Grugger’s Way

And WHY bring Off-road, four-wheeler ALL TERRAIN VEHICLES to a campground?

I hope these party people are all exhausted from their weekend of drinking, smoking, listening to loud music, rip-roaring around on the ATV’s and generally being a pain in the butt to those of us who were hoping for a little peace and quiet. Perhaps we should stay home on three-day weekends.

Now I understand why retirees enjoy the OFF-SEASON so much!

All I can say is how much I appreciate enforced Quiet Hours in a campground where the Host is actually On-Duty!

Another thing that made this past weekend endurable was the rain. Lots of rain tends to calm things down and confine the noisy kids to their own tents and campers.

There is one item that usually tests the mettle of even the most experienced World Traveler. If you think you have “global” taste buds, try BALUT, the Filipino treat that they present to tourists with great fanfare and much drinking and laughter.

Balut is a “not quite ready to hatch” embryo of duck (or chicken) that is hard-boiled in the egg shell casing and then consumed WITH BEER! (I just threw in the beer part.)

U.S. Marines and U.S. Navy sailors have long tested each other with initiation ceremonies that included eating balut, as though it were a rite of passage into the mysteries of the Far East.

(If you click on the photo at left it will open a much larger view of the balut.)

What does it really taste like? Someone once described it as tasting like the way air smells after a big fireworks demonstration. The duck embryo contains phosphorus. But to describe it thus is not doing it justice; one has to try it.

There are Filipino restaurants in the U.S.A. that serve balut. Some Asian food stores also sell balut.

There was a pause….I had to think….what the hell? I know what year I was born–1947, that never changes. But my age in years is something I can hardly keep up with.

Is it because my memory is going…going…? Or do the years just speed by so fast that I can’t keep track any longer. Or don’t I really care?

Ah, maybe that’s it! Who does it matter to anyway? Not me. Not my spouse (who HATES to be reminded of MY age because that…ah yes…reminds her of her own).

My kids are now ages 24 through 40. Five of them. They have various ideas of how old I am, ranging from 45 or so…to over 70! Oh, to have such perspective!

I wonder if my Mother has to think for a moment to recall her exact age. It is 82. I remember her age as well as my own….but again, it is because I remember her YEAR of birth….and that has never changed…not since she reached age 39. (Oh, she loved Jack Benny!)

A couple of years ago, the IRS would not accept my federal tax return because my DATE of birth, (the day, not the month or year) that the IRS had on file did not agree with the Social Security Administration. One had the 7th, the other had the 9th. Social Security had it WRONG! I had to make a trip down there with my original birth certificate to get it corrected. THEN I could file my taxes.

I suppose this was good. I wouldn’t want to get into a big brouha with Social Security when the day comes that I want to Draw it. I will have no problem remembering my age THEN, you can be damn sure.

My wife thinks I should just throw out stuff when it gets old, but if I like a shirt, I will keep it and wear it until the collar frays.

Cuffs can fray and I will just roll up the sleeves, but when the collar threads start to show, I will give it up.

Once I am finished with a shirt, it can’t really go to Goodwill, as you may have guessed. I use them for paint rags. I don’t usually have a lot of old shirts to use as paint rags.

My Mother says she is just like me. She keeps stuff FOREVER! I know it was really (REALLY!) hard for her to downsize from a big house to a little apartment. Frankly, I am surprised she doesn’t still have stuff in a storage rental somewhere. (Maybe she does; I know I would)

I think my oldest shirt is 39 years old. I wore it in college, back in 1970 and ‘71. There is a lot of sentimental attachment to some of my old shirts. I can remember (vaguely) getting extremely drunk in one of my oldest shirts. I’m fairly certain that I made a fool of myself in my oldest shirts; something that I did with fair regularity back in 1970 and ‘71. Those were great years.