Years ago, longer than life I think, my mom learned the Beckman Trade-off Triangle. If my Photoshop / Illustrator skills were up to par — I’d draw it for you. Instead you must envision it. A perfect triangle, each side a word: CREDIT — KUDOS — COMPENSATION.
If you research trade-off triangles today, it’s a whole different kettle of fish. Project management rules the day: Resources abound. Time, Cost, Quantity. Not so with Beckman.
Here’s my Christmas thought — I would like to tell my children and their spouses/significant others this: Come to my/our house between December 25-January 2nd and choose five (5) items you want. Then take the Five Items with you. If I do this every birthday and Christmas (my birthday and theirs) I figure I can empty my house in 17 years. This divestiture includes my random object removal process via Goodwill and Salvation Army to accompany the What Do You Want method.
two times a year for me + my children twice a years x = 2me(17 years) x 4adults(2x Yearly x 17 years) or something over something multiplied by that something and divided by the amount of shit I’ve collected in my 62 years.
thought I’d get all fancy shmancy and try to enter a NextGEN image gallery here. we’ll see how this turns out. Clicking on the photo advances the frames… or you can wait … and wait …
If you’re my age, 62, you know to always wear clean underwear. You will most certainly be in a car wreck, some sort of emergency will occur, anything MEDICAL which will involve emergency technicians to rip off your clothing to administer aid. This will happen. Do not question it… if you wear inferior underpants, you will need emergency aid.
This is one of the laws of the jungle. Question it to your peril — it will happen to you.
Many facts were drilled into my little thick skull (a parental nomenclature referring to my inability to learn from my mistakes) as a child. Probably the top three (there were so many, how can I prioritize?) included pristine, like-new, underpants at all times.
What were the other life lessons drilled into my thick little skull? Eat your toast and you’ll grow hair on your chest. Obviously, not a priority as I aged out of that one rather quickly. It went right along with eat every carrot and pea on your plate, the family joke…
Another entry in the blog no one reads.
The day started out like any other Thanksgiving Day. At six a.m. I got a text that my former mother-in-law died the night before. My being informed that early meant the family was falling apart. Daughters distraught and a 19 hour drive or a long plane flight would ensue.
For me, it was a case of when one must travel 100 miles to be with now- family. Dogs needed exercise then kennel. This is done with a special key word to confinement. The handing out of a cheese offering will always be accepted prior to confinement. These monkey dogs are trained to do one thing, get in their kennel. Oftentimes they are induced to outside toilet habits but truly, getting in their kennel is their one trick.
Since no one is reading this, let me say why I am afraid of Trump. I’m afraid of the way he mocks the disabled. Being disabled myself, it hurts to my core to watch him. The idea of a president-elect who thinks it’s okay to revert to the 1950s behaviors of a uninformed populace is shameful and disgraceful.
Fuck you, Mr. Trump. Some of us tremble uncontrollably. Others are slow to speak. Then there the neurologically impaired, those with bi-polar disorder, depression, list goes on … how will you mock them? And shame on you, shame on those of you who think it is alright to do so. Fuck you all.
God bless all America.