Sunday, April 30, 2006

You just can't trust the weatherman these days

Yesterday, Mrs. Pirate had me out in the backyard watering all the newly planted veggies and flowers so they wouldn't scorch in the sun while we were at a track meet in the afternoon. Here I was in a T-shirt and shorts watering away and kicking the volleyball across the yard so the lab and Alpha Schnauzer could tear more holes into and soaking up the rays. Then from her throne she yells out, "You better hurry up its 10:30 and we need to get up to St. Helens by noon".

From all directions all you could see was blue sky and the promise of another 82 degree day like the day before. I got a couple of items for the trip, my book (The Amber Room), my reading glasses, my shades and a hat, and some sun screen. This was the type of weekend track meets I like. An invitational where several of the top ranked boys and girls would be competing with each other and a lot of sun. I invisioned my fat Pirate butt, bsking in the sun, eating a sausage dog or two and slapping back plenty of cold soda for the day. Oh yeah, and playing track dad the second to track mom. A no brainer and a perfect way to spend the Saturday. Almost as good as a day of rest in the backyard on a Sunday but with entertainment.

As we drove north on I-5, through Portland and then along the Columbia River to the little berg, St. Helens, I noticed some clouds gathering to the west. They appeared somewhat threatening but I being too darn confident in the wrong times thought they would just blow over. How wrong could I have been?

Dead wrong. And so was the weatherman. It didn't take long for the clouds to find the track meet and the gathering of people in their shorts and T-shirts. Then came the wind followed by downpour. Tents covering various booths were blowing from their stakes and tumbling along the field. The flags that graced the track were flapping violently as if to warn folks it was going to get worse. Mrs. Pirate and myself were huddled together under a small blanket and shivering and clattering our teeth. All the North kids were huddled together desparately trying to stay warm as they waited for their own events. I beleive they were all secretly praying the whole thing would be called off so they could head for the bus. But this isn't baseball. The meet had to go one.

Our boys 4x100m blew the competition away by at least two seconds their time was :43.4. Then Jock took the 100m with plenty of room to spare at :11.1. The coached decided to scratch him out of the 200m and the 400m and make him run in the 4x400m. The 4x400m was running with a team that had not ran together at all this year. Their time was the fourth fastest in the state for the year at 3:28:02. Many of our girls broke personal records by a lot. We had several kids take the top step on the award podium. And some of parents were sent to the mental ward for being downright nuts for standing and sitting in the cold.

When there was a break in the action Mrs. Pirate and I ran over to the local Wally World and purchased all the gloves, socks and scarfs we could find and I bought myself a cheap sweatsuit. The kids couldn't have been any more pleased to don their hands with gardening gloves or white socks. Since the pickings were slim on the clearance table the scarfs were neon green and pink. The color did not sway the boys against the warmth they promised. The track meet went past 8:30 pm. The weather had dropped from 70 degrees to 41 degrees all in that time.

With some luck we have seen the last of a the freeze outs for the season. Why couldn't my kids had liked baseball? At least they have enough sense to come in from the rain.


Friday, April 28, 2006

Its been tough to post lately

With so much to do and so little time to do it in, I have neglected the blog a lot of late. Many times something happens in my coherent moments and i think I should write a post about that. Then I am off to another track meet or a meeting with a potential client. This week we have been to six track meets and had family from out of town staying with us.

Not only is it tough to post it is even tougher to read my favorite blogs and leave comments. I feel like I have been a poor friend or a neglectful participant. But I assure this next week will be different. I have a lot to rant and rave about, plenty to brag about and even more topics to quander.

Right now I just put a Jerry Jeff Walker CD in and will address a report a new client has suggested and concentrate on putting money in the bank and food in the trough. And listen to Mr. Bojangles sip his brews.


Saturday, April 22, 2006

Escape from Moses Lake

After going through all the BS with the job in Moses Lake and having to drive my family back through a blizzard in order to open the office the morning after Thanksgiving, I decided I needed to get out of there. Blaze was six years old, starting the first grade and living with her mother in the Salem area. Mrs. Pirate and I knew very few people in Moses Lake. Both of our families lived in Oregon and we were growing tired of the two seasons in Moses Lake, Washington; brown and white.

The company eventually let my boss go because of the time he missed over his son's hunting accident. I went to the VPs of the company and asked if there was a way I could get transferred back to one of the three offices in Oregon. They told me that I was needed in Moses Lake to help the new boss out and help them work with our dealerships. "The new guy needs to get comfortable in Moses Lake before we transfer anyone".

The new guy came and he was as miserable of a person that I had ever met. He hated everything and had no problem expressing his dislike with the staff, the dealers, the weather in Moses Lake (which is tough to handle at first). This guy was addicted to being miserable. No one could possibly be as constantly miserable unless they worked at it. I knew I had to get out of there but the VPs had virtually told me to forget about it until the new boss was comfortable and I never saw that as a possibility. And Mrs. Pirate had a contract through the end of the school year, so we had to bide our time.

Then in March, that following spring, I get a call from the VPs at 4 pm on a Friday night and am told I will report to the Eugene office the next Monday morning at 8 am, or no transfer until another time. I figured they were just yanking my chain because I was always a good boy and did what they wanted me to. It was obvious to me they were throwing this out to showe they were trying to be in my corner but I would never take the immediate transfer because iof the family situation. I was an up and comer and would jump through their hoops at their whim.

Mrs. Pirate supported me and told me to go for it. She could handle her job and the new born, Jock by herself. So I loaded up my pickup on the following Sunday morning and headed south for Eugene, leaving the wife and baby alone until the end of the school year except for the occasional weekend.

I landed in a flea bitten motel in a bad part of Eugene that took less then a week to improve my understanding of the porn world. Paper thin walls and an hourly rate for the rooms were a learning process for this country boy. Eventually I moved to a reputable motel and left my moaning and role playing friends behind.

At first I thought the office was going to be the best place I guy could work. There was me and six other co-workers, all women. I thought how can this be bad? Well, it was hell. My co-workers operated a lot like a pack of wolves, moving across the the terrain salivating from the mouth with their tails deceptively wagging as they were in search of prey.

These six women were the most vicious humans I have ever met. They had a new victim every other day that they could devour which usually was a temp. At least twice a week the pack would turn on one of the other women and shred her from limb to limb until she was a disposed carcase lying in the middle of her own blood. Then they would nurse her back to health and turn on a new victim among them. Luckily they left me alone in that catagory for the first six months.

I was able to make it back home to Mrs. Pirate and Jock one weekend a month that the company paid for. The rest of our love was spent on the phone until the weekend prior to Independence Day. Four months of living in a motel room and fending off the pack in the office. I did manage to eat at ever Chinese restuarant in the Eugene/Springfield area and kept notes of which ones were better.

I had no idea how mean and ruthless women could be to each other in an office situation. It was my first experience in the gender battle ground. Though they were all nice looking to a fault, they all had played the part of a sweet young lady, looking for a career and a good man. But in reality they were battle worn and spiteful. Each one of them put on the airs of being sophisticated and well bred but they were only trying to make each other feel safe and hoping one would drop their guard so the others could lunge into the her weak spot and eat out her core.

Then around the holidays at the end of the year their targets became more random and they began to consider me as new prey. After one week of covering my back and family jewels I was able to find an exit door. I spent more and more time on the road visiting clients and potential new clients. Prior to cell phones I began to increase the revenues of the office from the company car.

Then it finally happened. It was an early Thursday morning and one of the VPs, John Lobland was doing an audit of our office and I happened to be in the office at 6 am and I was planning a company road trip to Eastern Oregon when the VP summond me to his office. At a few minutes after 6 am I sat there while this arrogantly disconnected nub began to read me the riot act. He began to blame me for problems in the office even though I was only the third highest ranking person in the office but I was the only male and had a natural position above the others (at least that was his thinking). He was standing and shouting at me at this early hour about things only the manager was responsible for or could possibly change. This was a man that I had put thousands of dollars in his back pocket from bonuses and company accallodes over the last three years. A man that I had put my own life aside for to garner his favor. And all he could do was take is discontent for the Eugene office out on me. I guess unlike the office manager I was not sleeping with him and I had proven over the last three years I would take his crap. He went on for about 45 minutes of how I owed him for me being transferred to Oregon and how he had went to bat for me and all. It became clear to me right then that he was a self-consumed liar and did not deserve my loyality.

I asked to be excused for a minute and went to my office. I called and asked Mrs. Pirate if she truley loved me she would back what I was about to do. And she affirmed she did. I went back into the VPs office and bascially told him where to put his job. I never looked back.

Though it was tough to find a good job for awhile it was worth it. I found many day or two jobs that paid for hard physical labor and under the table the money came. There were no suits to be worn to these types of jobs but the people were better and the wolf pack was behind me.

The lessons were learned and I moved on.


Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Dale has inspired me

Earlier this week my blog friend Dale of Colorado had written a post on his blog to express his feelings on a hot topic. He says he began his blogging days for recreation and didn't want to step on any toes but as he grew he realized he wasn't being honest with himself. He was making friends with bloggers who basically try to live their lives in Christ and Dale thought this conflicted with his non-belief in Christ. So he posed an indirect question to his blog friends and others that read his blog. Will he still have friends on the blog if he was honest about his feelings?

Man I sure hope so. From my seat honesty goes a long way. It goes further then anyone trying to convince me of anything I am not sure about. After reading Dale's post and making many comments regarding the post I thought I would come clean. You see, I have never made it public that I dislike, mail carriers, mailmen, postmen, whatever you call them.

You are probably asking yourself, why? Or saying who gives a rat's butt. I mean why in the world would you dislike a socially accepted and community endeared profession. Heck, Norman Rockwell painted them into the fabric of America. Many characters on TV sitcoms have made room for a mail carrying character. Seinfeld had Newman, Cheers had Cliff, Kevin Costner played a futuristic postman. Pirate, how have they hurt anyone? What's your problem anti-mail carrier seadog?

Let me tell you, I have attempted three different times in my life to befriend mail carriers and each attempt has been thrown back into my face. Ten or eleven years ago when the Pirate bood was much smaller we lived in an old house on Kansas street. And there was a mail carrier that seemed to have close friendships with the long standing residence in the neighborhood. So I thought I would be civil and make small talk with him every chance I got. He always responded with a look like he doubted my intentions or that I was trying to get more from him.

Then I tried another angle. I started sharing mail carrier jokes with him. You know the ones that have some dim witted over worked yank, going "postal". Well, guess what? That only made him more weary of me. Then one day he infomred me that I needed to do something with my dog or I was going to have a real problem with him. When he told me this I thought he had me confused with the folks across the street who owned a blood-thirsty Rottweiler. A rottweiler that had gotten its butt kicked by Mrs. Pirate. (a different story for a different time) A rottweiler who only had a small white picket fence between it and all the creatures it desired to eat. But no the postman was miffed at my toy sized weiner dog, Crosby. Apparently Crosby had been sending him bad vibs and failed to use a stamp. That's all I could gather from the request.

So I asked the serial killer wannabe why he had a problem with my killer weiner dog. He told me every time he walks next to my back fence the dog goes nuts and barks crazily at him. Then one day the dog was out front with one of my little boys and the dog chased him down the sidewalk. Keep in mind this dog was the size of a Converse's Chuck Taylor shoe.

I explained to him that the dog was harmless. He then went on a diatribe how people like me have no idea how dangerous little dogs are. He told me the dog hates him and he was seriously worried.

Hates you? I asked. How in the world could he know anything like that?

He told me that they had done studies and proven that dogs hate the uniform of mail carriers. We then stood on the sidewalk debating the intelligence of a dog. I tried to explain to him a dog doesn't know a uniform from a bathing suit. He argued the opposite. I told him I figured the dog only saw this guy come around every day and walk up on the porch and steal something from their owner's black box on the wall. We never got anywhere with this debate and eventually parted when we moved to the current residence.

Then about five years ago our new mail carrier, a Son-of-Sam look alike told me that he was worried about our little weiner dog. He told me that the little dog had chased him down the driveway the other day and he was concerned for his safety. He too used the uniform hating dog theory on me. And he m entioned that the dog had been sending him mental messages of how the dog intended to defame him. Somewhere in the discussion I mentioned how I thought it was weird how mail carriers tended to buy into stupidity quite easily and that may be why they are known for their poor inner-employee relations.

After no mail for a week I decided to contact the postmaster general to see if my debtors had lost my address. I explained to the Postmaster General how our current mail carrier and I disagreed on dog psychology. He said he would talk with the lunatic when he returned from his route. A short while later the Postmaster General called me back and asked me if my address was such and such and I told him it was. He said he found all my mail stuck in a plastic bag in the mail carrier's desk with happy faces and a slash drawn through the happy face on most of my mail.

He then asked me if I could move my mailbox out to the road and away from my house. I told him I could if it meant I would get my mail.

The killer weiner dog has long left us for a mail route in the sky and the mailbox out near the road began to attract our local meth tweekers. So after the third attempt to steal my mail was thwarted last month I decided to move the box back to the front porch. I mean all my neighbors have their mail brought to their front porch and I have always thought the mailbox out by the road looked out of place.

Then last Wednesday the weather was nice and the sky was blue here in the Willamette Valley so I took advantage. I went and bought a new bottle of "Round-up" and began killing weeds in my front yard. Mrs. Pirate who has Wednesdays off, and I were out in front doing the yard thing and enjoying the weather. Along came a new mail carrier. It being a nice day and Wednesday a day of inspiration, I met the mail carrier as he strolled across my lawn with kindness and a "how you doing on this fine day" greeting.

Standing about a foot taller then me he walked up to me and asked me who gave me permission to move my mailbox up to my porch. His demeanor was direct and rude.

What do you mean who gave me permission?

Yeah buddy, you need to get permission from the Postmaster General to move your box.

Hey BUDDY! All the neighbors have theirs on their front porch. I just wanted to blend in.

He then got inches from my face and told me if everyone moved their box it would add three hours to his day.

Then I remembered a postman killed his supervisor the other day in Baker City, Oregon (Mrs. Pirate's hometown) because she added time to his schedule.


Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Lil Sis has her First Kiss

When Blaze was ten years younger the boys started lining up. An absolutely beautiful young lady she garnered a lot of attention. At first it was attention not solicited. But after awhile she settled into the new status of no longer the tomboy in the neighborhood. I always told her to never go out with a boy who would not introduce themselves to me. And when they did I expected them to shake my hand with a good gripe and to look me straight in the eye. Evidentlly she spread the word because for the next ten years every time I met a new beau they practically broke my hand in a death stare down.

Then the boys took to chasing the girls. Actually they started noticing from the first day of grade school but it took several years to fester into lust. Over the last few years of high school both boys have maintained some kind of love relationship with a girl. Slick tends to move from one to the next about the same rate of the seasons. On the other hand Jock has basically had three girlfriends over the last five years.

Now things have changed. Last week Lil Sis had reached the first month anniversary. (Who doesn't remember keeping scores by months?). I began to notice over the basketball season that she had started mentioning boys in more of endearing way then we had been accustomed to at our house. This last summer I did hear her mention that she thought one of Slick's buddies was cute but it never really went any further then that. Then this year during basketball practice I would hear her and all the other girls discussing the boys in their class. The conversation took on the flavor of how cute one or the other was. At first I chucked off as puppy love in the beginning. Then their discussions and actions became much more forward. More forward then a mean old Pirate like me was able to comprehend.

Lil Sis being naturally shy and not really all that forward when it came to boys, she began to shed the shy act. A lot because of the prodding by her more "boy crazy" friends she began to actuallt sitting by a particular boy at games or school events. Then there was the winter season dance she went to with a boy but she didn't dance. I was thinking she was only showing interest in order to be cool. I thought deep down she was only expressing her attraction to the opposite sex because it was natures way and she was going along to get along with nature.

Well, I was wrong. The beau down the street from our house she had been talking about for months began to walk his basset hound past our house every evening and out to the field behind our place. Mrs. Pirate and I began to notice he lingered longer then the dog needed almost every night out near the mailbox.

Lil Sis had began to tell us how dreamy he was and how he looked like Dirks Bentley, her celebrity crush. I didn't feel it would ever materilize because we knew the parents and knew how strict they were when it came to young kids dating. The boys mother is a Principal at a Catholic school where he attends. Due to their older dauighter and Jock being classmates and we had been together at many school functions we had many discussions about the youth these days.

A month ago the little guy started inviting Lil Sis to walk with him and his basset hound. Then the talk from her included the Dirks Bentley look alike and the basset hound named, Parker. I knew we were in trouble when she knew the dog's name.

Then she informed us he had asked her to be his sweety and she complied. Uh oh. I began to break out the old epees and honing their points. One evening when they were out walking, Parker. I decided to take out the garbage. And guess who I spotted standing behind the cars in the driveway? Yep, you got it. Two barely five foot tall people, smooching. Two little curly blonde haired kids. It took me back to Triangle Trees.

Then the other night as Mrs. Pirate and i were getting ready for bed she asked if we could come to her room. She had something she wanted to show us. My God I hope it ain't a hicky or tattoo. No she wanted to sing us a song karoke style. On came Jackson Browne. She stood there in her room singing "Rosie". With the stage moves and everything. My lands what happened to my baby? This love thing has made her nuts.

As long as she continues to read the same books as I do so we can discuss them. As long as she demands I tuck her in every night and kisses me good bye at school every morning I may be able to adjust. And as long as the boy keeps a good gripe and can look me in the eye I will not worry.

I don't plan to tell her what the song, "Rosie" is about. At least not yet. She sings it so well. and it assures me she is still my baby.


Monday, April 17, 2006

What do I do????

This last weekend was the XO Invitational at the University of Oregon. It is held at Heyward field where many famous track athletes have showed their wares. The top track athletes of the high school where our sons attend were invited. Jock was seeded fourth in the 400m and 8th in the 200m and their 400x1m relay team was seeded fifth. Jcok enede up third in the 400m, 4th in the 200m and their relay finished 2nd by 100th of a second. So a lot of success was provided for the parents who sat and froze their asses off.

It was the coldest sporting event I can remember ever watching. I have participated in some almost as cold but never have I sat for 12 hours wet and freezing in the downpour and wind just to yell for kids running around in tank tops and shorts. My dad and step mom got a chance to come and watch Jock for the first time. I big tip of that hat goes to them for making it through the meet. They knew only one kid running but they got into yelling for all of them as we did. I think it made them feel warmer.

Then we got a call from Slick. He and Lil sis had stayed home to veg and watch TV as everyone else was out of town. I could barely hear him over the cell phone with the stadium PA mostly drowning him out. He said that my aunt and uncle had dropped off my grandmother at the house while they went shopping. I told him that was great.

He said, "Dad what do we do with her?"

I told him the visit with her. Enjoy the opportunity.

"How do we visit with her?" came the panicked response.

"You tell her what you been up to and what you plan to do and ask her questions".

"But dad she can't hear very well. So now I have to talk really loud to her".

I told him to improvise.

The next morning I asked him what they did with Grandma? They said they called my mother and sister over to have them visit with grandma. Then Blaze came by and rescued them.

I need to start training those two on how to talk with elderly people just in case I live that long and get stuck sitting in their livingroom.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Rerun of my favorite Easter story

Even though I am a Pirate, I was raised to believe in God. My grandparents always told me that there were no such things as coincidences. When a chain of events happened and there was an unusual result it was all God’s plan. No coincidences just divine intervention. Allow me to share a family story that could be either coincidence or God’s intervention. This is a true story and since it happened on Easter it makes me wonder.
My youngest brother, J.K. is a deputy sheriff. He was working patrol on an Easter morning. An Easter morning that started out with promise of being a warm beautiful spring day. The skies were as clear as the eyes could see. No rain was forecast all systems were “Go”, for a barbeque. That morning was fairly uneventful for J.K. He had a couple stops here and there but minor stuff.
Near the end of his shift a call came from dispatch. There had been an accident on a country road. Apparently, a drunk had been turning his car around and backed over an embankment. J.K. being the senior officer on patrol and it being Easter he radioed to the dispatch and to the other officers, that he’d take the call. Though it wasn’t he told them it was on his route home. He figured that he would get the additional holiday pay and the younger guys could go home.
J.K. arrived at the scene and found that the driver was slightly injured and too drunk to speak clearly and to further complicate matters the driver didn’t speak English. Luckily for J.K. an off duty firefighter happened to be driving by and stopped to assist. The firefighter did not know the driver and didn’t speak Spanish either, but he did know the local area. The firefighter had flagged down the first car that happened by. The driver of the vehicle was an elderly Hispanic gentleman who volunteered to speak to the driver of the car. With the help of the elderly gentleman and the firefighter J.K. was able to determine the driver was not seriously hurt. They were then able to remove him from the car and to get him back up on the road where he would be safer.
After the ambulance took the driver to the hospital for an observation and the fireman went on his way to his family function he was originally driving to, J.K. approached the elderly gentleman to thank him for what he had done. He asked the man for his name and address so the sheriff could send the man an official thank you. At first the man was hesitant to tell a police officer his name, but he eventually got over his fears and told my brother that his name was, Jose Salazar. A common Spanish name but not a common name in our neck of the woods.
As my brother was writing down the gentleman’s name he remembered a conversation he, my middle brother and myself had had several months before. You see my middle brother, was quite the swordsman. Prior to his marriage he had lived the life only a gigolo would envy. Tall, dark and handsome with killer green eyes and wavy brown hair he had attracted more than his share of lovely women. But there was one lovely girl he had not been as careful with that haunted him. Apparently, twelve years ago he had met and made love to this beautiful Hispanic girl who claimed to be a virgin and wanted him to be her first experience. Being like the rest of our Pirate family he had no problem fulfilling this girl’s wishes.
He told us that it was one of the loveliest nights of his life and he believed it to be the same for the girl. In the future my brother attempted to see the girl again but she must have felt ashamed and refused his calls. Time went by and he moved on. He moved on to a new town and a new way of living. He eventually took a common law wife and had two little girls of his own.
Several years later the state welfare department who wanted to know something about this evening with the beautiful girl approached him. He admitted to the encounter and took responsibility for the boy he knew nothing about. He got a loan and paid the back support and had the designated amount withheld from his paycheck to support the girl and the baby boy. He had tried to contact her family and was told that she had moved to another state and they had no way of contacting her. The family did provide him with two pictures of the boy and an address where he could send anything he wished the boy to have. He was told the boy’s name was Michael and he lived somewhere with his mother.
Since my brother no longer lived in our area he had asked that J.K. or myself to keep our ears open if we ever came across anyone in the area with the last name of Salazar. J.K. had remembered this name and decided to approach the elder gentleman about his last name.
J.K. told the man that he had to ask him something that sounds a little strange but did he know of a little boy, who would be around twelve, who had the name of Michael Salazar? J.K. explained why he was asking and the elder man instantly began to cry. The elderly man began speaking only in Spanish; he crossed himself and continued with his tears.
Recognizing the last name of my brother from the tag on his uniform the elderly man told him that he had a grandson with that name, whose father he had never met, but shared the last name with my brother, J.K. After further discussions they both decided it was the same boy. The elderly man continued by telling J.K. how he and his wife had raised their grandson as their own and had promised their daughter that they would never allow the grandson to bother his real father. The mother had felt guilty and had decided that she would stay away from my brother and allow the boy to grow up fatherless.
The boy had been receiving Christmas gifts and birthday gifts from my brother for sometime and he had a picture of my brother he carried with him at all times. But the boy had no idea where his father lived or how to contact him. Neither did the grandfather.
From this happenstance meeting between Michael’s grandfather and my brother life changed forever for all involved.
Over the next two weeks my brother and the grandfather cooked up a scheme to convince the boy’s mother that the boy needed to meet his father. Shortly, our family had grown by one more Pirate, a Pirate who currently is serving this country over seas in the USN.
I eventually got the opportunity to sit down with the grandfather and was able to get his side of the events of that day. He told me that that particular morning the weather had started off beautifully. He and his wife and Michael had gone to mass that morning. After church the skies had clouded up. It was the family custom to have Easter brunch at their home every year. Prior to going to mass they had set up their patio to cater to the brunch and to handle their large family. Now that the rain was on its way plans had to change. His wife had requested that he move the brunch into the garage. As he was setting up the tables and the trappings the garage lights mysteriously burned out. He had replaced them only a week or so before and found that to be unusual for fluorescent lights. His wife told him that the brunch was still going to be in the garage and he had best headed his rear into town and get some new lights. As he was getting into his truck the wife told him that she could see some police lights off over the hill from their property and he should stop over there and see what was going on. Since he never drove that direction into town and the fact he had just had a little glass of wine he decided to avoid going by the police. Just as he drove to the end of his drive way and was turning the other direction an off duty fireman that was one of his son’s friends drove by towards the police lights. Mr. Salazar turned onto the country road and proceeded towards town. As he drove he had a feeling of guilt come over him. Maybe there was trouble over where the policeman was and just maybe the off duty fireman was going to assist. So he turned his truck around and drove toward the flashing lights. The rest is history.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Pirate is upright again

I am feeling a ton better then the last week. I have had a terrible sinus infection, along with a bad bought with asthma. With the over the counter drugs and the doctor prescribed ones I was real loopy and unable to spend much time doing anything constructive.

Thank god it has started to rain again in the valley so now I can breathe. Though this time of the year is so beautiful it gets worse on me every year. The pollen of the cherry blossoms and maple here in the Willamette Valley tend to render me nuts.

I have not even reada blog nor looked at mine for sometime. I feel that I have been ignoring a good friend. I appreciate all that were wondering what ever happened to the Pirate.

Track season has been going well for the North Salem High Vikings. They were picked to finish 8th out of ten teams. So far they have been kicking allcomers butts. They pounded the rich school, sprague the other day, 100 points to 35. The boys team is 3 and 1 and the girls have yet to meet lose.

My boys have been doing great Slick continues to better his personal record in th 1500 meter and the 3000 meter ever race. I am also starting to see a little bit of competitiveness emerge from him. As for Jock he curently has the third fastest time in the state for the 400m and he broke the school record at 50.1. This weekend he will be running at the University of Oregon's Heyward field. The place where Steve Prefontain ruled, where the PAC 10 finals are often held and many Olympic trials, not to mention the annual state championship meet. It is an invitation put on by the Duck alums. He is seeded very high in the 400m race and medium for the 200m. Their 4x100m relay is picked to finish fourth. As a proud dad I am ready for the whole thing to get going.

I'm hoping to see Joe Valsetz and his daughter there as well. Joe's daughter attends another Salem school but his daughter is a conference favorite in the 800m. If you are interested you can go to and read the results by Monday. Look for the name Wheeler from North Salem High School and you will see how Jock does.

The house is really shaping up after all the hard driving slave work Mrs. Pirate has imposed on all of us. All the bedrooms are painted. The bathrooms are sparkling, and the living room and my office is next. My new fence for the backyard goes up next week or the week after depending how I feel.

I have not been writing much of late because of how crappy I was feeling. I have read a few good books though. "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote and "Night" by Elie Wiesel. I have not heard anything from the magazine I submitted three of my stories to. I guess no word is good.

Other then that that is all I know right now...


Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Pirate has been down of late

I have not been able to post anything of late because I have been dealing with a bad cold, hay-fever, and sore back. All I was capable of dong the last two days was sleep (because of the medicine), read and watch TV.

Yesterday was the nicest day of the hear in the Willamette Valley and all I could do was cough, sneeze, fart and ache. I have been walking around the house trying to do some business work, get my taxes done and blowing my nose.

Tomorrow I am going out on the road to talk with some potential clients and hope I can pursuade them to do business with me and not Sir Von Asswipe. I figure just dropping by their offices armed with a business card and a smile I might shake something loose. If not I at least got out and squeezed some hands.

Be careful I just sneezed all over the screen.


Monday, April 03, 2006

I'm pooped

After thrity trips to WalMrt for another gallon of paint and God knows what else, the family finally got three bedrooms painted. Mrs. Pirate, god love her, had us working our butts off the last four days. We are preparing the house for her family's arrival for Jock's graduation this June.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea about our house. We have a nice house; four bedrooms, two baths, family room, living room, kitchen and den, two-car garage and swimming pool. But after eleven years in a house where you have raised three kids you need some upgrading. I think Mrs. Pirate has a plan to do it all in a month. You'd think she was inviting the Queen mother or the press to our house for the graduation. She has us scrubbing walls, painting, tiling, painting, washing, painting, shampooing, etc...

I was never so glad to take her to work this morning at 6 am. Oh, the spring ahead thing, wrong weekend for me. I am pooped. The last thing I needed was one hour less of sleep. And not to mention we are getting new blinds in the bedroom so we had nothing covering our windows this weekend. So the ever so damn happy sun had to wake me up so DAMN EARLY. I'm sorry I'm not a morning person. I prefer staying up later, reading, writing, watching a littel boob tube, hit the bed around 1 am or 2 am and get up around 9 am. The sun and Mrs., Pirate had a different schedule in mind for me.

You should have seen the smile on my face as I waved to Mrs. Pirate as she entered her building at work, it was one of those bird in the cat's mouth smiles. Then I bolted home got the three kids off to school, dropped them off and drove like a madman home, locked the door, put the yippy dog in the bedroom, unplugged the ringer on the phone, put a blanket over the window and went back to sleep until 10:30. I love spring break, when its over.

But I feel much better and have been very productive after getting my early nap.

Don't be saying anything about me being lazy or whatever, that's the benfits of being your own boss. Tomorrow I plan to be back to my wound up self.