i'm sure someone said this before but that noted hip-hopper 50 cent repeated it today.
"i don''t have a gambling problem...people who lose have a gambling problem."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
loss
i lost a great friend the other day....
because the family is so private about burial services i wasn't allowed at the grave site. this is how i will grieve.
i knew moe for fifty-three years...almost a lifetime by most reckoning. she was nearly a mother to me - congratulating me when i did right and raising hell when i did wrong. she taught me to love family - i had none to speak of - and when her husband, booby, tried to shake me off she interceded on my behalf. she embraced me at life's every turn...even as she lay dying she asked for my grandchildren.
i will never forget you moe...acid tongue, drinks at the beach, shooting at longlands, always love and affection, lessons in life, life itself. bless you and goodnight. love forever....
because the family is so private about burial services i wasn't allowed at the grave site. this is how i will grieve.
i knew moe for fifty-three years...almost a lifetime by most reckoning. she was nearly a mother to me - congratulating me when i did right and raising hell when i did wrong. she taught me to love family - i had none to speak of - and when her husband, booby, tried to shake me off she interceded on my behalf. she embraced me at life's every turn...even as she lay dying she asked for my grandchildren.
i will never forget you moe...acid tongue, drinks at the beach, shooting at longlands, always love and affection, lessons in life, life itself. bless you and goodnight. love forever....
Sunday, March 25, 2012
camp baldy
ellen [baldy] baldwin was the tower hill school girls' field hockey coach back in the fifties. she also had a kids' summer camp [named camp baldy] located on chemo pond just outside of bangor, maine which i attended, for six years, ages nine to fourteen [i was caught smoking in my last year and not asked back].
i loved it - who wouldn't. eight weeks in the cool of a maine summer - as opposed to wilmington's ghastly heat and humidity - plus, half of the campers were girls and we got to fish and climb mountains.
fewer than thirty of us, plus counselors, made the trip from wilmington to bangor - making the mad dash to our connecting train from south station to north station in boston. at arrival we were ferried across the lake in small groups only to collapse into bunk beds, exhausted from our long trip.
baldy was a clever child psychologist - giving us each just enough rope that we didn't hang ourselves, or her. for example, she let me "teach" the young campers [we ranged in age from eight to fifteen] how to properly row a boat and paddle a canoe - also to dock them...something which at age twelve made me feel incredibly accomplished. also, we "qualified" to go on a five day trip to climb mount katahdin, then very remote and something kids as young as ten would never be allowed to do today without a helmet and kneepads. the most fun thing i was able to do when i got a little older was to row one of the boats across the lake and fish for bass in a special spot i had discovered, while everyone else had to take his or her afternoon nap. talk about a good way to diffuse excess adolescent energy - the rowing i mean.
to further boost our young egos our names were painted on the walls of the dining hall - grouped under our first year of attendance. a star marked each additional year.
many years later, as an adult and long after baldy was gone i went to bangor to visit an old down on his luck camper friend. i persuaded him to drive us out to chemo pond - now completely surrounded by mobile homes. we approached the camp by a modern, hard topped road and parked at the back kitchen door. he told me that the place had been sold to the bangor girl scouts. we broke in, easily jimmying the door, but only went as far as the dining hall where - i am sure much to the confusion of the girls - our names still graced the walls.
i was proud to see mine - with four stars next to it.
i loved it - who wouldn't. eight weeks in the cool of a maine summer - as opposed to wilmington's ghastly heat and humidity - plus, half of the campers were girls and we got to fish and climb mountains.
fewer than thirty of us, plus counselors, made the trip from wilmington to bangor - making the mad dash to our connecting train from south station to north station in boston. at arrival we were ferried across the lake in small groups only to collapse into bunk beds, exhausted from our long trip.
baldy was a clever child psychologist - giving us each just enough rope that we didn't hang ourselves, or her. for example, she let me "teach" the young campers [we ranged in age from eight to fifteen] how to properly row a boat and paddle a canoe - also to dock them...something which at age twelve made me feel incredibly accomplished. also, we "qualified" to go on a five day trip to climb mount katahdin, then very remote and something kids as young as ten would never be allowed to do today without a helmet and kneepads. the most fun thing i was able to do when i got a little older was to row one of the boats across the lake and fish for bass in a special spot i had discovered, while everyone else had to take his or her afternoon nap. talk about a good way to diffuse excess adolescent energy - the rowing i mean.
to further boost our young egos our names were painted on the walls of the dining hall - grouped under our first year of attendance. a star marked each additional year.
many years later, as an adult and long after baldy was gone i went to bangor to visit an old down on his luck camper friend. i persuaded him to drive us out to chemo pond - now completely surrounded by mobile homes. we approached the camp by a modern, hard topped road and parked at the back kitchen door. he told me that the place had been sold to the bangor girl scouts. we broke in, easily jimmying the door, but only went as far as the dining hall where - i am sure much to the confusion of the girls - our names still graced the walls.
i was proud to see mine - with four stars next to it.
quotes for you to ponder
"the problem with the gene pool is there is no lifeguard."
" half the people you know are below average."
"the early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."
"experience is something you don't get until just after you need it."
with thanks to steven wright via tom o'donnell
" half the people you know are below average."
"the early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."
"experience is something you don't get until just after you need it."
with thanks to steven wright via tom o'donnell
Saturday, March 24, 2012
republican atrophy
ladies and gentlemen, i give you the current slate of potential republican presidential candidates: weenie number one, christian clown number two, and - god help us - the hypocrite and his helmet headed consort number three. forget the - to quote don imus - martian.
mark my words - with this lot, any one of them, we will lose to a scary guy.
mark my words - with this lot, any one of them, we will lose to a scary guy.
bald eagles
well...we saw something last evening i never thought we would. we were sitting on a friend's back deck enjoying a warm, early spring evening when someone of us looked up and said, "look at those buzzards...."
i looked up and, startled, saw not buzzards but bald eagles, two, soaring and racing through the tall trees at the back of the house. we were in north wilmington not far from the delaware river, but in a decidedly urban area. these two, however, were oblivious - they were in a mad mating frenzy, dancing and diving above us for minutes, long enough for us to see their white heads and tails plainly, several times, in the gathering dusk. there was no mistaking them for any other.
i doubt anybody else in the vicinity saw them...or would have known what they were looking at if they had, but bald eagles are the only big birds on this continent with white heads and tails. there was no doubt. it was a great moment.
i looked up and, startled, saw not buzzards but bald eagles, two, soaring and racing through the tall trees at the back of the house. we were in north wilmington not far from the delaware river, but in a decidedly urban area. these two, however, were oblivious - they were in a mad mating frenzy, dancing and diving above us for minutes, long enough for us to see their white heads and tails plainly, several times, in the gathering dusk. there was no mistaking them for any other.
i doubt anybody else in the vicinity saw them...or would have known what they were looking at if they had, but bald eagles are the only big birds on this continent with white heads and tails. there was no doubt. it was a great moment.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
my last bonefish
i asked lefty kreh what fish, of all he'd fished for, would he most like to pursue.
"in the salt?" he inquired..."with a fly?"
"yeah."
"bonefish. no doubt about it," he replied.
from that moment on i made bonefish my objective - fly fishing for them from andros in the bahamas to the seychelles in the indian ocean. just a year ago i caught my last one. sally and i were being guided by a dreadful little thief [he literally stole money from us] who had - until i protested their sophistication - put us on a school of deep water cay [harbor] bonefish, reckoning he could collect his fee with small effort. after my angry comment he went to work a little harder and we ran a little further - to the north side of grand bahama - where he began to pole the shoreline.
we pushed along on the shallow mangrovey flat until suddenly i saw a large black shape lying on a small white sand bottomed point about fifty yards off the bow. as i gestured with my rod tip our lad slowed the boat. when near enough i false cast twice and fired the squimp. in what was a very good throw for me the fly landed about four feet from the fish's nose. motionless, we waited. the bonefish moved forward a couple of feet and - clear as could be against the blinding white bottom - snorted two columns of black dirt from its nostrils. i twitched the fly once and it pounced. the battle was on.
shortly, vanquished and unhooked, the fish glared at the camera. lefty was right...they are the best and this one, my last, was one of the very best.
"did you see him snort?" i asked sally. she nodded, smiling. "just like an angry bull in the ring...."
"in the salt?" he inquired..."with a fly?"
"yeah."
"bonefish. no doubt about it," he replied.
from that moment on i made bonefish my objective - fly fishing for them from andros in the bahamas to the seychelles in the indian ocean. just a year ago i caught my last one. sally and i were being guided by a dreadful little thief [he literally stole money from us] who had - until i protested their sophistication - put us on a school of deep water cay [harbor] bonefish, reckoning he could collect his fee with small effort. after my angry comment he went to work a little harder and we ran a little further - to the north side of grand bahama - where he began to pole the shoreline.
we pushed along on the shallow mangrovey flat until suddenly i saw a large black shape lying on a small white sand bottomed point about fifty yards off the bow. as i gestured with my rod tip our lad slowed the boat. when near enough i false cast twice and fired the squimp. in what was a very good throw for me the fly landed about four feet from the fish's nose. motionless, we waited. the bonefish moved forward a couple of feet and - clear as could be against the blinding white bottom - snorted two columns of black dirt from its nostrils. i twitched the fly once and it pounced. the battle was on.
shortly, vanquished and unhooked, the fish glared at the camera. lefty was right...they are the best and this one, my last, was one of the very best.
"did you see him snort?" i asked sally. she nodded, smiling. "just like an angry bull in the ring...."
Monday, March 12, 2012
opinion
stupid people, in business and in life, are dangerous because they are likely to do the wrong thing. smart people, on the other hand, will, usually, act appropriately.
always be kind
to the help. they can hurt you in far more ways than you think...and will if you disrespect them. beside that, they are often the nicest and wisest people you will ever meet.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
wimbledon
i often rode the train out from london and walked up the hill to my brother's art gallery. from my standpoint it was beautifully situated - between a pub and a betting shop. after a beer and a bet [the bookmaker often disclaimed in disgust "here comes that bloody yank again"] i would retire to ed's white walled gallery to study the racing papers.
one day, quietly sitting, contemplating, i was confronted by a public servant looking type - cheap shirt, dirty knot in his tie, spattered pants - "you pollard?" the creature inquired..."i am," i replied. "got something for you," and he thrust a bunch of papers in my face. "ed," i called out. "there's a delivery for you," for our friend was followed by another sort wrestling a carton laden trolley in the door.
"what's this all about, then?" asked my brother. "don't know. sign here," replied our new found friend. signature and cartons exchanged, we looked at each other, puzzled. when examined the cartons proved startling. what we realized, after much deliberation, was that we were being sued for 600,000,000 english pounds - 1,000,000,000 american dollars!
"call dolman," we both said at once, dolman being our solicitor, a partner in the law firm our family had used for over 140 years. "this can't be true!"
it was true we were being sued - but the reasons were murky. our father was a great sailor and had a norwegian friend with whom he often sailed the fjords. the norwegian - and here's the murky part - was a spot player in the oil market...one day worth a billion, the next day worth nothing, or in the hole. unfortunately, he died one day when he was in the hole. his heirs didn't know that and were turning over every rock to find the money. our father, the oil baron's banker, was dead as well so they pounced on the next tier. sadly, for them and for us, we didn't have it. even the interest would have been satisfactory.
the suit was summarily dismissed.
that was my only experience in big banking and wildcatting.
one day, quietly sitting, contemplating, i was confronted by a public servant looking type - cheap shirt, dirty knot in his tie, spattered pants - "you pollard?" the creature inquired..."i am," i replied. "got something for you," and he thrust a bunch of papers in my face. "ed," i called out. "there's a delivery for you," for our friend was followed by another sort wrestling a carton laden trolley in the door.
"what's this all about, then?" asked my brother. "don't know. sign here," replied our new found friend. signature and cartons exchanged, we looked at each other, puzzled. when examined the cartons proved startling. what we realized, after much deliberation, was that we were being sued for 600,000,000 english pounds - 1,000,000,000 american dollars!
"call dolman," we both said at once, dolman being our solicitor, a partner in the law firm our family had used for over 140 years. "this can't be true!"
it was true we were being sued - but the reasons were murky. our father was a great sailor and had a norwegian friend with whom he often sailed the fjords. the norwegian - and here's the murky part - was a spot player in the oil market...one day worth a billion, the next day worth nothing, or in the hole. unfortunately, he died one day when he was in the hole. his heirs didn't know that and were turning over every rock to find the money. our father, the oil baron's banker, was dead as well so they pounced on the next tier. sadly, for them and for us, we didn't have it. even the interest would have been satisfactory.
the suit was summarily dismissed.
that was my only experience in big banking and wildcatting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)