Former NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick needs to move on. While racism may have played a part in his inability to get a gig six years ago, today that is no longer the case. Kaepernick is thirty-five and hasn’t played in six years. He will be of no help to the New York Jets.
The United States has an immigration problem. Democrat denial of this fact only makes the border crisis worse.
If you harass someone just so you can record a clip for your YouTube channel and end up getting shot, I don’t feel sorry for you. Personal space, Dude. I may not shoot you, but I will club you with my cane.
Ohio 2023. A high school football coach ran a play called “Nazi” against their predominantly Jewish opponent. He has since resigned, but I do wonder how he (and his players) thought this was a good idea. Heil Hitler!
My best “hot” take for today is my partner Polly. She’s still hot in my eyes.
Republicans seem hyper-focused on President Biden’s age, yet ignore Trump’s age. Why is that? I’m for term and age limits. Neither of them should be running for office. But, here we are, so if Biden is the candidate in the general election, I’m voting for him.
MSNBC has become the official campaign organ for President Joe Biden. In their eyes, Grandpa Joe is a spry, sharp-as-a-tack old man. His age, cognitive ability, and physical wellness are issues of importance. Not the most important, but must be considered when voting in 2024.
Most opiate-related deaths are due to Fentanyl and other illegal street drugs. Yet, the FDA, doctors, and pharmacists continue to wage war against legal prescription narcotics users. Once again, a pharmacist refused to fill my prescription, even though I tried to fill it on the day my doctor wrote on the script. Nope. I had to wait five days. This time, I drove to Michigan and bought some cannabis to tide me over. Thanks, pharmacist, I am now a drug addict. 🙂
Everything I eat, drink, or breathe is bad for me. So bad, in fact, that I should have died before I was born.
My mom killed herself 30+ years ago. I still miss her. In moments of deep reflection, I think of how much Mom would have enjoyed our grandchildren; that she would have been thrilled that most of them are avid readers. Suicide leaves a scar that never totally heals. So much is lost the moment a loved one says “No Mas.”
Bonus: The Cincinnati Reds will not make it to the playoffs this year. Coming off a hundred-loss season last year, the Reds have played well above their pay grade. Last night’s win guarantees a winning season — far above my expectations. Next year is THE year. Of course, I’ve been saying this for over forty years. Hope springs eternal. 🙂
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Attended a folk concert at The Ark in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Small, intimate venue, with no seat farther than fifty feet away from the stage. Lots of restaurants nearby. Perfect place for a date with your significant other.
Several of our trees have started dropping their leaves, and others are starting to show brown, red, and yellow colors. My favorite season has arrived.
Spring brought us the croaks of frogs, late summer the sounds of cicadas. Tonight, I hear chirps of countless crickets. Nature’s language is spoken all around us if we dare to turn off our electronic devices and listen.
These days, I collect books more than I read them. Seventeen books sit on the table beside the recliner. Polly said to me, “Please stop.” I replied, “I can’t, Im an addict.”
I spent time today teaching several of my granddaughters about the symbiotic relationship humans have with other animals; that every species and animal is important to the survival of our biological world. That’s why we don’t unnecessarily kill other animals, even if they bother us.
I am currently in physical therapy, hoping to lessen the pain and debility in my hips, lower back, and legs. I continue to weekly see a psychologist. Over the next two weeks, I have appointments with a hematologist, oncologist, and neurosurgeon. The pessimist in me thinks this will be a waste of time, but if I can get some helps around the edges of my life, I’ll be happy.
I am happy to report that cannabis helps reduce my pain and nausea — edibles, in particular. YMMV.
The Cincinnati Reds are still in the hunt for a wild card playoff berth. The Reds has the easiest remaining schedule in baseball. If the Reds fail to reach the playoffs, 2023 will still have been a good year. All the Reds need in 2024 is better pitching.
As of today, the Reds sold 400,000 more tickets this year than last year. Winning is contagious. Polly and I attended five games this year — all wins. Recent game against the Cubs had a playoff feel. It’s been a long times since the Reds were relevant past the All Star break.
Polly is retiring in 60-90 days. A new chapter in our life together begins. As always, the two things that concern us the most are money and medical insurance. I suggested we become bank robbers.
Bonus: My nine year old granddaughter excitedly told me all about Coach Prime (Deion Sanders). I refrained from telling her what I really think of Sanders. Definitely not a fan of how Sanders handled the men who were already at Colorado when he arrived on the scene. No loyalty or commitment from Sanders — kicking the entire team to the curb.
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
We’ve been watching For All Mankind — an alternate history of NASA. It saddens me that we no longer have a space program to speak of.
Retirement is not for the faint of heart. Navigating Medicare is a nightmare. Only politicians could cook up an unnecessarily complex insurance program such as Medicare.
Over the next few weeks, the hummingbirds and red headed woodpeckers that frequent our yard will begin migrating away to warmer climes. We will miss them, hoping they return next year.
Will increases to monthly rates for streaming services ever end? Of course not. There’s money to be made and share holders to pay. I vaguely remember being told “cutting the cord” would save us money. Maybe then, but not now.
Cannabis isn’t a miracle drug, but for people with chronic pain, it can be a lifesaver.
A God who can but won’t in the face of suffering is a deity unworthy of our love and worship.
We took a drive though the Michigan Amish community not from our home. Roadside vegetable stands had pumpkins for sale — yet another reminder that summer is fading.
Democrats keep telling us that we are not in an economic recession. That dog don’t hunt, manufacturing employees say. Increasing prices, stagnant wages, increased insurance costs suggest otherwise. When’s the last time we’ve had a president tell us the truth about the economy?
Toledo Edison (First Energy) doubled their electric rates. Our bill for July was the highest in our 45 years of marriage. We switched providers, but Toledo Edison has two months to make the switch.
I haven’t given up on the Cincinnati Reds. August play will determine my interest level. Once college and pro football arrive, it takes the Reds playing winning baseball for me to keep watching. I remain hopeful.
Bonus: I preached my first sermon fifty years ago. “Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” (2 Corinthians 5:20.
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
The greatest disease threat to humans is not wildlife; it’s our fellow homo sapiens.
If states such as Alabama and Texas can ignore Federal court orders without consequence,other states will do the same, upending the rule of law.
Many Christian nationalists and white supremacists are itching for a civil war.
Disgraced ex-president Donald Trump will be indicted in Georgia. If convicted, Governor Kemp will pardon him.
Following Governor Ron DeSantis’ explanation of slavery, I think I’ll kidnap a Haitian teenager, keep him locked up in my garage, and teach him to mow my lawn and trim my trees. One day, after he becomes the CEO of IBM, he will thank me for treating him like a slave.
At the root of capitalism is the exploitation of labor; getting the most work and productivity out of employees for the least possible money.
Polly heard cicadas last week. Fall is sneaking up in the upper Midwest. Soon a wooly worm will be seen crossing the road.
The Cincinnati Reds will make the playoffs this year if they trade for starting pitching before the August 1 trade deadline.
Bonus: Sex gets better after sixty, but those damn Charley horses sure are annoying.
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
In 1962, the Gerencser family moved from the rural northwest Ohio community of Bryan to San Diego, California. I was five. My grandmother, Jeanette Rausch, and her daughter, Marijene also moved to the Golden State. That summer, for my birthday, Grandma bought me a baseball glove, ball, and hat, and took me to my first game. On the appointed day, Grandma picked me up — not my sister, not my brother, just me — and drove us to Lane Field to watch the San Diego Padres play — then the AAA minor league affiliate of the Cincinnati Reds.
I don’t remember anything about the game, but I have no doubt I spent the evening listening to Grandma explain the game to me. You see, she was an avid baseball fan, having attended numerous Detroit Tigers baseball games with her attorney father as a child. Grandma, like her father before her, was a Detroit Tigers fan.
In fourth grade, I was given an assignment to write a story about an experience one of my grandparents had. Grandma Rausch was my favorite grandparent, really my only grandparent. I asked Grandma to tell me about seeing Babe Ruth play, which became the story I shared with my class.
I became the third generation to root for the Tigers. My grandfather, John Tieken, with whom I had a difficult relationship, was also a Tigers fan. For my eleventh birthday, Grandpa took me to a baseball game at Briggs Stadium between the Tigers and the Cleveland Indians. This was the year the Tigers won the World Series.
Here’s the box score for the game:
I played baseball from the age of nine through fifteen. I was a diminutive child, a lefthanded boy who was fleet a foot but couldn’t hit a breaking ball to save his life. I was good enough to make the team, but usually one of the last few boys chosen. I played outfield and was often put in the game to bunt. Being a fast-running lefty gave me a distinct advantage, but more than a few pitchers I faced had difficulties pitching to left-handers. Instead of hits, I got plunked in the back, ribs, buttocks, and head. A hitter I was not, but I did make a good target for wild opposing pitchers.
The summer between eighth and ninth grades, I started having problems fielding the ball, so much so that I feared coach was going to cut me. Instead, he said to me, “Hey, Gerencser. You need to get your eyes checked.” Sure enough, I was nearsighted. Glasses fixed my fielding problem, but I still couldn’t hit a curve ball.
My dad never attended my games; whether he was too busy or disinterested, I do not know. Lacking transportation, I rode my bike to my home games. For out-of-town games, I caught a ride with one of my coaches. Mom attended a few of my games. One summer, I was playing high school summer league baseball for Jaques Sporting Goods in Findlay, Ohio. On July Fourth, I played in a game against North Baltimore. Mom and Grandma attended the game. I played a few innings. I even had one attempt to showcase my batting prowess. Grandma was sitting along the baseline on a blanket, cheering me on. As I came up to bat, I heard Mom and Grandma loudly cheering for me, especially Grandma. While she was a small woman, weighing less than a hundred pounds, she had a loud voice, one made raspy from decades of smoking cigarettes. I took a couple of pitches — balls — swung and missed a couple of strikes, and then came the deciding pitch, a breaking ball — a called strike three. Before I could even turn, with head hung low, from the batter’s box, I heard — well, everyone heard — “Hey Ump! That was not a strike!” That was Grandma, defending her oldest grandson to the end.
I stopped playing baseball after tenth grade. Too many moves and new schools for me to make a team and play. As an adult, I turned to competitive slow-pitch softball for my baseball fix, a sport I played into my early thirties.
Like my great-grandfather, grandmother, and grandfather before me, I was a Detroit Tigers fan. I would remain a Tigers fan until 1980. By then, I was married with one child, and living in Newark, Ohio. I took a job as a general manager for Arthur Treacher’s Fish & Chips — a popular fast-food chain at the time. I did my training at the Heath store and worked as an assistant manager there for a few months before I got a store of my own in Reynoldsburg. My fellow assistant was Neal Ball, a newly married man my age. We quickly became close friends, playing basketball together, eating dinner at one another’s homes, and, most importantly, attending Cincinnati Reds baseball games.
Neal was an avid Reds fan. He lived and breathed the Redlegs. His infectious love for the Reds wore off on me, and it was not long before I had a conversion of sorts, and switched teams. I was now a Reds fan, and I remain one to this day. While I still follow the Tigers from a distance, the Reds are my team. I have watched thousands of their games on TV or listened to them on their flagship station, 700-WLW. My three oldest sons have fond memories of me listening to nightly games on a portable AM-FM radio. We lived in a mobile home at the time. The trailer’s metal exterior made it impossible to get an AM radio signal inside, so I would either sit on the porch and listen to the game or put the metal coat hanger attached to the broken antenna outside of the living room window so I could get the signal. When I was out and about doing the Lord’s work on summer evenings, the game was always on the car radio, with Marty and Joe broadcasting the game.
Forty-three summers have come and gone, and I remain a diehard Cincinnati Reds fan. The game is on the TV as I write this post. Our children are all Reds fans, though some of them are not as committed to the family religion as their father. The third generation has also embraced the Reds — as if they had any choice. 🙂 One of our granddaughters is named Morgan Rose. That will tell you everything you need to know about the Gerencser family’s love for Cincinnati baseball — even when the Reds suck.
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
A week and a half ago, Polly and I took a road trip south, ending up in Delphos, Ohio. In a post titled Luck, Fate, or Providence, I mentioned an event that took place while I was taking some photographs of an old canal:
…Polly and I took a road trip to Ottoville, Fort Jennings, and Delphos. Like most of our trips, I took my camera equipment with me. As we were wandering around Delphos, we stumbled upon a lock from the era of the Miami and Erie canal. Getting down to the lock was a bit treacherous for me. I wanted to get as close as possible, so I gingerly walked down the concrete abutment to the lock. I didn’t fall, slip, or trip. Lucky me, I thought.
After ten minutes or so, I was ready to return to the car. I had two paths I could take. I could retrace my steps or make a big step and little jump to ground level, Polly said she would give me a hand, so I chose the latter. Polly reached down, took my hand, and began to help me up. And then, our world went crazy. Polly couldn’t pull me up completely and I violently fell forward, knocking both of us to the ground. If my weight had been balanced slightly the other way, I would have no doubt went careening down the concrete abutment into the canal. The fall would have likely killed me.
The good news? My cameras escaped damage, though one of them does have a slight scrape. The hood on the lens kept it from being smashed. Polly ended up with bruised knees and I ended up with a twisted ankle and hip and a nasty, bloody contusion on my left leg. It is still oozing slightly today.
I know I was lucky. I should have retraced my steps. This was the safe and prudent choice. However, Polly was standing right there and she said she would help. Why not, right? She helps me out of the recliner and car all the time. What neither of us counted on was how difficult it is to pull up a 350# man. When Polly pulls me out of the car or the recliner I help her. This time? I was dead weight and I almost literally became so…
Yesterday, I had Polly take me to Urgent Care in Bryan. My left leg is swollen, an inch bigger circumference wise than my right leg. The contusion is weeping fluid and has become infected. I am white, the wound is red and yellow, and I am trying to keep it from turning black. (shout out to the Evangelical song, Jesus loves the Little Children, red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight) I am taking an antibiotic. The doctor swabbed the wound and sent it to the lab. The lab will do a culture to determine what is causing the infection. If warranted, the doctor said he will change the antibiotic, but he thinks the one he prescribed should do the trick. This is the same leg, BTW, that I had a foot problem with last fall.
Last Sunday, Polly drove us to Cincinnati, Ohio to attend the Cincinnati Reds-St. Louis Cardinals baseball game. We had a great time. There’s nothing like experiencing a live baseball game. When the stands are full, as they were on Sunday, the stadium comes to life. The cheers and the groans ripple loudly through the crowd, as Reds fans live and die with their team. In many ways, I find the live baseball experience to be a lot like a revival service. There’s that “feeling” in the air that resonates deeply with me.
That said, we have come to the conclusion that I can no longer take trips hours away from home. Driving to Cincinnati and back meant we were on the road for almost 8 hours. Whether we took the interstate or a state highway, the roads, thanks to a hard cold winter and a lack of infrastructure upkeep, pummeled my body. Mile after mile the roads bumped and banged my body, so much so that even double doses of pain medication couldn’t stop the pain.
As much as I want to cheer the Reds on in person, I know I can no longer do so. My body has issued its decree, cross this line and I will make you pay. As I have said many times before, a time would come that I was no longer willing to pay the price of admission, no longer willing to suffer the brutality of long trips. That time is now. I hate that it has come to this, but it is what it is.
Now this doesn’t mean that I can take shorter trips to places like Toledo, Fort Wayne, Magee Marsh, or Marblehead. An hour or two from home, along back roads at a slow speed, I can still do. There’s a minor league baseball team in Fort Wayne and Toledo, so I can still enjoy the live game experience. There’s plenty for us to see and do within a few hours of our home. There’s plenty of sites and out-of-the-way places to photograph. Instead of lamenting what I can’t do, I choose to focus on what I can do. This is me adapting to my environment. Shout out, Charles Darwin.
My chauffeur driving our 2015 Ford Escape. What’s real interesting is the gravel pit in the background. I sure wanted to climb down there and take some photographs.
We recently bought a new car, a 2015 Ford Escape. We made this purchase because I was having difficulty getting in and out of our 2013 Ford Fusion. The Escape sits up higher and has greater head and leg room, allowing me to sit comfortably, even when I have to twist my body to lessen the pain. We are quite pleased with the car. Actually it is an SUV, but we call it car. Health problems have robbed me of my ability to drive any distance but a short one. This is another thing I’ve had to adapt to. For decades, I did most of the driving and now I must rely on Polly to chauffeur me wherever I want to do. Again, it is what it is.
The nasty injury detailed at the start of this post has proved to be a wake up call for Polly and I. I no longer can afford to push the envelope, risking injury. Since I am diabetic, any type of wound is a concern. I pastored several people who lost their legs due to a cut or wound that morphed into an abscess drugs and doctors could not cure. Despite all our miracle-working drugs, there are viruses and bacteria that can and do kill us. I must take better care of myself, not putting myself in circumstances that could cause physical injury. When I walk with a cane, I tend to ignore my limitations. When using a wheelchair, it is obvious that I can no longer pretend to be Superman. While I refuse to give up, I must face reality and adjust my life accordingly.
The good news is that Polly will still be by my side. We’re in this together until death do us part. Her love and care make the pain and suffering bearable.
