BEAR ...My First Love

(a post for SundayScribblings)



My older brothers wouldn't have anything to do with you when my dad and I brought you home on that rainy, Sunday morning. They just ignored us and kept playing their board game that I was too young to understand and play with them. I didn't care because I had you. I was only 5 years old. I think my brothers made fun of the way you waddled around so we called you Bear because you walked like one. I didn't understand how you could grow so much faster than me. You were just a little puppy. Before I knew it, you were big enough to give me rides on your back. Well, mom always told me to get off you whenever I would try. It didn't matter because I knew that you could give me a ride anytime we wanted. You could do anything. You were my first dog and my best friend.

We lived out in the country. Friends lived at a distance. One didn't have the luxury of picking your friends based on whether or not you liked them. It was more about proximity. You were always there wandering in the olive grove with me as we chased the mythical characters that hid in the branches...ready for the next adventure.

You would walk with me down to the bus stop every day whether it was sunny or raining. You would stay there until the bus left. I wonder now how you felt or if you felt when you ran alongside the bus until it pulled away...leaving you behind. When the bus came back, there you were...waiting.

"Did you miss me, boy? I know you did. I missed you too."

Sometimes I wondered if you ever even left that spot in the morning because you were always in that same place when those bus doors opened and let me off in the afternoon.

You loved me too. I wasn't the biggest of kids. If any of my friends ever tried to pick on me, you raised your voice and let them know that behavior was not going to be allowed when you were around.

When I turned 13, we moved into town. The fields that you once roamed became a small yard. I started high school. I had new friends...and better things to do. Like little Jackie Paper in Puff the Magic Dragon, I outgrew you. There were no more imaginary villains to slay for you and I.

My brother built a house back out in the country a few years later where you and I grew up. He took you with him. You got to go back home to our fields to live out your days.

You were a good dog. You were a boys best friend. My first love. And the happiest of memories.

WOW!!! Did You See that Last Blog Entry??!!??

(perhaps it would be better referred to as a "log" entry)

It can never be said that, here at Nutter's Notes, we're not afraid to take on the tough, important topics!!!!

Can We Talk?

It seems rather interesting to me - that, in the span of my lifetime, social morays have dropped to the point that everybody is talking about anything as if it isn't that big a deal anymore. If it isn't talked about, it is in print. Sex, sexual preference, masturbation, etc....the list goes on and on regarding people chatting about the once taboo subjects.

I'll leave it to you - on whether that is good or bad. I'll stick with my ol friend Bill Shakespeare who said, "there are no goods or bads, thinking makes it so," or something to that effect.

So, with all this new found freedom - there is one topic that just hasn't made it over the hump in being talked about openly and freely. Yet, unlike some of the topics that I mentioned above, it is something that we are all involved in on a regular basis.

Well, at least we hope it is a regular basis - and this leads me right into today's topic. You see, I have this....uh...hmmm....oh, I know...I have "this friend" who has been a little behind in, how do I say this, "putting things behind him"...if you get my drift. As a matter of fact, he had gone 3 days without being able to tend to this fairly regular piece of business.

"My friend" was getting a bit concerned - while he had been able to conjure up a little bit of business, the weight/volume of the output of his efforts were not commensurate with what he would normally produce.

"My friend", not a tremendous worrier by nature, starts to become a bit concerned - because he knows that there are a lot of things that this lack of production could be a symptom of and many of them are rather dire. He starts having flashbacks to his late ex-mother-in-law who failed to produce anything but "hot air" as she was suffering cancer. He definitely doesn't want that. He thinks about blockages and what the process might be to eliminate those. That's not a comfortable thought either.

Yes, he is a bit worried - as he finishes out day 3. At least, he believes it was day 3. He can't really remember if he "did anything" back 4 days ago. I mean, it's not something that you jot down in your journal...unless you happen to be having a problem in which case this may be a handy reference to have.

He knows that you have to sit down and accomplish this task once a day - right?

Wrong!!!!

My friend went to two different medical sites - and, low and behold, he found out that "once a day" is not something that should happen. Some people "do the work" three times a day, some once a day, some 3 times a week. He also finds out that, until your pattern has definitely been shifted, he really shouldn't be concerned about it actually being a problem until three weeks of pattern shift has been noticed.

"Three weeks!!! Do you have any idea of what the storage of those toxins could do?" - as it turns out, there is no medical evidence of that toxicity existing. Now, the operative term there is "medical evidence." Do you want to trust doctors? Do you want to trust new age people? Do you want to do a bit of research and "to thine ownself be true?"

For me...uh...I mean for "my friend" - he has learned that no one knows his body like himself. He consults with physicians. He reads. He listens to others. He tries to apply common sense to how he is feeling.

He is also very interested in how this myth - of "once a day" is normal started. "Hmmmm...", he ponders, "if I was a company that made something like Ex-Lax or Metamucil or any other laxative, what would be the harm in me promoting this little piece of wellness 'fact'. Hey, even if I am stretching it, what could be the harm?"

Well, the harm is - that many people are on laxatives or use enemas much more frequently than they should. Perhaps this goes right along with the people that are on anti-depressants who have never been taught that happiness is something that you have to work at and cultivate. It doesn't just drop into your lap...

Oh, speaking of dropping - excuse me. I have to go now. Really!

(Seriously, if this topic is of interest/concern, you know what to do. Google search- Constipation....I didn't need to tell you that, did I?)

Three Wishes

(A post for SundayScribblings)

What would you do if you had three wishes?

Have you ever stopped to think about why the whole concept of three wishes has been around for so long? Do you wonder who came up with the original idea? We have the idea of finding the Magic Lamp and rubbing it. We all keep an eye out at the beach for the bottle that has washed up on the shore waiting to be uncorked. I Dream of Genie still runs in syndication (OK....Barbara Eden was hot so maybe that is why that show endured).

Perhaps three wishes is what starts you on your path to what would make life better. As I look back over the different times of my life, I can't remember what my wishes have ever been. This would lead me to believe that I either didn't play the three wishes game or the wishes didn't seem to have enough meaning that they were worth remembering.

But there is no doubt how I would answer the question now. Or that it will ever change again.

I have been well cared for on this trip on the orb. I don't really know if I was born into poverty but our family wasn't that far from it. Yet, once the surprise of my arrival and early responsibilities of caring for me passed, my mom re-entered the work force to address our socio-economic situation. It wasn't long between that time and having the great fortune of a train blowing up our house that my parents had established themselves solidly as part of the middle class. While I can't say that it would have been something that I would have wished for, a train blowing up your house is so improbable that it seems like the only way that it could happen is through an act of divinity. That incident was a major turning point in my life and I often comment that it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. No, it's not the only piece of good fortune. It's far from it. My record with good fortune is pretty solid.

And it leads me to a simple request.

Yes, ONE simple request.

I have been so well taken care of that, if I can be granted my wish, you can have the other two and use them yourself or give them to someone that needs them more than me.

Give me one day back with my mom. Just give me one day. Let me wrap my arms around her tiny little frame. Squeeze her until it hurts and give her a big kiss. Let me tell her all of the things that I have discovered about her since she was taken away so quickly and unexpectedly 4 years ago. Let me tell her how much I appreciate the sacrifices that she made. Let me tell her how it has only been since her passing that I have unearthed her secrets and how she overcame what so many people today use as excuses. Let me tell her that she has held it in long enough. It's time to have a good cry. And, while she and I were having that first cry, let me tell her, "you done good! You have done so good." And, after we cried a puddle of tears, and when she wanted to cut it short so she could go grab the mop to clean them up, let me tell her, "leave the mess alone. It will still be there tomorrow. I'll take care of it then. Today, we bask in the joy of you overcoming what you overcame to raise three boys and not allow what happened to you as a child ever happen to any of us. Mom, we only have one day. Let's not waste a moment on something as trivial as wiping up the floor. I have things to tell you....like how much I love you. I know, mom, you aren't used to hearing it. None of us are used to saying it."

Yes, give me one day like that and take my other two wishes. Send me a note and tell me what you did with the surplus yearnings that I passed along. I'll make sure that I tell your story along to my mom. After all, they weren't my wishes to give. My mom gave me everything that I needed so it was she that was responsible for my generosity. You have my address. I think she would enjoy hearing what her sacrifice did for you.

Cool of the Morning, Rush of the Day

I used to wonder - about the neighbor across the street. He became disabled to work for as long as I can remember. I always picture him out hand watering the pesky little strip between the sidewalk and the street. He had his coffee in one hand, hose in the other.

I have been finding myself doing the same thing recently - last summer was my first one as the owner of my parent's former house. I didn't do a very good job with keeping that persnickety little patch that fronts the street green last year.

You hate to run a hose across and use a sprinkler - there are safety issues with pedestrians. There are wasted water issues because the strip is so narrow. The choice is pretty much to handwater. Of course, one could put the time and energy into tunneling under the concrete and installing an automatic system. In the long haul, this is probably the best solution.....

Or is it? - I have been getting up at 4 a.m. lately. I know....I can hear you, "What? When is 4 a.m.? I could never do that!!!" I used to say the same thing. I go to the gym. I come home. I have a bit of time before I start my oh so busy day.

...and I find myself out running the cold water - across the thirsty grass. The morning's coolness will soon give way to an unseasonably warm 95 degree day in May. The combination of the mist, the grass exhaling a sigh of relief, the quiet of the morning, and a few moments of "there is nothing more important for me to be doing than this" make for a wonderful beginning of my day. I don't get this feeling at the other side of the day...the night.

So, it seems that the solution is to compress the time - between the end of work and going to bed and expand the time between getting up and going to work. Go to bed earlier and get up earlier. This is what I have done.

Ah...the quiet of the morning - but, pardon me, I just noticed that it is now 6:15 a.m. I have a meeting to rush off to.

The Books I Would Write

(an entry for SundayScribblings)


The cliche's abound when it comes to writing a book - "do you have dreams of writing the Great American Novel?"..."everyone has one great book in them before they die." In this week's scribblings, I want to make it very clear that there is no book on this list that I am GOING to write. No commitments. I take commitments very seriously.

Perhaps a book on commitments and goals would be on my list - for this scribe, I have failed to set my sails many times from the safety of the dock because I didn't have a clear vision of where I wanted to end up. And, because I know the work and toil involved in getting to any worthwhile destination, just "pulling a vision/goal out of thin air because I should" is just not going to get the job done.

Yet, if you don't leave the harbor - the view never changes. There are some people in this world that have a clear picture of where they want to go. I neither disparage or envy them. I have seen these people go through the hardships and adventures to get to where they wanted only to say, "OK, now what?...now where do we go?" Pursuing goals so steadfastedly and with such vision can leave one myopically looking at the horizon and never seeing what is around them.

Now, the opposite problem can confront the wanderer - he leaves the port, just to "sail around a bit" and see what he sees. If there is something of interest, he may change the set of his sails and see what is happening "over there." The danger in this approach is that one can be distracted and led into places that waste time and invite danger unnecessarily.

The plus's of the two approaches - our goal setting friend gains accomplishment. Our wandering friend gathers feeling and perspective. Let's take a look at...

Our friend who stays in the harbor - he is often maligned. "I don't care what you do...just do something!!!" It's an easy critique to lop upon our pier bound mate. But, what if this captain isn't a worthy sailor....at all?

HappyUP-date

(for those new to Nutter's Notes, go to March archive and page through my 7 day HappyUp excercise if the following makes no sense to you)

Ever since I did those seven days of looking for things to be happy about - it's like potato chips! I can't stop. OK...that's a bit of a stretch. But, I do keep coming back to looking for those items...as they occur.

It's crazy!!!- I'll stop at different times of the day and just make a little note in my journal "5/8 HU! (shorthand for HappyUP!)...30 minutes at gym went well...raked dirt in garden and noticed the smell...my printer kicked out the reports I needed when I was in a rush....I had a nice interaction with Mel...I had some banana cream pie left in the fridge (and ate some for breakfast)....gorgeous drive to work with the top down...had a meeting that went well....stopped by house at lunch and there was some banana cream pie left....

It's just the little things - that pass us by everyday and we miss them. Why?

Because we think they are supposed to happen - cerebrally, we know that bad stuff is going to happen or not everything is going to go our way. Deep down, though, I am not so sure that we are sold on this fact. Deep down, we think everything is supposed to just flow along....

And, when it doesn't - man, do we notice!!! In fact, some of us are VERY observant. We are so observant that we can't wait to tell others about it.

I read a great line last night - "as you walk down your path, a bird is going to poop on you (OK...the book didn't say "poop". It said the other word so use that one if you like it better). A bird is going to poop on you. Don't wipe it off. Laugh."

That was about as great a description of HappyUP!!! - as I could imagine.

All of the things that I mentioned above happened before lunch this morning - and there were a ton that I am sure that I missed. Like tonight, "HU! 5/8 pm....there was still banana cream pie left ---- so I ate it!"

Remember: jot down "contenders" for your three HappyUP!!! ideas- as you go about your day. At the end of the day, pick your best three. Then write why they happened and why they made you happy. 7 days...that's all you need to do it for...but you have to do it. Yes, I am sorry. Work is involved.

Here's the newsflash - it takes WORK to increase your HQ (Happiness Quotient). Much like you don't have to be sick to get better, you don't have to be sad to get happier.

Memories of Christmas Poor Behavior

(A Special Post for SundayScribblings)

Christmas. 1996. My first Christmas alone after the seperation 6 months prior. I had been married for almost 8 years. After 4 months of isolation, I started dating again. Dating is a strange thing on it's own. It's especially strange when you didn't think that you would be doing it again.

I met a younger gal. She had long, blonde hair with curls cascading down to the middle of her back. It was the kind of hair that send other women to the coifferies. Once seen, this hair makes them feel inadequate about their own. She worked out every day. It was an obsession. Some cardio. Mostly weights. She was nice. Simple. She didn't have much. I knew the leather coat that I bought her for Christmas would mean the world to her.

It was a gift that would never be received.

She got upset over a fairly trivial matter. The incident demonstrated that she had the inability to trust me. If you want to hang with this guy, trust is part of the deal...both ways.

I went back to the leather shop with the wrapped box. There were no tear stains on the adorned package. We hadn't dated that long. It was nothing more but a store credit now. What do you buy in a leather store when you already own a leather jacket? Leather isn't my choice when I look for a hat. I wandered over to the shoe section.

"My Docs" called out my name. I had always wanted a pair. I don't know why. I'm not a biker and don't have a desire to look like one. They were kind of ugly. They had fallen out of trendiness long before. Little did I know that they would gain popularity again. Almost 10 years later, I am still wearing them. They are the first shoes that I have owned that really seem like friends. I finally changed the laces not too long ago. The new laces don't seem right. They are the stiff kind. They aren't the official Doc Marten cloth laces. The old laces laid down with the floppiness of a beagle's ear. The new laces stick out. Just like my ears used to before I grew into them.

I have many stories about My Docs. None take the place of their biggest story of all. It's the story of their acquisition. A budding romance that failed. Without her display of poor behavior, My Docs wouldn't have ever walked into my life.

I may have lost the girl....but I got the boots. She lost a jacket. I gained a pair of faithful friends.

Happy Gringo de Mayo

Yes, it is that time of the year again - and I absolutley love the genius of today's marketing machine. Watching good mind control is like listening to a fine symphony to me.

I have all the respect in the world - for our Mexican friends as they choose to celebrate this important day for their culture.

It's the gringo "sheep" that cause hilarity - we know that as they hit the "happy hours" tonight they are going to have no respect for the holiday itself. Of course, a lot of Christmas presents get tossed around at the end of December without anyone knowing why but we'll visit that....again...in December. (SIDENOTE:the fact that we have been sold the concept that ingesting a liquid depressant is "happy hour" is another cause of great entertainment to me...we'll believe anything. We're obedient sheep to the marketing gods)

Cinco de Mayo fascinates me - because this is a "late on the scene" holiday for the North American culture. We certainly didn't celebrate it 25 years ago. Hmmmmm....it makes me wonder....

How did it become this fairly big thing? - and I do call it a big thing. How do I make the distinction? I have done a small random sampling over the years. I have come to the conclusion that when people who are not of the Mexican heritage start going, "what are you doing for Cinco de Mayo?" or generally feel that they are missing out if they are not out celebrating, it's become a significant thing.

How does that happen? - is it because of all of the immigration that we have seen over the years. Or, could it be that marketers know that when they can plant the concept of a holiday into the sheep's....uh....I mean, people's mind, they spend more money!!!

And, as far as I can see - the money spent on this one is pretty much purely on tequila. OK...Chevy's, that fine "Mexican" restaraunt will do a booming business too. But I think you get my point.

It would be fascinating to see Jose Cuervo's April marketing expenditures for the last 30 years, wouldn't it?- I bet that trend line has gone up and up and up.


Now...here is a million dollar idea that I am giving away for free - why? Just because you are a faithful blog reader. And...I like you. All you have to do is find....

A great Russian holiday - see, we have had a lot of immigration from Russia over the last 20 years. That population is due for a day they can call their own here on U.S. turf. You find the holiday and go pitch it to Stoli or Smirnoff. Rather than a tequila holiday or green beer on St Paddy's, you now have a vodka holiday. Americans will flock to it!!! You run with the idea...remember where you got it...and, as you sit in your mansion, just remember poor little me and shoot me "a lil something for the effort."

Hey, I'm not knocking anything - just making an observation. Excercise your lack of independence and follow the instruction of the marketing lords that people turn their brains over to. Have a great time tonight!!!

But please - no tragedies. Designate a driver and/or have a friend that you can call should things go over the line.

Buenos dias

The BarberShop (or, "I've become my dad" - Part 2)

This post may be a bit long - but it will be worth it.

I did a mental health day today - and took the day off. One of the stops that I made was to Lincoln City Barber Shop

"You go to a barber shop!?! A hip dude like you" - I know...surprising, isn't it? It was about a year ago. I had a convention to go to. It was a Saturday. "My stylist" (say that as you raise the pitch of your voice and elevate your nose slightly) couldn't get me in and I was looking shaggy. (SIDENOTE: guys always refer to the person that cuts their hair as either "their stylist" or "the chick that cuts my hair". Guys can't call that person their hairdresser or their beautician. It's a guy thing...don't ask me why).

So what am I supposed to do? - I mean, I am desperate because I have to look clean for this convention....and then, out of nowhere, there it is. Right in front of me. The solution? The place my Dad goes to get his haircut...the Barbershop. I think, "I can't do that, right?" I then answer myself, "dude, you don't have much choice. How bad can it be?"

Then, I remember the last time I went to a barbershop - and I remembered how bad it could be. It was high school. Me and my friend Cliff went. When we came out, we were both wishing that the barber had used bowls on our heads. You know that haircut, "you want a Mo...or do you want a Mo." We got ridiculed beyond belief. And that was the last of that...

Funny how those old memories come up - I hadn't thought about that in years. Yet they dredge up out of nowhere. Despite this, I bravely pull into the barbershop.

I take a seat - because that's what you do in a barbershop. The barber is finishing up with one customer and there is one in front of me. Ah yes....the wait. I remember it well. For some reason, the barbershop is one place where it's OK to wait. It's almost expected. Plus, if you are so bold, you can immediately join any conversation and it's like you are one of the regulars. The barbershop is a different kind of place. As I waited....

Panic started to strike me - "what if she screws this up? I'll be scarred for life!" I almost got up and left. I had to stop myself and think, "where the heck did that come from? Dude, it's only hair. It grows back. For goodness sakes, you can shave it off like you did a couple of years ago if you wanted to." Vanity had struck and was overcome!!!

I got the haircut - I went to the office. For the first time in many haircuts...oh, I am sorry...for the first time in many stylings, people came up and went, "hey, you're hair looks great!!!" Not only that....it keeps looking good between cuts...and I do let some time go between cuts.

While I don't go to that same barbershop (it closed) - I found a new one. It's a bit out of my way but the barbers are Chip and Al. Those are good names for barbers. Harry the Haircutter was the previous proprietor. Harry is a good name for a barber too. Perhaps, the best....and he was good. He'd cut hair all over the world for 50 years. You have to have a good rap to be a barber. And stroke your clients as you pet their hair. Harry was a pro. Unfortunately, Harry's health didn't hold up so he turned the shop over to Al.

So, what used to cost $30 plus a tip - now costs me $15 which I give Al or Chip a twenty for. They always try to give me change. They don't expect a tip. I like that too. So, how did the boys at Lincoln City Barbershop do today? Let's take a look:




"Scott, you look hot either way!!!" - oh, stop that. I hear that from everyone. While I know it's true, one thing that precedes my good looks is my humility. Yep...me and the barbershop are dialed in for the rest of this trip on the orb.

Plus - how can you do anything but love that barber pole? Americana...Floyd the barber. It's a good thing.

Beyond Imagination?

OK, all of my good Bible reading friends - and even those that aren't. Written in that book is a description of heaven. It says that it is beyond anything that we can imagine.

Did you get that? - BEEEEEEYOND anything we can imagine

Let's try it one more time - like, out there. So far out there that you can't even imagine it.

Even better than this!!!! (see above)

Unimaginable!!! - and worth consideration