We're there

It may be a few days away on the calendar but when your baby grandson has had a refreshing swim and is preparing to mow the pool while dressed in droopy and dripping madras shorts, summer has officially arrived.

And yesterday I heard the first cicadas buzzing in distant trees.

Javier: Bug whoop.

Rambo: Whee doggie.

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Happy Wednesday

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Something more

Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,

And all the flowers that in the springtime grow;

And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow

Rising of the round moon; all throats that sing

The summer through, and each departing wing,

And all the nests that the bared branches show;

And all winds that in any weather blow,

And all the storms that the four seasons bring.

You go no more on your exultant feet

Up paths that only mist and morning knew;

Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat

Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view; —

But you were something more than young and sweet

And fair, — and the long year remembers you.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay~

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Happy Monday ~ Happy Week

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We remember you

To fallen soldiers let us sing

Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing

Our broken brothers let us bring

To the mansions of the Lord.

No more bleeding, no more fight

No pray'rs pleading through the night

Just divine embrace, eternal light

In the mansions of the Lord.

Where no mothers cry and no children weep

We will stand and guard tho' the angels sleep

All through the ages safely keep

The mansions of the Lord.

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Happy Friday ~ Happy Memorial Day Weekend

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Greenville via Blackville and other bizarre tales of misdirected energy

Think of this post as housekeeping.

Or at least I will, because it's random and that's the sort of housekeeper I am.

Got It.

I am glad to report that my mother finally received her Mother's Day gift, which I previously told you she did not get in time for Mother's Day.

TG had mailed the package for me because I was out of town the week leading up to Mother's Day, visiting with our daughter Erica.

Unfortunately he failed to retain the receipt for the transaction, making it impossible for us to track the package's whereabouts.

But as I made sure he knew, I did not blame him for the post office's failure to deliver the goods.

All we could do was wait it out and patience -- as it sometimes (but not always) does -- eventually paid off.

Yesterday my mother called to say she was holding her present, which had finally shown up on her doorstep.

It had been thirteen days since TG mailed it.

And hey! Do you know whose fault that was?

Wait for it. Remember that patience thing.

Mine. It was my fault.

Apparently in my weakened condition -- I was very sick when I wrapped that gift, signed that card, and addressed that box; be careful of tenacious bronchitis cooties which may linger on these materials, Mom -- I put an eight in my mother's ZIP code where there should have been a six.

I know my mother's address by heart. I just ... just ... just .... made a mistake.

TG was quick to point out out in my defense that it would have been nice if the postal "worker" could have noticed that the ZIP code in the address did not match the city.

I think that would have been far too much to ask, although I would not mind suggesting that they embrace color coding.

Because as a result of the error, Mom's present went from Columbia (the Midlands) to Blackville (the Lowcountry), where it languished for several days before being sent where it belonged: Greenville (the Upstate).

I do not believe it ever left South Carolina but merely did a grand tour. Sort of like crayon-box hopscotch.

At any rate, all is well that ends well and Mom now has her gift and she's coming to have lunch with us on Memorial Day, and I'll bet you a nickel her person will be redolent of Je Reviens.

Order once again prevails. At least for the present time.

Give It.

You may -- or may not; I realize it could go either way -- remember that last year on Memorial Day, Erica, Audrey, TG, and I got up early and went to Fort Jackson National Cemetery for a somber patriotic ceremony.

While there TG and I made the acquaintance of Brigadier General Bryan T. Roberts, distinguished Iraq war veteran and much-decorated hero, who had recently taken command of Fort Jackson.

He was there lending an impressive military higher-up flavor to the proceedings, but he could not have been a nicer guy.

I spoke with him briefly and he posed for a picture with me, and I remember he complimented my camera.

"That's quite a nice camera," were his exact words. 

"Oh thank you sir," was my exact response.

TG, perusing the local news last night, reminded me of our meeting Brig. Gen. Roberts because it appears some bad decisions have come back to haunt our hero.

I hope you will forgive me for indulging in gossip, but he was involved in a recent altercation with a lady not his wife, with which unidentified female he is suspected of being unfaithful to said wife.

And then after the dustup they were "making up" and -- according to news reports -- he bit his mistress's lip, causing her to seek medical attention.

It's a black mark on his record and no mistake. I wonder if she needed stitches.

Either way Brig. Gen. Roberts has been relieved of his command and Fort Jackson is looking for someone new to put at the helm. 

I hope this isn't a career ender for Bryan T. Roberts but most of all, I hope it's not a marriage ender.

Why do so many successful, intelligent alpha males willingly self-destruct?

I'm just throwing that out there half rhetorically and half facetiously so if you've got a treatise ready on the subject -- based on personal experience, of course -- do lie down until the impulse to deliver a lecture subsides.

Forget It.

Photo courtesy Karolyn GrimesLast night I received an invitation from someone very special.

I have talked about her before.

She is Karolyn Grimes, otherwise known as Zuzu Bailey.

Yes; that Zuzu: the poppet who played opposite James Stewart and Donna Reed in It's A Wonderful Life in 1946, when she was six years old.

She also played Debby Brougham opposite Cary Grant, Loretta Young, and David Niven in The Bishop's Wife the following year.

Several years ago I learned that Karolyn/Zuzu had done a radio interview in which she revealed her email address -- zuzu at zuzu dot net -- and stated that she would love to hear from fans of It's A Wonderful Life.

Naturally I wrote to Karolyn, who is spectacularly charming, and for her birthday a few years ago I sent her a Z.

It was a fancy, chunky, decorative Z, the kind you display on your desk and maybe use as a paperweight, or layer amongst other objects as a statement piece on a shelf or whatnot.

I email her every Christmas and also on her birthday, which is the fourth of July. She almost always emails me back.

The reason I am telling you all of this is that last night, Karolyn Zuzu invited me to join her LinkedIn network.

Which I did, because also several years ago and for reasons now lost to obscurity, I joined LinkedIn.

Then last night, because clearly I could not leave well enough alone after accepting Zuzu's kind invite, it seems I clicked on something that sent a similar invitation from me, to half the humans in the Western Hemisphere.

If you received one, I don't exactly apologize but I would like to say that I have never figured out how to use LinkedIn.

Perhaps it's time I did, because today my inbox has been flooded with invitations and notifications and user profiles and assorted other helps designed to make me a more effective -- but no less reluctant -- user of LinkedIn.

Which doesn't interest me a whole lot, although perhaps it should. I don't really know yet. There is not sufficient room in my random-access memory to process the subject at present.

The takeaway: If you've heard from "me" in this regard, my feelings won't be hurt if you ignore me.

I actually have twice today requested that LinkedIn unsubscribe me from the list that is making me get these emails.

So far they have ignored me. Ergo poetic justice is more than justified.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

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Roo the day

A few months ago TG regaled me in his own inimitable fashion about his exploits at Kangaroo Express.

He is such a romantic.

Specifically, he told me what he'd learned when inquiring as to the debut date of the 2013 RooCup.

No, it's not a trophy. It's a plastic cup and as I've told you before, my TG has a natural affinity for plastic cups.

And his story proves once again that nothing excites the American psyche quite like free -- or semi-free -- refills.

The RooCup is a beverage container that you buy -- last year it cost five ninety-nine but it's gone up a dollar, to six ninety-nine -- at a late-spring date set by Kangaroo Express.

Through Labor Day and sometimes even beyond -- like, this year the cutoff date is September 24th -- ownership of a RooCup allows you to fill the practically-quart-sized vessel with any fountain or frozen beverage KE offers, for only a quarter.

You can use your RooCup as many times a day, week, or month you want, through its "expiration" date.

A devotee of the RooCup since its inception -- no, I don't know when that was -- TG upon checkout at a KE sometime this past March, asked the cashier when the new RooCups would be available for sale.

"Oh well, you have to go online and reserve your cup in order to get yours this year," she told him. "You're not going to be able to just walk in and buy one."

I may not be quoting her verbatim -- I was not there -- but that's what TG told me she said.

I do know exactly what he said in response: "You're kidding me."

Said checkout personnel assured TG she would not kid about so serious a matter.

So naturally TG asked me to go online and find out what he had to do in order to roo-serve his cup, which prize item he is unwilling to do without.

(Sometimes he carries his expired 2012 RooCup boldly into a Kangaroo Express, fills it to the brim with ice and fizzy Coke, and takes it to the counter. He doesn't necessarily expect to get his drink for a quarter; he just likes his cup. It's all nice and broken in. One cashier thought it was so funny he still had his last year's cup, she gave him the drink for free.)

Back to our saga. 

I found on the KE website that in order to get a "certificate" good for acquisition of a 2013 RooCup, one had to hop onto the Kangaroo Express facebook page and "like" them.

Except, neither TG nor I have facebook accounts.

And speaking only for myself, it's going to stay that way.

To quote TG on the subject of signing up for a facebook account of his own: "Haaaaa. Never."

So we were stuck until I remembered that three of our four children have facebook accounts.

And why have kids if they cannot help you in your time of direst need?

By that time I had decided I wanted to give my son-in-law a 2013 RooCup for his birthday on May first.

(No that's not all I got him. Step off.)

So we needed not one, but two certificates obtained through the KE facebook page, for making said Roo-servations.

I called Erica and got my own bases covered. 

"Erica," I said. "Go on facebook and sign up for a 2013 RooCup and send me the certificate, okay?"

My daughter was loath to do so because she had deactivated her account. But she gave me her password and said I was welcome to reactivate her account long enough to procure a certificate for a 2013 RooCup.

Which I did, and while I was on the Kangaroo Express facebook page I could not help but notice that people were roo-ing the day they could get only ONE 2013 RooCup.

One lady whined: "But all my kids want their own summer RooCup! Whatever shall I do if I can buy only one?"

I felt sort of sorry for her but I quickly got my own certificate (for Joel) and backed away quietly, leaving Kangaroo Express to deal with their own facebook fallout.

When I mailed Joel's birthday card I tucked in the certificate (bearing Erica's deactivated facebook picture) plus a five and two singles. 

I called Stephanie and told her to tell him, take this paper to a Kangaroo Express and give it to the cashier with the seven dollars, and explain that he doesn't have a facebook account but his sister-in-law does, and she did him a solid and let his mother-in-law use her account to get his certificate, and hand over the 2013 RooCup already and nobody will get hurt.

Steph said OK, don't worry, consider it done.

But that left TG without a certificate for a 2013 RooCup.

So I called my son Andrew -- the only member of our family with an active facebook account -- and asked if he'd mind going onto the Kangaroo Express page and securing a 2013 RooCup certificate for Dear Old Dad.

"Sure," he said.

BUT once he'd done that, he called TG. 

"Wow Dad," said Andrew. "I guess it's a good thing I don't want my own 2013 RooCup, since now I've sent my only certificate to you."

"Sorry son," said TG. That's a direct quote.

So I called Audrey -- kid number three with a facebook account, although hers had also been deactivated and she hadn't been "on" in awhile.

"Hey Audge," I said. "Do me a favor. Go on the Kangaroo Express facebook page and print out your certificate for a 2013 RooCup and give it to Andrew."

(I knew Audrey would not pout for a RooCup of her own. She's trying to drink less soda pop, not more.)

She said she would comply with my request. Later she called me.

"I went on facebook and saw that Andrew already got a certificate for a 2013 RooCup, so I didn't get mine for him to use because obviously he doesn't need it."

I briefly considered moving to Australia.

But: "Noooooo," I said. "Andrew got his certificate for Dad because Erica got her certificate for me to give to Joel, and now Andrew is out of sorts because he can't get his own RooCup, and now it's up to you to save the day."

"Oh," she said.

I still don't know if she got her 2013 RooCup certificate and gave it to Andrew. I'm almost afraid to ask.

One day Coke will run in the streets over this!

Meanwhile TG, having obtained his certificate via Andrew, printed it out. Last week he moseyed into the nearest Kangaroo Express to claim his prize.

He slapped the paper -- bearing a very official bar code and Andrew's facebook picture -- onto the counter and pointed to the staggering array of 2013 RooCups on the wall behind the male cashier.

"I've come to claim my 2013 RooCup," he announced. No need to beat around the bush.

The cashier looked at TG's paper in exactly the way proverbial calves gaze wide-eyed at new gates.

In other words, he did not appear to have the slightest idea what the "certificate" was for.

But he dutifully plucked a 2013 RooCup down from the wall behind him and put it on the counter for TG, who had his debit card out, all ready to swipe for six ninety-nine and applicable state, federal, and welfare entitlement taxes.

There may have been a cosmic drumroll as the cashier scanned the bar code on TG's certificate.

Bleep.

A kangaroo angel got its wings.

"That'll be forty-nine cents," the clerk told TG.

Not seven dollars and forty-eight cents for a whole summer's worth of fizzy Coca-Cola refreshing my TG as he goes hither and yon on his many travels?

No. Forty-nine cents.

TG repeated what he said to the KE cashier back in March: "You're kidding me."

It could be there has been no small amount of misinformation surrounding the 2013 RooCup and various modes of getting yours into your hot little hand, should that be something to which you aspire.

This article may explain it.

To summarize, I think the "certificate" obtained by "liking" the Kangaroo Express on facebook was just for laying claim to your cup a week earlier -- like, on April 24th -- than everyone else who had to wait until the official 2013 RooCup purchase date of May first.

In other words, it was meant as a Pre-Roo-gistration gimmick.

All this sturm und drang over a Machiavellian marketing ploy by Kangaroo Express.

But seriously? The certificate TG thought he needed -- but apparently didn't, after all -- got him his 2013 RooCup for free.

Except for taxes.

We know we'll always pay the taxes.

Hey! I've got seven fifty and all this storytelling has made me thirsty. Going now to find the nearest Kangaroo Express, y'all.

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Happy Monday ~ Happy Week

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