Don't Call Me Sheldon, I Prefer PP

Once again the siren call of home town entertainment beckoned to our family. Jenny and I were part of our town's 4th of July Melodrama in a play called "Pineview Pete's Revenge". I got to be Pete. That's me with the gun.

Jenny got to be 'Town's Woman'. That didn't sound sophisticated enough so she officially named her self, "Ethel". Her sidekick husband was her older brother, who they Named "Emer".

The picture below show's Jenny, her brother (one with the hat), and her niece. We also had our daughters running lights and curtains behind the scenes.

The premise of the play is that Pete is seeking revenge on the local town. On the side he likes to rob banks and leave the bank managers in dresses, or as he would say it, in "Something Frilly, off the shoulder, with a boa." The town, with a clutzy deputy, and a new woman sheriff, come to the rescue and save the town from the affects of Slim's (one of Pete's sidekicks) six alarm chili, and Pete's poor taste in evening gowns and small town theater (you have to see the show to understand this...sorry).

My favorite line from the Play: "You think it's not, but I know that you know that you think it is."

Though the town's people agreed that Pete's initials PP were juvenile, they sure were a lot better than his real name's, Sheldon Orville Bottomly, if you can catch my drift.

The Old Grey Mare

When they say that the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, in my case you can leave off the 'what she used to be'. You can just say the old grey mare, she ain't because she never was. At least that's what I feel like when it comes to running. I know I'm not fast, but I love to be competitive. So when I lose, I just whine and complain about getting old.

Well, I ran a 10k on the 4th of July. I finished in 46 minutes 38 seconds. I was hoping to do it in 45 minutes. Conditions were good for running, I just think that I took off a little too fast, which hurt me in the middle miles. I finished 4th in my age group and 13th overall.

Two of my daughters ran in the one mile. They both did great with the oldest finishing 4th in the women's category and winning a ribbon.

I think that my last great hope for glory now resides in the accomplishment of my children. Way to go kids!!!! you did awesome.

The Magic Number is 1.6

Sometimes I wonder if people are setting me up, just to see how I will answer them, so they can laugh at me or if I truly am the straight guy in a comedy routine. Here are two sound bites from recent conversations that I had with a couple of people surrounding the race I ran on the 4th of July:

Conversation One:

Person One: "Hey, what race did you run?"

Me: "The 10k"

Person One: "How far do you run in that race?"

Me: (Not knowing if I'm getting caught in a trap for stating the obvious or if they really wanted to know if I knew that it was 6.2 miles. So I took a gamble and kept up with the straight face routine and said), "10k."

Conversation Two:

Person Two: What race did you run?

Me: The 10k.

Person Two: Did you see that amazing runner that blew everyone away, with the great stride, cross the finish line?

Me: (Worried if I was falling into another trap). "No, that would have meant that I won the race."

From both of their reactions, there must have been option three to these situations...I'm an idiot.

Retro #3 - Bottle Rocket Wars

When I was growing up the biggest holiday of the year was July 3rd, or aka the 4th of July eve. This was the day that the annual bottle rocket wars were held. Before I go on, I must say that I in no way condone these less than intelligent actions I did as a teenager. I have long since reformed my ways. Besides, Jenny will not allow me to buy fireworks. She's afraid that I will corrupt the next generation, which is probably a valid point.

The bottle rocket war festivities began promptly at dusk. All teenagers just a few bricks shy of a load were invited to attend, that generally included everyone in town. Team captains were selected and by the flip of a coin decided which team had high ground and who had the low ground. The loser of the toss got to choose first, usually the person with the best ammo. Once teams were selected we headed on down to the Honda Trails, a strip of land on Forest Service ground next to the lake.

The weapons of choice were firecrackers, bottle rockets, fountains, jumping jacks, roman candles, and the occasional M80. For weeks prior to the event, launch weapons were built, tested and modified. They usually consisted as such things as sawed off ski poles and small diameter pipes with sights built onto the barrels. They were amazingly accurate at 150 feet.

This is typically how the battle went. A fountain was lit on the old road between the two opposing sides to signify the start of the battle. In the mean time, the teams were strategically placing people along the battlefronts with a few members doing some sneaking around the side ready for a flanking maneuver. The long range bottle rocket guns were sent off firing to keep the opposing teams lying low in their foxholes, while the roman candle brigades moved in and laid down heavy artillery from the flanks. This was a sight to behold as this totally lit up the sky as fireball after fireball was launched down on those brave enough to remain in their foxholes. Once the enemy was sufficiently shell shocked, a lone man would run up to the fox hole and launch a grenade which consisted of a brick of several hundred firecrackers that would usually roust any remaining troops. The victorious side would then move into this territory and repeat the process again until the entire enemy territory was captured.

Ok, I admit, this was totally stupid, dangerous, and completely irresponsible. I am amazed that we didn't put any eyes out or burn down the town. If I saw any kids doing that today, I wouldn't wait for the cops to arrive, I would simply go and kick teenage hiney myself. But...for some reason I remember those times as some of the funnest of my life.