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 So playing the trombone wasn't getting me in enough trouble? |
| I need someplace to write down the often confusing thoughts that enter my mind, while my stories give voice to the characters that wander through periodically, this is the place for my voice. Join me if you wish, comment if you wish, all are welcomed and appreciated. |
Traveling with a muse in tow is always a risky proposition. If you're like me and have more than one of the pesky critters kind and wonderful motivators, you can imagine it's even more of a challenge when one of them decides to pop in and handle a situation for me. As a present to myself for retirement, I recently went on a cruise, of course, all four of my little menaces buddies stowed away traveled with me. Grumpy, Pubby, Anon-y-Monkey, and the turtle are usually good companions, well-behaved, and easy to get along with. (Yes! They are standing behind while I write this—Send Help!) One of the stops on the cruise was a layover on a small island nation I had never been to before. Even in my years playing on the ships, I had never visited Île d'Eau Chaude. I was looking forward to visiting a place I had never been to before. It was a bit puzzling because unlike other stops on the cruise, all the passenger's luggage had to be inspected by the Isle's customs division. I lugged all of our bags off the ship, all of them were stuffed to bursting with the loot souvenirs the boys had pilfered acquired at our other stops—before we were asked to leave or escorted back to the boat. Fortunately, none of the bottles belonging to Grumpy had to be offloaded, as they were safely locked in the ship's duty-free storage area. Or, so I thought. I calmly walked up to a burly-looking customs agent, who really needed a shave. He seemed to speak only in grunts. Pointing at the very low table in front of him, he mentioned for me to put the first suitcase on it. He whistled tunelessly as he rifled through the bag, pulling out some shop bags, opening them, and tossing the contents back into the suitcase. Every once in a while one of the trinkets would end up in a box at his feet. That's when I noticed his feet were bare, and a bit hairy. The process repeated itself several more times as he examined each of my bags. 'Ahh, I thought to myself, one last bag, and we're clear.' That's when it all broke loose. The next bag had a very fine bottle of vodka in it. The agent started hopping around pointing and grunting, angrier than any public servant I've ever seen. I was as surprised as he was, all the liquor was supposed to be locked away on the ship. Who and how did that bottle get into my luggage!?! That's when Grumpy showed up, I should have known, if there's booze involved, he's never far away. (Well, to be honest, all of them tend to follow the booze.) Grumpy immediately started to pass the Blarney about being a fellow Customs Agent on the Old Sod. He looked around slyly, before sliding a bag of shiny coins across the table. That made the Agent grunt furiously, as he picked up the coin pouch, and tossed it at me. He reached behind him and pulled out a set of handcuffs. Grunting and motioning me to turn around. I really knew I was in Hot Water then! Luckily for me, that's when Anon-Y-Monkey made his appearance. He had a shopping bag in his hairy little hand. 'Great I thought, Anony is going to offer this guy more cash, they're going to lock me up and toss the key—.' Anon-Y-Monkey started grunting away, ever so slowly the Agent seemed to calm down, no longer angry, the Agent's eyes lit up when he peeked into Anony's bag. By the end of the conversation, after the Agent had safely stowed the bag beneath his table, they were grunting like old buddies. I got a peek into the shopping bag as I carted off my now cleared luggage. It was an even finer bottle of the very best vodka. Like I said, "it's always about the booze." One thing that puzzled me about the whole incident; The short little, scruffy Custom Agent, with hairy, bare feet and a surly attitude? The grunting crazy who preferred vodka to gold coins? It was like I had déjà vu all over again. |
"Trix cereal triggers ants to perform bizarre "death ritual"" From the NerdSnacks  Newsletter:An interesting article that shows us the relationship between Trix cereal and dead ants. The article also provides insight into just how fastidious ants are. The ant's reactions are driven by ingredients in the cereal. "So what inspired this macabre death ritual? It turns out when ants decompose they produce a fatty acid known as oleic acid, which also happens to be a component of the sunflower and canola oils found in Trix. When living ants “smell” oleic acid they spring into action and—being the fastidious creatures they are—immediately cart the dead off to specialized “cemetery” chambers to keep the colony clean. The behavior is so ingrained that dousing a perfectly healthy ant with oleic acid results in the unfortunate insect getting “buried alive.”"   In Other News For reasons beyond my comprehension, I have allowed myself to temporarily be dragged back into the workforce. One of the Principals in my former district is celebrating a happy event, the birth of he and his wife's first child! So he will be taking some time off to stay home and be a Daddy. Which is a wonderful thing! Of course, a school can't be left without a Principal and a plan was in place to make sure this one wasn't. Yup! Ya know what they say about plans and planning. "You never run out of things that can go wrong." — Edward A. Murphy of Murphy's Law Fame There was a substitute/acting Principal all ready to step in and save the day. Alas, timing and a job opening in another district robbed us, called her in a different direction. An offer no one could expect her to refuse. So what is a beleaguered, harried, and desperate Superintendent to do? Yeah, that's it, let's call that grumpy music guy back! He's got the certificates and degrees. What could go wrong?  Please Review Above So here I am a temporary/acting Principal in an elementary school (ages 4 to 10ish). My duties consist mainly of hiding in my office, drinking coffee, and the occasional foray into the wild looking stern. Sounds easy right? Please Review Above So far I have had to deal with a 4th. young lady offering to get frisky with one of her classmates. For his part, he was shocked and dismayed at the offer. A tree, that had been planted by the student body to honor a teacher was hit by a car (seems it jumped right in front of the driver). Try explaining to parents that the tree needs to be cut down and we can't replace it until Spring. (Yes, it was covered by insurance.) A multi offender, a bathroom floor soiling urinator, decided to test the new sheriff in town. Bathrooms have a sign-in system, so we knew who it was almost instantly. He cracked just as quickly. The toughest part was what to do with our little perp. Both his parents work, a suspension would be a familial hardship. I gave him and his parents a choice. Suspension or two weeks of hard labor instead of lunchtime recess. He chose wisely and will be assisting the custodians with cleaning lunch tables after lunch. Which means I have to be in the lunchroom with him. And, next week I have to do something I avoided my entire career — attend a PTA meeting.  And Now, What Kids Say "I like your suit, it makes it look like you know what you are doing" ~ 1st. Grader "Mr. Cooper has more hair than you" ~ Kindergartner Need to preface this one, I get into work about an hour early, always been my thing, so I have been doing my morning trombone warm-ups in the office. Kids who qualify (right now, everyone who wants it) are getting breakfast down the hall; "It sounds like you are wrestling an elephant in your office." ~ 5th. Grader "Couldn't we just use some glue and stick the tree back together?" ~ 3rd. Grader From someone I expect is a frequent flyer to the Principal's office; "If Mr. Cooper doesn't come back, can I have his stuffed eagle?" ~ 5th. Grader While going into the kitchen to pick up my lunch; "Don't get the chicken nuggets, they stink!" ~ 4th. Grader  This was supposed to be a two-week gig, about nine days because of the holiday. This morning the Sup called me, on my day off to ask if I might be able to extend my tenure. Of course, I asked, "by how much"? Dead Silence at first followed by a meek. "I'm not sure, we have many covid related staffing issues and not many qualified candidates."  The Good News is that by law, I can only do this for 6 months unless I freeze my pension and take the job permanently. The Better News? I'm sure the kids will have a lot more to say.   |
Mystery Painting One of my jobs on our little island paradise is cleaning up the Banana Bar every morning, it's not a bad gig. Mostly a lot of empty rum and vodka bottles, banana peels, and straightening up chairs and tables. A quick sweep before Lilli gets in and we're good to go. Lately, though there has been a particular peculiar plethora of events. Every morning when I open up, there is a fresh oil painting adorning the wall above the bar. It was so fresh you could still smell the oil in the paints curing. The paintings all had an old-world quality to them as if someone were copying the style of the old masters. I couldn't figure how the painting kept appearing each morning, always a new painting every morning, hanging in the same spot, just above the bar. I would have shrugged it off, but the why and who intrigued me. Late one night I decided to satisfy my curiosity. I waited until the lights went out in the bar, and then I snuck back over to the island. Creeping quietly up to the glassless window, I peeked in. I was shocked and surprised at what I saw. I could barely believe my eyes. A single swing lightbulb lit up an easel with short legs. In front of it stood Andre, a palette and brush in his furry little mitts. As he painted he hummed a little tune, taking careful little brush strokes he was carefully copying his painting from a book of fine art. I walked quietly up to the door, being careful to avoid the squeaky board on the porch. I walked in slowly, it's best not to spook Andre. Moving into his line of sight I said, "Andre, what are you up to? That's a great painting by the way." Andre jumped and looked fleeting guilty. Which we all know is unusual for Andre. Even more unusual Andre moved to the bar and poured us both a shot of his private reserve. Then he slid a small notebook over to me. In Andre's scrawl, was a detailed list of copied art and prices and payments. "Oh, Andre, are you forging art?" Andre shrugged and went back to his painting.   |
The Bermuda Triangle We all know that Andre is noted for his recalcitrant attitude. So when I decided to ask about his Bermuda Triangle experience I didn't really expect an answer. Boy. was I surprised! Several years ago Andre visited the Bermuda Triangle, during his visit he claimed there were 36 hours he couldn't account for. A bottle of rum later, and I found it wasn't a matter of couldn't, more like wouldn't. Here's the story as told by a weepy-eyed Monkey. Just as Andre was parking the car (!?!), having driven to the Bermuda Triangle, a rather large rolling dark cloud blocked out the Sun. There was lightning and the smell of burning sulfur. The Earth seemed to quake and shimmy, and the darkness deepened. The temperature dropped, and a cold rain began to fall. Andre took a long, hard swig of his vodka and got out of the car. Suddenly a beam of bright light surrounded our simian hero. Andre found himself rising up the beam, headed for a portal opening in the cloud. On the way up he chugged the last of the vodka, after all, he might need the bottle for a weapon, and ya' don't wanna waste good vodka. Andre passed through the portal and found himself aboard some kind of ship, not a ship, ship, more like an airship. He tried to walk back out, but the portal slammed shut. When Andre turned around a small gray guy, not much taller than he was standing there. "Greetings Earth Dweller." The voice didn't seem to come from the guy, more from the ship's walls. "We come to learn from you and—" Andre was surprised when his chatter in return turned into words. "Listen Bub, I don't know who you are, and I don't give a rat's—" "I am M'telios, a scientist sent to study your people—" "Like I already said, I could care less." Andre started to look around. "Say, you got any vodka on this dingy?" "Vodka ... Dingy?" "Yeah, you know booze, firewater, joy juice?' The little guy shook his head up and down and said, "No, we have none of those things, but I can offer some very fine Kelifica." With that, he turned away. "Please follow me." As Andre followed the little guy, he mumbled to himself. "Great, I get picked up by the only dry cruise ship in the Caribbean." The little guy led Andre to a small nook with a table, opening a cabinet, he took out a small dish of cookies and a bottle of iridescent liquid. He poured a small glass for each of them. Andre picked up a cookie and sniffed it suspiciously before nibbling off a small piece. "Hey, these taste familiar." "I made them myself." The little guy puffed with pride. "I got the recipe off a rock in a place called MassaShoothits. The little guy was alarmed when Andre down the glass of Kelifica in one gulp. "Kelifica is quite strong, I'm not sure what effect it will have—" "Drink up Shorty, and pour us another round, this stuff ain't half bad" Reluctantly, the little guy poured more Kelifica into each glass. "we really shouldn't drink much more." Trailing off as Andre chugged that shot down." "Less talking." Pushing his glass for more. "And, more pouring Shorty." Shorty knocked back his shot, and with less reluctance poured out another, and another, and several more, before having to stagger to the cabinet, to fetch another bottle of Kelifica. "So Shorty, Andre, who seemed quite unaffected by the Kelifica said, "is this a ship, or just a hut parked in the cloud?" "Ahhhh no, thish is a scientitistic, err scienestistic, ummm, it's a research vesshel." Andre's eyes lit up. "So it can move?" "Yesh, it's qui, really fash." "Well, let's see what this baby can do—" "Dat might not be a good i,idea in our cuurr, presss, the way were are now." "Monkey Poop." Andre jumped up. "I feel great, let's go I'll drive!" "Oohh Myyyy" It wasn't long before they cleared Earth's atmosphere, and were headed into space. Andre rubbed his furry little fists together and said, "alrighty, let's see what this thing can do." "Waitt, you can't engage that drive in the solar system ..." Andre did it anyway, to him it seemed like they stretched in all directions, lights flashed in colors he had never seen before and Shorty changed color from light dusky gray to bright pink and back again. They flashed clear across the galaxy and would have gone further if the Galactic Traffic Police hadn't grabbed them in a restrainer beam. The police were none to happy, it seem they had torn clean through a wormhole, leaving a family of space worms homeless. There was a trial, it lasted almost four days (3.6 days to be precise) and in the end, Shorty was sentenced to life on Earth, where he now hides in exile at the South Pole, rueing the day he ever met Andre. As for Andre, the court decided that they wanted no part of him, sending him back to Earth, when in some small quirk of intergalactic physics only thirty-six hours had passed. That's Andre's story, and he's sticking to it. |
"The Curious and Mysterious Disappearance of Lord Lucan" "burst into The Plumbers Arms", which startled the daylights out of The Plumber! Upon reading this morning's prompt I knew there was only one thing for it. A field trip! We needed to return to the scene of the crime! Andre was feeling a bit sluggish this morning, there was an all-night card game last night. He was tired but in a good mood. He always is when he fleeces, gets lucky and wins. He perked up when he heard we were going to visit a pub in England. He ordered up the corporate jet, only after I agreed to pay for the fuel. A short time later we were airborne and Andre was sawing wood. We arrived at Heathrow PDQ, which is Monkey for faster than a speeding banana. Hopping into one of those old-timey cabs we headed to 14 LOWER BELGRAVIA STREET, BELGRAVIA, GREATER LONDON, SW1W 0LN. Straight into The Plumbers Arms. I was a bit disappointed when we got there, seems they had to close up temporarily. But, traveling with Andre has its perks. Andre walked right up to the door, lifted a furry little fist, and gave the door a secret rap. Tap–tappity–tap,tap–tappity,tap— A little portal slid open and a face appeared. "We're closed, you silly blighters, can't you rea–Andre old chum! The door swung open. "Do come in. What brings you into cold London and off your tropical paradise?" We explained our quest to the publican, finishing by asking him if anyone had looked further into the mystery of Richard John Bingham, 7th Earl of Lucan. The publican told that as far as he knew no had bothered, Lord Lucan was declared a murderer at the coroner's inquest and never found or heard from again. The only real update was that Lady Lucan, was found dead in her apartment on September 26, 2017, her death was officially recorded as “unexplained”. We had a delightful meal, drank some warm ale, and shared laughs with the publican. Quite forgetting why we were there in the first place. As we flew home I realized that not only hadn't we solved the first mystery, the disappearance of Lord Lucan, we in fact uncovered another. How did Lady Lucan die, and why was her death still unexplained? Here are two interesting websites I found that you might like; The Plumber's Arms A History of The Plumber's Arms |
What's Written On Dighton Rock? Andre was nursing a hangover this morning when I walked into the Bar looking for a fresh coffee refill. Luckily Lilli ☕ had made yet another fresh pot. Sitting down a few stools away from Andre, I waited until he downed two mugs o'joe before I even smiled at him. One mug later he grimaced back at me. He was ready to converse, or at least grunt in my direction. "So, Andre ol' buddy have you ever heard of Dighton Rock?" "Noncommittal Grunt." Andre slides his coffee mug down the bar, Lilli glares at the mug but fills it anyway. "Ya see Andre ol' chap, I need some information. Buttering up a monkey is a necessary annoyance when you're dealing with Andre, that of bribery. That works too. "I'd be more than happy to pay the usual consultation fee Andre drained his mug in one gulp and slid off his stool. Mumbling all the way he sauntered into the office, I think I might have heard a chihuahua barking, but it shut up too fast to be sure. When Andre returned he handed me an old leather portfolio. I took the pages it contained out gingerly. This was the first thing I saw;  "Geeze, Andre," Staring at the parchment document. "Is this an original sketch—do you know what it means? Another grunt and a gesture to flip the page. Sure enough, there was the translation, plain as day. Let me summarize it for you. Several centuries ago Vikings landed in North America. The native inhabitants, having just sent the Phoenicians packing, weren't happy with the new crop of immigrants. There was a lot of pushing and shoving until a young monkey named Andresdatter (Go ahead Google it!), one of Andre's ancestors stepped up. She calmed everybody down by whipping up a tasty treat. To commemorate having some much better friends, and Andresdatter's tasty treat, the natives decided to inscribe the story on a rock in the middle of a river. (Obviously, there were more than one type of tasty treats involved.) The only thing left to wonder about was just what treat Andresdatter used to mend the fences? Andre grunted one last time, flipped the page himself, pointed at me, and then the kitchen. I had my answer{emdashand my orders. P.S. Here's the last page of the translation. "Peanut Butter Oatmeal Cookies" |
Ancient Technology - Antikythera Computes A Mystery For century upon century every taverna owner, publican, bar and grill owner has sought one thing — the perfect pour. The secret was discovered long ago, by the leading taverna owner of the Greek Island of Antikythera. Andreas of Antikythera was a cranky, miserly, miserable, really nice little guy, albeit a bit on the unshaven side. Actually, he was noted for his hairiness. Andreas ran one of the best tavernas on the little Island, at least that's what he told everyone. There was one problem. His serving wenches (did the Greeks even have wenches?) tended to overserve their favorite customers. Which cut into Andreas' profit. Messing with profit and Adreas' gold was not a good thing. Knowing he needed to get those heavy-handed ladies under control, Andreas set out to find a way to limit the amount that each could pour. Obviously, it never dawned on him to just get smaller glasses, no he needed to build a mechanism, so sophisticated that even his buddy Plato didn't understand it completely. When Andreas first showed Plato the device, Plato was perplexed. Andreas explained it very slowly, over and over until his good buddy "Plate" finally grasped it, calling it the "greatest thing since sliced bread". Which made no sense to Andreas, there was no such thing as sliced bread. Andreas chalked it up to another overgenerous pour by one of his servers. Along came the Second Messenian War, and Andreas found himself in a bit of trouble. Well, maybe a little trouble is an exaggeration. Backing the wrong horse during these days landed you in quite a bit of trouble. He needed to slide outta town real quick. Paying off the wenches, he sold the taverna to an unsuspecting Etruscan and vamoosed. Which isn't Greek for skipped out of town quick. Just as the boat was about to leave the harbor, Greek Customs boarded. They were looking for technology being smuggled off the island. Andreas had no choice but to toss his invention overboard. Unlike Andreas, the mechanism remained undisturbed for centuries before being found by some guys sponging for drinks. No one could figure out what it did so they put it in a museum that housed other stuff that no one can explain. It sat there, on a dusty, musty shelf until nonother than our fearless hero Andre conned everyone into believing showed everyone that he was a distant relative of Andreas. For some odd reason, the curators believed Andre and allowed him to leave with the mechanism. Which to this day sits in a glass case above the bar at "Invalid Item" |
| After a stretch of extremely mild weather, temperatures in the 50s, flirting with the 60s on some days, Winter has finally arrived on Long Island here in New York. We've had several days of 30 and lower temps, and the first significant snow fell yesterday. We got about eight inches, it started around 2:30 AM and ended a bit after 8:00 AM. So the usual storm prep took place;  Snowblower gassed up and started. Just inside the overhead garage door, ready to roll. Two snow shovels in the house, ready to dig us out. Batteries for power snow shovel charged. Heated mat that melts snow on the top step plugged in. Both cars parked in the driveway, facing the street, the gas takes full. Flashlight and battery-powered lanterns test and ready. Generator gassed up, started, and ready.Here's what I didn't do, and what I can't figure out!?! Rush to the market to buy every loaf of bread I could find. Nope!! Do the same with milk, large quantities of meat, and a variety of other perishables. Nope! Go to the hardware/big box store, buy more snow shovels, and any ice melt I can find. And, Nope!Now I'm not knocking people who do that, but I just can't figure out why. No snowstorm has ever shut down Long Island for more than a day. I can remember some pretty bad storms. Back when I was in college, there were storms that forced me to stay on campus. Luckily, I had friends with dorm rooms, as long as I provided—ummm, refreshments, they were more than happy to house a guest for the night. What I can't understand is the hoarding of perishable items. The biggest problem with snow and ice storms on Long Island is power outages. All of our power lines are overhead, so the added weight of snow or ice, coupled with wind, brings them down. My question has always been when I see the hoarding is; Okay, you've got all this extra stuff, what are you going to do with it when the frig stops running? Yeah, I've got a standby generator, and my frig stays on. But, if I buy too much meat and other perishables I might have to take out some beer. How is that right? Anyway, we survived our first storm, with no loss of power, so it's a moot point now. I did my snow blowing and shoveling—my two houses. The 70-year-old across the street, and the guy who got hurt at work, and the 92-year-old next store. I have once again resolved to eventually move to a snow-free climate, I'm getting to old for this —!  ...I'm only the trombone player! |
| A New Year, A New Me!?! Highly doubtful, but there are going to be some newish goals and aspirations. First, my WdC Goals; This Blog, I want to do at least an entry per week, I tend to neglect it in favor of playing on the Newsfeed. "Habit Heroes " — Has been very helpful in keeping me on the straight and narrow, I intend to use it more, perhaps including some of the good habits here for tracking there.Also to add a bit of discipline to my writing and actually complete something I plan on participating in "I Write: Enter the Second Decade" . The tasks are doable and will help lock in some good habits. I'm struggling a little here, the story that wrote itself is a bit on the naughty side. I don't really want to put someone in the position of having to do a review of something they aren't really comfortable with.Finally here on Writing.com, I need to finish what I start! My port is chock full of half-finished stories and false starts. Towards that goal finishing what I start, I will be reviewing/evaluating and deciding what to keep in the port and what to achieve off WdC. Nothing gets flushed, but we need to do some Winter Cleaning over there! Musical Goals; I already have two marching band show commissions on the table, one with the tunes selected and one where I need to select the tunes based on a theme. Each needs seven minutes' worth of continuous music. That's currently a work in progress. I would like to do some new Christmas Brass Quartet arrangements, to freshen up the Service we do on Christmas Eve. For that matter, I would like to write and publish a few originals for brass — we will see where the Musical Muse takes me. Personal Goals; I want to continue to lose weight, though the doctor is happy, a few more pounds wouldn't hurt. I want to continue to lower the impact of my diabetes on my body. I need to help both my nieces in their life struggles, at least getting them to the point where they are less dependent on me. This will allow me to move on with my life, which includes marrying the love of my life, Lenore. There is the next phase when Lenore retires, hopefully in June 2022, if I can convince her. Then there's the where do we live question — we are planning for someplace with moderate weather and NO SNOW! (Okay maybe snow on Christmas Eve. But, That's It!) I hope everyone has a Happier, Safer, Healthier And More Blessed New Year!! |
A Christmas Festival ~ Arr. Leroy Anderson ~ Performed By: Alfred Concert Band This piece "A Christmas Festival" is an arrangement of several well-known Christmas tunes that Leroy Anderson scored during his tenure as resident Composer/Arranger for the Boston Pops Orchestra. Interestingly, the original score was eight minutes long. This was first recorded before long-playing records, the old 78s were limited to four minutes per side. Anderson had to arrange this with a natural break at the four-minute mark, but the break had to be unnoticeable when performed live. This is one of my favorite Christmas pieces, both to perform and conduct. I have done this multiple times in my musical career. This is one of those pieces that makes it Christmas for me. A bit of a personal story. After I moved into a predominately administrative position, handing the baton off as it were, our High School was also blessed with an interim principal. Normally interim types try to keep a low profile, collect the check and not make waves. This one unfortunately did not. The High School Concert Band had rehearsed and prepared this arrangement as part of their portion of the Formal Winter Concert. I heard them rehearsing every day across the hall from my office, it was a fine band that year and they played very well. You could tell they loved this piece, showing a lot of enthusiasm. The time came for dress rehearsal in the Performing Arts Center. the band was rehearsing "A Christmas Festival" when Interim interrupted them to tell the band director "you can't play that in school"! When the band director asked why he was told it contained sacred music, associated with the Church. No amount of protest or discussion could change Interim's mind. The band was saddened, a big chunk of their program was gone, the chunk they liked the most. The night of the Winter Concert, I was doing my normal Master of Ceremonies schtick. I had also arranged for a shill or two in the audience. When the band played their last note of the evening, the shills led an uproarious ovation that simply demanded an encore. The Band Director was surprised when I asked him over the mic, "can I borrow your band for a tune?" The band was even more surprised when I stepped onto the podium and called for Anderson's "A Christmas Festival". The band played their bottoms off, a very emotional, yet controlled performance. Interim was of course furious, And I had a target on me as I wasn't tenured in the new position yet. But like always the luck of the Leprechauns was with me. Before Interim could get to me in the lobby our 6"8" Superindentent of Schools wrapped me in a bear hug and thanked me for making Christmas. Interim choose to stay out of the Music Wing after that. ...I'm only the trombone player! |
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Credit is delaying the pain unless one pays it off every month. I don't buy what I can't afford. I don't go into debt. I live well by living well within my means. 
