The three or four of you that actually read these e-mails I send out probably know that I’m geeky about almost everything. So it won’t surprise you when I tell you that I keep track of my checkbooks, investments and all other assets and liabilities on the computer in a program called Quicken. Last month I wrote two checks and paid the rest of my bills online or with a debit card. You can guess that I enter all that in a regular check register, but I also enter it on the computer every day or two. Rather than trust my addition and subtraction without a calculator, I use the computer program to tell me what my checkbook balance should be.

So last week I was paying some bills online and was entering the amounts in Quicken as I went. One of the checks was to a company that had sent me a refund a couple of weeks earlier. Since the computer knows it’s smarter than I am, after I entered the company name, it went straight to the deposit block (the last transaction) instead of the check written block. I didn’t notice, entered the amount, completed the account name and clicked on enter. After I had paid all my bills and entered the amounts in my checkbook, I looked at the balance in Quicken and wrote that number down in my check register. So a $356.14 check was recorded in Quicken as a $356.14 deposit and my account was overstated by $712.28. Not usually a problem since I keep a balance high enough to avoid any service charge. But remember, I just wrote a check for half of Jean’s new bike.

So I went to the bank today to get some cash for spending money and the bank said I didn’t have enough in my account for the $100.00 I asked for. I came right home, printed the online bank activity and discovered the error right away. My corrected balance was 35 cents. I transferred some money from another account to avoid any problems. There won’t be an overdraft charge, but I will get a service charge on this month’s bank statement. RATS!!! It’s only March and I’ve already made a mistake.

All four of you also probably know that I post each of these weekly e-mails in http://www.jackswriting.com/ so anyone can read them. This e-mail will make my 200th post. I have posted 6 eulogies, 8 ramblings and 186 e-mails. I’m still waiting for the call from a college psychology professor asking if he or she can use the writings in an upper level psych class called “How Many Things Are Wrong With This Person?”. The “What’s Wrong With This Picture?” puzzles in the paper usually only have six or eight things. I’m guessing the answer sheet the professor uses to grade papers has possibilities in the high teens or low twenties.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day and I don’t have anything green to wear except my underwear (give me a break…they started out that color!). Anyway, if I get to showing my green clothes to anyone, I will have had way too much fun and someone should offer to drive me home.

Just (Looking For The Pot Of Gold At The End Of The Rainbow) Jack

Today is the day we switch from Eastern Standard Time to Eastern Daylight Saving Time. We all know that the purpose of changing the clocks is to transfer an hour of daylight from morning to evening. Science has proven that we use less electricity that way because we are more likely to turn a light on in the evening than in the morning. If it’s light one hour later, that’s one hour less that the light is on, so we save money. That way we have more money to build bombs to drop on people in countries we have invaded…scratch invaded…countries where we have come to their aid to give them a better life.

Anyway, not turning on the light in the morning has its drawbacks. This morning, when we were getting ready to go on our normal Sunday run, I reached for my running shoes and they weren’t where I usually keep them. Then I remembered that I ran in them Thursday and left them on the front doormat to dry. I had forgotten to put them back in the closet, so I went out, grabbed them, and put them on, all in the dark…remember, science says don’t turn on the light so I didn’t. I’ve felt really good on my recent runs and, about a mile into the run, I started thinking I was running with a couple of two-by-fours strapped to my feet. I looked down and I had mistakenly grabbed an old, worn out pair of running shoes that I use to mow the lawn at the cottage.

Of course, I’m too cheap to buy work shoes, and the old worn out running shoes are fine for that kind of use. After they’re worn out from running and have no cushion left and half the soles are worn through, I further break them down by walking around in wet grass and they go through several “wet-dry” treatments. Needless to say, my feet weren’t in the best of shape when I got done. Thankfully, I was able to use Brian’s Father’s Day present, a foot massager, to nurse them back to health. Just think…a foot massage with no paybacks.

I picked up nine cases of empty beer bottles from one of the guys in the Kalamazoo brewing club this past Wednesday morning. Most of them still have their labels. Most people wouldn’t care about that and would just put a sticker on the bottle over the old label, telling what kind of beer was in it. You know me well enough to understand that wouldn’t do. So I’ve been cleaning off the labels and washing the bottles. When I use them to brew, I’ll wash them again and run them through the sanitizer. With all the work it takes, these free bottles become costly based on time spent. If I were working, I’d go through that calculation, decide that my time is worth more than the cost of new bottles, and turn these in for the bottle deposit. But when you aren’t working, your time is worth nothing, and that’s why I’m washing bottles.

I usually don’t talk politics…well, maybe I do sometimes…and I never talk about how I agree or disagree with U.S. foreign policy…well, except for the first paragraph today…but I’m completely fed up with the Michigan/Florida primary fiasco. In Florida, the state Republican leaders moved their primary in violation with the national Democratic party rules and made their primary not count. Without picking on only the Republicans…in Michigan the state Democratic leaders did the same thing with the same result.

Now there’s a national debate as to how to fix it. In my humble opinion, it can’t be fixed. In all fairness, if we have a “do over”, we’re rewarding political arrogance and someone (us) will end up paying millions of dollars for it. If we don’t have a “do over”, Florida and Michigan voters won’t help decide the party nominee, and the party will probably not win back enough support from the disenfranchised voters to win in the national election. The sad thing in all of this is that the average voters on the street…you and me…are the victims. We had nothing to do with the changes, except for the fact that we elected these jack^&&*& to represent us, and if we re-elect them again, we deserve what we get.

Just (Sixties Protests Are Back…Vote The Bums Out) Jack

If a bunch of our friends weren’t going, and if we weren’t going out to dinner afterwards, there’s no way you could get me to go to a store, even a bike store, and spend two hours milling around looking for bargains. I spent the entire time being in other people’s way. If I stood in the corner, somebody wanted to look at something in that corner. The only thing I needed was Smartwool running socks and they were one of the only things not on sale. I did pass by a couple of bargains and, if I wore a XXXL or an extra small, I could have gotten a real deal.

Jean spent her time looking at bikes since I gave her half a bike for her birthday. Bill, one of my former friends, suggested to Jean that Jack should buy the back half which includes the seat, a custom seat post, custom crank arms, front gears, rear cassette and front and rear derailleurs since those components costs the most and Jean could buy the front half which would be cheap by comparison. I thought us guys stuck together, but I guess Nancy’s got him whipped into shopping shape and he’s trying to take the rest of us down with him.

After the shopping torture I was ready for a good meal with great friends in a nice restaurant. Apparently I had this black cloud hanging over me ‘cuz my meal came last. Not just the last one on the serving tray, but was one of those “Oops…they must have forgotten your Chicken Tortilla Salad” after everyone else had been served. It came five minutes later just as everyone was finishing up and trying to decide whether to get dessert or not.

If that wasn’t bad enough, we ran into the worst snow squalls driving home I have ever seen. Sometimes the snow will swirl and you’ll be blinded for a few seconds, but this went on for miles. I couldn’t see more than fifteen yards in front of the car and couldn’t tell whether I was on the right side of the road or not. The girls in the car looked out the side windows and let me know when I had wandered into the center of the road or was getting too close to the edge. I couldn’t see well enough to pull over and, if I had stopped, we would have been hit from behind by the cars following us. By the time we got to a business where we could have pulled over, we could see well enough to continue on. Why was it that I decided not to spend the winter in Florida this year???

This morning was the Elaine Standler Memorial Indoor Triathlon. Since I can’t get in the pool with my chlorine allergy, I couldn’t compete but did help out on the treadmills. The turnout wasn’t very good and I’m not sure why. It could be that tons of people have the flu or it could be that fewer and fewer people want to embarrass themselves in front of “those people” (the Trilanders). At any rate, after standing on my feet for three hours, I came home and did my Sunday run. I’m still not running far, but I’m up to six miles and I feel great.

Since I was running around noon and tried to avoid traffic, I ran on side streets as much as I could. Things went great until I ran up North Hanover street past Hastings Manufacturing Company. Just past the plant is an older neighborhood of homes that are small bungalows…the type of home you would expect in an industrial part of town. The homes are small but well kept and I was daydreaming as usual about bygone days. All of a sudden a Pit Bull and his younger mutt friend came running out from a house into the street. The dog looked like he didn’t want me there and I didn’t want him there either. I had my sunglasses on and looked him straight in the eyes where I saw a reflection of what looked like a huge Thanksgiving turkey on a serving platter with my head attached to the turkey neck. I stopped, turned toward him, pointed and yelled GO HOME!!! After about the fifth time, he turned and went back to his yard along with his yippy little friend. I’m not sure whether he was afraid of me or whether he couldn’t stand the smell of me messing my pants.

Just (I Guess I’ll Have To Start Carrying My Pepper Spray) Jack

After last week, when our some of our running group ran in weather with temperatures of 5 degrees above zero and wind chills of 18 degrees below zero, I thought we had hit rock bottom on the common sense meter. Not so! This morning we had freezing rain falling on streets that were below freezing producing treacherous black ice. There were also areas where the snow had been packed down to ice anyway, and the rain turned those spots into ice so slick you couldn’t stand on it without falling.   At 8 AM, our usual meeting time, a whole bunch of otherwise partially sane people in our running group met at Kevin and Stacey’s to go running. Sam and Colleen parked next to our Jeep and, when they got ready to leave, their car had moved 4 or 5 feet on its own. Without naming names, one of our group fell before we ever got started; at least one of our group fell while on the run; and at least one of our group fell going out to their car while leaving. Remember…we all run for better health! It rained during the entire run with the temperature hovering near 32 degrees. Everything on me was wet except for the crack down my “great divide”.

I thought we were planning to run down Irving Road so I turned at that corner and everyone else went straight. I’m throwing away my Trilander training shirt that says “Friends Don’t Let Friends Train Alone”. Anyway, I actually had a better run than expected. I wore my “YakTrax” which kept me from slipping and I sweat enough to get wet every time I run, so things were pretty normal. I met 4 cars going out and 4 cars coming back on my 5.33 mile journey. When the cars went by they sprayed tons of water that had settled in ruts in the road. After a couple of drenchings, I decided to jump the next time one came by. Being white (a reference to the movie White Men Can’t Jump with Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson) and 61 years old, my three foot high jump turned out to be about six inches and I just got a different part of my legs wet.

I ran as far as the bridge over the Thornapple River just outside Irving. It’s in a low spot (duh…it’s over a river and that’s usually the lowest spot around), and there was snow plowed up on each side, so the water had nowhere to go and was at least four inches deep. Just to show I still had a tiny bit of sense left in my body, I turned around and didn’t try to go over the bridge. In the very center of the road you could see a couple of spots of pavement so I could have tried that route. Or I could have tried to walk in the snow banks on the edges, but I figured I would have stepped into a foot of snow before hitting four inches of icy slush. Smart huh?

To change the subject…last week I got a grain crusher that crushes the grain I use in beer brewing. The day it came I put it together and was itching to try it out. I didn’t have any uncrushed barley and won’t be brewing until it warms up some so I was out of luck. Then Matt suggested I crush some of the old stale stuff I had in the freezer that I wasn’t going to use anyway, so I did. It worked great, but then what to do with the grain? I decided to put it out in the yard so the deer could eat it, which they did. Ever since then, the grain has been gone but they revisit the spot hoping some fool (me) would put out more. As I look out there today, there is snow on the ground and it shows that the deer have relieved themselves (number two, not number one) right where they ate the grain. The transition from animals to humans (if you believe in evolution) must have come when we stopped crapping on our dinner tables.

Just (Ready For This Long Winter To Be Over) Jack

We all make choices in life and sometimes they work out well and sometimes they don’t. Maybe it’s just me remembering the bad and not the good, but I’ve had a lifetime of picking bad lines at the grocery store or the bank. Today was no exception.

I went to the bank to deposit a check on the way to the fitness center. It was before the bank opened, but there were two lines open in the drive through. Each of them had two cars, so it was eenie-meenie-minie-moe and I picked the one on the left. I hadn’t been there for a minute when the canister came down the tube and I knew the first car was done. I chuckled, thinking my luck had changed. Not so. The person must have been talking on the phone about something really important because she didn’t reach out and get her receipt for over a minute. Once she did, she closed her window and sat there for over two minutes, either counting her money over and over, or finishing that all important telephone call about the cute thing her grandchild did.

Finally, she pulled her tank (a huge SUV) out and the guy ahead of me pulled up. He took forever getting to the correct spot, not wanting to tear off his rear view mirror (he was a foot from the safety post). Of course, when he rolled down his window, he couldn’t reach the canister, so he had to open his door, wedge himself halfway out, and pull it out of the chute. He filled it with his banking papers and sent it off. In the meantime, I was watching the woman next to him pull up, open her truck window and try to reach her canister. She couldn’t either, so she stepped out onto her running board (it was a huge four wheel drive truck and she was about 4′ 8″). I chuckled thinking that maybe my line wasn’t so bad after all.

The guy’s canister came down the chute and I put my Jeep into gear, ready to swoop in. Not so fast! He took the contents, sat there for a minute fooling around with something, and then put something back in the canister along with the pen he used to sign whatever he had forgotten to sign. Away it went and, after I said a few bad words (sorry Mom), I put my Jeep back into park. After a couple more minutes, his canister came back. He took his time opening his door for the third time, wedging himself out again and retrieving the contents. He sat there for a full minute filing all of his papers before he started to pull out. He got halfway out of the spot when a car pulled up at the window next to the bank. Apparently he thought there would be a major collision because he stopped and waited to see what the person was going to do. He was still in the spot where I wanted to be by about a foot. After he realized the car had pulled up to a teller window and wasn’t really “careening through the parking lot”, he pulled out.

It took me a 2 minutes and 45 seconds to pull up, put my check and deposit slip into the canister, send it on its way, get it back, put the deposit slip on the seat next to me and drive away. Of course, if everyone were perfect like me, I wouldn’t have anything to whine about.

Just (I Have Nothing Better To Do Anyway So I’m Chilling Out) Jack

Just a quick note to get these “Sunday e-mails” back on schedule. I wrote a short note during this last week about my return from Florida and my blood pressure’s back to normal…well, normal for me which is a little on the high side and these extra pounds don’t help. I weighed myself after a week of Mom’s cooking and I only gained a pound. I told the Trilander group that same thing yesterday and they thought I said eight pounds and wondered how could I possibly gain that much. Three evening meals of deep fried grouper and one of fried shrimp with french fries may have done the damage. Mom was good about letting me fix my own breakfast and lunch, so that and the exercise kept me in check.

I took Jean down to Team Active, the bike shop in Battle Creek, on Thursday to have some repairs done to her Trek. We spent a while looking at new bikes so one may be in her future. I bought her some socks and biking gloves for her 60th birthday (oops, I shouldn’t tell her age…please disregard the 60 part) and when I paid for them the clerk tried to talk her into joining their bike mileage club. Each week you record your bike miles either on the road or on a trainer, and you can earn discounts of up to 15%. Jean decided to wait to join, but may have had second thoughts, ‘cuz on the way to the car she said, “You know…we should join that mile high club…it sounds like fun”. By that time I was doing handsprings in the parking lot and giggling like a 20 year old. Apparently she didn’t know that “The Mile High Club” is for people who have had “intimate relations” in an airplane above 5,280 feet of altitude. She’s not a spring chicken anymore and I’m sure that’s not what she had in mind. We laughed all the way to the Urbandale corner.

Just (Excited For A Short Time) Jack

I’m back from a short trip to Florida and I’ve spent the day fixing things that are broken. Ever since the e-mail I sent a few weeks back about things here at the Walker household being “out of control”, Jean has been making me pay the price for my comments in subtle ways. In our bathroom we have separate sinks and “work areas” but share a single drawer between our domains. Jean has her toothpaste, lipstick and various other beauty items in one plastic box and I have my razor, toothpaste and other he-man supplies in another plastic box. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve found Jean’s hair thing-a-ma-jig, lipstick, and other stuff in my box. I have almost no hair, so the thing-a-ma-jig has absolutely no use to me and I haven’t gotten to the lipstick stage yet. I took those as not so subtle hints to lay-off the comments, so I’ve tried to be a good boy.

So, while I was in Florida, she tried to do something else to get my attention. I’m sure Jean, Becky and Judy sat around, drinking wine, trying to think of something that would really make me snap to attention and then it came to them…screw up his checkbook. So Jean called me yesterday in Florida (she could have waited but wanted to make me squirm knowing I couldn’t do anything about it) and told me that she went to the bank to have them make some counter checks since she was out and she needed some to pay bills. They “inadvertently” (yeah…right) used my account number. So she was writing checks to pay her bills but they were clearing my account. No problem I told her…just transfer the total amount of the checks from her account to mine to cover. The checks totaled 263.21 so she transferred 264.00!! Can you believe it…how in the world can I get that extra .79 into my checkbook?!

As if that wasn’t enough, she finally got around to ordering checks for her account (if she had done it on time she wouldn’t have had to have counter checks made, but let’s not go there) which she received while I was gone. Sounds great…except when I got home I had a package of checks in the mail that I didn’t order and a 26.95 charge for printing them. She blamed it on the bank, of course. Oh, well. It gives me something to do sitting up here in the cold watching it snow.

I did have a good time in Florida with Mom and Bobby Butane. We took a few trips down memory lane and visited some spots I hadn’t been to in 45 years. The weather was crappy by native Floridian standards, but nice compared to what we had up here. I had a relapse of my sinus crud so I didn’t feel that good all week, but recovered just in time to scarf down a huge strawberry shortcake at Parksdale Farms in Plant City for Uncle Fred’s birthday. He’s quite elderly (not much older than I am) but seems to be holding up well and it was good to have family together. Back on the diet tomorrow.

Just (Fixing The Accounting Nightmare) Jack