Ovaltine. Now more than ever.

Dear Hershey's;
Bottom line: Hershey's is America!  I love it and always will, just like my country and my wife and kids.

Here's the deal. The Hershey syrup is great for everything you use it for EXCEPT making chocolate milk. Better to hear it from someone who loves you. You can certainly sweeten up your milk, you can make beige or tan milk, but quite honestly trying to make chocolate milk ain't happening. If you want to put a warning label on the bottle and say NOTICE: IN CASE OF NATURAL DISASTER OR EMERGENCY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT THIS PRODUCT CAN BE USED TO SIMULATE CHOCOLATE MILK-DRINK IN A DARK ROOM AND HOLD YOUR NOSE.
Look, guys- the syrup bottle is in the fridge, I get it...we use on ice cream and lots of other things, but the reality is that I ran out of Ovaltine and went to plan b. It made me sad, not unlike the time I tried to make a banana sandwich when I was in Iraq- one gets excited at the mere thought of it, only to have their 'over expectations' plummet to the lowest depths of depression. It will flat out make you cry is what it'll do. It'll also make you cuss.
All that to say this: Ovaltine is kicking your butt.
With all due respect to Mr. H--I am,
Sincerely yours,
George Fisher

GRANDMA IS A SISSY!

It is no big secret that my grandson, the Pottamus Rex, owns a huge chunk of my heart. It is also well known that he and I have, in the past, had "issues" when it comes time to say goodbye. As tough as I have been, and try to be, the older I have gotten the bigger creampuff I have become. I have fought it as hard as I possibly can, but most of the time the end result is snot bubbles. It's a far cry from clawing at the casket grieving wailing carry me off in a straight jacket stuff, I mean Lord have mercy, but it's still in the sentimental old fart can I have a popsicle or maybe a Large Chocolate milkshake to make it better range-in other words, its manageable. I have learned to embrace the fact I don't like it when any of my kids, and now grandkids, have to leave.

With the addition of Ms Georgia Rose Mallory, our family has expanded by two feet (I stole that from someplace)---Georgia is fast establishing herself as a force of nature much like her older brother, the Pottamus. This is evidenced by the actions of my Wifey, aka Grandma, who just spent the week with the new papoose, reveling in all that is little baby girls. She has oooo'd and ahhhh'd no less than 876 times and used the word "Precious" even more. It has left me wondering just what in the heck happened to the girl I married because this ain't her. I have never seen this much jello in my life, to include my hospital stay of two years past. Is she gushing? Does the Pope wear a pointy hat and red shoes?

Well, to conclude the visit, Wifey and the Booger, AKA Amanda, did like I USED to do, and pulled a "George" yesterday when it was time to say goodbye--Yes Sir, I saw it with my own eyes. Seems my two tuff gals messed up their mascara just a tad. These are the exact same two that roll their eyes when the Pottamus Rex and I parted ways. I could have said something smart allecky , but I knew better-Lord knows I have been there a time or two just in the past couple weeks. They were both entitled. I was just glad they weren't at each other's throats after a week. You never know with my crew.
It doesn't get any easier, but perhaps because of the new baby, The Pottamus and I are taking it to a different level. Just maybe we have turned a corner. We both grow older this year, so maybe, just maybe, we are tightening up the shot group. While the Women were carrying on, the Pottamus Rex hugged me, and then lowered his head, walking off to go back inside. He stopped and turned back around. Unable to speak, and with tears in his eyes, he tipped his cap to me. Unable to speak myself, my own eyes overflowing, I returned with my cap.
Driving away, I handed Wifey a Kleenex, almost feeling sorry for her not being able to tuff it out like the Pottamus and Me. Guess I have to show her the way.

Georgia Invades South Carolina

Dear Georgia Rose--
Welcome to Earth! Specifically, the United States of America! To be more precise, The Southeastern United States. Born in south Carolina, named Georgia, there is no way you cannot "Represent" when Elvis sings The American Trilogy--just saying. You're a triple threat already-Yay!

As it came to pass, I had just finished my 2 Yoo-Hoo (That’s a drink-you're going to love them!) lunch on Friday only to have your Grandma and Momma call me to tell me that you were arriving soon-- I drove like a bat out of you know where (well, you don't, actually, but you will hear me say this in a couple of years) to Macon (that’s in the middle of the state you were named for, and it will be your second home) dodging cars, cussing drivers (I will teach you, don't worry), and going as fast as I legally could (Your Great-Great George taught me to drive) so that I could get home to pick up your Grandma and Aunt Winnie ( really named Lyndsay when we are mad at her)--it seemed like it took forever but as it turned out we got there in plenty of time--see, there's this thing called ANXIETY that we all had trying to get to the hospital--and inasmuch as its four hours driving time from where we were to where you were arriving, quite honestly, all the pork skins in the world (this is a snack that goes great with Yoo-Hoo) couldn’t relieve our anxiety.

Do you know, young lady, what anxiety does? 

Well, besides making you drive fast, talk obnoxiously loud, and call everyone of your mobile phone contacts ( Aunt Winnie says "hollah!")-- it made us realize God was in control, laughing hysterically at us as we ran around like idiots. In the case of your Uncle Joe, he called every ten minutes non-stop for 19 and 2/3rds hours. First Grandma, then Me, Then Aunt Winz, then repeated the process. I thanked him profusely for the wakeup call at 0330 hours on Saturday). You don’t know this but every family has a crazy Uncle in it. Joe is yours.

The anxiety continued while we worried about how Momma and you were doing when the birthing baby process ("I don’t know nothing 'bout birthing no babies") ; but I was fortunate enough to observe all this firsthand while your brother and I held vigil (that means waiting with no good magazines to read) in the waiting room --the excitement, the worry, the stress, the laughter, and finally you arrived! Grandma sent a picture to Aunt Winnies phone, then a few minutes later burst through the doors proclaiming for the entire city of Beaufort and nearby Ladys Island to hear, "PRECIOUS!"... 

So, now you are here and have taken your place in the family--another "spitfire of a girl", if you will allow me to quote John Wayne (and you will)--and you now join the ranks of the other ladies in the family--I won't explain any more of this because I'm not qualified, but just know that Momma and the other ladies will ensure that number 1, you are Southern girl, and #2, you won't take any guff (there's another word to use but you will learn that later) off of any man. Speaking of Men, there are two of them you should be aware of--one is your Daddy, and the other one is the Pottamus Rex. You will know Daddy because he is the one strutting all around like a peacock. He is quite proud of you and with good reason. The Pottamus will be the one picking your pacifier up off the floor and poking it back in your mouth. He is also a force of nature but more on that later. If you need anything , they will be there in a nanosecond, and even faster if your Momma has anything to do with it. 

Perhaps you were named after a State, a University, a Song, or maybe even a crazy old man who thinks YOU, along with your Big Brother, are the cats pajamas. Regardless, thanks for showing up and putting a smile on our face that only a mortician can remove. We all took a vote and decided you're a keeper.

Hope you enjoy living, laughing, and loving as much as we do. Don’t worry about a thing, Me and Grandma got your back.

Love,
George

P.S. I apologize for Grandma in advance. She wasn’t like this when I married her. I know, I know. I'm rolling my eyes, too. But its HER world, and we just live in it.

Hurts too Much to Laugh

Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to go to his grandparents house. 

In fact, he spent nearly every weekend over there. It was the greatest place in the universe.  

One day, he was playing Superman--or maybe it was Batman & Robin-- either way, he had a towel safety pinned around his neck and was having a great time fighting the bad guys and flying thru the house, making super human leaps over the floor furnace in a single bound. As he flew thru the house, he pulled up in front of his grandmas bedroom window and saw his parents car pulling in the driveway. He immediately ceased being a Superhero and ran to his grandmother as fast as he could, crying all the way until she had him wrapped up in her apron--or maybe the blue dress with the big white buttons, his favorite--either way, he was at Grandmas house, which was the best place in the universe.

She knew why he was crying; it was time to go home. There had been many weekends just like this, and each time it snuck up on the little boy because he loved his grandma and being at her house so much-- why, quite naturally, it stood to reason that anyone else in his position would cry when they left. How could they NOT?

And so it would come to pass, tears, hugs, and the promise of next weekend. For the little boy it may as well have been forever, because that's what it felt like. He would look out the back window, tears burning his eyes, and wave to his grandma--and wait patiently until the next weekend--well, as  patiently as a little boy of 3--or 4--or maybe 5--could be expected to wait. 

It is nearly 50 years later. A little boy has a great time on a weekend with his grandparents and is very sad when they get ready to leave. Like the previous two weekends, the time snuck up on him and he saw them heading to the car in the driveway, packing to leave. His Momma tells him to come tell them goodbye. A moment before he was being a Superhero--Spiderman--or maybe Iron Man or Captain America--either way he was having a great time on his bicycle. His Grandparents hug him and tell him they will see him soon. 

The Grandfather begins to cry. Why, quite naturally, it stood to reason that anyone else in his position would cry when they left. How could they NOT? He now understands his own grandparents must have felt this way, too. His eyes burn as he looks out the window at his bestest little buddy. 

The Momma rolls her eyes. The grandma rolls her eyes. Grandfather and grandson wipe their eyes. A popsicle for the grandson, a cherry coke and bag of pork rinds for the grandfather. Their pain eases for the time being....   

And as it comes to pass, I will wait patiently for the next weekend--well, as patiently as a man of 50--or 51 looking at 52--is expected to wait. 

It already feels like forever.

Observations from the Macys parade:

-there was a band that played a Ted Nugent Song! Bucket list check off!

-all the singers lip synching disturbs me--its unfair to the bands who have to deal with the cold-#fakepuckers

-Richard Simmons flopping around like a fish on a sidewalk (more disturbing and nauseous)-was immediately followed by a Hippopotamus float---#subliminalsupwiththat?

-Uncle Si. (Nuff said)

The Kool-Aid man float-immediately I said "Oh Yeah". #oldskool

- the gal that lip synched "New York New York" probably violated some protocol and had Sinatra rolling over in his grave- #sacrilegesomeonesgoingtoroastinyouknowwhere

-reckon how many of those folks wearing themed costumes that pull the floats along took a drink this morning-they looked awfully happy in that frigid weather. Just sayin. 

- the circus de solei cats were good with the trampoline-not to be confused by the Band de Solei for that St. Tropez tan...(Old commercial peeps, work with me here)

-is it just me or did CBS have everything showing EXCEPT the parade? They've gone to you know where since Walter Cronkite left...

-this concludes my report--i have been tasked to put those blue wafer thingys in the toilet since we have company coming--#spilunk!

Giving Thanks at Thanksgiving

It is D minus 2, or D-2, for Thanksgiving Ops. The shopping is complete, the house mostly picked up as we prepare for the Thursday onslaught for Turkey, dressing, and all the other food that I wish we would eat once a week instead of once a year. Turkey piled high, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, gravy, and both, yes both types of cranberry sauce-- canned and cooked from real cranberries. 

 Both fried and oven roasted bird will be served-- and regardless of the emotional attachment of "pulling it from the oven", the fried turkey disappears faster. An added bonus this year was taking off the entire week and having not only Mans best friend JoeFish home but the one and only Pottamus Rex, esquire, is getting in some "George" time. That's only 2 reasons to be thankful but they carry a lot of weight because it adds to the number of males in the house. After tonight the "Booger" and Daniel will be here through the weekend. 

My Grandyoungun, tentatively named Georgia Rose, the player to be added officially to the roster in March 2014, will be counted present even though she's not quite ready for the kids table. Hers is still baking in the Amanda oven--

So, the family will fall in-- only partial this year, but still upwards of 20 people. Everyone will be talking over each other, the television will be on, discussions ranging from education to politics to sports to the lower gastrointestinal functions and its effects from poultry, beef, dairy, and fast food will ensue.

And while I won't even be able to hear myself talk in the melee, I will look all around, see the kids lined up at the kitchen table, whose Moms just minutes before helped their plates for them, hoping they might eat---and we will all "say the grace", as Wifey puts it--and I will be thankful for all these folks, the ones that aren't with us any more, for my own "Fishies", and my own trip once more around the Sun...my stomach, like my heart--will be full.

Thankfull.

Rex turns Six!

Dear Rex--

6 (six) years old! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

What a great year you had, finishing Pre-K, playing T-ball, hitting a “home run”, and going to Destin with us for Vacation—it sure was a great year, and I am so proud of everything you have been doing!

….And what about Mom and Dad? You guys are going to have another member of the family! Like you told you’re teacher, Rex, “Either a boy or a girl, we are going to love it anyways”---

You are going to be a great big brother. When the baby gets here, just make sure to help Mom and Dad out as best you can—because it’s a brand new baby they will have to pay a little more attention to it for a time, but don’t worry because they won’t forget about you. If you get lonely then just call me…

Now you know Reximus that you are grandchild #1, and with that come rights and privileges no others will have. For example, none of the others will get to give me my Grandfather name—you chose that---as it is forever it will be “George”…any other grandchildren will have to follow suit. But remember, I was your “George” first. You know every time I get to see you and you come running to give us a hug, I always think about when I used to do that when I visited my Grandma—I know now how she must have felt then…but to reiterate, there is but ONE YOU---Christopher Riley Fisher, Pottamus B. Rex, my bestest buddy.

I am so glad we are going to your first Atlanta Braves game! I hope you have a great time—we will get our picture made at the Phil Neikro statue like I did when Joe was your age—Uncle Joe is going to do it one day with his son, and I hope you will take your son there and have a picture made also, circa 2040.

Six years old. Goodness. This next year we need to do some more of these things:

-

Shoot the guns

-

Camp out in the backyard again-hopefully we won’t freeze!

-

Go fishing with a cane pole and some crickets

-

John Wayne movies in the man cave!

-

Anything you want to do that we can do together!

-

And lastly, work in your garden bed under Grammas direction—taking direction from Gramma will allow you and me to bond closer..trust me, you need to experience this it will help you in life when things get tough—then you can say, “Well, it’s tough, but not as tough as that time when Gramma……..”

That’s all for now, little buddy—see you soon—and who knows, maybe one day when we say bye to each other I might do it without crying- (Your Mom told me she gives you a popsicle when I leave—does it help? I need a 25 pound one).

Love you, Rex. Fist bumps.

GEORGE