A Note on the Brinkerhoff Humanitarian Fund

Several years ago, Grandpa Jones, my brother and I all attended the Santa Anita Derby in Arcadia, California. Widely considered the most celebrated and important horserace on the West Coast, the Derby bubbles over with pomp and circumstance. The rich women that usually inhabit the salons and the swanky clubs venture through the gates adorned with colorful and fancy hats and pompous, arrogant horse owners dressed in Armani suits fervently smoke their Cuban cigars and carefully study the Daily Racing Form. It is a wonder to behold. It is Americana with a West Coast hangover. We were forever hooked.

Many years later our family came to know Tod Brinkerhoff, a thoroughbred trainer with modest means but a love and a dedication to his profession and the horses that provided him with his livelihood. He and Grandpa Jones became quick friends. They both loved the horses and the camaraderie of the characters at the track, especially the jockeys, trainers, stablehands, and owners. They shared their victories and defeats and forged a real friendship. Unfortunately for Grandpa Jones, Tod shared most of the victories and Grandpa Jones shared most of the defeats.

A couple of years ago, doctors diagnosed Tod with Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Tod was naturally devastated, but he managed to keep a smile on his face. Over time his condition deteriorated. He couldn’t move his muscles the way he wanted and his speech became impaired. He struggled mightily but he kept going to the track and working with his horses. He needed the track, but, more importantly, the track needed him. Tod was a shining light and a real competitor.

Sadly Tod Brinkerhoff passed away earlier this year due to complications with Lou Gehrig’s Disease. His lasting legacy will be one of determination and an uncommon bond with the men and women of the racing community. He will be missed.

It is in Tod’s memory that Grandpa Jones, Tod’s family, and the entire racing community have established the Brinkerhoff Humanitarian Fund. The fund will aid young men and women in the racing community, who possess Tod’s spirit and will, to pursue their dreams.

Information on the Brinkerhoff Humanitarian Fund and ways to contribute can be found by contacting:

L. Corry Jones
amaricor@infowest.com

or clicking here.

A List of All Things Idaho

In response to a prompt at the Alchera Project, I offer the following explanation and subsequent list. It is said that "home is where the heart is" but home is also where memories reside and for me that place is Minidoka County, Idaho. Much of who I am and what I project is derived from my experiences in the Magic Valley. This is a list of some of the character flaws I attribute to my home in Spudville U.S.A.

I dig chicks who know what a barrow pit is (hugs and kisses honey).
I call the glove compartment a jockey box.
I still get really concerned when it freezes late in the spring.
I believe potatoes can be eaten at every meal every day of the year.
I call carbonated beverages "pop" not "soda" or "coke".
I find it very difficult to purchase potatoes at the store.
Sugar comes from a beet and tastes just as good.
Halestorms are a natural disaster.
I find it hard to eat french fries without fry sauce.
I still think Pocatello is a big city.
I pronounce Boise with an "sssss" sound not a "zzzz" sound.
My wife and I still find "cruising Main Street" an appropriate dating experience.
The Snake River is still, hands-down, the coolest river in the world. Evel Knievel couldn't even jump across it.
I still think snowmobiles are more practical than recreational.
I think the wind blows in Idaho because Utah sucks.

A Note on Being Tagged

Just today I officially got tagged by Anita at Fighting Inertia and am somewhat obliged to comply with her request to respond to a meme she was sent. Well, Anita, I, like you, will reluctantly respond but I refuse to pass it along due to a longstanding agreement I have with my wife, namely, I can be a total idiot but I am not to sign anyone else up for idiocy.

So the gist is that I must respond to five of the following prompts.
If I could be a scientist…
If I could be a farmer…
If I could be a musician…
If I could be a doctor…
If I could be a painter…
If I could be a gardener…
If I could be a missionary…
If I could be a chef…
If I could be an architect…
If I could be a linguist…
If I could be a psychologist…
If I could be a librarian…
If I could be an athlete…
If I could be a lawyer…
If I could be an inn-keeper…
If I could be a professor…
If I could be a writer…
If I could be a llama-rider…
If I could be a bonnie pirate…
If I could be an astronaut…
If I could be a world famous blogger…
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…

Well, here goes...

If I could be a llama-rider I would yodel from the highest Andean crags songs of unrequited love and Montezuma's revenge.

If I could be a bonnie pirate I would plunder the bloke who called me "bonnie".

If I could be a farmer I would be the Farmer in the Dell. I've never been in a computer, but I imagine it would be a lot like Tron.

If I could be a writer I wouldn't not use double negatives in no sentences.

If I could be a justice on any one court in the world I would be a justice in the court of public opinion and I would deem myself rich and good looking and everyone would agree.

To anyone who reads this, consider yourself tagged.

A List of Things that Annoy a Sleep Deprived Husband

In an effort to give equal time to me, I list these pet peeves.

Wives who clip their toenails in bed.
Not being able to order a pastrami sandwich on white bread with mayonnaise (those guys at the New York Deli gave me quite a look).
Coconut (officially banned in WilkeWorld)
Crying by anyone other than the week-old baby.
Mud flaps (I know I'm a guy and I ought to like mud flaps, but...)
Home improvement shows where they go shopping (I don't like it live, why would I watch it on TV?)
Power outages
Signing school progress reports for my straight-A stepdaughter (if I don't sign it she gets docked citizenship points)
Caillou (see my previous posts)
Spam (the e-mail kind, not the edible kind that Hawaiians put on rice which is quite good)
The guy hammering on his house right now.....arggghhh!!!
The six-week hiatus

A Note on Baby Indy II

Little baby boys pee much like Old Faithful, shooting straight in the air with much force and regularity. I, however, did not read the report at the ranger's station and the eruption startled me and soaked me. The last two times, I have been much more alert, but, alas, the well was dry both times. I will not make this mistake again.

A Note on Hospital Food

I hesitate to write this post for two reasons. First, it is a cliche to say that hospital food challenges the notion that hospitals are places of healing and wellbeing. Second, what could I possibly add to the volumes already written on this subject? Well, the white meatloaf-like substance offered up yesterday evening in the maternity ward pushed me over the edge.

My wife eyed it for awhile, nose scrunched up defensively, and then posed the question that I, too, had been contemplating, "What is it? Tofuloaf?"

I couldn't answer her question definitively so I looked for more clues. Yes, pea-like pellets accompanied the cloudy slab and stuccoed potato flakes whisked into oblivion stood proudly next to the "meatloaf" on the steamy plate.

"Uh, no way," she defiantly uttered.

"Not even the brown peaches." I encouraged her.

Needless to say, I soon found myself in the drive-thru at Dairy Queen.

A Note on Baby Indy

The Eagle Has Landed!!!
I Repeat...The Eagle Has Landed!!!

The newest addition to WilkeWorld arrived today at 1:30 p.m. MST weighing in at a modest 7 lbs. 9 oz. He will be known here in WilkeWorld as Baby Indy, and what a baby he is. This is one of those times when it is perfectly okay to be a proud papa, and I am.

I take random pot shots at my wife occasionally here at WilkeWorld, but I have to say both she and Baby Indy are superstars. They both did great and, although they are both exhausted, it looks like they will be home quickly.

Before I leave to go back to my job of filling the big cup of ice and insuring the baby they bring to us every two hours is ours, I want to make a few observations.

The Doritos in the vending machine on the 3rd floor are cheaper than the Doritos in the vending machine in the basement by 5 cents. That's 5 penny-candies. I got robbed.

When the attending nurse apologizes for being stupid at least five times, its hard to entrust your newborn to her. "Oops, I'm sorry. I lost the chart." "Golly gee, I forgot to ask you if you're experiencing any pain." "I better be careful when I trim that umbilical cord."

Husbands don't really do a lot during labor. Good thing the Golf Channel had something good on.

I would have to agree that the epidural is the best $1500 we have spent since the last kid.

Grandpa Jones must like us cause he skipped a horseracing meeting to watch our kids.

Welcome to WilkeWorld, Baby Indy. You are a fine addition.

A List of Things that Annoy a Pregnant Wife

A Non-pregnant Husband
Tying Shoes
Contractions
Dump Trucks in Construction Sites Next to Our Home
Sneezes
Hiccups
Things that Fall to the Ground
Doctors (in general)
Phone Calls Asking whether the Baby Has Arrived
Not Being Able to Color Her Hair
Husband (in general)
Pantyhose
Shoes that don't Fit
Seats Without Cushions
Insurance Companies
Skinny People (mostly women)
Other Pregnant Women who Seem to Glow
Husband (in particular)

Did I say Husband?

A Note on Grandpa Jones

Okay, I have finally been driven over the edge. I have allowed Grandpa Jones to comment on my blog without any checks and balances, and he is now garnering unwarranted support amongst the citizens of WilkeWorld. They are clamouring for his own blog for goodness sake. Oh, poor misguided readers! You take his sardonic comments as witty and refreshing, but you don't know the real man behind the comments. I am here to reveal to the readers of WilkeWorld once and for all the character of Grandpa Jones. I will let you judge for yourselves.

Exhibit #1
White Tennis Shoes
Worn with a white tuxedo by Grandpa Jones at his own wedding reception. He claims he didn't know the dress shoes didn't come with the tux.

Exhibit #2
MVP Award at Basketball Tournament
Won by Grandpa Jones while on his Honeymoon. How is that for romantic?

Exhibit #3
High School Report Card Showing a D in Typing
Received by Grandpa Jones following the incident when he rolled a girl's hair up in the manual typewriter and then left her there.

Exhibit #4


Wait a minute, honey. I'm finishing this blog entry about my dad.

What did he do? He mowed our lawn and took the little one to the penny candy store? Why? He didn't give a reason?

Drat

A Note on Burned Popcorn

Apparently, much to my surprise, our microwave has a "popcorn" setting. No, I was not aware of that when I placed the microwaveable popcorn sleeve in said microwave. I promptly read the popping instructions which indicated that a microwaving time between 2 and 5 minutes is usually appropriate. I, of course, like any good wannabe bachelor, split the difference and selected 3 minutes. Not too long and not too short. Just right.

Not quite.

It is the day after now and my wife is still just stewing over the fact that I didn't know about the "popcorn" button. "Its right there on the dial. Popcorn. Just press the 'popcorn' button."

So, following the smoke inhalation, we let my parents win at Canasta. A hollow victory for the old goats, but I'm sure they will comment here about their skill level and shrewd cardplaying.

Lastly, we are in the calm before the storm. Still no little one and a relatively peaceful night's sleep for the Mrs. To hurry things up, we are going the Mexican food route for lunch. If he won't leave on his own we will have to light a little fire in there. Wish us good luck.

A Note on Ron Mexico

I've seen this story in various places, but it always cracks me up. Not that Michael Vick perhaps knowingly infected his girlfriend with an STD, but that to get testing he may have employed the alias, Ron Mexico.

Ron Mexico?

Okay, let's for just a moment go through the thought process on this monicker. I'm Michael Vick, star quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons, but I have a potentially embarrassing and dangerous condition that I need to get checked. What name should I use? Well, what are my options?

Mike Johnson?
James Jones?
David Miller?
Ron Mexico?

I'll go with Ron Mexico. I, personally, would have gone for Jose Cuervo or Corona Gold. I might have even gone a little more exotic...maybe something like Billy Tahiti or Tommy Bahama.

All in all, I have to wonder what his score on the Wunderlich test was. He may have actually chosen Ron Mexico on his own.

A Note on Nesting

"I can't have the baby today. My house is a mess."

Yes, that's right. My wife can barely walk but she is dragging out the vacuum so that her precious house will be clean when the baby arrives. Before I get accused of not supporting her in her obsessive nesting, let it be known that she decides to embark on this Spring Cleaning binge after I have left to go work.

When I arrive home from work, the house is spotless and my wife has waddled her way to a Bed, Bath, and Beyond to buy curtain rods that match the new duvet she just purchased on Ebay. Yikes!

Please let this kid arrive before the Mrs. really does some damage. I can't have my nine-month pregnant wife wielding power tools and placing doilies.

A Note on Contractions

Okay, folks...we are down to the nitty-gritty. The Mrs. is experiencing contractions and an awful lot of pressure. No, we haven't gone to the hospital and, no, her water has not broken yet, but she curses under her breath a lot, so I think we are close.

My bet is for sometime Saturday or Sunday, but I get dirty looks when I say that so I don't know what to hope for. For those women who read my blog, forgive my obvious naivete and answer me this question. When should I start really paying attention? She is having nightly contractions and, boy, am I attentive and helpful, but there's not really much I can do. Its a little like the boy who called wolf. I mean I know the wolf will eventually show up, but should I jump every time?

I am just concerned that I won't respond correctly when the time really arrives, and my wife will punch my lights out. My Grandpa Kay used to say that when the water breaks the calf's not far behind. Is that it? Much help is needed.

A Note on Children's Television

Between the hours of 7:30 A.M. and 12:30 P.M. I have to wrestle the remote away from my littlest one. Well, rather than fight that battle every day, I succomb to the peer pressure exerted by the two-year-old and I watch her programs with her. Keep in mind that she reads and plays and all that good stuff, but I still find plenty of time to watch T.V. with her. That being said, I have become quite a critic of the shows. So in an effort to provide quality content on my blog that all aspiring fathers can use, I will now review a few of the kiddie shows--WilkeWorld-style.

DORA THE EXPLORER--In my house, Dora is the reigning queen of the boob tube. I kind of dig her, too. With Boots the Monkey and Swiper the Fox, Dora creates high drama and excitement for the little ones. I, too, have to say that Dora rocks. I could do without the little belly shirt, but if I have to watch kiddie T.V., then Dora is a good one to watch. On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being slit my throat and 10 being "could be worse", Dora is a 10.

THE WIGGLES--Dads, don't get sucked into watching this one. The little ones kind of like it because everyone is dancing and wiggling, but it is pure torture for the rest of us. If the characters had better costumes I might not be so offended, but Dorothy the Dinosaur is more like a hippo on crack. The Wiggles are a 1.

STANLEY--Stanley rocks, but for some reason my little one just doesn't get into it that much. I like it because it is so informative, even for adults. Plus, the dog and the cat are always teasing the goldfish with their singing. Stanley would get a 10-plus if the kid liked it more, so I'll give it an 8.

PB & J OTTER--Again an example of really clever programming for little kids. For adults, I find the Noodle Dance quite entertaining. The Otters get a solid 7.

BARNEY--Oh, yes, the great big purple beast is still out there and the littlest kids still love him. As for the adults, Barney is a bit of a boredom inducer. The worst thing is the annoying voice that sends me over the edge. Much has been said of Barney, but I'll give him a 3.

DRAGON TAILS--This PBS show is a real solid program. Ord, the oafish dragon, is the star in this one and the lessons that they learn are easy to understand and easy to follow for little ones. The Dragons merit a strong 9, but my wife says it barely gets a 6.

CAILLOU--Pure torture. If I had a kid like him, I would shoot myself. Worse than the Wiggles.

A Note on Passion

A buddy from work talks every day about his Japanese Maples. He loves them. He surfs the Internet daily in search of Japanese Maples and tells us all about them. Red Dragons and Bloodgoods. I could care less about Japanese Maples but I am ultimately impressed by his passion.

I, on the other hand, am passionless. I have tried to be passionate about Mayan archaeology. I even attempted a brief stint as an avid birdwatcher. I bought all the books and geared up with binoculars and birdseed, but I just lost the fire. For a while in college I even thought I might muster up some passion for chemistry. I became disillusioned, however, when I found that, on Friday nights, my chemistry classmates met in study groups to discuss new chemistry discoveries. On Friday nights! In college!

I am not suggesting here that good folks who love Japanese Maples, birdwatching, and chemistry are misguided or foolish. Quite the opposite. I believe they are enlightened and lucky. They have found the Holy Grail and drink out of it every day. I, on the other hand, sip lemonade from a different Dixie cup every day.

A Note on Stupid Things I Know

As I have been surfing the blogosphere, I have come to understand that bloggers are full of useless information. For the most part our blogs are labors of love, but there is a sense of self-indulgent pride in relaying our opinions in an open forum like a blog.

Today I was listening to C-span and the founder of the superblog, DailyKos, was bragging that he was only one of maybe three people in the world capable of doing what he can do with online communities. He may be right, but thats like Darryl Dawkins saying he is one of a handful of people that can really dunk. I guess....but who cares?

With this preamble, I wish to share some truly useless facts that only a handful of people like me are capable of knowing and recalling at the drop of a hat.

"A man, a plan, a canal; Panama" is a very long palindrome.
California was named after a ficticious island in a Spanish novel.
Paraguay is the only country with a flag that is different on each side.
Coach K of Duke once bought a red tie from me.
The University of Southern California (USC) Trojans were once known as the Methodists and the University of Nebraska Cornhuskers were once called the Bugeaters.
Some islanders in the Torres Strait located between Papua-New Guinea and Australia consider a novel written in the 1950's as ethnographic history.
Waffle mix made with powdered sugar instead of flour does not work.

And for those of you who are into challenges. Tell me some useless information that I don't know......

A Note on the Dodgers

As of right now, the Dodgers top their division by one full game. Yes, we are just four games into the 2005 season, but considering the shakeup that occurred over the winter, this may be my last opportunity to shoot some arrows of outrageous fortune toward the Bay Area Beanstalkers.

On a related note, I once owned one of Barry Bonds' wallets.

I worked for a leather retailer in Las Vegas, and one winter Barry and former teammate Bobby Bonilla came in my store and Barry purchased a new wallet from my friend. Barry didn't want his old wallet so he was going to throw it away. My friend knew that I was a baseball fanatic so, instead of chucking the wallet, he saved it and gave it to me. I, of course, gratefully accepted the wallet, but since I am a diehard Dodger fan, I couldn't possibly keep it. Eventually I gifted the wallet to my dad who used it for awhile and probably chucked it himself.

I didn't realize at the time that I probably should have kept it and sold it on E-Bay. I wonder how much I could have sold that wallet for now.

A Note on Toddler Psychology

Maybe I am not cut out for parenting.

My little girl is obviously watching me and I am letting her down. Yesterday she wanted her ballerina shoes tied and asked me if I would help her. I kneeled down and grasped both shoelaces firmly and started my knot when I was interrupted.

"No, Daddy, no!" she implored. "Not like that. Do the thing you do. The thing like this." I watched closely as she contorted her face in concentration and stuck her tongue halfway out of her mouth. She then carefully bit down on her tongue.

"Like this, Daddy. The thing with the tongue like this."

Oh, great. I can hit the fadeaway jumper like the overweight thirtysomething I am, but my tongue is the only semblance I have to Michael Jordan. My little girl associates tying one's shoes with biting one's tongue.

Way to go, Dad.

A Note on Blogger

I wrote an entire post yesterday. I tried to publish it and the entire post got flushed down the information highway by Blogger. In fact, I wonder if this post is headed to the same graveyard, but I am giving it a shot. Hopefully, Blogger will straighten itself out and we can all get along with our pathetic blogging lives.

A Note on Timing

It is relatively clear in this story that the Colorado governor doesn't really have a good sense of timing. I don't think he intended to be malicious, but he opened his mouth and promptly inserted his foot. I totally understand, though. I have been guilty of this malady as well, but, perhaps the best example of foot in mouth disease comes from my dear mother.

Several years ago she attended a fireside chat where the guest speaker was a world renowned athlete who had severed his spinal cord in a horrible accident and had been confined to a wheelchair. Despite these terrible misfortunes, he had regrouped and subsequently had become a world-class wheelchair racer. My mother was fascinated and very emotional following his remarks and wanted to ask a few more probing questions. She approached this athlete and matter-of-factly asked how long it had taken him to "get back on his feet" following the accident.

He looked her up and down and must have had quite a chuckle. He replied that he had yet to accomplish that feat.

We still tease my mother about that one.

A Note on Last Names

Perhaps it is egocentrism or maybe even vanity, but I dig the fact that my last name will be passed on to future generations. Yep, we are having a boy and the great Jones name will be passed along. That's right, more Joneses. People trying to keep up with us right and left.

My wife is struggling with the name. Jones is so boring, she says. I, of course, want the kid to be named Indiana. She looks at me like I'm an idiot. I suggested that we make Indiana the middle name. She has been lobbying for Garrett. Garrett Indiana Jones. G.I. Jones. It is awesome. Not quite. Garrett Indiana is too close to Gary, Indiana. I can just picture kids singing musical lyrics in squeaky voices. No, I won't subject my kid to that kind of ridicule.

We have a dilemma here. What names go with Jones? Tom? Davy? Jenny? I liked the name Evan. It is a family name and hearkens back to our collective Welsh roots. My wife knew an eighty year-old drunk named Evan Jones so she nixed that one. We are still working on the name, but I am still holding out hope that Jones will still be at the end.

A Note on Honduras

In an effort to do some housekeeping on my blog, I am including this entry which references an article I wrote a few years ago and got published. The article is entitled Island Time, and it tells of one of my jaunts into the Central American hinterland. For those of you looking for a good laugh at my expense, enjoy.

A Note on Nostalgia

Sitting in front of Thomas Judd's General Store today sipping a soda with my daughter as we watched the cars ply their way down Tabernacle, I realized that I yearn for simpler times. My daughter calls Judd's, "the penny-candy store", and looks forward anxiously to our weekly visits. We don't really do anything special there, but for some reason it just is special.
We open the squeaky door. My little girl then pushes the footstool over to the containers of penny-candy so she can see every kind. She chooses five candies and promptly pay with her nickel. The girl behind the counter plays the part well as she carefully places the tiny candies in a brown paper bag and folds it just right. Following this ritual, we usually retire to the benches out front where we quietly consume all of our goodies.
At Judd's, I don't have to "biggie" size anything, I don't have to speak loudly into the microphone at the drive-thru, and I don't have to save my kid by climbing up the multi-colored slide at the playground. I don't have anything against those fast food mega-chains, but I'm just thankful my town has a Judd's where I can take my two-year-old on a date.

A Note on My Other Blog

Several years ago, I set out to write the Great American Novel. I worked hard for about 2 months before I realized that writers are gluttons for tedium. Since that time, I have added a few things to the story with the hope that I will find the fire once again and forge on to finishing the novel.

That brings me to the other blog which I have linked above. I am now blogging my novel. Not so much to get a response from people but more to encourage myself to keep writing. The story is about a down-on-his-luck slacker who gets a mysterious malady that threatens to either ruin his life more or enhance it, albeit, not in the fashion he might imagine.

It is a work in progress, but if any of you have the time and energy to read it, I would appreciate any constructive feedback. Thanks.

A Quick Note on the Pope's Death

I, like so many others worldwide, wish to express my heartfelt condolences to those affected by the Pope's passing today. He will be missed in this world by men and women of many faiths. He was a man of rare conviction and his passing brings to a close his great work of love and charity.

A Note on My Date

When dating your eight and a half month pregnant wife, factors like availability to a restroom, length of wait to be seated, walking distance from the minivan, and overall table clearance take precedence over the normal criteria--taste of food, cost, service, etc. With these factors in mind and, oh, so many other factors I probably didn't know about, my wife and I took off to have a date.

We eventually chose the Fairway Grill, a St. George cafe that serves the standard cafe fare but with a decidedly elegant touch (read Prime Rib and Baked Salmon for a slick $16.95 each). It satisfied all of the pregnancy prerequisites so we thankfully enjoyed a tasty meal without total discomfort.

My wife did so well, in fact, that following our meal, she wanted desperately to go shopping. It was at this point that I realized that dating your pregnant wife is markedly different than dating anyone else. In full-blown nesting mode, she suggested Wal-Mart. We have no kids and the night to ourselves, and my wife wants to sachet through a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Her supposed goal was to show me the dishes she had been eyeing.

A bit of history. We own a set of bisque-colored stoneware dishes, but they are becoming less of a set as they get dropped and chipped. Before Christmas, my wife unboxed her holiday dishes, a set we like to call the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes. They are lovely. In a bold move by my wife, she decided after Christmas to never return to the bisque-colored stoneware and use the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes exclusively, so that she would be forced to buy another set.

Soooo.....

We are in the dish aisle at the Wal-Mart, and she is showing me all of the dish possibilities. I really don't care what dishes we get or don't get. In fact, the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes hold the pork chops and applesauce just fine. I then catch myself saying things I never thought I would ever utter. I said, "Honey, I don't like the green stoneware with the black bottom. It just doesn't seem like its us." I was so embarrassed. I was actually getting a designer groove on at the Wal-Mart. As if I could actually care, I was Martha Stewart in there. It was frightening.

Oh, I hope this kid gets here soon.