For the first time ever, we won't have anyone coming home for Christmas. I suppose it was inevitable as the boys are now grown, with kids of their own, and obligations pulling them in other directions to celebrate the Christmas Holiday.
We're still Christmas shopping and will make a long drive to Wisconsin where we will exchange gifts, marvel at the excitement of grand kids tearing into their packages, and spend some time with our son's family who lives in Kenosha. It seems strange to not be decorating and preparing for the madhouse that usually takes place here at the ranch, but such is life.
So, with no one coming to visit, the real question is whether or not we put up a Christmas tree for just the two of us. It's not like it's much of a chore. After all, it's one of those artificial types that basically requires me to pull it out of the attic and plug the lights into an electric socket. Voila, instant Christmas cheer! But, for whatever the reason, we're not feeling the urge to get it done this year.
When we were younger, and our kids couldn't wait for Christmas to arrive, it was different. First, we always had real trees. Whether we went to cut one ourselves, or simply bought one of the pre-cut trees from one of those "Xmas Tree" places, they were always fresh and filled the living room with the scent of evergreen. Sure, they were messy, but it simply added to the spirit of Christmas.
We also had a tradition that's long since ended. My youngest son's birthday is December 14th, so we would always celebrate his Birthday before we decorated the Christmas tree. It was our way of separating the two events, and making sure his Birthday was a special occasion. Now that he is out on his own that tradition is no longer something we do.
Last week Fed-Ex delivered a small box. Inside was the cutest little live pine tree, complete with a set of lights and a few ornaments. It's meant to serve as a miniature Christmas tree, then to be planted outside where it will grow into a permanent part of the landscape. Dear friends of ours sent it to us, and I think it's an omen.
So, on December 14th, we're going to decorate our little "Live Christmas Tree" and celebrate like we used to do. It may just be the two of us, but it will bring back the memories of many Christmases gone by. Maybe it will even give birth to a new tradition. I certainly hope so, but what do I know.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
But sir, we're making history.....
Hot and sultry best described that summer in Kansas, and as we approached the July 4th Holiday it just got worse. Most of us were fifteen years old, had our "restricted" drivers licenses, and were full of mischief.....
It wasn't that we were actually looking for ways to get into trouble, it's just that it was so darn tempting at times.
That year several of the football players had enrolled in summer school under the pretense that we would have to carry a lighter load the following semester. The real reason, of course, was that our "restricted" licenses provided freedom to drive to and from school.....with an occasional side trip thrown in for good measure.Okay, lets be honest, the side trips far exceeded the letter of the law, but what the heck!
Our class, World History, was taught by the nicest man you could imagine. He had retired from teaching several years earlier, and looking back, I'm sure this was a way to supplement his retirement income. Regardless, we all liked him, and probably took full advantage of his good nature.
We were situated in a room on the ground floor of a non air-conditioned building, and most days it was stifling. Even with the tilt-in windows opened wide there was little or no air flow to help dry the perspiration dripping from our brows, and sticking the shirts to our backs......like I said, stifling hot. Our teacher, bless his soul, was old school and wore a coat and tie.....everyday.
As we neared the end of the summer session, a day dawned that was semi-cloudy with a nice breeze that felt almost cool. We convinced "Mr. Nice" to let us open the double doors near the back of the room in order to take full advantage of the welcome breeze, and soon the sounds and smells of summer wafted into the room. Perfect!
During the morning break several of us congregated just outside the open doors until we were called back into the room. The three amigos, Randy, Johnny, and I were the last to saunter back inside and take our seats.
Two M-80s, one lit cigarette, and about five minutes, give or take, can really create havoc in a classroom full of unsuspecting kids......who knew?
I sat across the room near the front, Johnny was a couple of rows back, and Randy was seated nearest to the door. As history was being taught, we were about to make some of our own. Suddenly Randy's head went down and he covered his ears. -- KABOOM -- Holy cow, was it ever loud as the sound reverberated and echoed throughout the room and down the hall. Then, heavy blue smoke, carried by the nice breeze, began to find its way inside.....uh oh.
Poor "Mr. Nice" was beside himself as he tried to control the chaos. "Everyone, outside! We need to evacuate the building, right now!" We did, and after a short discussion about who, what, where, how, and why (when had already been established).....everyone filed back to their seats.
But wait, where are the three amigos?
You know, I really don't recall the details. But then, there's a lot things from my youth that keep reminding me, what did I know?
It wasn't that we were actually looking for ways to get into trouble, it's just that it was so darn tempting at times.
That year several of the football players had enrolled in summer school under the pretense that we would have to carry a lighter load the following semester. The real reason, of course, was that our "restricted" licenses provided freedom to drive to and from school.....with an occasional side trip thrown in for good measure.Okay, lets be honest, the side trips far exceeded the letter of the law, but what the heck!
Our class, World History, was taught by the nicest man you could imagine. He had retired from teaching several years earlier, and looking back, I'm sure this was a way to supplement his retirement income. Regardless, we all liked him, and probably took full advantage of his good nature.
We were situated in a room on the ground floor of a non air-conditioned building, and most days it was stifling. Even with the tilt-in windows opened wide there was little or no air flow to help dry the perspiration dripping from our brows, and sticking the shirts to our backs......like I said, stifling hot. Our teacher, bless his soul, was old school and wore a coat and tie.....everyday.
As we neared the end of the summer session, a day dawned that was semi-cloudy with a nice breeze that felt almost cool. We convinced "Mr. Nice" to let us open the double doors near the back of the room in order to take full advantage of the welcome breeze, and soon the sounds and smells of summer wafted into the room. Perfect!
During the morning break several of us congregated just outside the open doors until we were called back into the room. The three amigos, Randy, Johnny, and I were the last to saunter back inside and take our seats.
Two M-80s, one lit cigarette, and about five minutes, give or take, can really create havoc in a classroom full of unsuspecting kids......who knew?
I sat across the room near the front, Johnny was a couple of rows back, and Randy was seated nearest to the door. As history was being taught, we were about to make some of our own. Suddenly Randy's head went down and he covered his ears. -- KABOOM -- Holy cow, was it ever loud as the sound reverberated and echoed throughout the room and down the hall. Then, heavy blue smoke, carried by the nice breeze, began to find its way inside.....uh oh.
Poor "Mr. Nice" was beside himself as he tried to control the chaos. "Everyone, outside! We need to evacuate the building, right now!" We did, and after a short discussion about who, what, where, how, and why (when had already been established).....everyone filed back to their seats.
But wait, where are the three amigos?
You know, I really don't recall the details. But then, there's a lot things from my youth that keep reminding me, what did I know?
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Searching for solid ground...
It was May 2, 1983 and yours truly fancied himself as an up and coming young executive with a fortune 100 company. Life was good, traveling around the country on the Company dime, and meeting with other young executives who were spending their company's money as freely as me.
Yes, we were all in the employ of "Big Oil", and money was no object as long as we could come to an agreement about developing the next major oil field.
My job at the time was to negotiate multi-million dollar joint ventures with other companies; pretty heady stuff for a young lad from rural Kansas. But, I had gone to the "right" school, hit the industry at the "right" time, and was told that I had the "right" stuff.....Who was I to argue.
Little did I know that the date, May 2, 1983, would be just the first of many events that were to "shake my world".
Earlier that year our company had been shaken up by a couple of hostile takeover attempts led by the infamous T. Boone Pickens, and like most companies at the time, management elected to pay a huge sum of money to make him "go away". A practice that came to be known as paying "greenmail".....a not so subtle reference to paying blackmail money to have a hostage released. The trouble with playing the game was that it made a company even more vulnerable to the next takeover.....and so it was with us.
Suddenly, we were no longer in control of our own destiny, and our futures were shaky at best. Employees began to abandon ship and search for solid ground as our new management asserted its influence. Being the eternal optimist, I stayed on to perform the same job with the new company, and thus, made that fateful trip to California.
I landed at the airport and caught a cab to the hotel where I checked into my ground-level room. I had no more than sat down on the bed when it was apparent I was no longer in Kansas. My first thought was that I had activated one of those old coin-operated vibrating beds, then, I saw the lamp swaying back and forth and watched as the mirror rattled on the wall. What the heck? Earthquake! A totally new experience for me.
The little town of Coalinga was the epicenter of a 6.2 earthquake, and I wasn't all that far away. Geez, where I was from tornadoes might blow everything away, but the dad gum earth stayed put!
Like I said, that experience was just the beginning of many challenges for me. Our new owners began to systematically dismantle their acquisition, and it soon became a very unpleasant place to work. I lasted until 1989 before parting company with "Big Oil" forever.
Last week Miss Elizabeth and I were sitting on the sofa watching television when the house began to rumble and shake.....Hey, I've felt this before, but we're in Kansas where the earth is rock solid....right? I guess not, as we've experienced another trembler since then.
My only hope is that this earthquake doesn't set off a similar sequence of events that led to the demise of a fine company back in my youth.....I think I'm much too old to start over now, but really, what do I know?
Yes, we were all in the employ of "Big Oil", and money was no object as long as we could come to an agreement about developing the next major oil field.
My job at the time was to negotiate multi-million dollar joint ventures with other companies; pretty heady stuff for a young lad from rural Kansas. But, I had gone to the "right" school, hit the industry at the "right" time, and was told that I had the "right" stuff.....Who was I to argue.
Little did I know that the date, May 2, 1983, would be just the first of many events that were to "shake my world".
Earlier that year our company had been shaken up by a couple of hostile takeover attempts led by the infamous T. Boone Pickens, and like most companies at the time, management elected to pay a huge sum of money to make him "go away". A practice that came to be known as paying "greenmail".....a not so subtle reference to paying blackmail money to have a hostage released. The trouble with playing the game was that it made a company even more vulnerable to the next takeover.....and so it was with us.
Suddenly, we were no longer in control of our own destiny, and our futures were shaky at best. Employees began to abandon ship and search for solid ground as our new management asserted its influence. Being the eternal optimist, I stayed on to perform the same job with the new company, and thus, made that fateful trip to California.
I landed at the airport and caught a cab to the hotel where I checked into my ground-level room. I had no more than sat down on the bed when it was apparent I was no longer in Kansas. My first thought was that I had activated one of those old coin-operated vibrating beds, then, I saw the lamp swaying back and forth and watched as the mirror rattled on the wall. What the heck? Earthquake! A totally new experience for me.
The little town of Coalinga was the epicenter of a 6.2 earthquake, and I wasn't all that far away. Geez, where I was from tornadoes might blow everything away, but the dad gum earth stayed put!
Like I said, that experience was just the beginning of many challenges for me. Our new owners began to systematically dismantle their acquisition, and it soon became a very unpleasant place to work. I lasted until 1989 before parting company with "Big Oil" forever.
Last week Miss Elizabeth and I were sitting on the sofa watching television when the house began to rumble and shake.....Hey, I've felt this before, but we're in Kansas where the earth is rock solid....right? I guess not, as we've experienced another trembler since then.
My only hope is that this earthquake doesn't set off a similar sequence of events that led to the demise of a fine company back in my youth.....I think I'm much too old to start over now, but really, what do I know?
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Was the outcome ever in doubt......I think not.
This month is one when many high schools and colleges hold their homecoming celebrations. It's a chance for alumni to return to their respective schools, spend some time with old friends, relive some old memories, and hopefully, celebrate the event with a victory over a fierce rival on the football field.
Usually the week preceding the game is filled with activities as well. There's the obligatory spirit week contest, pep rally, and usually a homecoming parade. Of course, the main event occurs at half-time when the Homecoming Queen is crowned, and receives the celebratory kiss from the captain of the football team. Afterward, at least at most high schools, the finale is a big homecoming dance.
At least that's the way I remember it from "back in the day".....
My senior year in high school I was selected as captain of the football team. Actually, that's not quite true, as for the first time in team history we had tri-captains. I'm not really sure why or how that happened, but it did and the duties were shared among the three of us.....can you see where this is going?
As the Homecoming festivities approached, the voting for the Queen was on every one's mind. Of course the only candidate I remember from that election ended up being my current bride, Miss Elizabeth, and in my mind the outcome was never in question.
The week before Homecoming, one of our captains incurred a season ending ankle injury...out for the season, but still available to perform the captain's duty of crowning the queen. Not In This Lifetime!
When I heard that the decision had been made to have our injured captain crown the queen, I was shall we say "concerned". I've always been a pretty easy going guy, and I don't suppose the principal and guidance counselor had ever seen a different side of me before that day. I'm not sure my argument was all that persuasive, but in the end it was agreed that "if" the crown went to Miss Elizabeth, I would do the honors.....
Again, if my memory serves me correctly, the senior class won the spirit week award, we had a fine pep rally that whipped everyone into a frenzy for the big game, followed by a somewhat haphazard parade around the school. We then played a big game against a team we were supposed to beat, and yes, there was a big homecoming dance.
We lost the game to Fort Scott 14-7, and the dance was a dud.
However, in the fall of 1968, one of the tri-captains crowned the homecoming queen, and life's been a celebration ever since.
I believe it was the right selection......Yes, " I do."
Usually the week preceding the game is filled with activities as well. There's the obligatory spirit week contest, pep rally, and usually a homecoming parade. Of course, the main event occurs at half-time when the Homecoming Queen is crowned, and receives the celebratory kiss from the captain of the football team. Afterward, at least at most high schools, the finale is a big homecoming dance.
At least that's the way I remember it from "back in the day".....
My senior year in high school I was selected as captain of the football team. Actually, that's not quite true, as for the first time in team history we had tri-captains. I'm not really sure why or how that happened, but it did and the duties were shared among the three of us.....can you see where this is going?
As the Homecoming festivities approached, the voting for the Queen was on every one's mind. Of course the only candidate I remember from that election ended up being my current bride, Miss Elizabeth, and in my mind the outcome was never in question.
The week before Homecoming, one of our captains incurred a season ending ankle injury...out for the season, but still available to perform the captain's duty of crowning the queen. Not In This Lifetime!
When I heard that the decision had been made to have our injured captain crown the queen, I was shall we say "concerned". I've always been a pretty easy going guy, and I don't suppose the principal and guidance counselor had ever seen a different side of me before that day. I'm not sure my argument was all that persuasive, but in the end it was agreed that "if" the crown went to Miss Elizabeth, I would do the honors.....
Again, if my memory serves me correctly, the senior class won the spirit week award, we had a fine pep rally that whipped everyone into a frenzy for the big game, followed by a somewhat haphazard parade around the school. We then played a big game against a team we were supposed to beat, and yes, there was a big homecoming dance.
We lost the game to Fort Scott 14-7, and the dance was a dud.
However, in the fall of 1968, one of the tri-captains crowned the homecoming queen, and life's been a celebration ever since.
I believe it was the right selection......Yes, " I do."
Saturday, October 15, 2011
To some they were just problem kids and cast-offs.....
Last night Miss Elizabeth and I were watching the baseball playoffs on television....Okay, okay, let me rephrase that. Last night we were sitting on the sofa and the television was tuned to the ball game, I was watching and she was working on one of her needlework projects. Occasionally I would make a comment to the TV, and she would raise her eyes briefly to see what had transpired.
The Cardinals were winning as the hapless Brewers were committing error after error, leading to several unearned runs for the Cards. The starting pitcher for the Brewers was frustrated by the lack of defensive support, but there was little he could do to correct the ineptitude of his infielders.
I've seen it all before. Last night just reinforced the notion that it happens at all levels, all the way from little league to the professional championship series. As I watched thrown balls go awry, batted balls skip under player's gloves, and Zach Grienke's displeasure, it took me back to another game where I witnessed a similar display.
When I was in college I worked a number of part-time jobs to pay the bills. One of jobs was as an umpire for a youth baseball league in Tulsa. The kids were young, maybe 9-10 years old, and were just learning the fundamentals of the game, including some rules of baseball etiquette.....My job was more than just calling balls and strikes, it sometimes required a firm but gentle hand to keep the kids on track.
My favorite team that year, and yes umpires are allowed to have favorites, was a group of rag tag kids from the Tulsa Boys Home. To some they were just "problem" kids and "cast-offs" whose parents were either unable or unwilling to handle them. My favorite player was a little mop-haired bundle of energy who pitched for that team. I loved that kid....and he responded. We were buddies.
He was a good little pitcher, competitive, animated, and just a little bit bossy toward his team mates, especially in games like the one the Brewers were having last night. One night he had just about had it with everyone, including the umpire behind the plate, and when a call at home went against his team he let out a stream of expletives that had every one's ears burning.
Uh oh! He knew he had stepped over the line when he saw me taking long strides to the mound. I was glaring at him, and he was not quite sure what to expect. His eyes were wide and his little body was shaking as I arrived to "make the call". He had disappointed me ,and I could see the remorse in his face. Tough call for a young umpire.
I waved off his coach as I knelt down to look him square in the eyes. His heart was pounding when I put my arm around his shoulders and asked, "Do you have something you need to tell me?" He didn't know what to say, so I asked again, "Don't you think you should apologize for what you just did?"
His voice was barely a whisper, "Yes sir, I'm sorry."
"Now, you're going to sit on the bench for the rest of this game, and after the game we're going to meet with your coach and your team mates for you to apologize to them too."
It was hard for him, but he did it. He stood there and said he was sorry, and I think he really meant it.
I don't know if it was the right thing to do or not, but we never had to have another conversation about his behavior on the field. I'd like to think that maybe it made a difference in his life, but what do I know?
The Cardinals were winning as the hapless Brewers were committing error after error, leading to several unearned runs for the Cards. The starting pitcher for the Brewers was frustrated by the lack of defensive support, but there was little he could do to correct the ineptitude of his infielders.
I've seen it all before. Last night just reinforced the notion that it happens at all levels, all the way from little league to the professional championship series. As I watched thrown balls go awry, batted balls skip under player's gloves, and Zach Grienke's displeasure, it took me back to another game where I witnessed a similar display.
When I was in college I worked a number of part-time jobs to pay the bills. One of jobs was as an umpire for a youth baseball league in Tulsa. The kids were young, maybe 9-10 years old, and were just learning the fundamentals of the game, including some rules of baseball etiquette.....My job was more than just calling balls and strikes, it sometimes required a firm but gentle hand to keep the kids on track.
My favorite team that year, and yes umpires are allowed to have favorites, was a group of rag tag kids from the Tulsa Boys Home. To some they were just "problem" kids and "cast-offs" whose parents were either unable or unwilling to handle them. My favorite player was a little mop-haired bundle of energy who pitched for that team. I loved that kid....and he responded. We were buddies.
He was a good little pitcher, competitive, animated, and just a little bit bossy toward his team mates, especially in games like the one the Brewers were having last night. One night he had just about had it with everyone, including the umpire behind the plate, and when a call at home went against his team he let out a stream of expletives that had every one's ears burning.
Uh oh! He knew he had stepped over the line when he saw me taking long strides to the mound. I was glaring at him, and he was not quite sure what to expect. His eyes were wide and his little body was shaking as I arrived to "make the call". He had disappointed me ,and I could see the remorse in his face. Tough call for a young umpire.
I waved off his coach as I knelt down to look him square in the eyes. His heart was pounding when I put my arm around his shoulders and asked, "Do you have something you need to tell me?" He didn't know what to say, so I asked again, "Don't you think you should apologize for what you just did?"
His voice was barely a whisper, "Yes sir, I'm sorry."
"Now, you're going to sit on the bench for the rest of this game, and after the game we're going to meet with your coach and your team mates for you to apologize to them too."
It was hard for him, but he did it. He stood there and said he was sorry, and I think he really meant it.
I don't know if it was the right thing to do or not, but we never had to have another conversation about his behavior on the field. I'd like to think that maybe it made a difference in his life, but what do I know?
Monday, October 3, 2011
Mediocrity for everyone.....it's better that way!
"Son, I'm sorry, but you're just too good to play in this league, and if you want to continue to play you're going to have to quit scoring so many touchdowns." This is a true story that was recently reported in the news across the nation. Where it occurred is not important, but the fact that it happened speaks volumes.
Can you imagine being eleven years old and having the best time of your life playing football, only to have your coach relate that you'll have to quit playing your "A" game if you want to stay on the team? What a bunch of BS! If there was ever a perfect example of why this country is struggling to maintain its competitive edge, this is it.
Whether in the classroom, recreational sports, class plays, art class, or in the selection of all-star teams, we've removed competition from the equation. Over the course of the last thirty years or so, someone decided that competition was a bad thing. It created stress for our children by recognizing winners and losers in everything we do, and that's just unacceptable. Guess what, even if you don't keep score, the players still know who the winners are.
But, I guess it's been decided that it's best to create a level of mediocrity across the board!
I'm sorry, but I disagree. Having coached sports for many years, and supervising/managing hundreds of people in the work force, I'll attest to the fact that all people are not created equal. Some are excellent writers, some are excellent musicians, some are great artists, but none of them excel at everything they try to do. That doesn't mean we give them all a blue ribbon or trophy for just trying. The biggest disservice we can do is to mislead someone into thinking they're a better (?) than they really are.
The worst thing we can do is to reward sub-standard performance and to penalize excellence.
Maybe this old man is just way out of step with what is "politically correct", but I've been on both sides of this issue and we are now reaping the benefits of a policy that is just flat wrong. If you don't reward excellence, those who have the ability to excel, don't. Likewise, if you continue to reward mediocre performance, those who excel at mediocrity continue to believe that it is acceptable.
Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way, but maybe so, 'cause after all, what do I know?
Can you imagine being eleven years old and having the best time of your life playing football, only to have your coach relate that you'll have to quit playing your "A" game if you want to stay on the team? What a bunch of BS! If there was ever a perfect example of why this country is struggling to maintain its competitive edge, this is it.
Whether in the classroom, recreational sports, class plays, art class, or in the selection of all-star teams, we've removed competition from the equation. Over the course of the last thirty years or so, someone decided that competition was a bad thing. It created stress for our children by recognizing winners and losers in everything we do, and that's just unacceptable. Guess what, even if you don't keep score, the players still know who the winners are.
But, I guess it's been decided that it's best to create a level of mediocrity across the board!
I'm sorry, but I disagree. Having coached sports for many years, and supervising/managing hundreds of people in the work force, I'll attest to the fact that all people are not created equal. Some are excellent writers, some are excellent musicians, some are great artists, but none of them excel at everything they try to do. That doesn't mean we give them all a blue ribbon or trophy for just trying. The biggest disservice we can do is to mislead someone into thinking they're a better (?) than they really are.
The worst thing we can do is to reward sub-standard performance and to penalize excellence.
Maybe this old man is just way out of step with what is "politically correct", but I've been on both sides of this issue and we are now reaping the benefits of a policy that is just flat wrong. If you don't reward excellence, those who have the ability to excel, don't. Likewise, if you continue to reward mediocre performance, those who excel at mediocrity continue to believe that it is acceptable.
Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way, but maybe so, 'cause after all, what do I know?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Probably not the nicest thing I ever did....
It was just after dinner time at our house. The time of the evening when my dad would settle comfortably into his easy chair, pick up the latest Mickey Spillane thriller he happened to be reading, and make it known that for a few hours he expected to have a little peace and quiet. The constant squabbling of my younger sister and me, plus dealing with a seventeen year old daughter who pretty much knew everything, made peace and quiet an impossible request.
The time would have been in the early sixties and I was eleven years old. A time of political unrest, and a time when racial tension was beginning to grip the nation. For the most part our little community, and our little family, was insulated from most of it, although it was apparent from the six o'clock news stories that it was becoming an issue that would eventually affect us all.
But, here in our little home, all was well....
We didn't have a doorbell so most people who came calling would open the screen door and rap on the flimsy wooden door to get our attention. Bam, bam, bam.....Dad laid down his book and looked around the room to see who would answer the knock at the door. I glanced out the window and knew it was trouble, but my little sister was already opening the door. "I'm here to talk to Rocky Marciano". It was my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Grundy, and though my parents didn't, I knew exactly why he was here.
Earlier that day, there had been an "incident" at school, and I was, shall we say, involved. Ronnie and I had been at each other for a few days, nothing major, just an occasional shove or poke when no one was looking. During morning classes I was walking to the front of the room when Ronnie stuck out a foot to trip me. I saw it in time to avoid the obstacle, but took the opportunity to step on his foot.....Probably not the nicest thing I ever did, and the stage was set.
School let out at noon and everyone headed for the door. We barely made it outside before the fists began to fly, but like most grade school fights, there was little damage done before Mr. Grundy pulled us apart. We had had our spat, shook hands and were friends again. No harm, no foul, except Ronnie was black and I was white. Fortunately, no one made a big deal out of it, but my parents had to be informed, and of course that resulted in further punishment at home.
There was nothing racial about our little scuffle. It was just two boys trying to prove their manhood. Our school was integrated, and all of us played, yelled, tussled, and made-up on a regular basis. Just kids being kids. I still have very good friends from those days, and color doesn't seem to be the discerning factor.
Those years helped shape us into the people we are today and I like to think we all learned a little from, and about, each other. No doubt we had some trying times, but we also created some great memories. Of course my perspective is skewed, as is the perspective of my black friends. It's my belief that different perspectives shouldn't build walls, they should instead, be bridges to understanding....but again, what the heck do I know.
The time would have been in the early sixties and I was eleven years old. A time of political unrest, and a time when racial tension was beginning to grip the nation. For the most part our little community, and our little family, was insulated from most of it, although it was apparent from the six o'clock news stories that it was becoming an issue that would eventually affect us all.
But, here in our little home, all was well....
We didn't have a doorbell so most people who came calling would open the screen door and rap on the flimsy wooden door to get our attention. Bam, bam, bam.....Dad laid down his book and looked around the room to see who would answer the knock at the door. I glanced out the window and knew it was trouble, but my little sister was already opening the door. "I'm here to talk to Rocky Marciano". It was my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Grundy, and though my parents didn't, I knew exactly why he was here.
Earlier that day, there had been an "incident" at school, and I was, shall we say, involved. Ronnie and I had been at each other for a few days, nothing major, just an occasional shove or poke when no one was looking. During morning classes I was walking to the front of the room when Ronnie stuck out a foot to trip me. I saw it in time to avoid the obstacle, but took the opportunity to step on his foot.....Probably not the nicest thing I ever did, and the stage was set.
School let out at noon and everyone headed for the door. We barely made it outside before the fists began to fly, but like most grade school fights, there was little damage done before Mr. Grundy pulled us apart. We had had our spat, shook hands and were friends again. No harm, no foul, except Ronnie was black and I was white. Fortunately, no one made a big deal out of it, but my parents had to be informed, and of course that resulted in further punishment at home.
There was nothing racial about our little scuffle. It was just two boys trying to prove their manhood. Our school was integrated, and all of us played, yelled, tussled, and made-up on a regular basis. Just kids being kids. I still have very good friends from those days, and color doesn't seem to be the discerning factor.
Those years helped shape us into the people we are today and I like to think we all learned a little from, and about, each other. No doubt we had some trying times, but we also created some great memories. Of course my perspective is skewed, as is the perspective of my black friends. It's my belief that different perspectives shouldn't build walls, they should instead, be bridges to understanding....but again, what the heck do I know.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Little Jack or Big Jack....
"Hello"
"May I speak with Jack please?"
"Little Jack or Big Jack?"
This would have been a common telephone conversation, starting when I was about thirteen years old. Prior to then it was fairly easy to discern when my friends were calling, or when the call was for my dad. But, as young boys' voices began to change, it became more difficult to determine the age of the callers, therefor, the "Little Jack" or "Big Jack" designation became common identifiers. Thank goodness no one in our house came up with the dreaded "Junior" as my identity!
This went on for several years, and in fact, many years later, at my dad's funeral, one of my dear friends commented that "Big Jack couldn't have ordered a better day for us to be here". It was a beautiful February day, and my friend's comment was in response to a flock of geese flying over as we gathered at the cemetery.
There is no doubt that this same friend had very fond memories of Big Jack. You see, as we got to be teenagers, acquired cars, and seemed to always be getting ourselves into compromising situations, Big Jack was the "go to" guy. He was the adult that they could call at any time and find a sympathetic ear and a helping hand. He was the guy my friends would call knowing he would keep their latest misfortune in strict confidence, especially where their parents were concerned. He understood the adage, boys will be boys!
My mom answered the call at about 2:30am, and I heard her muffled voice as she roused Big Jack. I couldn't hear the conversation, but shortly my dad walked down the hall and said, "Get up, we've got to go rescue Randy". No ranting or raving, nor any apparent anger at being rousted out of bed in the middle of the night. Actually I sensed a smile crossing his lips as I struggled out of my nice warm bed and into my clothes. Just wait until I get my hands on my so called friend.
A few minutes later we were on our way across town, where Randy had managed to get his brother's corvette stuck on a railroad crossing. Exiting a well known "parking" spot, he had missed the edge of the road and the car was sitting squarely on the tracks with one wheel dropped in a hole. Big Jack surveyed the situation, had a good laugh as he glimpsed Randy's girlfriend in the front seat, and proceeded to pull the car out as we joked about the possibility of an oncoming train. No train appeared and the whole event was soon forgotten.
A year or so later, another friend was driving his father's pride and joy. It was a brand new, mist green, Buick Electra, and Jim had borrowed it for a special date. You would have thought the story of Randy's exploits would have discouraged others from attempting the same maneuver, but as I mentioned, that event was long forgotten. Jim ended up in the very same predicament.....stuck on the tracks.
I'll never know if Jim was on his way to give Big Jack a call. As he trudged to the nearest gas station, a light appeared down the tracks.....
As I recall, it made the front page of the local newspaper, "Teens escape unscathed". Okay, I made up the headline, but I bet Jim remembers it very clearly. Yes, very clearly indeed, but what do I know.
"May I speak with Jack please?"
"Little Jack or Big Jack?"
This would have been a common telephone conversation, starting when I was about thirteen years old. Prior to then it was fairly easy to discern when my friends were calling, or when the call was for my dad. But, as young boys' voices began to change, it became more difficult to determine the age of the callers, therefor, the "Little Jack" or "Big Jack" designation became common identifiers. Thank goodness no one in our house came up with the dreaded "Junior" as my identity!
This went on for several years, and in fact, many years later, at my dad's funeral, one of my dear friends commented that "Big Jack couldn't have ordered a better day for us to be here". It was a beautiful February day, and my friend's comment was in response to a flock of geese flying over as we gathered at the cemetery.
There is no doubt that this same friend had very fond memories of Big Jack. You see, as we got to be teenagers, acquired cars, and seemed to always be getting ourselves into compromising situations, Big Jack was the "go to" guy. He was the adult that they could call at any time and find a sympathetic ear and a helping hand. He was the guy my friends would call knowing he would keep their latest misfortune in strict confidence, especially where their parents were concerned. He understood the adage, boys will be boys!
My mom answered the call at about 2:30am, and I heard her muffled voice as she roused Big Jack. I couldn't hear the conversation, but shortly my dad walked down the hall and said, "Get up, we've got to go rescue Randy". No ranting or raving, nor any apparent anger at being rousted out of bed in the middle of the night. Actually I sensed a smile crossing his lips as I struggled out of my nice warm bed and into my clothes. Just wait until I get my hands on my so called friend.
A few minutes later we were on our way across town, where Randy had managed to get his brother's corvette stuck on a railroad crossing. Exiting a well known "parking" spot, he had missed the edge of the road and the car was sitting squarely on the tracks with one wheel dropped in a hole. Big Jack surveyed the situation, had a good laugh as he glimpsed Randy's girlfriend in the front seat, and proceeded to pull the car out as we joked about the possibility of an oncoming train. No train appeared and the whole event was soon forgotten.
A year or so later, another friend was driving his father's pride and joy. It was a brand new, mist green, Buick Electra, and Jim had borrowed it for a special date. You would have thought the story of Randy's exploits would have discouraged others from attempting the same maneuver, but as I mentioned, that event was long forgotten. Jim ended up in the very same predicament.....stuck on the tracks.
I'll never know if Jim was on his way to give Big Jack a call. As he trudged to the nearest gas station, a light appeared down the tracks.....
As I recall, it made the front page of the local newspaper, "Teens escape unscathed". Okay, I made up the headline, but I bet Jim remembers it very clearly. Yes, very clearly indeed, but what do I know.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
"Dad" is waiting patiently....
To be awakened from a sound sleep by the jangling of the telephone is rarely a good thing, and so it was early yesterday morning at our house. Elizabeth looked at the Caller ID and said "It's the nursing home". Her mother has resided there since February, the consequence of a stroke that left her with the inability to care for herself and live at home. What now?
"Mom's had another stroke and is non-responsive" was the whispered response to my questioning look. While not a complete surprise, it was never the less very sad news for us.
Just this past weekend Elizabeth and her sister, Donna, had taken their mom out for pizza and a drive in the country. It was questionable whether she knew either of them, but she enjoyed the outing anyway. Her mind has been slowly shutting down in the months since her first stroke, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to recognize people and perform even the simplest of tasks. A truly sad progression for a woman who had been feisty and fun for all of the time I'd known her. She often referred to me as her "favorite son-in-law", knowing full well I was her "only" one. Our relationship was special.
If there is a silver lining to this tragedy, it's the compassion with which God has enveloped and protected her from the loss of her husband who passed away earlier this year. She had said for as long as I can remember, "I don't know what I would do without Dad". God heard that plea, and her first stroke occurred shortly before "Dad" died. She has no recollection of his passing, and would sometimes still speak of him in the present tense.
Today, she is lying in the hospital while all of us await the inevitable. Whether our wait is short or long is in God's hands, and we simply pray for a peaceful transition when the time comes.
While her voice has been silenced, she knows, as do the rest of us, that "Dad" is waiting patiently for her to join him for their eternal journey together. Life goes on, not only for those who are still earthbound, but for all those who shall have everlasting life.
EPILOGUE: Doris and George are now together again. "Mom" passed away quietly at home on September 13, 2011.
"Mom's had another stroke and is non-responsive" was the whispered response to my questioning look. While not a complete surprise, it was never the less very sad news for us.
Just this past weekend Elizabeth and her sister, Donna, had taken their mom out for pizza and a drive in the country. It was questionable whether she knew either of them, but she enjoyed the outing anyway. Her mind has been slowly shutting down in the months since her first stroke, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to recognize people and perform even the simplest of tasks. A truly sad progression for a woman who had been feisty and fun for all of the time I'd known her. She often referred to me as her "favorite son-in-law", knowing full well I was her "only" one. Our relationship was special.
If there is a silver lining to this tragedy, it's the compassion with which God has enveloped and protected her from the loss of her husband who passed away earlier this year. She had said for as long as I can remember, "I don't know what I would do without Dad". God heard that plea, and her first stroke occurred shortly before "Dad" died. She has no recollection of his passing, and would sometimes still speak of him in the present tense.
Today, she is lying in the hospital while all of us await the inevitable. Whether our wait is short or long is in God's hands, and we simply pray for a peaceful transition when the time comes.
While her voice has been silenced, she knows, as do the rest of us, that "Dad" is waiting patiently for her to join him for their eternal journey together. Life goes on, not only for those who are still earthbound, but for all those who shall have everlasting life.
EPILOGUE: Doris and George are now together again. "Mom" passed away quietly at home on September 13, 2011.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Ah, day after day of seventy degree temps.
Here it is, another hot weekend in August. This summer has been one of brutal, unbearable heat, and today the prediction is for triple-digit temperatures yet again. I've lost count of the number of days that the high temperature has exceeded one hundred degrees, but suffice it to say, that it has simply been "too many".
Over the past several years we've invested a fair amount of work, time, and money in landscaping the grounds around the ranch. The house is situated on about four acres, and we try very hard to keep that area mowed, trimmed, and looking presentable. In a typical summer we nurture an abundance of annuals, perennials, ornamental grasses, wild flowers, and decorative plantings in the gardens around the house.....This, however, has not been a typical summer. The Hostas have crispy leaves, the Coral Belles have no color at all, and the Rain Lilies need rain.
Hot and dry. I'm so tired of hearing that forecast that I've just quit watching the weather. Heck, I can learn that same information by watching the slow, wilting death of everything in the yard that's supposed to be providing vibrant colors and deep green foliage. There just isn't enough water in the well to provide for all the needs this summer, and given the choice, the needs of the residents of the house take precedent. Sorry plants, but you finish a distant second when it comes to meeting your needs or mine.
Of course, it's not only the lack of water causing the gardening issues, it's also a lack of motivation and energy. When facing day after day of oppressive heat, I find it difficult to get these old bones outside to pull weeds, trim dead blooms, or rake the mulch back in place......basically, I find it much easier to sit inside, cold drink in hand, and enjoy the air conditioned comfort.
A few weeks ago, we decided that this summer's gardening is a lost cause. On one hand I hate to just give up, but on the other hand I'm somewhat relieved. Next spring will be here before you know it, and we will start afresh with new plants and new ideas.
In my mind I can see it all now......day after day of seventy degree temps, with just the right amount of rainfall, and no pesky moles or armadillos. Yes, life will be good next spring......for life "springs" eternal.....but once again, what do I know?
Over the past several years we've invested a fair amount of work, time, and money in landscaping the grounds around the ranch. The house is situated on about four acres, and we try very hard to keep that area mowed, trimmed, and looking presentable. In a typical summer we nurture an abundance of annuals, perennials, ornamental grasses, wild flowers, and decorative plantings in the gardens around the house.....This, however, has not been a typical summer. The Hostas have crispy leaves, the Coral Belles have no color at all, and the Rain Lilies need rain.
Hot and dry. I'm so tired of hearing that forecast that I've just quit watching the weather. Heck, I can learn that same information by watching the slow, wilting death of everything in the yard that's supposed to be providing vibrant colors and deep green foliage. There just isn't enough water in the well to provide for all the needs this summer, and given the choice, the needs of the residents of the house take precedent. Sorry plants, but you finish a distant second when it comes to meeting your needs or mine.
Of course, it's not only the lack of water causing the gardening issues, it's also a lack of motivation and energy. When facing day after day of oppressive heat, I find it difficult to get these old bones outside to pull weeds, trim dead blooms, or rake the mulch back in place......basically, I find it much easier to sit inside, cold drink in hand, and enjoy the air conditioned comfort.
A few weeks ago, we decided that this summer's gardening is a lost cause. On one hand I hate to just give up, but on the other hand I'm somewhat relieved. Next spring will be here before you know it, and we will start afresh with new plants and new ideas.
In my mind I can see it all now......day after day of seventy degree temps, with just the right amount of rainfall, and no pesky moles or armadillos. Yes, life will be good next spring......for life "springs" eternal.....but once again, what do I know?
Monday, August 22, 2011
For the most part, life is good....
I guess you could say this past week was a milestone of sorts, that is, if you call attaining the ripe old age of sixty a milestone. But, that's exactly what happened to me. Sixty years old, how can that possibly be? Why, it was just a few short years ago that I graduated from high school, and just a few years after that when Miss Elizabeth and I were wed. Oh yeah, that was the other part of this milestone week....the celebration of forty years of marriage occurred last week as well.
So, I've now been married for two-thirds of my life.....the old 40-60 ratio has arrived. I vividly remember when I would look at those old-timers who had reached this point in their lives and wonder how it was they were still able to carry on full, productive lives. My, how one's perspective changes over time. I don't feel old, except for the occasional ache or pain that makes it difficult to get out of bed in the morning, or to rise after sitting for too long in one position. For the most part, however, life is good.
We have two sons who are grown and have families of their own, which of course makes us grandparents. Oh yes, life is good when you are a grandparent! What a delight it is to see that youthful exuberance as the grand kids experience everything that is new to them, and allows us to experience again, the things we sometimes forget to enjoy. Things like sitting on the fence and rubbing the soft nose of the horse, or picking wild flowers for grandma to add to her ever expanding collection. Is there anything better than that?
Last week we were blessed to have everyone here to help us celebrate our anniversary, my birthday, and more.....What else you say? Well, two of our grand children share an August birthday too. Not only an August birthday, but the same day.....which just happens to coincide with our anniversary. Definitely reason to have a major celebration wouldn't you agree.
Ah, but that was last week, and now the house has returned to its orderly state. Everything is in its proper place, and quiet days have replaced the chaos of a houseful of kids and visitors. I'll never again have a sixtieth birthday, nor a fortieth anniversary, but I will always treasure the memories. Nothing in the world is better than being surrounded by family and friends who remind you of all that is good with life, but really, what do I know.
So, I've now been married for two-thirds of my life.....the old 40-60 ratio has arrived. I vividly remember when I would look at those old-timers who had reached this point in their lives and wonder how it was they were still able to carry on full, productive lives. My, how one's perspective changes over time. I don't feel old, except for the occasional ache or pain that makes it difficult to get out of bed in the morning, or to rise after sitting for too long in one position. For the most part, however, life is good.
We have two sons who are grown and have families of their own, which of course makes us grandparents. Oh yes, life is good when you are a grandparent! What a delight it is to see that youthful exuberance as the grand kids experience everything that is new to them, and allows us to experience again, the things we sometimes forget to enjoy. Things like sitting on the fence and rubbing the soft nose of the horse, or picking wild flowers for grandma to add to her ever expanding collection. Is there anything better than that?
Last week we were blessed to have everyone here to help us celebrate our anniversary, my birthday, and more.....What else you say? Well, two of our grand children share an August birthday too. Not only an August birthday, but the same day.....which just happens to coincide with our anniversary. Definitely reason to have a major celebration wouldn't you agree.
Ah, but that was last week, and now the house has returned to its orderly state. Everything is in its proper place, and quiet days have replaced the chaos of a houseful of kids and visitors. I'll never again have a sixtieth birthday, nor a fortieth anniversary, but I will always treasure the memories. Nothing in the world is better than being surrounded by family and friends who remind you of all that is good with life, but really, what do I know.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The silence is deafening....
One of my favorite hobbies is keeping a watchful eye on all that nature has to offer daily around the ranch. Of course we're in an area that has an abundance of wildlife, including white tail deer, coyotes, wildcats, squirrels, rabbits, and those pesky armadillos. Then, there's the bird life and birdwatching. It's something that Miss Elizabeth and I have enjoyed for years, and even keep track of all the different species we've seen in our lifetimes.
We encourage and attract many different birds by providing them with a variety of feeding options, landscaping and housing. A stroll around our yard often yields the chance to view bluebirds popping in and out of the many houses that have been erected specifically for them, goldfinch sampling the thistle seed at their very own finch feeder, and hummingbirds by the dozens hovering around the multitude of nectar feeders, honeysuckle bushes, and flowers. In the winter we attract woodpeckers and other species to the suet and peanut feeders. Of course plenty of water is available both summer and winter at several locations.
Currently, we're watching anxiously as this year's bevy of purple martins is preparing to take flight for their long trek to South America for the winter; taking with them the youngsters who have been testing their wings for weeks as they gain strength and stamina for the trip.
Each spring we eagerly anticipate the arrival of the first pair of scouts, followed by pair after pair of adult martins. We prepare by erecting a couple of our four martin houses until the masses arrive, then we put up the others.
It has become a ritual, and the chirping and chattering of these fascinating birds is as much a part of our summer as green grass and the leaves on the trees. Many mornings and evenings will find us sitting on the back porch watching their aerial acrobatics as they swoop and dive for the many flying insects that lack the foresight to avoid the area.
Last year, at the end of the season, we counted over thirty nests in the vacated houses. This year I'm pretty sure we'll exceed that number, as each of the four houses has twelve compartments and most of them appear to be occupied, but not for much longer. It's usually early August when we awake to an eerie quietness outside. Sometimes it takes a few minutes to realize what's missing, then the sadness as it dawns on us that they're gone.
So, what does this all mean....another year is nearing an end, and time to start preparation for the fall and winter.
We received our first martin house as a gift from my father-in-law in 1975, and have been attracting purple martins ever since. He passed away in January, and for the first summer in 37 years he wasn't here to enjoy the birds he so admired. I have no doubt he continues to view them from a far better vantage point now, but we miss his presence. Very soon the silence from the back yard will be deafening, but in some ways it already is......
We encourage and attract many different birds by providing them with a variety of feeding options, landscaping and housing. A stroll around our yard often yields the chance to view bluebirds popping in and out of the many houses that have been erected specifically for them, goldfinch sampling the thistle seed at their very own finch feeder, and hummingbirds by the dozens hovering around the multitude of nectar feeders, honeysuckle bushes, and flowers. In the winter we attract woodpeckers and other species to the suet and peanut feeders. Of course plenty of water is available both summer and winter at several locations.
Currently, we're watching anxiously as this year's bevy of purple martins is preparing to take flight for their long trek to South America for the winter; taking with them the youngsters who have been testing their wings for weeks as they gain strength and stamina for the trip.
Each spring we eagerly anticipate the arrival of the first pair of scouts, followed by pair after pair of adult martins. We prepare by erecting a couple of our four martin houses until the masses arrive, then we put up the others.
It has become a ritual, and the chirping and chattering of these fascinating birds is as much a part of our summer as green grass and the leaves on the trees. Many mornings and evenings will find us sitting on the back porch watching their aerial acrobatics as they swoop and dive for the many flying insects that lack the foresight to avoid the area.
Last year, at the end of the season, we counted over thirty nests in the vacated houses. This year I'm pretty sure we'll exceed that number, as each of the four houses has twelve compartments and most of them appear to be occupied, but not for much longer. It's usually early August when we awake to an eerie quietness outside. Sometimes it takes a few minutes to realize what's missing, then the sadness as it dawns on us that they're gone.
So, what does this all mean....another year is nearing an end, and time to start preparation for the fall and winter.
We received our first martin house as a gift from my father-in-law in 1975, and have been attracting purple martins ever since. He passed away in January, and for the first summer in 37 years he wasn't here to enjoy the birds he so admired. I have no doubt he continues to view them from a far better vantage point now, but we miss his presence. Very soon the silence from the back yard will be deafening, but in some ways it already is......
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Lightning flashed and thunder rolled....
Last night I awakened to the flash of lightning. Then, the thunder cracked and rumbled down the valley. It was quite a show for awhile as the lightning lit up the sky so brightly that I could clearly see my two dogs cowering against the door on the back porch, seeking protection from the torrential rain that was pouring from a sky that for too long had been dry.
This morning there were still clouds covering the sky, and instead of the oppressive heat, a cool breeze christened the day. It won't last; probably not even through the morning, but it was a welcome break as I headed out to do morning chores. Lately, the mornings have been hot, steamy preludes to what later turned to days that were so hot they defied description. Temperatures have been consistently above 100 degrees, and in most cases exceeding 105. It topped out a few days ago at 115......dangerous territory for both man and beast.
I've been concerned about having enough water for the cows and calves as the ponds continue to evaporate at an alarming rate. I watched yesterday, and commented to Miss Elizabeth that the cows standing in the main pond weren't even getting their bellies wet. The water was hitting them just above the knees, and most of that was mud. Fortunately, we have two additional ponds that are deeper and seem to be holding up pretty well.
The rain overnight wasn't enough to help refill the ponds, but we're very thankful to get it just the same. I drove the 4-wheeler through the pastures this morning and was gladdened by the way the grass had perked up. It's always amazing to see how fresh things become after a nice rain, and I thank God everyday for the opportunity to witness His miracles. It was less than an inch of rain, but the impact was significant and immediate.
As I mentioned to someone earlier today, the cows were dancing, the calves were frolicking, and even old Lucky Star, the horse with no home, had a bounce in her step. Heck, even this old cowboy took some time to appreciate the morning "chill".
As I observe the livestock I think the animals are predicting an end to the heatwave, but then, I'm quite sure that everyone looks at me and says, "What do you know"!
This morning there were still clouds covering the sky, and instead of the oppressive heat, a cool breeze christened the day. It won't last; probably not even through the morning, but it was a welcome break as I headed out to do morning chores. Lately, the mornings have been hot, steamy preludes to what later turned to days that were so hot they defied description. Temperatures have been consistently above 100 degrees, and in most cases exceeding 105. It topped out a few days ago at 115......dangerous territory for both man and beast.
I've been concerned about having enough water for the cows and calves as the ponds continue to evaporate at an alarming rate. I watched yesterday, and commented to Miss Elizabeth that the cows standing in the main pond weren't even getting their bellies wet. The water was hitting them just above the knees, and most of that was mud. Fortunately, we have two additional ponds that are deeper and seem to be holding up pretty well.
The rain overnight wasn't enough to help refill the ponds, but we're very thankful to get it just the same. I drove the 4-wheeler through the pastures this morning and was gladdened by the way the grass had perked up. It's always amazing to see how fresh things become after a nice rain, and I thank God everyday for the opportunity to witness His miracles. It was less than an inch of rain, but the impact was significant and immediate.
As I mentioned to someone earlier today, the cows were dancing, the calves were frolicking, and even old Lucky Star, the horse with no home, had a bounce in her step. Heck, even this old cowboy took some time to appreciate the morning "chill".
As I observe the livestock I think the animals are predicting an end to the heatwave, but then, I'm quite sure that everyone looks at me and says, "What do you know"!
Friday, July 22, 2011
I like my music "old" just like me....
I'm a big fan of what's commonly referred to as "Mississippi Delta Blues". There's something about hearing the simple lyrics combined with the complex guitar picking that captures my attention and draws me to drop what I'm doing and listen closely to the masters of this music genre.
I have no musical training and absolutely no musical talent, so perhaps it's my inability to create music that drives my fascination with anyone who is able to get so much feeling from a six string guitar. When I was young we had a big old acoustic guitar around the house and my dad would sometimes do a little "finger pick'n" on it. I can still hear the strains of Wildwood Flower and other old standards that were his favorites. Sitting in the front room of our little house, cigarette hanging from his lips, and the occasional grimace when his fingers would pluck the wrong string are strong memories for me.
My dad was not a patient man, and that could easily be classified as an understatement. He was quick to find fault, quick to anger, and quick to forgive. It was just his nature, and the times he tried to teach me a few chords quickly brought about frustration for both of us. He couldn't understand what was so difficult about it, and why none of it made any sense to me. My grandpa played the fiddle, my uncle played the banjo, and my dad and another uncle played the guitar.....how could his son be such a musical klutz? Oh well, that's the way it was and I soon accepted that fact, although I'm not sure my dad ever did.
Regardless, I still appreciate those people who can write, play, and sing music. It's been quite awhile since any of the "new" music has stirred any of my emotions, so I often find myself searching for music that can truly stir one's soul. Delta Blues does it for me, although there are a few other artists that elicit great memories from my younger days, Bob Seger, John Prine, and a few others. Of course, the soul music of Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, and The Supremes will never die.
But, if you're in the mood for the smoothest, most gentlemanly presentation of the blues , you can do no better than Mississippi John Hurt. He was a classic gentleman that emanated warmth and a genteel nature that has long passed from many musical artists. Sadly, what sometimes passes for music today would cause people like John Hurt and others to turn their heads in shame.
Artists like Mr. Hurt had it much tougher than almost anyone in the business today, but somehow their music expressed it without the anger boiling to the top. I call it having a lot of class....but what do I know.
I have no musical training and absolutely no musical talent, so perhaps it's my inability to create music that drives my fascination with anyone who is able to get so much feeling from a six string guitar. When I was young we had a big old acoustic guitar around the house and my dad would sometimes do a little "finger pick'n" on it. I can still hear the strains of Wildwood Flower and other old standards that were his favorites. Sitting in the front room of our little house, cigarette hanging from his lips, and the occasional grimace when his fingers would pluck the wrong string are strong memories for me.
My dad was not a patient man, and that could easily be classified as an understatement. He was quick to find fault, quick to anger, and quick to forgive. It was just his nature, and the times he tried to teach me a few chords quickly brought about frustration for both of us. He couldn't understand what was so difficult about it, and why none of it made any sense to me. My grandpa played the fiddle, my uncle played the banjo, and my dad and another uncle played the guitar.....how could his son be such a musical klutz? Oh well, that's the way it was and I soon accepted that fact, although I'm not sure my dad ever did.
Regardless, I still appreciate those people who can write, play, and sing music. It's been quite awhile since any of the "new" music has stirred any of my emotions, so I often find myself searching for music that can truly stir one's soul. Delta Blues does it for me, although there are a few other artists that elicit great memories from my younger days, Bob Seger, John Prine, and a few others. Of course, the soul music of Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, and The Supremes will never die.
But, if you're in the mood for the smoothest, most gentlemanly presentation of the blues , you can do no better than Mississippi John Hurt. He was a classic gentleman that emanated warmth and a genteel nature that has long passed from many musical artists. Sadly, what sometimes passes for music today would cause people like John Hurt and others to turn their heads in shame.
Artists like Mr. Hurt had it much tougher than almost anyone in the business today, but somehow their music expressed it without the anger boiling to the top. I call it having a lot of class....but what do I know.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I've been told it's physically impossible....
Every summer there are places around the country that have what they call "rattlesnake round-ups". Why in the world anyone would want to go out and round the darn things up is beyond me....I try to stay as far away from those critters as possible.
Some of you may remember the infamous encounter I had last year with a rattlesnake I found a little too close to where we live. You know, with grand kids running around a guy can't be too careful. That particular encounter didn't turn out as expected, for me nor Mr. Rattler. After trying to run over him a couple of times with the FJ without success, I resorted to my trusty .357 revolver.....snub nosed.....police special.....five shots....needed six! After the fifth shot, I had accomplished nothing more than making him very mad, and I was suddenly unarmed. Could've thrown the gun at 'em like they do in all of the old gunfights on TV, but I had already proven my lack of accuracy. Time to move on.
Aah, but that wasn't my first encounter with one of those slithery, venomous, creatures. Shortly after I moved to this part of the country I was meeting with a female client who had plans to renovate a beautiful old barn into a business venue. It was a great place, but as we were walking the perimeter something grabbed my arm with the grip of a lumberjack.....man she was strong.....and could she scream....and did! There, lying on a rock ledge was another one of those gosh darn snakes. What to do, what to do, especially since I was incapacitated by the lack of blood flow in my left arm. Fortunately, I'm right handed and was able to smack it with a stick I found lying on the ground.....Sure wish I would have had a stick instead of that darn revolver...
With that little interruption taken care of, we were able to continue our tour, and a few months later our community was blessed with the opening of a great place for weddings, reunions, business meetings, etc. I guess rattlesnakes don't deter a determined business woman. Well, this seems like a good place to end my story about rattlesnakes, but I would be remiss to leave out this one last episode....my first encounter.
Seventeen years old, working on a pipeline crew in Texas.....never before had I come in contact with a rattlesnake. Here in Texas there were many, and they seemed to enjoy crawling into the joints of pipe at night so they could slither out and greet us in the morning light. "Better watch where you stick your hand, son". All of us became quite "aware" of their presence.
One day, a couple of us were riding down the right-of-way on the back of a flat bed truck, jumping down every 50 yards or so to pick up skids, and throw them on the truck. Typically, one would lay your hand on the bed of the truck and swing down to the ground......where this time was lying another of those #@&*# rattlesnakes.
I've been told that it's physically impossible to reverse one's direction once your feet have left the safety of the truck bed.....Not true. I've got witnesses. It can be done....feet never touched the ground.and I was sitting comfortably back on the truck.....I swear it's true, but yet again, what do I know.
Some of you may remember the infamous encounter I had last year with a rattlesnake I found a little too close to where we live. You know, with grand kids running around a guy can't be too careful. That particular encounter didn't turn out as expected, for me nor Mr. Rattler. After trying to run over him a couple of times with the FJ without success, I resorted to my trusty .357 revolver.....snub nosed.....police special.....five shots....needed six! After the fifth shot, I had accomplished nothing more than making him very mad, and I was suddenly unarmed. Could've thrown the gun at 'em like they do in all of the old gunfights on TV, but I had already proven my lack of accuracy. Time to move on.
Aah, but that wasn't my first encounter with one of those slithery, venomous, creatures. Shortly after I moved to this part of the country I was meeting with a female client who had plans to renovate a beautiful old barn into a business venue. It was a great place, but as we were walking the perimeter something grabbed my arm with the grip of a lumberjack.....man she was strong.....and could she scream....and did! There, lying on a rock ledge was another one of those gosh darn snakes. What to do, what to do, especially since I was incapacitated by the lack of blood flow in my left arm. Fortunately, I'm right handed and was able to smack it with a stick I found lying on the ground.....Sure wish I would have had a stick instead of that darn revolver...
With that little interruption taken care of, we were able to continue our tour, and a few months later our community was blessed with the opening of a great place for weddings, reunions, business meetings, etc. I guess rattlesnakes don't deter a determined business woman. Well, this seems like a good place to end my story about rattlesnakes, but I would be remiss to leave out this one last episode....my first encounter.
Seventeen years old, working on a pipeline crew in Texas.....never before had I come in contact with a rattlesnake. Here in Texas there were many, and they seemed to enjoy crawling into the joints of pipe at night so they could slither out and greet us in the morning light. "Better watch where you stick your hand, son". All of us became quite "aware" of their presence.
One day, a couple of us were riding down the right-of-way on the back of a flat bed truck, jumping down every 50 yards or so to pick up skids, and throw them on the truck. Typically, one would lay your hand on the bed of the truck and swing down to the ground......where this time was lying another of those #@&*# rattlesnakes.
I've been told that it's physically impossible to reverse one's direction once your feet have left the safety of the truck bed.....Not true. I've got witnesses. It can be done....feet never touched the ground.and I was sitting comfortably back on the truck.....I swear it's true, but yet again, what do I know.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Hello, is anyone listening.....
When was the last time your were absolutely blown away with a company's customer service? Especially when you were calling to lodge a complaint, or to report a problem with a product not living up to your expectations. Unfortunately, I bet the odds are 10-1 in favor of a disappointing outcome to your call.
Why is that? What is so doggone difficult about taking care of your customers? After all, the customer purchased your product in good faith, and in most cases just wants the darn thing to perform as advertised.
Some companies are pretty good at resolving issues, but rarely does the customer come away with the feeling that it was done without hesitation, or without demanding an ounce of flesh first. If you live long enough, however, and buy enough "stuff" you will have multiple opportunities to uncover a few companies that have outstanding customer service.
Last summer I purchased an inflatable pontoon boat from Cabela's. It arrived shortly before a planned float trip to Arkansas, but when I finished assembly, one of the pontoons wouldn't hold air. It was leaking around the valve stem, and I couldn't get it fixed......I was not happy.....I called Cabela's.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
A real live person answered, no automated answering service, no transfer to another department, and most of all, an attentive, friendly person listened patiently to my dilemma. That's a great start to getting in my good graces.
"We'll send you a new boat, and pay to ship that one back. Is that okay?"
Yes, that would be great, but I needed it for a float trip the next week, and besides, all I really needed was a new valve, not the whole boat. Still, I was impressed as the associate tried to help me get a boat on the river. She then volunteered to get the boat manufacturer on the line to see how quickly we could get a new valve delivered. Wow, I'm pretty pleased with the effort so far.
"Classic Accessories, this is Nicki, how may I help you?"
What were the chances of getting another real live person answering the phone? Again, no question that they were most interested in resolving my problem. "Will it work for you if we ship it to you overnight? And, I'm going to send you a new pontoon just in case it's not the valve that's the problem." At this point, I'm pretty well blown away with both Cabela's and Classic Accessories. Every company should put forth this type of effort to please its customers.
A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to contact Classic Accessories again. This time I sent an email to request information about buying a replacement oar. We had just returned from floating the river and I had damaged one of the oars. When the person found that it had been just a year ago that I had bought the boat, he volunteered to send a new oar under the one-year warranty. Once again, what a great company. Then, when the package arrived a few days later, I opened it to find not a single oar, but a set of two brand new oars. Wow!
I advise my clients that they should always strive to astonish the customer, not just satisfy their needs. Needless to say, Cabela's and Classic Accessories have set the bar pretty darn high in my book.
Someday I'll write about a quite different experience that my daughter-in-law had with Sears this week. I suspect she would say they failed to even step over the bar as it laid on the ground. You might say they have a lot of room for improvement , but once again, what do I know.
Why is that? What is so doggone difficult about taking care of your customers? After all, the customer purchased your product in good faith, and in most cases just wants the darn thing to perform as advertised.
Some companies are pretty good at resolving issues, but rarely does the customer come away with the feeling that it was done without hesitation, or without demanding an ounce of flesh first. If you live long enough, however, and buy enough "stuff" you will have multiple opportunities to uncover a few companies that have outstanding customer service.
Last summer I purchased an inflatable pontoon boat from Cabela's. It arrived shortly before a planned float trip to Arkansas, but when I finished assembly, one of the pontoons wouldn't hold air. It was leaking around the valve stem, and I couldn't get it fixed......I was not happy.....I called Cabela's.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
A real live person answered, no automated answering service, no transfer to another department, and most of all, an attentive, friendly person listened patiently to my dilemma. That's a great start to getting in my good graces.
"We'll send you a new boat, and pay to ship that one back. Is that okay?"
Yes, that would be great, but I needed it for a float trip the next week, and besides, all I really needed was a new valve, not the whole boat. Still, I was impressed as the associate tried to help me get a boat on the river. She then volunteered to get the boat manufacturer on the line to see how quickly we could get a new valve delivered. Wow, I'm pretty pleased with the effort so far.
"Classic Accessories, this is Nicki, how may I help you?"
What were the chances of getting another real live person answering the phone? Again, no question that they were most interested in resolving my problem. "Will it work for you if we ship it to you overnight? And, I'm going to send you a new pontoon just in case it's not the valve that's the problem." At this point, I'm pretty well blown away with both Cabela's and Classic Accessories. Every company should put forth this type of effort to please its customers.
A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to contact Classic Accessories again. This time I sent an email to request information about buying a replacement oar. We had just returned from floating the river and I had damaged one of the oars. When the person found that it had been just a year ago that I had bought the boat, he volunteered to send a new oar under the one-year warranty. Once again, what a great company. Then, when the package arrived a few days later, I opened it to find not a single oar, but a set of two brand new oars. Wow!
I advise my clients that they should always strive to astonish the customer, not just satisfy their needs. Needless to say, Cabela's and Classic Accessories have set the bar pretty darn high in my book.
Someday I'll write about a quite different experience that my daughter-in-law had with Sears this week. I suspect she would say they failed to even step over the bar as it laid on the ground. You might say they have a lot of room for improvement , but once again, what do I know.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
My kind of place....
A couple of weeks ago I received a recall notice in the mail. It was nothing major, just a simple repair to my Stihl weed trimmer. It seems as though the ethanol blended gasoline that is sold in many of the stations today, is causing some issues with the gas tanks. Again, nothing to worry about......unless the gasoline leaking from the faulty gas cap ignites when it hits the hot exhaust of the machine cradled in my hands!
I've been mightily pleased with Stihl power equipment for a long time; chain saws, weed trimmers, you name it this company puts out a fine product. The first trimmer I bought lasted nearly twenty years, then I gave it to my son who continued to use it. Now that's a testament to quality, because I used the heck out of that thing. So, I purchased another one....the current model which has now been recalled. I've had this one seven years, and have abused it for that same amount of time. I just never expected anything to go wrong with it.
Regardless, I threw it in the back of the truck this morning, and made the short trip to town to get it fixed at one of my favorite Mom and Pop shops. You know the ones, where Dad greets you with a smile when you walk in the door, and while he may not remember your name, he can remember the model of the trimmer you bought seven years ago. Then, while he visits with you, his son grabs the trimmer from your hands to fix it, and Mom takes care of the paperwork.....I love those types of shops.
These are the places the big box stores just can't begin to match when it comes to customer service, and the loyal customers who frequent these small shops know it. How much longer will they be able to last....who knows? When the old man retires, if ever, will his son take over, or will it just fade away like so many others have done? I hope not, and I intend to do everything I can to help them stick around.
I can buy Stihl equipment in a lot of different stores, but I elect to frequent the places that are locally owned and where the customers are treated like they're really appreciated. Like today. I was there just long enough to have a pleasant conversation with the owner and his wife before I was handed my trimmer, which had been fixed while we talked. My kind of place....and I'll go back as soon as I need a replacement. Heck, it could be another twenty years before this one wears out, and I'm counting on the shop to be there, but what do I know?
I've been mightily pleased with Stihl power equipment for a long time; chain saws, weed trimmers, you name it this company puts out a fine product. The first trimmer I bought lasted nearly twenty years, then I gave it to my son who continued to use it. Now that's a testament to quality, because I used the heck out of that thing. So, I purchased another one....the current model which has now been recalled. I've had this one seven years, and have abused it for that same amount of time. I just never expected anything to go wrong with it.
Regardless, I threw it in the back of the truck this morning, and made the short trip to town to get it fixed at one of my favorite Mom and Pop shops. You know the ones, where Dad greets you with a smile when you walk in the door, and while he may not remember your name, he can remember the model of the trimmer you bought seven years ago. Then, while he visits with you, his son grabs the trimmer from your hands to fix it, and Mom takes care of the paperwork.....I love those types of shops.
These are the places the big box stores just can't begin to match when it comes to customer service, and the loyal customers who frequent these small shops know it. How much longer will they be able to last....who knows? When the old man retires, if ever, will his son take over, or will it just fade away like so many others have done? I hope not, and I intend to do everything I can to help them stick around.
I can buy Stihl equipment in a lot of different stores, but I elect to frequent the places that are locally owned and where the customers are treated like they're really appreciated. Like today. I was there just long enough to have a pleasant conversation with the owner and his wife before I was handed my trimmer, which had been fixed while we talked. My kind of place....and I'll go back as soon as I need a replacement. Heck, it could be another twenty years before this one wears out, and I'm counting on the shop to be there, but what do I know?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
That's just a bunch of bull....
Well, I've got this young bull currently roaming the pasture, doing his darn best to spread "joy" to my small herd of cows. He thinks he's quite the man, but this is his first job and like most trainees, he still has a few things to learn about the trade. He has all the makings of being a top-notch performer, great pedigree, great physique, and a nice calm demeanor. But, alas, he has a few things left to learn.
It's been about a month since 007 (yes, that's his ear tag number) arrived on the scene. Since that time he's had it pretty easy....no competition, willing partners, and someone catering to his every need. He's scheduled to be "on the job" for about seventy-five days before he makes his exit, and of course, we're hopeful that he will leave behind cows that will give birth to great calves next spring.
All that being said, I fear that he's recently had his ego severely bruised, if not completely destroyed. I can only hope that he's able to recover.
Last weekend, I was rotating the cows from the south pasture where I have an abundance of cool weather grasses, to the north pasture which is primarily native grass. It's not much of a chore, just drive the Ranger to the vicinity of the gate, and they all come running. Pavlov's Theory is alive and well....see or hear the red Ranger.... run to see the nice man who drives it.....get rewarded with feed. It works like a charm and they follow it wherever I want them to go. Part of the chore is to make sure all cows, calves, and 007 make the trek before the gate swings shut. Where's 007? Nowhere to be found....not a good sign.
My neighbor has a cows in an adjoining pasture and I figured it to be a pretty good bet that one of those wanton ladies had lead poor 007 astray. It happens, and when I found the fence compromised by a fallen limb, I was 99% sure where he was. First, fix the fence then go round him up.
The first thing I noticed as I surveyed the pasture was a really good looking bull standing guard over "his" cows. As I got closer it was apparent that it was not 007. This guy was much bigger....a massive hulk of a bull....with an attitude! When he saw me approaching he immediately positioned himself between me and the cows and dropped his head......I retreated....no sense in seeing who's boss.
A few minutes later I found 007......standing all alone under a scraggly oak tree....if he was a dog his tail would have been tucked between his legs, but bulls apparently don't use that maneuver. We opened the gate, gave him a little encouragement, and he happily retreated to his home turf.
I'm not sure this story has a moral other than, as in the immortal words of Jim Croce, "Leroy learned a lesson 'bout a messin' with the wife of a jealous man"....Definitely a subject to which I can answer, what do I know?
It's been about a month since 007 (yes, that's his ear tag number) arrived on the scene. Since that time he's had it pretty easy....no competition, willing partners, and someone catering to his every need. He's scheduled to be "on the job" for about seventy-five days before he makes his exit, and of course, we're hopeful that he will leave behind cows that will give birth to great calves next spring.
All that being said, I fear that he's recently had his ego severely bruised, if not completely destroyed. I can only hope that he's able to recover.
Last weekend, I was rotating the cows from the south pasture where I have an abundance of cool weather grasses, to the north pasture which is primarily native grass. It's not much of a chore, just drive the Ranger to the vicinity of the gate, and they all come running. Pavlov's Theory is alive and well....see or hear the red Ranger.... run to see the nice man who drives it.....get rewarded with feed. It works like a charm and they follow it wherever I want them to go. Part of the chore is to make sure all cows, calves, and 007 make the trek before the gate swings shut. Where's 007? Nowhere to be found....not a good sign.
My neighbor has a cows in an adjoining pasture and I figured it to be a pretty good bet that one of those wanton ladies had lead poor 007 astray. It happens, and when I found the fence compromised by a fallen limb, I was 99% sure where he was. First, fix the fence then go round him up.
The first thing I noticed as I surveyed the pasture was a really good looking bull standing guard over "his" cows. As I got closer it was apparent that it was not 007. This guy was much bigger....a massive hulk of a bull....with an attitude! When he saw me approaching he immediately positioned himself between me and the cows and dropped his head......I retreated....no sense in seeing who's boss.
A few minutes later I found 007......standing all alone under a scraggly oak tree....if he was a dog his tail would have been tucked between his legs, but bulls apparently don't use that maneuver. We opened the gate, gave him a little encouragement, and he happily retreated to his home turf.
I'm not sure this story has a moral other than, as in the immortal words of Jim Croce, "Leroy learned a lesson 'bout a messin' with the wife of a jealous man"....Definitely a subject to which I can answer, what do I know?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Yogi says, "Baseball is 90% mental, and the other half is physical"....
It's a lazy Sunday afternoon here at the ranch. Last night we had a nice little thunderstorm which brought some much needed rain, and today the sky has been filled with ominous gray clouds that have given me all the encouragement I need to stay inside and watch a little college baseball on television. I love baseball, and I suppose that maybe I look for "opportunities" like today.
This year the games have been interrupted periodically with some of the same storms that brought last night's rain to us. Rain delays are a part of baseball, and if you've ever been involved with the game, you've lived through the experience of not only the delays, but playing through the occasional shower at the ballpark.
I coached youth baseball for many years and loved every minute.....even those times when the rain and cold made for miserable playing conditions. Those were "teachable moments" as I used to call them. The times that helped mold the minds of young athletes, and to teach them that playing through adversity was just a part of being a complete player.
It was a rare Saturday morning practice for the eleven year old's who were trying their best to master the art of throwing, catching, and hitting. My role was to control the chaos while teaching the fundamentals to a rowdy group of boys with a very limited attention span. On the field next to ours a rival team was raucously doing the same thing. They were a good team, with a big kid who was probably the best pitcher in the league. The youngsters on my team were somewhat in awe of his fast ball......
He was a good kid, but lacked discipline, and the least little distraction would often take him out of his game. Still, I would have loved to have him pitching for us.
About halfway through the practice a light rain started to fall, and everyone scurried for the protection of the dugouts. Our rivals started packing up their equipment and were headed for home. My kids expected us to follow suit.....we didn't! They ended up having the time of their lives, learning to throw a wet baseball, slipping and sliding in the wet grass and mud, and most of all......making fun of those "weenies" who packed it in with the first sprinkle.
Fast forward to the league tournament held at the end of every year. We had a good team, but not the best team. That honor would belong to our rivals who were now sitting in the opposing dugout for this semi-final game. The first few innings were uneventful, and to tell you the truth I can't even remember which team was leading when we felt the first few drops of rain. I do remember that we were at bat, and I was coaching third base when I noticed the wind shift; Then, those little puffs of dust that you see when a big fat drop of rain hits the dusty field.....unbelievable.
The rest is history. All it took was a few drops of rain, and our kids knew they had the game won. I glanced over at the dugout, and it was pandemonium. Kids were jumping up and down, the rain drops streaking their dusty faces, and smiles beaming everywhere. What fun! Of course there were more than a few shouts of derision aimed across the field at our opponents, and suddenly the best pitcher in the league couldn't find the strike zone.
We won that game, and I will never, ever forget that providential moment when the sky opened up and confirmed to a group of eleven year old boys that Yogi was right when he said "It's like deja vu all over again". I love baseball and I love kids who love baseball.....and yes, this is what I do know.
This year the games have been interrupted periodically with some of the same storms that brought last night's rain to us. Rain delays are a part of baseball, and if you've ever been involved with the game, you've lived through the experience of not only the delays, but playing through the occasional shower at the ballpark.
I coached youth baseball for many years and loved every minute.....even those times when the rain and cold made for miserable playing conditions. Those were "teachable moments" as I used to call them. The times that helped mold the minds of young athletes, and to teach them that playing through adversity was just a part of being a complete player.
It was a rare Saturday morning practice for the eleven year old's who were trying their best to master the art of throwing, catching, and hitting. My role was to control the chaos while teaching the fundamentals to a rowdy group of boys with a very limited attention span. On the field next to ours a rival team was raucously doing the same thing. They were a good team, with a big kid who was probably the best pitcher in the league. The youngsters on my team were somewhat in awe of his fast ball......
He was a good kid, but lacked discipline, and the least little distraction would often take him out of his game. Still, I would have loved to have him pitching for us.
About halfway through the practice a light rain started to fall, and everyone scurried for the protection of the dugouts. Our rivals started packing up their equipment and were headed for home. My kids expected us to follow suit.....we didn't! They ended up having the time of their lives, learning to throw a wet baseball, slipping and sliding in the wet grass and mud, and most of all......making fun of those "weenies" who packed it in with the first sprinkle.
Fast forward to the league tournament held at the end of every year. We had a good team, but not the best team. That honor would belong to our rivals who were now sitting in the opposing dugout for this semi-final game. The first few innings were uneventful, and to tell you the truth I can't even remember which team was leading when we felt the first few drops of rain. I do remember that we were at bat, and I was coaching third base when I noticed the wind shift; Then, those little puffs of dust that you see when a big fat drop of rain hits the dusty field.....unbelievable.
The rest is history. All it took was a few drops of rain, and our kids knew they had the game won. I glanced over at the dugout, and it was pandemonium. Kids were jumping up and down, the rain drops streaking their dusty faces, and smiles beaming everywhere. What fun! Of course there were more than a few shouts of derision aimed across the field at our opponents, and suddenly the best pitcher in the league couldn't find the strike zone.
We won that game, and I will never, ever forget that providential moment when the sky opened up and confirmed to a group of eleven year old boys that Yogi was right when he said "It's like deja vu all over again". I love baseball and I love kids who love baseball.....and yes, this is what I do know.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
It was a simple plan....
A very long time ago, a newly married couple ventured from the relative safe haven of their small hometown to see if they could make a life for themselves in the big city. Married just five months, there were many who said the two of them were foolish to embark on such an adventure. After all, there were no jobs awaiting them, nor had they prepared themselves with a tidy nest egg if things didn't go as planned. But, the plan was a simple one, move to the city, get jobs, and go to college.
So, on a cold January day all of their worldly possessions were loaded into a 12X60' mobile home, purchased with a loan from the friendly hometown banker, and the whole kit and caboodle was moved 70 miles south to start their new life. At least they would have a cheap place to live.....That is, if they found jobs that paid enough to make the $72 trailer payment, plus $40 for the space to park it. No problem, for like many young couples of the time, they simply had faith in each other and their ability to make it work.
Within a few weeks they were gainfully employed, one working to earn tuition money for school, and the other working to pay the living expenses. The jobs weren't glamorous, nor were they well paying, but they were a means to an end. Was it easy? No, but it was the first step toward becoming a self-sufficient family, and learning to work as a team to attain a common goal.
A few short years later it was graduation and time to start a career. Once again it was a team effort, and ultimately it was a connection made by one spouse that opened the door for the first job opportunity for the other. Continuing to follow what had proven to be a workable plan the roles were reversed, with the new wage earner paying the expenses, and the other becoming the student.
Along the way, the old mobile home was sold for enough money to make a down payment on a little house, and another milestone was achieved. At age twenty-two they were homeowners.....not easy, but with determination, perseverance, and frugal living, it was a goal that was indeed possible.
Over the years there were different jobs, different houses, and different challenges to be met. Again, sharing the load with a partner of a like mind makes the challenges of life less daunting, but it doesn't make them go away. There are always challenges to be faced, and the road is not always of the paved variety.
Today, I hear about more and more young adults who move back into their parents' homes because they just can't make it. Too few jobs, housing is too expensive, college loan debt is too high, and a variety of other excuses......Perhaps it's true.....or perhaps it's the result of unreasonable expectations.
Is it unreasonable to start at the bottom and work your way up? Is it unreasonable to live in "cheap" housing until you can afford better? Is it unreasonable to work while you're going to college and pay for it as you go? I don't profess to have the answers, I just pose the questions since what we're doing now doesn't appear to be working all that well.......But, once again, what do I know?
So, on a cold January day all of their worldly possessions were loaded into a 12X60' mobile home, purchased with a loan from the friendly hometown banker, and the whole kit and caboodle was moved 70 miles south to start their new life. At least they would have a cheap place to live.....That is, if they found jobs that paid enough to make the $72 trailer payment, plus $40 for the space to park it. No problem, for like many young couples of the time, they simply had faith in each other and their ability to make it work.
Within a few weeks they were gainfully employed, one working to earn tuition money for school, and the other working to pay the living expenses. The jobs weren't glamorous, nor were they well paying, but they were a means to an end. Was it easy? No, but it was the first step toward becoming a self-sufficient family, and learning to work as a team to attain a common goal.
A few short years later it was graduation and time to start a career. Once again it was a team effort, and ultimately it was a connection made by one spouse that opened the door for the first job opportunity for the other. Continuing to follow what had proven to be a workable plan the roles were reversed, with the new wage earner paying the expenses, and the other becoming the student.
Along the way, the old mobile home was sold for enough money to make a down payment on a little house, and another milestone was achieved. At age twenty-two they were homeowners.....not easy, but with determination, perseverance, and frugal living, it was a goal that was indeed possible.
Over the years there were different jobs, different houses, and different challenges to be met. Again, sharing the load with a partner of a like mind makes the challenges of life less daunting, but it doesn't make them go away. There are always challenges to be faced, and the road is not always of the paved variety.
Today, I hear about more and more young adults who move back into their parents' homes because they just can't make it. Too few jobs, housing is too expensive, college loan debt is too high, and a variety of other excuses......Perhaps it's true.....or perhaps it's the result of unreasonable expectations.
Is it unreasonable to start at the bottom and work your way up? Is it unreasonable to live in "cheap" housing until you can afford better? Is it unreasonable to work while you're going to college and pay for it as you go? I don't profess to have the answers, I just pose the questions since what we're doing now doesn't appear to be working all that well.......But, once again, what do I know?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Yikes, that's a lot of water.....
A few years ago a group of "us guys" started a new tradition. We each bought one-man, inflatable pontoon boats and began the odyssey of what was to become our annual fishing expedition. Last year was the first trip for this illustrious group, and it was a resounding success.....Floating lazily down a quiet stream in Arkansas (can you visualize the movie Deliverance), casting along the bank for smallmouth bass, but mostly just enjoying the beautiful scenery along the Buffalo River.
The trip last year included four of us who are roughly the same age and two gentlemen who were in their eighties. Those two men literally wore the rest of us out.....up before dawn fixing breakfast, rousting the group from our semi-comfortable sleeping accommodations, and "encouraging" everyone to get an early start on the river. This year I think the two of them felt like we slowed them down, so they took off for another adventure in North Dakota, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We did, however, recruit another fellow to come along this time....brand new boat.....never been on any river....ever!
We schedule the trips for the week prior to Memorial Day which is usually just about perfect for fishing, floating, and avoiding the crazies that show up on the weekend. We rather like having the river to ourselves to enjoy the solitude of a quiet float down the river, sans the scores of upended canoes abandoned by those who find it too difficult to paddle and drink simultaneously.
Our well-planned adventure this year got off to a rocky start. The week(s) prior to our trip were filled with thunderstorms, tornadoes, and rain that was measured by the foot instead of by the inch! Well, at least there would be water in the river we thought.
The lady at the Ranger station said, "I've lived on this river my entire life and there is no way I'd get on it". The fellow at the canoe rental place told us, "Too dangerous. We're not putting anyone on the river today". Great, at least we'll have the river to ourselves!
We drove on down to one of the landings where we were met with a great big sign that read, DANGER - RIVER AT FLOOD STAGE. "Oh, how dangerous can it be" we say as we drove down for a closer look. "Yikes, that's a lot of water, what do you think?"
Evidently "thinking" was not something we felt the need to include in the equation as we drove up to the headwaters with our trusty pontoon boats in tow. The water was somewhat lower at the top, and a few other "brave" souls eyed the roiling waters with a fair amount of apprehension. "Oh, what the heck, we're experienced rafters....". Even our newest member had spent some time with his new boat in the swimming pool back home.....even prepared himself for inclement weather by having his wife turn the hose on him while he practiced his turns. As we all know, preparation is key.
"Here we go".........."Hey this is a piece of cake"......."Wow, this water is moving really fast"......."Is there a way to stop this thing"......."Michael, row your boat ashore"......."Geez, that was great, let's do it again"!
Just another one of life's little adventures.....If you don't live on the edge you're not living, right? Once again, proving beyond a shadow of doubt....What do I know?
The trip last year included four of us who are roughly the same age and two gentlemen who were in their eighties. Those two men literally wore the rest of us out.....up before dawn fixing breakfast, rousting the group from our semi-comfortable sleeping accommodations, and "encouraging" everyone to get an early start on the river. This year I think the two of them felt like we slowed them down, so they took off for another adventure in North Dakota, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We did, however, recruit another fellow to come along this time....brand new boat.....never been on any river....ever!
We schedule the trips for the week prior to Memorial Day which is usually just about perfect for fishing, floating, and avoiding the crazies that show up on the weekend. We rather like having the river to ourselves to enjoy the solitude of a quiet float down the river, sans the scores of upended canoes abandoned by those who find it too difficult to paddle and drink simultaneously.
Our well-planned adventure this year got off to a rocky start. The week(s) prior to our trip were filled with thunderstorms, tornadoes, and rain that was measured by the foot instead of by the inch! Well, at least there would be water in the river we thought.
The lady at the Ranger station said, "I've lived on this river my entire life and there is no way I'd get on it". The fellow at the canoe rental place told us, "Too dangerous. We're not putting anyone on the river today". Great, at least we'll have the river to ourselves!
We drove on down to one of the landings where we were met with a great big sign that read, DANGER - RIVER AT FLOOD STAGE. "Oh, how dangerous can it be" we say as we drove down for a closer look. "Yikes, that's a lot of water, what do you think?"
Evidently "thinking" was not something we felt the need to include in the equation as we drove up to the headwaters with our trusty pontoon boats in tow. The water was somewhat lower at the top, and a few other "brave" souls eyed the roiling waters with a fair amount of apprehension. "Oh, what the heck, we're experienced rafters....". Even our newest member had spent some time with his new boat in the swimming pool back home.....even prepared himself for inclement weather by having his wife turn the hose on him while he practiced his turns. As we all know, preparation is key.
"Here we go".........."Hey this is a piece of cake"......."Wow, this water is moving really fast"......."Is there a way to stop this thing"......."Michael, row your boat ashore"......."Geez, that was great, let's do it again"!
Just another one of life's little adventures.....If you don't live on the edge you're not living, right? Once again, proving beyond a shadow of doubt....What do I know?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Saturday night entertainment.....watching the paint dry.
When you live in the city most of the houses face the street in some fashion or the other, and it is customary for visitors to park on the street or in the driveway, and approach the front door for entry. That being the norm, I've seen some beautiful front yards, porches, and entryways. People spend thousands of dollars installing just the right landscaping, enhanced by just the right ambient lighting, to form the most gracious entrances to their homes.
We lived in that environment for many years, and likewise, spent countless hours and countless dollars to create the perfect approach to our home. It seemed very important at the time, and besides, one had to keep up with the Jones' place next door where every blade of grass was trimmed to perfection, and every lovely shrub was exquisitely pruned as well. It takes hours of work each week to keep a 70' X 150' yard "presentable", so finally I just gave up! No, I didn't let my yard go native and bring in the goats to keep it groomed. Like Eddie Albert, I simply decided that country living was the life for me and moved to the ranch.....Miss Elizabeth came along for the ride, and I'm still not sure she's convinced the decision was for the best. Ah, but I digress....
When you build a house in the country there aren't many rules to follow, no set-back lines from the street, no minimum or maximum square footage, no requirements as to which way to face the house, no homeowners' associations, and most of all, no neighbors out clipping their grass with a pair of scissors. I guess you could say the competition for the best kept yard came down a notch....or maybe two. In fact, I can scan the horizon in all four directions and not see a single house. Bliss to some, to others an absolute nightmare. For me, the quiet serenity of life in the country is wonderful.
Again, I've drifted from my initial train of thought.....some say that's quite normal for me, but I think it's just a sign; Of what I'm not sure, but a sign nevertheless. Anyway, to get back on track, now that we live in the country the front door is rarely used by the occasional visitor to our home. In fact, I can probably count on both hands the number of people who have graced that entry. Our driveway meanders through the trees, past the front of the house and ends up delivering our visitors on the side of the house opposite from the road. Therefore, friends and family routinely announce their arrival at our back door. Like they say, back door friends are the best anyway.
I had sensed that something was afoot, and yesterday morning, Miss Elizabeth suggested that we "spruce up" the back entry since it's the one most seen by our visitors.......WHAT? Didn't we leave all that behind us when we left the city? I guess not, because I spent the better part of my Saturday afternoon putting a fresh coat of green paint on what was a perfectly acceptable white door. Then, the better part of the evening was spent "watching the paint dry" to ensure it was the proper color....Oh dear!
I must admit, however, that it did warm things up a bit.....made it a little more inviting than before....now if we'd just add some flagstone walkways, a couple of new shrubs, and some of those directional lights......Oh my gosh, I think it's the return of my worst nightmare, proving once again, what do I know?
We lived in that environment for many years, and likewise, spent countless hours and countless dollars to create the perfect approach to our home. It seemed very important at the time, and besides, one had to keep up with the Jones' place next door where every blade of grass was trimmed to perfection, and every lovely shrub was exquisitely pruned as well. It takes hours of work each week to keep a 70' X 150' yard "presentable", so finally I just gave up! No, I didn't let my yard go native and bring in the goats to keep it groomed. Like Eddie Albert, I simply decided that country living was the life for me and moved to the ranch.....Miss Elizabeth came along for the ride, and I'm still not sure she's convinced the decision was for the best. Ah, but I digress....
When you build a house in the country there aren't many rules to follow, no set-back lines from the street, no minimum or maximum square footage, no requirements as to which way to face the house, no homeowners' associations, and most of all, no neighbors out clipping their grass with a pair of scissors. I guess you could say the competition for the best kept yard came down a notch....or maybe two. In fact, I can scan the horizon in all four directions and not see a single house. Bliss to some, to others an absolute nightmare. For me, the quiet serenity of life in the country is wonderful.
Again, I've drifted from my initial train of thought.....some say that's quite normal for me, but I think it's just a sign; Of what I'm not sure, but a sign nevertheless. Anyway, to get back on track, now that we live in the country the front door is rarely used by the occasional visitor to our home. In fact, I can probably count on both hands the number of people who have graced that entry. Our driveway meanders through the trees, past the front of the house and ends up delivering our visitors on the side of the house opposite from the road. Therefore, friends and family routinely announce their arrival at our back door. Like they say, back door friends are the best anyway.
I had sensed that something was afoot, and yesterday morning, Miss Elizabeth suggested that we "spruce up" the back entry since it's the one most seen by our visitors.......WHAT? Didn't we leave all that behind us when we left the city? I guess not, because I spent the better part of my Saturday afternoon putting a fresh coat of green paint on what was a perfectly acceptable white door. Then, the better part of the evening was spent "watching the paint dry" to ensure it was the proper color....Oh dear!
I must admit, however, that it did warm things up a bit.....made it a little more inviting than before....now if we'd just add some flagstone walkways, a couple of new shrubs, and some of those directional lights......Oh my gosh, I think it's the return of my worst nightmare, proving once again, what do I know?
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Oh those playful little fur balls.....grew up!
Some of you may recall that last summer I made an executive decision to bring home a really cute black Labrador puppy. Shortly thereafter, with the guarded blessing of Miss Elizabeth, "we" brought home a really cute chocolate Labrador puppy, doubling our pleasure, and our vet bills, and our feed bills, and last but not least, doubling the aggravation that two young dogs can cause.
Okay, we expected that they would be the rambunctious sorts, as Labs are always full of spit and vinegar. These two are no exception to that rule, and so far have caused a fair amount of consternation around the ranch. Last winter when I was cutting trees for firewood, it was the cutest thing to watch the two of them "fetch" the smaller limbs that I was carrying to the brush pile in the pasture. Then, they started "fetching" larger limbs from the pasture, some of which required the two of them working in tandem to carry back to the house. You see where this is going......Now, everyday our yard is filled with limbs that have somehow made their way back from that big brush pile west of the house. These dogs are great retrievers alright!
So, every few days either I or Miss Elizabeth gather the limbs and return them to their rightful place, only to have them appear again overnight. For awhile we put Maddie and Molly in the kennel at night, but one evening after tucking them in for the night, we were greeted with the playful yelps of the two pups, thrilled to show us the new trick they'd learned......I had no idea Labs could scale a fence like that!
Of course, there's more. A couple of months ago I ordered some items from a popular mail order catalog; a few summer tees, a pair of flip flops (used to be called thongs, but I guess that was in another lifetime), and a pair of mesh fishing shoes. No one was at home when the mail came, so like always, the mail carrier left the box on the front porch.....big mistake. Tees-shredded, Flip-flops-shredded, Mesh shoes-shredded.....pups were very near going to puppy heaven, but received a pardon at the last moment.
Oh, but there's more yet. Two weeks ago Miss Elizabeth ordered new contact lenses......I'm not even going to go into the details of that one, but I think you can figure it out for yourself. Fortunately, when she called to explain why she needed to re-order the lenses, the folks at the doctor's office were so enamored with her "the dogs ate my lenses" story that they sent a her new ones for free. Once again, the pups were very, very near to puppy heaven.
Now we're dealing with the landscaping that's been years in the making. Hostas are taking a beating, fountain grass has endured several transplants, the new coleus is struggling to stay in the upright position, and the potted rain lilies keep getting unpotted.
Miss Elizabeth has just about reached her limit, and I'm afraid it's me that might be on the way to heaven this time.....I guess I'll have company though....man's best friend, right? Oh heck, what do I know anyway!!
Okay, we expected that they would be the rambunctious sorts, as Labs are always full of spit and vinegar. These two are no exception to that rule, and so far have caused a fair amount of consternation around the ranch. Last winter when I was cutting trees for firewood, it was the cutest thing to watch the two of them "fetch" the smaller limbs that I was carrying to the brush pile in the pasture. Then, they started "fetching" larger limbs from the pasture, some of which required the two of them working in tandem to carry back to the house. You see where this is going......Now, everyday our yard is filled with limbs that have somehow made their way back from that big brush pile west of the house. These dogs are great retrievers alright!
So, every few days either I or Miss Elizabeth gather the limbs and return them to their rightful place, only to have them appear again overnight. For awhile we put Maddie and Molly in the kennel at night, but one evening after tucking them in for the night, we were greeted with the playful yelps of the two pups, thrilled to show us the new trick they'd learned......I had no idea Labs could scale a fence like that!
Of course, there's more. A couple of months ago I ordered some items from a popular mail order catalog; a few summer tees, a pair of flip flops (used to be called thongs, but I guess that was in another lifetime), and a pair of mesh fishing shoes. No one was at home when the mail came, so like always, the mail carrier left the box on the front porch.....big mistake. Tees-shredded, Flip-flops-shredded, Mesh shoes-shredded.....pups were very near going to puppy heaven, but received a pardon at the last moment.
Oh, but there's more yet. Two weeks ago Miss Elizabeth ordered new contact lenses......I'm not even going to go into the details of that one, but I think you can figure it out for yourself. Fortunately, when she called to explain why she needed to re-order the lenses, the folks at the doctor's office were so enamored with her "the dogs ate my lenses" story that they sent a her new ones for free. Once again, the pups were very, very near to puppy heaven.
Now we're dealing with the landscaping that's been years in the making. Hostas are taking a beating, fountain grass has endured several transplants, the new coleus is struggling to stay in the upright position, and the potted rain lilies keep getting unpotted.
Miss Elizabeth has just about reached her limit, and I'm afraid it's me that might be on the way to heaven this time.....I guess I'll have company though....man's best friend, right? Oh heck, what do I know anyway!!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Thankful for all that God provides....
What a beautiful day it is today. The sky is a vivid blue, the sun is shining, and after what seems like weeks of being rainy and cold, it finally feels like spring again. It's just a great time to be at the ranch. The pastures are absolutely stunning now that the green grass is taking the place of the charred blackness of the burn a few weeks ago. It almost looks like green velvet stretching across the valley and up the hills to the south of the house.
I was standing at the window a few minutes ago taking it all in and was struck by the sheer beauty of nature, and all that God has provided for our enjoyment. On the back porch our two wonder dogs, Maddie and Molly, were lolling lazily in the sunshine, evidently exhausted by the hard work of protecting us from all that moves around the property. Maddie was flat on her back with all four legs in the air, and as usual Molly right by her side.
Down in the pasture the cows were similarly enjoying the sunshine. A few of them were standing, but most were lying around chewing their cuds, and keeping an eye on the calves scattered about. I was mentioning to Miss Elizabeth just a few days ago that there's something extremely relaxing about watching the cows as they mosey from place to place, munching the fresh grass and living large.
Last fall, we acquired the "horse with no home", now named Lucky Star, and she has been an interesting addition to our menagerie. She provides the grace and beauty that the cows can only dream about as she throws her head up high and lopes across the pasture...."feeling her oats" would be an appropriate description for the way she's acting today. Most of the time she simply follows the cows around the pasture, pretending to be their friend, when in fact she is monitoring their every move and gently moves them in the direction she wants. She is very protective of the calves and will help "round them up" on occasion.
We get so caught up in the hustle bustle of our daily lives, that we sometimes forget to live. It's springtime, and it's a great time to take a drive in the country to experience the rebirth of all that has been dormant through the winter. If you can, take some time for yourself, breathe the fresh air, gaze at the sights and sounds around your world, and offer up a small prayer for all that you have to be thankful for this glorious day. It can't hurt, and I suspect that you will find it to be invigorating, but once again, what do I know?
I was standing at the window a few minutes ago taking it all in and was struck by the sheer beauty of nature, and all that God has provided for our enjoyment. On the back porch our two wonder dogs, Maddie and Molly, were lolling lazily in the sunshine, evidently exhausted by the hard work of protecting us from all that moves around the property. Maddie was flat on her back with all four legs in the air, and as usual Molly right by her side.
Down in the pasture the cows were similarly enjoying the sunshine. A few of them were standing, but most were lying around chewing their cuds, and keeping an eye on the calves scattered about. I was mentioning to Miss Elizabeth just a few days ago that there's something extremely relaxing about watching the cows as they mosey from place to place, munching the fresh grass and living large.
Last fall, we acquired the "horse with no home", now named Lucky Star, and she has been an interesting addition to our menagerie. She provides the grace and beauty that the cows can only dream about as she throws her head up high and lopes across the pasture...."feeling her oats" would be an appropriate description for the way she's acting today. Most of the time she simply follows the cows around the pasture, pretending to be their friend, when in fact she is monitoring their every move and gently moves them in the direction she wants. She is very protective of the calves and will help "round them up" on occasion.
We get so caught up in the hustle bustle of our daily lives, that we sometimes forget to live. It's springtime, and it's a great time to take a drive in the country to experience the rebirth of all that has been dormant through the winter. If you can, take some time for yourself, breathe the fresh air, gaze at the sights and sounds around your world, and offer up a small prayer for all that you have to be thankful for this glorious day. It can't hurt, and I suspect that you will find it to be invigorating, but once again, what do I know?
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friends, both old and new....
A couple of nights ago a neighbor of mine called and invited me to dinner. Miss Elizabeth was in Kansas City, and his better half works in Topeka, so we two "bachelors" sometimes decide to take a break from our own cooking and head into town for something different. Neither of us is very hard to please, so long as the meal is prepared by someone other than us. Mexican food sounded good, and it was.
We are roughly the same age, but only became friends after Elizabeth and I moved to the ranch several years ago. Since that time, however, we've discovered that we have much in common and probably played baseball against each other way back in our teens. We often talk about what fun we had playing America's game, but mostly we talk cattle, finances, and "men talk", never getting too personal.
There's something that's quite different about two men getting together occasionally than when women friends meet for lunch or dinner. The conversation is different, somehow more reserved, as if we're protecting ourselves from getting too close to the things we hold dear. Why is that? I remember a time when I was a boy that there were no secrets held back from my friends. We shared everything, and I think that is what etched those memories so clearly in my mind. It's also, to my way of thinking, why there are no friendships like those that are forged when you are young.
Last week, I had an email from an old high school friend. He's the organizer of a monthly breakfast gathering for some of us who go "way back". While I may have generated the idea for the breakfasts, if it wasn't for Ben it wouldn't have happened. But, I digress. The email was to inform me that my old friend, and blocking back, might have had a heart attack and was on the way to the hospital. Damn!
Memories flooded back. I've known him since the fourth grade, and we've shared a lot over the years. Please God, don't let this happen to my friend. He has a good heart, and I would miss him beyond words.
Fortunately, it was a false alarm and all is well with his heart, at least for the time being. But, we're all of the age when these little "false alarms" need to trigger some life style changes, eating better, exercising more, and not acting like we're still in our teens. We are no longer young and bullet-proof.
I'm certainly guilty of eating too much Mexican food and too many cheeseburgers.....Sorry Steve, but next time we go to town, it's the salad bar so we can continue to develop a friendship that will take us all the way to those rocking chairs on the front porch.
If you have friends that you hold dear, take care of yourself and ask that they do the same....It could be the difference between life and death, but what do I know?
We are roughly the same age, but only became friends after Elizabeth and I moved to the ranch several years ago. Since that time, however, we've discovered that we have much in common and probably played baseball against each other way back in our teens. We often talk about what fun we had playing America's game, but mostly we talk cattle, finances, and "men talk", never getting too personal.
There's something that's quite different about two men getting together occasionally than when women friends meet for lunch or dinner. The conversation is different, somehow more reserved, as if we're protecting ourselves from getting too close to the things we hold dear. Why is that? I remember a time when I was a boy that there were no secrets held back from my friends. We shared everything, and I think that is what etched those memories so clearly in my mind. It's also, to my way of thinking, why there are no friendships like those that are forged when you are young.
Last week, I had an email from an old high school friend. He's the organizer of a monthly breakfast gathering for some of us who go "way back". While I may have generated the idea for the breakfasts, if it wasn't for Ben it wouldn't have happened. But, I digress. The email was to inform me that my old friend, and blocking back, might have had a heart attack and was on the way to the hospital. Damn!
Memories flooded back. I've known him since the fourth grade, and we've shared a lot over the years. Please God, don't let this happen to my friend. He has a good heart, and I would miss him beyond words.
Fortunately, it was a false alarm and all is well with his heart, at least for the time being. But, we're all of the age when these little "false alarms" need to trigger some life style changes, eating better, exercising more, and not acting like we're still in our teens. We are no longer young and bullet-proof.
I'm certainly guilty of eating too much Mexican food and too many cheeseburgers.....Sorry Steve, but next time we go to town, it's the salad bar so we can continue to develop a friendship that will take us all the way to those rocking chairs on the front porch.
If you have friends that you hold dear, take care of yourself and ask that they do the same....It could be the difference between life and death, but what do I know?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Common sense will prevail.....or not!
Today was a good day. I was up early to do the chores and get prepared for a day of hot, hard labor to get the pasture grasses burned while there's still plenty of dried grasses to fuel the fire. Some ranchers burn pastures every Spring to help control weeds and brushy plants. I only do it every other year.....lazy I guess.
This morning was cool and calm as we gathered at my place to coordinate who was to do what. There were five of us who had decided to burn about 600 acres, covering parts of three different ranches. The land was all contiguous, which is a good thing, but we also had to work around my house, another house, some gas wells, and a couple of old wooden barns. To do it correctly requires a little planning, and to do it safely requires a large dose of common sense.
Last Saturday I had the unfortunate experience of dealing with the results of an ill-planned and poorly executed burn started by one of my part-time neighbors. As I mentioned above, a large dose of common sense is in order when dealing with fire. This is especially so when your actions are putting others in harms way. It's illegal to start a controlled burn when the wind exceeds 20mph, so even though you may have made plans to burn, common sense and the law, would dictate that a person cancel the burn until more favorable conditions prevail. If we had gathered this morning, and the wind was blowing too hard, we would have waited until another day.
Saturday I awoke to the smell of smoke. The wind had been howling all night long, and the forecast was for high winds, low humidity, and a temperature in the high eighties......not exactly ideal burning conditions. My first thought was a wildfire, not someone trying to burn intentionally. Wrong! This particular neighbor is a weekender, and has a history of making poor decisions when it comes to lighting matches. Chalk up another one for him!
We ended up with three different fire departments responding, several neighbors chipping in, and the sheriff having a "congenial" visit with the culprit. But, you know what? I'll bet he'll do the same thing again next year, or the year after. Some people just have no common sense, or is it that they have no respect for anyone or anything.....I really don't know the answer.
We were lucky this time. First, we were at home, and second the wind was from the south so we were on the backside of the fire. Still, it ended up burning about eighty acres of my place, and ended up at the driveway to my house. Too close for comfort.
Today's burn went off without a hitch. All it took was a little coordination among neighbors, the right equipment to deal with the unexpected, and most of all a big dose of common sense! I'm going to have a face to face "talk" with my neighbor to the north, and I'm almost positive that he will come away with at least a "small" dose of common sense......or maybe not.....after all, what do I know?
This morning was cool and calm as we gathered at my place to coordinate who was to do what. There were five of us who had decided to burn about 600 acres, covering parts of three different ranches. The land was all contiguous, which is a good thing, but we also had to work around my house, another house, some gas wells, and a couple of old wooden barns. To do it correctly requires a little planning, and to do it safely requires a large dose of common sense.
Last Saturday I had the unfortunate experience of dealing with the results of an ill-planned and poorly executed burn started by one of my part-time neighbors. As I mentioned above, a large dose of common sense is in order when dealing with fire. This is especially so when your actions are putting others in harms way. It's illegal to start a controlled burn when the wind exceeds 20mph, so even though you may have made plans to burn, common sense and the law, would dictate that a person cancel the burn until more favorable conditions prevail. If we had gathered this morning, and the wind was blowing too hard, we would have waited until another day.
Saturday I awoke to the smell of smoke. The wind had been howling all night long, and the forecast was for high winds, low humidity, and a temperature in the high eighties......not exactly ideal burning conditions. My first thought was a wildfire, not someone trying to burn intentionally. Wrong! This particular neighbor is a weekender, and has a history of making poor decisions when it comes to lighting matches. Chalk up another one for him!
We ended up with three different fire departments responding, several neighbors chipping in, and the sheriff having a "congenial" visit with the culprit. But, you know what? I'll bet he'll do the same thing again next year, or the year after. Some people just have no common sense, or is it that they have no respect for anyone or anything.....I really don't know the answer.
We were lucky this time. First, we were at home, and second the wind was from the south so we were on the backside of the fire. Still, it ended up burning about eighty acres of my place, and ended up at the driveway to my house. Too close for comfort.
Today's burn went off without a hitch. All it took was a little coordination among neighbors, the right equipment to deal with the unexpected, and most of all a big dose of common sense! I'm going to have a face to face "talk" with my neighbor to the north, and I'm almost positive that he will come away with at least a "small" dose of common sense......or maybe not.....after all, what do I know?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Yes, I'm old and set in my ways....
Recently, I read a rather heated exchange of ideas among several people communicating via that ever so popular venue called Facebook. It seemed to me that some were simply commenting to incite anger and had little regard for the opinions of the others. In a verbal exchange it would have been considered quite rude.
I'm a relative newcomer to this modern "social networking" scene, as I've only been a member for a year or so. Like many of us old-timers I was a little hesitant to get on board, and was finally "forced" to do it in order to follow the comings and goings of our children and to see pictures of the grand children.
It's been an interesting experience and suddenly I find myself checking my page regularly and communicating with friends from all over the world. For the most part it's just chit-chat among friends, verbal jabs, and an occasional serious discussion about the differences of opinion in all things political. As Alan Jackson sings, "I'm not a political man", and usually I stay on the fringes of these exchanges. If anything, I try to insert a comment that will lighten the tone a bit. It must be the mediator in me.
Anyway, I'm somewhat surprised at the things people are willing to post on this very public network; compromising photos, inappropriate language, and comments that are sometimes less than flattering. Things that can and do have far reaching effects.
As a business coach, I see business owners who have taken full advantage of the social network to help market their products and services, and it's a great way to reach new customers and expand sales. On the other hand I see some business owners, or their employees, post things that are totally inappropriate....Things that can definitely have a negative impact on how they, and their businesses, are perceived.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this other than it just strikes me as being odd that a person will work so hard at building a reputation, only to risk it by getting a little too loose with what is posted for everyone to see, and writing things they would never say in a face to face conversation.
I'll admit that I'm old and set in my ways, but I was taught that a person's name and reputation should be treasured and protected at all costs. After all, at the end of the day, what else is there......I guess it's just another one of those things that falls into that abyss known as..... What do I know?
I'm a relative newcomer to this modern "social networking" scene, as I've only been a member for a year or so. Like many of us old-timers I was a little hesitant to get on board, and was finally "forced" to do it in order to follow the comings and goings of our children and to see pictures of the grand children.
It's been an interesting experience and suddenly I find myself checking my page regularly and communicating with friends from all over the world. For the most part it's just chit-chat among friends, verbal jabs, and an occasional serious discussion about the differences of opinion in all things political. As Alan Jackson sings, "I'm not a political man", and usually I stay on the fringes of these exchanges. If anything, I try to insert a comment that will lighten the tone a bit. It must be the mediator in me.
Anyway, I'm somewhat surprised at the things people are willing to post on this very public network; compromising photos, inappropriate language, and comments that are sometimes less than flattering. Things that can and do have far reaching effects.
As a business coach, I see business owners who have taken full advantage of the social network to help market their products and services, and it's a great way to reach new customers and expand sales. On the other hand I see some business owners, or their employees, post things that are totally inappropriate....Things that can definitely have a negative impact on how they, and their businesses, are perceived.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this other than it just strikes me as being odd that a person will work so hard at building a reputation, only to risk it by getting a little too loose with what is posted for everyone to see, and writing things they would never say in a face to face conversation.
I'll admit that I'm old and set in my ways, but I was taught that a person's name and reputation should be treasured and protected at all costs. After all, at the end of the day, what else is there......I guess it's just another one of those things that falls into that abyss known as..... What do I know?
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Politics + Money =
Last night I attended a meeting. Not just any meeting; it was billed as a "community conversation". You ever see 200+ people have a conversation.....about money....interesting, very interesting.
I'm not sure what I expected, but the one thing I wanted to see was how anyone could possibly facilitate a conversational meeting of this magnitude. Especially when the subject matter was of such importance to everyone who took the time to attend. You see, a neighboring county is about to receive a significant financial windfall, and I've heard that discussions about money don't always bring out the best in people.....Last night went a long ways toward dispelling that belief.
The facilitator, after dealing with an initial disruption, did a masterful job of maintaining order and guiding the meeting to a productive outcome. People were passionate, but polite while stating their opinions as to how the elected officials should spend the money, but that's the way we do things in rural Kansas. This county has one of the lowest per capita incomes in the State, and how this money is utilized will be critical to the county's future, yet the discussion was civil and appropriate.
Politics + Money = Civil Discourse.....No way I would have believed it, but at the end of the night, there was no other way to describe it. I applaud the County Commissioners for their willingness to listen to the citizens before making any decisions regarding the best use of the anticipated funds. At this point, there is much yet to be decided, but what a wonderful start to open the dialogue before decisions are made instead of after the fact.
Though I am not a citizen of that county, I admire their approach to this issue. I attended to simply listen and observe, but came away with a renewed belief in our system of governance, at least at the local level. People really do care about doing the right thing, and given the opportunity will participate in the process.
Maybe we can all learn something from what I witnessed last night, but as always, what do I know.
I'm not sure what I expected, but the one thing I wanted to see was how anyone could possibly facilitate a conversational meeting of this magnitude. Especially when the subject matter was of such importance to everyone who took the time to attend. You see, a neighboring county is about to receive a significant financial windfall, and I've heard that discussions about money don't always bring out the best in people.....Last night went a long ways toward dispelling that belief.
The facilitator, after dealing with an initial disruption, did a masterful job of maintaining order and guiding the meeting to a productive outcome. People were passionate, but polite while stating their opinions as to how the elected officials should spend the money, but that's the way we do things in rural Kansas. This county has one of the lowest per capita incomes in the State, and how this money is utilized will be critical to the county's future, yet the discussion was civil and appropriate.
Politics + Money = Civil Discourse.....No way I would have believed it, but at the end of the night, there was no other way to describe it. I applaud the County Commissioners for their willingness to listen to the citizens before making any decisions regarding the best use of the anticipated funds. At this point, there is much yet to be decided, but what a wonderful start to open the dialogue before decisions are made instead of after the fact.
Though I am not a citizen of that county, I admire their approach to this issue. I attended to simply listen and observe, but came away with a renewed belief in our system of governance, at least at the local level. People really do care about doing the right thing, and given the opportunity will participate in the process.
Maybe we can all learn something from what I witnessed last night, but as always, what do I know.
Friday, February 18, 2011
This is not the headline I had envisioned....
One week ago I woke up to minus twenty degrees and frozen pipes in the utility room.....today the thermometer topped out at eighty-one and I ran the a/c in the car. You gotta love winter in the country's heartland. No long johns or insulated boots needed today, and in fact, this long sleeve shirt is just a bit too warm. No complaints from me!
This time of the year I'm just thankful for any day that stays above freezing, especially as my cows are getting close to calving. There's nothing worse than waking up to a freezing rain, going out to check the livestock, and finding a half frozen calf clinging to life. Fortunately for me those times have been few and far between, and I'd like to keep it that way.
It was so nice today that I took Molly and Maddie, our two Labs, for a walk across the pasture to check on the progress of a couple of cows that are nearing their "time". We made this same trek yesterday, taking a side trip to the pond to check the ice that was still covering the surface. I was happy to see it rapidly melting away, but it was still a danger for the cattle who might venture out on it. Just last night a news story reported the loss of 52 steers that had fallen through the ice and died. A truly sad event, and a huge financial loss for the rancher.
While we were standing at the side of the pond both dogs decided to scamper out to the middle, and I could just imagine myself having to wade through the freezing water, breaking ice along the way, to rescue the two of them.
"Man succumbs to freezing water trying to save dogs"
This is not the headline I had envisioned to announce my untimely passing. Fortunately, both dogs made it back to shore without crashing through the ice and my "headline" remains unwritten.
Today, after a couple of days of high temperatures and sunshine, the ice is completely gone. Maddie and Molly again made a mad dash for the pond, and with only a second hesitation, splashed mightily into the water.....this time they're on their own....no rescue needed....I don't swim as well as either one of them.
I certainly hope this weather continues, and we usher in an early Spring. Our first calf of the season arrived this week and was greeted with near perfect conditions.....only 15 more calves to go....Surely they'll all be just as lucky, but what do I know.
This time of the year I'm just thankful for any day that stays above freezing, especially as my cows are getting close to calving. There's nothing worse than waking up to a freezing rain, going out to check the livestock, and finding a half frozen calf clinging to life. Fortunately for me those times have been few and far between, and I'd like to keep it that way.
It was so nice today that I took Molly and Maddie, our two Labs, for a walk across the pasture to check on the progress of a couple of cows that are nearing their "time". We made this same trek yesterday, taking a side trip to the pond to check the ice that was still covering the surface. I was happy to see it rapidly melting away, but it was still a danger for the cattle who might venture out on it. Just last night a news story reported the loss of 52 steers that had fallen through the ice and died. A truly sad event, and a huge financial loss for the rancher.
While we were standing at the side of the pond both dogs decided to scamper out to the middle, and I could just imagine myself having to wade through the freezing water, breaking ice along the way, to rescue the two of them.
"Man succumbs to freezing water trying to save dogs"
This is not the headline I had envisioned to announce my untimely passing. Fortunately, both dogs made it back to shore without crashing through the ice and my "headline" remains unwritten.
Today, after a couple of days of high temperatures and sunshine, the ice is completely gone. Maddie and Molly again made a mad dash for the pond, and with only a second hesitation, splashed mightily into the water.....this time they're on their own....no rescue needed....I don't swim as well as either one of them.
I certainly hope this weather continues, and we usher in an early Spring. Our first calf of the season arrived this week and was greeted with near perfect conditions.....only 15 more calves to go....Surely they'll all be just as lucky, but what do I know.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Is it too late for a "do-over"....
It's snowing.....again. The second major snow event in as many weeks, but this time I don't have anywhere I absolutely need to go, so I won't venture out beyond the ranch boundaries for a day or two. After all, there's plenty of work to do right here.
It's bitterly cold, with wind chills below zero which reminds me of a football game we played in Fairbury, Nebraska. The weather was much the same except for the snow. There was a little snow on the ground, but what I remember most is the field. It had evidently been wet when another game had been played, and the field looked as though a herd of cattle had tromped over it. It was treacherous footing at best, and now that the field was frozen solid, it was downright dangerous. What a miserable venue....but we played the game....and it hurt.....a lot.
In junior college I played running back, and was also the team's punter. There were times when, like the Fairbury game, I would get really beat up as a running back, then have to punt the ball into a driving, gale force wind. To me, punting was a sideline.....I made my living as a running back.
Sometimes my punts weren't very pretty.
We were playing a home game, and it was a beautiful fall night. There were coaches visiting from the University of Miami to scout a few of us and we were pumped. Miami had a long history of recruiting players from our little community college, so it was not unusual for them to make a visit or two. The year before, Kurt Schottenheimer and a couple of our receivers had signed with the team and they were doing well.
That night I had a good night running the ball, and two of my punts were boomers. After the game, a couple of us were greeted by the Miami coaches and asked to stick around to watch some Miami film and talk about the opportunity for a scholarship. It was an exciting time.
"Jack, we were really impressed with your punts tonight and think you're the guy we'd like to have punting for us next year. We believe that if we get you to a warmer climate, and concentrate on just punting, you'll probably add 5-7 yards to your average."
"What do you mean, concentrate on just punting? I'm a running back."
"We have a stable full of good running backs, what we need is a good punter."
"Not interested. I want to go to a school where I can run the ball."
Days like today get me to thinking about that conversation.....Do you know that the University of Miami used to have a picture of its Olympic sized swimming pool on the cover of its brochure? What was I thinking?
You think it's too late for a "do-over"?
Evidently, this whole "What do I know" goes way back.....
It's bitterly cold, with wind chills below zero which reminds me of a football game we played in Fairbury, Nebraska. The weather was much the same except for the snow. There was a little snow on the ground, but what I remember most is the field. It had evidently been wet when another game had been played, and the field looked as though a herd of cattle had tromped over it. It was treacherous footing at best, and now that the field was frozen solid, it was downright dangerous. What a miserable venue....but we played the game....and it hurt.....a lot.
In junior college I played running back, and was also the team's punter. There were times when, like the Fairbury game, I would get really beat up as a running back, then have to punt the ball into a driving, gale force wind. To me, punting was a sideline.....I made my living as a running back.
Sometimes my punts weren't very pretty.
We were playing a home game, and it was a beautiful fall night. There were coaches visiting from the University of Miami to scout a few of us and we were pumped. Miami had a long history of recruiting players from our little community college, so it was not unusual for them to make a visit or two. The year before, Kurt Schottenheimer and a couple of our receivers had signed with the team and they were doing well.
That night I had a good night running the ball, and two of my punts were boomers. After the game, a couple of us were greeted by the Miami coaches and asked to stick around to watch some Miami film and talk about the opportunity for a scholarship. It was an exciting time.
"Jack, we were really impressed with your punts tonight and think you're the guy we'd like to have punting for us next year. We believe that if we get you to a warmer climate, and concentrate on just punting, you'll probably add 5-7 yards to your average."
"What do you mean, concentrate on just punting? I'm a running back."
"We have a stable full of good running backs, what we need is a good punter."
"Not interested. I want to go to a school where I can run the ball."
Days like today get me to thinking about that conversation.....Do you know that the University of Miami used to have a picture of its Olympic sized swimming pool on the cover of its brochure? What was I thinking?
You think it's too late for a "do-over"?
Evidently, this whole "What do I know" goes way back.....
Friday, February 4, 2011
It's okay, I'll blaze the trail for us......oops!
Well, that was fun!
The wind blew, the snow flew, and my FJ Cruiser went in the ditch......how embarrassing.
Miss Elizabeth's Yukon was left sitting in the garage as we loaded up the cars. I insisted we take my FJ since it's the "go anywhere" vehicle, and we sure don't want to get stranded. After all, this was the blizzard of 2011, and it was nothing to mess around with. The wind was howling 40 miles per hour and the snow was falling at the rate of 1-2 inches per hour......Wait a minute, why are we even thinking of getting out in this mess?
Unfortunately, we had a family funeral to attend and there was no turning back. Here we go. Just in case the unthinkable might happen, I threw in some boots, coveralls, coat, hat and gloves. "Better to be safe than sorry" I said....it's the old boy scout in me. Never really expected to have to use those things.....purely precautionary. Did I mention that we live on a ranch.....way out in the country....off the beaten path....well, we do.
My eldest son was here from Wisconsin, and even he was concerned about the way the snow was piling up. He was driving his own SUV, but he would be following me as I blazed the trail. Fortunately, the service was a mid-morning event, and the brunt of the storm was yet to arrive. We were sure that we would be safely back home before things became totally impassable....In retrospect, that may have been wishful thinking.
We arrived at the church with plenty of time to spare, and no significant issues with the roads. We did, however, decide to postpone the graveside services. A quick glance outside confirmed that the decision was the right one, so we were back on the road home before noon.
It was a delightful drive.....
Drifting snow can be deceptive. Especially when the snow and ice on the windshield, combined with blowing snow, reduce the visibility to basically the front of the hood. Regardless, we made it nearly all the way home without incident, then a large snowdrift appeared.....a really large snowdrift....right in the middle of the road......no problem. I'm invincible in this here FJ Cruiser, and we'll plow right through it. Blaze the trail, if you will....Oops.
This car is equipped with a skid plate to protect the undercarriage from rock damage, and it does a great job. It also (much to my chagrin) creates a wonderful bobsled effect when the car is launched into the appropriate amount of snow, which is evidently about the size of the snowdrift we encountered. Suddenly we were on top of the snowdrift, sliding right along in my newly converted FJ bobsled....right into the very large ditch alongside this desolate, untraveled stretch of rural road....Oops, again.
Thank goodness for Rural Mail Carriers, who will not let a "paralyzing blizzard" keep them from their appointed rounds. Neither rain, snow, etc, etc....and all that stuff. It was great to see that little red jeep bouncing down the road. "Need some help?". "Yes........ma'am".
A short time later the red-faced FJ, and its owner, were headed for home....rescued by a jeep, and the mail lady! That's something that may be hard to live down, but then, what do I know?
The wind blew, the snow flew, and my FJ Cruiser went in the ditch......how embarrassing.
Miss Elizabeth's Yukon was left sitting in the garage as we loaded up the cars. I insisted we take my FJ since it's the "go anywhere" vehicle, and we sure don't want to get stranded. After all, this was the blizzard of 2011, and it was nothing to mess around with. The wind was howling 40 miles per hour and the snow was falling at the rate of 1-2 inches per hour......Wait a minute, why are we even thinking of getting out in this mess?
Unfortunately, we had a family funeral to attend and there was no turning back. Here we go. Just in case the unthinkable might happen, I threw in some boots, coveralls, coat, hat and gloves. "Better to be safe than sorry" I said....it's the old boy scout in me. Never really expected to have to use those things.....purely precautionary. Did I mention that we live on a ranch.....way out in the country....off the beaten path....well, we do.
My eldest son was here from Wisconsin, and even he was concerned about the way the snow was piling up. He was driving his own SUV, but he would be following me as I blazed the trail. Fortunately, the service was a mid-morning event, and the brunt of the storm was yet to arrive. We were sure that we would be safely back home before things became totally impassable....In retrospect, that may have been wishful thinking.
We arrived at the church with plenty of time to spare, and no significant issues with the roads. We did, however, decide to postpone the graveside services. A quick glance outside confirmed that the decision was the right one, so we were back on the road home before noon.
It was a delightful drive.....
Drifting snow can be deceptive. Especially when the snow and ice on the windshield, combined with blowing snow, reduce the visibility to basically the front of the hood. Regardless, we made it nearly all the way home without incident, then a large snowdrift appeared.....a really large snowdrift....right in the middle of the road......no problem. I'm invincible in this here FJ Cruiser, and we'll plow right through it. Blaze the trail, if you will....Oops.
This car is equipped with a skid plate to protect the undercarriage from rock damage, and it does a great job. It also (much to my chagrin) creates a wonderful bobsled effect when the car is launched into the appropriate amount of snow, which is evidently about the size of the snowdrift we encountered. Suddenly we were on top of the snowdrift, sliding right along in my newly converted FJ bobsled....right into the very large ditch alongside this desolate, untraveled stretch of rural road....Oops, again.
Thank goodness for Rural Mail Carriers, who will not let a "paralyzing blizzard" keep them from their appointed rounds. Neither rain, snow, etc, etc....and all that stuff. It was great to see that little red jeep bouncing down the road. "Need some help?". "Yes........ma'am".
A short time later the red-faced FJ, and its owner, were headed for home....rescued by a jeep, and the mail lady! That's something that may be hard to live down, but then, what do I know?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The circle of life....
Earlier today a life well lived came to an end. After 94 years, 3 months, and a few days a man whom I've admired for over forty years quietly took his last breath and ascended to the glorious hereafter. Surrounded by family, it was a peaceful transition and his place in heaven is assured.
He was a man cut from the same cloth as many from his generation, honest, hard-working, and caring. If there was a job to be done, he willingly did it. If there was a problem to be solved, he found a way to solve it. And, if there was a friend in need, he was the friend who answered the call. When his country called him to war he readily served his duty, but on his return rarely made the time to talk of the experience.
He was an intelligent man with a quick wit, a ready smile, and a kind word for all he met. He was active in his church and true to his God. He worked hard at the same job for over thirty years, never complained, lived frugally, and provided a comfortable living for his wife and two daughters. In the early fifties he built a modest house on an acre of land, and there he lived until his death. It was a good house and he saw no reason to live anywhere else. He bought used cars, took good care of them, and replaced them when needed. Nothing flashy, just dependable transportation, for he was a survivor of the great depression and the impact was evident. He paid cash and didn't spend money on frivolous things. He appreciated things of quality and good value.
If anything he was organized to a fault, and a stroll through his garage or shop was truly an experience. Every tool and implement was in its place and most had been labeled as to when they were purchased. I used to think it was quirkiness on his part, but it's amazing how often we would look at the label to see how long ago he had purchased an item and what he had paid for it. Now that he's gone, those little handwritten labels will have new meaning.
His legacy has been written by the indelible marks he left on his family and his friends. There are no sons to carry forward the family name, but he will not soon be forgotten by those who knew him. I learned much from this man and will miss him dearly. My father-in-law was as good of man as I've ever known.
The Husband of Doris, the Father of Elizabeth and Donna, the Grandfather to Jerod, Grant, and Sam, and the Great Grandfather to Jaxson, Elleigh, Lilah, and Wesley. The void in our family cannot be filled.
God bless him and may he now rest in peace.
He was a man cut from the same cloth as many from his generation, honest, hard-working, and caring. If there was a job to be done, he willingly did it. If there was a problem to be solved, he found a way to solve it. And, if there was a friend in need, he was the friend who answered the call. When his country called him to war he readily served his duty, but on his return rarely made the time to talk of the experience.
He was an intelligent man with a quick wit, a ready smile, and a kind word for all he met. He was active in his church and true to his God. He worked hard at the same job for over thirty years, never complained, lived frugally, and provided a comfortable living for his wife and two daughters. In the early fifties he built a modest house on an acre of land, and there he lived until his death. It was a good house and he saw no reason to live anywhere else. He bought used cars, took good care of them, and replaced them when needed. Nothing flashy, just dependable transportation, for he was a survivor of the great depression and the impact was evident. He paid cash and didn't spend money on frivolous things. He appreciated things of quality and good value.
If anything he was organized to a fault, and a stroll through his garage or shop was truly an experience. Every tool and implement was in its place and most had been labeled as to when they were purchased. I used to think it was quirkiness on his part, but it's amazing how often we would look at the label to see how long ago he had purchased an item and what he had paid for it. Now that he's gone, those little handwritten labels will have new meaning.
His legacy has been written by the indelible marks he left on his family and his friends. There are no sons to carry forward the family name, but he will not soon be forgotten by those who knew him. I learned much from this man and will miss him dearly. My father-in-law was as good of man as I've ever known.
The Husband of Doris, the Father of Elizabeth and Donna, the Grandfather to Jerod, Grant, and Sam, and the Great Grandfather to Jaxson, Elleigh, Lilah, and Wesley. The void in our family cannot be filled.
God bless him and may he now rest in peace.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
You boys looking for work....
I graduated from high school in 1969 and received a large suitcase from my parents as a graduation gift....what's that supposed to mean? See ya! Get the heck outta here and get a job! No, I don't think that was their intention, but it certainly sent that message. Remember that if you're considering luggage as a graduation gift. Didn't matter, suitcase or no suitcase I had plans....big plans.
My cousin, Charles, who is a year older than me, had a friend who had talked to a friend, who knew a fellow working on a pipeline job in Texas.....and they're looking for summer help. Sure they are, and we're just the guys for the job(s).
Charles came to town for my graduation, and after the obligatory graduation parties were over, I packed my over sized suitcase with an ample supply of work clothes, work gloves, new Red Wing work boots, and of course.....clean underwear. Ready to go!
You ever hear of a place called Jacksboro, Texas? Me neither, but that's where we headed in his bright red 1965 SS Chevelle.....a true "work vehicle" if you ever saw one. Like many of my early road trips, the ride to Texas is kind of foggy, but we made it in time to check into the Green Frog Motel where we asked where we might find the pipeline office. "It's a couple of miles outside of town, but you'll find most of guys across the road at the Green Frog Restaurant. Time for dinner, I guess.
We met a couple of "regular" guys who assured us that if we were at the warehouse in the morning at 6:00am, ready to work, we would be hired. So far so good. Next morning, armed with new boots, new gloves, freshly packed lunch sacks (courtesy of the nice ladies at the Green Frog Restaurant) we were at the office when it opened......"You boys looking for work?" Duh, what was your first clue? "You boys both 18?".....Uh oh, this might be a problem. My birthday isn't until August...do I dare tell a little white lie.....I do, and we're hired.
"You, Jack you're going to be swamping for the set-up tractor so when we get out to the job site, ask for Howard" "Yes Sir" what the heck is "swamping", and what the heck is a "set-up tractor"
Without going into excruciating detail about the job, it consisted of stringing long joints of 12" pipe along side a deep trench. Suffice it to say it was physically demanding, mentally numbing, and just a tad bit more dangerous than I've ever let anyone know. Six days each week, twelve hours each day, all summer long...
There were of course some benefits....number one, I made a lot of money for a seventeen year old kid, and number two, seeing the look on my football coaches' face when I checked in for fall practice. He was literally astounded when I weighed in packing an extra 25 pounds of solid muscle... developed one day at a time, six days each week, twelve hours each day......
My cousin, Charles, who is a year older than me, had a friend who had talked to a friend, who knew a fellow working on a pipeline job in Texas.....and they're looking for summer help. Sure they are, and we're just the guys for the job(s).
Charles came to town for my graduation, and after the obligatory graduation parties were over, I packed my over sized suitcase with an ample supply of work clothes, work gloves, new Red Wing work boots, and of course.....clean underwear. Ready to go!
You ever hear of a place called Jacksboro, Texas? Me neither, but that's where we headed in his bright red 1965 SS Chevelle.....a true "work vehicle" if you ever saw one. Like many of my early road trips, the ride to Texas is kind of foggy, but we made it in time to check into the Green Frog Motel where we asked where we might find the pipeline office. "It's a couple of miles outside of town, but you'll find most of guys across the road at the Green Frog Restaurant. Time for dinner, I guess.
We met a couple of "regular" guys who assured us that if we were at the warehouse in the morning at 6:00am, ready to work, we would be hired. So far so good. Next morning, armed with new boots, new gloves, freshly packed lunch sacks (courtesy of the nice ladies at the Green Frog Restaurant) we were at the office when it opened......"You boys looking for work?" Duh, what was your first clue? "You boys both 18?".....Uh oh, this might be a problem. My birthday isn't until August...do I dare tell a little white lie.....I do, and we're hired.
"You, Jack you're going to be swamping for the set-up tractor so when we get out to the job site, ask for Howard" "Yes Sir" what the heck is "swamping", and what the heck is a "set-up tractor"
Without going into excruciating detail about the job, it consisted of stringing long joints of 12" pipe along side a deep trench. Suffice it to say it was physically demanding, mentally numbing, and just a tad bit more dangerous than I've ever let anyone know. Six days each week, twelve hours each day, all summer long...
There were of course some benefits....number one, I made a lot of money for a seventeen year old kid, and number two, seeing the look on my football coaches' face when I checked in for fall practice. He was literally astounded when I weighed in packing an extra 25 pounds of solid muscle... developed one day at a time, six days each week, twelve hours each day......
Monday, January 3, 2011
Great idea, Jack....
This year we waited to celebrate our family Christmas until the week after. As our family has grown with the marriage of the boys we need to be flexible in sharing the special times around the Holidays. So at times Christmas gets celebrated on New Years Day....not always a bad thing as it gives us an additional week to prepare for the festivities. And, for those procrastinators among us, it provides an extra week to get the shopping done, and we can even take advantage of those "after Christmas" sales to save some money.
All that being said, I was confident that things would proceed without a hitch....and they did.....to a degree.
I've been told that I'm well past the age of sending letters to Santa, and that putting together a Christmas wish list is something that is frowned upon after about age ten. What's that all about? How the heck is Santa going to know what to leave under the tree if I don't give him a few hints? Those of you who have read this blog since the beginning know that I have a history of holding out for that special Christmas present....regardless of the sacrifice.....what to do, what to do?
Facebook! Everyone reads the posts and loves to keep up with the trials, tribulations, joys, sorrows, and perhaps the Christmas wants of their Friends.....great idea, Jack.
A few weeks ago I floated a trial balloon to judge the response. Outstanding response to my "need" for a new pair of boots. Now that several of my Friends were aware of my request, and even though Santa is not on my Friend list, surely he would get the word. Just in case, however, I devised a back-up plan.
At my house we share the computers, and Miss Elizabeth and I both do a fair amount of on-line shopping. My back-up plan was executed without a flaw. I found the boots at a popular western outfitter, available in my size and color, just click here.....simple enough to leave the web browser open to the appropriate page, and wait for "Santa" to discover just how easy it would be to make the purchase with delivery in time for Christmas.
Today is Monday, January 3rd and our family Christmas was a resounding success. Kids and Grand kids ripped through their presents as we enjoyed the excitement of the moment. Four generations gathered together at the ranch, and it was a blessing.
Anticipation ran high as I awaited the delivery of those boots......I knew they were there somewhere....maybe not.....maybe next year.....or not. After all, 'tis the season of giving, not receiving, and I truly enjoy doing that.
Just in case you're reading this, Santa.....Tony Lama, Lizard skin boots, size 11 1/2 medium width......I've been a real good boy......part of the time....I'm sure it was an oversight, but what do I know.
All that being said, I was confident that things would proceed without a hitch....and they did.....to a degree.
I've been told that I'm well past the age of sending letters to Santa, and that putting together a Christmas wish list is something that is frowned upon after about age ten. What's that all about? How the heck is Santa going to know what to leave under the tree if I don't give him a few hints? Those of you who have read this blog since the beginning know that I have a history of holding out for that special Christmas present....regardless of the sacrifice.....what to do, what to do?
Facebook! Everyone reads the posts and loves to keep up with the trials, tribulations, joys, sorrows, and perhaps the Christmas wants of their Friends.....great idea, Jack.
A few weeks ago I floated a trial balloon to judge the response. Outstanding response to my "need" for a new pair of boots. Now that several of my Friends were aware of my request, and even though Santa is not on my Friend list, surely he would get the word. Just in case, however, I devised a back-up plan.
At my house we share the computers, and Miss Elizabeth and I both do a fair amount of on-line shopping. My back-up plan was executed without a flaw. I found the boots at a popular western outfitter, available in my size and color, just click here.....simple enough to leave the web browser open to the appropriate page, and wait for "Santa" to discover just how easy it would be to make the purchase with delivery in time for Christmas.
Today is Monday, January 3rd and our family Christmas was a resounding success. Kids and Grand kids ripped through their presents as we enjoyed the excitement of the moment. Four generations gathered together at the ranch, and it was a blessing.
Anticipation ran high as I awaited the delivery of those boots......I knew they were there somewhere....maybe not.....maybe next year.....or not. After all, 'tis the season of giving, not receiving, and I truly enjoy doing that.
Just in case you're reading this, Santa.....Tony Lama, Lizard skin boots, size 11 1/2 medium width......I've been a real good boy......part of the time....I'm sure it was an oversight, but what do I know.
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