Thnk, David, Think!

I submitted this to a blogging contest at my work. The topic: what was it like went you started working at the bank?

Poppy seed muffin.

Prayer circle.

California, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, Oregon, Utah, Washington.

A U-Haul filled with IBM boxes for servers and workstations.

Riverbank as a construction site.

New coworkers who’d all just been out on the road for weeks at a time over the pervious several months doing bank conversions.

Argo, AIX, CA7, CICS, CM/2, DCMF, JCL, Micro Channel, MVS, OS/2, RACF, Tivoli, Token Ring, SNA, and a whole bunch of other names and acronyms—I didn’t have a clue what most of them stood for.

These were some of the things that greeted me as I started working at US BANK in August, 1998, as the newest member of the Lobby Support group. I was very jealous that my new colleagues had just been all over the western United States converting bank branches from the old, original U.S. Bank. They seemed to have genuinely enjoyed their experiences, and seemed to be a pretty tight knit group.

For me, this was a second career, after teaching and going back to school to get a Masters degree. Fancy title: Master of Science of Network Engineering. But really, I didn’t know a whole lot about that either. I was thinking maybe I’d be a technical writer or something like that. I don’t think that I even had a complete resume posted online. But the job market was so good at that time, I got an interview and hired anyway. Didn’t know what those terms in the job description meant? No problem. I’d learn.

Because I had a job offer letter, I qualified for a mortgage. My spouse and I looked to move to the metro area from Little Falls. Bidding wars made home buying difficult. We found a house we liked, and I think the owner, a woman, recently widowed and children grown, sold to us both because of our genuine, sweet-talking realtor, and because she liked that we were a young family (our children were two and six at the time.)

Moving boxes? No problem. Because of the bank conversions, there was an abundance of boxes with blue “IBM” logos. We packed up everything in those boxes and loaded them up in a U-Haul in Little Falls. If we’d been stopped or pulled over, I was sure that we’d have been suspected for an IBM computer heist.

On arrival in at our new house in Saint Paul, several of my co-workers showed up and helped us unload. Amazing.

Work for me meant support and troubleshooting for the new branches. Tons of tickets. On the phone with tellers, bankers, branch managers. Trying to figure which of the meaningless acronyms were broken. I remember being in my mentor’s cube, seated at her PC, staring blankly at 3270 session running on OS/2, trying to figure out a problem, and my mentor, standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, urging:

“Think, David, think!”

Half of Riverbank was empty, still under construction as I entered for the first time at the temporary entrance, a plywood board ramp instead of stairs, the security guards sitting at a card table.

While I am pretty sure I have my mom’s prayer circle to thank (at least in part) for my getting a job, the poppy seed muffins that we ate in celebration—delayed my start. Word of advice: don’t have a poppy seed muffin before your health screening for a new job.

daringly unique

blooming heart sangha, low at the pioneer cemetery. saturday morning and i am sitting with laptop at peace coffee with laptop. how daringly unique.

Went last night to see the Dark Star Orchestra at the Varsit

Went last night to see the Dark Star Orchestra at the Varsity Theater,
but the line stretched around the block, and I wasn't up to that.

Time to start thinking RAGBRAI.

Am I on the bus or off the bus?
How about under the bus or on top of the bus? Bus I am on is middle
class mid life family job bus. Kind of looking to what is next bus, or
accepting that this is it bus.

Does it have to be a bus?

The really juicy stuff of course can't be discussed here. The really,
really juicy stuff? I know not. What bus that?

Yesterday, I ordered Medifast, a month supply. It is time.

Today, rented for a year a small locker at the Y. 22 40 08

Approaching a birthday and felt it honest to bump up the age parameter
on the elliptical and gasp the maximum heat rate went down one.

Au début de la journée, je siège de Nina. J'involontairement écoute à

Au début de la journée, je siège de Nina. J'involontairement écoute
à quelqu'un, un homme d'âge moyen, assis à la table dans le dos de
coin par la cuisine, parler affaires, tous les Kansas City et Missouri
et "Protéines national". Vous n'êtes pas certain pourquoi il est plus
odieuses qu'autre chose. J'ai déplacé.

-- This message was composed with PhatWare WritePad.

David
www.schons.net
www.twitter.com/davidschons
www.facebook.com/davidschons

This is an experiment--posting to the blog from writing with the iPhone Notes app. Stil typing with one finger or at best two thumbs. But the input and editing is a bit better. And using this method is now possible because I fixed the outgoing mail SMTP problem. Dah. So, when I am finished, I will email this to an address that will publish to my blog. Such is the theory.

This is an experiment--posting to the blog from writing with the
iPhone Notes app. Stil typing with one finger or at best two thumbs.
But the input and editing is a bit better. And using this method is
now possible because I fixed the outgoing mail SMTP problem. Dah. So,
when I am finished, I will email this to an address that will publish
to my blog. Such is the theory.

And this next section is from the Shape Writer app. Not so nice to
edit in, or different, at least. Mostly a pain because there is no way
to copy to the clipboard. Here goes--

Yesterday, I went to the Friends meeting. It was a short meeting as it
turns out because it was a fifth Sunday and it was Family meeting and
therefore only thirty minutes.

At the end of the meeting, after adjacent people shook hands, it would
have been time to work the room, except I don't do that. Everyone that
I thought it might be good to talk to was already engaged. So, as
usual, I left. Things go quite differently, more socially, when
Dorothea is there. Her presence is rare. That day in fact she and
Madeline were church hopping over at the Minneapolis Unitarians.

On January 22, I disabled my Facebook account. I would have deleted if
I could have. The same day I deleted my Twitter account. Not sure what
the technical ramifications are of that. We'll see. But I do think
that more bloging is probably a good thing. But I gave re-enabled.

David
www.schons.net
www.twitter.com/davidschons
www.facebook.com/davidschons

Smokin'

Last night lying awake at just about midnight, I just had to have a
smoke, and though I no longer smoke, I gave in, succumbed, collapsed,
gave in to the urge, to the calling brain signal.

And so the inhaled enveloping smog is analogy, code, for something
else, real. A new phase of life is upon me, of deadbolts and caller
ID, buddies, reaching out, tension, and even more exposed and rawer
nerves.

--
David
www.schons.net

Should this be my Christmas Letter?

Snowstorm of irony. Instant winter. Snowmaggedon. Just a few days before, I'd been riding my bike to work. B with a big snow expected, the people that do these sorts of things at my work had, for first time, marked off with orange traffic cones the long walkway bisecting the parking lot. Ah ha! No one will mistakenly block the walkway by parking their snow-blinded car in its midst. Monday, cones--no snow. Tuesday, cones--no snow. Wednesday, snow--no cones. Parking lot plowed, walkway hidden; cone-less tundra of white obscures all. (There's no obscuring the approach this August of my twelfth anniversary at the bank.) 

Thursday, Madeline (Class of '11) would be needing a ride home from school. So I drove to work. Well, tried. Morning, out to the car, turned key, stepped on gas, didn't go anywhere, couldn't even get out of parking spot on street in front of house. (This August marked the house's one-hundredth anniversary.) Spin spin, wiggly wiggly, slide slide. Got the shovel from the front porch, dug out. Wasn't really even that much snow. Escaped, barely. Put the shovel in the back seat. (Grain shovel, bought while living on the farm; used to shovel grain with it.) Almost didn't make it through Fairview windrow at end of block. But did. Barely. Narrowly avoided collision. 

Thought was to stop at Nina's on the way to work. Snelling to I-94. Lexington exit. Concordia, across Dale. Right at four-way stop with Marshall, where the Boy Scouts of America have theirs offices--up the hill. Oops. The suspicion Dorothea (one semester away from graduate degree) and I'd had last spring about the Hyundai's tires not being "aggressive" enough for snow--confirmed. I eventually slide sideways and backwards down the hill and followed a hill-less route to work, sans Nina's. 

Then, at work, texting with Madeline found out that of course she wouldn't be staying after school. After school activities cancelled--all of them, actually. She'd be taking the school bus home. (In fact, Liam-- eighth grade-- and Lou, our German student-- didn't have school. Canceled.) I was so pissed that, later, home from work when I told Dorothea that we needed new tires, stat. I said then she could move the cars the next morning for the snow emergency. Later she came back, saying she didn't care. Do whatever I wanted about tires. (Stella, cockapoo five people years old in January, noticeably stunned.) Called Tires Plus, drove over there, thinking $300, armed with Dorothea provided coupons; $500. Gleefully drove through all the spots that had given me troubles earlier. 

Told Madeline how ironic it seemed to me, the whole bit about driving so I could pick her up. She apologized, said she was sorry. But that wasn't it. Just life. Silver lining--got the tires thing taken care. Just in time, too, as it has gotten really cold. Reminiscent of weather last January for the funeral of Dorothea's mom, Bernice...........

--
David
www.schons.net

It's complicated

This week, we had "the storm," the snow of irony. Instant winter. Up until only a few days before, I'd been comfortably riding my bike to work. But before I could complete my winter transit transition to bus riding, a bit of car hell loomed.

With a big snow expected, the people that do these sorts of things at my work had, for the first time, marked off with orange traffic cones the long walkway bisecting the parking lot. Ah ha! No one will mistakenly block the walkway by parking their snow-blinded car in its midst. Monday, cones--no snow. Tuesday, cones--no snow. Wednesday, snow--no cones. Parking lot plowed, walkway hidden; cone-less tundra of white obscures all.

Then, whereas I would have contentedly ridden the bus to work, switching to my winter transit mode, Madeline needed a ride home from school Wednesday. So I drove to work. Well, tried.

Wednesday morning, didn't go anywhere, couldn't even get out of the parking spot on the street in front of the house. Spin spin, wiggly wiggly, slide slide. Got the shovel from the front porch, dug out. There really wasn't that much snow. Escaped, barely. Put the shovel in the back seat. (Grain shovel, bought while living on the farm; used to shovel grain with it.) Almost didn't make it through the Fairview windrow at the end of the block. But then did. Barely. Narrowly avoided collision.

Thought was to stop at Nina's on the way to work. Snelling to I-94. Lexington exit. Concordia, across Dale. Right at the four-way stop with Marshall, where the Boy Scouts of America have theirs offices--up the hill. Oops. The suspicion that Dorothea and I'd had last spring about the Hyundai's tires not being "aggressive" enough for snow--confirmed. I eventually slide sideways and backwards down the hill and followed a hill-less route to work, sans Nina's.

Then, at work, texting with Madeline, found out that of course she wouldn't be staying after school. After school activities cancelled--all of them, actually. She'd be taking the school bus home.

I was so pissed that, later, home from work when I told Dorothea that we needed new tires, stat, and got her expected non-commital response ("We'll be seeing Joe this weekend"--he's the brother-in-law car guy), I said then she could move the cars the next morning for the snow emergency. Later she came back, saying she didn't care. Do whatever I wanted about tires.

Called Tires Plus, drove over there, thinking $300, armed with Dorothea provided coupons; $500. Walked home, hung out. Then walked back when they called. Gleefully drove through all the spots that had given me troubles earlier. I bought the set of tires with the most aggressive tread.

Told Madeline how ironic it seemed to me, the whole bit about driving so I could pick her up. She apologized, said she was sorry. But that wasn't it. Just life. Silver lining--got the tires thing taken care. Now will have good tires for drive to Hansmeyer family Christmas gathering at Bug Bee Resort near Paynesville.

And, after dropping a wad of cash on a car, I can go back to comfortably taking the bus.

Then, it got really cold..............

Pheromone packed

Pheromone packed. Drove today. Needed to do some errands that are
bus-prohibitive--notably, stopping at Kowalski's for food for work.
Probably not a great day to pick to drive, what with an impending
snowmaggedon. But such are the wheeling gears of fate. My drive home
is inconsequential in any event. People are commenting about getting
their snowblowers going. I got some shovels out of the shed and put
them in the front porch.

The pheromone bit was inspired by the http://cracked.com piece I am
reading about apparently cute cats behaviors are driven by evil
intent. In some ways I miss having a domestic feline, and
others--allergies, the unpleasant caustic smells--I don't.

Also finding myself interested http://carnalnation.com and
contemplating family-friendliness.

--
David
www.schons.net

Why I go to Nina's

Why do I come to Nina's? For random, brief conversatios with June
about handwriting and change making.

At Nina's. Bought the NY Times. Nostalgia, I guess. Also had a good
little conversation at the counter with proprietess June about making
change and handwriting. She mentioned that she had been a sixth-grade
teacher. Ah-ha. Firm believer in teaching children how to make change
and have good penmanship. (Penship? Penpersonship? Writing utensil
wielding skills? Seems likely to be a pre-postfeminist thing.)

I reached my National Novel Writing Month goal of writing 50,000 words
last night, after copy/pasting from the one-a-day for each of the
preceding days of November Google Docs that were my repository into
one iMac Word doc, and then into the designated textbox at
http://nanowrimo.org . In reality, I submitted 50,000 words, their
word-counting algorithm confirmed it. Blogging, twittering, emailing,
facebooking, texting, instant messaging--it is all there.

Now I have built me a habit. Question: what am I going to do with it?

--
David
www.schons.net

After the Storm

After the storm, so to speak. It is still all calm, still early morning, still dark outside, house still asleep, and I have decided not to go out for coffee. Instead, I am at the iMac, with home-made french pressed coffee. Just realized though that being home shoots a hole in my card for my 100 year-old aunt issue, cause I would have picked up a card at Nina's. Will have to keep an eye on that today. Maybe if Dorothea and I take the dog for a walk, I can stop somewhere and pick up a card.

Queued up is a visit to my mom in Saint Cloud. Thoughts are to begin planning to move her to the Twin Cities. But for now, it is an hour and a half drive.

The toast, yesterday, given by Dorothea, was to survival. Given the general Hansmeyer family history, it was apt for any of them. But we'd just been having a discussion that delved into some of the more personal specifics, which is probably what prompted toast. Maybe the toast was an attempt to change the subject. But there also was at the table the adopted, now single mother, who'd spent a good share of her life in group homes; two Vietnam vets, one of whom had been in the squadron portrayed in the movie "Platoon"; and just in general, we've all overcome some pretty horrendous stuff. And here we are.

A couple of Bernice stories come to mind that I feel I can share. Bernice's troubles, her mental illnes, no secret there. 

The first story is about the effort to plant trees on the farm. The second story is about an empty bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, graveside.

"Whatever else, she wasn't dumb," commented one of the brother-in-laws. To which was added the story of how, several years ago, the idea was to contract with one of the paper mills. They'd come in and plant fast-growing popular trees, and then, some years later, harvest them for pulp. For whatever reason, Bernice didn't like this idea. Apparently, she very uncharacteristically worked the phones, calling the mill, the land broker, whomever, telling them how she thought that was a bad idea. The deal never went through.

January, 2008, -20 degress, graveside, at the burial service for Bernice. One of the sisters had a bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, significant of something, and was filling up and passing around little plastic cups of it. We toasted, we were ready to all bolt for our cars. What I didn't know was want happened to the empty bottle. Someone turned to the funeral director as everyone left. What to do with the empty bottle? The funeral director took it, opened the lid of the casket, set the bottle inside, closed the casket. Quite appropriate. 

--
David
www.schons.net

The long day of to and fro

First, the abortive attempt to participate in the Thanksgiving Meals on Wheels program at Cretin. They were booked up with volunteers by the time that Liam and I got there. Liam and I were there relatively early at his encouraging. But not early enough. It could be that our fashionably-late appearances of years past might have served us well, in that we were late enough that there were always loose ends, miscalculations, from earlier, that became our route.

Then, Dorothea, with Madeline and Lou in tow, both reluctant early risers, picked us up at the Bean Factory Coffee Shop, and we drove to the Mall of America. There is always a general charity walk there on Thanksgiving morning. We walked for not quite two hours, and ending up giving some cash to a guy selling t shirts for the event.

Home, for a brief respite, and Dorothea and I took the dog for a walk. Then off to sister-in-law Mary's house for the repast. This was the housewarming for Mary's most recent house. Lots of Hansmeyers in attendance. Notable was Quinetta, adopted at the age of four or so by Gene, one of Dorothea's older brothers, and his spouse Lila. Now she's in her late twenties, and has a five year-old son and a finance. That was when I first met her, when I was initially dating Dorothea, more than twenty years ago, and hadn't seen her for ten years or so. She definitely has had a tough life, but seemed to be doing quite well, which was very good to see, indeed.

Tingly all over

"Where ya been?" "I've been more swamped than Louisiana." (This exchange was a male customer at Nina's (the swamped one) standing in line and the counter staff--greeting a loved but long absent regular). And my thought was--he's gay. What is it about me and my antenna and my interpretations of some guys and that guess they are gay? (Why do I even care?) Yesterday, two guys came over to my cube, one the edirectory guy, the other the Active Directory guy. They both hit just the right tones about things, and off we go. They'll send me a "silly little form," and so begins the process. Like they would fit right in on that show, "Myth Busters(?)." --gotta google that--yup, on The Discovery Channel. Of course I am crap at interpreting people, so I don't know what's up with this. Maybe there is a certain style that some men have which connects with me, and my brain just chooses to interpret that way. The manufacture of meaning. It is the Java meaning factory.

Was going to reach for the molskine, what the heck, but then realized that unless the words that I write are bits and bytes, the words don't count. At least not now, during National Novel Writing Month. I am almost at 50,000 words for http://nanowrimo.org , to website for National Novel Writing Month. This post will be thrown on the heap. (Usually these blog posts are about 300-400 words.)

Finally have the electric guitar, computer, headphone (crucial) thing worked out. Prince, look out man. You've been warned!

That which makes me tinkly, I have realize, is often the most mundane things. Talking to people sometimes will do it. Men, women. Face-to-face, engaged. Is anyone reading this? Ahem.

Postscript: I wrote this in the morning, at Nina's. My custom is to email it off the old Tmobile Wing right away, and the entry immediately appears in the blog. Usually sometime later in the day, after I get home from work, I go to Facebook and update so that the entry appears there. But I have now done even more editing on the damn thing. Misspellings, gaps. Sheesh. It is endless. -- David www.schons.net

At Liam's guitar lsesson

At Liam's guitar lsesson. Sitting on the old futon in the next room in
the attic of the teacher's house. No gutar lsesson-time walk with
Stella to see her cousins, the Como Park wolves. She's has diaherra
that last couple of days. The fear is we don't know if she's totally
recovered. I have missed out on most of the fun on that one.

Today I thought hanging out and listening to what's happening with the
lesson was a good idea. Liam just sight read a version of "These Are a
Few of My Favorite Things," playing along with the Band in a Box.

Also today, this morning, Dorothea and I went to Liam's school
conferences. Must say I am always pleasantly surprised. So far my
fears of him doing as badly as I did have never come true.

--
David
www.schons.net

Double-Parked in Dorothea To-do Land

Just was looking at an electronic todo list that I have. It is a list
of Dorothea date ideas. None have been checked off yet. Phipps Silent
Movie House in Hudson; museums, Happy Gnome, happy hours, out with
other coupled, make music, camping, Dubliner, Turf Club, long drive,
bike ride, walk, Town Talk Diner, Strip Club, concert, movie. I guess
we've done a few of those recently.

Today was a day of double-booking myself. Or thinking about it.
Wednesday night at about 10:00 PM, I realized that I had scheduled
myself to work on the evening that we'd also made the date with the
McCartney's. I texted Martha right then, and she responded. Seemed
okay withit. Try again. Our schedules just don't mesh.

Also on Wednesday I made a lunch date with co-workers, and this was a
big deal because we don't go out to eat much. My calendar was clear, I
had rescheduled one meeting. Just before leaving, I realized that I
did have another meeting at that time. I just had never put it on my
calendar. I took iPhone with me and tried to call in, but it was
futile. (As well as silly.) Double-parked again. Maybe a good idea for
a country-western song lyric?

--
David
www.schons.net

I miss my old bad habits.

I miss my old bad habits. Especially the most recently given up ones.
Do you ever feel that way? There is always a feeling of loneliness, of
a lost friend. Oh well. The old sayings-cliches "you can't win for
losing" and "nickel and dimed to death" come to mind. Not sure what
those things mean, but so be it. What of the need to say good bye?

Cryptic, hmmm? That is all I have got. I continue with the eternal
struggle of what to and what not to share.

Today I am dressed in biking clothes but drove. The weather looked
like rain later, so I donned for biking. But before I got a chance to
depart, it began to drizzle. Shoulds woulds coulda taken the bus, but
got delayed with conversation with Dorothea, and so was feeling time
crunch, sending me to the car. But I am driving and wearing spandex.
Odd.

At Nina's, sitting at the top of the stairs. Never really lingered up
here. Different view. The Statue of Liberty is across the room. As I
looked up and over, thinking that hey, I am at eye level, I realized
that she is wearing sunglasses. How long? Never noticed that from down
below.

--
David
www.schons.net

Emergency Response

Barista banter overheard: "I have two brothers, and their goal every
morning before school was to make me cry." (Offered with no further
comment.)

I am seeing my coffeeshop to gym ratio beginning to slip.

Last night, I left work a bit early for the diversion of biking home
while there was still light outside. I came up Fairview, and stopped
at Whole Foods (spending there a ridiculous amout on vitamins). After
leaving the store, as I crossed Summit, I could see up ahead some sort
of mess, which turned out to be a two-car accident. One car was all
the way up on the hill in the front yard of the apartment building in
the northeast corner of the intersection. Behind, at a similar angle,
half on the boulevard, half in the street, was a minivan, looking as
though it was following the other car. Both were headed for the
livingroom of Apartment 2. Also of note was the nearby Veit truck in
the middle of Faiview, stationed in the shared turning lane, as they
often are when working on the sewers. But in this case, it was very
close to being, maybe actually was in, the intersection.

I detoured over to Wheeler to get home. Walked with Madeline from the
house back over to the scene, expecting to see police car, ambulance,
tow truck. Instead, none of those, still just the two cars, and two
women, the drivers, in or by their vehicles, on their cellphones.
Quite separate. Thirty minutes, still no police. The Veit truck from
earlier--gone. I looked up the St. Paul Police non-emergency number,
called, and got the Ramsey County dipatcher, who said the police were
on their way. Ten minutes more passed, still no emergency response. I
re-dialed. The dispatcher answered and said she was going to put me on
hold! I kept talking. Couldn't believe that. Put me on hold. Just
then, the police car finally pulled up. I stuck around long enough to
make sure the sewer truck got into the report.

--
David
www.schons.net

Twenty-sx degrees

Twenty-sx degrees and it feels a lot colder than the recent time when
it was twenty-nine. Everything that might get frosty is. I feel the
cold in my head and my fingers. I have a band around my ears, but the
top of my head is exposed. (I lost the nice REI skull cap.) And my
fingers. I have been wearing a pair of Thinsulate driving gloves,
which until today had bee perfect.

But being outside at this time of day still feels great. The streets
are quiet, there are few cars. Like going back in history. How far
back would one have to go for there to be so little traffic? Probaby
forty or fifty years.

The bike ride from my house to the Selby-Western area is almost
entirely along Laurel Avenue, except for a jog to Summit and back
getting over Ayd Mill Road, and the turn north on Western. Laurel,
which reachs from the Mississippi on the west, near Shadow Falls, to
near the Cathedral of Saint Paul on the east, ends at Nina Street.
Nina was a woman who ran a brothel nearby.

The ride is like an archeological, geologic historic journey. I was
struck today by an old house, eighty years old at least, surrounded
left, right, and back, equally aged biuldings. Not just a hold out,
that house, but a long time hold out. The ride is like a passage
through a protracted, real-life Monopoly game. Slow motion Sim City.
Small houses give way to duplexes, then apartments. A few blocks oxer,
mansions. Nearby, the lesser homes of managers and professionals. All
atop 500 million years of bedrock, and punctuated with evidence of
thousands of years of human habitation.

--
David
www.schons.net

On my bike, rode to Nina's.

On my bike, rode to Nina's. Don't have a good reason for either riding
my bike this morning or for having come all the way over here, except
habit. I got started late, so I am skipping the YWCA. Could have
driven directly to work, but am not in that bg of a hurry to get
there.

Starting late has also meant that I have gotten caught up in queues--
traffic at intersections causing me to wait where I'd usual not have
to; at the grocery store, where usually I feel like the only customer,
lines at the checkouts were two and three deep and there was a rare
call for another cashier; line was four, five deep at the coffee shop
counter, people coming in the door pretty regularily.

The definition of probability that I like: if it can happen, eventually it will.

Definitely cloudy this morning. Something has arrived. Warmer out this
morning then previous mornings by far--Yahoo says 50 degrees. I am
definitely over dressed. Just took off my outer felt layer, right
here, in front of (or behind) all. A bit expo.

Madeline and Enzo went to the Sadie Hawkins dance last night. Pretty
amazing, I said-- going to a dance, going to that dance, driving,
driving on the interstate to get there, the there being downtown St.
Paul, parking in a parking ramp, the whole thing at night, was
something I couldn't have pulled off at her age, probably coud never
have imagined it.

I was awake when they came in a little after midnight, and was
introduced to yet another new world, that of the after dance whatever
downstairs in my livingroom, my daughter. Now I am the parent upstairs
in bed.

--
David
www.schons.net

A listing of the contents of a vending at the YWCA

A listing of the contents of a vending at the YWCA that is across the
room from the elliptical trainers. It is the view from the elliptical
trainers.

Sour Punch
Cheez-it
Sun Chips
Potato Skins
Lays
Doritos
Animal Crackers
Cheetos
Goldfish
Snyders Pretzels
Snickers
M&Ms
Twix
Reeses
Hershey
KitKat
Milky Way
Snackwells
Nutroll
3 Musketeers
Skittles
Butterfinger
Mounds
Nature Valley
Trail Mix
Chips Ahoy
Rice Krispie Treats

--
David
www.schons.net