Mister, Get Your Reindeer Off My Roof !

How in the world did it manage to get to the 16th of December without me knowing it ? Something weird happens every year, between mid-November and December 20; days disappear. I think it has something to do with birthdays. December 20 is my birthday and it always catches me off guard. I should be getting better at remembering that it's coming, I've had enough practice. This will be the 66th time I've forgotten, although I think I can be excused for forgetting the first few.

Sixty-six ! Hard to imagine. At this moment, I can only think of 2 good things about 66. First, it's great to have made it, and second, I love Route 66. Not the Highway itself, but the aura that it's generated over the years; the romance of the road West, from Chicago to Southern California. I like the song too. "...get your kicks on Route 66." which segues me into my topic for today, Christmas Music.

Can you imagine anything that has produced a wider range of musical output than Christmas ? From the ridiculousness of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer", to the sublimity of Handel's "Messiah". My Darlin Darlene and I have managed to cover the gamut fairly well. I haven't done an actual count, but we have a stereo system that has a 51 slot carousel, and our Christmas CD collection won't fit. And, I'm proud to say, we don't have a CD that includes the "Grandma..." thing.

I love the music of Christmas, and always have, although I'm happy to confine my enjoyment to the month of December, give or take a day or two. My Darlin' Dar and I always Deck our Halls for Christmas on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and mark the season's onset by playing some of our favorite Christmas music as we decorate. Every year, since my daughter, Alicia, sent it to us around 14 years ago, the first CD that we play is Aaron Neville's wonderful "Soulful Christmas". Try it, you'll love it.

We spend at least one evening every season sitting by the fire enjoying the "Messiah", and our collection of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's CD's. I also have to get my fix of the Christmas music from my childhood, and since my childhood lasted for more years than most people's, this covers a lot of ground; Glenn Miller, Bing, Frank, Dean, Tony Bennett's "Snowfall" CD. I even sneak in a little Gene Autry, although I still maintain that Rudolph, whom Gene introduced in the 50's, is a cartoon interloper who really doesn't belong, since Clement Moore never mentioned him in his poem that defined Christmas Eve, forever. My Darlin' Dar has an amazing amount of tolerance, but every year, when I finally sneak in my Andrews Sisters' Christmas CD, my control over what gets played, ceases.

A couple years back, I stumbled across a Christmas CD that is extraordinary. Imagine a Rock Band doing a Christmas CD. I'm sure that if I'd stumbled across a Christmas CD by REO Speedwagon, I would have passed, but this wasn't by just any Rock Band. This was by the Moody Blues. You really do need to find it. It's called "December", and it's excellent except for one song. The only track that is a typical Christmas offering, is "White Christmas" and it's the only skippable song on the CD. Try it, you'll love it.

Nearly everybody has Barbra Streisand, Mannheim Steamroller, Trans-Siberian Orchestra and all the classics. Check out Peabo Bryson's "Peace On Earth", Kenny G, and Harry Connick Jr.'s stuff. But, whatever you do, enjoy this wonderful season, and stay warm.

Now, I've gotta get back to my Stained Glass Workshop. Lotsa presents to complete. By the way, the Santa at the top is my Son-In-Law, Donovan, my daughter Alicia's husband, playing Santa at their store, Kidz-'N'-More, out in Garberville, California.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

More Rhyme Than Reason

As I mentioned in my last post, some of my readers who have read a few of my poems (I usually call them rhymes), have asked that I post them here. It took me longer to decide on a title for this post than it did to write a few of my poems. I struggled with "Lehr: Modern Longfellow" or "Frost, Reborn" and a few more grandiose ones. My thinking was that I'll never get these published unless I do it myself, and as long as it's my site ---well, you get my drift. My Uncle John Lehr told me once, many years ago, "If you don't blow your own horn now and then, somebody's gonna think it's a funnel, and pour a buncha hooey down it." But, humility won out, and humility becomes me so.
I hope you enjoy these, and perhaps get a chuckle or a tear.

The first one is called, "And Then There Were Eight, Again". I wrote this in response to the Planet Pluto's being demoted to unplanetary status a while back.

And Then There Were Eight, Again

-Don Lehr

When our parents were young, there were eight.
But Clyde’s famous find made it nine.
Though named for the god of the Underworld,
Pluto has seemed quite benign.

But being a planet is tough,
It’s got to live up to it’s hype.
Though Pluto tried hard, the Club changed the rules,
And Pluto was sent down the pipe.

I don’t know how it made you feel,
But it gave me a case of the ickies.
Thank goodness we still have the other one though.
Pluto---- the dog----
Mickey’s.

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This next one is "...not stupid, merely foolish." I was getting a haircut, and suddenly the electric clippers were doing something in my ear, and then the other ear. So, "Geezers With Tweezers".

Geezers With Tweezers

-Don Lehr

As I squandered my youth,
Both unkempt and uncouth,
Growing older held no fear for me.
Just fill up my glass,
And get one for that lass
Over there. Life was all it should be.
Even after youth faded,
I never grew jaded,
Nor minded the passing of years.
But the one thing that’s wracked
Me with fear is the fact
That old men all have hair in their ears.

I know it seems trivial,
And I mean it convivial’,
Still, it does make me pause,
To ponder what purpose,
What reason, what service
This hair, this nausea cause
Fills? So wiry and coarse,
Much like fescue or gorse,
The thought nearly brings me to tears.
I know fully and well,
That a part of Man’s Hell,
Begins here, with hair in our ears!

Now dignity is tough
To maintain, as enough
Men will quite willingly testify.
We endure spreading torso’s,
With, “There’s just some more so’s
To love”, and a wink of our eye.
But the thought that just chills me,
(‘Twill be this that kills me)
Is this one, my greatest of fears,
“ Here lies an Old Geezer,
Found dead with his tweezer,
Apparently pulling hair from his ears.”

O-o-o-kay.

-----------------------------------

"The Trail Past Santa Fe" is one of my favorites. That's probably because I dearly love the people that are involved; my Darlin' Darlene, Alene Hunt and the late Slim Hunt. Slim's real name was Don, but I called him Slim because he was slim. He was one of the finest people I've ever known, a good old Arkansas boy with a continual smile and a twinkle in his eye. I miss him.

The poem relates how we were going up to Santa Fe, but Alene wanted to show us so much other stuff that we never actually got there. By the way, Madrid is the town where most of the movie "Wild Hogs" was filmed. It's pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable, otherwise it throws off the rhythm of the poem.

The Trail Past Santa Fe

-Don Lehr

We headed out of Edgewood in the big white Cadillac,
Trail Boss Alene, up front with Dar. Slim Hunt ‘n’ me in back.
Our destination, Santa Fe, that storied Old West town.
The Boss an’ Slim said, “...just can’t wait to show you all around.”

We crossed the San Pedros mountains, stopped at Madrid on the way,
Where a bunch of burned out Hippies had decided that they’d stay.
With no apparent way to turn a dollar, they were sunk,
‘Til they got the inspiration to make “artwork” outa junk.

Old, worn out tires and beer cans are just trash to most us folks,
But those Hippies turned them into gold, with the help of self-rolled smokes.
The artsy-fartsies snap it up, but to my frame of mind,
It’s still plain junk inspired by, a few tokes over the line.

The Boss said, “Jump !” We said, “How high?” We jumped back in the car,
“Let’s head on up to Taos first. It’s really not that far.”
Through desert, right past Santa Fe, she wound that Cadillac.
“There’s lots of time, we’ve got all day. We’ll stop on our way back.”

“Chimayo’s next. To not stop there would be an awful sin.”
But sinful that I am, I caused some tension to set in.
Now I know well, Religion is a topic we should skirt,
But I made a “Baptist” comment ‘bout the Church of Holy Dirt.

Slim looked at me agrinnin’ wide, just like that Cheshire cat.
But I lucked out, I’d only caused a minor-major spat.
How Catholics can live in peace with Baptists is now clear.
Just sit the “Sprinklers” up in front, us “Dunkers” in the rear

The lunch in Taos was real fine, the Margaritas too,
We hit the shops a runnin’, there was so much left to do.
Back on the road, “Jeez, check your watch, our time is slippin’ away,
We’d like to catch the Indians sellin’ silver in Santa Fe.”

So off we motored, racin’ time. “There’s too danged much to do
In just one day.” I settled back and marveled at the view.
The Rio Grande, the desert hills, the sky so blue ‘n’ clear,
Ol’ Slim, who’d seen it all before, said,”How’d you like a beer?”

“Now beers don’t come in ones” says I, “but if there’s two, I’m sold.”
“I got two apiece, Alene can’t drink, she’s drivin’, an’ they’re still cold.”
You talk about enjoy yourself; a picture-perfect day,
The gals up front and us in back drinkin’ roadies on our way.

Alene bewailed, “I can’t believe we’re runnin’ out of time,
The Indians are gone, St. Frank’s is locked, it’s simply just a crime.
It’s such a shame that Santa Fe shuts down at 5 o’clock.”
I said, “Don’t fret. We’ll come back up. Hey, ain’t that Camel Rock?”

Then Slim piped up, “Casino time! It’s early, then we’ll go
To Pelican’s for grub, but now let’s stop and win some dough.”
Those Indians knew the Boss and Slim were gamblers to be feared,
But they’d cut their losses with the Blonde and the fat guy with the beard.

Those one-armed-bandits left me’n Dar with just an empty cup,
But the Boss ‘n’ Slim were on a roll, you’d think they’d set it up.
Yeah, Dar ‘n me were separated fast from our hard earned pay,
While the Boss ‘n’ Slim were stackin’ silver dollars in their tray.

“Well Slim,” I said, “ That tidy cache ain’t all that you just won,
You’ve won the check for dinner too, so let’s head out now, son.”
We lobstered well at Pelican’s, Martinied once or twice,
And watchin’ Slim haul out the cash, just made it twice as nice.

We left old Albuquerque in that big white Cadillac,
Slim Hunt was drivin’ up front with me, Dar ‘n’ Alene in back.
Our destination, Edgewood, the close of a perfect day,
Out in “The Land of Enchantment” on The Trail past Santa Fe.

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"Vespers at St. Ann's" is my imaginary look at an actual event that occurred in our little town. There is a local watering hole that has been here for ages, called "Stan's". To many of the locals, it's "St. Ann's", and for many of those, a visit to "St. Ann's" has been described variously as, "Services at St. Ann's" or "Vespers at St. Ann's". Some years back, a group of the old regulars sent out the word that on a selected evening, there was to be a gathering of the old "parishioners" for "Vespers"; a sort of reunion of the old crowd, some of which had back-slidden, and were no longer attending "Services" regularly.

Skip One-Eye was an actual person, since passed on, whom I had known for years. The others are all figments of my imagination. The events described are fictitious, although the Euchre and Cribbage Tournaments are legendary.

Vespers at St. Ann’s

-Don Lehr

A reunion of old Reg’lars was called for Vespers at St. Ann’s,
That venerated bar that’s known, by lesser lights, as Stan’s.

While on his way, Old Jake went on a journey through the years,
Remembering all the good times, good friends and countless beers.

He chuckled as he thought about how Mike and he, one night,
Stopped by for one or maybe two or six. They both got tight.

They headed out the front to leave, but when they looked around,
Jake’s car was gone, plain disappeared, ‘twas nowhere to be found.

They went back in, took up their spots, they had to think this through,
The barkeep said, “Short trip.” Jake said, “Just bring us each a brew”.

They called the cops. The whole danged force turned out to find Jake’s car,
The cops said, “Go home”. Jake said, “I’m in no shape to walk that far”.

They sat through two or three more beers, then up walked old Fat Jack,
He said, “Nobody stole your car. It’s sittin’ out in back”.

The only times that fights broke out involved the “fairer” sex,
Big Fred would punch you out, or worse, for dancin’ with his ex.

She’d latch on to some stranger, cause the Reg’lars wouldn’t chance
A fight with Fred just so his fat and ugly ex could dance.

There may have been a couple girls that you might say were “fair”,
But most, the best that you could say was, they were always there.

The Cribbage and the Euchre games just added to the fun,
But everybody got so tanked that no one knew who’d won.

The arguments were long and loud ‘cause no one really knew,
And every game would end the same, and then the feathers flew.

‘Til one night Stan, the owner, bravely stepped into the fray,
And said, “Just cut the deck to see who won before you play.”

That solved the problem and the games were shortened up by far,
They’d cut the deck. “You won. Let’s belly back up to the bar.”

When Jake thought of “L.B.I.”, he laughed and nearly cried.
He laughed so hard he had to pull his car off to the side.

The “Local Band of Idiots” all Regulars at Stans,
Their leader was old Skip One-Eye, proclaimed by show of hands.

They’d tried out “Chief” and “President” but he’d have none of it.
“The Grand Bewildered” pleased him though. He said it sorta fit.

Of all the Regulars at Stans, Skip was there constantly.
And everyone took note when Skip would stagger off to pee.

His legendary mishaps drew each eye toward that door,
In order not to miss some new addition to his lore.

If you were on his good side (left) then everything went great,
But if you spoke while on his right, he’d turn and face you straight.

The Reg’lars knew but strangers who would say “Hello” would chance,
To see him turn, still firin’ blind, and wettin’ down their pants.

Of all those tales, one will be linked forever to his name,
The night of old Skip’s “World Class Leak”: his quarter hour of fame.

Stan’s was packed with local folks, the frenzy at its peak,
And not a soul missed Skip One-Eye as he staggered off to leak.

He lost his balance at the trough, fell backward through the wall,
And landed flush on Helen sitting in the ladies stall.

He tripped on Helen’s panties and became airborne once more,
Wiped out the sink and towel rack then came crashing through the door.

The place had gone dead silent then, with every eye on Skip,
Who finished up his rudely interrupted “tuck and zip.”

Then from the back a snicker came soon followed by a hoot,
As Skip bent down, retrieving Helen’s panties from his boot.

The laughter roared to bedlam then still louder to a din,
And Skip poured more fuel on the fire. He staggered right back in.

The bar went silent once again in time to hear the swell
Of Helen’s screamin’ like a demon just escaped from Hell.

The volume dropped as Helen braced herself for Skip’s attack.
But Skip walked out and said, “I’sh on’y try’n’ ta give ‘em back.”

Jake parked out back and then he thought, “Geez this place looks old
And dumpy. Now it’s snowin’ and that wind is awfully cold.

There were a lot of good times interspersed with all the bad,
It may be tough to resurrect the fun and laughs we had.

I’ll have to be real funny like I always used to be,
And I’ll be dodgin’ Vera who will try to kiss on me.

And if she does, her husband Doug will have to give me grief,
They may not show and that would be a source of great relief.

Out here I hear the music, is that music or mistake?
My God, that stuff is so danged loud it makes my molars ache.

I’m sure the place is filled with smoke but now it makes me cough,
And then there’s all those idiots that throw butts into the trough.

But dang, a nice tall beer sounds good, ice cold with lots of foam,
I’ve got a six-pack in the Fridge. I think I’ll just go home”.

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"De Dog, On Cats" is my granddaughter Morgan's favorite, and I must admit, I'm purty partial to it myself.

De Dog, On Cats

-De Dog

Dem doggone cats. Dey’s jest like rats, with needles in dey jaws.
Dey slink around, don’ make no sound, and in dey paws, dey’s claws.
Dey attitude is awful rude, and when dey twitch dey tail, ya
Best watch out, ‘thout a doubt, if you don’ git, dey’ll nail ya.

--------------------------------------------

Finally, "Twin Towers" is what I feel may be the best poem I've ever written. I wrote it on the day following 9/11/2001.

Twin Towers


Sunrise, filled with promise, spread its rays,
Like the dawns had always done before.
She stood, steadfast, her seaward gaze
Searching for those yearning for her shore.

She knew her lamp must shine for them to see,
She knew that they must see her when they came,
So they could know her promise to be free,
And her welcome still burned brightly as her flame.

But this morn’, though it seemed like all the rest,
Brought a strange foreboding from somewhere.
She felt the chill of fear deep in her breast,
And the smell of evil wafted on the air.

Then a sound! Like none she’d heard before,
The hell-hot wind, for certain, Satan’s breath,
And from afar there came a second roar,
Obscured now by the hideous laugh of Death.

She’d not allow the blast’s force bend her knee!
She summoned all her strength and stood her ground.
Anguishing, she knew that she must see,
So Lady Liberty turned her head around.

She feared what would await her as she turned,
And when she saw she gasped in disbelief.
She saw her wondrous city as it burned,
And bowed her head and shed the tears of grief.

She turned again, retook her timeless pose,
Her gaze to seaward dimmed through teary mist,
And as her anger and her fury rose,
Mighty Liberty clenched her awesome fist.

The Eagle soaring westward from the sea,
Was witness to the treachery below.
He heard the mournful sobs of Liberty,
And watched as she withstood the hellish blow.

He dove straight through the fire that filled the skies.
He spat the gall that welled from deep inside.
He shook his head to clear his smoke filled eyes,
And saw the Towers fall as thousands died,

His wings took up a measured, steady beat.
He climbed then circled, looking down once more,
He viewed again the carnage in the street,
Then, comprehending, pondered thoughts of War.

He sought a place untouched by fear and dread,
And landed near a river. There, alone
The Eagle resolutely bowed his head,
Then honed his fearsome talons on a stone.

--Don Lehr, September ‘01
(All Rights Reserved)

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

I'll Do It, Tomorrow

Thanks for your patience, everybody. I'm sorry about the two-week delay between posts. The worst cold I've ever had slowed me down a bit. I've recovered, but this was the Grandaddy of colds. To make matters worse, my Darlin' Darlene caught it from me. There was a time or two that I'm certain that my condition would have had to improve in order for me to expire. I just didn't have enough energy to die at the moment, so quite typically, I told my Darlin' Dar, "I'll do it tomorrow." Since she was sicker than I was, she was probably hoping that I'd just get on with it, but if I'd just shut up, tomorrow was fine with her.




I've never had a problem with procrastination. It's always come quite easily for me. For example, I just finished a Stained Glass project that I started longer ago than I care to tell; my Cattails & Dragonflies. The photo doesn't show it well, but at least it's evidence. The Snowman and the Madonna are further evidence of procrastination being overcome.




Actually, the concept of procrastination has served me quite well in the past. For many years, I made my living selling boats. I recall one particularly difficult couple, with whom I'd been working for well over a year. They weren't getting any younger, although they were both still very healthy and active. They had settled on a fine 42 foot Motor Yacht, but for the better part of the Spring, they had been coming into the Marina at least twice a week, unable to make the decision to buy. Finally, I decided it was time for the "now or never". I looked them both in the eye and said, "I don't mean to be disrespectful at all, but I have noticed a little grey around your temples. How much longer do you think you have before going boating turns into wishing that you'd gone boating ?" The gentleman turned to his wife and said, "The man's right. It's time." They sure enjoyed that boat.

One other event resulted in the creation of what I called "My Procrastination Close." It was a situation very much like the couple with the 42 foot Motor Yacht. This couple was not nearly as friendly, having succeeded in getting under my skin a number of times by making numerous negative comments about salesmen. If you've ever been a salesman, then you'll know what I mean when I say that I had come to the "Buy or Die" point. We had gone around and around on the final price of a very expensive sailboat. In total exasperation, I wrote down my last offer, turned the sales proposal around and said, "That's it, but only if you accept it right now." The lady just had to take one more crack at me though. She, said, very haughtily, " What is it about you salesmen ? Why do we have to buy it today?" Without blinking an eye, I said, "Ma'am, it's because I've never sold anything tomorrow." They enjoyed their boat too.

I've also had some requests from a few people with obviously poor taste, to post some of my, what I laughingly call, poetry. So, in order to quiet the clamor, I'll do that later this week.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

'Tis the Season

The first snowfall of the year has found us here at Saddlebrook Farms. That's as it should be in November in West Michigan. Hallowe'en, the opening act of the wonderful Holiday Season has come and gone. It's the season for memories to be savored and memories to be made.

Ah yes, the memories, the laughter and the over indulging. I trust you'll indulge me as I share a few memories, in the hope that they'll jog a few favorite ones of your own.

Hallowe'en always creates memories, but since I'm not certain as to what the Statute of Limitations might be, I'll refrain from those of younger days that might require 5th Amendment protection.

My daughter, Samantha, managed to stretch a wonderful memory all the way from Hallowe'en to Christmas. She was a 3 year-old with a fertile imagination, and she decided, without prompting from her siblings or her parents, that she was to be a Witch for Hallowe'en. She was a charming little Witch, and played her role with such aptitude that, considering subsequent events, I'm still not convinced that she's not an actual Witch, albeit a good one.

On Christmas morning, no one can be as excited as a 3 year-old, and that was certainly true of Samantha. She fairly tore through the wrapping paper surrounding her gifts, until she came upon one that held her spellbound. Her eyes opened widely and her mouth dropped open as she beheld, what I thought was just a toy broom and dustpan. She grabbed the broom and came running across the room towards me crying, " Look, look Daddy! A flying thing!" Now, if that ain't a Witch, you go me one better.

My Darlin' Darlene and I are soon to celebrate our twentieth year of memory making together. She's the joy of my life, and normally is extremely sensible. But as near as I can determine, our longevity can only be attributed to a lapse in good judgement that she continues to make, year after year, for which I'll be eternally grateful. Gratitude is what Thanksgiving is all about.

Thanksgiving is Dar's favorite Holiday, and no wonder. She's danged good at it. I call her The Queen of the Side Dishes, and there's always one or two that I didn't even realize were on the table. What she can do with Mushrooms is a joy to behold, which, if you happen to be sitting on the wrong side of Son Scott and Daughter-In-Law Suzie, is all you're likely to do. Behold, that is. They count them and then ration them out, between themselves, and leave only as many for the rest of us as good breeding dictates. And, what Dar does with the Turkey is a thing of familial legend. My only contribution to Thanksgiving Dinner involves her fabulous stuffing. She puts the giblets in it. I'm not into giblets. My job is to taste the raw mixture (with giblets) for proper seasoning; not my favorite task, but I didn't get this tank by being squeamish.

One of Dar's favorite Thanksgiving memories was B.D. (Before Don). She was a new bride and it was to be her first Thanksgiving dinner, with her folks and her In-Laws in attendance. She had worried it all together, and was confident that it was going to be a great success. Upon tasting the stuffing, one of the mothers inquired as to whether she had included the giblets. Dar replied that she hadn't, because the giblets hadn't come with the turkey. As dinner progressed, and more of the stuffing was removed, the Mystery of the Missing Giblets was solved. They were nicely cooked, along with the bag, inside the bird. Memories are made of this.

And then, there is Christmas, the crowning Holiday of the year. I know that in difficult economic times such as now, merchants everywhere are desperate to stretch the buying frenzy out as long as possible, but I really object to having Christmas displays appear before Hallowe'en. There are some radio stations that began playing non-stop Christmas music in October. I hope and pray that Christmas doesn't fall victim to the old adage about familiarity breeding contempt. So, I'll save writing about the singularly wondrous event that is Christmas for another post.

I hope you all have a grand Thanksgiving, giblets and all.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there!

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

You Take the Plane, I'll Take the Train

Senior "Snow Birds" will no doubt be delighted with the recent news that Allegiant Airlines is adding Grand Rapids to it's flight schedule. Allegiant is a "budget" airline, and for a short time, they'll be offering one-way flights to Orlando for $89.00, raising to $109.00 later on. That will make it much more affordable for those "Snow Birds" who head South in the early Autumn, and wish to return North for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas et cetera. That would not be the case for yours truly.

I am not what you would term a "Comfy Flyer". If I were ever to become a "Snow Bird", it wouldn't be because I flew South, although, in a pinch, I do get on the crazy things. My Dad never flew. He loved to watch planes take off and land, but said many times, "I know it appears that they take off, fly around and land, but I'm still convinced that they can't do it." That from a man whose youngest son was a career Air Force man.

My Darlin' Darlene is a "Comfy Flyer". So, whenever it's been absolutely necessary that we fly somewhere, she has a field day with my fear factor. Her comedienne side takes over bigtime; no mercy.

I didn't always hate it. I came by my distaste for flying quite honestly. As a younger man, I was Sales Manager for a company that had Dealers from Denver to Presque Isle, Maine, and I flew regularly. On one of those trips, I had a connection from St. Louis to Indianapolis. The aircraft was a British something or other with two tail-mounted engines. Just after takeoff, immediately after the landing gear retracted, the starboard engine blew up, rocking the plane violently. The craft began wallowing side to side, until the pilot, bless his heart, manged to get it under control, and announced calmly, bless his soul, that we would be returning immediately to the airport. I would have preferred him to say that we would be returning in a short while, since I was already thinking that if the other engine went, we'd be returning somewhere immediately, airport or no airport. As we landed, it was comforting, but not much, to see Firetrucks and all sorts of emergency vehicles racing alongside us on the runway.

Inside the airport, insanely, we all queued up at the counter to re-book our flights, since our previous one hadn't gone anywhere. One fellow begged to be allowed to go to the head of the line, as it was imperative that he get on the very next available flight. Most of us were not really in that much of a hurry to board another airplane, so we agreed. He very excitedly explained his situation to the agent, who quickly complied, and asked, "Smoking section?" (Remember ?), to which the man replied, "Yes, and drinking too!"

Another experience that contributed to my lack of "Friendly Skies" enthusiasm happened in Miami. I was bound for Nassau for a Hobie Cat Sailboats convention, departing on Air Florida, but the airplane had mechanical problems, and the flight was scrubbed. We were told that our tickets would be honored by Bahamas Air. In retrospect, I'm convinced that the only time Air Bahamas actually has paying passengers is when real airlines' flights are scrubbed.

My confidence level, already sinking, hit a record low when I walked out on the tarmac, and saw the Bahamas Air flying machine. I'm still not convinced that it wasn't the first ever licensed, closed-cabin, passenger-carrying aircraft. But, as Shelley Berman once said, as he told about hearing a strange sound from an engine while he was on a plane, about to take off, "You don't know who to tell, and you wouldn't if you knew, because you'd rather die than make an ass of yourself."

I boarded. The fabric was peeling on the plane's interior, and many of the seats were actually repaired with duct tape. There were holes worn in the aisle carpeting. I found my seat and sat. Then, The Pilot boarded. I thought, " Omigod! It's Wiley Post re-incarnated, or maybe Charles Lindbergh's father." This man was far too old to be out of The Home, on his own. But, I said nothing. The Pilot closed the door to the cockpit, which promptly flew open again. He slammed it two or three times before it finally stayed shut. The real fear set in when The Pilot started the engines. Billows of black smoke poured from one engine, I don't recall if it was port or starboard, but, the smoke was so heavy and oily that it sank to the ground rather than rising into the air, as smoke is supposed to do. As the smoke sank, so my confidence level sank to a new, world-class low. The smoky engine sputtered and mis-fired, eventually smoothing out except with a fairly regular miss. I said nothing.

As we accelerated down the runway, the cockpit door jarred open again and Old Smoky missed steadily, causing the aircraft to jerk annoyingly, which it did all the way across the open water until we landed in Nassau. I was tempted to kiss the ground, but I didn't want to make an ass of myself.

Finally, while on a 747 flight from Paris to New York, about halfway across the Atlantic, our pilot announced that one of our four engines had quit running, but that the Boeing 747 was very capable of flying on less than it's allotted four. I don't recall if he said how many less than four, but I do recall that he said, "Have no fear". Easy for him to say. It did remind me, though, of a situation that I heard about, involving a Lufthansa 747, trans-Atlantic flight.

It seems that about a quarter way across the Atlantic, the Lufthansa 747 lost the use of an engine. True to form, the pilot made the announcement that there was no danger. Then, at about midway, the Point of No Return (Dontcha just love it?), the pilot announced that a second engine had failed, but not to fear. A short while later, the Head Steward's voice came over the address system, and in his best Deutsch-ish English said, " Ladies und Chentlemen! I'm afraid dat ve are haffink a serious problem vit bote of our remainink engines, und it vill be necessary for us to ditch in de Ocean. Please follow dese instructions carefully. Ve vould like all of de shvimmers to move to de port side, dats left, of de aircraft, und all of de non-shvimmers to move to de shtarboard side, dats right, of de aircraft. Move now please." The passengers did as they were instructed. The Steward continued, "Now, to de shvimmers. When de aircraft shtops movink in de wasser, de exit hatches vill open automatically. You are to exit de aircraft und shvim as qvickly as possible for about 100 meters, avay from de aircraft. Now, to de non-shvimmers. Ve vould like to take dis opportunity to tank you for flyink Lufthansa."

Wish My Darlin' Darlene and I were Snow Birds.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Dean's Still Singing !

Finally! The election's over and we can get back to a little normalcy. We can sit, relax and enjoy getting our brains fried again, watching meaningful TV like "Friends" reruns, rather than being glued to nightly political discussions on the various News stations, interrupted every 5 minutes or so by those mind numbing Political ads. That's as political as I'm ever likely to get here on Senior Speak.

Today's post was going to be about the approaching Holiday Season, but a couple things happened this morning that has steered me in a different direction. While driving back from a store up in Muskegon, an Oldie came on my radio; Dean Martin was singing "Memories Are Made of This". Then, when I sat down to write, I glanced at my last post and the picture of that '59 Oldsmobile caught my eye. I just had to switch gears. So, I hope you'll join me in enjoying a little walk down Memory Lane.

The late 40's and the 50's, when many of us were in our teens, are especially dear to me. Those were softer, gentler times. Time moved more slowly, it seemed. There was a sort of grace to our lifestyle. It was, by most counts, a more innocent time, possessing a certain naivete'. I'm hoping that some of the things I'm going to share with you now, will take you back for a few moments, and regenerate some of those old wonderful emotions.

Remember Flexible Flyers ? Remember "Belly-Floppin'"? You'd hold the sled in both hands, run a few steps and flop on your belly on top of the sled, and away you'd go, down the hill. Great fun, unless you hadn't cleaned the rust off the runners. In that case, you'd flop and stop and do a full face plant. You could get the same effect if you weren't careful to keep the tow rope curled up nicely on top of the sled, and it slid under the runners.


Actually, the only kids that had Flexible Flyers were the ones whose parents were a little better off than we were. The Flyers were the Cadillacs of the sled world, and you could steer them with the handle bars. The handle bars on our cheaper sleds didn't turn, so you had to steer by dragging your feet in the snow; drag your left foot for a left turn, and your right foot for a right turn. I can't tell you how many pairs of 4-Buckle Arctics I ruined steering my old sled. Steering with your feet wreaked havoc on the buckles. My Dad would tie the buckles back on with binder twine, until I was down to the last buckle, then he'd be forced to buy me another pair. I never thought to try and reason with him that if he'd just get me a Flexible Flyer, he'd probably save more than the difference in the price of the sled by not having to replace boots.


Those Pre-TV years were great. Kids spent a lot more time outdoors. Even after TV's were more commonplace, there still wasn't a lot of afternoon programming for kids, so we'd be out until supper. (When did supper change to dinner?) But, after supper, the old upright Zenith was king. The family would gather round to "watch" the Lone Ranger, The Green Hornet, Superman, Our Miss Brooks, Henry Aldrich, Fibber McGee and Molly, Baby Snooks, Beulah, Red Skelton and a host of other great shows, each one of us with our own images of the characters in our heads. Occasionally, if Dad wasn't paying close attention, we'd catch an episode of The Creaking Door and then be too scared to go to bed.


But TV did happen, and so did Rock and Roll, and then, as we approached our teen years, the greatest invention of our lives was introduced: the 45 RPM record. We convinced ourselves that we couldn't do homework without music. Every Saturday, the ritual was to grab the bus for downtown, and head for Grinnell's or Kresge's, to the record counters, and into the listening booths. We greased back our hair into Ducktails, or DA's (we weren't allowed to say the DA word), or stiffened our Flattops with Butch Wax, and the Top 40 Charts were our constant companions. We were never far from a radio or record player, and thank goodness, somebody had enough smarts to invent transistor radios. They became our constant companions. Wolfman Jack and Dick Bionde from WLS in Chicago were absolute necessities.


Some genius found out that records could play at 33 1/3 RPM and came out with LP's, and another genius thought up Hi-Fi, and no gathering of three or four was ever complete unless somebody toted along their portable Hi-Fi. Of course, we had to have a mixture of both LP's and 45's, so another millionaire in the making dreamed up 45 RPM adapters, so we wouldn't wear ourselves out changing records after each 2 1/2 minute song. It's incredible that after all of those years of switching from Little Richard to Perry Como, then on to Chuck Berry followed by Doris Day, that our ears weren't totally destroyed, and our minds scrambled. Well, at least my ears survived.





We managed to get through it all. I for one, wouldn't have missed it for anything. It's so enjoyable to take a moment, now and then, and let those yesterdays take over from the pressures and problems of the todays, and let the memories that Dean sang about consume us. But, just for a moment.


Remember these ?





Cushman Scooter

Lambretta Scooter

Top Hits of 1956


Memories Are Made of This Dean Martin

Band of Gold Don Cherry

Memories Are Made of This Gail Storm

Tutti Frutti Little Richard

See You Later Alligator Bill Haley and His Comets

Great Pretender The Platters

Why Do Fools Fall in Love Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers

Rock and Roll Waltz Kay Starr

Lisbon Antigua Nelson Riddle

Poor People of Paris Les Baxter

No, Not Much The Four Lads

I'll Be Home Pat Boone

Heartbreak Hotel Elvis Presley

Hot Diggity (Dog Ziggity Boom) Perry Como

A Tear Fell Teresa Brewer

Blue Suede Shoes Carl Perkins

(You've Got) The Magic Touch The Platters

Moonglow and Theme From Picnic Morris Stoloff

Moonglow and Theme From Picnic George Cates

Be Bop A Lula Gene Vincent

I Walk The Line Johnny Cash

The Wayward Wind Gogi Grant

Ivory Tower Cathy Carr

Standing on the Corner Four Lads

On the Street Where You Live Vic Damone

I'm in Love Again Fats Domino

Born to Be With You Chordettes

More Perry Como

I Almost Lost My Mind Pat Boone

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You Elvis Presley

My Prayer Platters

Don't Be Cruel/Hound Dog Elvis Presley

Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera, Sera) Doris Day

Allegheny Moon Patti Page

The Flying Saucer (Pts 1 & 2) Buchanan and Goodman

Honky Tonk (Parts 1 & 2) Bill Doggett

Tonight You Belong To Me Patience and Prudence

Canadian Sunset Hugo Winterhalter and Eddie Heywood

Friendly Persuasion (Thee I Love) Pat Boone

Just Walking in the Rain Johnnie Ray

Love Me Tender Elvis Presley

The Green Door Jim Lowe

True Love Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly

Singing the Blues Guy Mitchell

Long Tall Sally Little Richard

In the Still of the Night (I'll Remember) The Five Satins

Goodnight My Love Jesse Belvins (R&B)

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr

Nostalgia is Wasted on the Young

We Seniors have a lot of advantages over the younger crowd. Supposedly, we have a lot more disposable income. We get Senior Discounts. We don't have to apologize for working out with 25 pound weights on the Arm Curl machine; stuff like that. One thing we definitely have on them is years, lotsa years. And all those extra years mean that we have a lot more experiences; more things to remember. More nostalgia.

My Darlin' Darlene isn't real big into nostalgia. I think that's because I really am, and she gets a little weary of my rehashing. She calls it "living in the past". The way I see it, I have a lot more years back there than I have coming up, so I may as well enjoy them while I can.

I love nostalgia, and I know I'm not alone. Just this morning, while waiting in the check-out line, I noticed a display of Retro-Candy. There were Zagnuts, and Clark Bars, Teaberry and Black Jack Gum, and Nikl-Nips. Remember Nikl-Nips, those little wax bottles filled with syrupy liquid ? Well FYI, Nikl-Nips are now 89 cents. I get awfully nostalgic for nickle stuff.

I love to look at old cars, specifically cars of the 40's and 50's. I really like period movies that show a lot of old cars. My Darlin' Darlene puts up with me saying, "Wow, look at that '52 Hudson !" "Didja see that '49 Pontiac ? My Uncle Harold had one just like that, and ....." And on and on. There's lots of nostalgia in old cars.

Speaking of old cars reminds me of an incident that happened back in my college days, involving a beautiful Oldsmobile. It was on a Saturday afternoon in November, and I was at work at my part-time job at Muller's Shoes, when I got a phone call. It was from my buddy, Chas. He sounded absolutely distraught, "Lehr, you've gotta get over here right now ! You're never gonna believe this ! This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me ! You've gotta come over to my Grandma's !" end of phone call. I had never heard Chas like this before, so I made my excuses to my boss and took off.

Fully expecting the house to be on fire, or dead bodies in the kitchen or something just shy of World War Three, I arrived at Grandma's house and ran inside. Chas was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, white as the proverbial sheet. "Lehr, you're just not gonna believe it. What do you think is the worst thing that could possibly ever happen ?" I, dumbfounded for a moment, finally said, " I have no idea." "Look", said Chas, as he threw open the back door leading into the garage.

Now, Chas was living at his Grandma's house while she was spending the Winter in Florida. He had the place all to himself with no restrictions other than, no parties, no drinking, no girls, and above all, no driving of Grandma's Oldsmobile. Grandma informed him that she had jotted down the odometer mileage.

I stepped into the garage, expecting the worst, viewed the situation and was immediately engulfed in paroxysms (I love that word) of laughter. Chas was not impressed with my empathy.

Apparently, Chas had located Grandma's car keys, and had decided that he would take a spin, no doubt, to pick up some girl and bring her back for an evening of Cokes while watching "Sing Along With Mitch". No, that was on on Wednesday nights, but I digress.

Sitting, quite forlornly, was Grandma's Oldsmobile, minus the driver's door. That was funny enough to me, but what caused my uncontrollable laughter was not the missing door. Sitting on the door sill was a fireplace log that Chas had propped against the interior light switch so as not to run down the battery. That just killed me.

Another buddy, Fuzz showed up then, with forbidden Drewery's (that oughta take you back). Chas had given up on me for a moment and queried Fuzz, "Fuzz, what am I going to do?" Fuzz was no help either, as he was convulsed also, writhing in laughter on the floor of the living room, spilling Drewery's all over the carpet.

We finally gathered ourselves, and listened to the miscreant's tale. Chas had decided that the no driving rule was not applicable, at least occasionally. He figured that if he just undid the speedometer cable, no one would be the wiser. So, he had opened the driver's door, slid under the dash while dangling his legs outside of the car, and undid the cable. Here was Chas's great mistake, and there always is one when we connive to deceive. After successfully undoing the cable, he slid behind the wheel and turned to look over his shoulder while backing out of the garage, forgetting about the open driver's door. He soon remembered it. The garage wall snapped that door off slicker than whatever. Chas said that he caught hold of the top of the door, so it never even fell over onto the concrete. Whoop-de-do !

He again pleaded with us as to what he should do. Being a real genius in this kind of crisis, I suggested that if he would back the car out of the garage, we could take a few more of the fireplace logs, and stack them. Then we could take a couple of boards that Grandma had lying there, and make a ramp. Then if he gunned it back into the garage up the ramp, he could take off the roof and she'd have a three-door convertible. Having decided to imbibe along with Fuzz, at this moment we both hit the floor, re-convulsed with laughter, spilling Drewery's everywhere.

Chas did get Grandma's car fixed, although I don't believe she was ever informed of his transgression. I've often wondered, but have never asked, how he explained the two cigarette burns that Fuzz and I inflicted on her blonde dining table, during a forbidden party.

Nostalgia is a blessing, if for no other reason than it affords us an avenue for publicly purging the guilt for the sins of our youth. Geez, that Chas is a funny guy.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there.

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

The Autumn Years: Nature's Gift

Autumn, in all her finery, is upon us. What better way could there be to describe us Seniors than being in the Autumn of our lives ? It is, indeed, the perfect description.

The Autumn season is mellow. The harvest is nearing completion, the cider's in the jug, the fireside's aglow. It's a time for slowing down, reflecting on the year that's drawing to a close, and enjoying life's goodness.

It's my favorite time of year. I believe that I inherited my love of the season from my father. It was Dad's favorite season as well. Every year,until my mother's death, when the woods were in their full glory, and with the first hard frost, just like clockwork, Dad would burst through the kitchen door, smiling and laughing and then he'd recite James Whitcomb Riley's wonderful ode to Autumn, start to finish, with gusto.

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN
by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here--
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock--
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover over-head!--
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me--
I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock--
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

As the trees began to turn, I was contemplating Autumn's joys, the leisure time. I envisioned long, contemplative evenings with my Darlin' Darlene, the fireplace lit, a good book, sitting back in my comfy chair with a glass of Port or a fine Bordeaux, just unlaxing. But, it was not to be.

One late September afternoon, we encountered our wonderful neighbors, Joe and Machelle and Elliot, the quintessential Dog, from across the way. They were exuberant in describing a wondrous addition to our local High School; the Spring Lake Community Fitness and Aquatic Center. They had been to the Open House and were totally smitten, and it was for the entire community, not just the students. My Darlin Darlene's eyes lit up like the finest Halowe'en Jack-O-Lantern, and I'm certain that I saw furtive glances from both her and Machelle toward my ever growing waistline. I sensed that my contemplative evenings, getting fatter, were fleeting. "We'll just have to check it out", said Dar. "You bet", said I. My Autumn Nocturne had been altered.

So, check it out we did, and that very night, surprise of surprises, we were members. Not only were we members, I actually perused the Activity Schedule and found a class innocuously titled, "Senior Circuit Training Team: a total body fitness program", which I joined. The Lord Himself, must have been shocked. I'm still in disbelief, though every muscle in my body is now a true believer.

I've been working out on machines that are nothing short of modern adaptation's of Torquemada's designs for the Inquisition. Lucy, one of the Inquisitor's henchmen (henchladies ?), has promised that I'll be a "New Man". New, I guess. This program will have to result in a miraculous replacement of every one of my muscles because there's no way my old ones will ever survive. Now please understand because I don't; this is not only voluntary, I have paid good old American dollars for the privilege. I do this every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, with the class, and on Saturday as a matter of choice.

My Darlin' Darlene has dived right into a Water Aerobics class in the evening, during which, I go and play with hordes of children in the Leisure Pool. They even dive with goggles in the hot tub. I must be possessed or perhaps, repossessed.

Seriously now, my Banner line says, "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body. But rather to skid in sideways, Martini in hand, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO-HOO what a ride!”

My take on it is that our Senior years should be enjoyed with vigor; to enjoy these "Golden Years" to the fullest. That mission cannot be accomplished properly with a body that is grossly overweight and totally out of condition. I have bought in to this conditioning program, and I am honestly enjoying it. Oh yes, I get stiff and sore for a bit on the off days, but I'm committed to giving that potential "New Man" a shot at happening, and so should you. Yes, it's much easier to just sit back and watch your life slide by. But to grab it by the throat, and wring every last ounce of everything life offers from it, is far more satisfying. You owe it to yourself and to your spouse or partner. I assuredly want to "...skid in sideways...body thoroughly used up, totally worn out...", but I want to do it, looking good. Oh, and don't forget that Martini or glass of Bordeaux.

These are the Autumn years. There are no more Spring and Summer years. But there are still places to go, people to see, poems to read memorize and recite. Doing it as fit as possible will only make it better.

Hallowe'en is nigh on us, and I'll leave you with this. My Dad's favorite poet was James Whitcomb Riley. I related earlier how he would recite his favorite poem. He had committed more than one to memory. Each Hallowe'en, when I was quite young, just before we were to head out for an evening of "Trick or Treat", which was always after dark back then, he would sit us down and scare the Bejeesus out of my brother and me by reciting Riley's "The Little Orphan Annie".

The Little Orphan Annie
by
James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie's come to my house to stay.

To wash the cups and saucers up and brush the crumbs away.

To shoo the chickens from the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,

And make the fire and bake the bread to earn her board and keep.

While all us other children, when the supper things is done,

we sit around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun,

a listening to the witch tales that Annie tells about

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!

Once there was a little boy who wouldn't say his prayers,

and when he went to bed at night away up stairs,

his mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,

and when they turned the covers down, he wasn't there at all!

They searched him in the attic room and cubby hole and press

and even up the chimney flu and every wheres, I guess,

but all they ever found of him was just his pants and round-abouts

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!

Once there was a little girl who always laughed and grinned

and made fun of everyone, of all her blood and kin,

and once when there was company and old folks was there,

she mocked them and she shocked them and said, she didn't care.

And just as she turned on her heels and to go and run and hide,

there was two great big black things a standing by her side.

They snatched her through the ceiling fore she knew what shes about,

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!

When the night is dark and scary, and the moon is full

and creatures are a flying and the wind goes Whoooooooooo,

you better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear,

and cherish them that loves ya, and dry the orphans tears

and help the poor and needy ones that cluster all about,

or the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!!

Dad was fun.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

No Friends Like Old Friends

First, I must apologize to all of you loyal Senior Speak visitors who check in regularly, just thirsting for more, only to be disappointed that I haven't posted any new whatevers, to enlighten and regale you. I've been busy; very, very busy. Other than that, not much has been happening. I will be posting much more regularly, so save this site in your Favorites and come back often.

Now for the good stuff.

A short time ago, Mitch Albom did a piece for Parade magazine called "How I Got Young Again", in which he told about what he did for his Fiftieth birthday. He said that this gift to himself was his best birthday gift, ever.

He went back to his hometown in New Jersey and contacted his old best friends; the members of his teen-age rock band called "The Lucky Tiger Grease Stick Band". They always practiced in Mitch's basement. His old home had been sold long before, but the present owners, God bless 'em, agreed to let the reunited "Lucky Tiger Greasers" use their basement, one last time. Ya just gotta love this video ! But, after you watch it, keep reading. "The Lucky Tiger Grease Stick Band" is just the opening act.



In his piece, Mitch had two great "Before and After" photos, one of the 8 members (remember that number, 8) taken when they were teen-agers, and one taken at the band's reunion. Unfortunately, I couldn't locate those photos. But, there are No Friends Like Old Friends, especially if, like Mitch Albom, you have 7 of them.

You're about to meet 7 of the main reasons why "I yam who I yam". You probably don't care, but, it is my website, so please humor me. These are 7 of the finest Old Friends (more like brothers) that a man could have. "The Guys". Not quite as catchy as "The Lucky Tiger Grease Stick Band", but we don't play instruments and sing either.

The Guys

L to R, Front: Ram, Lehr, Stek, Schans
L to R Rear: Chas, Fuzz, Toad, Dirk

Photo taken in 1962

L to R, Front: Ram, Lehr, Stek, Schans
L to R, Rear: Chas, Fuzz, Toad, Dirk

Photo taken in 2002

I met Fuzz in the Spring of 1955, Chas in the Fall of '55, and the other Guys in the Fall of '57, in High School. We were just your typical mild-mannered, respectful teen-agers then, and I think you'll agree that we've all improved with age. We never got in any trouble, but my Darlin' Darlene says that that's only because we never got caught.

One tiny character flaw does come to mind though, that I'll share with you. It occurred in the Spring of our Senior Year in High School. Like all Senior classes, we had elections to decide career changing issues like class colors, class song (hymn), class Bible verse (we attended Grand Rapids Christian High School), class idiot etc. Toad was the Class President or Vice-President, I don't recall which, but he and a few of us other Guys were in charge of counting the ballots. Why they actually put us in charge of anything was a major lapse on their part, in my opinion, so they actually caused us to fall part way from Grace anyway.

The counting went well except for the winning song (hymn). I had been chosen by our Choir Czarina to be the Senior who was to sing the Class song (hymn) at Graduation. The winning song (hymn) was one that I particularly disliked, since it had an extremely high note that I could not hit without screeching. I told Toad, "Ain't no wayI'm singin' that song (hymn)". Typically, Toad said, "No problem. Which one of the other song (hymn) nominees would you like". I sensed a problem and said, " What about the ballots?" Toad replied, "We'll burn 'em. All important elections should have the ballots burned. If it's good enough for the Catholics, it's good enough for us." As it happened, a new Pope had just been elected, and it had been all over the news, and the burning of the Papal ballots had apparently caught Toad's fancy. We weren't Catholic, but borrowing a little from Church Tradition didn't really amount to a conversion, was pretty much how our logic went.

So, we went in search for a ballot burning vessel. We approached George the Janitor, and asked for a can or something. He said he didn't have a can but he had a cardboard box. Curiously, he never asked what we needed it for, but he did say that he definitely needed it back. We promised to return it. We proceeded to the School parking lot, and ignited the ballots which promptly ignited the box. We beat out the flames, and re-ignited the ballots, which re-ignited the box, and ...you get the picture. It required several re-ignitions to destroy the evidence without totally destroying the box, which we dutifully returned to George the Janitor. He just stared at the box. I guess we expected him to show some sort of surprise. We'll never know. Throwing an election is not something to take lightly, and it did weigh heavily on me and caused me to question my personal integrity for a time. I'm sure it had the same effect on the other Guys, but we've gotten over it. I got through the song (hymn) nicely, thank you very much.

Unlike Mitch, we've kept in close touch throughout all of the ensuing years, and the friendships have just grown stronger. We're scattered from Salt Lake City to Ponte Vedra Beach, and places between, but like old friends everywhere, whenever we get together, and we do quite often, it's as if we'd never left.

I'll revisit the Guys from time to time here in these posts, perhaps with titles like:

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

Chicken Thief, What's In a Name; How I Discovered Respect For The Law

Bridge and Blackjack May Come and Go, But Setback Lives Forever

Beer; An Acquired Taste

Grandma's Olds; Door One or Door Two ?

So, love your new friends but cherish your old ones. They've come a long way with you, and they love you in spite of it all.

I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions or criticisms, so please click on the Comment button and fire away.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there.

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Feeling "Senior" ?

Bette Davis once said, "Old age is no place for sissies". In fact, she had it embroidered on a pillow that was prominently placed on a sofa. I'm not sure if she was right or not, since I'm not "old", yet. I hope to be one day, but for now, I'm fairly content with just being "Senior". I don't know when you actually become "old", but I think it happens when you just feel "old", and I must admit, I have my moments.

I felt a little old (I got tired of typing those " "s ) last week when I was picking up a prescription, which can make you feel a little old, in and of itself. The Pharmacist handed my drugs to a young assistant, and gestured to me. The young lady asked, obviously thinking that I couldn't hear her, "Oh, for that older fellow ?". Yep, I felt a little old, but only for a moment.

For quite some time now, I've enjoyed claiming my Senior discounts. That has never bothered me a bit. There's something heartwarming about paying $4.00 for a $7.50 movie ticket. But, lately I've been getting a few discounts without asking for them, and that kinda makes me feel old, but only for a moment.

I get the AARP publications in the mail, and find myself looking over my shoulder to see if any neighbors noticed, but, what the heck, most of them are older than me anyway. I'm starting to get fliers about Diabetic supplies, and VIAGRA! for Pete's sake. And, of all things, last week I got a catalog in the mail from "Active and Able, Products That Make Daily Living Easier". I felt incensed, and somewhat older, but only for a moment. Unfortunately, these moments appear to be happening more often, as I get...older.

Last evening, our oldest grandson, Ryan, called. It seems that he has proposed to his wonderful Jeanette, and she accepted. We had been anticipating this for some time now. I can't speak for my Darlin' Darlene, but that made me feel OLD. And, the moment hasn't quite passed. I expect the feeling will lurk there, in the back of my mind, since his announcement carries with it the Sword of Damocles called great-grandchildren, just hanging there. I am thrilled for him and Jeanette, and I congratulate them both, and I'll just deal with the older thing. It's not their problem.

There is one thing, though, that consistently makes me feel old, and I have to do it, every two weeks, since that's how many containers I have, and I ain't buying any more of them. Every two weeks, I drag out my drug stash, sit down at the island in the kitchen, and count out my pills into those danged pill compartments. Now, that makes me feel old. I suppose that I could just stop filling the prescriptions and not have to deal with it. But, I probably wouldn't get much older, either. Rather than that, I think I'll simply apply a lesson that I've learned from my brother Lonnie's approach to a golf problem that he faced, and I'd recommend this to all of you.

Lonnie had driven his ball past the Out-of-Bounds stakes. We drove up to his ball, and instead of picking it up and dropping it back In-Bounds and taking the required penalty stroke, he lined up to hit it again. I mentioned that it seemed to me that he was Out-of-Bounds. He never flinched, and just before he struck the ball again, he calmly replied, " She's Out-of-Bounds when I say she's Out-of-Bounds". I'll be Old when I say I'm Old.

Have a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Bottoms Up !

Bottoms up! Cheers! Here's to ya! Gotcha! Today's post isn't about drinking at all. Since my last post was about snoring and how it can negatively affect your health, I decided to follow up with another health related piece. Snoring, of course occurs at the top end of the Alimentary Canal. Today's gem of rambling ribaldry will involve the other end of the spectrum; the bottom of the Alimentary Canal.

Since the name of this blog is Senior Speak, I'm assuming that most of you readers are in the Over Fifty crowd. That being the case, I'm also assuming that most of you have followed your Doctor's advice, and paid a visit to your friendly Gastroenterologist for that dreaded Colonoscopy. If you haven't, get your courage up, swallow your pride (though it will be purged) and make that appointment. It could save your life, and it isn't nearly as bad as you might think. I mean the Colonoscopy itself isn't as bad as you might think. The night before, however, is quite a different matter.

The night before is one of those experiences that falls into that cliche'd, "...class of it's own". Describing it is simply not to be done amongst polite society. Suffice it to say that after drinking astounding amounts of vile potions, your colon performs a series (that's more than one, Marie. You ain't gonna just sit down once.) of constrictions that would make an Anaconda blush, resulting in a cleansing of almost Biblical proportions. You will sleep well. The rest is a piece of cake. Side Note: My Gastroenterologist's nurse neglected to tell me to stop taking my blood thinners for 5 days before my first Colonoscopy, so I got to do all of this twice within 2 weeks. What a treat!

The Colonoscopy itself is a breeze, thanks to modern pharmacology. They administer a "Happy Cocktail" which creates the most incredible high for a few brief moments. They tell me that you never actually "go under", but you'll have no knowledge of any of the proceedings, thank God. The only post-probing negative, is the purging of an incredible amount of air that, I swear, they pump in there, just for laughs.

My first experience of the probing of my nether regions was not the Colonoscopy, but it's baby brother, the Flexible Sigmoidoscopy, a carryover fom the Spanish Inquisition. This procedure has, deservedly, fallen from favor, it's thunder having been stolen by the Colonoscopy.

My Internist is a wonderful Italian. Every time I go for my yearly physical, he enters the examination room singing a few bars of an Italian aria in a gorgeous Baritone. When the exam is over, he slips off the rubber glove, washes his hands and exits with a "God bless you". What's not to love ?

After one of these visits some years ago, he said, "Let's see. You're 50 years old. I want you to schedule a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy with my Nurse when you leave." He explained that it was a procedure that was something like a Colonoscopy, but with a much shorter scope. Being something of a smart ass, I asked, "Flexible ? Is there such a thing as an Inflexible Sigmioidoscopy ?" He, being an even smarter ass, replied without so much as a blink of an eye, "Yes, but we don't do those anymore." I, of course, asked, "Why not ?" "Because the scope was inflexible, and we had to beat them in with a rubber mallet. The screaming disturbed the other patients. God bless you."

I am a very private person when it pertains to my bodily functions, so the prospect of having to set an appointment for that type of procedure with his female Nurse, was quite disturbing. I decided to lighten the situation with humor. When I booked the appointment, I told the Nurse, quite animatedly, " I've never had one of these before, and I'm so excited that I'm going wear my Argyle socks, and buy a brand new hat." She laughed, bless her heart.

On the appointed day, I wore my Argyles, but the hat thing was just in jest. I entered the exam room, stripped down to my socks and put on the godawful backless gown. My Doctor entered, singing, exchanged a few pleasantries and then told me to roll onto my side. So, there I am, mooning him when he says,"Oh, by the way, we're going to be joined by my Nurse and a Student Nurse. I was sure you wouldn't mind." In they walked, and actually greeted my backside with, "Good morning." I, of course, responded in like. The Doctor began his task, and when the scope was just shy of my shoulder blades, he paused and said, "Hey, nice socks ! Where's your hat ?"

I wouldn't leave him for anything. He's a great Doctor, and he always insists that I book next year's appointment before I leave. I find that a reassuring vote of confidence. At least he thinks that I've got 365 more days.

Colon cancer is no laughing matter, and a Colonoscopy is only a minor inconvenience. Book one.

Have a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !


Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Welcome to Senior Speak

Good morning, and welcome to Senior Speak! It's a gorgeous September morning here in West Michigan, and I'm hoping it's the same where you are.

This post is the first of many that will celebrate the wonderful lifestyle of us "Over-Fifties" and any younger "wannabes" that want to come along. For some of us, getting here was a struggle, for some others, a breeze. But, since we're here, let's get on with it and wring every bit of joy out of every day that we have!

We're going to be talking about danged near anything that comes to mind. I say "we", since I sincerely welcome your comments and criticisms with the caveat that it is, after all, my site.

I'm a Motorhome nut, and I'm sure we'll talk a bit about travel. We'll talk about health and fitness, great books and music, food and wine, sins of our past and sins planned for the future, and anything you'd like to talk about. But, I do have to set some guidelines: No fabrications, no embellishing of stories, no religion or politics, no sex stuff and no talk about Gin. I reserve all of those rights for me.

I see that the mail just arrived and a fellow told me that he was putting a check in the mail and I know it'll be there, so I'm outta here for now.

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

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