Month: July 2016

THE OAK TREE THAT ATE ALABAMA

September of 1989 was an exciting time for us.  We moved into our new house.  It’s the first time we lived in a brand new place.  First time we could afford luxuries like a two car garage, screened in back porch, full basement.

But my favorite part was the wide open, half-acre backyard.   I’m a big backyard guy.  I don’t get young people today who want to move in to those tightly bunched houses on tiny lots.  The ones where you can reach out your kitchen window and help your neighbor dry her dishes.  I don’t want to trim my front yard with a hand scissors.  The neighborhoods where the guy next door fires up his grill and sets off your smoke alarm.

I’m one of those freaks who actually enjoys mowing the lawn in a big yard…….ah, the smell of freshly cut grass, the symmetry of  well-manicured turf, the breeze caressing your face, the funny clanking sound as you run over that rock you keep forgetting to move, and the way you giggle at yourself when you realize your mower is no longer mowing because the blade is lying on the ground back by that rock.

But I digress….

Yes, our new house had everything…..everything except a tree.  You see, the property used to be a cow pasture…..at least, that’s what the realtor told us (so it must be true).  I could envision a herd lazily basking in the hot Alabama sun, chewing on tall stalks and answering the call of nature anywhere they pleased.  (Made mental note:  Check yard for call of nature answers.)  But Southern summers being what they were, I knew we would need at least some shade in our little corner of the earth.

So I bought me a little oak tree.  It was about as tall as me.  I had always admired the beautiful, spreading oaks at the local cemetery.  What a wonderful place to be put to rest, I thought…..under that stately canopy.  (Please don’t kill the sentiment by pointing out the obvious…that I would be dead and it wouldn’t matter.)   I could imagine such glory in my own backyard one day.

So I planted, nursed, watered, fertilized, trimmed and generally loved my oak tree.  Through the next 27 years, my life took a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, euphoria and heartbreak, and all the while, my oak tree went through it with me….always there as a comforting constant as I sat staring at it from my porch.  As I grew in the experiences of life, my oak tree grew as well….and grew….and grew…and grew.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.  Like a child that has lived in the basement for too long, my tree has worn out its welcome.  I don’t know why I just assumed it would stop growing at some point, like people do.  But it has morphed into this monstrous skyscraper of lumber that now threatens my house and shades out most all the grass.  Now when I mow the backyard I churn up a dust storm that has the neighbors checking their weather radios for tornado watches.  Nothing can live under this tree, except for fire ants.   Occasionally, huge branches will sever during a high wind and plummet to the ground, causing me to haul out my chain saw….which, considering my lack of tool skills, is even more terrifying to the neighbors.

And so I face what is, for me, a difficult decision….live with the inconveniences, or ponder getting rid of my old friend.  I tried to have “the talk” with it the other day, but it was non-responsive.  In my soul, I know eventually it will have to come down…. and when that happens, I will feel like I am losing an old companion.

Oh well….maybe the cows will come back to fill the void.

 

 

YOU CAN LEARN A LOT ABOUT YOUR MARRIAGE FROM PLAYING SCRABBLE

My wife Sharon and I lead an intensely exciting life.  Most of our evenings are spent watching marathon reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond”, “The Middle”, and Andy Griffith, our favorite shows.  We’ve seen the episodes so many times, we’ve become competitive to see who can recite the next line of dialogue first.

But every once in awhile, when we really want to live on the edge, I challenge her to a game of Scrabble.  I’m talking about the traditional board game, not that sissy, online “Words With Friends” impostor.

She just plays for fun but I take it seriously.  I think it goes back to all the times my mother cleaned my clock at this game, even after she got into her 90’s.  She’s still going at 99 but her vision is no longer sharp enough to play, no doubt sparing me the humiliation of being defeated by a near centenarian.

I have learned a lot about my marriage playing against Sharon.  The other night was a perfect example.  She had built the word “zone” horizontally.  She was way ahead on the score sheet and I desperately needed a big counter.  So I made the word “bogo” vertically, with the final “o” landing directly in front of “zone” to create the word “ozone”.  It was a double word score both ways, a huge point total.  I was back in it!!!

Now here’s the thing….in my heart of hearts, I knew “bogo” was not a real word.  It’s an acronym (buy one get one) and therefore against the rules.  But I figured maybe the term has become so comm0n that she would think it was a word and I’d get away with it.  It’s not cheating really.   I prefer to think of it as creative gamesmanship.  Kind of like a football player faking an injury to stop the clock at the end of a game.

Anyway, Sharon stared at the word for a few seconds, then glanced up at me with a wry little smile that said “Yes dear, I know that word is bogus, but I also understand what a ridiculous child you are when it comes to games, so I’m just going to ignore this blatant flouting of the rules and go on with the game”.

And that, my friends, is true love!  I’m not sure what filled me with more euphoria at that point…..the knowledge that my awesome wife loves me so unconditionally that she overlooks my obvious faults, or the fact that I zoomed ahead of her on the score sheet.  Let’s call it a draw.

Just as I began to rehearse in my mind what humble remark I was going to make after I won the game (“Aw shoot, dear, you played a great game.  It could have gone either way.”), she promptly used six of her seven letters to build the word “leakers” into a triple word score.

“Leakers”, I thought?  “Leakers?  What is leakers?  Is that a word?”  My mind was racing.  How should I react?  After all, she let me slide out of pure, unselfish love.  The least I can do is return the sentiment, right?  So I did what any husband would do.

“What the heck is ‘leakers'”?  I heard myself shouting.  “I dare you to use it in a sentence”!

“You know, leakers.  One who leaks is a leaker.  More than one would be leakers”, she said as she counted up her enormous score.  Hmmmm….same wry smile.

She wound up winning the game.  And after throwing around a few seat cushions and kicking the dog, I was fine with it…I really was.

After all, how many guys can say they are married to a woman who loves him so much that she unselfishly beats him at Scrabble to keep his ego grounded.

………Yeah, let’s go with that.

 

 

NAMING GRAMPA: NO DIGNITY NECESSARY

“It’s not being a grandfather that bothers me.  It’s the idea that every night I sleep with somebody’s grandmother.”

That was my dad’s favorite line.  He would say it every time he saw my kids.  Sadly, he passed away before he got to say it very often.

I waited 64 years to be a grandfather.  It finally happened on August 7th, 2015.  But my beautiful little granddaughter was barely in my arms for the first time when I got the instruction from my daughter:

“Dad, you need to have a nickname.”

“A nickname?  What do you mean?”

“You know….a grampa name!”

Now, this is a tradition that seems to be uniquely Southern.  I spent the first 27 years of my life in Wisconsin, and I swear I don’t remember grampas having grampa names up there.  I know I didn’t have one for my grampas.  I called them grampa.

But there was no room for negotiation on this.  My daughter insisted.  She suggested a few examples:  “How about paw-paw?  Or pee-paw?”

Really?  Is this what grandfatherhood has come to?  I have to be known to my grandchild as something that sounds like a gastrointestinal problem?  Pee-paw?  Pee-poo?  Pee-pee?

No, I would come up with something better, classier.  I suggested things like Stud Muffin, Gray Fox, The Grampinator.  All were rejected by my daughter almost before they came out of my mouth.  Probably for the best in retrospect.

I agonized over this for weeks.  After all, this is how my grandchild would identify me for life!  My life and hers!  Sixty years from now I don’t want her bouncing her own grandchildren on her knee and telling amusing stories about her “Poo-pop”.

So after much consideration and wretching of hands,  I decided on K-Pa, borrowing from the first letter of my first name.  K-Pa…..it felt unique, distinctive, not totally embarrassing, and didn’t seem to include any bathroom function.  My daughter liked it, and so it is.  I am forever K-Pa. Never mind that my granddaughter won’t be able to pronounce it until she’s about six.  It’s my grampa name.  I’m okay with it.

I know there are more grampa names out there, and I would love to read your favorites.  Also your least favorites.  So click on the comments link and post them.

And for those of you yet to become a grandparent, you might want to start thinking about this now……. lest you go down in eternity as a stomach disorder.

IN THESE TIMES, WE NEED PERSPECTIVE

We need to see a bigger picture.  Our focus during this turbulent time is narrowed by the scope of the news headlines.  These events are real and unspeakable.  But they are not the whole story.  Not by a long shot.   Not even the biggest part of it.

A white policeman uses undue force to unjustifiably shoot and kill a black victim.  But that’s not who white policemen are.  A black man filled with hate murders five white policemen, but that’s not who black people are.

More than ever, we need perspective.  In our mind we need to see millions of black men and women working so hard to provide for their families and raising their children to be God-fearing, law abiding citizens.  We need to see thousands of courageous, professional, moral policemen protecting the black community from harm every day at the risk of their own lives.  We need to envision millions of people of all colors functioning together in the workplace, supporting each other as a team every day.  We need to see into thousands of bi-racial churches where those of any race lift up the same God and try to be the face of Jesus to each other, regardless of what they look like.

These events are also real.  Every day.  That’s the perspective we need to hold on to.  That’s how we will make this better.  Marches in the streets?  Okay, but do they really make a difference?  All too often they actually serve to spawn more violence.

Black lives matter.  Blue lives matter.  I refuse to pick a color.  I refuse to let the escalation of the rhetoric force me to choose a side.  I choose love.  I choose not to fear those who do not look like me, and to act in such a way that they don’t have to fear me.  If we get that simple thing done, there will be no need for marches.  This needs to get done, live, in person, one on one every day…..

……and that will require the right perspective.

ARE YOU STILL HIP? TAKE MY QUIZ! or: When did jorts go out of style?

So recently I was riding in the back seat of an SUV with my son-in-law  driving, my daughter in the front seat,  and Sharon and me in the back with the baby.  We were cruising through a busy mall parking lot, looking for a place to pull in, when a fortyish man crossed our path on foot.

“Look”, my son-in-law exclaimed to my daughter,  “He’s wearing jorts!”  Whereupon they both burst into laughter.   I immediately cast my eyes downward toward my lap…and there they were….right below my burgeoning belly.  I was wearing jorts.  “Uh-oh”, I blurted out.  “I’m wearing them too.”  More laughter, followed by the revelation from my daughter that jorts have been hopelessly out of style for years.

No way, I thought.  So I began to study every other man walking around the mall.  All were wearing shorts.  But no jorts.  Zero.  Zip.  Zilch.  Nada.  Not a single pair.  Most wore sporting those preppy looking cargo-type shorts.

Still incredulous, I went on the internet to consult my bible of coolness and fashion trend:  the urban dictionary.  I typed in the word “jorts”.  Here’s what it said:

“Jean shorts.  Worn mostly by children…jorts are perhaps the easiest way to recognize people you will not like.   If you wear jorts, you probably don’t talk to girls”.

When did this happen?  I wear mine all the time…..all…the…..time.

That’s when it hit me.  I am displaying the first symptom of being a senior:  Losing track of the mainstream….falling out of style…becoming,  dare I say it, Unhip.

This is usually followed by the second symptom:  Not caring.  When I got home I took a look at myself in a full length mirror.  I couldn’t help but notice my glasses were the frameless Ben Franklin style.  Very stylish…..ten years ago.  I was wearing gym socks, not the little anklets.  Yes, I could no longer deny it.  I was decidedly Unhip.  (I also use the word “hip” alot.  Also very unhip)

It’s too late for me.  But as a public service to you, I offer the following brief quiz to test your degree of hipicity.   Try to answer each question the way an in-style, trendy, person of today would respond.  Ready?  Here we go:

The name of Justin Timberlake’s hot new song is:

A.  Tearin’ Up My Heart

B.  Bye,  Bye, Bye

C.  Can’t Stop the Feeling

D.  Wait…..you mean he’s not with NSYNC anymore?

 

Wearing white socks with sandals is:

A.  A popular new street trend

B.  A comfortable way to walk your dog in the morning

C.  the reason your children refuse to be seen with you in public

 

Beyonce is currently married to:

A.  Jay Z

B.  Zee Jay

C.  Ex Why Zee

 

The current cool way of wearing a ball cap is:

A.  backwards

B.  sideways

C.  with the price tag still dangling

D.  pulled down over your eyes so you can’t see people staring at        your jorts

 

Wallpaper with teapots on it is:

A.  currently trendy in new homes

B.  only found in the restrooms of Chinese restaurants

C.  likely to send your real estate agent screaming out the front door

 

The current style of lapels on a man’s suitcoat is:

A.  wide

B.  narrow

C.  it doesn’t matter.  I’m wearing what’s in my closet

D.  so I guess my leisure suit is out of the question?

 

Drake is:

A.  A pop singer currently dating Rihanna

B.  a male duck

C.  a college in Iowa

D.  …….are you sure Justin Timberlake is no longer with NSYNC?

 

For the correct answers, consult any young adult.  If you would like to share your thoughts and stories of the loss of your hipnology,  please comment.  My misery would love company.

SO….I DECIDED TO START A BLOG……

……which is interesting, because I only have a peripheral understanding of what a blog actually is.  So forgive if this site looks a little weird until I get the hang of design and such.

I’ve been debating whether to blog for a couple of months.  I wondered do I have anything to say?  Or more importantly, do I have anything to say that anyone else would care enough about to read?  Well, let’s find out.

It seems appropriate to begin by introducing myself.  My name is Ken.  I am recently retired from a 43 year career in the TV news business.  I am as average and middle class as a man can be.  I am adjusting to a whole new phase of life as a retiree and, for some reason, feel compelled to chronicle my journey.

I am acutely aware that people of my age group, who might actually relate to such thoughts, probably don’t even read blogs.  They’re still buying newspapers and magazines and driving their kids nuts by continually asking for guidance as to how to operate their smart phones.  So I realize that, in all likelihood, I am writing this to myself.  But that’s okay.  The therapy is worth the cost of the website.

But if, by some chance, you have come upon this blog,  please read with charity and I would love to see any comments you might have.

You see I’m convinced this is part of the way to avoid becoming a cranky old codger…..expessing thoughts and drawing reaction.  Isn’t that the greatest, or at least one of the greatest fears of being a senior?  That you will no longer have anything to say that anyone cares about?  And that makes you irrelevant, which makes you invisible.  Not gonna happen here my friend.  Here your thoughts will always be welcome, always be relevant, always be sought and appreciated.

Hey, maybe that’s it!  Maybe this site could be a sort of ministry for the unacknowledged.  An oasis from a world that is trying to pass you by.  So come back often and read my offerings and shoot back yours as well.  More to come shortly.   See?  We’ve become friends already.