They Closed The Old ‘Ballpark’, Today…

The ‘boys’ came to play…

…but this time would be different.

Today would be their last game at the old ‘ballpark’, the grand finale, the wrap up, the capper. It’s time to move on to a bigger ‘ballpark’.

A bit melancholic, maybe, but Life is like that. Today’s celebration becomes tomorrow’s remembrance.

It didn’t matter that snow covered the field for this final game, it had to be played. They were paying homage to the field, itself, a patch of lawn where two young boys learned the finer points of baseball from their coach, a devoted dad who used the sport to teach his sons lessons about growing up, getting along and having fun.

Over summers, I spectated from the third base side, separated from the action by the street that divided our neighborhood, west and east, witnessing the growth of the ‘team’ from young boys first learning how to swing a bat to baseball fanatics becoming ‘sluggers at the plate’, albeit still youngsters.

Some epic games were played here, high scoring events, very high, as the ‘ballpark’ was in constant use during summer months. The whack of the bat on ball, plastic on plastic, closely followed by cheerful shouting as young hitters outraced the nimble fielder, their dad, for an extra base, or two, often winning with a tumbling slide.

It’s a bit sad when the last out of the last game is made. Players collect the bat, ball and bases, the gates are shuttered and the curtain comes down on the old ‘ballpark’. It’s time to move on. It’s the same with families.

Our young neighbors and the ‘team’ are doing just that, moving on. We’ve enjoyed their friendship for 10 years and wish them well, knowing they’ll do fine. They have strong values of faith and love for one another.

As for the ‘team’, when it was all said and done, they moved on, hand in hand, likely learning more lessons from their ‘coach’.

The new field will be nice but the memories of the old field, their first ‘ballpark’, will stay with them forever. Life is like that…

Steve (031823)

For Jonathan, Eva, Noah & Jacob

Today, I Shoveled Snow…Again!

I’ve posted this in the past but every new snow event has me coming back to it. Today, March 11 and approaching Spring, was no different. A fresh coating of snow with more on the way next week brought out the story to share, again. Please enjoy and maybe recall your own youthful days when you were expected to do chores around the house…

https://srbottch.com/2021/02/10/today-i-shoveled-snow-2/

Winter Scarves: A Love Story

Scarf

So warm, this knitted scarf: a treasure beyond worth, that hides within each woven stitch her heart.*

Winter winds blow cold in western New York, especially along the icy shores of the easternmost Great Lake, Ontario. And, while the calendar tells us the dates for ‘old man winter’, Mother Nature determines when it really begins and ends. In these parts, that can be anytime from November thru March, five long months, not three.

Even April has been known to harbor cold winds and wet snows.

Combating those elements and keeping the chill at bay becomes a daunting seasonal challenge. This winter I’m meeting that challenge head on, or should I say, ‘neck and shoulder’ on, with some degree of success. How?

SCARVES!

Not just any scarf, mind you, but homemade scarves, in a variety of colors, sizes and designs, patterns, as they’re called.

Scarves long enough to cross in front and drape down, keeping my torso warm, or scarves to wrap thickly around my neck as an even stronger barrier against the weather. Scarves that are a bit wide and can be converted to a shawl, a ‘man shawl’.

And it goes without saying that while these scarves are functional, keeping the elements out and the warmth in, they are a fashion statement, as well, not that I’m concerned about looks. But who doesn’t mind occasional flattery, some ‘oohs and aahs?

These scarves, a dozen by count, are knitted by my wife as a hand therapy exercise. I’m the beneficiary and each time I wear one, which is daily, it may be cold, but I feel wrapped in a layer of love, something else to keep me a bit warmer.

Mother Nature may win the war, as she often does, but with the help of my scarves, I occasionally win a battle.

Do you have a favorite scarf? Tell me about it. And stay warm…

Steve (030923)

Carl G. Bottcher & Sons, Painters

If you lived in central Massachusetts and wanted to freshen up your home or office with a clean, colorful coat of paint, there’s a good chance that you called the Carl G Bottcher & Sons painting company.

If a church needed to spruce up its rectory or a pharmaceutical lab needed to make those gray walls grayer, Carl G Bottcher & Sons would often get the bid call.

If a color or stain needed to be perfectly matched, Carl G Bottcher & Sons had the expertise and eye to do it, before the age of computer generated color matching.

The Carl G Bottcher & Sons painting company was renowned throughout central New England for painting the interiors and exteriors of fine homes, offices and churches. It was a union shop started by my immigrant grandfather in the early 20th century.

From Grandfather, to father and uncle, to brother, the Carl G Bottcher painting name survived and flourished, adding color and beauty to neighborhoods around the Worcester area for more than a hundred years.

My last surviving brother, Carl, recently passed. He was approaching 89 and was a proud successful 3rd generation painter using the same surname, Bottcher, a name that had been well known and respected in the local painting scene.

At various times, all four of my sibling brothers and I worked for the painting company. Upon learning the trade, Carl ventured off to begin his own company, propagating the painting Bottcher name into the 21sf Century.

Other Bottchers, including brothers, uncles, cousins and nephews, dabbled in the painting trade, as well, in Massachusetts and on the west coast, Oregon, but the Carl G Bottcher name was the progenitor of all to follow.

With my brother Carl’s passing, the name may have ended its run. However, when the Northeast fall season blesses us with its full palette of colors, I like to think the painting Bottchers in Heaven were enlisted for advice. And when the ‘pearly gates’ open to greet you, you might just see a few angels in painters overalls. Carl would be the newest with the cleanest pair.

R.I.P., brother…

Steve (022223)

‘Fire In The Hole”: Male Bonding?

Ratatat! Ratatat! Ratatat! Bang! Bang! Ratatat…and on and on for the ‘longest brief moment’. And loud! Oh, was it loud!

The old man next door came out of his house as the police arrived. At the same time, my sister burst into my bedroom like a SWAT officer looking for the perps.

She found them, two perps, 16 and 21, my future brother-in-law, pending her inquisition, and me, quietly having a nervous laugh at the ruckus we caused. A few long strips of firecrackers tossed out the bedroom window into the neighbor’s yard on a hot summer night, and a sister’s wrath, can do that, make you nervous, and laugh.

“Sounded like gunfire”, the old man told the officers.

In 1963 shootings were extremely rare. No, this was just a case of old-fashion ‘male bonding*’, not to be confused with ‘boys will be boys’.

“Am I wrong”, as Seinfeld’s George Costanza would often ask

* male bonding or male friendship is the formation of close personal relationships, and patterns of friendship or cooperation between males. (Wikipedia)

Generally, male bonding occurs when there’s some common goal to be achieved by struggling together: surviving a challenge, winning a game, meeting a target, something that brings two or more men together in achieving and strengthening a relationship. Surviving the verbal blows of an enraged sister might be a good example.

Then, there’s the action of professional golfer, Tiger Woods, who made news this week when cameras caught him passing a female hygiene product to a fellow competitor whom he had just out driven, suggesting that his foe hit like a girl, weak. They were bonding, according to the apologetic Tiger.

Was it innocent? Probably. Funny? Not really, at least not for public consumption. ‘Male bonding’? No, it was crass, locker room stuff. Even the firecracker affair rose to a higher level.

As to that episode, I think the ‘perps’ learned a lesson in growing up. My future BIL and I did bond and had a good summer. My sister married him and he’s done well by her for 58 years.

What’s your take on Tiger’s behavior, and your favorite memory of bonding? Surely, you have one. All stories are welcome.

Steve (021923)

To my. sister & brother-in-law. you’ve ‘bonded’ well

Love On The Sidewalk…

It happened in a most awkward way, as love is wont to do. A thrown kiss, a wink, a wave and a look of expectation that it would be returned. But I would have none of it.

Alas, my misguided ego momentarily led me to believe that I was the target of the young gentleman’s affection, when, in actuality, I was caught in a crossfire, a crossfire of love, playing out on the sidewalk of my favorite coffee shop in the town center.

But it was over as quickly as it happened. The February breeze carried the romantic gesture past me to the attractive young woman at my back, the target of his affection. Her reply mirrored his, lovingly thrown back. I stepped aside and let it pass, unbroken.

Not a word was spoken between them but it was obvious by their flirtatious comportment, this was unabashed love, love on the sidewalk. And it was on display for anyone to see. I saw it because I’m an observer of people, especially those who blow kisses my way, albeit, inadvertently.

It’s winter in western New York and with that comes a string of cold temperatures and depressing cloudy skies. It can be overbearing. Today, however, the air was warmer, the sun was filling the sky and moods changed. Gaiety filled the air. And there was love, love on the sidewalk.

The humorist in me wanted to ask if the kisses were meant for me, but I bit my tongue and held back. Why spoil a good street performance with a silly annoyance.

Valentine’s Day is upon us. Love sightings will abound. Will you observe them?

Happy Valentine’s Day to lovers everywhere…

Steve #021423

Today, I Bid Farewell To An Old Friend…

It’s difficult saying goodbye to an old friend, a lifetime friend. I did that today, somberly and with complete sobriety.

We enjoyed decades of each other’s company: long walks over green fields, side treks into brush and woods, sidestepping water, back and forth into sandy patches. But today was a time to say goodbye.

Early on, I carried my friend on my back, slightly bent from the weight and mumbling, sometimes cursing, as we went along, not in anger but in frustration As I aged and carrying was too challenging, I pushed my friend in a cart. We were inseparable in sun, rain and wind.

We always seemed to end our walks on a good note, motivating us to return for more.

—————————

My dad gave me my first set of golf clubs, MacGregor Tourney irons and woods. I was 16. It was 1962.

We became inseparable: together on family golf outings, airplane rides to sales meetings and always in the car on business calls. This was the friend that I bid adieu in a rather unceremoniously way when I made a donation to second hand shop

I’m beginning a different stage of Life, the declutter stage, the new catchphrase for seniors of a certain ilk. Looking around the house, I realize there’s a potpourri of ‘stuff’ that I no longer use, will never use. Time to declutter.

But it’s hard to declutter an old friend.

One thing I won’t declutter is all the memories I have that center around golf and those special clubs. It’s not hard to close my eyes and enjoy a tsunami of good times golfing with friends, brothers and especially my dad.

I hope someone will spy these clubs at the second hand store, buy them at a give away price and start making their own memories.

As more decluttering continues, somebody is really going to love the button down dress shirts and brown wingtip shoes I’m donating. I’ll just never use them again.

What about you? Is decluttering in your plans?

Steve (021723)

Quotes on golf and decluttering

“Golf… is the infallible test. The man who can go into a patch of rough alone, with the knowledge that only God is watching him, and play his ball where it lies, is the man who will serve you faithfully and well.” – P.G. Wodehouse

“Golf is a good walk spoiled” – Mark Twain

“Out Of Clutter, Find Simplicity” – Albert Einstein

“Your Home Is Living Space – NOT Storage Space” – Unknown

‘Cheeky Business’

What’s the saying, “every dark cloud has a silver lining”? It’s true, with the right circumstances, one can find it, even in something as daunting as COVID.

Like many of you, I’d been jabbed once, twice, quadrupled even. Nevertheless, as we’ve learned and as medical science has confirmed, jabs don’t guarantee immunity to COVID and all its permutations, but the extra protection…well, it’s just extra.

And if a little extra is good, then why not have more? Thanks to a challenging immune system, I became a candidate for more, Evushield.

Evusheld is meant for candidates like me, those with immune system issues who willingly follow a trusted doctor’s advice for the promise of an extra barrier against COVID, albeit for a brief period, 6 months, I believe.

But that’s not the silver lining.

Evusheld is a two shot process, one in each cheek, the big cheeks. This story is enjoyed best if you visualize it.

If my memory serves me, my last cheeky injection was from a pediatrician. And the last ‘double shot’ may have been in a bar in Cleveland. Before that, Uncle Sam protected me with two shots, one in each arm as I walked the ‘gauntlet’ of medics at the Fort Ord Army reception center. I was protected against everything except the harassment.

With Evushield, the shots were given by two very affable and capable young nurses, positioned behind me, kneeling, I assume. But that’s not the ‘silver lining’. In fact, truthfully, it made me a bit anxious.

Here’s the real ‘silver lining’. The good humor nurses explained the process and wiped away any trepidation and what was a serious discussion initially, quickly turned into light banter, as they prepared two needles. Humor is the great relaxer.

When the order was given, “stand up and turn around”, our banter continued. I was relaxed, even as the feel of latex gloves grabbed hold to keep me in place.

Then the countdown began. ‘3-2-1-jab!” I thought I was listening to a SpaceX launch.

Why the countdown and why two nurses? The shots have to be given simultaneously, one in each side. The serum must meet in the middle and blend, right?

An hour in recovery followed and I went home with a good story. Butt for the early hour, it was just another chapter in my notebook of COVID stories, this time, a story of good people and good humor.

And I love a good story.

Steve B

To nurses on the front line who do remarkable work under stressful conditions

4549…Broccoli, It’s Just A Number

I could see he was fumbling for it, so I blurted out, “4549”!

“You know this stuff, eh”, he acknowledged with a grin.

“I should, I get broccoli every week. Yams, 4817, cauliflower 4079. Every week, they’re on her list. Grapes, 4023. Every week, same thing. And I don’t deviate. It’s one of the benefits of coming here, brain training”.

With a smile of approval and freshly printed price sticker, he steered his small cart to bananas, 4011, but not before professing his status as a neophyte in this grocery shopping game. Professing wasn’t necessary, not knowing the broccoli code was a dead giveaway.

It’s true, though, grocery shopping is a game, a numbers game and a theatre game: codes, weights and measurements, BOGOs, coupons, increases and decreases, mostly the former as inflation becomes an even bigger number. Know the numbers and you’ll save time.

A theatre game, too, almost a contact sport, with participants panning out around the partitioned layout like pawns on a puzzle board. Step back, yourself, and watch.

Some shoppers attack the store with, seemingly, no semblance of order, helter-skelter, snaring items off the shelf and into the cart, sometimes without even looking. Always in a hurry.

“Out of my way, where’s the Guiness”, I imagine them saying.

At $10.99/6 pack, 72 ounces, that’s a much higher number than gas at $4.07/g, 128 ounces. Oddly, no one complains. It’s beer!

Others shoppers, like me, take their time. I’m deliberate because I’m a gabber, I’ll talk to anyone who might slow down or be idling nearby. The speeders detest my type, we interfere with their plan, ‘get in, grab it and get out’. My MO is ‘stroll in, search for stuff and socialize’. That’s why I save frozen to the end.

Then, there’s the checkout. I have favorite cashiers, they know my act.

“Paper, please, and every space is a new bag”, as I empty my cart.

The smart cashiers like my system, it’s one less thing they have to think about, the bags weigh less, and I can transfer items into the fridge and cabinets faster at home because I organized it on the belt. I might pay a couple of extra nickels for bags, but that, too, is part of the numbers game, time management.

Shoppers behind me often change lines. Probably the speeders.

Last stop, the Service Desk to pick the winning numbers.

“Two lottery tickets, please. looks like a big number for tonight’s drawing”,

“Sure is, but you know the odds for winning don’t favor you”.

I didn’t have to be reminded, of course I know the odds, I’m a numbers guy. But you don’t win if you don’t play. And, if I do win, well…..

…that’ll be the biggest number.

Steve

April 2022

To fellow shoppers who enjoy the game and know your numbers. If you see me at Wegmans, stop and chat.

WordPress: srbottch.com

Instagram: @srbottch

“So, Then, You’re The Screw Man…”: A Manufacturing Story

The ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ cocktail party may not have been the best place to discuss one’s occupation, but she asked. I answered, diplomatically and technically, at first. However, in my work, the description eventually gets down to the basics and then things can go ‘off the rails’. “I sell screws’”

“So, then, you’re the screw man”, she replied with a wink and a snicker.

“Yes, I guess you could say that, I am the screw man!”

That brief exchange about sums up my ‘not so formal’ introduction to our new neighbors. Thirty years old at the time and with an immature sense of humor, I thought it was funny. My wife, not so much.

Let me backup a bit. I worked for a fastener (screw) manufacturer in a northern Illinois city, Rockford, known as the ‘screw capital of the world’. No, not that, I learned later. It actually earned its moniker from the bevy of fastener (screw) manufacturers operating there, many that sprung from the original, the ‘granddaddy’ screw man, so to speak.

These manufacturing companies thrived for years, providing fasteners and other special metal parts to industries across the US for their cars and big trucks, compressors and air conditioners, aircraft and appliances, even toys. Just about everything that is held together used a threaded metal fastener, a screw, to do it.

Walking the factory floor of a compressor manufacturer, a vacuum cleaner company or an automotive parts supplier of air bags, fuel systems, frames and other components was an education in the magnitude of our US consumer driven economy. All these companies used our screws, by the millions, and the competition was fierce. It always is in sales.

As fastener manufacturer sales reps, I and a cadre of salespeople and engineers, spent countless hours in factories helping customers meet assembly challenges with a potpourri of specialty screw products, problem solvers.

Over years, I witnessed manufacturing and assembly go from manual to automation to robotic ‘pick & place’, from dirty assembly areas to clean room environments, from Made in America to made around the world. Manufacturing is a fascinating environment driven by costs and whims of customer wants and needs.

But ‘change is the only constant in life’*. The number of fastener plants has declined either through attrition or consolidation. Technology has lessened the demand for sales personnel with the advent of the e-commerce and even the reliable company brochure has moved online. Business can be done via phone calls, Zoom meetings snd webinars.

I’m out of the business, now. And while I might be considered a ‘dinosaur’, I can still look back at my manufacturing experience with satisfaction, knowing that at one time, I was ‘the screw man’.

Steve B

To sales reps everywhere who ‘walk the floor’ …

WordPress: srbottch.vom
Instagram: @srbottch
Twitter: @metalformer

* Heraclitus, Greek philosopher…Wikipedia