Friday, January 30, 2009

Blobbin' to the Oldies

HI!.....Sorry Richard Simmons. But Barbara sent a video of two newlyweds puttin' on a show. Am I getting wierd or what? This is the first time in my life I would rather watch the boy dance than the girl! AND THEY DID THE CHICKEN DANCE! Why oh why did they cut away from the chicken dance after just a few seconds? Eli can teach them both a few moves. I'm flapping my arms and singing do do do do do do do. Do do do do do do do. Hey! you just try typing while doing the Majestic Chicken Dance. If the Chicken Dance had shown up 225 years earlier, George Washington would never have bothered with the Minuet! Martha Washington would have died early. From laughter.

Jodi taught me how to comment and I guess I'm doing ok. But I still can't post my own blob. So kudos and accolades to Iggggggieeeee. I hop I don't stress her out too much with my endless needs. She would never complain even if I did. Why izzit that Brian has become almost as famous as Yiyi when the subject of The Dance comes up?

Here's an important philosophical question. Or maybe it is merely a functional question. But it is a question that must, after all these years, be answered and put to rest. Here goes: Does a man shave each morning or does he reshave? I'm being serious here. This is a very pertinent question. Let's say I'm playing Scrabble and I find myself with the opportunity to play the word "reshave". Can I play it? Or will it spit that despicable "foul" message at me? I know what YOU would do. You would play "shaver", forget about it and move on. Fine, okay? FINE. But that would only play six letters, leaving me without my fifty point "BINGO" bonus.

One school of thought says that he is reshaving. Period. It's a repetitive process. Case closed. Another school of thinkin' says that he gets a whole new crop of facefuzz every day. So it's a whole new process every day except on Saturday. So it's shaving. Case closed. Yer Ma, who still sometimes calls her Facebook "Faceplate" will now prob'ly start calling it Facefuzz, but that's her problem. Billy Mays has his own cowardly answer. He doesn't shave at all. I myself generally do the 30-second "halfshave". Not intentionally. Just sloppily. A Norelco shaving (oops, I mean reshaving) head is supposed to be changed every 6 to 12 months. Mine is 26 months old and counting. I wonder which store sells the darn things. If it gets much older I will start being guilty (through no fault of my own) of the "quartershave."

Thanks, El Muncho-g-buncho. Good dance................d'Pa

P.S. Why do they call it "bingo" when with no additional effort, they coulda called it "HOME RUN"? Dummies.

PPS: My vote goes to REshaving. It suuure seems REdundant to me.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I have been admiring Barbara's and Jodi's fantabulous snow scenes in their blogs. I'm jealous, so here goes. I have a snow blob. And it ain't no snow job. In fact, like most grandpas from the faraway hills, I have endless snow stories, but, mercifully, I will only drop one snowflake on yez today. Sorry, no pictures.

I grew up in the crown of the Rocky Mountains, (the literal crown) in Alma, CO., near Breckenridge. Funny thing. Mother Nature gave the Breckens the best ski slopes and the best snow. The North wind brought heavy snow into Breckenridge and gave us a bit less. I'd have argued that at the time. There weren't many kids in tiny Alma, so I was called upon to shovel heavy snow from August 'til June. Oh, alright. November through March. I shoveled driveways, walkways, doorways and paths to the woodshed. I even shoveled under clothlines so ladies could hang out the "warsh". People would tell me that their car was located somewhere under a drift. I would dig 'til they were mobile again. Hour after hour, I shoveled, then it was off to Chuck Bilto's store to spend my cache on a couple of Heath Bars. Life was good.

We had no ski resort. I'm not sure Breckenridge did either. We were just two abandoned old mining towns. Times, they have-a-changed. Breck is "world-class" and we're still the po-folk neighbors. However, when I was about 8 years old, some entrepreneuring genius decided to build a ski resort, about a half mile north of town. He cleared the timber and built a rope-lift. He sold hot chocolate and stuff. The rope-lift consisted of a thick rope running through a series of old automobile wheels. (No tires, just rusty steel rims.) The more wheels, the more needed tension for the rope. I guess. Everything was driven by a Model A engine. Thence to the top of the mountain (okay, hill.) with the rope. Thence through another couple of rims on a pole and back to point A.

Miraculously, this thing worked. Folks would grab the rope and go flying up the hill. I thought the rope looked to be infinitely more fun than skiing back down. On the first actual ski day, I scrounged up a pair of skis somewhere. Maybe the "resort" rented them to me. I dunno. I headed for the rope. No one else had any trouble latching onto the rope. But the rope latched onto me. It flung me onto my teakettle. I dusted myself off. (does anyone really "dust" wet, packed snow off?) I tried again. Same result. Why didn't someone help me? Oh well. I was too embarrassed and too hurt to try again. That rope could really jerk me about. I started up the gigantic mountain (moderate hill) on foot. To my horror, there was insufficient room between the lift and the traveled slope for foot traffic. Get hit by a skier going up or get hit by a skier coming down.

And, oh the language! "Hey, kid! Get off the %&$*?" course!"... "Hey, kid.You're puncturing the snow!" Exhausted, wet, cold and frightened, I stopped climbing at about the halfway point. I strapped on the skis. Oh. Oh. I couldn't ski. Plop. Stand up. Go again. Plop. Lose a ski. Chase it. Look up the hill. Dodge for my life. Plop. when I finally got to the bottom of the hill, some well meaning adult said to me, "hey, kid. Ya gotta learn how to do this before you do this."

I think this is the first time I have told this story. (I hope a haven't told it in my Alma book. How funny, to write it and then forget it.) The reason I have been holding it in is because there is no punch line. No climactic moment. No blazing finish. No great lesson for living.

So here is your assignment. Comment. In your comment put a short finish on the story. You could say that I used that setback as motivation to become a great Olympic master of the slalom. Strike that. I still can't ski a lick, though I live in the shadow of Snowbird and Brighton. Put YOUR finish on the story.

This all happened almost 60 years ago. Yipe. I'm still young. I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Sixty years? Double yipe. Incidentally, the ski resort failed during its first or second season.

Post script: One fun thing eventually happened on that hill, about ten years later. The hill was so steep that we would have been afraid to go down it at top speed in Richard's old Model A. But the hill had begun re-growing a beautiful stand of quakie trees. We found that we could go racing down the hill at break-neck speed, plowing the trees before us. What fun. I go now, before I think of more goofy stuff.

Post post script: If I had had a million dollars in the late forties I could have bought one hundred thousand Model A's at a rate of 10 bucks each. They were EVERYWHERE! I swear I go now.

Thursday, January 22, 2009


Today, I read Barbara's blog. In it, she said that we should all be printing some (all?) of our blogs to build blog books. Unfortunately, if I build one, it will truly be a BLOB book; because, during compilation I will surely be spilling blobs of chocolate on it. Or maybe I will be blubbering or blobbering about insignificant things. Speaking of insignificant things........ I'm allowing my mind to wander, here...........

I think it was Jodi who encountered the word "infinitesimal" last year. She laughed and laughed . She said. "how could such a stupid word exist? How could anyone ever use such a dumb word?" I assured her, oh yes, I assured her , that it DOES exist. When I was a youngster, if my mom caught me blubbering about some insignificant thing, she would say, "Gene, why are you complaining and making such a huge issue about something so infinitesimally small?" I would suddenly feel infinitely small, and I would somehow find the strength to get over it and get on with it. The raging red in my embarrassed face would slowly become dissapatory.

Now, why did "blubbering" remind me of "infinichickenately" or however you say it? I dunno. I move on now.

This next segment is infinimarshmallowly small. I spent one year in college. Carbon College. Forerunner to College of Eastern Utah. Art scholarship. Found Grandma. (She was not yet a Grandma.) Four kids and 47 years later I rediscovered artwork. My skills , of course, have not advanced during that time. But I have a terrific idea about a painting I feel the need to do. (Isn't that artsy, to feel a NEED to paint?) Hint: it will be of my childhood. I will blob on my progress. I will post a photo of it when it's done, even if it's awful. Hint: it will have nothing to do with green suspenders. Sorry, Brian.

Grandma has as many, if not more, great stories from her childhood as I do. But she won't be doing a blog soon. She could type 337 words per minute in high school. She is far more advanced in "computatorology" than I am. But she won't blog. I think she is afraid of sounding like she's bragging if she says good things about herself. I don't get it. Heck, I have endless marvelous things to say about me AND IT AIN'T BRAGGING. Embellishing and lying, maybe, but no bragging.

SO, I will be setting up a blog on Gramma, or at least including her stories on my blob. She's such a star.

I can't wait to find Shelly's blog.

News flash: Todd, Jodi and the bumpkins will be over on Sunday. Jodi is gonna teach me - once and for all, how to comment. That is real futuristic, 22nd century progress. Maybe she will even teach me how to post my own blob. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to anywhere but work I

Monday, January 19, 2009


I have a very real sorrow for tragedy and misfortune. Today I saw a Hostess 18-wheeler on the side of the road with a wheel missing - probably a tire somewhere getting repaired. Do you realize what this means? Thousands of little children will be crying themselves to sleep tonight because of no Twinkie.

Barb, Jodi and Amanda all have terrific blogs for me to read. Even if I can't comment very well, and even if Jodi's blog has metamorphosed into a health blog, I hop to keep up really well. In fact, I am going to read everyone's blog and do my commenting on this blob. I hop it works. I hop everyone will hit my blob to get my comments on YOUR blog. I hop that doesn't sound too self-serving. I hop..........I hop......Suddenly, I have a great craving for pancakes, even though it's 7:30pm. There is an IHOP less than two blocks away. I go now.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Revisit beetdiggers

No one knows the truffles I've seen. Do tddruffles have ddridges? We got a gift box of em and I can't leave them alone. I'll bet soldiers on bivouac get tired of dragging that heavy truffle bag around.

Last week I ran a quiz about how true my blob was. The consensus was that I was merely embellishing. That is correct. I screamed at Connor twice, trying to say hi to him. He didn't hear me. But we had a good chat over cookies. He was truly difficult to spot because "they all look alike."

Not too much going on around here. Talked with Todd on the cell phone the other day. Told him I was on the freeway. Told him I would be late meeting him at the shop because I had to drop some cargo off at the house. The cargo really screamed at me. I guess yer ma doesn't like being called cargo.

Went to the store yesterday. got into a nice short checkout line. Good thing, because I was in a real hurry. Uh oh. The lady being checked out was contesting every item. I was incredulous as I stood there watching. Finally, in a huge demonstrative huff, I gathered up all my stuff up and marched over to the service desk. The clerk there was happy to check me out. I told her all about the female "Bill Slowski" in line 6.

My clerk said, "oh oh, I don't have a scale, and I cannot do your bananas." "just set 'em aside", I said. "I am in a real hurry." She set them aside, but then she whispered to me, "how about we just charge $2.00 for the bananas?" "Oh, great," sez I. I would not have wanted to face yer ma without those bananas. I am very concerned about yer ma's consumption of bananas. But, she does have a rotatable thumb, so I guess everything is okay.

As I turned to leave, I glanced over at line 6. "Look,"sez I, "that woman is still arguing about every item, and she still has a long way to go." "Yes," sez the clerk, "It's this new strained economy. We get at least 4 people like her in here every day."

I left the store with an achy breaky heart for that poor lady. Hope everything turns out well for her. There is always a higher road for me to take. Attitudes are always changeable and improvable. There is always room for compassion for people who struggle. For example, I try to never say anything bad about yer ma. Well, technically, I did call her "cargo". And a monkey. But that proves my point. There IS always room for improvement in my attitude. Paraphrasing Yoda, go now I.

Thursday, January 8, 2009


Question: What is a beetdigger?
Answer: One who digs beets.
What is a Jordan Beetdigger?
Connor Reese. Go Connor, go Connor.
I attended a swim meet today. Connor set at least 2 personal bests.
He's a Sophomore, so he didn't beat those super-Seniors.
But he is a terrific developing swimmer.
I couldn't recognize him for the life of me.
Who says that our youth have an obesity problem?
All the swimmers were skinny as rails.
I could not tell them apart.
Well, one guy had an eagle's nest on his chest.
Not a tatoo. Hairy Potter, maybe. Or Prince Hairy.
I guess I remember some hairy beasts from high school.
But this guy took me by surprise.
It is really hard to tell swimmers apart when they are all dressed the same.
Or should I say UNdressed the same, har, har.
Plus they wear those headgear things with a big J on the side. (Jordan)
Oh, I know what they are. Shower caps. And they wear goggles.
My seat - lucky me - was under a large horizontal pipe.
The condensation dripped on me non-stop for 2 hours.
But that's all good, I guess. I won't need to shower for two days.
Blake, Bailee and Rissy were there close to me.
"Hey, Connor," I screamed. "You are gonna be blogged."
"Uh, That's not Connor," Blake said.
I quickly redirected. "Hey, Connor, My friend, You are gonna get blobbed."
"I don't think that's Connor," said Bailee.
The sound in that acoustical masterpiece of a swim-gym surpasses the noise in the Rose Bowl.
It was crazy-deafening in there. Crrrazy.
Jodi was at the far end and I didn't catch her before she left.
I was DEEjected. I yelled goodbye to Connor.
"Not him," said Rissy.
My cell phone rang as I crossed the parking lot.
It was Todd. "Dang it, I missed Jodi," I complained.
"Oh, she is just getting the treats for the team. She hasn't left."
I hurried back in with hope renewed. Jodi and Rissy were handing out treats.
I had one. But not without a twinge of fear that one Beetdigger would be left out.
What if it was Connor???
I could envision him standing in a corner with a tragic, distraught expression on his face.
The treat was terrific. Homemade.
One woman looked at them and asked me what they were.
"Rice Crispy squares," I replied. "Only problem is, Jodi doesn't understand 'square'."
They were half-moon shaped. Was I so wrong?? Hmmm?
"Oh, yummie," she said. "I need that recipe. And the half moon shape is so darling."
Out the corner of my eye, I thought the gal gave me a bit of a glare.
I gotta admit that those treats were special. They had chocolate inside.
Connor appeared, looking dapper in his street clothes.
He was ready to face the rest of his day.
"Great job, Connor! You are going to be the star of my blob!"
I think he had water in his ears. He didn't hear me as he went out the door. I go now.

Question: Although this was all based on factual events, vote below if you believe some of it was :
A) Embellished
B) Downright lying
C) Unrestrained daydreaming
D) Criminal offense

I ain't tellin'. Go now.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

January Blob-blahs

My goodness! Can it be January 8 already? No. Just testin' ya. It's only da 7th. Wow, I'm really on a roll.

Question: Why did Chloris Leachman get invited to participate in "Dancing With the Stars"?
Answer: Because Phyllis Diller had another commitment. Question: Have Chloris and Phyllis ever been seen together at the same time?

Today is Christmas in Russia. Hop the Darren is havink a good day. My Russion is REALLY not very good.

Snow snow and more snow. Those poor Watsons are really getting it.

Ramblin' a bit: I hit Jodi's blog but couldn't bring up the comments. Hop that doesn't happen again. Also, The last blob I sent her for posting never got posted. Prob'ly my goofy mistake. Again. As usual. I gotta get busy and learn my own posting! Jot does so much for me. Barb says I won't have any problem learning posting and commenting. I think I'll get Brian to tutor me on the phone WHILE I get registered with Google. Maybe that will help.

Here's one that I heard in the 1940's..... What happened to the aviatrix who backed up too close to a spinning propeller? Disaster. Don't get it? E-mail me at for an explanation. Don't worry. You'll get it. Oh! You've already got it! Cool.

Well, anyway, have a great January. Many many thanks to everyone who has commented. I WILL learn to comment in return. I will. I go now.