The legend of Shorty......

Good Evening all, and thank you for stopping by. Pull up a chair and relax while I fix you all a mint julep. ( :-D ) After that you can read this post and hopefully have a good chuckle at Shorty's expense. Believe me when I say that He won't mind, since He passed away many years ago.
This story takes place in rural Alabama in the late nineteen thirties or early nineteen forties. It was toward the end of the depression years, or maybe immediately after the depression. TVA ( Tennessee valley authority ) had been started by FDR as one of the measures to stop the depression and put people to work and was beginning to supply electricity to the rural areas where it hadn't been available before. Ok..The history lesson over let me get on to Shorty. Shorty was, at the time that this took place, past middle age. When TVA began to put poles in the ground and run wire on them to carry the electricity they started contacting people to offer electric service When Shorty was contacted he adamantly refused. He didn't like the idea of that kind of change and didn't trust anything the government had a part in. That was a common sentiment at the time nationwide. Anyway...Back to Shorty. After a while though, after visiting some neighbors that had tied into the electrical service and listening to his wife, He decided to try it out. After finding out how much it cost he again refused. Finally though, he came up with a brilliant idea. He'd watched the men as they handled the wire and had seen how they'd tied it all together. His idea was, if they could do it so could he. That was probably the worst idea he'd ever had. Shorty didn't want outlets, didn't see a need for them, so he ran the wire for overhead lights. After completing that task He ran a wire from his house all the way to the closest power pole. Yep, you guessed it. Up the pole Shorty shimmied till he came to the closest wire to which he attached one of his two wires. No problem so far. Down the pole he shimmied, back to the ground, whereupon he commenced to hook up the ground wire to the grounding rod. That, my friends, is where the fireworks began. What Shorty didn't know was that a transformer was required. He'd just hooked up his sixty watt lights to seven thousand volts. You read right. Seven thousand volts. A bit too much when one hundred and ten volts are what is required, huh? Shorty stood and watched all of the wire he'd just put in spark and fizzle till it burned completely into. He was fortunate in two ways though. First, he'd hooked up the ground last. If he'd hooked it up first he'd have been fried at the top of the pole. Second, the wire in his house burned up before catching his house on fire. Bless Shorty's heart. Shorty lived until the early nineteen sixties, having never gotten over his anger at the power company and having never had electricity in his house. From that point on he just didn't trust electricity. After his death though, his wife did have the house wired and properly tied in. She enjoyed having the convenience of electrical power till her death in the early nineteen seventies. Nineteen seventy one I believe it was. The moral of this story is......Well, I don't know what the moral of this story is so I'll let you pick out your own. ..........And so it went..........

My Hero......

Good Evening all....Once again I say thanks for taking the time to read this post. I'm very glad you're here. This will be a short post because it's about someone I've posted about already. Today is my Dad's birthday and if he were alive, He'd be eighty three years old. He was born in the year of our Lord nineteen twenty two. I went by his grave today and once again paid homage to a great man and a wonderful father. Since losing him to cancer in May nineteen eighty eight I've not lived a day without thinking of him and something he taught me. What does one say about someone that has had that much of a positive impact on so very many lives, and especially mine. Suffice it to say "I miss you Dad. Thank you for being you!" .......and so it went.......

Connecting the Frogs....I mean dots.

Good Evening. A short post here to provide an explanation for something. I was ask the connection between the title of the last post and the post itself. Here is that explanation. It is the opinion and belief of this writer that being a frog is the result of being a selfish, insensitive taker. Someone that takes and takes without giving back. Someone that is out for him/her self to the point of narcissism. That, my friends, is a frog. Turning from a frog to a prince/princess requires first of all the knowledge that a change is needed. Second of all the desire and will to work at making the changes required. Third of all it requires perseverance, or put another way, the will to stay at it till the task is finished. More later on the metamorphosis from reptile to kind and gentle human. .......And so it goes........

Learning how to not be a Frog.......

Good Evening. I'm pleased and happy that you've taken time from your busy life to drop in and catch up on the latest in this man's blog. I sincerely hope that when you finish reading you're life will have been made somehow better. Without further ado let us get to it.
I was thinking today about the learning process that I embarked on years ago as a child. Some of those things learned are numerous and are imperative to living life. They include things we rarely give thought to, such as potty training, tying shoes, table manners and the list goes on and on. This blog isn't about those things. Yes, we do take them for granted and yes, they are important. The things I'm speaking of though seem to be sorely lacking in the lives of many people of both genders. Things such as knowing how to Love as unconditionally as is humanly possible. Also things like how to be respectful to others and, yes, even ourselves. Another thing is trust. Wow! Let's dwell briefly on these things before we move on to another. Love, Respect and Trust. How we all desire those in our lives, both to give and to receive. They are an essential in any healthy relationship. That of parent to child, sibling to sibling, friend to friend and of course, spouse to spouse, and that list goes on and on almost to infinity. The lack of one or more of these are the reason for the end of every most marriages and/or relationship. You see, most if not all of us only focus on only half of the equation. (wow, now I'm sounding like a mathematician) We are each, of course, responsible for giving those things in the appropriate time and way, but our part is certainly not finished there. It is also up to us to make it possible, and yes, even easier for those around us to give the Love, Respect and Trust. If our live style makes it hard for others to be loving, respectful and trusting toward us then we're missing the mark and making it harder on those in our lives. So, the question we should ask ourselves is not only am I loving, respectful and trusting, but do I make it the easiest I can for those in my life to give me those things? Is it a hard work for them to give those things to me? Am I gracious in the giving and receiving of them? These are questions we can all ask ourselves regularly, and not only ourselves but those in our lives. O.K. An end of this post. I appriciate your patience in waiting for me to post this. I know some have been sitting for days in front of your computer screen waiting. Just a little joke. (very little) ......and so it goes........

I'm back...Well, what's left of me is.

Good Morning to everyone. Some of you may have been wondering just where I've been. Just in case that you have I'll tell you. My Mom has been in the hospital. She starting running an extremely high fever. Well...high for someone that's eighty one. After taking her to the hospital and getting her admitted, talking to the Doctor and hearing about the test results, finding out that she had a kidney infection as well as having a bad case of pneumonia, I began feeling...well...very ill. I called my neice to come stay with my Mom and I came home. To say I was sick is an understatement. Suffice it to say that I lost fifteen pounds in one very long and very horrible day. I'm much better now, only tired and run down. The greatest thing though, is I brought my Mom home from the hospital this morning. My main task now is keeping her indoors for a few days while the antibiotics finish their job. That, let me say quickly, will be a full time job for a man alone. You may be asking yourself about now why I'm telling you all of this. It's to say that I'm back and I survived a really tough several days. Look for another post in a couple of days. .......and so it went......

A tidbit of wisdom......Three.

Good Evening all. It's a bit past my bedtime so this will be shorter than usual. I appreciate you're coming to this blog and taking the time to read it. I hope this particular post causes thought.
This post is about something that is, I fear, dying as an ability. It's something that we absolutely must have to survive in today's world. It can make our relationships good, while at the same time it's absence can ruin the best and strongest of relationships. What, you ask, is so essential to life? What, you ask, is so missing in our culture? Ok, Ok, I'll tell you. It's the art (or is it a science) of listening. In my humble opinion it's absence causes more problems in relationships than any other single thing. If we all could listen as well as we could talk just think what a difference there would be in our lives, and yes, even in our world. I have in my meditating about this come to a couple of ideas about it. Reasons we (as a people) don't listen well? [one] We put too much time and effort into trying to convince ourselves and others that we have value, or put another way, trying to have a better self-esteem. That requires that we spend a lot of time talking about ourselves and what we know and feel. [two] We don't place enough value on what those around us say. We spend so much time comparing ourselves to others in so many ways that we, as a consequence, don't have the time to stop and listen to those in our lives. [three] Most of us never slow down long enough to really consider the extreme importance of listening. How many times has someone ask us "did you hear what I said"? The same question better put would be "did you listen to what I said"? We can, and usually do, hear things without really listening. So often our minds are full of other thoughts when we should be listening. How do we improve listening skills you ask? One way is to give the person you're communicating with your complete attention. Try to keep your mind on what they say and how they say it. Another way is to realize that those in our lives (well, most of them) really do have valid points of view, and we could learn a lot from them. Simply put, give value to those that are talking to us. I write this at the risk of over simplifying, but I believe that it is something that we need to address in ourselves. Ok, enough. I'm off to bed. ...........And so it goes.........

In search of a proper tribute.......

Good Evening and welcome to this blog once again. I'm honored and flattered that you would chose to come. Please make yourselves at home and feel free to comment whatever is on your heart and mind. This Evening I'm going to speak a bit about something that is very close to my heart. I have an Aunt that is ninety four years old. Her name is Dicie and she was born on January third in the year of our Lord Nineteen hundred and twelve. She has, of course, been a part of my life since I can remember. How do I say what I want to convey? I'm not sure but I'll give it my best effort. She is my Dad's older sister and the oldest still living. Up until a week ago she still lived alone in her own place. About a week ago she fell in her front yard while working in her flowers. Fortunately a neighbor a few yards away saw her fall and ran to give assistance. He of course called 911. They arrived quickly and took her to the emergency room about five miles away. After the tests and examination she was admitted to the hospital. Her doctor told us that her hip joint was so worn out that she'd never be able to walk again, at least very well. After she was treated for minor injuries and treated for pain she was released to a local nursing home which she will probably have to stay in. You may be asking yourself at this point why I'm posting so extensively about all of this. Let me expound. Aunt Dicie has been a large part of my life since my first memories of life. She married her deceased husband, Lee, while in her mid to late teens and they were together for almost sixty years, at which time he passed away. In my memories of her from earliest childhood my recall of her is that of kindness, gentleness and graciousness. I can never recall her speaking a cross word to anyone at anytime, though I'm sure she had her moments. She and Uncle Lee lived as newly weds through the depression of the nineteen thirties. With jobs and work so very hard to come by Uncle Lee would make a trip on foot every year from Walker County in central Alabama to Florida to help harvest the citrus crops. He did this for several years and was paid every day his wage. I seem to remember him telling me that they were paid about ten or twelve cents a day and were happy to have that. While there his diet consisted of water and crackers. After the harvest was completed He'd walk back to his home in Central Alabama. Aunt Dicie never learned to drive though she did attempt it back in the nineteen fifties. Many of the roads close to their house were still dirt and difficult to drive on so she became content to let Uncle Lee do the driving. I recall as a young child, whenever I was with Aunt Dicie she would slip me some sugar or fruit, etc. She loved children more than anyone I can remember She never did have any of her own, having tried for many years. To my knowledge she was never able to conceive and fertility doctors were years in the future. I wish I had time and space and ability to write everything I can remember about her and the extraordinary life she lived and the lives she impacted. In her later years, after the death of Uncle Lee, I was presented with the amazing good fortune of being able to live very close to her and was lucky enough to be able to watch out for her and take care of things she could no longer do. Up to year before last she still insisted on cutting her own lawn with her own push mower. She and I compromised by agreeing on a plan that would work. I'd cut her grass and she'd do the trim work. I didn't know for months that she was, at ninety two years old, going a couple of doors down to a lady that couldn't cut her grass and would cut it for her. She never did care for lawn tractors, so it really was a concession on her part to make that compromise. I was also privledged to be allowed to fix or repair whatever she had that needed it. Not wanting to be a 'nuisance' she had hired some work done and gotten ripped off. I had the honor for the last several years of her time at home to be able to not only fix things for her but to look out for her interests when she had anything done. So I ask, how do I give honor and tribute to such an extraordinary person. Whatever I say seems to me to fall so dreadfully short and inadequate. Even though she's lost her ability to walk her mind stays as sharp as it ever was, and for that I'm thankful. So, I'll simply say "thank you Aunt Dicie" for everything. Thank you for just being you. Thank you for the positive impact on, not only mine, but countless numbers of the lives you touched in ninety four years. The world would be a much better place if it had more "Aunt Dicies" in it. It's with a sad heart that I say, .......and so it went.......

That's the truth.....and I'm stickin' to it !!!!!

Good Evening everyone. Thank you for dropping by. I'm happy to have you read this, the latest post in the ongoing saga of what I call my blog. I'm assuming, of course, that you came to this blog site to actually read it. ( :-D ) Anyway, welcome! Any comments will be greatly appreciated, so fire at will. (wait, who is Will and why are we shooting at him?) Ok you groan! Enough of the levity, you cry. Alright, on to other things.
I have over the years learned a few things. One of those things is about 'Truth'. We in our society have come to believe, over the years and decades, that Truth is a relative thing. It certainly is not that. We've decided over the same time span that Truth is something that can vary. It certainly can't. We as a people treat Truth in whatever way makes us 'comfortable'. We create gameshows about it and we use it as a tool to accuire things. We use it, or a "version" of it to get what we want from life and to satisfy our desires from the world in which we live. I've come to realize over the years in this life that the truth is the one thing that will keep us sane. It's the rock that never moves or shifts on which we can confidently stand. Ok, enough of definations. One of the biggest problems that we all face is telling ourselves the truth. We all have a tendency to believe what isn't the truth, especially when it involves ourselves. We grow up believing that we lack in certain ways and that it effects our value. It doesn't not! We have a tendency to believe what other people say that involves us. We grow up believing that our nose is too big, or our hair is ugly, or our face isn't attractive enough. We grow up wanting to be like someone else. If only we were prettier or more handsome. If we could only run faster. If we could only be smarter or more popular. The TRUTH is that none of those things have anything whatsoever to do with our value. The TRUTH is that we are valuable and worth a lot simply because we are human beings and are created by a Loving God ! What we tell ourselves, or don't tell ourselves, as the case may be turns out to be what we believe. What we believe, in turn, is what we base our decisions and choices in life on. That would explain for example, why so many of us make such rotten choices about so very many things. That would also explain why so many see themselves as so without value and suicidal. The science of therapy is based on, at least in part, our efforts to find out what is the real truth and work at believing that not everything that we've heard and everything we've been taught is so necessarily true. So, you may ask, where do I look for the TRUTH, and how will I know when I've found it. On that I have this to say. To be continued. You'll have to come back and read some more to find out. I'll be posting more a bit later on this same subject. I believe it will be enlightening for most if not all. .......and so it goes.....

Thinking things through.........

Good Evening All. Thank you for stopping by to check out this, the latest post in this man's blog. It's been a rather long week. I've been busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger. (maybe that fits a little too well)
A quick story about something I witnessed years ago that I still think is, well, funny. When I was on one of the aircraft carriers I served on we had a guy that used most all of his spare time fishing. I suppose one could call that the ultimate deep sea fishing trip, huh? A lot of time the the depth of the water we were in was from one to two miles deep. Sometimes more. Back to the story though. This particular guy did his fishing from the flight deck. This meant that he was fishing one hundred feet above the water and at a speed of about twenty miles per hour. One day I decided to ask him the question I'd been wondering about. The question..."If you catch a fish that weighs four hundred pounds, which certainly could happen, how are you going to get the fish all the way to the point you're fishing from, which as I have already pointed out, was a hundred feet up. Also, I ask that if he did indeed get the fish to the flight deck, which was highly unlikely, what are you going to do with it? His reply was classic. He said, "well, I'll try to figure that out when the time comes that I've caught one". It occurred to me at the time that he'd probably not thought this through very well. I wonder from time to time if he's lived his whole life using that philosophy and if so how successful he's been in his endeavors. .......and so it went.........

TAPS......

Good Afternoon all. I suppose you've all noticed by now my week long absence from this blog. The truth is, I decided to take a week off and gain some fresh perspective. Today I'd like to tell all of you about something that stays with me undiminished. I've decided to write this as it comes to my heart, simply letting the words flow from my mind to the screen.
Many years ago as I served in the Navy it was my distinct honor and unpleasant duty to serve on what we called a "firing squad". Let me quickly clarify at this point that this wasn't exactly as it sounds. It wasn't to execute someone, but to be on the picked squad to take part in the firing of the twenty one gun salute at the funeral of a veteran. It was always a bitter/sweet experience and never failed to fill me with admiration for the veteran that had passed away and great sadness that America had lost one of it's finest and bravest. I've had the honor and privilege of serving in that capacity for veterans from the first world war through the worst of the Viet Nam war. I could never describe the pain and difficulty that were a part of standing in full dress uniform, firing the three times required of the seven man squad, then listening to the sound of "TAPS", the most mournful sound on this planet. I also had the misfortune too many times to hear the same mournful tune played on the ship on which I was serving, commemorating
the loss of a shipmate. It was a sound that brought tears to the eyes of many hardened sailors that had been through long and weary hours at sea engaged in activities best left unremembered. It's also a sound that brought dread to the hearts of tough men and women that never failed to fight when fighting was required, yet a sound that brought dread to the hearts and minds of those same men and women. To so many of us the sound of TAPS signals the passing of an honored friend, or at the least, someone we didn't know personally but could relate to on a level that can't be described with words At the most, it was someone with whom we've shared our everything. That everything included our food, watching over each other as we took turns sleeping, our dreams, our pasts as we shared words with each other and the ambitions we had that included the sweethearts of which we bragged so much.
This is my small way of giving honor to those that have faced so valiantly the struggles required of freedom and given so willingly the very lives with which they were blest with by the Almighty God. And so, I stand with hat in hand and my right hand over my heart, giving a thank you to that same Almighty God for the courage and stalwart spirits with which these men and women were so greatly endowed. A thank you to God and a thank you to those that fought and a thank you to those that gave the ultimate gift for liberty. Liberty not only for those of us in the United States, but for peoples around the world that long to live in freedom and yearn for liberty. ......and so it goes.......

Making fun........

Good evening everyone. I'm happy to have you reading this post. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This post is about some experiences that involved three boys growing up. The setting is Alabama and the time line was in the early to mid sixties. It was at a time that we didn't have any crops to tend, but we did have all of the livestock on the farm to tend to. After we were caught up with taking care of the stock (cattle, horses, chickens, hogs, etc.) we'd have some time to do most anything we wanted to do. On one particular day we decided to build us a truck wagon. Now, for those that don't know exactly what a truck wagon is, I'm gonna tell you. A truck wagon is a conveyance made by using a board, usually bout four feet in length, fastening another board, this one bout three feet long, across what will be the back very solidly. Then comes another board three feet long across the front of the wagon, but this one is on a swivel of sorts. Those two three foot boards serve axles and the wheels (hopefully those are available to the builders) are secured on the ends of them using bolts through the center of the wheel. After the wheels are on, then comes the steering mechanism. That's accomplished by securing a length of rope to the front axle, one end of the rope to either end of the axle. At this point the truck wagon is ready for action and one has then to carefully select the proper hill to roll it off of. Hopefully rather steep but with a smooth enough surface to enable one to stay on the vehicle during it's usually wild descent into God only knows what. If there are too many ruts then one has to either select another hill or fill in the ruts (which requires "work" and is to be avoided at all costs). When the right hill has been selected tho....The fun begins. Then the process of selecting the first rider begins. Since the hill and the vehicle are both mostly unknowns everyone involved is filled with a bit of trepidation. So the process usually involved everyone using a coin (if one were available) or another game like rock,paper,scissors, etc. Of course, the winner (or loser) had to take the first ride. It was often thought of as the ride into oblivion. ( :-D ) I recall one time we'd constructed a good and proper truck wagon and had made the decision about the first rider. The fortunate one this time was Dennis. So, after a bit of stalling and asking for a rematch at the game, He climbed onto the conveyance, put his feet on the vehicle and we gave him a healthy shove. Away he went. It being a very steep hill he was very soon going at a maniacal speed. Though we'd smoothed the route we'd missed a small rock.
Allow me to say here, that at a lower rate of speed, the rock wouldn't have been a problem, but since Dennis was going a such a high rate of speed it became impossible to maintain proper control. I have to give Dennis credit here. He did a great job up to this point in time. Upon hitting the rock with one of the wheels the vehicle promptly swerved into the woods that were on either side of the path. Unfortunately, though, to make it into the surrounding woods he had to first go through a large patch of blackberry briars. Jerry and I ran as fast as we could to make sure he was ok, but when we got there and saw him come trudging out of the woods we could only laugh. He looked like he'd been fighting 30 wildcats at once. He was scratched from his head to his toes and was boiling mad. Of course, the more mad he became the more we laughed and the more we laughed the more mad he became. At this point we all headed for home to try to put him back together. I wish I could better describe his condition but suffice it to say that there wasn't but a few places unscathed. After a few days of healing we all headed back to the scene and checked on the truck wagon, finding it in rather good condition. So Dennis, full of determination and not allowing the accident to deter him, got back on the truck wagon and headed back down the hill. This time he made it all the way to the bottom. I remember his descent well....His hair blowing back in the wind. I was proud of him for not allowing the hill to beat him and I, at that point, learned a valuable lesson about life. And one that I've never forgotten. To Dennis, it was him against the hill, and he'd never allow himself to be beaten without first doing everything he could to be a success. Thank you Dennis, for that valuable lesson. ............And so it went..........

A tidbit of wisdom......Two

Hello and welcome. If you're reading this I'd like to say that I appreciate it and invite you back at your earliest convenience. This post will be short and will involve only one bit of something I've learned on my way to this point in life. One difference between a wise person and a foolish person is: The wise person knows deep within their heart that being merciful and gracious to those around them will not only make an impact on other people. The biggest impact is made on the person extending the mercy and grace to others. The foolish person, on the other hand, never knows nor stops to see the negative impact their selfishness has on those around them, whether it's a stranger or a loved one. That, my wonderful friends, is the tidbit of wisdom for today. .........And so it goes...........

And darkness was on the face of the deep...........

Good evening all, and thank you for being so kind and patient. I'm back as you all can so plainly see. Tonight's posts setting was in July and August of Nineteen ninety nine. Life was challenging and I was struggling. Among other things I'd begun to have some health problems. Some of the problems included periodic times of an extremely high fever, pain in my abdominal area,
and blood where it wasn't supposed to be. I didn't get overly concerned for a while but then things only got worse. So...I went to the Doctor to try to find out what was going on. The Doctor did some lab work, etc. Then He and I talked. I told him that I figured that it was another kidney infection since I was prone to having them and had them on and off for a long time. He and I agreed to try antibiotics for a couple of weeks and see if that helped. For a short while it did seem to help, then things started all over and was worse. Back to the Doctor I went and this time He sent me to see a urologist. The next week I showed up for my appointment with the specialist and He started doing tests. One of the tests included a sonogram that was performed there at his office. After that test He came in and said to come back next week for an MRI, that He needed a more complete look at the abdominal area. So...Next week back I came and did the MRI. By this time it was the middle of August and I was wondering what all of the fuss was about. I was figuring also that something was wrong. A couple of days after the MRI I came back to the office accompanied by Crissy and Christopher. When we were called back to his office the three of us went in, sat down and talked among ourselves while waiting for Him to come in. When He came in He sat down and looked at us silently for a moment. Then came the words I had hoped not to hear. I had cancer. Yep...My right kidney had a tumor the size of a grapefruit in it and it was malignant. He wanted to set up a surgery for as quickly as we could, then said to wait for a week and let him get another doctor to look at things with him. They then decided that from the scans they had they couldn't tell if it had spread. At the moment I was told that I had cancer it seemed that time slowed down to a crawl. It was very surreal, like I as looking on as an observer. The surgery was set up for two weeks later and those two weeks were among the longest I can remember living through. It seemed that they wouldn't know if the cancer had spread until I was on the table and opened up. As I said, a very long two weeks. August 31st finally came, I was taken to the hospital at six a.m. that morning by Crissy and Christopher, went through the paperwork, put on the backward hospital gown, taken to the operating room, and the next thing I knew I was in the recovery room with what seemed like a mouthful of cotton and a huge pain in my stomach. I had lost my right kidney but was blest in that the cancer hadn't spread to any other organs. That experience is in my memory as an exceptionally difficult time, not the most difficult but definitely in the top five. I was blest also, to have someone to lean on and talk to. Someone that listened and understood. Someone that had been there and come through something similar with more courage than I thought possible. To that someone a special thank you. That's how I came to part company with my right kidney, may it rest in peace. ..........And so it went..............

Trying to be......

Good evening all. I'm having a difficult time deciding what to write on this post. Not that I have a shortage of something to write about, but because I have too much to choose from. The things I'd rather post about are at this point just too hard to think about so I'm going to stop for tonight. As blest as I am there are still things I have a difficult time with from time to time. Things I'd rather not remember but seem to have no choice about it seems. So with your kind indulgence I'll pick this up in the morning.

The life and times of Nellie the Belle.....

A joyous good evening to all. As I sit writing this post I hope everyone of you are having a wonderful evening and that your day tomorrow is even better. Ok, enough of the greeting. I'm going to get right to the main topic for the evening.
I'm going to, at this time, introduce you all to Nellie. Group, this is Nellie. Nellie, this is a group of loyal and faithful bloggers. Nellie was my first car. She was of the American motors brand and was assembled in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and sixty. To those not well versed in mathematics that would be 1960. Her brand was better known as a "Rambler". Let me now tell the brief story of how she got her name. When I first made the purchase of this fine (term used loosely) automobile she, among other deficiencies, didn't have the ability to stop. Put another way, she didn't have brakes. When I paid the money for Nellie and got behind the wheel I was unaware of this, but found out quickly as I came to the first of many stop signs. Among the many efforts made to stop were the use of the expression "whoa Nellie". It stuck and became the name I called her for almost a year. Now, the name established, I'll go on to other deficiencies. She, I found out late that evening, also had no dim headlights. Because of this minor setback I drove the entire night with my lights on bright, which I might add, enraged most all of the other drivers which had the misfortune to meet me on the road. That might sound like a serious and difficult problem, but taken in context, it really was one of the most minor. Another problem was that all four tires were completely and utterly smooth (worn out to those not familiar to the lingo) . On this account I'd decided to go rather slowly just in case. After that decision was made I made the discovery that she would only go about thirty miles an hour anyway, which worked out very well for everyone except for those following me. Oh, speaking of following me, I'm led to the next and worst of all her infirmities. She had no, I repeat, NO rings on any of her pistons. I'll break that down a bit for the mechanically challenged. The pistons are those things inside the engine that compress the fuel mixture and make the engine go. The rings on the pistons (about four on each) are the things that keep the motor oil from getting into the cylinders and making the engine put out a degree of white smoke. The amount of white smoke depends on how many of the rings are worn, broken or just plain not there. Well, Nellie had no rings on any of the six pistons inside of her engine. Bless her heart. The result of this malady was that she put out more white smoke that any mosquito sprayer ever in the history of man and machine. One having the misfortune of driving behind me for any distance found that there was no visibility for fifty to one hundred yards, but on the upside, there was a tremendous drop in the mosquito population for quite a while. ( :-D ) I finally had the engine reworked and that particular problem went away. I had spent a grand total of three hundred dollars on her. One hundred eighty dollars was the purchase price, then one hundred twenty dollars to have Nellie's engine rebuilt.
Now, I know at this juncture you're all wondering whatever happened to Nellie. The truth be told, I wish I still had her. The truth being further told, I have no Idea what happened to Nellie. I loaned Nellie to an Uncle and a few days after (probably in a pout) she promptly stopped running forever and all time. He pulled her over to the side of the road as best He could and further pushed her the rest of the way out of the road. I had no way to get Nellie to my house, not being able to afford a wrecker, so there she sat while I thought about the dilemma that she and I were in. As I pondered the problem it went away. Literally it went away. I never found out what had happened to Nellie, but assume that someone with access to a wrecker (or just a chain) had pulled her away, probably as an act of pity. Since I still didn't have the means to bring her home I gave her (in my mind) to her kidnapper/rescuer. So goes the story of noble Nellie, may she rest in peace. ........and so it went.......

A tidbit of wisdom.......one

Hi ya'll....please don't consider this a post. Just something that's been on my mind a bit today. Here goes:

1) People that have a lot of friends are those that have learned how to be a friend

2) People that are most loved are those that have learned how to love.

3) People that are known as selfish are those that have never learned to think of others.

4) There are people that constantly and consistantly seek the balances of life that make them Loved, respected, trusted and friendly, and there are people that don't know that those very balances exist and as a result live lives that are discontent and angry.

More tidbits later. .......and so it goes.......

Complete stress...or...how I survived this long....

Good Evening everyone and thank you all for taking the time to read this, the next installment in my blog. I appreciate your being patient while so breathlessly awaiting the arrival of each new post.
I'd like to take tonight's post to continue something I was talking about today. I sometime forget (probably on purpose) things that have been sources of stress in this life. One such source of stress has to do with some of my years working on a railroad. I had been offered a promotion which was going to more than double my salary. Let me say before going on that I'm not money hungry, but I did have a family to support and wanted to do the best I could in that. I therefore took the promotion and began training. If I remember right, I trained for the new job for about two months but should have been given 4 or 5 months of training. My new job involved sitting in a seven story tower and directing most of the operation of a freight yard. Quite an undertaking for someone experienced, but almost an impossibility for someone so new to the vocation. To make a long story not so long I'll explain like this. The over all freight yard was made up of smaller specialiy yards. It broke down somewhat like this: fourteen tracks to receive trains, fifty six tracks to classify (break down) each train, two forwarding yards that included all together twelve tracks to rebuild each train with different freight cars. The biggest source of stress was in defying the mathamatical possibilities of such an operation. For example, when one had fourteen tracks to receive trains and twenty trains showed up.....well...you get my drift. In order to get all of the trains in the yard one had to remove a train from one of those fourteen tracks, then bring one of those extra trains into the just opened track. Sounds sort of easy, but wait. Not so easy. In order to open up those fourteen tracks one had to classify each train received, or switch each train into the next yard in the line called the classification yard. The problem was that of those fifty six tracks most were full. Now to the crux of the problem and the mathimatical impossibility. One can only put rail cars into a track until it's full, and at that point it will absolutely, positively NOT hold any more. Now....all of this for eight to sixteen hours a day and with your bosses (plurel) standing behind you screaming profanities to make more progress. Oh yeah, add one thing, the guys working for you can only go so fast. Asking them to speed up was pretty much asking for trouble. Trouble like, injuries or even fatilities. Ok...All of this went on a lot like this for about fifteen years before it slowed down any. By the time it had slowed down I was pretty much past recovery. One of the ways I survived was by taking very short breaks at my desk. Usually thirty seconds to a minute. On each infrequent break I'd close my eyes and suddenly I'd be back in a quiet and serene surrounding. Something like, standing on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier when we weren't flying the planes, and listening to the swishing of the water as it swept by one hundren feet below. That was pretty much the only thing I could hear, but I'd also look once again at the moon and stars and how beautiful they were shining over the ocean. Or....I would sometime go back to growing up on a farm. On Sunday's we had free time and many is the time I'd go into the pasture and lay down in the shade of a tree and just listen to the quiet sounds of the insects as they busily went about their daily activities. Sometimes I'd lay like that for two or three hours. Yes...those were two of the things that kept me from being anymore insane than I already am. Complete stress. Overcome by memories of a better and quieter time. I look back at those stressful years and sometime wonder how I survived it, but then....I'm not so sure I did. .......and so it went.......

The great flea conspiracy in the Dog days of summer......

Good Evening all.....I suppose you wonderful folks out there are tired of holding your breath and wondering what's been the delay in posting. Well....I'll tell you....I've been on a little trip and just this very day returned. Yep...I had a great time and yep...I was all by myself. Bless my little heart. I am now returned and in great spirits and feeling good...Well...All but my neck, back, left elbow, knees and right ankle. ( :-D ) Just kidding!!! I have, at present, some wonderful company I'd like to talk about a bit if I may, before launching into the remainder of this post. I have my youngest daughter, Crissy, along with her four children, spending the night with me. I had hoped that Kim and her boys could have but prior plans precluded this from happening. I thought I'd do this post while Crissy is getting the children to bed. Ok...now on to the posting....
There are some, if not all of you, that remember previous posts concerning a young boy and his adventures on our farm. This post is about another event in the life of that young boy. It was on a rainy day, thus not many outdoors activities (except for mandatory chores). It was while Dennis and I were consumed with those very chores that this young boy got another taste of adventure on a farm. Let me quickly interject at this point that Dennis and I both told him the ills that could befall him if he pushed ahead with this plan. His plan was to, while Dennis and I were busy with some chores, to get into the loft of the hay barn and make tunnels in the hay. The fallacy of the plan was quite apparent to us but seemed to escape him. The problem with the plan he had was that some cats had made their home in the hay loft and controlled the mice/rat population. Of course, being the felines they were, and having the fur they had, they did indeed have fleas. Also, of course, some of the fleas had left their homes on the cats to get into/infest the hay. So, this young man, having the burning desire that he had to play in the hay, proceeded to do just that. Dennis and I were quite some time finishing the chores we'd been assigned to do, which gave this young man quite a while to play in the hay loft. When Dennis and I had finished and gone to the hay barn the young man told us (while scratching furiously) that he had the tunnels all ready to play in. Dennis, being the strongest of heart, inspected his head and the hair on it, and of course, found that his head was INFESTED with...yep...fleas. Of course Dennis and I were blamed for the catastrophe. We never did get anyone to believe us and we couldn't figure out why they chose not to. ( :-D ) To remedy the situation we had to comb some flea killing mixture thru his hair, which made him stink for a couple of days. His mother was quite put out. I thought at the time she was just being difficult. It was a few years before I finally understood her point of view. I mean....it was only flea infestation. .......and so it went......

The other side of the circle........

Well....here we are once again. Thank you for coming in to read another post. It's an honor to have you. Please feel free to comment if you'd like. The post for tonight is about some people that have been very important to me. Maybe I should change the names to protect the innocent, but no, I'll put it out for all to read. I'm going to talk tonight about my Mom and her side of the family. My Mom is eighty one years old as of last December, but still has the vim, vigor and energy to have two vegatable gardens and a yard full of flowers of all shapes, sizes and descriptions. Oh yeah...she also knows the name of every type on plant she has. She has been a vital factor in every part of my development from infancy till the present. She is, many times, a study in contrasts. She's very loving and kind and constantly alert for anyone that she can help, while also being very opinionated and idealistic. In other words, she's a bundle of constant energy looking for an outlet. ( :-D ) Her favorite times of the of the year are Spring, summer and autumn, those being the times of year she can get outside and work in her yard and gardens. The winter she mostly tolerates while waiting for better weather. She was born in the winter of 1924 in a small country town in north central Alabama. She was born somewhere in the middle of ten children, having 5 older siblings and 4 younger. She is now one of five that survive. Her father, my grandfather,his name was John, was a traveling preacher, otherwise known as a circuit riding pastor. When he did stop the circuit he settled down to pastor one church. Over the years he was the pastor of several small country churches and became known far and wide in this part of Alabama. As a child I remember him as very tall, but I'm assured that he wasn't so tall, being a bit less than six feet tall. I do know he was a thin man so maybe that's why he seemed so tall. His wife, whose name was Mary (two nice jewish names, huh) I remember as being short and sort of laid back. She was a diabetic for as long as I have memory of her, at a time when diabetes wasn't easily treated. She was, in her older years, rather overweight. I remember her as being a good balance for my granddad. He was always teasing all of us (his grandchildren) and I rarely remember him without a smile on his face. My Grandmother on the other hand, was a bit more serious, which is why they were good for each other. While my grandfather pastored churches, that's not how he supported his family. That he did that by working in the coal mines. He did that at a time when coal mining was an extremely dirty, unhealthy and very dangerous occupation. Fatalities were more the rule than the exception. On top of that, they had a farm in which everyone old enough either particapated or did house work and cooking. They, as a family were deeply caring for each other as well as those in the community in which they lived. Living in and through the depression of the ninteen thirtys made them a very close knit family. There is so very much more that I could tell, but I'm going to limit myself to what I've written for the time being. There will be more written later. Suffice it to say, that my Mom came from solid and quality beginnings, and has endured much through the years. I know in the early sixties in a period of about three years she lost to death her Dad, a son and her Mother. It was a very trying time for us all but we became closer and more connected because of it. A last comment....I'm proud of where I came from and the family from which I came. ......and so it went........

The case of the terminal crabs....Or...How bubbles almost met his maker.

A hearty good evening to everyone that has the nerve to read this post. Welcome and welcome. I'm glad to have you and hope you make yourself at home and enjoy. I have in store tonight, something that was not, at the time, funny in the least. Now though, with the perspective that the passage of time permits , it is hilarious. It was in the autumn of 1971 in the Mediterranean sea. We were on the aircraft carrier U.S.S. America. We'd been for some weeks sailing up and down the coast of Israel, Egypt and Lebanon trying to avert another middle east war. (and had some success at that point in time) We'd been relieved temporarily from that task by the U.S.S. Saratoga (another carrier flotilla ). Our next port of call just happened to be Naples, Italy, the cesspool of ports. At that time at least. We'd pulled into port and most of the squadron had gotten liberty to go ashore. Some of us, having been there, had no desire to leave the ship to go into Naples. One of the ones that did go though, was a second class parachute rigger named .......Well.....Lets just give his nickname. It was, you guessed it, Bubbles. Mostly because he was shaped so very much like one. Another reason was because we sometime thought that maybe that's what he had in his head. In other words, not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I've been thankful for years that I didn't have to use the parachutes that he packed. ( :-D ) Across the aisle from his bunk was the bunk used be a good friend and buddy of mine. His name just also happened to be Mike. Bubbles came in from liberty the first night in port and had (we didn't want to know how and where from) gotten the worst case of crabs in the modern annuls of history. Now, for those of you that don't know about the kind of crabs I'm talking about, let me fill you in. These are very small (you can hardly see one by itself) parasites that attach themselves to the root of the hair shaft. Oh yeah,.....They multiply by the hundreds. Make that the thousands. If you got two today, tomorrow you had, literally, thousands. Oh yeah, they only attached to hair that the sun couldn't shine on. ( :-D ) Anyway, Bubbles had gotten himself a royal serving of them. A couple of mornings later, at reveille, Bubbles rolled out of his rack (that's what we called our beds) and removed his blankets and sheets. Instead of rolling them up as did the rest of us, He grabbed his by the end seam and POPPED it into the air. There was, at that point, a whole cloud of the little critters floating through the air in search of a new home. It seemed Bubbles wanted to share the itch and did so with greatest of ease. It was at that point that Mike came rolling out of his rack and looked with disbelief at the scene before him. It was at this point that the action picked up to a fast blur. Mike, realizing that he'd just been given a case of crabs became quite suddenly.....The word livid comes to mind. I have to interject right here, that we all (several hundred sailors) were dumbstruck with admiration and awe at the articulate way that Mike took all of the four letter words that we'd ever heard, combined them into compound words, and then combined the compound words he'd just created into bigger and better compound words. It was like a tapestry of color unfolding right out in front of our ears. It was the topic of admiration and conversation for several weeks in the mess hall (the place we ate) After Mike finished verbally, he got more angry than ever and started toward the now incredulous and frightened Bubbles, but thankfully, some of us were able to restrain him till Bubbles beat a hasty retreat. After the turmoil had died down a bit, the medical officer showed up and sent us all to sick bay where we were treated for the little vermin that Bubbles had so generously shared with the whole compartment. We also had to move for two days so everything in there could be fumigated. By the time we were back in our compartment we were all angry at Bubbles so the Skipper (our Commanding officer) reassigned him to another place until the end of the cruise. On a closing note, I forgot to say thanks to Bubbles so I will here. Thank you Bubbles, for the worst case of crabs known to mankind. ..........and so it went........

And miles to go before I sleep.......

Good Evening to everyone. I am, once again, happy to have you reading this next post in my blog. Putting the posts in this blog has been thus far an interesting thing. Sometime fun and sometime not so fun. Sometime it's brought a smile to my face and sometime a grimace of pain long forgotten and suddenly remembered. The post for today is in two parts. First I'd like to recall my Dad. He succumbed to cancer after a stalwart battle for three years. After two surgeries, three courses of Chemo and altogether about eighteen to twenty four months of radiation He finally found relief from the pain that had been his constant companion for so long. As much as I wanted to keep him I found myself feeling a bit guilty for being glad he'd passed away. I was just so very tired of seeing him suffer so terribly and for so long. He was in life a role model for so many people, including myself. He had by my sixteenth birthday taught me much about building. I never do anything to this day that doesn't make me remember something he taught me. He was a big man, standing six feet and four inches tall and weighing between two hundred seventy five and three hundred pounds. Not until his later years did he begin to pick up weight that wasn't muscle. He was indeed a gentle giant, having a soft heart that led him to, behind the scenes, helping probably hundreds of people. Most people never knew this of him because he didn't want it openly known. He just wanted to help and gained his reward from the act of giving. He was, I suppose, one of the most unforgettable people in the life of this writer. He may be also where I gained my stunning good looks. ( :-D ) (Please allow me this small bit of humor) The second part of this post is about learning work on a farm. At the age of about ten years old I started helping with the work on our family farm. We generally had about 40 acres of cotton and 30 acres of corn. After the death of Dennis and Jerry getting his greetings (draft notice) from Uncle Sam I was suddenly at the age of fourteen the main farm worker. All of this with a red and a brown mule. (with which you're already well acquainted) On top of that I had on average twelve thousand chickens, forty head of cattle, several hogs and usually some horses. My Dad held a construction job but helped all he could, which was anytime he was not working away from home. I don't remember what we did in our spare time ( :-D ) By the age of fourteen I was carrying two fifty pounds sacks of fertilizer, one on each shoulder through a freshly plowed field. Not an easy feat for any age. By fifteen years of age I was tossing fifty to seventy five pound bales of hay onto a stack fifteen feet high. Yes, we worked long and hard, but we also took some time to play and we played as hard as we worked. In the winter there wasn't so much to do so we used our time in other ways. Sometimes we used the winter time to clear ground for planting, and sometime we hunted and supplimented our diet with wild game.
I suppose some of you have heard the 'old saying' "making hay while the sun shines". We lived that many times. When a neighbor would have freshly mowed hay in the field and we saw it was going to rain neighbors from miles around would show up and we'd work into the night getting his hay into his barn. If it got wet it was ruined and that neighbor had no hay for his livestock that winter. So, when we saw a friend/neighbor in need we'd all do whatever it took to pitch in and help. We did work hard but I remember it as a really good time. A time when neighbors knew each other for miles around and looked out for each other. A time, it seems, long, long vanished...... ..............and so it went.......

Opportunity seized.....

Good Evening....just a short post here. Kim, Crissy and I went to lunch today, actually they bought me lunch, and we all had a grand time. As we were in the parking lot of the restaurant
preparing to leave an opportunity presented itself. As we stood talking a small blue car drove up and a young lady with two small children came to where we were. Without going into any detail I'll just say that we were fortunate enough to be able to make a difference in this young ladies life and she left with a whole new countenance. All this just to say to the young lady, thank you for the privledge of helping in a small way and I pray that your dreams are fulfilled. :-)

A night without stars......

Good Evening all. I'm happy to have you all reading this, the next post in the life of an average guy that's happy to be here. Welcome!
I've pondered what this post should be about. There is so much to write about that I have trouble deciding. As a teenager we had, as is fairly common, a rivalry with a school from another town not far away. It was a rather friendly rivalry as they go. We played football, basketball, etc against these guys so we knew them rather well. One day we got word that some guys from that particular town was going to raid the watermelon patch of an older man it the neighborhood. The old man was known as a gruff person, but to those of us that knew him well he was a kind and generous man and neighbor. I don't remember exactly who it was but someone tipped him off about the raid. (I swear it wasn't me ) (:-D ) The night as it turned out, was overcast and very dark, a perfect night for the raid. We, some of my buddies and I, anticipating the coming action sneaked into an adjoining pasture to witness the action if there was some. (we were very civic minded) Sure enough, along about midnight or maybe a little sooner, we saw a car pull to a stop on the side of the highway not far away. Now, I have to say here, that we knew the old man was out there somewhere but we didn't know just where. So, we waited and sure enough, they emerged from the little strip of woods that bordered the highway. As they came into the middle of the patch looking for the best melons, and not paying attention, the old man rose from his seat, raised his twelve gauge double barrel shotgun and fired two shots into the air. The sounds of the shots froze everyone, including those of us that were hidden. When the raiders collected their wits, they all turned and sprinted for the strip of woods and ultimately to their car. Did I mention that there was four of the raiders? As they sprinted at breakneck speed out of the field, they vaulted the....Wait....Did I forget about mentioning the barbed wire fence at the edge of the woods. Well, three of them vaulted the fence. The fourth, in his haste, had apparently forgotten about the fence and ran full speed and headlong into one of the more sturdy of the fence posts. The impact not only knocked him out cold, but made those of us that were witnesses a short distance away cringe. We saw the old man walk to where he was and try to lift him. Oh yeah, the other three raiders were long gone. When we saw the old man trying to lift the limp raider we went over and volunteered our services. (it seems that we were all just walking by down the road when all of this transpired) (:-D ) Ok, Ok.....this has a good ending. We carried the victim, or was he a perpetrator, to the old mans house not far away where the old man and his wife made him comfortable until he awakened. They then cleaned up the brave raider and called his parents. We didn't see the point at this juncture of witnessing anything further so we excused ourselves and eased out, but we did stay close till his parents arrived and helped him into the car. None of the witnesses involved ever saw a reason to tell about our parts in the events of the night, so we just never talked about it, except of course, with each other. Sorry guys, but the statute of limitations have long since expired, thus the narrative of this post. To the raiders go my humblest apologizes and my best wishes for more and better success in any other endeavors in their lives. Sweet memories of youth....at least for the witnesses! ......and so it went.......

Wonderful fun in the days of innocence.........

Good evening everyone. I'm happy to say that I've made it through another Monday. A real plus is, I have the same number of body parts that I did last Monday. A small accomplishment to some but something that looms large considering my track record. ( :-D ) I have what I consider a real treat with this post. At least I'll enjoy writing it. It's about a lad of about 6 years old (give or take a bit). This lad is blonde with big brown eyes and has a thin frame. He's maybe three feet ten inches to four feet tall and weighs( if soaking wet) maybe seventy pounds or so. This young lad lives in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and has most of his life. Once a year his family takes a 'vacation' to see family in and around Jasper, Alabama. This is the highlight of his year. It's where he gets most all of his "show and tell" material for school. His favorite place in the whole world is out in the country at his paternal grandparents home. At this magical place there is no limit of things to see and do. Not far down a dirt road there is what's left of an old sawmill. The equipment is gone but left behind are three HUGE piles of sawdust. These must have been sixty feet high. There were days that this young lad, along with several cousins about his age or a bit older maybe, spent the entire day playing. At the end of the day, or more precisely, at dinner time when called in by adults we'd troop back to the house. There would be a line of us with sawdust on and in every crack, crevice or orfice in our little bodies. My grandparents didn't have running water at that time, so before allowed in the house for dinner we had to clean up. The ususal procedure was for all of us to strip down to our birthday suits, or more literally said, naked and have an adult draw water from the well and pour on us slowly till we were reasonably clean, or at least somewhat free of sawdust. He still remembers well how frigid the water from the well was. At that point they all put on bed clothes and weren't allowed out, except for going in the large yard to catch lightening bugs. The next day He was up early and pondering what to do on that day. If it was winter he'd lie in bed covered by so many quilts he could barely move under the weight of them. After counting to three numerous times to get started he'd finally crawl out from under the quilts, grab his clothes that were laid out for him, and run for the kitchen. Upon arrival there he'd run behind the wood stove that his grandmother was cooking breakfast on and get dressed. Oh yeah, one of the wonderful things that would happen, his grandfather would say"Hi Mikey". Oh, the wonderful smell of bacon early in morning of a day that was fully looked forward to. One went to bed wishing that morning would come quickly so the days adventures could commence. The days adventures would include waiting for the steam train that hauled coal from the mine to the steel mills in fairfield. The train would head toward the mine about mid-morning to load up and would come back loaded with coal about mid-afternoon. On it's way back it would most always stop at the huge water tank beside their house to take on water. As the fireman and engineer would water the boiler we'd stand as close as the adults would allow us and wait for the steam to vent. We knew it was going to happen but it never failed to scare us. We were transfixed by the whole experience. After the train finished taking on water and departed we'd "sneak" off down the tracks in the direction of the "big" trussle that spanned the creek that ran behind their house. Sometime we'd be able to get out of sight of the adults before we were called back. Upon accomplishing that, we'd turn and run for the trussle because we knew the train would not come back till the next day. When arriving at the trussle we'd begin working at getting courage enough to acutally walk out onto it. Between every crosstie one could see the water below. It wasn't actually a very high trussle but to a young lad it seemed like a long way down. Most of us before we grew up finally did begin to walk across and back. Well, I've run out of time and space on this particular post, so I'll keep the rest to tell another day. Besides, you wouldn't want everything at once, would you? So, leaving more for another day I'll say goodnight for now, but don't worry, there is more to come. .......and so it went.......

Hearing the tolling of the Bell......

Good afternoon to everyone.....I'm happy and flattered to have all of you reading this post. Now, usually I try to have something humorous on about every other post, but this time I'm going to make an exception (if you'll permit it this once). Thank you....I knew it would be ok with all of you.
I've had on my mind the last couple of days some people I knew once. Some I knew well and others more in passing, but I knew them all. These are the abbreviated stories of some of the unsung hero's of a time long past. These were guys that the bell tolled for too early. Guys whose names are on a list that includes some of the greatest names in American history. My first acknowledgment is for a cousin. His name was Larry. He was very tall, I'm guessing about 6 feet and 7 inches or so...maybe a bit more. He was drafted in his nineteenth year of life. To look at Larry one would think that he was an ordinary guy, but he had attributes that in my mind set him apart. To make a long story shorter, Larry went to Vietnam after he finished with basic training, and was assigned to a recon outfit. On his last recon he stepped on a mine and was killed.
The next guy was a Lt. Commander Threlkeld that was a pilot on an A-7 corsair in operation rolling thunder over North Vietnam. He'd dropped his bomb load and was returning to the carrier when he was shot down over the gulf of Tonkin. An A-1 reconnaissance plane circled over head keeping an eye on him through their camera lens while the chopper we called the 'angel' headed out to pick him up. While all of this was happening he was picked up by a Vietnamese fishing junk. That would ordinarily be a good thing, but one never knew who was manning those boats. If it was really fisherman it was good. It just so happened that this particular boat was manned by Viet cong. When the angel came into view of them they stood him up and shot him, then threw his body over the side of the boat into the gulf. The 'fishing boat' then headed away and the angel went in and picked up the body. At that point the Phantom alert fives were launched and destroyed the junk with everyone on board. All of this was captured on film by the A-1 that was circling over head.
So....there is little I can say that will speak more than does the lives of these heros. Even though they have all been dead for many years their memories live on in my heart and in the hearts of thousands more that lost their innocence in many places and in many ways. People that saw too much and live day to day with memories they would rather not have. More heros in later posts. .........and so it went.......

Something good this way came.....

A very good evening to everyone that is waiting in such suspense for this post. I apologize for keeping you on edge for so long. :-)
On this particular post I'm going to tell about something that I remember as very good and exciting. Something that changed my life in a wonderful way, but that turned out to be not quite so good. This particular event is quite important in many ways. Two of those ways are named Kim and Crissy. The event I'm speaking of with such eloquence is the point in time that their Mother and I met. It was on a sunday afternoon in November, about the middle of the month, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and sixty eight. I was at home on a leave from my duties as a sailor in Uncle Sams Navy, and was quite bored and looking for something to do. I called on the phone someone that I was very good friends with and had been for several years. Her name was, and still is of course, Sharman. This young lady turned out later to be my sister-in-law. (she married my oldest brother) As Sharman and I talked I found out that she had company in the form of a girlfriend that she went to church with. Sharman, being the sweet girl that she was, started making plans to get the two of us together. We made plans for all of us to meet at my Grandfather's house, which by coincidence happened to be right across the street from the church they went to. So....meet we did. Now, at this point let me interject an important item that needs to be covered. I was wearing, it being November and rather cold, my dress blues that were all new and shiny. I'm told that I made a rather dashing figure. (Not my words.) :-D It was at that fateful time that I met the young lady. Her name was Yvonne and she was without doubt the prettiest girl I'd ever seen to that point in time. She was very kind, gentle and pleasing to be around. When the time came for them to go across the street to church Yvonne ask me if I'd attend with them, and being the kind of guy I was/am I immediately consented. Oh yeah...I'm leaving out part. My sister, Karen, was with me. She'd just turned 16 and wanted to go to another church, which just happened to be where her boyfriend attended. So, I solved the problem by simply tossing her the keys to the car, and telling her to come back after church to pick me up. (and by the way, she did) I attended church with Sharman and the young lady that was to become my wife. After church she and I sat in the parking lot and talked for a while, until her Dad came by and told her it was time to go home. At that point I got her phone number, which I used the very next day. A couple of days later we went on our first date and had a wonderful time. By the second date it was like we'd been friends for a long time. All of this was the middle of November and we married the next April. (after breaking up and getting back together one time, but that's a story for another day) The next ten years will always be in my memories as a wonderful time. A time that brought a lot of Joy to our lives as well as two young ones we named Kimberly Susan and Crissy Denina. Those two, by the way, still bring tremendous joy to me and have graciously given me 6 more bundles of joy. What can I say here about Christopher and Scott. They are like the sons I didn't have instead of sons-in-law. Now that she's passed away Kim and Crissy miss their Mom and I miss the girl I married. .........and so it went.........

Barrels and barrels of "fun"?

Good evening to the millions of anticapating and faithful readers out there. I'm doing this, the next post, as a gesture of sympathy to ya'll. I don't want ya'll glued to your computers any longer than is necessary, so here it is.
As I sat tonight, in deep thought, I recalled an incident from years gone by that is amusing. At least it is now. At the time it wasn't funny at all. Well......maybe just a little bit. A bit of a disclaimer at this juncture. The only involvement I had in this is the foreknowledge of it's transpiration. Actually it was a two part event. I'll start with the car wreck. At the high school we attended, after all had departed every afternoon, a thick cable was stretched across the road and locked. In the middle of the cable was a very large sign that was painted red with the word "STOP" painted on it in reflective white paint. A friend of mine, on impulse, decided to play some pranks. So he removed the sign from the cable. A classmate, not necessarily a friend, after dark saw the the sign wasn't in place and decided to drive into the parking lot and do tailspins on the gravel parking lot. (which was the reason for the cable and sign). Thinking, perhaps because he didn't see the sign, that the cable wasn't in place He headed at a rather high rate of speed into the parking lot. He hit the cable at about 60 miles per hour, at which point his car stopped in approximately 2 feet. He didn't. (stop that is) HE continued at about the same speed, at least until he hit the dash. At that point he did, indeed, stop. I was at home when the afore events transpired. Mike (my friend) having heard the resulting sound ran back the scene and immediately went to a phone and called me. The purpose of his call was two fold. First, he wanted me to come see the results of his caper. Second, but most importantly, he wanted me to supply him with an alibi (which I did after some negotiatations). Phase two of the operation was, the same night, he hoisted a fifty five gallon barrel up the vacant flagpole. After the excitement created by the car incident, he quite naturally forgot about the barrel until the next morning. That next eventful morning we heard a commotion consisting of a loud bang, the running of feet then loud yelling. It seemed that our principle, having arrived at his usual time and parking in his usual spot (under the flagpole) had failed to notice the impending barrel hovering over his car. Right on que, a couple of seventh grade boys went to perform the ritual of hoisting Old Glory up the flag pole for the day. Having arrived at the base of the flagpole and discovering the barrel high on said flagpole, they began a discussion on the best way to remove said barrel. Loosing the rope they began to lower the barrel, but as the rope slipped through their hands and began to burn they did what any young boy would do. They let go. The barrel fell bout 30 or so feet and, yes, hit the hood of the principle's car. Needless to say the barrel knocked a hole in the hood. The seventh graders, after collecting their wits (or at least what was left of them) began the slow and painful task of finding Mr. Hudson (the principle) and relating to him what had transpired. Already in a foul mood because of the car incident, he almost exploded. There was even talk, at least for a little while, of a reward being posted for the apprehension of the culprut, but it was never acutally posted. Besides, Mike and I were the only ones that knew and I knew if I told anyone I'd be assumed guilty also. So, I took the most logical course and kept my mouth shut, at least until now. .........and so it went..........

Ahhh...Sweet Home...How I long for thee....

Hello to all you folks out there waiting for this, the next post in the continuing series of the life of which I know so much. I just made the comment to the person that suggested this post that "My life has been so very blest". I could begin now listing the ways I've been blest and it would take all night (..It's 9:30pm). So, I'll begin things by saying that one of the ways I've been blest in this life is by having grown up in the home that I did. We didn't have a perfect life and it was with hard work that we lived, but I grew up knowing that I was loved and learned how to love. I suppose that as one goes through life encountering the very difficult trauma that life dishes out to us that we tend to lose sight of what we learned on the way. I've been giving thought to the homes I've had over the years and I've also given thought to each specific place that I've called home. The first time I recall 'returning home' was in December 1968. I'd been in San Diego, which was my first ever station while in the Navy. It was the first time I'd been away from home as an adult and for that extended amount of time. It's amazing how long 5 little months can be, huh? I can still recall with amazing detail each part of the trip. Boarding the plane in San Diego, changing planes in L.A., a 6 hour lay over in Dallas, from there to Atlanta ( I know, we flew over Birmingham to Atlanta) then back to Birmingham. It was about 9 or 10 pm when I arrived there. I called "home" to see if they (my family) could come to pick me up. I'd expected my Dad but when they arrived it was the whole family. Ahh....What a sweet homecoming. I had 2 whole weeks there and I savored the time greatly. San Diego wasn't a home I relished because it was filled with 16 hour days of drill, classes, drill, marching, shipboard drills, inspections that were quite literally impossible to pass and more drills. Oh yeah...We took just a small amount of time to eat and sleep. My next 'home' was in Memphis, TN. Where I stayed for 6 or 7 months in electronics school to learn as much as possible about the electronic equipment in all of the aircraft that the Navy operated. It was there that I met and married my first wife. Thus far I've covered three "homes". By this time I was becoming acclimated to changing homes very frequently. Next I was in Brunswick, Ga. where my oldest daughter was born. I was there for a short while, then sent to an Attack squadron for duty, which is where I stayed the rest of my time in the Navy. While in that squadron I called three places home. One was at Cecil Field in Jacksonville, Florida. The second was the USS Coral Sea that we caught out of San Fransico and the third was the USS America out of Norfolk, Va. While on the Coral Sea we went to the western pacific theatre where we spent time at yankee station along with the USS Midway and the USS Roosevelt. I never thought that I'd like calling the Coral Sea 'home' but the time came that I did. A few times I was sent TAD (temperarily assigned duty) to Danang Air force base. After that the Coral Sea was a good place to call home. I was happy to get back everytime. When we got back to Cecil Field and stayed a little while our orders came for a Mediterranean cruise on the USS America. What a welcome relief. Even though that deployment lasted a lot longer it was considerably easier. It was on that cruise that I missed so much of my daughter growing up. She turned from a baby into a toddler. Having had so many homes over the years I've realized just how wonderful home can and should be. It should be a place of safety, a place to be nurtured, a place where one can truly relax and a place where one can trust. Home for us all, will be what we and those there with us make it. We can choose to nurture each other and it will be a nurturing place. We can choose to protect each other and it will be a place of safety. We can choose to be trustworthy and it will be a place where we and those with us can trust and relax. We can make it a peaceful place by choosing to be peaceful. We can make it an angry place by being angry. In other words, it's going to be exactly what we and those in the home with us choose for it to be. I've had occasion over the years to live in a home that was very loving, and I've also had occasion to live in very contentious homes. "Home". What pictures it brings to mind when we hear the word. What memories spring to mind when we read the word. How often is the word used so casually. All of this begs an answer to questions that we alone can answer. Is God pleased with my contributations to my home? Is my home a place of quality? What am I contributing to my home? These questions need to be answered with some frequency in order for us to hold ourselves accountable in this area. Home...Ahhh...does the very sound of it make your heart glad or fill you with a sence of foreboding. Does the word bring to your face a smile or a frown. The answer, you will find, lies within your own heart and mind. ....And so it goes........

Dog day story number two......

Good Evening again. This is Mike coming to you live from his computer in his den. I've found a soft spot in my heart and decided not to hold you all in suspence about this next post. All this just goes to prove that I do indeed have a soft spot in my heart and that I'm not completely hard hearted. :-D I've decided to regale you all with another story about the young boy that was fortunate enough to spend some time at my house in a long ago summer. At the time of this story he'd recovered enough to start being ready to try new and different things. He'd mentioned at some point that he'd always heard about corn cob fights and wanted to try that. Dennis and I, being the kind and thoughtful young men that we were wanted desperately to fulfill his every dream and desire. So...we began to set the stage for a corn cob fight. The first of the preperations meant gathering up two five gallon buckets full of corn cobs. Then we took one bucket full of cobs and filled the bucket with water. We at that point had nothing to do till we'd allowed the cobs to soak for two or three days. At that point we poured out the water and the cobs and made sure the cobs were good and dirty. Then we set up two barricades and told him which he was assigned to. We even let him pick out the cobs he wanted to use. He, as we'd thought he would, chose the clean cobs. It just so happened that those were the dry ones too. Hey, it was his choice. Now let me explain to those of you not familar with corn cobs that cobs, as with most other things, when wet get heavy and limber. While that's the way wet cobs are, dry ones are very light and sort of float when thrown. With everything in place we took our places to begin the epic battle. Needless to say Dennis and I began to dominate the events of the battle. When we'd step out to throw a cob the young boy would hit us with one of his dry cobs. At the same time one of us would throw a wet one and listen for the sound of a wet and heavy cob hitting flesh. The sound went something like this "THOP" followed by a yelp from the general direction of the other barricade. Soon he began complain about the cobs hurting when he was hit. But, being determined to be brave about things he kept on throwing. After this went on for a while he decided he didn't like corn cob fights and wanted to do something else, to which we agreed. After all, we'd had as much fun with that as was there to be had. I remember that the welps from the hits that he took stayed in place for several days. One would think that after the experiences he'd had he would be leary about doing anything else we suggested, but he, after some recovery time, was ready to try something else. Our next plan was.....well....you'll have to come back in a few days to find out the next set of events. Ahhh...the joys of youth in the dog days of summer. .....and so it went.....

Confusing questions with perplexing answers......

Good Evening to all those wonderful people out there holding their breath in anticipation
of this post. I've been since the last post meditating on how to best broach this subject. I acknowledge up front that I don't have "the" answers, but at least I do have the right questions. :-) The subject for tonight is "Forgiveness". Yep, you read that right. Questions like (1) how do we do it, (2) why do it at all, (3) What is it anyway, (4) What good does it do, (5) What does it mean to me if I do or don't do it. I know there are those out there much better qualified to answer these questions, but let's face it, this isn't their blog, it's mine, right ? :-D I'd like to point out some things that I've learned over the years. First, let me say that the main reason to forgive is because we in the Judao/Christian world are told to by the Bible we read (or at least hear about). But, for purposes of discussion, I'm going to talk about the benefits to us personally, emotionally and mentally. First of all forgiveness is mostly for our own benefit. Of course it's for the other person too, but the most benefit comes to the person doing the forgiving. It keeps us from being angry, bitter, fearful, hateful people. The opposite is true of those that chose not to forgive. It tends to make us angry, bitter, hateful and fearful in our outlook on life. To me that's a good enough reason to forgive. Second, Forgiveness is a choice. Yep, we make a choice to forgive or not to. It's rarely if ever easy. It's rarely if ever a one time thing. Sometime we have to continue the choice for a long time. As long as we are unforgiving we're giving control of our feelings to the person that we feel has wronged us. Let me interject quickly that forgiving someone does not mean that we are going to start trusting them again in the near future. Trust is earned. That too is a choice, but a separate one. I can forgive a snake for being a snake but that doesn't mean that I'm gonna start trusting it enough to pick it up. This is the one of the toughest things that we ever do, but it's one of the most necessary things. Let me say that I've heard most of the arguments about why one can't forgive. I've heard them because I've heard me say them. One last point. The person that is most always the very hardest to forgive is "ourselves". Before we can move past things we do have to work on forgiving ourselves. Not easy, huh? Ok, Ok, enough you cry!! Give us a break you groan!! Alright...Enough wailing and moaning. I'll move on to other things. I just hope this helps someone somewhere. ........And so it goes.........

Young life in the dog days of summer......

Good Evening to the millions of readers out there. (it's my dream) :-D Before I start, a quick shout out to Kate. I have in store for everyone a humorous story that happened one summer during dog days. I was then about 11 or 12 give or take a year or two. We had visiting with us for about a week a kid about my own age. I can't recall his name so I'll just call him the young boy. My brother, Dennis (the one that passed away in 1963), and I looked forward greatly to showing him the ropes of a farm. We intended to teach him as much as we possibly could in a week about how to run a farm. It being in the dog days of summer it was scorching hot. Even the dogs would do nothing but lay in the shade and pant, but not us. The first thing I recall teaching the young boy was about our electric fence. Having a DC output, it wasn't dangerous, but was quite painful when one came in contact with it. We had, that summer leased extra grazing land from some neighbors so we could keep our cattle fed during the summer and until the fall cattle sale. We then put an electric fence around it because it was so much more simple and easy. Our job that summer day was to walk the entire length of the fence and make sure that nothing was touching it that could cause a grounding effect, ie. weeds, branches, etc. Having gotten about half way around we stopped and had a drink from the nearby spring. The water was so good and so clear and so cold. As we sat and rested a bit before continuing our inspection Dennis thought it would be a good idea for all of us to ......how do I put this delicately.....urinate before continuing on. As things proceeded, Dennis, at that point in time, told the young boy that it would be a good idea to do his business on the electric fence, which amazingly enough to me, He began to do without question. Dennis or I either thought he'd be silly enough to do it. But do it He did. Let me say here, that no matter how long I live, and I intend to do that till 2050, I'll never, ever forget the look on his face. His eyes quite suddenly began to light up as his jaw went slack and he began to twitch. Dennis and I sat in amazement that he'd actually done it. We then began to laugh......and laugh.....and laugh.....and laugh....and so on. When he finally began to regain his composure (which took a while) he began to get more and more angry. The more we laughed the more angry he became and the more angry he became the more we laughed. One would think that after that incident he'd never trust us again, but quite amazingly he did, but that's a story for another day about the dog days of summer in or around 1960-1961. If the young boy is reading this I suppose I should apologize, and I do, but I still think it's one of the funniest things I can remember. .......and so it went.......

Departures (2nd in the series...)

It's 9:45 pm and I'm sitting here wondering what I've already posted so I won't repeat myself too much. I think maybe I'll go in chronological order. I think I'll go back in time to a day that almost ripped my heart from my body. My then wife, Yvonne, and our oldest daughter, Kim, and I had set out from home headed to the operations tower at NAS Cecil Field in Jacksonville, Fl. for me to catch a plane to go to the USS Coral Sea. Everyone had boarded the plane but me and I was stretching things out as long as I could. I knew where our orders had us going, but little did I know where I would end up! Remembering that moment in time still makes my heart hurt. I tried and tried to turn and walk away to board the plane, but didn't have a lot of sucess. You see...I knew when I turned and left that I wouldn't see them for a year. That my daughter, Kim, would learn to walk and talk while I was gone. That I would miss at least one birthday. My wife and I just stood as long as we could and held each other. I even considered for a brief moment leaving and going AWOL. (not a good idea, huh?) There were times before I got home that I didn't know if I ever would. Oh well, another time that still brings a bit of pain when I remember it. I'm glad I did finally get on that plane. Now I have not just Kim, but Crissy as well and they are a blessing to me in the truest sence of the word. When I did finally get back home Kim had indeed learned to walk and was indeed speaking in full sentences.
Ok...enough of that. Now for another tip about making it in life to at least 56 years old...... there are three things in life that we should always make a conscious effort to keep in place, To Live, to love and to learn. To have a good life is to bless ourselves and others while building really good memories. To love (ourselves and others) is what makes our lives worth living. Without Love in our lives we can't truly live. To Learn is to always have an interest in God, ourselves and those in our lives. The day we stop learning should be the day we stop living.
Ok....back to work ya'll.....but thank you for taking the time to read this post. It makes me feel special to think that ya'll would take time out of your busy lives and schedules to read what I write and to comment on it. .....and so it went......

Learning Grandparenting skills......

wow...Feb first in the year of our Lord Two thousand and six. I'm sort of surprised to find myself alive after all this time. I've had so many near death experiences I've lost count of them. :-) So when I say to people that I'm proud to be here I truly mean it for real. I've debated for a couple of days what I should post about tonight. I'm not at home right now. My youngest daughter, Crissy, is having some oral surgery in the morning (Thursday) so I volunteered to spend the night at her house and take care of Ty (8 years old) and Gracie (5 years old). Gracie told me tonight that I have ugly toe nails, which is very true. She ask why so I told her that when I was young we were sort of poor and I wore shoes that were too little for me some. She was silent on that but I'm sure she'll bring it up again soon.
Ok...enough of that. Now about the title of this post. I remember well both sets of Grandparents. The are who I learned Grandparenting skills from. My paternal Grandfather, Griffin, was born during the reconstruction years. To be exact in 1882. My Grandmother, his wife Lexie, was born in 1890. They were married for 65 years and produced 15 children of which my father was somewhere in the middle. My maternal Grandfather, John, was born in the same year, 1882. He was a circuit preacher for many years in this area and was very well known. My Grandmother, Mary, was the youngest of them. She wasn't born till 1892. John and Mary were married for almost 60 years before death seperated them. They produced 11 children. So, having 24 uncles and aunts with families I have or had 79 first cousins. Some of them have passed away. I well remember as a child walking with one Grandfather or the other and them holding my hand. They both showed me a lot of things about life, like the value of loving your family and friends. The value of being generous and treating people with dignity and respect. The value of loving your God and your country. That's part of the reason that I so willingly served the United States by serving in the Navy. I learned from my Grandparents to look for the beauty in everyone because it was there to be discovered. Maybe not a lot of beauty in some but some just the same, and now matter how much or little it was there to be found if one looked. I particularly remember one night my paternal Grandfather and I were taking a walk. As we walked and He held my hard He would tell me stories from His childhood, and fasinating stories they were too. On this particular night as we walk around a curve we saw what I thought was a log burning. He told me that no, it wasn't on fire, but that it was foxfire. He broke off a piece of it to take home, but in a day or two it was only a dried stick. I wish I still had that dried stick. I suppose all of these experiences are the reason that I'm the way I am about my Grandchildren. To me they are all an absolute delight and I can't get enough of them.
It's bedtime so off I go......and so it went........

Delightful story # 2

Wow....it's Monday the 30th. I've been thinking about and remembering things from my past that I recall with fondness. One such thing that I recall is about a little pig. I don't think it was ever given a name, just called little pig. The extraordainary thing about this little pig was that it never grew in size. It lived about 3 years and died the same size that it was when it was born. It never got over 5 or 6 inches high. However, it's hair did grow. It had hair the length of a normal size hog. The hair on it's sides dragged the ground when it walked. It was, in the truest sence, the runt of the litter. I recall that it followed me everywhere that I would/could allow it to go. Oh yeah.....it slept in a gallon size tomato can. Anyway...just a bit of something I remember that still brings a smile to my face when I recall it. And so it went..........

Looking for the right balance...

Good evening to all. I'm sitting here contemplating what would be the right balance in a healthy blog. I could, as could most of us, dwell on things too negative and that wouldn't be good. On the other hand I could, again as could most of us, dwell exclusively on the positive things which would be warped as far a reality goes. So.....I sit wondering how to hit that balance just right, and also wondering if I'd know if I did get it right. :-) The conclusion I've come to is, that I'll depend on that wonderful group that actually read my blog to let me know if I goes too far one way or the other. There are in my life, as in any life, good and bad, ups and downs. My life has been so very full and so very blest. I've been so many places and seen so many things and known so many people and done so many things that I'm not sure I can blog them all. From time to time I'll share a bit of wisdom that I've picked up on the trip to here. One such bit is this. Trying to have the perfect life and worrying about the absence of said perfection is like staring at the sun. It only hurts your eyes and makes you blind to the real and wonderful world surrounding us.
To answer a question posed to me and in continuation of the previous post. On August 18, 1968, when I departed for the bus station to go to San Diego, my Mom and my two youngest siblings (Karen and Randy) all drove me to the bus station. I remember the trip being relatively quiet. We arrived at the bus station well ahead of time so we just sat and waited. As the bus finally pulled into the bus station a knot formed in my stomach. That knot stayed right in place for a couple of weeks as I tried to cope with a foreign environment. As the bus left the station I recall my Mom and Sister and Brother waving till the bus went out of sight. I wondered if any of the other passengers knew the sadness and homesick feeling I felt through every part of my body. It's been many years since then but I still remember well the events of that August day. Looking back I'm very glad that I didn't know then the things I'd witness and be a part of in the coming years.
Question answered so on to other things. Hopefully some of those things will make you smile a bit. And so it went...........

Departures (the series)......

Hello, Hello.....testing one two three four five....is anyone there? Just checking. I've already said more about the mules than they're worth. (at least to me) So, I'm on to other things, and since this is "my" blog I think I'll talk about me. Especially since I know me better than anyone else, right?

I've sort of been making a mental list of the times in my life that I've left from somewhere that I really wanted to stay. One of the sadest times I can remember is the day (August 18, 1968) that I left the home I'd known for 19 years to go to San Diego to begin my years in the Navy. I remember saying goodbye to my Dad before I left home headed to the bus station. The memory of that time is still very painful for me to recall. His 2nd oldest son had died a few years before, His oldest son had gone into the Army a couple of years before and now his middle son was leaving. At a very unstable time in the life of our country I might add. The memory of him choking back tears still sear my memories of that occasion. The last words I recall him saying before I left was "Son, you'll never live at home again". As it turned out, he was right. The words that he spoke and the look on his face stayed with me for a very long time. As a matter of fact, it still does. He passed away in 1988 after losing his 3 year fight with cancer. When he died it left a hole in my life that remains there to this day. Enough for now. I need a break from writing this post.

Ok, ok. Everyone stop sobbing and get busy at whatever you need to be busy at. :-D And so it went.........

Two questions for everyone......

Question one.....Has anyone read the book of Ecclesiastes very much...a wonderful book.
Question two.....How does one live with a loss brought on by a bad choice?
That's it...something to do and something to ponder.
Later

Perspective.....

Well....Here I am once again. It's Saturday night and I'm home alone and enjoying it very much. Plus, it's cheaper this way. I've had requests for a bit more about those two evil entities that were a plague to my teenage years. I speak of the red mule and brown mule with which I spent so much time. I hesitate about saying much more lest too much credit be given them for my having turned out so magnificently. :-) I do have memories of occasions that were extraordinary. One such memory that sticks out from others is the time that, having been up since about 4:30 am and having just finished 2 hours of chores and a hearty breakfast, I went to harness one of the mules. After having tried to run them into the barn and thus in the stalls, and having been almost killed for my efforts, I enlisted the aid of my youngest brother Randy. Once again we had no success in getting the mules into the barn. At that time I sent Randy to the house to fetch my 20 gauge shotgun and one shell. Having obtained said gun we went once again to round up the mules (which were snickering at us I might add). Having laid out my plan to Randy and instructed him on the proper course of action for himself, I made ready to do my worst. At this point I must add that my temper had given way to rage and I was gleefully looking forward to my planned action. As the mules came running toward us, which I knew that would do, I took careful aim at the first mule that ran by, which happened to be the black mule. Yep, I unloaded the number 9 bird shot into him. Now please don't think badly of me yet. I must explain that I was a good distance from him and did him no permanent damage. Having unloaded the gun, Randy and I walked to the back of the pasture to try once again to run them into the barn. As we approached them I pointed the now empty shotgun at them and they began running. We walked leisurely to the barn. Upon arriving at the barn we found the mules not only in the barn but in their respective stalls waiting to be harnessed. I didn't confess the dastardly deed to my Dad for several years. I might add, those mules were very, very well behaved for several weeks.
The next post is forthcoming so ya'll try to relax till then. And so it went..........