I heard on the radio, a few days back, that Walmart would be hiring 100,000 military veterans over the next five years.  The broadcast stated that as long as the soldier wasn’t dishonorably discharged, Walmart would hire him or her.  A dim light came on in my dim brain and I thought, “That can’t be right.”

Not every bad actor in the military has a Dishonorable Discharge.  So I checked on the internet and found I was right.  Walmart is going to hire 100,000 military veterans over the next five years who have received an Honorable Discharge.  Big difference.  In between the Honorable and Dishonorable are other types of discharges and I would doubt that Walmart would want some of these characters.  The names change through the years, but the nature of the individuals stays the same.

The least offensive of the inbetweeners is the General Discharge (under honorable conditions).  This is the guy with two left feet.  He’s trying, but he just can’t hack it.  He is a disaster and it is best that he and the military go separate ways.

Back when you couldn’t be a homosexual in the military, we discharged them with General Discharges.  When we went to “don’t ask, don’t tell,” if they told, they got a General Discharge.  Now that it is OK to be gay in the military, I guess it’s Honorable.  An old sarge told me that he was in when it was illegal, then, he went through “don’t ask, don’t tell.  Now that it is OK, he has decided to retire, before Obama makes it mandatory.

The next category is the “Other Than Honorable” Discharge.  Sounds a lot like not honorable or dishonorable.  But it doesn’t mean dishonorable, it means other than honorable.  I hope you’re confused.  You should be.  The funny thing is we used to call it an “Undesirable Discharge,” but somebody decided that sounded bad (it’s supposed to be bad!).  So let me say this as succinctly as I can.  Undesirable sounds worse that “Other Than Honorable,” which is not honorable, but not dishonorable.  Well, we got that taken care of.  Anyway, Walmart is not going to take any of these turkeys.

The General and Other Than Honorable Discharges are administrative in nature.  That means someone may get one without going to trial.  A trial by courts-martial may result in a Bad Conduct Discharge or a Dishonorable Discharge.  Definitely not Walmart material.  However, they are still eligible to be Walmart customers.

I thought I went to my first Walmart in 1958, when I was a student in Columbia, Missouri.  The store was downtown, not too far from campus.  The thing that got me excited was that everything had two prices on it.  It had the retail price and the Walmart price.  I could see what a great deal I was getting.  I was young.  This whole experience is so vivid in my mind.  I figured that the store might have been one of Sam’s early ones.  So I looked up Walmart history.  The first Walmart store was in 1962 and the first store outside of Arkansas was 1968.  So, that ruins my fond memory.

There’s a lot of people out there who don’t like Walmart.  The big box store. “It killed the quaint little stores.”  I loved the little stores in the downtown area; the hardware, the office supply store and the delicatessen.  I’m sorry they went the same way of Kodak film.  But people will go where they can get the widest selection at the best price.  Home Depot will never be as romantic as that old downtown hardware store, but we need to get over it.  Walmart isn’t just a big box store; it’s a very, very successful discount and grocery store.  It’s the largest grocery store chain in the country.  If someone else were selling better bananas cheaper, people would go elsewhere.

So, I tip my hat to Walmart.  Doing something for military veterans in good.  Giving them a job is great.  Just one more reason the GI should strive to get an Honorable Discharge

Witten by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

David Feherty, an unpredictable and sometimes outrageous commentator on golf,  was interviewing the guest Hall of Fame basketball player, Bill Russell.  Feherty has his own half hour show on the Golf Channel and interviewed a wide variety of famous athletes.  Russell spoke of the close relationship he had with his Boston Celtic’s coach, Red Auerbach.

When Red was close to death, Russell went to see him for the last time.  As Bill Russell was about to leave, Red called him back to the bed and whispered to him, “When you get old, don’t fall.”  When Russell told Feherty, they both chuckled.  They acted like, here we were, hoping for something prophetic and all we got was the musing of an old man.

Well, I’m not so sure it wasn’t great advice.  Remember, Auerbach was the man who said “Records are made to be broken.”  He’s quotable.  You just have to be there.  None of us believes we are there yet.  In fact, those of us who consider ourselves athletic, think we will never get there.  But about ten years ago, I was playing third base in an old timers soft ball game and the throw from the outfield was low.  As it went by me, I realized that I could no longer bend over to get it.  When you have been doing things like that all your life, and then, you can’t, it’s a real shock.  I mentally made some lame excuse and moved on.

Part of being an athlete is knowing how to fall.  It’s nothing you are taught or trained to do.  It’s just inherent.  But it is important.  Sheep dogs know how to herd sheep and athletes know how to fall.  A few years back, when I was 70, I was jogging along and I slipped on some ice.  We are not here to discuss dumb decisions I have made, like jogging on an icy day.  We are here to discuss the art of falling.  And what an art.  I slipped, then tumbled and rolled and came up in good shape.  A few scratches, but overall quite proud of myself for still being among those who know how to fall.  Ah yes, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.

I’m a few years older now and for Thanksgiving, Carole and I drove from the DC area down to Roanoke, Virginia to spend the holiday with our son, Paul, his wife, Sandy and their two sons, Josh and Jack (PJ3).  Thanksgiving lived up to its name and to top off a perfect day, the Redskins beat the Cowboys.  It is really heart warming to watch Jerry Jones at such moments.

Friday was a kick-back day.  Lots of football on TV and no one had to go to work..  I saw my 13-year-old grandson, Jack, kicking a soccer ball to himself in the cul-de-sac below the house.  They live on Reed Mountain, so everything is up or down.  I announced that I was going to kick the ball around with Jack and headed down the driveway.  I didn’t last five minutes.  About the third time he kicked the ball to me, it bounced higher than I thought it would and smacked me on the forehead.  It just missed my glasses and I was pleased I hadn’t broken or cut anything.  Then, I noticed my footwork wasn’t any good.  I decided to stay away from my bicycle kick.  I wasn’t even going to try my tricycle kick.

So we just kicked it back and forth at about 20 yards.  Pretty mild stuff.  Then the ball got away from me and started to roll down the street.  I started to move quickly to catch it –  and that was it.  I don’t know what happened, but I do know I was falling.  Completely out of control.  I skinned both hands, my knee, my elbow, my shoulder and banged my head.  The pants and sweater I was wearing were later rejected by Goodwill!

I’ve thought a lot about the fall.  First, I didn’t break anything.  Paul said at my age, I should be thankful.  Second, as I was falling, I was turning to the right to reduce the damage.  I think 20 years ago, I would have made pretty much the same move, but my head would not have smacked into the asphalt.  Third, I should have let the ball roll down the hill.  Next time I will.  I will be older and wiser.

Writted by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

Whenever something horrible happens, like the inexplicable senseless shootings in Aurora, Colorado, Congress postures, holds hearings and does nothing.  I decided I really needed to write on this subject, but then I realized that I am woefully ignorant of what laws are on the books.  Maybe I will figure some of them out before I finish this.  I do, however, have strong feelings about gun control.  I am satisfied that the NRA would consider me unamerican and the Brady gun control gang would think I am an idiot.

I spent 28 years in the Army and have never owned a gun.  I think guns are beautiful.  I just have no use for them in my house.  I have qualified with both pistols and rifles.  I’ve disassembled them, cleaned them, and reassembled them.  That’s part of being a soldier.  I guess the bottom line is that I have never lived in a place where I felt threatened.  If I lived in an area where the safety of my family was an issue, I would damn well betcha get a permit for a gun and purchase something that would put a big hole in an assailant.  I hope that never happens.

I strongly believe in keeping guns out of the hands of criminals.  Tacking a lot of years on to the sentence of a person who uses a gun in the commission of a crime should have some deterrent effect.

We also need to keep weapons out of the hands of crazy people.  But crazy people can, on occasion, act normal and that’s probably what they do when they are purchasing a fire arm.  I have no problem with background checks.  Who cares if it take three days or five days.  It serves a legitimate purpose.

I am not an outdoorsman, whatever that means.  But I respect their right to hunt, fish, drink beer and tell wild tales.  But, certain weapons are not for hunting.  I don’t think Bubba is going to take an AK-47 out to shoot squirrels.  We need to figure out a way to restrict military weapons.  I don’t believe the NRA will accept any restrictions.  Something about a slippery slope.  Well, that’s where I depart.  I would prohibit automatic weapons and military semi-automatic weapons.  I would also limit the number of rounds a magazine can hold.  You don’t need 100 rounds to shoot Bambi.

This is a great country.  When Mizzou plays Kansas and I am frothing at the mouth, I have to back away and remember we are all Americans.  I got sidetracked there, but what I want to say is the country is too diversified to have the same gun control laws in Wyoming and New York City.  I think states, and, in some cases, cities should set their own standards for gun control laws.  I doubt if Wyoming has many restrictions and I am sure that New York City has quite a few.  That makes sense.  If you don’t think it makes sense read no further.  I can’t help you.

I’m not a big gun control advocate, but I don’t believe the Government is staying up late at night trying to figure out how to take away our guns.  If I am wrong, then the Government will have to issue me one before they can take it away from me.

In 1978, Tom Daschel was elected for the first time to the House of Representatives.  He won a contested election by 139 votes in a recount.  He brought his family to DC and then rented a house next to ours in West Springfield.  We were neighbors for one year before I was reassigned to Fort Riley, Kansas.  I never discussed politics with Tom.  I did one snowy day push his car out of a snow bank.  I have often wondered if this would have been a better country if I had left him there.  I did, however, have a chat over the back fence with his wife, Laurie.  She was taking me step by step through the Democratic agenda.  All of a sudden it dawned on me that in South Dakota, Tom couldn’t have been in favor of gun control.  I asked Laurie what Tom’s position was on the right to bear arms.  She told me that Tom was in favor of the right to arm bears!  I gave up.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

When certain things happen in your life, your previous priorities go out the window.  In early June, we were to fly down to Fort Worth, Texas, for the annual reunion  of the Retired Army Judge Advocates.  We had been to 22 reunions in a row.  Canceled!  In the middle of June, we were heading back home to Carole’s high school reunion.  Canceled!  None of that seemed important.

On the 29th of May, 2012, Carole went in for a somewhat routing CAT scan of her lungs and GI tract.  We were subsequently notified that a small nodule was discovered on her pancreas.  A small nodule on her pancreas.  That’s an attention getter.  Carole’s younger brother, Bob, had died of pancreatic cancer.  We were now on a roller coaster racing up and down.  Two days later, Carole’s GI doctor, Dr. McBride, had set up an MRI for that day.  He then called us later that night to let us know that there was a small tumor and it needed to be addressed.

He told us that a Dr. John L. Cameron at Johns Hopkins Hospital was probably the best at the type of surgery that Carole would need.  He didn’t think he could get Dr. Cameron to handle Carole’s case, but if he could get Carole into the Johns Hopkins system, then Dr. Cameron would be in some oversight roll.  Dr. McBride told us he would call Dr. Cameron’s office the next day and see what he could do.

In the two days between the CAT scan and the MRI, I had been searching the internet on pancreatic cancer surgery.  Any number of times, I would end up on a Johns Hopkins website.  I knew of Dr. Cameron before Dr. McBride mentioned his name.  I also had heard of the Whipple Procedure operation.  They call it the Whipple Procedure after a doctor who improved the procedure and because no one could pronounce a pancreaticoduodenectomy!

Dr. McBride called us very excited the next morning (June 1).  Dr. Cameron had agreed to take Carole on as a patient.  We were equally excited.  The roller coster was climbing again.  That same day, we contacted Bonnie, Dr. Cameron’s administrative assistant and set up an appointment at Johns Hopkins with Dr. Cameron for Wednesday, June 6.  That date was our 53d wedding anniversary, but we were right where we needed to be.

On that Wednesday, we made our first trip to Johns Hopkins.  I plugged the address into my car navigation system and it took us on a very strange route to the Outpatient Clinic.  Then, after taking us on this circuitous route, it dropped us off two blocks North of our destination; an area where you would not want to have car trouble late at night.  I had previously studied maps of the area and got us to our destination.

Dr. Cameron was everything we hoped for and he explained to Carole that she had an Islet Cell tumor (pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor) near the head of the pancreas (on the Uncinate – Hey, look it up, I ain’t teaching no course here) and it needed to come out.  She needed a Whipple Procedure operation.  We were to call Bonnie and set up a date for the operation.  Dr. Cameron also said that if we wanted to go to the reunion we should go.  We had already decided not to go, but it pleased us that he believed that we could go to the reunion and still have time for a successful operation.

Carole and Bonnie set up the operation for Monday, June 18, within three weeks of when we found the tumor.  Carole had to get pulmonary and cardiology clearance for the operation.  Fortunately, she recently had a clearance from her Pulmonologist and her cardiologist had recently given her an EKG and an eco cardiogram.  The only remaining test she needed for the clearance was a stress test.  With the great help of her cardiologist, Dr. Stoebner, at DeWitt Hospital, Fort Belvoir, the nuclear stress test was set up for Tuesday, June 12.  This would give us a chance to send the results up to Johns Hopkins before the Friday, June 15 pre-operation meeting.

Early Tuesday morning, we went to DeWitt Hospital and Carole’s nuclear stress test went smoothly.  In the afternoon, however, we received a dreaded phone call that the result had shown something that might be blockage.  They would need to perform a heart cathorization to determine the extent of the blockage.  AND, if the blockage were over 50%, they would have to put a stent in.  AND, if they put in a stent, she couldn’t have surgery for 30 days!  The roller coaster was racing down hill and completely out of control.

So the next morning at 7:00 AM, we were back at DeWitt waiting for Carole’s next procedure.  The heart catherization showed no blockage!  All the doctors at DeWitt were exceedingly helpful.  We were back on track.

The Friday pre-operation meeting went smoothly.  We used that trip to Baltimore to set up housing for me for the while that Carole was in the hospital.  Johns Hopkins has a family residence called Hackerman-Patz located right across the street from the Weinberg Building where Carole would have her surgery.  In fact, the two buildings are connected by a sky walk.  The morning of the operation, I put Carole in a wheel chair and we used the sky walk to travel to the surgery reception center.

She had to be there at 5:00 AM.  The processing took about forty-five minutes and eventually they took Carole back for her preparation.  They brought me in a few minutes before they would wheel her into surgery.  I kissed her and told her that if she had bought me any golf clubs as a surprise birthday present, this was the time to tell me where she had hidden them.

Johns Hopkins has a policy of keeping the family of the patient informed as to the status of the operation.  I was informed that the operation began at 8:20.  Dr. Cameron had told us that the operation would take approximately five and a half hours.  Every two hours, someone would contact me and tell me that the operation was proceeding well.  That was appreciated.  After five hours, at 1:20 PM, Dr. Cameron found me and told me that Carole had done well and that I could see her at about 4:00.  It was closer to 5:00 and she looked like she had just lost a heavy weight fight.  Her eyes were puffy, plus, she had a ventilator coming out of her mouth and a drainage tube coming out of her nose.  I felt so sorry for her.  I came back later and the ventilator was gone.

The next morning, the nose drainage tube was gone.  This was progress at the most basic level.  She spent two days in the intensive care unit and during that time, they had her up and walking around the ward.  Dr. Cameron and his entourage visited Carole twice a day for the nine days she was hospitalized.  On Friday, June 22, Dr. Cameron mentioned on the way out, “Oh yes, your lab reports all came back negative and there will be no need for further treatment.”  No need for chemotherapy, no need for radiation, no need for nothing!  Now, all we had to do was survive the operation.  An operation where all kinds of things were removed (part of the pancreas, the duodenum, part of the intestines, the gallbladder, some lymph glands, some of the bile ducts and a portion of her stomach) and then what was left was resectioned back together.  Now do you understand nine days in the hospital?  Do you also understand why we were gleeful when we found out that Dr. Cameron, the best in the business, had agreed to operate on Carole?  Humpty Dumpty could have used Dr. Cameron.

We came home on Tuesday, June 26, and I became Dr. Mom.  It makes me appreciate women when I have to do the routine things they do every day.  I was and still am exhausted.  Carole came home with one drainage tube which I dutifully emptied three to four times a day, c
arefully recording the number of milliliter in the collection bulb and the color of the substance.  I came up with some new descriptive colors, like “strong tea” and “grapefruit juice.”

Every Friday, we trek up to Baltimore to get Carole checked out.  On Friday, July 6, they took Carole off of her pain medication.  That was easy for them.  They said no more Oxycodone and have a safe trip home.  The pain came back in spades.  I can’t believe how the codeine had masked Carole’s pain.  I believe it now.  Then, we had a little accident when the drainage tube fell out.  Oops!  It had pretty much run it course, but I felt pretty foolish calling up Bonnie and saying, “Oops.”

Last Friday, Dr. Devi, Dr Cameron’s assistant removed the last of the red, inch and a half long retention sutures.  For the last week, they had been doing more bad that good and we are now trying to recover the skin that was rubbed off.  So no bikini for Carole.  No great loss.  Her not wearing a bikini has long surpassed Cal Ripkin’s consecutive game record.  The problem is only a nuisance and not a threat.  And, because they felt sorry for the discomfort caused, they gave her a few more happy pills.

By the time I get this published, both of our daughters, Becky and Missy, will have visited and helped out.  Life is starting to return to normal.  Things that everyone takes for granted are starting to happen, like Carole rolling from her one side to the other in bed.  We feel like we still have a mile to go and we are doing it an inch at a time.  But, we are definitely moving, and what is known as a silent killer was discovered in time and removed.  Removing the tumor was a five star event.  Now, we are starting to focus on a Crystal Cruise of the British Isles in late August!

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

My first clue should have been that this 800-page book only cost a buck.  Wow, what a bargain.  It was about English history in the 1600’s and I thought that might be interesting.  The cover said it was a national best seller.  I should have asked myself which nation.  I guarantee it wasn’t on this side of the pond.

The book was entitled, “Cromwell, The Lord Protector.”  I knew during the 1600’s, the king had been overthrown and that England had been ruled without a monarch.  This book would give me the incite I wanted.

Let me say that I have a policy that once I start reading a book, I finish it.  And I’ve read some pretty deadly books.  Until this Cromwell book, I can only remember refusing to read to conclusion once.  It was a situation where I went to the window, opened it and screamed, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”  The book was Ludlum’s Borne Ultimatum.  I read Borne’s Identity and Supremacy.  But in Ultimatum, the master villain kept escaping all the way across Europe.  Then, somewhere in Poland or Russia, the good guys had him surrounded in a warehouse with no possibility of escape.  And for the 27th repetitious time, he escaped.  So, I went to the window.  Don’t tell me how it ends.  I may go to the movie.

I didn’t read books in high school and only that which was required in college.  In high school, being a good student, I was interviewed to compete for a book award.   Three teachers sat as an evaluation committee and inquired as to what books I had recently read.  I told them I hadn’t read any books because I was too busy and that outside reading wasn’t necessary.  When I reflect back on that meeting, I am amazed that I have gotten as far as I have in life.  Can you imagine me telling a book evaluation committee that reading books isn’t necessary?  Oh, I didn’t win the book award.  But my experience leads me to conclude that there might be hope for some of those idiotic seventeen year old’s out there.

The Cromwell book was published in 1973.  That’s close to 40 years ago, but, hey, Cromwell lived 400 years ago; so 40 years seemed to me contemporary.  I expected the book to have 17th century quotes that were difficult to read and understand.  Back then, no one said they had been “disrespected.”  But their idea of mischief was a whole lot worse than what we think of as mischief today.  Difficult quotes I expected, but the author’s style of writing put her back in the 1600’s and it was just too tedious.

I did learn that back in that period everything revolved around religion.  Their idea of a mixed marriage would be a Presbyterian marrying an Episcopalian.  Of course, the way marriages were arranged, such a dastardly thing couldn’t happen.  I am satisfied that more people have been killed to further religious ideals than any other reason.

So, after 300 tedious pages, I decided to go to Wikipedia and find out what became of Charles I.  They lopped his head off.  In that period, that was real mischief.  I feel that I am a better person for struggling through the 300 pages.  I am completely convinced that putting the book down was good for my emotional well being.  Let’s face it, I guess I am more of a Louis L’Amour guy.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

I’m not a big New Year’s Resolution guy.  This year, I didn’t give it any thought at all.  A couple down the street threw a New Year’s Day reception.  I told some neighbors present that I hadn’t done anything about New Year’s resolutions.  A woman said, “It’s not too late.  You can make New Year’s resolutions anytime.”

This really got me thinking.  I always thought you had to make them before the year started.  I realized that I didn’t know the rules for New Year’s resolutions.  I needed to find the rules and study them.  Maybe it wasn’t too late.  In fact, the longer you wait in the year, the better your chances are at being successful.

So I Googled “New Year’s Resolution Rules.”  Of course Google has something on everything.  I found one article entitled the Seven Rules of New Year’s Resolutions.  Rule one and two were exactly the same.  “Do not talk about New Year’s resolutions.”  I think the idea was, if you don’t talk about it, you won’t have a “falsely inflated self image” (whatever that means).  Sounds pretty hokey.  I doubt if many people spend time bragging about New Year’s resolutions.  But, again, I’m not a NYR guy.  Then, rules number 5 & 6 were “commit your New Year’s resolution to a friend” and  “have the friend hold you accountable.”  I am struggling with not talking about it but telling a friend.  Wouldn’t telling a friend falsely inflate something or other?  I was grateful to learn that none of the rules demand penalties.  That’s because I think breaking New Year’s resolutions is right up there with death and taxes.

WinSoft is holding a contest for people to submit (on their software) the most funny or crazy resolution.  What’s exciting about this is that the contest deadline is on January 16, 2012 at Midnight in Paris, France.  This is exceedingly important because it proves that New Year’s resolutions don’t have to be made before the start of the year.

So I think I still have time.  I’m having trouble coming up with a resolution.  I would like to discover a full proof remedy for stopping hiccups or building an invisible teleprompter, but I’m not qualified.  I thought about saying, “I resolve to be a better person this year.”  That sounds lofty.  But better than what?  Better than I was last year?  Better than somebody else?  That seems vain.  There are some people that it would be impossible to be better than, like Superman.  Faster that a speeding bullet, more powerful that a locomotive.  Not bad for a mild mannered reporter.  If I were better than President Obama, the media wouldn’t tell you.  Fox News might.  You know – fair and balanced.

Speaking of politics, I could resolve to get my man elected.  If I do everything I can and my man loses, where does that leave my resolution?  I think there should be a Federal advisory board to answer such questions.  We could call it the New Year’s Resolution Resolution Board.

So where does that leave me?  I clearly have until January 16th.  I could pass or have a stealth resolution.  Stealth resolutions are not subject to the Resolution Resolution Board.  I think I will make a resolution to publish more blogs this year.  It is obvious that I don’t put much emphasis on substance.  Go Daddy, my web meister, keeps all kind of stats for me.  So far I publish .76 blogs per week.  That comes to three and a third per month.  I should be able to do better.  When you write the junk I write about, you don’t have to worry about writer’s block.  I think I will resolve to publish a blog a week.  I have a few subjects lined up and think I can rock right along until late January!

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com

Yesterday caused me to pause and reflect.  When you get to be “senior,” everything that goes wrong is attributed to your seniorness.  Well, I did something pretty dumb yesterday and it got me thinking.  It’s too easy and unfair to blame everything that goes wrong on being “senior.”

This day had been a long one, but enjoyable.  I had had a good round of golf, which has been happening less frequently.  We turned the TV off at 11 o’clock and were starting the migration upstairs.  As I walked into the kitchen, four little blue lights belonging to the dishwasher were glowing at me.  We had forgotten to empty the dishwasher.

Carole came into the kitchen and started wiping off the water that gathers on the upside down glasses and cups.  Then she started emptying the dishwasher, placing things on the counter.  I would grab the dishes and glasses off of the counter and tuck them into their assigned places in the cabinets.  Everything has its place.

I started with the glasses and cups.  Sitting on the counter next to the clean glasses was Carole’s ice water glass which was over half full.  I grabbed it by its handle and turned it over to fit it into its spot.  All hell broke loose.  Water and ice hit the counter, the floor and me.  I suspect I was holding the glass kind of high when I turned it over.  The water went everywhere.  Some of our corner cabinets come all the way down to the counter.  I am told they are called garages.  Well, I parked water and ice all over the inside of the garage.  I’m glad she wasn’t drinking a Dr. Pepper.

Fifteen minutes later everything was back to normal.  While such situations require a grave apologetic mood, I couldn’t help but be amused at such a stupid stunt.  I really wanted to laugh, but, of course, you can’t when you are seeking forgiveness.

Later, I started thinking how easy it is to blame such screw ups on being “senior.”  “He’s an old fuddy-duddy.”  Well, I want you to know that I’ve been pulling stunts like this for years.  It is unfair to blame mishaps on seniorities.

In my early twenties, I went to work without a belt on.  I guess that’s no big deal if you work for IBM or the telephone company, but I was in the Army.  And with no belt, I was out of uniform.  God bless the sergeant major who took me aside and told me so I could remedy the problem.  The rest of the office was having a good time at my expense.

In law school, at an even earlier age, we lived about two miles south of the school.  I would drop Carole off downtown where she worked and then pick her up at the end of the day.  This particular day was in the dead of winter and the temperature was in the teens.  When I came out of class the wind was blowing 20 to 30 miles per hour from the north.  But I had a big parka with a fur hood.  I just pointed myself south and let the wind pound on my back and blow me home.  When it was time to pick up Carole, I grabbed my keys and started out to the car.  No car.  I had driven that day to school and the car was in the parking lot next to Tate Hall.  The wind had not died down, nor changed direction as I started my two mile trek into the icy blast.

So I think it is unfair to blame screw ups on being “senior.”  I had a real good point to close with, but it escapes me right now.  I will say that men of all ages, on occasion, forget to zip their fly.  So I put no special meaning in the fact that while playing golf with my buddies the other day, it took me 12 holes to realize that my fly was unzipped.  I am sure I would have recognized it sooner had it been colder or more windy.

Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com

You probably don’t realize it, but I have self appointed myself as your consumer advisor.  I will look at products that have fortunately fallen into my hands and will report on them.  Everybody would like to make a contribution to our society and this is mine.

The product I am evaluating today is Gillette Fusion ProSeries Thermal Face Scrub.  I never buy that kind of stuff, so you can be sure that it came as a free sample when I bought the razor or some blades or something.  I know it’s a sample because it is such a tiny tube.  It’s so tiny that you can’t read the directions on the tube.  But who needs directions, especially when the name of the stuff is six words long.  It’s a face scrub and it deals with shaving and thermal means hot.

So I squirted a little on my hands.  Part of it was solid and part of it was liquid (not good).  I rubbed my hands together and it started getting hot.  Strange (I wonder if a boy scout could start a fire with this stuff).  Then I rubbed it on my face.  Face felt warm.  Good sign.  I wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to take the place of the shaving soap.  I tried to shave.  Not a good plan.  I got out a magnifying glass and the directions said to rinse it off.  Then shave as normal.

OK, I rinsed it off.  Then I applied my shaving soap.  The thermal scrub must have still been there, because as I was applying my shaving soap, something was killing my foam!  I applied twice as much shaving soap and had one-tenth of the foam.  I found out you can get by with one-tenth of the foam, but it still seemed crazy.

Then I decided that maybe my problem was that I wasn’t using a Gillette shaving soap.  I was using Medicated Noxema for sensitive skin in a red can.  The can said, “THICK RICH LATHER.”  They had never seen what a thermal face scrub could do to their thick rich lather.

I finally decided that maybe this was some ingenious plan by Gillette to ensure the use of Gillette shaving gel.  I am the proud owner of one can of Gillette Fusion Hydra Gel moisturizing shaving cream with Aloe and Cocoa Butter.  I don’t care for the gel, but the can was only $1.80 at the Commissary and Carole had a $2.00 coupon (We’ll never get rich, but what the hell).

So in my ever-vigilant quest for knowledge, I applied the Gillette gel after applying the thermal face scrub.  I am here to report that there are no devious chemists at Gillette.  Gillette’s shaving gel failed to make foam when confronted with the face scrub.

I decided to go on Google and Youtube to see if I was overlooking something by not reading the directions.  I seemed to be using the product correctly.  I watched a couple of guys on Youtube and they applied the thermal face scrub just like I did.  Of course, I didn’t see anyone apply shaving cream after the fact.  So, I am giving the product a C- because it is a foam killer.

One of the things that frosts me is when a product I am using disappears or changes its appearance so that I can’t find it.  I use a Head and Shoulders shampoo.  I think Head and Shoulders must have 40 different shampoos.  Different names, different color containers.  Sometime back, my particular shampoo went to purple writing on a white container.  That was neat.  All I had to do was scan through the H & S section until I found purple.  I wonder if they have thought about their customers who are color blind.

The last time I looked, purple had disappeared.  So I looked for the magic words.  My magic H & S words are “extra volume.”  I looked at all the bottles for the magic words.  No luck.  Fortunately, I have one more bottle stashed away, so we are not in crises mode yet.  But, I do need that extra volume!

I’ve used Old Spice stick deodorant forever.  It too has gone through a number of iterations.  I think I was around when stick deodorant first came on the market.  I was a little kid and my eccentric Aunt Marie showed up at our house with a stick deodorant.  She had me and my brother unbutton our shirts and she rubbed the stick deodorant on our chests.  I thought it stunk.  I was eight years old and I decided that Aunt Marie wasn’t eccentric, she was crazy.  She drove around in a big new Cadillac and her license plate was attached with chicken wire.  She also was convinced that fluoride in the drinking water was a Communist plot.  I thought it was stick deodorant.

Anyway, the last time I looked for my Old Spice High Endurance deodorant, they had changed the label.  But, when I found what I thought was the right one, it said at the top of the container (I’m serious), “High Endurance.  SAME STUFF! DIFFERENT LABEL.”  Now there’s a company after my heart.

Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com

We are dog people.  So we have had the yappers and the chewers.  Replacing furniture is no fun, especially when you are just starting out and money is tight.  Then there was the time when the two leather straps on my briefcase disappeared.  They were there when we went out to eat.  Ah yes, the adolescent years.

We lost Holly, our lovable Sheltie, at the age of 12.  She could identify a dozen of her toys and when I would ask her to go get a particular one, she would race to the hall closet and come back with the requested toy.  She had all kinds of energy and when I would raise the weights on the grandfather clock, would come tearing to assist.  The weights would end up with nose prints on them.  They were brass and I would have to polish out the nose prints.  We finally negotiated a deal where she could chew on the end of the chains, but hands (nose) off the weights.

Holly ended up with kidney problems and died in 2005.  At that time we were over 65 and unwilling to replace our beloved Holly.  With no children or pets at home, we were free to do something spontaneous (not that we ever did).  But after about two years we weighed the pros and cons and decided to find another Sheltie.  One of the cons was did we have the energy to keep up with a puppy, especially a Sheltie?

We located the woman up in Colesville, Maryland where we had purchased Holly, but she was no longer breeding dogs.  She recommended a woman near Clifton, Virginia.  The woman had one puppy that was going to be too big to show and she would sell it to us if we didn’t mind an oversize Sheltie.  It turned out that Holly had also been too big to show, so that was fine with us.  We saw Nikki in the pen with her two sisters.  She was already a lot bigger than them.  A gigantic ball of fluff.

From the time we brought her home, she very seldom barked and never in the house.  I’m not sure she had any accidents in the house, but that may be more to our credit than hers.  There were certain rooms she was not permitted to enter.  One time when I caught her in the living room, I shouted at her.  She leaped sideways and then scampered out of the room.  Shelties can leap sideways back and forth to control the direction of sheep.  We have no sheep.  She did it because she was startled, but she never returned to the living room.

One of the remarkable things about Nikki is her understanding of things around her.  She is a quiet, friendly dog that is not demanding.  When it is time  for her meal or evening treat, she will appear and start staring at us.  She usually starts 15 minutes early.  Daylight savings time will screw her up for a short time.  But she seems to understand that she has entered a subdued environment and does nothing to change it.

I like to putt on the family room rug, but I couldn’t do it with Holly in the house.  As soon as the white ball started rolling, Holly had it in her mouth.  Nikki, however, understands that the ball in not one of her toys (it was never given to her with much ceremony).  So she gets comfortable and watches me putt.  I can putt with in an inch of her nose and she never moves it.  I wish I didn’t move my nose when I putt.

A few blogs back (“A Summer on the Road”), I mentioned that this summer was going to be an ordeal.  We were traveling for 45 days in a three-month period.  Well, it was even worse for Nikki.  She was boarded five separate times for a total of 52 days.  It never phased her.  Each time when I picked her up and brought her home, she would come in the house, look around and then look around the fenced-in back yard.  With that done, everything was back to normal.  No pouting, no destructive gestures, like making my briefcase straps disappear.  Just back to her comfortable routine.

Maybe other dogs do this, but this is our first.  Nikki sleeps on her back with all four legs in the air.  With her hind legs spread apart I would start humming, “Some day my prince with come.”  Carole would stare daggers at me.

I just reread this blog and I am not sure how convincing a case I have made that Nikki is so remarkable.  I guess it is the day to day things like when I’m putting on my socks and she is putting the sock and my foot in her mouth.  And doing it so gently that is doesn’t cause any discomfort.

Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com

Branson, Missouri?  Sure, I know Branson.  My parents took me there on vacation when I was a kid.  It was 1948, 49 & 50.  Sure, I know Branson.

The downtown area was one block long.  It was just on one side of the street, because there was a miniature golf course on the other side of the street.  What was really neat was that there were large speakers on the two end buildings and they broadcasted the St. Louis Cardinal baseball games.  So you could be putting on the putt-putt course and listening to Harry Carey and Gabby Street.  “Holy Cow, Gabby!”

It’s all gone – the putt-putt course and, of course, Harry and Gabby.  The Sammy Lane Resort where we stayed has vanished.  They used to drain the pool every Monday and then fill it with ice cold spring water.  You couldn’t get in the pool until Wednesday.  I’m sure that today there are health codes that prohibit water that cold.

Well, the woman at the Visitor’s Center that said I didn’t know Branson was correct.  Nothing looked familiar.  I had suggested Branson for our family reunion because it was centrally located.  Everybody had to drive forever to get there!

Our three children, son-in-law and four grandchildren joined us.  Two other grandchildren were tied up with college summer courses.  What a different world we now live in.  First, we found the place we stayed at on line.  You say “Duh,” but it was a first for us.  It was a big house in a gated community that slept 16.  So the 10 of us did well.  Next, the house had to have Wi-Fi.  Say what?  I don’t understand, but fortunately the house did have Wi-Fi and the kids and grandkids were busy on their computers and smart phones.  Cowboys and indians have been captured by Angry Birds.

We were  there over the 4th of July, so my son, Paul and grandson, Jack, ran in Branson’s Firecracker 5000.  I held the camera.  Jack is not quite 12 years old and seemed to finish 1st or 2nd among kids his size.  When the results were posed, he finished 8th in his group.  It turned out that his group was ages 14 and under.  And some of the 14 year olds were bigger than most adults.  This was a good life lesson for Jack.  What lesson you ask?  That life is not always fair.  Paul and Jack both had good times for them and Paul finished third in his age  group (he didn’t have to compete with those 14 year olds).  I finished first in the grandpa bragging competition.

Silver Dollar City was right outside our gate.  Most of the clan enjoyed the ruckus – many for two days.  That is where the Flying Wallendas were performing; at least the ones who are still around.  I’ll bet they have trouble getting life insurance.  “And what do you do for a living Mr. Wallenda?”  “Did you say, no net?”

Paul, Terry and I played golf on the Ledgestone Country Club course.  I may have been only 12 when I was last in the Ozarks, but it didn’t take long to remember that nothing is flat.  Well, Legdestone is in the Ozarks.  Ergo, the damn course was hilly!  We had the option of using golf carts or mountain goats.  The goats were cheaper, but they didn’t come with GPS.  The course was beautiful and exciting and a good time was (eventually) had by all.

Paul and I spent two hours looking for a Super WalMart that was 15 minutes from our house.  My MapQuest had sent me in the wrong direction and Paul’s TomTom wasn’t sending up the right smoke signals.  Being two macho male guys, we refused to ask for directions.  The only good thing that MapQuest did was provide me with was a phone number.  I must not have been the first who couldn’t find them.  The little gal on the phone gave me great directions.  After we found it, we realized it was visible from the main drag.  Not our brightest hour.

The reunion served its purpose.  It got the family together.  When families are spread out over many far reaching states, it’s a little bit of a struggle to all of a sudden becoming one again – probably impossible.  When the clock struck twelve and the reunion was over, we all eagerly headed home to return to our normal lives.  But, as time passes, the fond memories will be there.

Writted by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com