I retired from my work in 2003, sold my home in the suburbs of Washington, D. C., and built my retirement home in the Pennsylvania countryside in 2004. At last, I was free to do the things I wanted to do. There was no more fighting for my own square inch of space in D. C. I had 2 acres of land and I could spread out. One of the earliest things I noticed at my new home was that I saw the countryside as I drove around. That was unlike the workaday world I left behind. This was going to be a great retirement.
However, I had an 85 year-old Mother that was living about 50 miles away in her own home. I visited her on weekends after my retirement. Gradually, the weekends needed to be stretched to include weekdays. The first day of my retirement I noticed that my Mother was asking me the same questions more than once. This was something new and I didn't undestand what was happening. Goodbye to my first retirement!
Within a year, my Mother was living in my new home with me. That was 2005. My father had dementia before he died and now my Mother had dementia. I was the sole caregiver and her dementia was a full-time job. As her dementia progressed, I viewed a good day as one in which she didn't threaten my life. In July 2011, I was in the emergency room at a local hospital trying to lower my blood pressure. By then, I was a physical wreck and my Mother had to be placed in a facility so that I could survive.
After years of feeling guilty because I placed my Mother in a facility, I retired again in 2015. This time, I learned to swim, took up Tang Soo Do karate, and joined a firearm range. I'm cooking, I'm baking, etc. I'm healthy.
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I bought the Ruger GP 100 Match Champion, 357 Magnum, Model 1754 for $699. There is a nice story to go with the purchase. I went in to look at it and it was spotless. It smelled like Hoppee's bore cleaner--which is a good thing. I checked its vital parts and everything looked good. Then they told me it was traded in by one of their best customers. They told me the seller buys a gun uses it a bit and then trades it in for another gun. That customer purchased the 1754 in September 2019 and traded it in during October 2019. It was two months old.
While I was there, my Ruger Mark IV came in. I'll load them in the Gallery soon. Tomorrow, I take the 2 additions to my small arsenal to the range and try them out.
It looks like the only difference is the 1754 hasQuote
A fixed Novak® LoMount Carry rear sight and fiber optic front sight allows for a fast and visible sight picture.
and the 1755 hasQuote
An adjustable rear sight and fiber optic front sight allows for a fast and visible sight picture.
Same MSRP of $969. My gun range offers it at $834.99. The offered lightly used version is $699.
I was planning to get the Model 1771 that doesn't have the upgrades at $742.99 next year.
By Bob1 in Bob's Blog 0When I first retired, I planted 200 shrubs, 90 rose bushes, and filled wooded terraces in the back of the house with about 15 truckloads of top soil and mushroom soil. One day, while I was working behind the house planting in a lower terraced garden, a Northern Mockingbird began screaming at me from the roof of my home. At first, I just looked up at the mockingbird. Then I screamed back because the bird wouldn't stop. This is where the crazy part of the story begins.
I remember birders telling me about bluebirds coming to their windows to let them know they wanted some food. I thought that was nonsense until I dealt with this mockingbird. The mockingbird had a nest about 2 feet off of the ground in one of my rose bushes. As I looked towards a cherry tree on the other side of the rose bushes, the mockingbird flew to that cherry tree and kept squaking at me. By now, I thought the mockingbird might be asking for my help. I told you it would sound crazy. I ran to the top of the rose garden where I could survey my land from the woods to the cherry tree. There, at the edge of the woods, was the mockingbird's problem. It was a cat that was threatening the mockingbird's nest. As I ran towards the cat in an effort to scare it away, the mockingbird followed me and landed in a tree above the cat. After the cat was scared away, the mockingbird returned to its nest. Problem solved. I had helped a mockingbird.
The next day, I needed to mulch the rose garden where the mockingbird's nest was. Mockingbirds protect their nests by flying at people who get too close for the mockingbird's comfort. However, I wanted to get that garden mulched. Would the mockingbird and her mate tolerate me or would they attack me? I moved around the nest on my hands and knees spreading mulch but being careful to never look directly at the nest. I talked gently while I was mulching and waited for the attack. It never came. I guess the mockingbirds recognized me and decided I was not a threat.
Over the next several years, I had mockingbird nests in my yard every Summer. I listened to the chicks chirping at feeding time. Sometimes, I saw the chicks leave their nest and walk through the grass until they could perch on something above the ground. They always made a single peep as they travelled to let their parents know where they were. When I heard the peeps off of the ground, I knew the chicks had reached safety.
By Bob1 in Bob's Blog 0It was 1993 and I was getting the 6-month service done on my new home in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D. C. A large fellow was there to do the work. I told him I was getting my first dog soon and tears filled his eyes. He told me: I'll never get another dog. His dog had recently died and his remembering him brought tears to his eyes.
As I had planned, I picked up my first dog that year. I named him Ambrose for Major General Ambrose Everett Burnside of Civil War fame. The General had some successes and some failures. His failures were at Fredericksburg, Virginia and Antietam, Maryland. I had one rule for our home with Ambrose and that was we would never mention those two battles. Ambrose was a wonderful dog, loved everyone, played hard, and lived until January 2010 when he died in my new home in the Pennsylvania countryside. Like the fellow that did the work in my new home in 1993, I promised myself that: I'll never get another dog. Within three weeks, I was searching the internet for black poodles. I just wanted to look, of course. Then I found this little angel of a dog in Maryland. I decided to drive out to where he was just for a look, of course. There I found 4 black, baby poodles. The one I drove out to see was as cute as a dog could be. However, his sister climbed up my sweater and licked my nose. She just kept doing that. Oh my! I put a deposit down on both of them and picked them up two weeks later. The breeder's Mother named them Blue Jay (male) and Lily (female). After thinking about it, I kept their names.
Lily was the 4th born in her litter and Blue Jay was the 7th. Brother and Sister from the same litter. I was happy about that because I wanted them to have each other when I was not here. I put them in the crate in the back seat of my car for the ride home. Lily began to whimper but Blue Jay was there for her. Within a few minutes, Lily was calm. It took me some time to accept Blue Jay and Lily as Ambrose's rightful successor, but I did. They will be 10 years old in January of 2020. Lily is the alpha dog and loves her walks. Blue Jay loves his toys and wants to play all the time. I buy 2 toys whenever I buy toys, one for each of them. However, Blue Jay always ends up with both. However, he isn't that interested in walks. They have nearly opposite personalities but eat out of the same bowl together and are very close. At this moment, they are both sitting in the loft, looking up he street, and barking at anything they see moving. Lily has a shrill voice and Blue Jay has a deeper voice. Lily barks first and Blue Jay backs her up.
In a moment, I'm going to get Blue Jay for his walk. Lily had her walk an hour earlier but Blue Jay would rather sit in the loft with Lily and patrol the street from there. Both dogs love their me but love each other more. And that's just the way I want it.
By Bob1 in Bob's Blog 4Sometimes, you wake up in the morning and you just know it'is going to be a bad day. I've had those days, but until July 2018, I never had a bad month. At the beginning of July, my air conditioner died. Of course, the next couple of days were in the mid-90s and so was the inside of the house. The air conditioner was replaced on July 3. Then, on July 4, my hot water heater declared its independence and died. That was replaced on July 5. By Monday July 9 everything in the house was working--except the furnace which still needs replacing--and I felt great.
Things were going so well that I decided to show the kids in Karate class how crouches should be done. Wrong move. Something clicked in my left knee and before I knew it I was on the ground. A couple of the adults must have thought I was having a coronary and came to my assistance. "I'm OK," I told them and limped back to the peanut gallery in back of the class. I don't do crouches anymore. It took 2 weeks for my knee to recover with the help of some knee exercises.
It's not over yet. Towards the end of the 3'rd week of July, I developed an infection. Talk about pain. By the beginning of the next week, I was on an antibiotic and the infection was over. That week I tested for my next belt in Tang Soo Do karate. Believe it or not, I passed the test and I am now a red/blue belt. One more and I'm a black belt candidate. I guess in the worst months, there is a glimmer of light.
Finally, on July 31, my main television died. Hey, I'm still breathing and it's August.
By Bob1 in Bob's Blog 1Did you every hit a golf drive perfectly? I did and that is the last time I went golfing.
My experience with golf was limited to par-three courses. On those courses, usually less than 200 yards a hole, one used an iron to get to the green and a putter to finish the hole. I could use irons and putters but any club with wood at the end of it and I was lost.
One Summer day during college break, I went golfing with two friends on a par 72 course. It wasn't my idea but I decided to give it a try. So, I picked up the bag of clubs from the garage and we were off. That bag contained a couple of woods, irons, putter and the dreaded driver. The 8th and 9th holes are the only ones I remember from that day. I had just teed off at the 8th hole with a wood and sliced the ball sharply into the woods. Normally, I would tee off with an iron but I thought I wood try the wood. That's all I remember from the 8th hole.
Next was the 9th. It was a 300 yard hole with an elevated tee. As we looked down to the green, we saw two golfers on the green putting out and one waiting in a golf cart just off the front of the green. It was my turn to tee off and I was waiting for the trio to clear the green. The other members of my threesome told me to tee off because I wouldn't get anywhere near the green. They jokingly said anyone on an adjacent hole was in danger not the threesome on the green. I thought about it and walked over to the bag and pulled out the driver. I was determined to keep it in the fairway even if I had to dribble it 50 yards. I took a measured swing and hit the ball. No grass was flying, no dirt, no divot. I looked to each side to spot my ball and couldn't see it. Where'd it go? I asked. My friends said it was still going in the air and straight for the green. We all watched it head for the green . . . and that golf cart. The three of us began yelling fore at the golfers in front of us. And then it happened. My ball landed, not in the fairway and not on the green. It landed on that golf cart a few feet from hitting the guy in it. I had driven the ball about 290 yards on the fly directly at the hole--with my driver. If the golf cart hadn't been there, the ball would have rolled close to or into the hole before it stopped. All of us were stunned. The threesome in front of us couldn't believe the ball came from the tee. My threesome--including me--couldn't believe the ball came from me.
I don't remember if we finsihed the last nine holes that day. If we did, I don't remember anything about them. All I can see is that ball banging off that gold cart and nearly beaning someone. That was it. When I got home, I put the bag of clubs in the garage and never took them out again.
By Bob1 in Bob's Blog 1About 20 years ago, I wrote the following entry for my commercial site and I always wanted to touch up the language a bit. The title Just Call Me Johnson, is a take-off on the comedy sketch Don't Call Me Johnson which is still funny. In reading this entry, remember in the 1970s, personal computers and mobile phones were still in our future. So here is, as it happened: Just Call Me Johnson!
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In 1971, when I first moved to the Washington D. C. area, I lived in Greenbelt, Maryland. The Greenbelt area surrounds the major intersection of Kenilworth Avenue and Greenbelt Road. Looking north, if you imagine this intersection as creating four geographic areas, the town of Greenbelt would be located in the upper right hand area. Within the town was a small shopping center called Greenbelt Plaza. In the upper left area of the intersection, a larger shopping center called Beltway Plaza was located. Our story begins at Beltway Plaza.
One day, I took my car to the car dealer to have some maintenance done. In the afternoon, I realized that I didn't have any cash and I needed to cash a check to pay for the work. From past experience with the car dealer, I knew that they did not take the American Express card. So I walked from my apartment to Beltway Plaza where my bank was located. I arrived at the bank shortly after 2 PM. The lobby service had closed at 2 PM so I stood in line behind a car waiting to cash a check. When my turn came, the teller told me that I couldn't cash my check at her window because I was a pedestrian and I was in the car lane. I needed a car to cash my check.
Since I needed a car to cash the check, I walked over to a phone booth in Beltway Plaza and called a cab. I ordered a cab for Anthony at Greenbelt Plaza. After I hung up, I realized that I had ordered the cab for the wrong shopping center. So I called the same cab company and ordered a cab for Johnson at Beltway Plaza. That was simple enough. Give them a different name and no one would ever know the mistake that I had made. I was in no mood to admit my mistake to anyone.
Well, the cab arrived fairly quickly. It was too good to be true. I flagged the cab down. "Are you Anthony?" the driver asked. "No, I am Johnson." I told him. Immediately, he began questioning me about who I was. "Are you sure you are not Anthony?" He again asked. "No, I am Johnson." I told him again. "Well, I am here for both you guys." The cabbie said. "Did you receive a call from Anthony to meet you at Beltway Plaza?" I asked. "Yeah." The cabbie said.
This cabbie made the same stupid mistake that I did. I ordered a cab for Anthony at Greenbelt Plaza and this guy shows up looking for Anthony at Beltway Plaza. Well, he was here and I was not going to admit that I was Anthony. "Where to?" He said. "Over to that bank." I pointed. "Why do you need a cab to go to the bank?" He asked. So now I had to explain why I needed a cab. "The teller wouldn't cash my check without a car and I needed cash", I explained. As we were sitting waiting for the line to move, the driver turned around to me and asked again "Are you Anthony?" "No, I'm not Anthony." I shouted. "I'm Johnson." I told him. So we waited in line for my turn at the teller window.
It was my turn in line and I looked at the teller with satisfaction and said "I've got a car now. Here is my check." Then I tried to remember if bank tellers say thank you after they cash a check. Well they do. At least this one did. "Thank you, Mr. Anthony." She said. The cabbie immediately looked around at me and said "There, I told you that you were Anthony." "No, she said Johnson." I yelled. "I'm Johnson, not Anthony." I added to make my point. We finally pulled out of that parking lot and stopped at a red light on Greenbelt Road. The cabbie again turned around. This time he said "you sure do look like Anthony." "How the hell do you know what I look like?" I yelled. For the next 15 minutes of the cab ride we had these continuing spats about whether I was Anthony or Johnson.
Finally, we reached the car dealership. I paid the cabbie and as he drove away he shouted "Anthony." I shouted back. "Johnson." I walked in the car dealer's and told them I was Johnson. "Nothing here for Johnson." She said. "Could you check for Anthony?" I asked, now wondering if they would give me my car. As they were preparing the bill, I noticed that there was an American Express emblem on the garage window. "Do you take American Express now?" I asked. "Yes, we just started taking it last month." She said. My day passed before my eyes when she said that. "How would you like to pay for this?" She asked. "American Express." I responded. After I signed my name she said, "thank you Mr. Anthony." At least the cabbie was not there to hear it and argue with me.