So, use tricks!

Generally, my most successful tricks preparing for a new day include standing my toothbrush in my prescription bottle, placing my appointments Post-it on my wallet and my car keys in my coffee cup.

If I am seriously worried about an important event, I will put a book, glass or maybe my shoes where they shouldn’t be as a morning get up reminder.

Warning: that last one can have unintended consequences for those of us that multi-pee each night, the tripping time might not be just right.

Instead, you might try placing some large object that can’t be missed clearly out of place elsewhere and hope a significant other doesn’t correct your “stupidity” before you get a chance to stumble upon it.

Oh Ya! And when it comes to turning on the stove or hose, get serious. Use your phone alarm less charcoal or that cruise turned into a water bill is to your liking.

Richard Kimball

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The Ryder Cup, golf’s most prestigious team competition, where the best in golf from Europe, compete against the best America has to offer.

A difficult sport that tests patience, control and the mind, rather than brute force athleticism.

Even our President and golf aficionado, appeared to the thunderous accolades of a supportive American crowd.

A crowd that then followed his “America First” agenda, chanting “f%@k you” at the opposition. Screaming as the Europeans tried to take a shot. Even hitting their star’s wife with a perfectly pitched container of beer when she appeared to try and support her husband.

Tom Watson, one of America’s golf greats and our former Ryder Cup captain: “I am ashamed.”

Richard Kimball

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I was 6, maybe 7 when I learned what a great university was, and its name was Stanford.

Sitting in our game room playing Fish with my best friend, I heard that name. “We can become another Stanford of the west,” my father said, not to me, but to a best friend sitting at the bar.

His friend happened to be the President of the University of Arizona (U of A). He and my dad, once their lawyer, was now Majority Leader of the State Senate and filling the idea with the needed funds.

30 years later, as a State Senator myself, I looked back on their time.

The U of A went from 5,700 students to 26,500.

Growing from 1,100 faculty to 7,500, continually increasing faculty time per student (Stanford).

In their time, ballooning resource and facilities the U of A became a nationally recognized institution and were well on their way.

That was just over 50 years ago.

Last week, the U of A was passed by another 18 universities, dropping to 127^th in national rankings.  

Stanford’s ranking? #4.

Tis no matter, a $285,000 BONUS was awarded the U of A president for his efforts or his attendance.  Not sure which.

Follow the money at your school!

Richard Kimball

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My wife once led an effort to do oral histories of old timers, the movers and shakers of yesteryear.

I decided to help out, but not with aging movers and shakers of times gone by. 

I started with my barber Johnny Gibson. Johnny had learned his trade as a member of the 101^st Airborne during World War II chopping the locks of those he served with, including the buddy he got shot down with behind enemy lines.

They squirreled together in the rubbled remains of a house for days. Without food they finally made a break for it, back through German lines.

Somehow, they both survived, and Johnny would keep cutting locks at his local shop, becoming the most popular barber in town.

Many years later Johnny had enough money to take a trip back east, see some of the sights he’d missed on his way to war.

In New York, he dropped in to say hello to his old friend from the rubble but was sternly stopped by a matron insisting that he was far to busy to receive any unscheduled guests.

“Well,” Johnny said, “Please, just let him know that Johnny Gibson stopped by to say hello,” and then walked out the door and on down 5^th Avenue.

Two blocks down the road, he could hear his name being screamed as his old buddy came blasting out his store door.

“JOHNNY, JOHNNY WHERE ARE YOU!”

Johnny turned around to see who it was.

Charles Louise Tiffany and he spent the next two days touring New York City.

Richard Kimball

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If people were good, “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs,” would come naturally and be the way the world would be.

Alas, so many humans are not good, but selfish, greedy and dishonest, communism is instantly corrupted, making democracy’s wager that more of us are good than bad, the better bet.

Richard Kimball

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Nixon’s accepted gift, a dog the family named Checkers.

Thomas Eagleton once suffered from depression.

Donna Rice and Gary Hart on the Monkey Business.

Paula Jones, Monica Lewinsky and Clinton.

Biden blowing a debate.

All ended Presidencies and/or reputations.

But, BUT, this guy

convicted of sexual abuse, threatening former groupies now turned whistleblowers like Bolton, Tillerson, McMaster, Bannon…, his intending to put former President’s or contenders in prison, while whitewashing Epstein and getting and getting preferred treatment for child sex abusers like Ghislaine Maxwell, gets a pass and a growing following.

Americans devolve into the compost. The why, comes with the rest of the story – my next missive!

Richard Kimball

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That first spank that makes you cry and breath sets the tone. Was it the spank or that first breath? Did it fill you with worry or wonder?

If worry, well there are plenty more to come: That mess down there, that chaffing, the sudden hunger that wasn’t there a second ago or just mommy’s not being in front of your face. Later that touch of a hot stove, the bee sting, poke, scrape or cut, particularly if anything comes with BLOOD.

But if it is wonder, then comes the marvels! Oh, those marvels: that first breath of fresh air, the warmth of a cuddle, that sweet suckle on mommy’s breast. As the days rolled on there was seemingly unending awe at what you heard, tasted, touched, smelled or saw for the very first time.

At his end, the Dalai Lama suggests that each year we should visit a place or have an experience for the very first time. Newness refreshes our senses, makes us feel alive.

If you aren’t so close to your end and still have some juice, I say:

JUST DO IT

If you are from the west and traveled at all, you recall first marveling at the monuments in your nation’s Capital, that incredible crush of water that keg riders took over Niagara Falls, or the single year it took to build and let you stand on the Empire State Building, the horrors at Gettysburg, or that historic walk down Boston’s “Freedom Trail,” and maybe just for this westerner, the marvel of being surrounded by what they called in the east lightening bugs.

If you are from the east your travels west had nature taking the front seat and making your jaw drop at how big a hole can be at the Grand Canyon, what trees can really do in a Sequoia, or those hundreds of crystaled streams, teaming with fish, or how enormous mountains and bears can be, or just how large a volcano was that at Yellow Stone.

If you were truly adventurous, you might have even spent some time in that underworld that thrives like a thousand alien species just below the waves.

Or maybe some adventures in sensations: Sky diving, blowing some weed, or just eating a bit of sautéed goose liver is what stimulated your senses. Find something, anything new!

The world has unlimited permutations of what makes us feel alive. Doing something new, something never known, might awaken what has ended in most of us oldies: That shock and awe we had for that first breath.

Richard Kimball

P. S. Spank me, I’m off to Alaska. Talk to you when I get back.

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A long-distance runner gave us ten weeks of internship lending a hand with our research in the wilderness. Young and pretty she took off after work each day to put in a half-dozen miles or so.

But on this night, she missed the sunset, supper, the moon and bedtime, and just thus, forty-six young students and staff entered the world of mass hysteria.

It was their tears of fear that I might remember most if it weren’t for the testosterone driven young’uns I heard had just left to search the quarter million acres of wilderness in the dark.

It was all one could do to run them down and threaten them with dismissal if they did not return to the lodge, instantly.

Local search and rescue, some 26 miles away refused to respond until first light, “too dangerous” they said.

There would be no way on a freezing night to hold back a one of us, including me.

Trail maps were printed out, assignments were made with ridged timelines to return and report.  I waited till midnight before making that most miserable of calls back east and woke up her parents.

Teams went out in threes and fours, each person in warm gear, a flashlight, water and most importantly whistles and a blanket should they find her. She jogged wearing only nylon shorts and a flimsy tank top.

The searches went on and on, each team reporting back and reassigned. Nothing. Not a hint, for miles around in any direction.

At first light, the lodge was full of the exhausted, and when I entered there wasn’t a dry eye, many sobbing uncontrollably. Sickened, I asked, “What was it? Did someone find her?”    “No,” “No,” “No,” came the responses. And then one of the sobbing said, “They said it was probably a Mountain Lion!”

Only then did I notice off in the corner that the local volunteers from Search and Rescue had finally shown up.  That is when my emotions overwhelmed my good sense.  I went ballistic and demanded that the locals get out and stop talking to my young staff.

The morning crept on and on, then at exactly 10 am, “Boo Boo” walked in the front door with one of our search teams still looking for her. Before a single word was said, I had to excuse myself.  It was my time to cry.

They had found her walking on one of the back roads. Unknown to city dwellers, there are many roads in the wilderness not excavated by human hands. Turns out that deer, moose, elk don’t just wander aimlessly in the forest, they make roads most traveled, and it is one of those that “Boo Boo” took by mistake but petered out and got lost.

 “Boo Boo” and I first called her parents and then “Boo Boo” and I talked.

“Yes,” she said she was cold, but she remembered her older brother who was a Boy Scout had told her if you are ever lost in such circumstance, find the tallest tree and settle under it, it will cast your odor out the furthest so the dogs can find you, then gather all the leaves and twigs you can and bury yourself in them to stay warm.  When it was first light, she said, she just headed downhill to a creek and followed it till she found a road.

In reverence, I finally asked weren’t you ever scared?  She said that she was, when two bears came around in the middle of the night, but she just said, “BOO BOO” and they went away.

Richard Kimball

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I loved that rescue, cooked for that dog, slept with that dog, hiked, swam, and camped with that dog.  

Chase balls? Yes! Chase sticks? Yes!  But her favorite? Our jump and catch tug of wars with a long leather woven rope.

A year or so passed when she became suddenly ill. I was crazed as to what to do. Just as I picked her up from the couch the first little blob dropped, then came eight more.

Screw the couch, I was so thrilled with the only little ones I would ever know.

Some weeks later, looking out my window, there she was growling with my butt end of our leather rope clenched in her teeth. The other end, now frayed into a dozen leathery straps, being pulled and yanked by nine puppies in a mommy tug of war.

How can anyone not love a dog?

It isn’t just the fun, the endless entertainment, but the loyalty and love that knows no end, even if you have been an ass.

Near the end of my dog’s life, I decided to move. It was a big move from a cramped apartment to a home I had bought miles away with a large patio for my love to enjoy.

In the last haul of odds and ends I put her in my car and then introduced her to her yard of green grass and pecan trees.

An hour later she was gone, not dead, just gone.

She had managed to dig out under the wooden wall when she saw me leave to go to the store.

The night was spent combing the neighborhood and major streets for miles around. Nothing.

She was just gone.

In the morning, I checked with the Pound, Animal Control and put up posters on street corners in every direction for a mile or more around.

Hope had faded away but for a whim. I drove the miles, crossing a half dozen of the biggest most trafficked streets in Phoenix.

And there she was, asleep on the mat in front of our apartment door.

How can anyone not love a dog?

Richard Kimball

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Had a dream last night that my wife and I, who are of the same mid-seventies age, were visited by a fairy who wanted to honor our 40 years together. First, she asked Adelaide, “What one thing would you like?” Adelaide responded, “A trip around the world.” With a click of her fingers, the fairy produced two tickets on the Queen Mary’s maiden voyage across the globe.

Then she turned to me, “What is your wish?” I responded, “Well I would like my wife to be thirty years younger than me.” And with a click of her fingers, I became 106.

TAKE THAT!

Richard Kimball

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