A lighthearted look at today- not political Archives - A Boomer's Thoughts

HOW I “SAVED” A SMALL HERD OF PYGMY GOATS!

psteik — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 18:52:18 +0000

I have mentioned in earlier blogs that I enjoy driving through the farmlands near my home to clear my head and meditate/pray. One day I was doing just that when I came across a pygmy goat in the middle of the country road I was “flying down.” I safely slowed down, and the goat stared at me then slowly walked to the side of the road. When that goat left my field of vision I saw at least seven more wandering around on each side of the narrow road. Worried that a fast-moving truck would take them all out. I turned around and drove up the driveway leading to a large farmhouse attached to the field they had escaped from. On that short journey, my active imagination reminded me of the stories of farmers who protected their isolated lands with a shotgun and a shovel. I carefully approached the farmhouse; there was a glass storm door that was closed and locked with the front door wide open. I knocked, rang the bell and yelled inside but was not able to make contact with anyone. I drove further down the drive to two large barns and, again, exited my car and knocked on doors and looked in windows with no success. I walked around and didn’t see anyone in the fields or on the property. I returned to the house and tried the same things, oddly enough, I got the same results! The goats were getting bolder, and I was sure they wouldn’t last long outside of the fencing. I drove a short distance to the next farmhouse and knocked on that door- still worried about the many stories I’d heard of farmers and their shotguns. As I was starting to walk away, a middle-aged woman answered the door. I apologized, “I’m sorry to bother you but, your neighbor’s….” She cheerfully interrupted, “Oh! Did the goats get out again, it’s been a few days since that’s happened. I’ll text them. Thanks!” Well! It seems my act of “Probably false” bravery to save these goners was not as gallant as I had pictured in my head! I might have imagined it, but it seemed to me that the goats were laughing at me as I passed them the second time! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please comment and share with friends, Phil

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NOTHING LIKE A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY!!

psteik — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 00:11:21 +0000

I believe that mental health is very important. I was raised by depression era parents and, occasionally, serious physical injuries were not even treated until one- or both- parents were convinced the wound was serious enough to require a trip to the hospital or doctor. Mental heal issues were only recognized in severe cases such as those that stunted learning or caused the patient to run naked through the neighborhood. I don’t recall any talk of anxiety, or depression in our house. I admit that I watch shows that mostly older people enjoy maybe that’s why most of the commercials I see are for medications that will, “Bring back your youthful glow- energy- stamina, whatever. Basically: take our pill and all your problems will go away. Everything from quick weight loss to depression (per the commercials) can be cured with a pill! In my opinion, the millions of dollars spent on advertising to encourage us to buy a pill whenever we have a physical or psychological need rather than “sucking it up” like my parents’ generation encouraged us to do, has been successful. Maybe too successful! I say this because, it seems to me that, modern doctors are taught to prescribe pills rather than cure the cause. About a year ago I realized that my medicine cabinet was overflowing with medications for prostate, sinus, arthritis, skin cancer and other problems. My morning and afternoon rituals were to, first, take several pills- then go on to normal preparations to start the day and work through it. I took the pills but was never sure if they were working or not. I got no worse, but no better, in many of the situations. As a police officer I met suicidal subjects on many occasions. Sometimes I got there on time and stopped them, at least temporarily. Sometimes I was called, “After the fact” and was required to photograph the victim, notify family, if necessary, investigate the scene to eliminate the possibility of foul play and wait for the coroner. After several years of truly believing that suicide was a problem, but it was what “other people do”- “Nobody I know would do that!” My immediate family was struck by that terrible problem twice in a few years and my extended family many more times than that (I do have a very large extended family- but way too many suicides)! For my own self-help I read books on the subject and talked to as many professionals as I could about it. I wanted to be able to answer any questions that might arise on the subject to make me a better police officer, a better father and a better human! One answer that came up, from several sources, was that it is beneficial to help yourself, so you can help others. At first, this solution didn’t sink in. Why would I want to spend time on me prior to offering others help? With the stress that comes from raising a family; and the additional concerns that come from policing and surviving in modern America I started to accept that idea. A few of the “remedies” I decided on were bowling, golf, motorcycle riding and drives in the country. It sounds crazy but I really enjoyed bowling when I was younger and realized that I, at the time, did not have anything I did for me. I worked, slept, helped with the kids and around the house then repeated. I joined a Fall bowling league my brother was on- first as a substitute and then as a regular. I enjoyed it, and it helped, somewhat. Wednesday night bowling gave me something to look forward to from late August to early March. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. Later a high school friend asked if I golfed. I hadn’t since I got married, but I loved the idea of starting again. We started to go out with 2 other guys every Monday in the summer- Tuesday if the weather was bad on Monday. I started with a low average in bowling and a high average in golf- the opposite is desired. It’s been a few years and, as I like to say, I worked my way up to mediocre in both sports, I am a work in progress in both but look forward to each outing. Now that I was taking care of me- a desired action that is good for everyone- I decided to go one step further. I bought a motorcycle. There is no feeling quite like cruising on an open highway with the sun shining down on you and the wind blowing in your face (My hair has been gone for a long time). I rode for several years when I was single and, for me, the bike is an excellent stress reducer! The last thing I’ll mention is taking either the bike or my pickup truck and driving in the country. I get such a feeling of peace looking along the sides of the road and seeing nothing but rolling rows of corn, beans or hay with occasional cows, horses or sheep; I understand this is not possible for everyone, but something similar- or equally effective- might be! As I enjoy the relaxing scenery, I either turn my radio off, pray, or listen to old time rock and roll. It just can’t be beat. Somehow seeing farms, animals, corn, beans and more has a way of calming me. I enjoy all of the beauty these sights provide but, I like the barns that are in the process of falling down the best. When I was in college, years ago, a professor in one of my history classes told me that he was once an insurance salesman and the farmers have to let the barns deteriorate until they collapse or they are not paid the total amount of their claim. I had no reason to doubt him at the time. Back then, I had a lot more faith in “The system” than I do now. At any rate, I wonder, if that was true then- is it still true? I enjoy the times I see activity on the farms like plowing or harvesting. I’m always disappointed to see for sale signs up or, worse yet, excavating to make room for the new houses, condos or whatever will soon replace the crops. I can not, in good conscience, be upset with the farmers for selling though. I know and have known many farmers. I am aware that their lot is not an easy one. They get up before the sun, do hard manual labor during the day, and into the night. I compare that to the current price of land and the temptation to sell hundreds, or thousands of acres and not have to work another day in your life and I can easily see why so many farms in my area are up for sale. I also feel compelled to admit that the last two houses I have bought were newly constructed on farmland! Seriously even most of the more established homes, were most probably, built on farmland! If you think about it, and I believe you should, all health comes from mental health and, in many cases, mental health is the most neglected. Please, for your own good, call for help if there is a need and ask your relatives and friends what you can do for them if they appear to be depressed or suicidal. I hope this story has, maybe. altered your mood for the better. Thank y0u for reading and please comment on your opinion of the topic and the blog. Phil

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THE FOURTH OF JULY REMEMBERED!

psteik — Fri, 04 Jul 2025 22:49:12 +0000

As most of us do, I have many wonderful memories of the Fourth of July. This one comes from a time my friends and I were convinced we were adults, miniature in stature, but still adults. To prove it to ourselves and others, we needed to do what grown-ups do- drink alcohol!

None of us felt we could pass for 21 years old, as we had just graduated from 8th grade. With this small problem we started polling older siblings to find a reliable purchasing agent. This position would require the candidate be a person of questionable character, be 21 years of age or older- or be able to acquire alcoholic beverages in some way, be willing to do the job for free, or near free and most importantly; the candidate would need to be able to keep this secret from the parents of any and all of the participants.

We found our agent. I will keep his name to myself even though the statute of limitations has long expired on his illegal deed.

The four of us approached the venue, a local park that had a (What we considered) gigantic sledding hill. We came in from a prairie lot across the street, holding our paper bags that held the bottles. Our drink of choice was BOONES FARM WINE, I chose strawberry. As I recall the other choices were cherry and apple. The scariest part, for me, was when we first came up to adults with our paper bags. I, in my adolescent mind, was sure the first adult we saw you call the Po-Po and we’d be busted.

We walked past a few families and the moms and dads paid some attention to us, but they did not present a threat to our freedom, or our wine!

My confidence grew as the night went on. When the fireworks were over, we got word that a friend that lived nearby was having a party.

We went there and added tap beer to our wine high. I was having a great time until I noticed one of our four members had gone outside a few times and was overdue to return from his last trip. I went outside and found him throwing up on my friend’s patio furniture. I went back in and warned my friend then, with his blessing, got the remaining two in our group to help carry Danny home.

Danny was loudly explaining how he wasn’t drunk and required another beer. He quieted down when he passed out.

We played a form of ding-dong ditch with his mother when we laid him on the front porch, rang the bell and ran- as best we could. I tripped and fell over our friend Gary and was lying in the front yard when Danny’s large, sometimes mean, Italian mother answered the call. It sounded like she let out a muffled laugh, looked up in my direction, then let out a knowing laugh and carried Danny into the house.

We all ran home. I didn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t. I was just lying in bed waiting for the phone to ring so Danny’s mother could explain how they were at the hospital having Danny’s stomach pumped, or he had thrown up all over her new carpeting, or something worse!

Danny called me later in the morning on July 5th. He said his mother didn’t say anything specifically about the previous night, but did make several vague references to drunken teens and the danger of underage drinking in front of his father.

I considered that as my first “grown up” 4th of July celebration. Later, I started remembering it as a lucky escape after a really stupid field trip to drunkenness!!

Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment, perhaps a similar experience?

Phil

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I AM NOT A HANDYMAN, BUT I DO IDENTIFY AS ONE!!

psteik — Tue, 27 May 2025 00:14:51 +0000

I have always been able to fix things. Especially when I couldn’t afford the replacement cost and I needed them. When I was a kid, between the neighbors and my brothers, there were usually plenty of replacement parts for anything that needed to be fixed. In the rare cases when there weren’t any, we could ride a bike to stores in the area. A hardware store about 4 blocks away and a bike shop near 3 miles away, that weren’t out of range for us. My dad was handy, but usually too busy to fix bikes. My brothers were very handy and often had “garbage picked” bikes or other sources for parts. As is often the problem with older brothers, they were not generally enthusiastic about helping their little brother and they were very much against the concept of donating parts to a dead-beat little brother with no means of support (or repayment). This problem required me to learn how to obtain the needed fenders, tires, wheels- whatever, in the dark of night- so to speak! We were “boomer kids” and always had plenty of friends around to help, or join in, no matter what we were up to. We graduated from bike repair to go-cart building, to minibike building etc. My brothers rebuilt an inherited 1950 Plymouth in the driveway with the hesitant approval of my parents and then with that great success my brother Pat rebuilt his 1956 Ford Sun Liner when he was about 17-just a couple of years later. I was often allowed to help my dad on his household projects: Finishing the basement, turning an 8-foot-high projector stand into a bar in the basement, putting a cement patio in the backyard, tiling the basement, dividing the basement into 4 rooms, paneling rooms, putting a privacy fence in the backyard and many more things. As I was growing up, it was a badge of honor to proclaim, “I rigged that; I couldn’t get it to work so I…” After I was married “rigged” became a dirty word as my lovely bride often asserted- she would prefer that the job be done correctly. I guess that makes sense. When I bought my first house, at twenty-six years old while living alone, I repaired and painted the interior walls and sanded and varnished the hardwood floors. I put an antenna on the roof in a windstorm (I didn’t say I was smart). It wasn’t until I was holding this large metal antenna standing near the chimney, on the roof, of my two-story Cape Cod house and looking down at the thorn bushes approximately 40 feet below me, that I realized that I had not told anybody what I was planning to do! If I had gotten blown off the roof, or struck by lightning, I probably wouldn’t have been found until the next family party! I kept fixing things for over 40 years. Faucets, drains, tables, driveway patches, bicycles, cars, holes in walls. I made shelves, tiled floors, fixed broken screens, removed beehives and more. I think the beehive (Wasp nest) is an interesting story. Early in our marriage we had bees dive bombing us as we entered our front door in a duplex (The first home my wife and I bought together) we lived in for a few years. We spotted the nest on an overhang near the girl’s bedroom on the second floor. I didn’t have a ladder high enough to get onto the roof, so I backed our 1986 Buick Estate Wagon up to the front door and put our 6-foot ladder on the roof of the car. Yes, it was as dangerous and foolish as it sounds!

This is a mid-fifties Chevrolet Station Wagon

Not “my bees” but bees just the same!

Oddly enough, I didn’t see my wife or any of the kids in the yard to watch me as usual. The ladder was a little shaky on the roof of the car, but I got up there safely armed with a can of Raid and a disposable lighter. The nest was active and as I sat on the roof to work up my courage, I saw 5 or 6 wasps fly in and out. There seemed to be a short break in their activity, so I got active. I lit the lighter and then sprayed the Raid on the small fire it produced. The Raid acted like a flame thrower directed at the active hive. It’s amazing how many wasps can fit into those honey combed nests. Hundreds of them came swarming at me. I couldn’t get down the ladder/car combination fast enough, so I jumped about 20 or 30 feet into the front yard and rolled, purposely, to lessen the impact. As I dove for the ground I saw my wife with the three oldest kids. They were laughing hysterically at the site of me running for my life with a village of angry bees in pursuit. Somehow, I did not receive one serious sting. I think my rapid loss in altitude might have confused some my pursuers! In defense of my wife, she has a motto. She never laughs until she feels certain you will not be seriously injured. Then she lets go! From the timing of her laugh, I believe she knew I would not be seriously injured before I knew- I’m just saying… I am still an active Handy Man Impersonator. Recently, I have put a motion detector light in the backyard and put a dryer vent on a new gas dryer I installed. In answer to obvious questions that might arise: The gas line is secure, and the house has not blown up! The lint and exhaust are exiting the home as designed- even after my involvement. The problems I had that caused me to suspect my “handyman prowess” was not what it should be were how long the jobs took, and how many trips to the hardware store were required after I thought I had all the tools and accessories I needed. For the motion detector, the regular porch light I was replacing hadn’t been working so I needed to do some trouble shooting before I did any replacing. When I pulled it apart, I found one of the wires installed by the builder, 29 years earlier, had separated from the wire nut and was lying loose in the housing. Yes, this is a very simple fix. That’s why I’m doubting myself. That job took me about 8 hours and four trips for parts I didn’t realize would be needed. I imagine an electrician would have been done in no more than an hour. I was happy to finish it. I was happy it works. I was very disappointed that it took so long! A few months later I replaced a bathroom exhaust fan in the first-floor powder room. I had been putting that chore off for way longer than I should have. I have replaced the same type of fans in various bathrooms of different houses. but I recall they were all difficult and time-consuming tasks. The replacement piece, of course, was a different size and shape than the fan being replaced. I am not an adventurous man anymore! I checked every hardware store within 15 miles of my home- Home Depots, Menards, Aces, Farm and Fleets… you get the picture. If they sold screws, I went in and asked them if they had my style replacement fan. The general answer was a laugh and then, “I haven’t seen one of those for 30 years….” I was so desperate for this one to go smoothly that I read the installation instructions (That is a big step for me). They revealed a key to easy removal and replacement! WOW! That job went so smoothly I wanted to tell the world. It was the first time I felt like a true HANDYMAN in years! I felt so good that when my ex-wife and I walked into an appliance store a few weeks later and bought a dryer I declared, for all to hear, that I would install it myself- This, of course, was after they told me it would cost a few hundred dollars more for installation. As with most jobs around the house, I had done this more than once. The night of the purchase, I put the dryer in the back of my pick-up truck and drove my new prize home. I purchased a new exhaust hose and installation kit before I left the store. I was working on adrenaline. My son and I pulled out the old dryer. Slid it out of the way and gently placed the new one in its’ place. I tightened all the connections, checked for leaks and started it. Everything was AOK!!! I quickly turned it off and turned to the exhaust hose. I remembered how, the old one was very difficult to install- that’s why I had purchased a new hose! I placed it against the dryer exhaust piece- it felt like they were both exactly the same size- THE HOSE WOULD NOT FIT INTO, or OVER the dryer receptacle. Simple! I put the other end of the hose up against the dryer and got exactly the same result! The bottom line is…. It took me over 2 hours to accomplish what a dryer delivery guy, or trained repairman, could do in about 5 minutes! Again!!! I snatched defeat from the jaws of victory! I’ll tell you this for certain! The next time something needs to be done around the house I will try to do it! That’s because a true handyman must have the same lack of memory that any good professional relief pitcher has! Thank you for reading to the end. Please comment and share.

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IT’S FUNNY HOW “POINT OF VIEW” CHANGES OUR PERSPECTIVE

psteik — Mon, 24 Feb 2025 02:56:02 +0000

While I was driving the other day a pedestrian stepped into the street right in front of my pick-up truck. I slammed on my brakes, and he jumped backed back onto the sidewalk. All of the words to describe such an individual flooded into my mind; jerk, idiot and several forms of @#%**#@!!. The rest of my trip I amused myself thinking of all the ways this guy, and most pedestrians, were obstacles to the motoring public.

I arrived at my destination and parked. I started my walk from the parking lot and came to the corner of walk and don’t walk. I stepped into the street and the driver of a turning car I hadn’t seen slammed on the brakes. I jumped back onto the curb and the frustrated driver stared me down as he continued on his journey. The same descriptive words flooded my mind, then I thought how ironic it was that I had just experienced both sides of that scenario and felt I was the wronged party both times. Perhaps, I thought, a little self-evaluation was called for!

I was definitely wrong the second time- my bad!

For me, this scenario has played out many times in my life. I’m wondering, in print, if any of you have had the same experience?

Some of my “perspective moments” follow:

In our, almost completely, confrontational political environment I find myself tempted to go down the perspective road.

Evidence is found that the guy I voted against has been taking bribes. What is my gut reaction?

Give him the full penalty! Throw the book at him! He better get jail time, the last politician didn’t!!

These are legitimate feelings. My inner core truly, and profoundly, feels that nobody is above the law. I have spent over 35 years of my life working in the law enforcement field and I am very proud of the fact that I have lived up to the vows I took to uphold and obey the law- I’m no angel, but I am proud of the job I did, and the path I took.

That being said, since we are on this “perspective” quest… How did I react when my guy was being accused? Suddenly, the answer was not as clear! I did not cry out, “Throw the book at him!” This time I believed he was innocent– it was very easy for me to believe the other guy was guilty; and easier to believe my guy was not.

I had to force myself to get all of the material, for and against, both of the accused. I had to question how, and why, reference each fact I accepted and each fact I didn’t.

Soul searching is hard. Completely honest soul searching is harder and, I feel, an unbiased decision on something I feel strongly about is difficult, if not impossible, for me to do.

I have a whole new respect for judges who recuse themselves from trials in which they have a personal relationship with the plaintiff, the accused or a key witness.

More food for thought:

When you are driving down the expressway what do you think when some driver comes shooting up behind and passes you like you were stopped? Are you thinking, where’s a cop when you need one? I hope there’s a speed trap ahead! I will laugh if I see him pulled over before my exit…

How does your perspective change when your alarm clock doesn’t go off and you end up leaving the house way late? Are you hoping there’s no cops on the road, no speed traps etc…?

What about kids misbehaving? I raised 7 kids and, believe me, I felt stares the few times my wife and I were able to go out to dinner with them. I was at Disney World with some of my grandkids and we saw a sour pussed couple several times in the week we were there. I studied them and can report with certainty that they were in their late 30’s and had no children. While I was behind them in a line, I heard the lady say to the man, “I wish they would keep all of the children out of here and have it adult only for one week. I would pay whatever they asked. Kids ruin everything!” The man agreed.

I agree that, at times, kids can be a bit much- even my kids and grandkids, but I had to hold back my laugh when I heard the absurd thought of banning them from Disney World!

I would like to see their perspective change at some point. I know that won’t happen because I wouldn’t recognize them, I doubt, with their attitude, that they will ever have kids and if they do end up with kids- I would pity the fool who ends up with them as parents!

What about a neighbor’s dog barking? Do we have the same reaction when their dog barks as when our dog barks?

How about the person who brings too many items to the express checkout? That bothers me a lot! That, in fact, bothers me so much I would never do it- but I am still tempted to at times.

Thanks for reading this. Please comment about what you liked, what you didn’t, what your “perspective moments” are.

Phil

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I AM STILL FAST!!

psteik — Mon, 11 Nov 2024 04:56:39 +0000

For those of you who don’t know, I retired after working as a police officer for 35 years.

My wife and I raised a large family, and policing pays adequately but doesn’t create millionaires! This “fact” required me to work overtime and outside jobs whenever I could.

I was a hard worker and some of my supervisors rewarded that by telling me about opportunities to earn more money. One such supervisor, who I still talk to on Facebook, told me about an opportunity to work security at “Cellular Field” (The home of the Chicago White Sox). I was a life-long Cub fan (The Sox cross-town rivals), but this was a chance to get paid for watching professional baseball! I have never been able to get enough of baseball and jumped at the chance. Until I was in high school, I had dreams of playing professional ball but, in the interest of honesty, they weren’t very realistic.

It was not the perfect part-time job. On days we were scheduled, about 5 or 6 of us would jump in a car right after our dayshift at our suburban department ended and carpool into Chicago. It was about an hour drive, much longer if traffic was bad- which it usually was. We had to pay for any food or snacks we wanted at the field. We also had to pitch in to pay for parking. Then, when the game was over, we cleared the park and the area around it. After working a patrol shift, and the game, we made the long drive home. It was a long shift and not really worth it, unless you loved baseball, and I did!

The good side was. It wasn’t a difficult job. There were quite a few people working every game day. The “force” consisted mostly of officers from The Illinois State Police, The Chicago Police and the Cook County Sheriff’s Department. Then my guys and some other suburban departments were thrown in as a stop gap for any day where the main force may be called to deal with an unrelated problem on the Northside of Chicago, but the Sox were still able to play.

I was loving the chance to work for the Sox. We were called to intervene when small fights would start, or fans needed other assistance. Our purpose wasn’t to arrest anyone, although we all had the authority to do so, if it became necessary.

My job was uneventful for the first several dates I worked. Then came the day I needed to earn my money.

I was working fairly far away from the field when we were called to an incident with a fan who had jumped the fence- the one infraction the management did encourage arrests on, although that rule was, somewhat, flexible.

“ I’m the taller security guy wearing the hat.

I felt I was close enough to the field to be able to assist on an arrest if it was necessary but had no expectation of getting there first. I decided that I would start jogging in that direction until I could determine whether I should “step it up” or “disregard.” I was always very fast and was not surprised that, even jogging, I was passing several other officers as I made my way towards the incident.

When I got to the wall I saw the offender on the grass, but no other officers on the field. I jumped the wall (At a higher point than was safe) and started full out running toward him. Another officer, a Chicago cop who was always stationed in the bullpen, had come onto the field as I scaled the wall. I caught up to him and ran with him for a few steps before I pushed ahead and tackled the offender. As I started to handcuff him the bullpen officer, who was only a few feet behind me, knelt down next to me to assist.

While we were cuffing the trespasser I asked the other cop, who does the paper on this? He smiled and almost laughed as he was handing me the offender’s other hand. Then he replied, “The guy who catches him!” By now there were about 4 or 5 other officers around us. They were officers I know I had passed. They were veteran officers who knew they should get there fast, but not too fast.

I was the uninformed rookie who had just learned a lesson!

So maybe the early bird gets the worm, but in this case, he also gets the paperwork!

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.

Please comment in the space provided.

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A MISTAKE I MADE THAT DIDN’T KILL ME!!

psteik — Thu, 04 Jul 2024 03:19:06 +0000

I took my motorcycle out early in the season this year. It has been my practice to leave my gas tank full at the end of each riding season since I first rode in the 1970’s. I was told, way back then, that the full tank prevented gas break down. I stopped riding in the mid 80’s because my toys had to be discarded to allow me to put my limited resources towards the important things in life, my wife and kids.

Among the many stupid things I do, is to stick with what once worked without doing a lot of research. I did that with the gas. My “second life” of riding started in 2020 after my divorce was finalized and I was about to retire. At the end of the 2020 season, and every year since, I have performed the same ritual, without knowing, for sure, if that was the right thing to do. I didn’t know if new refining processes called for a different routine. That thought bothered me occasionally but did not lead to research or precautions.

This year I put about two hundred miles on the bike before it started backfiring and sputtering. I was a mechanic in a former life and recognized the symptoms as starving for gas or, possibly, a timing problem.

My assumption/hope was that it was “bad gas” (The cheapest solution). I was about 40 miles from my house when the bike started acting up. I filled it up with premium gas and, eventually, an additive. It took me about an hour to limp home- the cycle’s performance never improved. I let the bike sit for a couple of days and a more knowledgeable friend suggested I try to change the plugs and wires- another cheap fix. I changed them and took the “patient” out again.

No improvement!

I called a friend of a friend, Sean, a guy who has a great reputation as a bike mechanic. He told me he was booked, but would squeeze me in if I could limp it in. I embarked on a long and embarrassing journey (with the backfiring and inconsistent idle). I was “feathering” the clutch trying to keep the bike running and was happy that I made the 40- minute trip in just a little longer than that without killing the engine.

When I arrived, Sean confirmed it was a gas problem, but the problem- he hypothesized- stemmed from a gas line within the tank. He told me he would confirm with tests and send me an estimate.

Now, here’s the big mistake. I was about fifteen miles from my house, I have 5 kids living in the area, and I chose to attempt a walk home! After all, it was only 89 degrees out. I’m in good shape, but older than dirt. I did have a bottle of warm water in one of my saddle bags though! I told Sean of my plan, and he rolled his eyes, told me I was crazy, and offered me a bottle of water. I turned it down remember; I had the warm bottle in my saddle bags!

I estimated I had walked about a mile when I started wondering if my decision to walk might have been a mistake. I argued, with myself, that I could call one of the kids whenever I chose to, and they would come get me. My bold, macho, I can still to anything side, compromised.

The compromise was: If I start to feel nauseous or have obvious signs, I interpret as a heart attack or stroke I’ll call either a kid, or 911, depending on the severity of the symptoms. Maybe it was heatstroke, but that decision seemed acceptable to me, and my ego.

I turn to God often and had been saying “The Rosary” as I walked. I was thanking God for the fact that, at near 70 years old, I was moving fairly quickly and without straining too much.

I glanced at my watch. I had been walking about two hours. I guessed I had completed about 4-6 miles. My phone weather report (modern phones can do anything) told me it was now 94 degrees out. My water was gone. I was coming close to my doctor’s urgent care complex and planned to get a fresh, cold, replacement water there.

There were a lot of clouds out, but the sun was hot and kept beating down hard on me. I was thinking about how, in another day, people of all ages walked this far to go for supplies. I was embarrassed that my mind was feeling sorry for myself when I wasn’t doing anything but walking. I was also assuming that my kids would never forgive me if my walk resulted in a major medical ailment.

I got my water refill at the urgent care center. None of the workers strapped me onto a gurney, so I must not have looked as bad as I was feeling. I decided to make one last, hard, push to finish. I had walked about halfway- around 7 miles.

My right hand, that was holding the water bottle, started to go numb. I switched the bottle to my left hand and the feeling came back.

I came upon a street I was not familiar with, Wood Barn Road. I looked hard for a “No Outlet” sign and did not see one. I guessed I could save a quarter mile of walking if I took it, so I made the “executive decision” and went to the left.

I took the numb right hand as a sign that, maybe, I was pushing it. I included in my prayer that, “I would appreciate a ride home now.” Almost as soon as I thought that I saw a grey car that looked like it was my daughter Jaime’s.

It drove past me. Disappointed, I thought, “Maybe I can make it to the “downtown” area about a half mile further.

As I was thinking that I heard the car slow down. I don’t recall making any effort to confirm it was Jaime. I crushed my cigar out on the sidewalk and ran- sort of, to Jaime’s car.

As I was opening the passenger door she asked, “What are you doing way out here?” I replied, “Just being stupid” and then told her this story.

Jaime told me that in the twenty plus years we have lived in this area she has never been on the street she just found me on- she just took it, for the first time today, to try to beat traffic. I told her that I didn’t even know that street existed and added that I was not even sure if it went through to route 30- as I had hoped. Hmmmmm.

There are no secrets in our family and within a half hour my ex-wife and two of my other daughters checked in on me and followed their concern with scolding me about doing “crazy things.” Two of my four daughters told me they had no plans at all that day. I assumed that they had things to do, and I did not call to tell them I needed a ride because I feared they would change their plans (That they didn’t have) to give me a ride.

I’m glad to be alive and hoping that I have learned a lesson! What’s the saying about “Old dogs?”

Thanks for reading to the end. Please comment about any mistakes you have lived through!

The post A MISTAKE I MADE THAT DIDN’T KILL ME!! appeared first on A Boomer's Thoughts.

WHEN i WAS YOUNG A ROCK GROUP NAMED “THE WHO” HAD A HIT SONG- “WHO ARE YOU?” And I’m wondering the same thing!

psteik — Fri, 17 May 2024 06:49:37 +0000

Who are you? What are you all about?

Are you really that into music if you’ve never been “caught” jammin’ in your car?

When I was in my late twenties, I thought I was on the fast track to success. I had recently graduated from college and bought one of the businesses I had worked at to pay for my education- a repair garage. I had just purchased my first new vehicle, a 1983 Chevy 3/4-ton black pickup truck! One of my mechanics had talked me into buying an aftermarket stereo system for my “new ride” and he had just installed it for me. It was late on a beautiful Fall night and I was loving life! I had recently started dating the girl I would marry, Eileen, and I was driving home to shower and pick her up!

Eileen and me around 1984

Life was good! A Creedence Clearwater Revival song had just come on. I was at a stop sign, I cranked the volume up and started singing, “Looking out my back door!” My air microphone in hand, I looked to my right and saw there was no traffic coming. “Doo doo doo, looking out my back door…” I was “scream/singing” (a word I made up for this occasion) I looked to my left- no oncoming traffic, but the car in the lane next to me was filled with high school aged kids all laughing and pointing at me.

I didn’t miss a beat. I smiled at them, tipped my pretend hat with my left hand, and continued to sing into the air mic in my right hand. “Look at all the happy creatures dancin’ on the lawn….”

Are you really a “biker” if you’ve never visited a seriously injured friend in the hospital, or had a near miss yourself?

Shortly after I graduated from high school my friend Danny was on his rebuilt HD Sportster, racing a Corvette, and didn’t slow down on a clover leaf (Highway approach ramp) he ended up in the hospital with a few broken bones and a serious head injury. When I came to visit him, he asked me to pick his bike up from the police impound lot and bring him some beer- so I knew he was alright!

Are you really religious if you’ve never had to defend your beliefs?

On my Facebook site related to this blog (aboomersthoughts.com) if I post something as simple as, “I am thankful to God for all of the blessings I have received.” I get at least a handful of angry responses from non-believers. I try to be polite with them while explaining that I am a believer and why. I pray for them and hope, somehow, I make a difference in their lives.

Mark Wahberg defending his faith

Are you really a writer/poet, if nobody has told you, you suck?

Early in life, I fancied myself as a potential writer and offered my talents to venues way above my skill level. I wrote an article summarizing a benefit marathon softball game my 8th grade class had put on to buy items for our small school. The venture was a success and the article I wrote about it was published in our local newspaper- with no editorial changes- I was floored that the copy editor hadn’t changed anything!

I was thrilled! My dad, who was a writer, was thrilled! The softball game had been played the Saturday following our last day of school so I didn’t get a lot of immediate feedback from my classmates. When the local pool opened a few days later I did get several unfavorable reviews- With that article I experienced a phrase that wasn’t being used yet but would soon be made famous by “The Wide World of Sports” – THE THRILL OF VICTORY AND AGONY OF DEFEAT!

NOTE: I was definitely not the best player, or even one of the best players out there but, my article just might not have made that clear and, when they saw me at the local pool, a few of the other players supplied me with “negative input.”

Have you really been in love, if you have never experienced a heartbreak?

I mentioned above how happy I was one night that I was going to meet the girl I would eventually marry. I met her about a year after my first heartbreak.

My first long term relationship ended in a devastating phone call. My girl and I had been speaking, seriously, of getting married. During our two years together, I decided to return to school so I would be better prepared to support a family. The school was 6 hours South of where we lived.

On one of my visits home she suggested we date other people. A short time later I learned that she was dating a person I had considered a friend. Awhile after that I got the “Dear John (or fill in appropriate name) phone call.

I was shattered. It took me months to recover- and still – I believed she would come back to me. Her “new guy” was bald and had a gut (much like I appear now). While I was young, lean and mean! I ended up watching her wedding procession drive past the repair shop I would eventually own. That was one sad and sunshiny Saturday morning!

Are you really a parent if you’ve never felt that deep heart ache that comes when your child is suffering, and you can’t “fix their pain?”

My wife and I raised 7 children. There were so many hurts they experienced, both real and exaggerated, that we could not fix. The first time occurs at the child’s birth and, I expect, the last will come as we say good-bye for the last time- but there are so many hurts and good times that come in the middle, aren’t there?

Thanks for reading this. I hope you enjoyed it, please post a comment and share.

Thanks,

Phil

The post WHEN i WAS YOUNG A ROCK GROUP NAMED “THE WHO” HAD A HIT SONG- “WHO ARE YOU?” And I’m wondering the same thing! appeared first on A Boomer's Thoughts.

COMFORTABLE IN MY SKIN

psteik — Fri, 08 Dec 2023 02:21:52 +0000

When I was young, I was very comfortable in my skin. I was not concerned about how I was perceived. My attitude was: This is me. I hope you like me, if you don’t that’s not really a problem either. I went to a big high school. There were over 800 students in my class alone. The way I looked at it was, “If 700 of my classmates decide I’m not what they’re looking for, that leaves 100 friends!”

Everything has its’ challenges. While I graduated from high school still comfortable in my skin. I did have enough “losses” to put a chink in my armor. I had a crush on the same, unresponsive, girl all four years. I guess you could say I was slow on the uptake- maybe that’s why I was comfortable-ignorance? I like to call it persistence though.

Another thing I was persistent in was sports. I wrestled for my last three years with a moderate amount of success. I started on Jr. Varsity for one year and then Varsity for two. I ran cross country for a nationally recognized coach my freshman year. He asked me to come back, but CC wasn’t for me- It felt good to be wanted though and I remained on good terms with the coach. My dream sport was baseball, and I never did make the team even thought I tried out three times. Again, I’ll call it persistence where my high school friends just rolled their eyes when I told them I was trying out again in our junior year. I believe the word they replaced persistent with was “stupid.” I have to admit they had a better handle on my chances of making the team than I did.

Out of high school I had a strong group of friends and some success in life. I earned a bachelor’s degree and later a master’s. I met my first love and dated her for a couple of years. Our relationship was strong, at least I thought it was. She supported me when I told her I wanted to go back to school (8 hours away) and complete my college degree before we got married. She came out to visit me a couple of times and we had wonderful weekends together. Somehow, that decision to go away to school, that I was very comfortable with, turned into my first real heartbreak. Absence did not make her heart grow fonder and, on one of my visits home, she suggested it might be a good idea to date other people. We agreed to, as Ross and Rachel did on friends, “Take a break.” Before my next weekend home I learned that she was with someone new, and I was out.

Self confidence fading, maybe a little less “comfortable in my skin.”

I started rebuilding myself. I graduated with a degree in journalism with a specialty in Advertising/Public Relations. As I was applying at advertising agencies my brother, Pat, asked me if I would help him manage the mechanical repair shop/gas station he had just taken over. I had worked there when I was in high school and during summer breaks from college and agreed to help on a temporary basis.

I worked with him for a few years and then bought the business when he decided to “try his luck” and moved to Las Vegas with his family. In the interest of clarity; he tried his luck by opening a garage there- not gambling.

I enjoyed owning my own business, I put in long hours and took great pride in the growing customer base and steady income. I made more than enough money and had enough time left over to participate in sports and maintain my social life. A part of my social life was meeting my future wife, Eileen.

Everything in my life was going as I thought it should. I was successful, happy, satisfied, and comfortable in my own skin. I seldom worried about the decisions I made or needed to make. Don’t get me wrong. I did my “due diligence” when I decided to ask Eileen to marry me, and when I decided to buy the business from Pat, but I was confident my decisions were on the right course and did not partake in a lot of second guessing.

One thing that was not in line reference my “grown up” life was that I was starting to feel like I wasn’t an adult. I felt, a bit, like I was playing the role of a mature citizen- maybe I was a “probationary grown up?” I was starting to be less comfortable in my skin than I had been.

My business was on property I leased from a large oil company. After about two years that company chose to re-purpose the property and change it from a mechanical repair shop to a car wash. They notified me that my lease would not be renewed, and I would have to vacate the garage. I had been given a few months’ notice. I started sending out resumes.

The first offer I received was to manage a gas station about a forty five minute drive from the house Eileen, our daughter Jaime, and I were living in. The job didn’t pay well, and I was called out to answer burglar alarm calls late at night once or twice a month. I was required to return to open the station at 7 every morning, regardless of alarm activations the previous night. I worked there for about 5 months before I started sending out resumes.

Next was a short stint as regional manager for a window washing concern. This job was better, but still paid far less than I had earned with my garage.

After about six or eight months with the window washing company the local sheriff’s department said my name was now at the top of their hiring list- this was a job I had applied for when I learned I was losing my lease. It paid better and had much better benefits. Who could argue with that?

I enjoyed the job and the responsibilities that came with it, but that nagging feeling of being uncomfortable in my skin started to grow. I did well with this new challenge, but I questioned if I was mature enough to be booking people for murder or transporting inmates to court. I started to feel like I might be just acting out a childhood game of cops and robbers. The fact that in the six years I worked there I dealt with murderers and celebrities I had read about in the newspapers was a little intimidating to me.

Meanwhile, life goes on. The rest of my life included dealing with “newlywed troubles” then additional challenges of raising a large family, making enough money to support that large family, keeping peace with wife and kids, dealing with experiences that only correctional officers and, later, patrol offices become aware of.

Inside the jail I dealt with attempted suicides, drug overdoses, fights, suicide watches, thefts and many other things most people on the street don’t see, at least not close up. When I was hired for patrol the previous list grew to include, train pedestrian fatalities, accident fatalities, shotgun suicides, sexual assaults, burglaries in progress, shots fired, domestic incidents and more.

Some of the “adult” things I have done have made me proud, some have left me wondering how I might have done better, some have left me hoping to experience the same thing again but, it seems, a lot of my adult experiences leave me with questions. Am I doing this thing called life properly? Are people better off because they have dealt with me? Can I improve myself? Do I need to improve myself?

I picture an adult as someone like my father who seemed to be in control no matter what the circumstances were. Maybe I appear that way- I certainly don’t feel that way.

How do you fellow adults feel? Are you confident? Do you have doubts about “adulting?”

Please leave me a comment, let me know if I am alone, or in a much larger, anonymous, group!

Thanks, Phil

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Traffic “Pet Peeves”

supportadmin_H5mT — Thu, 28 May 2020 20:27:30 +0000

I am so happy that there are people, regular citizens, who take it upon themselves to insure that the roadways of America are always safe and flow smoothly. These people are unsung heroes and I want to bring them out of the shadows and recognize them now.

I am, of course, writing about those motorists who stand ever vigilant at every traffic light in the nation with their palm firmly placed on the horn. These super motorists jump into action as soon as the traffic signal turns from red to green. Before we “mere motorists” are even aware that the light has changed they honk, sometimes just a little beep, but much more often it is a long, extended, angry hoooooooonk! This immediate notification to whoever is stopped at the front of the line jars them into action fractions of a second prior to when they would have reacted without the embarrassing, uninvited, unwelcome notification.

Think of the impact these super motorists have on the roadways of our nation. These unwanted blasts at every traffic signal multiplied by the several times a day they are heard probably save minutes, if not hours, of drive time for motorists in farmlands to major cities over a twelve month period. Oh sure, they are irritating, unwelcome, unnecessary and unwanted. Perhaps they have been the cause of more than one road rage incident. Maybe, sometimes, minor injuries or hospitalizations have resulted. But think of the greater good! If only one driver arrives at their destination 1/4 second sooner than they would have without the honk, isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that worth all of the under the breath, or right out loud, possibly out the window expletives that aren’t deleted?

A polar opposite of the traffic signal super heroes are the passing lane procrastinators. These are the people who pick a speed, often at the speed limit or below it, and then enter the “passing lane.” The passing lane is called that because it is designed to be a lane to enter only to pass slower traffic on the right. After passing the car on the right the rules of the road require the passing motorist to return to the right lane unless it is unsafe to do so or there is another slower moving vehicle in the right lane. I suspect the procrastinators stay in the left lane for many reasons: They see a car miles ahead in what they believe might be the right lane and they believe they will, eventually, catch up to that car if it too is traveling well under the speed limit. Perhaps they feel that traveling 68 mph in a 65 mph zone must be done in the fast lane only. There is also a chance that the factory installed speedometer is stuck at 95 and they have not realized it. I have written an “Ode to those who go slow.”

I’m in the fast lane but don’t go fast
I drive for miles without hitting the gas
If you’re behind me you just may ask
Why you in the fast lane when you don’t go fast?

Questions? Comments?

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