We met at the start of a new school year. She sat down next to me and smiled. I turned red in the face and got nervous. Pretty girls always did that to me. We became friends right away and before too many weeks had passed I overheard her announce to a classmate that I was her boyfriend. Wow! I wasn't expecting that but after the initial shock I liked the idea.
As the weeks went on we grew closer and closer. We did everything together and hated for each day to come to an end. Our individual studies kept us apart more than we liked but we tried to make up for it when we had a break.
Fall came and the leaves fell. I expected things to end as most first loves do but by Christmas I was still madly in love and I think she was too. We were too young to know how to express this love so we contented ourselves with simple acts of kindness and longing looks.
During the spring semester we planned our June wedding. She wanted white horses pulling a white carriage loaded down with red roses. An odd wish in my opinion but I was fine with it. Actually, all the planning was done by her while I concentrated on making better grades than I ever had before....I was going to support a wife so I needed to get smart in a hurry. I figured if I didn't get enough education in time I would humble myself and ask her dad for a job on his ranch. I was pretty good with horses so I figured he would take me on.
Before the spring semester ended we knew we had to announce our plans to our parents. Their blessing was critical to a happy marriage. She promised to talk to her folks over the coming weekend and made me promise to do the same. I promised but I was a wreck thinking about how it would go. As expected, my Mom was not amused. She said I was crazy to even think of such a thing. Her response convinced me that telling my Dad would be a big mistake. When the following Monday came she asked how it had gone for me. I told her it wasn't good and asked about her parents reaction. She said her parents actually laughed at her. I was offended for her and worried what the future held.
Before school let out for the summer break she told me we were going to have to break up. With a huge lump in my throat I asked her why. She said her mother had convinced her we were too young. We needed to take our time and see other people. I was hurt but I tried to not show it. Later in the day I asked if she still felt the same way about things. She told me she did and insisted she knew better than I because, after all, she was older than me. I couldn't argue with that. She was seven and I was six.
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
Wednesday, December 4, 2019
Thanksgiving in New York, Final Chapter
I decided I shouldn't burden you all with a day to day of our trip so I'll wrap it up today. Before I start let me say this: I love New York...the city and the state. Upstate New York is some of the most beautiful real estate I've ever seen and all the people living there and in the city, I guess we should call them natives, have always been so friendly and helpful. When I was young and would watch movies about crimes in New York I wondered why anyone would choose to stay in that horrible place. Why didn't they just all pack up and move to Texas where it was safe. Little did I know that a good percentage of them would do just that starting in the mid 70's and continuing today.
I had to make a business trip to Albany, NY when I was in my 20's. It was my first business trip and I was a nervous wreck. On top of it all I was worried that I would surely be mugged at the least and probably killed before I ever got to go home. I made my supervisor promise me that I did not have to go through the airport in the city to get to my destination. I was blown away with the laid back attitude of the people in upper New York. They were so friendly I had to call home just to tell Debbie about it. I fell in love with upstate New York on that trip but still had some serious misgivings about going to the city itself. I didn't make that trip until I was in my early 60's. I discovered I loved New York City and promised myself I would make the trip a regular part of my travels. My opinion didn't change with this last trip up there. Even though I've made some questionable remarks about New Yorkers....and will really lay it on heavy in this story, I have to say they are wonderful people and visiting the city is a joy. Okay, let's get on with the business at hand....
Day three of our stay began with a brisk walk down the block to the Warwick Hotel. Cody and Cayce had made reservations for a suite where we could watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade from a heated and very comfortable environment. There would be snacks and comfortable seating...sounded great. When we arrived the hotel lobby was very busy and quite crowded. We made our way to the back of a line leading into a reserved area. This is where we met the "select party only nazi". He took Cody's paperwork and looked it over for several minutes before shaking his head negatively and telling Cody he "did not have the proper credentials". We would have to go somewhere else to watch the parade and I don't think I'm making it up when he referred to us needing to sit with the common people. I know he did say his room was for a select party only. Cody showed the man his reservations again and insisted he had paid for a suite to watch the parade. Nazi man shook his head again and told Cody to "go away and, oh yeah, have a happy Thanksgiving". I have seen Cody get really mad before but it's been a long, long time. He took his paperwork to the front desk and had a talk with one of the hotel managers. A few minutes later we were escorted to our suite. We passed right by Nazi man but we didn't make eye contact for fear we might say or do something to lower New York opinions of Texans. The suite was shared by several other families but it was really fancy. We felt like we had been escorted into a fancy restaurant just for us and a few other "select parties".
The room was a corner suite on the second floor with windows all around. The parade would pass right under us and the floats would be eye level. The "snacks" consisted of a full buffet serving finger foods, a complete breakfast offering, desserts of every imaginable make and a full Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, ham, pork chops, and all the trimming. So much food, so little time. Oh, and there was an open bar for those wishing to imbibe. Several parade watchers did so wish. Our hostess was a bubbly young woman who appeared to be having as much fun as we were having....and she was pretty. Don't tell Debbie I said that. Cody and Cayce took their kids outside to watch the parade for a few minutes at a time. I forgot to mention how cold it had turned overnight. Most of us were content to sit and watch, and eat, and watch, and eat some more with possibly a light beverage just to be polite.
It was a wonderful experience for everyone but especially for the kids. It was a joy watching them watch the balloons float past right in front of them. After the parade was over we all hit the buffet line again to enjoy out Thanksgiving dinner. What a day! Thank you Cody and Cayce.
The remainder of the day was relaxing. The women, except for Debbie who hates to shop, disappeared to all the fancy stores at their disposal. Cody, Andy, Debbie, and I took a carriage ride through Central Park. It was freezing but the park was still full of strollers, flag football players, and frizbee tossers who were having a great time. Our carriage driver gave us a huge blanket to cover up with so the ride was real enjoyable. We all met at the hotel and walked to a small deli where we had an early dinner before attending the Rockettes' Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall. This was one of my bucket list items so I was glad to have a chance to experience it. The only other bucket item I covered was having a Nathan's hot dog in Central Park. I'm a simple guy and Andy was kind enough to experience it with me...as long as I paid. We caught Uber rides back to the hotel after the show ending another perfect day.
I could go on and on with little incidentals about the trip but I'm afraid I would begin to bore even the most enthusiastic reader. Our trip home was a bit chaotic. Charlee had trouble with her ears again and told everyone on the plane that her tummy hurt during the last hour of the flight. All in all, the little girls handled the trip very well....and when they got a little tired and testy they were just too cute to stay mad at for very long. Carter was as close to an angel as a human can get. He is so laid back and easy going. He either inherited this trait from his uncle Kent....or possibly me. I doubt it was me though. I didn't become laid back until a year after I retired! Andy assumed the role of guardian angel to me and his mammy. We didn't take a step that he wasn't right there helping us and making sure that we weren't going to fall! Cody and Cayce have a beautiful family and the Garrison's are a joy to travel with...even Allie who is directional savvy don't ya know!
Thank you for reading. I'll try to keep my stories down to one at a time from now on.
I had to make a business trip to Albany, NY when I was in my 20's. It was my first business trip and I was a nervous wreck. On top of it all I was worried that I would surely be mugged at the least and probably killed before I ever got to go home. I made my supervisor promise me that I did not have to go through the airport in the city to get to my destination. I was blown away with the laid back attitude of the people in upper New York. They were so friendly I had to call home just to tell Debbie about it. I fell in love with upstate New York on that trip but still had some serious misgivings about going to the city itself. I didn't make that trip until I was in my early 60's. I discovered I loved New York City and promised myself I would make the trip a regular part of my travels. My opinion didn't change with this last trip up there. Even though I've made some questionable remarks about New Yorkers....and will really lay it on heavy in this story, I have to say they are wonderful people and visiting the city is a joy. Okay, let's get on with the business at hand....
Day three of our stay began with a brisk walk down the block to the Warwick Hotel. Cody and Cayce had made reservations for a suite where we could watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade from a heated and very comfortable environment. There would be snacks and comfortable seating...sounded great. When we arrived the hotel lobby was very busy and quite crowded. We made our way to the back of a line leading into a reserved area. This is where we met the "select party only nazi". He took Cody's paperwork and looked it over for several minutes before shaking his head negatively and telling Cody he "did not have the proper credentials". We would have to go somewhere else to watch the parade and I don't think I'm making it up when he referred to us needing to sit with the common people. I know he did say his room was for a select party only. Cody showed the man his reservations again and insisted he had paid for a suite to watch the parade. Nazi man shook his head again and told Cody to "go away and, oh yeah, have a happy Thanksgiving". I have seen Cody get really mad before but it's been a long, long time. He took his paperwork to the front desk and had a talk with one of the hotel managers. A few minutes later we were escorted to our suite. We passed right by Nazi man but we didn't make eye contact for fear we might say or do something to lower New York opinions of Texans. The suite was shared by several other families but it was really fancy. We felt like we had been escorted into a fancy restaurant just for us and a few other "select parties".
The room was a corner suite on the second floor with windows all around. The parade would pass right under us and the floats would be eye level. The "snacks" consisted of a full buffet serving finger foods, a complete breakfast offering, desserts of every imaginable make and a full Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, ham, pork chops, and all the trimming. So much food, so little time. Oh, and there was an open bar for those wishing to imbibe. Several parade watchers did so wish. Our hostess was a bubbly young woman who appeared to be having as much fun as we were having....and she was pretty. Don't tell Debbie I said that. Cody and Cayce took their kids outside to watch the parade for a few minutes at a time. I forgot to mention how cold it had turned overnight. Most of us were content to sit and watch, and eat, and watch, and eat some more with possibly a light beverage just to be polite.
It was a wonderful experience for everyone but especially for the kids. It was a joy watching them watch the balloons float past right in front of them. After the parade was over we all hit the buffet line again to enjoy out Thanksgiving dinner. What a day! Thank you Cody and Cayce.
The remainder of the day was relaxing. The women, except for Debbie who hates to shop, disappeared to all the fancy stores at their disposal. Cody, Andy, Debbie, and I took a carriage ride through Central Park. It was freezing but the park was still full of strollers, flag football players, and frizbee tossers who were having a great time. Our carriage driver gave us a huge blanket to cover up with so the ride was real enjoyable. We all met at the hotel and walked to a small deli where we had an early dinner before attending the Rockettes' Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall. This was one of my bucket list items so I was glad to have a chance to experience it. The only other bucket item I covered was having a Nathan's hot dog in Central Park. I'm a simple guy and Andy was kind enough to experience it with me...as long as I paid. We caught Uber rides back to the hotel after the show ending another perfect day.
I could go on and on with little incidentals about the trip but I'm afraid I would begin to bore even the most enthusiastic reader. Our trip home was a bit chaotic. Charlee had trouble with her ears again and told everyone on the plane that her tummy hurt during the last hour of the flight. All in all, the little girls handled the trip very well....and when they got a little tired and testy they were just too cute to stay mad at for very long. Carter was as close to an angel as a human can get. He is so laid back and easy going. He either inherited this trait from his uncle Kent....or possibly me. I doubt it was me though. I didn't become laid back until a year after I retired! Andy assumed the role of guardian angel to me and his mammy. We didn't take a step that he wasn't right there helping us and making sure that we weren't going to fall! Cody and Cayce have a beautiful family and the Garrison's are a joy to travel with...even Allie who is directional savvy don't ya know!
Thank you for reading. I'll try to keep my stories down to one at a time from now on.
Tuesday, December 3, 2019
Thanksgiving in New York, Part 2
If you will remember yesterday's episode where self-proclaimed "Ace Tour Guide" Allie got us lost on our way to dinner, you will know how important it would be for us to search out and hire the world's foremost New York Tour Guide. To keep the possibly of lawsuit at a minimum we will just call him Tour Guide From Hell, or TGFH.
TGFH was a native New Yorker who hailed from Queens. He was proud of his status and described it to us ad nauseam. He was hired to lead us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. We were all excited to get a professional tour and the little kids were excited to see the parade balloons up close and personal.
TGFH knew his city and its history well and entertained us with important facts along the way to the park. We saw who lived in that apartment building and this apartment building. It was a cornucopia of celebrities living right in the neighborhood where we wandered. We saw where Madonna had her very first job as a.....something. I can't seem to remember now but it was impressive in its obscurity. We saw where John Lennon was killed, "RIGHT HERE IN THIS SPOT WHERE I'M STANDING!! RIGHT HERE!" We learned who killed Mr. Lennon and believe it or not, we also learned exactly why! TGFH was there in the neighborhood when it happened....really...
TGFH knew everything about his city except how to get us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. The following was not his fault but we chose to blame him anyway. Thinking that we wouldn't have a huge crowd attending the festival because tickets had to be bought in advance, we strolled along behind TGFH for awhile oblivious to the steadily increasing number of park seekers. Before too long our guide stopped us and yelled for us to follow his green and black umbrella if we got separated. It was then that we realized we were part of a million man march on Central Park. The crowd was massive and working with a herd mentality. We were slowly going down one block with barricades guiding us along. There was no option of getting out of our situation because the streets were lined with New York's finest making sure we all kept moving. After a longer than I would have preferred amount of time, Cody told our guide to give it up. We didn't need to stay in this crowd. We would forget the balloon festival. TGFH informed us we couldn't leave because he had already asked a policeman and told we could not exit. He evidently read Cody's face clearly because he immediately started working us through the crowd to the edge next to the barricade. Once there he asked again if we could exit. The policeman said no. He then walked away to another barricade emergency and TGFH removed the barricade and told us to hurry through. Instead of stopping us though, he informed us of a shortcut we could take. Like the rest of the herd, we mindlessly followed him up a sidewalk until we ran into another crowd. As we blended into this crowd Charlee disappeared. In seconds we were running through the crowd screaming her name. Before we found her someone yelled that Claire had disappeared too. This was a nightmare in the making but Charlee was quickly found and a really nice family came up holding Claire's hand. Both girls were crying their little eyes out and hugging their mommy and daddy as tight as they could.
TGFH didn't seem too phased by the exercise and started us off again. In a few minutes we realized more people were headed in a direction opposite from ours. When we stopped one of them and asked we discovered TGFH, native New Yorker and Ace tour guide, was leading us away from the park. Cody fired him on the spot and he wandered off into the night. He may still be lost.
You may ask how any event could be worse. Well, I'll tell you...when we were in the worst of the crowd it began to rain....hard. TGFH was the only one with an umbrella. But to end things on a positive note we wandered around town for a while and found an awesome hole-in-the-wall pizza place. We stuffed ourselves on New York decadence then found our way back to the hotel.
Tomorrow I will tell you about the "select party only nazi" we encountered on day 3.
TGFH was a native New Yorker who hailed from Queens. He was proud of his status and described it to us ad nauseam. He was hired to lead us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. We were all excited to get a professional tour and the little kids were excited to see the parade balloons up close and personal.
TGFH knew his city and its history well and entertained us with important facts along the way to the park. We saw who lived in that apartment building and this apartment building. It was a cornucopia of celebrities living right in the neighborhood where we wandered. We saw where Madonna had her very first job as a.....something. I can't seem to remember now but it was impressive in its obscurity. We saw where John Lennon was killed, "RIGHT HERE IN THIS SPOT WHERE I'M STANDING!! RIGHT HERE!" We learned who killed Mr. Lennon and believe it or not, we also learned exactly why! TGFH was there in the neighborhood when it happened....really...
TGFH knew everything about his city except how to get us to the Balloon Inflation Festival at Central Park. The following was not his fault but we chose to blame him anyway. Thinking that we wouldn't have a huge crowd attending the festival because tickets had to be bought in advance, we strolled along behind TGFH for awhile oblivious to the steadily increasing number of park seekers. Before too long our guide stopped us and yelled for us to follow his green and black umbrella if we got separated. It was then that we realized we were part of a million man march on Central Park. The crowd was massive and working with a herd mentality. We were slowly going down one block with barricades guiding us along. There was no option of getting out of our situation because the streets were lined with New York's finest making sure we all kept moving. After a longer than I would have preferred amount of time, Cody told our guide to give it up. We didn't need to stay in this crowd. We would forget the balloon festival. TGFH informed us we couldn't leave because he had already asked a policeman and told we could not exit. He evidently read Cody's face clearly because he immediately started working us through the crowd to the edge next to the barricade. Once there he asked again if we could exit. The policeman said no. He then walked away to another barricade emergency and TGFH removed the barricade and told us to hurry through. Instead of stopping us though, he informed us of a shortcut we could take. Like the rest of the herd, we mindlessly followed him up a sidewalk until we ran into another crowd. As we blended into this crowd Charlee disappeared. In seconds we were running through the crowd screaming her name. Before we found her someone yelled that Claire had disappeared too. This was a nightmare in the making but Charlee was quickly found and a really nice family came up holding Claire's hand. Both girls were crying their little eyes out and hugging their mommy and daddy as tight as they could.
TGFH didn't seem too phased by the exercise and started us off again. In a few minutes we realized more people were headed in a direction opposite from ours. When we stopped one of them and asked we discovered TGFH, native New Yorker and Ace tour guide, was leading us away from the park. Cody fired him on the spot and he wandered off into the night. He may still be lost.
You may ask how any event could be worse. Well, I'll tell you...when we were in the worst of the crowd it began to rain....hard. TGFH was the only one with an umbrella. But to end things on a positive note we wandered around town for a while and found an awesome hole-in-the-wall pizza place. We stuffed ourselves on New York decadence then found our way back to the hotel.
Tomorrow I will tell you about the "select party only nazi" we encountered on day 3.
Monday, December 2, 2019
Thanksgiving in New York, Part One
I guess most people have a "bucket list" whether they call their dreams that or not. My bucket list includes food items mostly....I am a simple guy, ya know. Fortunately for our family, my son Cody and my daughter-in-law Cayce dream bigger. One of their "bucket list" items was fulfilled this past week. They wanted to take their parents, one sister, and the whole C&C crew to New York City to celebrate Thanksgiving by watching the Macy Parade live. This endeavor included eleven people and a tremendous amount of planning on their part.
Cody and Cayce announced their plans over a year ago so everyone would be available, healthy, "ward - robed" for the cold, and as excited as they were. They spent the entire year making reservations, buying tickets, paying for hotel and entertainment. They met with all of us more than once for our input on what we would like to do. It was an experience of a lifetime and for this we can never thank them enough.
I tried to keep a journal of the trip so I could tell all of you about it in detail. I was true to my commitment for the first three days and after that I was just too tired to write at night. So much was planned for us we were racing each day to get everything in. Sadly, we had to pass on several activities because....well, because Debbie and I kind of slowed everything down. We are old you know! Even though we didn't try to stay together as a group on all the excursions, we did have to meet at certain times and places to enjoy another planned activity. It was an action packed week to say the least.
On our first day out we all met at terminal C, DFW airport. The first blip was mine. I forgot my cane and knew my leg would give out before too long. I had to get another one in New York. Cody and Andy went out the first night to find one for me. I stayed behind and rested one really aching leg.
As we took off from DFW and climbed to the cruising altitude Charlee asked her daddy why it was taking so long to get there. That was a sign the flight was going to be really long. She proved to be our entertainment on the flight. She refused to go into the flight restroom because as her Mammy, Debbie, escorted her back she saw a man walk out of it. She wanted to wait for the women's restroom to open up. As we descended to JFK airport her ears started popping and she screamed for the whole passenger list to hear, "Daddy, my ears hurt".....repeatedly until we were parked and getting off the plane. This was a good distraction because Debbie, who is very nervous flying, asked me while the plane had been taxiing for several minutes "Have we landed yet?"
Our reservations led us to the Parker New York hotel which was mind blowing to Debbie and I. We don't get out much but even if we did we would have been as impressed as all the others who have made the New York trip many times. We got to our rooms, dropped off the luggage, and hurried back down to the lobby to start exploring the city.
We went to the subway and bought passes so we could get on and off at our leisure....and a mere $2.50 per person each time we did it. The passes allowed us to spend our money without the hassle of buying a ticket every time. I did not realize how fast a $40 pass would disappear in a day. We were very lucky to have Cayce's little sister, Allie with us. She was self-proclaimed as being "directionally savvy". Our first stop included the phrases, "Oops, we're on the wrong train" and "I'm pretty sure we're going the wrong direction" but she was directionally savvy after all and we made it to our first destination. We finally got off the right train at our planned destination....just a short walk. Allie had a map and encouraged us to follow her. Forty minutes and many blocks later she explained, "I don't know where north is. Anybody have any ideas?" Allie was dismissed as tour guide and her dad, Russ Garrison took over. We eventually arrived at our restaurant late, sweating, and very hungry.
This ends the first day. I will write again tomorrow and tell you about the tour guide from hell we encountered on day two.
Cody and Cayce announced their plans over a year ago so everyone would be available, healthy, "ward - robed" for the cold, and as excited as they were. They spent the entire year making reservations, buying tickets, paying for hotel and entertainment. They met with all of us more than once for our input on what we would like to do. It was an experience of a lifetime and for this we can never thank them enough.
I tried to keep a journal of the trip so I could tell all of you about it in detail. I was true to my commitment for the first three days and after that I was just too tired to write at night. So much was planned for us we were racing each day to get everything in. Sadly, we had to pass on several activities because....well, because Debbie and I kind of slowed everything down. We are old you know! Even though we didn't try to stay together as a group on all the excursions, we did have to meet at certain times and places to enjoy another planned activity. It was an action packed week to say the least.
On our first day out we all met at terminal C, DFW airport. The first blip was mine. I forgot my cane and knew my leg would give out before too long. I had to get another one in New York. Cody and Andy went out the first night to find one for me. I stayed behind and rested one really aching leg.
As we took off from DFW and climbed to the cruising altitude Charlee asked her daddy why it was taking so long to get there. That was a sign the flight was going to be really long. She proved to be our entertainment on the flight. She refused to go into the flight restroom because as her Mammy, Debbie, escorted her back she saw a man walk out of it. She wanted to wait for the women's restroom to open up. As we descended to JFK airport her ears started popping and she screamed for the whole passenger list to hear, "Daddy, my ears hurt".....repeatedly until we were parked and getting off the plane. This was a good distraction because Debbie, who is very nervous flying, asked me while the plane had been taxiing for several minutes "Have we landed yet?"
Our reservations led us to the Parker New York hotel which was mind blowing to Debbie and I. We don't get out much but even if we did we would have been as impressed as all the others who have made the New York trip many times. We got to our rooms, dropped off the luggage, and hurried back down to the lobby to start exploring the city.
We went to the subway and bought passes so we could get on and off at our leisure....and a mere $2.50 per person each time we did it. The passes allowed us to spend our money without the hassle of buying a ticket every time. I did not realize how fast a $40 pass would disappear in a day. We were very lucky to have Cayce's little sister, Allie with us. She was self-proclaimed as being "directionally savvy". Our first stop included the phrases, "Oops, we're on the wrong train" and "I'm pretty sure we're going the wrong direction" but she was directionally savvy after all and we made it to our first destination. We finally got off the right train at our planned destination....just a short walk. Allie had a map and encouraged us to follow her. Forty minutes and many blocks later she explained, "I don't know where north is. Anybody have any ideas?" Allie was dismissed as tour guide and her dad, Russ Garrison took over. We eventually arrived at our restaurant late, sweating, and very hungry.
This ends the first day. I will write again tomorrow and tell you about the tour guide from hell we encountered on day two.
Thursday, October 24, 2019
I Just Remembered This...
We moved to Hurst in 1955. It was a small town at the time but growing quickly because of the Bell Helicopter plant down on highway 183....which is now highway 10 (and I was not consulted on that change by the way....real hard to talk memories with friends who grew up and moved away!) We bought a new house in a little neighborhood surrounded by farm land, creeks, and woods. It was a young boy's paradise if he could manage to slip away from mama....which I did on a regular basis.
Before we moved in I took a ride with daddy in our old 1950 Chevy. We drove from our home in River Oaks to this new town my parents had found and invested in. I thought we must be driving to the wilderness because after we left the Fort Worth area there was nothing to see but open country. I thought maybe I had done one too many things wrong and I was going to be left at the gate of someone's farm. After a long drive we came to a wide spot in the road which featured a drug store, grocery store, gas station, Texas Electric sub-station, and a small but interesting helicopter factory. I was mostly interested in the sub-station though because it had a tall sign that read, "Live Better Electrically" and featured good old Reddy Kilowatt. I remember that sign because (and please remember I was only five at the time) I read it "Live Butter..something". I could not imagine a stick of butter being alive but I couldn't wait to get a tour.
As we entered our new town we turned off Hwy. 183 onto Precinct Line Road. This little country road led out to the new neighborhood where our house was being completed. We pulled up to the house and I realized we were rich. I hadn't known we were rich until that moment but when I saw that huge 900 sq. ft. house with BRICK on the front facade, I knew it for sure. We had to be filthy, stinking rich! My head swelled with pride as I hopped out of that old Chevy and started looking around. We checked out the progress on the inside of the house and daddy confirmed we should be able to move in the next week. Then we walked around the outside of the house and met our new neighbors, the Marions. We didn't know that we had just met life long family friends. They were a great family and they had a kid just my age. This kid was hiding behind Doris and she had to make the kid come out to meet us. She called the kid "Sandy" so I knew for a fact my new neighbor was a boy who would help me tame this wilderness around us. Well, Sandy finally appeared and he was a GIRL. Oh, the horrors. We had to move in next to a GIRL!
We got moved in finally and it didn't take long for my sister, Cindy, and I to get to know Sandy. As it turned out Sandy was a pretty good old girl. She was a bona fide tomboy. We had a great first summer in Hurst!
Sandy was only six but she already had a bicycle. I wanted a bicycle more than a next breath but I didn't have a clue how to ride one. Sandy's bike was an ancient English bike with skinny tires, three speeds, and hand brakes. I was kind of embarrassed for her but granted, she did have a bike and all I could boast about was one roller skate. Sometimes I would put on my skate and grab a hold of Sandy's bike for a ride to the top of the hill. Then I could coast back down on my skate looking like a flesh colored flamingo with worn out blue jeans. I was a happy guy!
Sandy always parked her bike on the carport....yes, we had carports. Those poor people over on Greenbriar in River Oaks had to park their old Chevy's in a driveway with no protection from the elements....yessir, rich! Anyway, Sandy's bike didn't have a normal kick stand. It sat straight up with a stand mounted on the back wheel. If you moved forward with the bike the stand would pop up out of the way. I used to get on that bike and ride for miles with the kick stand in place. I didn't know what else to do with the bike since no one would teach me how to ride. I begged Sandy to teach me but she always answered with the sage advice, "Just get on it and go. You'll learn real quick how to ride." I didn't believe her of course. Would you believe that? O course not.
One day I wandered over to the Marion's carport to get in my daily bike ride. I noticed Sandy had parked the bike facing out toward the road rather than facing the house. I didn't think too much about it and actually enjoyed riding in a different direction for a couple of minutes. I didn't hear Sandy sneaking up behind me. She gave that bike a kick and off the stand it went. I heard her and Cindy laughing hysterically as I swerved down the driveway to certain death but, before I got to the road I got control of the bike. I was riding a bicycle for crying out loud. I managed to get it turned around and back to the driveway before falling over. Sandy gave me my first ever, "See, I told you so". Every female I ever knew said that to me at one time or another but this first time I didn't mind. Good old Sandy had taught me how to ride a bike. I turned it back around, put it back on the stand, and told Sandy to give me another push. That's when she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh good grief". I got that from nearly every female I ever knew too. It was another two miserable years before Cindy and I got our first bikes but, and this is a big BUT, we did get new roller skates that next year.
Before we moved in I took a ride with daddy in our old 1950 Chevy. We drove from our home in River Oaks to this new town my parents had found and invested in. I thought we must be driving to the wilderness because after we left the Fort Worth area there was nothing to see but open country. I thought maybe I had done one too many things wrong and I was going to be left at the gate of someone's farm. After a long drive we came to a wide spot in the road which featured a drug store, grocery store, gas station, Texas Electric sub-station, and a small but interesting helicopter factory. I was mostly interested in the sub-station though because it had a tall sign that read, "Live Better Electrically" and featured good old Reddy Kilowatt. I remember that sign because (and please remember I was only five at the time) I read it "Live Butter..something". I could not imagine a stick of butter being alive but I couldn't wait to get a tour.
As we entered our new town we turned off Hwy. 183 onto Precinct Line Road. This little country road led out to the new neighborhood where our house was being completed. We pulled up to the house and I realized we were rich. I hadn't known we were rich until that moment but when I saw that huge 900 sq. ft. house with BRICK on the front facade, I knew it for sure. We had to be filthy, stinking rich! My head swelled with pride as I hopped out of that old Chevy and started looking around. We checked out the progress on the inside of the house and daddy confirmed we should be able to move in the next week. Then we walked around the outside of the house and met our new neighbors, the Marions. We didn't know that we had just met life long family friends. They were a great family and they had a kid just my age. This kid was hiding behind Doris and she had to make the kid come out to meet us. She called the kid "Sandy" so I knew for a fact my new neighbor was a boy who would help me tame this wilderness around us. Well, Sandy finally appeared and he was a GIRL. Oh, the horrors. We had to move in next to a GIRL!
We got moved in finally and it didn't take long for my sister, Cindy, and I to get to know Sandy. As it turned out Sandy was a pretty good old girl. She was a bona fide tomboy. We had a great first summer in Hurst!
Sandy was only six but she already had a bicycle. I wanted a bicycle more than a next breath but I didn't have a clue how to ride one. Sandy's bike was an ancient English bike with skinny tires, three speeds, and hand brakes. I was kind of embarrassed for her but granted, she did have a bike and all I could boast about was one roller skate. Sometimes I would put on my skate and grab a hold of Sandy's bike for a ride to the top of the hill. Then I could coast back down on my skate looking like a flesh colored flamingo with worn out blue jeans. I was a happy guy!
Sandy always parked her bike on the carport....yes, we had carports. Those poor people over on Greenbriar in River Oaks had to park their old Chevy's in a driveway with no protection from the elements....yessir, rich! Anyway, Sandy's bike didn't have a normal kick stand. It sat straight up with a stand mounted on the back wheel. If you moved forward with the bike the stand would pop up out of the way. I used to get on that bike and ride for miles with the kick stand in place. I didn't know what else to do with the bike since no one would teach me how to ride. I begged Sandy to teach me but she always answered with the sage advice, "Just get on it and go. You'll learn real quick how to ride." I didn't believe her of course. Would you believe that? O course not.
One day I wandered over to the Marion's carport to get in my daily bike ride. I noticed Sandy had parked the bike facing out toward the road rather than facing the house. I didn't think too much about it and actually enjoyed riding in a different direction for a couple of minutes. I didn't hear Sandy sneaking up behind me. She gave that bike a kick and off the stand it went. I heard her and Cindy laughing hysterically as I swerved down the driveway to certain death but, before I got to the road I got control of the bike. I was riding a bicycle for crying out loud. I managed to get it turned around and back to the driveway before falling over. Sandy gave me my first ever, "See, I told you so". Every female I ever knew said that to me at one time or another but this first time I didn't mind. Good old Sandy had taught me how to ride a bike. I turned it back around, put it back on the stand, and told Sandy to give me another push. That's when she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh good grief". I got that from nearly every female I ever knew too. It was another two miserable years before Cindy and I got our first bikes but, and this is a big BUT, we did get new roller skates that next year.
Saturday, October 12, 2019
Don't Poo Poo The Diarrhea...
I realize my stories are beginning to show up slower than I promised but I'm afraid I'm running out of stories to tell.....well, that's not entirely true. I have lots more stories I could tell....like the blind date I set up for my cousin who was so homely (the date, not my cousin) that he ran off the porch when she opened the door...but I won't tell that. Or, I could tell about passing out on a hanging bridge in Colorado because of my fear of heights only to be saved by my lovely wife...but that's too embarrassing. I could make stuff up because I have a vivid imagination but then the stories wouldn't be the same. I do have one more embarrassing story to tell about myself and then I'll just have to wait to do something else stupid before writing again.
It's a true fact that someone in either my dad's, or my mother's family suffered from a nervous stomach, spastic colon, or some other like condition. I know this because my sister, Cindy, and I both inherited the gene. I only got a small inheritance which rears its ugly head occasionally but poor old Cindy got the bulk of the estate. I wanted to tell a story linked to this endearing quality but I thought it best to check with my editor (Debbie) first. We met over coffee this morning and discussed the best way to tell the story. The editor suggested strongly that I not use the word diarrhea in my story. I should instead phrase it like "a bit of sickness". I agree I shouldn't say diarrhea but her suggestion seemed too burdensome, so I decided to substitute the word "discomfort" for the word diarrhea, which I shouldn't write on public media. Once we figured out how to eliminate the word diarrhea from the story I was all set to go....no pun intended.
Cindy and her husband, Mike, had been transferred to Colorado Springs with the Army. He was an Army captain with the dangerous duty of examining eyes. It was a beautiful setting. When Debbie and I went to visit them it was my first time to see Colorado. I fell in love immediately however, the change in altitude did something to my system and I just didn't feel right for several days. Toward the end of our stay the four of us went north to Denver for sightseeing and other tourist related stuff (I tried to say "tourister stuff" but spellcheck wouldn't allow it). We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant before heading back down I-25 toward Colorado Springs. Mike was driving and everyone was having a great time....except me. I kept having a gurgling sensation in my stomach. It continued to get worse until I finally asked Mike to take the next exit so I could find a restroom. He agreed and immediately forgot my request until I strongly urged him again to pull over as soon as possible. I guess I said this in such a high-pitched frantic way that it scared him and he put the pedal to the floor looking for an exit. Before an exit came up I yelled, "I am about to have DISCOMFORT! Get off the road!" He saw an exit and literally flew off the highway, squealing all four tires as he slid into a gas station. I was out of the car before it came to a complete stop and ran as fast as I could. I bolted through the door of that restroom and locked the door in a nanosecond and hit that stall like a freight train.
The next few minutes were a blur but that stall sounded like a pentecostal revival with all the praying and begging for Jesus to come going on. For a good twenty minutes I pulled my hair, broke out in a sweat, ripped off my shirt, and yelled like a female screech owl during mating season. There were three hairline fractures to the toilet bowl and the lights flickered on and off. Finally things calmed down and as I caught my breath, unwrapped my shirt from around my head and opened my eyes.....I saw pink floor tiles....matching pink wall tiles....matching NO URINAL anywhere in sight. I had run into the women's restroom. I said "oh discomfort! What have I done?" Surely nobody will notice me this late in the night. I'll just put my shirt back on, wash up, and quietly sneak out....which I did....to about fourteen women in various states of despair waiting for me to come out. I could see Debbie, Cindy, and Mike in the car laughing uncontrollably like this was funny or something. I apologized to the ladies for making them wait and suggested they continue to wait a few minutes before going in....
It's a true fact that someone in either my dad's, or my mother's family suffered from a nervous stomach, spastic colon, or some other like condition. I know this because my sister, Cindy, and I both inherited the gene. I only got a small inheritance which rears its ugly head occasionally but poor old Cindy got the bulk of the estate. I wanted to tell a story linked to this endearing quality but I thought it best to check with my editor (Debbie) first. We met over coffee this morning and discussed the best way to tell the story. The editor suggested strongly that I not use the word diarrhea in my story. I should instead phrase it like "a bit of sickness". I agree I shouldn't say diarrhea but her suggestion seemed too burdensome, so I decided to substitute the word "discomfort" for the word diarrhea, which I shouldn't write on public media. Once we figured out how to eliminate the word diarrhea from the story I was all set to go....no pun intended.
Cindy and her husband, Mike, had been transferred to Colorado Springs with the Army. He was an Army captain with the dangerous duty of examining eyes. It was a beautiful setting. When Debbie and I went to visit them it was my first time to see Colorado. I fell in love immediately however, the change in altitude did something to my system and I just didn't feel right for several days. Toward the end of our stay the four of us went north to Denver for sightseeing and other tourist related stuff (I tried to say "tourister stuff" but spellcheck wouldn't allow it). We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant before heading back down I-25 toward Colorado Springs. Mike was driving and everyone was having a great time....except me. I kept having a gurgling sensation in my stomach. It continued to get worse until I finally asked Mike to take the next exit so I could find a restroom. He agreed and immediately forgot my request until I strongly urged him again to pull over as soon as possible. I guess I said this in such a high-pitched frantic way that it scared him and he put the pedal to the floor looking for an exit. Before an exit came up I yelled, "I am about to have DISCOMFORT! Get off the road!" He saw an exit and literally flew off the highway, squealing all four tires as he slid into a gas station. I was out of the car before it came to a complete stop and ran as fast as I could. I bolted through the door of that restroom and locked the door in a nanosecond and hit that stall like a freight train.
The next few minutes were a blur but that stall sounded like a pentecostal revival with all the praying and begging for Jesus to come going on. For a good twenty minutes I pulled my hair, broke out in a sweat, ripped off my shirt, and yelled like a female screech owl during mating season. There were three hairline fractures to the toilet bowl and the lights flickered on and off. Finally things calmed down and as I caught my breath, unwrapped my shirt from around my head and opened my eyes.....I saw pink floor tiles....matching pink wall tiles....matching NO URINAL anywhere in sight. I had run into the women's restroom. I said "oh discomfort! What have I done?" Surely nobody will notice me this late in the night. I'll just put my shirt back on, wash up, and quietly sneak out....which I did....to about fourteen women in various states of despair waiting for me to come out. I could see Debbie, Cindy, and Mike in the car laughing uncontrollably like this was funny or something. I apologized to the ladies for making them wait and suggested they continue to wait a few minutes before going in....
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
The Girl in River Oaks...
I was a senior in high school and dating a girl from River Oaks. I was introduced to her by one of my cousins. Since I have about a thousand cousins it's no surprise that two of them were dating her older sister and three others were good friends from school. She was a beauty with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Since I was introduced by a cousin she called me Rusty which I kind of liked. I was smitten for sure. Before I go any further, let me say I am the most blessed person in the whole world to have found my wife Debbie a year or so later and never looked back but boy oh boy I had myself a terrible crush at the time.
This girl's family owned a place on a local lake and many of my cousins were frequent visitors out there. I suspected at the time that the two guys dating the older sister were more interested in the lake place than the older sister but that's just a guess on my part....I digress....There were lots of cookouts with swimming and skiing going on at the time and this girl was constantly inviting me out to ski..."You do ski, don't you?" she asked. "Well of course I ski" I lied. I wasn't about to admit I didn't even know how to swim much less stand up on a pair of skis. I had a morbid fear of any lake due to the near drowning on Lake Worth I told you about earlier. I stayed as far away from lakes as possible and made excuses like a politician for passing up invitations.
Eventually I couldn't find any more excuses to say no so I wrote my will, said goodbye to loved ones, comforted myself with the knowledge that drowning was better than going to Vietnam, and agreed to go to the lake. When I got to the party most of the people, including half a dozen cousins were already there. This girl grabbed me by the arm and yelled, "Hey everybody! Look, Rusty came!" I felt honored to be so welcomed but then, I should have felt honored. It was to be my last day on earth for crying out loud. There was lots of good food to eat and I had a hearty appetite even though my spirits were low. I still remember thinking, "Oh man these Lays potato chips are wonderful...gonna miss these potato chips." Eventually this girl's dad said it was time to start skiing so everyone would get a chance before dark. He would pull a skier off the dock slowly and give them a nice ride around the lake before dropping one off to pick up another. Everyone ran to the dock to get a good spot in line. I was a bit embarrassed for my cousins because of their insistence on being first. I had no idea at the time that they wanted to get their skiing in before the girl's dad drowned me in the lake. They all knew I couldn't swim worth a hoot. One even whispered to me, "You aren't really going to do this are you?"
The line grew smaller and I was running out of time. I was watching everything trying to learn something, anything about skiing. Maybe if I could stay up on the skis I wouldn't drown. The boat made the turn back to the dock as the sun began to set. I was the last guy standing. The silhouette of boat and skier against the sunset was spectacular and had I not been so sad I would have enjoyed it. The silhouette raced across the horizon and.....and started to slow down. It got slower until it came to a complete stop and the skier sank from sight. Everyone was worried until a previous skier said the girl's dad had mentioned he was afraid he was going to run out of gas before everyone got to ski. "Oh no! I don't get to ski?? I waited all this time! Doggone it!" snicker, snicker. I spent a lot of time that night in prayer thanking the Lord for His saving grace. Oh sure, I know the grace talked about in the Bible is much more important than an empty gas tank but it sure worked for me that evening.
I don't know if this girl finally figured out I was a scaredy cat, boldfaced liar or if one of my cousins ratted me out, but our relationship fizzled out soon afterward. It worked out for the best of course because I met Debbie later on and life couldn't be better. Debbie doesn't know how to ski either.
This girl's family owned a place on a local lake and many of my cousins were frequent visitors out there. I suspected at the time that the two guys dating the older sister were more interested in the lake place than the older sister but that's just a guess on my part....I digress....There were lots of cookouts with swimming and skiing going on at the time and this girl was constantly inviting me out to ski..."You do ski, don't you?" she asked. "Well of course I ski" I lied. I wasn't about to admit I didn't even know how to swim much less stand up on a pair of skis. I had a morbid fear of any lake due to the near drowning on Lake Worth I told you about earlier. I stayed as far away from lakes as possible and made excuses like a politician for passing up invitations.
Eventually I couldn't find any more excuses to say no so I wrote my will, said goodbye to loved ones, comforted myself with the knowledge that drowning was better than going to Vietnam, and agreed to go to the lake. When I got to the party most of the people, including half a dozen cousins were already there. This girl grabbed me by the arm and yelled, "Hey everybody! Look, Rusty came!" I felt honored to be so welcomed but then, I should have felt honored. It was to be my last day on earth for crying out loud. There was lots of good food to eat and I had a hearty appetite even though my spirits were low. I still remember thinking, "Oh man these Lays potato chips are wonderful...gonna miss these potato chips." Eventually this girl's dad said it was time to start skiing so everyone would get a chance before dark. He would pull a skier off the dock slowly and give them a nice ride around the lake before dropping one off to pick up another. Everyone ran to the dock to get a good spot in line. I was a bit embarrassed for my cousins because of their insistence on being first. I had no idea at the time that they wanted to get their skiing in before the girl's dad drowned me in the lake. They all knew I couldn't swim worth a hoot. One even whispered to me, "You aren't really going to do this are you?"
The line grew smaller and I was running out of time. I was watching everything trying to learn something, anything about skiing. Maybe if I could stay up on the skis I wouldn't drown. The boat made the turn back to the dock as the sun began to set. I was the last guy standing. The silhouette of boat and skier against the sunset was spectacular and had I not been so sad I would have enjoyed it. The silhouette raced across the horizon and.....and started to slow down. It got slower until it came to a complete stop and the skier sank from sight. Everyone was worried until a previous skier said the girl's dad had mentioned he was afraid he was going to run out of gas before everyone got to ski. "Oh no! I don't get to ski?? I waited all this time! Doggone it!" snicker, snicker. I spent a lot of time that night in prayer thanking the Lord for His saving grace. Oh sure, I know the grace talked about in the Bible is much more important than an empty gas tank but it sure worked for me that evening.
I don't know if this girl finally figured out I was a scaredy cat, boldfaced liar or if one of my cousins ratted me out, but our relationship fizzled out soon afterward. It worked out for the best of course because I met Debbie later on and life couldn't be better. Debbie doesn't know how to ski either.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
It Was A Brilliant Idea But I Hurt All Over....
Let me explain. I have mentioned before about the slope we deal with in our backyard. It starts out gentle, gradually decreasing (or is it increasing) in grade, and then drops off to China about twelve feet from the back fence. My shed/suburban barn is built on piers expanding out over the drop off. Its a wonderful use of space since we can't do anything back there but fall down. We can even store things under the building if we choose. We do not choose though because I'm scared of spiders and snakes. The design was brilliant when it was thought of a hundred years ago when it was first built. I can just imagine the homeowner walking in the backdoor and telling his wife, "Honey, come look at the brilliant way I decided to use some of that useless space back here." She would have thought him brilliant. Years later, when Deb and I bought the place we thought it was brilliant too. I loved my little barn. The years have not been kind to the old structure though and Debbie decided five years ago I needed to replace some of the wood and repaint. I got right on it and started tearing old siding off last week. It appears I have grown old as the barn has because this project is just about to kill me. There is not a square foot of level ground anywhere around the building so reaching the higher levels has been....challenging. I have wished for some of the brilliance used by the guy who built the thing. How did he do it and survive long enough to brag to his wife? Just walking around out there and lifting up 4 x 8 sheets of siding has been awful. On the worst corner I struggled for hours trying to lift the siding up, holding it in place, and driving enough nails into it to keep it from falling off. Four pieces of siding were included in that little experience and two of the four fell on top of me before I could get nails driven into them. Then I had to figure out how to nail them up high on the structure. I stretched as much as my 5'9" frame allowed and still needed to go another couple of feet. I tried building a scaffolding around it but evidently I have no clue how to build scaffolding. Two or three swings with the hammer while standing on it and I felt it give way and slide down the slope. I stepped off before it reached the drop off. I'll have to figure out how to get that pile of wood up from there someday won't I?
Next I looked around and found Debbie's little stepladder hiding in the pantry. I figured it would work since it had four legs. Had to work....of course it would work. I only had to nail those pieces up at the top. I placed it on the slope and carefully took the first step. So far, so good. I took the second step and was able to reach the first panel needing nails. I am brilliant I told myself as I finished up the panel and moved the little ladder a bit more down the slope. The angle seemed precarious but as I took the first step the ladder stayed in place. The second step was a little wobbly but it held. I had to take the third step to reach the top so I carefully tried that step. Not a comfortable feel but I was able to reach the top at least. Now if I had just remembered to bring my hammer I could start nailing. Back down, back up, scared silly. I held on to the roof of the barn with my right hand and tried to set the nail and drive it with my left. There is no way to set a nail with just one hand. If you walk away from this story learning only one thing, make sure to never try this with one hand. I was too scared to let go of the roof line so I had to come up with more brilliance. I made another trip down the ladder, got my portable drill and and a wood screw. Really should have taken more than one screw since I dropped the one I had requiring another trip down and up the ladder. I finally got the screw set in place, hit the trigger on the drill, and felt my world fall out from under me. The little stepladder had given up trying to stay in place while having me make trip after trip up and down. As it fell toward the drop off, my body decided to follow. I tried to hang onto the roof but I couldn't do it. I landed on the ladder and both of us rolled on down the hill and over the drop off. There I was tangled up in a formerly nice little stepladder, splintered scaffolding I hoped to never see again, brush and rocks, and I couldn't get up. I didn't have my cell phone since it fell out of my pocket at the start of the fall and brilliantly decided not to take the trip with me. I lay there until the mosquitoes decided I must be dead and they could safely attack. I still don't remember how I finally got up from that position. Nothing was broken, which was my worst fear. (I had been warned by my surgeon to stay off ladders for some reason.) Anyway, I worked myself free after a while, threw all the scaffolding scraps up along with the stepladder remnants, dusted myself off and went in for a shower. I hurt all over. I have tried to work on the easy to reach portions of the little barn but it hurts to move. I can barely walk from my easy chair to the kitchen. I would like for Debbie to wait on me and baby me but it wouldn't be right. Did I mention she fell off a ladder last month and required shoulder replacement? She is still in a sling. I really need to get rid of my ladders but someday, somehow, I need to figure out a brilliant way to finish that stupid barn.
Next I looked around and found Debbie's little stepladder hiding in the pantry. I figured it would work since it had four legs. Had to work....of course it would work. I only had to nail those pieces up at the top. I placed it on the slope and carefully took the first step. So far, so good. I took the second step and was able to reach the first panel needing nails. I am brilliant I told myself as I finished up the panel and moved the little ladder a bit more down the slope. The angle seemed precarious but as I took the first step the ladder stayed in place. The second step was a little wobbly but it held. I had to take the third step to reach the top so I carefully tried that step. Not a comfortable feel but I was able to reach the top at least. Now if I had just remembered to bring my hammer I could start nailing. Back down, back up, scared silly. I held on to the roof of the barn with my right hand and tried to set the nail and drive it with my left. There is no way to set a nail with just one hand. If you walk away from this story learning only one thing, make sure to never try this with one hand. I was too scared to let go of the roof line so I had to come up with more brilliance. I made another trip down the ladder, got my portable drill and and a wood screw. Really should have taken more than one screw since I dropped the one I had requiring another trip down and up the ladder. I finally got the screw set in place, hit the trigger on the drill, and felt my world fall out from under me. The little stepladder had given up trying to stay in place while having me make trip after trip up and down. As it fell toward the drop off, my body decided to follow. I tried to hang onto the roof but I couldn't do it. I landed on the ladder and both of us rolled on down the hill and over the drop off. There I was tangled up in a formerly nice little stepladder, splintered scaffolding I hoped to never see again, brush and rocks, and I couldn't get up. I didn't have my cell phone since it fell out of my pocket at the start of the fall and brilliantly decided not to take the trip with me. I lay there until the mosquitoes decided I must be dead and they could safely attack. I still don't remember how I finally got up from that position. Nothing was broken, which was my worst fear. (I had been warned by my surgeon to stay off ladders for some reason.) Anyway, I worked myself free after a while, threw all the scaffolding scraps up along with the stepladder remnants, dusted myself off and went in for a shower. I hurt all over. I have tried to work on the easy to reach portions of the little barn but it hurts to move. I can barely walk from my easy chair to the kitchen. I would like for Debbie to wait on me and baby me but it wouldn't be right. Did I mention she fell off a ladder last month and required shoulder replacement? She is still in a sling. I really need to get rid of my ladders but someday, somehow, I need to figure out a brilliant way to finish that stupid barn.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Peaches and the War of 1959.
Good grief, has it been two months since I wrote anything? It's a good thing I don't rely on my writing to buy food for the squirrels. They would starve. But enough about squirrels since there is no way on this green earth they will stay away from Debbie's birdseed. I need to write a story because I have about three of them jelling in my mind and its keeping me awake at night. This next story is a joint effort from my sister Julie, my brother Glenn, and myself. I knew I wanted to tell you about the peach war incident but I couldn't remember the details that led up to it. I consulted my sibs and half of them responded with their own memories. By the way, I told Debbie I would be in my study today cleaning up my desktop. S-H-H....
My dad grew up on the prairies of South Dakota. There was talk at that time of a tree growing in the state but no one really knew where. Anyway, after WWII, daddy settled down in Texas with a wife he met at Fort Hood. He told his family she was of native Indian descent even though her family has been in Texas forever. He thought it was funny. She didn't find it humorous. That's beside the point...he grew up without trees so when he had bought a little piece of Texas land for himself, some would call it "a lot", he couldn't stop planting trees. Some of the trees he planted were peach trees. He loved his peach trees and nurtured them throughout the year. The question which kept me awake last night was, "Did anyone ever see daddy actually eat a peach?" My sibs confirmed that no one ever saw him eat a peach or any other piece of fruit so why did he care so much for those trees. Glenn answered the question though. Mama loved peaches so he grew peaches for her. He showed his love for his squaw in various ways. She ate them off the tree and tried to get us to try them. They had too much fuzz for my taste so I avoided them until they had been transformed into peach cobbler. She froze peaches and served peach cobbler or pie to us way into the winter until the supply was gone. Then I guess we ate Twinkies for dessert. I just don't remember.
Glenn reminded me that the folks loved jelly or jam every morning and that must have been all the fruit daddy got into his system. For years we would drive north on Precinct Line Road and pick wild mustang grapes off the vines along the road. Mama would make the best grape jelly I ever tasted. I never could buy a jar of Welsh's grape jelly after that....just not the same thing. She also bought plums by the bushel from the farmer's market and made jelly and jam that would make your head spin. I miss that jam so much. I begged my sisters to learn how to make it before our mom passed away. They didn't.....or if they did they keep it all for themselves and don't share it with me. I wish now I had learned to make it myself but back then I was still gainfully employed and couldn't grasp the idea of time off with hobbies.
Oh great, my sister Cindy just responded with memories of her own. I either go back and edit what I've written or add her memories later.....I'll add them later unless I get tired of writing....or Debbie comes in and my desk is still a mess.
I may have wandered from the original topic a bit so I'll try to steer myself back. It's pretty much agreed that daddy didn't care for peaches unless they were in the form of a cobbler swimming in heavy cream. In fact, he didn't care for fresh fruit at all. I don't either but I try to eat it occasionally. He took care of those trees for mama though. She was always watching and waiting for the fruit to change from tiny little green peaches, so hard you couldn't even cut them, to the soft, fuzzy, juicy peaches so well known in this area and Parker County just to the west of us. Way back then the waste disposal team, or "garbage men" as we called them, came twice a week. They would jump off the side of the truck with their own cans, 55 gallon drums with a handle cut in, run to the backyards of every home, dump the trash cans into their big drums until they were full. Then they would run back to the truck, unload and repeat the process until every house in the neighborhood was free of trash. They did this twice a week!! Not one single first grader ever raised his hand in class to announce he or she wanted to be a garbage man when grown. If you were a nice neighbor, you would leave your water hose connected to the front of the house so they could get a drink or douse themselves with water. Summers in Texas were brutal back then too. If you were a really really good neighbor you would serve them lemonade. I doubt they got much lemonade but they did discover a golden prize in our yard during the summers. They loved to pick peaches off our trees to eat when they came by. My mom was a compassionate soul so she didn't think too much about it at first. As the practice became more commonplace she would watch for the truck to come down our street and then go out to protect her peaches. One year the entire crop was filled with worms of some kind. She let those garbage men have all they wanted that year.
The incident which became known as the Great Peach War of 1959* happened in one day. Actually, it took only about half an hour to have lasting consequences. Our aunt Dovie and uncle JD Wardlow brought their boys, Jamie and Donnie, to visit one weekend in late spring. Those boys had a knack for doing things that got us into trouble. In fact, it was a rare visit for all five of us kids not to be in serious trouble after Jamie and Donnie came for a visit. This particular time the peach trees were absolutely covered with little green peaches. The harvest was going to be the best ever. We hadn't been out in the yard more than ten minutes before Jamie picked a green peach and threw it at Donnie. We all laughed and then Donnie paid him back with a green peach right to the forehead. It didn't take any time at all before they were picking and throwing peaches as fast as they could. The more they threw the madder they got with each other. We stopped laughing after the battle got really bad because we could see an awful lot of green peaches lying on the ground. It turned ugly. They stripped the trees in back then ran to the front and stripped the little tree in the front. When there were no more peaches left to throw they started wrestling each other "to the death". We actually got scared. I don't know if one of us ran and told the adults or if they just heard the commotion and came out on their own. Those two boys were hauled inside kicking and screaming while we were left in a yard full of ruined peaches....and mama. We told her we didn't have anything to do with it but the look on her face told us that somebody had to die. Since she didn't think it right to kill off one of her sister's sons, it would have to be one of us. We were told to grab some sacks to pick up all those little peaches for the trash and rest assured she would "see to us" after the Wardlows left on Sunday afternoon. I'm sure glad she had the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday to cool down because we ended the weekend alive. We did have to promise to never let Jamie and Donnie do something that stupid ever again. Of course that was an impossible task. We still got in trouble every time they visited.
Oh yeah, let me add Cindy's memories because they are good memories and they involve fruit, which is of course the topic of the day. She remembers that daddy did like rhubarb. She claims that it is a fruit but it appears to be a noxious weed to me. He liked for mama to make rhubarb pies occasionally and when she did he got to eat the whole pie himself.....might as well make a pie out of broccoli. She also reminded me of when grandpa and grandma Hallmark lived down in the valley (south Texas on the gulf coast and bordering Mexico). Citrus was king down there and our uncle Frog always brought us bags of oranges and grapefruit when he visited. She remembers we would sit and watch TV while peeling and eating grapefruit at night. Good times. I now understand why I feel a bit homesick when I walk through the produce section of the grocery store and smell the grapefruit! Still don't like peaches.
*It is entirely possible you won't find this war listed anywhere but here. Some have mentioned that I have a tendency to "add" to the story a bit. When I do this it becomes fact after a few days. The actions were real, the title possibly not. We never saw anything about it on Sixty Minutes.
My dad grew up on the prairies of South Dakota. There was talk at that time of a tree growing in the state but no one really knew where. Anyway, after WWII, daddy settled down in Texas with a wife he met at Fort Hood. He told his family she was of native Indian descent even though her family has been in Texas forever. He thought it was funny. She didn't find it humorous. That's beside the point...he grew up without trees so when he had bought a little piece of Texas land for himself, some would call it "a lot", he couldn't stop planting trees. Some of the trees he planted were peach trees. He loved his peach trees and nurtured them throughout the year. The question which kept me awake last night was, "Did anyone ever see daddy actually eat a peach?" My sibs confirmed that no one ever saw him eat a peach or any other piece of fruit so why did he care so much for those trees. Glenn answered the question though. Mama loved peaches so he grew peaches for her. He showed his love for his squaw in various ways. She ate them off the tree and tried to get us to try them. They had too much fuzz for my taste so I avoided them until they had been transformed into peach cobbler. She froze peaches and served peach cobbler or pie to us way into the winter until the supply was gone. Then I guess we ate Twinkies for dessert. I just don't remember.
Glenn reminded me that the folks loved jelly or jam every morning and that must have been all the fruit daddy got into his system. For years we would drive north on Precinct Line Road and pick wild mustang grapes off the vines along the road. Mama would make the best grape jelly I ever tasted. I never could buy a jar of Welsh's grape jelly after that....just not the same thing. She also bought plums by the bushel from the farmer's market and made jelly and jam that would make your head spin. I miss that jam so much. I begged my sisters to learn how to make it before our mom passed away. They didn't.....or if they did they keep it all for themselves and don't share it with me. I wish now I had learned to make it myself but back then I was still gainfully employed and couldn't grasp the idea of time off with hobbies.
Oh great, my sister Cindy just responded with memories of her own. I either go back and edit what I've written or add her memories later.....I'll add them later unless I get tired of writing....or Debbie comes in and my desk is still a mess.
I may have wandered from the original topic a bit so I'll try to steer myself back. It's pretty much agreed that daddy didn't care for peaches unless they were in the form of a cobbler swimming in heavy cream. In fact, he didn't care for fresh fruit at all. I don't either but I try to eat it occasionally. He took care of those trees for mama though. She was always watching and waiting for the fruit to change from tiny little green peaches, so hard you couldn't even cut them, to the soft, fuzzy, juicy peaches so well known in this area and Parker County just to the west of us. Way back then the waste disposal team, or "garbage men" as we called them, came twice a week. They would jump off the side of the truck with their own cans, 55 gallon drums with a handle cut in, run to the backyards of every home, dump the trash cans into their big drums until they were full. Then they would run back to the truck, unload and repeat the process until every house in the neighborhood was free of trash. They did this twice a week!! Not one single first grader ever raised his hand in class to announce he or she wanted to be a garbage man when grown. If you were a nice neighbor, you would leave your water hose connected to the front of the house so they could get a drink or douse themselves with water. Summers in Texas were brutal back then too. If you were a really really good neighbor you would serve them lemonade. I doubt they got much lemonade but they did discover a golden prize in our yard during the summers. They loved to pick peaches off our trees to eat when they came by. My mom was a compassionate soul so she didn't think too much about it at first. As the practice became more commonplace she would watch for the truck to come down our street and then go out to protect her peaches. One year the entire crop was filled with worms of some kind. She let those garbage men have all they wanted that year.
The incident which became known as the Great Peach War of 1959* happened in one day. Actually, it took only about half an hour to have lasting consequences. Our aunt Dovie and uncle JD Wardlow brought their boys, Jamie and Donnie, to visit one weekend in late spring. Those boys had a knack for doing things that got us into trouble. In fact, it was a rare visit for all five of us kids not to be in serious trouble after Jamie and Donnie came for a visit. This particular time the peach trees were absolutely covered with little green peaches. The harvest was going to be the best ever. We hadn't been out in the yard more than ten minutes before Jamie picked a green peach and threw it at Donnie. We all laughed and then Donnie paid him back with a green peach right to the forehead. It didn't take any time at all before they were picking and throwing peaches as fast as they could. The more they threw the madder they got with each other. We stopped laughing after the battle got really bad because we could see an awful lot of green peaches lying on the ground. It turned ugly. They stripped the trees in back then ran to the front and stripped the little tree in the front. When there were no more peaches left to throw they started wrestling each other "to the death". We actually got scared. I don't know if one of us ran and told the adults or if they just heard the commotion and came out on their own. Those two boys were hauled inside kicking and screaming while we were left in a yard full of ruined peaches....and mama. We told her we didn't have anything to do with it but the look on her face told us that somebody had to die. Since she didn't think it right to kill off one of her sister's sons, it would have to be one of us. We were told to grab some sacks to pick up all those little peaches for the trash and rest assured she would "see to us" after the Wardlows left on Sunday afternoon. I'm sure glad she had the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday to cool down because we ended the weekend alive. We did have to promise to never let Jamie and Donnie do something that stupid ever again. Of course that was an impossible task. We still got in trouble every time they visited.
Oh yeah, let me add Cindy's memories because they are good memories and they involve fruit, which is of course the topic of the day. She remembers that daddy did like rhubarb. She claims that it is a fruit but it appears to be a noxious weed to me. He liked for mama to make rhubarb pies occasionally and when she did he got to eat the whole pie himself.....might as well make a pie out of broccoli. She also reminded me of when grandpa and grandma Hallmark lived down in the valley (south Texas on the gulf coast and bordering Mexico). Citrus was king down there and our uncle Frog always brought us bags of oranges and grapefruit when he visited. She remembers we would sit and watch TV while peeling and eating grapefruit at night. Good times. I now understand why I feel a bit homesick when I walk through the produce section of the grocery store and smell the grapefruit! Still don't like peaches.
*It is entirely possible you won't find this war listed anywhere but here. Some have mentioned that I have a tendency to "add" to the story a bit. When I do this it becomes fact after a few days. The actions were real, the title possibly not. We never saw anything about it on Sixty Minutes.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
It's Complicated...
What's complicated? Life is complicated....THAT's what's complicated. We are in the "golden age" of our lives. That is the age between working, playing, traveling, and spending money without a care and the age of.....well, dying. There should be no stress in the golden age. We should experience peace, harmony, and possibly a bit of the age of Aquarius. That is not happening and it is not my fault. It's my precious Debbie's fault.
Debbie is a Type A personality with an emphasis on the A. While I see myself floating down the mellow river of life, Debbie is in the canoe with me yelling, "ROW! ROW!" She will not even discuss the possibility of my going back to work. To be honest, for the first couple of years of retirement I considered it. Debbie always says, "No, you worked too hard for too long to not enjoy your retirement now!" A seemingly loving and caring response, right? Yes the sentiment is sweet but it just isn't true. I love Debbie with all my heart and appreciate all that she has added to my life but what she means when she says the above is, "No, you are retired now and that means you are free to help me do everything on my bucket list!" This would be fine if her bucket contained anything fun....and inexpensive. Instead, her bucket is filled with restoring the lawn to its former glory, cleaning carpets, moving whole rooms of furniture, buying new furniture, and of course the most difficult of all: Clearing the backyard of all squirrels.
Debbie hates squirrels. I'm a fence rider on squirrels. They are cute and fun to watch. If they poop in my yard I don't know it. But, and this is a big but....they steal Debbie's birdseed without so much as a "Thank you very much". We've tried everything imaginable to keep them out of the bird feeders. We've bought special feeders which squirrels can't access, which is foolish because it's well known squirrels spend the winters in seminars on how to work the latest in squirrel-proof technology. We've put chili pepper in the feeders. The squirrels say, "Yummy! Tex-Mex!" We've placed the feeders in every imaginable spot and the squirrels find a way to get to them. We have greased the poles holding the hangers. The squirrels love it. Pole dancing and sliding is a squirrel's favorite pastime. Finally, I have brought out the big guns.
I don't want to kill anything, especially cute little obnoxious squirrels. However, I have no hesitation in scaring the bejeebers out of them. I bought a slingshot and half inch marbles for ammo. I scared one of them once. Now they stick out their tongues and sing, "Naa naa naa naa naaaaa naa" when I lob a marble their way. I bought a live trap. "Now we'll see who's king of this backyard" I foolishly thought to myself. I trap at least one squirrel a day...sometimes two, and drive them out to a wooded area on the other side of a major highway. They seem happy there but I swear they are finding their way back....or else, the neighborhood squirrels don't use any type of birth control. There is no end to them.
Last night I forgot and left the trap set. I've never caught a squirrel at night and I don't want to catch anything else, like maybe my neighbor's cat. When I got up this morning I remembered having left the trap set so I walked out with coffee in hand to see if maybe an early morning squirrel had wandered in. The grass under the trap was torn up. The grass around the outside of the trap was shredded and the trap itself was bent so bad it won't work again without some serious work. I have no idea what I caught but I can guarantee I will not leave that trap set at night again. I do not want to catch anything that can do that much damage.
I was telling Debbie about the trap and yard later in the morning. She decided to go see the damage. When she stepped out onto the patio she screamed, "NOOOOOO!" My first thought was "I'm going to miss good ol' Debbie". I figured for sure some evil monster was mad about getting trapped last night and was out there about to gobble her up. It turned out she saw two squirrels. One was on the ground peacefully eating bird seed while the other was on the top of the feeder holding it upside down so the seed would pour out.... and she calls them "stupid squirrels". She turned to me and with a look that would cause a chill in a marine drill instructor's gut, told me I better get rid of those stupid squirrels. I told her we should be at one with nature and just accept the fact that squirrels gotta eat too. She disagreed. I don't have a clue how to rid an entire neighborhood of squirrels. I need to go back to work....
Debbie is a Type A personality with an emphasis on the A. While I see myself floating down the mellow river of life, Debbie is in the canoe with me yelling, "ROW! ROW!" She will not even discuss the possibility of my going back to work. To be honest, for the first couple of years of retirement I considered it. Debbie always says, "No, you worked too hard for too long to not enjoy your retirement now!" A seemingly loving and caring response, right? Yes the sentiment is sweet but it just isn't true. I love Debbie with all my heart and appreciate all that she has added to my life but what she means when she says the above is, "No, you are retired now and that means you are free to help me do everything on my bucket list!" This would be fine if her bucket contained anything fun....and inexpensive. Instead, her bucket is filled with restoring the lawn to its former glory, cleaning carpets, moving whole rooms of furniture, buying new furniture, and of course the most difficult of all: Clearing the backyard of all squirrels.
Debbie hates squirrels. I'm a fence rider on squirrels. They are cute and fun to watch. If they poop in my yard I don't know it. But, and this is a big but....they steal Debbie's birdseed without so much as a "Thank you very much". We've tried everything imaginable to keep them out of the bird feeders. We've bought special feeders which squirrels can't access, which is foolish because it's well known squirrels spend the winters in seminars on how to work the latest in squirrel-proof technology. We've put chili pepper in the feeders. The squirrels say, "Yummy! Tex-Mex!" We've placed the feeders in every imaginable spot and the squirrels find a way to get to them. We have greased the poles holding the hangers. The squirrels love it. Pole dancing and sliding is a squirrel's favorite pastime. Finally, I have brought out the big guns.
I don't want to kill anything, especially cute little obnoxious squirrels. However, I have no hesitation in scaring the bejeebers out of them. I bought a slingshot and half inch marbles for ammo. I scared one of them once. Now they stick out their tongues and sing, "Naa naa naa naa naaaaa naa" when I lob a marble their way. I bought a live trap. "Now we'll see who's king of this backyard" I foolishly thought to myself. I trap at least one squirrel a day...sometimes two, and drive them out to a wooded area on the other side of a major highway. They seem happy there but I swear they are finding their way back....or else, the neighborhood squirrels don't use any type of birth control. There is no end to them.
Last night I forgot and left the trap set. I've never caught a squirrel at night and I don't want to catch anything else, like maybe my neighbor's cat. When I got up this morning I remembered having left the trap set so I walked out with coffee in hand to see if maybe an early morning squirrel had wandered in. The grass under the trap was torn up. The grass around the outside of the trap was shredded and the trap itself was bent so bad it won't work again without some serious work. I have no idea what I caught but I can guarantee I will not leave that trap set at night again. I do not want to catch anything that can do that much damage.
I was telling Debbie about the trap and yard later in the morning. She decided to go see the damage. When she stepped out onto the patio she screamed, "NOOOOOO!" My first thought was "I'm going to miss good ol' Debbie". I figured for sure some evil monster was mad about getting trapped last night and was out there about to gobble her up. It turned out she saw two squirrels. One was on the ground peacefully eating bird seed while the other was on the top of the feeder holding it upside down so the seed would pour out.... and she calls them "stupid squirrels". She turned to me and with a look that would cause a chill in a marine drill instructor's gut, told me I better get rid of those stupid squirrels. I told her we should be at one with nature and just accept the fact that squirrels gotta eat too. She disagreed. I don't have a clue how to rid an entire neighborhood of squirrels. I need to go back to work....
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Rusty, you got some splainin to do.....
Everyone knows this but I feel the need to repeat it in order for you to understand the rest of the story...
About six years ago I was fighting off a few members of a drug cartel, down on the border, when I was shot in the left leg. The bullets shattered my femur in fourteen places and as I fell I fractured my hip. Emergency surgery was performed and brilliant doctors put my leg back together as best they could. A second surgery came about two months later when it was determined the femur wasn't healing properly. Sadly, the second surgery didn't help and I was told I would have to live with the weak leg and the constant pain......
Okay, Debbie said I had to tell the truth....Actually the above story is all true except the part about fighting drug cartels when the damage occurred. In truth....in blazing, boring truth, I fell off a three step ladder and shattered my left leg. Even though the facts aren't nearly as exciting as most handicapped men my age, the damage left me handicapped. One day when I pulled into a handicapped parking space another car pulled in beside me. Both of us struggled out of our cars while using canes for support. The other driver, about my age, looked at me and asked, "Vietnam?" I said that wasn't my case and asked if it was his. He told me he had been shot up in the jungles of Vietnam in 1968 and was left with a torn up leg. Then he asked what happened to me. It told him about the three step ladder incident. He looked at me for a moment then said, "You might want to work on that story". I thanked him for his service and sacrifice for our country and quietly walked away.
Okay, back to my explanation. When I was about to be released by the surgeon six years ago his last advice to me was this: 1) The femur will never heal in two places. The rod and pins in your leg and hip are not designed to carry your weight for a lifetime. If you're lucky they will last about ten years before you need additional surgery. 2) Additional surgery could cause more damage to the leg putting you into a wheel chair the rest of your life. 3) Do not put any pressure on your left leg for any reason...no running, fast walking, bike riding, standing in one spot, and on and on, or the rod will give out sooner rather than later. 4) You will always have the pain. Have a nice day! His pronouncement changed my life. Everything I loved to do was on my "don't" list. I have walked with a cane constantly, keeping the left leg from having to support me. I have been very careful getting in and out of my pickup. I avoid stairs. In fact, I avoid anything requiring me to use that leg. In other words, my left leg has been on sabbatical for the past six years and has grown fat and lazy. During a month long spring cleaning frenzy in our backyard a couple of months ago the leg began to ache more than usual. It kept me awake at night and sharp pains shot through it constantly. Even though I had been careful I was certain my time was up. My doctor (son Cody) agreed and sent me to another surgeon. I went and had all the necessary tests and x-rays done and then Debbie sat with me in his office awaiting the bad news. He came in, sat down and said those words I will never forget: "You are completely healthy! There is no need for you to ever have more surgery on this leg!" Deb and I couldn't believe it! I quizzed him with,
"but what about the rod not lasting a lifetime?"
"The rod will last forever."
"But what about the femur not healing in two places?"
"Take a look at the x-rays. The bone is completely healed."
"But what about the constant pain?"
"The pain is from the hardware in your femur and hip as well has significant scarring around the femur."
"So, can I do anything I want?"
"Anything your wife will allow you to do?"
"Can I toss my cane?"
"Not until you build up the muscles in that leg again."
"But then I can get rid of it, right?"
"Right."
"Will this pain go away after I start using the leg again?" (At this point I'm enjoying all the positive answers)
"No, the pain will always be around. When it gets bad take an Aleve or drink a beer if your wife will let you."....bummer
Now I know this hasn't been an especially interesting story but I felt a need to tell it for this reason: Everyone, and I mean everyone including strangers has been so thoughtful and helpful over the past six years. I don't want anyone thinking I was using the cane for sympathy now that I will eventually not use it. Because of surgeon #1's predictions, and a tremendous amount of pain early on I desperately needed that cane. I still need it until I can get some serious exercise on the leg. When I finally feel confident the leg is going to support me, I will hang my old cane back up on my hat rack where it will hopefully stay. I will always be grateful to it for its support and companionship. It was the cane my grandpa used for many years and now several cousins are lining up to take it from me. I'm not going to give it up. They can go to Walmart if they need a cane.
I think I'll talk Deb into some dance lessons!!
About six years ago I was fighting off a few members of a drug cartel, down on the border, when I was shot in the left leg. The bullets shattered my femur in fourteen places and as I fell I fractured my hip. Emergency surgery was performed and brilliant doctors put my leg back together as best they could. A second surgery came about two months later when it was determined the femur wasn't healing properly. Sadly, the second surgery didn't help and I was told I would have to live with the weak leg and the constant pain......
Okay, Debbie said I had to tell the truth....Actually the above story is all true except the part about fighting drug cartels when the damage occurred. In truth....in blazing, boring truth, I fell off a three step ladder and shattered my left leg. Even though the facts aren't nearly as exciting as most handicapped men my age, the damage left me handicapped. One day when I pulled into a handicapped parking space another car pulled in beside me. Both of us struggled out of our cars while using canes for support. The other driver, about my age, looked at me and asked, "Vietnam?" I said that wasn't my case and asked if it was his. He told me he had been shot up in the jungles of Vietnam in 1968 and was left with a torn up leg. Then he asked what happened to me. It told him about the three step ladder incident. He looked at me for a moment then said, "You might want to work on that story". I thanked him for his service and sacrifice for our country and quietly walked away.
Okay, back to my explanation. When I was about to be released by the surgeon six years ago his last advice to me was this: 1) The femur will never heal in two places. The rod and pins in your leg and hip are not designed to carry your weight for a lifetime. If you're lucky they will last about ten years before you need additional surgery. 2) Additional surgery could cause more damage to the leg putting you into a wheel chair the rest of your life. 3) Do not put any pressure on your left leg for any reason...no running, fast walking, bike riding, standing in one spot, and on and on, or the rod will give out sooner rather than later. 4) You will always have the pain. Have a nice day! His pronouncement changed my life. Everything I loved to do was on my "don't" list. I have walked with a cane constantly, keeping the left leg from having to support me. I have been very careful getting in and out of my pickup. I avoid stairs. In fact, I avoid anything requiring me to use that leg. In other words, my left leg has been on sabbatical for the past six years and has grown fat and lazy. During a month long spring cleaning frenzy in our backyard a couple of months ago the leg began to ache more than usual. It kept me awake at night and sharp pains shot through it constantly. Even though I had been careful I was certain my time was up. My doctor (son Cody) agreed and sent me to another surgeon. I went and had all the necessary tests and x-rays done and then Debbie sat with me in his office awaiting the bad news. He came in, sat down and said those words I will never forget: "You are completely healthy! There is no need for you to ever have more surgery on this leg!" Deb and I couldn't believe it! I quizzed him with,
"but what about the rod not lasting a lifetime?"
"The rod will last forever."
"But what about the femur not healing in two places?"
"Take a look at the x-rays. The bone is completely healed."
"But what about the constant pain?"
"The pain is from the hardware in your femur and hip as well has significant scarring around the femur."
"So, can I do anything I want?"
"Anything your wife will allow you to do?"
"Can I toss my cane?"
"Not until you build up the muscles in that leg again."
"But then I can get rid of it, right?"
"Right."
"Will this pain go away after I start using the leg again?" (At this point I'm enjoying all the positive answers)
"No, the pain will always be around. When it gets bad take an Aleve or drink a beer if your wife will let you."....bummer
Now I know this hasn't been an especially interesting story but I felt a need to tell it for this reason: Everyone, and I mean everyone including strangers has been so thoughtful and helpful over the past six years. I don't want anyone thinking I was using the cane for sympathy now that I will eventually not use it. Because of surgeon #1's predictions, and a tremendous amount of pain early on I desperately needed that cane. I still need it until I can get some serious exercise on the leg. When I finally feel confident the leg is going to support me, I will hang my old cane back up on my hat rack where it will hopefully stay. I will always be grateful to it for its support and companionship. It was the cane my grandpa used for many years and now several cousins are lining up to take it from me. I'm not going to give it up. They can go to Walmart if they need a cane.
I think I'll talk Deb into some dance lessons!!
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Cold Days...
It's been two days since the temperature has been above the twenties. I don't mind a bit of cold weather but since most of my hobbies and interests are outdoors, I get kind of cranky after an hour or so of forced sitting. I was thinking about summer and feeling trapped there too because the heat has gotten so overbearing here in Texas during summer. I can't get out and do the things I enjoy because I can't handle the heat like I used to. Big ol' sissy....That leaves spring and fall to enjoy the outdoors. Spring usually lasts about a day and a half and I think we missed fall completely this past year.
When I think back on good times as a kid, those memories nearly always happened in summer. Either the summers were milder or I handled the heat better back then. I get to thinking about summertime in my mind and its kind of like: Sleepy summertime, old dogs, children, and watermelon wine....oh wait, that's Tom T Hall's thoughts on summer. I don't care for old dogs, children are okay from a distance, and I'm almost positive I wouldn't care for watermelon wine.
So, how am I going to keep myself busy here in Texas during the three or four days of winter and the eleven months of summer? I like to write but I don't always have something to say....kind of like now. I enjoy catching up on annoying little details like shoe polishing, arranging my sock drawer, culling worn out clothes from my closet...you know what I'm talking about. Sadly, I've done all of that too. I can even find things in my desk drawers now. I've cleaned my guns, watched all the movies I cared to catch up on, sat with Debbie as she continues following her never-ending British murder mystery shows, and even puttered in the kitchen. I have got to get outside soon!
Oh sure you say, "But Russell, you go to the gym three days a week!" Hello, the gym is indoors and I have to drive all the way from north Hurst to south Hurst to get there. Location is everything and that gym is located too far away. (editors note: Those of you who grew up in Hurst and now live in normal towns or cities are thinking, "But Hurst is just a little town". To this the author replies, "Balderdash!" It takes longer to get from north Hurst to south Hurst than it takes to drive from south Hurst all the way to Arlington.) Even though it's a long drive, my pickup doesn't get warm before I'm there. Same problem on the drive home. Trapped! I tell ya', I'm trapped!
I know, I know....stop complaining! I'm not complaining. I'm whining. There's a difference. I can't enjoy my wood shop because it's freezing out there. In the summertime it feels like a furnace. I wonder how the pioneers handled all this? I'll tell you how: They died young before their bodies had a chance to get as persnickety and old as mine. I wish like everything Debbie and I had buried our roots in someplace like New England. Yes, you heard me! We fell in love with New England last fall. While visiting up there, I mentioned to a store owner how I would love to live in his small and beautiful Maine town. He told me I would hate it in the winter because of the unbearable cold. I checked the temperature up there yesterday morning.....TEN DEGREES warmer in Camden, Maine than here in good old Hurst, Texas. That store owner just did not want me as a neighbor.
Okay, I'm done. The sun is shining outside now. The temperature just hit thirty. I reckon I'll go out and make sure my lawnmower is running well. I'll probably need it by the weekend.
When I think back on good times as a kid, those memories nearly always happened in summer. Either the summers were milder or I handled the heat better back then. I get to thinking about summertime in my mind and its kind of like: Sleepy summertime, old dogs, children, and watermelon wine....oh wait, that's Tom T Hall's thoughts on summer. I don't care for old dogs, children are okay from a distance, and I'm almost positive I wouldn't care for watermelon wine.
So, how am I going to keep myself busy here in Texas during the three or four days of winter and the eleven months of summer? I like to write but I don't always have something to say....kind of like now. I enjoy catching up on annoying little details like shoe polishing, arranging my sock drawer, culling worn out clothes from my closet...you know what I'm talking about. Sadly, I've done all of that too. I can even find things in my desk drawers now. I've cleaned my guns, watched all the movies I cared to catch up on, sat with Debbie as she continues following her never-ending British murder mystery shows, and even puttered in the kitchen. I have got to get outside soon!
Oh sure you say, "But Russell, you go to the gym three days a week!" Hello, the gym is indoors and I have to drive all the way from north Hurst to south Hurst to get there. Location is everything and that gym is located too far away. (editors note: Those of you who grew up in Hurst and now live in normal towns or cities are thinking, "But Hurst is just a little town". To this the author replies, "Balderdash!" It takes longer to get from north Hurst to south Hurst than it takes to drive from south Hurst all the way to Arlington.) Even though it's a long drive, my pickup doesn't get warm before I'm there. Same problem on the drive home. Trapped! I tell ya', I'm trapped!
I know, I know....stop complaining! I'm not complaining. I'm whining. There's a difference. I can't enjoy my wood shop because it's freezing out there. In the summertime it feels like a furnace. I wonder how the pioneers handled all this? I'll tell you how: They died young before their bodies had a chance to get as persnickety and old as mine. I wish like everything Debbie and I had buried our roots in someplace like New England. Yes, you heard me! We fell in love with New England last fall. While visiting up there, I mentioned to a store owner how I would love to live in his small and beautiful Maine town. He told me I would hate it in the winter because of the unbearable cold. I checked the temperature up there yesterday morning.....TEN DEGREES warmer in Camden, Maine than here in good old Hurst, Texas. That store owner just did not want me as a neighbor.
Okay, I'm done. The sun is shining outside now. The temperature just hit thirty. I reckon I'll go out and make sure my lawnmower is running well. I'll probably need it by the weekend.
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Blind Date...
There were so many times growing up when I wished I could just close my eyes for a minute and when I opened them everything would be okay. It never happened of course but there were situations when I squeezed my eyes shut so tight I gave myself a headache. One of those situations came along at a Friday night football game in 1967.
When the Hurst-Euless-Bedford School District was still growing and the Castleberry School District was beginning to shrink there were a few years where Bell High School, my alma mater, was in direct football competition with Castleberry High School, where my cousin Mike graced the halls.
On one such football night, Bell was the visitor to Castleberry's Homecoming game. Mike had called earlier and asked if I wanted to stay over and go out with a couple of girls after the game. He added the teaser that "the girl I want you to meet is one of the band sweetheart nominees". Just because I'm a nice guy I agreed to sacrifice in such a way. I sat with the Bell band on the visitor's side and watched Bell beat the heck out of Castleberry during the first half. The Bell band went out on the field and did a wonderful job I must say. Then Castleberry's band come on and I have to say right here and now there is nothing worse to a visitor than watching the backs of everyone on the field during a homecoming halftime show. Well, I take it back. There is one thing worse. Watching the show without my glasses is worse. All I could see were the fuzzy backs of the people on the field. (Its hard to keep up the "doggone good-looking look" when you need glasses.)
After halftime we figured the crowd had thinned around the concession stand so we wandered down for cokes and popcorn. I ran into Mike with his band buddies. He was all excited because the girl he had fixed me up with had won band sweetheart!! I got all excited too and thought about how great it would have been if I had actually seen her on the field instead of something fuzzy wandering around out there.
When the game was over I started looking for Mike and my date. I found him easily enough because there were about forty grinning band members standing around Mike with their evil little eyes trained on me. As I walked toward Mike the crowd opened up like they were waiting for me. I should have run for Hurst as fast as I could because it was an obvious ambush I had walked into. Mike grabbed me by the arm and reminded me I had a date with the Castleberry Band Sweetheart. Then he grinned so big I got scared. Before I had that chance to bolt and run this....let's say "husky" young lady walked up and Mike introduced her. "I would LOVE for you to meet Bertha Bigacres, Band Sweetheart for 1967!" This girl was big and her looks were not typical band sweetheart quality. As I stared in amazement at Bertha and tried to formulate a reason why she would be the band sweetheart Mike explained. He told me everyone had stuffed the ballot box. Bertha laughed and bragged that she had helped. I did not doubt her for a moment.
I have to say I took it like a man. I asked Bertha where she preferred to graze and she picked a pizza hangout in River Oaks. It seems this was pre-planned too because we got a standing ovation when we walked in. Bertha knew how to put that pizza away. I think I got one slice that night but to be honest, I didn't have much of an appetite. We hung around the dark pizza place all evening with the band crowd (thank goodness) and then I offered to haul her home. When we got to her house I walked her to the door just like my dad had taught me and waited for her to unlock the door. Then she turned to me and said, "How's about a little goodnight kiss?" I ran.
note: Over the years old Bertha has grown bigger and uglier in my mind. To be honest, she was maybe a little bit overweight but not that bad. She also was not an ugly girl. Mike showed me a photo of her when I was talking to him about writing this story. She was actually very nice looking. I had imagined a total knockout to walk up for our date and Bertha was not that. AND, since she laughed and bragged about being a part of the con, I felt justified in sharing the story. I hope she never reads it but if she does I'll say this: "Bertha, you are part of my happy memories. Best wishes!"
When the Hurst-Euless-Bedford School District was still growing and the Castleberry School District was beginning to shrink there were a few years where Bell High School, my alma mater, was in direct football competition with Castleberry High School, where my cousin Mike graced the halls.
On one such football night, Bell was the visitor to Castleberry's Homecoming game. Mike had called earlier and asked if I wanted to stay over and go out with a couple of girls after the game. He added the teaser that "the girl I want you to meet is one of the band sweetheart nominees". Just because I'm a nice guy I agreed to sacrifice in such a way. I sat with the Bell band on the visitor's side and watched Bell beat the heck out of Castleberry during the first half. The Bell band went out on the field and did a wonderful job I must say. Then Castleberry's band come on and I have to say right here and now there is nothing worse to a visitor than watching the backs of everyone on the field during a homecoming halftime show. Well, I take it back. There is one thing worse. Watching the show without my glasses is worse. All I could see were the fuzzy backs of the people on the field. (Its hard to keep up the "doggone good-looking look" when you need glasses.)
After halftime we figured the crowd had thinned around the concession stand so we wandered down for cokes and popcorn. I ran into Mike with his band buddies. He was all excited because the girl he had fixed me up with had won band sweetheart!! I got all excited too and thought about how great it would have been if I had actually seen her on the field instead of something fuzzy wandering around out there.
When the game was over I started looking for Mike and my date. I found him easily enough because there were about forty grinning band members standing around Mike with their evil little eyes trained on me. As I walked toward Mike the crowd opened up like they were waiting for me. I should have run for Hurst as fast as I could because it was an obvious ambush I had walked into. Mike grabbed me by the arm and reminded me I had a date with the Castleberry Band Sweetheart. Then he grinned so big I got scared. Before I had that chance to bolt and run this....let's say "husky" young lady walked up and Mike introduced her. "I would LOVE for you to meet Bertha Bigacres, Band Sweetheart for 1967!" This girl was big and her looks were not typical band sweetheart quality. As I stared in amazement at Bertha and tried to formulate a reason why she would be the band sweetheart Mike explained. He told me everyone had stuffed the ballot box. Bertha laughed and bragged that she had helped. I did not doubt her for a moment.
I have to say I took it like a man. I asked Bertha where she preferred to graze and she picked a pizza hangout in River Oaks. It seems this was pre-planned too because we got a standing ovation when we walked in. Bertha knew how to put that pizza away. I think I got one slice that night but to be honest, I didn't have much of an appetite. We hung around the dark pizza place all evening with the band crowd (thank goodness) and then I offered to haul her home. When we got to her house I walked her to the door just like my dad had taught me and waited for her to unlock the door. Then she turned to me and said, "How's about a little goodnight kiss?" I ran.
note: Over the years old Bertha has grown bigger and uglier in my mind. To be honest, she was maybe a little bit overweight but not that bad. She also was not an ugly girl. Mike showed me a photo of her when I was talking to him about writing this story. She was actually very nice looking. I had imagined a total knockout to walk up for our date and Bertha was not that. AND, since she laughed and bragged about being a part of the con, I felt justified in sharing the story. I hope she never reads it but if she does I'll say this: "Bertha, you are part of my happy memories. Best wishes!"
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
First Day
The first year L.D. Bell High School opened in the new building was also the first year I started high school. Neither of us has aged particularly well but we're both still around. The new high school was built way, way north up on Brown Trail. It was so far out there it was hard to believe it was still in Hurst. In fact, it may not be in Hurst. It may be in Bedford but who really cares? There was also a new highway being built, which is now known as Airport Freeway. It handles about a gazillion cars every day. At the time it was a dirt road intersecting Brown Trail just south of the school. The first day at the new building was exciting for everyone. It was exciting for me because I was now in high school, I had a car to drive, and it was all new.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
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