Day 297
I drove by Reedsburg Dam campground today and it looks wide open with most sights available for anyone who plans on camping this Labor Day weekend. The water is at an average level for this time of the year. I didn't bring my fishing gear but I wish I had. Maybe tomorrow.
From what I have heard fishing had been very good this year. Again I wish I had brought my gear.
Leeches seem to be the favorite although I did well on nightcrawlers and even plastic swim baits worked though only about half as well as the live baits.
The last time my brother and I went out, we anchored once and never moved until we were finished and headed back to the marina. Mostly we caught small perch and some large bluegill. I was a fun day.
I've been reading in the local newspaper that there have been some record walleye being caught as well as some very large smallmouth bass. Not by me, of course, but enough to keep people coming back for the fishing.
Labor Day tends to mark the end of the summer vacation and we did have a busy summer here in Houghton Lake. It has been a dry summer so look for the fall colors to come early and probably not stay too long.
Until tomorrow.
Ken
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Cold Turkey
Day 296
We were six weeks out, on an eight week patrol, round trip, with no ports of call. Our mission, search and destroy. It was the height of the Cold War. A Russian submarine had been reported off the east Florida coast. We had been searching with only a slight sniff of a signal now and then to show for our vigilance.
After that much time at sea in a submarine, new crew members start to get edgy. The corpsman had two straight jacket restraints on-board just in case of insanity. Crew members had been known to try to open a hatch to the outside while a ship was submerged. Precautions were in place to prevent this from happening but damage could still be done.
This is the time when the veterans keep an eye out for odd behavior among the new crew members. Things like irritability and lack of personal hygiene were textbook signs of mental instability. But these things tend to happen anyway on a long deployment. Guys get edgy after being away from family members for extended periods of time and it's not uncommon to run out of personal items; toothpaste, shower soap and deodorant.
The laundry facility consisted of one washer and one dryer for the entire crew. There was a schedule of days and times when each division was allowed to use them. Even though the ship supplied laundry detergent, guys would go for a couple of weeks or longer, without washing their clothes due to schedule conflict or laziness. Their uniform would get nasty, even by submarine standards.
At sea uniform for all crew members was a dark blue coverall called a "poopy suit", a one and a half inch wide web belt with gold buckle for officers and a silver buckle for enlisted. Also appropriate insignia's. Shoes, however, were flexible. We could wear any shoes we wanted, military or civilian, as long as they were appropriate.
Civilian athletic shoes were the most popular as they were so comfortable ad allowed us to show individuality while at sea. One of the guys in my division, special ordered a pair of Converse All Stars high tops, in pink. He was a bit of a joker.
When I heard we were going on an eight week patrol, I had an idea. I wanted to quit smoking, so I would only take along enough cigarettes to get halfway through. When I ran out, I would be forced to quit, cold turkey. Genius. Or so I thought.
By week six I had been without cigarettes for about five days. I had changed my mind about quitting smoking and had rationed my last carton to last longer. I had thought I could buy more cigarettes from the ships store, but the new corpsman, had taken over the store and wouldn't stock cigarettes. I begged the few that I could from other smokers, but that gets old fast. I started to check the butt cans for half smoked cigs. Anything I could get a few drags out of, to curb the craving.
If you have ever been around someone who is trying to quit smoking, you know they can be...unpleasant. Now couple that with six weeks in a restricted space with a hundred other guys. You could say I was downright irritable.
While this was happening, the liner had come out of the bottom of my shoes. No real surprise, they were several years old, and I wore them often when I was on liberty in my civilian clothes. I had run out of clean socks and it wasn't my divisions turn for the laundry. I wore my shoes with no socks.
I'm not sure exactly what happened with my shoes. I can only guess that the sweat from my feet soaked into the rubber soles and there must have been a chemical reaction because after a few days my shoes reeked. The idea that something had crawled into my shoes and died was popular on the ship for some time.
I was walking out of the berthing area to take a shower when several bunk curtains were yanked back and I heard a voice ask, "What the hell? Did somebody take a crap in here?"
I quietly sneaked off to the shower, getting strange looks the whole way. I had to lather up twice to get the stink off. The next time I had to lather three times just to deaden the odor. At this point the smell was noticeable even when I was wearing the shoes.
The new corpsman had noticed my behavior and coupled with my apparent lack of hygiene, I was beginning to look like a text book case of claustrophobia waiting to happen. As I said before, he was new to the ship and had never seen guys at sea for any length of time. Actually, I don't think he had ever been to sea in his twelve year naval career. Anyway, he was in charge of the straight jacket and kept giving me the stink eye.
About this time the ships "A" division had gone through the berthing area looking for a chemical leak or whatever could be causing the intermittent odor, that had become noticeable through the whole forward end of the ship. I was on watch when they did the inspection.
The guys in the berthing area had had enough. When I got undressed to go to bed and had taken off my shoes, the lights snapped on and several of my fellow seamen were standing there with a scrub brush and some of the course laundry soap. They made me shower twice and immediately flushed my shoes out with the trash. I was allowed to do my laundry even though it wasn't my turn.
The corpsman kept an eye on me the rest of the time we were out as I had developed a slight twitch whenever he was around. I just couldn't help it. I didn't like the guy.
I bought some new shoes when we made port. They lasted me the rest of my enlistment. I didn't quit smoking until nine months after I was discharged from the Navy.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
We were six weeks out, on an eight week patrol, round trip, with no ports of call. Our mission, search and destroy. It was the height of the Cold War. A Russian submarine had been reported off the east Florida coast. We had been searching with only a slight sniff of a signal now and then to show for our vigilance.
After that much time at sea in a submarine, new crew members start to get edgy. The corpsman had two straight jacket restraints on-board just in case of insanity. Crew members had been known to try to open a hatch to the outside while a ship was submerged. Precautions were in place to prevent this from happening but damage could still be done.
This is the time when the veterans keep an eye out for odd behavior among the new crew members. Things like irritability and lack of personal hygiene were textbook signs of mental instability. But these things tend to happen anyway on a long deployment. Guys get edgy after being away from family members for extended periods of time and it's not uncommon to run out of personal items; toothpaste, shower soap and deodorant.
The laundry facility consisted of one washer and one dryer for the entire crew. There was a schedule of days and times when each division was allowed to use them. Even though the ship supplied laundry detergent, guys would go for a couple of weeks or longer, without washing their clothes due to schedule conflict or laziness. Their uniform would get nasty, even by submarine standards.
At sea uniform for all crew members was a dark blue coverall called a "poopy suit", a one and a half inch wide web belt with gold buckle for officers and a silver buckle for enlisted. Also appropriate insignia's. Shoes, however, were flexible. We could wear any shoes we wanted, military or civilian, as long as they were appropriate.
Civilian athletic shoes were the most popular as they were so comfortable ad allowed us to show individuality while at sea. One of the guys in my division, special ordered a pair of Converse All Stars high tops, in pink. He was a bit of a joker.
When I heard we were going on an eight week patrol, I had an idea. I wanted to quit smoking, so I would only take along enough cigarettes to get halfway through. When I ran out, I would be forced to quit, cold turkey. Genius. Or so I thought.
By week six I had been without cigarettes for about five days. I had changed my mind about quitting smoking and had rationed my last carton to last longer. I had thought I could buy more cigarettes from the ships store, but the new corpsman, had taken over the store and wouldn't stock cigarettes. I begged the few that I could from other smokers, but that gets old fast. I started to check the butt cans for half smoked cigs. Anything I could get a few drags out of, to curb the craving.
If you have ever been around someone who is trying to quit smoking, you know they can be...unpleasant. Now couple that with six weeks in a restricted space with a hundred other guys. You could say I was downright irritable.
While this was happening, the liner had come out of the bottom of my shoes. No real surprise, they were several years old, and I wore them often when I was on liberty in my civilian clothes. I had run out of clean socks and it wasn't my divisions turn for the laundry. I wore my shoes with no socks.
I'm not sure exactly what happened with my shoes. I can only guess that the sweat from my feet soaked into the rubber soles and there must have been a chemical reaction because after a few days my shoes reeked. The idea that something had crawled into my shoes and died was popular on the ship for some time.
I was walking out of the berthing area to take a shower when several bunk curtains were yanked back and I heard a voice ask, "What the hell? Did somebody take a crap in here?"
I quietly sneaked off to the shower, getting strange looks the whole way. I had to lather up twice to get the stink off. The next time I had to lather three times just to deaden the odor. At this point the smell was noticeable even when I was wearing the shoes.
The new corpsman had noticed my behavior and coupled with my apparent lack of hygiene, I was beginning to look like a text book case of claustrophobia waiting to happen. As I said before, he was new to the ship and had never seen guys at sea for any length of time. Actually, I don't think he had ever been to sea in his twelve year naval career. Anyway, he was in charge of the straight jacket and kept giving me the stink eye.
About this time the ships "A" division had gone through the berthing area looking for a chemical leak or whatever could be causing the intermittent odor, that had become noticeable through the whole forward end of the ship. I was on watch when they did the inspection.
The guys in the berthing area had had enough. When I got undressed to go to bed and had taken off my shoes, the lights snapped on and several of my fellow seamen were standing there with a scrub brush and some of the course laundry soap. They made me shower twice and immediately flushed my shoes out with the trash. I was allowed to do my laundry even though it wasn't my turn.
The corpsman kept an eye on me the rest of the time we were out as I had developed a slight twitch whenever he was around. I just couldn't help it. I didn't like the guy.
I bought some new shoes when we made port. They lasted me the rest of my enlistment. I didn't quit smoking until nine months after I was discharged from the Navy.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, August 29, 2016
Day 295
Day 295
There's a couple of stories brewing in my mind. I'll get one out soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
There's a couple of stories brewing in my mind. I'll get one out soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Day 294
Day 294
I'm just not inspired right now. I've been trying to think of a good story to tell but I haven't come up with anything as yet.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I'm just not inspired right now. I've been trying to think of a good story to tell but I haven't come up with anything as yet.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Day 293
Day 293
The Lions are playing tonight. The first team is doing about the same as always. But I want to see how Jake Ruddock does if he runs the second unit. He could be the future Lions quarterback. I like Stafford but his accuracy is a problem.
New story coming soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
The Lions are playing tonight. The first team is doing about the same as always. But I want to see how Jake Ruddock does if he runs the second unit. He could be the future Lions quarterback. I like Stafford but his accuracy is a problem.
New story coming soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, August 26, 2016
My First Broken Heart
Day 292
I remember it as if happened only yesterday. She was a young adventuress with soft blond curls, big blue eyes and a toothy smile. She wore a baby doll dress and white ankle socks with frilly tops and shiny black shoes. And, oh, she smelled of Play Doh.
We met when she had ventured five houses down to my front yard. Five houses. No four year old was allowed to go five houses down the street by themselves, you had to have an adult with you, or at least, an older brother. I was only allowed to go to the neighbors driveway. I was sitting on my new three wheeler that I had gotten for my birthday when she came marching up and said, "Hi. I'm on vacation."
Up until then I only had my brothers to for company. There was another boy my age next door named Butch. He wasn't very honest and told fibs all of the time. I wasn't allowed to play with him because he had thrown a rock at me, then told his parents that I had thrown a rock at him first. But I never threw rocks because someone could get hurt very badly.
This was the first girl I had ever met outside of Sunday school. My grandma had told me I had to be nice to girls. So I said, "Hi. My name is Ken."
"Oh," she said. "I can't tell you my name."
"Why not?"
" 'Cause you're a stranger."
"I'm not a stranger. I'm too little to be a stranger."
"Well then," she said, "My name is Emily. I have Play Doh. Wanna see?" I nodded as she pulled a glob of pinkish clay out of a pocket. It was fairly new with just a little bit of pocket lint stuck to it. We took turns molding the clay into different shapes until she decided to go home.
She returned the next day and we played in my front yard (I wasn't brave enough to go to her yard). This went on for about a week. Then she stopped coming. At first I thought she must have come by while I was inside (which wasn't often). Then I thought, she really wasn't suppose to come down the street as far as my house and her mom had found out and she was in trouble. After a few days I was very sad because we had so much fun together. Finally, one day, she showed up again at my front yard. I was so happy.
"I have to go back home," Emily said. "My mommy told me I'm too young to play with boys. She said you boys are mean and stupid anyway. Besides, we're going to be moving soon. So I don't want to play with you anymore." She turned around and walked back to her house.
I didn't understand. I wasn't mean. Moving? Moving to where? I stood there with tears welling in my eyes at the hurtful words. I went inside the house and dove on the living room couch. Thinking of the matter of fact way she had spoken to me. I was devastated. A few shuddering breaths later, I fell asleep.
One day my mom asked me about my little friend. I repeated what her mom had said about boys and that she was moving. Mom told me that she had seen Emily playing with a boy that very morning and she was going to call Emily's mom and find out what was going on. A short time later I found my mom in the kitchen. She was baking cookies and looked really mad. I knew she wasn't mad at me when she gave me a cookie.
It turns out we were going to be moving to a much nicer neighborhood, and Emily's mom was jealous. That's why she told her those awful things about us. I never did see Emily again and my mom wouldn't have let me play with her if I had. It wasn't long before we moved and I had plenty to keep my mind busy. Still, every so often, I would think about the girl with the golden curls and try to remember why I hadn't seen her before we moved.
Time heals a young heart.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I remember it as if happened only yesterday. She was a young adventuress with soft blond curls, big blue eyes and a toothy smile. She wore a baby doll dress and white ankle socks with frilly tops and shiny black shoes. And, oh, she smelled of Play Doh.
Up until then I only had my brothers to for company. There was another boy my age next door named Butch. He wasn't very honest and told fibs all of the time. I wasn't allowed to play with him because he had thrown a rock at me, then told his parents that I had thrown a rock at him first. But I never threw rocks because someone could get hurt very badly.
This was the first girl I had ever met outside of Sunday school. My grandma had told me I had to be nice to girls. So I said, "Hi. My name is Ken."
"Oh," she said. "I can't tell you my name."
"Why not?"
" 'Cause you're a stranger."
"I'm not a stranger. I'm too little to be a stranger."
"Well then," she said, "My name is Emily. I have Play Doh. Wanna see?" I nodded as she pulled a glob of pinkish clay out of a pocket. It was fairly new with just a little bit of pocket lint stuck to it. We took turns molding the clay into different shapes until she decided to go home.
She returned the next day and we played in my front yard (I wasn't brave enough to go to her yard). This went on for about a week. Then she stopped coming. At first I thought she must have come by while I was inside (which wasn't often). Then I thought, she really wasn't suppose to come down the street as far as my house and her mom had found out and she was in trouble. After a few days I was very sad because we had so much fun together. Finally, one day, she showed up again at my front yard. I was so happy.
"I have to go back home," Emily said. "My mommy told me I'm too young to play with boys. She said you boys are mean and stupid anyway. Besides, we're going to be moving soon. So I don't want to play with you anymore." She turned around and walked back to her house.
I didn't understand. I wasn't mean. Moving? Moving to where? I stood there with tears welling in my eyes at the hurtful words. I went inside the house and dove on the living room couch. Thinking of the matter of fact way she had spoken to me. I was devastated. A few shuddering breaths later, I fell asleep.
One day my mom asked me about my little friend. I repeated what her mom had said about boys and that she was moving. Mom told me that she had seen Emily playing with a boy that very morning and she was going to call Emily's mom and find out what was going on. A short time later I found my mom in the kitchen. She was baking cookies and looked really mad. I knew she wasn't mad at me when she gave me a cookie.
It turns out we were going to be moving to a much nicer neighborhood, and Emily's mom was jealous. That's why she told her those awful things about us. I never did see Emily again and my mom wouldn't have let me play with her if I had. It wasn't long before we moved and I had plenty to keep my mind busy. Still, every so often, I would think about the girl with the golden curls and try to remember why I hadn't seen her before we moved.
Time heals a young heart.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Blanket Wars
Day 291
We were ensconced in our hastily constructed castle, taking enemy fire from the front. So far it had been an even contest. When our side ran low on ammunition, we would simply wait until the other side launched a barrage and collect their spent ammo. When they ran low they would do the same. Neither side scored a hit as each fortress was well designed and constructed to withstand any siege.
But our enemy was crafty and had more years of experience. They had a secret weapon, a biological weapon and they employed it contrary to the accepted the rules of civilized war. I clawed at my throat as I tried to take a breath, my lungs burning. I was so disoriented that I made a fatal mistake. I
stood up and took a round square into my right eye.
"Hey, no fair. We agreed, no head shots."
The second part of their two prong attack, consisted of using a chemical weapon my brother Tom had begun to cultivate at an early age. A long range stink bomb with pin point accuracy.
But our enemy was crafty and had more years of experience. They had a secret weapon, a biological weapon and they employed it contrary to the accepted the rules of civilized war. I clawed at my throat as I tried to take a breath, my lungs burning. I was so disoriented that I made a fatal mistake. I
"Hey, no fair. We agreed, no head shots."
******
When I was growing up in Royal Oak, we didn't see our cousins very often, due mostly to the distance between our homes. They lived in Ionia about a hundred and fifty miles away. Yet on occasion our families would get together, and seeing as how my two cousins, Bob and Paul, were about the same age as my brother Tom and I, we found interesting ways to keep ourselves occupied when they visited.
My aunt and uncle had come to visit with our grandparents and before returning home, they stopped for a quick visit with our mom and dad. It was a surprise to be sure but a welcome one. We had several hours to "stay out of trouble".
As our parents gathered in the kitchen and talked, we went to the basement to see what mischief we could get into. The basement of our house was heated and had a tile floor and drop ceiling which unfortunately didn't quite soundproof the lower room from the main floor. We had to keep quiet or suffer silently watching Lawrence Welk and his champagne bubbles in the family room, our version of a "time out". Cruel and unusual punishments were widely accepted back in the late 60's and early 70's.
There was some old furniture, a utility table and some blankets and sheets well past their prime. We paired off, the younger cousins against the older ones, each creating a cloth fort at either end of the basement. There was about fifteen feet in between christened No Man's Land, for to step out in the open meant certain doom. I can't remember who supplied the large red rubber bands, I just know they were at a premium, if you broke one or lost one, they couldn't be replaced.
Mostly when shooting a rubber band we hooked it around our finger then pulled back, aimed and let 'er fly. We didn't stretch them very long because when released they slapped the back of the hand. After a short time, the back of my hand was cherry red and sore. Still I fought on. That is until my brother and cousin Bob came up with the ultimate strategy still used today by some nefarious terrorist groups.
We had no idea they had discovered a broken mop handle in the laundry room while we were building. It was the equivalent of a long gun with no pain to the user. With it they could pull their rubber band back a full four feet and wait for the optimal target exposure before releasing as the bands wouldn't slip of the end of the mop handle the way they did a finger.
The second part of their two prong attack, consisted of using a chemical weapon my brother Tom had begun to cultivate at an early age. A long range stink bomb with pin point accuracy.
They had held onto one last projectile and waited for us to come out and retrieve the ammo from in front of our fort. But we reached out from under the blanket wall and pulled them back under without exposing more than an arm. That's when they decided to go renegade and use "the stink bomb". It was as brilliant as it was diabolical, and it worked to perfection.
I knew what it was as soon as it bounced of the top blanket and landed behind us, like a perfectly thrown grenade. I knew that sour funk. It was one of my brothers sweaty socks. I never saw it coming, as I stood to protest, cousin Bob nailed me in the eye.
With my hand over my eye I felt certain I would lose my eye, or my sight would at least be greatly diminished. A confab was held and I was told if I didn't stop whining, they would put the sock in my mouth until I passed out. The operation had to remain covert and kept from the attention of the adults. In other words, keep quite. Lawrence Welk was still on the television. Fortunately the damage to my eye was a temporary stinging sensation and a little redness.
Since my cousin Bob and Tom had cheated with both the mop handle and the stinky sock, my cousin Paul declared us the winners of the Blanket War. A discussion of the merits of this declaration ensued, but we didn't have long to argue as my aunt and uncle wanted to get started on the long drive home.
We didn't know it then, but the four of us would not get together again until a family reunion many years later.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Day 290
Day 290
It's getting late so no stories tonight. Had a pleasant dinner with my brother and sister in law at Lee's Kitchen. Best chinese food around.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It's getting late so no stories tonight. Had a pleasant dinner with my brother and sister in law at Lee's Kitchen. Best chinese food around.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Little Victories
Day 289
It's been a rather hectic day of maneuvering and negotiating. Trying to get all my ducks in a row. And to top it off, an unexpected windfall albeit a small one. Most satisfying. It's going to be five weeks between paydays, so every little bit of income helps.
There's also the satisfaction that comes with working to accomplish something that finally pays off. I have tried to find a way to make money as an entrepreneur for a number of years. The idea of working for someone else was never appealing to me. I have always wanted to work alone. Even the idea of owning a business with a partner made me uncomfortable.
Then I met Irene, and in her I found the same desires as me to work alone or at least own the business so I wouldn't have to follow someone else's directions (this was reinforced by my time in the Navy).
I was already trying to make enough money to get by selling at flea markets. Irene joined me and we were successful except we couldn't generate enough profit. So we started an office cleaning business.
She was out of work and so she made calls offering a free estimate for cleaning services to companies around the Clawson and Royal Oak areas. I was working two part time jobs and in between I would go with her to generate the estimates.
It was pretty easy. We would walk around the space they wanted cleaned, then when we had a few notes, I would casually ask how much they were currently paying and set our price accordingly. Sometimes a little higher but more often I would lower the price just a little and then sell them some extras.
We did this for about six years, cleaning up after other people who took for granted someone else would clean up their messes. The money was OK but I yearned for more money and less work. We decided to try real estate.
We bought our first house subject to the existing mortgage (we took over making payments), the owner signed a Quit Claim Deed for a thousand dollars. We were in business.
We spent a year fixing up that house. After twelve months of mortgage payments, heating and electrical bills, taxes and repair costs, we barely broke even. We learned a lot from that one. I dove back in with enthusiasm, convinced we would make the big bucks off each house we would resell. Calls came poring in and soon we found ourselves dividing our time between three houses once.
A half a dozen houses later we were no richer but wiser. The trick to real estate is buy low and turn over quickly. The easiest way to make money investing in real estate is find a distressed property that needs mostly cosmetic work, with a motivated seller. Get it under contract, then sell the contract to another investor. It's called wholesaling. You can earn $2000-$10,000 per house. More if you go into commercial properties. And never break a sweat or get your hands dirty. This is how Trump made his money.
Then tragedy hit. Irene was diagnosed with cancer. It was terminal. They gave her six months with treatment, three months without. I wasn't there when she found out. I had been out all night working the cleaning jobs by myself. We had kept the cleaning business going until we got the real estate off the ground. By the time I was up and made it to the hospital, it was 10 am and the Oncologist was discussing treatment. Irene's sister was with her when she was given the prognosis. And she stopped the Dr. long enough to tell me the bad news.
I looked straight into Irene's beautiful hazel eyes as her sister told me about the two brain tumors. My eyes welled up with tears, but I wouldn't, I couldn't, let Irene see me cry. I turned to the doctor and asked, "Will she be able to move things with her mind?"
The doctor was totally bewildered, until Irene, with a small smile on her lips, said, "It was a movie we once watched with John Travolta."
I looked at Irene again and said, "You're going to be smarter than me."
"I already am."
I apologized to the doctor and asked her to continue. I often make jokes at times of stress. My tears had temporarily subsided.
Irene lasted seven a half weeks before succumbing to that vile disease. At her funeral my tears flowed freely. It's been fifteen years and sometimes when I am alone drinking some wine and I hear a certain song, the tears start again. I learned long ago, tears are not the enemy, so I let them come.
The movie was called Phenomenon, about a man who get's extraordinary powers because of a brain tumor. I have not watched that movie again.
Irene's passing prompted me to move to Houghton Lake. I find the slower lifestyle soothing though I may never be completely healed. On days with little victories, like today, I believe she is here, still helping me. And I think to myself, this would make a great story, if only I could tell it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It's been a rather hectic day of maneuvering and negotiating. Trying to get all my ducks in a row. And to top it off, an unexpected windfall albeit a small one. Most satisfying. It's going to be five weeks between paydays, so every little bit of income helps.
There's also the satisfaction that comes with working to accomplish something that finally pays off. I have tried to find a way to make money as an entrepreneur for a number of years. The idea of working for someone else was never appealing to me. I have always wanted to work alone. Even the idea of owning a business with a partner made me uncomfortable.
Then I met Irene, and in her I found the same desires as me to work alone or at least own the business so I wouldn't have to follow someone else's directions (this was reinforced by my time in the Navy).
I was already trying to make enough money to get by selling at flea markets. Irene joined me and we were successful except we couldn't generate enough profit. So we started an office cleaning business.
She was out of work and so she made calls offering a free estimate for cleaning services to companies around the Clawson and Royal Oak areas. I was working two part time jobs and in between I would go with her to generate the estimates.
It was pretty easy. We would walk around the space they wanted cleaned, then when we had a few notes, I would casually ask how much they were currently paying and set our price accordingly. Sometimes a little higher but more often I would lower the price just a little and then sell them some extras.
We did this for about six years, cleaning up after other people who took for granted someone else would clean up their messes. The money was OK but I yearned for more money and less work. We decided to try real estate.
We bought our first house subject to the existing mortgage (we took over making payments), the owner signed a Quit Claim Deed for a thousand dollars. We were in business.
We spent a year fixing up that house. After twelve months of mortgage payments, heating and electrical bills, taxes and repair costs, we barely broke even. We learned a lot from that one. I dove back in with enthusiasm, convinced we would make the big bucks off each house we would resell. Calls came poring in and soon we found ourselves dividing our time between three houses once.
A half a dozen houses later we were no richer but wiser. The trick to real estate is buy low and turn over quickly. The easiest way to make money investing in real estate is find a distressed property that needs mostly cosmetic work, with a motivated seller. Get it under contract, then sell the contract to another investor. It's called wholesaling. You can earn $2000-$10,000 per house. More if you go into commercial properties. And never break a sweat or get your hands dirty. This is how Trump made his money.
Then tragedy hit. Irene was diagnosed with cancer. It was terminal. They gave her six months with treatment, three months without. I wasn't there when she found out. I had been out all night working the cleaning jobs by myself. We had kept the cleaning business going until we got the real estate off the ground. By the time I was up and made it to the hospital, it was 10 am and the Oncologist was discussing treatment. Irene's sister was with her when she was given the prognosis. And she stopped the Dr. long enough to tell me the bad news.
I looked straight into Irene's beautiful hazel eyes as her sister told me about the two brain tumors. My eyes welled up with tears, but I wouldn't, I couldn't, let Irene see me cry. I turned to the doctor and asked, "Will she be able to move things with her mind?"
The doctor was totally bewildered, until Irene, with a small smile on her lips, said, "It was a movie we once watched with John Travolta."
I looked at Irene again and said, "You're going to be smarter than me."
"I already am."
I apologized to the doctor and asked her to continue. I often make jokes at times of stress. My tears had temporarily subsided.
Irene lasted seven a half weeks before succumbing to that vile disease. At her funeral my tears flowed freely. It's been fifteen years and sometimes when I am alone drinking some wine and I hear a certain song, the tears start again. I learned long ago, tears are not the enemy, so I let them come.
The movie was called Phenomenon, about a man who get's extraordinary powers because of a brain tumor. I have not watched that movie again.
Irene's passing prompted me to move to Houghton Lake. I find the slower lifestyle soothing though I may never be completely healed. On days with little victories, like today, I believe she is here, still helping me. And I think to myself, this would make a great story, if only I could tell it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, August 22, 2016
Day 288
Day 288
MMW had a fabulous meeting tonight. More members in attendance than we have had in awhile plus two guests. And two young future authors, one from Finland.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
MMW had a fabulous meeting tonight. More members in attendance than we have had in awhile plus two guests. And two young future authors, one from Finland.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Day 287
Day 287
Bein' Sunday lazy again. Watching James Bond Skyfall for the 10th time. I still get grossed out when the villain pulls the jawline prosthetic out of his face. Gawd. That is nasty.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Bein' Sunday lazy again. Watching James Bond Skyfall for the 10th time. I still get grossed out when the villain pulls the jawline prosthetic out of his face. Gawd. That is nasty.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Lazy Day With My Muse
Day 286
When I woke up this morning it was overcast and cool (if you can consider 75 degrees cool) and soon it started raining. It was a perfect day to stay in bed and sleep, or read a book and then sleep. I thought to myself, "Who am I to trifle with Mother Natures grand designs?"
So after much deliberation and two hours of Murder She Wrote, I returned to my warm, comfortable bed. I read for awhile and then drifted off to dreamland and a great new idea for a poem and a short story. It really pays to listen to your muse. In this case Mother Nature.
As for the story and the poem, I plan to self publish the poem and try to publish the short story in a magazine and then a self published book. Shouldn't be too long. Assuming I can stop napping all day and sit down and write.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
When I woke up this morning it was overcast and cool (if you can consider 75 degrees cool) and soon it started raining. It was a perfect day to stay in bed and sleep, or read a book and then sleep. I thought to myself, "Who am I to trifle with Mother Natures grand designs?"
So after much deliberation and two hours of Murder She Wrote, I returned to my warm, comfortable bed. I read for awhile and then drifted off to dreamland and a great new idea for a poem and a short story. It really pays to listen to your muse. In this case Mother Nature.
As for the story and the poem, I plan to self publish the poem and try to publish the short story in a magazine and then a self published book. Shouldn't be too long. Assuming I can stop napping all day and sit down and write.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, August 19, 2016
Some Guy's Have All the Luck
Day 285
I was talking to an old friend of mine, his name is Jim. Jim told me a story about his brother Del, a slacker who lived in his basement. Every week Del would ask Jim to "borrow" some money for food beer and a lottery ticket.
One day Del calls him from the basement (apparently to lazy to walk up the stairs) and asked Jim, "How much is lottery jackpot up to?"
Jim told him, "$50 million."
Del called back again and asked, "What's for dinner?"
Jim replied, "Meatloaf."
Del called again and asked, "What are the winning lottery numbers?"
About an hour later Jim decides to call Del and ask him if he wants to chip in for dinner.
Jim calls Del's phone.
Del's personal assistant answers. She informs Jim, "Del is currently on his private jet going to Europe for a much needed vacation. When he returns he will no longer be accepting your calls. From now on he only associates with winners."
"I guess he won the lottery."
I put my hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"Well." I said. "At least he's out of your basement."
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I was talking to an old friend of mine, his name is Jim. Jim told me a story about his brother Del, a slacker who lived in his basement. Every week Del would ask Jim to "borrow" some money for food beer and a lottery ticket.
One day Del calls him from the basement (apparently to lazy to walk up the stairs) and asked Jim, "How much is lottery jackpot up to?"
Jim told him, "$50 million."
Del called back again and asked, "What's for dinner?"
Jim replied, "Meatloaf."
Del called again and asked, "What are the winning lottery numbers?"
About an hour later Jim decides to call Del and ask him if he wants to chip in for dinner.
Jim calls Del's phone.
Del's personal assistant answers. She informs Jim, "Del is currently on his private jet going to Europe for a much needed vacation. When he returns he will no longer be accepting your calls. From now on he only associates with winners."
"I guess he won the lottery."
I put my hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"Well." I said. "At least he's out of your basement."
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Day 284
Day 284
Still watching the Lions game so no story tonight. I know, it's a lame excuse but I'm the boss here so I can get away with one now and then.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Still watching the Lions game so no story tonight. I know, it's a lame excuse but I'm the boss here so I can get away with one now and then.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Day 283
Day 283
Well, I'm taking another break tonight. Last nights story wore me out. Plus some other obligations. I'll be back at work on another story soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Well, I'm taking another break tonight. Last nights story wore me out. Plus some other obligations. I'll be back at work on another story soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
No Shame in Running Away
Day 282
This story isn't funny. At least it wasn't funny at the time but there was a valuable lesson learned at the end which I still remember to this day.
I was down in Charleston, S.C., in the middle of the bible belt. This seemed a bit off to me since they have so many bars serving alcohol. You might be thinking they just served a watered down version of the real stuff. This couldn't be further from the truth. In South Carolina, in the 1980's, bar had to serve liquor in pre-measured bottles, affectionately known as "airline bottles" obviously because that's how they serve liquor on an airliner.
I can honestly say, I have never seen a bartender (that I didn't know personally) who would pour the same amount of booze in my drink, as an airline bottle holds. There were also more than a few "private clubs" that served beer and liquor 23 hours a day. They had to close for one hour to clean up.
This story takes place in one such private club on a Friday night.
First let me tell you that I had a rule about dancing, brought on by the number of times I had asked a woman to dance, to be told she doesn't dance, only to walk away and ask some other guy to dance seconds later. So my rule was simple; if a woman asks me to dance, and I am able to do so, I don't refuse. I felt this made me courteous.
I can't remember the name of the place, something like Shambala or Shenandoah, it doesn't really matter to the story. It was a small bar filled with the odor of spilled beer and a cigarette haze in the air. The DJ played the same songs over and over, and the same people were on the dance floor most of the time.
My friend John and I were about to call it a night and head for home, as soon as he used the men's room. As I was waiting, a woman the size of Paul Bunyan came up to me and asked me to dance. She was broad shouldered and even more so around a waist that narrowed into slim hips. I'm not exaggerating here, this woman looked like she could fell a tree in one swing. A big ol' farm girl with pig tails.
At first I was going to say no thanks, we were just about to leave. But I thought of the times I had heard that one too, and told her I had time for one dance. She did pretty well at first, but I could tell she wasn't used to dancing, or drinking, or both. But she didn't step on my feet, so I was happy. The song finished and I thanked her for the dance.
As I started to walk away, the music started again and she grabbed my wrists. I tried to shake loose but she had a grip like a vice. I explained to her again that my friend was leaving and he was driving. If he left without me, I wouldn't have a ride home. It didn't faze her. She just kept dancing and told me I didn't have to leave. I just stood there, as she rocked back and forth, off in her own little world. I didn't want to cause a scene, but I was losing my patience.
I tried again to make her understand, I needed to leave. But she would have none of it. When she noticed I wasn't dancing, an ugly look came over her face and she started to bend my arms back. A white hot pain shot from my wrists to my elbows, I thought she was going to break one or both of my arms. I was starting to panic. How was I going to get out of this? I had never hit a woman before but I had never been in a situation like this before either. I thought if I could get one hand free I could hit her with a beer bottle or something. But she wasn't letting go.
About this time people were starting to notice us. I looked over at John but he was too busy laughing to be of any help. Just when I was considering head butting her in the face to make her let me go, two women came to my rescue. Neither one could have weighed more than one hundred ten but each one took an arm and began telling her to let me go. Reluctantly, she loosened her grip and released my wrists, then wandered back over to the bar and her beer.
The two girls were friends of hers and they looked at me apologetically. Strangely, when I looked into their eyes, I saw sympathy. As I turned to leave I nodded my thanks, my manly pride wouldn't let me speak. I walked to the door as fast as my dignity would allow, but once I hit the door, I left my dignity behind and ran for my ride.
John and I would talk and laugh about that dance for weeks. But that night, when I was alone, all I could think of was the two girls and the sympathetic look in their eyes. As though they had been through the same humiliation. It didn't take long to imagine either of them being harassed by some drunk guy who believed himself to be Gods own gift to women. Someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. Someone who had demoralized and objectified them, and quite possibly caused them physical discomfort.
So what did I take away from this? If I ask a woman to dance and she says no, I don't get upset, I just move on. And if a girl twice my size asks me to dance, I'll just be sure to know which way the nearest exit is and how fast I can get there. My pride be damned.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
This story isn't funny. At least it wasn't funny at the time but there was a valuable lesson learned at the end which I still remember to this day.
I was down in Charleston, S.C., in the middle of the bible belt. This seemed a bit off to me since they have so many bars serving alcohol. You might be thinking they just served a watered down version of the real stuff. This couldn't be further from the truth. In South Carolina, in the 1980's, bar had to serve liquor in pre-measured bottles, affectionately known as "airline bottles" obviously because that's how they serve liquor on an airliner.
I can honestly say, I have never seen a bartender (that I didn't know personally) who would pour the same amount of booze in my drink, as an airline bottle holds. There were also more than a few "private clubs" that served beer and liquor 23 hours a day. They had to close for one hour to clean up.
This story takes place in one such private club on a Friday night.
First let me tell you that I had a rule about dancing, brought on by the number of times I had asked a woman to dance, to be told she doesn't dance, only to walk away and ask some other guy to dance seconds later. So my rule was simple; if a woman asks me to dance, and I am able to do so, I don't refuse. I felt this made me courteous.
I can't remember the name of the place, something like Shambala or Shenandoah, it doesn't really matter to the story. It was a small bar filled with the odor of spilled beer and a cigarette haze in the air. The DJ played the same songs over and over, and the same people were on the dance floor most of the time.
My friend John and I were about to call it a night and head for home, as soon as he used the men's room. As I was waiting, a woman the size of Paul Bunyan came up to me and asked me to dance. She was broad shouldered and even more so around a waist that narrowed into slim hips. I'm not exaggerating here, this woman looked like she could fell a tree in one swing. A big ol' farm girl with pig tails.
At first I was going to say no thanks, we were just about to leave. But I thought of the times I had heard that one too, and told her I had time for one dance. She did pretty well at first, but I could tell she wasn't used to dancing, or drinking, or both. But she didn't step on my feet, so I was happy. The song finished and I thanked her for the dance.
As I started to walk away, the music started again and she grabbed my wrists. I tried to shake loose but she had a grip like a vice. I explained to her again that my friend was leaving and he was driving. If he left without me, I wouldn't have a ride home. It didn't faze her. She just kept dancing and told me I didn't have to leave. I just stood there, as she rocked back and forth, off in her own little world. I didn't want to cause a scene, but I was losing my patience.
I tried again to make her understand, I needed to leave. But she would have none of it. When she noticed I wasn't dancing, an ugly look came over her face and she started to bend my arms back. A white hot pain shot from my wrists to my elbows, I thought she was going to break one or both of my arms. I was starting to panic. How was I going to get out of this? I had never hit a woman before but I had never been in a situation like this before either. I thought if I could get one hand free I could hit her with a beer bottle or something. But she wasn't letting go.
About this time people were starting to notice us. I looked over at John but he was too busy laughing to be of any help. Just when I was considering head butting her in the face to make her let me go, two women came to my rescue. Neither one could have weighed more than one hundred ten but each one took an arm and began telling her to let me go. Reluctantly, she loosened her grip and released my wrists, then wandered back over to the bar and her beer.
The two girls were friends of hers and they looked at me apologetically. Strangely, when I looked into their eyes, I saw sympathy. As I turned to leave I nodded my thanks, my manly pride wouldn't let me speak. I walked to the door as fast as my dignity would allow, but once I hit the door, I left my dignity behind and ran for my ride.
John and I would talk and laugh about that dance for weeks. But that night, when I was alone, all I could think of was the two girls and the sympathetic look in their eyes. As though they had been through the same humiliation. It didn't take long to imagine either of them being harassed by some drunk guy who believed himself to be Gods own gift to women. Someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. Someone who had demoralized and objectified them, and quite possibly caused them physical discomfort.
So what did I take away from this? If I ask a woman to dance and she says no, I don't get upset, I just move on. And if a girl twice my size asks me to dance, I'll just be sure to know which way the nearest exit is and how fast I can get there. My pride be damned.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, August 15, 2016
Day 281
Day 281
Another day has slipped by me. I'm trying to make some money with a different project, Ultimately, I want to write novels. But I need the extra cash right now. So I'm trying to spread my time between the two projects.
Today was the final push for my other. We'll see if it will bare fruit.
New story coming soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Another day has slipped by me. I'm trying to make some money with a different project, Ultimately, I want to write novels. But I need the extra cash right now. So I'm trying to spread my time between the two projects.
Today was the final push for my other. We'll see if it will bare fruit.
New story coming soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Day 280
Day 280
OK. It's been a busy week for me and I have been letting my blog slide and I am going to have to do it again tonight.
I will have another story you again soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
OK. It's been a busy week for me and I have been letting my blog slide and I am going to have to do it again tonight.
I will have another story you again soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Can you hear me now?
Day 279
I was trying to finish some work on my laptop, when the phone began it's annoying ring. I tried to ignore it, but it was insistent so I checked the caller ID and saw that it was my brother Tom. Tom is a cross country truck driver and having spent four years criss-crossing these United States myself, I know how boring it can be when you are all alone on the road, mile after mile, hour after hour.
So I composed myself and in my most supportive and comforting tone I said, "What the hell do you want?" No response. At first, I thought it was the cut rate cell phone service he uses wasn't getting a strong signal. It's that phone company that's trying to convince us it's as good as Verizon by paying a disgruntled ex-employee to say they are just as good. Yeah, right.
"C'mon bro, I got work to do here." Still nothing, just some static and occasionally a faraway voice.
"If you can hear me, I can't hear you. So call me back." I hung up and went back to work.
I made myself some lunch and started to eat when the phone started in again. It was Tom. "Hello," I said. "Can you hear me now?" Mocking the guy who used to work for Verizon, except, I got no answer. Finally it occurred to me, he had butt dialed me. He didn't know I was on the phone. So I decided to play a joke on him. I took a deep breath and made the loudest fart noise I could into the phone.
A second later I could just barely hear him say, "What the hell?"
I waited a minute and did it again. This time there was just quiet static. I was just about to do it again when, suddenly, there was the loudest, thundering noise coming over the phone. It was a noxious, wet sound. My brother's ass was talking back to me and it was awful. I swear I could smell rotten eggs coming through my phone. My eyes teared up, my throat closed as I began to cough. Then I heard a laugh like a hyena and I knew I had been setup.
"Hey, flaming burrito brother. What the hell have you been eating?" I shouted.
"What's wrong?" Tom chuckled.
"For chrissake, my eyes are burning!"
"If you can't stand the heat, little brother, stay out of the kitchen."
"I don't know what your baking in that kitchen but it's radioactive."
We both laughed and talked about our favorite truck stop restaurants and some of the worst meals we had on the road. After awhile I asked why he was calling me. He said he must have had a "brain fart" because he couldn't remember. I told him next time, don't let your "braying ass" do the talking.
The deep, meaningful conversations between brothers, never cease to amaze.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I was trying to finish some work on my laptop, when the phone began it's annoying ring. I tried to ignore it, but it was insistent so I checked the caller ID and saw that it was my brother Tom. Tom is a cross country truck driver and having spent four years criss-crossing these United States myself, I know how boring it can be when you are all alone on the road, mile after mile, hour after hour.
So I composed myself and in my most supportive and comforting tone I said, "What the hell do you want?" No response. At first, I thought it was the cut rate cell phone service he uses wasn't getting a strong signal. It's that phone company that's trying to convince us it's as good as Verizon by paying a disgruntled ex-employee to say they are just as good. Yeah, right.
"C'mon bro, I got work to do here." Still nothing, just some static and occasionally a faraway voice.
"If you can hear me, I can't hear you. So call me back." I hung up and went back to work.
I made myself some lunch and started to eat when the phone started in again. It was Tom. "Hello," I said. "Can you hear me now?" Mocking the guy who used to work for Verizon, except, I got no answer. Finally it occurred to me, he had butt dialed me. He didn't know I was on the phone. So I decided to play a joke on him. I took a deep breath and made the loudest fart noise I could into the phone.
A second later I could just barely hear him say, "What the hell?"
I waited a minute and did it again. This time there was just quiet static. I was just about to do it again when, suddenly, there was the loudest, thundering noise coming over the phone. It was a noxious, wet sound. My brother's ass was talking back to me and it was awful. I swear I could smell rotten eggs coming through my phone. My eyes teared up, my throat closed as I began to cough. Then I heard a laugh like a hyena and I knew I had been setup.
"Hey, flaming burrito brother. What the hell have you been eating?" I shouted.
"What's wrong?" Tom chuckled.
"For chrissake, my eyes are burning!"
"If you can't stand the heat, little brother, stay out of the kitchen."
"I don't know what your baking in that kitchen but it's radioactive."
We both laughed and talked about our favorite truck stop restaurants and some of the worst meals we had on the road. After awhile I asked why he was calling me. He said he must have had a "brain fart" because he couldn't remember. I told him next time, don't let your "braying ass" do the talking.
The deep, meaningful conversations between brothers, never cease to amaze.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, August 12, 2016
Watching the Lions Tonight
Day 278
Watching the Lions football game tonight. It's only the first preseason game but the Lions look good against the Steelers. I know it doesn't mean anything but it's still better than seeing them lose. Even if it doesn't mean anything.
I'll post a new story soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Watching the Lions football game tonight. It's only the first preseason game but the Lions look good against the Steelers. I know it doesn't mean anything but it's still better than seeing them lose. Even if it doesn't mean anything.
I'll post a new story soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, August 11, 2016
Nasty...
Day 277
At one time I was half owner of a cleaning business. The other half was owned by my close friend Irene. We had been working our newest and biggest building contract for about a month. It was a small manufacturing business and we were contracted to clean four offices, fifteen cubicles, a lunch/break room and 4 restrooms (2 men's, 2 women's). There was only the two of us and it was about four hours of our night.
When we started the job they shifted to 24 hour shifts manufacturing. No effect on the office cleaning but the break room and two restrooms were constantly in use. We would clean them and they would be just the same as before, twenty minutes after we finished.
As you can guess we were pretty disgusted and unhappy. Especially Irene. She thought men were slobs until she had to clean this place. Office people can real messy and that's putting it mildly.
One Friday night, Irene was running a dust mop over the hallway tile floor and I stopped on my way to clean the men's room. I don't know what I had been eating but all day I had been a one man supply of natural gas. It was like I had been eating too much fiber and apple juice with a colon cleanser chaser. Whatever it was it had been in there a long time cause let me tell ya, that cheese was aged and ripe.
Anyway, I stopped to talk to Irene when one of the "war dogs" slipped it's chain. I made a hasty retreat because this was one of those times when I definitely did NOT "like my own brand".
As I turned the corner of the L shaped hallway, I looked back to see the fallout from the bomb I had dropped. Just then, one of the office managers came through the door from the shop, walking toward Irene.
My underpants ninja hit them both right in the nose at the same time. I didn't hang around to watch the fallout, as the little fellow might try to follow me.
Later, Irene caught up with me and told me the rest of the story. When the office manager had walked past Irene, she was the only one in the hallway, so naturally he thought she was to blame. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe something so vile could come out of such a small woman.
I couldn't stop laughing. Even when she hit me with a right cross. Then she started laughing too. They cancelled our contract two days later. We didn't argue.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
At one time I was half owner of a cleaning business. The other half was owned by my close friend Irene. We had been working our newest and biggest building contract for about a month. It was a small manufacturing business and we were contracted to clean four offices, fifteen cubicles, a lunch/break room and 4 restrooms (2 men's, 2 women's). There was only the two of us and it was about four hours of our night.
When we started the job they shifted to 24 hour shifts manufacturing. No effect on the office cleaning but the break room and two restrooms were constantly in use. We would clean them and they would be just the same as before, twenty minutes after we finished.
As you can guess we were pretty disgusted and unhappy. Especially Irene. She thought men were slobs until she had to clean this place. Office people can real messy and that's putting it mildly.
One Friday night, Irene was running a dust mop over the hallway tile floor and I stopped on my way to clean the men's room. I don't know what I had been eating but all day I had been a one man supply of natural gas. It was like I had been eating too much fiber and apple juice with a colon cleanser chaser. Whatever it was it had been in there a long time cause let me tell ya, that cheese was aged and ripe.
Anyway, I stopped to talk to Irene when one of the "war dogs" slipped it's chain. I made a hasty retreat because this was one of those times when I definitely did NOT "like my own brand".
As I turned the corner of the L shaped hallway, I looked back to see the fallout from the bomb I had dropped. Just then, one of the office managers came through the door from the shop, walking toward Irene.
My underpants ninja hit them both right in the nose at the same time. I didn't hang around to watch the fallout, as the little fellow might try to follow me.
Later, Irene caught up with me and told me the rest of the story. When the office manager had walked past Irene, she was the only one in the hallway, so naturally he thought she was to blame. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe something so vile could come out of such a small woman.
I couldn't stop laughing. Even when she hit me with a right cross. Then she started laughing too. They cancelled our contract two days later. We didn't argue.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Bland Twinkies
Day 276
A lazy day today, though I did get some things accomplished, I did not get a story written. I have a good one in mind and I will try to get it finished tomorrow.
For today I ask, is it just me or have Twinkies lost there flavor? I know they moved to Alabama to save money on labor but I think they decided to increase profits even more by leaving out the flavor.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
A lazy day today, though I did get some things accomplished, I did not get a story written. I have a good one in mind and I will try to get it finished tomorrow.
For today I ask, is it just me or have Twinkies lost there flavor? I know they moved to Alabama to save money on labor but I think they decided to increase profits even more by leaving out the flavor.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Confession of a Junior High Actor
Day 275
I watched Blended starring Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler for the first time this afternoon. I don't understand why it was trashed by the critics. I loved it. That moment near the end when the situation always goes wrong before being set right again. It made me think of something that happened to me a long time ago. A defining moment, quite literally, a missed kiss.
I was in the eighth grade and making quite a name for myself as a writer in my English class. Let me add something here, the school I attended from kindergarten through the 8th grade was a small school called St Pauls Lutheran School. The student body consisted of 300 pupils give or take a few. There were twenty eight kids in my graduating class.
My class was made up of ten cool kids, ten not so cool kids and about eight who were indifferent and just trying to get through to graduation. As I said earlier we were working on composition in class and I found I had a certain knack for writing. I wrote stories even the cool kids couldn't wait to hear. After performing a short one act play that I had written, the class decided we should put on a real play and in front of the whole school. I was chosen to play one of the four lead roles. The part of the shy Prince pretending to be a servant.
Most of the second act was just me and the Princess, played of course, by the most popular girl in the class. The fact that she was popular didn't really phase me as we had both been attending the same school since kindergarten. If she bore any fondness for me, she hid it well. Still I was not intimidated. I was the master of storytelling, so acting would be a piece of cake. Or so I thought.
Toward the end of the second act I was to pick her up, then slowly set her down, take her in my arms and kiss her. We went through a couple of readings and one rehearsal and the teacher/director let us slide on the kiss. BUT she promised great retribution should I fail during the play. We would only get one shot at it.
OK. I was intimidated by the kiss. It wasn't that I had never kissed a girl before, I had kissed my cousin when we were nine years old, at my brother's high school graduation party. It hadn't been what I was expecting. There were no fireworks, no warm and fuzzy feelings and certainly no weakness of the knees. But that was my cousin, in the dark, alone. I was suppose to kiss the most popular girl in the school (possibly the state), in front of 300 students, some of who were my friends, and the school faculty and staff, including the janitor. And to top it off, some of the parents would be there, including my costars mother. This would make St Pauls history.
For a few years it became a tradition at St Pauls Lutheran School for the eighth grade class to put on a play. But ours was the one most remembered and talked about for years afterward.
I was so wound up standing back stage during the first act, that I had to go to the bathroom several times. The teacher thought I had chickened out and flew the coop. One of the actors from the first act was upset that I didn't see his whole performance, I tried to explain that I was too nervous to stay in one place waiting to go on, but he wouldn't listen. I was even more upset and it was my turn to go on. I entered stage left to some courtesy applause. When I heard that I just relaxed and started to have fun.
Everything went well up until I had to "sweep her off her feet." I moved closer to the most popular girl in school, slipped my right arm around her waist and my left behind her knees and lifted her in a classic lovers twirl, before gently lowering her to her feet again. I moved away and delivered my line on cue. I then stepped closer to her and looked deeply into her eyes, prolonging the time before our lips would meet.
Right then several images flashed through my mind; my christian upbringing, several hundred people in the audience including the pastor and my costars mother, watching with what I can only imagine, were disapproving eyes. But I was an actor of the highest caliber. I pushed all of these things to the back of my mind and leaned in for the kiss.
Just then she whispered, "Oh my God."
Three little words completely shattered my confidence. I missed her lips and kissed her on the cheek.
The rest of the play was a blur. Somehow I was able to recite my lines and hit my marks and at the end I was given a standing ovation from the staff and students (quite possibly out of sympathy) and an approving smile from my costars mother. Our pastor had the same disapproving grimace chiseled on his face. He looked at me and just shook his head.
Afterward I would rationalize that the failed kiss was for the best. If I had actually kissed her, she would have developed a crush on me and started sitting next to me in class. Then all of the cool kids would be hanging out with us and my friends would feel betrayed. But everything remained as it should. The cool kids shunned me and my friends teased me the rest of the year until we graduated and I never saw most of them again.
Later in high school I took an acting class. I was suppose to walk onstage and kiss a girl, playing my wife, as though I were just coming home from work. This was to be my defining moment, sweet redemption from that embarrassing kiss three years before, when I had failed so miserably. I walked on stage and instantly thought of my girlfriend and betrayal. I broke off and ducked right, away from the girl with the quizzical look on her face. My acting career was at an end.
Clint Eastwood once said, "A man's got to know his limitations."
I guess my limit is kissing a girl in front of a lot of people. Maybe that's why I never married.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I watched Blended starring Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler for the first time this afternoon. I don't understand why it was trashed by the critics. I loved it. That moment near the end when the situation always goes wrong before being set right again. It made me think of something that happened to me a long time ago. A defining moment, quite literally, a missed kiss.
I was in the eighth grade and making quite a name for myself as a writer in my English class. Let me add something here, the school I attended from kindergarten through the 8th grade was a small school called St Pauls Lutheran School. The student body consisted of 300 pupils give or take a few. There were twenty eight kids in my graduating class.
My class was made up of ten cool kids, ten not so cool kids and about eight who were indifferent and just trying to get through to graduation. As I said earlier we were working on composition in class and I found I had a certain knack for writing. I wrote stories even the cool kids couldn't wait to hear. After performing a short one act play that I had written, the class decided we should put on a real play and in front of the whole school. I was chosen to play one of the four lead roles. The part of the shy Prince pretending to be a servant.
Most of the second act was just me and the Princess, played of course, by the most popular girl in the class. The fact that she was popular didn't really phase me as we had both been attending the same school since kindergarten. If she bore any fondness for me, she hid it well. Still I was not intimidated. I was the master of storytelling, so acting would be a piece of cake. Or so I thought.
Toward the end of the second act I was to pick her up, then slowly set her down, take her in my arms and kiss her. We went through a couple of readings and one rehearsal and the teacher/director let us slide on the kiss. BUT she promised great retribution should I fail during the play. We would only get one shot at it.
OK. I was intimidated by the kiss. It wasn't that I had never kissed a girl before, I had kissed my cousin when we were nine years old, at my brother's high school graduation party. It hadn't been what I was expecting. There were no fireworks, no warm and fuzzy feelings and certainly no weakness of the knees. But that was my cousin, in the dark, alone. I was suppose to kiss the most popular girl in the school (possibly the state), in front of 300 students, some of who were my friends, and the school faculty and staff, including the janitor. And to top it off, some of the parents would be there, including my costars mother. This would make St Pauls history.
For a few years it became a tradition at St Pauls Lutheran School for the eighth grade class to put on a play. But ours was the one most remembered and talked about for years afterward.
I was so wound up standing back stage during the first act, that I had to go to the bathroom several times. The teacher thought I had chickened out and flew the coop. One of the actors from the first act was upset that I didn't see his whole performance, I tried to explain that I was too nervous to stay in one place waiting to go on, but he wouldn't listen. I was even more upset and it was my turn to go on. I entered stage left to some courtesy applause. When I heard that I just relaxed and started to have fun.
Everything went well up until I had to "sweep her off her feet." I moved closer to the most popular girl in school, slipped my right arm around her waist and my left behind her knees and lifted her in a classic lovers twirl, before gently lowering her to her feet again. I moved away and delivered my line on cue. I then stepped closer to her and looked deeply into her eyes, prolonging the time before our lips would meet.
Right then several images flashed through my mind; my christian upbringing, several hundred people in the audience including the pastor and my costars mother, watching with what I can only imagine, were disapproving eyes. But I was an actor of the highest caliber. I pushed all of these things to the back of my mind and leaned in for the kiss.
Just then she whispered, "Oh my God."
Three little words completely shattered my confidence. I missed her lips and kissed her on the cheek.
The rest of the play was a blur. Somehow I was able to recite my lines and hit my marks and at the end I was given a standing ovation from the staff and students (quite possibly out of sympathy) and an approving smile from my costars mother. Our pastor had the same disapproving grimace chiseled on his face. He looked at me and just shook his head.
Afterward I would rationalize that the failed kiss was for the best. If I had actually kissed her, she would have developed a crush on me and started sitting next to me in class. Then all of the cool kids would be hanging out with us and my friends would feel betrayed. But everything remained as it should. The cool kids shunned me and my friends teased me the rest of the year until we graduated and I never saw most of them again.
Later in high school I took an acting class. I was suppose to walk onstage and kiss a girl, playing my wife, as though I were just coming home from work. This was to be my defining moment, sweet redemption from that embarrassing kiss three years before, when I had failed so miserably. I walked on stage and instantly thought of my girlfriend and betrayal. I broke off and ducked right, away from the girl with the quizzical look on her face. My acting career was at an end.
Clint Eastwood once said, "A man's got to know his limitations."
I guess my limit is kissing a girl in front of a lot of people. Maybe that's why I never married.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, August 8, 2016
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Ode to Autumn
Day 273What shall we talk about?
Back to school will be coming soon and autumn is just around the corner. I have probably mentioned it before, about a dozen times, but I love the fall. Sooo many good things happen in the fall.
The temperature returns to bearable levels.
Football season; professional, college and high school levels, begins.
Life here slows down again after the summer rush.
The harvest and beautiful fall colors.
Cold apple cider and hot fresh doughnuts.
The witches, ghoulies and ghosties and Halloween candies.
Canning and baking and homemade preserves.
Basketball and hockey take their turns as a new season begins.
The Thanksgiving feast with family and friends and Lions football on TV.
Those who have gone before will be remembered and stories will be told.
When the snow flies and the ground turns brilliant white.
A jolly old man in the bright red suit, gets ready for his annual ride.
And for a brief moment, all is right with the world.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Tonight's the Night
Day 272
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Finally, I get to say it, "Not tonight honey, I'm not in the mood."
Ken
Friday, August 5, 2016
Day 271
Day 271
I was going to write about some ports of call I visited during my years in the navy. And I will. Just not tonight. Fridays are not the best night for posting. Many of my readers have better things to do on a Friday night.
Soo...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I was going to write about some ports of call I visited during my years in the navy. And I will. Just not tonight. Fridays are not the best night for posting. Many of my readers have better things to do on a Friday night.
Soo...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Bud Bash 2016 Coming This Weekend Aug. 6
Day 270
Bud Bash August 6, 2016. Sends chills down the spine of some and a flame up the behind of others. Either you love it or hate it.
Every year on the first Saturday of August, the Limberlost restaurant and bar, holds their celebration of summer called Bud Bash. The outdoor tent has already been setup and ready for all of the party goers, young and old (mostly young). The lake will fill the south shore by the Limberlost, with all manner of boats, tied together. Many people will party on the lake, moving from boat to boat.
Most will just have a few drinks and some fun. But a few will over-do-it. And so it is that extra police presence will be felt all weekend long, starting Friday through Sunday. Most of the complaints come from the noise but tickets will be handed out for: under age drinking, urinating in public, indecent exposure, drunk and disorderly and DUI. Although it is only a small group that will get into trouble, some residents will use this as an excuse to try to shutdown the event.
Many local residents will forego the weekend all together and head out of town. Much the same as when the Dream Cruise is held downstate along Woodward Avenue.
As for me, when I do make it to Bud Bash, it's during the day and only for a short time. I'd rather be fishing.
So if your coming to Houghton Lake for Bud Bash 2016, have fun, but please respect the resident property and stay safe. Don't drink and drive. We do have a taxi service if you need one.
If you need a ride call Executive Taxi at 989-422-6457.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Bud Bash August 6, 2016. Sends chills down the spine of some and a flame up the behind of others. Either you love it or hate it.Every year on the first Saturday of August, the Limberlost restaurant and bar, holds their celebration of summer called Bud Bash. The outdoor tent has already been setup and ready for all of the party goers, young and old (mostly young). The lake will fill the south shore by the Limberlost, with all manner of boats, tied together. Many people will party on the lake, moving from boat to boat.
Most will just have a few drinks and some fun. But a few will over-do-it. And so it is that extra police presence will be felt all weekend long, starting Friday through Sunday. Most of the complaints come from the noise but tickets will be handed out for: under age drinking, urinating in public, indecent exposure, drunk and disorderly and DUI. Although it is only a small group that will get into trouble, some residents will use this as an excuse to try to shutdown the event.
Many local residents will forego the weekend all together and head out of town. Much the same as when the Dream Cruise is held downstate along Woodward Avenue.
As for me, when I do make it to Bud Bash, it's during the day and only for a short time. I'd rather be fishing.
So if your coming to Houghton Lake for Bud Bash 2016, have fun, but please respect the resident property and stay safe. Don't drink and drive. We do have a taxi service if you need one.
If you need a ride call Executive Taxi at 989-422-6457.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Houghton Lake Fishing Report Aug 3, 2016
Day 269
Finally made it out on the lake yesterday. It felt really good to be out on the water and wetting a line. I have a new fishing reel I hadn't used yet and I was curious if it would give me any trouble. It's a Zebco 202 with 10 lb. clear mono filament line. An old standard from my childhood. The first fishing rod and reel I ever owned was given to me by my father and has been my standard go to combo. I highly recommend this combo for any young angler just starting out. It's easy to use and cast, and it's reliable. I've never had a problem with the line getting tangled.
It was a beautiful, sunny and calm day yesterday. There were about half a dozen boats beside us out on the water. Amazing considering the DNR public boat launches were full every weekend in July. Also the west side DNR public boat launch at Higgins Lake was full to overflowing. I'm sure the state parks were full also. But August is historically slow here so maybe it wasn't so surprising there was so few boats on the lake.
We made it to our fishing spot around 10:30 am and after getting setup (my brother had his rig in the water first), he had a hit almost immediately. He was fishing with leeches (yuk) and I had my worms. The fish were sneaky and stole the bait from my brother several times before he reeled one in. A nice perch.
I had a double on my first catch; a perch and a bluegill. I realized right away I needed to reset the drag on my new reel. Having done that the rest of day was very productive. I even switched to plastic bait for a while but had to switch back when the fish stopped biting.
I caught a couple of nice sized bluegill but mostly small perch. Perch are active at this time of year in this area and can range from small 3" up to 12" or larger.
All in all a very fun day. I only wish there had been more of a breeze. The sun was very hot and we came in early do to the heat and chance of sunburn. As I had bathed in sunblock before venturing forth on to the lake, I escaped with slightly pink skin and no burn. We returned to the marina around 1:30 pm. About 3 hours spent fishing and we never moved from our original spot. Usually we have to try several before we get some serious action.
The summer has been so warm this year that I have spent most of my time indoors in the air conditioned living room with my computer. I'm not made for 90 degree weather. The 70's are my best temps.
So although August is hot and allergy season is at a high, it's also a great time to get out on the lake. This coming weekend, Aug 6, is the infamous annual Bud Bash at the Limberlost. So we will be crowded again but then we should slow down until Labor Day weekend the last hurrah of summer.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Finally made it out on the lake yesterday. It felt really good to be out on the water and wetting a line. I have a new fishing reel I hadn't used yet and I was curious if it would give me any trouble. It's a Zebco 202 with 10 lb. clear mono filament line. An old standard from my childhood. The first fishing rod and reel I ever owned was given to me by my father and has been my standard go to combo. I highly recommend this combo for any young angler just starting out. It's easy to use and cast, and it's reliable. I've never had a problem with the line getting tangled.
It was a beautiful, sunny and calm day yesterday. There were about half a dozen boats beside us out on the water. Amazing considering the DNR public boat launches were full every weekend in July. Also the west side DNR public boat launch at Higgins Lake was full to overflowing. I'm sure the state parks were full also. But August is historically slow here so maybe it wasn't so surprising there was so few boats on the lake.
We made it to our fishing spot around 10:30 am and after getting setup (my brother had his rig in the water first), he had a hit almost immediately. He was fishing with leeches (yuk) and I had my worms. The fish were sneaky and stole the bait from my brother several times before he reeled one in. A nice perch.
I had a double on my first catch; a perch and a bluegill. I realized right away I needed to reset the drag on my new reel. Having done that the rest of day was very productive. I even switched to plastic bait for a while but had to switch back when the fish stopped biting.
I caught a couple of nice sized bluegill but mostly small perch. Perch are active at this time of year in this area and can range from small 3" up to 12" or larger.
All in all a very fun day. I only wish there had been more of a breeze. The sun was very hot and we came in early do to the heat and chance of sunburn. As I had bathed in sunblock before venturing forth on to the lake, I escaped with slightly pink skin and no burn. We returned to the marina around 1:30 pm. About 3 hours spent fishing and we never moved from our original spot. Usually we have to try several before we get some serious action.
The summer has been so warm this year that I have spent most of my time indoors in the air conditioned living room with my computer. I'm not made for 90 degree weather. The 70's are my best temps.
So although August is hot and allergy season is at a high, it's also a great time to get out on the lake. This coming weekend, Aug 6, is the infamous annual Bud Bash at the Limberlost. So we will be crowded again but then we should slow down until Labor Day weekend the last hurrah of summer.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Fishing with a Lincoln Town Car
Day 268
It's no secret that writers find inspiration in the wee hours of the morning. Often the inspiration for a story comes from a dream. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde after having a dream. He wrote furiously for three days, then had his wife read it. She was so horrified that the author immediately threw his manuscript into the fire. He then spent weeks trying to rewrite the story.
It's also common for writers to quickly forget a "brilliant" idea for a story as fast as a fire burning a
manuscript if not faster. So writers will get up at 2 am to write the story.
Last night I had a similar situation when I awoke around 4 am and, not being able to fall asleep right away, I read a short detective story before trying to return to the land of Nod.
Before I tell the story let me explain that when I was young there was a television show about a rather portly detective who drove a Lincoln Town car; the huge, heavy, square shaped gas guzzler with the ultra smooth ride. It was a bit curious that the criminal would always try to get away on foot in a wide open area, with plenty of room to be rundown by a large, luxury automobile.
I remember telling my parents that I was going to grow up to be a fat, bald private eye who drives a Lincoln Town car. My prognostication was, at least, partially correct. I am portly. A perfect example of a real life Santa Claus. And due to my size, I prefer large luxury cars, with a soft ride.
As I lay in bed with my old tomcat, scratching him behind the ears, sleep finally came. I was driving a black Lincoln Town car and riding with me was a friend I haven't seen in several years. We had just drifted apart as friends sometimes do. But there he was in the passenger seat. We drove into an alley and I remember wondering if we could squeeze through, when the car turned sideways as though sliding on ice. We made it through the alley.
Suddenly, I'm sitting in my two man fishing boat on Backus lake, my friend is sitting in the drivers seat of the Lincoln Town car just ten feet away. My buddy was sitting in a car, on a lake, and all I could think of was catching a fish to prove to my him, there were big fish in this small lake.
I cast my line out and as I retrieved the bait, a large northern pike hit. I reel it in and start fumbling with my net to get the thrashing monster out of the water, but the net keeps folding up. My friend is still in the car on the lake, and he's laughing at my plight with the landing net. I get the net straightened out and retrieve the fish to show him.
Just then I woke up and I was thinking, "That would make a great story." There was just one thing I found to be strange. I have never owned a Lincoln Town car. I guess, sometimes, the dream just isn't believable.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It's no secret that writers find inspiration in the wee hours of the morning. Often the inspiration for a story comes from a dream. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde after having a dream. He wrote furiously for three days, then had his wife read it. She was so horrified that the author immediately threw his manuscript into the fire. He then spent weeks trying to rewrite the story.
It's also common for writers to quickly forget a "brilliant" idea for a story as fast as a fire burning a
Last night I had a similar situation when I awoke around 4 am and, not being able to fall asleep right away, I read a short detective story before trying to return to the land of Nod.
Before I tell the story let me explain that when I was young there was a television show about a rather portly detective who drove a Lincoln Town car; the huge, heavy, square shaped gas guzzler with the ultra smooth ride. It was a bit curious that the criminal would always try to get away on foot in a wide open area, with plenty of room to be rundown by a large, luxury automobile.
I remember telling my parents that I was going to grow up to be a fat, bald private eye who drives a Lincoln Town car. My prognostication was, at least, partially correct. I am portly. A perfect example of a real life Santa Claus. And due to my size, I prefer large luxury cars, with a soft ride.
As I lay in bed with my old tomcat, scratching him behind the ears, sleep finally came. I was driving a black Lincoln Town car and riding with me was a friend I haven't seen in several years. We had just drifted apart as friends sometimes do. But there he was in the passenger seat. We drove into an alley and I remember wondering if we could squeeze through, when the car turned sideways as though sliding on ice. We made it through the alley.
Suddenly, I'm sitting in my two man fishing boat on Backus lake, my friend is sitting in the drivers seat of the Lincoln Town car just ten feet away. My buddy was sitting in a car, on a lake, and all I could think of was catching a fish to prove to my him, there were big fish in this small lake.
I cast my line out and as I retrieved the bait, a large northern pike hit. I reel it in and start fumbling with my net to get the thrashing monster out of the water, but the net keeps folding up. My friend is still in the car on the lake, and he's laughing at my plight with the landing net. I get the net straightened out and retrieve the fish to show him.
Just then I woke up and I was thinking, "That would make a great story." There was just one thing I found to be strange. I have never owned a Lincoln Town car. I guess, sometimes, the dream just isn't believable.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, August 1, 2016
Day 267
Day 267
Another night of blank slate. I have ideas but they need to be nurtured and loved to allow them to grow. Again it is getting late and I have squandered the day. I'm having trouble sleeping again and I think it may be because I'm not writing.
The ideas build up in my mind and try to find a way out in the middle of the night. When they do I can't sleep because my mind is racing 100 mph. And no one can sleep going a hundred mph.
I just want to sleep.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Another night of blank slate. I have ideas but they need to be nurtured and loved to allow them to grow. Again it is getting late and I have squandered the day. I'm having trouble sleeping again and I think it may be because I'm not writing.
The ideas build up in my mind and try to find a way out in the middle of the night. When they do I can't sleep because my mind is racing 100 mph. And no one can sleep going a hundred mph.
I just want to sleep.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
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