I'm not dead yet!

I suspect that if you were to poll a reasonable sample you would find that most would find my body type more akin to Orca than Michael Phelps. Be that as it may, I now have one thing in common with Mr. Phelps. Last weekend, for the first time in my 59 years and 11 months I swam in a competitive meet.

Mind you, this is not a life long ambition, nor a goal that I ever set for myself. It is the result of walking into the pool when my friend Robert Lord (with me in the pool on the right) was puzzling on how to fill the fourth leg in the freestyle relay. I met with a bellowing "DAVID, IT IS SO GOOD TO SEE YOU!!" Robert has an irresistible charm and before I knew it I was saying, "Sure I can swim 50 yards. Yes, I can swim 100 yards. Sure, I will swim with you." You have to understand, when the Lord asks it is difficult-if not impossible to say no.

Fast forward to Saturday, March 5. We drove with our team to the Sun City West Recreational facility and were joined by over 75 seasoned citizens, many of which would put younger athletes to shame. The brackets were in ten year intervals starting at age 45. We swam in the 55 and up 200 and 400 yard relay. I swam the 2nd position.

I had done some practice and was confident that the 50 would be fine but I had some real concerns about a 100 yard sprint. Each time I practiced the 100, I floundered in the last 25 yards. I needed pace. I went through the play list of songs in my head until I found one that would give me the pace I needed to have some gas left on the last half lap. (Incidentally, the song that worked was the recipient of the Granddadamy Award for Best Love Song, "I Will" by Alison Krause, which happens to be my child bride and my theme song.)

Standing at the edge of the pool, waiting for Robert to finish the first leg of the 200, my heart was already racing, adrenaline was kicking in, he touched, I dove, I swam and it was over. The 400 was even scarier, but the pace worked and I was able to finish without floundering. Check competitive swimming off the bucket list.

We finished third in both events. I now have Arizona Senior Olympic Bronze medals. The ladies team from our community got two Gold Medals for their performance. We had a great time and made some new friends.

2011 Granddad-amy Awards: Song and Lullaby

Welcome to the 2011 Grandad-amy awards. In this silly awards season where pretentious people give awards to other pretentious people, I have decided that I can be as pretentious as the next person so I am establishing my own award--The Granddad-amy Award.

There are no statues or cash prizes. The categories are totally discretionary and subject to whim of the judge. (There are no other judges for the Granddad-amy awards.) The criteria is totally subjective and the winners will likely not be notified, much to their relief.

The first two categories are for songs: The best love song, and the best lullaby. The criteria is stickiness. Does the song stick in your head and repeat itself in a non annoying way and cause you to think good thoughts toward people for whom you care.

The winner of the Love Song category is Alison Kraus, for I Will. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3989jHX3sMQ . (good timing for valentines day). For those who have someone for whom feelings struggle to find words, this is a masterful combination of tune and tome.

As Granddad to three fabulous grandpersons, I have been drawn to a lullaby that I heard before I met any of them. The winner of the lullaby category for 2011 is the Dixie Chicks, Godspeed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85cdpJUWQ7Y&feature=fvwrel . Having had times when my work caused me to be away from my young children, this song touches places I have been. Although written for a son, it could be adapted.

More awards to come.

A HOMELESS MAN'S FUNERAL

(Thanks to Pam Sellers for this touching story)

A HOMELESS MAN'S FUNERAL

As a bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in the Kentucky back country.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn't stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight.

There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the
grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I started to play.

The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like
I've never played before for this homeless man. And as I played ' Amazing Grace ,' the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together.

When I finished I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard
one of the workers say, "I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."

Apparently I'm still lost...

Euphemisms and Bathroom Words

I was informed by my darling granddaughter Reese that some of the children in her pre-school class use bathroom words. Oh, the humanity! I am grateful for her sensitivity to social graces and I am inspired to take up the cause of euphemisms.

There are things that we humanoids have either the need or desire to discuss that without euphemisms will cause us to use “bathroom words”, and Reese obviously disapproves. We should honor her lead. Ben Franklin once wrote an impressive piece on flatulence. http://unclestinky.wordpress.com/2008/01/04/ben-franklin-on-flatulence/ The release of humanly generated methane is a social experience common to us all that is worthy of a good moniker. Mrs. Carr, my diminutive fourth grade teacher had the occupational challenge of about 35 children who every Friday’s were fed pinto beans and cornbread for lunch. The afternoons were often aromatic and often accompanied by bodily orchestration. Mrs. Carr would encourage her minions to try to control the “gas escapes”, clearly a superior choice to bathroom words.

My son-in-law and number two granddaughter, upon hearing the sound of organic thunder say, “Dragon” or “gragn” depending on the speaker, another excellent choice. The spousal unit, in her bible school days, informs me that “tiger” was the method of warning others of the dreaded “silent but deadly”—we all know that one and would appreciate the advance recon.

While these proclamations are useful, they do not pass the test of a euphemism for the act. They merely are reporting the occurrence. Proper society needs a noun sufficiently graceful to describe flatulation (with fewer syllables, of course) and yet fail the Reese test for bathroom words. So I implore you, dear readers (now there is a faith statement if I ever wrote one) to give me your best suggestions, or actual euphemisms in use for the word that will pass Reese’s muster without saying F*#t. It is a new decade and we could use an expressive new word, in my opinion. And as much as my base, shall we even say crude, inclinations prefer to use--bathroom words--I yield to the reality that the walls that surround me have big ears and long memories.

Christmas Musings

I live in a world in which some people who choose to use words also choose to ignore their meanings and impute others. Much of this is due to commercial interests that wish to sway people's decisions by obscuring reason and inserting their own version of what is real.

I made waffles this morning. The recipe calls for one egg. I am no stranger to the grocery store and am adept at following the list (checking it twice) and executing accurate cost benefit analysis on goods desired. I know that eggs come in two colors. White and brown. My question is about the use of the word "natural". Someone would have me believe that if i choose brown eggs I am getting natural products, but if I choose the white eggs I would be getting something artificial. Having cracked an egg or two, and knowing a little about the reproductive cycle of chickens, and I have discovered that inside of both white and brown eggs I will usually find a yoke and and egg white (uncooked). The only discernible difference is the color of the shell. As far as I know, nothing inside the chicken alters the process of producing the egg or the color of the shell. Interestingly enough, the brown shelled eggs are typically much more expensive--40% more Thursday when I last shopped.

This morning the package holding the brown egg, (Which I did not buy--it was in the refrigerator without my prior knowledge.) made a bold declaration. ALL NATURAL EGGS. The full color paper insert was inserted into a tri-fold clear plastic very unnatural container. I began to speculate about the kind of person that would prefer all natural eggs. I would suspect the profile would include some degree of environmental concerns. Granted, I am sure that the design of the container is for the safety of the enclosed ovum, an important consideration that. My white eggs come in a plain cardboard-highly biodegradable-carton. I was a boy scout and consider myself to be an environmentalist. I try to eat healthy and avoid things when I can that are harmful. I find the disconnect between the "All Natural Eggs" and the poly packaging disturbing.

The other word is "organic". I have friends who buy "organic" food. Am I to believe that the lettuce that I buy in the other section of the produce department is "inorganic"? What I believe they mean is that the process by which the produce was grown was void of certain chemicals and compounds. Nevertheless, the produce is no more organic than any other plant. I am not a fan of the abuse of chemicals in the production of food. I am a fan of the correct use of the common language. Organic means organic.

Lest you think I am ranting rather than musing, I have not compunction to change the way people buy or eat. Just use the words right.

Who says I cant?

One of the greatest joys in my life is being Granddad and being with all my grandchildren at once. This weekend we traveled to Connecticut to see our 4 year old soccer star show us her stuff (unfortunately she was on the disabled list-she got a bug) and was joined by daughter Sara and granddaughter Gwendolyn. Gwennie had the misfortune of falling from her swing and breaking her leg. She has a cast from hip to heel. According to the doctor she can't walk with this think. According to Gwen, "watch me!"

She doesn't just walk, she runs, climbs, scoots with the greatest of ease. She adjusted her gait to extend the cast forward and plant it to bring the flexible leg forward. Her aunt Lara pointed out that she walked like Mr. Tumnus from the Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe. Gwen has a new nickname and a ride in Hudson's truck.

You play to win, Granny!

A few weeks ago our granddaughter Reese was here for a visit and as is her custom ensnared my child bride for a game. The set up the checkerboard in the kitchen and as is our experience when her family comes, there was much hubbub in every direction. As Ginger was distracted, Reese, in her indisputable 4.5 year old logic, determined that if Granny was not paying attention when it came her turn that should not slow down the game. She proceeded to continue taking her turns. When Granny turned back to the board she discovered that half of her checkers had been jumped and captured. When she registered her concern with the unusual rules for play Reese replied, "You play to win, Granny! You play to win!"

Fast forward to today. We surveyed the paper for something fun to do and found that people gathered at the city library to play scrabble. As we find our library a most enjoyable diversion we called our friend Ellie and decided to check it out. After all, G and I have been playing Scrabble online for several weeks now and enjoy it much.

We arrived at the library and found the site downstairs and met Stella and Connie. Stella gave us the ground rules and set up boards for two on two competition. Ginger was playing Stella-I squared off against Ellie. We began to play.

Stella it turned out to have a lot in common with our dear Reese. She plays to win. Not satisfied with a unilateral attack on Ginger she decided to coach Ellie between turns to increase her scoring potential. Twice she challenged words that I played on our board, even though she was playing another game, but refused to challenge an ineligible word that Ginger played because it set her up to score a load of points. Stella finished with a score of over 400 points and seldom made less that 20 points per word. She informed us that she once won a prize in a tournament for spelling a word using all her tiles that straddled two triple word score markers netting 212 points for one word. By the way, did I mention that Stella is in her 70's or 80's--we were afraid to ask.

At one point as she was helping Ellie in her quest to vanquish me I could not resist the urge to channel Marlon Brando and cried out, "STEL-LAH".

We walked away chuckling. What a great afternoon.