In yesterday's post I mentioned that in 2007 I craved "stuff" a bit less and Ched asks what kind of stuff I crave. Fair enough question. We live in a society where we are taught to want stuff. Where else but America would a car company run commercials that show people destroying perfectly good automobiles so that they can buy new ones? In fact, the Christmas season advertising and news reporting tried to convince us that it is our civic duty to go out and buy a bunch of stuff. The point I was making is that I have reached a point in my life where I worry more about function than style. Sitting here right now, I can't think of a single thing I want to have enough to actually buy it. For instance, I am watching a college football game and they just ran a commercial for one of those new fancy, does everything cell phones. I have a perfectly good cell phone that makes and receives phone calls, which is all I really need. There was a time when the newest gadget intrigued me. Not so much anymore. I own a car and a pickup truck which is at least one more vehicle than a guy should have. In fact, if I lived in New York or Chicago, I would own no cars. Life is so much less messy without a car to take care of. But I live in Hooterville where public transportation is spotty. My pickup is six years old, has about 55,000 thousand miles on it and runs perfectly. All I need it to do is to get me from point A to point B and occasionally to the dump. A brand new shiny pickup would not do anymore than that. There was a time when I would buy a new truck without much thought but I 've gotten over that. My second car is a 1999 Honda Civic that belonged to my dad and later to Son Sneed. We are keeping it in the hopes that Son Sneed recovers enough to get his driver's license back. Otherwise, I would sell it. Anyway, that's what I meant about not craving stuff. A lot of things aren't worth the price you have to pay to get them because the cost is often higher than the purchase price. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

2007

I'm not much on New Year's resolutions because, like most people, if I was any good at resolutions I wouldn't need to make them. Plus, I am pretty happy with myself at the moment. I don't spend a lot of time worrying about my shortcomings. It took me a long time to learn not to wish things in my life were different and to appreciate what I have. What I do like to do at the end of the year is to take stock of how it this year went, as years go. All I ever hope for the new year is that it will be a bit better than the last. That is subjective and partially out of my control, but a guy can hope. I have a lot of things to be grateful for in 2007. I'm lucky to have a good family. We genuinely like one another and enjoy spending time together. I am fortunate to have the lovely Mrs. Sneed as my spouse. I am fortunate to have my little sidekicks, Aiden and Noah. This year; I became a bit better at not obsessing over things I cannot control, both personally and as a citizen. I became a bit better at not craving stuff. I became a bit better at not allowing myself to be sucked into other people's drama. I finally made the decision to take my life back and I quit my job at Tedious Systems. I became a bit less obsessive about having enough money. Just a bit though. I think I became a bit more understanding that not everyone sees things the same way as me. I have had the good fortune to become blog friends with some really smart people. Your posts make me laugh, make me think and make me smarter. Thanks. All in all, 2007 wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good. Oh year, I weigh less than I did when the year began. It is mostly because I spent December being sick, but I'm still taking credit. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

My Mom's Birthday

I think that I just have time to squeeze in a very important post while it is still December 29th in my time zone. I can't sleep, in fact, I haven't had a good night's sleep in about a month because of my bout of shingles.

Last night, I think I only slept for about an hour because my face and scalp itched all night and no matter how I tried, I could not get comfortable. This evening I fell asleep at about 8:00 pm and now at 11:30 pm, I find myself awake again. Bummer.




The reason that I want to get this post in today, is that today would have been my mother's eighty-fourth birthday. Unfortunately, she died in 1988, just shy of her sixty-five birthday. Mom lived way too hard and died way too young.

My mother's name was Bonnie and was the fourteenth of fifteen children born to her father and mother. My mother's father was a Nazarene minister and by all accounts a mean, miserable character. He ministered in Chicago Heights, Illinois, at the southern end of the Chicago metro area. Her mother died in 1929 after the birth of her fifteenth child. Of the fifteen children born to my grandmother, only nine survived infancy.

Much of my mom's early life is murky, made so by her reluctance to discuss it. She evidently quit school in the ninth grade and fled her father, living with her older sisters in St. Petersburg, FL. Around 1938 or 1939, when she was just sixteen she met and married a much older Cuban man. She gave birth to my half-sister Cathy in 1939. Cathy died of meningitis in about 1945 or 1946. By then my mom had divorced her first husband. I was a teenager before I learned any of this. My mom felt as though it was a cause for shame.

In 1949 my mom married my father, a young military man in Tampa, FL. They remained mostly unhappily married for thirty-nine years. However, the last decade of their marriage was a happier time for them because of my father's recovery from a lifetime of alcoholism. In many ways her marriage to my dad paralleled her relationship with her father.

Throughout my mom's life she fought her own battles. She had multiple health problems, including cancer, heart disease and diabetes. She drank too much, smoked too much and ate too much. I'm sure that these factors, along with the stress of an unhappy marriage and family dysfunction contributed to her early death.

My mom had a heart of gold though, beneath her gruff exterior. She was loving and caring with me and my siblings, even if she let us run wild a lot of the time. She would do anything for a friend or a stranger alike.

Even though my mom quit school in the ninth grade, she was a very smart woman. She was a lifelong reader and we always had books in the house. She gave me an appreciation for reading that has served me well in life. My mom loved baseball and especially loved playing cards and bingo.

In 1988 my mom's circulation failed in one of her legs, ultimately leading to its amputation. Mom lost her will to live along with her leg. She was fitted with a prosthetic leg, which she refused to wear. Her last months were spent sitting in a wheelchair waiting for the end, which came on August 8th, 1988. She woke my dad up shortly after midnight to tell him her back hurt and she died of a heart attack before he could get the lamp turned on.

My mom loved her children and especially her grandchildren. We all remember her with deep love and affection and wish that she was with us for a bit longer.

Happy Birthday Mom.





Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Maybe The Most Boring Post Ever

I was reading a list of the most hazardous jobs in 2006 according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS). According to the BLS, the job most likely to get you killed is commercial fisherman. Commercial fishermen die on the job at a rate twice that of the next most hazardous job, aircraft pilots and flight engineers. Anyone who has seen the TV series about commercial fishermen can understand why they top the list. In 2006 about 5700 people were killed while doing their jobs. Overall, about 4 or every 100,000 workers died on the job. The list of hazardous occupations is fairly predictable when you look at it. The jobs are mostly hard physical work that often pay below average wages. (Occupation with death rate per 100,000 workers) 1. Fishers --- 141.7 2. Pilots --- 87.8 3. Loggers --- 82.1 4. Structural steel workers--- 61.0 5. Garbage and recycling workers--- 41.8 6. Farmers and ranchers --- 37.1 7. Electrical linemen--- 34.9 8. Roofers--- 33.9 9, Truck drivers--- 27.1 10. Farm workers--- 21.7 All US workers--- 3.9 As you can see the odds of being killed as a commercial fisherman are over 36 times more likely than say a helpful hardware man. Another interesting bit of information is the distribution by age. It seems that the older you are, the more likely you are to be fatally injured on the job. Workers over 45 were more likely to die on the job than average, with workers over 65 being 2.8 times more likely to be killed on the job than the national average. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Thursday

Tonight figures to be our coldest night of the year so far. Our low will be about twenty-five degrees, not cold by the standards of a lot of places, but darn cold for our corner of the world. I have made a tent with several eight by ten sheets of plastic hanging from our pergola and all my potted plants are crowded inside it. I hope they don't freeze. Speaking of freezing, I went out today with the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob to play golf. A guy with good sense would have stayed home, but they nagged me into going. The wind was blowing hard and it was really cold, despite the fact that we teed off at noon. As a matter of fact, on the tenth hole there was ice in the shade along the fairway. The left side of my face, around my left eye continues to be sore as a result of the shingles and the sub-forty degree wind blasting it was very uncomfortable. Good sense and Merle Sneed are not often uttered in the same sentence. I had to also go get a drug screen today for my upcoming gig at Ace Hardware. These drug testing labs are kind of creepy, not that I have that much experience. The one today was no exception. In addition to doing drug tests, they also are some kind of clinic for people with work-related injuries, so there were several burly-looking construction workers in the waiting room. I have been taking some prescription pain-killers that my doctor gave me and I took the bottle to show the drug-testing people, who it turned out, were not at all interested. The disinterested teenager who processed my test said that they would call me if there was a problem with the results and i could explain it to them at that time. Seems wrong to me. Wouldn't it be something if I flunked a drug test for a job at Ace? Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Well, Christmas has come and gone and by Sneed standards it was a big hit. No one had the right to remain silent, no one had to go to the emergency room and for the most part, we are all still speaking to one another. I mentioned my dilemma the other day involving the missing Sneed granddaughters and their irresponsible mother. You may recall that we had no Christmas plans for the little girls because we really hadn't seen them in a long time. Out of the blue their mother calls wanting to know if she should bring them by, presumably for some Christmas loot. Several of my blog friends offered advice about handling the Christmas situation, which was much appreciated. I caved into the thought of the girls having little or nothing in the way of Christmas and Mrs. Sneed and I hustled out Christmas Eve to pick up some stuff for them. Then I called the mother back and left her a message to call me about making a plan to get together. She hasn't called back and I think she won't. This is just so typical of how their lives go. In about a week we will have to take the gifts back. Our Christmas Eve bash went off without any major calamity. the kids and their families were all here, along with Daughter Sneed's soon-to-be husband Greg and his adult daughters and their assorted boyfriends. The only unpleasantness of the evening was the presence of Cletus Sneed, who it turns out is a melancholy drunk. He spent the evening drinking and feeling sorry for himself. Plus he kept calling his former girlfriend and leaving her drunken rants about the catastrophe that is his life. Finally, the fine folks a Ace Hardware called me this afternoon and extended an offer for me to get a foothold in the exciting field of hardware sales. I'm not sure why it took so long to call me back. Probably the other eight guys turned them down. I will be working Thursday afternoon, Friday and Saturday. So I guess Kurt was right, this retirement business didn't last. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Christmas Eve

I was just looking out our dining room window at the back patio and I saw a hummingbird drinking from the fountain. I was surprised to see it because it is about thirty-five degrees and I would have thought the hummingbirds would have migrated south to Mexico. The Sonora Desert , where we live, is home to over three hundred hummingbird varieties, more than anywhere else in the world I think. This post is one of those "does he keep anything private?" kind of posts. Last December 22nd, I wrote a post about taking Christmas gifts to the missing Sneed granddaughters, the daughters of Cletus Sneed. At that time they had been living with their maternal grandparents in a mobile home way out in the desert. I made arrangements with their grandfather to bring the gifts out there. He promised that they would be home. As it turned out no one was home and I had to leave the gifts in the shed behind the house. To this day, we don't know if the girls actually got the gifts, because no one, not Mom, or either of the grandparents acknowledged getting them. In the intervening year, we have seen the little girls exactly one time for about ten minutes. The Mom and her current low-life boyfriend brought them over and sent them to the door, while the Mom and boyfriend waited in the car at the curb. In reading last year's post I see that I posted that we did not see them at all in 2006 either. This year their birthdays, as they did last year, came and went with no word as to their whereabouts. As Christmas approached this year we made no gift preparations with respect to the girls. I don't know how we could have, since we don't know where they are living and have no idea of their sizes, their likes or anything else about them. Besides, I have to admit to being annoyed that last year's efforts went unnoticed, so righteous indignation came easily. This would have all been fine, had not their mother, Cletus's former ne'er-do-well girlfriend, not called yesterday at noon to ask if she should bring the girls by for Christmas? I'm not sure how to answer that. My gut reaction is to say hell no, because this is just so typical of Mom's user behavior. I really hate being put in this position by this user. In typical Merls Sneed fashion, I will probably just not call her back. On a happier note, our big Christmas Eve soirée will begin at 6:00 this evening. We are expecting about sixteen people, including all the Sneed children and their families, plus Daughter Sneed's soon-to-be husband Greg and his adult daughters, plus one boyfriend. Even Cletus Sneed promises to be here. My brother and nephew will be joining us too. Even though my brother lives only about ten miles away, it has been months since I've seen him, so that will be nice. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Don't Take Theological Advice From Me

Our morning newspaper allows reader comments about its various stories in the online edition. These comments provide entertaining reading, assuming you read them with the understanding that many are written by imbeciles. The nuttiest among the commenters practice a kind of seven degrees of separation from illegal immigration. Give them any subject and they can tie it to illegal immigration in a couple of steps. The reason I mention this is that the other day our paper ran a story about the various holiday traditions that are celebrated this time of year, including Kwanzaa. One of our resident geniuses pointed out that Kwanzaa isn't a real holiday because some guy made it up. This unleashed a chorus of knuckleheads howling in agreement with him. The gist of their comments was, Christmas real, Kwanzaa bogus. Here's a flash. All holidays are made up by someone, some more recently than others, but all are of human creation. If anyone thinks that Jesus was the only supposed deity born on December 25th they need to do a little reading. In fact, he isn't even the only one reputed to have been born to a virgin, visited by Magi, crucified, died, rose from the dead or ascended into heaven. Nor is he the first to allegedly provide a path to eternal salvation. These are familiar religious motifs. The pagans were going along fat, dumb and happy, when the Christians showed up and ruined their party and stole their holiday. That's how it works. Personally, I get annoyed when I hear people pissing and moaning about the true meaning of Christmas, because its true meaning sort of depends on who you ask. If you are a serious Christian then you have a totally different real meaning that I do. In our family we get together, eat a lot and show our love and affection for one another by buying stuff. Okay, so it works better than it sounds. Seriously religious people get together, eat too much, maybe exchange more modest loot and reflect on how lucky they are that Jesus was born. So whether people celebrate traditional observances like Christmas or Hanukkah, or lesser known ones like Kwanzaa, or even Festivus, I'm okay with however they do it so long as they don't hassle me about what I'm doing. I would caution you not to spend too much though. Unless you really want to. . Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Socks

In case you wonder about the many times that I fail to capitalize the first letter in a sentence, it is because my shift key is messed up on my laptop. I usually have to go back over my posts and look for the missing capitals, but I don't always see them all. D. Chedwick Bryant commented on another blog today that Christmas is the only time of the year when we get candy and stuff in a sock. That got me to thinking about socks in general and Christmas stockings in particular. Growing up our Christmas stockings, when we got Christmas stockings, we those pre-made red mesh ones that are sewed closed at the top. They were filled with stuff of indeterminate age and often indeterminate content. We loved them and my mom would usually buy sizes to correspond with age, meaning I got the biggest one. I was strictly a candy-related consumer of Christmas stockings. I discarded the other junk, like coloring books, that came in the stocking. I was never that crazy about the ribbon candy though, which always seemed to combine odd flavors. The nuts were always good, unless we couldn't find a nutcracker. In that case we had to smack them with a hammer and that just made a mess. Once in a while, when money was tight, we would get stockings that were actual socks. Those were really pretty good, because we didn't get all the useless stuff in them and they would include tangerines. I'm not sure why it never occurred to my mom to make homemade stocking every year, but the fifties were a time when consumers were giddy with "modern" conveniences, so maybe that's it. Speaking of the fifties, I'm fairly sure that the fifties was when the Bermuda shorts craze first hit the American market. For sure it was when it hit the Sneed household. My dad was a guy who embraced a good fad. He was forever buying the latest, usually with money he didn't have, and at the expense of his family, but that's another story. One fad he got onboard with was the Bermuda shorts. Bermuda shorts have a very specific protocol. They are supposed to be worn three inches above the knee and be accompanied by long Bermuda socks. Old Dad had a couple of pairs of the Bermuda shorts and long Bermuda socks. The thing about living in Omaha, Nebraska, as I did during the height of the Bermuda shorts craze, is that winters are very, very cold. Often unbearably cold. In winter my brother and I would have to wait for the school bus in the bitter early morning cold. And no matter how we fortified ourselves against the cold, our faces were usually exposed, leaving us with frozen stuff dangling from our facial orifices. A kid who lived down the street from us went to Colorado with his family and came home with the most amazing thing we had ever seen. A ski mask. Since we were always broke and since Nebraska is pretty flat, our chances of finding ourselves ski masks were zero, but we coveted his. Either my brother or I got the brilliant idea of using Dad's Bermuda socks as makeshift ski masks. At first we just pulled the socks over our heads and stood at the bus stop, blind but warm. Then one of us, and I think it was my brother, decided to cut eye holes in the socks. Of course by the end of winter we had lost socks and depleted whatever supply the old man had. The first warm spring day, the old man went to his dresser to break out the shorts and discovered his socks missing. All hell broke loose, especially when my mom found a couple of homemade ski masks in our room. I have to say that the socks looked better on us than him. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Wednesday

Noah, aka Sneedlet One, came over and spent the night last night. His mom had to go to work today and rather than having him go to daycare for just one day, he came and stayed with us. Noah hates going to daycare. He likes being at daycare, but getting him to agree to go willingly is a challenge.

Bright and early this morning he started bugging me to go to the mall so that he could play in the playground. Then he got the idea that we needed to go to the movie. We went to see Alvin and the Chipmunks, starring Jason Lee and a trio of computer-generated rodents.

As movies go Alvin is pretty bad, and the critics have mostly hated it. But it doesn't really matter what the critics think because it was an overwhelming hit in my four-year-old focus group of one. Even though he couldn't follow the lame-o story line, he loved the Chipmunks and the million sight gags in the movie. Only a four-year-old thinks a guy getting hit on the head with a jar of nuts is funny, but the makers of the movie understand who their audience is, so Jason Lee takes a bunch of stuff off his head at the paws of the Chipmunks.

Well, I guess the fine folks at Ace Hardware have decided that they can go on without me. I am not the least bit disappointed in this development. I'm really much too busy for a crappy job anyway.

The lovely Mrs. Sneed asked me if it was an ego downer to be rejected for a job at Ace Hardware? It really doesn't bother me at all. I always figure that if there is a problem it lies with them, not me.

Besides, this shingles business continues to nag at me. The rash and headache are gone and there doesn't seem to be any lasting issues with my eye, but I am bothered by tenderness on the left side of my face. According to Web MD, my source for medical information, it takes up to four weeks for the effects to shingles to disappear in a guy my age. I hope they're right.













Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Bah Humbug

Have you ever noticed that when you are sick, you feel like you will never be well again? This shingles business sucks. My headache has really diminished, but the skin around my left eye is very sensitive to the touch. It makes sleeping difficult. The ophthalmologist had me come in for one last check of my eye today. Everything seems fine according to her. This was the fourth time that I have seen this doctor and something occurred to me today. She dresses in all black. Even her nail polish is black. Is that weird for a doctor? It's like Johnny Cash had a super-smart daughter who went to medical school. Speaking of Johnny Cash, I found this video on YouTube. What is greater than Johnny Cash doing a Bob Dylan song? Beyond that, I went to a department store today to buy something that Mrs. Sneed needs for our holiday festivities. It was in the China department. Have you ever noticed that one of only places in a department store where they have a desk is the China department? This is where brides-to-be plot their upcoming haul. Unfortunately for me, the one thousand-year-old woman manning (or is it womaning), the desk was busy chatting it up with her daughter and her granddaughter. They evidently came in to see Grandma on the job. Not that impressive, if you ask me. I waited around for about fifteen minutes, becoming progressively more pissed, while they regaled one another with the latest family gossip. Butch finally finished college, in case you wondered and Jim took the most amazing picture of the moon. In an effort to attract grandma's attention, I glared, stared, rattled dishes, cleared my throat and paced back and forth, all to no avail. Finally someone came from another department and asked me if I needed help? I told her that I was just waiting for the chat fest to break up so that I could make a purchase. That they heard, all three heads snapped in my direction and the conversation momentarily stopped. Anyway, I got what I came for and the three women kept on shooting the breeze, so I guess it was a win-win. funny thing is that on my way out I met the store manager at the escalator and he said that he hoped I found what I was looking for. I was tempted to drag him back to the China department, but hey, it's Christmas, so I let it slide. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Even More Xmas Spirit

I hate to fire another salvo in the Christmas decoration battles, but I wanted to show my contribution to our decorating. I put up this star on the front door. All by myself. Sure Mrs. Sneed told me to get it out of the shed and put it up and then told me that the cord looked ridiculous, but I affixed it to the door and plugged it in. She's a beauty, isn't she?



I may not decorate for Christmas or even have any real Christmas spirit, but I had the most difficult Christmas task of all today. Mrs. Sneed made me go find a gift for Cletus Sneed, homeless guy.

What do you get a guy that has nothing and sells everything you give him? I opted for clothes, which I'm sure will not be to his liking, but that's not my problem. It's the damn thought anyway.

I also went to the restaurant where we are getting our food for the Christmas Eve party. Like most occasions we will be having Mexican food. The guy gave me a great deal, about half the cost of last year. Go figure. They kind of charge whatever occurs to them. This year I got a guy who was feeling generous.

Someone and I not saying it was Kurt, made a smark-alecky remark the other day about my potential career in the exciting field of retail hardware. I believe the exact comment was, "I knew retirement wouldn't last."

I resent the implication that I don't have what it takes to be completely idle. I believe that these past six months have proven that I could be totally useless, if I chose to be. But I don't.

I may not get to make the choice though. According to the manager of the store, she was going to call me today, should I be selected for this coveted position. She didn't call. There are a lot of reasons that might have prevented her from calling me. Reasons that aren't prefaced by the thought, "I'm not hiring that freak". Good reasons. Solid reasons.



Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Christmas Spirit

This post is a tip of the hat to my buddy Ched who has intimated that I am not fully onboard with this Merry Christmas business. Well, I don't have to be, because the lovely Mrs. Sneed takes care of the Christmas spirit.



This, of course, is our tree, which at last count had about 100,000 ornaments on it. Undecorating it is a pain, as though I would know.




We have plenty of pictures to commemorate Christmas's past.



Mrs. Sneed has the largest collection of Spode Christmas china west of the Mississippi. This is some of it.




You may recognize the handsome lads in the picture behind the candles on the mantle.




Many of our decorations have a special meaning. This wreath is an ongoing work by Mrs. Sneed in tribute to our little Christian. Each year Mrs. Sneed adds a new ornament to it. Each ornament represents one of Christian's favorite things.



This is another tribute. This was my mother's Christmas candle thingy. I believe she bought it from Thomas Edison himself because it is pretty old. Mom died in 1988 and we have had this lit each year for her since.

Ho-ho-ho!


Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Saturday

How can you not like this? http://www.youtube.com/greeting_view?s=2E2QBX3iZ9E&p=39D5C1F9100A04F9 I don't know what you did Saturday evening, but we went to the mall. We are fortunate to live within walking distance of a very big mall. But of course, we don't walk there because we enjoy driving in circles around the mall looking for a parking space. Don't let anyone tell you that people aren't out shopping because they are. The mall was packed. Two weekends prior to Christmas it is a mob scene. On Saturday night about 75% of the shoppers are Mexican nationals who made the drive from Sonora or Sinaloa, Mexico to load up on Chinese-made crap that is apparently unavailable in Mexico. We definitely appreciate their business. Everyday about 750,000 people cross the border to work or shop, with most crossing into the United States. In the old days before NAFTA, the Mexicans would roll into town with their cars, trucks and SUVs full of empty suitcases, that they would use to smuggle stuff back into Mexico. It used to be the norm for a Mexican family to load up on goods and to open them in the parking lot and stuff them into the suitcases. The parking lots used to be littered with boxes and wrappings. But NAFTA made all legal and that part doesn't happen anymore. Mexico is a country of the haves and the have-nots. The have-nots are the majority, but there are plenty of haves, who regularly make the trek to American cities, ours included, to spend their cash. And they have plenty of cash. Another well-represented group at the mall, and not just at Christmas, are the fine men and women of the cell phone industry. Maybe the mall near you is like this or maybe not, but at our malls there are about twenty booths full of mostly slick-looking young guys trying to hustle cell phones. Cell phone companies are the new used car sales operations. There is nothing that I like less than being accosted every twenty feet by some creepo asking about my cell phone service. In fact, if you have ever been to a Mexican border town you are no doubt familiar with the guys who practically drag you into their establishment for some must-have knick knack. Since so many Mexicans come here to shop, these cell phone hustlers are a kind of karmic payback for them. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Friday

I got a call yesterday from the woman who manages my neighborhood Ace Hardware. She wanted me to come in today and talk to her about a part time job working twenty hours per week. I went down an spoke to her this morning, but rather than offering me the job on the spot, she said she would have to get back to me next week. Hmm. I can think of about a hundred things that would get in the way of working part time, but I really like the atmosphere of this Ace Hardware and I probably need something to do a few hours a week. Plus, what would be cooler than getting an employee discount on nuts and bolts? I went to meet my pals at the bar today for lunch. Poor old Chuck showed up last week and found himself alone. I was in the grips of the Shingles and my buddy Lonnie had to take his wife to the doctor. Chuck baked us some kind of German Christmas cake and we didn't show up. I felt bad about that. But not to fear, he made another batch to bring along today. Chuck, you may recall from previous posts, is ninety-years-old. He was telling us today that he is driving to a major American city near a famous bay, over the holidays. He is going with his relatives and they will be driving in another car. Chuck and his grandchild will drive in Chuck's car. I am worried about this plan becasue Chuck is under the impression that it is an easy eight-hour trip from here to San Fran, so he thinks that between him and the grandkid, they can do it okay. In fact, the trip is 875 miles, about a fourteen-hour drive, under the best of circumstances. Plus, he has to drive through Los Angeles and into San Francisco. This has disaster written all over it. Airfare is running about $300 round-trip from Tucson. I wish he would reconsider. Son Sneed and I were up long before dawn to go to one of his treatments. He has given up hope that these treatments will be helpful for him, so the doctor is considering stopping them. From a purely selfish standpoint, I am all in favor of stopping the treatments, but I wish that our son could find some treatment that would give him some relief. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Thursday

I want to make it clear that in yesterday's post I was making fun of phony medical claims and not people claiming to be Quakers. I inadvertently left a "c" out of the work quackery in the title, making it appear that I was warning against off-brand Quakers. As far as I know there are no off-brand Quakers, just real Quakers. We here at the Sneed blog have great respect for the Quaker tradition in America and have enjoyed their fine oatmeal on many occasions. I apologize for any confusion this error may have caused. On the health front, I seem to be getting a lot better. I have some facial pain yet, but other than that I am feeling better. Thanks for all your kind words and thoughts. As predicted by my friend Kurt, my fabulous weight loss didn't hold and I am nearly back to my former weight. The Seafood King called to see if I was up to some golf, but I had to beg off. I went to the barbershop and got my haircut. I also shaved again for the second time in 25 years and I don't like the result. I look ridiculous without my beard, so I'm growing it back. Christmas is the season where my cynicism reaches it's peak. You may recall that I predicted that the post-Thanksgiving euphoria about Christmas sales would soon give way to hand-wringing over people keeping some of their money for eating and paying the light bill. Now there's this. I get that there are tons of poor kids who will not enjoy the magic of Christmas, but I get a little annoyed when our news outlets run stories about how we are just not making the grade this year, donation-wise. Especially when it seem blantantly manipulative. Every year without fail, about two weeks before Christmas we are urged to get out and give to poor kids who may miss Christmas. Then, just before Christmas we will be told that people stepped up just in time and things turned out okay. It's the same every year. Christmas is a big enough pain in my butt without a big old helping of guilt piled on. Tonight will be the first real freeze of our winter and tomorrow is expected to get even colder. I had to pile all my potted plants together under the pergola and cover them with plastic sheeting. We have had rain here all week, despite the long-range forecast for a dry winter. Our crack weather people are on the defensive and are reminding us that winter doesn't start for eight more days, so these storms are fall rain and not winter rain. Glad they cleared that up. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Don't Settle For Off-brand Quackery

While I was at the pharmacy this week, I noticed a product called Walborne, which I recognized as a knockoff of the product Airborne. Airborne, you may recall, is a quasi-medical product which claims to relieve or even prevent the common cold. It was developed by a second-grade teacher. Unless memory fails me, most of our medical pioneers are doctors and scientists, and noticeably absent are second-grade teachers. Why anyone would buy a product that admits that it was developed by a second-grade teacher mystifies me. What if it was developed by a janitor or bus driver? The pitch for the second-grade teacher angle is that no one knows colds like a second-grade teacher. This is roughly the same as buying a line of beauty supplies from Quasimodo, because no one knows ugly like Quasimodo. When I got home I was watching a television program and I saw a commercial for Airborne in which a cartoon caricature of the teacher/inventor warned us not to fall for Fakeborne, but stick with the real thing. The real thing? This cracks me up because there isn't a single bit of scientific evidence that Airborne does anything. Airborne and products like it, escape government scrutiny because of a Congressional exemption for "health aids". So long as products like Airborne put that they are not medicine and don't cure anything on their packaging, they are free from the normal testing we expect of medicines. The proof offered of Airborne's efficacy is largely testimonials, which we all know isn't proof. In 1900 the life expectancy at birth in America was 47.3 years. By 2004 it had increased to 77.4 years based largely on improved sanitation and improvements in scientifically-based medicine. The use of natural products is not a factor. In fact, in 1900 the use of natural remedies was far more pervasive than it is now. Airborne also uses a combination of the stuff found in your One-A-Day multivitamins plus some largely untested Chinese herbs. Chinese herbs have been used for thousands of years in China as treatment for illnesses and to promote wellness. Until the middle of the 20th century and the arrival of Western medicine to China, the life expectancy in China had remained at forty-years for centuries. So much for secret Chinese remedies. But I do have to give the Airborne people credit for tapping into the vast pool of gullibility out there. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Stevens and Tom

I hope no one gets the idea from yesterday's post that I habitually fight with my employers. My near brawl with Stevens is the only time in my entire working career that I was openly disrespectful toward my supervisor. At least that I recall. After my run in with Stevens, my original supervisor Bud was medically retired and Stevens' henchman Tom was promoted to replace Bud. I was put under Tom's supervision. Tom was less onerous to work for, mostly because he was not as skilled as Stevens at being an a-hole. Plus he wasn't that bright. Tom's chief qualification for promotion was that he was a shameless boot-licker. One day I called into dispatch at 11:45am to report out for my one hour lunch. When I arrived at my first service call after lunch at 12:45pm I found Tom already there. He handed me a piece of paper and a pen and asked me to read and sign the paper. It was a disciplinary note that I had taken ninety minutes for lunch. I told him to call dispatch to confirm that I left for lunch at 11:45. He said that he knew when I left, but that it was now 1:15, ninety minutes LATER. I looked at my watch, which said 12:50 and showed it to him. In turn, he showed me his watch, which was 30 minutes fast. We actually had to go into the homeowners house to look at a clock before he got that his watch was running fast. He was forever doing this kind of thing. The older guys in our yard loved to mess with these two. Stevens would look for ways to bust people. Thirty-five years ago, many supervisors thought that their objective was to catch an employee doing something wrong, so he prowled the yard looking for trouble. After a long day of service calls, our trucks would be full of empty boxes and broken or unused parts. Our job was to throw away the garbage and separate the recyclable broken parts for refurbishment. Stevens would go through the garbage bin looking for recyclable parts that had been tossed out rather than held for recycle. When he found something all hell would break loose. He would pile the offending material on the conference room table and we would all be forced to look at it while he threatened us with our jobs. One afternoon Stevens actually crawled into the dumpster, looking for his treasure and one of the older guys locked him inside. He was in there for a while before someone heard him pounding on the side and let him out. He came out vowing to fire the person responsible, but that cured him of getting into the dumpster. Fortunately, I was moved to a job in dispatch working for a wonderful guy named Dale and was free of these two buffoons forever. It was the longest year of my life. On the health front, I am getting better. My doctor gave me a new medication yesterday that is for neurological pain. In a certain percent of cases of shingles, the pain remains as a permanent condition, after the shingles have disappeared, so this medication blocks the pain signals to the nerves. Among the side effects are weight gain and sleepiness. Just great. So far I've taken two doses and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Stevens

I habitually check the obituaries each morning. At my age, it is not uncommon to find the name of a long lost friend, school mate, coworker or boss among the listings. I read through all the obituaries, even if I've never heard of the deceased, because I am amazed at the things people have accomplished and the lives they have lived. Obituaries are the place families put the best face on the deceased and often the place that they project their own wishes and desires on the loved one. There is rarely a villain in the obituaries This morning I saw a notice for a man I worked for early in my career at Tedious Systems, in 1970. He was, without question, the meanest man I ever met. I'll just call him Stevens. I would use his actual name except that his family has suffered enough having him in the family. They don't need my ridicule now that they are rid of the old bastard. In 1970 I was a young and eager guy, with a new wife and a baby on the way. I was very grateful to have a good job at Tedious making $99.50 per week. In May of that year I was reassigned to work as a service technician for a guy named Bud. When Bud was stricken with cancer, I became the property of Stevens and his evil henchman, Tom. From the moment I met Stevens he made it clear that I was not up to his standards. That's a gift Stevens thought he had. He believed that he could take a quick glance and decide your worthiness to be a member of the Tedious team. Fail that test and he set about getting rid of you. I was never anything but a loyal, hard-working Tedious employee, but according to Stevens I lack that certain Tedious je ne sais quoi. Our relationship was never the movie motif where Rudy gains the grudging respect of a hard-nosed coach. Stevens never conceded that I was anything but a bum and I never thought him anything but a bully. Stevens' hardness didn't make me work harder. Our relationship hit it's low point one morning in winter of 1970. I was loading my van for a typical day's work, when Stevens approached me, entourage of lackeys in tow. He immediately began to berate me for some perceived infraction of the rules. Stevens had a group of hand-chosen lackeys that he was tutoring to be the next generation of him and he moved about the yard with them at his heel. As aways, he began with a tirade about how he was tired of telling me about (fill in the transgression). At first I just professed my innocence, but his screech continued on. At some point in the altercation, he told me that he would have me fired if I ever committed his imaginary infraction again. Reflexively, I told him to f*ck himself. The lackeys gasped a collective gasp and Stevens' eye bulged. He grabbed me by the jacket and pushed me up against my truck, looked me directly in the eye and said, "You just got yourself fired." I looked him in the eye and said, "You just committed assault and battery and I'm calling the police." For the first time in our relationship, the power shifted and Stevens was lost. He and the lackeys shuffled away and I went out on my route. For the rest of that day we each waited for the next shoe to drop. I awaited my dismissal and he the police visit. By late afternoon, neither had happened. Late that afternoon, I was sent on an overtime call far out in one of the rural areas of our town. While I worked, I saw approaching car lights in the long dirt driveway. I knew in my heart that it was Sevens. I thought it just like the bastard to fire me after making me work overtime. It was old Stevens, but rather than firing me, he asked if I was willing to forget the whole affair. He also wanted to know if I had called the cops. I was so relieved. Stevens never bothered me again and I went on to work thirty-eight years for Tedious. He didn't change his ways though, he just found other victims. To the end of his career he was a bastard. Maybe that is reflected in his obituary. I've changed the names but it is otherwise word-for-word. Stevens, Robert V., 85, passed away November 28, 2007. He was born December 6,1922 in Tulsa, OK. He and his family moved to Tucson, AZ in 1948 where he worked for Tedious Systems. He retired in 1978 with 30 years of service. He and his wife Loella enjoyed fishing and traveling after retirement. They moved to Denver in 1982 to be closer to family. Bob is preceded in death by wife Loella, sons Ray and John. He is survived by son Lyle and wife Susan. Not a superlative or indication of warmth in the thing and I'm guessing that it isn't an accident. I'm not glad Stevens is dead, in fact I was surprised that wasn't already dead. What I do know is that he was wrong about a lot of people, including me, and that in the end he seems the worse for it. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sunday

First of all, I have sent an angry email to Sergey and Larry, the Google founders, asking...no demanding, that they use all their power as the head Googlians, to discover why yesterday's post was published twice. It made it seem as though I was loopy or something and led concerned readers to advise me to get some sleep.

In addition, in the last paragraph of said post, some cyber-gremlin removed words and letters and inserted words where they weren't needed, leaving the readers to assume that I was whacked out on pain pills. I expect Google's interim report shortly.

The entire Sneed clan was over this morning, including Cletus Sneed, who apparently is seeking to regain some place in the family.



One of the few things more powerful than modern antibiotics for curing a sick Grandfather is a handmade card from a four-year-old. Young Aiden Sneed labored long and hard creating this masterpiece for me. When I read it, I instantly felt a whole lot better. Isn't it cute?

How does a cranky old guy get so lucky?

The lovely Mrs. Sneed is in the midst of Christmas decorating. We have a nearly ten foot pre-lit artificial tree. When I assemble it and plugged it in, there were two bands of darkness among the eight hundred fifty twinkling lights. I messed with the malfunctioning strands, but made no progress toward their repair. Luckily Daughter Sneed's soon-to-be-husband, Greg, worked on it this morning and was able restore the tree to it's full brilliance. What a guy!

I seem to be gaining the upper hand on this sickness business. I have to go to my regular doctor tomorrow and to the eye doctor on Tuesday. I hope to be fully well by mid-week.









Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Can I Put A Giant Red Bow On That Sweater?

What's the deal with the Lexus commercials where people give their loved ones new Lexus cars and SUVs, with giant red bows, for Christmas? Am I living in a parallel universe here? In my world you might get the big red bow, but you're not getting a car. According to CarsDirect.com, a bargain car finder, the cheapest you can buy a Lexus of any type is $31,044. That exceeds the Sneed Christmas gift limit by about $30,800. I plan on paying off Casa Sneed in January. We owe $44,000 on the mortgage. Let me see, what would I rather have, a paid off house, or a car depreciating as fast as I can pay for it? Hmm. Since I'm just a hick from Hooterville, I don't know many folks who can pony up $31,044 + taxes and fees for the cheapest Lexus, let alone the $100k models. Lexus must be looking at the high-rolling Wall Street or doctor/lawyer types. An aside. Did you know that when taken as a group doctors and lawyers are among the least financially secure groups of people? Not all, but as a group. Actually, I suspect that they are looking for the middle class sorts who are willing to over-extend themselves for one of these rolling money pits. If Lexus told us the truth, the commercial would still show a guy surprising his sweetie, but this would be the dialog. Her: Oh my God, a new 2008 Lexus RX for Christmas! I love this car. Him: Merry Christmas honey, I love you. Her: I love you too, Bob. But can we afford it? Him: That's the best part. I leased it for only $575 a month. Of course we will have to cut back on little Madison and Trevor's college funds for awhile. Oh yeah, I emptied out our saving for the payment due at signing, but it's worth it, this is for us honey, we deserve it. Him: Can you imagine the look on the faces of our families when we roll up in this? Her: This really is a December to Remember! Both laugh. So there's, my nag of the day. I had another visit with the eye doctor yesterday and things remain about the same. I'm due back on Tuesday. After badgering my doctor for a more powerful pain killer, he finally gave me one. Of course it involved me staking out his office until he did. I popped one of the little beauties last night and spent the rest of the night wondering why it didn't stop the pain. If I left you a comment or replied to one of yours in the middle of the night, it was because my head was pounding and I couldn't sleep. I think I'm getting better though, becasue the headaches are mostly at night and not all the daytime, as they were. Plus my appetite is returning, so my twelve pound weight loss is not long for the world. Thanks to Reya and Ched for suggesting acupuncture, but I'm not getting my face stuck unless I reach desperation levels. It may be something to consider after the acute phase of this mess is over. Have a great weekend. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I'm Not Dead...Yet.

Hello there. I was too sick to get around to posting yesterday. In fact, I spent most of the day laying on my couch, crying like cranky toddler. I did have to go to the ophthalmologist yesterday afternoon to have my left eye checked out. One of the risks with facial shingles is to the cornea of the eye on the affected side of the face. It is possible to have temporary or permanent blindness in that eye. Sounds super. The doctor says I have some corneal involvement and that I need to go back today so the she can see if it's getting worse. Thus far my vision seems unaffected. In fact my vision with my glasses was 20/20 in both eyes. Beyond that, my unrelenting headache continues. I am waiting for my doctor to call me with a prescription for a stronger pain-killer. I had the doctor paged last night in hopes of getting a stronger med, but he said that he couldn't call in a controlled substance and that I would have to come in and pick up a hand-written one. When I called this morning, his assistant asked me what medicine I was looking for? I thought that an odd question, since I don't recall going to medical school. I had a lot of smart-ass repsonses pop into my head, but I restrained myself. I am a grumpy patient. I just told her to ask the doctor what he thinks. Enough about that though. As I predicted last week, the super glorious reports on Christmas sales after the Thanksgiving weekend, have given way to this. I've said it before and I'll say it again, If every American emptied his or her bank account and then charged all their credit cards to the limit, it wouldn't be good enough for these people. In fact, the headline would read something like, America Consumer Spend Every Dime They Have, Retailers Worried About A Decrease For The 2008 Shopping Season. I'll keep you posted. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Shingles

Well, my amateur diagnosis of Hacking Bird Flu turned out to be completely bogus. It also turns out that I made up Hacking Bird Flu. I would have sworn it was an actual medical condition. It also turns out that the professional diagnosis, by an actual medical professional was equally wrong. You may recall from yesterday's post that I was told on Monday that I had a sinus infection. Last evening I developed a a red rash on the left side of my face, extending from inside my upper lip to just below my left eye. My headache returned in full furry and I spent another lovely night crying like a baby. The rash extended into my mustache and beard and made it feel as though I had a million ingrown hairs or something. So, I did what anyone in my condition would do, I shaved off a big chunk of my beard at three in the morning. This morning I shaved off the rest. This is the first day in about twenty-five years that I am clean-shaven. My face looks like a baby's butt, unfortunately one with a bad case of diaper rash. I called my doctor this morning and they got me right in at nine. He took one look at me and said, "You have shingles." That sounds bad. It turns out that shingles is the reactivation of the chicken pox virus that lurks in most, maybe all of us. It is called Herpes Zoster. I'm not crazy about anything with herpes in the name. The doctor put me on an anti-viral drug and gave me some lovely pain pills for the headache. Pills that work pretty well. He also referred me to an ophthalmologist to make sure it isn't affecting my vision. I hadn't eaten since Sunday afternoon, so I was delighted to find that between my Monday visit and today's visit, I lost about nine pounds. It's not really a good long-term weight loss plan though. I promise to quite writing about my disgusting health problems real soon. I owe a huge debt of thanks to Daughter Sneed's soon-to-be-husband, Mr. Peterson, who stepped up and took Son Sneed to his two medical appointment's today. What a guy! Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Tuesday

Everyone who is sick of me complaining about being sick raise your hand. Okay it's unanimous. Even though I am jobless and ambitionless, I don't have time to be sick.

For instance, our Cooperative Extension Service has a hot-line manned by the Master Gardeners to take calls from the public about what ails their plants. Today was my day for orientation. I didn't feel right about not showing up, so I dragged myself there for three hours. I felt much better when I got there, but after a couple of hours it was agony. Plus, I seem to know nothing about gardening, at least based on the questions that people phoned in.

Tomorrow I have to take Son Sneed to the hospital for one of his treatments. We have to be there at six-fifteen. The doctor has promised that Son Sneed will be number one for the treatments, so perhaps we will be home by nine.

Manuel Córdova Soberanes


Photo copied from the Arizona Daily Star totally without permission.


There are several things that are in the news here. On Thanksgiving a woman and her son were driving in a rural area near the Mexican border, when the mom lost control of her van and rolled it down an embankment. The mom was killed and nine-year-old son was uninjured.

The overwhelming majority of Arizona, is very, very rugged desert, so left on his own, things looked bleak for this boy.

The boy started walking in search of help. Along the road he met a Mexican illegal immigrant (pictured above), who took him back to the accident site and provided him care and comfort over night, until some hunters found them. He did this knowing that it meant he would be sent back to Mexico. He could have just kept on walking, but he didn't.

The authorities arranged to have a ceremony to honor this fellow in Nogales, AZ, a town that shares the border with Nogales, Sonora, Mexico.

The thing that makes this notable is that most people are vilifying this man, rather than honoring him. The feeling against illegals runs so high here that even a man who did a selfless thing and probably saved a boy's life cannot be given any credit.

Our state has discovered that when you raise the taxes on cigarettes people quit smoking, or at least quit buying them in the usual places. Since our last big tax increase, cigarette purchases are down 31% at places where the State has the ability to tax. I thought that was why they raised the taxes, but more people quit than they thought. Apparently this is an unintended consequence. The State Department of Revenue is bellyaching that tax revenues are way down and they are figuring out what to do about it.

I'm all in favor of everyone quitting smoking, but anyone who thinks that 31% of smokers have quit in the last year or so is deluding themselves. We have way too many places that smokers can buy smokes and escape State sales tax. The Indian reservations, military bases and the internet all offer ways to buy cigarettes with the onerous state tax.

Of course, the problem with the government is that once they take a tax dollar, they don't ever give it back, so they are looking at ways to capture the "lost revenue".

By the way, thanks to all my friends for the good wishes.



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Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

There's A Guy Inside My Head With A Hammer

People don't give other animals much credit for brainpower. This is a Gila Woodpecker, the state bird of Arizona. People think that the Roadrunner is our state bird, but that is New Mexico.

I went out to take some stuff to the recycle bin and I saw a Gila Woodpecker in the tree in our front yard. He was stuffing the bean in the second photo into a crack in the tree. I went to get my camera, but I must have spooked him, because he was gone when I got back. As you can see from the bottom photo, he was using the crack to hold the bean so that he could peck the insides out of it. Pretty clever.



Well, I finally broke down under threat of death from Mrs. Sneed, and called the doctor's office this morning.

I spent a miserable night last night tossing and turning and getting up periodically to take more Tylenol to suppress my headache. It didn't help at all. I would doze off for an hour only to be awaken by the dull pain on the left side of my face.

The doctor was too booked to see me, but they did schedule me to have a visit with his nurse practitioner, who looked to still be in high school. I would have gladly seen the janitor, as long as he had a prescription pad. But young or not, she seemed to know just what to do.

She poked and prodded me, listen to my breath, looked in my eyes, ears, nose and throat and said I might have a sinus infection. Might have a sinus infection? I might have a damn brain tumor, at least it feels like it.

She gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and told me to get some Sudafed to relieve the pressure on my sinuses, which she says is the cause of the headache. Oh, and I should call her on Friday, if things haven't improved. Mrs. Sneed will have to call if I'm dead of the tumor.

I stopped at Walgreens to get my medicine and the Sudafed. I don't know how it is where you live, but Sudafed is a controlled substance here. Controlled to the extent that you have to ask the pharmacist for it, provide a picture ID, and sign an form promising that you are you. They keep track of how many time you buy Sudafed.

Apparently, the meth addicts and their suppliers can use the ingredients in Sudafed to make meth. Ninety percent of these jackasses dropped out of high school, but they seem to be able to do chemistry. Go figure. That may not say much about our schools.

Should my blog suddenly stop, assume the worst. But hey, I can use my own funeral advice.

Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sunday

The rain has stopped here, which is unfortunate because we could use some more. Our winter rains provide the moisture needed for spring wild flowers. No rain, no wild flowers. Last winter was dry and the one before that was way wetter than normal, so you never know. My Hacking Bird Flu has morphed into a massive headache, that seems resistant to the usual headache relief tablets. I need something stronger, but that would require a trip to the doctor and he might say I have a massive brain tumor, so that's out. Maybe it will be better tomorrow. It has been brought to my attention by more than one reader that my use of the names Sneedlet One and Sneedlet Two to identify my grandsons is confusing. I'm not one hundred percent sure that using their names would be any less confusing, but here goes. The dark-haired kid is Sneedlet One. He is the son of Daughter Sneed and his real name is Noah. Sneedlet Two is the blond one, the Son of Older Son Sneed and Daughter-in-Law Sneed and his name is Aiden. They are both four and Aiden is about a month older than Noah. An interesting thing is that because of their birth dates, Aiden will start school a year ahead of Noah. Noah was here for the entire weekend while his Mom was out of town. He often comes over on Friday evening and goes home Sunday morning, but this weekend it was Friday morning until Sunday evening. Let's just say that by this evening we were all ready for him to go home, even him. We took Noah to the mall this afternoon in hopes of getting him to have his picture taken with Santa. No go. Noah is afraid of a lot of things and Santa is one of them. He is a smart little guy though. He said that he didn't need to tell Santa what gifts he wanted because he was going to have his Mom talk to Santa for him. If the economy is headed for recession, you sure couldn't tell it by the crowds at the mall. There we no parking places and inside it was pretty packed. Mrs. Sneed is holding to her vow to do all her Christmas shopping online, so it was Santa and out the door. We had high hopes of putting up the Christmas tree today, but that didn't work out either. Maybe tomorrow, or some other time. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Pre-need? No Need

An article in this month's AARP The Magazine caught my eye. It was about people who have been ripped-off in pre-need funeral scams. Evidently, some people who prepaid for their funeral in the 1960s and 1970s are being required to make big payments now, to get those contracts honored. There are a couple of excuses cited by funeral operators in the article for the additional costs. Reason one is that some unscrupulous funeral operators stole the money, rather than putting it into escrow. The second is the rising cost of funeral stuff, due to inflation. Reason two is bogus, because the money should have been put into escrow in an interest-bearing account. Assuming even modest returns, the rise in value should have easily outpaced inflation. Besides, since a funeral is a high profit business for the funeral home, they have a big margin to play with. I'm forced to conclude that the problem boils down to garden-variety thievery. Years ago we got a visit from a yahoo from the local Catholic cemeteries, trying to hustle us with the need to pre-buy some cemetery plots. Someone we knew sicced this fellow on us. I have always been reluctant to buy something before I need it, heck I don't even buy underwear in advance. In about 1975 when this occurred, I was earning about $250 per week and had three kids to support, so a lot of things took precedence over a funeral plot. This guy had less than no chance of selling me one, but of course he tried and tried. His first line of attack was to convince us that cemetery space was going fast. I suggested to him that full cemeteries are a societal problem, not a Merle Sneed problem. Since I was going to be dead at the time of my need, it was up to society to figure out what to do with me. I'm not that good a citizen. He lunged and I parried for a while, frustration building on both sides. Finally, I told him my plan was to get myself compacted in a trash compactor and left at the curb for pick up. He slammed his book closed and stormed out, vowing to come back when, "you can take things seriously." He's still waiting. I don't get the whole traditional funeral idea, but every family has their own traditions and norms, so to each his own. I am really put off by the notion that anyone should make a huge profit because someone else died. When our little Christian and his dad died in 2002, the single largest cost was the obituary notice. The creeps at Tucson Newspapers Inc. charged $1100 to run the notice for three days. That is inexcusable and predatory, at least in my opinion. The Sneed version of a funeral is to have the body cremated and to have a simple, yet dignified service to honor the deceased. It is simple and no one has to worry about the economic burden of a full-blown funeral, in the traditional sense. Glad I was able to brighten your Saturday. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky