“When are you going to get slots?”

“Hi Ruthie,” replied the teller. “Where have you been? How have you been? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.”

“I’ve been great. We haven’t been coming up as much. I came up today to play some bingo and I thought I would stop by, say hello and place a couple of bets on the ponies.”

Ruthie is short, maybe five feet tall, thin, tipping the scales at no more than 95 pounds, has short white hair and usually dresses  in a sweatshirt with a smart print on the front and sweat pants and sneakers. If you had to guess her age you’d say she was, well, maybe 72 but 75 at the most. You wouldn’t be close. “I’m 91,” she proclaims with pride. She lives in Massachusetts but frequently travels to Rockingham Park in Salem, N.H., to bet a few horse races and to play bingo. She and a friend drive to Foxwoods Casino in Conn., to play the slot machines. She is hoping Rockingham will be allowed to get them .

“We’re not going to Foxwoods as much as we used to,” she said. “I don’t drive that far anymore.”

“How often do you go,” the teller asked.

“Oh, we only go down a couple times a month now. It would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to travel as far. Do you think you will have slots here?”

“That’s up to the state legislature, Ruthie.”

“What’s the matter with them (the legislators)? Tell them to get with the times.”

“I know Ruthie. They are concerned about the wrong ‘element’ coming into the state and hurting the quality of life.”

Just then another regular approached and Ruthie moved to the side so he could get to the window.

“Hi Bernie,” the teller said. “No cavities to fill this afternoon?”

“No,” the tall dentist laughed. “Today is my day off. Now stop quizzing me and let me place my bets.”

“Okay, be that way,” the teller joked.

“Do you think they will ever pass the bill,” Ruthie asked after the dentist placed his bets and moved away.

“I don’t know,” the teller replied. “There has been a lot of lobbying on both sides of the issue.  But the state is in a budget crisis. They need money bad. The tracks have been lobbying hard to for the past two years. But, we will have to wait and see. Time will tell.”

Ruthie stepped aside to let another frequent visitor to the track get to the window.

“Hi counselor,” the teller said.

“Hi commish,” said the white-haired gentleman, a retired real estate attorney who visits the track every afternoon. He goes take a table, handicaps two or three races, returns to the window and places his bets and then goes back to his table to study three or four more races and then placing more bets. It was the same routine every afternoon. And every day at about 5 o’clock he would cash in his tickets and then head for home to have dinner. “See they’ve got you in a new spot. Been a bad boy again.”

“Apparently,” the teller smiled. “Hey the pay is the same no matter where the stick me.” The man placed his bets and went on his way.

“So they (the legislators) are afraid of the bad element slot machines will attract,” Ruthie continued.

“Ya,” said the teller.

“Tell them to wake up and get with the times. Got to go play bingo. Take care. See you again.”

“Don’t stay away so long, Ruthie.”

“Okay,” she said, sporting that wide, warm smile.  Then she turned away and headed toward the bingo hall with a spring in her step.

The woman worked at a small horse race track where employees bid on shifts twice a year. Those with the most seniority had first choice to take up to eight, five-hour shifts. To qualify for health insurance employees had to have at least five shifts. The blonde was only able to pick up four shifts, but was able to continue to keep her health insurance by picking up extra shifts on an on-call basis.

The man she was stalking to had more seniority and had seven shifts. He had just returned to work after two months of un-paid leave following surgery.

“No one should be allowed to take more than six shifts,” the woman said.

“You can still get insurance.”

“Ya. But it will cost me more. You should have taken only six shifts. No one should be allowed to take more than six shifts.

“I always take seven. I could have taken eight shifts, but I didn’t”

“You’re selfish,” the woman said, reaching for her cigarettes.

“I’m selfish? Now let me get this straight. You want me to drop a shift, essentially take a 14 percent pay cut and pay more for my insurance so you can pay less. So you can gamble on horses every day and go out for cocktails every night. So you can go out to eat dinner at least once a week. You take time off to go to casinos gambling. You rarely work extra shifts when you have the opportunity.  You want me to subsidize that lifestyle? And you say I am selfish? Interesting.

Like the staff at Bob’s Clam Hut in Kittery, Me. A sign on the tip jar states that all tips will be donated to the local food bank.

“We always to this during the holidays,” the portly woman taking orders said. “But because people have been hit extremely hard this year, we decided to do it early.”

A grandfather had just asked his three grandsons what they wanted for Christmas.  Then the smallest grandson, asked, “What would you like Grampy?”

“Me? Oh I have everything I need. Tell Mom and Dad that instead of presents I would like to have money or canned goods to give to the food bank.”

Then there is the proud mother who tells of her 6–year-old daughter who came to her one day and asked, “Mom, can I give the toys that I get for Christmas, to the orphanage?”

What would I like for Christmas?

Well I’ve wanted a 13-foot canoe that I can lug around by myself. And an electric trolling motor to go with it would be nice.

In the center, taking up about two-thirds of the space, were the words “HOT DOGS” printed in capital white letters on a red background. In the small space at the top of the sign, printed in smaller red letters on a yellow background, was “College Tuition.” In the small space at the bottom of the sign, also in red letters on a yellow background, was printed, “Kosher all beef hot dogs. $2.00.”

Pretty neat, I thought. A college kid selling tube steaks to fund college. I pictured a young person, probably driving a seven or eight-year-old compact car and dressed in jeans, sneakers, and maybe a hooded sweatshirt with the school logo on the front, serving customers.

I drove down the street, a short street that connected two very busy roads. The small stainless steel hot dog stand was set up in a turnoff area at the end of a run way of a municipal airport. A  six-foot fence marked the boundary between the small parking area and the runway. A large lime green umbrella not only provided shade for the stand, but the underside was used to hang bags of potato chips. A stocky, middle-aged woman, who was driving a late model Volvo station wagon, was waiting on customers. She is either beginning her college career late in life, or going for a graduate degree, I thought. Good for her. A few weeks later, while I was giving my truck its biannual cleaning at a car wash located near the hot dog stand, the Volvo, with the stainless steel stand in tow, pulled into the parking lot.  A thin man, about 45-ish, stepped out and unhooked the stand. He wore jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt. Then he drove away, as I found out later, to put up a brightly colored sign at each end of the street and then returned. He set out another sign on the side of the road near the cart and then popped up the umbrella, and hung up the bags of snacks. It was 11 a.m. and he was ready for the lunch rush. Was he the student?

For the next few weeks, each time I drove past, the man was there selling hot dogs. Finally, curiosity got the best of me. I had to find out. So, cholesterol concerns be damned (I would double my dose of Lipitor), I drove my 10-year-old truck, that has travelled nearly 200,000 miles, over to the stand and climbed out.

“What can I get for you,” he asked.

“I will have a hot dog.”

“What would you like on it?”

“Mustard. Relish. Onions”

“You want chips and something to drink.”

“No thanks.  Just the dog.”

“That will be $2.00.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out two, crumpled one-dollar bills and handed them to him.

“So are you beginning your college career late, or going for a graduate degree,” I asked.

He laughed. “Oh no. This is for my son.”

The man explained that he owned a coffee brewing business. And, because he didn’t have a storefront he was free to come and go as he pleased. He would brew coffee early each morning and then leave for a few hours to run the hot dog stand before returning to brew more java. He wasn’t crazy about this location, but it was the best he could do.

“It was tough dealing with the city,” he said. “Getting the permits and then trying to get a good spot to set up at. The woman I was dealing with, her middle name was ‘No.’

I laughed.

“Really,” he said. “Every time I would mention a prospective site, she would say ‘no.’ Finally she agreed on this one. It’s not perfect, but doable.”

“Where is your son going to school?”

“WPI  (Worcester Polytechnical Institute). He’s a freshman.”

“What is he majoring in?”

“Physics. He’s a smart kid.”

Smart and industrious dad, too.

Well, here is a sure fire way. Bring up health care. Especially universal health care, aka Obama care, single payer coverage, and the latest, affordable health care. Whatever you call it, it is funded and run by the government. Emotions ride high on this topic. Far higher than those with facts on their side.

In any event, I decided to take a random, very unscientific poll regarding health care. The question posed was simple, “In one word can you describe universal health care?” The answers follow:

“Nonsensical,” was the way a retired school administrator described it.

“Bullshit,” an anesthesiologist said without hesitation.

“Stupid,” an unemployed salesman said.

“Good,” a veteran registered nurse responded.

“Stinks,” said a retired democrat political fund raiser.

“Shitty,” said a podiatrist —- or was it a proctologist?

“Expensive,” was the way a dentist described it after pondering the question and looking around and noticed a young lady, a high school senior, standing within ear shot.

“Undoable,” said a public employee the night before he was entering the hospital for elective surgery … surgery which just might save his life.

“Fair,” said a primary care physician, who noted that although the U.S. has the most technology, its healthcare system ranked about 18^th in the world (he said France had the best, which is a universal system).

“Challenging,”  was the way a nursing home administrator described it.

“Damaging,” said a registered nurse who visits home-bound  patients.

There you have it. You decide what it all means. But it will get people chatting.

Just in. Here’s another conversation primer. What do you think of B. Obama receiving the Nobel Peace Prize?

There was certainly a lot of hullabaloo over President B. Ob ama’s speech at Wakefield High School in Arlington, VA.  It was available to students across the country via television.  It seemed harmless enough …. but not to those on the right of the political spectrum.

Initially the president was going to address students and ask them to write an essay on how they could help him.

And the firestorm began.

Conservative radio and television talk-show hosts, called it indoctrination. They were afraid it was going to be nothing more than a political speech. Some feared it was a move to advance his health care plan. Parents threatened to keep their kids home from school on that day.

It was quite a ruckus.

Well, as it turned out the president did talk about health care. He urged the kids to cover their mouths when they coughed or sneezed. And he advised them to wash their hands frequently. That was about as political as it got.

So, there was much ado over nothing.

Or, was it nothing because there was much ado?

That’s how then 20-year old philosopher and sometimes pro golfer Eldrick  Woods (you probably know him as Tiger) introduced himself to the world of professional golf in 1996.

With this rambling I say “hello world” and make my debut into the blogosphere. Most of what appears here will fall under one of two categories:

1 – Who cares?

2 – It doesn’t matter!

You see, the leather couch is getting too slippery so this blog will be my source of therapy — you might need some after visiting the site. This blog is about having some fun.  At times, it will be informative. Most of what you read will be brief and factual. And I will write on everything from Pop Warner Football, to bits from everyday life, to politics.

What is my political philosophy?

It depends on who you ask. Some say I tend to be liberal. Others say I am a moderate. Still others are convinced I’m an ultra-conservative kook.

Let’s get something straight up front. I am not an ultra-conservative!

 I don’t take myself too seriously and you shouldn’t either. So, stop by once in awhile to see what’s new.  I hope to update the site on a regular basis.