Pumpkins, Christmas Trees and Spent Nuclear Fuel
"Grandpa, I want the biggest pumpkin we can find!" screeches my granddaughter as she's set free from her four point harness in the grandpa mobile. It's all I can do to restrain her four years of constant muscle building from running out into traffic. I hold tighter to her hand and promise her it will be the biggest one there, with hopes my 58 yrs. of muscle decay can lift it.
We don't want a repeat of last year when I went to lift the pumpkin ( and it wasn't the biggest one!) and my body said 'Fat chance fat boy!' and then backfired!
Squatting like some Sumo wrestler, with your chin between your knees, (which are trying to spread wide enough to encompass this great orange gourd), you inhale, turn your face a lovely beet red, and pop a few veins on the forehead. But the only thing that moves is air from somewhere inside you,....out to the great outdoors!
Well there's a Halloween moment the wife will never forget. And she takes full opportunity to share her love of a good laugh with her friends at my expense!
The biggest pumpkin is then followed, less than two months later, with the biggest Christmas tree! It's got to be the straightest, fattest, waterlogged Spruce ever offered to mankind.
It's enough to make me change religions. Oh sure before the celebrated event occurs they are a harvested thing of beauty. But after the candy's handed out and the presents given, they're as worthless as chicken poop on a pump handle.
Now you have to rid yourself of this once heralded growth of wonder to the garbage heap.
"Garbage Heap!?" My seven yr. old granddaughter (the one with the education) exclaims and questions. "You cant just throw Alexica ( she named the pumpkin) away, you have to recycle it!"
Well I sort of do recycle it. I leave it on he back fence and watch its once finely chiseled face start to melt like some Hollywood 'A Lister' who refuses plastic surgery. Nobody wants my pant-splitting, vein popping, wind breaking giant orange gourd. But at least it's easy to return to nature.
Unlike the Christmas Tree, which looks great in the house till Fathers Day.....well that's what I think.
That tree is a pain to rid yourself of. Oh sure you could put it on the roof of your car, a g a i n, and take it to some distant point and have a fireman chip it to smithereens for a donation. But I'm still upset at the original cost of a dead tree called Christmas. I'm not spending any more to kill it some more. Some years I wish it would catch fire and burn! It's easier to build a new room than dis-cabobbling it in all it's splendor, putting decorations back in boxes, dragging it down halls knocking off pictures, and then through three doorways that do their best to remove every needle that this tree ever had. My eight foot epic Christmas monument is now the size and girth of a Charlie Brown tree. The rest is in the couch, easy chair, rugs and floors.
Maybe if they put a deposit on these things? Then I could bring them back and get money and be happy. My memory would completely have forgotten I had already paid for me to come back to get the money I had already given you. Knowing me I'd just save them up till it was worth a trip.
"I'll take 'Garbage' for $200 Alex"
"Christmas Trees, Pumpk-kins and Spent Nuclear Fuel"
"What are three things my wife doesn't want to see in our backyard come the Spring, Alex."
"No..,I'm sorry. It's what is a Fir, Kin, Waste
In our house both answers were correct.
Bob Niles
boB nileS
Friday, October 23, 2015
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
A How to Trick-er-Treat on November 1st
A How to Trick-er-Treat on November 1st
"Trick-er-Treat!" A common cry heard round all the neighborhoods on the eve of October 31st. But, on the eve of November 1st that is when all the cool stuff is to be had from door to door begging.
On the night after Halloween you don't have to settle for the tiny little bags of treats that so commonly fill Halloween baskets on the 31st. Your rewards are much greater! And on the 1st of November competition is minimal or non existent. Plus home owners are now filled with guilt after trying to eat all the leftover Halloween treats. They are now more than willing to rid their home of any and all leftover chocolate, salty, or sweet treats from the night before. Why it's been my experience they go through the house and bring out the big bags of goodies too. Guilt is a wonderful thing to work off of.
The tricky part of trick-er-treating a day late is to do it with confidence and then sell it. In my early years I have gone trick-er-treating as that rabbit from 'Alice in Wonderland'. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm very very late!" This saved my cotton tail more than once.
Also knowing the community you're trick-er-treating in is important in your to door to door deception of the afore mentioned eve. You need to find a housing group or community (perhaps gated) with mostly seniors like me in it. They'll answer the door defending their thoughts it's already happened and they might even mention that Halloween was yesterday. And it's here you'll have to agree with them and say 'It does seem like Halloween was yesterday! Where has the time gone! ' Then at this point cause a distraction, jingle your Unicef Box at them and tell him it's for Brad and Angelinas kids. It'll break their train of thought. I'm always distracted by loose change or bright lights. You don't really want to have them regain cognizant thoughts before you make your escape to the next house.
If someone calls you on it and maintains " Halloween was yesterday Dufass!" Just do exactly what you saw and heard from all the elderly like me that you collected from earlier. As if waking from a slumber "Oh, oh, ah, ya right.' start to leave, turn back, then jingle Brad and Angelina's box. "Collecting or the kids." Justify your off night call.
Yes boys and girls it's there for the taking. I wish you luck!
Happy Halllo-after-ween!
Bob Niles
boB nileS
"Trick-er-Treat!" A common cry heard round all the neighborhoods on the eve of October 31st. But, on the eve of November 1st that is when all the cool stuff is to be had from door to door begging.
On the night after Halloween you don't have to settle for the tiny little bags of treats that so commonly fill Halloween baskets on the 31st. Your rewards are much greater! And on the 1st of November competition is minimal or non existent. Plus home owners are now filled with guilt after trying to eat all the leftover Halloween treats. They are now more than willing to rid their home of any and all leftover chocolate, salty, or sweet treats from the night before. Why it's been my experience they go through the house and bring out the big bags of goodies too. Guilt is a wonderful thing to work off of.
The tricky part of trick-er-treating a day late is to do it with confidence and then sell it. In my early years I have gone trick-er-treating as that rabbit from 'Alice in Wonderland'. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm very very late!" This saved my cotton tail more than once.
Also knowing the community you're trick-er-treating in is important in your to door to door deception of the afore mentioned eve. You need to find a housing group or community (perhaps gated) with mostly seniors like me in it. They'll answer the door defending their thoughts it's already happened and they might even mention that Halloween was yesterday. And it's here you'll have to agree with them and say 'It does seem like Halloween was yesterday! Where has the time gone! ' Then at this point cause a distraction, jingle your Unicef Box at them and tell him it's for Brad and Angelinas kids. It'll break their train of thought. I'm always distracted by loose change or bright lights. You don't really want to have them regain cognizant thoughts before you make your escape to the next house.
If someone calls you on it and maintains " Halloween was yesterday Dufass!" Just do exactly what you saw and heard from all the elderly like me that you collected from earlier. As if waking from a slumber "Oh, oh, ah, ya right.' start to leave, turn back, then jingle Brad and Angelina's box. "Collecting or the kids." Justify your off night call.
Yes boys and girls it's there for the taking. I wish you luck!
Happy Halllo-after-ween!
Bob Niles
boB nileS
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Working out work-out wear
Working out work-out wear
I don't like to sweat anymore. During my working years as a plumber I sweat enough to do me, and several other lifetimes. So if given the chance to work up a good sweat, I decline. But,.. I love to wear the pants associated with the word sweat.
Sweatpants. Gods way of apologizing for the male anatomy. The best thing invented for guys since the kilt. And like the kilt and a girls bike frame, both invented for guys but women stole them and made them theirs. And now they've gone and done it again with my sweatpants.
They stole the great idea of sweatpants and changed the name to 'yoga' and now it's a must have fashion item for every woman. And I doubt they all do yoga! They took our idea of using clothing to assimilate what men look for in a wife but changed it to what they look for in a guy.
We guys look for sweat pants exactly the same way we look for a woman. In sweatpants and in a woman we want our freedom. We want the option of floating around. And we don't want to be constricted or held tight in a relation or in our outerwear. The perfect sweatpants should only have enough binding elastic to hold them high. If you can put your iPhone in your pants pocket without them falling down then there too restricting. And here the pockets can't be deep. They can't be hard to get into. We want shallow. No pockets with deep surprises! And men are okay if the pants are not 100% natural. A little help here and there to help them keep their shape is totally fine by us.
Women (girls) who first started wearing guy style sweatpants had 'juicy' painted across their butts. Butt then, just as they do with any guy they decided 'I'll change him/them to fit my needs'. And apparently what a woman needs to be held tight. To have something or someone embrace and support, to lift up and hold lovingly everything that they feel bad about. And to make them feel comfortable about it, and to have them look good and appreciated. They wanted support without the cling. And as with nylons and men they didn't want any running. You gotta sit there and take it! And yoga pants had to fit right cause for years both nylons and men just have not fit quite right in the middle.
So now they've found out what us guys have known for years. That there can be a perfect clothing specifically created for their gender. And now that they have found the perfect attire they wear it everywhere! But a wife or girlfriend will always put up a fight if a guy tries to go out in his comfy sweatpants, even if he is wearing dress-shoes. Why I can't even cut the grass ( if the wife's home) in my sweatpants. Sure they suffer from a few holes or imperfections, but we love them even more for it. I don't want new sweatpants! I love them the way they are. I don't need a variety, I'm happy with the ones I have. But you women want many yoga pants. Not for variety, cause they all look the same. You just want the hope of a different outcome or the dim promise of something different. But the final result is always the same, he won't flush or put the lid back on the tube no matter how many pairs you own.
And the manufactures of the woman's answer to female sweatpants have realized what some of you want in their product. And they made them exactly the way you want your man. But, they like you got caught doing it. They made them see-through. A little too see-through. You don't want your guy, or any guy, realizing you have that ability to know what we're thinking. I mean I can pretty much see-through young boys thoughts see-throughing your yoga pants. I'm just jealous of missing those thoughts.
And as in dying thoughts there does come a day for some of us guys when everything you loved about your sweatpants dies. The support you took for granted is gone and what you thought was freedom was just the way you two fit together. But you don't throw them away! You bury them in a wooden box. A drawer.
So do you get new ones knowing they won't fit you like what you had and how they got more comfortable with age. Probably not. You'll just progress to a bathrobe, where everything is unsure. It's the next progression from sweatpants and one step away from a hospital gown.
Bob Niles
I don't like to sweat anymore. During my working years as a plumber I sweat enough to do me, and several other lifetimes. So if given the chance to work up a good sweat, I decline. But,.. I love to wear the pants associated with the word sweat.
Sweatpants. Gods way of apologizing for the male anatomy. The best thing invented for guys since the kilt. And like the kilt and a girls bike frame, both invented for guys but women stole them and made them theirs. And now they've gone and done it again with my sweatpants.
They stole the great idea of sweatpants and changed the name to 'yoga' and now it's a must have fashion item for every woman. And I doubt they all do yoga! They took our idea of using clothing to assimilate what men look for in a wife but changed it to what they look for in a guy.
We guys look for sweat pants exactly the same way we look for a woman. In sweatpants and in a woman we want our freedom. We want the option of floating around. And we don't want to be constricted or held tight in a relation or in our outerwear. The perfect sweatpants should only have enough binding elastic to hold them high. If you can put your iPhone in your pants pocket without them falling down then there too restricting. And here the pockets can't be deep. They can't be hard to get into. We want shallow. No pockets with deep surprises! And men are okay if the pants are not 100% natural. A little help here and there to help them keep their shape is totally fine by us.
Women (girls) who first started wearing guy style sweatpants had 'juicy' painted across their butts. Butt then, just as they do with any guy they decided 'I'll change him/them to fit my needs'. And apparently what a woman needs to be held tight. To have something or someone embrace and support, to lift up and hold lovingly everything that they feel bad about. And to make them feel comfortable about it, and to have them look good and appreciated. They wanted support without the cling. And as with nylons and men they didn't want any running. You gotta sit there and take it! And yoga pants had to fit right cause for years both nylons and men just have not fit quite right in the middle.
So now they've found out what us guys have known for years. That there can be a perfect clothing specifically created for their gender. And now that they have found the perfect attire they wear it everywhere! But a wife or girlfriend will always put up a fight if a guy tries to go out in his comfy sweatpants, even if he is wearing dress-shoes. Why I can't even cut the grass ( if the wife's home) in my sweatpants. Sure they suffer from a few holes or imperfections, but we love them even more for it. I don't want new sweatpants! I love them the way they are. I don't need a variety, I'm happy with the ones I have. But you women want many yoga pants. Not for variety, cause they all look the same. You just want the hope of a different outcome or the dim promise of something different. But the final result is always the same, he won't flush or put the lid back on the tube no matter how many pairs you own.
And the manufactures of the woman's answer to female sweatpants have realized what some of you want in their product. And they made them exactly the way you want your man. But, they like you got caught doing it. They made them see-through. A little too see-through. You don't want your guy, or any guy, realizing you have that ability to know what we're thinking. I mean I can pretty much see-through young boys thoughts see-throughing your yoga pants. I'm just jealous of missing those thoughts.
And as in dying thoughts there does come a day for some of us guys when everything you loved about your sweatpants dies. The support you took for granted is gone and what you thought was freedom was just the way you two fit together. But you don't throw them away! You bury them in a wooden box. A drawer.
So do you get new ones knowing they won't fit you like what you had and how they got more comfortable with age. Probably not. You'll just progress to a bathrobe, where everything is unsure. It's the next progression from sweatpants and one step away from a hospital gown.
Bob Niles
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
The Plumber and the Naked Lady
The Plumber and the Naked Lady
'ROPE ROPE ROPE' 'CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP' (sounds of dog barking accompanied by running footsteps overhead). 'ROPE ROPE ROPE.' (door opens then slams overhead) 'ROPE ROPE ROPE ROPE.' "Ahhh! Tom there's someone in the bathroom !!! (lady screams from shower). But I'm getting ahead of myself, let's begin to start at the top of the beginning.
It was the Spring of 1980 something and sewage was in the air. But that's how it was pretty much for me everyday working as a plumber in the big city. Myself and two older brothers, I worked for as an apprentice, had arrived at a residence we were going to rough-in basement plumbing for. The plumbing van was unloaded into the basement through the basement door. Electrical cords strung out, tools set up, plumbing fittings all arranged and work was about to begin.
"I'll just go upstairs and let them know not to flush the toilet or take a bath or brush their teeth." Bill (Jack's older brother) said. These instructions were made because we were about to cut the main cast iron stack to the upstairs plumbing. The kitchen sink was okay to use as it was on a separate plumbing stack in another part of the home.
The man upstairs, (no not God!) the homeowner, understood and would tell his wife what we had told him. And in his defence, he did. And after doing so quickly headed out the door off to work.
Meanwhile downstairs
Measurements are taken to cut it in a 3 inch clean out at the base of the stack as all plumbing stacks need one at the base and this one was in want of one. Bill mentions how big the dog is upstairs. A cast iron cutter chain was looped around the stack and pressure was applied to make the first cut. Success! ( sometimes the cast iron is so rotten it crumbles) A second cut is now made with the same success. Bill jokes about the size of the dog upstairs. Now there's about a one foot piece of cast iron that's cut from the stack but it's still in place because of all the weight of the cast iron pipe and fittings above our vertical cut.
Discussions were made and past histories explored of previous jobs and it was decided that the present system of metal banding was sufficient to carry the weight of the plumbing stack after we were to remove the cut piece. Plus the ladder we needed was still in the truck. So with two (Jack and I) guys lifting, to get a bit of wiggle room, Bill removed the one foot piece from the plumbing stack and cast it aside which it then broke to pieces. This of course was the cue for the lady upstairs to start taking her shower.
Now true we said nothing of showers in our request of what not to do in the bathroom. So she had us on a technicality. She also had us standing holding up a heavy plumbing stack that the existing supports could NOT carry and her shower was running all over our feet with nowhere to go but stand firm and carry the weight. It was the decided with much discussion,...again NOT! Bill took off running up the stairs with great urgency. Water was running across the basement floor to the low spot, away from the drain toward absorbent piled cardboard boxes filled with what could be family treasures.
Cresting the stairs after momentarily stunning himself on a low floor joist he struggled with the always stiff ancient basement doorknob. We believe (Jack and I) this alerted their indoor horse with canine features. Of course we couldn't say for sure it transpired this way, we're just going on what we're hearing as we couldn't leave our heavy burden behind.
Just as soon as Bill was through the basement door to the upstairs that dog was on him. 'ROPE ROPE ROPE.' Jack an I had a blind mans front seat to all this. We couldn't see a thing as our story played out in surround sound. Our heads went left then right, then hesitated, then started moving again following urgent footsteps upstairs. Doors open, closed, footsteps and the tickety tick of dogs nails all pulled at our ears 'ROPE ROPE ROPE ROPE' Bill was on the move again. It wasn't till our heads were looking straight up that the screaming started. Bill had locked himself in the bathroom away from the dog that ate a horse. It was also in the same room the lady upstairs was taking a shower in and she wasn't too fond of male visitors in her bathroom.
"SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF! " Bill bellowed.
"Ahhh! Tom there's someone in the bathroom!" She screamed
"Toms not home!" Bill pointed out.
Now this made her scream even louder! It was at this point Jack and I got the giggles and we couldn't stop laughing.
A door opens again, feet running, dog chasing rapid feet, screaming, Jack and I are trying to keep pace with the audio cues. The basement door opens, and a much louder 'ROPE ROPE ROPE' fills our ears. The basement door then slams shut and a dog yelps. Silence,...but for the dripping of water on the floor. The lady had shut off the shower, and judging by her footsteps was coming down to the basement to offer us coffee. NOT!
"Well that was a short day." I stated with great obliviousness as we drove away. Bill shot me a look that said if you ever mention this he had better be long dead and gone or it will be you that's dead and gone.
Next year it will be 30 yrs. that I lost my good friend Bill due to a heart attack. He was a kind church-going Saint of a man and an even better employer. And that was one of the funniest day I ever had plumbing. I think 29 years qualifies for long gone.
boB NileS
'ROPE ROPE ROPE' 'CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP' (sounds of dog barking accompanied by running footsteps overhead). 'ROPE ROPE ROPE.' (door opens then slams overhead) 'ROPE ROPE ROPE ROPE.' "Ahhh! Tom there's someone in the bathroom !!! (lady screams from shower). But I'm getting ahead of myself, let's begin to start at the top of the beginning.
It was the Spring of 1980 something and sewage was in the air. But that's how it was pretty much for me everyday working as a plumber in the big city. Myself and two older brothers, I worked for as an apprentice, had arrived at a residence we were going to rough-in basement plumbing for. The plumbing van was unloaded into the basement through the basement door. Electrical cords strung out, tools set up, plumbing fittings all arranged and work was about to begin.
"I'll just go upstairs and let them know not to flush the toilet or take a bath or brush their teeth." Bill (Jack's older brother) said. These instructions were made because we were about to cut the main cast iron stack to the upstairs plumbing. The kitchen sink was okay to use as it was on a separate plumbing stack in another part of the home.
The man upstairs, (no not God!) the homeowner, understood and would tell his wife what we had told him. And in his defence, he did. And after doing so quickly headed out the door off to work.
Meanwhile downstairs
Measurements are taken to cut it in a 3 inch clean out at the base of the stack as all plumbing stacks need one at the base and this one was in want of one. Bill mentions how big the dog is upstairs. A cast iron cutter chain was looped around the stack and pressure was applied to make the first cut. Success! ( sometimes the cast iron is so rotten it crumbles) A second cut is now made with the same success. Bill jokes about the size of the dog upstairs. Now there's about a one foot piece of cast iron that's cut from the stack but it's still in place because of all the weight of the cast iron pipe and fittings above our vertical cut.
Discussions were made and past histories explored of previous jobs and it was decided that the present system of metal banding was sufficient to carry the weight of the plumbing stack after we were to remove the cut piece. Plus the ladder we needed was still in the truck. So with two (Jack and I) guys lifting, to get a bit of wiggle room, Bill removed the one foot piece from the plumbing stack and cast it aside which it then broke to pieces. This of course was the cue for the lady upstairs to start taking her shower.
Now true we said nothing of showers in our request of what not to do in the bathroom. So she had us on a technicality. She also had us standing holding up a heavy plumbing stack that the existing supports could NOT carry and her shower was running all over our feet with nowhere to go but stand firm and carry the weight. It was the decided with much discussion,...again NOT! Bill took off running up the stairs with great urgency. Water was running across the basement floor to the low spot, away from the drain toward absorbent piled cardboard boxes filled with what could be family treasures.
Cresting the stairs after momentarily stunning himself on a low floor joist he struggled with the always stiff ancient basement doorknob. We believe (Jack and I) this alerted their indoor horse with canine features. Of course we couldn't say for sure it transpired this way, we're just going on what we're hearing as we couldn't leave our heavy burden behind.
Just as soon as Bill was through the basement door to the upstairs that dog was on him. 'ROPE ROPE ROPE.' Jack an I had a blind mans front seat to all this. We couldn't see a thing as our story played out in surround sound. Our heads went left then right, then hesitated, then started moving again following urgent footsteps upstairs. Doors open, closed, footsteps and the tickety tick of dogs nails all pulled at our ears 'ROPE ROPE ROPE ROPE' Bill was on the move again. It wasn't till our heads were looking straight up that the screaming started. Bill had locked himself in the bathroom away from the dog that ate a horse. It was also in the same room the lady upstairs was taking a shower in and she wasn't too fond of male visitors in her bathroom.
"SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF! " Bill bellowed.
"Ahhh! Tom there's someone in the bathroom!" She screamed
"Toms not home!" Bill pointed out.
Now this made her scream even louder! It was at this point Jack and I got the giggles and we couldn't stop laughing.
A door opens again, feet running, dog chasing rapid feet, screaming, Jack and I are trying to keep pace with the audio cues. The basement door opens, and a much louder 'ROPE ROPE ROPE' fills our ears. The basement door then slams shut and a dog yelps. Silence,...but for the dripping of water on the floor. The lady had shut off the shower, and judging by her footsteps was coming down to the basement to offer us coffee. NOT!
"Well that was a short day." I stated with great obliviousness as we drove away. Bill shot me a look that said if you ever mention this he had better be long dead and gone or it will be you that's dead and gone.
Next year it will be 30 yrs. that I lost my good friend Bill due to a heart attack. He was a kind church-going Saint of a man and an even better employer. And that was one of the funniest day I ever had plumbing. I think 29 years qualifies for long gone.
boB NileS
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