Playing Games in the Neighborhood

I picked these up at a local second hand store. They are a mismatch of course, racquet ball rackets and tennis balls. They didn’t cost a lot, less than $9.00 total. The neighborhood Kids could play with them in the street, or so I thought.

Cheap fun for the Kids in the neighborhood

Cheap fun for the Kids in the neighborhood

I forgot within (far) walking distance there is a tennis court. The rackets and tennis balls got some pretty heavy use during spring break I was told. The Kids were at the tennis courts playing next to people who take their tennis a lot more seriously.

About week and a half later I found two tennis rackets for less than $9.00. Now the Kids are on their way to becoming tennis pro’s! I figure for less than $20.00 which isn’t a lot of money these days, the neighborhood Kids are having weeks worth of fun.

A lot of fun can be had for a little money if you are creative. It was worth every cent to give the neighborhood Kids weeks worth of something fun to do.

Being a little generous with the kids in your neighborhood can have big returns. The kids have something fun to take up their time, and you may get your yard cleaned or car washed for free!

Fish, Fresh and Otherwise

I used to love eating fish. Growing up with lakes and streams everywhere it was easy to have fresh fish quite often. Times change, and fish, fresh or otherwise is the favorite dish  for someone else. I still enjoy a dinner of fresh fish, but like my Cats, I have become more picky about my choices.

This fish a fresh caught Rainbow Trout. The Trout was cleaned and coated with a mix of flour, salt, and pepper. Slow fried in a cast iron pan with enough oil to cover the bottom quarter inch of the pan. Cooked a few minutes on each side. Served with creamed corn and potatoes, pan fried Trout makes for an excellent meal. When I’m not feeling lazy I like to add a small amount of chopped onion.

Fresh caught, and freshly eaten, one of the finer meals if one lives near fishing waters

Fresh caught, and freshly eaten, one of the finer meals if one lives near fishing waters

The tail if you are interested used to be my favorite part. My folks didn’t have money to waste on snacks, so a fried fish tail was the next best thing to a potato chip. Try it, you may like it too!

I have two friends who prefer the head of their fish dinner over the rest of the fish. That’s not for me, but they insist the head and eyes are the best part of any fish. It is funny to go out to a nice restaurant and watch them order whatever whole fish is available. Once their meal arrives, they start on the fish head while the rest of the fish sits on their plate getting cold.

I have a small ceramic Carp on the shelf above me. The little Carp is a little over two inches long, and light blue, fading to white. It was once part of a set of rests for chopsticks. When I found the little ceramic Carp it was alone. I have a second carved Carp, about five inches tall made of soapstone I think. Carp is my favorite fish to catch. If you wander over to my other blog, venagozar.com, I have more than a few posts about Carp and Carp fishing.

My Cat’s thought fish was a wonderful meal, so I would bring home a small Carp for them to eat. Fussy Cat’s who lived indoors for too long, they preferred their fish steamed with a little salt and butter.

 

Some Things are Just Unknowable

When I go through my drawers in search of something I know I have, but can’t find, what I find instead has some identifiable of purpose.

The item in the picture is about nine inches tall. It has six stick legs. Those are in-line roller skates on its feet. I am sure there was more to this, when it was brand new.

My question is, who is going to buy this unless they happen to have the top half of whatever it is? This item can probably only be identified by two people, the maker, and the buyer.

This item can probably only be identified by two people, the maker, and the buyer.

This item can probably only be identified by two people, the maker, and the buyer.

Creative genius, or lost in space, it resembles nothing I have seen before.

Once a Clown

I do not particularly enjoy clowns close up. I did enjoy Watching Clowns and their act at the Circus as a child. When I was about eleven, I won tickets to “Bozo the Clown” show. Before the show even started Bozo complained to the producer, he thought I was too old to be on the show. Did this experience give me Clown bias?

As the show was live, Bozo was funny and very clownish. As soon as the recording stopped Bozo was not as funny or fun. That was about the last time I wanted to be around Clowns. In their defense I have met a few very nice people no matter they are in their clown costume or not.

I came across this Clown figure at a second hand store recently. I am surprised someone actually bought this Clown bust new. When I look at the bust, it looks more like the clown from Stephan King’s movie, “It”, than it did a playful fun clown. I expect it to start smiling with fangs and blood in its mouth. Is that the attraction?

Funny or viscious Clown?

Once a Clown always a Clown?

Maybe that is what people like about clowns. Perhaps some people wonder if another John Wayne Gacy, Jr is hiding behind the clown paint. I do not think I am alone in my thoughts about clowns. Many children are scared of clowns, and I think this fear follows many children into their adult life.

I suppose Clown are what they are. Maybe it our misunderstanding of what makes someone want to dress up in funny clothes, paint their faces, put on a funny nose, and have over sized hands and feet that is at issue. Maybe the Clowns have it all figured out and laugh at us, as we laugh at them?

Cold Hard Cash, er, Dough

Bread dough is a great trout bait in the right place and the right time of year. Of course other baits work better other times and places too.

I went trout fishing about a month ago. This was one of those times and places where bread dough was not the killer bait of the day. In fact I never even opened the can of doughy muffins.

After catching and cleaning four trout, and driving home, I put my fishing backpack away, not remembering I had a can of refrigerated dough still in my backpack. I found the dough today as I was putting away some hooks I purchased in my fishing backpack.

If you were ever curious, this is what canned dough looks like a month after it pops the can open, this is it. A bone colored hard as rock, looking like an odd piece of wood popping out of a can.  With humidity averaging below twenty percent, dry air made the dough hard enough to use as a hammer. Doesn’t smell like the muffins would have been very good cooked either,

Cold Hard Cash

Forgotten Refrigerated Dough, a Month Later

On the bright side there was no mess. A word to the wise…When putting your toys away when tired,  take a few seconds to think if there is anything needing to be taken out first.

Simple hacks for life with Parkinson’s – Mileha Soneji

If you know anyone with Parkinsons Disease this may be the most important TED Video of recent time. The video contains two neat tricks Mileha Soneji found to help a family member manage two simple tasks, drinking coffee or tea, and walking across the room.

Attached is a screen shot from the middle of the video. What you see will be amazing, and priceless for anyone you know with Parkinson Disease. The screen shot makes little sense, but it will once the video you will see Mileha Soneji is brilliant.

 https://www.ted.com/talks/mileha_soneji_simple_hacks_for_life_with_parkinson_s#t-348614


https://www.ted.com/talks/mileha_soneji_simple_hacks_for_life_with_parkinson_s#t-348614

Here is an embedded link to the video.

Filmed February 2015 at TEDxDelft

Mileha Soneji: Simple hacks for life with Parkinson’s

https://www.ted.com/talks/mileha_soneji_simple_hacks_for_life_with_parkinson_s#t-348614

Police Shootings in Albuquerque Critique

You may have heard the numbers Police Shootings in Albuquerque, New Mexico are some of, if not the the highest in the nation. It seems this notoriety brings criminal from all over who want to shoot it out with Police.

How many authors are there?

How many authors are there?

This was pulled off a bathroom wall in Albuquerque. I thought this is funny. I don’t know any Police Officers who openly support criminals.

Did the author really use two pens to write their message?

Maybe there is the original Author and a Ghost Writer(s) who turned it into humor?

Serial Dream Continues, Be active in your Dreams

This is a continuation of my previous serial dream post with a little help for you if you want help with your dreams. I have mentioned this in other posts, but it bears repeating. You can control some of your dreams. Not all dreams but some. The downside is, it takes time and practice to learn how to control some of your dreams.

As you go to sleep, tell yourself that you want to be aware of your dreams. Some people remember dreams upon waking, I was not one of these people. Telling yourself every time you go to sleep to remember your dream helps you remember your dream upon waking.

As you reflect on your latest dream, take a few moments to think about your dream. Generally, in most dreams, you are one of two of you in your dream. You are either the active one or the one watching. Try to determine which of you you are remembering the dream through, the actor or the watcher.

When you can identify which of you, you are in your dream, you are halfway there. Now when you are the actor in your dream and not the watcher, try to do something simple. I have mentioned before trying to look at your hand is a good start.

If you really want to learn this, it may take some time. It took me months before I was able to look at my hand in a dream. Do not be discouraged by any the amount of time it takes. You have your lifetime to practice. Eventually you will wake and surprise yourself because you changed the course of a dream!

Which Door in your dream?

Learn active dreaming where you take charge of your dream

Now on to my serial dream. I was there again in my dream last night. It seems I am there more than I remember dreaming about, as I have been assigned a job in my dream last night.

I am curious if this dream line will continue, and I will have to work in this dream or will it fade away to be replaced by other dreams? Sometimes my repeating dreams continue to some end point, and other times they fade away into memory. I always wish I knew where they were going, so I would know whether to invest energy in the dream or simply enjoy it for what it is.

When I was a teen, I had many repeat dreams. These dreams felt like someone was hitting replay each night. Night after night. My dream would have no ending, only a repeat of the night before. This has happened only a few times as an adult. Now as in this dream, each dream is a new chapter of a long dream.

If you try to remember your dreams, you may find some pattern or repeats in your dreams too. Sometimes you will find your dreams help you, other times they seem to serve some other purpose. Enjoy your dreams either way. They are important.

Serial Dreaming

I have these odd serial dreams. Not dreams that do not make any sense, but another type of dream. These serial dreams are somewhat lucid dreams as I am aware I am in a dream.

Rather than trying to control these dreams I prefer to passively participate in them. I feel these types of dreams are special. I would rather see where the dream takes me, rather than try to control the dream.

In this dream I am in some area of a small city. Going by the dress, it is located in a desert area. The people are dressed as people I imagine dress in rural India or the Middle East. I know this is not taking place anywhere on this earth, or at least I doubt it is.

An odd thing about this type of dream is the dream seems to be a carefully scripted event. In this dream there is a Woman tending a fire in what would pass as porch space in a small cobblestone back street fenced in by houses.

Lucid dreams

linked odd dreams that make a complete story

This little alcove is a combination of paved brick and cement on the ground. Almost as if the builder ran out of one material and finished up with a second.

There is a plastered tan wall about four feet high separating the alcove from a packed dirt lot behind the wall on the left. Where the wall ends there is a building of what would have been a garage in this reality. Whatever is on the right of that I do not pay attention to. There is an old dark wooden gate in the wall leading to the lot.

A Woman in a brown ankle length dress and dark hair is tending a small open fire. There are three Children here and two dogs, one dog larger than the other. The children range in age from about ten to thirteen or fourteen. The dogs look like mutts, and look unwashed and uncombed.

The largest dog is crusted in mud and gunk even though there is no mud in sight. The children have dirty hands and faces though their clothes and hair is clean. Their hair is about ear length, brown and unkempt.

The Woman starts talking to me in a friendly voice. She tells me the men will be here shortly, and I am to wait. The children move around, yet they feel more like stage actors than real children. The woman throws a few twigs on the fire which is already burning quite well.

The day is slightly flat looking or overcast. It is dry here. It is also warm. There is no food to cook near the fire, nor pan or pot. The dogs are somewhat friendly. I do not encourage them as they are crusted with mud and such, and I do not want it on my clothes.

The Children now start talking about the dogs wanting me to look at them closer. I ask if they are male and female. The middle child tells me they are both female. Then as one dog turns away from him, he reaches down under the dogs tail and grabs what looks like a penis. The boy tells me that all female dogs have this appendage. Then the boy says, “The ?? causes confusion to those not used to seeing it”, (somewhat like a female Hyena perhaps?).

Two men enter into the space on the other side of the wall from a building (home?) on the far side of the lot. I am told by the woman to go through the gate to join the men. The men are dressed in drab earth colored clothing. The first man one has an Egyptian type hat (Fez?) on his head. The second man has a sand colored turban on his head. Both men wear vests.

After a few seconds of idle talk one of the men asks me to sit, and offers a beat up well used wooden kitchen chair for me to sit in. When I sit, the man tells me the other man will begin shortly and I should be still.

As I am thinking to myself, ‘Begin what?’. Then the second Man stands behind me, places his hands with his ring fingers on my upper lip and his other fingers up on my nose, his hands stopping just below my eyes. His wrist are partially covering my ears making it hard to hear anything clearly.

He presses his index finders firmly on my upper lip and starts speaking in a loud voice. I can hear some of what he is saying, though he is not speaking English. He was making some sort of statement, not an asking or demanding tone. I did not understand a single word of what little I heard.

This only goes on for ten or so seconds and he removes his hands from my face. He then starts to walk away and the other man follows. After a few steps he pauses, turns and tells me, “Come back Sunday, and I will fix something else”. They both turn and continue walking away towards the building they came out of.

I go back through the gate to where the woman tending the fire is. She is very happy for me, but unclear about what happened and why she is so happy. The children are also happy, and the dogs are excited bouncing around and barking.

As I look at the woman still squatting by the fire, and the children, I notice the larger dog. Some of the muck on his front left side is coming loose. It falls off as a huge piece (like armor only it’s mud) falls to the ground. Seconds later so does the mud plate on the other side of the dog fall off. I can now see the dog is both well fed and well groomed. With the exception of the dogs head and legs, the dog’s coat is smooth and shiny.

The woman now looks like the cat that ate the canary. The children are not sure how to react, and become anxious. The woman breaks the awkwardness by telling me she is happy for me, and happy I have been asked back.

Perplexed, I thank her and the children, and walk back down the alleyway wondering what transpired and why the ruse? Everything seemed to be staged. There was no reason for the fire. There was no water anywhere, only dust from each step on the dirt. The dogs ‘mud’ suit falling off was curious as was the mud to begin with.

I know I have been here before in other dreams. I end up here by accident it seems. Always arriving on foot. Never arriving from the same trail as the previous time here. I never met and talked with anyone there other than a few formalities until this dream.

The houses are adobe looking homes. ALong a cliff are the same homes, built pueblo style. There are no stairs or ladders that I have seen. No windows either.

A gondola type system too odd to explain, but is how people move from the upper story homes to other parts of the city. Buildings containing shops are adobe also and built like groups of shops would be here on a city street.

In a previous dream about this place, I was curious and went into one of the shops. Everything for sale was of a simple primitive nature, bows, arrows, clay pots and such. There was clothing for sale, mostly earth colored and simple of design.

Many trinkets for sale, mostly blue and red, and pieces of jewelry were arranged in bins. Under glass cases were worked metal necklaces with semi precious stones in them, and bracelets and bangles.

There were fruits too. Apples of several types and colors, and pears. For vegetables, there were green and yellow chili’s, and other varied vegetables I did not look at closely enough to identify. There was no meat, fish or fowl.

Where this is, and why I go here is a mystery. I hope to some day I learn the reason for these almost dreams. I have had other serial dreams in the past that came to a conclusion. These new serial dreams are interesting to ponder as these dreams have no connection except where I go, and I know I am dreaming.

Bathroom Faux Pas

To be honest I did not like my last post. I thought it was poorly written. It was dark. It jumped all over the place. It is not a mainstream topic. It was not wholesome or funny. It may have some educational value, but most people won’t take it seriously until after the fact.

Having an affair is something two people do on the sly, away from the light. They try to avoid anyone finding out what they are up to. When apart, they are ashamed of themselves and maybe each other. I don’t know, I am only guessing. I never had an affair, and never want to.

I have been thinking about what I haven’t written lately. Ideas that cross my mind, but never end up on electronic paper. Today in a daydreaming moment, I thought about a funny incident about going pee. The story not distasteful or at least I do not think it is. I think it is a funny story.

I am in the bathroom of this serious business type building. Everyone around me is dressed very business like. Ironed shirts, ties, suits, shiny shoes, mostly black.

I make my way to the Men’s <- keyword here, bathroom. When inside I am using a urinal. The urinals on each side of me are full. There may be five or so urinals, all filled with serious looking men in business attire, of which I am not one. It may have been right after lunch, or coffee break or something like that. At any rate, the urinals were all full, and there were a few men who finished their business as it were, at the sinks behind me.

For no reason whatsoever, I remembered being a little boy in the winter time with snow on the ground in the late afternoon or early evening. Those times were kind of magical as a kid. The snow kept everything in a kind of half light even though the sun may be down.

Anyway, I am thinking about when, as a child we kids would try to write our names in the snow with our pee. It was some mark of Kid-Dom, probably northern kids bucket list sort of thing. Something all boys who live in snow needed to try. Stand there with your friends and try to write your name in the snow. Of course some boys never managed the feat. For eight or ten year old boys in the winter it was badge of boyhood honor maybe.

As this thought is passing through my mind, my stream is splashing around the urinal. Kind of an unthinking movement from times long past. Certainly it was not the typical adult sound of a man going pee in a public restroom with other men standing on each side of him. It was not water out of the hose landing in the same place for a number of seconds type of sound.

I realized the Man using the urinal on my right, with a wall between us to our shoulders, was giving me a disapproving look. This was so funny in the moment, I broke what I imagine is a second mens bathroom taboo.

I started chuckling. Well, not really loud, but kind of quietly to myself though I am sure the man with the disapproving look could hear without much trouble.

The man’s sideways glance of disapproval became one of either contempt or hostility as he heard me chuckle and saw me smile. I wasn’t sure which face he was trying to make, they both are serious.

For whatever reason the man on my left also noticed the changing pattern of sounds coming from my stall at the urinal. He too was glancing at me with a surprised look.

Perhaps this second man thought I was mentally challenged, or I had some unknown condition where the garden hose was wavering in its attempt to water the bottom of the urinal. Palsy maybe, or worse.

We Men are sometimes boys in adult bodies.

I didn’t sound very masculine. Probably childish really. You know the sound urine makes on those those almost heart shaped things that look like something you could wipe mud off of your feet if it were on the floor. I didn’t sound like that at all standing at my urinal.

My thoughts collected and back to the present, I thought how amazing. I have broken some male bathroom etiquette I did not even know existed until the moment I committed this horrendous act!

I tried to imagine when the last time the man on my right with the scowl plastered across his face had allowed himself to have something resembling simple mindless fun? Has he ever enjoyed a spontaneous moment of unscheduled funny? Does he even know what fun is?

I have never been a serious person. Though I must say my few seconds of wild abandon standing at a urinal, still brings a smile to my face. Though I doubt I would share this story with just anyone who came along. They probably wouldn’t understand it or see the humor.

With the exception of camping trips, or something of the like, we men pretend to be grown up and mature, when really we are the same kids we always were, only in adult bodies. We trained ourselves to be mature. Upholding certain unspoken values, such as peeing with haught in a public bathroom.

People, as in adults, should learn that no matter how hard we try, we are not really the adults we pretend to be. We put on these masks and try to act as we think we should. Or at least we men do. I think women are in the same quandary too, but I don’t know how women act when around only other women.

The next time you catch yourself daydreaming in a public restroom, be careful, you might offend someone, who never had a childhood.