The Kissing Tone

 WLS (World's Largest Station) was a rock and roll AM radio station in Chicago.  Broadcasting with 50,000 watts, the signal reached several Midwest states.  It came in clearly at night in northern Minnesota, where I grew up. 

I acquired my first transistor radio when I was 15.  It had an earphone jack and a single earpiece, no stereo.  Much enjoyed listening to it in bed at night.

KOMO was another 50K watt station, broadcasting out of Oklahoma City.  It too, came in clearly at night. KOMO featured The Kissing Tone, which was very helpful to naive teenagers like myself.

Shortly after getting my driver's license, I asked a girl out on a date.  An older girl, no less.  After the movie, of course, I wanted to park somewhere and make out.  Problem was, I was too shy to ask her if she was interested, and too timid to just park, slide across the seat and clamp a lip lock on her.  Instead, I tuned the radio in to KOMO, and drove around town, waiting for The Kissing Tone.  

Finally, 40 minutes later, The Tone came on, a 15-second hum.  I pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, leaned over and kissed her.  Then, I took her home.  That pretty much sums up my wild escapades with high school girls.  Pathetic.

"Get Um Up, Scout!"

 If the title rings a bell, you most likely watched The Lone Ranger TV series, 1949-57.  The Ranger's sidekick, Tonto, rode a paint horse named Scout.

My horse, the one that lives on my patio may be a paint, also.  In its younger days, its coat was a solid rusty red color - bay in horse terms.  As he matures, however, his coat is becoming spotted.  I named him Bucephalus, after Alexander the Great's horse, which was most likely a bay, definitely not a paint.

Now, I'm in a quandary: should I rename Bucephalus?  Call him Scout?  Spot?

Jay Silverheels (Tonto) was Seneca/Mohawk, born in Canada.  He was an athlete, played semi-pro lacrosse and was a Golden Gloves boxer.  Jay was in dozens of movies, in addition to his Tonto role on TV.  He raised racehorses, was once asked if he'd enter Scout in a race.  He laughed and replied, "Heck, I can outrun Scout."

A Boy Named Sous

Evening meal preparation has been an ongoing controversy between Trish and me.  I've always done the grocery shopping, a task she hates.  She does the vast majority of the cooking, a task I hate.    

Neither of us could be called foodies.  She likes well-rounded meals, as do I.  Thing is, I just don't care enough about food to spend much time preparing meals.  If Trish isn't around, I grab whatever's quick and easy - canned soup, sardines, cheese and crackers, whatever.

We do our own thing for breakfast and lunch.  At dinner time, I help out by setting and clearing the table and performing a few sous chef tasks.  I barbecue the entree every few days, while Trish does the sides.  

The last couple years I've been stocking the freezer with frozen, single-dish meals like pot pies and P F Chang's, which lightens the load a bit.  So, do things even out?  We probably disagree, but have agreed to maintain the status quo.

Sous, aka Mike 

 

Reflections X 3

             After a year and a half hiatus, I'm back into acrylic painting.   My latest endeavors are called Reflection (aka Ghost) Swipes.   

All three include one metallic color that really pops out when viewed at the right angle in the  right light, but are difficult to capture in a photo. 

The number of paintings and the size (all 10x20) were selected to fit a specific wall area.

                              So, on to the next project.  Maybe dragonflies.  Maybe not,               

Celebrity Roast

On 1.13.22, we held a celebrity roast for my good friend, David.  After 7 years of hard work as president of our pickleball Association, he decided it was time to pass the gavel on to someone new.  And someone younger; he's 78.

Dennis was emcee, quick-witted, great sense of humor.

I was the first roaster.  David provided several old pictures that were displayed during my presentation - with appropriate (?) comments, of course.

David as a Playboy Bunny in a melodrama.

Hard to believe this hottie is the same guy as the one in the picture below (with the ear).

Grant, an impromptu roaster, commented on David's competitive nature.

Both he and David had scary 'widowmaker' heart issues, but both are doing well now.

Although the roast was my idea, Janie and Rodney did the heavy lifting: venue selection, organizing event signups, collecting $, and setting up the A/V.  They teased David about his hearing (right ear is toast), presented him with the gavel above and the enhanced ear below.

David.  He got a large charge out of the tribute but didn't do a rebuttal.  Too bad; I was looking forward to him taking some shots at me.  He did, however, point out that he outranked me because he was commissioned before me.  We were both in the army with a final rank of captain.

The Association Board of Directors.

David's cap and tee are additional props provided by Rodney and Janie.

The tee says 'STAND HERE IF YOU WANT ME TO HEAR', with an arrow pointing to the left.

Despite the grimace on my face, I was not in pain.  Never was good at smiling on command.

80+ attended the event.  Lots of laughs and lots of banter.  

The no-host bar may have been a factor.

Vladimir and Me

 Yup, that Vladimir, Vladimir Putin.  President, prime minister, whatever; the infamous leader/dictator of Russia since 2012.

Vladimir and I had a pleasant conversation one evening in the hotel lobby where he was staying.  I was just sitting there, dressed in suit and tie, enjoying a bit of alone time.  Mr. P took a seat in the chair next to mine and introduced himself (as if I didn't know who he was the minute I saw him).  He spoke perfect English, only slightly accented.

He asked me where I grew up (northern Minnesota), and commented that he, too, was raised where the winters were bitterly cold (St Petersburg).  The conversation continued for several more minutes, just a couple of guys getting to know each other.

And then, I went on to the next dream, which had nothing whatsoever to do with Vladimir.  

Dreams are our subconscious minds, hard at work, dumping the daily trash or performing other functions, which nobody really understands.  Vladimir probably deserves to be in the trash but I have no idea how he got into my trash.  He was a spy in the KGB before rising to power, and spies are very clever.  That may explain it.

B B Guns for Christmas

 Summers meant a lot of hard work on the farm in northern Minnesota, where I grew up.  Feeding the livestock was a year-round constant, as was milking the cows twice a day.  Plus, in summer: plow, disc, drag, pick rocks, plant, cultivate, harvest 3-4 crops of hay, harvest grains and bale straw.  Come fall, we were more than ready for the end of the growing season - and hunting.

We hunted for meat, not trophies.  Squirrels, ducks, pheasants, partridge, deer; all were a nice change from the usual beef and pork served up 3 times a day.  Our guns were relics, a single-shot 22 and a single-shot shotgun.  Two of my brothers bought a new German Mauser WWII era rifle and modified it to use as a deer rifle.  I shot my one and only deer with that rifle.

Fast forward several years.  I'm living in the Seattle area, married and have 2 sons, Tod and Adam.  I think they're old enough to learn how to shoot, so I bought them each a BB gun for Christmas.  I showed them the basics of shooting, how to hold it, aim, and so on.  Cautioned them against shooting at each other, or anybody else (you could put an eye out).

Anxious to give the guns a go, they took them outside Christmas morning.  This is where it gets ugly.  

I was big on holiday decorating, both inside and out.  Large, freshly-cut tree with all kinds of decorations inside; lots of lights and other stuff outside.

My mistake was not providing my sons with targets.  Not to worry, they found their own targets - the large-bulb Christmas lights strung along the eaves of the house.  A couple days later, I noticed that several outside light bulbs weren't working.  Upon closer inspection, I discovered the shattered remains of the bulbs on the ground.  I. Was. Pissed!  I confiscated the guns and gave them back to the guys several months later.

On the upside, the boys sure learned how to shoot those guns in short order!