I HAVE A TROLL

I HAVE A TROLL

I have a troll. 

Does anyone else have one of these? 

I guess I should be honored that someone would take a few minutes out of his life to occasionally read my posts and take even a few more additional minutes to poke me with attacks on his perception of my values, or tell me how boring and predictable my posts are. 

I thought I shook him by using comment moderation so his annoying comments would not see the light of blog. 

No sooner did I take off moderation then he had another ridiculous opinion and this one I made the mistake of reading before deleting.  I thought maybe he was offering up an almost apology as he had once years before.

I’m not sure why his comments get to me.  Perhaps I have thin skin.  He thinks my posts are boring and predictable.  Maybe.  I don’t post to change the world.  I post for family, friends and a few other bloggers.  I enjoy it, it is a hobby.  You sort of have to go out of your way to even find my posts, I am pretty easy to ignore.

I try and be eclectic.  I post on relationships, nostalgia, dogs, fishing, music, tomato growing, children and grandchildren, TV, or any stuff that happens to effect my life.  I used to post on politics, but that is a pit with sharp stakes waiting on the bottom.

I used to follow the troll’s posts.  He posts everything from very partisan political opinions where he mostly preaches to his own personal choir, to cold weather in Montana to…well that is pretty much it, politics and weather.

Anyway, if my troll is  reading this I really wish you would stop.  Yes your comments when I read them do bother me, does that bring you pleasure? 

Maybe I do have thin skin. 

Maybe it is because I feel sad for someone who bothers to take the time to tell someone they know nothing about, that they do not like them or like their posts.  Maybe it is both.

Kind of pitiful.  Just as pitiful I guess as me responding, so this will be my last response.  Knock yourself out and comment.  Not sure what you expect to accomplish, but go on.  Perhaps if some comments get through, some of my almost 65 readers will agree with you and my powerful voice will be less effective.

Way to joust at my tiny windmill you brave rebel you!

Bickering

Bickering

 I am often asked by family or friends, “Why do you and Mrs. C fight so often?”

I reply, “We don’t fight, we bicker.”

What is the difference you ask?

This is one area of couples dynamics at which I am expert.  Let me explain.

“JOE! Did you take out the trash?”

“NO, I forgot.”

“You ALWAYS forget!”

“I DO NOT, I sometimes forget, and there is still time to take it out.”

“Why don’t you EVER remember?”

“What is the big deal, I’m on it now?”

“The big deal is I ALWAYS have to tell you because you are LAZY and STUPID and a pain in my ass!”

“Shut up!”

“No, YOU shut up and get off your fat ass and toss the trash!”

“I SAID I WAS ON IT!”

“ASS HOLE!”

Under my breath, “F*ck You!”

That is a fight. 

“Joseph…did you take out the trash?”

“Yes.”

“No you didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you always need me to remind you.”

“Not always.”

“Always.”

“Shut up.”

“YOU shut up.”

“No YOU shut up.”

“How are you going to make me?”

“By taking out the trash.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Yeah, but I’m your jerk.”

“I know!”

“Where are we going for dinner tonight?”

“How about the Boob place, we haven’t gone in a while?”  (Very nice local restaurant where the waitresses happen to be well endowed…we always forget the name of the place.)

“Sounds good, Boob place it is.”

That is bickering.

COCKTAIL HOUR

COCKTAIL HOUR (or two)

This week the way-back machine takes you to a post from June 2015.

I love my family, but we are so spread out we seldom get everyone together unless it is a sad occasion.  I have a son in Massachusetts, a daughter, SIL and three grandchildren in North Carolina, a son, DIL and two grandchildren in Pennsylvania, and a son in California.  My brother and sister live in Atlanta and my Sister (after 50 years I drop the in-law titles) live in North Carolina.

My mom and dad retired to Eastern Shore Maryland sometime after I graduated from college and though my brothers were spread out we did get together for most holidays up until dad passed away and after mom had to go into assisted living.  As an adult, I have wonderful memories of these family get together's with brothers, in-laws nieces and nephews. 

My fondest memories as a child are of Five O’clock Cocktails at Grandpa’s.

My Grandfather was an affluent man.  He owned and ran his own business.  They processed oily rags for something called “Hot Boxes” on railroad cars, something used until at least the 1950’s.  I never understood much more than that.  Grandpa owned a house in the Philadelphia area, two houses and a vacant lot on the Jersey Shore and a small house in Florida.  He owned a 32 foot boat and bought a new Cadillac every other year.  The boat and the car were “Business expenses.”  You could do liberal “Business expenses” in those days.  They went in the books as “sundry.”

To many people in today’s world of class warfare, Grandpa might have been classified as a f*cking rich bastard.  He was actually a very nice and rather generous man.  He was generous with his time, his money and his love of life.  He was a wealthy man.  He should have been.  He worked hard.  He took over the business at 15 years old and successfully grew it.  His business survived two world wars, several recessions and the great depression.

Of course growing up we thought Grandpa was comfortable, but not all that rich.  Other neighbors had bigger homes, nicer boats and newer cars.  Everything is relative to a child.

What I remember best about Grandpa and Grandma was five o’clock cocktails on the back deck of their summer house.  The deck was on the flat roof of the garage and entrance was through the kitchen or back stairs. 

A recent picture of the deck. 
The lot is still vacant, it was used for parking and growing vegetables back in the day.

 

Cocktails were at five almost every Friday and Saturday night. 

Grandpa’s house was three floors.  My Uncle Jack, Aunt Sally and Cousins Johnny and Dex lived in the first floor apartment.  Grandma and Grandpa lived on the second floor along with visiting Aunts and Uncles, and the third floor crammed in as many cousins as needed.

Uncle Tom and Aunt Louise owned a house across the street, and My Dad rented a floor in Grandpa’s second house for his two week summer vacation.  This house was behind the main house to the left of the vacant lot and not shown in the picture. 

On a good weekend there would be up to ten aunts and uncles along with Grandma and Grandpa plus a few friends on the back deck for five o’clock cocktails.  Dinner was not until seven so there was a lot of drinking, smoking and booming laughter.  The drinks were not wine spitzers in those days; they were highballs (whiskey on ice) or stingers (vodka on ice with a capful of Crème de menthe.)

Looking back this crew may have had a drinking problem.  They claim to have been social drinkers only, but they were really social!  Each of my relatives had a distinctive laugh.  I could tell if the laughing was Grandpa, or Uncle Jack, Aunt Phil, or Aunt Nancy.  Grandma would laugh and then invariably chastise Grandpa for an off-color remark with a tart "Oh Milton!"  This was followed by more laughter.

As a child, I remember getting hungry because dinner was so late, but mostly I remember wishing I could get in on the fun on the deck. 

I remember the laughter…there was so much laughter!