A true cake story

All my regular readers know about our good friend (and golfing buddy!) Ruth. Ruth is the lady who makes those gorgeous wedding cakes.

These, for example.

Well, another friend of ours (actually she's a very good friend of our younger daughter's, but like a number of our daughters' friends, she's friendly with us too) sent me an email this morning that I just HAVE to share with you.

Yes, I have her permission.

She wrote (I've changed a few details to protect an identity):

"Okay, so today's Don's birthday. Yes, it is after midnight on Friday morning. I have been up past midnight every night since last Friday working on his cake.

I asked him what he wanted... I was thinking a simple birthday cake.

Oh, no. He wanted me to bake a cake for him to take to the FBI National Academy luncheon the PD is hosting. Friday. Today. The day after he returns from a week-long absence.

What does he want it to look like, you ask?

He wants me to make the seal of the FBI National Academy; he'll be attending it (Quantico, Virginia) this spring. He'll be gone for THREE MONTHS!!!

Anyway, seals are pretty simple, right?

I'm attaching the picture he gave me... before he left for a week-long Chiefs of Police conference in New Orleans.



Like I said, I've been up past midnight every night for seven straight nights. Here is the result of all my work...








I have to admit, it looks pretty good.

Or it did. Before I threw it at him.

Sally"

The Devil Made Me Do It

If you've already seen this, I'm sorry.

If you haven't seen it, you probably don't want to and WILL be sorry.

Two Brooms

Two brooms were hanging in the closet and after a while they got to know each other so well, they decided to get married.

One broom was, of course, the bride broom, the other the groom broom.

The bride broom looked very beautiful in her white dress. The groom broom was handsome and suave in his tuxedo. The wedding was lovely.

After the wedding, at the wedding dinner, the bride-broom leaned over and said to the groom-broom, "I think I am going to have a little whisk broom!"

"IMPOSSIBLE!" said the groom broom.

(Are you ready for this?

Brace yourself; this is going to hurt!)










"WE HAVEN’T EVEN SWEPT TOGETHER!"


(Sounds to me like she's…

been…

sweeping around!)


I TOLD you you'd be sorry!

It’s Baa-aa-aack!!

Last Monday (a week ago) we had a moderate rain shower. No big deal. During the rain our electricity blinked off and back on once or twice, and went off to stay at about 4:30 pm.

This has become an all-too-common event the last few months. We called in the outage and waited. After 5:00 we called back to check on the status. There was no answer.

Okay, it was after office hours. But the same number is supposed to be picked up by an answering service after hours, so that outages can be reported 24-7.

Long story short — the office folks had forgotten to switch the phones over. We finally called a power generation plant, explained our problem, and their personnel transferred our call back to the repair group. After nearly two hours, the power was restored and we were assured by the repair crew that they had found the source of ALL of our summer-long problems, and fixed it! No more outages! WOO-HOO!

Meanwhile, the bread Carol was baking fell, the computer didn’t run, the laptop worked on battery but the cable modem lost power so we had no internet, no TV, etc. We ate dinner and read by flashlight.

That was last Monday. Yesterday (Sunday), we had another shower, and GUESS WHAT HAPPENED?

Good guess.

At 6:10 pm the power went out! Yes, we reported it. Yes, we were disgusted.

At 7:20 I drove around the block and found the repair crew working on the same transformer they had “fixed” 6 days earlier. “It’ll just be a little while,” they assured me. At 9:00 pm the lights came back on.

End of story? Oh, no!

The one “corded” phone in our house rang while we were sitting in the dark. My daughter Christina was calling to tell me that half a continent away in Tampa, her toilet had “exploded” spraying water all over their bathroom floor and beyond. She was able to get the water turned off, and wanted advice on how to proceed. (This was a Sunday evening, remember.)

Without boring you with outcomes, I’d just like to ask a question:

Do you think it was coincidence that at the same time on a Sunday evening over a thousand miles apart I experienced a total electrical failure and she had a catastrophic plumbing failure?

ME NEITHER! WE ALL KNOW WHAT IT WAS!!

Right?

In fact, it won’t surprise me at all to learn that some of you, my dedicated readers, ALSO experienced some electrical, plumbing, appliance, auto, or other breakage or outages this past weekend. You can let me know by comment.

Just when we were lulled into a false sense of security, the “C” is back! And I don’t think it’s over yet, not by a long shot!

So if you haven’t been affected yet, get ready. Put your defenses in place (whatever those might be). Steel your nerves. Gird your loins. Strengthen your resolve. (Pick your favorite metaphor.)

Maybe, somehow, we can all get through it with our lives intact and our bank accounts not completely emptied.

We’ll see.

A wonderful opportunity (true story)

A local small-town family physician retired a few years ago to the dismay of many of his regular patients. He was well-beloved and respected for his down-to-earth manner and obvious care for those who sought his expertise and treatment.

Retirement soon proved a bore. He missed seeing patients; but he didn't miss the paperwork, files, insurance claims, billings, and all the rest.

A dilemma. Should he come out of retirement, and put up with all the hassles? Or should he contiune to miss doing what he loved most—helping people?

Solution!

He presented himself to a local industrial plant of nearly 2,000 employees with an offer. He would come to the plant two afternoons a week and see anyone who wished to see him. He would educate, diagnose, prescribe, and treat. He would refer to specialists if needed. He would order lab work if needed. He would NOT do paperwork, claims forms, billing, etc.

The "patients" would not pay a single dime for his services (but any drugs, lab work, specialist visits, etc., was out of their insurance or pocket.) Rather, the plant would pay him by the hour; and that hourly rate would be just high enough to cover the cost of his malpractice insurance and keeping his license to practice current.

Well, did it work?

It was ideal! Employees who would otherwise stay home from work to see a doctor came to their job and saw him. Those who would otherwise come in sick and hope to get better, saw him. Those who typically put off seeing a doctor unless they were at death's door saw him. The result was early detection and intervention, and a lot fewer sick days.

The doctor decided he was having so much fun that two afternoons a week were not enough. So he approached my little plant to see if we could use him one afternoon a week for a few hours.

He came for the first time on Wednesday. We only announced his impending visit on the day before, and had no idea if anyone would come to see him or not. We asked him to stay for two hours and see who showed up.

He ended up staying for four hours and saw 20 people! He arranged for follow-up visits for a few with high blood pressure. He diagnosed incipient bronchitis and prescribed an antibiotic. He told one man that his painful, swollen finger was not broken, just bruised . . . And the stories are still coming in.

When he left, he exclaimed, "Damn, that was fun!"

He'll be back each Wednesday afternoon for the rest of October, and then we'll re-evaluate how often he needs to come.

Since our health insurance is self-funded (meaning the company pays the claims, up to a limit), I figure we're saving on insurance claims. Employees are saving the co-pay for an office visit. Convenience and low cost (free!) mean employees will see the doctor before they get so sick they miss work.

Gee, is there a down side here that I'm missing?

How hard can this be?

Subject: A routine pre-employment drug screen.
(With apologies to Zinnia Hope, a wonderful writer who live in West Virginia and does NOT embody the stereotypes portrayed herein.)

My company offered “Sam” an engineering position contingent upon a successful drug screen. Trouble is, Sam lives in West “By God” Virginia, and we’re in “Thank God!” Texas.

I asked our local drug testing provider, a company operated by a very efficient lady named “Kay,” to help us arrange for a drug screen to be performed in Sam’s home town with the results transmitted to us. Kay provided the name of a urine-sample-collection outfit with the proper credentials, chain-of-custody protocols, etc., and I asked Sam to drop by the place on a Thursday to leave a sample.

All arrangements had been made.

Sam presented himself late Thursday afternoon to produce the needed sample, but was told they couldn’t accept one. Why? Well, Kay had told them what “panel” needed to be run, but the word hadn’t been passed to the collection folks. They can’t print a label for the sample unless they know which panel is needed. And they can’t accept a sample without a label, because the donor must sign the label for proper chain-of-custody proof. So, no panel = no label = no test on Thursday.

Sam called me. I could have told them what panel to run, but they wouldn’t accept the info from me. It had to come from Kay. Kay couldn’t be reached, so Sam left to return the next day. On Friday, a sample was provided. The collection folks said they would send it off to the pre-arranged lab, and the results should be available "by Tuesday . . . or Wednesday at the latest.”

Now if the sample had been provided and properly shipped off on Thursday, the results would have been available by Friday afternoon or Monday morning, but. . .

Time passed. Monday came and went. Tuesday afternoon came and Sam called me to ask if we have results yet. (No, he wasn't nervous. But he wanted to give his two weeks’ notice to his present employer, and we advised him NOT to do so until the drug test results were in.) Kay called the lab for us, but the sample results were not available yet.

By noon Wednesday we still had no news. I called Kay. About an hour later she called back. It seems that the folks in West “By God” Virginia had sent the sample to the wrong testing lab, whose technicians had no instructions concerning where to send the results. Absent that information, they elected not to run the sample at all, but to send it back. (Note: There may have been some logic in that decision somewhere, but it escapes me. Couldn’t they call? But that’s water under the bridge.) The sample was en route back to the collection point; delivery date and time unknown.

By Thursday morning the collection point had still not received the nomadic sample, so I asked Kay if she could locate a DIFFERENT testing agency who would run a saliva drug test (like we do here in Texas) because that test provides results on the spot in about 5 minutes!

Kay located a lab and provided me with a business name, address, phone number, contact name, driving directions, and assurances that, again, all details had been arranged. I passed this on to Sam, now a full week after he had first tried to be drug tested. Sam left work early to drive to this lab.

Upon arrival and identification, Sam was told that they couldn’t “do” his sample yet. Why not? They were waiting for a phone call from Texas to find out the payment arrangements (as in, who was going to PAY for the test, and how).

Sam waited. Then he went back to the desk and . . . Well, here’s how the dialogue went:

Sam: “When are they supposed to call you back?”

Girl: “I don’t know. Soon, I think.”

Sam (unconvinced): “Do you have their number? I’ll call THEM.”

Girl: “Uh, no. I didn’t get a number.”

Sam: “Well, who was the call supposed to come from? I’ll call my contact there and we’ll expedite this call.”

Girl: “Uh, I didn’t get her name.”

Sam (exuding patience): “Okay. We don't know who's going to call you or when. Tell me, please, how much does the test cost?”

Girl (brightly): “It costs $55.”

Sam: “Tell you what . . . I’LL pay for it. Do you take Discover?”

Girl: “Uh, no.”

Sam (grinding his teeth): “How about American Express?”

Girl: “No. Uh, sorry!”

Sam (nearly at the “losing it” point): “Okay, I’ll write you a personal check. Or would you prefer cash?”

Girl: “Uh, we don’t take those either.”

Sam (with his last vestige of self control slipping away): “Well, what the hell DO you take?”

Girl (brightly): “Oh, we only take money orders.”

Sam (snarling): “Well, gee. I don’t happen to have one of those, so I guess I’ll just leave now. Goodbye!”

The slam of the door registered on the seismograph in nearby Charleston, measuring a strong 3.4 on the Richter scale.

Seething, Sam called me on his cell phone as he drove home. I was in a committee meeting for a non-work but work-related activity and couldn’t take the call. He left a message. I’ll leave the contents of the message to your imagination.

The next morning (Friday, for those of you keeping track) the ORIGINAL sample showed up, was run, and the results were communicated back to me as negative!

I called Sam and told him that if he still wanted to work for us after all that fiasco he should give his notice because the offer was now confirmed!

I thought he might be upset or concerned about our apparent inability to properly arrange things. But to my surprise HE apologized to me! I asked him why.

He replied, “That’s just the way things are in West “By God” Virginia. That’s why I want to move back to Texas!”

He’s scheduled to start on Monday, October 29.

Chicago, Chicago! I'll Show You Around. . .

Ah! Beautiful downtown Chicago!

Especially on a gorgeous fall day with a fresh breeze blowing out of the northwest, clear skies, low humidity, and temperatures in the 60s.

The shot below of the new Trump Tower (left, under construction) beside the Chicago river will give you an idea of the kind of weather we enjoyed.

Carol and I and daughter Elizabeth took a roughly 7-mile walking tour around the Chicago loop and Streeterville. I'll show you a few of the highlights.

We found a children's park and playground that was tucked away in a neighborhood very close to the downtown skyscrapers. That was unique in itself, but we couldn't resist this drinking fountain.

Daughter Elizabeth simply adores anything to do with turtles and tortoises (she can tell you the difference -- in fact her one pet is a Mediterranean marginated desert tortoise named Brutus).

Below Elizabeth poses with the sculpture.

And here it seems she and the happy tortoise are sharing a funny joke.


We were intrigued by some of the acrhitecture of the Chicago town homes we found. In the picture below each has a different style, color, and surface for its facade. But to further delineate where one stops and the next starts, they aren't quite parallel to the street. Rather, each one angles just slightly toward the street, and then the next one is offset back about 3-4 feet and again angles forward.

It's an interesting effect.


You'd never know you were within a few blocks of the bustling downtown business areas.

The house in the center below is another example of a unique facade, color, entryway, fence, and roof.

Take a closer look at the fence. Fancy, no?

We had walked quite a long way north from the river to the edge of Lincoln park, and then turned back south along a different street.

Once back in the downtown area we walked along LaSalle Street for a number of blocks, and at one point passed not far from the city's huge public library. It's the red building below with the greenish roof.


I thought the sculptures at the roof's corners were gargoyles, but they're not. Have a closer look.



We continued south on LaSalle until we reached the huge Chicago Board of Trade building, with the statue of Ceres (the goddess of grain) on top. The we turned east on Jackson Street to head back towards our starting point near the lakefront.

As we walked along what we thought was Jackson Street, Carol snapped the shot below.

Can you read the sign on the building?

If not, here's a close-up.

We stopped. We had been walking on LaSalle street before, and then we had turned on Jackson. We thought!

We turned around and walked several blocks back the way we had come. When we arrived at the place we had turned, sure enough the intersection was plainly marked and we HAD come south on LaSalle and we HAD turned east on Jackson.

Confused, we turned around and retraced our steps on Jackson, checking the street signs at every corner. Then we found the LaSalle St. sign on the side of the building again. This time we ignored it and kept going. We still have no idea why it's there.

The last photos are taken along Michigan Avenue shopping district, known as the Magnificent Mile.

Along the sidewalks are huge fenced-in planting areas in which the city each year plants all manner of gorgeous non-native flowers and shrubs that seem to thrive during the summer.

See Below. . .




Daughter Elizabeth (pictured at the far left in the shot below) told us that each fall as the temperatures begin to drop and all the plants would otherwise freeze, the city sends out trucks to take them all out of the planters.

What to they do with them? I have no idea.

In many of the planting areas were (somewhat strange, in my opinion) displays like the one below.

It's a partial manikin with a leather top and a skirt made from textbooks.

Either art, or a new back-to-school look.

I think I'll go with art.

End of tour. Hope you enjoyed Chicago.

We certainly did!

On to Indiana

After 5 days of golf in Georgia, we hit the road and headed north.

I kept telling Carol, "North, Miss Tessmacher! North!" (Think Gene Hackman in the movie "Superman.")

We spent the night in Indianapolis, and then went farther north to South Bend where we found a GORGEOUS golf course called Blackthorn. It was probably in the best condition of all the courses we played on the trip. On about the 5th hole we looked up a hillside and saw a creature nosing about. Was it a squirrel?

Carol took the camera and eased closer and closer until she took this shot. It sure didn't look like it had a bushy tail.

She crept closer still, and stopped when the creature sat up on its hind legs and looked at her. To her amazement, it asked her if she knew what day this was!

She was too dumbfounded to answer, so it told her, "Humph! It's GROUNDHOG DAY!"

"So, what're YOU looking at?!"

"If you come any closer, I'm diving down my hole. I mean it!"

"Okay. Goodbye!" And he was gone.

But when Carol turned around to see where the creature had been looking over her shoulder, she saw the REAL reason he dove for cover!

This red-tailed hawk had a lean and hungry look as he stared down towards his would-be lunch!

We played on through the turn and approached the 14th tee. Look what we saw there...

This was NOT the same groundhog, so it must indeed have been the local version of Groundhog Day (although we never did see Bill Murray.)

This one too sat up and posed for the camera briefly before scurrying away in an apparent fright.

Carol again looked behind her to see if any threat loomed, and sure enough...

When she turned back around she had JUST enough time to catch one last look at the hawk's desired lunch before it (he) darted away out of sight.

The remainder of the golf was uneventful.

NEXT: On to Chicago!

"One Misty, Moisty Morning. . .

"When out across the heather,
I chanced to meet an old man,
Dressed all in leather."

Or so begins a nursery rhyme we used to read to our kids when they were little. The picture below reminded me of the rhyme. It was taken in the early morning mists of a Georgia golf course, on the second phase of our September vacation a few weeks ago.

You can't really tell, but that's dew on the grass that looks so white in the sunshine.

The third hole of this particular course is a very steep down-hill par 3, with a pond between the bottom of the hill and your target. Like this:

You can see from the water surface how hard the wind is (not) blowing.

A few holes later came this daunting par 5, with another downhill tee shot over water followed by a long uphill fairway.

Can you see why we enjoy golf in Georgia so much?

At a later water hazard this denizen was checking us out rather closely.

We asked him why he was standing like that, and he replied (below), "Because I want to. You got a PROBLEM with that?!"



"There. Does THIS suit you better?"

We ignored his nasty attitude and circled around behind him to try to sneak in for a better photo. Just as we were getting close he stuck his head up and spotted us.

We were much too close for his comfort, so he departed. When it comes to "fight or flight," these guys almost always select "flight." Maybe that's because they can.

Besides, he had what might have been a girlfriend across the water and I think he was trying to show off for her.

Does she look impressed to you? Nah, me neither.

Then carol took a shot of another flying creature . . . a very colorful one.


Finally, she found one more who was willing to pose for her.

What's that you say? "How was the golf?"

Who cares? The surroundings and the scenery were wonderful!

Vicarious Vacation

One of my readers commented that he enjoys a vicarious vacation by reading descriptions of my travels.

Well, he said something like that. That was a paraphrase.

Anyway, so as not to disappoint, (and as you may remember, I promised!) below are some shots from the first few days of our recent trip. By the way, we put 4,500 miles on the old van and spent 11 nights in our camper on the trip... for those of you keeping score

Our first stop was Tampa to visit daughter Christina, her husband Johnny, and (most importantly) our grandson Trevor. We went to a street festival with them over labor day weekend, and I have a few shots of that experience.

Below you'll see Trevor interacting with some dogs that other people brought. You'll notice that the dogs are on leashes. You'll also notice that Trevor is in a harness and on a leash. (That's Trevor in the yellow shirt, in case you're confused.)

You might wonder why Trevor is on a leash.

Here's why:

This is Trevor when he's NOT on a leash. That's his mom, Christina (my daughter) pursuing.


Here (below) we see Trevor interacting with a large tortoise. Like most 2-year-olds, he loves all kinds of animals.

Well, maybe not ALL kinds. He probably doesn't love wasps. Or mosquitoes. Or rattlesnakes . . . Okay! He loves SOME kinds of animals! Specifically, the ones he can pet and that don't bite or sting him! Just BE that way. (Literalist.)


Later that weekend we went to the beach. Isn't that what one is supposed to do in Florida? And on Labor Day weekend? C'mon, it's traditional!

So there we were at the beach, and Trevor wanted to show off his soccer skills. Well, why not? Tiger Woods was showing off his golf skills at two, shooting his first sub-par round at Augusta National and beating most of the pros that year in the Masters pro-am, wasn't he? So who's to say Trevor won't be the next Becket of soccer, like Tiger is the current Nicklaus of golf?


That guy in the red tee shirt is Trevor's Grandpa, showing the young prodigy how to kick the ball like a pro. Note Grandpa's pink feet. That's the result of LOTS of summer hours spent outdoors (on a golf course) with golf shoes and socks on.

Here's Trevor showing how fast he learns:

And finally, one more shot of his obvious skill and talent (not to mention his good looks and stellar personality -- watch out, girls!)


(NEXT: On to Georgia for a week of golf!)

I promise

Pictures and stories are coming. Soon, I hope.

I'm still digging out. Today at work was chaos -- everyone seemed to have saved up all their HR-related problems and issues until I returned. Invariably they would begin with, "Hey, I know you just got back and have a ton of stuff to do, but this won't take long..."

And usually it didn't. Things like problems with their uniform and laundry service. Problems with health care claims. A screw-up with somebody's prescription drug mail order. Several dozen signatures needed. Approval of routine purchases and work requests, because it wasn't urgent before but now after waiting a couple of weeks it was.

You get the picture.

"How was the trip?" Halfway through my two sentence answer they'd interrupt with the sentence above (second paragraph).

Sigh.

Luckily my boss is on a sales trip to mainland China (seriously) this week and won't be back until Monday. I'm sure he'll have several projects that could wait till I got back, but now have to be done by the end of the month (read: the end of next week).

Then, when I got home from work this afternoon, it took me over an hour to go through all the mail that had accumulated while we were gone. Bills needed to be paid (one by tomorrow!), some papers I filed, and then most of the rest went into the OTHER file.

But gimme a few days and I'll have stuff to tell you.

I promise.

Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig.

Two long days of driving, followed by unpacking. Barely had enough daylight to mow the jungle that used to be my yard. Mowed much of it on the highest mower deck setting, but the tall grass and weeds occasionally choked the mower. Need to re-mow in a few days at a lower setting.

Tired. Glad to be home, but not looking forward to the "same-ol' routine." Early rising tomorrow to go to the office, and likely a stay-late afternoon to get a little more caught up.

MAYBE I'll have time to browse some blogs over the next few days. Hope so. I'll try.

Then maybe I'll write some coherent posts again. Might even find time for some humor.

We'll see.

The view from the top

...of the Sears tower, looking north along the shore of Lake Michigan.


Today is our last day in Chicago before heading home, and we're playing tourist

If you go, try to pick a clear day when the horizon is razor-sharp. It's worth the $12.95 price of the one-minute ear-popping elevator ride.

And for some contrast, here's the view looking southeast.

Still alive

In Chicago for the weekend. Done lots of driving, lots of golf. Had a great visit with Christina in Florida (which she chronicles in her current post on her blog.) Now visiting my other daughter.

I should be home by the middle of next week. I MIGHT even get a chance to visit some of your blogs then and comment. But only if I get to come home from work for a few hours every day, which is doubtful based on the work emails and phone calls I've been getting while on this trip.

Thanks to all of you who have stopped by while I've been away to see if I've posted anything.

And sorry, Viki, but it looks like this will be yet another year that I've visited your great city and not taken time to meet you. Some day... Some year...

Oh, and Tracye...? My daughter here tells me that you've been complaining about my lack of recent posts. If you're going to lurk about and read my blog, you might leave a comment every now and then. Oh, yes! I know you're there! (There are few if any secrets in the Earle family.