Great Day With Dad

My sister, brother-in-law and I took my dad to The American Watchmakers-Clockmakers Library and Museum in Harrison, OH. nearly a week ago.  It is not only a library that gives individuals and groups tours of the museum but it is also a school for future watchmakers and clockmakers.

My dad, who has suffered a series of mini strokes in the last few years, on top of being in the early stage of dementia, seems to be doing better these days.  This is not only great news for my sister, my cousin and I, who have taken care of him and endured many trials and errors, it is also good news for the assisted living staff at the place he currently lives in.  He still has trouble walking, but the new doctor he's going to now seems to be putting him on the right track, health-wise.  For one thing, she has taken him off some of his medication that was causing side effects inside him that was making matters worse.  Dad still has trouble walking because of the mini-strokes and because of this, my sister arranged to get him a mobile chair, recently, through his insurance.  Dad loves it.  He gets to go places he wasn't able to in the past.

Speaking of the past, I know I've complained quite a bit about dad's belligerent behavior and how it has affected my sister and I's lives but it seems he has finally calmed down and allowed us to help him without debate and angry protests about pretty much anything.

It has also been more pleasurable, recently, taking dad places, other than the ongoing doctor appointments we are accustomed to taking him to in the past and present.  We still have to take him to these important appointments- but now we have an opening- a bright spot, if you will, now, in all of our long suffering lives these past 6 years since Mom passed away.  That sorrowful story has been told, one way or another, so many times on this blog, but I'm going to refrain from getting into it.  I've grown weary talking about it, in truth.  And I'd rather look forward instead of back.  My family and I have all suffered enough.

This is a post of joy and discovery, after all.

The mechanical insides of a working clock.  Yeah, that's my reflection in the glass.

My dad, who was a Master Watchmaker for close to 30 years, before having to close his watch repair/jewelry store in 1982, was delighted that we took him to this Watchmaker/Clockmaker's Museum.  He got a big thrill out of it and it warmed our hearts to see him happy and interested in something again.  Our tour guides were very thorough when they explained where each watch and clock came from and how watchmaking and clockmaking began so long ago.

I might add that my grandfather was a Master Watchmaker, too, for forty odd years.  It is meticulous work, utilizing and moving tiny parts in a mechanical watch.  Sometimes, it may take a minute to fix a watch.  Other times, anywhere from a half hour to an hour.  You need an eye loop magnifier to see the parts, in fact.

After dad closed the store, he learned how to become a mailman, to support our family, and was a rural route mail carrier for 17 years.  I'm very proud of him for what he accomplished in his life and how he went from doing one thing he was comfortable with to something entirely alien to him, learning a new profession, altogether.   My dad was a strong father figure to us, only weakened in his later years by mini-strokes and dementia.  We love our father, through the tough times and the good.

This school, library and museum had many fascinating things within it.  Such as: Clocks from the 17th century.  Sundials from the year 600.  Slot machine clocks from the late 1800's. Ropes and candles, which acted as time keepers and more.  Not to mention a humongous pendulum and ball that sits in the middle of the museum. It is attached to a working mechanical clock tower that sits on top of the building.  All of the clocks and watches you see in the following pictures and video clips come from all over the world.

There are only four watchmaker/clockmaker institutes such as this one in the entire country.

It is my hope that you'll check out the pictures and video clips below.  Enlarge the pics to read about how each time keeping item worked.  The videos are short but interesting.

Rope clock- which would be placed between a person's toes.  It was lit and would slowly burn until it got to your toes.   Each knot would represent a certain amount of time that had passed. A rough way to tell time, I would imagine.  lol.

Regular sundial at the top and a sundial cannon time keeping item at the bottom.

As the candle wax melted, a little bell would drop and make a jingling sound, signifying that another hour passed by.  Created by the Chinese, long ago. 

Below are videos of our various tour guides explaining how some of the watches and clocks worked, where and when they were from and so on.  We also visited a classroom where an instructor/guide was giving my dad and the rest of the family some info on what the watchmaking class was working on and learning that day.  I sneakily videotaped the classroom with my new digital camera when the students and instructor weren't looking.  Aren't I the devious one?  Ha ha ha.

In conclusion, we had a wonderful day. A fantastic reprieve and excellent experience with dad. It was well worth going there not just for us, but for dad, especially. My sister thought of the idea and I am forever grateful to her.  I provided the transportation and I was the camera man that day.  :)

I will be posting the entire album of pictures and videos, taken here, on facebook, soon, if anyone is interested.  Have a great day!

Jokes I Just Thought Up Because I'm Drunk and Reportedly Speak A Foreign Language

While crossing the street, a nun is accidentally hit by a bus.  It doesn't look good.  Sister Ruby Goodshoes appears to be bleeding from every orifice of her body.   A crowd gathers round the nun and a few text their friends about the incident while others take photos with their camera phones.  The concern over the young woman is beginning to get overwhelming.  One man, in an expensive suit, even considers calling the number for medical emergencies but calls his stockbroker, instead.

Suddenly, a man of much heft, waddles forward through the throng of onlookers and texters.

"Stand back!" the surly man commands.

The elderly man, driving the bus, comes out, visibly shaking and asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I can handle this", says the fat, bald-headed man, with complete calm, "I'm a doctor."

With that said, he quickly rips open the nun's shirt, tears off her bra and then pulls down his pants and commences to masturbate, furiously.  In a matter of minutes, the fat man spews forth his jism upon the nun's shuddering chest.  After his last squirt, her heaving breasts become still.

"Huh," said one concerned female pedestrian, previously chewing a wad of gum, "I think she's, like dead, or somethin'."

The fat, bald-headed man threw his arms toward the sky and exclaimed, "Well, I CAME as fast as I could!"

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This is a bus.  It has wheels.  Every so often, the wheels go round and round... round and round.

Several cops are pepper spraying a group of activists, outside the building where the G8 meeting is taking place.  One of the activists, despite being blinded by the pepper spray, coughs profusely, yet still manages to shout, "Corporate interests are dominating what is reported and the world's governments and this forum of puppeteer-ed leaders is nothing but an insulting charade!"

Then the incapacitated man shakes and coughs, violently, before falling down and going into the fetal position.  The cops quickly come to his aid by merrily beating him with their clubs after one officer falsely accuses the man, through a megaphone, of carrying a gun.

After the cops are done beating him and handcuffing him, a corporate executive walks up, pats the cops on the back and says to the cops, "These dummies certainly don't know when to quit.  "

Bob, the policeman, replies, "Tell me about it.  Five minutes ago, one of them was telling me "Global Warming" is real.  After I laughed, I punched him in the belly and kicked him in the head and then I said, "You don't know what you're saying, friend.  We still get snow here, about a couple times a year, when years before, we had actual seasons, when the weather patterns were relatively normal."

After Bob said that, he looked to his fellow officer and the corporate executive, awaiting comments, concerning his little speech he had given the rotten punk.

The other cop says, "Yeah... and the city was only flooded a couple months, straight, in a row."

The businessman said, "Yeah... and the temperatures are well above average only 364 days a year, here."

Suddenly, an intelligent man came up to all of them and said, "I couldn't help but to overhear your conversation.  I just wanted to tell you people that you're just proving that the statements you've just made actually prove that victim's point- if you dare to think about it."

While laughing at the intelligent man, a bus abruptly jumps the curb and runs over everyone but him.  Luckily, a fat bald-headed man hurriedly ran up, said he was a doctor and quickly jacked off on them as they took their last few breaths of life.

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Q: What do you get when you cross a squirrel with a turtle?

A: A fat, bald-headed dude ejaculating on somebody.

On that note... Have a great weekend!  Oh, wait!  I just thought up my quote of the day: Sometimes absurdity presents itself on many different levels in many different ways during this time, in which we live.  One of the greatest qualities of the human race is that they are likely to progress through the absurdity, the tragic events we sometimes encounter.  We need to laugh, love each other and remember the good times and the good contributions that mankind has made.  


I think I need to go to bed.  Gooooooooodnight.

Taking It Easy

My wife and I took a drive to the park and had a nice relaxing time, recently.  We needed a break.

Shelter house at Versailles State Park

Creek

Dam

Where my mom, dad, sister and our friends and relatives would camp.  Mostly, it was just the four of us (sister,mom,dad and I) that would stay overnight when we were kids and teenagers.   We slept in this heavy canvas tent.  Sometimes ten of us could fit in there if we positioned ourselves just right. We would sit around the campfire, tell crazy, raunchy and entertaining stories and made the most noise in the park, out of all the guests, camping in the campground .  The park rangers would tell us to quiet down a couple times while we were there but they were nice about it.  We had a great time at site 116.  There would be times when there were a dozen and a half of us, laughing and frequently enjoying ourselves with adult beverages and fun conversations.  :)      

This is the red wooden bridge from the inside as we drove.  It goes between the town and the park.  Look... there is a light at the end of the tunnel!

Cool Air Has Inspired and Enthralled

The taint is dry.  My brow is sweat-free.  I can actually walk around in something besides my Cousin Eddie outfits.

Happy to report:  The main AC unit has been officially repaired and installed in the wall.  Before that, the temperatures ran around 80 degrees F. in the apartment.  When the area around us wasn't getting pounded by thunderstorms and 40-60 mph wind gusts and hailstones, the temperatures rose to record numbers this time of year.  Not even summer yet and it easily would get up to 85 degrees outside.  Most of the time, I walked around in my underwear or boxers and a pair of sandals or black slippers.  Nothing else.  My wife warned me not to go outside, saying that I might get raped in my seductive get up.  Somehow, I didn't believe her.

Watch Cousin Eddie, in action, below, in National Lampoon's Vegas Vacation.  This is likely my least favorite "Vacation" movie of the series but it had it's moments. Methinks Cousin Eddie may suffer some anxiety disorder, at times.  I can't fault him for being a moron, though.  He's the entertaining kind of moron.  God puts 'em on Earth for our entertainment, I think.

Beats being around a boring moron- one like most of us encounter each day, on several occasions. This clip below is not the "shitter was full" scene of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation- but I like this scene.  Everyone and their butt mole has got that one memorized and it has been shown to death.  Hell, it's tradition for us to watch the Christmas one each year.  I still get a boner when the girl in the red bathing suit is on the diving board of the fantasy pool.  My wife ruins my mood by saying that when she flips her suit up in the air with her foot, she is cutting a pussy fart at the same time.

I also slap myself on my head to recall things.

Now I can come into this room, play games, make witty as heck comments on blogs and entertain myself by spouting off words of wisdom.  By the way, I saw the mentally challenged man again at the park.  He was still mumbling, frequently waving his arms up and down and made quacking noises.  He paced back and forth, every so often shouting, "Gimbiddy Goobey Blaaarghh!"

The mother or caretaker of this person was looking at the picnic table she was sitting at, perhaps thinking of a creamy fudge bar or slitting her own throat.  I know it's hard for people to take care of people when they're mentally challenged.  I feel for them as much or more than the mentally retarded folks they take care of- they're like the unspoken heroes and people don't say enough good about them.

At least, he, the dude I was just yakkin' about, wasn't like this other asshole in the park.  This old guy, The Curmudgeon, I call him. He was all stretched out underneath a shelter, sweating profusely, red in the face, swiggin' out of his bottle of whatever like he was thirsty or something.  :)  Anyway, he, of course, makes one of his negative remarks about how the weather is.  He doesn't miss a chance, whenever we pass each other in the park, while walking, to say how crappy the weather is or if it is a nice day, he'll say, for example "Gee, it almost feels decent today."

After he says something that I don't really feel like fully absorbing in my brain because I know how his mind works, partially, I ask him, nicely, if he is okay.  No sarcasm to my tone, whatsoever.  He breathes in, sort of okay, but his breathing is a bit ragged.  Based on this and his appearance, I had asked if he was okay.  If he needed any assistance.  Ever since I've had earlier dramatic incidents, this year, of people collapsing in front of me or onto me, in my arms, I'm a little anxious.  I'm ready to call 911 on his crazy, obnoxious, old ass.

But he says that he's okay and I walk on my usual path.  Apparently, he was "okay" because I saw him walking again.  I tried to say hello to him and get him to stop, briefly, to ask how he was but he ignored me and made sure I knew he was doing it on purpose.

I thought he was being silly, vain and stupid.  So I laughed each time as distance separated us when we walked in opposite directions.  The next day, he must have known he looked like an ass because of his attitude because he immediately engaged me in a conversation about trips he and his wife have taken to Hawaii and other locations.  At least, he isn't a total turd.

When people start conveying personal info, it's usually easier for me and quite a few people, I notice, to warm up to them.  They seem more human.  That's the lesson I take from it during my experiences of these kind.  People play odd games.  I like the straightforward, honest approach.  Why be something you're not?  Don't fear!  Show yourself-- flaws, talents, interests and all.

By the way, my neighbor, across the street, has a dozen flags in his yard.  Big flagpoles with American flags in his small yard. I don't know why he has them there.  Memorial Day is quite a long time from now.  I took a picture of his front yard-in case he kills me later on.  He reminds me of the Bruce Dern character of the movie "The Burbs."  The neighbor across the road from us is always sitting in his lawn chair in his open garage, watching the movements of all in the neighborhood.

  

True Tales of Perfectly Normal Kelly

Disclaimer:  The following stories should be read as if they were written by someone completely sane, always politically correct and sensitive of others' feelings.  They, most importantly, were written by somebody with a sense of humor.  Scared?  Don't be!  I'm here to hold your hand as you take this special journey with me on my latest incidents of pure, wholesome normalcy.  I promise not to give you that special smile, while we walk, that says 'I won't bash your head in with this bronze statue of Zues fucking a dolphin while the dolphin is porking a young handjob-maiden', I have behind my back, when you turn head away, next.  You don't know how often you come across that common stylish item in those fancy antique stores, worldwide.  

 I farted.

But less importantly, I was taking my daily walk at the local park other day.  It was a beautiful day, full of sun and a plethora of blooming trees and there was no one there to possibly bother me.  Sure, I'm certainly a social butterfly that desperately needs adulation and continuous attention until I'm nauseous of the sticky slobbers of a googly-eyed stalker smooching on my ass because the stalker glorifies me... but sometimes, I just need some alone time.  Like about 80% of the time.

Actually... I don't know what these guys are and what they're thinking.  My  ambition to find out where they come from and so on has been replaced by sudden feelings of ambivalence.  Like, I don't know whether to bash this one dude's head in with a gargantuan frozen elephant turd or become inspired and secure, knowing that the human race will come together one day, not give a shit about material possessions and place honesty and understanding at the top of their priorities.   Again, I farted.

Note:  Googly-eyed fish will target and viciously attack your taint unless you have properly cleansed it to the point where it no longer carries the bouquet of aromas made up of shit, piss or pork.  Because, you know they say humans smell like pigs or whatever... especially while they're burning.  Look it up if you want to debate me about this most interesting of subjects while I busy myself with not being the least bit sarcastic.


Join Facebook!  See the attention craving, crack-like addicts who won't stop commenting about that same boring shit, day after day!  Watch people watch other people because they hear they are celebrities and that means something ridiculously important!  Ya ever see a dumbass follow a trend to be more popular?  Ya ever see a monkey picking a nit off another monkey in a zoo or while you're out on safari?  Ya ever witness the increasing lack of creativity and open mindedness of anyone or mass of "anyones?"  :)   People remind me of that stuff and more.  Think about it.  And yes, I already know why they, the monkeys, pick the nits.  But think about redundancy, for one thing.  Jesus Christ in a snack pudding offering soul-saving bargains!  Just think!

As I was taking my daily walk in the beautiful park, I cut a fart (go figure, huh?) and I squirt o' wee bit of shit in my underwear, of course.  I don't care.  As long as it's not running down my legs and causing a pond of chocolate delight around my feet, I continue onward to the bathroom.

I go in, clean the little bit of poop juice in my underwear, wipe the stuff from my asshole, place a small wad of toilet paper between the spots in the soiled fabric and my buttocks and when I get myself together again, shorts pulled up and so on, I wash my hands, thoroughly, go out the door and am automatically confronted with a large, six and a half foot tall guy, walking toward me, only a few feet away.  He's wearing about a 5X sized purple shirt, walking towards me like a zombie, arms stretched out, forward direction.

No kidding about any of this.

He makes sounds with his mouth.  I'm dazed by this sight, this giant monstrosity of flesh and insanity and my semi-severe anxiety disorder kicks in overdrive.  Momentarily, I cannot move.

It sounds like he's saying, "Arburgagog Goalpostical Blarrrrrrrgh!"  But I'm not sure.  I was frightened and in shock.  I just know he wasn't speaking English.  I also felt shit start to rumble in my colon again, threatening to erupt from ye ol' blow hole.  In other more sensitive wording. I figured I was about to have a repeat performance of the other fiasco I just endured.  This sudden attack, that would have probably scared the shit out of most anyone besides me, made my head spin, wondering what carnival freak show I suddenly happened upon.

 I saw a shirt this other day.  He might has well as worn this shirt:

      

I have since learned, by actually being curious enough to find out what Doma Arigato means, that one of it's meanings come from the language of the Japanese.  Domo Argato translates, in English as: Thank you very much. In his case, I suppose it could also mean "Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity of giving you a heart attack and instant bowel movement."

I quickly came to my senses, before he was a foot away and darted out the park bathroom door entrance.  While walking, quickly, on my pained feet and scrambling away as if I was being chased by Bigfoot's deranged uncle, I realized four things.  One, I was successful in commanding my buttocks to keep in any fecal matter.  Two, I think the boy/man was autistic and had a "solid wall of retard" for a body.  Shhh... My sensitivity and naturally instilled political correctness is leaking out again.  And three, about as most importantly, his caretaker or mother or whoever he was with, obviously, was a middle aged, unconcerned person who saw what occurred and sat on a bench seeming not to give a shit about anything.  That could be considered a mistake if the mentally-challenged behemoth was going towards somebody with violent tendencies who didn't scamper away, trying desperately to hold his gravy shits back.  Four, I hadn't taken my Valium that day, yet.

I'm thinking about making a custom made shirt for myself.  It will read:  I'm a sufferer from depression and anxiety disorders.  Please refrain from allowing your own craziness and your human keeping responsibilities "entities" (like mentally retarded youngsters and unbalanced young men and women) and whiny brats to come within a solid yard from me or I will freeze up and/or go on a killing spree.  Thanks!

That might be a little too long and I know most people generally have a low attention span.  I might just go with:  Fuck off!  You people bother me! 


I'm okay with stress when it's not of the sudden shocking kind.  For instance, the other night, my wife and I were riding home in a gusty-as-hell, lightening filled, bucket filling kind of thunderstorm the other night.  I was driving.  I knew I wouldn't panic because I could see, before getting back out onto the interstate highway for the 30 mile trek back home, it was going to be a doozy.  Instead, I calmly drove the truck home, hands firmly and courageously stable on the steering wheel and slowing moved around the ponds of water on the sides of the roads.

As long as I know what's coming, I'm alright.

Yesterday, we had another thunderstorm.  It knocked the electricity out for four hours.  I took a nap in the middle of the thunderstorm.  They had tornado "watches" for several neighboring counties on the TV before I took my nap.  Note:  Four weeks ago, we had a dozen tornadoes ravage our state and a couple nearby states.  I wrote a blog post about it.  When I got up, it was starting to get dark.  I lit a couple candles to see the toilet, furniture that I could stub my toe on and so on.  Then I put on some sweat pants and looked out on the balcony.  Even though it was getting dark, it was beginning to hail quarter sized hailstones, along with 60 mph wind gusts and rain.  And about an hour later the electricity came back on.

Quarter sized hail is nothing for me.  I lived during the "148 tornado and baseball-sized hail stone incident" in 1974.  There was a tornado in our back yard at one point.  I didn't have anxiety disorder back then so I quickly ran to the window, against my screaming parent's will, to check out the very real tornado.  A couple hours later, my younger sister and I started to go outside and collect hailstones like Easter eggs, from the grass, putting them in our Playmate coolers to later store them in the freezer.  Of course, finding no practical usage for them, we threw them back out on the ground after a week.

In hindsight, I should have kept them, went up the big tree in the yard and threw them at cars that passed by our house.  Oh well.

Even though it's fascinating to watch hail, quarter-sized or larger, come down for some people and even me, when I'm in the mood, I am more concerned about my vehicles.  I was hoping it wouldn't damage my truck this time.  Not only is that truck a "deer magnet", but I was thinking that the hailstones might dent the body or crack the glass.

Other than this stuff going on, including a non working AC unit in 87 degree weather and other smaller problems, things seem to be getting better for me.

That's all I got for now.  Have a great weekend!  I'm sure I'll stop by your blog, soon, to offer you a cordial comment full that's sure to be chock full of whimsy and wit.  Beats being chock full of shit, any day of the week, right?  Later!