 hours from the coast.

Tonight, in my apartment, I don’t hear the sound of wind chimes.  I’ve looked at several on my visits to Wal-Mart, Costco, Lowe’s and Home Depot over the 1st three years since I moved further inland.  I’ve always come up with a rationalization for not buying them and walked away.

As I sit here tonight, I wish I had bought a set at the very least, if not two, one for each end of the apartment, since I have two porches.  If I had bought wind chimes, then I would be able to compare Hugo to Irma.

The sounds from that night twenty eight years ago still ring in my head like it was last night.  If I had wind chimes tonight, I’d be able to compare the two sounds.  Was one louder than the other?  Almost four hours from the coastline, I’d know for sure what the people of the Caribbean, Cuba and Florida already know.  Is Irma really that much bigger, or is she just simply Hugo in drag twenty eight years later?  I’m buying a set of wind chimes tomorrow, the answer to that question is just too important to relegate to The Weather Channel.

 

Irmageddon, Wal-Mart and Hoarding

This is my second attempt to put words to paper, as it were.  This idea began to gel as I was driving home from Wal-Mart earlier.  I have friends that thoroughly detest Wal-Mart, not just the store itself, but the injustice they perceive that Sam Walton and his heirs has visited on America.

But for me, Wal-Mart is an adventure every time I go for a visit.  I don’t look at it as going shopping, nope, its a visit with a few hundred strangers all doing the same thing, preparing for the next few days.  I use the term strangers because I moved three years ago and outside of work, my family and my customers, I don’t really know anyone.  My neighbor is simply “Porkchop” and I usually see him to talk about every other week.

But the people I see at Wal-Mart, well, they are special and today was no different, it was a treat that I really hadn’t expected.  As I sit here sharing with you, Irma has been wreaking havoc on Florida for several hours now and totally dominating the news cycle.  Like everyone else, I think I have seen my lifetime quotient of rain gear clad reporters standing in running water, commenting on fallen palm fronds and pounding surf all the while pointing out the painfully obvious, its not safe to be were they are reporting from.

There is no relief from these weather warriors on social media either.  Every local TV meteorologist is busy tweeting and posting on Facebook your local likelihood of wind and rain, even though you may be 600 miles from Irma’s eye.  Well that’s me today, about 600 miles away but not entirely safe from 40 MPH winds and 3 to 6 inches of rain

One of the things that I can’t seem to escape on social media is the video of how to charge your phone when the power goes out.  We’ve all seen it.  You know, the 9 volt battery, your car charger and the spring out of an ink pen.  Followed by the comments & testimonials from your friends and followers who all swear that it works.

Since today is my day off and Irmageddon is now just under 24 hours away for the Upstate of my beloved state, I decided to make an appropriate shopping list and venture out to my nearest Wal-Mart Supercenter.  I must mention that since Harvey dropped a few feet of water on Houston and the Texas gulf coast in general, I’ve been visiting the grocery store every couple of days.

I’ve done this to protect myself from shortages and price gouging.  During Harvey it was everywhere I looked that pipelines carrying gasoline from Houston to the east coast were being shut down and there would be no gas.  In just a few days the price of gasoline went from under $2.00 a gallon to $2.49 a gallon and I responded accordingly by topping off my gas tank every three or four days.

Normally, I can drive for nearly two weeks on a tank since I only drive about 15 miles a day.  This brings me to hoarding, which was genetically passed on to me by my Mom.  My Mom, like my Dad, was born during the depression and lived an early life of doing without or having basic necessities rationed during World War II.  My Dad was the oldest of five, my Mom was the youngest of four and like my Dad, both of her parents were employed in the textile mills.

Being an only child, in the post World War II baby boomer era, things were better for me growing up.  My Dad worked for the textile company, but he had a good job, managed his money well and that allowed my Mom to stop working when I was young.  We didn’t live an extravagant life, Mom and Dad managed their money well, but we ate well, lived in a comfortable home and enjoyed a yearly vacation to the beach in late spring .

However, my Mom, did have a tendency to accumulate things.  Not everything, but things like towels.  If they were on sale, Mom bought towels.  I mean you take bath everyday, right?  So what if there are only three people in the house and one washing machine always present?  Something could happen to the washing machine, so why not have 24 sets of towels and washcloths?  Eight days is an eternity, if the washing machine goes out.

Mom’s tendency accelerated when my first daughter was born.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was showing tendencies of early onset of Alzheimer’s.  The purchases were now for the benefit of her granddaughter, not herself or my Dad.  If Crayola sidewalk chalk was on sale, you can’t have too many packs in the closet where the towels were stored, right?

If Kraft macaroni and cheese box dinners were buy one get one free, why buy four when eight will just fit into the kitchen cabinet if you work at it.  Which brings me to my trip to Wal-Mart today.  I had a short list, beer, 9 volt batteries to recharge my phone when the power went out and light bulbs.  If the power goes out, you don’t need light bulbs, and I had no pressing need for light bulbs, but they were part of my justification to go to Wal-Mart.

Now, as I said earlier, a trip to Wal-Mart is a visit with America.  At work, I’m somewhat insulated as I sell Subarus.  Not every walk of America wants or needs a Subaru, and those that do, can easily afford them and thus they are actually an easy sell.  When I have sold more mainstream cars, I’ve been in contact with folks that either direly needed a new car, could barely afford a car, or came out to shop for cars when their power had been disconnected for non-payment, and decided to get out of the house because the air conditioning wasn’t working.

Those are the people of Wal-Mart.  Not all of them, but the folks I don’t see every day.  But today was special.  The place was packed for an early Sunday afternoon, remember Irma?  As I walked in the door, I checked for a buggy with four wheels that tracked straight and didn’t make an embarrassing noise and wobble and off I went.

My first stop was the battery carousel behind the express checkout stations.  There they were 9-volt batteries and since I was there, why not an 8 pack of Double A batteries?  They fit my TV remote, the mouse for my computer and all the clocks in my house, never mind that the TV and my computer will probably not work if Irma denies me power for a few days.

Down to the household aisle and I found a 4 pack of LED light bulbs for only $22.22, what a bargain!  Then for only another $3.96 I scored an LED tap on light(that only needs 3 AA batteries, well I’m set.  And I’m only down about $39 at this point and have found an immediate use for 3 of my 8 new AA batteries.

By the time I get to the grocery section, I’m confronted with a new type of customer that I’m not used to seeing in Wal-Mart.  It’s the husband doing reconnaissance by smart phone with his wife.  You see it occasionally, the guy on the phone talking to his superior, describing in detail the product he was sent in search of, only to be told, that its the wrong brand, size or doesn’t have the proper seasoning.  It’s somehow emasculating to watch.

I was in search of a simple 18 pack of beer, but no, the only option was 12 packs.  OK, what to do, buy the 12 pack and get back out in the remnants of Irma in a few days and purchase more mid-week, or get two 12 packs now.  Obvious answer.

Well the rest of my trip was shot, except for the lady in her mid 40’s in the spandex pants and heavy eye liner that met me head on about every aisle, no I didn’t do it on purpose, but we did wind up in the check out line together.  So after setting out for a visit with America at Wal-Mart this afternoon and donating an extra $5 to the Red Cross, my total was $116.13.

The basic list was beer, batteries and light bulbs and I spent $116, WTF?  I didn’t mention the two pork loins now simmering in the crockpot.  And the best part of the visit was the pass I made through the meat department.  There was an older gentleman on his knees busily restocking the prepackaged meat section which looked as though everything had been “buy one get one free all weekend”.

I said hello and engaged him in a short conversation about his labor.  He told me, “honestly, you’d think the forecast was for 15 inches of snow and it’s been like that since Thursday”.  I smiled as I added a 2 lb pack of sliced turkey, which should last me to Thanksgiving, to my shopping cart along with 2 lbs of sliced cheese.

As I was driving home, it dawned on me that I had forgotten to buy ink pens, you know the click type with the spring I could remove to charge my cell phone.  I use a pen that has a removable top and have for the last 40 years.  Incidentally, I have an unopened three pack of those in my computer bag.  Thanks Mom.

When I get home and am getting my $116.13 of purchases out of the plastic bags, I take the unneeded light bulbs to the closet where they shall reside until the next one burns out, I found my jump box for my car.  I bought it about two years ago specifically because it has a USB port to charge a phone or a laptop in the event of power loss.

So here I sit, with the smell of two pork loins simmering in the crock pot filling my apartment.  My jump box is on the floor charging, my Mophie is plugged into my laptop, I have charged my old cell phone and turned it off knowing that if worse comes to worse, I can switch my SIM card back to my old phone and still communicate with my daughters and the outside world while I am 600 miles away from Irmageddon, 5 miles away from Wal-Mart and never more than a smile away from my Mom.

Thanks Mom.  You’ve been gone for a little more than 10 years and I just want you to know, I miss you, but especially want you to know that you live on through your son.

Standing your post

This is my first real attempt at writing on here.  I’ve been encouraged by a friend I’ve never met to get after this.  I’m neither a writer by training or talent, I just happened to have had a damn serious 12th grade English teacher that was very passionate and one hell of a character.

I came up with the title for whatever this turns out to be from my Dad.  He would be 90 now were it not for an Astro-cytoma in his brain twenty one years ago.  My Dad was the oldest of five boys born to a struggling young couple who worked different shifts in the textile mills of this area of South Carolina in the times leading up to the Great Depression.

Imagine working for .10 to .15 cents per hour.  Then having your rent deducted from your weekly check for the house that was provided for you and your family.  that doesn’t leave a lot to raise a family that grew from one son in 1927 to five sons by 1934.

By 1944, when my Dad graduated from high school, the US was involved in a two front war fighting the Germans and the Japanese.  After 15 years of being the oldest of 5 boys, being responsible for their well being while my grandparents worked second and third shifts in the mill, my Dad, enlisted in the US Marine Corps.

With no end in sight, he joined, with his parents permission, along with several of his friends from high school, the branch of service that would surely send him into battle in the South Pacific in the largest war this planet had ever known.

My Dad proudly rose to the rank of Lance Corporal in the Corps as a radio operator and served in the Occupation force under Gen. Douglas Mac Arthur at he end of World War II in China.  He was recalled during what was know as the “Korean Conflict” but never left the United States, only my mother who he married in 1948.

All of this brings me to present day, China, Korea and another Marine called back into service.  General John Kelly, Chief of Staff, White House serving our current President.  After the ouster of Reince Preibus, General Kelly left his position at the Department of  Homeland Security to take on an unruly and undisciplined White House.

Today, I have shunned television news coverage of the  underground hydrogen bomb nuclear test by North Korea.  I have, however, visited Twitter a few times for insight from sources that I deem credible.  Of those, I read an article that relayed the ‘off the record” feelings of General Kelly.

The quote, or the lede. or what ever you call it was attributed to the temper tantrum by our current President after his latest off the rails rant in Arizona last week.  In a meeting with aides, President Trump reportedly dressed down all of those present in a profanity laced tirade.

News reports have surfaced with a quote attributed to General Kelly stating that “in his 35 years of service to this country, he had never been talked to like that”.  General Kelly, now more than ever, please do not consider the source of the outrage and vitriol that may have been directed at you.

As my Dad told me as he was dying from the aforementioned Astro Cytoma….”remember what you were taught in Sunday School, the Golden Rule, Semper Fi and most important of all…….Stand your Post!”