Pops, Poop, Pampers and the Poseidon Adventure

As you well know, Grumpy has been watching his grandbaby little Ryder for quite a spell now. While Jeff and Meghan work, Grumpy initiates his own form of Papa Daycare. Now that “school’s out for the summer” the Good Wife, a teacher, has joined in with our tag team approach to babysitting. We are the “A” team as in – very AVAILABLE!

Ryder turned two in May and, as development takes it course, he talks, babbles and tells us when he poops.

“I pooped,” he says proudly.

Grumpy’s daughter said just last week that she felt he was ready for potty training. He was feeling the “urge” and expressing an interest, so now it was time to up the ante and do a little sit and hit the Cheerio with the fire hose routine. We’d make potty training a fun experience.

Last night she reported that little Ryder-oo was proud to pee two times and pass gas once. The lad seems to like potty practice especially when he can flush. It appears as if he’s taking to this like a duck to water.

Well Grumpy had to telephone his grandbaby, of course, and tell him what a “big boy” he was.

So today, Meghan was enthusiastic and thereby encouraged us to follow through on this regimen. We were watching the little guy from 1:30-7:00 pm: lots of time for two teachers to hone their craft. Hell, we trained three of our own didn’t we?

10430861_10152314677733557_5440285695709875539_nWell you should know that Ryder calls Grumpy “Pops”. And, because of all of this Papa Daycare time Pops is pretty well high on the list of those Ryder likes to see and spend time with.

When we arrived today we had this conversation.

“Hey Ryder, Pops heard you peed on the potty.”

Ryder replied with a big smile and a, “Yaaaaaaa!”

“You’re such a big boy now, Ryder!”

“Yaaaaaa,” he repeats, this time in chin on the chest “I’m shy” mode.

“Can you show Pops how your potty works?” Grump queries, hoping to initiate a “Show and Tell” moment.

The little gaffer takes old Grumps by the hand and starts leading him to the lavatory. He repeats “Pops” over and over again.

Once there, he proceeds to show Grumpy the toddler potty insert hanging beside the toilet, pulls the handle and flushes and babbles along telling Grumpy how this amazing contraption works.

“Ah water, push, I pee, ah sit, ya,” he tells me.

“Do you want to try to go on the potty now,” Grumpy suggests, knowing well that his little buddy will be glad to demonstrate.

“Yaaaaa,” Ryder says.

So we remove the diaper, put the potty on the pot, and place the “pot-ee” – Ryder- upon the pot and wait. Grumpy remembers waiting in restaurants while his food chilled to potato salad consistency pleading with his own kids, “Are you done yet?”

Just a few weeks ago Grumpy’s niece experienced the same wait-time in a restaurant washroom when her three year old asked, “Mom, did you bring a book?”

Egads! Will this be a sit-in of marathon proportions?

But, Ryder was a quick study this particular time, tinkling twice while playing with his float plane tub toy. He peered down in that small space in front of him and smiled. Both Pops and the lad were proud. High fives were exchanged and hoots and hollers followed.

Pops then asked, “Are you done?”

And with that, Ryder jumped off the pot and quickly pushed the handle. In one motion his hand grabbed a tissue from the garbage can and tossed it into the whirlpool. He leaned over the bowl amazed with the magic of the disappearing paper.

NOTE TO DAUGHTER: Move that can well away from the launch pad because if he grabs a diaper that sucker will be plugged in a New York minute. In fact, to be better safe than sorry, institute a no knickknack zone of at least three feet in that particular area. The boy is lightning quick and this is a black hole for small inanimate objects.

We’ll fast forward to later in the day, after we spent some time in Port Dover and the play park. Upon arriving home Pops decided to try for a second demonstration, trying to build some consistency or a routine if you will.

“Ryder do you have to go potty?” he asked nonchalantly.

The surprising response was, “Yaaaaa!”

So, off they trudged, Pops and the two year old, hand-in-hand like two knights of the round bowl, ready to complete another quest towards diaper redemption.

Sitting upon the throne Ryder had a quizzical expression etched upon his face. It was if he was anticipating a great moment.

First he peed.

Then, he peed again.

He expressed a long drawn out, “Oooohhhhhhhh!” when his first loud toot echoed around the bowl.

“That’s alright buddy. You farted,” Grumpy suggested nervously. Grandma was in the hall offering encouraging words as well. This moment was monumental for all of us, you see.

Then, after some serious grunts and a Ker plop, it appeared as if the deed was done. Ryder smiled a satisfied smile and squealed loudly.

The plan was that Pops would tag team with Grandma, pass off the boy for the new diaper, whilst he inspected the evidence for authenticity.

Unfortunately, all hell broke loose.

Quick as a flash, Ryder scrambled off the pot and reached back and flushed. The evidence was about to be destroyed, even as the little man was waddling to his Grandma.

Grumpy flipped off the potty insert and thrust his head forward to see if the deed had been done. He watched as his sunglasses flew from his forehead to drop in the bowl and disappear from sight. That, of course, was not before he thrust his hand in the swirling whirlpool trying to extract his Steve Madden’s. This was Grumpy’s personal Poseidon Adventure.

All the good wife could exclaim was, “EEEEEWWWWWWWWW!”

Grumpy was about to reach for his daughter’s towel when the Good Wife screamed, “Nooooo, not the towel!”

“But honey, my glasses are going down with the ship!”

Now as it turned out, a little CIS analysis revealed that Ryder, in fact, pooped on the potty for the very first time. First of all the Good Wife noticed that the lad’s waddle was not unlike that of a bow legged cowboy. Then, when he was placed on the change mat he pointed at his nether regions saying, “Yuck, yucky.”

Needless to say, it took a good swipe with a baby wipe to extract that evidence. It was there for all us to see. Residual poop smears were there in plain view for each of us to marvel upon.

Cheers and high fives erupted, once again. Grumpy’s enthusiasm was particularly acute given that he had indeed extracted his sunglasses from the plumbing without getting his hand stuck. Ryder squealed, “Gasses, Pops, gasses!”

When Ryder’s dad, Jeff, returned from work Ryder babbled on about his day but was most proud when he grabbed his crotch and exclaimed, “I pooped!”

I think you’d agree that this was a go-out-and-buy some pull up Pampers moment. It was like Christmas, Easter and your birthday all rolled into one.

Totally priceless!

So folks, the evidence is clear, being a grand parent is as much fun as a barrel of monkeys and then some.



Papa Daycare: Diaper Dilemma Times Three


Grumpy has had to put his grumpiness on hold, pack it away and become Mr. Nice Guy. That’s why he hasn’t posted much here lately. This can’t be Grumpy’s World when you’re not feeling grumpy.

You see, recently Grumpy became a card holding member of PAPA DAYCARE, an organization that all grandparents both belong to and savour magnificently. You see, anytime you can have one-on-one time with a Grandbaby there is bound to be fun and frolic involved.

Grumpy has been babysitting several times a week for about a month now and boy has got stories to tell. He and his buddy Ryder have had innumerable adventures and the odd mishap along the way. The good thing is that neither Papa nor Ryder has severely hurt themselves. Really though, when you put a two year old and a sixty-four year old together there could be pratfalls. But, a few bumps and a bruise here and there are Puppy Chow – incidental and harmless.

Yesterday was a case in point; a day that will go down in infamy as the day Ryder exposed himself in public in his diaper – more than once.

Now, I have to add that yesterday was a very hot and humid day down here in the Banana Belt. The temperature was well into the 80’s, the sun was hot and Grumpy became a walking sweat machine.

You see, Grumpy and Ryder ventured out on a three hour walk. They would follow the wonderful walking trails that crisscross Simcoe, Ontario. The duck park, the playground and visit with mommy at were all on the agenda. Maybe they’d stop off at the Mall for a ride on those kiddie contraptions they have. Papa had a pocket full of loonies, just in case.

The first diaper incident occurred in one of those parks – the duck park to be exact. Seeing as Ryder needed a change and walking back to the house was out of the question, Papa had to be creative. Usually the two adventurers take the car with them, but because it’s summer-like, Grumpy said nada to that. No, they’d walk the entire route.

However, there is no large washroom in this park, only portable-potties and the great outdoors. So, Grumpy used the next best thing for a change table – a picnic table.

Why not?

When told of this, the Good Wife (Grammy) was not very happy. She said, “Only a male would think of that.” Then scowling she added, “Oh, poor little Ryder”

With tail between his legs, Grumpy responded, “Well there was no one else near us, we were discreet and the gaggles of ducks and geese that were pooping everywhere didn’t seem to mind.”

Grumpy guesses that she’ll be truly shocked in a few years when the two of them both have to pee behind a tree. Folks, that’s what guys do when nature calls and there is nowhere else to tinkle.

Take Ryder’s Uncle Josh, for example. Every time he got off the school bus when he was in kindergarten he’d skidder behind the big pine tree in our yard, pull down his pants and pee. He was very discreet. His sister, Ryder’s mom, was disgusted. She’d run in the house hollering, “Daddy, Josh is peeing again! Its sooooo gross!”

Grumpy will admit that the expression on little Ryder’s face while being changed suggested that he had never been changed on a picnic table before. His face read, “Should we be doing this, Papa?” and “Won’t someone be eating here soon?”

The second incident reminded Grumpy about what his mother, Hellfire Helen, often said. “Never let the devil hear what you’re thinking?” The good wife put it another way. “You’re going to jinx yourself, Grumpy!”

You see Grumpy had been bragging that Ryder hadn’t pooped in four straight visits, even though his mommy said he poops every morning. Well when Papa comes, those are the “every mornings” he doesn’t poop. And, he holds out until he’s back in mommy’s charge.

This is win-win for Grumpy.

Grumpy often teased his little buddy when he sauntered to a quiet corner with, “Are you pooping, Ryder?” or “Have you got a stinky?” Ryder, of course, thought that was pretty funny and giggled. If you are a stand- up comedian for two year olds, the word “Poop” has got to be in every other punchline. That’s a guaranteed laugh, folks.


QUESTION: Why did the chicken cross the road?

ANSWER: Because he thought he was going to poop his pants!

Insert guffaws and giggles from a congregation of preschoolers and hold on to those two year olds before they fall out of their chairs.

Well, yesterday, after that long walk, we hopped in the car and set out for the Dollar Store. Just as Grumpy was taking Ryder from the car seat he realized poop time had arrived. A quick backside check revealed his suspicions. However, as Chad Yates would have described it, this was no ordinary poop – this was a poop-nami! This was a crawl up his back stick to every nook and cranny poop-a geddon. This was, “I hope there is a putty spatula in the diaper bag,” kind of deposit.

Thinking quickly, Grumpy decided to do the change on the front seat of the Clown Car, right there in the parking lot. Now, we call this car a Clown Car because it is not much bigger than an E-bike, meaning the front seat might just be suitable for changing a newborn – well barely.

Placing Ryder on the seat, his legs extended well out of the vehicle. The diaper bag was placed in the passenger side foot well. Grumpy went to work with the precision of a plastic surgeon. Copious amounts of Pablum like excrement had to be removed with precision, you see. Using a hand full of baby wipes was his only recourse. He had enough in his hands to polish a car.

Grumpy went to work quickly and efficiently, but soon realized that he needed three hands. He felt more like a one armed paper hanger even though Ryder was in full cooperation mode. Ryder wanted nothing to do with the poopy situation he created. He was motionless, statue-like and was trying to put his feet well over his head almost like some double jointed gymnast in the circus.

Nevertheless, Grumpy almost wished he was a chimpanzee, able to use his foot like a hand, and thereby multi task this sucker back into pristine bum territory.

But, two year olds are wrinkly and sport cracks and crevices everywhere, requiring almost one wipe per square inch of skin. This stuff was like quick drying cement. Grumpy kept working away then noticed a pained expression paint Ryder’s face.

Was he scrubbing too hard?

No, little Ryder’s head extended over the seat and was resting on the seatbelt buckle clasp thing-a-ma-jig. It was like he was saying, “First the picnic tables and now this?”

Meanwhile, the removed diaper and a growing stack of baby wipes were overcrowding his space to the max. Even though poop was everywhere, Grumpy used due diligence to keep it off the car seat. You see, Grammy would be sitting there in about three hours. Grammy with poop on her clothes would not be a good combination.

Putting on the clean diaper and dressing Ryder was like wrestling an alligator. Not because he was uncooperative, but rather because of space restrictions. This job was akin to changing your own clothes in a sleeping bag in a pup tent. It wasn’t going to be easy my friends. But, the job got done.

Grumpy and Ryder headed into the Dollar Store proud and strong because mission impossible had been accomplished. The poop-nami had been conquered, overcome and cleaned up completely. Nevertheless, they left the diaper and the stack of wipes in the car because there was no garbage can in sight. Their one-track-mindedness had them forget what 80 plus degrees temperatures and a closed car can do to a soiled diaper.

As Grumpy and Ryder negotiated the aisles in the store, Grumpy couldn’t help but think that the distinct odour of poop had followed them inside. Ryder’s turned up nose revealed his own discomfort. A quick check of Grumpy’s hands revealed that his personal cleanup hadn’t gone quite so well as Ryder’s. Of course, being male, he used the inside-the-pant-pocket wipe to take care of the problem. Pockets are like handy wipes, you see. When we were kids we called them Booger Vaults, if you catch my drift.

Upon returning to the Clown Car and opening the door, Grumpy knew that diaper disposal had reached a critical mass. Fifteen minutes of baking in 80 degree heat had that car smelling like an outhouse. There was also the matter of leaking milk bag from a few days previous. You can take Grumpy’s word for it that Sour Milk and Baby Poop perfume will never be a competitor for Chanel Number 5.

Again, there was nowhere in sight to dispose of this pile of stinking disposables. Grumpy supposed the Dollar Store didn’t believe in garbage receptacles. They also didn’t believe in dollar pricing either because everything inside was $1.25.

Grumpy and Ryder toughed it out, driving out of the lot with the windows cranked, the air conditioning blasting and their noses pinched between thumb and finger. Grumpy remember that the Canadian Tire Store, about half a mile away, had numerous garbage containers including dumpsters. And, when push comes to shove, this was a dumpster sized load.

After pulling into an open parking space, Grumpy stole his way over to the closest garbage receptacle and deposited his package. He felt like a drug dealer making a drop. He looked this way and that, hoping no one observed the “poop” that was going down.

Meanwhile, Ryder smiled and waved from his car seat calling, “Pop, Pop, Pop!” Grumpy knew that he was pleading with him to hurry-up before anyone saw what he was doing. Having a grandchild ride shotgun is a great backup for you when situations get sticky, my friends. And, this incident was surely sticky in more ways than one.

Well, my own father often said that bad things happen in threes. This day surely proved that. You see, later that night Grumpy’s daughter texted to say that she and Ryder had an “incident” at the play park. Ryder saw a puddle off in the distance and ran as fast as he could to jump into it. The trouble was that the puddle was more mud than puddle. The little guy slipped and fell into it with vigour, covering himself with mud. He was so messed up that Meghan had to have him walk home in his diaper.

So, in one exciting day Ryder exposed his diaper to gaggles of duck and geese, mooned the customers in parking lot of the Dollar Store and walked all the way home from the park in his diaper.

Needless to say, a good time was had by all.

Grumpy knows Ryder won’t remember this when he’s twenty. But, as long as Grumpy continues to write things down the history of Ryder’s early days will be well documented. These journals will especially involve those fun times involving Papa Daycare.

Here’s a video that documents Pops and Ryder’s adventures.


The Day I Babysat My Papa

Grumpy spent a little one-on-one time with his Grandson this week. As is usually the case in these instances, it was hard to determine who was babysitting whom. After all, Grumpy did promise his daughter that the two of them would try to stay out of trouble. (Wink-wink) This little video montage is taken from the viewpoint of little Ryder. Grumpy always wonders what he’s thinking during their fun times together.

Now he thinks he knows!



FLORIDAYS #4: This, that and the other thing!

FLORIDAYS #4: This, that and the other thing!

The dreaded YUCCA plant ready to slice and dice "The Slice".

The dreaded YUCCA plant ready to slice and dice “The Slice”.

We’ve been vacationing at the in-laws Retirement Park (Saddlebag Lake Park) for over 20 years now. We’ve discovered that retirement park living is a life on its own, very reminiscent of life on another planet. Think about it, populate over 1000 homes with feisty set-in-there-ways senior citizens, throw in a bunch of rules and regulations and bingo – you have Grey Power Armageddon. Once you are inside those gates things can get really interesting. You can take this to the bank, because Grumpy is now a card carrying, pension collecting old fart that has an opinion about just about everything.

Just ask him!

Here are a few observations about trailer park life in sunny Florida.

 The Coconut Telegraph and the Hot Tub Time Machine


 There are two things that are as real as rain in Florida Retirement Parks: gossip and controversy. Grumpy compares this phenomenon to Jimmy Buffett’s “Coconut Telegraph” or the children’s popular game called Telephone. Get a rumour started or drop a tidbit of controversial gossip and it spreads through the park faster than a Florida wildfire.

 Of course, each and every rendition is added upon by the communicator (based on empirical evidence), with a lot of personal opinion thrown in, until many mountains are constructed out of mole hills.

 This causes every word you speak and every action you complete to be put under park scrutiny. In this regard, you must watch your “P’s and Q’s” and be sure that park rules (either assumed or written down) are followed to the letter. Otherwise, your words or actions are not unlike “poking a hornet’s nest with a stick” when it comes to Park social interaction.

 As you walk through the park you might find conclaves of conferring couples exchanging the latest bits of chin-wagging chatter in soft whispered tones. However, because of hearing loss, these conversations are most likely to be loud and easily discernable.

 “They can’t do that!”

 “Someone has got to do something about this.”

 “I heard that Bob plans to build one, too!”

 Grumpy has discovered that the best source of park bafflegab is the hot tub at the pool. This 12+ seater is like the CNN of Saddlebag news-dom. Slide yourself in there with a gaggle of residents and you get the Reader’s Digest view of everything going on in the park.

 All you need to do is sit and listen.


 The ladies seem to share their “guarded” information either poolside or in the water. Of course, the notorious “Coffee Klatch” makes a Park Newspaper totally out-of-date and obsolete.


 Visitors to the Park, like the Grumpy’s, must be cognizant of their behavior because anything untoward would spread through the community like the flu. This may cause embarrassment and angry stares to be cast upon your relatives, the ones that actually hold property there.

 Here are a couple of faux pas that must be avoided.

 1. Carry a flashlight at night whilst walking.
2. Don’t let your kids be loud or splash water in the pool.
3. Walk on the proper side of the road.
4. Lights out and be quiet after 9 pm.
5. Don’t forget to wave when passed by a person, golf cart or motor vehicle.
6. No getting jiggy at the pool with your spouse. No getting jiggy all week.
7. Drive your motor vehicle at 15 mph despite residents roaring around in golf carts and mopeds like the park is a Grand Prix racetrack.
8. Never slather suntan lotion on your same sex buddy because you will surely be labelled as a person who has switched teams.
9. Speak only when you are spoken to and remember that you have no opinion that really counts. Comply with all requests from residents. Remember your place in the pecking order and never “poke” the bear.
10. Dress appropriately and keep all the naughty bits covered even if your naughty bits are still worth exposing.

There you have it. Knowing all of this will keep you out of the “Coconut Telegraph” gossip pipeline and make your holiday nothing but fun in the sun.

The Latest Controversy


Every time we visit the park there seems to be a current controversy buzzing around the double-wides. This year it involved the placement of a new double-wide home.

The builder had dropped the two pieces on the lot with what appeared to be a deck on the front side. The builder had forgot to follow, as outlined in guideline #9 above, that you don’t poke the bear.

The controversy involved many dynamics.

1. What is the definition of a deck as opposed to a porch? Could this deck really just be a big porch? Or is it a deck? Apparently, unlike other aspects in life, size matters in this situation.

2. The same sex couple building the home wanted their bedroom to be at the back. The residents are up in arms because if they turn the trailer around – now the bedroom will be at the front. According to gossip this would be just disgusting. The Duck Dynasty boy’s, especially Phil, would be proud of the resistance movement here, I’m sure.(The infamous Corinthians Paraphrase Quote)

3. Many residents when they put in their new homes were not allowed to put a deck at the front. Now they don’t want anyone else to have that privilege. A tour of the park will find large “porches” on many fronts, porches that really are decks – a few are even screened in.

4. Misery loves company, so even if this doesn’t affect a resident directly, most people are dead against this or have an opinion because they want to be part of the swarm as opposed to be the focus of the buzz.

Grumpy really has no opinion other than, something that improves the park and possibly increases the value of your own property, should probably be welcomed. And, he also knows that sexual preference has nothing to do with porches or decks.

What he finds amazing is that wherever he went and whomever he talked to this topic inevitably came up. He is sure that he heard everyone’s view several times over: loudly and with adamant hand gestures included. As days went on, these opinions became stronger and brasher. After all, several community “Town Halls” were being well attended. The buzz” was becoming a “roar”.

The lesson learned is all of this is, if you want to be happy for the rest of your life, “Keep your nose clean in retirement parks. Toe-the-line and never poke the bear!”

We’ll have to see how all of this turns out.

Golf Cart NASCAR

Drivers start your engines!

Drivers start your engines!

Last but not least, Grumpy would like to press the case for new driving rules in retirement parks. Motor vehicles are required to move at 15 mph, which is about as slow as you can go without stalling your big internal combustion gas guzzler. Walkers pass you by with ease, even though you aren’t even in a School Zone.

 Should you deviate from this norm and travel faster, you will at the very least be chastised by “the look” or be given the single-finger salute. If, by chance, there is an Official Sherriff’s Office Golf Cart patrol in the vicinity, manned by two octogenarian’ deputies, you might find yourself in further hot water.

 “Pull over, buster.”

Pull over, Buster!

Pull over, Buster!

 However, when it comes to golf carts, mopeds and bicycles these speed rules seem to not apply. Some people have “pimped” out their gas powered golf carts to resemble race cars and sports utility vehicles. These people drive them as if the trails of Saddlebag Lake are a NASCAR Track.

 Zoom Zoom

 One guy zipped past our trailer at about 45 mph. His creation was bright yellow fiberglass and resembled a 1940’s Roadster.
“Hey, buddy, slow the heck down, you moron!”

 Grumpy has been nearly been impaled by seniors roaring by on their pedal bicycles, some of which are super powered bicycle’s built for two.

 “What the . . . .?”

 And, the bikers in the park, those of mopeds and motorcycles, often roar past you as if they’re driving drag bikes. Grumpy half expects them to yell, “Yee Haw!” upon their passing.



 Grumpy knows that his very own Uncle can hardly wait until he can remove the “speed governor” on his new gas cart in a year’s time.

 Zoom Zoom

 So, in parting, Grumpy would like start a game of “telephone” with the residents of Saddlebag Lake Park. Let’s get the ball rolling, folks.

 “Somebody’s got to do something about these speeding golf carts, bikes and mopeds.”



The Key to Good Driving is Taking Care of Your Car Keys

The Key to Good Driving is Taking Care of Your Car Keys


Well, as you would surely expect, Grumpy was involved in a few incidents in Florida that caused a little consternation with the Good Wife. You see, Grumpy has a genetic flaw when it comes to his vehicle. Quite often old-timers disease sets in and this forgetfulness puts him in the doghouse. This happened on two occasions in Florida.
Both incidents involved his car keys.

Now, Grumpy has a possessive only-child-syndrome relationship with his car keys. He will not allow anyone to touch them, use them nor come close to touching them.

They are HIS keys, plain and simple!

He only feels secure when they are safely ensconced in his pocket.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: No one is allowed to touch Grumpys flashlight in Florida. Hey, he has his name printed on it for crying out loud.)


 In the beginning it was a beautiful sunny day.

 The Good Wife was asked by our niece to help Great Grandma watch her two young lads aged three and one – going on terrible two. It was felt that two Grandmothers were better than one. This would be a tag team matchup.

 As it turns out, Grumpy was conscripted to go along with Great Grandma to the pool, seeing as the good wife, being a redhead, is not one to spend much time in the sun. This would be someone in their seventies and Grumpy in his mid-sixties attempting to entertain two children whose cumulative age was less than five. No matter, by and large little kids think elderly people are pretty funny.

 Well everything went very well, considering there was a light rain and a severe wind. Grumpy was totally involved in imaginative play with his great-nephew. They were making toast and mushroom meals, splashing the water to make soup and swimming the width of the pool to gather broccoli from their other “house”. There were plenty of giggles and guffaws.
Meanwhile, great Grandma took the little on to the showers to give him a good scrub.

 ALI VELSHISuddenly, Grumpy notice two women sprinting across the pool deck towards the gate. At the same time the wind suddenly gusted to a hurricane force blow. Turning around, he saw the incoming sky approaching as black as night and as threatening as a thunder storm. In minutes the prevailing atmosphere was about to morph into a Florida squall of Armageddon proportions.

 Grabbing his charge by the hand he hollered, “We gotta run for the pool room door. Drop your broccoli, put the mushrooms and toast away. Grab the soup! Let’s boogie!”

 Hand in hand the waddling senior and the almost three year old burst through the door just as the torrent began. It was raining cats and dogs and maybe sheep and cows as well. Raindrops were bouncing high off the pavement like thousands of super balls.

 That little boy and over-the-hill Grumpy ended up being trapped in the pool room for about 30 minutes.
Now, upon returning to the in-laws doublewide an hour later, Grumpy was greeted by that “look”. You know that look. It’s the one your spouse has refined to perfection. It would be the one where you’re thinking retreat and capitulation are your only option. Running and hiding might just be you’re only choice.

 GOOD WIFE: “Where are the car keys, Grumpy?” (Foot tapping and crossed arms are not good signs.)

 GRUMPY: “Well, of course, they’re right here in my pocket!” (Looking down at the floor seemed like a good thing to do.)

 GOOD WIFE: “Well it might have been nice if you left them here so we could have closed the car windows during that downpour.”

 You see those automatic windows don’t work without the keys in the ignition.

 The stare that she stared had now morphed into the stare of death. If Grumpy had a tail it would surely be between his legs.

 All that he could emit from his parched dry mouth was a whispered Homer Simpson-like, “Doh!”

 Apparently Grumpys wife and father-in-law had scrambled in the pouring rain to seal up the open windows with towels, sop up the water on the car mats, as well as sponge off the seat so they wouldn’t become saturated. They did all of this whilst the rain came down in buckets. Grumpy is sure that they were both soaking wet when all was said and done. Two eyes staring like daggers confirmed this to him – in spades.

 As is his strategy when “Jimbo Moments” occur, and life and death situations evolve, Grumpy turned to his little great nephew for a diversion and asked, “Do you think there’s any broccoli out back on the deck?”

 When the little one responded with a resounding, “Yaaaa!”, Grumpy knew that an almost three year old had just saved his bacon. Well, at least for the moment, because sooner or later Grumpy would have to return to 101 Beaverkill, and you guessed it, his tail would be firmly ensconced between his legs.

 For the time being he confidently declared, “Let’s make soup, buddy!”



 The Good Wife and Grumpy always venture out to their favorite Beall’s Outlet Store on the last morning of their Florida vacation. This year they scored big time, purchasing $200 worth of items with listed price tags of well over $500+. For example, Grump picked up some Dockers Denim jeans (List price $58.00) for less than twenty bucks.

 Upon their return to 101, the Good Wife suggested that Grumpy leave the windows down, seeing as it was sunny and getting hotter. He complied even though he recalled that stare of death from a few days before. He did not want another window incident to complicate his day. But, what the heck could go wrong?


 He did have some trouble getting them adjusted – he must have zipped them (The Windows) up and down about 20 times to get them properly orientated. A few expletive deletives were used to assist in this process.

 Satisfied that he had accomplished a job well-done, Grumpy took off for his final tanning session and gabfest at the pool. He gave himself an hour and half timeline, given that he had to pack, load the vehicle, take the mountain of beer cans to the recycle bin and complete various sundry tasks. He is, after all, a dutiful husband.

 Upon his return, Grumpy gathered the beer cans and headed for the car, hoping to take care of those recyclables. Tapping his pocket, he stopped dead in his tracks


Now when Grumpy loses something near and dear to his heart his usual response involves a lot of arm flapping and boisterous blasphemy. Before long, he was running around like chicken with its head cut off!

 “Honey, I can’t find my keys. Where are my keys? Where the heck did I leave them? # % $ # @!!!!!!”

 The Good Wife, for the most part, ignores Grumpy’s antics. Indeed, she calmly said, “Don’t worry they’ll turn up! No worries!”

 Minutes later, Grumpy’s voice had risen to a crescendo, not unlike the squeal of a little girl. Just then, a soft knocking came from the trailer’s metal door.


 Grumpy stopped firm in his tracks. Gingerly he opened the door. There stood a nicely dressed grandmotherly lady with a pleasant smile on her face. He had no idea who this woman was!

 “Hi, I’m your neighbour from next door. I heard you calling out that you’d lost your keys. (EDITOR’S NOTE: These trailer’s walls are as thin as paper.) I heard a ding-ding sound about an hour ago. I checked your car and the keys were in the ignition. I hope you don’t mind that I took them out and left them on the seat. I thought your battery probably was running down.”

 Grumpy was so happy he felt like giving that lady a smackeroo-type kiss right on the lips. But, of course, in the interest of self-preservation he did not.

 Thanking the lady profusely, Grumpy hustled out to the Clown Car, turned the ignition and, guess what? He got nothing but a putt-putt sputter and a buzz. That battery was deader than a door nail and then some.

 Before Grumpy could begin another arm flapping boisterous blasphemy attack he heard these words.
“Hey, Grumpy how are ya?”

 There, on a big red bicycle, peddled Grumpy’s Knight in Shining Armour. Darwin, his father-in-law, had just made the turn onto Beaverkill.

 You see the main modes of transportation in Saddlebag Park are by foot, by golf cart, by moped and by bicycle. (Speed limit 15 mph)

 After explaining his most recent embarrassing “Jimbo Moment”, Darwin peddled off saying, “I’ll be right back with the van and some jumper cables!”

 Needless to say, within minutes Grumpy was back on track, heading out to the bin to dump his mountain of beer cans.

belt Grumpy realizes that age, if not beer, is starting to take its toll on his memory and thought processes. That’s why he’s heading out to Crappy Tire today to purchase one of those belt-held retractable tether thing-a-ma-bobs to attach his car keys to. As long as he’s wearing his new Dockers Denims with a belt, his keys will never again remain in the ignition when he walks away.

 Oh my, this solution could cause other problems. Grumpy has visions of face plants dancing in his head!

No doubt, he’ll be writing a BLOG about that incident in the not too distant future.

 Until then, stay classy, my friends.