Who Are Those Two Women?

Wife Lois and I went to a pizza place that was ranked as top notch by the local news paper. We ordered our pizza and then went to the back of the room to wait.

On the wall was painted a mural that was over ten feet long. The theme of the place was New York Pizza and the painting was of a subway. There were two dozen people standing in front of and in a train. We could identify about half of the figures: Joe DiMaggio, Babe Ruth, Mohammed Ali, Gandhi, and Jesus.

We could not identify any of the people in the train. When the waitress brought the pizza, I asked her who the two women were in the last window of the train. She said, "The one on the right is me!"

______________

The mural artist had painted some of the pizza place employees in the train.

Wrong Number!

I was sitting by the fireplace when the telephone rang. It was a telephone survey.

The young voice asked me prioritize the radio stations I had listened to in the last week. I gave her the names of four stations.

She then asked, "How old are you?"

"65," I said.

There was a long pause. "Are you still there?" I said.

"How old?"

"65!" I replied.

"Is there anyone in the house between the age of 21 and 64?"

 

Chris at Safeway

I set down my gallon of milk at the grocery checkout counter. The clerk with the nametag "Chris" asked in a somber tone if I had my Preferred Card.

"How ya doin'?'" I asked as I handed her my card.

"Terrible. I hate this job, this store, this management. I'm going to get out of here as soon as I can."

"How much longer?"

"As soon as I can pay some bills and get out. Such a waste--a college dregree and I am doing this."

"What did you graduate in?"

"Statics and Management. This is dull, dull, dull."

"You must make a difference somehow..."

"No, nothing, I can't make a difference, I don't make a difference."

=====================================

A few days later I heard on the radio that the grocery clerks were voting on whether to go out on strike. Maybe Chris is usually just a cheerful checkout clerk.

Wish Comes True

Back in the late 70's I worked for Hewlett Packard in Loveland Colorado as an R&D section manager. We were under the aegis of Executive VP Paul Ely. He was a brilliant, driving, abrasive manager. No one knew what would happen when he visited our Division, but we all knew we would be asked tough questions and some heads would probably roll.

At a time management seminar I attended, we were to think of some long term goals we would like to achieve. One I wrote down was to "one-up" Paul Ely. Pure fantasy, because I was no match in intelligence, wit, or power.

Time passed. Once a year, we had a division review, where all the top executives would come to review the progress of the products we were developing. At this particular review, I was chosen to give the pitch about the computer we were developing for the market.

Paul Ely was in the group as I started my pitch. He always put me on edge.

Part of my presentation was to show how much faster our prototype was than other products on the market. I had three competitor's products to compare our computer against. I started the first computer which computed a complex problem. It took fifteen seconds. I used a stopwatch to catch the time.

I did the same for the other computers. Each was computing the same problem. Finally, I tested our computer and bragged that it had solved the problem in less than a second.

After I gave the result, Paul jokingly said to the crowd, "It looks like he has a quick thumb," meaning that I had fudged the results.

[Now you must know that I actually am missing the first knuckle of my thumb that was on the stopwatch. I lost it when I was nine from a dynamite cap explosion.]

Serendipity. I raised up my thumb and said, "It's a birth defect."

Wild and crazy laughter. Everyone was ribbing Ely. Non of the execs were dismayed to see their irritating counterpart embarrassed and piled on.

I crossed "one-up Paul Ely" off my life list. It was an incredible bit of luck and uncontrolled bit of quick thinking. I could not have achieved my goal any other way.

True Justice

I was driving Interstate 25 through Wyoming at night. Traffic was heavy and slowed down to a few miles an hour when we passed the "Form Single Lane Left" sign. The sign was two miles before the multi-mile construction area. As suggested, everyone politely formed a queue, leaving the right lane vacant.

After ten minutes, I had progressed about a mile. Looking in my rear view mirror, I saw the headlights of a jerk racing up the right lane at 60 miles per hour. A rude dude!

But there was hope. Ahead of me a Safeway semi pulled out into the right lane, stopping the jerk. The driver pulled up along side of another Safeway truck ahead of him. Side by side, the Safeway drivers escorted the jerk the mile to the start of the road construction. 

Sitting in the dark, I could feel the cheers from drivers around me for the vigilante truckers. 

The Cyclists

This morning, I went to run in the Garden of the Gods, a beautiful geological formation in Colorado Springs. As I drove into the parking lot, I saw two guys stopped on bicycles that were towing small trailers filled with camping gear. They wore brillint cyclist outfits emblazoned with "Colorado College" on the front.

I asked them where they were from. They told me they had ridden from Tillimuck, Oregon. They had graduated from Collorado College here in the springs last spring and had decided to bike accross the USA to raise funds for a CC chairty fund they were starting.

We had an interesting discussion for about five minutes, and then I sensed that they were ready to do something else--a TV crew from Channel 5 had driven up next to us. The Garden of the Gods makes a beautiful backdrop for TV.

I left for my run.

Wish for the worst and ...

A few months ago, I was having trouble sleeping. I went to my doctor, who scheduled a sleep test. I was a bit concerned about the test. Would they find a problem? -- or they find nothing -- making me a malingerer?

At the sleep test facility, the technician attached at least fifteen electrodes and sensors to my head and body. The wiring was to monitor such things as breathing, heart rate, brain waves, eye movement, jaw pressure, and leg movement.

Around ten o'clock, as I started to fall asleep, I experienced extreme twitches in my legs. I have twitchy legs, but nothing like this. Next when I fell asleep, I had severe sleep apnea, continually waking, because I stopped breathing in my sleep.

The intercom voice told me that the sensors had detected leg twitches and apnea. I agreed.

Time went by with fitful sleep, then the technician came in and gave me a CPAP mask to put over my face. The mask, lashed tightly around my head, put positive air pressure over my nose. When I opened my mouth, air rushed out, forcing me to keep my mouth shut while sleeping.

The mask made the apnea sensation worse. Terminally restless legs and not breathing made sleep for more than a few minutes impossible.

Time went by. The intercom lectured me: "You have to get in six hours of sleep or the insurance company won't pay for this test. I don't think you would like having to pay the bill."

Well, that warning didn't help me slip into REM sleep. I was miffed by intercom's attitude.

Eventually the tech brought in a new mask.  This one tightly covered both my nose and mouth. Now when I woke up not breathing, I felt claustrophobic, trying to rip off the mask.

The intercom, frustrated by my lack of cooperation, asked me if I could had time to stay later, so I could get in the required six hours. I said yes.

The tech came into the room, took away the CPAP mask, and put me on oxygen. Finally, I fell into deep sleep.

The intercom interrupted, "Time to get up it said."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Five forty-five."

"How could I have gotten in six hours of sleep?" I thought.

On the way out, I overheard the technician talking about the poor guy who had a terrible sleep night.

______________________

This was a night from hell--orders of magnitude worse than anything I have ever experienced before or after.

 A few days later, I realized that before I started the test, I had probably forgotten to take the pills I take each night. It was a night of withdrawal. At least I didn't have the shame of being outed a malingerer.

 

 

  

Time Goes By

This morning I was down at La Baguette drinking coffee, eating a roll, and reading the newspaper. Across the restaruant, I saw a group of guys shooting the bull. I had seen them before, as they meet every Monday. My thought: they all looked so old. Then the truth hit me: they all were my age.

I walked over to their table on the way out and told them about my observation. They all laughed.

We are the last to know.

 

No Coffee, Monsieur

Many years back, when we lived in northern Colorado, there was a new French restaurant a few miles south of us. It was authentic; the owners came there direct from Paris. The food and service was to be the same as in France, even if that wasn't exactly what the customer wanted.

One night, a doctor and wife were seated. The doctor asked for a cup of coffee right after he sat down. What and outrage! The owner refused. The doctor got testy, and the owner told them to leave.

The doctor took it to court, saying that he should have gotten his cup of coffee and that throwing them out was demeaning. The owner's defense was that he owned a French restaurant where coffee only comes after the meal.

The judge ruled in favor of the doctor and access the damages to the owner--the cost of a cup of coffee.

Good Luck, Dear Buck

Fall days are back and the deer are restless. I first noticed it yesterday. The does were running back and forth across the back of our property--very agitated.

The same happened this morning, but more deer--about a dozen. It was the first time the maturing fawns had witnessed such and event; they were running around kicking up their heels, as their mothers ran wildly about. Not a time to be close to them.

Then I saw the buck amongst them. He was really being a creep. Lips curled back showing his teeth, he was chasing after the does and nipping them. This is the start of the annual ritual--the tests to see which bucks get special privileges.

After watching the buck being a very aggressive ladies man, I saw that he had only four points--two on each side of his rack.

Good luck, dear buck. Wait till those 20+ pointers show up.

 

Don't Feed the Baboons

A friend of mine toured around South Africa with his ex-wife (another story--I'll call her his wife). They visited tourist sights and kept seeing the warning signs: DON'T FEED THE BABOONS.

One of their stops was the Cape of Good Hope. They parked the car and saw the token baboon sign. As they began walking down to the rocky cape, someone started motioning back toward their car yelling, "Baboon!"

Looking back, they saw a baboon opening their car door. He got in and closed the door. He took the cap off a bottle of water and drank from it. My friend and wife ran back to the car, opened the doors, and with time and help, shoo'ed the baboon away. Unfortunately, the baboon left carrying his wife's purse, which held her ID and passport.

The baboon ran up the high rocky cliffs that overlook the Cape. He stopped on a wet outcroping, many feet up, still holding the purse. They and others threw rocks at the baboon. After a while, the baboon left--leaving the purse up on the ledge.

A young European precariously climbed out on the wet rocky ledge and retrieved the purse.

My friend offered him a reward. The man asked who he voted for in the last election. My friend said Kerry. The European would not take the reward.

Tough Love

I helped with the city-wide prostate cancer screening today. For five dollars, men could get a PSA test and the feared digital rectal exam. Screening is important for early detection of prostate cancer; later is probably too late.

Men, for whatever reasons, error on the side of putting off screening forever. But many have significant-others that heavily influence their decision to get screened--like these two women.

A women came up to the signup table holding out five dollars and pulling her husband behind her.

An oriental woman came in with ten dollars in her hand. She was escorting two men who appeared to be her husband and father.

An African-American guy I was manning our prostate cancer information both with told me that they have been frustrated in trying to get black men to get screened. Most have no interest. He said that their new strategy is to aim their sales pitch toward women.

Hell hath no fury...

Blow Hard

During my annual physical, my doctor prescribed a lung capacity test as a base line. The doctor left, and two nurses entered the room with an electronic whizmo which does the test.

One nurse demonstrated how to blow into the tube connected to the whizmo, saying that I would do the same test three times.

Test one. I filled up my lungs and blew and blew into the tube. The nurse looked at the whizmo printout and showed it to the other nurse. They said they had never seen such a result -- so much air and for so long.

Test two. Since I had done well the first time, this excersise had become a contest--like trying to hit the carnival gong in front of one's girl friend. I pumped up my lungs, added another breath, and blew into the tube as hard and as long as I could.

Showing the second nurse the printout, the first nurse said that she had never seen such a result; the meter was pegged.

Test three. I was well prepared, and blew hard into the tube. Nothing registered. We tried the test two more times with no result. The machine was busted. Well, maybe whizmo just had to have it's power turned off and on.

============================

I know, I know. This story is all about me. But, it is something to brag about my old friends down at the coffee shop.

What Are The Odds?

My daughter Rebecca had given me a my favorite kind of gift--doing something together. More explicitly, something in Denver. What to see? My choice. I deliberated as we drove the sixty miles from Colorado Springs and I finally decided on the Ocean Journey aquarium. But, when we were on the south end of Denver, I changed my mind and we veered to the right to go to the Museum of Nature and Science instead.

As we stood in the admissions line, we saw that the planetarium show started in ten minutes and decided that we could make it if we hussled. We enjoyed the two o'clock planetarium presentation about mysteries of the universe. We then lunched and spent the rest of the afternoon touring the museum. Fun.

We drove back to the Springs. After leaving Rebecca's house, I drove home--about twenty minutes away. Just as I approached the turn to go up the hill to my home, I remembered that my wife Lois would not be home until late, and I decided to turn into Applebee's for a beer.

After walking up to the bar, I met an electrical engineer in town from Boston for a couple of weeks. He worked for Intel. We had a great discussion about engineering things. We also talked about things to do in local area. 

"What have you been doing this weekend?" I asked.

"Well, today I drove up to Denver. Went to the Museum of Nature and Science," he said.

"Wow, I was up there too, with my daughter."

"I enjoyed the planetarium show."

"We saw that; what time were you there," I said.

"Two o'clock."

"Good grief, we were at the same show--and there were only twenty or so people there."

 

What are the odds that I would make last minute decisions to:

*Go the museum rather than the aquarium?

*Go to the next planetarium show?

*Turn into Applebee's rather than go home?

*Talk to a Boston stranger who just happened to decide to drive sixty miles to Denver, go to the same museum, and then just happen in to the same planetarium show?

These were a series of forks in my path that set up this synchroncity happening.

=========================

I know, I know...I only notice the related incidents and overlook the unrelated ones. But there are just enough of these sychronicity incidents in my life to be a bit spooky. If everything has a cause...

Great Expectations

A few weeks ago, my wife Lois and I attended the wedding of our friend Mary's daughter. As we drove to Denver, Lois updated me about  Mary's brother Joey.  Joey, with Down syndrome, had lived with his mother all forty-one years of his life. Recently, the mother of and Joey and Mary turned ill; mom and Joey had to move in with Mary and her husband.

When Joey heard that his niece Rachel was to be married, he insisted that he be the best man. Although Rachel told him she had other plans, Joey would hear nothing of it.

When we arrived at the church we were seated. The procession started; it was lead by the priest and Joey. On the program, Joey was listed in the wedding party with a fancy name for alter boy. In his tuxedo, he stood beaming in front of all the wedding guests. After the Rachel and the groom were married, Joey followed the wedding party down the aisle with the priest. As we left the church, Joey was in the receiving line.

At the reception, Mary told me that Joey was to give a toast.  He had been practicing in front of her for many days. The toasts began. First the wedding party principals and then the father of the bride. Next it was Joey's turn.

Joey went a bit off script; his words were hard to understand--but not his conclusion-- that he loved them both very much. I teared up.

After the dancing began, Joey was active in dancing to "Y.M.C.A., the "Chicken Dance," and "We are Family." Then guys could dance with the bride for a buck or more. Joey was standing in line with money his brother-in-law had given him.

Joey didn't stick out; he just was having fun like everyone else. Impressive, was the support and acceptance that all Joey's family gave him.

When Lois and I left, the party was slowing down, but Joey was still having a great time.

Mary told Lois later that Joey crowed all week about what a great job he did.

Maybe didn't understand that he wasn't the real best man, but there was no doubt that he was the "best man."