Wednesday, May 13, 2015

What happens to me when there is no plan B?...

     This is too funny for words.  But I'm gonna use words to show you what I mean about...let it happen the way it's supposed to.  

     First, the delivery man left my box (that contained my 'needs to be put together' microwave cart) at the FRONT door.  I tracked that eagerly awaited package like it was a shipment of gold.  And for clarification, my address clearly states...1st floor REAR.  The handwritten note that is on my front door for all to see says, "ALL deliveries to be made in Rear...Thanks".  Grrrrr.   The reason?  I'm a 77 yr. young, man that doesn't like stairs so has NEVER gotten in the habit of using the front door.  The advantage of the back door?  I live on a hill and the enclosed back porch only has 1 step.  And to make matters worse, there wasn't even a knock on the door to let me know that it was there!  Double Grrrrr.  lol

     It's a good thing that I'm computer literate (kinda) and am pretty diligent about tracking.  When I looked it us and found out that it had been delivered and saw where, I knew what happened.  Shoot. That's not what I said but I'm being polite. And now that I've vented...I'll go on with the story.

     Grunting and groaning, I dragged the oversize package (that's what the label says so who am I to argue?) into my living room and managed to open the box that had the makings (I got one that had to be put together) of my new microwave cart.  Not being a 'tool guy', I had the bare basics done and decided to rest.  Then I went to the kitchen and sat looking where the cart was supposed to go.  An eerie feeling came over me.  I grabbed my trusty metal tape measure, measured the oven and then went in and measured the cart.  It was too small!!!!

     Shoot!!!  (I said it again)  What to do?  Let go of it and come up with Plan B...which I didn't have a clue about.  Then I watched television to relax...(and forget about the fact that I screwed up too.)  Shoot.  The one I ordered I saved the picture and it looked like...

     And I wish my kitchen looked like that, but it doesn't.  So this morning, when I logged on to Facebook, I saw something that I wanted to post.  It was something about being a beautiful day (which it is) and the fact that I can't help smiling (which I was).  Then I went on and told a short version of my story...and not having a Plan B.

     Within minutes I had a fb friend send me this picture and ask what size I needed.  I told her the measurements of my microwave and the rest is history. 


     Withing two hours I had my Plan B real life.  It was not only what I needed but I met a new friend.  Thanks Lorraine.  And this is what it looks like in my kitchen.  And since my new camera isn't working yet, I took this picture with my laptop.  Hey, I'm a wanna be writer not a photographer dude.

        The moral of this story is...there isn't one.  If plan A doesn't work out, I've never been one to bank on Plan B.  It has always worked for me when I venture into the unknown...and smile.  :D

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Why I'm not writing...duh...

My honey (aka Sylvia), when she lost patience with my 'writing mode', used to ask me, "When are you going to write your DAMNED book?"  Yep, she used to swear...once in awhile.  Especially when I peaced her off.  Since we met, I talked about being a 'published writer' and she was behind me all the way.  And we met in 1980.  She bought me books that she thought would help, let me take online writing classes and was a very supportive wife.  But when I was 'making excuses' I wish I would've had this so she might understand.

Now I'm going to have to get my blog going before this Crocker croaks and has to eat his words.  But the blog seems as far as I'll get...unless I move more than the kitchen table.  I'm OFF...again.  This might be a slow start...but I'm turning on the key and revving up my engine.  Putt, putt, putt. 

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

John's 'secret'...

     Today I was looking at my clown painting and suddenly, it jarred my memory.  It doesn't take much jarring these days to take a trip down Memory Lane or whatever that street's called.

     I don't like to lay the blame on anyone, but since she's deceased, I'll point my finger at Sylvia as the culprit that got me going on my clown collection and my interest in clowns..  It all started several years before when the lady in question and I were just friends.  We were able to become 'best friends' so quickly because both of us had made the promise that we would NEVER get married again after what we'd been through.

     One morning at Denny's, while we were having breakfast we had a sort of 'true confession' session.  It was during these we told each other 'secrets' that we would not even tell to our closest friends and family.  During one of these times, I told Syl  my biggest secret that not even my parents or the priest that heard my confession knew.

     After we'd been married a couple of years (I've learned never to say NEVER) we were in our favorite furniture store.  I was staring at a painting and I remembered it all.  Syl looked at the painting and looked at the tear that was trickling down my face and remembered what I had told her about 'my secret'.  We left the store with the framed painting she bought me in tow.

     I used to sit and stare at the painting of the sad clown, slouched over on his chair with his clown makeup on and a tear running down his cheek.  Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside reminded me.  It was from there that Syl came up with an idea!  I had her started on her doll collection so she would start me on a clown collection.  When the time came for a Halloween costume to wear to work (I was a dealer in a casino), I went with the clown.  Soon my collection took on a life of it's own as my honey bought me more clowns and I had the experience to apply my own makeup (actually I looked at pictures) and made my own costumes.

     The years went by and now here I am alone.  The collection is just a dust collectors to me now and the 'secret' that so impacted my life and caused so much havoc in my life is almost funny, now that I think about it.  What is my 'secret'? wouldn't be much of a secret if I told.  lol


Wednesday, December 4, 2013

My roller skating sweater...

     Now I'm at a crossroads.  Should I toss my team sweater... or get out the sewing basket and stitch up the seam and sew a few buttons on?  Most guys would toss it 'cause the ones I know don't have the time to bother or the skill necessary to accomplish that 'feat'.  And girls probably would be easier than guys (I'm just guessing at that one) to vote for the garbage can if they knew how long I had it.  1979?  34 years? 

     But when it's washed, my cardigan looks like new.  I've worn it every year I had it and it's been a 'good friend' to me when I've been cold...which is part of my nature.  Brrrrrrrr.  Originally, the dark blue sweater had my name stitched on the front and a patch announcing 'King's Skate Country' on the back.  All the members of the roller skating team had one for the occasions we had to separate the sheep from the group that weren't part of the team.  Did I just refer to myself as a...sheep?  Oh well.

     After my new wife, Sylvia became more fun and interesting than roller skating, I quit the team.  The logo on the back was taken off and my name, 'John' remained.  Which over the years has given me more to think about than if I took that off too.

     One day (and it was in the mid-90's 'cause I knew where I was living), I had driven across the street to Long's Drug Store in Reno.  Most people who lived where I did would leave their apartment and walk for 2 minutes (if they were on crutches) but I'm not most people.  I spent 5 minutes (and all that it entailed) driving.
After I had gotten whatever it was I needed (or wanted 'cause I'm a sucker for snackables) I was in line at the checkout counter.  Two fellows approached me and one of them said "Hi John" and started talking to me like we were long lost friends.

     Being bad on names, I wondered 'Who is this guy?' but answered his questions.  The puzzled look must have been on my face when he suddenly asked me if I knew who he was?  I answered "No".  He told me as he and his friend were laughing that he read my name on my sweater.  Duh. 

     When I tell anyone how long I've had it, they're are amazed at it's pristine condition (barring the above mentioned stuff).  But then the 'stuff' has only hapntly.  I guess I'll team up with D'Needle and work my magic.  Problem solved.  And as an added bonus...I've done some more nonsense writing.

Saturday, November 30, 2013

'Tis the Season...or something.

     How the time flies.  Two days ago it was Thanksgiving,  yesterday was officially Black Friday and before I know it, Christmas.  I keep getting 'reminders' everywhere I turn.  But this year I'm ahead of the 'decorating' for the Holidays game.  I have 3 items that I didn't put away from last year ('cause I was busy doin' nothing...or sumthin').  I am SO on top of it. 

     The first is an angel hanging on the frame beside my bedroom door.  It's 'lost' in the other stuff  'to look at' in my apartment.  I now can proudly point to it and give it the center stage of attention...mine.  Thirdly, I have the 'pole'.  No, I haven't taken up pole dancing in my Santa suit, it's a dohickey or thingambob that we used to use to flaunt our Holiday cards on.  Actually, it used to hold bags of potato chips and still has the name of the company that 'it' used to belong to.  I simply hook the end over top of the doorway and down it's side and I'm ready for business...if there is any.

     I'm sure not too many people would be enthralled with my decorating scheme but I'm not planning a having any company so I'm a little more casual than I used to be.  And I'm 6 weeks short of my 76th birthday so I again can claim the 'old man' thing.  Hey, it works! 

      So what's with the tree?  It's a prop.  I use a picture to show what it used to be like in this apartment.  I'd be the one that did most of the decorating under the watchful eye of my director (aka Sylvia).  Our apartment underwent a transformation and I finally talked her into starting in before the turkey landed on the table.
     Our tree was a piece of art in itself.  I started with a 3 piece one that when plopped together was almost ready to decorate.  Time to set up the basic tree?  About 2 minutes.  Next came the ornaments, carefully unwrapped and handed to me by 'you know who'.  The large ones were first.  My sister-in-law, Yolanda's magic touch came alive.  She crocheted around pictures of family and each one was special.  Next were the doll ornaments which were collectibles that my honey cherished, and the meaning behind each one was our secret.

     By the time we were all set, it was an orderly...mess.  But it was finally done.  Now that I'm a widower and a bachelor to boot...I fake it.  The picture of the tree is my fourth thing that I flaunt.  I still have the same wonder that goes along with the season...but without all the trimmings. 

                                                                             The End

PS.  It's the end of the story not the end of me.  I still have a lot more 'stuff'' to talk about.  Did I mention that I like to talk?  Hahaha   I just did!