Seasons...

I'm not a huge fan of spring time. Oh sure, it's nice to be freed from coats and sweaters...to be able to sit out on the porch without either freezing or sweating, and to look forward to summer for some reason. But spring doesn't hold a lot of memories for me. I do remember the joy of switching over from football to baseball. I was a miserable failure at football, never even considered basketball with all that running and stuff, but I was a fair baseball player. At least I knew what was going on during any given game. Other than that, I wouldn't bother with spring. 

Spring is when bugs start to show up. Creepy crawly bugs of all sort begin to show up. The absolute worst spring time spectacular is the coming of the season's termite swarms. Now, we haven't been bothered by termites in nearly 25 years but before that every stinking spring we would be swarmed...and it didn't matter which house we owned...termites swarmed in the spring. It got to where I started down a path of depression right after Christmas worrying about termites. 

Spring is when it starts to warm up a bit too much. This year we've been blessed by a reasonably long spring. Normally in Texas winter ends on one day and summer begins the next but not this year. I have to admit, it's been nice. But I still don't like spring. Spring is the prelude to summer and summer in Texas is...to remain a Christian...not very nice. 

I despise summer. Cookouts, fire works, baseball games, or anything else remotely considered fun can not compensate for the cotton-picking heat. I begin looking forward to fall sometime around the middle of June. Sadly, it's a long wait since fall generally happens in late November down here. Fall is always a nice weekend though.

Winter is....eh, you know. It's winter. Nobody likes winter. So now you know I'm only happy during the weekend we call "fall". So why do I live in Texas you ask? Go ahead, somebody ask. You back there on the third row second seat....speak up boy! Well, I'll tell you why I live in Texas. Two reasons come to mind. First of all my mama lived in Texas the year I was born so I felt I needed to be here for that. Secondly, grandchildren. I can't move away from my grandchildren. Just watch though. All of them will graduate from college, marry, and move off to Idaho or Colorado....or maybe Virginia! The less intelligent ones might move to Florida, but I know none of them will stay here. If I'm still breathing I'll be stuck right here in Texas. Just me and Deb. The boys have already said they're out of here as soon as all the kids leave home. Why will we still be here in Texas? Because Hurst is in Texas and Debbie can't leave Hurst. 

Don't get me started on Debbie's love of Hurst. She was dropped on her head as a baby and never fully recovered. And, I didn't start this story with the plan of talking about Hurst, or Texas, or seasons for that matter. Truth be told, I can't remember the story I was about to tell. It's gone from my memory now. I thought of it during the night and managed to hold on to it til I started writing, then POOF, it was gone. If my memory doesn't come back completely soon I'm going to have to start making stuff up.

I told Debbie recently I was having flashbacks of my youth but always late at night. She suggested I write myself notes about the memory before going back to sleep. Very few people carry pen and paper to bed with them and I'm one of those people. Then she reminded me I could make notes on my phone to be read back later. I thought that was a great idea and began putting words down to spark my memory. So far I have "Starbucks", "Pelican, and "Giant Snake". I don't know where to go with those notes. I'll keep working on it.

In the meantime, if you remember something from the past and I was even remotely related to the incident, please let me know. Maybe it will spark a story. I do have memories left that aren't funny. It seems sadness and misfortune aren't easily forgotten but I sure don't want to write about any of that. My job is to lift your spirits and I know I've failed lately. This NPH did a number on my brain. Stupid NPH....stupid, stupid, stupid...but hey, at least I'm still handsome!

Downtown...

 It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....oops, sorry. That's the start of another short story....about the French Revolution....and I didn't write it. My stories are about the best and worst times of growing up in the 50's and 60's. There were very few "worst times" but a whole lot of "best times". I'm sorry for anyone who didn't get to grow up in that time frame.

I was out for my daily 1-1/4 mile walk today and got to thinking about how much excitement grew with us kids as we knew shopping day in downtown was coming up. If we still did our shopping this way now we would be considered old fashioned, out of sync old people but I just bet we would have more fun. We didn't get to downtown as often as some of my rich cousins living over in River Oaks and Lake Worth. Downtown for them was just down the road on Jacksboro Highway straight into the city where it turned into Henderson Street. The drive for them was accomplished by one of two wonderful aunts who took the time to learn how to drive when they were teens. 

My mom never took that time needed to learn to drive. When we lived in River Oaks this wasn't a problem because either Aunt Ramona or Aunt Cricket would always let us tag along wherever they went. Then my dad decided to do us a favor and move us out to Hurst, or as family members referred to it, "the sticks". He wanted us to have more open country to roam around in without fear of getting run over on those busy streets all the sane people lived on. There was nothing.....nothing in Hurst at the time but a grocery store, drug store, doctors office, and the dime store. All these establishments were centrally located out on old Highway 183. We did have lots of safe areas to play and explore but we did not have access to wheels and a licensed driver to take us anywhere else unless my dad was off work....and in a willing mood. These two things didn't merge very often but not because daddy was an ogre. He just worked so much when he finally had some time off he wanted to spend it at home and not "galavanting all over town". This was his favorite phrase, "I don't want to go galavanting all over town for crying out loud!" He was a funny guy.

I have gotten so far off the subject now I've got to stop to remember what I was originally writing about.....hmmm...give me a minute. Let's go to the kitchen for a snack..............well, that was a bust. Debbie really needs to go grocery shopping. But I did remember my story.

Going downtown in the 50's was exciting for just about everyone in the family. There were so many things to see like the gospel preachers yelling to us about Hell, the air vents on the sidewalks where hot air would swoosh up on us from some mysterious place, the air-conditioned drug stores where you could get an ice cream cone for a nickel, and most important of all, the old man with no legs selling pencils. He got around by using his hands like feet. He was always, always there. Daddy never failed to buy a pencil from him but then he always gave the pencil back. Oh sure, daddy grumbled about having to be downtown instead of home but that didn't stop him from shopping as hard as the rest of us. Most of the memories I have though of downtown were before we moved to Hurst and we would hitch a ride with one of our aunts. I was so small back then that we had a protocol we had to follow. Cindy had to walk right next to Mama and I had to follow close behind while holding on to the hem of her dress. That was evidently a common way to keep the kids in tow back then. Many a big sale at Leonard's Dept store was spent holding on to mama's hem while making beady eyes at some other kid holding onto his mama's hem. If we let go of that hem all was lost. And that happened one day.

I loved going up the escalators in the stores to the second and third floors. The windows up there were always open and you could look down on the people on the sidewalks. Great fun, but mama wasn't always shopping next to a window. Usually the really big sales were closer to the escalators and far away from those wonderful open windows. One day she stopped next to a window to look at some outfit she would love to have but never buy. I got busy looking out the window and let go of that hem. I had the best time at the window dropping little pieces of trash found on the floor. Feathers were my favorite although they were few and far between. Anyway, I eventually realized my right hand was hemless and the panic started to rise. I looked around and mama and Cindy were gone! I held the scream in until I had a chance to do a reconnaissance of the area and luckily spotted my hem. I ran over and grabbed on to the hem and held on tight for about fifteen seconds. That's how long it took me to realize the hem I was holding did not belong to my mama. The scream came then. I yelled like a girl which brought attention to the owner of the hem I was holding. She screamed even louder and pulled her hem away from my sweaty little fingers. That made me scream with a new and improved, blood curdling scream previously unused by me. I was awash in unfamiliar hems and scared out of my mind. Fortunately, mama found me pretty quick since I had stopped all activity on the second floor of Leonard's. She put her hem back in my hand and told me not to ever do that again...I did not.

As I grew a little older and the trips to downtown were less frequent I was allowed more freedom during shopping day. I could wander around as long as I stayed on the same floor and didn't drink from the pale green water fountain. (That's another story too sad to tell.) I did use the green fountain once though out of curiosity. The water tasted the very same as the white one next to it but some old man really got on to me so I never did it again. He scared me so bad I wished I had mama's hem to hang on to. It didn't take long for the appeal of shopping to grow stale. You can only watch women look at clothes for so long before you want to run out the door screaming for mercy. The attraction of open windows disappeared after some fool introduced air-conditioning to the better stores. There was no appeal to downtown shopping anymore. That is, until Leonard's opened their world famous discount basement store. That's a story for another time but I will say the last time I visited that basement I was grown with a family of my own. A family member who will remain unnamed absolutely had to visit this famous basement while he was in town. Like I said, another time....

It's Been A While.....

 .....a good long while since I felt like writing. My health seemed to be going south really fast and along with the health issues came a deep, deep depression. I felt justified with the depression though because doggone it, I couldn't do anything I loved to do like mowing, raking leaves, cleaning out the gutters....you know, the stuff we all love to whittle away our hours doing. I couldn't even walk in my neighborhood. I tried, I really did but I couldn't make it happen. My old pal Charley, from around the corner, tried to help me go for walks but I kept falling down and it got to where he couldn't help me up anymore. On my last attempt, we were less than a half block from the house when I lost my balance and fell. The dizziness was so bad I couldn't help Charley as he tried to help me up. Finally we were both worn out. It was a sad sight seeing two old men sitting on the curb wondering what we could do. A teenage boy on a bike road by eventually and asked if we needed help. He got us both upright and standing and we slowly made our way home. Charley hasn't offered to walk with me since even though on my own now I can get all the way around the block. I'm so proud of myself. 

I put both my walkers up in the attic this past week. That's something else I'm proud of....putting those things away, out of sight, AND climbing the attic stairs to put them there! I think the doc has finally gotten the adjustment right on my shunt and so far no more hematomas have occurred. I'm beginning to feel like my old, lovable self again. I plan on taking on the yard work again this spring even though Debbie and the boys think differently. I am not too old to take care of my own yard! Period!

My memory is slowly returning and it's causing me to have some sleepless nights. I keep having recurring thoughts of the past which I think, "I should write that down!" Usually by the time I get up and find pad and pencil the memory has left me but some are staying around. I hope to share them with you if you're still interested in reading them. The following happened right here in good old downtown Hurst, Texas, when I was about thirteen. I had no use for girls but my mind was beginning to think they weren't as disgusting as I had earlier imagined. It was a difficult time and I wouldn't want to relive it, but back then it was all new and exciting. Those girls out there scared me half to death but I couldn't stop thinking about them.

Our junior high youth group from church had a Christmas party and I was talked into going by my friend, Harry. Harry had a way of getting us both into trouble so I went to the party with him warily. Before the party broke up one of the grownups commented that none of us guys were getting anywhere near the mistletoe. We all nodded, shook our shoulders, uttered "Uh" or "No way". We were pretty cool. Finally someone gave me a shove and there I was right under the mistletoe with everyone laughing and giving me a hard time. Before I could get out from under it a beautiful little lady named Peggy grabbed me and planted a big kiss right on my lips. It was my very first kiss. I was stunned. I got so flustered. I could feel my face turn bright red and the heat went all the way to my toenails. All the noise around me became a garbled echo in my head. Harry had to lead me over to the couch and set me down. That's all I remember about the party until it was time to go home. Harry's parents came to pick us up and we wandered out to the car along with others who were leaving. Peggy walked up to the car and asked Harry's parents if they would mind taking her home since it was on the way. Before we loaded up she grabbed me and kissed me again! I was in love!!! That ride home could have lasted forever.

Peggy and I both went to Hurst Jr. High so aside from seeing her at church I saw her throughout the day at school. I followed her around like a little puppy dog without having a clue how I was supposed to act. She was so cotton picking cute and she knew how to flirt. She strung me along at school and flirted with me at church. She even winked at me when I tried to help with communion one Sunday. I nearly dropped my trays. I was one wasted youth all during this time because I had never had anyone show me any interest, much less a good looking girl like Peggy. I sure hope everyone gets to experience what I did back in the early sixties with a beautiful girl picking me out from the herd of clueless guys to charm for a few weeks. 

Our courtship was short-lived of course. I had no idea how to act around a girl so I stumbled through the relationship on a daily basis. Eventually she got tired of me. I had no money, no imagination, and no way to get around aside from my bike or Harry's parents. Our love life consisted of two kisses, hand holding, day dreaming, and one date courtesy of again, Harry's parents. They were good people! I don't know how they wound up with Harry. That one date was to an old Mexican food place close by. I had never been to a Mexican food place before and had no idea what to order, what to do, or how to impress my date. It turned out I didn't have enough money to pay the bill so both Peggy and Harry's parents helped me out. It was a disaster. She lost interest in me shortly after that and I can't blame her at all. I still had a lot of growing up to do. Thanks for the memories Peggy. Wherever you are I hope your life has been wonderful!

Election Day...

 Here it is....the much anticipated "mid-term elections". I hope everyone reading this has voted, or will vote before the day is done. Debbie and I cast our ballots on the first day of early voting. That isn't a real screamer of a headline normally. We always vote but this election is so critical to our nation at this time. Our once great nation has fallen victim to special interest demands and evil schemes. I am not political. I have voted on both sides of the Parties in the past so I'm not pushing any specific agenda. However, if my simple little brain, housing a defunct computer chip shunt, can see what's happening in this country I'm sure it is, and has been obvious to all you smart people out there. 

I don't care how you vote. It's none of my business but if you don't care how things go and don't bother to vote, I will assume you have no children or grandchildren to worry about. Things appear to be swirling swiftly down the proverbial toilet bowl and I'm worried about the world we are leaving behind. Ours has not been a stellar generation and this election is one of the last in which we can feel that we really contributed to the future. Most of our heroes are gone now and we are the old people who should be spilling out vast wisdom to the younger generations. Sadly, we haven't shown much wisdom and the younger generations aren't listening anyway. There is no one to blame but the parents who raised these youngsters. That be us.

I tried and tried to write something humorous today but I just don't have it in me. We need to take the time to know the candidates and look beyond the rhetorical words to see who they really are. We need honest, wise, brave leaders. Party affiliations aside, we don't have that in Congress. My prayer is for that to change in Washington. 

Sorry for the seriousness. Like I said, I really tried to be humorous. Maybe tomorrow....

So That's Where You've Been...

Okay, I told Debbie I was posting a story today even if the creek does rise...which it won't at this time of year. I've had my coffee, read my Bible, pleaded with the Lord to take control of this mess, brushed my teeth, and found some soothing music to enjoy. All set....here goes..

My last post was in February, and I apologize for this, but it isn't my fault. I have a strict policy of never writing while I'm depressed. Those who've known me long and well understand this and also recognize how long a period of time can pass before the darkness goes away. Depression hasn't been my entire problem this time though. In April I decided to fall in my garage while sweeping sawdust. I hit my forehead on the corner of my work table and knocked myself out. I woke up after fifteen minutes (a fact relayed to me later) on my belly with my face pressed onto cold concrete. My first thought was, "Why in the world did I decide to take a nap on the garage floor?" I tried to get up but couldn't lift my head off the floor. I yelled for Debbie. She didn't hear me. I yelled "Help" and nothing. I yelled "Free chocolate" and no one came. I finally managed to reach my phone and called Deb. She came running and immediately called Cody, our neighbors Charley and Susan, 9-1-1, and the Salvation Army. All but those rascals at the Salvation Army came running. They told Debbie she would have to put me on the front porch and wait until one of their drivers was in the area.

I was in a bad way, enough so that I didn't argue when the paramedics insisted on carting me to the ER. In fact, I don't remember anything about the ambulance ride or my introduction to the ER staff. I also don't remember anything before hitting my head....it's a complete blank. I could have been pushed but a poltergeist would have had to do the pushing. I don't really think that happened. I just didn't know at the time why I fell. Of course I now know my balance issue and other problems weren't just my imagination. I spent three days in the hospital nursing a severe concussion, huge knot on my forehead, two black eyes, and a nice headache.

Well, that was supposed to be the whole story before I got started on my slap your knee funny story I was about to tell, but my sad tale didn't end there. I had to see a neurosurgeon who diagnosed me with Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, or NPH. I know! I never heard of it either! And of course the doc, my wife, and both sons took this as serious information and insisted on more tests, more CT scans, more MRI's and more time in the hospital. It's been a tough six months since then, including enough CT's to cook bacon, hospital time, and brain surgery. Supposedly my problem was fixed when a hole was drilled into my brain and a shunt (formerly known as 'foreign object') was installed. It did work though. I didn't realize how bad I had gotten until it was fixed. I felt 25 years younger! Good old neurosurgeons! Can't beat 'em....but, and this is a big but...

...the shunt was set too high for removing the excess spinal fluid in my brain. After a few weeks of outstanding good health I went for a followup CT scan. That same day I got a call from the surgeon's PA asking how I was feeling...any dizziness....any headaches....numbness?? Nope, I felt great. The PA then said this was quite surprising. I needed to have someone drive me to the hospital immediately. Reservations had already been made and they were expecting me with needles, tubes, uncomfortable bed, and all the other stuff associated with hospital time. It turns out the shunt was removing the spinal fluid so fast two voids had been created in my brain. One 'ventricle' had shrunk and one had completely collapsed causing the brain to pull away from whatever the little protective sac around the brain is called. I was bleeding internally. Oh my goodness. That was a bit unsettling. Over the next several weeks I was placed on limited activities, which meant doing absolutely nothing but sitting. I had several more scans while adjustments were made unsuccessfully. I was still bleeding. Finally, they had to turn the shunt off. Actually, a shunt can't be turned off. The drain tube has to be crimped to block any more drainage. This involved an incision in my neck which is still hurting as I write.

After the shunt was turned off I slowly drifted back to my old self with my balance problem, dragging my left foot causing a shuffle no dance song will ever be written for, and a speech problem from vocal chords taking an extended medical leave. 

And this is where I've stayed for weeks. Debbie deserves a medal for all her help and support. She makes sure I try to stay as active as an immovable object can stay. She takes me to church as long as I stay close to her. She even takes me out to eat occasionally because my appetite is still perfectly healthy. Sadly, I can't remember the funny story I was going to tell. Sorry about that. It's completely gone from my defective brain. Memory loss is another fun symptom of NPH. I had forgotten to mention that earlier.

Oddly, I'm not depressed over this situation I find myself in. I'm perfectly content sitting and watching the  world go by. I know I will eventually be fixed again and life will go on. I still get to enjoy my family, especially those not so little grandkids. I enjoy reading and watching old movies. I just can't seem to remember too much about my earlier years right now. If I can't get those memories back I will get depressed eventually...but not today. Today all is good. I'm going to shuffle on in to the den, hug my wife, eat some lunch, and ...take a nap. I wasn't going to include the nap thing but Debbie will probably read this. Honesty is the best approach. Love to all!!

Mike Wouldn't Lie...

 I spent the first five years of my life living in River Oaks. If you don't know, River Oaks is next door neighbors with what used to be Carswell Air Force Base. Carswell AFB was next door neighbors to what was then called Convair, also known as the bomber factory. Carswell and Convair got along so well as neigbbors they shared landing strips. Bombers would take off for tests of the bomber itself for Convair and Carswell would have bombers take off to test the flight crews. They probably had cookouts too but we never got invited to them. 

I loved hearing and watching all the big planes, and some fighter jets, taking off every day and into the night. The spookiest sound from those big bruisers was the B36. The B36 had a mournful sound that vibrated all the way to the soul. The windows would rattle, the floors would shake, and some small children would scream in terror.....okay, I only screamed once when one went over our house late at night. I would have stayed scared had my dad not explained that it was just the sound of freedom. After that I loved to see and hear them. I guess if there is ever a trivia test in heaven and the question of "What was your favorite airplane during your childhood?", I will readily answer, "The B36".

My dad and my uncle OC (his parents were tired of naming children I guess) both worked at Convair. OC was my cousin, Mike's, dad. Mike was my best friend. I've talked about him before. Go back and read earlier stories. Mike knew a lot more about Convair than I did. OC was more involved in the day to day of the place and my dad was just learning how to be an electrician and electrical installer on the bombers. We were both proud of our dads. OC had several years more seniority than my dad because my dad had to go off and fight Koreans shortly after returning from fighting the Japanese. My dad didn't have anything against the people of Asia. He just made the mistake of staying in the Army Reserve after the war was over and uncle OC didn't. He was finally able to settle down to a factory job and ply his electrical skills...which were limited until he was trained.

Mike and I talked about bombers, fighters, and the mighty men who flew them all the time. Mike wound up working for Convair, aka General Dynamics, aka Lockheed his entire career. He was smarter than me then and still is. He got busy getting two degrees, one in math and the second in engineering. I got busy going to junior college and dating every pretty girl I came in contact with. I came out of it with an associate degree in mid-management, experience as an excellent Spades player, and wonderful memories. I didn't get busy with education until later in life. I still got my bachelor's degree in business early enough to make good money most of my career but that late start made a lot of difference in life.

I got off track...I do that occasionally. I think its due to....wait a minute, I'm getting off track again. As I said earlier Mike and I talked about our dads' jobs real often. Sometimes though we discussed other things...things like, how to build a better stink bomb by using doodle bugs as part of the recipe, who was the best TV cowboy, or who got more spankings by our dads the previous week. My dad was tough but I think Mike won that contest. I did complain that I couldn't figure out how my dad knew everything I did while he was at work. He got onto me all the time about climbing on the mailbox post. How did he know??!! Once while he was replacing another broken post I watched closely to see if he had installed some kind of device to monitor my actions. I never found a thing the next time I climbed up there to get the mail. I mentioned this to Mike once when we were comparing notes. He told he knew how our dad's knew everything because his dad had told him. It was evidently a common fact that Convair had a giant telescope where dads could spy on their little miscreants. Poor old uncle OC must have spent most of his workday on that telescope because he had three little boys and my dad just had two. I have to say two of OC's boys made Mike, my brother Glenn, and me look like saints most of the time but we still got our share of spankings. 

Once when I was spending the night with Mike we were playing on his swing set. I was trying for a new height record on the swing and didn't notice Mike had vanished. I realized it finally and started looking for him. Then I heard a whisper from under some bushes, "If you don't want to watch me get a whupping you better get under here with me. Daddy's home!" I don't have any idea what Mike had done that day but he did indeed get that whupping. I was scared til bedtime uncle OC was going to get me next.

I miss those simple days.

Just One Cigarette Butt....just one...

Simplicity.....ah, simplicity. Life is only complicated if you choose to make it that way. I tell everyone who asks that I live a simple life because I choose to.....little does anyone know it's also because that's all I can do. My life has always been like a stream running down from the hills. There is no map for where the water should go. It just follows the path of least resistance. I'm not necessarily proud of that fact but then, I have relatively few regrets.

I do regret hating math so much. I regret hating math so much that while sitting with my college adviser I told him I would take any degree that didn't require college algebra. He told me there were no degree plans that didn't include college algebra. At this point I should have given it all up but that was before I learned the art of following the path of least resistance. I went to college for three years, avoiding college algebra the whole time, until there were no other classes I could take without the requisite college algebra. My education kind of stalled out at this point and after searching for other degree plans I dropped out for a while....a long while. I wasn't too upset about this because every full time job I had required a college degree and I HAHA, did not have one, snigger snigger. 

When I watched Jamie, my oldest son, walk the stage at Texas A&M to receive his degree in accounting, I became embarrassed with myself. I resolved then to get back in school and graduate before Cody, my youngest, walked across that same stage. I achieved that goal exactly one semester before Cody graduated. Had I not approached that stinking algebra requirement with a determined vengeance I wouldn't have made it. I started back to school with the first algebra required course in my old degree plan. I aced it with an A in the class. I did this because the first night of class (which was a night class made up of old losers like me) the prof asked how many were in the class at this point of life because of algebra. Every student raised his hand. (It is proper to say 'his' because the class was all men. According to an expert, my older sister, women just naturally understood algebra.) I'm sorry for wandering so much. I didn't get enough sleep last night. Anyway, on the first night of that class, the prof told us we wouldn't go any further until all of us understood....and appreciated algebra. It worked! I walked away from that first class wondering why it took so long to get it, especially since I used algebra every day in my work.

Well, that was a bit of a detour but wasn't it fun? I thought it was. The story is supposed to be about simplicity. I am a bit of an expert on simplicity. I've never tried to keep up with the Joneses...or the Smiths or anyone else. If my needs were met and my family safe, I was content. Years ago Debbie commented that she wished I wasn't so cotton-picking content. After a train wreck of a year in 1993, I decided Debbie was right. I needed to be more aggressive about our future so I got busy and advanced up the corporate ladder until I was one step above my ability to perform. There I stayed until I retired....at which time I resumed my quest for simplicity.

Examples of simplicity for me include sweeping the driveway and curb after mowing because it makes me feel good. My Dad was a stickler for neatness and his home and yard always resembled a military base. I liked that look and have tried to keep it up in my own home and yard. I don't like the noise of a leaf blower and the simple act of sweeping allows me to pursue my favorite pastime, day dreaming.

Another example of simplicity is choosing where to go on vacation. After year's of hit and miss vacation ideas I decided that sitting on my patio in a rocking chair and admiring Debbie's Texas garden was better than packing up to go anywhere. I have no travel in my bucket list....in fact, I really don't have a bucket list. Why fill up a bucket with things that will cause stress until they're achieved?

Oh, and here's the thought that caused me to begin this story. When we first moved into our house here in north Hurst, I was out sweeping my curb after mowing. I swept up a cigarette butt right at the start of my driveway. It irritated me at first but then there was another one the next week...just one little cigarette butt. This has continued for as long as I've been sweeping here at Highland Crest Drive. One little cigarette butt every time I sweep. My boys, in an attempt to keep me alive longer now forbid me from working in my yard. I wondered one day if the lawn crew had ever noticed that cigarette butt. I walked out to the end of my driveway the day the crew was supposed to arrive and there it was....one simple little cigarette butt. The scenarios in my daydream movies conjure up all kinds of ideas about who puts it there, why my driveway...and on and on. You see, if I didn't live a simple life I wouldn't have time to think about it. I probably would have never noticed it after the first time I saw it but now, every time I go to the mailbox or walk down the street to see my old friends Charley and Don, I check on that cigarette butt. It's always there. I should write a book.....