S'amusing

The Bar Chronicles: #15, “Was It Something We Said”?

Bar Night 2

As we slip-slide our way into winter, the fluctuations are remarkable. The thermometer toggles between mild and frigid, then back to mild, then frigid, while the only constant is the early darkness.

By evening, the streetlights guide us to ‘The Back Nine’, a sports bar in Pittsford, NY. The fare is a bit high but the atmosphere is classy, and we fit the bill with our khakis, pullover sweaters and ‘Curious George’ sweatshirt (2 of 3 isn’t bad). We opted for the quiet air of the backroom where our own conversation was audible… and our fashions were not a distraction.

Unbeknownst to us, as we clinked our glasses and huddled in conversation, The Back Nine would be closing within days of this evening’s beer fest, if one beer qualifies as a ‘fest’. It’s a disappointment, we enjoyed our two visits here, on ‘Bar Night’, and looked forward to returning, upscaling our outings a bit.

There are many reasons why an establishment shutters its doors, but a watering hole in a classy town, closing? A bit of a surprise and made me think, ‘was it something we said’?

The closing certainly wasn’t due to rowdiness, we’re a docile group and any swaying or tippiness was a result of our age and equilibrium, not too many drinks. Was it our overheard conversations that intimidated patrons and discouraged them from returning? The mention of the world’s ant population outweighing humans, or insects dying at alarming rates or mollusks having eyes, may have been inappropriate for a crowd looking for something less cerebral on their ‘bar night’?

Soaring property assessments and declining school performances maybe was too staid for the ears of the common bar fly. Did we discuss the genius of Churchill and Aristotle too loudly for a drinking crowd?

The problem for bars that accept small bands of Seniors is that we don’t drink much, we talk too loud and our topics are extrapolated from editorial pages of the NYT or WSJ, instead of the Sporting News or NASCAR weekly. We may be haughty and tend to bloviate. We are polite to a fault but can be pompous…and we wear curious clothing. We are Seniors, you know.

It’s about time for another gathering. We’ll go back to our favorite ‘dive’, where every spot is loud and the patrons don’t care what we say, the crappy music is too loud to hear anything, and a dog walks among us. The cheap beer will guarantee the doors will always swing wide…

…a Curious George sweatshirt will be a welcome attraction!

“Education is the best provision for old age” Aristotle

Steve
Srbottch.com
Jan 2018

Let’s Face It…You Can’t Fight Gravity

My audiologist laughed, maybe scoffed is a better term, when I boasted that I was writing a story titled, ‘My Ears Are Getting Bigger, But My Hearing Is Getting Worse’.

“You may get a few chuckles”, he commented, “but you’d be technically incorrect. Our ears actually stop growing at age six.”

“It’s probably gravity that’s making your ears look bigger, unless you wear heavy ear fashions”, he snickered. “I suggest you change the word ‘bigger’ to ‘longer’.”

Gravity, huh? It started me thinking, is it the same gravity that caused my six pack abs to drop and cover my belt? Have the bags under my eyes settled there because of gravity? What about the sides of my mouth turning down in a constant frown? Gravity? I used to blame my mother’s side of the family for that look. .

So many other areas of the human body change over time and gravity must be the catalyst there, as well. How else can we explain drooping shoulders, double chins and sagging fannies? The inch of height I lost must have gone into my feet because they’re wider and flatter. Gravity, again!

Given enough time, I’ll be measured as one foot high x three feet wide. And it’s happening fast. One day you can stretch like a rubber band, and the next you’re locked up tighter than a rusty nut.

You add Move Free to your daily supplements to help your joints, and suppositories to actually help you ‘move free’.

When did it all change? When did we cross that imaginary line of tight skin, standing tall, get up and go, to drooping, stooping and pooping? It’s time to fight back.

so, pull on those loose fitting sweats, tie up your laces, if you can still reach them, and kick that transistor radio into high volume. Don’t worry about damaging your hearing, it’s probably shot, anyway, and get moving to the rhythm of an upbeat tempo.

You may not draw that loose skin back to a tight place, a doctor can do that. But, I bet you’ll feel better and look better, at least in your own eyes, if they’re any good.

Let’s face it, this body, longer ears and all, has served us well. Take care of it and have fun moving.

Steve
srbottch.com
January 2018

To Sir Issac Newton who gave us an ‘understanding’ of gravity

The Crossing Guard Chronicles: “How Much Wood Could A Woodchuck Chuck…?”

PAVAROTTI

“Who was Pavarotti?”

I thought I had them stumped. But stumping wasn’t the end game. The objective was twofold: strengthen our daily dialogue, the fun part; and stimulate their thinking skills, the learning part of our relationship. .

As for Pavarotti, the surprise answer came from a confident high schooler on a unicycle who steadied himself, as best one can on a unicycle, and delivered it with certainty. “Not only was Pavarotti a famous Italian opera singer”, he opined, “but he was a tenor”. I was impressed.

Crossing Guard Patch I’m a crossing guard for a suburban school district in western New York State. Every school morning and afternoon, I have a minute or so to interact with groups of kids ages twelve to eighteen years, while waiting for their signal lights to change. I try to make the wait meaningful.

“What is the formula for converting Fahrenheit to Celsius?”

Recent mornings been have been cold, bitter cold, the perfect environment to challenge them with this question. And the answer came fast. “(F-32) /1.8”. These kids are good.

It’s become apparent that they almost expect something each day, a quiz, a fact, a general question. An approaching airplane provokes a simple discussion. An unusual sunrise or an odd cloud formation gets us talking and imagining. It’s all about the dialogue.

“Who was Francis Scott Key and what did he write on this day (Sept 14) in 1815?”

“What direction are we facing while waiting to cross? Forward doesn’t count!”

“January is named after the 2 headed Roman god Janus.”

“Why did Frosty the Snowman tell the kids not to cry?”

“How many centimeters in an inch, millimeters?”

For the most part, kids haven’t changed over the years. The younger boys are still immature, they run, yell and ask nonsensical questions. And boys and girls still hold hands. But there are some noticeable changes. Pink, purple or blue hair is common with today’s girls, and even with some boys. The huge backpacks have replaced gym bags for carrying books. And, nearly everyone is connected via cell phones.

However, kids are still kids. If I can make them smile or laugh as they start their school day, then ‘mission accomplished’. And it all starts with a greeting…and, maybe a new question…

“Good morning, kids. Have a great day!”

woodchuck

“Oh, By the way, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

To my surprise, they had answers. We’re learning from each other.

Steve
srbottch.com
Jan 2018

Dedicated to a wonderful teacher I’ve been fortunate to know, Jennie, and her cadre of lucky students.

Hidden Treasures

Treasures 4 score card

There it was, buried in a cardboard box from a house move several years ago, an old scorecard. But not just any scorecard, here was the scorecard that told a hole by hole story of the best nine holes of my golfing adventures, a poignant reminder of a ‘special moment’.

Life is that way, isn’t it? Along the way, you acquire reminders of the ‘road’ you’ve traveled: a trophy, a plaque, a token or charm of some sort, maybe a photograph or special book, hidden treasures among our bric-a-brac, often of little or no value, except to you.

Over time, these treasures found their way to drawers, closets, or boxes, out of sight and mind, seemingly disappearing within the fabric of your house, until, quite unexpectedly, you come across one that makes you pause and reflect on a certain time in your life.

Army hat

My old army hat rests ‘at ease’ on a filing cabinet. An occasional glimpse stirs memories of a brief period (it seemed forever) as a young man when I had ‘nothin to say about nothin’, just do as ordered. Challenges were met, obstacles were overcome, I did things I didn’t think I could do. It all comes back.

Treasures 2 Ring

A ring with a few sparkly chips ‘hides’ in my stocking drawer and I feel it when rummaging for a matching pair. It reminds me of some career successes, wins and losses, and the camaraderie with associates who supported my efforts. And while it will never be worn again, it moves me to look back at my career with contentment and satisfaction.

Lure

The wooden fishing lure that hangs by its treble hook near my workbench opens a floodgate of images of time spent with my dad, fishing at ‘the Cape’, and learning about life. He was always teaching, often by example. It’s difficult to let go of ‘treasures’ he gave me, nor would I.

Old photos are some of the best ‘treasure’ finds. We hold them and vividly recall details of where we were, who we were and what we did. If we close our eyes for a moment, we’re there. Photos help tie our life segments together, connecting us to our past. We mustn’t lose that bridge.

Someday, our children will chance upon their copy of our Christmas holiday songs, recorded when they were youngsters. I know they’ll laugh aloud when they hear the singing, arguing, the joy and the love. Briefly, they’ll return to a special family time, remember us fondly and be joyful. What a treasured moment, never to be lost.

I wonder, what’s in your ‘treasure chest’?

To ‘treasure hunters’, one and all…

The Bar Chronicles: #14, A ‘One Beer’ Night

Rock ‘n roll, ants and war…we covered all the bases…except baseball.

Bar Night 2

Another evening of beer and brotherhood convened at Caverly’s Irish Pub on South Avenue in Rochester. Here, the beer is reasonable, the people friendly and the ‘bar dog’ can sniff only as high as your knees.

Caverly’s is cozy and casual with a few round tables scattered about a high bar rising over a well-worn hardwood floor, a common man’s pub. The bar area, itself, is a colorful array of tap handles and an oversized chalkboard menu featuring an ample variety of brews.

Bar TAps

With beer in hands, we raised our glasses and cheered each other in genuine fashion. These nights of friendship give us Seniors a chance to get caught up with each other. Sometimes, we learn something new, sometimes we’re surprised and sometimes it’s both.

Tonight was just such a night when one of us offered that ‘ants weigh more than humans’. The rest certainly were surprised and showed it, as the ‘huh?’ look spread across our collective brows. But when the source* was cited…well, we learned something new, and ‘ant weight’ aside, we were bemused that someone in our group actually read, ‘Journey To The Ants’.

Does the adjective, ‘eclectic’ apply to a group that can drink beer and discuss ants in the same evening?

And would you be surprised to learn that another traveled 75 miles to see a former Beatle, Paul McCartney, in concert? Remember, we’re products of the 60s, give or take a decade.

As teens, we borrowed the family car and drove around with other music lovers, slapping out rhythms on the dashboard ‘drums’, our mops flopping side to side while head bobbin’ to rock ‘n roll. We still move to the beat when we hear the oldies, but ‘head banging’ today with scarce a wisp, leaves much to be desired.

Detailing an event or destination as vividly as the concert was allows me to feel there’s no need to go there, myself. I often say, facetiously of course, that ‘the listening is the same as the going’. I’ve ‘been to many places that I’ve never been’ with this philosophy.

Unlike war…

One among us went there**, and we deferred to him briefly when the topic surfaced. A cacophony of silence spoke volumes to our lack of personal knowledge of the real horror of war, except for the one. There is no substitute for being there, a loud exception to my ‘philosophy’

We paused with our own thoughts, finished our one beer and called it a night, a rather solemn ending. The summer-like evening air on this fall night was comforting as we took our time to the car. Another enjoyable evening was behind us…

Friendship is a wonderful thing!

Steve

stephen.bottcher@gmail.com

*‘Journey To The Ants’ written by Harvard professor E.O. Wilson
** Viêt Nam

It’s Only a Rumor…

“Excuse me, where can I find sardines?”
“With the tuna fish? Okay, where’s that, now?”

Rumors 2

Some days, up is down and down is up. That would describe my ‘grocery shopping’ life, since my grocer reorganized product on its shelves ….. again.

One day, you know where everything is, the next day, it’s a new landscape. I had conquered the layout from the last reshuffling and felt an inner calmness navigating the store’s aisle maze. I could find the lo-fat Graham crackers, sauerkraut was just around the end cap from our favorite high fibre and heart healthy cereals. The no-salt pretzels were in an odd place, but I knew where to find them.

Rumors 3

I had the store geography ‘down pat’, didn’t even need the smart phone app to direct me. And that was important because while we shop twice weekly, on Wednesday I fly solo. My shopping orders are to ‘get in, get it and get out’. I got good at it.

My efficiency even allowed some chat time with stockers Jim in bananas, or Annie in toothpaste. Barnabus, the beer guy, was favored with a quick quip, too. Incidentally, beer has never been relocated and many folks are happy about that, mostly guys, although their internal instinct takes them directly to beer, no matter where it’s shelved..

Yes, all was well until this change, the second in a year. Shopping now is a slow trek through a labyrinth of new colors, shapes and sizes. Where once I was accustomed to the ‘going in, grabbing and getting out’, now I’m adrift, lost somewhere between 11A and 16B.

‘Aisle directors’ stand by to help. How embarrassing when they answer in booming voices, “Suppositories? Just around the corner from adult diapers!”. Yikes!

But, I’m determined to learn the new layout, and I’m succeeding with my Senior mind. It’s just another one of life’s healthy tasks, teaching me to be resilient rather than cranky. However, I’m just a bit uncertain about the rumor mill (aisles 8-10) .

The next time the store is reorganized, so goes the scuttlebutt, the aisles will be set up by shape: flat product with flat, round with round, and figurines together (ex. Mrs. Butterworth syrup, Honey Bear honey). All boxed product in the same location, and screw top items will have their own aisle.

Rumors 1

It’s just a rumor, now, but I’ll accept the challenge, if it happens. Besides, what are my choices if I want to fill my own randomly arranged pantry shelves with survival food for Life’s next challenge?

Steve
October 2017
Stephen.Bottcher@gmail.com

To shoppers everywhere who accept change as inevitable

I Met A President, A Hall-of-Famer and Annette Funnicello

I struggled in vain to get my team hat signed by a star player; oh, the indignity of being squeezed out by little shavers and hovering grannies who obviously were ‘veteran warriors’ at this ‘contact sport’ of autograph seeking.

Autograph seekers can be aggressive, pugnacious and rude. They don’t give ground easily, as I learned during my brief moment as an interloper into the arena of idol worshippers.

Why do we seek autographs, anyway? Well, to start, it’s gratifying to have a celebrity pay momentary attention to us and it’s fun to brag about who we saw, and who saw us. And some autographs actually become valuable over time. A rare baseball card recently sold for more than $3,000,000.

The pushing and shoving to reach the celebrity is one way to get an autograph, or shake a hand. However, sometimes the moment comes when you least expect it. So, be prepared and don’t be shy about engaging the target.

A former middleweight boxing champ gave me an autograph when I approached him in a restaurant. Carmen Basilio, a one time great, was alone at the bar, and a long time removed from the boxing spotlight. Hence, he was ‘low hanging fruit’.

President GW Bush (#46) gave me a handshake following a speech, his not mine. A large Secret Service agent focused on me, laser like, as I stopped the President in-place and offered a suggestion, something that ordinary citizens can do in America.

I ran down former Chicago Bears coach and football Hall of Famer, Mike Ditka, at O’Hare Airport for his autograph, but just shook his hand and a offered a nice word on behalf of my father-in-law, a huge fan of anything ‘Chicago’. Ditka was intimidating.

One of the earliest and most enjoyable autographs I got was from the queen of Mouseketeers, herself, Annette Funnicello, during a Mickey Mouse Club ‘meet and greet’ at a local K-Mart parking lot. I was crazy about her, every 10 year old boy was, and now we were face to face, across an autograph table, my naturally big ears lined up opposite her costume ears. As she handed me the signed black & white glossy photograph, my knees went weak and my voice cracked. I mumbled something forgettable before being shoved along to keep the line moving. Nothing has changed, it’s every man for himself for the autograph seekers. Nevertheless, I think she looked at me. Yes, she did, I’m certain of it.

I don’t have the autographs but the memories remain. It’s not important. Today, I’m collecting footprints and ‘signatures’ from two new special people in my life, my grandchildren. Stars come and go, but the ones who count the most crawl into your life and stay forever.

Twins crawling

Steve

srbottch.com

Sept 2017

The Crossing Guard Chronicles: Today, I Brought Balloons

balloon 1

I brought balloons, three of them tied into a bouquet and weighted. It was the first day of the new school year.

I’m a school crossing guard, one of a dozen in my town. We’re the first and last ‘person of authority’ most kids see when they begin or end their school day. Awesome responsibility.

This morning, I brought balloons to my post, then waited. And it worked, there were smiles and audible whispers of ‘oohs & awwws’. The first day of school was off to a pretty good start, a happy start.

All the students managed to cross safely across a busy road going to their middle and high school buildings. That’s the number one priority. But our job begins and ends before and after the crossing, itself, and that helps make their school day a positive experience. Often, it’s just a smile, a greeting, maybe a ‘great day’ wish, or a compliment, something positive they can take with them every school day.

•

Do you remember your first days? First day of school, first day of a new job, first day in the military? A bit unnerving, wasn’t it? Meeting new people, having new bosses, understanding new rules; phew, I feel pressure just recalling it all. Imagine how a kid feels.

My first teacher was Miss Fanny, we giggled at her name, until she slapped ‘ours’. Mrs.Downes was my first of many bosses. The principal at an elementary school where I taught before making a career change, Mrs. Downes (Isabel) was a civilian drill instructor, tough but fair, with high expectations from her staff. Drill Sergeant Davis was my first real drill sergeant (Army). He was tough, too, and fair, he showed no favoritism when delivering his wrath.

•

Initially, all three of these supervisors gave me pause on my ‘first day’ but I adjusted. The kids we cross daily will adjust in time, too, some sooner than others. I like to think that our approach and interaction with them will expedite that adjustment period.

So, today I brought balloons, and waited… balloon 2

Steve

Srbottch.com

September 6, 2017

To school crossing guards, everywhere

To students of all ages

To everyone experiencing a ‘first time’

The Bar Chronicles: #13, The Gift

This evening’s soirée found us at a classy sports bar, The Back Nine in Pittsford, NY. The word ‘soirée’ seemed appropriate for this place, a cut above the ‘corner bars’ where we’ve been accustomed to resting our elbows.

Why this upscale establishment? I was the recipient of a surprise gift card to The Back Nine by a couple of very savvy young friends who suggested that it might be a good place to go with my ‘senior’ friends (they’re so polite) on bar night. I appreciated their generosity, was impressed with their recommendation and ‘awed’ that my readership is so young.

We ordered Guinness and Rohrbach Scotch Ale, hoisted ourselves onto the ‘bar height’ chairs, raised our glasses with a wish to good health, then started the dialogue.

“I’m throwing them out. Haven’t played in years and I need the space”, one of us began. And I thought, oh my, I’m having a tough time making that same decision. Old golf clubs and other stuff that I just can’t seem to push to the curb.

Old fishing tackle and salt corroded reels that caught whoppers and could tell the same. Old yearbooks with classmates I can’t remember and a picture that I swear isn’t me. And old books, the ‘trophies’ of my intellect, all a reflection of who I am. But all just stuff, old stuff.

Then, it hit me, on our 13th ‘bar night’ we’ve run out of stimulating topics and resorted to ‘end of life’ issues: paring down, getting rid of, throwing away.

•

“You know that farmers can fix anything”, interrupted the former farm boy at our table. I was thankful for the change of topic, the thought of unloading my personal inventory was getting depressing. But farming?

He continued, “Everyone should be a farmer for a while”! I considered his philosophy and doubted I would survive among all that equipment and stuff you walk in, but I now know who to call to fix my disassembled front door bell, another of my failed ‘DIY’ projects.

With our conversation beginning to drone and eyelids getting heavy, we managed to ‘unhoist’ ourselves from the tall chairs, snapped a photo and headed home. A red fox darted across the road, then stopped to look back. I thought to myself, that critter would look manly stuffed and displayed on my shelf…could a farmer do that for me?

Steve
Srbottch.Com

To all who are starting to get rid of stuff, saving someone else the trouble.

Special thanks to Alice & David.

“I’m That Guy!”

Lawn 2

As kids, summer evenings would often find my sister and me in the back seat of our box -like 50 something Chevy station wagon, windows cranked down for fresh air, enjoying a ride away from the city to surrounding towns. Our dad would steer us through upscale suburbs to see bigger homes, bigger cars and bigger garages. And, of course, bigger and more beautiful lawns than I’d ever seen.

While my sister and I sat as far apart as possible to avoid catching whatever big sisters and little brothers give each other when they accidentally touch, our mother swiveled her head left and right, giving us her simple commentary. With ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, she described the elegance of these sprawling homes and equally stunning landscaping. This must be paradise, I thought.

Our dad, however, took a different approach. An avid sportsman who generally spent his leisure time in pursuit of, or preparation for, time on the water, fishing, lawn maintenance was a low priority. He had little regard for the home owner who spent hours mowing, and he expressed himself succinctly…

“Look at him, you wanna be that guy?”

It was a sultry summer evening, the kind that makes ‘life’ come to a crawl at the end of an eight-hour shift, nothing or nobody wants to move. From my bench by the back door, I scanned the east and north section of our lawn as it ran away from me toward the street, like a wave rushing back to its ocean after washing the shore.

I had just finished another session of mowing and was tired, but satisfied. These two sections presented a near picture perfect postcard of how a lawn should look after a meticulous manicure.

Passersby surely were impressed as they intersected the cross streets. The four-way stop gave drivers a moment to pause and enjoy the beauty of it all. I’m certain they gave me a nod of appreciation. It was hard to tell, as the perspiration dropped off my brow and blurred my vision.

I was exhausted and hot. The cold soda can tickled my nerves as I swiped it across my forehead. Mosquitoes were enjoying my flesh but my arms were too tired to swat them. It’s the price I pay for a beautifully landscaped piece of earth, my lawn.

While admiring my work, I recalled an earlier time when my dad would take us for rides in the suburbs and the rhetorical question he would ask.. It seemed like just yesterday. And with a smile, I answered his question…

“I’m that guy!”

Lawn 1

Steve Bottcher
srbottch.com

To gardeners everywhere who take pride in their lawn and have wonderful family memories, as well.

To Brighton Mowers who keep ny blade sharp and encourage me to keep mowing…and writing!