But,... I Ordered a Chocolate Malt

I put my change away, and picked up the straw. I put a quarter in the tip jar. I was feeling generous and life was good. Standing just to the side of the purchase window by the price list for the cones, I made a mental note that the waffle cones were priced at fifteen cents more than the sugar cones. I tore just enough of the wrapper off of one end of the straw to blow the remaining wrapper through the air into the galvanized trash can nearby. Everything is perfect. Turning to walk away, I took one sip from the straw and immediately noticed that something was amiss. My eyes began to roll back in my head and I thought for a moment that I may lose consciousness. There was no discernment of malt,... none whatsoever. For a moment, I thought that I had suddenly lost my sense of taste and wondered if perhaps some olfactory receptors within my brain were somehow malfunctioning. But before jumping to the hasty conclusion that I may have just suffered a stroke, I decided to gather my few remaining senses and return to the window to inquire about a possible error with my order. I stirred the drink with my straw and took another sample of the mixture. Quickly covering the three steps back to the window making sudden eye contact with the lady in the midst of ordering a Banana Split for herself, and a Vanilla Cone for her daughter. I lean in from the side. I was an intruder, I did not own this space. I am allowed, I thought. This is important. "I don't taste any malt in this.", I say in a polite, yet somewhat panicked manner.

The young lady replies that I had ordered a Chocolate Shake and that is what she had provided. I was somewhat relieved at this point to realize that I had not, in fact, suffered some sort of dastardly neurological incident, but, sadly, it was not enough. My priorities shifted, I had to know if I had communicated my order correctly. At this point, I thought that I must quickly interview witnesses to the event. Time was of the essence, this was mundane trivia, at best. What did the generous guy with the amazing straw wrapper skills actually order? My head turns as my eyes dart about. I begin looking for an ally to provide favorable confirmation. Before I could verbalize the question, a young man holding a skateboard says, "He said malt, I heard him." Then the Banana Split lady chimed in immediately that she had also heard me order a malt.

I looked at the tip jar. There is a quarter near the top. The jar opening was narrow but my assessment was that I could retrieve it, should it become necessary. Meanwhile, an offering of correction had been formulated and was being presented to me. I slowly pulled my attention away from the tip jar and began to listen intently. A replacement drink was offered, and declined. I inquired if some malt powder could just be added to the drink that I already had. After some hushed discussion, I am told that the powder could be added but I would have to mix it myself because I had already drank from the beverage. I could feel the weight of the gathering crowd as their quest for confection was being delayed by this fiasco. I decided that I would drink the shake, as is, and turned to depart. As I turned, against my better judgment, I found myself reaching for that quarter. I clumsily knocked over the tip jar. In the attempt to catch it before it fell over, I lost control of my chocolate shake and gravity quickly took it to the ground along with some of the change from the jar. The bulk of the change and all of the paper money remained within the confines of the glass envelope. I retrieved the coins from the ground and returned them to their rightful place. I am offering my apology for my knocking over the jar when the manager suddenly appears at the window with a Chocolate Malt and a new straw. I pick them up.

Turning to walk away I begin to process my feelings of embarrassment. Things are slowly getting back to normal. I tear the paper, blow the remaining wrapper off of the straw into the galvanized trash receptacle. In my mind I imagine how pleased the crowd must be to witness two exhibits of my straw paper blowing skills in such a very short time frame. Resisting the impulse to turn and see the looks of amazement on their faces, I hit my stride. Taking a sip of the malted, I hear a lady behind me in the distance ordering a Banana Split and a Vanilla Cone. And, once again, all is right with the world. Everything is perfect. I have a Chocolate Malt in my right hand, and,... a chocolate covered quarter in my left palm.

Riding on a Terrain, Trying Not to Run Out of Track...

Much of the terrain of life is made of chance events over which we have no control. I have walked through valleys and I have stood on mountaintops. I have decided, in all this, to consider myself to be in a journey from happiness to happiness. So, when I encounter sadness along the way, I try to remember where my journey began and where it will end.

The Separation of Church and State

The Separation of Church and State

I have heard quite a few well-meaning and educated people talk about the separation of church and state. I have even heard them say that this is a clause in the Constitution of the United States.

The invocation of the "Separation of Church and State" "clause", is almost always raised as an opposition to a challenge by an individual or a group of individuals to an existing or pending Governmental policy. If the challenge is based on religious doctrines or ideals, many will argue that the collective voice of a "church" or "religious group" should not be allowed to influence public policy.

Okay, so what exactly does the Constitutition say?

Here it is, in the Bill of Rights, the First Amendment, also known as the Establishment Clause, it reads:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Is this what we are talking about?

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.... ...or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

It appears to me that many well-meaning people have this all backwards. The Bill of Rights, describes the rights of the people. It was not meant to separate the "Church" (a group of people), or the people from anything, specifically the right to speak against a policy of the Government.

Bobo the Hobo

Bobo the Hobo

Well, many years ago, I was at the State Fair walking down the midway minding my own business when I hear a voice. The voice was something like a loud whisper, if you know what I mean, like someone wanted to tell me a secret but they wanted everybody to hear. "Hey Buddy!" I turned to look in the direction of the voice, there it was again, "Hey, Buddy, YES You!"

What I turned to see was some clown sitting atop of a dunk tank. The sign in the area identified this character as "Bobo the Hobo". Well, he had my attention so I waited briefly to hear what he had to say. It didn't take him long to get to the point, "Hey, buddy", he continues, "Why don't you paint a yella stripe around your belly so is I can tell if youse a walkin' or a rollin'!"

Well, I'm generally not the sensitive type, and I wasn't, at that time, really fat. Yet, there were others there that appeared to rather amused by Bobo's observation. I became rather indignant, I dare he address me in such a manner, I thought. I also remember thinking to myself that there must be a way to even the score. And as luck would have it, there was another gentleman standing nearby with 3 softballs. As the scene unfolded before me, I quickly realized that for the paltry sum of $2 I could throw those 3 softballs at a small target and teach Bobo a lesson.

Now, I don't mean to brag here, but I feel that a little background information is necessary if I am to tell this story correctly. You see, I had previously won very large stuffed animals with my ability to throw various orbs at lead milk bottles, plates and cu-pie dolls. I was banned from playing on one occasion by a carnival barker because of the accuracy of my arm.

How did he know about that day during junior high that the only pants at the store that would fit me were labeled "HUSKY"? He couldn't have known about that, but apparently he did. I believe that this fact alone was the sole cause of my failure to control my throws.

Well, I enriched a Hobo to the tune of $4 that day, a dry hobo, I am sad to say.

Would You Like To Carve?

Sometimes I wonder if we use our perception to make order out of chaos, or if chaos is ordered on our behalf, shaped according to our will and desires. I believe that each persons present and future, is a nebulous entity that is shaped by thought, action, and inaction, as well. We all come from helpless, humble beginnings to occupy our place in the universe, a place that only we can occupy. A place carved out of the granite of time by the chisel of every captive thought.

Do You Want to Hit the Mop?

"Do you want to hit the mop?" Don't hear that very much do you? How about, "How would you like to wash the dishes?"? No, we don't hear this very much, we usually have enough money to pay the bill, don't we? Well, we heard it one day, here is the story.....

On most days, Chris and I would journey to the party store to buy pre-packaged submarine sandwiches and a beverage for lunch, as is our custom. We had not been doing for very long, on this particular day it was raining and the floor in the party store was wet.

As we approached the counter Chris was counting out his change for the purchase when the proprietor asks, "Do you want to hit the mop?"

Chris became somewhat annoyed and offended by the inference wrapped up in the question.

"No, I don't want to hit the mop, I got the money right here, give me a second."

Well, we thought it quite odd that the clerk would have addressed us in such a manner. Until it dawned on us. He was asking if we wanted "to heat them up", the sandwiches, of course,... the sandwiches. The microwave was on the counter at the back of the store where the cashier was gesturing. Near the back room where the mop was clearly visible.

Amazing the way that an accent can change the sound, and therefore, the meaning, of some words if you are not paying close attention.

That party store is now known to us as the "hit the mop".

You can call me Charlie

About 25 years ago in Milan there was a man named Charlie. Charlie owned a golf driving range, with batting cages, and various other recreational games. Charlie wore a brown hardhat with his name on the front. "CHARLIE", it said, in uppercase letters written with a black magic marker on a background of white tape.

Charlie, liked to be addressed by his name. And, only by his name, no filler, just "Charlie". If one were to say "Hey" or "Hey, Charlie", Charlie would reach under the counter and produce a miniature bail of hay. The hay, was about the size of a brick. It had a paper on the front that read, "$1.00". Charlie would say, "Hay, that will be one dollar!", as he held out his hand for payment.

The patron, would be somewhat confused by these events. Charlie would seize this opportunity to explain, "See this hat? My name is Charlie!", adding, "Don't ask for hay, unless you want hay."

We used to go to travel to Milan often in those days to hit baseballs and softballs in the batting cages. We enjoyed being there when someone would "Hey, Charlie", we enjoyed the "theater" of the event, even though we had seen the show many times. I miss those days.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention,...It happened to me, twice, early on, because I'm a slow learner. I should have bought the hay the second time, but I apologized instead.

So you don't get the wrong idea about Charlie; I remember him as a gruff but sweet man, with a heart of gold. Although, I must confess, I didn't really know him at all.

He just wanted to be "Charlie", can't blame him for that.