Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Two years ago the bottom fell out of our economy. I know, tell me something you don’t know. My thought then was that this would be an opportune time to write a novel. I ended up writing two novels and two e-books because the recession lasted longer than anyone could predict or even imagine.

I looked around at the devastation the recession was causing middle and poor America, with homes being foreclosed on at record rates and jobs disappearing at even faster rates, I wondered how in the world people were going to pay their rent, utilities, car payments, or even feed their children. I remember in my younger years going though recessions when construction was D.O.A. in Arizona, but I was able to travel to other states to keep my family fed and a roof over their heads. This time was different indeed; there were no construction jobs anywhere in the country.

While writing my books, I kept up to date on job prospects through Monster.com and other Websites. After about eighteen months, I started to notice more and more construction jobs offered on line. In fact, there were even more construction jobs offered in the Phoenix newspapers, which had been devoid of any real opportunities and the few companies who did offer jobs were inundated with resumes.

Recently, I was offered a consulting position with an out-of-state contractor who wants to expand into Arizona. Now this was the sign I was looking for, not just because it meant employment for me, but also because I believe we are coming back from the brink of a depression!

No, I am by no means an expert on the subject of recessions, but I am an expert on how to survive hard times in the construction industry. I know the signs of recovery when I see them and that is exactly what I am seeing. In any case, my optimism should encourage everyone to be positive and start looking for work opportunities again in earnest. In the meantime, I will blog any news about constructions positions as I hear of them.

Write on,

Mittster

Grey Hair Rules

I ask myself, “Are you ready for your 50th high school reunion in May?” I talk about being able to look into the mirror and like what you see on my blogs, but the mirror I will be looking into at the class reunion has bright, natural lighting. Everyone there will be a reflection of me—and there will be no denying that we are all pushing 70 like a bulldozer on steroids.

This whole reflection thing started yesterday after I broke down and finally booked a hotel room for the festivities, knowing that if I didn’t, there would be a possibility of sleeping in my truck. I sat there afterwards reflecting on the Internet picture of Escondido High School. It brought back a flood of memories; some good, some not so good, but wonderful memories nonetheless.

Last night I dreamt that I was at the reunion having a ball with all my classmates, even the ones who have passed, and we were all the same age as when we graduated. It was a wonderful dream and it all seemed so natural and real, until I awoke and reality flooded in where fantasy had been. It’s OK though as everyone there was happy and old high school rivalries, jealousies and grudges were conspicuously absent. Perhaps there is a message in the dream?

I am hoping that when the remainder of The Class of ’61 meets we can travel back in time and be joyous in the knowledge that we made it to this point in time with dignity, love and happiness. What a life it has been, and I for one look forward to celebrating my life with the lives of my classmates. They all have stories to tell and I can’t wait to hear all about them.

Yes, we will all be young at heart again, dancing to rock & roll music, and just plain acting kooky, just like when we were teenagers. Elvis Presley will be there along with Ricky Nelson and Chuck Berry, just to name a few, singing again to the squealing delight of all the classmates. To the young we will look like a bunch of silly old folks, but to us we will look and feel like the teenagers that still live in our hearts. I wonder if I will be able to dance to rock & rock at our 60th reunion? Not to worry—I’m sure by that time science will have bionic body parts to replace our old ones. Let’s rock!

Write on,

My Bad

I owe the person who texted my wife asking who she was and what state she lived in an apology. I ridiculed this unknown person in my last blog. It turns out that I am the idiot and that fact verifies what my wife has been saying for years.

I had no clue that when you move and keep your current phone number that it also includes your area code. The person who called could have moved from the Verde Valley, Arizona, to Texas and kept their Arizona area code. They in turn would not necessarily know if we had or had not done the same.

The turn of events opens a real can of worms – now we really have no clue where the obnoxious, irritating calls really come from...only the CIA has that ability.

“What, me worry?” I only have an outdated phone that is devoid of bells and whistles. My wife and her fancy phone are now on their own!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Star Trek Phones

My wife recently purchased a new fangled cell phone that enables her to go on line, receive text messages, and about a hundred other functions. She actually has learned quite a bit about the phone and manages to keep in touch through texting. She even gets the weather reports while we are traveling. These phones are a marvel of technology and even though my wife was worried about all the functions, she is starting to master the art of using her intergalactic communicator. There is only one problem; you can’t control the idiots on the other end of the signal.

While returning home from Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday, wifey received a text signal. “Oh great, I bet it’s Chris from Michigan!” she exclaimed. “I bet he is buried up to his butt in snow,” was my reply. As my wife pushed buttons and changed screens with a swish of her finger, a perplexed look came over her face. “I don’t believe this; the message reads, ‘Hey, who is this?’” she announced. I remarked, “Ask them, who in the hell are you?” She typed in, “Who are you?” While we were waiting for an answer, I was thinking, don’t you just hate it when someone calls you and asks who is this? I always reply, “This is me, who are you?”

After a minute or so, the phone again announced that another text message had arrived. It read, “I have your number in my phone, but no name. I need to know your name and what state you’re in.” “That’s enough of that,” my wife said to me as she put her phone back in her purse.

After a couple of minutes passed and we were discussing the virtues of not being an idiot like the person texting us, the phone rang again. With trepidation, my wife retrieved her phone and read the following text. “Are you the Simpsons from Houston, Texas?” Now under normal circumstances, that may be a valid question. But, consider this; the caller had a 928-301 number, which is a cell phone from the Verde Valley, Arizona, area, and the call was sent to our 928-821 number, which is also a Verde Valley, Arizona, cell number. How can this idiot not know we are from Arizona and what has Houston, Texas got to do with anything? The answer is simple; you can’t fix stupid!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

The Clown is Down!

I think humans are losing the ability to laugh at themselves. We still do well at laughing at the afflictions of others, but looking in the mirror and having a good laugh at what we see is non-existent these days.

While I look in the mirror and wonder where all the years have gone, I also laugh at all the fun I had along the way. Regrets, sure, but all in all it has been a fun ride. I certainly don’t laugh at the mistakes that caused others pain, but I do laugh at the stupidity of those mistakes.

I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to laugh at our opinions concerning animals of supposedly lower orders. It is becoming abundantly clear that intelligence is not measured by the size of a brain, but rather how the brain is used. I have proved many times in my life that my brain must be the size of a pea, yet some birds with a brain the size of a pea are operating at genius level.

One thing I am not seeing in the mirror anymore is my past arrogance that we humans are the best thing since sliced bread. That’s a real laugh if you think about it; we can’t even get along with each other, let alone our partners who share the planet. After all, if you study life on Earth you learn that everything is in just one big partnership. What happens to one species eventually happens to all species. Can’t see it? Well, that’s the arrogance I speak about.

If you are one of the thirteen or so people who read my blogs and are now bummed out, not to worry. Go to the mirror for an exercise in humility. Look closely at the reflection – now isn’t that just about the funniest thing you have ever seen? Image of God, really? My God reflects the whole universe and all living things, not just one funny looking species with no humor.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Party Harty!

With young people today it's all party and play, with no thought to the future. Getting old is inevitable and all you young whipper snappers are heading there like a runaway freight train. I prepared myself years ago for this day, as the last picture on this blog will attest! Just call me way cool, and know that the gals love me!

Where is the Remote?

I don’t think there is a wife or girlfriend on the planet that hasn’t had to look for their man’s TV remote control at one time or another. Men losing stuff they had in their hands a few moments before is not confined to just remotes either. The list includes keys, glasses, gloves, etc. The list is endless and the hunt exasperating. This is not to say that women don’t lose stuff too; they do, but it’s just that women handle the situation way better while we men go ballistic.

I thought when we started using a motor home for vacations that the horrible “losing game” would stop. The square footage of a motor home is minuscule compared to a house and there are fewer places for the stuff to hide. WRONG! Square footage has nothing to do with the art of physical things escaping human possession.

“Darling, have you seen my keys?” “They are probably right where you left them, dear.” “I can’t find them anywhere!” “Did you look in the truck?” “I would never leave them in the truck, wifey!!” After ten minutes of both of us looking, while I rant and rave, my wife would find them on the floorboard of the truck right where I left them. I then storm off to the hardware store, while she takes a couple of migraine headache pills and retreats to a dark closet.

And, what about glasses? I happen to know on good authority that eye glasses are supernatural in nature. It all started when Ben Franklin invented the darn things while belonging to the Free Masons, who in turn belonged to the Knights Templar, who in turn stole the Holy Grail and hid it in America. It all makes perfect sense if you think about it. Glasses where born to hide, and hide well. I just know when I lose mine that they are with the Holy Grail – find the glasses and you find the Grail.

I think my brother, Walt, has the answer. He carries a man-purse the size of Texas. His whole life’s accumulation of stuff is in that purse. It’s so big that it’s impossible to lose anything. Of course, someday he will be too old to carry it and that will be the time when he also will join the rest of us in the “losing game.” Until then, I’ll be damned if I am going to carry a purse! Let the hunt begin….

I’m just saying,

Mittster