Things I Don’t Understand

Wow, this could be a long one.  But I promise not to get carried away – at least in length.  No promises on the topics.

First, a simple little matter, a stop light that doesn’t stay green when it should.  The light only exists because it is at the entrance of a government building.  The entrance is closed on weekends.  There is a massive gate that is closed and they even place traffic cones out by the intersection to ensure no one turns in.  And yet, the stop light turns red throughout the weekend.  I sit there frothing at the mouth.  In a technical age where we can watch Gone With The Wind on our wrist watch, why can’t we make an unnecessary stop light stay green?

Oh yes, the government building behind the closed gate is the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.  I guess they only reduce threat Monday through Friday.  Just another thing I don’t understand.  I don’t even want to go there.

I haven’t made many decisions in my life that I can point to that were done so that I could be healthier.  In fact, the only one I can think of is that 15 years ago I switched to skim milk.  I love milk and I drink a lot.  So I was pleased with my decision – a life decision to be more healthy.  Now, 15 years later, I’m being told that the joke was on  me.  I was stupid enough to believe the federal government’s Dietary Guidelines for Americans.  It turns out drinking whole milk (which is really 3.5% milk) would probably have been better for me.  And now that I have grown accustomed to skim milk, I don’t think I can go back.  Maybe I could try 1%.  But then again, maybe in 10 years it will turn out they were right about skim milk.

Maybe, just maybe, because I was giving up something to be healthy, it, in fact, made me more healthy.  Our high school football coach was Wirt Downing.  He was one of the more important men in my life.  As a football coach at East Side High, his record was 144, 18 and 7.  That’s right, they had tie games back then, AND that’s right, I’m a High School Harry.  We always had a team meeting the night before our games.  At one of those meeting, Coach Downing told us about when he was on a team, his coach told the team that they needed to give up dessert to be better players.  He was a farm boy and loved his desserts.  But he gave them up.  The message was if you are willing to give something up to be better, you will be better.  I’m trying to work through this and see if giving up whole milk made me healthier.  I doubt it, but Coach Downing would have been proud of me.

My last subject is concussions.  How many times in the past have you heard, “He got his bell rung.”?  Now, if a football player or baseball player or almost any athlete gets hit in the head, there are protocols to be followed.  It’s good that we understand the risks and take steps to protect our athletes.  Then, I asked myself what about boxing?  One of the goals of boxing is to knock out the opponent.  So I checked to see if professional boxing has protocols for head injuries.  Of course they don’t.  In the third round old Rocky gets knocked down, he gets up and the bell rings signaling  the end of the round.  They can’t take Rocky back to the locker room to do a protocol on him.  He has to answer the bell for the fourth round.

OK, OK, it’s a risk-reward type thing.  Then I asked myself, how can we justify youth boxing?  I checked and the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that doctors “vigorously oppose” youth boxing for the obvious reason of head injuries.  However, in my research I found that Arlington County (VA) has an Arlington Boxing Club.  Here is how they justify youth boxing.  “With the multi-cultural and ethnic make up of the Arlington community, the program also offers numerous opportunities for cross cultural interaction as well as team building.”

This is taking the politically correct “multi cultural” crap too far.  When some guy is unmercifully beating you about the head and shoulders, it’s hard to think about it as an opportunity for “cross cultural interaction.”  What a crock!  Just one of the things I don’t understand.

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015


The Animal

Why yes, I am a Redskin fan and I don’t believe in indian curses.  I think they were pounding their drums outside the stadium the last time we won the Super Bowl.  I was pleased when we drafted Iowa Hawkeye tackle Brandon Scherff as pick 5 in our first round draft choice.  Maybe GM Scot McCloughan knows what he’s doing.  Not sure on his wife.

Anyway, when the Redskins took Scherff, an outstanding college tackle, and converted him into a pulling guard, it made me think back 50 plus years when it happened to Mike Magac, the Animal.  Mike and I played football at the University of Missouri.  As I said, it was a few years back.

Mike and I grew up in East St. Louis, Illinois.  We referred to it back then as a tough industrial town.  In high school, we were not friends.  He was the quarterback at Assumption High and I was the QB at East Side High.  East Side never lost a game while I was in high school and we played and beat Assumption every year.  We were unbeaten in 42 games when I graduated and moved to MIZZOU.

Mike was 5′ 10″ and weighed 175 when he was in high school, but a year later when he arrived at MIZZOU, he was 6′ 3″ and weighed 225 pounds.  He still had the quickness and agility of a small guy, but the body of a really, really big guy.  Over his four years at MIZZOU, he became a terror and was All Big Eight (that’s right, back then there were only eight schools) his junior and senior years.  He also received All American honors.  Back then, there were no offensive or defensive teams.  We played both ways.  And Mike never left the field.  On a kick off, he crushed the ball carrier on the 15 yard line.  I think that was when everybody started calling him the Animal.  There was a local store in Columbia that would give a new pair of shoes to anyone who tackled a kick off return man inside the twenty.  Mike was real proud of his new shoes, but he had to give them back because of NCAA rules.

Mike’s sophomore year, he was having trouble passing ROTC.  Back in the 50’s all male students had to take two years of ROTC.  He and the other starting tackle, Norris Kelly, were flunking.  So the Athletic Department hired me to tutor Mike and Norris through the final ROTC exam.  One of the things you need to know is that all of the ROTC instructors were big football fans and wouldn’t want to be the reason that the Animal and Norris were ineligible.  The same test was given all day long, at 9 o’clock, at 10 o’clock, at 11 o’clock and Mike, Norris and I were scheduled to take the test at 4 o’clock.  We had a hot line setup to our dorm and the phone was ringing off the hook all day long.  By 3 o’clock we had heard all the questions and answers at least twice.

When we entered the exam room, we were assigned seats in the last row with me sitting between the Animal and Norris.  It was not necessary because they knew the answers better than I did.  In fact, while I was taking a break, one phone call came through that I missed.  So Mike and Norris got the question right and I missed it.  The question was what are the three ways an infantryman approaches his target.  Mike told me it was “walk, run or crawl.”  For some reason, it just seemed too dumb to me (something the Animal would make up).  Both Mike and Norris got B’s on the test and C’s in the course.  It’s just like Mike always said when asked how he managed to succeed – “Hard work, perseverance , and lots of study.”

Mike was a good looking guy, with tan hair and a few freckles on the pleasant face.  His body had the dimensions of a 150 pound wrestler.  He was just way, way bigger.  And he was quick like a cat. 

During practice our junior year, Mike and I got in a fight.  I don’t remember what started it, but once you arrive at that point, it is truly impossible to back down.  I stayed in close so he couldn’t whack me with one of those hams he had for arms.  It was right in the middle of practice and we were surrounded by players and coaches, so all I had to do was hang on until the players pulled us a part.  To me, it seemed a lot longer than it probably was.  We made up quickly and got back to practice.

Before my senior year, I quit the team, got married and started law school.  That had been my plan for some time.  Back then, a person could enter law school after just three years of undergraduate school.  So I went to law school and the team went to the Orange Bowl.  Before they left for Florida, the Animal and a few other friends dropped by the law library to say goodbye.  I suspected they were just pulling my chain, but it was still great to see them.  I was studying for first term exams and any distraction was appreciated.  As they got up to leave Mike said, “So long PJ, it was nice to meet you – – – again.”

Mike was drafted by San Francisco in the second round (the 16th overall pick – Don Meridith was the 32nd pick).  And like Brandon Scherff, he was converted from tackle to a pulling guard.  The Animal’s career lasted seven bruising years.  He told me the things that shortened his career were injuries and hanging out with Billy Kilmer!

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

Hillarygate or Servergate – Take Your Pick

First of all, I need to put on the record that I don’t like Hillary.  I never have and never will.  I’m not certain that she bumped off Vince Foster,  but I’m also not certain that she didn’t.  I am certain that right after Foster’s death, her chief of staff and others hauled boxes of documents out of Foster’s office up to Bill and Hillary’s living quarters in the White House.  I also know for a fact that three independent handwriting experts concluded that Foster’s suicide note was a forgery!

The reason I don’t like her is not the Foster incident.  Nor is it the time back in 1978 when she invested $6,300 in the futures market and ten months later had made $100,000.  Listening to Bill explain her good luck did make me froth at the mouth a little.  I guess what really caused me to dislike her was the way she treated the military when she was the First Lady.  She was abusive to people in uniform and treated them like dirt.

Now she’s running for President?  Incredible.  I think, I hope, that her arrogance and miscalculations i.e., that she is powerful enough  that she is above the law and can get away with anything, including lying, will catch up with her.  If it doesn’t and she becomes President, I suspect that our country will still survive, but not in my lifetime.

I find the similarities between Nixon’s Watergate and Hillary’s server problems strangely compelling.  Eighteen minutes of the Watergate tapes were “accidentally” erased.  Many of Hillary’s emails have now disappeared.  She insists on being in control.  That’s why she used a private server in the first place.  Then she could decide what she would share and what she would not.  You know what is really scary?  That the Secretary of State of the United States never sent or received any classified documents!  How can that be?  How stupid does she think the American public is?  Now, after saying she never sent or received any classified documents, she has changed the wording to say she has never sent or received any documents marked classified.  What she is ignoring is that certain matters involving national security are classified even if she or one of her cronies didn’t mark it appropriately.

And we are talking Top Secret documents.  There are three basic levels of classified documents, Confidential, Secret, and Top Secret.  Many of the documents the Secretary of State deals with on a daily basis are Top Secret.  You want proof?  I don’t have to give you proof.  We are living in the Trump Era.  That means that if I say something in a forceful and excited way, people should believe me.  But getting back to Hillary, every Secretary of State deals with Top Secrets documents on a routine basis.

This brings me around to General Petraeus.  If he were as brazen as Bill and Hillary Clinton, he would have beaten any accusations against him.  The documents he passed on to his girlfriend were classified Confidential.   And he was indicted and convicted for doing so.  It won’t be that easy to get Hillary.  Petraeus is a man whose word is his bond.  He may have done something stupid, but when confronted, he told the truth.  Hillary has learned well from Bill and will lie, lie, lie.

In recent surveys, more people than not believe Hillary is untrustworthy, i.e., she lies.  But many of the Democrats who feel that way also say they would vote for her.  That my friends is the definition of a “Red Dog Democrat.”  If the Democratic party nominated a red dog for election, these people would vote for it.

When Hillary was asked if she wiped her server clean before turning it over to the FBI, she responded, “like with a cloth or something?”  Wow.  I don’t think she is Presidential material.  But then it may depend on how you define “is.”

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015


Corporate Big Brother

Hey, what’s going on here is way above my pay grade (retired fogy, third class) and, unfortunately, a tad above my ability to grasp.  But, I know it is happening.  There are corporations out there that want ALL of your business and they are competing for it.  I’m talking about Amazon and Verizon and Apple and Walmart.  Amazon will soon be working on something they will call “Amazon Super Duper Prime.”  It’s when you give them all your money and then when you need something, they send it to you with free two-day shipping.  I can’t imagine how Walmart will respond.

It’s this technology thing.  I think they are all planning on being able to adjust the temperature in my house, set my alarm and turn my lights off.  It’s just who can get  there first.  I’m betting on Apple.  Anybody who can sell watches that are so tiny you can’t read what they say is a skilled sales company.  They will probably make a fortune selling Apple magnifying glasses.

The company that scares me is Amazon.  I like Amazon, but I think they are like Big Brother watching over me.  My daughter, Missy, gave me a Kindle and I learned how to purchase books on line.  It really worked well because the Kindle was registered to my grandson, Tyler.  So whenever I ordered anything, he got the bill!  If  I ordered a Western novel, then Amazon would inundate me with emails hyping Western books I might want to buy.  How about a saddle and some chaps?

If you buy hard bound books from Amazon, you can buy new or used books.  I thought that was interesting.  They say the used books are in excellent condition.  I haven’t tried it.  Later, I had to buy some risers to sit our TV’s on and, again, we were inundated with emails offering me all kinds of TV gadgets.  Then I needed some doggy waste bags.  Until  we moved, we always had plastic newspaper bags, but after moving, no bags.  I went on line, not to buy, but to see what Amazon had.  They had lots of doggy waste bags.  Different sizes, different colors.  They even had eco friendly poopy bags.  But here is where it gets weird.  Like with the books, they had new and used bags for sale.  I decided to stop right there.

Now I didn’t buy anything.  I just looked.  But Big Brother Amazon had figured out I had a dog.  Here comes the emails.  Did I need a doggy crate?  How about a doggy door or a doggy door bell?  The doggy rings the door bell to let you know she wants to go out.  If your dog is old, we have a safety ramp for you.

Did you know you could get a dog identification tag in the shape of a bone that lets everyone know you are a Green Bay Packer fan?  Or, any other fan.  If you were a Chicago Blackhawk or Washington Redskin fan, your doggy’s ID will have the face of an indian on it.  That’s a heavy load for a little doggy to be wearing around her neck.  She probably doesn’t know she is being racially insensitive.  Or, is she just a fan?

Getting back to the real issue of global control of our money, I’m afraid the die is cast.  I think each of these mega corporations will have their own colored tee shirts which will clearly identify us as an Amazonian or Applebyte.  We will probably have to wear a medallion around our neck.  I’m going to go with the company that lets me keep my lights on longest.

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

They Bill, I Pay – Verizon

Life is good.  But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to obtain services from mega-big corporations.  And that can lead to struggles.  Verizon is an example of one of those mega-big corporations.  I like Verizon, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t carried on pitched battles with their billing department.

You know you are dealing with a mega-big when they have you punch a number on the phone to get to Billing and Payments.  Most of the problems occur when you change your plan.  I walked into a Verizon store to ask questions about my IPhone.  While I was waiting, another Verizon representative came over and asked for my phone number (at that time, we had TV, internet, and our phones with Verizon).  He then came back with an offer that would give me more and better service for less dinero!  It had something to do with being a loyal customer.  I took the deal and three days later, my HBO was cut off!

I had this guys first name but it seems that Verizon has more than one employee named John.  No one knew my John, but when I wrote my signature on his screen with my finger, it turned out I was agreeing to buy HBO separately.  After a few hours of fitful discussion, I was given HBO at a much reduced price (for one year).

Nowhere in the FIOS advertisements do they explain they are going to dig up your front yard.  You are a signed, sealed and delivered FIOS customer before the back hoe shows up.

So I have been reasonably pleased with Verizon and FIOS.  Sometimes a router goes kaput or a cable box won’t do what a cable box is supposed to do.  But in those cases, in two or three days a replacement item shows up on an UPS truck.  The instructions for hooking up the item are detailed and Verizon provides a box and label to return the broken item.  There is also a warning that if you don’t return the broken item, they are going to charge you big time.  The first time I returned one, the UPS agent admonished me to hang on to the receipt, just in case.

Well, as I mentioned to you earlier, we sold our home and moved to The Fairfax, a gated military retirement community.  What I didn’t mention was that The Fairfax only has one cable provider and it ain’t Verizon.  We are now part of the Cox family (The jury is still out).  We were able to keep our Verizon internet and phones, but that was it.  When I notified Verizon, they sent me boxes so that I could return one router, one DVR and three cable boxes.  I packed everything and took the boxes to UPS on the packing day of the move.  I got a receipt, but wasn’t real sure where I put it.

Two weeks after our move, we flew to Colorado Springs for our annual reunion with the Retired Army Judge Advocates (RAJA) Association.  It was an opportunity to see old friends, like Del and Jane O’Roark and forget about all the boxes waiting for us to empty.  While reviewing my email, I received a notice from Verizon telling me they had not yet received the stuff I returned and if I didn’t ship it back within 30 days, they would charge me $240 for each item.  I knew I had the receipt, but sinceI was in Colorado Springs, I couldn’t even look for it.  So much for a relaxing trip.

When I got home I found the receipt.  It was smaller than I remembered and I had put it in a small black notebook (which I had with me on the trip)!  I called Verizon and talked to Cindy who advised me that they had received everything that I had shipped.  In fact, that had received everything before they sent me the email.  Left hand, right hand, blah, blah, blah.  She was very sorry.  Then Cindy noticed Verizon had charged me $100 for a bundle early termination fee and $25 for an activation fee.  She took those items off of my bill and thanked me for being a loyal Verizon customer.  So much for June’s bill.  I wish the story ended there.

I have now received July’s bill and Verizon has charged me $720 extra for not returning three items (they didn’t tell me which three).  I was bemused, but annoyed.  I know I won’t have to pay the $720, but it’s the aggravation.  Plus, this months taxes and a number of other items are based upon a percentage of the total bill.  I talked to Valerie and she apologized.  Left hand, right hand again.  As we were speaking, she advised me that the $720 had been removed from the bill.  I then tried to explain the taxes, etc.  It was a lost cause.  She told me to pay the bill less the $720 and that Billing would sort it all out.  You bet.

I can’t wait to see my next bill.  I suspect they will charge me interest for not paying the $720.

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

A Little of This and A Little of That

You know the blogs I have written are divided into categories.  I have “My Military Daze,”  “Poems,”  “Political Thoughts,” and “Golf Daze” and lots of other categories.   But it shouldn’t surprise you that the largest category is “Random Thoughts.”  I spend a lot of time each day on random thoughts.  The problem is remembering them.

A lot of my random thoughts deal with our new apartment.  We now have it in fairly decent shape.  But I am still walking into things.  My arms (and legs) have blue marks documenting each time I hit something.  Just when I think I am getting better – wham!

On the way to the Community Center there is a puzzle table.  If I have time, I stop and put in a few pieces.  One lady who was  working on the puzzle asked me if I had gone over to the assisted living wing.  It appears that they have a puzzle going over there also.  I told her that I hadn’t and asked if she had.  She said that she had, but she spent most of her time there removing pieces that had been misplaced.

Facebook.  Oh yes, I’m on Facebook.  I joined it years back so that I could keep up with my grandchildren.  And I enjoy seeing photos of them.  And now, we have a great grandchild.  Between FaceTime and Facebook we are able to watch her grow.  Her parents are a few thousand miles away so it’s a big deal!   But if you are going to be a Facebook member, don’t upset them.  When we moved, I didn’t get on Facebook for a couple of months.  I kept getting Facebook emails trying to find out why I was not participating.  They said there were people out there poking me.  What did I do?

Then there are the people out there who update their status three times a day.  What is that all about?  It makes status quo look pretty good.  So this is the “social media.”  It doesn’t seem so social if people keep poking each other.

I ended up buying a new Lexus SUV right before we moved.  I was never going to own an SUV, but since they came out with the crossovers and put them on a passenger car chassis, I changed my mind.  If my SUV is not a crossover, please don’t tell me.  Anyway, the poor car is like a bastard child.  I have no time for it.  I just drive it.  I owned it for two months before I found out it had a rear windshield wiper.  When I open my door (or any door), no light comes on.  I am sure that can be fixed by pushing the right buttons.  But that would require me to read the manual.

I was pushing buttons the other day trying to put an address in the navigation system.  I had watched the salesman do it.  Finally I got a voice, but it was a real person.  I told her I was trying to reach the mechanical lady so I could put an address in.  She told me she would act like a recording if I wanted her to.  I thought that was sweet, but not necessary.  I gave her the address and she cranked it into the system for me.

Oh yes, I lifted the automatic tailgate while the car was in the garage.  It didn’t clear the automatic door thing-a-ma-jig.  Now, everyone is asking me who keyed my car.  What a mess.  I’ve been telling myself for four months what I am going to get done when things calm down.

I think I’ll go work on the puzzle.

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

A New Beginning at The Fairfax

I know, I know, I’ve been delinquent in writing.  And you thought something horrible had happened to me.  Well, it has been an ordeal, but not horrible.   Miserable, yes.  Horrible, no.

For the last four months, we have been preparing to move and then moved.  We had been in the same house for 25 years and without any motive or design, we had filled every nook and cranny of that baby.  When we were in the Army and moved every three or so years, we kept track of what we had.  If we bought a new couch, we got rid of the old one.  In this last 25 year episode, if we bought a new couch, we moved the old one downstairs, next to the couch that was replaced 10 years earlier.

Some years back, we decided that we would eventually move to The Fairfax, a very nice military retirement community near Fort Belvoir, Virginia.  Well, with Carole’s health problems and so many steps in our house (you had to go downstairs to visit all our old couches), we decided this would be the year we would move.

So right after Christmas, Carole went through all of her Christmas decorations.  The problem was that an awful lot of them were magnificent.  How do you get rid of beautiful things?  That would be a good topic for Dr. Phil.  Carole reduced the number of her Christmas wreathes from 11 to nine!  We ended up renting a self-storage area to hold our Christmas decorations.

My daughter-in-law, Sandy, showed me how to use Craig’s List.  That went well.  Everybody warned me about the crazy people on Craig’s List that will come into you house and cut you into little pieces.  Well, they must have been busy cutting up other people, because I didn’t have a problem.

I had one rule for Craig’s List that seemed to work well.  I never gave my address out on line.  I insisted the interested person call me.  I had one woman (who knows if he or she was a woman) email me six times asking for information about the item and requesting my address.  Each time I would give her general information on my location and ask her to call me.  She never did.  In her last correspondence she advised me that since I couldn’t give her an address, I must live too far away.  I decided to leave that logic right where it landed.

Then there was a nice Indian couple who showed up to purchase two benches that converted into a picnic table.  Before they left, they had also bought a kitchen table and chairs (downstairs with the couches), a universal weight machine and two porcelain elephants I brought back from Vietnam (BUFEs).  They also bought a lot of little items we had been assembling for a garage sale.  They came back two-days later to disassemble the weight machine (They brought no tools).   I suspect it weighed 800 pounds and after borrowing my tools, they took it out piece by piece.  I have no idea whether they ever put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Pricing is always a problem.  I didn’t know anything about what to ask.  I know what we paid for something 10 or 20 years ago, but that isn’t much help.  Sometimes I asked too much, sometimes too little.  You can remedy the problem when you asked too much, but when you ask too little, you are screwed.  I had two great big JBL speakers.  I thought big was out and these babies were at least 35 years old.  I just wanted to get rid of them.  I offered both of them for $25.  Big mistake.  The phone started ringing off the hook.  An early caller insisted on giving me $50.  I guess he felt sorry for me.

We had two Lexington end tables that cost us about $500, each.  I offered them for $150, each saying we were moving and they had to go.  I received an email from a woman that told me she would pay $30 for both if I needed to get rid of them.  I wrote her back and told her that before I would sell them to her I would use them for kindling.

So now we have moved and The Fairfax is proving to be everything we had hoped for.  But we are still stepping over things.  I have determined that we have approximately 30 hanging items (pictures, plaques, etc.) for each room.  I’m afraid that the vast majority of them are going back into a box.  The problem is we have  to go through all of them to see which ones will make the cut.  “Sorry big guy, but it is back in the box for you.”

We have a few more critical decisions to make.  Like when we put things back in the boxes to store them, where do we store them?  Anybody got an old garage they’re not using?

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

Send in the Clowns

Sometime, we don’t know when, but sometime, we are going to move.  So there is a need to downsize.  When I walk into a room, I immediately start looking for things that need to disappear.  The whole process stinks.  What I have noticed is that  when I look around, I see clowns.  Pictures of clowns, ceramic clowns, porcelain clowns, toy clowns and clown clowns.

You know the little old lady who likes cats?  So every time she gets a greeting card or a present there’s a kitty somewhere.  Well, I guess I have always been a clown.  I constantly needed attention and clowning around got me what I needed.  I seriously considered whether I could survive in the Army with my “irreverent” attitude.  For years, I had an unrepressed desire to say or do anything that would get me a laugh.  And, fortunately or unfortunately, I am constantly thinking of funny stuff.

The worst thing people can do when I start entertaining is laugh.  That’s the fuel that makes things get more outrageous.  At dinner parties when I was cranking up, my wife, Carole, would reach under the table and squeeze my thigh.  That was my signal that I was getting out of control and needed to shut it down.  At a large gathering in Frankfurt, Germany, Carole was sitting on the other side of the table and some distance away from me.  I got a boisterous laugh out of the crowd and was on my way.  Then suddenly, Barb, the lady sitting next to me, squeezed my thigh.  I looked over and Carole was smiling at me.  Then there’s “Carrie, the Weird.”  She would encourage me until one of us came down with a migraine.  I always secretly hoped it would be her.

Somehow, I survived the Army without being reprimanded for inappropriate behavior.  I had to apologize a few times, but I was usually getting off easy.  While I was the Staff Judge Advocate at Fort Riley, Kansas, in the early 80’s, the post sponsored and hosted a Special Olympics.  Special Services put out an announcement that they would hold classes for those people who wanted to volunteer to be clowns at the Special Olympics.

The G1’s wife, Meg Ionedias, suggested that we sign up for the classes.  We did and it turned out to be four hours every Saturday for six weeks.  I had no idea that clowning took that much preparation.  Anyway, I graduated as a full face Bozo clown.  My instructor said I was a natural.  She said she had met a lot of Bozos, but I was the biggest Bozo she had ever met.

The day of the Special Olympics arrived.  The post had an athletic field with a runner’s track around the outside.  I  had no responsibility except to go around and act silly.  The opening event was a grand march around the track.  Then the “competition” would begin.  It was frenetic getting everyone lined up for the march.  I noticed one young lad in a wheelchair.  He had almost no control of his body and had to be strapped into the wheelchair.  He had to have support to keep his head mobilized.  And with all that was going on, he looked frightened.  My initial thought was that it was a shame that he had been brought out to an event he could not understand.  No one knew what I was thinking because I had a big smile painted on my face.  Then the parade started and I devoted the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon to being a silly, entertaining Bozo clown.


The event was a big success.  I played my small part.  It was fun.  Where else can a senior Army colonel run around flapping his arms and jump in the air while being goosed by another clown?  What made the event special was that late in the day, I again saw the boy strapped in the wheelchair and he was happy and laughing and having a wonderful time.  That sold me on the Special Olympics.

Children love clowns and that made my spirits fly.  But under a certain age, maybe two, maybe one and a half, clowns look strange and scare the hell out of them.  I learned that the hard way.  I never determined the exact age, but when I got around the little ones, I was very tentative until I saw how they reacted.  When they screamed, I’m  not sure who was scared the most.  But the painted smile protected me.

The Fort Riley Officers’ Wives Club was having a bake sale outside the Post Exchange and the asked me to show up as Zippy (every clown should have a name) and entertain.  After about 30 minutes, the PX manager came over and told me that she would like to hire me for certain occasions at $12 an hour.  I told her it took me two hours to change into Zippy.  She told me she would pay me for that time.  Finally I had to tell her that I was the clown who gave her legal advice.  We had a good laugh.

So like the lady who loved cats, I started accumulating clowns.  I even have a cloth one with a large “Z” on the hat for Zippy.  You can imagine how upset I was when a comic strip “Zippy the Clown” showed up.   And he was anything but a happy clown.  I think he is gone now.  Yippee!

I’m no longer in great shape, but I’m a heck of a lot better off than my clown outfit.  The elastic around the neck, sleeves and feet is kaput and the skull cap has rotted away.  I bought a curly red wig, but I’m no longer willing to spend the time painting my face.  That disqualifies me from being a Raider fan.

So most of my clown memorabilia will disappear.  But I will hang on to the suit, wig and the paint.  Who knows, I may be the life of the party at the old folks home.

Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2015

New Year’s Revolutions

No, I didn’t mean resolutions, I meant revolutions. Because they come around every year and they look very similar to the previous year and the year before. They revolve from year to year.

I decided to try some new ones this year. One of the rules is it can’t have been a resolution from a previous year. My plan started out well but then fizzled. My first for 2015 was not to go into the shower with my glasses on. It’s no big deal when it happens, but it is sort of a helpless feeling. You’re wet, glasses are fogged, there is no place to put them and opening the shower door just creates more problems.

Next, I have decided to learn a new word everyday. No, I have never made this resolution before. But with all the new words entering the English language, like LOL, BFF, and OMG, I thought it would be a good choice. Maybe I will learn how to pronounce them. You know, BFF doesn’t have a vowel. That makes it tricky.

I’m a late comer to the Big Bang Theory. I started watching just a few months back. Of course it is easy to catch up because their reruns are on about 12 different channels and I have now upgraded my Verizon FIOS so that I can record lots and lots of meaningless shows all at the same time. Anyway, I have resolved to watch at least three shows a week. This is to remind me that brilliant people have problems too. People who are brilliant and have no common sense are not uncommon. They are all around us AND easy to spot.

I’ve never had a resolution on dieting. First, I like food too much and weight has not been a problem. I don’t want to sound flippant, but all I have to do to lose weight is not put all those goodies in my mouth. Our house at Christmas time is like a culinary minefield. But it’s Christmas. Come January, things should return to normal.

Well, now I’m breaking my first New Year’s resolution (to not repeat any from previous years). Every year I resolve to exercise more and with a better routine. I generally prepare a chart. The chart very seldom makes it into February. I do keep exercising through out the year, I just don’t keep track of my times. Carole gets on her recumbent bike every day and checks it off on her calendar. Don’t you hate people like that?

I didn’t mention in this year’s Christmas poem that I went back to Leadbetter’s Golf Academy on our December trip to Florida. Bob Lohr, my golf instructor, knows what I need to do to get to the “next level” (that would be holding the wrist angle to the last second like Sergio). I listened to him carefully and I also think I know what I need to do. It’s just that I’m not sure I can get my body to do it. That’s a hell of a note. The answer is flexibility exercises. After Bob was through with me, he turned me over to a physical therapist specialist, Mike Lane. I still remember Mike saying, “You are going to feel great when we are done.” Then he twisted me into positions that a 12-year-old female gymnast would have had no problems with. I did. After we were done, I had to get assistance to get out of my golf shoes! But he did email me a list of flexibility exercises that should get me to the “next level.” I’m hoping it’s not a pine box.

So for my next and last New Year’s Resolution, I have again made an elaborate chart of these “next level” exercises. If I can do them till Spring, I going to treat it as a completed year! Hey, it’s my list and my rules.


Written by PJ Rice at

Copyright 2014

A Merry Merry Christmas 2014

I know, I know, I know I’m late,
But sometimes I’m carrying a lot of freight.
When we retired life was supposed to be simple,
But it turns out you still get warts and a pimple.
So it’s the week before Christmas, I’m off of my keister,
If I don’t hurry up, you’ll get this for Easter.

It wasn’t a great year, but it wasn’t bad,
We had happy moments and moments so sad.
Fifty-five years of marriage, not all bliss and spice,
But devoted to each other, not related to Ray Rice.
We celebrated the entire year, fifty-five for goodness sake,
No one seemed to complain and we ate a lot of cake.

We traveled to the Smokies, we saw all that we could,
But we couldn’t find Dolly in Dollywood.
We trekked the Boardwalk in Ocean City,
Did Rehobeth shopping, and ate till we were giddy.
Becky and Missy flew in in June,
They kept their bags packed as we departed soon.
Pennsylvania was our destination,
The Carlisle Kitchen Shoppe without hesitation.
Then on to Hershey and a Lancaster call,
Then dash away, dash away, dash away all.

We made it to RAJA, it really was a treat,
Illness cancelled our last two years, this year it was sweet.
The Inner Harbor Baltimore, with old friends galore,
Next year Colorado Springs, we’re ready for some more.

All of our lives we’ve accumulated things,
Big things like couches, little things like rings.
As our houses got bigger, we filled them to the top,
Then comes the day when it all has to stop.
This year we are downsizing, it’s really a twist,
Yard sales and thrift shops and even Craig’s list.
It’s a maddening experience, brings you to your knees,
Does anyone out there want 1990 TVs?

Jack lost his brother Bill, his friend evermore,
We traveled down to see him two months before.
The memories of him surely brings the tears,
But before they even dry, a great granddaughter appears.
Lydia’s a precious bundle, but she’s too far away,
Thank goodness for FaceTime, it really saves the day.

We finished the year strong, that’s why the poem is late,
Thanksgiving at Paul and Sandy’s, then we left the state.
The first half of the month in Florida, Jack took his sticks,
Why go South in December without a golfing fix?
Carole rented a scooter and we scooted around the park,
Epcot Center, Magic Kingdom, we scooted until it was dark.

Now it’s time to reflect on the year, to think about what’s key,
Our wonderful friends, loving family & a nation that is free.
We wish we had a wand, to bring all our friends together,
To push away the aches and pains & bring us all fair weather.
But know that we are wishing you health, wealth and cheer,
And a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Jack and Carole

written by PJ Rice at
Copyright 2014

BOO! I saw you smile!