Joe Tanner Blog Page

I hate bike creeps...

2009-02-04T18:45:00.000-08:00

It had been a terribly hot day delivering the mail. All I wanted to do was to climb into my truck, kick the AC on to high and enjoy the ride home...

I was driving down Penn Avenue in North Minneapolis when I saw him. He was on what I am sure was a twenty nine speed racing bike of some sort. Dressed in his silky looking, skin tight bike riding suit, wearing a helmet that made him look like a mushroom, he was weaving into the traffic like a mad man. I slowed so I would not hit him. The last thing a person wants to do on a hot day is to run over a bike creep. The police would have to be called and they would make me stand in the hot sun while they took down my answers to their questions. Nope. I did not want to run this guy over. I noticed, like many bike riders, he would stay in the lane that was meant for cars. Of course, he had his rights. All bicyclists do. At least in their mind...Not mine. We approached a red light. I was going to stop and then make a right turn. I began to do just that when all of a sudden, here came Lance, right thru the light. I guess the rules of the road only apply to him when it seems fit. I almost hit him. If it were not for his Bendix brakes, he would have been nothing more than a smudge in the road. I looked out the window the creep was okay. Everything seemed in order. I rolled down the window and apologized ( even though I felt it was not my fault!). He began screaming like a fool. Instead of going straight like he had planned, he decided to go the same direction as I and yell at me all the way. With his stupid helmet sitting at a cocked angle on his head, his mouth moved like a jackrabbit. What he did not know, was just up ahead, was a car parked on the side of the road. As he hit the trunk of the car, things seemed to happen in slow motion. His front wheel bent and broke upon impact and his body hurled up and over the roof of the car. His now helmet-less head slammed into the top of the car and he, for what seemed to be a short micro second, made one of the most blood curdling screams I have ever heard. I almost let out a smile, but realized I must first make sure the rider was okay. He was and the last thing I saw of him was how he was mumbling about the price of a new rim....

It had been a terribly hot day delivering the mail. All I wanted to do was to climb into my truck, kick the AC on to high and enjoy the ride home....

Joe

That's a deep ditch

2009-02-01T16:07:00.000-08:00

I was only sixteen. I had just gotten my drivers license and Dad was going to allow me to go on my first real solo mission. I was to take the old yellow Dodge pickup and bring some empty barrels to my brother-in-law Arvin's house. It was a 1971 Dodge 100. Bright yellow. We had nicknamed it "The Wild banana". A 318 Hemi motor powered it and it was a three on the tree stick shift. So, here I was, with a load of fifty five gallon drums going to Arvin's. What he ever wanted with those was a mystery to me. Still, the excitement of driving to St. Francis, a town twenty miles to the north, had me pumped. We loaded the truck and Dad gave me the keys and some final instructions. "Take Hiway 47 to Mau's store and turn right one mile. You can't miss it" he said. I think he forgot who he was talking to. What I found out was that despite making that trip a million times with the folks, I never paid too much attention to where I was going. I didn't have to. I wasn't the driver on any of those trips. Now I was and it would turn out to be quite a day.

I drove for what seemed forever and finally decided to stop and get a soda. I pulled over at a small store and made my purchase. I climbed back in the truck and continued north, never noticing the sign on the store said"Mau's Corner Market".

After another half hour or so, the AM radio was losing it's reception. I played with the tuner and tried to find a station. Nothing. "Man, the road sure seemed bumpy all of a sudden" I thought. I looked up and discovered I had driven off the road and was now headed for the ditch. I did the only thing I could. I shut my eyes. I heard trees slapping the windshield hard and was thankful the window was not down. The truck soon slammed to a stop. My head hit the steering wheel hard. I opened my eyes and looked around. It was very quiet. It was very quiet because I had found myself in a very deep ditch. It was winter and the ditch was full of ice and water but the Dodge had done me proud. She had broke thru the frozen water like an ice-breaker on Lake Superior. The bad news was that the water was even with the windows and was starting to come in thru the bottom of the doors. I used an old Burger King cup to scoop the swamp water out. It was a losing battle. I would have to call Dad. Now keep in mind, this was pre-cell phone days so I had to walk about a half mile to an old farm house to use their phone. I called Dad and he soon showed up with Arvin. They both had garden shovels in their hand as if they were going to dig me out. I began to chuckle. "What's so funny?" asked Dad. "Where's the truck?" he said. I told him he had to get closer to the edge of the road. It was sort of down the cliff. It took two tow trucks to haul the Dodge up and over the edge. The entire muffler system had to be replaced as the trip back up the cliff the hill ripped it off. It never ran the same and for some reason, when ever we used it after that, there was a strange smell of frog crap.....

It was quite sometime before Dad let me out on my own again....I was only sixteen.

Joe

My new pants...

2009-02-01T15:55:00.000-08:00

Jewel-T. I hated it. Jewel T was a brand of low budget clothing that was best described as an early ancestor to "Fingerhut". This company allowed families to buy clothes on credit and pay horrible prices for things that in my mind were very ugly. I didn't want Jewel T shirts and I most certainly did not want Jewel T pants. What I wanted was a pair of Levis. I wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't get them. Until one day. I decided to join the drama team at Fred Moore Junior High in beautiful Anoka. The drama team allowed me to get in a few plays and get up in front of an audience. It was great. One day I was cast as sort of a hippie charachter. Mr. Varner, the instructor, asked me to wear my Levis. When I told him I didn't have any, he brought me to the costume department and found a pair. It was like a dream. They fit perfectly. The play soon came. I don't remember anything about the performance except I had a cool pair of pants and not a soul in the audience knew they were not mine. The production came to an end and we were all required to turn in our costumes. When I went to the costume department, I still had on the pants. The lady who was checking things in took what I had in my hand and told me to leave. I had my pants. And they were Levis. I think I wore them the rest of the year...

Joe

No such thing as a free lunch....

2009-02-01T15:21:00.000-08:00

The free lunch situation followed me into high school. There still wasn't a lot of money at home, so there I was each first of the month, standing in line for my monthly batch of tickets. What I didn't like at all about how this was handled was that those receiving these much desired pieces of paper had to stand in line, under a huge sign that let all who walked by know that we were free and reduced lunch kids. Better yet, the geniuses put the table where we had to wait right in the main hallway where all could see. Now when you get to high school, there is a certain level of coolness that we are all supposed to be at. I knew where my level was. I was below the football players and cheerleaders, but I think I was above the motorheads and fish in the science labs.

After numerous questions from my friends about why I had to stand in line and why didn't my folks make enough money, I had had it. The remedy was simple. I would pretend to be sick each first of the month and then the second day I would get my tickets. The line was just a few kids long and I got the lunch tickets in minutes instead of the usual ten to fifteen minute wait.

This worked fine until one day. The head cook was Ruby. On that day she glared at me and said "it's because of people like you Tanner, I have to sit here two days in a row and waste my time".

There really isn't anything funny about this story except the old bitch died ten years later. I still remember seeing her obituary in the paper. It said "Ruby Martin of Anoka, age 93 died suddenly at her home". "Suddenly?". It should have read "Ruby Martin of Anoka, age 93 died FINALLY!"

Joe

Home run classics

2009-02-01T15:00:00.000-08:00

Brother Tim and I were always trying to create our own fun. One of the games we came up with was something called "Home Run Classic". Our backyard was full of trees so we needed to get a little clever on just how our whiffle ball diamond would be set up. With huge trees down the leftfield side, we would need to become left handed hitters. The idea of the game was that each player got two outs. You had one pitcher and one batter. The ball was pitched and when you hit it with the sawed off broomstick, either it was a pop out or if it it made it into the tall grass, it was a homerun. Simple rules. Well, after a long summer of numerous games, Ma decided we were wrecking the lawn and declared our league defunct. The remedy was easy. We just waited until she went to her job at the nursing home and would play then. We always asked Dad and he gave us the nod. The only problem was that when she got home, she would inspect the grass in the yard and discover another classic had occurred. One day, she left as usual and we asked Dad to allow us to play. He did. So our game began. Then the phone rang. It was Ma. I heard Dad answer it and rat us out like a fink in the detective's chair under a bright light. He sang like a canary. What the heck? He gave us permission and now he's turned on us? A minute or so later, he came into the backyard and demanded that the game stop. Ma had given him a direct order and he being the good soldier (or the suck-up) had to follow it. Younger brother Corey was his back-up. All of a sudden Corey picked up the broomstick and ran. I gave chase and yelled at him to drop the stick. He did, but instead of just dropping it, he sort of threw it and it acted like a spear and drove into the ground. With luck being no where around, his head and eye ran right into the end of it. Six stitches later, I received a beating for what I had done to the baby. Yeah, like it was my fault. Had the little suck butt stayed in the house like he was supposed to and had Dad not squeeled like an ungreased wheel, none of this would have happened...

I have since married and now encourage "Home Run Classic" in the backyard anytime the boys want. I just don't tell my wife....

Joe

I didn't know you did that...

2009-02-01T14:50:00.000-08:00

It was sometime after my sister Cindy had passed away. Ma was still not feeling like her old self so Dad thought it might be a good idea to bring her out for a drink and try and cheer her up. My folks never drank much at all, so this was new to me to see this happen. I didn't know they did that. I was with my friends when Ma called to see if I would come up the Anoka VFW and help her get Dad home. It seemed that despite him not drinking a whole lot, he still had the taste for blackberry brandy. Well, it turns out his taste for that at the VFW that night was a little powerful and he had a few too many. I walked in and there was Ma and Dad waiting for me. Dad was in a happy mood and asked me to sit down and have a drink. Well, we had a couple and then it started. A man was sitting at the bar with a cowboy hat on. Dad stood up and said in a loud voice "Joe, do you know who that is?". "No" came my reply. "Why, that's Snake Bealer". Of course it turned out that the man's name was not Snake Bealer but was actually a man named Gus, and after a few heated exchanges with Dad, Gus gave me the look that said "take your Dad out of here before I punch his lights outs".
Between me and Ma, we were able to get Dad into the car and went home.

I never did figure out if she was cheered up or not. Something tells me it really didn't help. Sometimes I think losing a child cannot be forgotten with a bump of brandy..

Joe

Ooops. I caught your ear...

2009-02-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

Kramer's Resort Big Swan Lake in Dassel, Minnesota was a usual vacation spot for our family. Due to my sister Cindy's health, we tried to stay close to home and Dassel allowed us just that. The cabins were fun and offered a lot of room for everyone. The swimming was great and the lake offered many varieties of fish. One day, Dad and Mr. Kramer were on the dock casting for Northerns. A Northern is a big fish that would have most likely pulled me into the lake had I ever hooked onto one...

I watched the two men throwing their lures time and time again. I decided I wanted to be a Northern fisherman too. Armed with my eight foot long cane pole, I began casting. Or maybe a better word is "throwing" my lure of nightcrawlers on a hook into the water.

After a few attempts, Dad warned me to stop. I was going to catch someone with the hook. What did he know? With that, I leaned back to hurl the worm into the dark, murky water. I tried to make my cast but it seemed I was caught on something. I heard a scream. I turned and had hooked Dad in the ear. Huh, what do you know, I laughed. The old man was right. I did hook somebody. I did the only thing I could. I ran. All the way back to the cabin and into the bed. I shut the door quickly and put a chair against the door. This would keep him out. The only problem was that the door opened the other direction and Dad entered the room quite easily. I received my beating and the next scene out the window was Dad breaking my canepole into a million different little pieces.....

He and Mr. Kramer never did catch their Northern...

Joe

That's the dessert?

2009-02-01T14:19:00.000-08:00

I could always tell when it got to the end of the month. The one hundred pound gunny sack of potatoes we bought each month would be sitting nearly empty. The only spuds left were a few wrinkled ones that had these long snake looking things growing out of them. I hate snakes and I hate old spuds. Ma had used every one she could. It was time for her to get creative. Lucky us. We would be called to the table and all seven of us would come running. The aroma in the air smelled delicious! We all wondered what Ma had cooked up tonight...

Our plates each received a plop of food. Great. It was macaroni. I hated macaroni. Especially when we were out of hamburger. Then it was macaroni with tomato sauce. One time we were sitting there when Ma brought out the dessert. Into each little cup went a scoop of stewed tomatoes. For dessert? I would have rather eaten a crap sandwich. You didn't dare complain though or away it went. And even if you didn't eat, you still had to help with the dishes. One time, one of us complained that another had got a little more ice cream than the other. Ma fixed that real quick. She took all the bowls and emptied them down the sink."There" she said. "Now you all have the same.." I liked the ice cream and had wished she didn't do that. But I hated stewed tomatoes. If we were thinking at all, we should have griped about the tomatoes for dessert...Away they would have went! To this day, macaroni is not on my list of things to eat. It reminds me of the end of the month.

I look back now and see how tough it must have been to feed all those kids and keep everybody happy and I feel sorry for my folks, but stewed tomatoes are still to this day off limits in my home.

She used to get us on the milk too. When things were getting a little low in the paper carton of the white stuff, Ma would mix in a little Carnation instant. I could smell it from a mile away. Try some of that on your Wheaties once and see how you like it...The tell-tale sign was that there was always some powder left around the top of the carton. I hate powdered milk.

Joe

Sometimes it's hurts to remember...

2009-01-31T20:49:00.000-08:00

I had received the call fairly early in the morning. Something was wrong with my wife's sister Laurie. All attempts to reach her had failed. We needed to go to her apartment in Champlin and make sure everything was okay. Something told us it was not. I got another call from my mother-in-law Carol, who was staying at our house for two weeks. She had a call from a woman. The woman had been a former girlfriend of Laurie's husband Kurt. She had said that Kurt called her and said he had hurt Laurie. Worse yet, he said he had shot and killed her. Carol called me while I was on my mail route in North Minneapolis. This was not the sort of call one received everyday. The news she shared was something all of us would have heard on some sort of detective show. We needed to go to Champlin. I quickly called my wife Lynell and told her I was on my way. The drive to the apartment took forever. I had my supervisor Mark on the phone and told him that I was sure this was some sort of misunderstanding. I rounded the corner to Laurie's street and assured my boss that nothing could be wrong. There was no sign of fire engines, police cars or anything of the like. This doesn't happen in our lives. This is something out of some newspaper article. No matter how much Laurie and Kurt had fought in the past, he would never be so stupid as to do something that would harm her. As I rounded the corner, things changed oh so quickly. The front yard of the apartment was full of every sort of police car you could imagine. Something had happened. I pulled into the parking spot next to the sliding doors. I was met by a young cop who did not want to give me any information. I finally reassured him it would be between the two of us. I asked" Man to man, is she okay?" "No" he said. "Laurie is dead. She was shot".
I remember that day. It seems so long ago, but yet, in a weird way, it seems like it never happened. I do not handle death very well, and I hope the feeling of losing friends and family close to me will someday go away..... I hope so.

Joe

Free lunches sucked...

2009-01-31T20:32:00.000-08:00

I know the world is an ever-changing place and the folks that run it all are trying to make a much friendlier place and I am happy for that. One thing that used to piss me off was how they handed out the free lunch tickets to all of us who needed them so badly.

When I was going to Franklin Elementary in Anoka, we used to get off of our bus in the morning, and while the rest of the kids headed off to the classroom, my sister and I would make our way to the Principal's office to receive our "free" lunch. The secretary would hand us each a quarter and record our names in some stupid ass journal and away we would go. Most times this made us ten minutes or so late for class. I hated her. She was a very stern looking woman with a pointed nose and horned-rimmed glasses. One time, my teacher asked why I was always behind the other kids in reporting to class. "Was I dilly-dallying in the hall" he said. I did not need him to know about our free lunch situation, so I told him I was just slow climbing stairs. Actually I thought it was none of his business. I was told that if it happened again, I would stay in for recess. Well, long story short, I stayed inside quite a bit that school year. I never did tell him what was the reason. Looking back, maybe I should have fessed up, but it didn't happen...Sometimes, some things need to be kept to yourself...

Joe

Grandma's old house...

2009-01-30T20:09:00.000-08:00

A long time ago, I might have been about four, we had to move into Grandma Richard's house. I don't know the reasons, but whatever they were, we found ourselves there. It was a big old house on the corner of Branch Street in Anoka. Grandma used to make extra money by taking in boarders. These were some crusty old men that didn't have families to live with so there they were. I remember walking upstairs one time. The hallway leading up was packed with things all along the wall. One time as I was going up, an old man named Mr. Coral came downstairs. We met at the halfway point on the sitars. To my left was a flag rolled up and stuck behind a board. He stopped and looked at the flag and said in a deep voice: "A lot of men died for that flag son". I thought " Wow! And here it is in grandma's hallway and I get to see it". I think he cacked a few years after that.
One of the other men there was named Tony. I remember him as being one of the fattest people I had ever met. He had an old dog whose name seemed to be a different swear word all the time. I used to talk to Tony every day after school. One day, I went downstairs to talk to him and tell him about my day. He was in the bathroom and was just pulling up his drawers from what I now know was probably a huge dump. He didn't know I saw him him and I don't remember talking to him again....

Joe

Grandpa and the Koo-Koos....

2009-01-30T19:56:00.000-08:00

Most likely my earliest memory of childhood is when I was about four years old. I would go with Dad out to see his father in what was then, the country. People now know it as "Andover". Years back, Anoka was a whole lot bigger than it is today. It used to stretch west all the way to Elk River and to the north I swear to God, it went to International Falls. Now, dorky names like Andover, Ramsey, Nowthen and others pop out of people's mouths. You can tell the newbies from the old timers though, because they will say things like "Hunter had a hockey game last night in "Leeno Lakes and tonight he plays in Sodderville!". People. It's frickin Lino Lakes and Soderville. Where the hell did they go to school? Coon Rapids?

Anyway, we would go to grandpa's house and he lived in a two room little home with an outhouse. I went into the outhouse once and saw a spider in the window. He was trying to get out. Once I saw what was in an outhouse, I couldn't blame him.

Grandpa used to always, right before we left, reach for my hand and offer me a cookie. But he called it a koo-koo. Maybe he felt by renaming it, I wouldn't be afraid him and his bald head. I never understood what made me afraid of bald guys. Maybe it was one too many Mr. Whipple commercials. I would shove the cookie into my pocket and by the time we got home, it would have turned to crumbs.

I never did get to eat one. Maybe had it been an Oreo, it might had survived the ride...

Joe

A letter to dad

2008-02-16T12:19:00.000-08:00

Hi Dad….

Happy birthday! I can hardly believe that you would be 87. But then again I can hardly believe where I’m at now…48. Ish. I don’t know how you would have liked being that age. With the way your health was going, maybe things turned out the best they could. If you remember, I was getting kind of wild that last year or so you were with us. I guess I discovered bar life and all that went with it. If it means anything, I did have some good times and I turned out to be a pretty good fighter (most times) but there were plenty of things I wish I could undo.

I think of all the things I could undo, the one big one that has bothered me for a long time was when you needed to go to the Vet’s hospital for a diabetic laser treatment on your eyes. You asked me to go with so I could help you make your way back on the bus. I told you no. Inside, my feelings were that I would have been too embarrassed to have been seen with a blind man. What an ass-hole I was. You don’t know what I would give to take that walk now. I guess God has a way of getting even with us though, because the big guy upstairs decided that I will be carrying the diabetic torch now…Treatments are a lot better than they were back then. One good thing I guess.

I do regret the last night I saw you, my regrets are for reasons that were different than the other kids. I had gone out with my friend to the Mermaid bar. When I came home, of course, I was altered a bit from drinking and wanted nothing more than to hit the hay. I remember you were waiting for mom to get home from the laundry so you could take the car to the truck farm. You opened the door and said “oh, I thought you were ma…”. You might have said more, but those are the last words I remember you saying to me. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much with all the crap I pulled, but I am sure I did. I know it's too late now, but I’m sorry dad.

I remember Tim coming into my room the next morning and telling me that you had died. I ran thru every room in the house looking for you that morning. I thought for a second that this was some dumb “Tim” joke. Not so. I never found you. You had died at work. Mom said it was about 4:20 when you passed away. Your watch had stopped at that time and that’s when they figured you had fallen. I woke early about that time that morning and looked at the clock and realized it was way too early to be getting up. For a long time afterward, I wondered if I had gotten up and gone and visited you at work, that maybe I could have done something to help. I guess not. I knew over the years that you had a bad heart and I would lose you someday. I remember seeing you on the ground one time working on a car. You must have run into a problem because you were just lying motionless, waiting for the next idea on how to keep another clunker running. I looked at you as you lay there and wondered if that was how you would look someday when you died. Turned out I was wrong. It was different than what I had imagined… I’ll never forget how you looked…

I tried to help ma after you left, but to be honest with you, I didn’t handle your dying very well. I remember when me and ma went to the truck farm and they wheeled you out of that building. I didn’t want to see my dad on a gurney. I wasn’t ready for you to go. For the next few years. I drank way too much, got into more fights and found out what the backseat of a cop car looked like. I was making a real mess of my life. I needed something in my life to change…

I hung around home for the next few years. I did some things for Corey that may have been things that were meant for a dad, but I don’t think you would have done them. Nothing against you, but the role I filled somewhat was the coaching and sports end of life. You were better at other things. He kind of became like a son to me. He turned into a pretty good ballplayer, dad. He actually had a little pop to his bat, something I never did. I did one-up him once though. I taught myself (thanks to all the home-run classics we had in our backyard) to hit left-handed. I actually put one out of the park some years ago. I have now gone on to coach my own kids in their sports and will never forget the great times I have had with that. I wish now I had spent more time with Tim. He seemed to really get the short end of the stick in this one.

Getting back to the time I didn’t go with you to the hospital, I did learn a lesson. I met a man at the bowling alley by the name of Dick Dargis, Elmer’s brother. He was somewhere between you and mom’s age. I got to be pretty fond of him. He was a good man. Well, as things go, Dick told me one day he had cancer. He needed rides to the Vet’s hospital for chemo and radiation treatments and asked if I could help. I didn’t give it a second thought. I’m certainly am not the smartest of your kids, but I knew my role in this one. I took him to all I could. Eventually he passed away but we remained friends until the day he died. He used to get mad at me on the way to the hospital because I would make him laugh and because of that, his body would hurt. It would no sooner quiet down and then he would want another story. It's hard to see a man cry from pain. I miss him. He taught me a lot. I used that laughter Dad, to make it onto a stage one New Year's Eve in Minneapolis as a comic. I got to perform in front of over 4500 people, including mom. She doesn’t like my choice of material sometimes, but oh well. It deals with having a big head. I know you were sensitive about things like that, but I looked at it as a choice. Either fight someone over it or deal with it thru laughter. I chose the latter. My wife Lynell doesn’t appreciate the big head stuff either, but for different reasons. She had to have three C-sections…The fathead curse struck again...

Whether my comedy goes anywhere, it remains to be seen, but I am having a blast doing it. I think I have turned out okay. I am married now to Lynell, a wonderful woman who has fit into the family very nicely, coming up on nineteen years at the end of February. We have three kids, our daughter Kayla, who is a freshman at Mankato. We also have two boys, Bryn who is sixteen and Jake who comes in at twelve.

Unfortunately, I do have to work (I still don't like that word!). I am a mailman in the worst part of town, North Minneapolis, but it’s where the paycheck is at for now. I will have been there for eight years on the 26th, so a big yoo-hoo for me. I actually get up early in the morning too. Never thought that would happen, but we all seem to have changed. Corey spoke in his piece of the money we gave you at your funeral. You were in your casket, dressed very nicely. I had a lucky dollar that I would use for liar’s poker. It had nine aces on it. You always told me, when I wanted to go out at night, that I would take your last dollar. Well, I took that lucky dollar of mine and tore it in half and placed part of it in your breast pocket and the other half in my billfold. I still have it, taped to the back of your picture. Someday, my hopes are that we can put the pieces together again. What I didn’t know was that a very young Corey was watching his big brother try to make sense of this thing called a funeral. He saw what I did and took some pennies and put them in an envelope and he too, put them into your pocket…he has been copying me ever since!

I was so pissed at your funeral for different reasons. At the luncheon, I saw folks standing around and laughing and having conversation. I thought to myself, “how dare they when I am feeling so bad…” but I know better now. I’ve grown up I guess.

A lot of things have changed since you’ve left. We've all become older. We have all dealt with losing things that are precious to us. Mom had a bout with cancer. Patty is getting ready to retire, Kathy is running a big medical firm, Tim had his own cleaning company. Mary moved south, raised a family and got her finger chopped off too! Laurie is an actress! I even got a license and performed a wedding. Corey is married and sings and thru all of us, there are kids everywhere. And most of us are getting a little grayer. I have dreamed about you so many times. In it, you come back and even though I realize you have died, I think this ain’t too bad of a deal. We lose someone, but they come back to us again. We talk for awhile and I turn my head and when I look back, and then you're gone. I like that dream but yet I hate it because you did it to me again…. It seems everyone I know goes away in the end.

Mary spoke of me having your eyes and eyebrows. I never said anything to anyone, but I have noticed it too. Sometimes when I am driving and look in the rear view mirror just right, there you are….Kind of a neat thing sometimes.

I am going to close because this is getting quite long. I ask that you continue to watch over us and help make our daily journey safe. Maybe you and Cindy can keep on extra eye open for Tim, Dad…He’s been having a tough time the last couple of years. We’ll watch over ma for you as best we can. You would be proud of how the kids have stepped up (especially Patty, Kathy, Laurie and Corey) and made sure she is part of our lives and not forgotten.

We’ll talk later Dad
All my love Joe

My thoughts on baseball and steroids

2008-02-14T08:22:00.000-08:00

With so much talk of baseball and our stars taking illegal drugs, I felt I needed to put my thoughts to paper...

Brian McNamee looks like a rat-weasel sort of charachter...I wouldn't trust him any further than I could throw a syringe...But then again, the evidence against the Rocket looks pretty overwhelming...This is what happens when a bunch of rats are all struggling to get away from the cat....

How about this for a scenario? Roger was just minding his own business, bent over and drying off from his post game shower, when McNamee came up from behind and goosed him....right in the cheeks....with a syringe. When Roger turned around and said "what the heck was that?", McNamee answered..."Oh just a little B-12 in your butt!" Roger said with a smile "you could have at least bought me a drink first!". Poor Roger, being from the south and a very simple man, would accept this explanation as fact. Then, years later, when McNamee needed some cash, he would bring out the used needles and wave them proudly around the courtroom. Why, I even think McNamee may have goosed Roger's wife too!

And another thought, these things that McNamee claims are steroids really do not do anything to improve an athletes skills. Just look at the "Knobber", Chuck Knoblauch. Why after getting his Christmas goose from McNamee his career fell into the toilet even quicker than ever. Shooting up that boy's buttocks was one of the biggest wastes of a good steroid than ever! I am glad to hear that Knobber is now a recluse in some small town. He claims it's for privacy when the truth is that no one could stand him as a person and thats why he lives alone...He's a pile.

Maybe the Rocket has buns of steel and while he was lifting weights one day, McNamee came up from behind and let him have it. Roger never felt a thing but from that day forward saw his pitching performance go thru the ceiling! He of course, felt it was from lifting weights, while Rat Face McNamee sat in the corner with a crooked smile on his face....

I don't know if these are your feelings, but they are mine. I say we all start over with a new league and new players. To make it more interesting, I say that I should be the first player picked in the draft and be allowed to play left field for the Boston Red Sox. Then and only then will baseball be returned to what is was meant to be....

2008-02-11T18:10:00.000-08:00

A woman named Della

Boy, have I got a story to share with you....I am a single woman living in the always fun town of New Hope. I stay by myself for a reason. You see, some years ago I was hurt in a tragic logging accident, as I was a lumber woman in the Canadian forests. I shouldn't have to share the details, as I am sure you can all guess what happened. I have been living as a paralyzed, from the waist down woman and I have not revealed this to any of my friends. I still get calls, mostly from Ruth, about different things and places we should go to. I keep refusing as Ruth would learn my tragic secret. Well, long story short, Ruth had had enough and called and told me she would be over in fifteen minutes to take me for a night on the town. Now what was I going to do? Quickly, I pulled myself over to the closet and opened the door. There in the corner were two broken broomstick handles. I had an idea. I grabbed a small saw, and cut the sticks down to size. Then, I placed one stick down each side of my pants and I was ready to go with my charade. I grabbed a hold of the chair, and with the sticks acting as my new walkers, I stood to my feet. What do you know? It worked. I was able to walk around as if I had never had an accident...Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It was Ruth. I opened it and let her in. "Just let me grab my coat" I said as I walked away. Stupid Ruth suspected nothing. We went into the hallway and Ruth reached for the elevator button. "I'd prefer to walk" I said knowing that it was 17 floors. This would fool Ruth even more. It turns out that Ruth had tickets to a comedy show. We made it to the show and watched a few hack comics try to get thru their act. Suddenly, a very good looking guy came out on stage and went on with his routine. Why, I recognized this guy. He was the Lowry Mailman, Joe Tanner! I have heard him a zillion times on the listener segment on KQ. I even saw a tape of him as he opened for Louie Anderson last year on New Year's Eve at the Northrop. I gushed like a young school girl as he asked me to come on stage and be a part in one of his bits. I went along with it and got a very warm applause from the crowd. The minutes then flew like seconds and before we knew it, Joe was done. We all rose to our feet to give him a thunderous ovation. All of a sudden, I realized sometime during the evening, I had taken out my broomsticks. Wait. I was standing on my own two feet and clapping and dancing just like everyone else! Why, Joe Tanner isn't just a funny guy, he also appears to be some sort of healer. Almost Pope-like. Hmmm. Stretch was wrong too. Joe's jokes aren't stale and recycled. They are fresh and full of life like my legs. I can only hope, as I stand here, that when you see Mr. Louie Anderson, you tell him that not only is Joe a comic worth seeing, but also an incredible and talented person in other ways too. God bless Mr. Anderson for seeing the talent in this young man. I hope we get to see some more of Joe on New Years at the Northrop....

Dancing the night away in New Hope....
Dancing Della

An old man, an old woman and a cat named Dave

2008-01-27T18:58:00.000-08:00

An old man, an old woman and a cat named Dave

Dave was cat. Dave was like many cats you have come across in your life. Grey and black with drips of white surrounding his chin. He lived with an old man and an old woman. Dave was quite used to the routine. The two old people would rise each day and take the same steps they always took. The first ones would see them creaking ever so loudly out of bed, their knees still locked in sleep's embrace. Their backs groaned from having years of labor having been toiled upon them. The walk to the bathroom was routine. The smell of coffee would soon follow. Dave knew this all like clockwork. Once, there was a dog who had shared this life with Dave. But something had been missing the past few weeks. The dog was not around. The dog was no longer there to share the food. At first, Dave didn't mind the quiet. He had never been a fan of the dog, but had simply tolerated him. But still he wondered where he had gone. Dave remembered sometimes about the day the dog had left. The old man had called for the hound to join him in a trip to town in the old truck. There had been tears in the old woman's eyes as the old man and the dog went out the door. The old man returned hours later and smelled heavily of the drink. The dog was nowhere to be seen. It seemed so long ago. On this particular day however, the old woman was paying very close attention to Dave. She had usually ignored him and this was odd. Then it happened. The old man said he was going to give the cat what he had coming to him. "They're going to kill me!" thought Dave. This was not good. The old woman was calling for him now. Dave ran into the bedroom and hid behind a chair. It all made sense to him now. They had killed the dog and now it was his turn. The old woman spotted him and reached by the chair to grab Dave. He defended himself and scratched the woman deep in her face. She rose to her feet with a scream and stumbled from the blood blinding her eyes. She fell head first into the fireplace. Her seventy plus years of fat ignited quickly and she was soon dead. The old man, hearing the commotion, raced into the room. He looked in horror at the sight of his wife being cremated in the very place where they had warmed their feet. He turned toward Dave, not realizing it was he who had caused this. Dave lunged and caught the old man off guard. He bit hard into the old man's jugular vein and he too, was soon very dead. The cat collected his thoughts and went downstairs. He was shaking to think that his owners would try to have him put down. Dave entered the dark room. Suddenly, the lights came on and there he was! Yelling out a big "Surprise!" was the dog himself. He wasn't dead at all! Why, the old man and the old woman were not trying to kill him after all! They were planning a surprise party for his birthday. And now, because of a misunderstanding, they were both dead. Then Dave opened his presents and the dog sliced the cake. It turned out to be a pretty good day after all.