BLOG EXTRA: BUSY BUSY WEEK.
Because I choose to sing in the FUMC choir, this is a busy week. We performed (sung) at church last Sunday - as expected. Wednesday night rehearsal - long rehearsal with hired brass players from Dallas. 5 of them. 2 trumpets, 2 trombones, and a French horn. I understand that two of them are working on doctorates in music, another teaches private lessons and makes a living, and the 5th is a regular ole music student. They really have an understanding of their skill.
Thursday night service - Maundy Thursday. A short but sweet service with communion.
Good Friday night service - not much to say other than we had a great deal of symbolism in the service.
No Performance on Saturday but daughter Christine drove up from Round Rock to spend the weekend. That is a bit time consuming.
Sunday was a marathon. Had to be at choir practice by 7:45 a.m. - 1st service at 8:30 - re-rehearse with the visiting brass at 9:30 - 2nd service hit at 10:50. There was a lot of singing, not just today but all week. And RESPONSIVE READINGS? Don't get me started. I don't think I have recited responsively this much since I took the wedding vows 50 plus years ago. A lot of talking was going on. Our preacher Bayard Pratt did a quite commendable sermon for both services.
After church service the spouse and Christine decided it was a trip to Sirloin Stockade for lunch -- Sir Stk is a Golden Corral or Ryans - depends where you live. The menu is pretty much the same every day of the week - after about 5 years of eating there, it is not too exciting. What can you do with beef, fried chicken, baked ham or turkey, so forth. I had a couple of sirloin steaks which were fine.
During lunch the two females announced we should go to the Dallas Arboretum today. We did. That is such a nice place to visit. When we were there the last time, we joined, so today's visit was free - less gasoline and refreshments. That ends the week pretty much.
Tomorrow morning my wife and daughter to the monthly Corsicana Quilt Guild meeting. I willl stay at home and baby sit the dogs - our 5 and her 3. It should be a fun morning.
If you read this think there would be a trace of humor, you were wrong. Next time per chance. I did leave out the part where I couldn't find my phone for a long time. Finally found it on the dash of my car. Didja ever have one of those tiring weeks? meanwhile - this coming week will be less taxing unless you consider I am taking my income tax stuff into a CPA on Tuesday. That will be taxing.
Y'all take care.
night.
m
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Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
driver's license and road repair
I live in this sub division on the lake. When the original guy built the sub div he put in no roads - that is good roads. I understand there were just dirt roads. Eventually homeowners pitched in and helped the guy build paved roads. Well this was all well and good except he put little to no base under the road and forgot to actually use an appropriate amount of asphalt on top of the forgotten base. Now, I understand what I just wrote.
No base (little to none)
insufficient asphalt (not thick enough)
equals roads that die over a short period of time.
Downtown Corsicana is rebuilding Hwy 31 with the help of the State. They put down the rock base, crushed and packed - some lime - a layer of asphalt - probably 6 inches or so - and finally what looks like 8 to 10 inches of concrete, That road is sturdy.
Our roads are not. Road assessments again and again. One mile of new road was put in 2 years ago by the homeowners - mostly doing all the work except laying the hot asphalt. No government program here. Now we are doing another section of road. The rock base is down - Wednesday comes the asphalt. There will not be concrete on top. Bunch of old guys and a few knowledgeable middle age guys - putting in roads. My shovel is ready.
------------------------------
Today, I was talking to one of the midd-guys about his kid who has just turned 16 and will be taking his driving test next week..... that is the headline that reminded me of my youth. Youthful stone to follow.
------------------------------
My father worked for Amoco for many years - BP bought Amoco - Amoco put me through college, not directly, but because my father worked for them. An aside: my wife's father worked for them too.
When I was in the 6th grade, we moved to Levelland where my father was named "Head Roustabout" for the Levelland Gasoline Plant. His title changed often over the year - Field Foreman, etc. Because of his position, we lived in the Plant Camp. 5 houses set in a semi circle were lined up near the gasoline plant. The Plant Manager, Asst, asst to the asst...I am sure they had real titles, and we were in the camp. 5 houses, we were in #4. These were nice 3 bedroom homes with massive yards opening up into the wilderness around the plant.
There were several oil coated dirt roads crisscrossing the prairie which was about 5 miles or so square. Sometime in the 7th grade, Dad bought two small cars - 4 cylinders stamp sized cars. One was a British ford, 2 door, green if I remember correctly. I had a floor shift and must have been war surplus. The other was a Crosley pickup. At one time or another, we had Crosley station wagons too. But this pickup - blue - and the English Ford were available for my brother Jim and I to drive around the oil lease. And we did.
Daily we would go out to drive - one of us in the Crosley and the other in the pickup. We tore up and down those back roads. It was a wonder we weren't killed. Levelland, being flat, allowed us to see the entire lease and dodge any workers. Up and down, Around and around, left then right, all around - I suppose my father put gas in the 4 burners cause we never did. I was about 12 and Jim was 13. Nowadays kids have video games, we drove our video games.
I have been racking my brain to remember the name of our dog - mutt - he would run after us all the time.I don't think that dog ever got tired chasing these two cars. Over time he did develop a bit where he would rest one leg and run only on 3 - then, switch legs. Good dog. I wonder why one of us never picked him up and let him ride in a car.
Nuff of that. In those years in Texas, we got our regular driver's license at age 14. We took our driving tests in those little cars - there was some muttering about making us drive real cars. Parallel parking was a breeze in those little things. I bet they weren't 8 ft long or so. I would love to own one now.
One last stone on this subject - it is merely for myself - not truly interesting. When I got my license, I was a Freshman in the high school band. The band sold what we called Gyp Books .... it was one of our major fund raisers. These were those little books of coupons - buy one for $5 and get $25 of free services and stuff. We, the band, would scatter out all over town on one Saturday and canvas the place till we sold out. Different groups had different student drivers.
Jim and I had a crew - dump em off on the corner, pick em up at the next lonely lot. It is amazing the little unimportant things you have come back to you. On that selling day, the first day after I received my license, I drove the car and was so frustrated and nervous, I ran my first stop sign. See, it is not that big a deal - but at the time, it was to a 14 yr old new driver. I panicked. Jim drove most of the rest of the day.
So as the sun slowly sinks in the west, we leave this old guy's memories to fade back into oblivion. Not much here for sure.
Oh, be sure to check that box on the right and sign up to have my pitiful writings delivered to your doorstep.
and a P.S. there are 2 Crosley station wagons for sale on the loop around Athens, Texas. They are just setting there in the cow pasture, rusting, waiting for someone to rescue them. I wish I had the money and time to save them. But as my father use to say, "You can't save every Crosley in this World." Yep, that's what he use to say.
It is time to take the dogs to the Pit for relief. Y'all take care now.
mtz
No base (little to none)
insufficient asphalt (not thick enough)
equals roads that die over a short period of time.
Downtown Corsicana is rebuilding Hwy 31 with the help of the State. They put down the rock base, crushed and packed - some lime - a layer of asphalt - probably 6 inches or so - and finally what looks like 8 to 10 inches of concrete, That road is sturdy.
Our roads are not. Road assessments again and again. One mile of new road was put in 2 years ago by the homeowners - mostly doing all the work except laying the hot asphalt. No government program here. Now we are doing another section of road. The rock base is down - Wednesday comes the asphalt. There will not be concrete on top. Bunch of old guys and a few knowledgeable middle age guys - putting in roads. My shovel is ready.
------------------------------
Today, I was talking to one of the midd-guys about his kid who has just turned 16 and will be taking his driving test next week..... that is the headline that reminded me of my youth. Youthful stone to follow.
------------------------------
My father worked for Amoco for many years - BP bought Amoco - Amoco put me through college, not directly, but because my father worked for them. An aside: my wife's father worked for them too.
When I was in the 6th grade, we moved to Levelland where my father was named "Head Roustabout" for the Levelland Gasoline Plant. His title changed often over the year - Field Foreman, etc. Because of his position, we lived in the Plant Camp. 5 houses set in a semi circle were lined up near the gasoline plant. The Plant Manager, Asst, asst to the asst...I am sure they had real titles, and we were in the camp. 5 houses, we were in #4. These were nice 3 bedroom homes with massive yards opening up into the wilderness around the plant.
There were several oil coated dirt roads crisscrossing the prairie which was about 5 miles or so square. Sometime in the 7th grade, Dad bought two small cars - 4 cylinders stamp sized cars. One was a British ford, 2 door, green if I remember correctly. I had a floor shift and must have been war surplus. The other was a Crosley pickup. At one time or another, we had Crosley station wagons too. But this pickup - blue - and the English Ford were available for my brother Jim and I to drive around the oil lease. And we did.
Daily we would go out to drive - one of us in the Crosley and the other in the pickup. We tore up and down those back roads. It was a wonder we weren't killed. Levelland, being flat, allowed us to see the entire lease and dodge any workers. Up and down, Around and around, left then right, all around - I suppose my father put gas in the 4 burners cause we never did. I was about 12 and Jim was 13. Nowadays kids have video games, we drove our video games.
I have been racking my brain to remember the name of our dog - mutt - he would run after us all the time.I don't think that dog ever got tired chasing these two cars. Over time he did develop a bit where he would rest one leg and run only on 3 - then, switch legs. Good dog. I wonder why one of us never picked him up and let him ride in a car.
Nuff of that. In those years in Texas, we got our regular driver's license at age 14. We took our driving tests in those little cars - there was some muttering about making us drive real cars. Parallel parking was a breeze in those little things. I bet they weren't 8 ft long or so. I would love to own one now.
One last stone on this subject - it is merely for myself - not truly interesting. When I got my license, I was a Freshman in the high school band. The band sold what we called Gyp Books .... it was one of our major fund raisers. These were those little books of coupons - buy one for $5 and get $25 of free services and stuff. We, the band, would scatter out all over town on one Saturday and canvas the place till we sold out. Different groups had different student drivers.
Jim and I had a crew - dump em off on the corner, pick em up at the next lonely lot. It is amazing the little unimportant things you have come back to you. On that selling day, the first day after I received my license, I drove the car and was so frustrated and nervous, I ran my first stop sign. See, it is not that big a deal - but at the time, it was to a 14 yr old new driver. I panicked. Jim drove most of the rest of the day.
So as the sun slowly sinks in the west, we leave this old guy's memories to fade back into oblivion. Not much here for sure.
Oh, be sure to check that box on the right and sign up to have my pitiful writings delivered to your doorstep.
and a P.S. there are 2 Crosley station wagons for sale on the loop around Athens, Texas. They are just setting there in the cow pasture, rusting, waiting for someone to rescue them. I wish I had the money and time to save them. But as my father use to say, "You can't save every Crosley in this World." Yep, that's what he use to say.
It is time to take the dogs to the Pit for relief. Y'all take care now.
mtz
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
experiment - plus nonsense
This is an experiment - not spiffy reading - an experiment.
On the right of this typing is a button which implies you will get a notice should I ever write another blug.
So I clicked it and signed up to receive notices - via another name that I use when I don't want people to know who I am - not going to tell you either. so there.
Then my wife went to the blug / blog and clicked on that button to sign up also.
So this entry is an experiment to see if we get a notice that brilliance has been typed herewithin...a word the spell checker doesn't like but will be used anyway.
=====
you go sign up too, y'hear.
=====
Not to leave you without a taste:
My wife is not here right now. She has gone to town. On certain Wednesdays a group of like-minded ladies gather at the Corsicana Senior Citizens bldg and knit. They call it "Sit and Sew." I call it "sit & knit." I have been trying to come up with a rhyming word for Squat -- so they can Squat and ....
Squat and talk - won't work; squat and pot would work if the were doing gardening;
All of the ladies / participants / squatters / are members of the Corsicana Quilt Guild. . . I think they are known as the Piecemakers (cute, huh?) Much to my surprise, wife says the ladies do not sit and gossip about others. I think that is marvelous and explains why she keeps going back, not being one who enjoys gossip.
Just this past week - see below - I made the journey to the Corsicana Senior Citizen's bldg and played as entertainment { the Corsicana Swing Orchestra } for the festivities honoring the local Vietnam Vets. They were a good group. As we started to play, there were only 18 people there including the servers and cooks. The numbers got better. And the crowd got better as we started to play "The Stripper" and this guy got up dancing around and slowly removing his Vietnam vest. We would have been in major trouble if he had started working on the suspenders.
Lady BAR THE DOOR!
=============================
SORTA ONE LINERS FOLLOW - OBSERVATIONS FROM THE MEMO PAD ON MY CELL PHONE.
=============================
A couple weeks ago, we were eating at some simple Chinese Buffet joint - not class - a Buffet for goodness sakes. This couple came in and "chose" a table. She was wearing bright red tennis shoes. Before long she flagged down the waiter guy. Her request: Turn down the music on the P.A. System. It was Chinese music in a Chinese Buffet.
=============================
A one liner I heard on the radio last President's Day E V E. After a question, he replied that he was gonna spend President's Dayt "at home in my rectangular office." That's it - nothing to write momma about.
=============================
Was in JCPenneys store walking around as the spouse shopped. I chanced upon a display of female jeans entitled MODERN FIT. I asked. They have slim ankles. Once again I failed the Modern Fit test.
=============================
My phone memo pad has the following entry: D#
That's it, D#. Don't have the slightest clue.....
=============================
One final stone. When you reach Medicare age, the govt. limits your paid visits to certain types of doctors. Since I developed the Diabetes thing, certain doctors are included in my care - eye doctors are one. I keep track on a yearly calendar and make the visit to the Optomologist once a year. (side note: I wrote Optomologist and spell check things I should change it to Psephologist. Guess so.)
.
I bought new glasses in 2009 after we moved here; the others were bent and falling off my face, nose piece broken, the works. Found the Diabetes in late 2008 so the 2009 eye doc visit was just right. He gave an eye prescription which I filled at Wal*Mart. I buy real glass - progressive lenses - and photogray. I discovered several years ago as I bent to family will and bought plastic lenses, plastic lenses are a life-style change. You treat plastic lenses differently than glass. Back to glass and am happy....
This year the doctor gave me another prescription and stated as he has the past 3 visits, there is not much of a change, get new glasses if you want. I bit the bullet. My old glasses were 4 years old - still worked but, it was time to become Modern again. My new glasses are in and I am bumping into walls getting use to them.
Didja know, the type of lens that I have, these lenses must pass a test after grinding. A steel ball is dropped on them from a set distance. If they don't break, the lenses are shipped out. If they break, well, they were just not meant to be.
================================
ending.
have come up with some drama to write about on Friday. I know you lie in wait.
mtz
On the right of this typing is a button which implies you will get a notice should I ever write another blug.
So I clicked it and signed up to receive notices - via another name that I use when I don't want people to know who I am - not going to tell you either. so there.
Then my wife went to the blug / blog and clicked on that button to sign up also.
So this entry is an experiment to see if we get a notice that brilliance has been typed herewithin...a word the spell checker doesn't like but will be used anyway.
=====
you go sign up too, y'hear.
=====
Not to leave you without a taste:
My wife is not here right now. She has gone to town. On certain Wednesdays a group of like-minded ladies gather at the Corsicana Senior Citizens bldg and knit. They call it "Sit and Sew." I call it "sit & knit." I have been trying to come up with a rhyming word for Squat -- so they can Squat and ....
Squat and talk - won't work; squat and pot would work if the were doing gardening;
All of the ladies / participants / squatters / are members of the Corsicana Quilt Guild. . . I think they are known as the Piecemakers (cute, huh?) Much to my surprise, wife says the ladies do not sit and gossip about others. I think that is marvelous and explains why she keeps going back, not being one who enjoys gossip.
Just this past week - see below - I made the journey to the Corsicana Senior Citizen's bldg and played as entertainment { the Corsicana Swing Orchestra } for the festivities honoring the local Vietnam Vets. They were a good group. As we started to play, there were only 18 people there including the servers and cooks. The numbers got better. And the crowd got better as we started to play "The Stripper" and this guy got up dancing around and slowly removing his Vietnam vest. We would have been in major trouble if he had started working on the suspenders.
Lady BAR THE DOOR!
=============================
SORTA ONE LINERS FOLLOW - OBSERVATIONS FROM THE MEMO PAD ON MY CELL PHONE.
=============================
A couple weeks ago, we were eating at some simple Chinese Buffet joint - not class - a Buffet for goodness sakes. This couple came in and "chose" a table. She was wearing bright red tennis shoes. Before long she flagged down the waiter guy. Her request: Turn down the music on the P.A. System. It was Chinese music in a Chinese Buffet.
=============================
A one liner I heard on the radio last President's Day E V E. After a question, he replied that he was gonna spend President's Dayt "at home in my rectangular office." That's it - nothing to write momma about.
=============================
Was in JCPenneys store walking around as the spouse shopped. I chanced upon a display of female jeans entitled MODERN FIT. I asked. They have slim ankles. Once again I failed the Modern Fit test.
=============================
My phone memo pad has the following entry: D#
That's it, D#. Don't have the slightest clue.....
=============================
One final stone. When you reach Medicare age, the govt. limits your paid visits to certain types of doctors. Since I developed the Diabetes thing, certain doctors are included in my care - eye doctors are one. I keep track on a yearly calendar and make the visit to the Optomologist once a year. (side note: I wrote Optomologist and spell check things I should change it to Psephologist. Guess so.)
.
I bought new glasses in 2009 after we moved here; the others were bent and falling off my face, nose piece broken, the works. Found the Diabetes in late 2008 so the 2009 eye doc visit was just right. He gave an eye prescription which I filled at Wal*Mart. I buy real glass - progressive lenses - and photogray. I discovered several years ago as I bent to family will and bought plastic lenses, plastic lenses are a life-style change. You treat plastic lenses differently than glass. Back to glass and am happy....
This year the doctor gave me another prescription and stated as he has the past 3 visits, there is not much of a change, get new glasses if you want. I bit the bullet. My old glasses were 4 years old - still worked but, it was time to become Modern again. My new glasses are in and I am bumping into walls getting use to them.
Didja know, the type of lens that I have, these lenses must pass a test after grinding. A steel ball is dropped on them from a set distance. If they don't break, the lenses are shipped out. If they break, well, they were just not meant to be.
================================
ending.
have come up with some drama to write about on Friday. I know you lie in wait.
mtz
Monday, March 25, 2013
minor stuff - corsicana swing orchestra
Just noticed that I have not written here for a month. That should change.
.
An acquaintance (friend) from years past has told me that he plans to post 3 times a week. He feels that if it is regular 3X per then it will get a following of regular people. And we all want to be regular. So, so, so, I am going to try that. Today is Monday. Logically, I should post again on Wednesday. [ I wrote that word out to prove that I could spell Wednesday....there are those who think I abbrev. because of speling skils. ]
.
So let's stay tuned and see how I do.
Right now I have come online to see if I can adjust all those words on top and side of this page.
Side note: If you want to read a Blog with Drama and other stuff - go read the above friend's blog - it is full of emotion and drama. By all means don't just read this week's edition - go back a full year or more. There is a book in this for an enterprising young writer. Trust me you will return to his Blog and want to experience his next happening...or at least roll your eyes.
LOW Life of Wilde. Just don't give me any credit or notice regarding his work.
I know nothing! (Line loaned to me by Shultz)
.
I am a member of the CORSICANA SWING ORCHESTRA - It is enjoyable. I get to play my horn and be around people who know what horns are. Some (most)(all) are pretty good musicians. It is fun to hear them play. I figured out that I had not played an ad lib solo with a real band since back in the 70s when I moved to Oklahoma and quit playing regularly in the Panhandle. While my brain thinks ad lib solos all the time, my abilities have diminished, and I don't feel 100% comfy taking off on a tangent.
.
Anyway, the CORSICANA SWING ORCHESTRA is technically based in Corsicana but the musicians are certainly not. Even I live 10 miles out in the country. Our business manager, Jerry Ballew lives over in Teague - several are from Fairfield - a couple from Robinson (that may be Robertson - never could keep it straingt) - we have a County Judge { he is an elected official - so would probably appreciate seeing his name in print -- H. M. Davenport - good steady reliable, fun drummer }, school teachers, students, retirees, policeman (actually policewoman) - and so forth. It is quite a mix, and we are still looking for a few more players.
.
We try to play for money. Most times we do. Nobody gets rich doing this. Some gigs are played for free - for instance performing for one of the local retirement places. I have often wondered why the City of Corsicana doesn't give us a yearly bit of money to represent them at certain events. I think it would be good for the community and the band. On the other paw, that would make us a bit responsible to the mighty City of Corsicana.
.
If you know anyone who wants a swing Big Band { y'know, sorta like Glenn Miller and those guys } give Jerry a call - he'll book us if we can all get free that day. Try 903-390-1058. Lemme know if that doesn't work. We work cheap.
That is enough for today - must work on my taxes and drink my unsweet tea.
mtz
.
An acquaintance (friend) from years past has told me that he plans to post 3 times a week. He feels that if it is regular 3X per then it will get a following of regular people. And we all want to be regular. So, so, so, I am going to try that. Today is Monday. Logically, I should post again on Wednesday. [ I wrote that word out to prove that I could spell Wednesday....there are those who think I abbrev. because of speling skils. ]
.
So let's stay tuned and see how I do.
Right now I have come online to see if I can adjust all those words on top and side of this page.
Side note: If you want to read a Blog with Drama and other stuff - go read the above friend's blog - it is full of emotion and drama. By all means don't just read this week's edition - go back a full year or more. There is a book in this for an enterprising young writer. Trust me you will return to his Blog and want to experience his next happening...or at least roll your eyes.
LOW Life of Wilde. Just don't give me any credit or notice regarding his work.
I know nothing! (Line loaned to me by Shultz)
.
I am a member of the CORSICANA SWING ORCHESTRA - It is enjoyable. I get to play my horn and be around people who know what horns are. Some (most)(all) are pretty good musicians. It is fun to hear them play. I figured out that I had not played an ad lib solo with a real band since back in the 70s when I moved to Oklahoma and quit playing regularly in the Panhandle. While my brain thinks ad lib solos all the time, my abilities have diminished, and I don't feel 100% comfy taking off on a tangent.
.
Anyway, the CORSICANA SWING ORCHESTRA is technically based in Corsicana but the musicians are certainly not. Even I live 10 miles out in the country. Our business manager, Jerry Ballew lives over in Teague - several are from Fairfield - a couple from Robinson (that may be Robertson - never could keep it straingt) - we have a County Judge { he is an elected official - so would probably appreciate seeing his name in print -- H. M. Davenport - good steady reliable, fun drummer }, school teachers, students, retirees, policeman (actually policewoman) - and so forth. It is quite a mix, and we are still looking for a few more players.
.
We try to play for money. Most times we do. Nobody gets rich doing this. Some gigs are played for free - for instance performing for one of the local retirement places. I have often wondered why the City of Corsicana doesn't give us a yearly bit of money to represent them at certain events. I think it would be good for the community and the band. On the other paw, that would make us a bit responsible to the mighty City of Corsicana.
.
If you know anyone who wants a swing Big Band { y'know, sorta like Glenn Miller and those guys } give Jerry a call - he'll book us if we can all get free that day. Try 903-390-1058. Lemme know if that doesn't work. We work cheap.
That is enough for today - must work on my taxes and drink my unsweet tea.
mtz
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Oscar and Bruno
anticipate this to be a short post.
If I call a BLOG a BLUG,
Then should a POST be a PUST?
Just sayin'
==================
.
Aside: do you notice that I put a dot between each paragraph? That is because at times I copy/paste these to emails which I send to my immediate relatives. My email seems to eliminate all the spaces between paragraphs just like it eliminates the extra space I put at the end of a sentence. I was taught in typing class to put 2 spaces after each sentence. My computer never read my typing teacher. If it had, I would not be having this problem. She would have straightened him out just as she curved my typing fingers. But computer programmer trashing is not the context of this blug today.
.
Have you ever tried to type any thing when surrounded by 5 love starved dogs who want to be held and loved and played with? I have and am. Right now, the situation was: I sat down at machine and opened this window. Oscar came and intertwined around the ankles. I picked him up and he snuggled against my cheek wagging his tail. Some petting was issued - which I would readily admit in a courtroom. Behind me a low grrrooowwwwwllllll was issued (that is growl for those who can't read big, long words). This is the sound emitted by Bruno when he wants attention.
.
I rotated in my computer chair - Oscar standing on my chest pressing against the cheek - and look down at Bruno, who in return is looking up making his gutteral sound and vigorously wagging that tail. Looking into Oscar's eyes, "gonna put ya down Oscar." He didn't care. Down he went; Bruno and he touched noses briefly then more low sounds. I picked up Bruno. He is the biggest Dachshund we have, a chocolate dapple with a beautiful long nose.
.
Bruno stood with his lower legs on my knees and his uppers on my shoulder looking deep within my eyes with those gorgeous greens of his. We touched noses briefly - no licking - Bruno sometimes will lick, his enormous tongue stretching out maybe, that is maybe, a half inch to barely caress my nose. He knows where his licker should stay.
.
I loved; he looked deep; we talked. After a few moments I grasped his enormous chest and began to lower him to floor. As he hit the floor, another low growl as if to say, "That was indeed not long enough." But he paddled off to the other room.
.
Now, Oscar is back. Beside me is a pillow for dogs. beside that is a sorta long footstool on 2 inch legs. We bought it at Wal*Mart and is appropriate for the room. Oscar is standing on his pillow looking under the footstool with his whine. I knew automatically, the little mutt had put a ball under the furniture. He does that. Oscar loves to play with a ball. He invents games like hide the ball, and, then, find it. He can hide the ball and look for it for an amazing long period of time. But under the footstool is a no-no. He whines. I fuss, "Oscar, did you put that ball under that?"
.
All the long, I know he did. Oscar does that. Off my chair onto the floor I struggle - hands and knees. For those without dogs, understand that when you get on the floor, that is an open invitation to all dogs to come visit. So, I am on the floor, surrounded by loving critters, trying to look under the furniture. There it is - a ball - as predicted. I reach under and pull out a small yellow ball. Bruno is standing next to my hand and grabs the yellow ball running into another room followed by Oscar.
.
I return to my chair. Oscar starts a bark. It is a protest bark - a tattletale if you wish. I know what the problem is - the stupid yellow ball is in Bruno's mouth. We have not seen the yellow ball for a week and now Bruno has it. Knowing how much Oscar loves the green ball I get up and invite him to help me search for the green ball. Nope, rather bark at Bruno.
.
Few minutes later Oscar follows me as we begin to search for green ball. Then I remember the footstool which is up against a couch next to the pillow next to my computer chair. The question: why did Oscar all of a sudden find the yellow ball after a week? Back to the room; on my hands and knees; more dog surrounding; peering under the footstool - I spot a round object under the edge of the couch. It is the green ball. Pull out the green ball - Oscar grabs and runs off as happily as a .... make up your own metaphor.
.
Peace and quiet. Oscar has his green ball. Bruno as the yellow ball. All others have gone to rest in Brenda's sewing room to help her create the next quilt.
.
No, this is not the subject of my blug today. But it shall have to do. I have tired.
mtz
If I call a BLOG a BLUG,
Then should a POST be a PUST?
Just sayin'
==================
.
Aside: do you notice that I put a dot between each paragraph? That is because at times I copy/paste these to emails which I send to my immediate relatives. My email seems to eliminate all the spaces between paragraphs just like it eliminates the extra space I put at the end of a sentence. I was taught in typing class to put 2 spaces after each sentence. My computer never read my typing teacher. If it had, I would not be having this problem. She would have straightened him out just as she curved my typing fingers. But computer programmer trashing is not the context of this blug today.
.
Have you ever tried to type any thing when surrounded by 5 love starved dogs who want to be held and loved and played with? I have and am. Right now, the situation was: I sat down at machine and opened this window. Oscar came and intertwined around the ankles. I picked him up and he snuggled against my cheek wagging his tail. Some petting was issued - which I would readily admit in a courtroom. Behind me a low grrrooowwwwwllllll was issued (that is growl for those who can't read big, long words). This is the sound emitted by Bruno when he wants attention.
.
I rotated in my computer chair - Oscar standing on my chest pressing against the cheek - and look down at Bruno, who in return is looking up making his gutteral sound and vigorously wagging that tail. Looking into Oscar's eyes, "gonna put ya down Oscar." He didn't care. Down he went; Bruno and he touched noses briefly then more low sounds. I picked up Bruno. He is the biggest Dachshund we have, a chocolate dapple with a beautiful long nose.
.
Bruno stood with his lower legs on my knees and his uppers on my shoulder looking deep within my eyes with those gorgeous greens of his. We touched noses briefly - no licking - Bruno sometimes will lick, his enormous tongue stretching out maybe, that is maybe, a half inch to barely caress my nose. He knows where his licker should stay.
.
I loved; he looked deep; we talked. After a few moments I grasped his enormous chest and began to lower him to floor. As he hit the floor, another low growl as if to say, "That was indeed not long enough." But he paddled off to the other room.
.
Now, Oscar is back. Beside me is a pillow for dogs. beside that is a sorta long footstool on 2 inch legs. We bought it at Wal*Mart and is appropriate for the room. Oscar is standing on his pillow looking under the footstool with his whine. I knew automatically, the little mutt had put a ball under the furniture. He does that. Oscar loves to play with a ball. He invents games like hide the ball, and, then, find it. He can hide the ball and look for it for an amazing long period of time. But under the footstool is a no-no. He whines. I fuss, "Oscar, did you put that ball under that?"
.
All the long, I know he did. Oscar does that. Off my chair onto the floor I struggle - hands and knees. For those without dogs, understand that when you get on the floor, that is an open invitation to all dogs to come visit. So, I am on the floor, surrounded by loving critters, trying to look under the furniture. There it is - a ball - as predicted. I reach under and pull out a small yellow ball. Bruno is standing next to my hand and grabs the yellow ball running into another room followed by Oscar.
.
I return to my chair. Oscar starts a bark. It is a protest bark - a tattletale if you wish. I know what the problem is - the stupid yellow ball is in Bruno's mouth. We have not seen the yellow ball for a week and now Bruno has it. Knowing how much Oscar loves the green ball I get up and invite him to help me search for the green ball. Nope, rather bark at Bruno.
.
Few minutes later Oscar follows me as we begin to search for green ball. Then I remember the footstool which is up against a couch next to the pillow next to my computer chair. The question: why did Oscar all of a sudden find the yellow ball after a week? Back to the room; on my hands and knees; more dog surrounding; peering under the footstool - I spot a round object under the edge of the couch. It is the green ball. Pull out the green ball - Oscar grabs and runs off as happily as a .... make up your own metaphor.
.
Peace and quiet. Oscar has his green ball. Bruno as the yellow ball. All others have gone to rest in Brenda's sewing room to help her create the next quilt.
.
No, this is not the subject of my blug today. But it shall have to do. I have tired.
mtz
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Sporty Things (so to speak)
Philosophy: I believe most of us want to dream of places to go, people to see, things to be. There are things that I wish I could do - be a part of - particicipate in - y'know, y'know, y'know.
Example: I would love to be President of the United States. There are many things I would like to say or to do as President. A mere pipe dream that is. No way I could be elected to the local school board, much less the Presidency. { that should have read "elected to dog catcher." We don't have a dog catcher out here - just a deputy sheriff or 50. I'm certainly not being elected Sheriff of Navarro County. Already have one - don't need two - }
I am happy with where I am and what is going on. More? Sure I want more, but be realistic here folks. I was a public school teacher. We don't generate money - we spend your money - remember how government works. So I take what I have and we move on to oblivion.
All of this conversation started when I had a short online conversation with my brudder Jim. I made the comment that I never could make a hula hoop work. He said something brilliant like,
"really?"
"Yes, why would I make that up?"
I see 4 year old kids on TV making a hula hoop work. Not me. Maybe it is just my inbred embarrassment of shaking my tooshy in front of normal folks (is it spelled tooshie?) Who wants to wiggle their bottom surrounded by a hoop which falls down around your ankles leaving you there with a protruding behind - unexplained? Not me for one. I did try the hoop in my youth. No luck at all. In my humble opinion the hula hoop was originally designed to be thrown to the street into incoming traffic.
It made me look back to what other things never worked for me. JACKS. In the 6th grade in Levelland, I was new - friends were fewer - recess or lunchtime would come and outside we'd go. In Levelland this was to a playground devoid of grass - mostly blowing sand and stone. Certain boys would take off - run and chase - throw / catch ball - play marbles for keeps - Burp - most of those things kid-boys do today. The girls gathered on the outside the south door on the sidewalk and played jacks. Onesies, Twosies, Threesies ...
Several guys would stand around and watch. Sometimes we special boys would join in to show the girls how it should be done. I NEVER could play jacks and even beat the most spastic girl. Toss the ball; grab a jack or two; catch the ball; repeat the process. My skills were lacking on that playground. The bouncing ball would arrogantly float off into a surrounding sand dune.
Sure as with all playgrounds of those days, jump ropes came out. Those little girls would be skipping back and forth, up and down, never missing a beat. The rope either hit me in the head or tripped me into the West Texas sand. How did those girls jump two ropes at the same time. I could help out by twirling a rope. Perhaps that was my true calling - rope twirler - not head whacker or foot tripper.
I know this is something others won't understand. I could not do a somersault worth a darn. One P.E. class had a regiment of doing rolls and somersaults. Others would plop down and flip right over. I was afraid of that. I had a great fear of breaking my neck as I flipped over. Still today I marvel at how kids can flip and come out smiling. Somersaults - not for me.
Baseball in my youth was not organized. By the time I graduated from high school, Levelland had organized baseball for younger boys. I remember going to games and seeing little brother Pat pitch for his team. I thought he was great for being able to do that. An aside story: has nothing to do with stone. I remember watching a baseball game where Pat had some type of sticker or Pin attached to the front of his official baseball uniform cap. It was a nothing. He was the pitcher. The umpire behind the plate stopped the game and made him remove the sticker from his cap. The whole episode seemed to really bother Pat at the time - probably had a great deal to do with the way the umpire addressed the problem - something about Yelling. Young kids, pitching, should not be disciplined by the umpire via yelling. Just sayin....
My younger days of baseball were few and far between. The town or neighborhood boys would gather on a vacant lot - choose up sides (guess who was usually chosen last) - and played ball with no official umpire or adult supervision. The guys just got together and played ball. Normally, I was pushed "out" to the "outfield." {In case you wondered where "outfield" got its name } There were several of us "out" there. If 26 kids showed, there were 13 on each side - 6 in the infield and 7 in the outfield. If 42 showed, 21 on each side. Do the math yourself. The hunky boys would hit the ball outta sight and we 7 "OUTfielders" would chase as best as possible as the infield yelled words - not usually of encouragement .... there were words of disdain - razzing - off color remarks about one's heritage.
A couple of games stick in my mind. One spring day in Crete, Nebraska, a grouping of town boys showed to play ball. As usual I made it to my home in the outfield. Did I mention that I had a baseball glove of my own? No uniforms, no caps, no spiked shoes, nobody had anything. It is funny how I can remember that day like it was yesterday. Some Clod hit the ball to the outfield; it was not a long fly ball, but a skirting grounder aimed right at me. [ Cue the comments from the rest of the team. ] I put my glove down in front of the ball to snatch and gain my approval of the crowd.
The stupid ball - yes, balls can be stupid, that stupid ball hit the glove and rolled right up the glove and right up my arm into my nose. It knocked me down - bleeding nose and all. I have not the slightest idea whether the Clod scored or some budding athlete was able to grasp the ball and sling it home. I had served my purpose as a backstop in the outfield.
I had had no formal training. Certainly my father never played ball with us and taught me the ins and outs of the game. I do remember one of the boys walked over to me as I withered on the ground. He showed me how to place the glove with my free hand in position to stop the ball from rolling past the glove into my nose. Stupid ball. Good tip though.
My only other memory of baseball happened in Levelland. I couldn't tell you why, but Jim and I were on the playground of West elementary with a pile of boys for a pickup game. Since we lived nowhere near the place, being there is still a wonder to me. As normal, I was placed in the outfield. This time it was a location close to 1st base. Fine. I still had a glove.
The play developed. There were 2 outs. One kid was on 1st base while another occupied 3rd base. I had no idea how many outs were there. All I could see was the kid on 3rd base trying to sneak home. As you would have predicted the ball hit was a grounder straight to me. I gloved it and slung it at home. I think it came close to home base but the kid scored anyway. All yelling broke out at me. Y'see, if I had merely tossed the ball to 1st base, it would have been an out and end of the inning.
Up until that moment - that very moment -I had never had certain baseball strategy explained to me in such clear and graphic terms. Young boys can be very graphic. From that day forward I started trying to learn a little more. I cannot remember ever playing another game of baseball or softball for that matter. I didn't need it; didn't want it; and above all baseball didn't need me.
It is probably time to summarize this little bluggy up, but not before I mention a few other exciting sports. (1) bowling. You have got to be kidding. People play this all the time. I did it a few times. You get a heavy ball while wearing Gosh Awful funny colored shoes and no explanation of previous wearers. Everyone selects a ball from a long line of losers. Which bowling ball hurts the least was my philosophy. You roll the ball and try to stay out of the gutter. Blisters form on your thumb. I always enjoyed the experts (other kids who rolled the ball 3 times a year too) trying to teach me the 4 step approach - or is it the 3 step? My style worked for me.
Probably shouldn't tell this....once took my future wife bowling in HS, it was probably a church event - She slung the ball back in a wind up and it went THUD right behind her. You could say Brenda Joy and I were made for each other.
Then there is (2) ping pong and (3) tennis. These are similar games where your opponent tries to knock you down with a small ball aimed at your head. If you are lucky, you can hit the ball back with your forehead and get it over the net. I remember a kid telling me, "You should learn tennis; it is so easy to learn." Levelland had a couple of courts. My most fun was trying to serve. You throw the ball way up in the air and try to slam it in a forward direction. I'll leave you with your own vision of my mis-shot ball flinging through the air.
For now let's just briefly mention (4) volleyball. We guys rarely played it. My wife rambles on about volleyball in P.E. class and how she hated it. I can relate. While the girls played volleyball, our coaches lined us up on one end of the gym and gave basketballs to the meanest and biggest kids in the class. Yes, we played (5) dodgeball. dodgeball is one word and should not have a capital letter at the first. Why coaches felt this was a fitting prelude to us visiting the gym showers is beyond me. Of course the showers with that horrible smelling pink soap should remain for another stone.
I close as I mention (6) marbles - see above somewhere - playing for keeps and (7) mubbly??peg where you stand with your feet apart as some other kid throws a pocket knife between same. There were other knife games which involved jumping, dodging, bleeding - but I try to forget those when possible.
So may all your days be filled with dodged balls and missed hurling tennis balls. I will play my trumpet.
mtz3
Example: I would love to be President of the United States. There are many things I would like to say or to do as President. A mere pipe dream that is. No way I could be elected to the local school board, much less the Presidency. { that should have read "elected to dog catcher." We don't have a dog catcher out here - just a deputy sheriff or 50. I'm certainly not being elected Sheriff of Navarro County. Already have one - don't need two - }
I am happy with where I am and what is going on. More? Sure I want more, but be realistic here folks. I was a public school teacher. We don't generate money - we spend your money - remember how government works. So I take what I have and we move on to oblivion.
All of this conversation started when I had a short online conversation with my brudder Jim. I made the comment that I never could make a hula hoop work. He said something brilliant like,
"really?"
"Yes, why would I make that up?"
I see 4 year old kids on TV making a hula hoop work. Not me. Maybe it is just my inbred embarrassment of shaking my tooshy in front of normal folks (is it spelled tooshie?) Who wants to wiggle their bottom surrounded by a hoop which falls down around your ankles leaving you there with a protruding behind - unexplained? Not me for one. I did try the hoop in my youth. No luck at all. In my humble opinion the hula hoop was originally designed to be thrown to the street into incoming traffic.
It made me look back to what other things never worked for me. JACKS. In the 6th grade in Levelland, I was new - friends were fewer - recess or lunchtime would come and outside we'd go. In Levelland this was to a playground devoid of grass - mostly blowing sand and stone. Certain boys would take off - run and chase - throw / catch ball - play marbles for keeps - Burp - most of those things kid-boys do today. The girls gathered on the outside the south door on the sidewalk and played jacks. Onesies, Twosies, Threesies ...
Several guys would stand around and watch. Sometimes we special boys would join in to show the girls how it should be done. I NEVER could play jacks and even beat the most spastic girl. Toss the ball; grab a jack or two; catch the ball; repeat the process. My skills were lacking on that playground. The bouncing ball would arrogantly float off into a surrounding sand dune.
Sure as with all playgrounds of those days, jump ropes came out. Those little girls would be skipping back and forth, up and down, never missing a beat. The rope either hit me in the head or tripped me into the West Texas sand. How did those girls jump two ropes at the same time. I could help out by twirling a rope. Perhaps that was my true calling - rope twirler - not head whacker or foot tripper.
I know this is something others won't understand. I could not do a somersault worth a darn. One P.E. class had a regiment of doing rolls and somersaults. Others would plop down and flip right over. I was afraid of that. I had a great fear of breaking my neck as I flipped over. Still today I marvel at how kids can flip and come out smiling. Somersaults - not for me.
Baseball in my youth was not organized. By the time I graduated from high school, Levelland had organized baseball for younger boys. I remember going to games and seeing little brother Pat pitch for his team. I thought he was great for being able to do that. An aside story: has nothing to do with stone. I remember watching a baseball game where Pat had some type of sticker or Pin attached to the front of his official baseball uniform cap. It was a nothing. He was the pitcher. The umpire behind the plate stopped the game and made him remove the sticker from his cap. The whole episode seemed to really bother Pat at the time - probably had a great deal to do with the way the umpire addressed the problem - something about Yelling. Young kids, pitching, should not be disciplined by the umpire via yelling. Just sayin....
My younger days of baseball were few and far between. The town or neighborhood boys would gather on a vacant lot - choose up sides (guess who was usually chosen last) - and played ball with no official umpire or adult supervision. The guys just got together and played ball. Normally, I was pushed "out" to the "outfield." {In case you wondered where "outfield" got its name } There were several of us "out" there. If 26 kids showed, there were 13 on each side - 6 in the infield and 7 in the outfield. If 42 showed, 21 on each side. Do the math yourself. The hunky boys would hit the ball outta sight and we 7 "OUTfielders" would chase as best as possible as the infield yelled words - not usually of encouragement .... there were words of disdain - razzing - off color remarks about one's heritage.
A couple of games stick in my mind. One spring day in Crete, Nebraska, a grouping of town boys showed to play ball. As usual I made it to my home in the outfield. Did I mention that I had a baseball glove of my own? No uniforms, no caps, no spiked shoes, nobody had anything. It is funny how I can remember that day like it was yesterday. Some Clod hit the ball to the outfield; it was not a long fly ball, but a skirting grounder aimed right at me. [ Cue the comments from the rest of the team. ] I put my glove down in front of the ball to snatch and gain my approval of the crowd.
The stupid ball - yes, balls can be stupid, that stupid ball hit the glove and rolled right up the glove and right up my arm into my nose. It knocked me down - bleeding nose and all. I have not the slightest idea whether the Clod scored or some budding athlete was able to grasp the ball and sling it home. I had served my purpose as a backstop in the outfield.
I had had no formal training. Certainly my father never played ball with us and taught me the ins and outs of the game. I do remember one of the boys walked over to me as I withered on the ground. He showed me how to place the glove with my free hand in position to stop the ball from rolling past the glove into my nose. Stupid ball. Good tip though.
My only other memory of baseball happened in Levelland. I couldn't tell you why, but Jim and I were on the playground of West elementary with a pile of boys for a pickup game. Since we lived nowhere near the place, being there is still a wonder to me. As normal, I was placed in the outfield. This time it was a location close to 1st base. Fine. I still had a glove.
The play developed. There were 2 outs. One kid was on 1st base while another occupied 3rd base. I had no idea how many outs were there. All I could see was the kid on 3rd base trying to sneak home. As you would have predicted the ball hit was a grounder straight to me. I gloved it and slung it at home. I think it came close to home base but the kid scored anyway. All yelling broke out at me. Y'see, if I had merely tossed the ball to 1st base, it would have been an out and end of the inning.
Up until that moment - that very moment -I had never had certain baseball strategy explained to me in such clear and graphic terms. Young boys can be very graphic. From that day forward I started trying to learn a little more. I cannot remember ever playing another game of baseball or softball for that matter. I didn't need it; didn't want it; and above all baseball didn't need me.
It is probably time to summarize this little bluggy up, but not before I mention a few other exciting sports. (1) bowling. You have got to be kidding. People play this all the time. I did it a few times. You get a heavy ball while wearing Gosh Awful funny colored shoes and no explanation of previous wearers. Everyone selects a ball from a long line of losers. Which bowling ball hurts the least was my philosophy. You roll the ball and try to stay out of the gutter. Blisters form on your thumb. I always enjoyed the experts (other kids who rolled the ball 3 times a year too) trying to teach me the 4 step approach - or is it the 3 step? My style worked for me.
Probably shouldn't tell this....once took my future wife bowling in HS, it was probably a church event - She slung the ball back in a wind up and it went THUD right behind her. You could say Brenda Joy and I were made for each other.
Then there is (2) ping pong and (3) tennis. These are similar games where your opponent tries to knock you down with a small ball aimed at your head. If you are lucky, you can hit the ball back with your forehead and get it over the net. I remember a kid telling me, "You should learn tennis; it is so easy to learn." Levelland had a couple of courts. My most fun was trying to serve. You throw the ball way up in the air and try to slam it in a forward direction. I'll leave you with your own vision of my mis-shot ball flinging through the air.
For now let's just briefly mention (4) volleyball. We guys rarely played it. My wife rambles on about volleyball in P.E. class and how she hated it. I can relate. While the girls played volleyball, our coaches lined us up on one end of the gym and gave basketballs to the meanest and biggest kids in the class. Yes, we played (5) dodgeball. dodgeball is one word and should not have a capital letter at the first. Why coaches felt this was a fitting prelude to us visiting the gym showers is beyond me. Of course the showers with that horrible smelling pink soap should remain for another stone.
I close as I mention (6) marbles - see above somewhere - playing for keeps and (7) mubbly??peg where you stand with your feet apart as some other kid throws a pocket knife between same. There were other knife games which involved jumping, dodging, bleeding - but I try to forget those when possible.
So may all your days be filled with dodged balls and missed hurling tennis balls. I will play my trumpet.
mtz3
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Navarro County Fees
My wife is the chosen one - that is, she was chosen as the Treasurer of our (HOA) Home Owners Association. It might be debatable if being chosen is a blessing or a curse. There is no salary; there are few benefits. I cannot think of one of the benefits at the moment. One of her curses is gets to go to the county courthouse and file papers to have liens taken OFF properties. When people don't pay their dues or road assessments, the HOA can file liens to get the money.
We went to the courthouse last week to get 3 liens removed from one property owner. he is trying to sell his lot and needs a clear title. There has been a great deal of bad press about HOAs. In our case we just follow the written rules and do what needs to be done.
Okay enough of that - "Small Fry" is on the radio by the Hi-Los. Nice.
Walked into the county clerk's office and did the paperwork. My wife went to the counter (she is the official treasurer - I am the chauffeur). I sat in a hard back brown chair. Boring. I got up and looked at the stuff on the table and counter. There was a schedule of fees of Navarro County. Who'd a thunk. Yep, a list of fees. Makes sense. I took one of their papers. Here are a few of the fees:
$23 Birth Certificates
$21 Death Certificate -- yes, it is cheaper to die than to be born
$79 Emergency Intervention proceeds for funeral and burial expenses - Ok, the question, does this mean
that a person dies broke and another has to pay $79 to get the govt. to pay for the funeral. Or what?
It must happen quite often if it has to be listed on the county fee list.
$72 Issuance of Marriage License
$12 Issuance of Marriage License w/cert == I have another problem. Doesn't it seem like it should cost
more if you get married with a "cert?" Certs are expensive. You'd think people getting married would
be a bit more responsible and use some mouthwash instead of going to the courthouse for a package
of certs. Still doesn't explain why it is cheaper.
$25 Liquor certification -- hmmmm known many a drinker who didn't have one of these.
$300 Application for guardianship if ward is over 12 or older - includes service of citation
$221 Application for guardianship if ward is under 12
I will add here that these two items are poorly written. They should be redone. It reads like a 12
year old cannot be guarded. And 12 or older -- can someone get guardianship of me at my age?
$15 Filing your Will for safekeeping. Interesting. Never ever not once considered giving my Will to the
County for filing. Who would know to go look for it there?
$12.50 assumed name filings (DBA)
ENOUGH OF THAT. Not great reading, but one more piece of paper can come off the desktop and rest in my Star Wars trashcan.
m
We went to the courthouse last week to get 3 liens removed from one property owner. he is trying to sell his lot and needs a clear title. There has been a great deal of bad press about HOAs. In our case we just follow the written rules and do what needs to be done.
Okay enough of that - "Small Fry" is on the radio by the Hi-Los. Nice.
Walked into the county clerk's office and did the paperwork. My wife went to the counter (she is the official treasurer - I am the chauffeur). I sat in a hard back brown chair. Boring. I got up and looked at the stuff on the table and counter. There was a schedule of fees of Navarro County. Who'd a thunk. Yep, a list of fees. Makes sense. I took one of their papers. Here are a few of the fees:
$23 Birth Certificates
$21 Death Certificate -- yes, it is cheaper to die than to be born
$79 Emergency Intervention proceeds for funeral and burial expenses - Ok, the question, does this mean
that a person dies broke and another has to pay $79 to get the govt. to pay for the funeral. Or what?
It must happen quite often if it has to be listed on the county fee list.
$72 Issuance of Marriage License
$12 Issuance of Marriage License w/cert == I have another problem. Doesn't it seem like it should cost
more if you get married with a "cert?" Certs are expensive. You'd think people getting married would
be a bit more responsible and use some mouthwash instead of going to the courthouse for a package
of certs. Still doesn't explain why it is cheaper.
$25 Liquor certification -- hmmmm known many a drinker who didn't have one of these.
$300 Application for guardianship if ward is over 12 or older - includes service of citation
$221 Application for guardianship if ward is under 12
I will add here that these two items are poorly written. They should be redone. It reads like a 12
year old cannot be guarded. And 12 or older -- can someone get guardianship of me at my age?
$15 Filing your Will for safekeeping. Interesting. Never ever not once considered giving my Will to the
County for filing. Who would know to go look for it there?
$12.50 assumed name filings (DBA)
ENOUGH OF THAT. Not great reading, but one more piece of paper can come off the desktop and rest in my Star Wars trashcan.
m
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