This is my second blog.

My first blog chronicled my experiences over three years caring for my dad as he lived through and finally died from Alzheimer's. That is the book that is for sale.

This second blog kind of chronicles of life, what it is like to start your life over in your late 50's. After caretaking, you are damaged, file bankruptcy, and the world doesn't care what you did. After 8 months of unemployment, you wake each day knowing the world doesn't want you. Finally you do find a job, 5 weeks before homelessness, but doing what you did 30 years ago and getting paid what you did 30 years ago. So this is starting over.

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Saturday, September 13, 2014


Well, I can't say what AP, the best running back in football, did to his kid was right, it sounds like he went way overboard with the whipping of the kid, but I also remember my grandmother making ME pick the switch from the tree that got me smacked across the butt once.

And only once, one simple whip.  Not multiple whips across the back, butt, legs, and testicles.

I grew up in the days when principals had paddles which I must admit I personally experienced often.  And, of course, my parents used the belt on the bottom, got that more than the principal paddle.  The paddles were wood, with holes in them so air friction wouldn't slow down the board before smacking your butt.  And I told the story before of the gym coach who smacked the entire gym class in the butt with the plastic hockey stick without missing a beat.

Point of all this is; generations after generation of children grew up and became normally functioning adults in spite of getting spanked, switched, and spanked with a belt.  But responsible parents don't belt, switch or paddle a kid a dozen times, that's not disciplined, that is sadistic.

Why do we, as a people, idolize athletes?  Most are pampered jerks, passed thru classes without doing the work, getting into college, and now paid millions to play games.  And we flock to the stadiums, buy their jerseys, and when they release a shoe with their name on them people stand around the block and pay hundreds for them so they can 'be like Mike' and others will kill them for those shoes.

What a country.

I remember back in the 90's one mom buying her young son a pair of Jordan sneakers and the she told me when the kid opened the box he got this horrified look on his face and told her he can't wear these shoes to school because the kids will beat him up and take them.

But on to another topic of sports.

Growing up a White Sox fan, I've learned the plan of the White Sox; one great team every decade and 9 years of tearing it down and rebuilding.  They almost won the AL back in 1967, had it in the palm of their hand, but managed to lose the last five games of the season two the two worst teams in baseball.

They only needed two to tie and three to win.

Then they could of won in 1972, the year of Dick Allen, but lost Bill Melton, the years previous homerun champion, for half a season and fell just behind the A's.  In 1983 they were the best team in baseball by far, but decided not to bring their bats to the playoffs.

Then came 1994 and they had it all; three great starters at their peak, Thomas and others tearing up the baseball, and then the spoiled brats went on strike.

And I, and millions of others, didn't watch baseball or go to a game the next season. Or the next.

Then something strange happened. Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire chased that hallow 61 homer record and millions who stopped watching baseball started watching baseball again.  And America fell in love with baseball again.  We all knew they were roiding and we didn't care, it was fun to watch, we love the homers, the exploding scoreboards, the excitement of chasing the records.  We love the ball players who smack 40, 50, or 60 homeruns.  The guy with 200 hits, eh, not so much.  Same with pitchers, most love the Nolan Ryans or Roger Clemens, so few appreciated the brilliance of a Greg Maddox, a Tommy John, a Catfish Hunter.

McGuire and Sosa, in effect saved baseball.  And today they are blackballed for doing what we knew they were doing and only after it was over we suddenly got some sort of religion against the steroids and now want to ban from the Hall of Fame those players we formerly cheered and who brought people back to the game.

The only thing Americans love more than a hero is to tear down a hero.

I was against these guys getting into the Hall, but now it's dawned on my how unfair it is, it's like the - oh I'm going to get into trouble for this - it's like the really hot but stupid babe you spend a weekend with and then dump.

Bonds, not so sure about, that guy became Frankenstein, but then if you let the rest in, you lose the argument to keep him out.  So it's time to face up to the fact that Sosa, McGuire, Bonds, Clemens, Palmero, and ARod deserve their spots in the Hall.  We fed them, we cheered them on, and it's just wrong to now dump them in the gutter and pretend we didn't contribute to the times.

Just like the dumb blonde we feel guilty about years later.

Floating through this darkness
All alone
Love is gone in darkness
Cold as a stone
Searching through the shadows you have known
Love's gone
Bare as a bone.

Trying to hold the memory face
You seem to have vanished without a trace
And in this darkness
This empty space
I float alone.

Now the night is falling
You have gone
Sad dreams blow through dark trees
Love's gone wrong
Clouds of sadness raining all night long
Love's gone
The end of our song.

I float alone

Julee Cruise