The Rain, the Park, and Other Things

We spent a few precious hours at our home with Roth, Jen, and Rowan.

Merry...merry...merry? Ah, Merry Christmas!

...and to all, a good morning!

Tattoos...there will be blood...sweat...and pain!

It's been about 16 years since I got my first tattoo at the age of 44. Yeah, I started the inking late in life. I have several, including a Harley shield on one arm, a ying yang thing on my calf, and Michigan J. Frog on the other arm. And now, 36 years after getting out of the Navy...a Navy anchor on my forearm.

There is no gray area when it comes to tattoos, ie, you either love 'em or deplore 'em. I happen to love getting tatted despite the blood, sweat, and pain associated with the procedure. And if anyone says it doesn't hurt, they're crazy as a shit house rat. Some pained me more than others. But this last one left me a bit woozy after four hours of being stabbed several hundred times a second with multiple vibrating needles.














My friend (the tattoo artist and co-worker) didn't take any prisoners as he went at my forearm
like a crazed viper. "Man, you're tough! You haven't complained once!", he chided. You kind of try to put yourself into some sort of zen state, meditate as it were...wincing occasionally from pokes in more sensitive spots. After a while, it becomes more annoying than painful. You just get through it, knowing that each time the needles lift from your skin for more ink, the pain immediately goes away. Of course, for a few days afterward, it's like having a bad sunburn...just a little sore. Slap on some A+D (diaper rash ointment), keep it clean, and let it heal properly. Voila...body art...forever!




Next...the other forearm, as I am designing something similar to include my Navy aircrew flight wings and squadron logo (VP-1, Patrol Squadron One), etc.

Some folks will say, "How do you get your forearms tattooed when you're wearing a straight-jacket, for you must surely be crazy?" My answer, as with many things in life, "If I have to explain...you won't understand!" But most comments go in this direction, "Hey, man...nice tat!"

And yes...Loretta has a few as well.

Sunday Morning Ambrosia

Defined simply as food (or drink) of the gods, ambrosia is just good stuff to eat! Nectar was considered ambrosia in Greek mythology. At our house, toasted sourdough with peanut butter, honey, and bananas is it.



I don't consider that mayonnaisey, marshmallow, apple salad thing a food of the gods...most of the Ambrosia Salads I've had were just plain gak!

A night out, finally...

In these financially challenged times, it is rare that we get a night out...a date night...let someone else cook...relax away from the TV, and the dogs.

Our fourteenth wedding anniversary was celebrated with a pleasant hour or so at (by default) one of our favorite restaurants here in Modesto: The Elephant Bar. We've always had fun going there, with other couples and by ourselves. The menu is diverse and used to be relatively inexpensive. However, in the year or so since our last visit, The EB has "adjusted" their fair a bit, mostly in price...UP! Not a surprise, just very noticeable. By the way, I use the word "default" since this is one of the only places that hasn't totally disappointed us on more than one outing, ie, Tahoe Joe's (joke), Outback (simply went downhill), or The Olive Garden (lost interest after working for them for 3 years). We've tried some of the locally-owned bistros without much fanfare (or return visit). Most of them have gone out of business (for good reason).



Me: Man, I wish we could find a nice, small, local joint we can call our own.
Loretta: Haven't we had this conversation many times?
Me: Yeah...so?
Loretta: You mean a few steps up from In N Out?
Me: Hmmm...come to think of it, when was the last time I had a Double Double? But, they're not locally-owned.
Loretta: Oh, that's right.
Me: Sure wish we could find a nice, small local joint we can call our own.

Grandpa for a year

My first (and only) grandchild, Rowan James Gonzales will be one year old on December 17th. His Mom, my daughter, Jenifer recently posted her thoughts on this rite of passage on her blog.

Just a few thoughts from Grandpa James, aka, Skip, aka, Jack Diddley...

We were able to visit with Rowan only a few short times this year, culminating with an upcoming year-end holiday get together that will last two days. I'm grateful for these times. Though face to face time has been economical at best, Jen's conscientious publishing of photos and video on the internet has kept me a bit closer to grandchild #1 considering the geographic separation is 872.5 miles. I feel as though I've watched him grow up to this point, including savoring video(s) of his very first solo steps just a few weeks ago, almost like being there.

Jen knows I don't complain about our "distant" relationship...because it is far from "distant". We communicate daily via instant messaging, emails, and an occasional skype session. I'm a very fortunate Dad to have this form of closeness.

Jen, Rowan, and Roth will be in our area (which also happens to be the same vicinity as Roth's parents) this Christmas. Loretta and I will visit the in-law's abode in Sonora on Christmas Day, then play host to the three Seattleite Gonzales's the last three days of the year here in Modesto. We will take them to Sac for their flight back on December 31st.

We are planning a short trip to The Emerald City (via auto) toward the end of January, near my birthday. As far as the rest of 2010, one of my resolutions is to make that trek more often than this year. I enjoy visits to Seattle and can totally commiserate with Jen and Roth for moving (staying) there. Is there a move in our future? Perhaps...in time. My employer welcomes transfers and there is a location in Puyallup, just a short jog down I-5 from Jen and Roth's place.
If and when everything is right, it may happen...got a few ducks to get in line first!

In the meantime, in the present (and near future), we'll enjoy it as it is.


"Are Grandpa Skip and Grandma Loretta here yet?"

"Yes, Ro. Mom's picking them up at the airport".

Finding my way at 60.

As December 2009 ambles on, the specter of turning 60 is getting clearer and clearer. Near the end of January 2010, I will celebrate becoming a sextagenarian. Besides joining the age rank of most of my schoolmates (I was always about six months younger due to skipping a grade in elementary school), I can also raise a glass in January to celebrities like Al Pacino, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Richard Gere, etc, etc. This list gets longer and longer as we baby boomers keep on keeping on.

But my survival to this age provokes much more thought than superficial age commiseration. Turning 60 will be a personal milestone that goes beyond that. "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken much better care of myself!", I quip quite often. The thing is, despite not taking better care of myself, I feel pretty damn good. Despite many scary glitches along the way, I'm still here. And despite staring at that bright light on one occasion, I'm still alive, kicking, feisty, hopeful, proud, and (still) somewhat arrogant! Among other things, I've come to embrace the so-called generation gap.

During the past eleven months when someone would ask me my age, my response is always the same, "I'll be 60 next January". Not "59" or "Older than you think" or "Geeze...old!" I still haven't figured out why I'm looking forward to my birthday...I just am. You see, I've always shunned birthday celebrations. In fact, I've always dreaded my birthday by becoming "depressed" through the entire months of January and December. Part of my December doldrums also stemmed from a long time disappointment (anxiety, reverse anticipation) with the holiday season. It just ain't the same as when I was a kid!

So, with that being said...why am I looking forward to this particular passage in time? Dude, I still haven't been able to put a finger on it. I still can't elaborate as to why turning 60 is any different than turning 44, or 12, or 27. The last birthday that got me all a twitter was 16. I remember taking my driving test, getting my license, and driving my parent's car solo for the first time like it was yesterday. Memories of proudly whizzing around the streets of Canoga Park in that '62 Pontiac Bonneville, visiting buddies (who had gotten their licenses six months earlier), and jumping at any opportunity to go to the grocery store resound loudly to this day. I was excited. It was a heady time. Not at all dissimilar to how I feel now.

On January 26th, I will get a license; a license, so to speak, to live my life. A (self) permission chit to reaffirm, to confirm, to move forward, to continue, to dream, to plan, to try, and to act on my goals, plans, and aspirations.

Just Do It has already been coined, but it pretty much says it all in a nutshell. Keeping it real will be a consideration. But keeping it focused will be just as important. I have no illusions of grandeur any longer. In fact, they are not illusions at all. Just desires to be pondered with judicious enthusiasm tempered with a dash of cautious bravura.

Will I ever be self actualized? Will I have to "settle" in order to realize that? We'll see. All of what I speak coming to fruition hinges on me, myself, and I following through...one step at a time.

No illusions. Just dreams coming true. And fortunately, acquiring that "license" doesn't require passing any kind of test. It's there just for the asking.

Dogs don't know they're dogs.

You know, I've come to the conclusion that most dogs don't even realize that they're dogs.

Spoiled, house, family dogs simply think they are a member of this so-called pack that resides in the house. Sure, they kind of realize their place in the scheme of things, ie, responding (at times) to discipline from the pack leader(s). But, they just seem to have their own agenda and don't often give a rat's ass if it is right or wrong or...dog-like.

Our little Jack Boo Boo Diddley Black and Tan Silver Dapple Mini Daschund most certainly is a big part of our family. He has established himself as a card-carrying member in the few short months he has resided here. Is he a pet? I suppose. But he is more than that.

It may be hard to explain to anyone else just what your pet means to you. I sometimes think that he has been royally spoiled. But after conversations with other pet owners and hearing about their behavior toward that family member...I don't think Loretta and I are the least bit eccentric.
However, as I write this, she is condescending to his refusal to remove himself from the bed so she can make it (a daily occurrence). He simply wants to be a part of the activity as well as "play" 99% of the time. Everything is a game! Of course, Loretta tends to let herself join in with the game, "Look at you Boo Boo. C'mon, get down. Oh, you're just so cute". Bingo. Dog Training 101. She affirms the behavior(s) every day. As for me in situations like this, "Get down Boo Boo...now", and shove him off the bed. Game over. And this is why he views me as the so-called Pack Leader, putting himself flat against the carpet when I approach him (a pointed index finger indicating the "down" command) until I give the sign that it is OK to jump up and down and act silly again (Boo Boo, not me). And, no, I've never ever been mean to him, hit him, or physically punished him. Verbal punishment? Oh, yeah. Ignoring him? Most definitely. Years ago I read that Albert Einstein simply ignored his dog when he misbehaved. Does it work? Maybe.


"Make-up affection" from your pet is quite satisfying! Boo Boo is a good one for kissing my butt when he knows I'm mad at him. The eyes tell it all.

Meredith...baby...say it isn't so!

Time to take a short break from my days-off-chores and express frustrata (I made it up) about how the day is going so far.

First, I am redecorating my office to the tune of installing one of my old stereo systems on which to play actual records...the big, flat, round vinyl things. I still have a decent collection of LPs from the heady days of radio, the bygone days where record company cronies lavished free copies of records (and marijuana and cocaine) to radio station music directors in return for airplay. Oh, c'mon, why do you think the word payola was invented? I've been planning this renovato for about a year now. Today is the day! But, say it isn't so! My first choice of tuners, a late 60's Sansui 2000, complete with tubes, doesn't work. It won't turn on at all! So, back to the shed I go. Next, my old Scott tuner...nice sound, simple controls, doesn't weigh 10,000 pounds...say it isn't so! The left channel is T.U. (that's tits up, dead, no workee, no sound, etc)! Poop. So, now, back to the shed. I have a half dozen or so vintage tuners, amplifier, turn tables, equalizers, and so on to go. I'll update this part of the saga at a later date. Let's hope my first choice of turntables isn't on the fritz as well.

Second, my favorite MILF of all time is being promo'd on the Today Show. Evidently, Meredish Baxter is going to reveal something rather shocking about herself in an interview with Matt. After a good hour or so of the usual Today prattle...bad economic news, shitty Afghanistan news, and who-gives-a-shit-white-house party crasher news...the bomb hit. Meredish Baxter, Mrs Keaton from Family Ties, 80's TV mom for whom I still carry a teenage-like torch finally blurts out on national television, "I'm a lesbian!" OMG! The humanity of it all! She's been dating some construction contractor for five years. And that's after three marriages (to dudes) and having five children...the oldest kid is 42. And, what's almost worse...she is still hot! After all these years of me pining for this woman, who, by the way, closely resembles my little sister...I guess there's no chance whatsoever (by some weird quirk of fate) of us hooking up. Poof! Gone!
Meredith...baby...say it isn't so! This revelation was totally unlike the Ellen outing (I kind of figured), or the Rosie thing (Ah, duh...no shit Sherlock). Or even the Anne Heche coming out party; although shocking, she did re-sign with the hetero team, get married (to a dude), and have a child.

Hey, you know what? More power to her. You gotta do what ya gotta do to be happy I suppose.

So, who's next? Adam Lambert? Oh, yeah...old news. That Orman broad? Whoops...way old news. Sarah Palin? Wouldn't surprise me. Hailey Mills? Please...don't even tell me that one, even if it does happen. Hailey and I are kindred spirits (in age alone). If she announces her lesbianinity, I'm tossing my 30th Anniversary Restored VHS copies of Pollyanna and The Parent Trap in the fireplace!

When I get my old tuner and turntable going later this morning (fingers crossed), the first song I'm spinning is...yup, you guessed it, Say It Isn't So by Hall and Oates. Unfortunately, I don't think I have that tune on a record. Back to the Best of the 80's CD collection for that one!

Guess I may have to move up some names on my MILF list, ie, Brittany, Stifler's Mom, Christie Brinkley, Sarah Palin, any Desperate Housewife, Jessica Lange, Cindy Crawford, and, of course, Liv Tyler. OK, OK...I'll stop! And, yes, I know...I'm a pig!