The Pinochle Crew. Don seems to have taught us all the love of the game. Yes, we were full of the love, but the rule book pretty much went out the window.
The Binder Clan: the next generation.
Mom's Kitchen - just messier than she would have allowed.
The Beach: bitter cold.
Dad's Office, or what we called the "Time-Out Room". Richard had been a bad, bad boy!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Mom & Dad's House
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
My good buddy, DB Cooper.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Ripped From the Headlines!
"Heidi, Spencer Shop Own TV Show.
Heidi and Spencer Pratt, Seeking More Television Time, Want To Star In Their Own Reality Show
from Cbsnews.com
I read the whole article. Oddly, I was left reminiscing about my good ol’ days at Tyee High.
I know this will come as something as a surprise to many of you, but I was in debate back in my school days. Actually, I should say competitive speaking, as it included no only debate, but also interpretive speaking, expository speaking, oratorical speaking, improvisational speaking and a couple other categories. (It was decades ago; decades of brain cell abuse, some might call it brain-cell-o-cide.) I was best in improv speaking. (You better sit down kids, but I went to state!)
Improv is pretty basic. You enter the room. You are handed a topic. You read it out loud. You read it to yourself and then you read it out loud again. And then you talk for three to five minutes about the topic. Then, you are done. Once you have completed your talk, you can stay in the room to see how you do compared to those who come after, or you can wander off into the sunset. I always enjoyed listening to those who followed. Each contestant was given a different topic, so it could be very be interesting.
Senior year of high school – at state: I am done with whatever I did. It was not memorable. I have chosen to forget it. I knew I was done for the season; my career was over. The last person in our flight comes in. He is handed his topic.
“The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is silence while he reads the topic to himself. “The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is a pregnant pause. “Who cares?”
He leaves the room.
Heidi and Spencer Pratt, Seeking More Television Time, Want To Star In Their Own Reality Show
from Cbsnews.com
I read the whole article. Oddly, I was left reminiscing about my good ol’ days at Tyee High.
I know this will come as something as a surprise to many of you, but I was in debate back in my school days. Actually, I should say competitive speaking, as it included no only debate, but also interpretive speaking, expository speaking, oratorical speaking, improvisational speaking and a couple other categories. (It was decades ago; decades of brain cell abuse, some might call it brain-cell-o-cide.) I was best in improv speaking. (You better sit down kids, but I went to state!)
Improv is pretty basic. You enter the room. You are handed a topic. You read it out loud. You read it to yourself and then you read it out loud again. And then you talk for three to five minutes about the topic. Then, you are done. Once you have completed your talk, you can stay in the room to see how you do compared to those who come after, or you can wander off into the sunset. I always enjoyed listening to those who followed. Each contestant was given a different topic, so it could be very be interesting.
Senior year of high school – at state: I am done with whatever I did. It was not memorable. I have chosen to forget it. I knew I was done for the season; my career was over. The last person in our flight comes in. He is handed his topic.
“The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is silence while he reads the topic to himself. “The picture of the president is no longer hung in the post office.” There is a pregnant pause. “Who cares?”
He leaves the room.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I Love My Ducks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hrjpe1VCNg
I couldn't resist!
Somehow, I should be able to do something so you don't have to cut and past, but I have no friggin' idea what it is. So cut and paste and enjoy!
I couldn't resist!
Somehow, I should be able to do something so you don't have to cut and past, but I have no friggin' idea what it is. So cut and paste and enjoy!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Le Fête du Bon Père est fini.
Yes, the feasting is over. The candy corn in long gone, as is the Macaroni and Cheese; and tonight, the last to pass, the Ice Cream and Johnny Sauce.
My heart is full of sorrow: my belly happy as a lark. But now, another year to wait.
My heart is full of sorrow: my belly happy as a lark. But now, another year to wait.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Ten Signs you are not aging with Grace and Panache.
#1. You have to look “Panache” up in the dictionary to find out what it means. You are stunned to discover that it is in no way related to “pancake” or “ganache”, despite the large number of shared vowels and consonants. You are quite disappointed. (Frankly, you were looking forward to growing old with Ganache!)
#2. The closest you’ve ever come to “Grace” is watching she and Will on TV, and half the time you had no clue what she was babbling about.
#3. Your verve has been compared, unfavorably, to a wet woodchuck.
#4. You need to shave your ears as often as your chin.
#5. When you admit to your real age, people are flabbergasted. You get a little cocky until you hear one of them whisper something about, “…obviously ridden hard and put to bed wet!”
#6. While counting from one to your current age, after getting confused and needing to start over (twice), you must sit down at about the mid-way point, due to utter exhaustion.
#7. You crack some rude joke about the old blatherskite sitting down the bar from you, only to have someone point out that there is a mirror at the end of the bar and, well…
#8. A boy scout tries to help you across the street. If you could remember where you left your cane, you would beat the tar out of the little whippersnapper.
#9. The little girl next door just graduated, magna cum laude, from one of those snotty law schools back east. If you could dredge up her name, you’d send her a card.
#10. You vividly remember when they put the stop sign at the foot of highway 35, but you are still surprised to see it each morning.
#2. The closest you’ve ever come to “Grace” is watching she and Will on TV, and half the time you had no clue what she was babbling about.
#3. Your verve has been compared, unfavorably, to a wet woodchuck.
#4. You need to shave your ears as often as your chin.
#5. When you admit to your real age, people are flabbergasted. You get a little cocky until you hear one of them whisper something about, “…obviously ridden hard and put to bed wet!”
#6. While counting from one to your current age, after getting confused and needing to start over (twice), you must sit down at about the mid-way point, due to utter exhaustion.
#7. You crack some rude joke about the old blatherskite sitting down the bar from you, only to have someone point out that there is a mirror at the end of the bar and, well…
#8. A boy scout tries to help you across the street. If you could remember where you left your cane, you would beat the tar out of the little whippersnapper.
#9. The little girl next door just graduated, magna cum laude, from one of those snotty law schools back east. If you could dredge up her name, you’d send her a card.
#10. You vividly remember when they put the stop sign at the foot of highway 35, but you are still surprised to see it each morning.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Dad and Granny
Snow!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Can You Spell "Old"?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
From the Oregonian, Sunday, November 8th, 2009
A Dreary Day.
Yes, it is possible that summer may be over. While I will miss the sun and long days, I am fully anticipating the Fête du Bon Père.
Yes, I have been harvesting the tasty sap of the Johnny Sauce Tree, reaping the crop of macaroni, preparing the ice cream and making ready to bake the candy corn. The cheese is approaching its most flavorful apex.
If only we could celebrate such a feast more than once a year.
Yes, I have been harvesting the tasty sap of the Johnny Sauce Tree, reaping the crop of macaroni, preparing the ice cream and making ready to bake the candy corn. The cheese is approaching its most flavorful apex.
If only we could celebrate such a feast more than once a year.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I Had a Dream.
In my dream (aka: nightmare), Max is sitting in bed, propped up against the pillows in a very human-like position. He has a breakfast tray across his lap and is being served kippered herring by a tuxedo-clad Richard.
Some claim that it is a sign that we have lost control of the household.
My only point of contention with that theory is that it implies that we had some semblance of control of the household at a point in the past. There is no truth to that postulation.
Some claim that it is a sign that we have lost control of the household.
My only point of contention with that theory is that it implies that we had some semblance of control of the household at a point in the past. There is no truth to that postulation.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Just Hoping
As I wait to hear the election returns from Maine and Washington, I am reminded of a dark time from my past.
It was the late ‘70s. Gay rights was the latest fad and it turned up in some of the oddest places: Miami (Dade County), FL; Wichita, KS; St. Paul, MN; Eugene, OR; Seattle, WA.
I hope no one else in this room ever has to experience being 20 years old and hearing that 69% of the people in Miami, Florida think that you are a pervert and don’t deserve the same rights as other Americans. Similar results came out of Wichita and St. Paul. And particularly horrifying was Eugene – the liberal town of Oregon. (Seattle saved the decade!)
Of course, Anita Bryant was a catalyst to the overthrow of gay rights. I came across these quotes from her on the web:
"As a mother, I know that homosexuals cannot biologically reproduce children; therefore, they must recruit our children" and "If gays are granted rights, next we'll have to give rights to prostitutes and to people who sleep with St. Bernards and to nail biters."
I can’t be the only person who sees the amazing humor.
Why shouldn’t nail biters have full rights?
They are still lying in Maine.
Or maybe they aren't lying. Maybe I'm going to hell, but I'm going in a prettier handbasket than the rest of you.
'Cause I'm a queer and damn it, we've got the best handbaskets!
It was the late ‘70s. Gay rights was the latest fad and it turned up in some of the oddest places: Miami (Dade County), FL; Wichita, KS; St. Paul, MN; Eugene, OR; Seattle, WA.
I hope no one else in this room ever has to experience being 20 years old and hearing that 69% of the people in Miami, Florida think that you are a pervert and don’t deserve the same rights as other Americans. Similar results came out of Wichita and St. Paul. And particularly horrifying was Eugene – the liberal town of Oregon. (Seattle saved the decade!)
Of course, Anita Bryant was a catalyst to the overthrow of gay rights. I came across these quotes from her on the web:
"As a mother, I know that homosexuals cannot biologically reproduce children; therefore, they must recruit our children" and "If gays are granted rights, next we'll have to give rights to prostitutes and to people who sleep with St. Bernards and to nail biters."
I can’t be the only person who sees the amazing humor.
Why shouldn’t nail biters have full rights?
They are still lying in Maine.
Or maybe they aren't lying. Maybe I'm going to hell, but I'm going in a prettier handbasket than the rest of you.
'Cause I'm a queer and damn it, we've got the best handbaskets!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Just another Beautiful Day in the Gorge.
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