Mrs Skoda's camp coffee

A love story

The summer of 1958 was an idyllic time to be 15 years old.  While the adults were concerned with their car payments and fallout shelters, my pals and I were more concerned about meeting girls at the beach.

Our little cadre consisted of 4 gentlemen, (Harry, Andy, Jim, Pat) and myself.

We decided to hang around the jukebox at the pavilion and hope that some girls would show up.

They did.  Five girls from Schenectady.  We had hit the mother lode.

Harold danced with Sandra, Andy danced with Susan, Pat danced with Pat, Barbra danced with Jim, and I danced with Mary Lou.

We were invited to Barbra's parents' camp later that day.  

The stars and planets were aligned. 5 girls,  5 guys.  That doesn't happen in real life but it did.

We arrived at the cabin and met Mr. And Mrs. Skoda.  After a respectable amount of time, we whisked the girls down to the beach for a little romance and sweet talk.  

The problem was...Mrs. Skoda!

After about fifteen minutes she would holler down to the beach, "Who wants coffee?  I'm making some coffee.  Coffee's ready"

I never tasted coffee in my life but it smelled great. 

I told Mrs. Skoda I would give it a try.  It tasted great.  

Since that evening in 1958 I have been searching for that perfect cup of coffee that Mrs. Skoda served.  I've tasted coffee from all over the world.  I love my coffee.

My summer romance was wonderful.  Mary Lou was a nice young lady but my true love that summer was Mrs. Skoda's cabin coffee.

Epilog: although my summer romance with Mary Lou did not last, two did.

My love of coffee.

Pat and Pat.

They have been married 50 years.

Pat likes coffee but Pat doesn't.

The Don of a new era

The don of a new era

Ahhhh!  The election is finally over.
I am not a big fan of Hillary Clinton.  She will not be president.  I should be relieved.  I'm not.
I am terrified.

I am trying to take the advice of  others and give the man a chance, but he is already giving me a very uneasy feeling.
This morning's paper asked, "Can Trump bring America together?'
I believe he can.
A year from today everyone in the country will hate him.

How did this happen?
A country of 320,000,000 people and this is the best we could do?
America demands change.
Buckle up! It is coming.
The fox is in the henhouse.
We are the chickens.
I don't think egg production will get better this year.
I think the fox will get fatter and sassier and will not give a cluck about you.
The next year, the next four years will not be pretty for the average person who wanted change.

I hope I am totally wrong.
Nothing would make me happier.
Wouldn't it be great to say, "Wow! I didn't see that coming.  He is doing a great job."

First...we have to get his mind off Saturday Night Live.
He is embarrassing himself.

Second...Stop hiring Generals and billionaires for your cabinet.
You don't have to be a rocket surgeon to see where that is heading.

Third...please don't appoint Dennis Rodman to be Ambassador to North Korea.

This is my wish list.
I may add a few things later, but it is a nice start.

IBM

IBM (involuntary bowel movement)

I soiled myself again.
perhaps I should not think about the presidential election.

As numerous people have stated recently, "Holy crap! 300 million people in this country and this is the best we could find?  Shame on you, America."

This is like "dumb and dumber.

Hillary lies and knows she knows she's lying.
"The Donald" tells outrageous lies and believe it is the truth.

I wish I could "feel the Bern".

FROM "POST SECRETS"
It summarizes how i feel bout the candidates.

Memories

Ah...I remember it like yesterday.

I was the lead-off batter for  Mineville.  The pitcher for Port Henry was "Lefty" Denton.  He walked me on four pitches.  I did not get a chance to swing my Mickey Mantle 32 inch little league Louisville slugger bat.  

This was my first time at bat in little league baseball.

Ah...just like... yesterday.

Wait.  It must have been the day before yesterday.

I remember almost nothing about yesterday. 

My wife worries about me.  I go to the bedroom to get something and when I get there, a distance of 20 feet, I ask myself, "why am I here?"

I look around. Perhaps I will recognize something that  will give me a hint. Nope!  

I return to the kitchen. 

My wife queries,"Did you find it?"

Should I answer yes or no.?

Lie!  I don't want to look like a fool.

"Yes!...ice cream!

"What is the ice cream doing in the bedroom?"

Uh...ummm! I look like a fool.

Busted!!

And so it goes.

If I was ever questioned by the police and they asked, "where were you at 2 pm Friday afternoon?"  I would put  out my hands and let them slap the handcuffs on me, because I have no idea where I was.

They will have to ask my wife.

She remembers everything I did since we were married.  I know this because it comes up every time we have a disagreement.

 I am working on improvement. 

I purchased a memory book.  I forget who the author was, but I hear he is very good.

Or was it a she?

As soon as I can find it I will start studying it.

Oh wait, that's what I was looking for in the bedroom.

A walk down memory lane

"Excuse me, Is there a toilet on memory lane?  Where?"

I often sit at my desk looking at old snapshots.  Some of the pictures are very old.  They are brown and white.  Some of them feel like they are made of metal.  These photos may be around the beginning of the 20th century.

I have numerous photos of world war II vintage.  I have several pictures of my dad with Japanese POW's on Okinawa near the end of the war.

Some "recent" photos were taken in the post-war era.  The timeline runs from the late 40's right up to the digital age.  I have many photos of people and I don't know who most of them are.  I know that many of them would not be called handsome or pretty.  Some of them are downright ugly.  I hope they are not my relatives but they probably are.   Sadly I have no relatives left that could identify these strange looking people.  No one to say, " Oh, that is uncle Percy, the bootlegger.  He got shot up and killed while crossing the border from Canada in 1931."  It was rumored that I did have an uncle who did run alcohol across the border and got chased by the government men.  He broke his leg during the chase and I don't think they caught him.   I guess it would be alright to mention it now.  He died 35 years ago.

Aw…memories.

The funny thing about memories is that your mind plays tricks on you.  This phenomenon manifests its presence in the fact that I cannot remember using a toilet for any reason from 1951 to 1957.  I swear I may have gone days without even thinking about toilets.  I cannot recall one instant where our little league coach Herbie said to the boys before practice or a game, "Do any of you boys have to pee?  How about poop?  Anybody?"  

He was more the type that said, "I am a marine.  We do it in our pants.  Booyah!!…oops."

Nowadays I am obsessed with toilets.  When I go shopping I have to know where the toilets are and the last time they were cleaned.  Many places have a chart in the toilet telling you the last time it was cleaned.   Walmart usually has a bathroom in the front and in the back.  Sam's club, the same company, they are like Herbie.  Do it in your pants.   I know every toilet within a 10-mile radius of my home.  I know who keeps their paper towels and toilet paper up to date.  

In our home, we have two toilets. In Montreal, most places have only one toilet.  It is barbaric and medieval, very much like my high school bathrooms and locker rooms.

"Up periscope!"

While I am on the subject of toilets and privacy I will have to tell you about our high school.  The urinals in our high school bathroom were ancient.  They were floor models with no flush handles.
There was a constant flow of water coming from them and wetting the floor in front of the urinals.
If it wasn't for the fragrant urinal cake the men's room would have been quite gamey.

 There were 5 toilets in the men's room.  Only one had a door, the teacher's toilet.  The students were not supposed to use it.  They did use it.  They did abuse it.  They would remove all the toilet paper, pee on the toilet seat,  leave little gifts floating around the toilet.  The teachers had to use the same toilets that we did.   They didn't have Depends in those days.

I won't even try to describe the shower room at our high school.  On second thought….maybe I will.
It would be like putting 25 naked boys in a 1957 Volkswagon and turning on the water which was occasionally warm, occasionally cold, occasionally scalding.
There were 6 or 7 shower heads in the school shower.  You would walk into the shower straight and come out gay. Just kidding.  It was too small an area for anything.  This fact did not dampen or deter my friend, Richard.  He didn't have to play sports like the rest of us. He would stand on a rock nearby so he would not get his nice shoes wet. when it was time to take a shower, he was the first one in, the last one out. The coach would shrug and say, "whatever."

Our school...I could talk for a few minutes and tell you what a crappy looking  place it was or I could talk endlessly about what a wonderful place it was.  All my friends were there.
 It would not win any award for the most beautiful campus in North America.  More likely it would be the ugliest campus in North America.  It was built on a pile of gray dirt that came from the iron ore mines.
I could look out the study hall window and view the scenic mine shafts, hear the underground blasting, hear the railroad cars bringing the ore to the separating plant.
A good place to grow up.  I LOVED IT.

Life was not about toilets in the 50's.  Now it is.

I have to stop now.  Gotta pee!
At my age talking about toilets is the geriatric equivalent to a 20-year-old talking about sex.
How exciting.

American life

Religion and Politics

I don't like to talk about politics and religion.  This is not the case with many people we have met in the past year.

Recently, we were accosted on the street by one of our acquaintances with whom we were building a friendship.  On that day, we found out that he is a Trump zealot.  Any subject we were trying to start would end up all about Trump. No matter what we tried, that's where it ended. Trump!!! He did not want to be confused with facts, his mind was made up.

 He informed us that all the other candidates were morons and he would "enlighten us" about what a wonderful president Donald Trump would be.

I understand why Trump appeals to a certain segment of the population, those who lack critical thinking skills... to them, what Trump says sounds good.

Trump "I am going to save the world and make America great again."

America: "How?"

Trump: "I will get back to you on that."

Maybe the reason why so many people like Trump, is because nobody else out there has balls.
Congress hasn't done much in the 21st century.

The only way to detect if they are in session is with time lapse photography and the quiet rustling of cash envelopes from the hands of lobbyist to the pockets of your Congressman.  

The only noticeable activity can be seen when they are voting themselves a pay raise.

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We (wife/self) try to be sociable people when we go on our daily walk.  Sometimes we meet people who look normal until we start talking to them.  Lately, we met this couple, who seemed nice.  We sat near them. 

Sadly, it did not take long before they started talking about God.  Endlessly. We have nothing against God.  We like him.  We have heard a lot about him.  Most of it good.  We thought we knew some stuff about God.  However, those people knew him on a personal level and they were privy to information we knew nothing about.

Every sentence they spoke ended with "if it be god's will."  

They told us that an event happened in 1962 that foretold of the Apocalypse.  They were eager to warn us that the world was to end soon. (If it be God's will).

I asked them what their religion affiliation was.  

"We are not connected to any church.  We are missionaries.  We started our own religion.  We just go by what we read in the bible."

I stood up, turned to them and said,  "I have to go home and take a crap, if it be God's will, because you are scaring the shit out of me,"

Yup, American life.

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Here's a funny/interesting text I found somewhere on the Internet, posted by John R. Stanton. I thought you might enjoy it...

Donald Trump claims credit for rare virgin birth in Bethlehem

The media-about 70% of them are liars, they lie, they're bad people-will try to tell you it  happened in a disgusting barn.  "Not true, Not true.  "Here's how it really happened.  One of my guys sees this beautiful young girl.  Very charming.  Very, Very charming.  And he goes, "What are you doing in this filthy barn?"

"and she tells him–get this–no room at the inn.  No room at the inn for the beautiful girl, pregnant, too!  Very pregnant.  And my guy, he can't believe it.  No room at the inn?  It's disgraceful.  She out here in the dark with the donkeys, she's very pregnant.  I mean, disgraceful.

"Now, she's not married.  Very funny situation.  There's an older guy with her, but–you know me, You know Trump.  My guy, he's a good kid,  he says to himself, well, sometimes you have to look the other way.  I mean, this is a vey sad scene.  Beautiful young girl, very charming, pregnant, and she 's in this disgusting barn.

"So my guy, he's a good kid, smart kid, went to a very fine school.  He tells her, Listen, Mary–this is her name–get out of this filthy barn and come with us."

Twenty minutes later this young woman is in a luxurious–LUX-UR-IO-US– room at one of my properties, giving birth to Christ.

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I am done writing for today. (If it be God's will)

Banking 

I'm ready to change my diet.  This idea came about after we applied for a home equity loan at our local bank. 

It didn't take us long to realize we were up  against a slow moving  uncaring apparatus that think of us as 15-9-343H-blah blah dash blah blah blah.

Dealing with a bank sometimes starts to get very overwhelming and frustrating.

I asked a friend how to deal with this situation.

His advice was:  "Think of this seemingly overwhelming situation as the proverbial 'how do you eat an elephant?' One bite at a time."

I took his advice.  I bought an elephant.

How long can a person eat elephant steaks, elephant stew, elephant dumplings, elephant sausage, belephant testicles, sautéed elephant liver, pickled elephant tongue, elephant creole, elephant tacos, elephant foo hung, elephant teriyaki, Chicago style elephant pizza, elephant tripe, Irish style elephant w/baked potato, barbecued elephant, baked elephant, boiled elephant, and elephant chili?

I'm done.

Not with the elephant, just with eating it.

The stinking carcass lies rotting on my front lawn.

The neighbors are complaining.  They are getting a little cranky.

The HOA president asks me when I will be moving the wooly mammoth off our lawn.

I told him that it would be soon. Maybe. This approach seemed to work for the bank.

He tried to nail me down to a specific date.

"Oh...you want a closing date? That will be soon after our bank gives us the money for elephant carcass cleanup and for our new condo."

Oddly the neighbors started calling our bank and tried to help us expedite the removal of the dead beast.

We have nice neighbors.

 But sometimes you have to put up a stink to get some attention.