Oh this is sure some kinda donkey doodoo – but what can I say. I’ve been out of it for a while and it’s gonna take a while for it all to come back, ehh.
You guys just need to hang on while I find a purpose for my being again. All I can say is that is that some where along the way I’m gonna be walking with wood again.
I’m getting a lot of my strength back – I think anyway – not real sure how much strength I had before the little boo-boo to my brain and hardshell skull. But the Hon says that I am and I ain’t about to fight with her over it, ehh. If she says it then it must be fact.
She told me last week that I’ve been talking in my sleep – talking some shit she says and usually it’s about hockey. So she sat me down last Saturday and tells me that we’ve got to dig into this. Get to the root of the changes in my sleep habit. So she got the doctor to order a sleep study. It got approved right away and I had a sleep-over for the study on Tuesday night. Oh and let me tell you guys – sleep studies are some kinda nuts.
The Hon drops me off at the sleep-over clinic at around 9:30 pm. I’ve got some jams with me, my favorite pillow and a paperback. They get me signed in, show me to my room and the bed I’m going to sleep in. I get into my jams and the technician comes in and puts twenty-four different probes on me. These wired up little do-hickies are stuck on my head, up my fool nose, on my chest, shoulders and legs. And I’m expected to sleep. Are they nuts or what?
I don’t think I slept a wink but in the morning I had to fill out a survey about my dreams. I was drawing a complete blank so part of the program was that I had agreed to an injection of fast acting sodium pentothal and their direct questioning if this occurred.
Nuts!
I really hate shots. But I had agreed to do this I guess, so off to the world of absolute subjected honesty.
They had to videotape this whole truth serum thingy and than provide me with a copy afterwards – otherwise I wouldn’t be able to relate any of the following shit to you. Apparently there is some amnesiac drug included in the serum, ehh.
Let me fill ya in on what transpired. Ya might find it just as stupid as I did.
Ok, so they start out asking me some simple questions like what is my name, how old I am and than dig a little deeper asking more personal questions to confirm my subjection to the concoction that they loaded me up with.
The tech, I’ll call her Joan, finally gets around to asking dream questions.
“Mr. Wheats do you remember dreaming last night?”
“Ahh … yup … sure”, I responded.
“Did you have more than one dream Mr. Wheats?” Joan quizzed me.
“Two vivid ones and a couple of maybe little snips of others. Oh and call me Wheats or Jasper, please, I really don’t like being called mister anything. Sounds too stuffy for me, like I might have my head stuck up my ass or something. Just don’t like it. Ok?”
“Ok, Jasper, I’ll make an effort to be more casual, though it goes against the professional nature of this study. Now let’s go over the first dream that you’ve remembered.” She made a couple of marks on the papers she had attached to a clipboard and looked over at me still sitting in my jams on the edge of the bed and said “Was this dream in color or black and white?”
“By golly” I said, “it for fuckin sure was in color! My dreams have been in color since the seventies. That’s when I used to do all them psychedelics. Whoa baby, those were some crazy times, ehh. How about you Joanie girl? You get colors too?”
She made another mark on the clipboard. “Mr. Wheats”, cleared her throat and continued “I mean Jasper, this session is about you not me. You need to keep your responses restricted to only what I ask. There is no need for you to divulge your personal history to me. Ok? Is this clear?”
“Um-huh. Sure. I gotcha.” Damn if I’m not smiling ear to ear in the video.
Ok, Jasper, back to the dream. Was it a good dream? Happy, fun, enjoyable? Or a bad dream? Scary, fearful, intimidating – maybe a nightmare?”
I responded really quick like, didn’t even have to think. “It was fun and exciting but I was scared in the end. It was a hockey dream and I got hurt.”
“Fun, exciting and scary? Was it a nightmare Jasper? Your heart rate and brain activity during your first REM was highly accelerated during this dream. That would indicate to us that it was possibly a nightmare. You also started making verbal attempts during this dream. It came out sort of like ehh, ehh, ehh on several occasions.”
“Sure, sure … maybe it was a nightmare. I was talking huh?” I said.
“Yes, you were trying to talk and yes we believe that this dream could be classified as a nightmare. Tell me some more about the dream. Were you in the dream?” she quizzed again.
“Oh yeah, I was in the dream. You can bet your bippy I was.”
“And where were you?”
“I was in Paris. Paris, France. Everything in the background was like from a Monet painting. So yeah, I’m pretty sure it was Paris where I was at.”
Joan now asked, “Have you ever been to Paris, Jasper?”
“Nope. Canada and Mexico a few times each. And Texas, too, a whole bunch of times if that counts.”
“Mr. Wheats, try to stick to the questions or we’ll be here all day. OK? Now what was the dream about? Was it sexual? The recordings indicated that you were aroused during this dream.” What can you tell me?
“Aroused? Hah, I had boner, ehh? No shit? What do ya know. The Hon will appreciate knowing that I can still get some wood after my brain injury, ehh. Whacha think Joan? She’ll be happy, huh?”
I couldn’t believe I was talking this shit – must be the meds making me a smidgen uninhibited.
“Yes, Mr. Wheats. Those are the indications but I can’t speak for you wife. Now back to the dream please.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. I was playing hockey. You know, ice hockey. I was playing in a game in the NHL for the LA Kings. Over in France. We were playing against the Islanders. I remember that Butch Goring was coaching the Islanders with John Lennon and Mick Jaeger as his assistants. Crazy – they aren’t even bitched up in hockey like Goring is. And me. I’m playing defense with some French-Canadian dude that I couldn’t understand. But he looked just like Kurt Russell in Big Trouble in Little China. The movie, you know. My Dad was coaching the Kings and Rogie Vashon was our goalie coach. But he was all geared up and would jump up on the bench and jump up and down yelling at us in French and broken English. It was crazy but we were wearing our purple, black and white jerseys; but Rogie was in the old gold and purple uniform. He looked like one of those wind-up toy gorilla’s or monkey’s that spank cymbals together. You know?”
At this point she broke in and interrupted my recollection of the dream.
“Is ice hockey important to you, Jasper?”
“Oh, fuck yeah it is. Nothing but the best!”
“And these people in your dream, are they significant in some way to you?” she asked me.
“Well, my dad for sure is. And Kurt played the part of Herb Brooks, the Olympic hockey coach in that movie Miracle. And Butchie, he’s one of my all time favorite hockey heroes. And Rogie, well, my brothers named their dog after him when they were kids. Jaeger and Lennon – I don’t know about them. No real significance that I can think of. There’s other rock stars that I like better.”
This is kinda cool. I never remembered a dream with such vividness ever before. This cocktail that they shot me up with is something else.
Joan’s making her marks on the sheet and asks me “Do you feel that because your dad was the coach that this reflects his continued control over you?
Without a second of thought I snapped “Naw, ya gotta be friggin kiddin. He’s like a best bud. Been that way for years and years.”
“Ok, continue with what you remember of this dream.”
“Well, I’m still playing in the Paris hockey game, right. I don’t know who any of my other teammates are but we’re going about the business of playing. Skating, passing, shooting, getting in position, checking, getting checked. Being winded and being exhilarated. Resting on the bench. Yelling and getting yelled at. You know regular hockey stuff.”
“Jasper, were there people or fans watching the game? Did you see them?”
I had to think for a minute on that. “No, I don’t remember anybody watching us. I don’t remember looking into the stands at all. It was all on the ice. Inside the rink, you know.”
“Ok, continue”, she said.
“I get a shift with my partner and we seemed to be caught up in some turmoil deep in the opposing zone. All five of us are along my boards and the gloves are off. The Islanders are mixing it up with us. Right now I don’t know what started it but my feelings are that it was something I did. I got one guy holding me from behind with one arm around my neck; sort of in a chokehold. And some guy with fists the size of hams just pounding the shit outta my face. In between blows I can see the guy swinging on me is Keith Tkachuk. He skates for the Blues, not the Islanders. But what the fuck – it doesn’t seem to matter. Right? Ok, so I’m just getting absolutely plastered in Paris and I can’t get a punch in even sideways, ehh. This is the part of the dream that is both exciting and scary. Scary because nobody seems to be breaking up the donnybrook and I can’t even defend myself. This is pretty bad. I can feel every blow that lands on my face. I can taste the blood in my mouth and see it running through my eyes.”
She interrupts again, “So this was pretty violent at this point?”
“Well yes,” I respond, “but normally not in real life. Just exciting there. But here in the dream I can’t use my friggin arms. Right? So that’s what’s scary. Being incapacitated is scary but the fight is just normal old time hockey – no more violent that usual – but violent yes, I guess just the same if your not used to it.”
“At this point, reaching what you describe as the scary part”, she asks, “did the dream come to a conclusion? Did it end?”
“Shit no! Rogie jumped off the bench, skated over to the fracas and straight-arm slugged the bastard that was pounding me right in the back of his neck with his blocker, smacking his head right into the jerk holding me and they both dropped like a cow drops pies. I slipped out of the whole mess, picked up the puck skated toward the slot and threw into the Islanders’ net and we won the game. Completely illegal, but I won the game, shit for sure. That’s how the dream ended. Yup. What else do ya want to know?”
Joan was marking away on her clipboard, looked at her watch and said that I’d be coming out of the drug fairly soon and we’d have to end the session with just a study of the one dream.
“You were probably trying to talk in your sleep while you were getting beat up. I’ll give this report to the clinic’s doctors and they’ll make an evaluation. It looks like you might need some psychiatric help here, though. I’d say that you’re probably nuts Mr. Wheats, but I’m only a technician and, oh my goodness, I probably shouldn’t have told you that, I guess.”
Joan was surely disturbed over that faux pas. It didn’t bother me in the littlest little bit. I kinda appreciated the acknowledgement of my disposition, ehh.
So anyway, I’m waiting for the diagnosis from the docs and whatever follow-up might be required. Patience, they say is a virtue. I can wait. And the Hon is satisfied that I had this looked into. She’s not to worried about me being nuts – as far as she’s concerned I already was when I fell for her.
Jasper here, just walking with wood again, maybe.
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Hockeyweenie 2008
For gosh sakes, its Halloween, and I haven’t done shit since I last wrote a tale the week after I got out of the hospital. I’m tellin ya, I’m being a real weenie. Don’t let anybody tell ya that a coma doesn’t just fuck ya up just real good. It has been the absolute shits, like you can’t believe.
So after I wrote the last little tale for ya, I passed out for about eighteen or nineteen hours. The Hon thought that I might a slipped right back into a coma again. Worried her somethin silly I guess. Ehh? Don’t blame her, whadja expect?
All in all, they say I’m getting better. I’ve got a lot of strength to regain though. My musculature just atrophied something horrible. I lost over forty pounds while I was in the deep sleep. I look like Ichabod Crane and aged something like Rip Van Winkle in those two months.
That little chunk of my skull lodged in my left temporal lobe and the doctors decided that it would be best to leave it there rather than cause more damage trying to remove it. They said that the swelling in the area went down about two weeks after I was hit by the puck.
Motor skills seem to be ok but I have a really hard time remembering the right words to use and the names of people. The Hon said that she had to edit my last story after I wrote it and before it got published on the internet. I guess she’ll have to continue to do this – don’t know if I’ll ever get my smarts back again.
The medical folks tell me that if I’d a had the same damage on the right side that it might have put a damper on my sex drive or the reverse made me less inhibited. Far as I can tell I’m still the same old horndog that I ever was – so they must know what they’re talking about.
One thing that the Hon and Wayno noticed right away was that I always was calling Wayno as Wayno instead of D-Pity like I had always had before. It’s weird, they say, cuz only his family and people that don’t know him real well call him by Wayno. Oh, I hope I get the hang of it again.
Like I said though, it’s Halloween and the kids’ll be out trick or treating tonight if the weather holds up ok. Could snow or something before the weekend’s over. The Hon picked up some candy in case anybody comes out this far out of town, but I mainly think she’s bought it for me.
I use a walker to get around cuz I’m still feeling so damn weak. A couple of months ago I was out playing hockey with the guys and now I’m just a fool hockeyweenie. I can spit a damn site further than I can kick shit right now. I’m telling you I’m so damn far from walking with wood this very moment that if ya lined up a thousand folks for a pickup game I’m sure I’d be the very last old pucker that’d get picked.
You guys, this really sucks.
And this cabin of ours – crap-a-ninnie. It sure is heck wasn’t designed for a friggin invalid. We’ve got some nice decorative switch plates on the walls for the lights and I fumble like crazy trying to just find the switch. And our swell furniture, if I sit down on the couch I don’t hardly have the strength to get back up. I’m always yelling for the Hon to help me.
Shit, she helped down into my new basement one day and we both decided that it would be easier to get back upstairs by going outside and traversing the hill rather than using the stairs. And then when I was down there I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t get the walker into my secret tunnel to the barn. Guess I won’t be attending any meetings of the Outlaws secret Crossed Sticks Society anytime soon, ehh.
Twistin and turnin in the house and down the hallway is just a pain in the ass. We’ve just got way too much shit that needs to be rearranged. The Hon says that I can do that when I get better. Damn she makes me mad! Then she says she’s just gonna leave things the way they are to motivate me.
Motivate me! My ass!
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Thank God she’s here though. I just about can do a fair job of wiping my own ass finally. But I still have to call her to help me get up off the crapper. It’s been kind embare-assing if ya know what I mean.
So, I’ve been veggin here at home in the cabin. Friends come by once in a while to check on me and try to keep me up todate. Bronzie and Stinky are running the team for me and Wayno, I mean D-Pity, comes by to watch games with me.
Sure glad it’s hockey season, ehh. The NHL has been putting games on two different channels this year, Versus and some new one on Comcast. But shit am I sick of watching the Flyers and Penguins play. It seems as though either one of those two teams are in two out of three games. My Favorite team the LA Kings have only been televised once so far in my neck of the woods. I guess I really had better quit complaining cuz beggars can’t be choosers.
Ehh?
Someone’s at the door and I can’t get my ass out a this chair. Probably a little Freddie Krueger or maybe Jason with his hockey mask on. Could be a George Bush or a little princess. Don’t know. The Hon’ll have to let me know.
You guys have a good time tonight, ehh!
Skate hard, stir the pot a little, and don’t get caught with your head down.
Jasper here, til next time.
(Oh, by the way – the Hon says this is just one damn depressing story – I better get better real damn quick and write something funny.)
So after I wrote the last little tale for ya, I passed out for about eighteen or nineteen hours. The Hon thought that I might a slipped right back into a coma again. Worried her somethin silly I guess. Ehh? Don’t blame her, whadja expect?
All in all, they say I’m getting better. I’ve got a lot of strength to regain though. My musculature just atrophied something horrible. I lost over forty pounds while I was in the deep sleep. I look like Ichabod Crane and aged something like Rip Van Winkle in those two months.
That little chunk of my skull lodged in my left temporal lobe and the doctors decided that it would be best to leave it there rather than cause more damage trying to remove it. They said that the swelling in the area went down about two weeks after I was hit by the puck.
Motor skills seem to be ok but I have a really hard time remembering the right words to use and the names of people. The Hon said that she had to edit my last story after I wrote it and before it got published on the internet. I guess she’ll have to continue to do this – don’t know if I’ll ever get my smarts back again.
The medical folks tell me that if I’d a had the same damage on the right side that it might have put a damper on my sex drive or the reverse made me less inhibited. Far as I can tell I’m still the same old horndog that I ever was – so they must know what they’re talking about.
One thing that the Hon and Wayno noticed right away was that I always was calling Wayno as Wayno instead of D-Pity like I had always had before. It’s weird, they say, cuz only his family and people that don’t know him real well call him by Wayno. Oh, I hope I get the hang of it again.
Like I said though, it’s Halloween and the kids’ll be out trick or treating tonight if the weather holds up ok. Could snow or something before the weekend’s over. The Hon picked up some candy in case anybody comes out this far out of town, but I mainly think she’s bought it for me.
I use a walker to get around cuz I’m still feeling so damn weak. A couple of months ago I was out playing hockey with the guys and now I’m just a fool hockeyweenie. I can spit a damn site further than I can kick shit right now. I’m telling you I’m so damn far from walking with wood this very moment that if ya lined up a thousand folks for a pickup game I’m sure I’d be the very last old pucker that’d get picked.
You guys, this really sucks.
And this cabin of ours – crap-a-ninnie. It sure is heck wasn’t designed for a friggin invalid. We’ve got some nice decorative switch plates on the walls for the lights and I fumble like crazy trying to just find the switch. And our swell furniture, if I sit down on the couch I don’t hardly have the strength to get back up. I’m always yelling for the Hon to help me.
Shit, she helped down into my new basement one day and we both decided that it would be easier to get back upstairs by going outside and traversing the hill rather than using the stairs. And then when I was down there I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t get the walker into my secret tunnel to the barn. Guess I won’t be attending any meetings of the Outlaws secret Crossed Sticks Society anytime soon, ehh.
Twistin and turnin in the house and down the hallway is just a pain in the ass. We’ve just got way too much shit that needs to be rearranged. The Hon says that I can do that when I get better. Damn she makes me mad! Then she says she’s just gonna leave things the way they are to motivate me.
Motivate me! My ass!
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Thank God she’s here though. I just about can do a fair job of wiping my own ass finally. But I still have to call her to help me get up off the crapper. It’s been kind embare-assing if ya know what I mean.
So, I’ve been veggin here at home in the cabin. Friends come by once in a while to check on me and try to keep me up todate. Bronzie and Stinky are running the team for me and Wayno, I mean D-Pity, comes by to watch games with me.
Sure glad it’s hockey season, ehh. The NHL has been putting games on two different channels this year, Versus and some new one on Comcast. But shit am I sick of watching the Flyers and Penguins play. It seems as though either one of those two teams are in two out of three games. My Favorite team the LA Kings have only been televised once so far in my neck of the woods. I guess I really had better quit complaining cuz beggars can’t be choosers.
Ehh?
Someone’s at the door and I can’t get my ass out a this chair. Probably a little Freddie Krueger or maybe Jason with his hockey mask on. Could be a George Bush or a little princess. Don’t know. The Hon’ll have to let me know.
You guys have a good time tonight, ehh!
Skate hard, stir the pot a little, and don’t get caught with your head down.
Jasper here, til next time.
(Oh, by the way – the Hon says this is just one damn depressing story – I better get better real damn quick and write something funny.)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Lert
So what’s a lert?
Sure, it’s a really stupid question that we used to ask when we were kids after Mom would tell us to be alert.
“Be a lert!” she’d scream at us.
Dabnabit. I didn’t even know what a lert was so how in the world was I supposed to know how to be one. My older sisters must have known cuz they didn’t get yelled at half as much me and my younger siblings did.
About the time that Jingles and Bronzy had started playing hockey it become sort of a family joke. She and Dad would be standing along the boards behind the fishnet and she’d yell at them “Keep your head up and be alert!” and then laugh a little or pat Dad on the back. Jingles had a habit of looking at his skates and Bronzy was usually playing with much bigger kids so the advice was not only, by then, a bit funny but also some good hockey advice.
Of course there were kids that I’ve coached and guys that I’ve played with that used another phrase of similar ilk (yeah, like I never used it myself) when appealing to a ref for his lack of a lertness – “Pull your head out Ref!!!” Kids will get a trip to the box for that shit.
Anyway.
Look you guys. I woke up about a week ago.
I mean, I woke up about a week ago and not from an overnight sleep. Not from a nap. Not from a lapse of attention. But, sheeesh, from a friggin ding-dang coma.
And my first bit of awareness was thoughts of Mom yelling at me to be alert.
No, she had not visited me in the hospital and said that to me in my unconscious state. She’s been up in heaven for few years now, bless her soul. But her memory and lessons live on and apparently quite heavily in my twilight subconscious.
Pretty weird, ehh? Kinda spooky if you ask me.
Does anybody have a take on this kinda crap? I’m mean, I’m sort of curious if she wasn’t, like communicating with me from the other side or something.
Your now asking, “Jasper how in the world didja end up in a freakin coma?” Right?
Well, I don’t remember any of this. It was related back to me by the good folks that have stopped by to visit since I woke up.
The medical staff said that I kind of waivered for a few hours coming out it. I moved a little vigorously they said and nodded back out. Then a bit later I moved again and wretched out of my dry throat “Honey could ya get me another cold one.”
Yup, thinking about being a lert and needing a brewski. Some would probably say that that’s just natural Wheat’s instinct – some sort of traditional family response kind of thing. I don’t know.
So the nursing aid called the honey and she came down right away. I guess I kind of waivered in and out for about a day or so. What I do remember was that the honey looked a wreck. My condition had just about put her away too.
I came home from the medical facility two days ago and can’t talk real well yet but I can punch this laptop keyboard ok I guess. (You guys wouldn’t have been able to read this if I hadn’t done some editing and typo correcting – “The Honey”) They moved me out of the hospital after about two weeks to a minimal care facility cuz of my insurance coverage. Seems as though the company I worked for went under while I was out of it. Guess they couldn’t function without me and our insurance coverage kind of went on the light side.
She’s filled me in on a lot, but so has Jingles, Bronzy, Stinky and Wayno. They were all with me when it happened.
I guess I wrote last about Wayno coming back to town, wealthier than shit. Right? Yup the dude’s for sure walking with wood. Do you recall that he had gotten better at hockey since I had last seen him? Hmmm. Let’s see, he had really sucked, but when he found me at Culla’s that night he claimed he was pretty good now, had taken lessons, been to hockey camps and had played all over the world. Ehh?
Me, being the way I am, I had taken that all with a grain of salt. But apparently the next evening, Wayno had called me at the cabin and said he had rented the rink for a couple of hours and could I get a hold of enough guys real quick like to ice some pickup. Curious about his skills, I was game and put some calls out to the Outlaws and the kids I coach on the Nightmare. I didn’t make all the calls but asked the ones I did call to call others.
At nine o’clock we had a good turn out with around twenty of us and three goalies. It was about an even split between kids and old farts so we decided skate that way. Wayno told me that those kids skated great and gave me kudos for their development. It’s not important but those kids were whooping our asses. Wayno said it was blast.
Jingles said that he was playing defense with me, he on the right and me covering left when Stinky lost the puck at the blue line on a breakout. Wayno said he was playing a sleeper out near their blue line so was completely out of the play. Stinky took a big sweeping old fart curve to get back into the play while the kid that stole the puck moved towards the boards on Jingles’ side. He passed cross ice to a kid that was just crossing into the zone. Bronzy shifted over towards him while Jingles dropped back into the right side of the high slot trying to stay with the kid that had made the pass. Meanwhile this big kid, I can’t remember any of their names (the doc said I might always have this problem now) was parked in front of our net and I was trying to move him. The kid crossing the blue line took a one-timer that Bronzy unfortunately got his shaft on. It gave it more loft with no loss of speed. The big oof in front of the net shoved back and I turned right into the slapper. The puck, apparently, hit me below my helmet on my left ear and skull as I was reacting and turning away from the shot at the last instant. It dropped me like a sack of potatoes as the puck jammed a small chunk of my skull into my brain.
I was out. I mean way out and I stayed in that fool coma for almost two months. What a weenie I’ve been, ehh.
Yup, out for two months and now awake for a week.
SHIT! What in the world did you guys let happen while I was out of it?????
Paul Newman passed away. Goodby Reggie, we'll miss you.
The NHL’s season just started for 2008/2009. That’s good.
The Republican Party’s got a hockey mom as their vice-presidential candidate. That’s good. And she’s attractive in glasses besides. That’s good again.
But what the HEY did you guys do to the economy? The honey says that our cabin and our woods are worth about half of what they were before I got bashed in the ear. And Wayno’s been working with her reviewing our savings and retirement accounts and he figures that their combined value has dropped like forty-seven percent or something in this same freaking time frame. This is so not good.
Not good! Not good! This is really bad. No job and an economy that sucks. Maybe I’m still in a coma, ehh?
Dudes and dudettes – that’s the shit that happens when you’re not being a lert!
New season, new start. Skate hard and keep your heads up, ehh!
Jasper here ‘til next time.
Sure, it’s a really stupid question that we used to ask when we were kids after Mom would tell us to be alert.
“Be a lert!” she’d scream at us.
Dabnabit. I didn’t even know what a lert was so how in the world was I supposed to know how to be one. My older sisters must have known cuz they didn’t get yelled at half as much me and my younger siblings did.
About the time that Jingles and Bronzy had started playing hockey it become sort of a family joke. She and Dad would be standing along the boards behind the fishnet and she’d yell at them “Keep your head up and be alert!” and then laugh a little or pat Dad on the back. Jingles had a habit of looking at his skates and Bronzy was usually playing with much bigger kids so the advice was not only, by then, a bit funny but also some good hockey advice.
Of course there were kids that I’ve coached and guys that I’ve played with that used another phrase of similar ilk (yeah, like I never used it myself) when appealing to a ref for his lack of a lertness – “Pull your head out Ref!!!” Kids will get a trip to the box for that shit.
Anyway.
Look you guys. I woke up about a week ago.
I mean, I woke up about a week ago and not from an overnight sleep. Not from a nap. Not from a lapse of attention. But, sheeesh, from a friggin ding-dang coma.
And my first bit of awareness was thoughts of Mom yelling at me to be alert.
No, she had not visited me in the hospital and said that to me in my unconscious state. She’s been up in heaven for few years now, bless her soul. But her memory and lessons live on and apparently quite heavily in my twilight subconscious.
Pretty weird, ehh? Kinda spooky if you ask me.
Does anybody have a take on this kinda crap? I’m mean, I’m sort of curious if she wasn’t, like communicating with me from the other side or something.
Your now asking, “Jasper how in the world didja end up in a freakin coma?” Right?
Well, I don’t remember any of this. It was related back to me by the good folks that have stopped by to visit since I woke up.
The medical staff said that I kind of waivered for a few hours coming out it. I moved a little vigorously they said and nodded back out. Then a bit later I moved again and wretched out of my dry throat “Honey could ya get me another cold one.”
Yup, thinking about being a lert and needing a brewski. Some would probably say that that’s just natural Wheat’s instinct – some sort of traditional family response kind of thing. I don’t know.
So the nursing aid called the honey and she came down right away. I guess I kind of waivered in and out for about a day or so. What I do remember was that the honey looked a wreck. My condition had just about put her away too.
I came home from the medical facility two days ago and can’t talk real well yet but I can punch this laptop keyboard ok I guess. (You guys wouldn’t have been able to read this if I hadn’t done some editing and typo correcting – “The Honey”) They moved me out of the hospital after about two weeks to a minimal care facility cuz of my insurance coverage. Seems as though the company I worked for went under while I was out of it. Guess they couldn’t function without me and our insurance coverage kind of went on the light side.
She’s filled me in on a lot, but so has Jingles, Bronzy, Stinky and Wayno. They were all with me when it happened.
I guess I wrote last about Wayno coming back to town, wealthier than shit. Right? Yup the dude’s for sure walking with wood. Do you recall that he had gotten better at hockey since I had last seen him? Hmmm. Let’s see, he had really sucked, but when he found me at Culla’s that night he claimed he was pretty good now, had taken lessons, been to hockey camps and had played all over the world. Ehh?
Me, being the way I am, I had taken that all with a grain of salt. But apparently the next evening, Wayno had called me at the cabin and said he had rented the rink for a couple of hours and could I get a hold of enough guys real quick like to ice some pickup. Curious about his skills, I was game and put some calls out to the Outlaws and the kids I coach on the Nightmare. I didn’t make all the calls but asked the ones I did call to call others.
At nine o’clock we had a good turn out with around twenty of us and three goalies. It was about an even split between kids and old farts so we decided skate that way. Wayno told me that those kids skated great and gave me kudos for their development. It’s not important but those kids were whooping our asses. Wayno said it was blast.
Jingles said that he was playing defense with me, he on the right and me covering left when Stinky lost the puck at the blue line on a breakout. Wayno said he was playing a sleeper out near their blue line so was completely out of the play. Stinky took a big sweeping old fart curve to get back into the play while the kid that stole the puck moved towards the boards on Jingles’ side. He passed cross ice to a kid that was just crossing into the zone. Bronzy shifted over towards him while Jingles dropped back into the right side of the high slot trying to stay with the kid that had made the pass. Meanwhile this big kid, I can’t remember any of their names (the doc said I might always have this problem now) was parked in front of our net and I was trying to move him. The kid crossing the blue line took a one-timer that Bronzy unfortunately got his shaft on. It gave it more loft with no loss of speed. The big oof in front of the net shoved back and I turned right into the slapper. The puck, apparently, hit me below my helmet on my left ear and skull as I was reacting and turning away from the shot at the last instant. It dropped me like a sack of potatoes as the puck jammed a small chunk of my skull into my brain.
I was out. I mean way out and I stayed in that fool coma for almost two months. What a weenie I’ve been, ehh.
Yup, out for two months and now awake for a week.
SHIT! What in the world did you guys let happen while I was out of it?????
Paul Newman passed away. Goodby Reggie, we'll miss you.
The NHL’s season just started for 2008/2009. That’s good.
The Republican Party’s got a hockey mom as their vice-presidential candidate. That’s good. And she’s attractive in glasses besides. That’s good again.
But what the HEY did you guys do to the economy? The honey says that our cabin and our woods are worth about half of what they were before I got bashed in the ear. And Wayno’s been working with her reviewing our savings and retirement accounts and he figures that their combined value has dropped like forty-seven percent or something in this same freaking time frame. This is so not good.
Not good! Not good! This is really bad. No job and an economy that sucks. Maybe I’m still in a coma, ehh?
Dudes and dudettes – that’s the shit that happens when you’re not being a lert!
New season, new start. Skate hard and keep your heads up, ehh!
Jasper here ‘til next time.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Well Ain't That a Damn Pity
It’s been a heck of a busy week. Work and all just kickin my ass. I hadn’t had a planned day off in over a year until I finally took a vacation day Friday, giving me a four day weekend.
Dabnabit if I didn’t deserve it. ‘Specially now as it’s coming to a close here on Monday night.
Ehh? You guys agree? Right?
OK, so it’s sort of like the end of the summer too. Just means hockey season is around the corner then. That’ll be some good shit to get that going again.
The honey and me went for pizza and beer Friday night. Went to an end of the summer country music concert in the park on Sunday and just kicked it easy today and Saturday. I tell ya, me and the honey danced our little drunken asses off this summer with those concerts in the park with some damn fine music, friends and family. Love our little cultural community if ya know what I mean.
Now, Thursday night if I didn’t have just one surprising evening.
I told the honey that I was gonna stop into Culla’s to watch the end of the game on my way home. Last of the pre-season, and the Vikings let the Cowboys take it away 10 to 16. Shit! Well they’ve got all season to make amends, ehh.
Culla’s ain’t such a bad little hole in the wall. I been going there since the ‘70’s – back when you could get a pitcher of draft for sixty cents and a pickled egg for a dime. Damn if prices haven’t changed over the years – sheeeet! To say the least. The bar had to move twice since back then due to municipal construction. But the beer’s just as damn good – same with the pickled eggs and all the new shit you can get there now.
Culla passed away a long time ago now and her grandson runs the place. He’s put in some big sports screens in three of the corners and one behind the bar – so there ain’t a bad seat in the place.
I’m basically drinking by myself tonight. I mean, I know most of the old hacks like myself in the place but usually don’t know any of the young college twerps. Their girls are sweet to look at but if the young-ons ain’t pucksters, then they got their fool heads right up their asses. (Sorry about that guys – but that’s my after-work-attitude coming through – until at least I’m juiced up or laid.)
So, I’ve got a couple a pitchers in me, several of them green eggs, peanuts, chips, popcorn, pretzels, and greasy little sausage links on toothpicks – damn If I’m not going to be foul tomorrow I’m thinkin calling this dinner. But I’ve got the vacation day, so what the hell.
Culla’s starts getting pretty filled up. I got a seat at the bar and folks are standing behind jabbering away and hooting and hollering at the appropriate times as the game goes along. Except for one fucking ass-hole who’s just saying the most inappropriate things inside of a frigging Viking’s bar. And he ain’t being none to subtle with it either. At one point when it sounds like it gets really rank I turn around and glance at the guy. He’s just some old codger like me, really tan though and wearing some sort of south-seas getup like Jimmy Buffet or something. One of the college kids is starting to give him back some “What the fuck?!?!” shit and I’m thinking here we go another damn bargument, why don’t you guys take it to the street.
Before it escalates into shoving and shit the Jimmy Buffet dude yells out over the noise of whole damn bar, “Hey Wheats, ain’t that a damn pity the way the Vikes are playing?”
Well, like I said most the old folks know me in this bar and I guess I’ve got a reputation with the young-ons too, cuz the place got real quiet. Like you could hear the TV it was so hushed.
Now what the devil? This surfer looking dude knows who I am and seems sure as shit to be calling me out. So I spin my stool around real slow like and plant my feet wide (though lopsided) getting ready to rumble. “What’s that you say ass-hole?”
“I said, “Ain’t that a damn pity….” he growled at a few decibels above a whisper as the crowd splits an opening between us.
He had one of those shit eatin grins on his face like Jingles gets when it’s time to drop the gloves. I’m guessing its one of Tidwilly’s friends from the joint – so I’m just about ready to give it a go when he says again “Damn pity!”
Wait a bloody second …… I’m thinkin again. The gears are spinning upstairs but the beer’s impeding engagement. Damn pity, damn pity, ummmm, damn pity???? What the …? Come on Jasper – I’m starting to sweat as I stand up off the barstool. What’s going on? My memory banks have peeled into overdrive. Damn pity, damn pity …. D-Pity.
Oh for goodness sake.
I shut my bad eye to get a better look at this dude and I say “Wayno Studholm?”
And he responds “Abso-friggin-lutely! At your service, Jasper Wheats, you old coon’s ass!”
We each took a step towards each and then both reached for an embrace like long lost friends will do and the bar crowd got lively again.
Dang, I hadn’t seen him twenty or thirty years. He had gone to school with me, played hockey with me and then just disappeared a year so after high school. His parents had named him Wayno Edward Studholm, but back when we were playing Midgets some wise ass on the team started calling him “Damn Pity’s Boy” and eventually just abbreviated it to “D-Pity”. And it stuck.
Wayno’s dad had been in a bad accident before then and had had some minor (I think it was minor anyway) brain damage. When he’d come watch Wayno play (oh shit and Wayno played sooooo bad) he’d always be yelling after a bad play or lots and lots of times after we’d lose a game, “Ain’t that a damn pity?”
So we back off from our man-hug and the guy in the seat next to me points at his stool and moves on.
So me and D-Pity sit down to the bar and the barmaid, Heidi, brings us a fresh pitcher on the house. I’m sure Culla’s smiling down from heaven. You know, when we were eighteen, after high school, you could legally drink around here and me and D-Pity tipped our share of brewskies while she was still pulling drafts.
Well, you can’t really get completely caught up on twenty to thirty years of living while you’re trying to get your Vikings to win a game. But D-Pity gave me his high points while I shared some of mine.
His dad had been hurt much more seriously than any of us ever knew. His lawyers had secured one hell of a hefty sum which Wayno inherited after his dad passed away about two years after we got out of high school. He’d gone off to college in the east somewhere and got a PhD in some zoological subject that nobody’s ever heard of (I’m sure of this – no way, no how, nobody’s ever …) that led him to a stint in the South Pacific and making his home for a while in Australia. But now he’s back and looking for a place to hang his hat for a long time in the back woods.
The shit is though, he asked me if I was still skatin. Said he’d been going to hockey camps for a few years now and could pretty much hold his own on the ice as opposed to his lack of skills back when we were kids.
Damn, we’ll see. D-Pity might just be walking with wood, ehh?
I’m sure there’s a story or two to pull out of his ass for you folks that read this garbled shit of mine.
Until, next time, Jasper here just tellin ya to skate hard ya roudy puckheads!
Dabnabit if I didn’t deserve it. ‘Specially now as it’s coming to a close here on Monday night.
Ehh? You guys agree? Right?
OK, so it’s sort of like the end of the summer too. Just means hockey season is around the corner then. That’ll be some good shit to get that going again.
The honey and me went for pizza and beer Friday night. Went to an end of the summer country music concert in the park on Sunday and just kicked it easy today and Saturday. I tell ya, me and the honey danced our little drunken asses off this summer with those concerts in the park with some damn fine music, friends and family. Love our little cultural community if ya know what I mean.
Now, Thursday night if I didn’t have just one surprising evening.
I told the honey that I was gonna stop into Culla’s to watch the end of the game on my way home. Last of the pre-season, and the Vikings let the Cowboys take it away 10 to 16. Shit! Well they’ve got all season to make amends, ehh.
Culla’s ain’t such a bad little hole in the wall. I been going there since the ‘70’s – back when you could get a pitcher of draft for sixty cents and a pickled egg for a dime. Damn if prices haven’t changed over the years – sheeeet! To say the least. The bar had to move twice since back then due to municipal construction. But the beer’s just as damn good – same with the pickled eggs and all the new shit you can get there now.
Culla passed away a long time ago now and her grandson runs the place. He’s put in some big sports screens in three of the corners and one behind the bar – so there ain’t a bad seat in the place.
I’m basically drinking by myself tonight. I mean, I know most of the old hacks like myself in the place but usually don’t know any of the young college twerps. Their girls are sweet to look at but if the young-ons ain’t pucksters, then they got their fool heads right up their asses. (Sorry about that guys – but that’s my after-work-attitude coming through – until at least I’m juiced up or laid.)
So, I’ve got a couple a pitchers in me, several of them green eggs, peanuts, chips, popcorn, pretzels, and greasy little sausage links on toothpicks – damn If I’m not going to be foul tomorrow I’m thinkin calling this dinner. But I’ve got the vacation day, so what the hell.
Culla’s starts getting pretty filled up. I got a seat at the bar and folks are standing behind jabbering away and hooting and hollering at the appropriate times as the game goes along. Except for one fucking ass-hole who’s just saying the most inappropriate things inside of a frigging Viking’s bar. And he ain’t being none to subtle with it either. At one point when it sounds like it gets really rank I turn around and glance at the guy. He’s just some old codger like me, really tan though and wearing some sort of south-seas getup like Jimmy Buffet or something. One of the college kids is starting to give him back some “What the fuck?!?!” shit and I’m thinking here we go another damn bargument, why don’t you guys take it to the street.
Before it escalates into shoving and shit the Jimmy Buffet dude yells out over the noise of whole damn bar, “Hey Wheats, ain’t that a damn pity the way the Vikes are playing?”
Well, like I said most the old folks know me in this bar and I guess I’ve got a reputation with the young-ons too, cuz the place got real quiet. Like you could hear the TV it was so hushed.
Now what the devil? This surfer looking dude knows who I am and seems sure as shit to be calling me out. So I spin my stool around real slow like and plant my feet wide (though lopsided) getting ready to rumble. “What’s that you say ass-hole?”
“I said, “Ain’t that a damn pity….” he growled at a few decibels above a whisper as the crowd splits an opening between us.
He had one of those shit eatin grins on his face like Jingles gets when it’s time to drop the gloves. I’m guessing its one of Tidwilly’s friends from the joint – so I’m just about ready to give it a go when he says again “Damn pity!”
Wait a bloody second …… I’m thinkin again. The gears are spinning upstairs but the beer’s impeding engagement. Damn pity, damn pity, ummmm, damn pity???? What the …? Come on Jasper – I’m starting to sweat as I stand up off the barstool. What’s going on? My memory banks have peeled into overdrive. Damn pity, damn pity …. D-Pity.
Oh for goodness sake.
I shut my bad eye to get a better look at this dude and I say “Wayno Studholm?”
And he responds “Abso-friggin-lutely! At your service, Jasper Wheats, you old coon’s ass!”
We each took a step towards each and then both reached for an embrace like long lost friends will do and the bar crowd got lively again.
Dang, I hadn’t seen him twenty or thirty years. He had gone to school with me, played hockey with me and then just disappeared a year so after high school. His parents had named him Wayno Edward Studholm, but back when we were playing Midgets some wise ass on the team started calling him “Damn Pity’s Boy” and eventually just abbreviated it to “D-Pity”. And it stuck.
Wayno’s dad had been in a bad accident before then and had had some minor (I think it was minor anyway) brain damage. When he’d come watch Wayno play (oh shit and Wayno played sooooo bad) he’d always be yelling after a bad play or lots and lots of times after we’d lose a game, “Ain’t that a damn pity?”
So we back off from our man-hug and the guy in the seat next to me points at his stool and moves on.
So me and D-Pity sit down to the bar and the barmaid, Heidi, brings us a fresh pitcher on the house. I’m sure Culla’s smiling down from heaven. You know, when we were eighteen, after high school, you could legally drink around here and me and D-Pity tipped our share of brewskies while she was still pulling drafts.
Well, you can’t really get completely caught up on twenty to thirty years of living while you’re trying to get your Vikings to win a game. But D-Pity gave me his high points while I shared some of mine.
His dad had been hurt much more seriously than any of us ever knew. His lawyers had secured one hell of a hefty sum which Wayno inherited after his dad passed away about two years after we got out of high school. He’d gone off to college in the east somewhere and got a PhD in some zoological subject that nobody’s ever heard of (I’m sure of this – no way, no how, nobody’s ever …) that led him to a stint in the South Pacific and making his home for a while in Australia. But now he’s back and looking for a place to hang his hat for a long time in the back woods.
The shit is though, he asked me if I was still skatin. Said he’d been going to hockey camps for a few years now and could pretty much hold his own on the ice as opposed to his lack of skills back when we were kids.
Damn, we’ll see. D-Pity might just be walking with wood, ehh?
I’m sure there’s a story or two to pull out of his ass for you folks that read this garbled shit of mine.
Until, next time, Jasper here just tellin ya to skate hard ya roudy puckheads!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Penalty Time-Keeper
Ya, the days are gone by where bench clearing brawls were the norm. The game of hockey has been revised considerably from the time where the sticks were up and elbows were flying. Hell, you can’t even tap a guy with your stick anymore without getting two minutes – I think that they’re calling that “hooking”.
Hell, I’ll show you “hooking” any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.
Hockey has always been a rough sport. Lots of bruises, stitches, knocked out teeth, an occasional broken bone or dislocated joint is standard fare from a season on the ice. I’ve certainly had my fair share of injuries from playing the greatest game in the world. Lets see, this has included stitches from pucks and sticks to the face (had my lower lip completely split in half and took a stick blade to my right eyeball to name a few), broken wrist, broken humerus (that’s the upper arm bone ya noggin heads) from a cross check, torn knee cartilage, separated shoulder, and complete right hip joint replacement (my demise).
And I have played some dirty hockey too. The sin bin has been my refuge upon occasion. It is the bane of many a determined player too. You play your ass off and you still get beat in your own end; so you trip the guy to stop him from going in one on your goalie.
Was it worth it?
Ohhhhh ….. you’re damn tootin it was Olie!
So you’re doomed to the box for two minutes again. Your teammates give ya shit later for letting the guy beat ya. Yeah ya hear them say “Wheats, ya get beat on the right side every time. Ya gotta move em to your left before they cross the blue line you dumb-ass!”
What’s worse the box and maybe a missed shift or the razzing?
Fuck the razzing. It’s that missed time on the ice, baby.
Oh yeah and how about the intensity of getting a little rowdy and taking coincidentals only to jump back onto the ice and take up where the two of ya left off a couple of minutes ago? The fans love that shit, ehh?
I coach a bit ya know. I teach the kids to go in high, keeping their elbows up. Sure don’t want them skating like a damn Texas armadillo with their noses down to the ground now do ya? Keep your head up, go in hard and come out with the puck.
The worst of all penalties, though is too many men on the ice. Man, that is just a mistake to get that kinda shit-ass call. Whoever is running the bench should have to eat two donuts or something to serve that fool penalty.
Another one of my gripes is that goalies don’t serve penalties. Now to me, that is a real crock of shit. I think it would really open the game up. Ehh?
Have ya ever wondered about the guy that’s taking care of the box? In the NHL, he’s an official and has to keep track of the time and other sorts of pricy shit (that’s why ticket prices are so high – it ain’t the players’ salaries). In youth hockey this person is usually one of the parents that volunteers or is coerced into the position by the domineering team mother. In the infinite number of beer leagues out there it’s usually just an interested fan that just wants to help out – maybe loves the game but can’t play anymore – maybe never played but is the biggest wanna-be in the world. Kudos to these folks cuz they walk with wood too.
I’ve got a story to tell about the penalty box official at the tournament I played in last week. Got to play in the Snoopy games out in Santa Rosa, California. Wild Bill knew some guys down in Marshall, Minnesota that needed a couple of players to fill the roster for the over 45 team they were putting in the tournament. We decided that it’d make a fun little vacation, so we coughed up the bucks each and told the guys that we’d hook up with them out west. Wild Bill was coming down from the northwest with his wife and daughter and I’d be heading out of the back woods with my honey. All to play a minimum of three games with the Marshall Meat-Packers.
The honey and I flew into Sacramento, rented a car and drove over to Santa Rosa via Napa and Sonoma Valleys so that she could do some mighty fine (and awfully damned expensive) wine tasting. You guys know that I don’t drink the stuff (brewskies brothers – pour me another!) but if it makes her happy it makes me happy.
The Meat-Packers had made arrangements for all of us to stay at the same hotel which gave us a fair discount over normal rates – and I’ll tell you that’s awfully danged important when your staying in a hotel for over a week. Good group of folks, those Meat-Packers, though they were a little disturbed that Grain Belt wasn’t on tap at the hotel pub and that they couldn’t find it in the liquor stores either. We had a team meeting the first night to get introduced to all and lay down some strategies and shit. As I figured most didn’t play on the same team but had gathered for the tournament from a beer league in southern Minnesota. I brought a couple of cases of Moosehead to the meeting to appease their Grain Belt withdrawal. I had found it at a Bevmo liquor store that we had driven past and turned back to as we had driven over from Sacramento (sheeeet – I was looking-out for myself cuz the honey – I just knew – was gonna be really wined up). The meeting went well and it seemed like the dude, Mike, that was running the team, was afraid that we all would spend too much time in the penalty box. Warned us to play “nice” and kept referring to all of us as “ya bunch of brawlers”. The first time he used the phrase I glanced over at Wild Bill and gave him the thumbs up. Our kinda guys. Could be this whole team was composed of close relatives of the Hanson brothers, ehh?
Wild Bill and I told them that we’d prefer to play defense mainly. Bill had been a forward from my days of playing with him back a generation or so ago but had now maybe slowed down to my pace or something. I really think that he wanted to skate as my partner – which was really cool. Our first game was going to be Sunday evening and Mike said that we’d be wearing numbers 2 and 3, he’d bring the jerseys and socks.
I don’t know, but we really didn’t click in that first game. It’s about ten or twelve minutes left in the third and were down 6 to 2. Wild Bill’s playing left and I’ve got right de. The opposing team’s center whipped the puck back into my corner from the opposite side outside the blueline as their left week jammed in skating like a Junior A allstar. I turned and skated like hell to try to cut it off behind the net. Wild Bill was tracking their rightwing as he came in hard too. I realized that I couldn’t make the cutoff and turned to the slot as their center started to pick a perch high. Wild Bill must have had the same thoughts as me as we both punched to the high slot to pick this guy – both of us clobbering him full blast in an ass sandwich like the old days (got to do something to rile the old team – cuz right then we sure for shit hadn’t been skatin with wood). Oh and don’t you know it - the fuckin whistle blows.
Both of us get called for roughing ………….
Running time: three minutes each. It’s the shit!
The gate keeper at the box opens the door and Bill goes in first; swearing up a storm. I jump in and sit down with my stick out in front of me and start to take my gloves of when the dude shuts the gate and turns to us, (damn if he doesn’t look just like Ernie Rucks from the old days of skating Sunday pickup – in retirement, Ernie was an NHL goal judge down in LA and came from the Canadian north woods) oh yeah lost my train of thought there, ok so he turns to us and says “You boys ought to play nice now”, taps the right side of his nose two times with his index finger and ………….
Holy shit its cold! I look over at Bill and he’s looking back at me. What the fuck????
We aren’t in Santa Rosa anymore. Were outside and it feels like it’s about 50 below. Were standing next to the gate at a crude outdoor rink with some sort of antiquated equipment on. Our uniforms are harsh wool sweaters and socks with about twenty stripes on them. My gloves have got hardly no padding or length to them and on the jersey it says “St. Paul Hockey Club”. And my skates are pretty wobbly feeling – all leather it looks like.
In and instant, I knew it and I know Bill knew it too – that we had been somehow transported back in time. To another era, to another game. Utterly amazing. But we had a game to play and we knew that we both had to jump on the ice.
And off we went, skating our asses off playing with sticks that looked like they had been made from a single piece of wood. The game was seven on seven with a rover. Somehow we knew. It all came together in an instant. Our rover was Francis “Moose” Goheen, probably the second best if not best American hockey player of the time, next to or equal alongside of Hobie Baker. What a deal. This guy’s was from White Bear Lake, Minnesota – Herb Brooks’ hero when he was growing up. Silver medalist from the 1920 Olympics. This dude was good! And he walked with wood from one end of the ice to other. Untouchable.
I figure its got to be somewhere around 1925 based on the way the folks were dressed that were watching and the looks of cars that we could see over at the street.
Wild Bill skates across my lane and yells at me as he passes, “Jasper do you see who’s skating rover for Boston over there?”
Bewildered I look around and astonishingly realize that the visitors’ rover was none other than Bobby Orr. Damn if this ain’t something. He musta been somehow transported here from the late ‘60’s or ‘70’s. And oh, could he skate. He was made for the position of rover!
The scoreboard, being manned by a guy with a handlebar mustache, fur coat and the weirdest hat that I’d ever seen, said that we were tied at 4 to 4.
Game on kids!
The puck skittered up the boards on the rough ice to Wild Bill and he took off on a meandering journey into the opposing end. Shit he was skating damn near as good as young Moose Goheen. He got in about 40 feet out – and I could tell – he tried to take a slap shot. No dice – it couldn’t happen – the slap shot wouldn’t be invented for another forty years or so. Bill fell flat on his chest like he’d been close-lined.
Orr picked up the puck and took it behind his net to apparently regroup and eye the up-ice layout and off he went. Smoothly left, smoothly right … Goheen swooped in to cut him off and Orr just went horizontal in flight mode or something with the puck almost slipping through Moose’s skates. He kicks it forward and heads after it. Orr, still horizontal, spins in midair and takes off superman style after Goheen, sweeps in with outstretched downward angled stick and takes it off Goheen only to come back down to ice behind his own net again smooth as silk.
Orr eyes up ice again and takes off through the center. I pick him up as he cuts to the boards to my right. Again the smart bastard goes airborne to my left and picks up the puck off the boards on the other side of me. WTF! I’m all over myself and Orr’s on net. Oops, did he lose the puck on the rough ice or is it a deke. Wham – bam – thank you mamm– if he didn’t stuff it in the puck from between his own legs and he’s off flying again.
The fans start booing as Orr keeps flying around celebrating his goal but the game is different. No face off after goals – just pull the puck out and take it behind the net while everyone gets on side and take off skating again. Mr. Moose Goheen picks up the puck while Orr is still celebrating. He seems pumped, the crowd’s booing now sounds excited rather than angry. A teammate skates by and yells “Watch him now. His family calls him “Boo” and that really riles his ass!”
He weaves, he dekes, elbows out, he stiff arms one guy like a running back and goes in on net like a bull in a matador’s outfit. He’s putting a little drift to the left and I can tell he’s got it set to pull the goalie with him with quick plans to go upstairs in the right corner.
Its in my mind – I know it …. And poof – Wild Bill and I are back in the box in Santa Rosa. Ghosts of Charles Schulz or what. Damn! I look over to Wild Bill. “You go on first.” He’s white as a ghost and as the penalty box time keeper opens the gate he steps on the ice and falls flat on his face. Not realizing what happened I stumble over him as I hit the ice. Both of us out there like a big pile of shit.
Bill twists his bloodied up face back towards me and asks “Wheats, what the fuck just happened?”
“Sheeeesh! I don’t know, but we better get back in the game, ehh.”
The center that we had crunched getting our penalties stopped in front of us and tapped us each on our helmets with his stick and laughed as he said “You turkeys, ya might as well head back to Marshall and get back to that business of packing meat.”
Ya know you guys – some days ya walk with wood and some days you sure for shit don’t.
Jasper here. Skate hard! Stay out of the sin-bin ….. or not.
Hell, I’ll show you “hooking” any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.
Hockey has always been a rough sport. Lots of bruises, stitches, knocked out teeth, an occasional broken bone or dislocated joint is standard fare from a season on the ice. I’ve certainly had my fair share of injuries from playing the greatest game in the world. Lets see, this has included stitches from pucks and sticks to the face (had my lower lip completely split in half and took a stick blade to my right eyeball to name a few), broken wrist, broken humerus (that’s the upper arm bone ya noggin heads) from a cross check, torn knee cartilage, separated shoulder, and complete right hip joint replacement (my demise).
And I have played some dirty hockey too. The sin bin has been my refuge upon occasion. It is the bane of many a determined player too. You play your ass off and you still get beat in your own end; so you trip the guy to stop him from going in one on your goalie.
Was it worth it?
Ohhhhh ….. you’re damn tootin it was Olie!
So you’re doomed to the box for two minutes again. Your teammates give ya shit later for letting the guy beat ya. Yeah ya hear them say “Wheats, ya get beat on the right side every time. Ya gotta move em to your left before they cross the blue line you dumb-ass!”
What’s worse the box and maybe a missed shift or the razzing?
Fuck the razzing. It’s that missed time on the ice, baby.
Oh yeah and how about the intensity of getting a little rowdy and taking coincidentals only to jump back onto the ice and take up where the two of ya left off a couple of minutes ago? The fans love that shit, ehh?
I coach a bit ya know. I teach the kids to go in high, keeping their elbows up. Sure don’t want them skating like a damn Texas armadillo with their noses down to the ground now do ya? Keep your head up, go in hard and come out with the puck.
The worst of all penalties, though is too many men on the ice. Man, that is just a mistake to get that kinda shit-ass call. Whoever is running the bench should have to eat two donuts or something to serve that fool penalty.
Another one of my gripes is that goalies don’t serve penalties. Now to me, that is a real crock of shit. I think it would really open the game up. Ehh?
Have ya ever wondered about the guy that’s taking care of the box? In the NHL, he’s an official and has to keep track of the time and other sorts of pricy shit (that’s why ticket prices are so high – it ain’t the players’ salaries). In youth hockey this person is usually one of the parents that volunteers or is coerced into the position by the domineering team mother. In the infinite number of beer leagues out there it’s usually just an interested fan that just wants to help out – maybe loves the game but can’t play anymore – maybe never played but is the biggest wanna-be in the world. Kudos to these folks cuz they walk with wood too.
I’ve got a story to tell about the penalty box official at the tournament I played in last week. Got to play in the Snoopy games out in Santa Rosa, California. Wild Bill knew some guys down in Marshall, Minnesota that needed a couple of players to fill the roster for the over 45 team they were putting in the tournament. We decided that it’d make a fun little vacation, so we coughed up the bucks each and told the guys that we’d hook up with them out west. Wild Bill was coming down from the northwest with his wife and daughter and I’d be heading out of the back woods with my honey. All to play a minimum of three games with the Marshall Meat-Packers.
The honey and I flew into Sacramento, rented a car and drove over to Santa Rosa via Napa and Sonoma Valleys so that she could do some mighty fine (and awfully damned expensive) wine tasting. You guys know that I don’t drink the stuff (brewskies brothers – pour me another!) but if it makes her happy it makes me happy.
The Meat-Packers had made arrangements for all of us to stay at the same hotel which gave us a fair discount over normal rates – and I’ll tell you that’s awfully danged important when your staying in a hotel for over a week. Good group of folks, those Meat-Packers, though they were a little disturbed that Grain Belt wasn’t on tap at the hotel pub and that they couldn’t find it in the liquor stores either. We had a team meeting the first night to get introduced to all and lay down some strategies and shit. As I figured most didn’t play on the same team but had gathered for the tournament from a beer league in southern Minnesota. I brought a couple of cases of Moosehead to the meeting to appease their Grain Belt withdrawal. I had found it at a Bevmo liquor store that we had driven past and turned back to as we had driven over from Sacramento (sheeeet – I was looking-out for myself cuz the honey – I just knew – was gonna be really wined up). The meeting went well and it seemed like the dude, Mike, that was running the team, was afraid that we all would spend too much time in the penalty box. Warned us to play “nice” and kept referring to all of us as “ya bunch of brawlers”. The first time he used the phrase I glanced over at Wild Bill and gave him the thumbs up. Our kinda guys. Could be this whole team was composed of close relatives of the Hanson brothers, ehh?
Wild Bill and I told them that we’d prefer to play defense mainly. Bill had been a forward from my days of playing with him back a generation or so ago but had now maybe slowed down to my pace or something. I really think that he wanted to skate as my partner – which was really cool. Our first game was going to be Sunday evening and Mike said that we’d be wearing numbers 2 and 3, he’d bring the jerseys and socks.
I don’t know, but we really didn’t click in that first game. It’s about ten or twelve minutes left in the third and were down 6 to 2. Wild Bill’s playing left and I’ve got right de. The opposing team’s center whipped the puck back into my corner from the opposite side outside the blueline as their left week jammed in skating like a Junior A allstar. I turned and skated like hell to try to cut it off behind the net. Wild Bill was tracking their rightwing as he came in hard too. I realized that I couldn’t make the cutoff and turned to the slot as their center started to pick a perch high. Wild Bill must have had the same thoughts as me as we both punched to the high slot to pick this guy – both of us clobbering him full blast in an ass sandwich like the old days (got to do something to rile the old team – cuz right then we sure for shit hadn’t been skatin with wood). Oh and don’t you know it - the fuckin whistle blows.
Both of us get called for roughing ………….
Running time: three minutes each. It’s the shit!
The gate keeper at the box opens the door and Bill goes in first; swearing up a storm. I jump in and sit down with my stick out in front of me and start to take my gloves of when the dude shuts the gate and turns to us, (damn if he doesn’t look just like Ernie Rucks from the old days of skating Sunday pickup – in retirement, Ernie was an NHL goal judge down in LA and came from the Canadian north woods) oh yeah lost my train of thought there, ok so he turns to us and says “You boys ought to play nice now”, taps the right side of his nose two times with his index finger and ………….
Holy shit its cold! I look over at Bill and he’s looking back at me. What the fuck????
We aren’t in Santa Rosa anymore. Were outside and it feels like it’s about 50 below. Were standing next to the gate at a crude outdoor rink with some sort of antiquated equipment on. Our uniforms are harsh wool sweaters and socks with about twenty stripes on them. My gloves have got hardly no padding or length to them and on the jersey it says “St. Paul Hockey Club”. And my skates are pretty wobbly feeling – all leather it looks like.
In and instant, I knew it and I know Bill knew it too – that we had been somehow transported back in time. To another era, to another game. Utterly amazing. But we had a game to play and we knew that we both had to jump on the ice.
And off we went, skating our asses off playing with sticks that looked like they had been made from a single piece of wood. The game was seven on seven with a rover. Somehow we knew. It all came together in an instant. Our rover was Francis “Moose” Goheen, probably the second best if not best American hockey player of the time, next to or equal alongside of Hobie Baker. What a deal. This guy’s was from White Bear Lake, Minnesota – Herb Brooks’ hero when he was growing up. Silver medalist from the 1920 Olympics. This dude was good! And he walked with wood from one end of the ice to other. Untouchable.
I figure its got to be somewhere around 1925 based on the way the folks were dressed that were watching and the looks of cars that we could see over at the street.
Wild Bill skates across my lane and yells at me as he passes, “Jasper do you see who’s skating rover for Boston over there?”
Bewildered I look around and astonishingly realize that the visitors’ rover was none other than Bobby Orr. Damn if this ain’t something. He musta been somehow transported here from the late ‘60’s or ‘70’s. And oh, could he skate. He was made for the position of rover!
The scoreboard, being manned by a guy with a handlebar mustache, fur coat and the weirdest hat that I’d ever seen, said that we were tied at 4 to 4.
Game on kids!
The puck skittered up the boards on the rough ice to Wild Bill and he took off on a meandering journey into the opposing end. Shit he was skating damn near as good as young Moose Goheen. He got in about 40 feet out – and I could tell – he tried to take a slap shot. No dice – it couldn’t happen – the slap shot wouldn’t be invented for another forty years or so. Bill fell flat on his chest like he’d been close-lined.
Orr picked up the puck and took it behind his net to apparently regroup and eye the up-ice layout and off he went. Smoothly left, smoothly right … Goheen swooped in to cut him off and Orr just went horizontal in flight mode or something with the puck almost slipping through Moose’s skates. He kicks it forward and heads after it. Orr, still horizontal, spins in midair and takes off superman style after Goheen, sweeps in with outstretched downward angled stick and takes it off Goheen only to come back down to ice behind his own net again smooth as silk.
Orr eyes up ice again and takes off through the center. I pick him up as he cuts to the boards to my right. Again the smart bastard goes airborne to my left and picks up the puck off the boards on the other side of me. WTF! I’m all over myself and Orr’s on net. Oops, did he lose the puck on the rough ice or is it a deke. Wham – bam – thank you mamm– if he didn’t stuff it in the puck from between his own legs and he’s off flying again.
The fans start booing as Orr keeps flying around celebrating his goal but the game is different. No face off after goals – just pull the puck out and take it behind the net while everyone gets on side and take off skating again. Mr. Moose Goheen picks up the puck while Orr is still celebrating. He seems pumped, the crowd’s booing now sounds excited rather than angry. A teammate skates by and yells “Watch him now. His family calls him “Boo” and that really riles his ass!”
He weaves, he dekes, elbows out, he stiff arms one guy like a running back and goes in on net like a bull in a matador’s outfit. He’s putting a little drift to the left and I can tell he’s got it set to pull the goalie with him with quick plans to go upstairs in the right corner.
Its in my mind – I know it …. And poof – Wild Bill and I are back in the box in Santa Rosa. Ghosts of Charles Schulz or what. Damn! I look over to Wild Bill. “You go on first.” He’s white as a ghost and as the penalty box time keeper opens the gate he steps on the ice and falls flat on his face. Not realizing what happened I stumble over him as I hit the ice. Both of us out there like a big pile of shit.
Bill twists his bloodied up face back towards me and asks “Wheats, what the fuck just happened?”
“Sheeeesh! I don’t know, but we better get back in the game, ehh.”
The center that we had crunched getting our penalties stopped in front of us and tapped us each on our helmets with his stick and laughed as he said “You turkeys, ya might as well head back to Marshall and get back to that business of packing meat.”
Ya know you guys – some days ya walk with wood and some days you sure for shit don’t.
Jasper here. Skate hard! Stay out of the sin-bin ….. or not.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
ULTIMATE ROAD TRIP BREAKFAST
Oh what a great week it’s been! The sun has been out just a whole bunch and it makes ya think that spring might be around the corner. And ya know what that means ehh? Hockey Playoffs.
Yup, they’re just around the corner. I’d figure that most teams have got less then fifteen games to play this season. My Kings couldn’t wish it to last any longer. Sad, I gotta tell ya. But I’m a blue sky kinda guy and man, the only way’s “up” for them.
I’ve got the Caps versus Penguins game on the tube right now. Sidney Crosby and Alex Ovechkin in the same game. Yessirreee! This is some good shit this morning.
Fifteen or so games can change a lot of things. So can four rounds of playoffs. But I’m going to pick Detroit versus Montreal going into this year’s Stanley Cup Finals. What do you guys think?
Hey, what do you guys think of hockey fund raisers too? I like to help out with the local club team and we had our fund raising breakfast yesterday morning. Seems like just last week or so my Norris’ Nightmares had their fan appreciation weenie roast. I like to call the Nightmares kids, but they’re really young adults, you know. But the breakfast was for the rink’s club teams – Mites to Midgets. All are really good kids, with great parents supporting them and a good staff of coaches bringing them along. I pretty much expect every one of my Nightmares to participate by helping coach two to five practices a year with the rink club. Hell, that’s where their roots are, ehh. It actually helps them too, because they begin to think about the game from a different perspective.
As usual when I help out with these things I get put on the grille. I cook way better then I serve or cleanup I guess. Yo – Breakfast Chef Deluxe – that’s me. Ok, ok … greasy-spoon fry cook would be a more appropriate title. But I do a good job and enjoy it too. I’m flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, crisping up bacon and turning sausage links like a dad-burn breakfast factory. And I didn’t hear a complaint from a single soul. Nope, not even any whiny kids today. Everybody chowed down like there was no tomorrow.
I got a chance to take a break around 10:00 when my good bud Jason showed up. He threw in some coin for about a hundred breakfasts or so I figure. Said he had just closed a big business deal and was feeling philanthropic for his home town community. He never played hockey, was a baseball and football dude through college, and now does his share of fine boarding out in the western states through the winter.
I was curious why he was in town and he let me know that it was really to follow up on some business with me. Earlier he had told me that he had a lead on some narrow box culvert precast concrete product that would work for my tunnel from the basement to the barn. Seems as though my price has dropped again because the plant needs the yard space that this stuff is taking up. It didn’t move last year and the plant has some sort of big contract for something else that they’re going to start producing and store until shipment starting in June. I could probably get what I need for the price of shipping alone.
Damn! I think that I just got myself one hell of a good deal. I’d need to take delivery by mid April so Stinky and me have got some work to do before then with finishing the excavation of the basement and trenching between it and the barn. Yup I hope the thaw is coming soon now.
Jason asked me if I could use a vault too. Said the plant also had a big old leftover vault setup with an HVAC unit to allow for underground occupancy. Said it was built for a phone company or something and I’d need a crane to offload it and set it in the ground. He said if nothing else you could put it in line with the box culvert and use the HVAC system as ventilation for the tunnel. He mentioned that I could look into writing off the crane cost as adding a tornado shelter to my property or something. I’ll have to look into that, I guess, but this is what I’m thinking … This is on the hush you guys (keep it a secret, ehh) I could maybe convert that vault into the new Crossed Sticks Society secret storage facility for all of our prized hockey antiquities and meetings. Hmmmm. Maybe. I’ll have to think about this and try to work something out with the Outlaws.
That’s just like Jason, being able to mix business with pleasure. Dude’s walking with wood for sure. And he sure mac’d on those pancakes and sausages I’d made. Between mouthfuls he says, “Jasper ya gotta see this stuff. It’s the greatest thing since spray cheese. The call it Batter Blaster. It’s pancake batter in a pressurized can like Redi-Whip. You just shoot it out on the griddle, no mess, no fuss. Damn you can really easy like make shapes, animals, spell things you know it’s really cool. And the dang things taste every bit as good as these ones you made.
You’ve gotta try it.
You know I’ve got that place out in Tahoe and I hate having to clean up and shit, would rather be out on the slopes, in the sack, or in the clubs right? Well I’ve been using this Batter Blaster all this winter for a quick hot breakfast before going out snowboarding. It’s great!”
“Your yanking my chain, ain’t ya?” I quizzed.
“Nope. Check out their website, www.batterblaster.com, when you get home. It’s for real. Some boys out in San Francisco came up with it. Supposed to be natural stuff too. I’m telling you, you’ll like it. Beats toaster waffles by a long shot.”
“Damn, it sounds like the ultimate road trip breakfast if it’s for real. I bet you could fix pancakes on the burner plate of those little coffee makers they put in the hotel rooms. This could really be the shit, ehh? Damn, maybe they’ll come up with a bacon shooter too, huh. Or maybe some sorta way to shoot mashed potatoes that could fry up crispy like hash-browns. Wouldn’t that just beat all, ehh Jason?”
“Wheats, you’re just nuts with your flamin imagination. You ought to be a fuckin inventor or something. You just take a good idea, dress it all up and make it better. You ever start up a company, I’m investing in ya. Can’t lose! What’s that ya say? Your walking with wood – you old fart!”
He finished his breakfast, made a mess as usual, talking between mouthfuls, and got syrup all over his signature orange t-shirt. Yep, that’s Jason – business with pleasure, eat and run. Probably won’t see him for a month or two, now, but sure glad he stopped by.
He’s the shit, walking with wood and all!
Wheats here until next time. Remember: Skate hard!
Yup, they’re just around the corner. I’d figure that most teams have got less then fifteen games to play this season. My Kings couldn’t wish it to last any longer. Sad, I gotta tell ya. But I’m a blue sky kinda guy and man, the only way’s “up” for them.
I’ve got the Caps versus Penguins game on the tube right now. Sidney Crosby and Alex Ovechkin in the same game. Yessirreee! This is some good shit this morning.
Fifteen or so games can change a lot of things. So can four rounds of playoffs. But I’m going to pick Detroit versus Montreal going into this year’s Stanley Cup Finals. What do you guys think?
Hey, what do you guys think of hockey fund raisers too? I like to help out with the local club team and we had our fund raising breakfast yesterday morning. Seems like just last week or so my Norris’ Nightmares had their fan appreciation weenie roast. I like to call the Nightmares kids, but they’re really young adults, you know. But the breakfast was for the rink’s club teams – Mites to Midgets. All are really good kids, with great parents supporting them and a good staff of coaches bringing them along. I pretty much expect every one of my Nightmares to participate by helping coach two to five practices a year with the rink club. Hell, that’s where their roots are, ehh. It actually helps them too, because they begin to think about the game from a different perspective.
As usual when I help out with these things I get put on the grille. I cook way better then I serve or cleanup I guess. Yo – Breakfast Chef Deluxe – that’s me. Ok, ok … greasy-spoon fry cook would be a more appropriate title. But I do a good job and enjoy it too. I’m flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, crisping up bacon and turning sausage links like a dad-burn breakfast factory. And I didn’t hear a complaint from a single soul. Nope, not even any whiny kids today. Everybody chowed down like there was no tomorrow.
I got a chance to take a break around 10:00 when my good bud Jason showed up. He threw in some coin for about a hundred breakfasts or so I figure. Said he had just closed a big business deal and was feeling philanthropic for his home town community. He never played hockey, was a baseball and football dude through college, and now does his share of fine boarding out in the western states through the winter.
I was curious why he was in town and he let me know that it was really to follow up on some business with me. Earlier he had told me that he had a lead on some narrow box culvert precast concrete product that would work for my tunnel from the basement to the barn. Seems as though my price has dropped again because the plant needs the yard space that this stuff is taking up. It didn’t move last year and the plant has some sort of big contract for something else that they’re going to start producing and store until shipment starting in June. I could probably get what I need for the price of shipping alone.
Damn! I think that I just got myself one hell of a good deal. I’d need to take delivery by mid April so Stinky and me have got some work to do before then with finishing the excavation of the basement and trenching between it and the barn. Yup I hope the thaw is coming soon now.
Jason asked me if I could use a vault too. Said the plant also had a big old leftover vault setup with an HVAC unit to allow for underground occupancy. Said it was built for a phone company or something and I’d need a crane to offload it and set it in the ground. He said if nothing else you could put it in line with the box culvert and use the HVAC system as ventilation for the tunnel. He mentioned that I could look into writing off the crane cost as adding a tornado shelter to my property or something. I’ll have to look into that, I guess, but this is what I’m thinking … This is on the hush you guys (keep it a secret, ehh) I could maybe convert that vault into the new Crossed Sticks Society secret storage facility for all of our prized hockey antiquities and meetings. Hmmmm. Maybe. I’ll have to think about this and try to work something out with the Outlaws.
That’s just like Jason, being able to mix business with pleasure. Dude’s walking with wood for sure. And he sure mac’d on those pancakes and sausages I’d made. Between mouthfuls he says, “Jasper ya gotta see this stuff. It’s the greatest thing since spray cheese. The call it Batter Blaster. It’s pancake batter in a pressurized can like Redi-Whip. You just shoot it out on the griddle, no mess, no fuss. Damn you can really easy like make shapes, animals, spell things you know it’s really cool. And the dang things taste every bit as good as these ones you made.
You’ve gotta try it.
You know I’ve got that place out in Tahoe and I hate having to clean up and shit, would rather be out on the slopes, in the sack, or in the clubs right? Well I’ve been using this Batter Blaster all this winter for a quick hot breakfast before going out snowboarding. It’s great!”
“Your yanking my chain, ain’t ya?” I quizzed.
“Nope. Check out their website, www.batterblaster.com, when you get home. It’s for real. Some boys out in San Francisco came up with it. Supposed to be natural stuff too. I’m telling you, you’ll like it. Beats toaster waffles by a long shot.”
“Damn, it sounds like the ultimate road trip breakfast if it’s for real. I bet you could fix pancakes on the burner plate of those little coffee makers they put in the hotel rooms. This could really be the shit, ehh? Damn, maybe they’ll come up with a bacon shooter too, huh. Or maybe some sorta way to shoot mashed potatoes that could fry up crispy like hash-browns. Wouldn’t that just beat all, ehh Jason?”
“Wheats, you’re just nuts with your flamin imagination. You ought to be a fuckin inventor or something. You just take a good idea, dress it all up and make it better. You ever start up a company, I’m investing in ya. Can’t lose! What’s that ya say? Your walking with wood – you old fart!”
He finished his breakfast, made a mess as usual, talking between mouthfuls, and got syrup all over his signature orange t-shirt. Yep, that’s Jason – business with pleasure, eat and run. Probably won’t see him for a month or two, now, but sure glad he stopped by.
He’s the shit, walking with wood and all!
Wheats here until next time. Remember: Skate hard!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
GRAVEL
There is a place on the other side of town that provides sand for the county highway department. We just call it the gravel pit. I guess you could say that it’s a working business that is mainly busy on-site not during the winter. I’m not saying that nothing goes on out there during the winter, but there ain’t no excavating going on. They dig up and sort the sand and gravel during the warmer months to stockpile during the winter. The highway department comes by and loads up sand to put down on icy sections of road. The county keeps one of their front loaders over there next to one of the sand piles.
The gravel pit is a pretty barren part of the area. I guess the glaciers ages ago dumped all this sand and gravel here and the excavating process has pretty much scraped away most of the vegetation. So it works out for a damn good spot to do some high speed snowmobiling. You could say that it’s been set up sort of as a winter race track over there. I’ve been over to watch a few times but I’m not too much into racing. Lots a folk do, I guess, and it looks like a lot of fun – I just got other things to spend my money and time on.
Way back, when I was in high school we used to have the homecoming bonfire over there. Hella good time! I figure the kids still do that. Hell, we even used to pull off the road over there and cut the lights at night with our dates and make-out. Sure for shit the kids are still going over these days to hook-up. Don’t want to be doing that right now unless you got a pretty heavy-duty four wheel drive. Get your ass stuck in there tonight and you and your honey are gonna be walkin home. Prolly be the last little piece you get from her for pulling a dipshit stunt like that.
Yesterday, after our morning game, Norris’ Nightmares held a weenie roast over there for our fans. We had gotten permission from the owners to have our own bonfire and they closed it off from public snowmobiling – so we sort of had it too ourselves for a great party. Some of the folks brought their own snowmobiles, sleds, saucers, toboggans and stuff like that, but we kept it kinda mild. Stinky came by with his get-up and towed kids around. We held a little raffle too and gave away some nice stuff that our sponsors had put up. I really think everybody had a great time and it didn’t hurt that we had won the morning game.
The honey had made about five gallons of her hot-fire-kick-ass chili and there wasn’t any left at the end of the day. It’s some good shit! But I gotta tell ya, there’s a damn good chance that half the town has got themselves some burning bung holes today. Yup.
These kids are the best damned bunch of hockey players that I’ve worked with in awfully long time. Sure, on occasion each and every one of them pulled some damn assed stupid thing. But what the hey? Been there, done that!
Some of them flaked on the ice on occasion but they really worked well as a team. They have had enthusiasm and heart all season long. They jelled way before I thought they would. It makes me feel good just thinking how far they have come. At the beginning of the season I had just a whole bunch of scatter brained selfish puck wangers. Now, I think I’ve got a TEAM.
These kids have tied-on to something that’s going to hang with them for a lifetime. Friendships, skill sets and a sense of belonging, all enduring. They did it themselves. My complements to them and every team out there that has been able to do the same thing. They’re all walking with wood, ehh!
It hurts to think back to tryouts. I had so many dudes and dudettes show up that wanted to be a part of this team and not enough room on the roster. I hope that those that didn’t make it on my team, found another club to play for. I hope that they didn’t give up on the great sport of ice hockey. I wish I could clone myself so that I could do more things at the same time and that I could run more then one team.
Sheeeeet!
You think about it …… with all the traveling I did this season, I got to thank my bro’s, Jingles and Bronzy, for all the help they did covering for me too.
Yep. I certainly love ice hockey. Best damn game in the world! Ehh?
We must have had about four hundred people at the weenie roast. And I know that each and every one of them loves hockey too. Even though my kids are just an amateur team, it still adds a lot to the economy and entertainment for our small little community here. If it wasn’t for the bars, a couple of restaurants and Wal-Mart, there wouldn’t be too damn much other shit to do around here through the winter. So, I’m telling you, that’s why we had a descent crowd yesterday.
The gravel pit owner, Jack Snyder, came by for a bit too. He got real interested in the get-up that Stinky had brought and chatted with him some. Seems Snyder could use someone with a good mechanical aptitude. Offered him a job yesterday if he could drive a dump truck too. Well, Stinky can drive anything. Yup. He can fix anything too. Regular old McGyver.
Snyder, hired him on the spot and said that even though tomorrow being Sunday (today). He needed a load of gravel taken over and spread on that long drive up the hill from the highway to Miller’s place. Old man Miller has been parking down the hill cuz of the ice. He can’t get up the hill to his house, even with his four wheel drive.
Stinky, I’m telling you guys, was in heaven. A real job. Working for somebody, in the winter yet. Not hustling for snow plowing excursions. Shit he’d still be able to do those in the evening.
Looked like a good deal for him.
Yup. Looked like it. But it didn’t pan out that way. He’s gotta have the worst damn luck of anybody in the world.
Here he is making that first run of gravel using Snyder’s dump truck when the gate accidently opens just enough for him to drop a speck a gravel; but more than enough to bust the windshields of three cars that were following him.
Dabnabit if that ain’t the shits.
Snyder’s insurance would pay for it all and Miller did get a load a gravel on his drive-way but Stinky lost his job before two o’clock this afternoon. I don’t know if it was his fault or not that the gate of that dumper didn’t stay shut but he caught the flack for it. I’m sure that if it’s a mechanical problem, that Stinky’d be able to fix it for sure, if given the chance. But Snyder wasn’t up for any of that after his Sunday early dinner I guess. Maybe he’ll read this and give Paul back his job. Maybe not. But Stinky’s pretty damn handy and I’ve never known him to be malicious. For the kinda work that Snyder does, I think that Paul’s the man for the job.
I guess we’ll see.
But Stinky was pretty broke up over this whole shit, lost opportunity and all, when he showed up at my cabin around 3:30 this afternoon.
Well the honey’s got some spaghetti about ready for our dinner. Figure that she probably spiked it up a bit with some of that chili that she set aside from yesterday. Have to wake Paul up to partake of this feast, I guess. He got a little snockerd over the whole ordeal and passed out in front of the TV earlier.
He’ll be ok. He’ll be walking with wood again in no time at all. I’m sure of it. If anybody can bounce well, he can.
Jasper here, just capping off another one of Jingle’s home brews and retiring until next time.
Skate hard, keep your elbows up when you go into the corners and keep your fool ass sticks on the ice, ehh!
The gravel pit is a pretty barren part of the area. I guess the glaciers ages ago dumped all this sand and gravel here and the excavating process has pretty much scraped away most of the vegetation. So it works out for a damn good spot to do some high speed snowmobiling. You could say that it’s been set up sort of as a winter race track over there. I’ve been over to watch a few times but I’m not too much into racing. Lots a folk do, I guess, and it looks like a lot of fun – I just got other things to spend my money and time on.
Way back, when I was in high school we used to have the homecoming bonfire over there. Hella good time! I figure the kids still do that. Hell, we even used to pull off the road over there and cut the lights at night with our dates and make-out. Sure for shit the kids are still going over these days to hook-up. Don’t want to be doing that right now unless you got a pretty heavy-duty four wheel drive. Get your ass stuck in there tonight and you and your honey are gonna be walkin home. Prolly be the last little piece you get from her for pulling a dipshit stunt like that.
Yesterday, after our morning game, Norris’ Nightmares held a weenie roast over there for our fans. We had gotten permission from the owners to have our own bonfire and they closed it off from public snowmobiling – so we sort of had it too ourselves for a great party. Some of the folks brought their own snowmobiles, sleds, saucers, toboggans and stuff like that, but we kept it kinda mild. Stinky came by with his get-up and towed kids around. We held a little raffle too and gave away some nice stuff that our sponsors had put up. I really think everybody had a great time and it didn’t hurt that we had won the morning game.
The honey had made about five gallons of her hot-fire-kick-ass chili and there wasn’t any left at the end of the day. It’s some good shit! But I gotta tell ya, there’s a damn good chance that half the town has got themselves some burning bung holes today. Yup.
These kids are the best damned bunch of hockey players that I’ve worked with in awfully long time. Sure, on occasion each and every one of them pulled some damn assed stupid thing. But what the hey? Been there, done that!
Some of them flaked on the ice on occasion but they really worked well as a team. They have had enthusiasm and heart all season long. They jelled way before I thought they would. It makes me feel good just thinking how far they have come. At the beginning of the season I had just a whole bunch of scatter brained selfish puck wangers. Now, I think I’ve got a TEAM.
These kids have tied-on to something that’s going to hang with them for a lifetime. Friendships, skill sets and a sense of belonging, all enduring. They did it themselves. My complements to them and every team out there that has been able to do the same thing. They’re all walking with wood, ehh!
It hurts to think back to tryouts. I had so many dudes and dudettes show up that wanted to be a part of this team and not enough room on the roster. I hope that those that didn’t make it on my team, found another club to play for. I hope that they didn’t give up on the great sport of ice hockey. I wish I could clone myself so that I could do more things at the same time and that I could run more then one team.
Sheeeeet!
You think about it …… with all the traveling I did this season, I got to thank my bro’s, Jingles and Bronzy, for all the help they did covering for me too.
Yep. I certainly love ice hockey. Best damn game in the world! Ehh?
We must have had about four hundred people at the weenie roast. And I know that each and every one of them loves hockey too. Even though my kids are just an amateur team, it still adds a lot to the economy and entertainment for our small little community here. If it wasn’t for the bars, a couple of restaurants and Wal-Mart, there wouldn’t be too damn much other shit to do around here through the winter. So, I’m telling you, that’s why we had a descent crowd yesterday.
The gravel pit owner, Jack Snyder, came by for a bit too. He got real interested in the get-up that Stinky had brought and chatted with him some. Seems Snyder could use someone with a good mechanical aptitude. Offered him a job yesterday if he could drive a dump truck too. Well, Stinky can drive anything. Yup. He can fix anything too. Regular old McGyver.
Snyder, hired him on the spot and said that even though tomorrow being Sunday (today). He needed a load of gravel taken over and spread on that long drive up the hill from the highway to Miller’s place. Old man Miller has been parking down the hill cuz of the ice. He can’t get up the hill to his house, even with his four wheel drive.
Stinky, I’m telling you guys, was in heaven. A real job. Working for somebody, in the winter yet. Not hustling for snow plowing excursions. Shit he’d still be able to do those in the evening.
Looked like a good deal for him.
Yup. Looked like it. But it didn’t pan out that way. He’s gotta have the worst damn luck of anybody in the world.
Here he is making that first run of gravel using Snyder’s dump truck when the gate accidently opens just enough for him to drop a speck a gravel; but more than enough to bust the windshields of three cars that were following him.
Dabnabit if that ain’t the shits.
Snyder’s insurance would pay for it all and Miller did get a load a gravel on his drive-way but Stinky lost his job before two o’clock this afternoon. I don’t know if it was his fault or not that the gate of that dumper didn’t stay shut but he caught the flack for it. I’m sure that if it’s a mechanical problem, that Stinky’d be able to fix it for sure, if given the chance. But Snyder wasn’t up for any of that after his Sunday early dinner I guess. Maybe he’ll read this and give Paul back his job. Maybe not. But Stinky’s pretty damn handy and I’ve never known him to be malicious. For the kinda work that Snyder does, I think that Paul’s the man for the job.
I guess we’ll see.
But Stinky was pretty broke up over this whole shit, lost opportunity and all, when he showed up at my cabin around 3:30 this afternoon.
Well the honey’s got some spaghetti about ready for our dinner. Figure that she probably spiked it up a bit with some of that chili that she set aside from yesterday. Have to wake Paul up to partake of this feast, I guess. He got a little snockerd over the whole ordeal and passed out in front of the TV earlier.
He’ll be ok. He’ll be walking with wood again in no time at all. I’m sure of it. If anybody can bounce well, he can.
Jasper here, just capping off another one of Jingle’s home brews and retiring until next time.
Skate hard, keep your elbows up when you go into the corners and keep your fool ass sticks on the ice, ehh!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
I APPROVE THIS
Hey puckheads! How’s your week been? Enjoy the NHL All Star game last Sunday? Yup, me too. It was a lot of fun to watch from my living-room at the cabin on my small-screen non-HD TV. Didn’t miss it this year like I did last year, nope.
Sheeeet! I’d like to #@#*%#% former President Clinton for passing that piece of legislation. Do you know how many stinking non-HD TVs there are at my place between the cabin and the barn? I’ve got five of them puppies. It’s gonna cost me a bunch to replace them with High-Definition versions and then they’re gonna kick my ass as I go out the door – oh forgot to tell ya that you’ll get charged for disposing you’re old sets too dumpkoff. Well kiss my ass. The TV’s I’ve got work just fine. WTF do I need HD? Shit my vision ain’t that great anymore so why would I want some new fangled piece a shit, ehh. The economy is on the skids and this bull crap is just gonna make it worse.
The weather has kinda sucked through the week. Pretty much has been snowing constantly which has made my drive to and from work one hell of a mess. It’s a shame how many dipshits don’t know how to drive in this winter wonderland. Damn, I learned how to drive in the snow. Did my driver’s training way back when in it. Slid into a plowed over ditch taking my practice examine with my high school driver’s-ed instructor. Kids in the back seat laughed their fool asses off, but I’ve never done it since. Passed my first driving test to get my license while driving on top of snow-packed and iced over roads in mid March back before most a your parents even knew how to do the nasty. Yup. Why can’t you guys learn how to drive in winter weather?
But this fowl weather has kept Stinky busy shoveling out driveways and parking lots. He hasn’t been by since last weekend when we went out and did some fool-ass stink-agagoning and crashed myself all up. It was a blast but I’m still sore.
Without Stinky’s help, the honey has been doing the drive way. She’s pretty hardy for the teensie little thing that she is. She takes good care of me and feeds me well. Keeps the cabin damn near spotless which pretty near amazes me cuz I’m such a turdball messy old fart. But she pretty much does it all and is cute as a button besides. So I can’t complain too much. She’ll sit in some times when we need a goalie for pickup. But her one weakness is that she ducks on high shots, and being as short as she is, especially in her goalie crouch, those damn high shots go in over her head. Craziest damn thing. She’s pretty good in the nets otherwise.
Thursday she had to clear out a deadfall in the driveway so that she could go into town for groceries. Didn’t even complain about it much. Said she was glad the chain saw worked fine in the cold temp but didn’t enjoy trying to find a long enough chain in my mess in the barn so that she could pull the cut up outta the way. Oh well … she did just fine and I love the little honey just a whole mess.
Tonight, she and I are sitting in front of the fire just enjoying a sittin around the fire drink. Nope I ain’t havin a beer and I ain’t tellin ya what it is I’m drinkin cuz you’d laugh your fool heads off. She fixed up some special dinner earlier tonight that she had seen while watching Rachel Ray on the tube. It was a potato-leek soup with a pound of bacon in it. Damn it was yummy! More like spiced up thin green mashed potatoes then a soup – but hit the spot on a cold winter night.
The craziest thing though happened during dinner. The phone rang and the caller ID said “OUT OF AREA”. The honey had picked it up and normally would not answer unless the ID said it was someone that she knew. She took a chance and answered this time thinking it might the daughter calling from a friend’s that she was visiting over in Washington or Oregon somewhere like that. Well it wasn’t.
Damned if it wasn’t John McCain. Nope, it wasn’t some canned message that John McCain had recorded, but was the presidential candidate himself. I started laughing thinking it was canned (she had the phone on speaker) because I had answered one from Hillary earlier in the week (Oh, don’t I wish that that call had been her live – she’d have caught an earful from me on Bill and the HD shit, ehh.).
I’m telling you it was really John McCain and the honey starts chatting him up. She tells him that, yup, she’s going to vote for him in the primary and in the fall too. She told me she was last week so I wasn’t too surprised. She gets him going about Vietnam and flying fighter jets. She’s working him pretty good I’m tellin ya and after getting him into talking about the jets and all she just pops out “Well ya must have some pretty big balls, ehh?”
I’m hearing this right? He picks up on here accent and not missing a beat says to her, “Honey, where are you from?”
She says, “Well Mr. McCain I live up here in the north woods with my husband Jasper. And if you’ve got such big ass balls why don’t you come on up here some time and play some puck, I mean hockey, with me, Jasper, and the rest of the guys. Oh heck, maybe you don’t skate being from that snowbird destination, Arizona, and all. But we’d sure like to have you at least come watch sometime. (She’s getting all embarrassed a bit now.) You know I’d like to meet you sometime. You could pass for Garth Brooks’ younger good looking brother. Oh my goodness. Shit! I didn’t say that did I? (Really embarrassed now.)”
Well old John McCain said that he’d love too. Seems he has some puckster blood in him. Said he wasn’t worth a shit – was more of a windmill then a winger.
The honey about shit. I didn’t interfere one bit, no sirree. They exchanged cell phone numbers and he’s got our address now. So will see. So wouldn’t that be great if sometime we have a president that likes to lace em up skate a little puck.
So, regardless of the weather it’s been a damn fine and an interesting week.
Guys, just remember to skate hard and gals to skate your little asses off cuz sweat is sweet.
Yup, I’ll be walking with wood until next time.
I’m Jasper Wheats and I approve this.
Sheeeet! I’d like to #@#*%#% former President Clinton for passing that piece of legislation. Do you know how many stinking non-HD TVs there are at my place between the cabin and the barn? I’ve got five of them puppies. It’s gonna cost me a bunch to replace them with High-Definition versions and then they’re gonna kick my ass as I go out the door – oh forgot to tell ya that you’ll get charged for disposing you’re old sets too dumpkoff. Well kiss my ass. The TV’s I’ve got work just fine. WTF do I need HD? Shit my vision ain’t that great anymore so why would I want some new fangled piece a shit, ehh. The economy is on the skids and this bull crap is just gonna make it worse.
The weather has kinda sucked through the week. Pretty much has been snowing constantly which has made my drive to and from work one hell of a mess. It’s a shame how many dipshits don’t know how to drive in this winter wonderland. Damn, I learned how to drive in the snow. Did my driver’s training way back when in it. Slid into a plowed over ditch taking my practice examine with my high school driver’s-ed instructor. Kids in the back seat laughed their fool asses off, but I’ve never done it since. Passed my first driving test to get my license while driving on top of snow-packed and iced over roads in mid March back before most a your parents even knew how to do the nasty. Yup. Why can’t you guys learn how to drive in winter weather?
But this fowl weather has kept Stinky busy shoveling out driveways and parking lots. He hasn’t been by since last weekend when we went out and did some fool-ass stink-agagoning and crashed myself all up. It was a blast but I’m still sore.
Without Stinky’s help, the honey has been doing the drive way. She’s pretty hardy for the teensie little thing that she is. She takes good care of me and feeds me well. Keeps the cabin damn near spotless which pretty near amazes me cuz I’m such a turdball messy old fart. But she pretty much does it all and is cute as a button besides. So I can’t complain too much. She’ll sit in some times when we need a goalie for pickup. But her one weakness is that she ducks on high shots, and being as short as she is, especially in her goalie crouch, those damn high shots go in over her head. Craziest damn thing. She’s pretty good in the nets otherwise.
Thursday she had to clear out a deadfall in the driveway so that she could go into town for groceries. Didn’t even complain about it much. Said she was glad the chain saw worked fine in the cold temp but didn’t enjoy trying to find a long enough chain in my mess in the barn so that she could pull the cut up outta the way. Oh well … she did just fine and I love the little honey just a whole mess.
Tonight, she and I are sitting in front of the fire just enjoying a sittin around the fire drink. Nope I ain’t havin a beer and I ain’t tellin ya what it is I’m drinkin cuz you’d laugh your fool heads off. She fixed up some special dinner earlier tonight that she had seen while watching Rachel Ray on the tube. It was a potato-leek soup with a pound of bacon in it. Damn it was yummy! More like spiced up thin green mashed potatoes then a soup – but hit the spot on a cold winter night.
The craziest thing though happened during dinner. The phone rang and the caller ID said “OUT OF AREA”. The honey had picked it up and normally would not answer unless the ID said it was someone that she knew. She took a chance and answered this time thinking it might the daughter calling from a friend’s that she was visiting over in Washington or Oregon somewhere like that. Well it wasn’t.
Damned if it wasn’t John McCain. Nope, it wasn’t some canned message that John McCain had recorded, but was the presidential candidate himself. I started laughing thinking it was canned (she had the phone on speaker) because I had answered one from Hillary earlier in the week (Oh, don’t I wish that that call had been her live – she’d have caught an earful from me on Bill and the HD shit, ehh.).
I’m telling you it was really John McCain and the honey starts chatting him up. She tells him that, yup, she’s going to vote for him in the primary and in the fall too. She told me she was last week so I wasn’t too surprised. She gets him going about Vietnam and flying fighter jets. She’s working him pretty good I’m tellin ya and after getting him into talking about the jets and all she just pops out “Well ya must have some pretty big balls, ehh?”
I’m hearing this right? He picks up on here accent and not missing a beat says to her, “Honey, where are you from?”
She says, “Well Mr. McCain I live up here in the north woods with my husband Jasper. And if you’ve got such big ass balls why don’t you come on up here some time and play some puck, I mean hockey, with me, Jasper, and the rest of the guys. Oh heck, maybe you don’t skate being from that snowbird destination, Arizona, and all. But we’d sure like to have you at least come watch sometime. (She’s getting all embarrassed a bit now.) You know I’d like to meet you sometime. You could pass for Garth Brooks’ younger good looking brother. Oh my goodness. Shit! I didn’t say that did I? (Really embarrassed now.)”
Well old John McCain said that he’d love too. Seems he has some puckster blood in him. Said he wasn’t worth a shit – was more of a windmill then a winger.
The honey about shit. I didn’t interfere one bit, no sirree. They exchanged cell phone numbers and he’s got our address now. So will see. So wouldn’t that be great if sometime we have a president that likes to lace em up skate a little puck.
So, regardless of the weather it’s been a damn fine and an interesting week.
Guys, just remember to skate hard and gals to skate your little asses off cuz sweat is sweet.
Yup, I’ll be walking with wood until next time.
I’m Jasper Wheats and I approve this.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
TIP-TOE’N THRU THE TULIPS
Yup, a couple of weeks have gone by since I managed to write any crazy shit here. Sure hope that none of ya minded my vacant brain space that I’ve had for a while.
Actually, that hasn’t been the case, you guys. I’ve really been awfully damn busy and I’ve been writing my ass off for a U – NI – VER – SI – TY class that I’m gonna be teachin in a couple of months. It’s just flippin amazing how much work ya have to do to prepare to teach 48 hours worth of lessons to a bunch of nincompoops. That’s what they are now but by the time I get done with em they’re going to be some real ass smart heads, ehh.
But I did get some nice tournament viewing last weekend. Wasn’t the big kids playing, just the youngins – Mites, Squirts and Peewees. Good stuff though. I’ve seen a lot a hockey over the years and I’ve probably played as much as I’ve watched. There’s nothing like the enthusiasm of parents at a tournament though. You know it’s road games all the way around except for the home teams, and if a kid shows up to play then you damn well know that there is an enthusiastic parent or two that brought him or her there. That’s dedication!
It was a double rink facility that had a public session going on over at the other sheet of ice so there was a whole slew of folks running around in the snack bar and lobby areas. Kids lining up at the snack bar getting their dose of gourmet rink grub and walking around in ill-fitting plastic skates that probably smelled worse then my gear ever has. Oh well, you got get an interest in the ice and sport some how, ehh. The local club was running a raffle for a mess of gift packs and shit. Mostly stuff for the ladies – I think – wines, cheese and cookies – that kind a stuff. I might a bought some tickets if I’d a seen some prizes that were like a couple of cases of brew, pro tickets or a nice Sherwood or something – but nah – didn’t see anything of the likes.
Looked like all the kids were just having a blast while each individual game was being played but just a little down after the game if they were on the losing side. Its good to lose once in a while – builds character and protects ya from others maybe thinkin that you’re all aliens (kinda tough to check the urinals after these little guys cuz most of ain’t tall enough yet to reach the rim – uh huh, maybe you ought to read a previous tale if that went over your head).
During one game there were so damn many red heads in the stands that I started looking for Anne of Green Gables out on the ice. Must have been a team from PEI I figured. Chatted up a local dad, Chris Gregg, that was counting shots for the stats. He had two boys that play and the younger of the two would be the goalie for the Jets in the next game. I stuck around to watch the start of it.
Before the first period was over the Jets were down four to nothin. Didn’t say anything bad about young Gregg in the nets, he was getting a good workout for a beginner. Showed signs of having some future good skills. Maybe he’ll want to skate for Norris’ Nightmares in a few years or maybe when he reaches legal drinking age he’ll come on board with the Outlaws. Who knows. Just damn glad to see passion in all of these kids and the support that there parents give. Yep, walking with wood all around. In recognition of the Jets, I thought I’d just list the roster here: Cunningham, Gauldin, Graves, Gregg, Larson, Merrick, Morton, Nadasdy, Schamoni, Sprague, Whitney and no-name #97 – HOOYAHHH!!!!!
Stinky showed up around the start of the Jets game. He had brought his nephew along, Tyler – but everybody calls him Grits. Good kid, his folks are poor as dirt like Stinky but he wants to play some hockey some day on a real team. Plays some street puck now but hasn’t ever had a new pair a skates even, Paul confided.
Grits was in awe of the game and since we were talking with the goalie’s dad he got to hear an earful of netminding bragging. All good for shit for sure.
I had to get back to the cabin to work on my teaching stuff but stood in the snack line with Stinky and Grits before I left. Picked up a couple of coffees and a hot chocolate for Grits. We chatted a bit more as we all headed out. Paul said that he was gonna spend most of the rest of the day with the kid. That’s a good deal.
The next day Stinky comes over to my place and tells me that Grits thinks he wants to be a goalie now and not to dampen his interest he took him over to Dick’s Sporting Goods to look at and try on some gear.
Paul tells me, “I’ll be damned Jasper, if that goalie gear isn’t really, really expensive. Even for a little guy like Grits. Shit and those sales guys over at Dick’s are just all a bunch of dicks tahoot. I’m bending over to try to see the price on some pads, you know they got them damn bar code tags and ya can’t tell how much things are until they scan them. Right? Well I have a little gas leak about then; the same time I say out loud to myself “I wonder how much these are?” Grits starts giggling a bit and says to me, “Uh, Uncle Paulie…” Shit Jasper, there was this smart ass dipshit sales kid standing behind me that heard me pass gas, you know I’m always doing that unintentionally. Right? Well he says to me “I’m afraid of what might happen if I tell you how much they are if you did that just looking at em.” Errrrr! I was pissed and I grabbed Grits by the shoulder and walked on out of there”
“We got out to the truck and I could tell that I had maybe saddened the little guy a bit. So I turned up the radio real loud once we got on the road and damned if Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap didn’t come on about four or five minutes into our drive back to the yard. We just screamed along to that tune at the top of our lungs and when it was over some Barry Manilow shit came on so I turned if off and we kept on screaming like we were earlier. It was nuts but he loved it. Crazy kid!”
I agreed with him on that and told him that he was little wacko too - “Must run in the family, ehh?”
“Yeah, right Wheats. Like you and yours ever got your shit together all the time. Damn, you gotta come see what I brought over. It was bitch of a find.”
We walk on over to his truck and I’m beginning to smell something pretty ripe. “Paul, you cutting the cheese or what? Damn that’s foul!”
“Nah, nah, it ain’t me and it ain’t that bad,” he says. “I scrubbed this stuff with some soda water and shampoo. You’ll dig it.”
He opens the tailgate and there’s a couple of big old black plastic tray shaped things in the bed. I examine them a little closer and realize that they’re the two halves of shit tank from a motor-home or something.
“Paul, what the fuck is this???”
Damn if he isn’t getting all excited. “Jasper, when me and Grits were heading down the road I saw this in a snow bank off the road there at Willow Creek. You know how the road dips and then bumps when you come off the bridge? Somebody must have bottom out and lost it. I pulled it out and slid it in the truck. Took it back to the yard and me and Grits cleaned it out and cut it in half. They don’t smell half as bad as they did yesterday.”
“Well, if you say so,” I tell him. “But I still want to know whacha got here.”
“I turned each half into a steerable, well somewhat steerable, sled or toboggan thingy. See how I added the rudders that I made from some broken sticks. Drilled a hole through the shaft about eight inches up from the blade and screwed them on to each side of both of the halves. They just kinda float until you pull back on one and it digs into the snow on that side, slowing ya down over there and that causes ya to turn in that damn direction. It’s a blast! Ya gotta try it. Me and Grits road em over at Turner’s hill all afternoon until I had to take him home. Maybe you and me could make some more and sell them. We could call them sloboggans.”
“Somebody probably already uses that name. Cuz a how they smell I think a more appropriate name might be shit-house-slammers, ehh.”
“Come on, we’ll go back to Turner’s hill and you give it a shot. Go tell your wife that you’ll be gone for about an hour.”
Done and gone were over towards Turner’s property and Paul says, “You know this is pretty mild over here. Kind of a kiddy slope if you know what I mean. No trees or nothing. Let’s try the deer woods over where the tracks cross Willow Creek. Will have to hike a bit but we can follow the tracks in. It won’t be so bad. The hill is steeper and we’ll have some trees to dodge. What do ya say?”
“Sounds like the spot. But ain’t so sure that this old stocking cap is gonna give my noggin enough protection in case I hit tree. Probably got to be a bit careful.”
“Nuts to that Jasper. I planned to get us over here and packed a couple of old Cooper helmets to wear. And I think that you’ll want to pay a little demolition derby against me out there. Dodging the trees will be like tip-toe’n thru the tulips, you’ll see. We’re gonna need to liven this up a bit – give it the old hockey pazzazzz. Ya know. You’ll be walking with wood after the first run!”
So off we went and I gotta tell you it was a blast. I felt like a dadgum kid again. Except for the next few days when I was sorer then shit. On one run, Paul had angled off to the left and I figured that he’d sweep back to the right and cut me off so I swerved hard to the left too, almost going back up hill and I clipped a damn tree knocking off one of my hockey stick rudders. It spun me all around and I ended up heading pretty much straight down hill with just a little directional control from the opposite side. I caught air and had no control at all and was heading right-on into some old big ass tree. Right when I hit the tree Stinky came right over the top of me too. Fuckin double ass wammy. Better air-lift me out of this one boys. I survived, sure enough. But tip-toe’n thru the tulips – my ass. Felt like Dave Schultz had just clocked me.
I think Stinky, just might have something here. He just needs to refine the design a little bit and beef up the attachment of those rudders. Its some good shit.
The worst of this whole fun fuckin time was getting back home and have the honey cuss me out over the stink and making me strip down out in the barn and bathing up out there before she’d let me back in the cabin. She wouldn’t even give me any fresh clothes cuz she was afraid the stink would get on them too. Damn that was a cold walk back to the cabin bare-ass naked. Sure got to get that tunnel built before next winter.
Later, puck-heads. Until next time, Jasper Wheats here; telling ya to skate hard.
Actually, that hasn’t been the case, you guys. I’ve really been awfully damn busy and I’ve been writing my ass off for a U – NI – VER – SI – TY class that I’m gonna be teachin in a couple of months. It’s just flippin amazing how much work ya have to do to prepare to teach 48 hours worth of lessons to a bunch of nincompoops. That’s what they are now but by the time I get done with em they’re going to be some real ass smart heads, ehh.
But I did get some nice tournament viewing last weekend. Wasn’t the big kids playing, just the youngins – Mites, Squirts and Peewees. Good stuff though. I’ve seen a lot a hockey over the years and I’ve probably played as much as I’ve watched. There’s nothing like the enthusiasm of parents at a tournament though. You know it’s road games all the way around except for the home teams, and if a kid shows up to play then you damn well know that there is an enthusiastic parent or two that brought him or her there. That’s dedication!
It was a double rink facility that had a public session going on over at the other sheet of ice so there was a whole slew of folks running around in the snack bar and lobby areas. Kids lining up at the snack bar getting their dose of gourmet rink grub and walking around in ill-fitting plastic skates that probably smelled worse then my gear ever has. Oh well, you got get an interest in the ice and sport some how, ehh. The local club was running a raffle for a mess of gift packs and shit. Mostly stuff for the ladies – I think – wines, cheese and cookies – that kind a stuff. I might a bought some tickets if I’d a seen some prizes that were like a couple of cases of brew, pro tickets or a nice Sherwood or something – but nah – didn’t see anything of the likes.
Looked like all the kids were just having a blast while each individual game was being played but just a little down after the game if they were on the losing side. Its good to lose once in a while – builds character and protects ya from others maybe thinkin that you’re all aliens (kinda tough to check the urinals after these little guys cuz most of ain’t tall enough yet to reach the rim – uh huh, maybe you ought to read a previous tale if that went over your head).
During one game there were so damn many red heads in the stands that I started looking for Anne of Green Gables out on the ice. Must have been a team from PEI I figured. Chatted up a local dad, Chris Gregg, that was counting shots for the stats. He had two boys that play and the younger of the two would be the goalie for the Jets in the next game. I stuck around to watch the start of it.
Before the first period was over the Jets were down four to nothin. Didn’t say anything bad about young Gregg in the nets, he was getting a good workout for a beginner. Showed signs of having some future good skills. Maybe he’ll want to skate for Norris’ Nightmares in a few years or maybe when he reaches legal drinking age he’ll come on board with the Outlaws. Who knows. Just damn glad to see passion in all of these kids and the support that there parents give. Yep, walking with wood all around. In recognition of the Jets, I thought I’d just list the roster here: Cunningham, Gauldin, Graves, Gregg, Larson, Merrick, Morton, Nadasdy, Schamoni, Sprague, Whitney and no-name #97 – HOOYAHHH!!!!!
Stinky showed up around the start of the Jets game. He had brought his nephew along, Tyler – but everybody calls him Grits. Good kid, his folks are poor as dirt like Stinky but he wants to play some hockey some day on a real team. Plays some street puck now but hasn’t ever had a new pair a skates even, Paul confided.
Grits was in awe of the game and since we were talking with the goalie’s dad he got to hear an earful of netminding bragging. All good for shit for sure.
I had to get back to the cabin to work on my teaching stuff but stood in the snack line with Stinky and Grits before I left. Picked up a couple of coffees and a hot chocolate for Grits. We chatted a bit more as we all headed out. Paul said that he was gonna spend most of the rest of the day with the kid. That’s a good deal.
The next day Stinky comes over to my place and tells me that Grits thinks he wants to be a goalie now and not to dampen his interest he took him over to Dick’s Sporting Goods to look at and try on some gear.
Paul tells me, “I’ll be damned Jasper, if that goalie gear isn’t really, really expensive. Even for a little guy like Grits. Shit and those sales guys over at Dick’s are just all a bunch of dicks tahoot. I’m bending over to try to see the price on some pads, you know they got them damn bar code tags and ya can’t tell how much things are until they scan them. Right? Well I have a little gas leak about then; the same time I say out loud to myself “I wonder how much these are?” Grits starts giggling a bit and says to me, “Uh, Uncle Paulie…” Shit Jasper, there was this smart ass dipshit sales kid standing behind me that heard me pass gas, you know I’m always doing that unintentionally. Right? Well he says to me “I’m afraid of what might happen if I tell you how much they are if you did that just looking at em.” Errrrr! I was pissed and I grabbed Grits by the shoulder and walked on out of there”
“We got out to the truck and I could tell that I had maybe saddened the little guy a bit. So I turned up the radio real loud once we got on the road and damned if Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap didn’t come on about four or five minutes into our drive back to the yard. We just screamed along to that tune at the top of our lungs and when it was over some Barry Manilow shit came on so I turned if off and we kept on screaming like we were earlier. It was nuts but he loved it. Crazy kid!”
I agreed with him on that and told him that he was little wacko too - “Must run in the family, ehh?”
“Yeah, right Wheats. Like you and yours ever got your shit together all the time. Damn, you gotta come see what I brought over. It was bitch of a find.”
We walk on over to his truck and I’m beginning to smell something pretty ripe. “Paul, you cutting the cheese or what? Damn that’s foul!”
“Nah, nah, it ain’t me and it ain’t that bad,” he says. “I scrubbed this stuff with some soda water and shampoo. You’ll dig it.”
He opens the tailgate and there’s a couple of big old black plastic tray shaped things in the bed. I examine them a little closer and realize that they’re the two halves of shit tank from a motor-home or something.
“Paul, what the fuck is this???”
Damn if he isn’t getting all excited. “Jasper, when me and Grits were heading down the road I saw this in a snow bank off the road there at Willow Creek. You know how the road dips and then bumps when you come off the bridge? Somebody must have bottom out and lost it. I pulled it out and slid it in the truck. Took it back to the yard and me and Grits cleaned it out and cut it in half. They don’t smell half as bad as they did yesterday.”
“Well, if you say so,” I tell him. “But I still want to know whacha got here.”
“I turned each half into a steerable, well somewhat steerable, sled or toboggan thingy. See how I added the rudders that I made from some broken sticks. Drilled a hole through the shaft about eight inches up from the blade and screwed them on to each side of both of the halves. They just kinda float until you pull back on one and it digs into the snow on that side, slowing ya down over there and that causes ya to turn in that damn direction. It’s a blast! Ya gotta try it. Me and Grits road em over at Turner’s hill all afternoon until I had to take him home. Maybe you and me could make some more and sell them. We could call them sloboggans.”
“Somebody probably already uses that name. Cuz a how they smell I think a more appropriate name might be shit-house-slammers, ehh.”
“Come on, we’ll go back to Turner’s hill and you give it a shot. Go tell your wife that you’ll be gone for about an hour.”
Done and gone were over towards Turner’s property and Paul says, “You know this is pretty mild over here. Kind of a kiddy slope if you know what I mean. No trees or nothing. Let’s try the deer woods over where the tracks cross Willow Creek. Will have to hike a bit but we can follow the tracks in. It won’t be so bad. The hill is steeper and we’ll have some trees to dodge. What do ya say?”
“Sounds like the spot. But ain’t so sure that this old stocking cap is gonna give my noggin enough protection in case I hit tree. Probably got to be a bit careful.”
“Nuts to that Jasper. I planned to get us over here and packed a couple of old Cooper helmets to wear. And I think that you’ll want to pay a little demolition derby against me out there. Dodging the trees will be like tip-toe’n thru the tulips, you’ll see. We’re gonna need to liven this up a bit – give it the old hockey pazzazzz. Ya know. You’ll be walking with wood after the first run!”
So off we went and I gotta tell you it was a blast. I felt like a dadgum kid again. Except for the next few days when I was sorer then shit. On one run, Paul had angled off to the left and I figured that he’d sweep back to the right and cut me off so I swerved hard to the left too, almost going back up hill and I clipped a damn tree knocking off one of my hockey stick rudders. It spun me all around and I ended up heading pretty much straight down hill with just a little directional control from the opposite side. I caught air and had no control at all and was heading right-on into some old big ass tree. Right when I hit the tree Stinky came right over the top of me too. Fuckin double ass wammy. Better air-lift me out of this one boys. I survived, sure enough. But tip-toe’n thru the tulips – my ass. Felt like Dave Schultz had just clocked me.
I think Stinky, just might have something here. He just needs to refine the design a little bit and beef up the attachment of those rudders. Its some good shit.
The worst of this whole fun fuckin time was getting back home and have the honey cuss me out over the stink and making me strip down out in the barn and bathing up out there before she’d let me back in the cabin. She wouldn’t even give me any fresh clothes cuz she was afraid the stink would get on them too. Damn that was a cold walk back to the cabin bare-ass naked. Sure got to get that tunnel built before next winter.
Later, puck-heads. Until next time, Jasper Wheats here; telling ya to skate hard.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
EXCHANGING FLUIDS
Good morning all. Heck maybe its evening as you’re reading this but you understand the gist of my greeting, ehh.
Been damn near snowed in for a while here. Damn storm came up from the southwest all full of moisture and it hit a cold front coming down from Siberia, or somewhere, right over the cabin for shits sake. Never seen anything like it around here before – snowing like crazy with wind – blizzard conditions I’m telling you, you guys. And the strangest ass thing about it was the thunder and lightning. You usually don’t see that kind of bizarre meteorological behavior around here in the dead of winter. Must a dumped a couple of feet of a heavy wet mess. Great for snowballs but really sucked otherwise.
It definitely just destroyed the ice down at the pond. Once we get some sub zero weather again, and after we shovel it off, that top surface layer is going to look like that porous lava rock that I’ve seen in museums. Ain’t worth a horse turd for skating on.
But its Sunday and I’ve been looking at the local paper. Sort of a ritual, sipping coffee and waiting for the honey to get up and laugh at me about making some breakfast. But it’s what I do, in the winter, sit around the fire with my rag to read and a cup of joe to clear out the cobwebs. How about you guys? What’s your weekend morning routine like? I always put up a thankful blessing request to the Good Lord for the cabin we have. Makes for some sweet coziness.
The fire’s popping cuz I put in some nasty old knots – makes it kinda exciting you know and the honey has now joined me. She asks me why I’m all dressed up. It’s a joke. Cuz I’m still lounging around in my light grey union suit. Winter time that’s my sleeping gear. Don’t usually use em for hockey. There it’s a t-shirt and long johns under my gear. But sleeping and hangin around the cabin on weekend mornings I gotta have my union suit on. Buttons up in front and’s got a flap in back. Now days it seems everbody’s in sweats and hoodies but mercy if Sears & Roebucks, Woolworths, Monkey Wards, and JC Pennys weren’t selling these look before the sweat sets ever got invented.
The honey says, “Jasper, you weren’t wearing those when you went out to the road to pick up the paper again were you. You don’t know what might been flapping out.”
I said, “Well, yes, I sure for shit was and you know as well as I do that there ain’t much left to flap about anyway. I just slipped on my boots and that old red stocking cap and high stepped it out there to get it. Plus as I usually do, I faced back towards the cabin when I bent over to pick it up giving old Agnes McGhee a nice peek of my hiney if she’s so inclined to look.”
“She can’t see you from there, you old fool of a fart.”
“Oh yes she can, and she does. I’ve seen that pair of binoculars sitting on the window sill over her kitchen sink when we’ve been to visit. That old bitty spies on me all the time from her little perch of a stool in the kitchen. Stinky even said that she’s hired him to clean brush that was blocking her view of the end of our drive.”
“She’s a nice old lady, now shut your trap!”
“Yup, she’s a nice old frustrated lady, uh yup.”
The conversation dies on that note and I’m back to my paper.
But I’m thinking what do you guys think? Should a grown man run around in his underwear? I mean, the alternative is to run around naked, right? I sure for shit am not a bathrobe type guy. What a waste of fabric, ehh.
I hear some noise outside, sounds like Stinky’s truck and then some. He said that he was going to come over later to move some snow from between the cabin and the barn for me. Damn, it’ll be nice when I can finish my basement and dig that tunnel between it and the barn.
I get up to see about Stinky Duvall and pour him a fresh cup of joe. He seems to be a happy camper today. He made some good money clearing snow cuz of the storm and he tells me that he made himself one haulin-ass snow blower. So figurin that I’ll be outside for a while I throw on my parka for this excursion.
We get out to his truck and back on the trailer is some hacked up piece a machinery like ya might a seen in one of Mel Gibson’s early Aussy movies.
“What the fuck is that, Paul?” I query and spit.
He gets a bit excited explaining it to me. “Well, it’s the front end of Craftsman forty inch snow blower that some one brought out to the yard last spring that I married to the back end of that old Honda Blackhawk that Alan Oveson used to have. I had to re-gear that pup so that it runs in reverse direction, and only first gear.”
“Well that’s one hell of a contraption.” I respond as I walk around the trailer looking it over kind a careful like. “What’s all this other shit?”
“I had to cut the turning stops off of the front end so that I could turn the handle bars backwards, pulled the front wheel off and attached a broken snow board that I fixed with epoxy to the forks that I extended. I can stand right on it while I’m blowing snow, self-propelled.”
I said, “Yup, all ya need now is a fairing from a Gold-Wing and you’re all set!”
“Jasp, ya musta been reading my mind!” He gets even more worked up over this touch of genius. “See how I extended the rear axle so that I’ve got the sprocket there to drive the blower in between the two wheels. Yup. Added a second wheel back there, I mean on the front of it. I mean, you know what I mean. And I shot over a hundred Hilti pins through the rims to provide good traction. No tires, you can see.”
“Yup, Paul, I think you’ve got the ultimate death machine here if anybody gets in front of you. You ought to apply for a job with Toro or maybe them folks at Zamboni. Get a job in their design department, ehh.”
“Shit Jasper, I just pieced it together. Oh, and look up here at the front of the blower. I added a couple of busted up goalie sticks on each side to help funnel more snow into it. Ain’t it something?”
“Yup, but does it blow snow?” The snorkel was laying down but it looked like it was about six or seven feet long and about a foot in diameter.
“Or shit yes, Wheats. I added a Dayton DC motor-blower combo into the pipe that your brother Bronzy gave me. Had to add a truck battery to run it, but I had a ton of them at the yard. Let me fire it up and clean that section back to the barn for you.”
So he fires this thing-a-ma-jig up. And ohhh, did I mention he was running it with open pipes I think. Louder then a friggin jet engine. Guess he had hydraulics for the snorkel cuz that pup went up smooth as can be with out even a bit of a snag. And off he went. He cleared what must a been close to an acre of open space in a little less then a half hour. At first it looked like a blizzard again but he started in the middle and worked the north side first blowing to the north then did the other half blowing to the south. Slick-titty-boom. But I think I lost my hearing.
“What ya think, Jasper?”
“Huh? I can hardly hear you. Pretty sweet! But awfully damn noisy. You wearing ear plugs?”
He pulls some stuff outta his coat pocket and shows me his shooting muffs and foam plugs both. “Double protection.” He’s walking with wood. Purty damn proud of this snow beast.
“How about your customer’s ears?”
He just shrugs his shoulders.
I invite him in for something more to drink.
We go inside and I microwave a couple of half mugs of eggnog and top em off half and half with some no-name peach brandy and Cap’n Morgan’s. Good shit for this time of year if ya ain’t playin hockey but just fartin around.
Each of us taking sips I grab the paper again. Damn if there ain’t some fool ad for 20% off for exchanging fluids. Sounds like a pick up line if ya ask me. I show it to Paul and he about does a reverse-through-the-nose chuckle.
He asks, “What the heck, is that an ad for a hooker or something?”
I yell to the honey, she’s in the bedroom I guess, “Sugar, me and Stinky are going down to Meg’s. Seems as that skank whore Annie-Poo that hangs out there is running a 20% off special on exchanging body fluids. We can’t pass this up.”
Wise-ass that she is she yells back, “Paul I can’t speak for you but that old fart Jasper better not have a spare drop of fluid left in him after that romp I gave him last night. You keep your tail-end right here, you hear me, Jasper Wheats.”
“Shit honey, it was just an ad that we were looking at for Ole’s Garage over in Patterson. He’s sure going to catch some crap for the way he had it worded.”
“Well you’re going to catch some crap if ya don’t bring in some more firewood. Give Paul something for clearing the snow and send him on his way. Ok?”
I walk Paul back out to his truck and suggest that he head down to the pond if he gets a chance and clear it off. If we have to then will bore a hole like we did a couple of years ago and use that gasoline powered pump to flood it over again on the next sub zero night.
Good stuff here in the North Woods. Wish ya could be here to enjoy it!
Until next time, Jasper here - walking with wood.
Been damn near snowed in for a while here. Damn storm came up from the southwest all full of moisture and it hit a cold front coming down from Siberia, or somewhere, right over the cabin for shits sake. Never seen anything like it around here before – snowing like crazy with wind – blizzard conditions I’m telling you, you guys. And the strangest ass thing about it was the thunder and lightning. You usually don’t see that kind of bizarre meteorological behavior around here in the dead of winter. Must a dumped a couple of feet of a heavy wet mess. Great for snowballs but really sucked otherwise.
It definitely just destroyed the ice down at the pond. Once we get some sub zero weather again, and after we shovel it off, that top surface layer is going to look like that porous lava rock that I’ve seen in museums. Ain’t worth a horse turd for skating on.
But its Sunday and I’ve been looking at the local paper. Sort of a ritual, sipping coffee and waiting for the honey to get up and laugh at me about making some breakfast. But it’s what I do, in the winter, sit around the fire with my rag to read and a cup of joe to clear out the cobwebs. How about you guys? What’s your weekend morning routine like? I always put up a thankful blessing request to the Good Lord for the cabin we have. Makes for some sweet coziness.
The fire’s popping cuz I put in some nasty old knots – makes it kinda exciting you know and the honey has now joined me. She asks me why I’m all dressed up. It’s a joke. Cuz I’m still lounging around in my light grey union suit. Winter time that’s my sleeping gear. Don’t usually use em for hockey. There it’s a t-shirt and long johns under my gear. But sleeping and hangin around the cabin on weekend mornings I gotta have my union suit on. Buttons up in front and’s got a flap in back. Now days it seems everbody’s in sweats and hoodies but mercy if Sears & Roebucks, Woolworths, Monkey Wards, and JC Pennys weren’t selling these look before the sweat sets ever got invented.
The honey says, “Jasper, you weren’t wearing those when you went out to the road to pick up the paper again were you. You don’t know what might been flapping out.”
I said, “Well, yes, I sure for shit was and you know as well as I do that there ain’t much left to flap about anyway. I just slipped on my boots and that old red stocking cap and high stepped it out there to get it. Plus as I usually do, I faced back towards the cabin when I bent over to pick it up giving old Agnes McGhee a nice peek of my hiney if she’s so inclined to look.”
“She can’t see you from there, you old fool of a fart.”
“Oh yes she can, and she does. I’ve seen that pair of binoculars sitting on the window sill over her kitchen sink when we’ve been to visit. That old bitty spies on me all the time from her little perch of a stool in the kitchen. Stinky even said that she’s hired him to clean brush that was blocking her view of the end of our drive.”
“She’s a nice old lady, now shut your trap!”
“Yup, she’s a nice old frustrated lady, uh yup.”
The conversation dies on that note and I’m back to my paper.
But I’m thinking what do you guys think? Should a grown man run around in his underwear? I mean, the alternative is to run around naked, right? I sure for shit am not a bathrobe type guy. What a waste of fabric, ehh.
I hear some noise outside, sounds like Stinky’s truck and then some. He said that he was going to come over later to move some snow from between the cabin and the barn for me. Damn, it’ll be nice when I can finish my basement and dig that tunnel between it and the barn.
I get up to see about Stinky Duvall and pour him a fresh cup of joe. He seems to be a happy camper today. He made some good money clearing snow cuz of the storm and he tells me that he made himself one haulin-ass snow blower. So figurin that I’ll be outside for a while I throw on my parka for this excursion.
We get out to his truck and back on the trailer is some hacked up piece a machinery like ya might a seen in one of Mel Gibson’s early Aussy movies.
“What the fuck is that, Paul?” I query and spit.
He gets a bit excited explaining it to me. “Well, it’s the front end of Craftsman forty inch snow blower that some one brought out to the yard last spring that I married to the back end of that old Honda Blackhawk that Alan Oveson used to have. I had to re-gear that pup so that it runs in reverse direction, and only first gear.”
“Well that’s one hell of a contraption.” I respond as I walk around the trailer looking it over kind a careful like. “What’s all this other shit?”
“I had to cut the turning stops off of the front end so that I could turn the handle bars backwards, pulled the front wheel off and attached a broken snow board that I fixed with epoxy to the forks that I extended. I can stand right on it while I’m blowing snow, self-propelled.”
I said, “Yup, all ya need now is a fairing from a Gold-Wing and you’re all set!”
“Jasp, ya musta been reading my mind!” He gets even more worked up over this touch of genius. “See how I extended the rear axle so that I’ve got the sprocket there to drive the blower in between the two wheels. Yup. Added a second wheel back there, I mean on the front of it. I mean, you know what I mean. And I shot over a hundred Hilti pins through the rims to provide good traction. No tires, you can see.”
“Yup, Paul, I think you’ve got the ultimate death machine here if anybody gets in front of you. You ought to apply for a job with Toro or maybe them folks at Zamboni. Get a job in their design department, ehh.”
“Shit Jasper, I just pieced it together. Oh, and look up here at the front of the blower. I added a couple of busted up goalie sticks on each side to help funnel more snow into it. Ain’t it something?”
“Yup, but does it blow snow?” The snorkel was laying down but it looked like it was about six or seven feet long and about a foot in diameter.
“Or shit yes, Wheats. I added a Dayton DC motor-blower combo into the pipe that your brother Bronzy gave me. Had to add a truck battery to run it, but I had a ton of them at the yard. Let me fire it up and clean that section back to the barn for you.”
So he fires this thing-a-ma-jig up. And ohhh, did I mention he was running it with open pipes I think. Louder then a friggin jet engine. Guess he had hydraulics for the snorkel cuz that pup went up smooth as can be with out even a bit of a snag. And off he went. He cleared what must a been close to an acre of open space in a little less then a half hour. At first it looked like a blizzard again but he started in the middle and worked the north side first blowing to the north then did the other half blowing to the south. Slick-titty-boom. But I think I lost my hearing.
“What ya think, Jasper?”
“Huh? I can hardly hear you. Pretty sweet! But awfully damn noisy. You wearing ear plugs?”
He pulls some stuff outta his coat pocket and shows me his shooting muffs and foam plugs both. “Double protection.” He’s walking with wood. Purty damn proud of this snow beast.
“How about your customer’s ears?”
He just shrugs his shoulders.
I invite him in for something more to drink.
We go inside and I microwave a couple of half mugs of eggnog and top em off half and half with some no-name peach brandy and Cap’n Morgan’s. Good shit for this time of year if ya ain’t playin hockey but just fartin around.
Each of us taking sips I grab the paper again. Damn if there ain’t some fool ad for 20% off for exchanging fluids. Sounds like a pick up line if ya ask me. I show it to Paul and he about does a reverse-through-the-nose chuckle.
He asks, “What the heck, is that an ad for a hooker or something?”
I yell to the honey, she’s in the bedroom I guess, “Sugar, me and Stinky are going down to Meg’s. Seems as that skank whore Annie-Poo that hangs out there is running a 20% off special on exchanging body fluids. We can’t pass this up.”
Wise-ass that she is she yells back, “Paul I can’t speak for you but that old fart Jasper better not have a spare drop of fluid left in him after that romp I gave him last night. You keep your tail-end right here, you hear me, Jasper Wheats.”
“Shit honey, it was just an ad that we were looking at for Ole’s Garage over in Patterson. He’s sure going to catch some crap for the way he had it worded.”
“Well you’re going to catch some crap if ya don’t bring in some more firewood. Give Paul something for clearing the snow and send him on his way. Ok?”
I walk Paul back out to his truck and suggest that he head down to the pond if he gets a chance and clear it off. If we have to then will bore a hole like we did a couple of years ago and use that gasoline powered pump to flood it over again on the next sub zero night.
Good stuff here in the North Woods. Wish ya could be here to enjoy it!
Until next time, Jasper here - walking with wood.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
CHRISTMAS TOADS
Hey you guys, here’s a Happy Good Holiday to you!
It’s been a fair week so far for me. Been back home for most of it instead of being on the road. The company Christmas Party is tonight, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. Me and the honey will get dolled up and have some fun. She bought me some nice dress slacks and had them tailored so that my short leg doesn’t have a damn pile of fabric hangin on my boot. It helps to look spiffed up for these things ya know. She’ll look stunning as usual - damn I love that lady!
So being in town I got a chance to coach a couple of games with my Norris’s Nightmares. Jingles and Bronzy have been doing wonders with them. They looked tight and are two games out of first place in their division. They split the games with the Red Dogs over in Wateca. The Red Dogs have got that hotter then shit girl goalie. She’s got that glove hand that every guy is looking for around midnight if ya know what I mean - fast. Tanker bullnosed through the slot for a couple of goals in the second game knocking her on her keister both times. Just a tiny bit of fisticuffs erupted as would be expected. But the bitch is tough, and takes her teeth out when she plays. She knows what she’s up against every night. Our defense finally looks like their working as team-mates now when they’re out on the ice. Seem to know where each other is at or at least where they’re supposed to be at. It looked good. I was real pleased. These guys have really been working hard and I gotta say that they’re walking with wood right now.
I also managed to hook up for a game with the Outlaws last night. Woody moved out of state earlier in the season so I played as him. He’s my drunken twin to most folks who have ever seen us together, ’cept his short legs are both the same length. I don’t have his skills either, but who cares - nobody gives a rats ass. It was fun. We went over to Maggy’s and closed the place like old times. Nothin like chugging brewskies and having the barmaid bringin ya free shooters, ehh. I hadn’t hung out with these guys for a while so It was the tits of a good time.
Maggy’s parking lot is gravel and this time of year ya can’t see much of it due to the snow. Stinky comes over and plows it out for her and gets free lunches a couple a times a week for helping out. So anyway ya gotta kinda watch your step out there cuz one step ya take might be on some packed ice or re-melt with a bit of a slip and the next ya might hit exposed gravel grabbin your foot fo a nose dive. It’s a little dicey.
We call it a night inside but Jingles and Bronzy continue some small talk as we head towards my truck. I pull my gear out the cab to throw into the bed when out of the dark Tidwilly and the Wanker boys jump me. Oh shit! What a mess that was. Jingles just about ripped Tidwilly apart. He picked him up at one point and threw him completely over the hood of my truck. The dude just has an Irish mean streak that comes out sometimes and when he’s pumped there’s some unbelievable strength lurking beneath that mellow nature of his. Bronzy, too, don’t believe I ever seen him fight with such vigor. Me, I slipped on the packed snow at the first blow but by the time I was up, Jingles was on Tidwilly. So I squared off with one of the Wanker boys, I can’t tell em apart. They’re both just no good sons of a bitches. We took our blows but I truly believe we pretty much pounded the shit outta them before the sheriff deputies showed up.
Deputy Skolyan took charge of the situation and had dictated cuffing us all. Man was I pumped! After a few minutes while he was on the radio we sat in crusiers waiting to get hauled in. Then he came over to the car that me and my brothers were in and said “Un-cuff the Wheats’. Jasper, you, and your brothers, head-on on home now. Don’t get in anymore shit. These dirt bags that ya whooped on have got some recent warrants against them. I ‘spect that they’ll do thirty days or so. Gonna be Christmas Toads back at our little county lockup. Now git outta here.”
I looked over at Jingles and he had one of his shit eattin grins on and was looking at his bloody knuckles and then I looked over at Bronzy. The dude looked like he was on speed or something. His eyes were so dilated - I realized he was just as torqued as me.
I said, “Hey, sleep ain’t gonna come easy tonight. What say we go down to Denny’s for Grand Slams?”
Jingles smirks, “I think we just had one, but that suits me just fine, Jasper. Lets roll.”
Over to Denny’s we get our chow and like Jingles likes to say “The thousand assorted jellies.” Damn it’s good to be hangin out with my brothers.
Jingles is eight years younger then me. He was born in early January and I like to think that he is one of the best late Christmas presents I ever got. I had been the only boy in the family until he came along - shit having five sisters up until then. I remember how proud I was of him when I was just a kid. I remember the first Christmas present that I bought for him. Cost me a whole dime. It was a blue plastic bear, about five or six inches long. I thought it was just the coolest thing to give your baby brother. Yup, you ain’t real smart when you’re just a kid yet. But he was special to me. Seems as though in fourth or fifth grade I took him with me on the last day of school for show-and-tell. Damn, using your brother as a show-and-tell piece. Crazy, ehh?
We jabbered about all the old time shit while we ate our breakfasts. I told em that watchin Jingles throw Tidwilly reminded me of the time when Bronzy was snooping around under the Christmas tree as a kid and it pissed me off so much that I picked him up and took him outside and threw him into junipers in the front yard.
Bronzy responds, “Yeah, Jasp, you’d go a little crazy now and then didn’t ya?”
Jingles joins the chew on me and says “Shit, remember when I was your jinx whenever you were working on your car. I remember you throwing me around a bit too.”
“Fuck you, you guys. Nobody knew it back then, that I had a blood sugar problem that would make me damn cantankerous if I didn’t eat with regularity. That’s what most of the problem was. I’ve come to figure out that that’s why I’d get so angry about having to wait to eat dinner after Dad got home from work.”
Bronzy about spews his Tabasco’d eggs, “Nine o’clock?”
“Yeah, nine o’clock, Jasper! You still got that clock that Lori and Jim gave you for Christmas that year that only has nine’s on it? Shit, you always were screaming at Mom, “When are we gonna eat, nine o‘clock?“”
“Damn right I still have it. Keep it in my office at home along side some other treasured stuff. I replace the battery in it every year or so and never had any problem telling what time it is with it.” And I jab back, “Ya still got those Nuclear Briefs that I made for you that one Christmas?”
We had made Christmas lists back then and he had written "Nuclear Briefs" on his list. So I made him some. Bought a jock strap and spray painted it gold and threaded an electrical cord into the waist elastic. Made a semi-professional label for a box and wrapped it all up for him. It was hilarious.
“Did anybody ever take a picture of you wearing it? I’d love to post that on a website.”
“Eat shit Jasper. I have no idea what happened to that thing. I figure that one of these years Ry-Ry will surprise me with a new pair.”
We carried on for some time talking about the old days.
Family is something great and I gotta tell ya (not tryin to be all mushy and shit) ya gotta cherish every single moment. Like country singer, Kenny Chesny‘s song “Don’t Blink.” It all goes so fast and every moment can create a hell of a memory for ya. Hang on to them. Tell the stories later and you’ll be walking with wood in the eyes of your future kids or grandkids.
I think back at Christmas’s when I was a kid and the few gifts that I got. We weren’t rich and there sure were a bunch of us in the family. As I recall these items mentioned next were my main gifts in any particular year.
A model airplane, Navy Trainer, made of thin webbed plastic with a rubber band driven prop. Dad could make it fly further then I could. Guess it was because of his height - the plane had more altitude to start with. Me, I’d just wind the rubber band as tight as I could to help it out. Broke the rubber band a few times. Took forever after breaking this gift for me to figure out how to fix things.
An orangish-yellow sweatshirt that had either Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett on it. I’ve never had a yellow sweatshirt since then but wear grays, blues, blacks and whites all the times now days.
An eighty power Gilbert reflecting telescope. Still like looking at the sky at night and all sorts of other heavenly bodies.
Mark Twain’s book “Tom Sawyer”. Probably this tale has had more influence on me then much else. Am I not a little Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn myself, ehh? Could I become the new Mark Twain?
‘Course I got to pick out a new hockey stick one year and we know where that took me.
Oh yeah, those past holidays of gift giving and receiving were great times. Are the physical gifts more lasting then the emotional ones? Nah I don’t thinks so.
What kinda memories of your past holidays can you dig up?
Like I mentioned earlier, I want all of you to have a great Christmas. There’s no point in moping about over bad times. Make your own good times. Have a blast! You just gotta skate hard and walk with wood.
Don’t be a Christmas Toad, ehh.
Now I got some knuckle bumps to heal and some sleep to catch up on before tonight’s company party. So I’ll see ya later.
It’s been a fair week so far for me. Been back home for most of it instead of being on the road. The company Christmas Party is tonight, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. Me and the honey will get dolled up and have some fun. She bought me some nice dress slacks and had them tailored so that my short leg doesn’t have a damn pile of fabric hangin on my boot. It helps to look spiffed up for these things ya know. She’ll look stunning as usual - damn I love that lady!
So being in town I got a chance to coach a couple of games with my Norris’s Nightmares. Jingles and Bronzy have been doing wonders with them. They looked tight and are two games out of first place in their division. They split the games with the Red Dogs over in Wateca. The Red Dogs have got that hotter then shit girl goalie. She’s got that glove hand that every guy is looking for around midnight if ya know what I mean - fast. Tanker bullnosed through the slot for a couple of goals in the second game knocking her on her keister both times. Just a tiny bit of fisticuffs erupted as would be expected. But the bitch is tough, and takes her teeth out when she plays. She knows what she’s up against every night. Our defense finally looks like their working as team-mates now when they’re out on the ice. Seem to know where each other is at or at least where they’re supposed to be at. It looked good. I was real pleased. These guys have really been working hard and I gotta say that they’re walking with wood right now.
I also managed to hook up for a game with the Outlaws last night. Woody moved out of state earlier in the season so I played as him. He’s my drunken twin to most folks who have ever seen us together, ’cept his short legs are both the same length. I don’t have his skills either, but who cares - nobody gives a rats ass. It was fun. We went over to Maggy’s and closed the place like old times. Nothin like chugging brewskies and having the barmaid bringin ya free shooters, ehh. I hadn’t hung out with these guys for a while so It was the tits of a good time.
Maggy’s parking lot is gravel and this time of year ya can’t see much of it due to the snow. Stinky comes over and plows it out for her and gets free lunches a couple a times a week for helping out. So anyway ya gotta kinda watch your step out there cuz one step ya take might be on some packed ice or re-melt with a bit of a slip and the next ya might hit exposed gravel grabbin your foot fo a nose dive. It’s a little dicey.
We call it a night inside but Jingles and Bronzy continue some small talk as we head towards my truck. I pull my gear out the cab to throw into the bed when out of the dark Tidwilly and the Wanker boys jump me. Oh shit! What a mess that was. Jingles just about ripped Tidwilly apart. He picked him up at one point and threw him completely over the hood of my truck. The dude just has an Irish mean streak that comes out sometimes and when he’s pumped there’s some unbelievable strength lurking beneath that mellow nature of his. Bronzy, too, don’t believe I ever seen him fight with such vigor. Me, I slipped on the packed snow at the first blow but by the time I was up, Jingles was on Tidwilly. So I squared off with one of the Wanker boys, I can’t tell em apart. They’re both just no good sons of a bitches. We took our blows but I truly believe we pretty much pounded the shit outta them before the sheriff deputies showed up.
Deputy Skolyan took charge of the situation and had dictated cuffing us all. Man was I pumped! After a few minutes while he was on the radio we sat in crusiers waiting to get hauled in. Then he came over to the car that me and my brothers were in and said “Un-cuff the Wheats’. Jasper, you, and your brothers, head-on on home now. Don’t get in anymore shit. These dirt bags that ya whooped on have got some recent warrants against them. I ‘spect that they’ll do thirty days or so. Gonna be Christmas Toads back at our little county lockup. Now git outta here.”
I looked over at Jingles and he had one of his shit eattin grins on and was looking at his bloody knuckles and then I looked over at Bronzy. The dude looked like he was on speed or something. His eyes were so dilated - I realized he was just as torqued as me.
I said, “Hey, sleep ain’t gonna come easy tonight. What say we go down to Denny’s for Grand Slams?”
Jingles smirks, “I think we just had one, but that suits me just fine, Jasper. Lets roll.”
Over to Denny’s we get our chow and like Jingles likes to say “The thousand assorted jellies.” Damn it’s good to be hangin out with my brothers.
Jingles is eight years younger then me. He was born in early January and I like to think that he is one of the best late Christmas presents I ever got. I had been the only boy in the family until he came along - shit having five sisters up until then. I remember how proud I was of him when I was just a kid. I remember the first Christmas present that I bought for him. Cost me a whole dime. It was a blue plastic bear, about five or six inches long. I thought it was just the coolest thing to give your baby brother. Yup, you ain’t real smart when you’re just a kid yet. But he was special to me. Seems as though in fourth or fifth grade I took him with me on the last day of school for show-and-tell. Damn, using your brother as a show-and-tell piece. Crazy, ehh?
We jabbered about all the old time shit while we ate our breakfasts. I told em that watchin Jingles throw Tidwilly reminded me of the time when Bronzy was snooping around under the Christmas tree as a kid and it pissed me off so much that I picked him up and took him outside and threw him into junipers in the front yard.
Bronzy responds, “Yeah, Jasp, you’d go a little crazy now and then didn’t ya?”
Jingles joins the chew on me and says “Shit, remember when I was your jinx whenever you were working on your car. I remember you throwing me around a bit too.”
“Fuck you, you guys. Nobody knew it back then, that I had a blood sugar problem that would make me damn cantankerous if I didn’t eat with regularity. That’s what most of the problem was. I’ve come to figure out that that’s why I’d get so angry about having to wait to eat dinner after Dad got home from work.”
Bronzy about spews his Tabasco’d eggs, “Nine o’clock?”
“Yeah, nine o’clock, Jasper! You still got that clock that Lori and Jim gave you for Christmas that year that only has nine’s on it? Shit, you always were screaming at Mom, “When are we gonna eat, nine o‘clock?“”
“Damn right I still have it. Keep it in my office at home along side some other treasured stuff. I replace the battery in it every year or so and never had any problem telling what time it is with it.” And I jab back, “Ya still got those Nuclear Briefs that I made for you that one Christmas?”
We had made Christmas lists back then and he had written "Nuclear Briefs" on his list. So I made him some. Bought a jock strap and spray painted it gold and threaded an electrical cord into the waist elastic. Made a semi-professional label for a box and wrapped it all up for him. It was hilarious.
“Did anybody ever take a picture of you wearing it? I’d love to post that on a website.”
“Eat shit Jasper. I have no idea what happened to that thing. I figure that one of these years Ry-Ry will surprise me with a new pair.”
We carried on for some time talking about the old days.
Family is something great and I gotta tell ya (not tryin to be all mushy and shit) ya gotta cherish every single moment. Like country singer, Kenny Chesny‘s song “Don’t Blink.” It all goes so fast and every moment can create a hell of a memory for ya. Hang on to them. Tell the stories later and you’ll be walking with wood in the eyes of your future kids or grandkids.
I think back at Christmas’s when I was a kid and the few gifts that I got. We weren’t rich and there sure were a bunch of us in the family. As I recall these items mentioned next were my main gifts in any particular year.
A model airplane, Navy Trainer, made of thin webbed plastic with a rubber band driven prop. Dad could make it fly further then I could. Guess it was because of his height - the plane had more altitude to start with. Me, I’d just wind the rubber band as tight as I could to help it out. Broke the rubber band a few times. Took forever after breaking this gift for me to figure out how to fix things.
An orangish-yellow sweatshirt that had either Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett on it. I’ve never had a yellow sweatshirt since then but wear grays, blues, blacks and whites all the times now days.
An eighty power Gilbert reflecting telescope. Still like looking at the sky at night and all sorts of other heavenly bodies.
Mark Twain’s book “Tom Sawyer”. Probably this tale has had more influence on me then much else. Am I not a little Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn myself, ehh? Could I become the new Mark Twain?
‘Course I got to pick out a new hockey stick one year and we know where that took me.
Oh yeah, those past holidays of gift giving and receiving were great times. Are the physical gifts more lasting then the emotional ones? Nah I don’t thinks so.
What kinda memories of your past holidays can you dig up?
Like I mentioned earlier, I want all of you to have a great Christmas. There’s no point in moping about over bad times. Make your own good times. Have a blast! You just gotta skate hard and walk with wood.
Don’t be a Christmas Toad, ehh.
Now I got some knuckle bumps to heal and some sleep to catch up on before tonight’s company party. So I’ll see ya later.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
HASH
Hey, you guys. Sorry I missed ya last week. Just have been ’streamly busy with my real job. I’ve had to travel a quite a bit recently and then had problems with the company vehicle that really clobbered the old gumption to tell ya a new story here. Besides work, Christmas is fast approaching and the season makes my mind wonder a bit. Start thinking about the old days, ehh, and holiday hockey out on the pond again. Those were the times! You guys can relate to that?
But I’ve also been really tied up in an old rag knot with a new endeavor. I’ll be teaching a university class this spring and have to do a lot prep shit for that too. With all that’s going on I sure hope that someday I’ll have sacked away enough money that the honey and me can afford to quit milkin the cows, if ya know what I mean.
So here goes this week’s trip into my world. Hang on, cuz I sure hope ya got an appetite for some excitement and dad-burn foolishness.
HASH - you’re familiar with the word, ehh? Yah. A shortened version of the word hashish that Webster says is “unadulterated resin from the flowering tops of the female hemp plant that is smoked, chewed or drunk for its intoxicating effect.”
Oh yeah!
Put it simply it’s the illegal drug that the youth of world toked up in bongs and hash pipes long before all this chemical crap got invented that kids are getting fucked up on nowadays. Yup, it’s the flowering sap from pot plants. A smelly, brownish, little turd looking substance that’ll get ya high.
Experience says it works. But my drugs of choice these days only include the caffeine in my coffee or cola pops, alcohol in my beerskies (or during this Holiday Season a little Irish Cream and Kahlua), prescription meds that the doc gives me to let me live to a ripe ass age, and ibuprofen for all my ding-dang aches and pains.
But in the day I wasn’t no panty-waist. I did the shit. Makes me wonder, though, thinking back a few years that how much I enjoyed the morphine after they replaced my hip. Just surprised that I didn’t end up a geezed out street druggy instead of the upstanding old fart that I am today.
But back to HASH, ehh. Like pot, it gives ya the munchies. Now the munchies are something we can probably talk about. You guys really know what I mean here, ehh? I mean come on, you’ve seen that Jack in the Box commercial where the dude is trying to figure out what to order and he’s talking to the bobble head Jack on the dash of his van … “Yeahhhh….. That’sss what I wasss thinkinnnn.” Sure for shit when ya got the munchies ya just gotta eat. That’s it! Flat as a pancake and time to scarf.
Well, I’ll be damned if I don’t wake up with the munchies every morning. Don’t you?
Its been that way since I was a fool kid not even tall enough to look over the kitchen table. I can remember a time when I was just a little tike and Mom had fixed chili for dinner. I wouldn’t eat it. She kept me sitting at the table until bedtime and then had me sit with that cold bowl of chili in front of me in the morning too. I wouldn’t eat it - no way - no how. I didn’t like chili and I sure for shit didn’t like anything with tomatoes in it back then. Sure I was starving big time. Munchies galore.
Being a bit pissed off while I was sitting there, I poured all the salt from the shaker into the sugar bowl and later on when Mom finally relented and let me have a bowl of Cheerios I plumb forgot. Egads - that was the biggest waste of breakfast cereal that ever happened in my lifetime I’m sure.
Breakfast is the stuff of life. Cures that morning munchy and leaves ya set for the day, ehh. A good breakfast and ya can be walking with wood all day long.
When I was a kid, cold cereal was definitely the standard. Cheerios first then I moved on to Wheaties. General Mills products - good stuff from a good company. They sponsored my Babe Ruth baseball team (wished it had been my hockey team, ehh). Now that’s a story. Had that big G on my uniform. Wanted to be a catcher but the coach’s son played that position. Fat chance for that opportunity. I must have really sucked anyway cuz I only got to play in one game and that was for the opposing team on an account they didn’t have enough guys show up. A real ego booster - that was - Babe Ruth Baseball. Huh?
It was always a real treat if we got sugar coated cereals when I was kid. But occasionally we would get some Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops, AlphaBits or Sugar Smacks. Mmmmm mmmmm mmmm! I sure loved those sweet morning bowls filled to the brim with milk.
My school buddy, Girbin, just loved those Sugar Smacks and the old sugar bear that they used in the advertisements. We’d get nuts-o after school eating a bowl or two together.
Coulda been a sugar fiend I guess too, if not a morphine addict. Maybe most of us were. Some of us still are. Gotta have our fix.
Mom was pretty strict about that sugar consumption though. Or at least with me anyway. Around the time Jingles and Bronzy were around she musta lightened up a bit. Damn, they ate Cap’n Crunch. Is it still around? I don’t know. Turned the milk yellow in the bowl and I think it was 40 to 60 percent sugar. Each of em used to eat a whole box for breakfast. You didn’t have to add more milk - just add more cereal. Poor Mom, I’m sure she had to deal with the sugar high that these little junkies took off on.
I still wake up with the munchies every day and I still occasionally fix myself a bowl of cold cereal to remedy that need. ‘Cept now days I start with about a third of a bowl of crisp rice (all generic no name brands any more), a sliced up half a banana, a third a bowl of wheat bran, a couple of table spoons of raisins, and then topping out the bowl with some sugar coated corn flakes. All that scrunched down to make room for that good old 2% milk. Good stuff, Maynard! You’re set for the day after a munchy buster like that.
Now up here in the North Woods that kind a breakfast won’t suit ya too well durin the late fall and winter. Ya don’t want to be puttin too much cold shit in your body so early in the day. Ya need something a little more substantial. Something warm and I ain’t talkin about no damn oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal slop.
Ya need to add some eggs and such to your meal. Now Denny’s, I can vouch for, makes a damn fine breakfast. The Original Grand Slam will suit me just right. Ya get some eggs, pancakes, and choice of meat. Me, I usually go “all bacon and eggs over medium with coffee and a glass of milk with the meal“. Now this meal works great for a morning breakfast, as I figure, my family that hangs out in the city got together again this morning and probably sat down to eight or so orders of Grand Slams this morning. But it also works for filling your gut after a good game of late night hockey and then closing the bar. Done that enough times for sure!
But then there’s my other choice from Denny’s or any other reputable greasy spoon and that’s “bacon and eggs over medium with hash browns, toast and coffee with milk with the meal”. Now Denny’s has a little one up-manship here over others in that they’ll offer their “a thousand assortments of jellies” for your toast (if ya like the three flavors that they’re serving that day - that is). Ya can’t beat it, ehh?
Munchies, uh huh! I sure had them this morning again. I got up pretty early and the honey allows me to make my own breakfast and mess. Its one of the few things that I’ve been able to carry over into marriage from my years of bachelorhood besides hockey.
But it was too damned cold in the cabin to think about cereal. I figured that I’d fire up the stove and make myself something warm, tasty and filling. I checked out the refrigerator and saw that we had eggs. That’s good. Now there might be some leftover red potatoes from the roast beef earlier this week. Yup. That’s good. Now for the meat I see we’ve got some ham, roast beef and meat loaf leftovers, and a bag of salad bacon bits. Hmmm? Looks like the meat loaf and I’ll make some hash.
HASH?
Yup. You guys, it’s the same word - just a different meaning. Now hash as from hashish we know now is a drug, ehh? I don’t know where it gets that “ish” on the end of the word but its probably like Turkish, or English, or Berkleyish; but more then likely it comes from Mendocinoish. I mean cuz like the best shit comes from there, ehh!
But hash for the kitchen fixin, now that’s something else! Again, Webster, my good bud, says “to chop, as in to small pieces; chopped meat mixed with potatoes and browned”. Yeah that’s the stuff!
So, I’m makin some hash you guys. The meatloaf was the heal end out of the pan stuffed into a baggy. I just crumbled that all up while it was still in the baggy. Fired up a large skillet with a mess a olive oil in it. Diced an already cooked red potato and started browning those pups. Dumped in the crumbled meat loaf, diced up a quarter of a bell pepper, kept the fire going and started stirring and flipping. Added a couple of heaping tablespoons of those bacon bits and shook a shit load of black pepper over the top. Smells damn good! Normally I add onions but the meatloaf already had enough in it for my tastes. While this was browning to perfection I got the heat under an egg pan and fried up a couple over medium. All finished I slop the hash on a platter size plate and set the eggs over the top - all to be chopped and mixed up together for a fine morning feast with a little salt and a glass of moo.
Now I use a plastic spatula for flippin the hash in the pan. When the honey makes this or similar dishes like fried potatoes she uses a little wooden thingy. Not quite a wooden spoon and not quite a wooden spatula. I personally hate the thing, but she likes it. After I sort of did my post cooking cleanup I noticed some unusual utensils on the counter that I’d never seen before. The honey must a got them when I was outta town or something. They look like white porcelain but are melamine, whatever the fuck that is, and were made in Thailand if ya can believe that. I had to ask her later where she got them and said she said at the grocery store. I didn’t believe her. They look like they came from a sci-fi store. The first one that I saw kind of looked like a fat tonged table fork with only two tongs. But not really functional as a fork - too fat. What it really looks like is a miniature electronic probe/jabbing gizmo that an alien might have used in Star Trek, Star Wars, or other sci-fi flick. She said its for poking things. I told her, I got the tool for poking things and it sure don’t look like that. This damn thing evens rings when ya tap it, like I said fine porcelain, uh huh. Scary! Now the other utensil looks kind of like a wide blade skinning knife but again that melamine shit. Must be a set or something. Before I talked to her about them I thought, well maybe its new silverware, but if the first one is the fork then this one could be the knife or spoon. Neither too functional. Too flat for a spoon - wouldn’t hold a bit of cereal, and too dull for a knife. She said its for spreading stuff for like icing on a cake. I don’t know though. Could be alien instruments if ya ask me. I’ll have to watch her for a while, ehh.
I’m going to tell ya - hash is a damn good pre-game meal. Ya just wanta make sure that ya scarf it down a couple hours ahead a lacing em up though, cuz it can sit pretty heavy and also cause ya to burp up them peppers and onions. I used to fix it with lard instead of the olive oil like I use now. Moves through ya quite quick that way with the lard and makes ya light for the game if ya know what I mean.
Hash is good fixins for camping too. I fix it for the guys when we go fishin and shit. Makes for a one pot meal that ya can have for breakfast or dinner alike.
I’ve been fixin it for years now, I made it with every kind of meat ya can think of: chicken, fillet mignon, pork chops, ham, steak, hamburger, elk, trout, bacon, leftover sloppy-joe, sausage, turkey dark meat. Its really a “leftover dream meal”.
So here’s the word from Jasper here, ya wanta push a little poop through the shoot and energy up for your pond hockey game tonight in the subzero weather then fix yourself a big old batch of HASH. You’ll be walking with wood like the big boys do!
Keep your sticks down and skate hard!
But I’ve also been really tied up in an old rag knot with a new endeavor. I’ll be teaching a university class this spring and have to do a lot prep shit for that too. With all that’s going on I sure hope that someday I’ll have sacked away enough money that the honey and me can afford to quit milkin the cows, if ya know what I mean.
So here goes this week’s trip into my world. Hang on, cuz I sure hope ya got an appetite for some excitement and dad-burn foolishness.
HASH - you’re familiar with the word, ehh? Yah. A shortened version of the word hashish that Webster says is “unadulterated resin from the flowering tops of the female hemp plant that is smoked, chewed or drunk for its intoxicating effect.”
Oh yeah!
Put it simply it’s the illegal drug that the youth of world toked up in bongs and hash pipes long before all this chemical crap got invented that kids are getting fucked up on nowadays. Yup, it’s the flowering sap from pot plants. A smelly, brownish, little turd looking substance that’ll get ya high.
Experience says it works. But my drugs of choice these days only include the caffeine in my coffee or cola pops, alcohol in my beerskies (or during this Holiday Season a little Irish Cream and Kahlua), prescription meds that the doc gives me to let me live to a ripe ass age, and ibuprofen for all my ding-dang aches and pains.
But in the day I wasn’t no panty-waist. I did the shit. Makes me wonder, though, thinking back a few years that how much I enjoyed the morphine after they replaced my hip. Just surprised that I didn’t end up a geezed out street druggy instead of the upstanding old fart that I am today.
But back to HASH, ehh. Like pot, it gives ya the munchies. Now the munchies are something we can probably talk about. You guys really know what I mean here, ehh? I mean come on, you’ve seen that Jack in the Box commercial where the dude is trying to figure out what to order and he’s talking to the bobble head Jack on the dash of his van … “Yeahhhh….. That’sss what I wasss thinkinnnn.” Sure for shit when ya got the munchies ya just gotta eat. That’s it! Flat as a pancake and time to scarf.
Well, I’ll be damned if I don’t wake up with the munchies every morning. Don’t you?
Its been that way since I was a fool kid not even tall enough to look over the kitchen table. I can remember a time when I was just a little tike and Mom had fixed chili for dinner. I wouldn’t eat it. She kept me sitting at the table until bedtime and then had me sit with that cold bowl of chili in front of me in the morning too. I wouldn’t eat it - no way - no how. I didn’t like chili and I sure for shit didn’t like anything with tomatoes in it back then. Sure I was starving big time. Munchies galore.
Being a bit pissed off while I was sitting there, I poured all the salt from the shaker into the sugar bowl and later on when Mom finally relented and let me have a bowl of Cheerios I plumb forgot. Egads - that was the biggest waste of breakfast cereal that ever happened in my lifetime I’m sure.
Breakfast is the stuff of life. Cures that morning munchy and leaves ya set for the day, ehh. A good breakfast and ya can be walking with wood all day long.
When I was a kid, cold cereal was definitely the standard. Cheerios first then I moved on to Wheaties. General Mills products - good stuff from a good company. They sponsored my Babe Ruth baseball team (wished it had been my hockey team, ehh). Now that’s a story. Had that big G on my uniform. Wanted to be a catcher but the coach’s son played that position. Fat chance for that opportunity. I must have really sucked anyway cuz I only got to play in one game and that was for the opposing team on an account they didn’t have enough guys show up. A real ego booster - that was - Babe Ruth Baseball. Huh?
It was always a real treat if we got sugar coated cereals when I was kid. But occasionally we would get some Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops, AlphaBits or Sugar Smacks. Mmmmm mmmmm mmmm! I sure loved those sweet morning bowls filled to the brim with milk.
My school buddy, Girbin, just loved those Sugar Smacks and the old sugar bear that they used in the advertisements. We’d get nuts-o after school eating a bowl or two together.
Coulda been a sugar fiend I guess too, if not a morphine addict. Maybe most of us were. Some of us still are. Gotta have our fix.
Mom was pretty strict about that sugar consumption though. Or at least with me anyway. Around the time Jingles and Bronzy were around she musta lightened up a bit. Damn, they ate Cap’n Crunch. Is it still around? I don’t know. Turned the milk yellow in the bowl and I think it was 40 to 60 percent sugar. Each of em used to eat a whole box for breakfast. You didn’t have to add more milk - just add more cereal. Poor Mom, I’m sure she had to deal with the sugar high that these little junkies took off on.
I still wake up with the munchies every day and I still occasionally fix myself a bowl of cold cereal to remedy that need. ‘Cept now days I start with about a third of a bowl of crisp rice (all generic no name brands any more), a sliced up half a banana, a third a bowl of wheat bran, a couple of table spoons of raisins, and then topping out the bowl with some sugar coated corn flakes. All that scrunched down to make room for that good old 2% milk. Good stuff, Maynard! You’re set for the day after a munchy buster like that.
Now up here in the North Woods that kind a breakfast won’t suit ya too well durin the late fall and winter. Ya don’t want to be puttin too much cold shit in your body so early in the day. Ya need something a little more substantial. Something warm and I ain’t talkin about no damn oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal slop.
Ya need to add some eggs and such to your meal. Now Denny’s, I can vouch for, makes a damn fine breakfast. The Original Grand Slam will suit me just right. Ya get some eggs, pancakes, and choice of meat. Me, I usually go “all bacon and eggs over medium with coffee and a glass of milk with the meal“. Now this meal works great for a morning breakfast, as I figure, my family that hangs out in the city got together again this morning and probably sat down to eight or so orders of Grand Slams this morning. But it also works for filling your gut after a good game of late night hockey and then closing the bar. Done that enough times for sure!
But then there’s my other choice from Denny’s or any other reputable greasy spoon and that’s “bacon and eggs over medium with hash browns, toast and coffee with milk with the meal”. Now Denny’s has a little one up-manship here over others in that they’ll offer their “a thousand assortments of jellies” for your toast (if ya like the three flavors that they’re serving that day - that is). Ya can’t beat it, ehh?
Munchies, uh huh! I sure had them this morning again. I got up pretty early and the honey allows me to make my own breakfast and mess. Its one of the few things that I’ve been able to carry over into marriage from my years of bachelorhood besides hockey.
But it was too damned cold in the cabin to think about cereal. I figured that I’d fire up the stove and make myself something warm, tasty and filling. I checked out the refrigerator and saw that we had eggs. That’s good. Now there might be some leftover red potatoes from the roast beef earlier this week. Yup. That’s good. Now for the meat I see we’ve got some ham, roast beef and meat loaf leftovers, and a bag of salad bacon bits. Hmmm? Looks like the meat loaf and I’ll make some hash.
HASH?
Yup. You guys, it’s the same word - just a different meaning. Now hash as from hashish we know now is a drug, ehh? I don’t know where it gets that “ish” on the end of the word but its probably like Turkish, or English, or Berkleyish; but more then likely it comes from Mendocinoish. I mean cuz like the best shit comes from there, ehh!
But hash for the kitchen fixin, now that’s something else! Again, Webster, my good bud, says “to chop, as in to small pieces; chopped meat mixed with potatoes and browned”. Yeah that’s the stuff!
So, I’m makin some hash you guys. The meatloaf was the heal end out of the pan stuffed into a baggy. I just crumbled that all up while it was still in the baggy. Fired up a large skillet with a mess a olive oil in it. Diced an already cooked red potato and started browning those pups. Dumped in the crumbled meat loaf, diced up a quarter of a bell pepper, kept the fire going and started stirring and flipping. Added a couple of heaping tablespoons of those bacon bits and shook a shit load of black pepper over the top. Smells damn good! Normally I add onions but the meatloaf already had enough in it for my tastes. While this was browning to perfection I got the heat under an egg pan and fried up a couple over medium. All finished I slop the hash on a platter size plate and set the eggs over the top - all to be chopped and mixed up together for a fine morning feast with a little salt and a glass of moo.
Now I use a plastic spatula for flippin the hash in the pan. When the honey makes this or similar dishes like fried potatoes she uses a little wooden thingy. Not quite a wooden spoon and not quite a wooden spatula. I personally hate the thing, but she likes it. After I sort of did my post cooking cleanup I noticed some unusual utensils on the counter that I’d never seen before. The honey must a got them when I was outta town or something. They look like white porcelain but are melamine, whatever the fuck that is, and were made in Thailand if ya can believe that. I had to ask her later where she got them and said she said at the grocery store. I didn’t believe her. They look like they came from a sci-fi store. The first one that I saw kind of looked like a fat tonged table fork with only two tongs. But not really functional as a fork - too fat. What it really looks like is a miniature electronic probe/jabbing gizmo that an alien might have used in Star Trek, Star Wars, or other sci-fi flick. She said its for poking things. I told her, I got the tool for poking things and it sure don’t look like that. This damn thing evens rings when ya tap it, like I said fine porcelain, uh huh. Scary! Now the other utensil looks kind of like a wide blade skinning knife but again that melamine shit. Must be a set or something. Before I talked to her about them I thought, well maybe its new silverware, but if the first one is the fork then this one could be the knife or spoon. Neither too functional. Too flat for a spoon - wouldn’t hold a bit of cereal, and too dull for a knife. She said its for spreading stuff for like icing on a cake. I don’t know though. Could be alien instruments if ya ask me. I’ll have to watch her for a while, ehh.
I’m going to tell ya - hash is a damn good pre-game meal. Ya just wanta make sure that ya scarf it down a couple hours ahead a lacing em up though, cuz it can sit pretty heavy and also cause ya to burp up them peppers and onions. I used to fix it with lard instead of the olive oil like I use now. Moves through ya quite quick that way with the lard and makes ya light for the game if ya know what I mean.
Hash is good fixins for camping too. I fix it for the guys when we go fishin and shit. Makes for a one pot meal that ya can have for breakfast or dinner alike.
I’ve been fixin it for years now, I made it with every kind of meat ya can think of: chicken, fillet mignon, pork chops, ham, steak, hamburger, elk, trout, bacon, leftover sloppy-joe, sausage, turkey dark meat. Its really a “leftover dream meal”.
So here’s the word from Jasper here, ya wanta push a little poop through the shoot and energy up for your pond hockey game tonight in the subzero weather then fix yourself a big old batch of HASH. You’ll be walking with wood like the big boys do!
Keep your sticks down and skate hard!
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