Shirley

It has taken fifteen years. Many, if not most of the population I work with as a Special Olympics coach do not have the healthiest of life styles. Mainly poor diet. But that, combined with a variety of physical disabilities and related health issues equals comparatively shorter life spans. I met Shirley when she was selected for Team Oregon's bowling team, and I its coach, for the inaugural Special Olympics National Games held in 2006. She was one of four athletes on the team and I was the luckiest of all because I had the pleasure and the privilege of being their coach. Shirley won gold medals in both the singles and the doubles competitions. She is pictured here receiving her gold medal from Eunice. Just Eunice. No more is necessary. Nor should it be. Just look at those smiles. Shirley bowled a 199. Those who can, do. Those who cannot, coach. Since that time, I have always looked forward to regional and state competitions because I get to reconnect with athletes I have coached in Iowa, Ireland, and China. We may no longer have the athlete-coach relationship, but we have something better: we are friends. Shirley passed away Christmas Day from complications of pneumonia. This was the first, and to this point, the only one of my athletes that has passed away since I began coaching in 1994. I know it won't be the last, but I can hope Dear Reader. Can't I? I will miss you Shirley. I already do.

Ground control out

Cookies. I don't know what else to add to that. And toffee too? And toffee too. Click your heels and say "There's no place like home." I broke 900 on the season. Not as many as I would have liked. But enough. Which never was before. More had been better. And too much always seemed just right. So "enough" is good. That's what the message from the action man said. I am happy also, sir.

ゴジラ

The Holiday Film Festival lineup is set. Not in stone mind you, but still... Last year we watched all five of the original Planet of the Apes movies. The year before that it was an Ed Wood extravaganza (Plan 9 from Outer Space, Night of the Ghouls, The Bride and the Beast, Bride of the Monster, Orgy of the Dead, and for good measure, Tim Burton's Ed Wood). Whew. Before that the boy and I always watched Leaving Las Vegas. It's a long story. One I won't bore you with. Sorry. One with which I won't bore you, Dear Reader. Due to a busier holiday season than in the past, the schedule has been reduced. Our featured theme for 2-double-ought-8 is Godzilla. There are two certainties. Godzilla vs. King Kong and Godzilla vs. Mothra. After that, time permitting. We'll see. I hope I copied and pasted the title for this post correctly. And that what I copied and pasted is correct. I just can't bring myself to fully trust Wikipedia.

And then on Christmas Day, we pile in the car and go to the economy theater for a buck-fifty flick. Maybe it's $1.75 now. Dang economy. But first, the Suze, the boy, and your humble blogger cram ourselves into the photo booth for our family holiday photos. Strip of four. Black and white. I think the movie we will see needs to begin with the letter B. This will be our third year doing this. First there was Borat. Last year, The Bee Movie. We all need help. Or maybe just me.

There is no new post. I am just seeing if I can do a really long title and pass it off as clever post. Or non-post as the case might be. Is.

Fuzzy feeling

2:1 from the Trainspotting soundtrack. Groovy tune. Über-hip-pretentious-slick-eye-liner-wearing-Japanese-girl-pop-group-mannequin infectiousness. Elastica is none of those though. Catchy hooks and pop sensibilities. That is all. That is enough. All I wanna do is tap my foot and get Daniel Boone out of my head. I am listening to their self-titled album right....wait for it...now. I am amazed, though I shouldn't be, at how much smoother verifying the first-time author headings from the December Government Publications Office batchload has gone. Thanks ladies. And you too drummer dude.

Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish

The dust blows forward and... Weird are the things that run through my mind as I trudge through the ice and the snow on my way to work when only the nutrias seem annoyed that I am about. Songs mostly, the Daniel Boone Theme Song, Sweet Talkin' Woman, Anarchy In the U.K., and The Dust Blows Forward 'N the Dust Blows Back. The latter won't leave me alone. Even now. And now as well. There it went again. And yet again. I have had the album, in vinyl format, for years, and have never listened to the entire thing. Not even an entire disc of the two. Solution: buy the CD and listen to it while I pore over a first-time author headings list. It worked with Marilyn Manson. Boy did it work with Marilyn Manson! (I haven't been the same since. And don't expect to ever be so again). One-click shopping at Amazon. No trudging to my beloved House of Records in this weather. I do feel a little dirty. I hope it washes off. Like super glue does when you get it on your finger tips Dear Reader. You. Not me. OK. OK. Me too. Captain Beefheart's guitarist with the Magic Band lives here in Eugene. You only get his stage name: Zoot Horn Rollo. And really, after that, would you want more? Well, would you? He was a regular customer at the little market I worked at ages ago. Nice guy. So many track titles from Trout Mask Replica to choose from for a title of this post. One jumped out. From around the corner. In broad daylight. Sounds kinda Seussical.

Debit or credit?

Do I really need to describe these photos? Frosted oatmeal cookies. The recipe came from Nana, my paternal great-grandmother. It is a 19th century recipe. Chew on that for a while Dear Reader. Now swallow. The frosting includes butter, cinnamon, powdered sugar and coffee. What more could one hope for in a frosting? There are 165 of them here. There will be 163 entered on the cookie spreadsheet. Now that's some easy math! Wait for it. Wait for it. I used the flash for the picture at left. Still couldn't decide which one I liked better, so you, Dear Reader, get two for the price of one. No personal checks accepted.

Update

After almost a full week of being to sick to bake, I am back on track. You deserve an update Dear Reader. You do. All information below is current as of 2:08 P.M., Wednesday, December 10, 2008.

Holiday cookie count: 463 (several varieties)
Currently reading: Freak Like Me : Inside the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow
Music: Does You Inspire You by Chairlift (on order, scheduled to arrive on the morrow)
Video: Gilligan's Island : the Complete Series (seriously; also on order, due to arrive Friday)
Days until Spring Training: 63, not counting today (don't act so surprised).

Out here.

Game ON!

Some people count words. I feel inadequate. Except when it comes to procrastination. Really, it's a solid, a good idea. I just have to sit down and write it. Maybe tomorrow. Then again... Incidentally, I am truly impressed, almost inspired. Even. I should write more. More words. More posts. More often. Sometimes I can even entertain myself. (More often not). But, it is December. There is a new (used) freezer in the garage. It is December. (I know I said it, but it needed repeating for effect here, and only here). The first December in our new house. I think it is fair to call a house new until after, I don't know, a year. And in that house there is a kitchen. And in that kitchen there is a binder. And in that binder there are...cookie recipes. A spread sheet is in order. And all the excess I can muster. I want to make more holiday cookies than I have ever made before. An obscene number of cookies. So many cookies that "obscene" is the only word that will adequately describe them all. I may not know it off the top of my head, but I will know it when I see it. As a tortuous aside, my son, the boy, who now lives with us, is gluten-intolerant and cannot eat the cookies. Poor boy. I will tinker with some recipes on his behalf. I am not a bad dad. I just won't need to worry about anybody sneaking into the cookie cans. Except for Susie. And me. But I'd blame Susie anyway. Who wouldn't?

Now for something completely different: Google "Jedi Squirrels." I told you Dear Reader. I told you.