An Unexpected Discovery

An Unexpected Discovery

I wasn’t ready for it. The pry bar tore through the plaster hitting something solid. Not the wooden lath, more substantial, unmovable by the teeth of a crowbar. Casey and I had been doing this all day and had not run into anything this stubborn. I called for Casey. “Hey, come up here. I need a hand.” 

She clomped up the steps. “Yeah, whatcha need?”

I pointed to the wall. “I’m having trouble with this section. It may take both of us.”

We both started pounding on the wall and finally exposed a metal box wedged between the studs. There was some printing on it. I rubbed away the dust to see if it I could read it. All I could make out was “Property of Fed.” The rest of the letters were worn off. It had to be put there when the house was built, in the ‘30s.

*  *  *

But before I get too deep into it, let me give you some background. 

“Always be prepared, sometimes life surprises you.” That was my dad’s advice. He’sthe one that guided us into home renovations, even worked with us on our first few houses. Dad’s gone now, but I’m sure he’s watching from above.

This was the third house we bought for reno. Dad recommended this one right before he passed away. Taking on this project was bittersweet because of that. It happened one hot summer day in July. We live in St. Louis and the summers are blast-furnace hot and dripping with humidity. Renovating a house without air conditioning in the summer is never recommended. But it was the first one we would be doing without Dad’s help, and we were too excited to wait.

We brought in a few box fans to keep us cool and then proceeded to tear into the plaster and lath walls on the first floor. They stopped building houses with that type of construction when drywall was introduced, but this was a house built in the ‘30s. It’s a messy process, but better to deal with it now rather than later when we have a family. For the most part all the work was done by my wife, Casey, and myself. I’m Chance, but she calls me Boss or Bossman. Which totally confuses me, because I rarely boss her around. 

“Hey, honey, can you bring me that breaker bar and my soda over there on the steps.”

“Okay, Bossman.”

It was a two-story house, which meant there was a lot of grunt work required. We’d worked three full days and pretty much completed the tear-out on the bottom floor. We were making good progress. I ripped down the last piece of lath and dropped the wrecking bar on the floor. “Hey! Let’s knock off for the day. We can start on the upstairs tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, Boss. I need something to eat.”

“We can stop on the way home and get some take-out.” I stood up and heard my bones creak and crack. “Let’s stop at that new barbeque place. It’s on the way home. I think it’s called Heavy Smoke.”

“Sweet, that works for me.”

After we picked up the barbeque, we crashed at home, knowing tomorrow was going to be another long day.

*  *  *

We were at it again at daybreak. That’s when we discovered, the box, wedged between two studs, a metal box approximately 20” square with government padlock securing the contents. This validated my guess that it had been put there when the house was built because stud distance varied back in the 30s, unlike today.

Once we got it out of the wall, Casey and I debated whether we should cut the lock off since it was owned by the U.S. government. Ultimately, we succumbed to the temptation and cut the lock. I pried it open and gasped. “What the hell!”

“Holy crap!” A wide smile appeared on Casey’s face. “Can you believe what we’re seeing?”

I reached in and picked up a key, which I immediately recognized as a safety deposit box key. They have a distinctive look. A tag on the key said Property of First National Bank and scribbled on the back, was the name Vince Larcen.  Casey pulled out a velvet bag and when she opened it, I thought she was going to faint. I grabbed her arm to steady her and said. “Whatcha

got there Sweety?”

She looked over at me and whispered. ”D. . . diamonds. A bag of diamonds.”

“Diamonds! Holy hell. What was Grandpa Vinny in to?” I leaned over and looked in the bag. “He owned Larcen Fencing Company but maybe he wasn’t just fencing yards.”

“Your family is way more interesting than mine.” Casey set the diamonds down and pulled out a bag of coins. “Maybe he was a collector?”

“Yeah, of other people’s stuff.” I reached in and pulled out a plastic envelope with six comic books, two first editions, Marvel Comics #1 and Action Comics #1, plus three more, but they were all significant in some way. 

Casey smirked. “Grandpa Vinny had a great eye for rare and valuable stuff.” 

“Yeah, for sure.” I held up the last item. “Only this Cracker Jack box left.” I wiped the dust and dirt away. “It was opened then taped shut but the tape was peeling off.” 

“Well, I guess the Cracker Jacks are stale?” Casey asked. 

I opened the lid then looked closely but shuddered once I realized what it contained.”

Casey fidgeted with her hair. “Come on! What’s in the box?” 

“No Cracker Jacks . . . just the prize.”

“I’ll take it.” Casey held out her hand.

“Really! Are you sure? It’s not the typical prize you normally find.”

“Is it valuable?”

“Yes, it’s valuable . . . to someone.” I shook the box and then turned it upside down so the prize would fall into her hand. “It’s a thumb.”

She jumped then yanked her hand back and said, “No, nope, no way.” Casey

shivered. “Do you think it’s real?”

“It’s mummified, but it looks real.” I scratched my forehead. “Why would anyone put a fake thumb in a metal box and hide it in a wall?”

“To scare someone?” 

“So sometime in the 1930’s someone put a fake thumb in the wall to scare a stranger in 2025. Not likely.” I peered closely at the thumb. “I’m sure it’s real, but more concerning is who it belongs to and why someone saved it.”

Casey crossed her arms. “You mean why your Grandpa saved it.”

“It might be a good time to knock off for the day and see if we can figure out what to do with this stuff.”

“Do you think we can keep it?

“The thumb? Yes, of course. I’m sure no one wants the thumb, so you can have that.” I laughed. “But the other stuff we need to find out more about. Google should be of some help.” 

“I don’t want the thumb. Yuck! Why would I?”

“You can put it on your keychain, you know, like a lucky rabbit’s foot.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

“I do what I can.” I smiled. “Let’s get outta here. We can research this stuff on the Internet tonight.”

“That’s the first smart thing you said.”

We headed straight home. No time to stop for take-out. We would eat leftovers and peruse the Internet for information on our treasures.

Casey immediately grabbed the diamonds and opened a search window on the computer. She typed in stolen diamonds from the 30s in Missouri. The first thing to pop up was a bank robbery in St. Louis. “Damn, I knew it. The Grand National Bank was robbed in 1930. Items stolen included cash, jewelry, diamonds, precious jewels and other valuables.” That was almost

one hundred years ago. 

“So, you really thought they were Grandpa Vinnie’s own personal diamond collection?”

“Well, no, but I can dream, can’t I?  Maybe these diamonds aren’t from the Grand National Bank.” Casey smirked. “It was like a hundred years ago. Nobody’s looking for them anymore!”

I shrugged. “You could be right, but what’s the chance they belong to Grandpa V.

Legally?”

“There could be a reward.” Casey nodded. ”For returning stolen property.”

I laughed. “That my Grandpa stole? Yeah! I don’t think so.” I put my hands up like I was surrendering. “I think it’s best if we call the FBI for advice.”

“Chance, you’re such a Donnie Downer.” Casey opened the laptop. ‘I’m going to do more research. I think they might be legit.”

“Good luck with that.” I held up the comic books. “These could be worth something. They might have serial numbers on them. Each book is in a plastic bag, but I can’t tell if they were serialized. They’ll have to be shown to an expert. I’m sure Steve could lead us in the right direction.”

“What if those were bought with dirty money, Chance?” Casey crossed her arms.

“Now, who’s being the Donnie Downer?”

*  *  *

Casey checked the internet for stolen diamonds from the 30s and as she suspected found that the stolen items from the 1930 bank robbery were never recovered and the bank eventually failed. This is when she knew we had to call the police.

While Casey did research on the diamonds, I took the safety deposit key to First National Bank of St. Louis. As the closest living relative, I was given access to the box. The moment I opened it, I heard a ticking sound. Looking down, I saw a clock with wires coming out of it that went to an enclosed cylinder. A note attached to the clock read, “This is your chance

to make history. Take action now.” 

The clock had thirty minutes on it. I froze. My mind took off in four different directions. Do I close the box and leave now hoping for the best? Randomly pull the wires out and find out if it stops the clock? Call the police and try to explain what I found?  Call Casey and tell her to bring the car and wait outside with the motor running. None of these seemed like a viable option, but I had to do something. 

Twenty-nine minutes left on the clock. It would keep ticking away no matter what I did or what I didn’t do. I might die today, and I haven’t even been to Comic-Con.  I decided to take a closer look at the device. I gently picked it up, and rotated it to see all sides. On the back I spotted a hole big enough to fit a thumb. This set my brain in motion. Maybe the mummified thumb will fit in the hole and stop the clock. I called Casey. “Bring the thumb. No time to explain. Just bring it and hurry.” 

Twenty-seven minutes left. She was only ten minutes away, so I’ll had plenty of time as long she didn’t dilly dally. My mind drifted, I told her to hurry, but she doesn’t always listen. I hoped she doesn’t stop for lunch, although all

these decisions are making me hungry. I turned the device over and over, looking for other possibilities to shut it off, but I didn’t see any. I felt the thumb hole was the only reasonable option. My mind was still reeling with

thoughts, then I wondered what if sticking the thumb in the hole would set the bomb off instead of stopping it. Oh! No, that would be horrible. No, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. Eighteen minutes left on the clock. Casey should be here any minute.

Just then the phone rings. I answer, it’s Casey. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving now.”

“What the hell! You should’ve been here by now.”

“Sooorrrry, but Mom called and wanted to talk, so you know I did.”

I slapped my forehead. “Of course, but get your butt moving. It’s important.”

“Okay, okay, but do I have time to grab lunch?”

“No! no lunch. Get your ass over here.” I hung up.

I thought to myself, she can still make it. If I get out of this, I’m going to Comic-Con next year. The time was ticking away. Ten-minutes left on the clock. I peeked out to see if she’s in the lobby, but there’s no sign of her. I’m freaking out now. Then it dawned on me I could use my own thumb. I decided it’s time for me to take some action. Without much thought I thrust my thumb into the hole. The clock sped up. “Shit, shit, I’m gonna die.” I yanked it out. but it didn’t slow down. It was six minutes now. Sweat beads formed on my bald spot and my temple then ran down my face. For some crazy reason I believed the clock will stop if I put my thumb in the hole

a second time. Again, without thinking I jammed my thumb in the hole, but it doesn’t stop it only goes faster. “Shit, shit, I’m dead! Dammit!” It was now at the two-minute mark spinning like a top. The numbers looked like flash cards. It was down to ten seconds. I pulled my thumb out and got ready for the blast, but at three seconds the clock stopped.

My phone rang. It’s Casey. “I’m here . . . but I forgot the thumb.”

“Great, just great, Lucky, I don’t need it anymore.”

I told Casey to hang for a while. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Now, I had to figure out what to do with this box. Was it a bomb that might start ticking again or a fake that was never meant to go off? This stuff was way over my head. Without notice the clock started again. 3….2…. 1…. then out of the top of the cylinder a small rod popped up with a flag that read BOOM!

My body started shaking uncontrollably, but then I realized what happened and started laughing. I placed the box in a bag I brought with me to carry all the gold I expected to find. As I exited the vault, I held the bag up. “You won’t believe what Grandpa Vinnie left us.”

*  *  *

The diamonds turned out to be poor quality with bad color, low clarity and many flaws. They weren’t worth any more than costume jewelry Steve was able to get a price for the comic books. Unfortunately, none of them were

serialized. The money was a lot less than we would have hoped but enough to pay for a nice weekend at the lake.

The thumb was real. It belonged to someone named Johnny Diamond, a well-known jeweler in the 30s who dealt in stolen goods and sold substandard jewelry. It was highly likely that the diamonds we found were from him. You might ask what the story was on the thumb. Did the jeweler cross the wrong person when he sold one too many fake diamond rings? Could be any number of reasons, but I just can’t put my thumb on it right now. 

The house was completely renovated within six months, and we decided to keep it. We moved in and scheduled a dinner party. The room was decorated with antique furniture, but the prize piece was the end table with the fake bomb device and the thumb in a glass covered case. We had a sign printed that read, “In Case of Emergency Break Glass”. It never failed to bring up questions. 

*  *  *

I stood on the balcony, which overlooked the pool. An hour had ticked away, when my phone rang. I’d left it on the end table or as I like to call it the bomb table. I picked it up. Casey called to tell me she was running late, but our guests would be there in fifteen minutes. I told her no problem I would handle it. 

Just then the clock came alive, 3…. I dropped the phone and ran. The stairs were too far so I headed for the balcony, stepped on to the railing and leaped as far as I could believing I could reach the pool. 2…. As my body sailed through the air, I imagined a spectacular death and fabulous funeral. 1…. On target for landing in the water when I heard Boom! Crash! I could see the debris racing me to the deep end of the pool. My arms flailed in a pitiful attempt to fly myself to the deepest part of the pool. I made it to the pool about the same time as the bomb debris, but I was not in the deep end. The story of my escapades garnered many visitors at the hospital to view my broken bones, cuts and bruises which gave me street cred with special treatment. 

As I laid in the bed my mind drifted to the possible escapades of Grandpa Vinnie. His life must have been exciting but dangerous. I’m sure he had stories that could never be shared until he exited this world. Who was the bomb for? Certainly not me, I was the unexpected participant. Johnny Diamond, maybe, or someone who betrayed him, maybe a relative. It seems unlikely that his enemies would know where to look, but a close relative with a devious mind might. It could be an exciting tale.     

What I’ve learned is life is nothing but a series of stories. Make sure yours are heard, loud and clear. Make it Explosive!

I’ve Noticed

Social media is a place where everyone can bitch and moan about stuff. It doesn’t have to be important stuff. It’s more about a venue to vent without repercussions. Sure, there will be opposing comments, but everything is done by a faceless society. It’s easy to bitch, moan and criticize when you’re in your kitchen and the person with the opposite viewpoint is an invisible opponent.

     We live in a world with an abundance of opinions and that’s not a bad thing. What concerns me is the way we speak to each other when voicing our opinion. Everyone appears to be angry. Why is that? Personally, I believe as a whole people are not happy with their life and they blame others. When in truth the person that controls your happiness is you. 

     What is the world coming to? Have you heard anyone say that? I’m sure you have, but we are the most privileged society around. I was born in 1948 and I remember people asking that question every decade when they heard or saw something they disapproved of. 

     I feel very positive about the future despite what I hear from the news media. I’ve seen a lot of presidents, a lot of good and a lot of bad policies, but life goes on and mine has been good. Attitude and outlook have a big impact on your life, much more than who’s running the country and the polices they are promoting. 

     If you find this to be different for yourself, try changing your future by changing your attitude toward life. Some will say I don’t understand because I am living a privileged life. Say what you want, but looking at life in a negative way won’t help achieve your dreams. Living in the past will not change the future. Do your best with what you’re given and stop whining. No one’s listening. “Just Saying . . . ”

Car colors

White, black, silver and utility grey are the majority of car colors I see today. I think car manufacturers have lost their mojo. I was told that insurance companies are pressuring the car companies toward these color choices. According to their records certain color cars are move prone to be stolen, promote speeding or distract other drivers. I don’t know if the insurance companies have fueled this trend, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. I think statistics will show that car thieves steal cars, maybe certain colors are stolen more often. But I’ll tell you one thing if all the cars are white, black and grey the thieves will continue to steal cars. Assuming that’s true then maybe it’s better to have those colors so the police can narrow down the window of cars that might be stolen. We saw a new Mustang yesterday in utility grey. It’s a sin to have a Mustang in some boring ass color. This muscle car needs a bright color like the peacock to attract attention. 

     It’s the same thing with speeders, they will still speed no mater the color of their car. The thing is it will be easier to notice them if there in a red car. What if you were to tell the police there’s a crazy guy driving recklessly down I270 in a white car. That doesn’t really help much, since every other car is white.

     Let’s talk about distracted drivers. There’s so many on the road now that I can’t imagine color cars affecting that statistic. 

     My wife, Mimi, and I used to try to guess the age of the driver by the color of their car. Burgundy or maroon and  champagne were dead give-aways for an old person. But with all the nondescript boring colors, the game isn’t fun anymore. Shame on you Detroit, for dumbing down our car game.

     All I know is that the dealers lots are filled with cars sporting bland colors. Finding a brightly colored car is like searching for Waldo. Mimi, thinks upper management at car companies took the crayons away from the designers.

     This could be why everyone is depressed. We need colors to uplift our sometime boring life. Here’s a new slogan for you, “Make America Colorful Again.” Just saying . . .”

When do you start listening?

I’m seventy-seven so I’m sure my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be, but it’s not terrible. At least that’s what I believe. The thing is I’ve been listening to conversations my whole life, and some are more interesting than others. As a result, I’m not always in the listening mode, sometimes I’m just zoning out. So I think it would be helpful to have a lead in phrase, before the real question or conversation. You know something that triggers the mind to start listening. This could be a lot of different things, maybe a shout, “Hey! Listen up” or “Watch out”. There are an endless number of phrases, you’ll have to decide what works for you. 

     Truly, zoning out is something I do more of lately, so the first five words are gone before I hit the listening button. It’s not really my hearing it’s just that I haven’t gotten into my listening mode. Sometimes using a key word in the lead in phrase might be enough to jar the person into a listening mode. Key words to consider for men are beer, guitar, cigar and sports car. Use any of these key words as part of the lead-in phrase and you should get an immediate response. “Honey, can I get you a beer?” or “Don’t you need a knew guitar? Women on the other hand might respond better using words like diamonds, dinner or cruise. You’ll have to learn what works best by trial an error.

     Also, it’s extremely difficult when a conversation is continued from an earlier one. To men it’s always a new topic, not one from an hour or even five minutes ago. Remember our resting position is zoning out. A women’s brain is always active. It’s not a bad thing just different.

     I guess the bottom line is don’t write off the other person as someone who’s hard-of-hearing just because you haven’t started the conversation with an interesting phrase or key word. “Just saying . . .”

Acceptance

All our life we are told to never give up, keep trying, don’t give in. Movies are made about people who achieve greatness through perseverance. Usually, a physical challenge that seems unattainable in someway. This is good advice but it’s not always the right advice. 

     Sometimes you have to accept that you can no longer do what you did in your thirties or forties. This should not be considered a fault or failure and it won’t happen to everyone at the same age. It’s one of life’s changes, one of many. Don’t worry you will always have challenges, physical, mental and spiritual, but there will come a time when you might need to let go of old challenges to take on new challenges. This is acceptance, consider it growth. One of these new challenges may lead to the greatness you seek. 

     Never give up seeking challenges, but don’t hold on too long to an old one or you might miss a new one that will take you across the finish line. “Just Saying . . .”

Time Traveler

I dream of things no one mentions 

Life unbounded by time 

A life I designed

World of adventure

Intrigue

 

I travel alone with Past and Future as my friends

Looking for problems and solutions

Anxious for the future

While knowing the past

I see endless possibilities

 

Challenges are many

Changes come slow

Rewards justified by results

Time is always moving

I have no bounds 

 

The Future is forward

Past is behind

I am part of both    

Each with struggles 

Victories too

 

Life untethered by time

No beginning or end

In-between

I live life unstructured

In the Past and Future

 

Words and their Intentions

Using words like racist, nazi, bigot and white supremacist are aggressive words that are intended to offend a person and invoke anger. Most times this method works and you get a volatile response. This is not a surprise because these days everyone is ultra-sensitive and offended easily even if the words used are not intended to offend.

     My first suggestion is not easy, because it’s opposes your knee-jerk reaction to return fire, so to speak. But I am suggesting that you don’t take offense if someone uses aggressive words (intentionally or unintentional) against you. Doing so will defuse their attack and deflate their argument. Speak calmly deny the accusation, then walk away. Debating someone that refuses to listen to an opposing viewpoint is futile.

     The second suggestion is directed to President Trump and our politicians on both sides of the aisle. Stop using aggressive words and phrases. They have no place in an advanced society and they make you look and sound uneducated. You represent our country, do it in an honorable way. 

     Changes are needed in this country, we can all do better. Let’s start now and come to the table to talk about our differences, like adults. Charlie Kirk was murdered this week because a misguided young man didn’t like his opinions. In this country we have the right of free speech. Both Charlie and the students were on a college campus exercising their rights. Don’t let our rights be taken away. “Just Saying . . .”

What makes life so difficult?

Life starts out with struggles. Being born is a struggle, learning to talk and walk. Everything is new but a child’s determination drives them toward independence. They don’t see things as struggles but challenges.

     It’s not until we get older, that we make life more difficult by wrong choices. You’d think all those years of experience would teach us better. Sure, we all make bad decisions. That’s just part of life, but if we continue down that path, it becomes the baseline for our life choices until we no longer recognize or care about the difference.

     Each day gives us new opportunities to make better decisions. Don’t let the repetitive behavior turn on the auto-pilot guiding you down the wrong path. It’s easy to blame someone or something else for the predicament you’re in, but that’s weak. Your influence best serves you when it’s used to direct your life, not other's. Yes, you can have influence on others, but your success rate will be far less than changes you can make to yourself.

     Bad decisions will get you notoriety, but not positive. Life is hard enough, don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Just Saying. . .”

Walk-away Reward

There’s a new sandwich shop in town. I love to try new places, especially sandwich shops and this one is a winner. They have a gimmick and it’s a great one. The name of the place is Walk-Away Treats. I popped in a couple weeks after it opened and ordered a Belgian waffle bacon, turkey, goat cheese sandwich. It sounded delicious, and it was but there was an unexpected surprise waiting.

“Can I interest you in some walk-away bacon?”

“Huh! What? Wait!” I scratched my head. “I understand 

each of the words individually, but the phrase is confusing.”

The clerk reached in the oven and pulled out a crisp piece of

bacon. “Let me explain. All customers can have a piece of

bacon when they make a purchase. You know . . . to eat as

they walk-away.”

“Wow! What an innovative idea.” I held out my hand. “Yes, please. I’ll take one.”

He handed me the bacon strip. “It has brown sugar on it.”

I took a bite. “That’s yummy.”

“Tomorrow we’re making peppered bacon, thick slices.” He smiled. “Last week we

had chocolate dipped.”

“Really! Are you doing that this week?”

“Maybe, but I know we’re having cinnamon flavored on Thursday.”

“Wow! I think I love this place.” I took another bite of my walk-away snack. “I’d

 bring my wife over, but she’s vegetarian.”

“Oh! We have great veggie sandwiches, and we’ll give her a strip of walk-away faken

bacon.”

“Oh! Canadian bacon?”

“No, that’s still meat. Ours is made with organic vegetables.”

“Seems unfair that I get real bacon but a vegetarian gets faken bacon.”

“That’s just the way it is.” He waved his hand in a sweeping motion. “It’s called 

walk-away bacon, so you should be walking away.” He grinned. “See you Thursday.”

Being an Old Guy

When I see a photo of myself I see an old guy. The thing is I don’t feel like an old person. Yes, I have aches and pains, but I attribute that to years of activity with some injuries. Inside I don’t feel old, I feel tested, well tested but with that comes some level of achievement. 

     My mind is sharp, even though I forget a few things I’m still capable. There must be another word to use when referring to someone who has lived many years. Senior is one I’ve heard but that doesn’t tell the whole story. There is a toughness that comes with age. But also a calmness knowing that everything will be okay. An old person is not trying to impress, convince or change anyone. Old people are comfortable in their own skin, so don’t give them advice just listen to their stories. Who knows you could learn something.

     Maybe old is the right word. There just needs to be a better definition. Old is weathered, resilient, determined, tested, and approved. They’ve been there and done that, and know what’s worth doing again. Technology can confuse them but if the Internet was switched off, old guys would be the survivors. “Just Saying . . .”

Marathon Dumbass

Travel is fun, but exhausting. My name is Chad O’Connor, and my experiences prove people are kind and helpful, but is it because you have money and contribute to their income? What would it be like if you were hopelessly lost, without any money? Basically, a homeless person in a foreign country, where you don’t know anyone or speak the language. 

It’s a frightening thought, but it could happen. And it did to me on a river cruise down the Danube, the first full day of touring Budapest. The cruise director told us to be back on the ship no later than 10:00 pm because the boat would be leaving at 11:00. Under no circumstances would they hold up departure if you were late. I thought to myself. No problem. Most people on the ship take a guided tour, but I wanted something more authentic. A chance to experience the people and life without a guide. Really how hard could it be? The only requirement was to be back on the ship by 10:00. Besides, I had a plan, although a little ambitious, but I would have twelve hours, piece of cake. 

I walked off the ship with confidence. Truly, my confidence was spilling out of me like a waterfall. 

My first stop, a bakery to get a strudel. What a great way to start my day, I bought three. - apple, poppy seed and cottage cheese chocolate. They were all amazing as you might expect, but my favorite was the cottage cheese chocolate. Not the lumpy cottage cheese you get in the US. After gorging on these delightful strudels, I took a bus to see the parliament building, an architectural wonder. Unfortunately, the bus got stuck in traffic on the bridge. This delay cost me an hour. After spending another hour taking photos of the parliament building, I headed over to Central Cafe & Bar, a well-known spot where writers congregate. It’s a great place to get a bite to eat and just past lunch, so maybe getting a table would be easy. After a thirty minute wait the waitress seated me at a table on the terrace. I enjoyed a leisurely meal, but time was ticking away so I needed to move on, 3:00 was approaching. The tram took me to the market to experience how the locals shop, and taste what they eat. As expected, it took longer than I planned, everything I did took longer. My first mistake was getting off the tram at the wrong location. I got back on, but passed up my stop on the second try, so I just walked. The market proved to be interesting. Glad I made time to see it, but now I was really late. 

Almost 7:00 and I wanted to have just a taste of the Hungarian nightlife, so I stopped at a local spot called A38 Boat. The nightclub was on the river, and so I figured my cruise ship couldn’t be that far away. Uber would be my transportation back to the ship. Great food and watching the locals party made the time fly. Before I knew, it was 9:00 so I asked for my bill, but when the waitress returned, I discovered my wallet with my money, credit card and ship ID was gone. Now I was freaking out. The clock said 9:10 pm and I was without any money to pay my bill or an Uber driver. 

My panic must have shown because, Dimitri, the guy at the next table asked what was wrong. I explained my situation, and he came to my rescue by paying my bill. What a lifesaver, but my troubles weren’t over. I still needed to get back to the ship. I left the nightclub at 9:30 pm. I checked the GPS on my phone for the ship's location. An hour and a half walk to get there, which meant I could make it 11:00 pm, departure time. I hoped that if I arrived before the boat departed, they would let me board. Since I was marathon runner, I took off running toward the ship. I watched as Dimitri, my Hungarian savior passed me in a car. He recognized me and waved as he flew by. Running as fast as possible I could see the ship was finally in sight. This inspired me to run faster, but as I got closer, I could see the ramp had been pulled and the boat was moving. By the time I reached the ship, it was sailing down the river. 

Discouraged and frustrated, I sat on the dock with my head drooping. I took out my phone and suddenly realized that I had loaded my credit cards on my phone. Had I been thinking clearly, I could have taken an Uber and paid with a credit card on my phone. “What a dumbass!”

Should I call to cancel my credit cards? If I did that I wouldn’t be able to use the credit cards in the wallet on my phone. Not doing it risked the chance of multiple charges against my card from a stranger. What a predicament! Ultimately, I decided to leave it open and deal with the issue after I was safe and secure at my home. There wasn’t much of a chance that I would run into more generous people like Dimitri. so I would have to pay my own way.

Time now approached 1:00 am and an all-night café seemed to be the best place to go to allow me some time to sort things out while sipping a hot cup of coffee. I stumbled into a café called Extra Budapest. Perfect, thanks to my screwup I would be getting extra Budapest. I ordered a bottomless cup of coffee and sat at a corner table to plan my escape. The waitress was kind enough to get me a pen and paper after I told her my story. I sat there for four hours, dozing off on occasion, only awakened by the drunken patrons entering the café. I wrote down a list of things I needed before my trip to the next town. The waitress offered some direction on where to buy the stuff at a more reasonable price than a typical tourist might pay. I left the café a little after 6 am. I decided to walk since my experience on the bus and tram had led to delays.

The next town the ship docked would be Bratislava, two and a half hours away. But before I made arrangements to travel there, I needed the items on the list. My first stop, to get a change of clothes, phone charger, and personal care products at the shop recommended. Lucky for me, this shop had everything on the list. My purchases also included a backpack. I looked like a well-organized traveler. Ha! Looks are deceiving.

Getting something to eat was a priority but not a fancy leisurely meal. Something quick so I picked up a breakfast sandwich from a street vendor. One of the most popular breakfast sandwiches was the Korean Egg Drop sandwich. I must admit it wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it came highly recommended. So, what the hell! Fluffy eggs, melted cheese, tangy mayo on toasted brioche. Nothing seemed out of whack with it. I ordered one. It was so delicious so I ordered a second.

I went to a nearby park and started a search for an Uber driver willing to drive me to Bratislava. 

My stomach was a little upset, probably from the stress of travel, and I guarantee my trip brought on a way more stress than a typical one. After an hour of searching, I found a driver who agreed to take me there. His name was Edwardo, but I’m sure I would pay dearly for his generous nature. He would be by in a half hour. Yippee! Things are looking brighter. Damn! My stomach is churning. No doubt my stress must be peaking, unless it’s that second sandwich, the delicious Korean Egg Drop sandwich. I wondered if they actually dropped the egg. It did seem a little gritty. . . pepper, that was the pepper. No! I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just stress.

I decided to run to the bathroom before my driver arrived. I didn’t want to delay him with a bathroom stop. I quick stepped to the men’s room. There was a line. Really? There’s never a line for the men’s room. Third in line, bouncing and dancing as I waited. Finally, I got in. The relief was needed. Yep, definitely the sandwich, that gritty but tasty egg-drop sandwich. I walked out and exhaled. “Yeah! Definitely the sandwich.” That bathroom stop took longer than I expected. My phone jingled as I hurried back to the meeting point for the Uber driver. I had a message from him. He was pissed that I hadn’t shown up. Oh! No! 

I quickly texted him and delicately explained my situation. Thankfully, I was able to convince him to return but I used up all my favors.

Edwardo the Uber driver picked me up, and we left for Bratislava around 11:00 am. We had a few unscheduled stops on the way due to my weakened condition, but the most concerning problem was unexpected. Edwardo hit a curb on one of the bathroom stops and blew the front tire. Now a flat tire is not a tragedy unless you’re without a spare. Well, guess what? No spare. We were at a rest stop, one without a gas station. So, we spent an hour negotiating with other drivers to buy their spare. We finally got one from a guy after paying a ridiculous amount of money for a half-worn donut spare. We changed the tire but, in the process, I scraped my knuckles raw when the tire iron slipped off the lug nut. Edwardo finished the tire installation while I picked the pebbles out of my skin and wrapped my hand with a shop rag he had in his trunk. We lost an hour and a half with this stop before we were back on the road. This was sure to be an expensive stop.

We arrived at Bratislava on the dock at 2:45 pm with five hours to spare before the boarding time. I gave Edwardo a big tip since he went out of his way to get me there on time. He let me keep the shop rag. Such empathy!

My ship the Avalon Impression, was docked next to a Viking ship. I had to pass through the Viking ship to board mine. When I entered the Avalon, I explained my situation to the young girl, Karla, at the reception desk.

“So your name is Chad O’Connor and you’re claiming you belong on this ship, but you have no identification. Is that correct?”

“Yes, in a way. Actually, I do have a passport but it’s in my room in the safe.” I shrugged. “If you could open the safe, I could show you.”

“That’s impossible, sir. Privacy laws . . . you know.”

“I understand, but the passport is my proof.”

“Well, all I can say is the real Chad O’Connor has left the ship for a city tour that was scheduled to return at noon. Unfortunately for you, he chose to spend a little more time in the city.” 

I held my hand up to stop her conversation. “Excuse me. I’m the real Chad O’Connor which you would know if you looked at my passport.”

“Well! O’Connor is a pretty common name. There could be more than one in Budapest.” Karla picked up a pen. “By the way, I do not have a copy of Chad O’Connor’s passport on file so checking it is not possible. The ship leaves at 9:00 pm, so he’ll have to be back on board an hour earlier. Maybe you can catch him when he returns.”

“Great, can I wait here?”

“No, I’m sorry sir but you’re not a registered passenger. You’ll need to wait on shore.”

“Thanks, this has been special.”

“Always happy to help our customers . . . Oh! Wait! You’re not a customer.” Karla smiled.

I begrudgingly left. It was 3:30 pm. No decent coffee shop by the dock, so I walked to a nearby café. I had no idea what the other Chad O’Connor looked like, but I was close enough to see people enter the ship. I grabbed a to-go cup and walked back to the dock. I couldn’t wait until the last minute to go to the reception desk and ask about O’Connor, so I sat on a nearby bench by the ramp. My view there was much better than the café.

It was only a few hours later when I thought I recognized Dimitri, the nightclub hero. What a surprise, but the bigger surprise was the Nolan Arenado Cardinal jersey he wore. Ironically, I’d brought that very same jersey with me. I left it in my room. Well, it was, but now I grew suspicious that my buddy Dimitri was wearing it. What were the odds that Dimitri owned the same jersey? Nada. Zilch. Not a chance. I followed him on the ship but lost him when he passed through the Viking ship. I had found the other Chad.

I was able to sneak onto the Avalon ship with a crowd of people, then started searching for Dimitri. Looking around on the top deck, I saw him go below; I followed, but he moved fast. The next time I spotted him, he had returned to the Viking ship. He motioned to me, then opened his hands like a wallet and mouthed, lost and found. At first, I didn’t understand then I realized he was telling me to go to the lost and found. I hustled down to the reception desk on the first level. Ugh! Karla was there.

I tried to get the attention of the other the young girl behind the desk, but Karla interrupted. I pretended not to recognize her.  “Excuse me. Where is your lost and found?”

“What did you lose?” Karla asked.

“My wallet.” 

“I feel like we’ve met before.” She pulled out a box. 

I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen me around the ship.”

“Seems more significant than that.” Looking through the box, she pulled out a wallet. . . My wallet.

“That’s it. Thank you so much.” I held my hand out.

“Not so fast.” She opened the wallet. “Chad O’Connor!” She nodded in

affirmation. "Now, I remember. The O’Connor brothers, real and fake.”

“I’m the real Chad O’Connor. My driver’s license will be in there.”

She checked the photo on the license. Held it up to my face. “I don’t know. This guy doesn’t have a beard.” She laughed. 

I dropped my head. “I haven’t shaved in a couple of days, and I have a heavy beard.” 

“Hmm!.” She squinted as she looked at my photo. “I guess this is your lucky day Mr. Chad O’Connor. It was turned in just a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you very much. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“Oh! I have a pretty good idea.” She said, handing it to me. “I’m so glad I could be of assistance.”

I immediately opened it and found everything inside except for a few missing dollars, 

but there was also a note. I headed to my room to clean up. When I got in my cabin I flopped

down on the chair and read the note.

Chad

First, I must apologize for not picking you up when I passed you in the car, but I was going to your ship to be you for a couple of days. I hope you enjoyed your extended visit to the city. I certainly had a wonderful time on the ship. All experiences are valuable, but I hope yours was joyful as well.

To repay you for the inconvenience I’ve included a gift card for dinner at a very fine restaurant in Vienna. My compliments, but no need to thank me, because I used your money to pay for the gift card. Please thank yourself and enjoy a great meal at Georgio’s. Make your reservations early because as you already know the ship waits for no one.

Dimitri, the other Chad 

I should have been furious, but Dimitri’s exposé of the events was done with such flair that I will have to list this as one of my greatest adventures. I almost think I should thank him for the experience.

That night after dinner, the cruise director gave us a rundown of the next day’s events. She also had an unexpected announcement. “Last night we had a singing contest and tonight we will present a bottle of champagne to the winner-none other than Chad (the other) O’Connor. Will the real Chad O’Connor come up to accept his prize for the other Chad?” I laughed as I stood and went up to accept the gift bottle of champagne.

She handed me the bottle and said. “Congratulations, from one Chad to the other.”

“Thanks, I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re right you don’t.” Everyone laughed. “I have one more thing for you . . . a package arrived.” She handed it to me. 

I opened the box. It was my Nolan Arenado jersey with a hand-printed sign “Go Cards.”

I jumped up and yelled, “Best trip ever!”

Ring my bell, ring my bell

This was the name of a popular song in 1979. But my post isn’t about the song, it’s about the bell. If you have grandkids you know they set the rules. There are trivial things to us that are important to them. One is ringing the doorbell. A visit from your grandkids is important for you and them, but it starts with the ringing the bell. 

     Nowadays, we know when visitors are coming before they reach the porch, because most every house has a camera watching their entrance. Kids like to ring the doorbell. They don’t want you to come to the door before the ring. In fact, it’s disappointing to them if you open the door without the ring. As an adult this seems silly, but what’s important to young kids is different than what you deem important. Ringing the doorbell is a simple thing, but it rates high on their list of priorities. 

     If you have more than one grandchild, it’s fun to watch them race each other to the door to push the doorbell. So, no mater how anxious you are to see them, wait to answer the door until you hear the bell. Little things can be important to the little people. “Just Saying . . .”

Looking for easy money

Have you noticed all the ads on television for personal Injury lawyers? The ads run daily so they must generate business. There’s are at least five or six law firms with commercials about personal injury lawsuits. They all claim how easy it is to sue the insurance company for just about anything related to your accident or injury. I mean, I get that you have a right to recover your loss through a lawsuit, but the ad gives the impression that it’s a way to get rich. 

     Is a fender bender justification for a lawsuit? We used to call these lawyers ambulance chasers. I totally understand that if you have an injury from an accident a lawsuit may be the only way to recover financially, but these ads paint a different picture. It almost sounds like breaking a fingernails justifies a two hundred thousands dollar payout. No need to work when you can sue your way to riches.

     These companies tout how easy it is. Just pick up the phone, no need to go into their office, no money required. If you don’t get paid they don’t get paid. It seems too easy and it’s appealing, but is it right? It’s an entitlement issue, something that’s been engrained in our brain. Do we have the right to profit just because we can sue without a financial risk. I can’t give you a blanket answer because each case is different, but the ads are swarmy and target our desire to get rich. 

     All I’m saying is we need a vehicle to recover for injuries which is why these companies exist, but abusing their service to gain riches should not be the goal. “Just Saying . . .”

Challenge every Expert

It seems there’s always an article written by an expert that someone is quoting to support their beliefs. We all need information from a knowledgeable person when we are searching for truth. But what makes the writer of the article an expert? I guess the answer would be that they have extensive knowledge on the subject with many years of document studies. Does that mean you should take their word on the subject without question? Not necessarily. Is there belief based on hard data or emotional charged stories?

     The internet is filled with many experts, and they have many opinions, but they may also have pre-conceived opinions which could sway their judgement. I’m sure you’ve seen or heard about the experts in courtroom settings who have totally different opinions. Which one is right? Well, in that case it depends on which side of the courtroom you sit. It’s the same with every other expert opinion. Which is why I say, challenge every expert. Put their advice under a spotlight or microscope. They may speak with authority but even though it’s written down doesn’t make it a fact. “Just Saying . . .”

The International Language

Yesterday, I was out on the deck cooking bacon on the Weber grill. It leaves the mess outside and the bacon cooks up great. It just so happens that the next door neighbors were getting a new roof. The roofers, all Mexicans, were hard at work next door when I clearly heard one of them say, “Smell the bacon”. Often the crew has only one worker who speaks fluent English. Funny thing is that I’ll bet they all knew the smell of bacon and understood those words.

     I laughed out loud and thought most guys, no matter where they are from recognize the smell of bacon. It made me think that some phrases or words are simply understood on an international level. Obviously guys around the world understand the word ‘bacon’. It’s a connective word that brings men together. 

     So what other words have the same reaction. Another word that I suspect would have the same reaction is ‘beer’. Most men will understand the phrase “Hold my beer” and know what will follow that statement. I’m sure there are more of these common phrases but these I believe are the two strongest contenders. 

     It’s interesting that we are connected by these common words, but disconnected in many others ways. Maybe we should concentrate on the simple pleasures of life. “Just Saying . . . “

     

The Key - Final Part

Since it was Saturday, I slept in the next morning. We had no plans. Well, that’s what I

thought, but my wife had other ideas. 

“Hurry up and shower. We’ll get breakfast on the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s my second wish. To find you a hobby.”

“I have a hobby, watching sports.”

“That’s not a hobby. It’s an addiction.” She waved her finger. “Something without a

sportscaster giving play-by-play reports.”

“Sounds like you need a hobby.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you something.”

“But I am worried.”

We drove around all day investigating hobbies that could become my passion.

Woodworking, 3D printing, engraving, photography and painting were just a few and of those

I was leaning toward woodworking, but I’d grown fond of my fingers. We stopped for a late 

lunch at a wine bar and cafe. We ordered and chatted as we waited for our food. A guy with a

guitar walked in and sat down in the front. He started playing a few tunes, old stuff, what I call

good music.

I said to my wife’ “Let’s stop at a music store. I think I might want to try out a guitar.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. You can learn to play, and I’ll sing.”

“Hold on Kelly Clarkson. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m just checking them out.”

“I know, I know, finish your sandwich so we can go.”

I finished quickly and we drove to Music City Guitar. Terry was all about the shape

and the curves of the guitar, while I asked a lot of questions. The salesman played well and

answered all of my concerns. He was patient as I tried half a dozen guitars. He explained the

differences in the acoustic and electric guitars, while I caressed their smooth lines, sniffed the

polished mahogany. These guitars were truly pieces of art that could be displayed like a Picasso.

That’s when I decided this was what I wanted to do in my spare time, but now I just needed to

choose a guitar. 

“What do you think?” I asked Terry, but I really didn’t need her opinion because I

decided I wanted a mid-priced one, not too expensive but not cheap. I ended up spending $800,

but my guitar sounded great, and it was comfortable almost familiar to hold and most 

importantly a beautiful instrument, which made Terry happy. The salesman threw in some song

books and told me about in-house lessons at Music City and the online lessons available on 

YouTube.

I spent the rest of the night playing my guitar. Calling it playing might be a stretch, but

I’m sticking with those words. Two wishes down, one to go.

* * * 

“My third wish is for my mom. She lives alone and I know she gets lonely.” Terry took

the car keys off the hook. “I think she needs a companion. A dog or a cat might be the perfect

choice.” 

“That’s a good idea, but they require a lot of patience and time to train and care for

them.” I suggested to my wife. “What about a young adult dog that has been potty trained instead

of a puppy. Sometimes pet stores have dogs that have been returned, because they were a wrong

fit for the person. These stores will re-home the dogs with a new owner.” 

Terry thought that was a reasonable idea. So, with that in mind we went pet shopping.

We stopped at four pet shops, two had pets they re-homed, but the dogs they had were too large.

We didn’t want to get an animal that would knock her down when playing or pull her arms out of 

the sockets when she walked it.

On our way to the Humane Society, we stopped to get an ice cream and discuss what we

were going to do. I explained that getting a dog or cat today wasn’t absolutely necessary as long

as we narrow it down to what kind of animal would be compatible with her personality. 

“Well, she’s kind of snarky.” 

“Yes, kinda like you.” I laughed. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Terry frowned. “Yes, but I’m funny snarky.”

“Yes dear, you’re hysterical.”

The Humane Society was only few blocks from the ice cream shop. We parked and

walked to the entrance. Terry was hopeful we’d find a pet there. We spent the last few days

fulfilling my wife’s wish list, and I was ready to get back to my new hobby. 

Thankfully, they had two dogs and one cat that fit our requirements. All the animals here

could be adopted. I roamed around looking at the animals while Terry played with a 

terrier.  I noticed an animal that you rarely see up for adoption. It was a parrot, so I asked about

it. There was a sign on the cage with the name, Billy Bob.  I thought that was an odd name, but

it made me chuckle. I said, “Good morning, Billy Bob.” And to my surprise he had an unusual

answer.

“Squawk, take me home I’m a used parrot.”

I laughed. One of the employees was standing nearby so I asked him about Billy Bob.

“Is this parrot up for re-homing?”

            “Those terms don’t really apply to Billy Bob since this is the fourth time this parrot has

been placed with a family so we’re calling him used.” The worker straightened the sign on the

parrot’s cage. “But, yes he is available to take home.”

“Wow, four times. Is there a problem with this parrot?”

He tapped on the cage. “This bird is a highly intelligent, an independent thinker and has a

large vocabulary. He is the only parrot we have, an African Grey. We rarely have any because

they are expensive, and most people pass them down to their children.” He gave the bird some

nuts. “But to answer your question. All animals need care and some like a racehorse require

special care, but the rewards you receive far outweigh any effort you make.”

“Hmm! That’s interesting. Can he hold a conversation with someone?”

The worker said, “Oh! Yes. This bird will talk your ear off.”

“Is Billy Bob a clean bird?”

“Yes, he is normally, unless he’s upset.”

“I’m going to talk to my wife, I’ll be right back. Don’t give him to anyone.”

Not much chance of that. He said under his breath then smiled. “Certainly, I’ll put a hold

on him.”

I went to talk to Terry about Billy Bob, as a pet for her mother. She was intrigued and

agreed to come over and look at him.

Terry walked up to the cage and said, “Oh1 He’s a beautiful bird.” 

“Squawk, thank you sweet one” Billy Bob fluffed his wings. “You’re a tasty treat.” 

“Well, aren’t you a flirty bird?”

I laughed. “You have an admirer.”

“Tell me Billy Bob, would you like to come home with me?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere . . . Squawk.”

The banter went back and forth. I took the time to check with the guy helping us to find

out what we needed to do to take Billy Bob home with us.

He said, “Just the adoption application and a waiver.” He pulled the paperwork from a

folder. “It’s all standard stuff.”

“What’s the waiver for?”

“By signing it, you assume responsibility for the parrot.” He held the papers up.

“Standard stuff as I said before.” 

I took the forms and tapped Terry on the shoulder. “I have the paperwork. What do you

want to do?”

“Well, I just think he’s adorable. Perfect for my mom.”

“A parrot is an unusual pet. I just want you to be sure before we take him home.” I

scratched my head. “Do you think we should ask your mom? She’s expecting a dog or cat. A

parrot might be a shock.”

“I don’t see anything to worry about. He’ll be less trouble than a puppy.” She patted me

on the shoulder. “Fill out the paperwork, while I talk to Billy Bob.”

I completed the forms, and we walked out with the bird and a list of instructions for his

care. “Are we dropping him off tonight?” I bumped the cage on the door as I set it in the back

seat.

“Squawk! Easy, junior, I’m breakable.”

Terry took the paperwork. “I thought we’d wait till tomorrow, then I can spend

time with mom, so she can become used to her new pet.” Terry clasped her hands. “This is so

exciting. I can’t wait for her to meet Billy Bob. It will be magical.”

“Not sure about that, but I know it will be memorable.”

“Squawk . . . I’ll drive.”

I laughed. “Not today, Billy Bob.” I started the car and drove out of the parking lot.

As we entered the roundabout, the parrot squealed. “Watch out for that car.”

“No worries, I got this.”

Billy Bob squawked, “You’re going too fast. Slow down.”

“Wow. Terry, it seems like he’s been trained by you.”

“Ha! Very funny, but he’s right.” Terry smiled. “Mom drives way too fast, so if she takes

Billy Bob in the car, he can keep her in line.” 

“Not sure about that, but I agree she drives her car like it’s stolen.”

The bird squawked, fluffed his wings, picked at the cage and whistled. 

“He’s a noisy ass bird.” I shook my head.

“I think he’s cute.”

“Let’s hope your mom does too.” 

Terry spent the rest of the evening entertaining Billy Bob, while I tried to watch the ball

game. We found out the best way to silence the bird was to put a cover over his cage. Something

that will be helpful for Terry’s mom to know.

Early the next morning we took Billy Bob over to Betty’s, Terry’s mom. As expected, she

was surprised but intrigued as well. Billy Bob squawked out orders and snippy comments, but

Betty was feisty and stood toe-to-toe with his snarky retorts. We spent the better part of the day

there and went over the care and feeding requirements for a parrot. When it was time to leave, I

casually mentioned to Betty that if she didn’t feel comfortable, we could take him and rehome

him with someone else. 

Betty said, “No, he’ll be fine. I just need to teach him my way,”

As we started to walk to the door. Billy Bob squawked. “Are you leaving me with this old

biddy?”

Betty answered. “This old lady is the one who’s going to feed you. Think about that.”

“Wish granted.” Terry turned to me and whispered. “A match made in heaven.”

“We’ll, this was an interesting couple of days.” I smiled. “I wonder who sent the key?”

“Hmm! We may never know. It’s a crazy world out there.” Terry shrugged.

“I know it wasn’t me.” I picked up my guitar.

“Of course not, dear.”