Tuesday Titillation (and WoeWee)

A fellow in Ohio likes to play around.  He can't decide if he likes the German Shepherd, the horse, or the blow up sheep.

The kicker is apparently there is no law against bestiality in Ohio, so it must be determined if his dog was harmed in order to even charge him with animal cruelty.  The dog isn't talking.

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Even if you're not a golf fan, you've probably heard about Rory McIlroy, the 22 year old Irishman who won the US Open Sunday.   

It's a good thing that Barbara Walters isn't a sports announcer or we'd be hearing a lot about WoeWee Mcawoy:

Monday Mourning

Questions have been asked why I haven't written a tribute to my mom like I did for my father-in-law after his death.  The truth of the matter is I am keeping a promise.  When I started this blog over four years ago, I wrote about my brother and his struggle with deadly pancreatic cancer.  I didn't sugar-coat my posts, because I have never viewed life with rose-colored glasses. My extended family wasn't happy that I wrote of family matters, and politely requested that I not ever write about my brother or any of them.  I promised them I never would, and to prove my conviction,  I deleted all the posts from those early blog days, and have pretty much limited my posts to generalities when writing about parents and siblings.

Often over the past few years, my mother would bring up a subject or a memory and then about a week later ask me if I wrote about it in my blog. (She didn't have a computer and never actually saw this blog.)  My answer was always no - that I made a promise and I keep my promises.  I was never certain if she actually truly wanted me to write about those things, or if she was testing me and waiting to chastise me in case I ignored her wishes.  I'll never know the answer to that.

One of my blogger friends told me her family and friends LOVE to have her write about them in her blog.  She even has a blog, lovingly filled with humor and sadness, entirely dedicated to her mother who suffers from Alzheimer's.  I'm envious.  People's lives are best honored in written word and shared, even with strangers.  Lessons can be learned, experiences empathized. Oral histories are unreliable and, as generations die, the stories will fade away, like old photographs.

So don't look for extended posts filled with anecdotes of humorous times or exasperating moments with Mom. Her memories will forever be held in the souls of those who loved her and not shared with the public. All I will say is that she was, in the words of those who knew her, " a beautiful woman inside and out," "a very, very nice lady," and "an asset to the local community."  So I guess in some ways this is a tribute after all.

Happy Father's Day

Last living parent, but still lookin' good at 90.5

(FYI: I plan to be back blogging more regularly now.)

Another family member gone

My father-in-law died Sunday evening.  That makes two parental deaths in seventeen days.  He donated his body to science.  I am not sure what science can do with a 99 year old body, but perhaps someone will learn something from it. 

Here's an article (edited for this post) I wrote four years ago for a local paper about him:

Just after 7:30 weekday mornings, a small, elderly, slightly hunched figure crosses the Patton Street bridge, his pace much quicker than most people half his age. Mr. Moore is making the daily trip to his office, walking seven blocks from his home and later back again. He still has a license to drive his car, but he just prefers walking.


Although he finally retired in December, 2006 (after his 95th birthday) from his long career as a civil engineer, he still goes to his office located at his son’s land surveying business, and helps with outside field work, holding poles or finding stakes.

“Dad can out-walk most of our clients who accompany us while doing field work,” said his son. “They’re always amazed when I tell them how old he is.”

The elder Mr. Moore grew up on a farm near Rushville, IL, where he and his sister attended a one-room schoolhouse. They would ride to school together on the family horse, then slap him on the rear, which would send him back home again. He later attended the University of Illinois where he obtained a civil engineering degree, but it was the middle of the depression when he graduated and any job was hard to find.

He headed to Chicago, where he sold hats. He also pulled rickshaws and sold ice cream at the World’s Fair. There was no job beneath him; he felt any work was better than nothing. He eventually obtained an engineering position in Texas, later moved to Decatur, and to here in 1959, where he opened his own engineering business and was city engineer.

Then in 1962, an accident happened that would have changed most people’s lives. While he was supervising a construction project, a cable line broke that had suspended a construction bucket from a crane. The large metal bucket fell onto Mr. Moore’s head. This was before hardhats were required on jobs.

“I remember going to bed that night and wondering if I would still have a Dad the next morning,” his son reflected. He was 12 years old at the time. “They gave Dad a 50/50 chance of surviving the night.”

The doctors removed over 200 bone chips in Mr. Moore's head, which left a huge dent in his forehead that is still very visible. He had numerous injuries requiring blood transfusions. When he tried to get out of bed several days later, they discovered he also had a broken leg. After only a three week hospital stay, Mr. Moore said he had a business to run and that he was leaving. He did so, despite doctors’ orders. That was the last time he spent a night in a hospital.

Besides the noticeable dent in his forehead, he lost his sense of smell, and therefore cannot taste anything. He is able to discern salty, sweet, and sour, but not individual flavors. He also lost 3 inches in height. All were just minor inconveniences of which he rarely speaks and never complains.

Now 45 years after the accident, Mr. Moore remains healthy and active. He mows his own lawn with a push mower. Until two years ago, he would climb the tree in front of his home to clean gutters, until his son finally put a stop to that. He takes no medications, completes a crossword puzzle or cryptogram every day, reads 2-3 history related books per week, enjoys watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, and eats like a farm-hand.

Music Monday

Thinking of my Mom who played Mills Brothers and Ink Spots LP's on the family stereo when I was a child:

Talk Like Shakespeare Day

Instead of participating, I'll just let the old guy do his own talking in this poem which is one of my favorites:

Sonnet #97

How like a winter hath my absence been
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt; what dark days seen,
What old December's bareness everywhere!


And yet this time removed was summer's time:
The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease;


Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;


Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

In case you don't understand the language of poetry -translation per Wikipedia: 

My separation from you has seemed like winter, since you give pleasure to the year. Winter has seemed to be everywhere, even though in reality our separation occurred during summer and fall, when the earth produces plant life like a widow giving birth after the death of her husband. Yet I saw these fruits of nature as hopeless orphans, since it could not be summer unless you were here; since you were away, even the birds did not sing, or rather sang so plaintively that they made the very leaves look pale, thinking of winter.

It just doesn't sound as good as the original, does it?

Business hurdles

Go see Atlas Shrugged.  Until you do, here's a quick little video about government and business: