Is Immortality Legal?

There once was a scientist who believed that he had discovered a scientific method by which we could achieve immortality. Through a long series of experiments he used porpoises to test his theories because of their intelligence and ease of training. Part of the experiment used Mynah birds as a diet supplement.

One day while preparing tests the scientist realized that he was nearly out of Mynah birds. Because they were an integral part of the research, the scientist packed some cages into his car and set out to capture more birds. While he was out driving and announcement came over the radio that a lion had escaped from the State zoo and he was considered dangerous.

The scientist gathered his inventory of birds and headed back to the laboratory. When he arrived he was startled to find the escaped state lion was fast asleep in front of the door to his lab. This was indeed a dilemma! If he didn’t get in to feed the porpoises his experiment could be ruined and he would have to start over. He decided to take his chances.

The scientist carefully removed the cages from his car and oh so quietly tip-toed toward the lab door. The lion, sound asleep didn’t flinch. Quietly he turned the knob on the door and he nervously stepped over the lion and stepped into the lab shutting the door behind him. The moment he shut the door, sirens howled, and all heck broke loose.

The scientist peered out the window to see that keepers from the zoo arrived to capture the lion and the Police pulled up ramming the door of the lab, entered and arrested the scientist…yes, arrested!

The charges? Wait…wait…okay, the scientist was charged with “Transporting Mynahs over a State lion…for immortal porpoises!”

As an endnote I want to assure everyone that no animals were harmed in writing this story except my dog Higgen’s feelings because I wouldn’t let him sit in my lap while I typed.

More puns to follow…try the pork tar-tar…I’ll be here all week.

I’m just saying.

The Tiger Hunt

A group of gentlemen were sitting around the hunt club, bragging of their trophies and sharing stories. One of the young hunters said, “You know? Sir Edgar has spent years traveling the globe on safari hunting exotic beasts. He must have some amazing stories to tell!” Agreeing, the group approached the elder Sir Edgar and gathered round him.

One young hunter said, “Sir Edgar, you have hunted for 6 decades and have seen so many things. Please share one of your extraordinary exploits with us. What has been your most harrowing experience?”

The aged Sir Edgar sat up straight, clearing his throat and furrowing his bushy brow. “Experience…hmmm…ah yes. Well…it was India. The deep, thick jungle of India. We were on elephant caravan hunting the great Bengal Tiger. We were a day and a half into the brush. The heat and tension were so thick; you could slice them with a machete. We were crossing a trail dense with flora when all of a sudden out of the brush leaped the largest feline I have ever laid eyes on. 600 pounds of anger and raw muscle!” He continued,” Startled, my Pachyderm trumpeted and reared back throwing me face down into a thicket of grass. Winded and dazed, I tried to gather myself and when I raised my head to look around I found myself looking straight into the open jowls of the great tiger, and…arrrghhhh, ugh, oh…I pooped my pants!”

Surprised and taken back, one of the younger listeners said, “Well…Sir Edgar, I mean given the circumstance, I can’t imagine the fear…and it’s understandable that you soiled yourself!”

Sir Edgar replied, “No, no young man…I meant…just now!”

I’m just saying

The Road Less Traveled

Okay, you aren’t going to get off easy on this post. I’ll get to the real point later, but first you must bear with me. I posted a story earlier that finished with a recommendation that you follow Lisa Brandel’s blog. It is a collection of prose that describes care-giving for a terminal loved one. It is poignant, precise, and a gut-check worth your review. I prefaced the recommendation with a note that I relate similar stories from a humorous viewpoint and did in fact make the statement that I, myself, know that I am funny. This was brought to my attention by Dr. Andrea Mills who said “You are funny, even if you say so yourself!” It was a braggart moment, I apologize…but I have a defense…

My brain has a mind of its own! I don’t control my thoughts…I control my actions. I tend to analyze things to a literal end and I write about them (too bad for you!). Whether it is inspired by God, an overactive imagination, aliens…or a skull worm of some sort digesting strange thoughts into my brain…funny stuff falls out of my head. I don’t take credit…I just run with it.

And Now for the Rest of the Story

va•ca•tion – Pronunciation - vā-ˈkā-shən, originally from Latin, but we will stick with the Middle English version. Middle English is the period roughly between 1100 and 1540 AD; An act or an instance of vacating. Given the period of the Middle English definition, I tend to believe that it referred to fleeing the village you occupied that was being looted and pillaged by your enemies. Beyond that and from my experience I don’t think it meant getting away to have fun. I am almost certain that Columbus never said “Things are stressful at the office…I’m going to take a long weekend, get away to find the edge of the earth and unwind.”

Before I was born my Father had set foot on pretty much every Continent on the planet and travel was in his blood. That gene carried over but it wasn’t until I was an adult that I appreciated it. When we were kids we traveled to my grandparents in rural Ontario every weekend. I loved my grandparents so it was a good thing. What I didn’t love was the fact that it was a 5 hour drive that started at 3:00AM. Dad would come to the stairs and yell “Daylight in the Swamp! Got to get to Grandma’s for breakfast!” What daylight and swamps had to do with anything is still a puzzle to me, and I remember once (only once) questioning my father’s judgment by asking, “Doesn’t Grandma know about brunch? Can I please sleep in a bit?” The truth is that by the time I was 15 I had seen every State, Province, and Territory on continental North America, and visited 2 other continents as well. When we took long trips (sometimes up to a month) my Dad fashioned a platform that fit on the floor in the back seat straddling the axle hump and created a kind of bunk bed situation so my brother and I both had room to stretch and sleep on long drives. Being the youngest I was relegated to the floor bunk which also made me the automatic crumb catcher and foot rest for my older brother…Yay! Not a fond memory:).

As an adult with work and fancy I travelled extensively. I always insisted on a window seat and honestly if I couldn’t get one I would shop for another flight. I have never been afraid to fly but there was always a subconscious part of me (voyeuristic) that insisted on being one of the first to see the crash scene.

I have not parked my butt on an airplane in more than 5 years. The last time I was on a plane I was taking a red-eye back from Hartford Connecticut. A flight that held 180 passengers had only 38 seats booked. Bonus! I can pick a window seat well away from everyone else and relax. I picked my seat and just a few minutes later…a very large man walked up to my isle. I don’t want to be mean, but this person easily weighed 400+ pounds. He sat down next to me and honestly he was so big, he drove me into the window and there was no way for us to sit next to each other without…being close. I tried as politely as possible to suggest, “You know, the flight is under-booked and we can sit anywhere we want.” He replied, “I booked this seat, and this is where I’m sitting!” I mused for a moment…squished into my window view of a pending crash site and then decided to excuse myself without being…mean. I said” You know what? I didn’t shower this morning and I don’t want to offend you…so I am going to switch seats.”

Well, I parked myself in a window seat 3 rows back. The gentleman behind me answered his cell phone and began screaming in a foreign language…and at that moment I looked out the window and imagined that the boarding approach was in fact the crash scene for this trip…I think I peed a little. I later through conversation found out that the foreigner was from Algeria. He engaged me by asking, “Do you have a brother? Is he an idiot too?” He explained that he was yelling at his brother who wanted to quit university to marry a Vegas line dancer. Phew!

Mariann and I used to fly to Chicago 6-8 times a year. We would joke that they were our “time travel getaways”. Given the time difference, technically we could catch a flight to Chicago and arrive 5 minutes before we left. The last time I flew to Chicago (post 9/11) between parking, a drunk shuttle driver, security on both ends and a “problem” at the car rental counter, the trip took me 6.5 hours…2 hours longer than it would have taken me to drive, and I likely wouldn’t have been as exhausted had I driven.

So, the endnote to this post is that the road less travelled is not a road at all, but the wild blue yonder. I am not afraid to fly…I’ve just lost interest. Between shoe bombers, underpants bombers, and rogue volcanoes, I find that air travel requires a need that I don’t have, and am not willing to commit to.

I’m just saying!

A Short Break

I want to take the time (while I compose my next post) to acknowledge some very bright and important people I have had the good fortune of meeting through this whole blogosphere thingy. I am in fact very glad I started this pursuit because it has opened a world of individually bright and informed people who share their daily lives in online journals that are smart, intelligent and entertaining. You will serve yourself well by clicking through and taking a break to be entertained and educated.

Anne Dickens – The Day After Yesterday
Anne is a person who achieved a Doctorate, lived a jet-setting life style as a successful executive and gave it up to become a country girl in rural Oxfordshire, England. She chronicles her daily life in the country with a mix of care-giving for her humble farm (cottage) and the reality of daily life in the 21st century. You will meet Naughty George, Anne’s 16 year old, four legged “best friend”, follow the saga of acquiring a laptop from a big box store, and so much more. Anne’s wit is crisp, relevant, dry and very funny! Always worth a trip to catch up. As an aside, Anne being British with the surname Dickens seems a little like stacking the deck…but in Anne’s case it is well earned.

Martin Hawrysko – Maritn’s Musings

Martin is a bright young man I have had the fortune of meeting, working with and observing through his very candid and vocal journal online. Martin lives in the Chicagoland area, is a huge sports fan, creative person and has some very interesting life and political views. I truly enjoy reading and responding to his posts as I see Martin as part of the future of where we are going socially. I admire Martin’s candidness about his views on life and his curiosity about things to come. Martin is part of the next generation to right the axis of the planet and he is always worth a short break to catch up with.

Joslyne Decker - ZoZo’s Mom

I gush on Joslyne a lot! (Too bad for you Jos!). Joslyne is a brilliant writer, published author and a blogging machine! Along with publishing stories and articles, Joslyne is also battling complications with Fibromyalgia, while raising the brilliant and challenging Zoey, and being there for her kind and wonderful husband Demetri. I have been a wood worker/furniture builder as a hobby all of my life. The second time I met Joslyne, she asked me to teach her how to build something. Once you have used a router and orbital sander together, the bond can never be broken! The truth is that that has nothing to do with the fact that Joslyne is a great Mom, a wonderful partner, and a brilliant author. She will always be top of the list, first page with me. If it weren’t for Joz, you wouldn’t be reading this blog.

You owe it to to yourself to take a look.

I'm just saying.

Richard E. Reed

April 15, 2010 marks the third anniversary of my father’s passing. I miss him.

Dad was always a bit of an anomaly. He was born near the end of World War I in rural Ontario Canada; one of six children born to poor farmers. Dad was born at home, and as children he would have us believe that minutes after he was born and cleaned up, both he and my Grandmother went out to work the fields.

As a quick interjection, my father used to say (as I’m sure many fathers did), “There are 2 things you can’t avoid…death and taxes.” Well, Dad beat the odds most of his life and in his own true fashion he passed on April 15 (tax day) not having filed his taxes for that year.

 The real story here is the many ways Dad beat the odds to live 90+ years having experienced more in his life than most of us are capable of remembering, much less living. The number and severity of physical challenges he met head on were literally a whole chapter in a book written by his childhood family doctor. At age nine he was severely burned from his hips to his ankles when a fuel oil drum he was straddling exploded. After the explosion, one of the ends of the barrel was found a half mile away. As with every story that follows, my Dad had a way of telling the story and then in his usual unassuming and humorous way, he would cap the story with a quip. He explained that when the barrel exploded, he was thrown away from it with his clothes on fire. My Aunts and Uncles who were there pulled off their clothing to beat and smother the flames engulfing Dad. When asked what happened next, he would say, “Well, once they got the flames out…I took up smoking.”

The Doctor told my grandmother that dad would never walk again. My great-grandmother who was a nurse took him in and cared for him through the healing process. Eighteen months later, Dad was out running around and playing with his friends. “What about the Doctor saying you wouldn’t walk?” He would reply, “He told your grandmother that…nobody told me anything…so how was I supposed to know?”

At age 11 he was kicked in the head by a horse that put him in a coma for 3 weeks. “What happened next?” His reply…”The first thing I did when I woke up…was kick the horse back!” At age 13, the beginning of the depression Dad hopped on a freight train and headed west to find work. Dad worked in a grist mill, on farms, and lumber camps in the Yukon until he was in his early twenties when he joined the Canadian Coast Guard and ultimately the Merchant Marines.

Between 1942 and 1946 Dad made 17 trips to Europe carrying supplies for the war effort on convoys that were regularly being shot at by German U-Boats. During those 4 years more than half of the ships Dad sailed on were damaged or sunk by attacks…but never when he was on them! What incredible odds! I asked him what he thought of that and his reply was…”Oh, I think God was just looking out for me because he knew I was a lousy swimmer.” The photo (right) is Dad’s passport photo at age 26 (not his happy face).

Dad’s stories go on. I have always been amazed at how he took what he was faced with, conquered it, moved on and never complained. A partial list of what he went through in my lifetime includes Gall Bladder, Thyroid, ulcer surgery, knee replacement (he had both knees replaced TWICE), hip surgery (both hips), quadruple bypass, eye surgery, ear surgery, colon surgery (10 days after his quadruple bypass)…and on and on. I asked Dad about having to go through knee replacement 4 times, and he responded"Well God didn't guarantee the first set, so I guess I can't be too hard on the Doctor, he's only human."

On Dad’s 90th birthday we talked at length about everything he had experienced and been through in his life, and I marveled that he had survived it all. He simply replied, “Well, if cats have 9 lives…I guess I’m 2 of the toughest cats you’ve ever met.”

In October of 2006 at age 90 while working in his garden, Dad fell and broke an elbow. This injury triggered a series of events and health failures that progressed until he was hospitalized in January 2007, and never came home again.

During the 8 months that followed his injury, I pretty much spent most of my waking hours with him making sure that he was taken care of and holding the Doctors to task. I sat down and talked with him one night for several hours. He was weak and tired but lucid. He put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down to his face. Dad kissed me on the forehead and whispered to me, “Son, I love you. I don’t think I can start over again.”

Dad passed early Sunday morning, 2 days later.

I love you too Dad.

I’m just saying!

The Radical-Moderate, Existential-Romantic, Closet Agoraphobic

Well…the title says it all…so my work is done! Okay, maybe not.

The Radical Moderate

I am indeed a radical moderate. I do not subscribe to the beliefs of any one political view. Instead my analogy is that I like to look both ways before crossing the street. It is safe and practical. The current “popular” two party system we have has outlived its usefulness and limits the possibilities of broader thinking and real problem solving. I think the names of the parties are outdated and need a tweak as well. “Democrats?”, “Republicans?”. Democrats…denotes democracy…the foundation of our government…sounds okay, but the problem is that they have an agenda that is largely based on staying in elected office and less to do with the true interests of their constituency. Republicans…from “Republic”. It sounds isolationist and non-inclusive…odd coincidence, eh?

With all of the infighting, bickering, and outright lying that both sides do when the pressure is on, I think they need to contemporize the party names to fit their behavior…say, the “Jets and the Sharks”. For you folks too young to remember “West Side Story”, it’s the “Bloods and the Crips”. Yep, as a marketing research professional I really think it is time to change the brand. If both parties updated their image just think of the extraneous issues they could solve accidently! Wouldn’t it be a hoot if street gangs instead of killing each other, related to the “new parties” and the threats changed from “Come into my hood and I’ll kill you.” To “Oh yah, well…we can block your filibuster!”

The Existential-Romantic

Mariann and I became acquainted through a mutual friend. We were older, established and somewhat set in our own ways. We became good friends and then best friends without any “romantic” involvement. Many people equate romance with sex, and I beg to differ. Literature and art are at the core of romanticism having nothing to do with sex. I have many good friends and family that I feel a strong romantic love for because of who they are…only. I have been an artist and writer since I was old enough to recognize pen and paper as something other than chew toys. Mariann and I spent a lot of time together enjoying everything we did together without “dating” and without the solitary obligations of a relationship. I have always believed that each individual can and will have their own feelings about another person, but that either person may have a very different idea. In other words…fate takes cooperation. When I wrote a poem for Mariann declaring my love for her and my desire to spend the rest of my life with her, she loved the poem and agreed. Phew! Love is not about what you get out of it, it is about what you put into it because at the end of the day, things may not turn out the way you thought, and what you put into it is what you have to live with. I lost Mariann to pancreatic cancer…I love her deeply and she is my BFF.


The Closet Agoraphobic

Yes I am! For most of my life I was an outdoor person. As a child and growing up I am sure I spent 95+% of me time outdoors working and playing. I have been fortunate enough in my lifetime (so far) to travel all corners of the globe (the earth is square…right?)

I could tell you exactly why I have become an agoraphobic to an event, but that is a post for another time. I have become a pasty white indoor person. I do go outside and I do travel, but not without a very good reason and never unless I absolutely have to.

Now I know I won’t implode or melt if I travel or go out, but that doesn’t matter. I make lists of things I need to get at the Target like paper towels, laundry detergent, socks, etc. and then it takes every ounce of energy I can muster to drive 1.5 miles down the road to get it. I really do know why, but again it is another long story. The short version is that Mariann was my travel partner for nearly 2 decades and we saw so much together. She was the consummate travel companion; navigator, back-seat driver and I miss it today as much as ever.

I have at least in part the internet and technology to blame/thank for my ability to cocoon and still run a business. Why would I hop on a plane or in my car and travel to Boston when I can do it all from my office saving time and money for everyone? Look at it this way…I’m just trying to reduce my carbon foot print…:)

As an endnote, I started this blog because friends of mine insisted that I am funny, a good writer and they wanted to see my thoughts online in writing. Voyeurs! Well at the risk of seeming a braggart, I am funny. I have used humor as a fallback/escape/defense all of my life, and with practice…I’ve gotten good at it. Observing life gives anyone good material for humor anyway.

The point of the endnote is this. While getting into the whole blogosphere thingy, I have been able to meet other writers/bloggers who are very talented and have good stories to tell. Among those people, I have been most fortunate to become acquainted with a young woman, Lisa Brandel. Lisa is a young widow who is drafting a book on her blog that journals the story of her husband Rod, and Lisa’s care giving until his passing.

While I always resort to humor to tell a story, Lisa in exquisite beautiful prose chronicles the journey through prostate cancer, living, and end of life in an incredible collection of “chapters” that you MUST read. It is such an incredible journey of thought, spirituality, fear, belief, acceptance and reality; you must be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster.


I’m just saying.

The Easter Bunny?

It is Easter Sunday 2010, and I am working (not right this minute, but still). I am not bitter about it because it was my choice to try to catch up with some things today. I live alone and really had no other plans today so I’m fine with it.

I was sitting here doing some research and started thinking about the whole Anglo-Christian celebration of the holiday and the odd traditions that have sprung from it. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the underlying purpose and lesson of the holiday…it’s the other stuff I can’t wrap my head around. I usually research historic stories that I write, but this time…what the heck…I’m going to wing it.

The Easter Bunny? Rabbits don’t lay eggs. And no species that does lay eggs, lays eggs filled with marshmallow or candy filling. The Easter Bunny?

As an aside it seems that we (Anglo-Christians) have a tendency to celebrate religious holidays with gift giving. I’m okay with that, I just have never figured out the association. As a child at Christmas time, I surely enjoyed receiving gifts, and learned the story of Christ’s birthday. Christ was born and spent his life teaching us to be good, loving, compassionate people…and I got gifts on his birthday. I used to think that if I was good, and got presents on Christ’s birthday, just think how incredibly good I would be if I got presents on EVERYONE’s birthday…a concept that never caught on…but I digress.

Back to the bunny. Rabbits don’t lay eggs! So where did this come from? Well, either a large group of chickens volunteered to give up their young as gifts to fill baskets…or a large group of chickens were FORCED to give up their young as gifts to fill baskets, and the bunny is responsible for a long standing atrocity. The only other explanation I can come up with is a gross misinterpretation of the tradition. It could be that the Easter bunny was in fact a platypus…the only mammal that actually lays eggs, but in any case given the multi-colored, tie-died appearance of the eggs I am left thinking that psychedelic drugs are involved.

As an end-note the basis of the holiday revolves around Jesus dying for the sins of mankind (for which I am grateful). A few days later, Jesus resurrected and ascended to heaven to continue watching and guiding human kind (for which I am thankful). To that end in the context of modern thinking, Jesus dying and resurrecting…is the ultimate, extreme re-gifting.

Now, don’t get mad, and by all means I’m not looking for comments that start religious debate. Think of it this way. God has a sense of humor. He created a being that could somehow turn the birth, life, and death of his son into a holiday that includes psychedelic eggs…and he created the platypus…look at life from their perspective!

I’m just saying.