Ace Wisdom

Your Mom and I attended the first Sheboygan North High School football game at Pulaski last night.  Normally high school football is played on Friday but the Green Bay Packers playing at home tonight against Oakland creates too much of a distraction.  Really?

Grandson Dominic played his first varsity game as a starting Center.  He is a Junior.  I was determined to watch him hike the ball and block for running backs.  The problem is the mass of humanity that occupies the center of the line obscures everything.  As a kid, we played a game called “piling on” where some poor bastard was targeted to be at the bottom of a pile and everybody would jump on top.  You never wanted to be at the bottom of the pile.  It seemed that Dominic was always at the bottom of the pile.  I did hear his name for stellar play over the “loud speaker system” a few times.

At halftime I visited with Dominic’s Dad, Grasshopper No.4.  He was approached by several football players from “years gone by”.  Grasshopper No.4 was actually called an “old man”.  Really!  Wait!  What does that make me?

Sheboygan North fell behind 7-0 but with a stellar passing game (much like the acclaimed West Coast Offense), dinkity dinked passes down the field and  tied 7-7.  North fell behind again 13-7 but shortly thereafter, a long kick-off return made things 13-13.  Hey we’ve got a shootout here.  Not really, Sheboygan North lost 41-13.  There is always next week!

I stopped at Festival Foods this morning.  Does everybody have a “handicapped sticker”.  Have you ever seen an old handicapped lady racing to get into the store?

Finally, never underestimate the power of an entrepreneur.  If you go to Las Vegas you can rent an airplane equiped with a comfortable bed.  The  idea is the plane allows you to fly over Vegas and become a member of the “mile high club”.  You get a medallion that states “what happens when flying over Vegas, stays over Las Vegas”.  Now that is a high flying business.  Who thinks that sh– up?

Love,

Dad

I’ve been forced to contemplate all the great mysteries of the world lately.

If you eat a blueberry with white fuzz on it, will you die?

If you get up in the morning, walk into the kitchen to make coffee and a big hawk is looking at you through the window, what does that mean?  Somebody said it was an omen of good luck to come.  I’m waiting.

If I wear shirts that are different than usual while exercising, does this mean I am amenable to change at age 74?  Black shirts get a “Johnny Cash” sort of ridicule.  White shirts suggest Security Guard (Mall) uniforms.  Blue shirts with black shoulder decorations are “when are you going bowling?”.  You get the idea.  Either my old plaid shirts were “dated” or the bright colors are stunningly different.

Your Mom has been sorting through pictures on her new computer (after much consultation with the Geek Squad at Best Buy).  She asked me for dates based on the pictures!  There were many pictures that I call the “transition”.  It was the Fall of 1967.  We had moved from the thriving metropolis of Milwaukee and I had left the security of Allis-Chalmers Company (which does not exist any more, by the way).  I had a new job.  We were essentially “home” in the sense that everything was familiar.  Family was close.  We located (rented) on the north side of Sheboygan, which had “an old German world charm”.  And, we had committed to finding our first house.  By Spring, we had deposited most of our savings ($1,600) on a quaint large old house near downtown Sheboygan.

I mention our move to Sheboygan because it was “like our family life had begun for real”.  The rest is history.  You Grasshoppers grew up in Sheboygan (at least No.1, No.2 and No.3) –  No.4 and No.5 were born there and spent a significant portion of their childhood there.  I even got a job promotion or “two”.

There is no mistaking the pictures from the Fall of 1967.  It was a good time.  It was a transition.

Love,

Dad

In the early 1960’s, my “in-laws” hired me and their son Bob to paint the family home during the summer, again!

As you know, the house had an attic and was 3 stories high at its peak.  We didn’t have ladders long enough to reach the apex so my mother-in-law (Nana) decided if we put the existing ladder on the porch at the back of the house, it could reach the very peak.  The problem was that the porch was rather small and the ladder would have to be placed at a very steep angle to reach the top.  Nana decided that I could climb to the top of the ladder, but there was the danger that it could “fall away” from  the house because of the steepness. So, she went up to the attic, shoved a rope out of the attic window, attached it to the ladder and held it tightly so that the ladder would not topple over.

You have to picture this.  My mother-in-law is holding the scary ladder set-up with a rope from the attic window.  If she lets go of the rope, her favorite son-in-law (me), could topple over backwards and be killed.  In effect, she held my life in her hands.  I bet there are a lot of mother-in-laws in this world that would like to be holding the rope that controls their son-in-law.

Nana’s decision was to hold the rope firmly. I climbed the steep ladder and painted the top portion of the house.  Nana had made her decision.  She let me live.

To this day I do not know why Nana didn’t work with her own son (Bob) to climb the ladder.  I guess she had already decided he was going to live!

Knowing Nana, her only goal was to paint the top of the house.  Over the years, I’ve often wondered if she had other thoughts enter her mind.

If Nana had let go of the rope, you Grasshoppers would not be here!  Think about that.

Love.

Dad

I allowed myself to become victim of the “Sting”.  I pride myself in avoiding scams and high pressure selling.  The new Obama healthcare plan allows a whole new level of “sting”.  I had cataract surgery last week essentially paid for by Medicare.  Cool!  The surgery doctors encourage a visit to your normal eye doctor about one week after surgery for a post-operative check.  Medicare pays for the first new set of glasses after surgery.  The surgery requires a change in prescription on the glasses.  The catch is that the Medicare allowance in limited.  The eye doctor “helps” with the selection process to new glasses and “smooths” the transition to the new prescription.  The amount allowed by Medicare allows for “baling wire and sticks” for a frame.  If you want a reasonably attractive frame, you pay extra.  “Non-glare” lens is extra.  Scratch resistant is extra.  Somehow I went from Medicare paying for my first glasses after surgery (meaning they should be free) to spending several hundred dollars.  I let “it” happen.

My alternative would have been to take the new prescription and shop for new glasses forgetting about the Medicare allowance.  I don’t know if that would have been cheaper or not.  I’ve got more important things to do like watch “Breaking Bad”.

I’m pretty sure I got “stung”.  I don’t think it was for a lot of extra cash.  I honestly don’t care.

I can’t wait until I have the second eye surgery for cataracts and get my 2nd new set of free glasses paid for  by Medicare.

Much needed rain this morning.  New grass seeds should love it.

Love,

Dad

Last Tuesday was my 1000th blog.  That represents over 10 years of mindless drivel.

On Wednesday, Aug. 6, I had a cataract surgically removed.  Exactly one year ago on Aug. 6, I happened to be in the hospital awaiting heart surgery.  The heart surgery got postponed because electrical power was lost for several days (tornados).  Last Wednesday morning I got up early for the eye surgery.  I turned on the TV and suddenly everything went dead.  No TV.  No nothing.  The power was out “again” on the day of surgery.  It only lasted about 20-30 seconds this time.  I try not to be superstitious, but this loss of power thing is a little un-nerving.  I thought it might be a  “sign”.  Alas, everything went all right.

Grandson Mitchell is 16 and will play basketball this Fall in Madison. I played a few games of “HORSE” with him last week.   He can really shoot a basketball.  As a kid growing up, I spent a lot of time on the playgrounds of Plymouth playing “hoops” and I developed a pretty deadly jump shot.  I liked to think I could beat anybody.  My skills have diminished but I do not think I could beat Mitchell even in my prime.  Now the goal is to convince him to shoot more in his high school games.  Nobody does it better!

This weekend is the Mile(s) of Music in downtown Appleton.  Over 250 bands will perform at one time or another.  I can’t wait to hear my favorite band.  Wait!  All my favorites are either retired or dead.

The Packers play Saturday night!  Let the fantasy begin?

Love,

Dad

 

Tomorrow marks the 1 year anniversary of my visit to my doctor to be checked for “shortness of breath”.  It started a journey.

I see that Brett Favre has accepted the invitation to be inducted into the Packer Hall  of Fame.  It happens next year in July, 2015.  A divided Packer Nation will either applaud or “boo” the induction.  How soon we forget.  For 14-15 years, Favre generated energy on game day and that energy rejuvenated the Green Bay Packers.  Embrace the gray haired, gray bearded warrior.  He never missed a game!  Think about that.  He never missed a game.  How can you boo that?  He is now left with the prospect of going “goofy” from all the years of concussions and millions and millions of dollars.

Grasshopper No.2 visited Saturday.  During a reflection about “life”,  her observation was that she wondered during the last year “when did my parents get old”?  Really?  This from someone who was a toddler “just yesterday” and now has passed the 50 years of age mark.

So No.2 posed the question “what is old”.  I went to my guru (one of the guys that I exercise with daily).  What is old?  He said that was easy.  The first sign of getting old is when the family takes away your ladder.  My guru would crawl up on the roof each Fall and blow leaves out of the gutters.  The family decided they didn’t want him doing that any more.  Poof!  The ladder disappeared.  The second indication of getting old was the family took away his chain saw.  He used the saw to cut wood for the fireplace.  Not any more!  No chain saw.  He realized he is officially “old”.

This is good “stuff”.  I don’t have to worry about anyone taking away my ladder because Grasshopper No.3 borrowed it 25 years ago and never returned it.  Secondly, I have never owned a chain saw, so that can’t be taken from me.  I have realized that there is no measure to judge “I am old”.  I can be young forever.

Love,

Dad

 

Bratwurst Days is this weekend in Sheboygan.

The history of “Brat days” is legendary.  In the 1960’s, the downtown streets of  Sheboygan were closed off to accommodate the crowds.  Lots of food featuring world famous bratwurst.  And booze!  There was a beer stand every 20 feet.  By the end of Saturday festivities, the streets were littered with discarded paper, beer cups and people.  Yep, people sleeping in the streets.

People came from all over.  Buses from Illinois, Minnesota, Iowa and Michigan were common.  Eventually, the whole celebration got so “out of hand” by becoming a drunken brawl, the event “Bratwurst Days” was cancelled.

When Brat Days was reinstated, it was designed to be confined to Kewanas Park.

Here is the family connection.  There was always a “brat eating contest” each year.  Two scrumptuous, greasy, heavily season brats were placed on a bun and the contest was to see who could eat the most “doubles”.  The company where I was employed had a maintenance man (Roger T.) who won the contest every year.  Typically Roger ate 16 doubles in a defined time (30 mins ?).  He  won several years in a row.  He was the unquestioned champ.  He died at age 47 of a heart attack.  Really!

My mother’s brother, Big Jerry, was visiting after retiring from the military.  Jerry had a big appetite and figured he could beat Roger T.  So Jerry entered the brat eating contest.  Jerry gave it his best effort by eating 12 double brats.  I remember he got sick after and “heaved” his sausages.  Alas, Roger T. won again.  Or did he.  Dying at 47 is not exactly a great reward.

The tradition of Brat days lives on.  You can eat until you are stuffed.

Love,

Dad