13 Aug 09 06:49, Roger Nelson wrote to Roy Witt:


 RW>> I went to Chicago with my single buddies for a weekender. My poor
 RW>> pregnant wife had the cops out looking for me while she was staying
 RW>> with my parents.

 RN> What did she give birth to?

My oldest daughter.

 RW>> I went to Elkheart Lake, WS to their road-course race track and on
 RW>> the way home, the radio announced that Marilyn Monroe had died, on
 RW>> my birthday!

 RN> Your birthday is August 5?  A belated Happy Birthday!

Thanks...glad to still be here.

 RW>> I went to Milwaukee and watched NASCAR races on weekends.

 RN> I thought you liked drag races?

I enjoy any sport that involves cars. Milwaukee was as close as NASCAR
came to town in those days. One of my favorite drivers from the Rockford
1/4mile banked oval was always driving at Milwaukee. Harlen 'Red' Ozzie
drove Chevies at Rockford and there you had to start in the back if you
qualified first overall. He almost always won those races. OTH, he was
worth diddely at NASCAR.

 RW>> Every once in a while I'd take her out for an evening. Three years
 RW>> of this and I was tired of the bitching and so I told her to get a
 RW>> divorce.

 RN> Did you know her long before you got married?

About 3 years.

 RW>> Luckily she agreed with me.

 RN> Women change a lot after giving birth.

She got really wierd. When I was growing up, my parents would visit my
mother's sister and husband on the farm in Wisconsin. They'd stay late and
my brother and I would curl up on the couch and go to sleep while waiting
for them to finish the BS sessions. My father would carry my little
brother out to the car, while I had to 'sleep' walk to it. We instantly
fell asleep in the back seat. We never had any ill effects from those
episodes of not sleeping in our beds. But my wife insisted that we leave
for home by 7:30pm, no matter where we went, so that the kids could be
asleep in their beds by 8pm...then she'd wonder why I'd leave her and the
kids at home, go places and maybe not come home until the next day.


                R\%/itt

Joy lives in the fight, in the attempt, in the suffering involved, not in
the victory itself.

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