Mr. C's Christmas Adventure

It's always in great anticipation that I make my, now, annual Christmas journey to North Carolina to visit with daughter and family.  It's also a pretty long drive from Baja Georgia so I like to take along a recorded book or two to keep me company.

This time I took two:  Nature Girl by Carl Hiaasen, and The Good Husband of Zebra Drive by Alexander McCall Smith, the latest in his #1 Ladies Detective Agency series.

For those of you not familiar with either author, Hiaasen, a writer for the Miami Herald, creates hilarious characters and situations which mostly take place in the wilds of South Florida.  In this particular book, there's a character who had his hand stuck into a stone crab crate by a jealous husband, whereupon he had several fingers pinched off by the giant crab claws.  To complicate matters, in surgery, his fingers were reattached to the wrong stubs as the doctors and nurses were distracted while arguing over who was going to get to keep the crab claws for dinner.

Alexander McCall Smith is a wonderful author with a treasure trove of novels, all well worth your time.  Precious Ramotswe owns and operates the #1 Ladies Detective Agency in Botswana where she encounters all sorts of unusual situations while investigating her clients' troubles.  McCall Smith is one of those rare authors who can delight and entertain you with totally wholesome stories.  No violence.  No cursing.  Just good clean fun.  A real relief from most of what's available today.


My vacation began with a two-day visit to an old friend in Greensboro.  We spent two nights playing music and a day driving up into the mountains and to Hanging Rock State Park.  At Hanging Rock is one of the most beautiful waterfalls I've ever seen.  The falls were enhanced by 5 to 6 foot icicles and was really special.  Unfortunately, being the bonehead I can oft times be, I managed to erase the entire damned memory card so have no photos to show you.  Maybe next time.


Christmas was spent with the family in Charlotte, and what a wonderful time it was.  Daughter and hubby have three girls, a five-year-old and three-year-old twins.  Prime time Santa Claus age.


I was first up Christmas morning and was enjoying a quiet cup of coffee when the house awoke.  Down the stairs they came, ready for action.

Looks like Santa came last night.  Notice Mr. C's stocking.  Some fine cigars and a new lighter.  Mr. C's been a good boy.

Grandpa John shows off his new Snuggie, and blessed and absolved me of my sins while he was at it.

Only in America.  I know it's overkill, but you gotta love it.

The day after Christmas we awoke to this.  Looks like Mr. C is staying over.

An angel makes an angel.

The twins help build a snowman.  We never finished it.

I couldn't stand being cooped up inside on a day like this, so I got out in it.  Here's a little of what I found.

I've got to say that this blogging gig has been a lot of fun, made all the more so by all of you who honor me with your visits.


Thank you, and may the new year bring you all peace and love.

Fluctuations

I was at my bank today; there was a short line.
There was just one lady in front of me, an Asian lady who was trying to exchange yen for dollars.
It was obvious she was a little irritated... She asked the teller, "Why it change?  Yesterday, I get two hunat dolla fo yen.  Today I only get hunat eighty?  Why it change?"
The teller shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fluctuations."
The Asian lady says, "Fluc you white people too!"

Mr. C is back from the frozen north but not yet back in the saddle.  Will catch up with everyone in the next day or so.  In the meantime... keep on smilin'.

A Christmas Story

As a joke, my brother Jay used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas.  He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them.

What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay's kids' stockings overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty.

One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don't sell those things at Walmart . I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown.

If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go, you'll only confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, 'What does this do?' 'You're kidding me!' 'Who would buy that?' Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.  I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour.

Finding what I wanted was difficult. 'Love Dolls' come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for 'Lovable Louise.' She was at the bottom of the price scale.

To call Louise a 'doll' took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life.

My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more.

We all agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. 'What the hell is that?' she asked.

My brother quickly explained, 'It's a doll.'

'Who would play with something like that?' Granny snapped.

I kept my mouth shut.

'Where are her clothes?' Granny continued.

'Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,' Jay said, to steer her into the dining room.

But Granny was relentless. 'Why doesn't she have any teeth?'

Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, 'Hang on Granny, hang on!'

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, 'Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?' I told him she was Jay's friend.

A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the mantel, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.

The cat screamed.   I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants.

Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh.

Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health..

I can't wait until next Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Kum-ba-ya Ya'll.

Perspective

Look at the old filling station above, then watch this video.

Have we, as a species, already exceeded our ability to handle what we create?

One of my favorite places

Southeast Georgia, USA

Naked Full-Body Scans Ain't All Bad

I don't know what all the fuss surrounding full-body scans at the airport is all about.  Maybe we should examine some of the positive aspects, which I did in this post, first published some months ago.

Originally, passengers had to remove their jackets when passing through airport security. Then it was belts, and soon shoes had to come off too. But those who feared that losing one's trousers was the next logical step find scant comfort in the x-ray machine that produces "naked" images of passengers being introduced in airports all around the world.

As well as enabling staff to instantly spot any hidden weapons or explosives, the full-body scanner leaves little to the imagination of airport security. It will reveal a clear outline of passengers genitalia, as well as any false limbs, breast enlargements or body piercings.

Travelers can refuse to undergo the virtual strip  and choose an even more invasive "pat down" search instead, according to the TSA, which admits that some travelers feel uncomfortable about using the new technology.  

I can understand how many people would be nervous about this type thing, but let me tell you, apart from sniffing out smugglers, terrorists, sado-masochists and the like, it can also sniff out some information that can be of great value to you. Let me explain.

Some of my blogging buddies might remember me introducing you to a new friend I had met at the races.  I was really excited, and flattered, that such a fine young hottie was interested in me, not exactly a spring chicken.  We hit it off really well and decided to keep in touch.

Over the ensuing weeks and months we've communicated regularly via phone and email (I live in Baja Georgia and she, being a racing driver and all, travels all over the world.) Well, it being the off-season for racing drivers, and both of us being very pleased with the progression of our friendship, we decided to take the relationship to the next level and spend the weekend together at a romantic get-a-way in sunny Acapulco.  


The plan was for us to meet in Las Vegas and fly down together. I was ecstatic, couldn't wait to get there. I stocked up on B12 and Viagra and I was ready, ready Teddy to rock n roll. But when we got to Acapulco, the whole thing fell apart, and not a moment too soon either. It turned out that Acapulco airport uses naked-image scanners and when my beautiful friend walked through, I got the shock of my life.

Holy Cow! It looked like I wasn't the only one ready to rock n roll!  Fortunately, a big, burly security guard scooped her... er, him, up and carried him away and I've never seen him again.  


Let me tell you, this incident gave a whole new meaning to the term "boy racer."  

When it came my turn to go through the machine I was really nervous. In fact, the girl running the machine must have been really nervous as well as she asked me to pass through it three times. I don't have any idea what she was looking for, I could have told her I wasn't packing anything.

However, the whole thing turned out OK. No sooner had I finished when the security girl, a really sweet and more mature senorita, said she really felt sorry for me and my dilemma and asked if I had a place to stay that evening. Then immediately another girl asked if I would like to come to her place where she would make me dinner. A third girl wanted to be sure I had a hot bath. 

I have no idea what it was that generated such interest, but it sure was a hell of a weekend!

It Turns Out, I Just Don't Give A Shit

Now I'm a walker.  No, not a Walker, but a walker.  You know, someone who actually gets off their ass now and then and puts one foot in front of the other outside of the house.  

There are all kinds of benefits from walking.  For instance, walking can add months to your life.  This enables you, at 85 years old, to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $7,000 per month.

To me, the main benefit from walking is that it clears my head.  It helps me to analyze whatever it is that's bugging me at the moment and come to a rational conclusion and determine a course of action rather than a knee-jerk reaction.  As the old prayer goes, God grant me the patience to accept the things I cannot change.  The strength to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Over this past holiday we had our first major family brouhaha.  Or, I should say, the women had their first major family brouhaha.  Big stuff.  Important stuff.  Threats to never speak to each other again.  Threats to move out of the house.  Stuff like that.

I found myself to be remarkably calm and patient with it all.  Not because I took a long walk.  But because I've reached the age to where, frankly, I don't give a shit.