Little Kirsti

 Little Kirsti never liked being called “Little” because she was just the same as the other kids in her first grade class. She got the name when she was first born and had no say over what she would be called. It didn’t seem fair but evidently it happens to everyone.

Little Kirsti was born a whole month before she was supposed to. Her mommy developed extremely high blood pressure eight months into the pregnancy and the doctors decided Little Kirsti needed to be born….right now!! She was a tiny little thing and her lungs hadn’t fully developed. She spent nearly a month in NICU before she was allowed to go home. During that month she scared her family several times by trying to die. She was just too little to be in the world and it was touch and go whether she would ever grow up.

As time passed and Little Kirsti grew she lost the feebleness of premature birth but she didn’t outgrow the name. It seemed Little Kirsti was going to be “Little” her whole life. She hated that fact. How could she let people know she was a grown up Kirsti and not “Little”.  After all, she was six years old and going to school with her big brother. No one called him Little Frank. He was just Frank, or as mommy said, Frankie. She was glad she had dodged the bullet of old fashioned names like Frank’s but she needed to lose the “Little” moniker. (Editor’s note: Little Kirsti didn’t know what moniker meant. She just knew “Little” was a stupid name.) 

Little Kirsti would lay awake at night to think of ways to lose that name. She thought if she ate a lot and got fat no one would call her little, but she worried what her friends might then start to call her. Besides, Little Kirsti did not like to eat anything normal or healthy. She preferred to live on potato chips, cookies, and marshmallows. She also tried to always miss the family gatherings around the dinner table. There were rules at the dinner table. These rules were called manners and she had no use for manners. Little Kirsti lived on snacks consumed in front of the television watching the Elmo show. She loved Elmo.

Little Kirsti’s family had developed the habit of being easy on her since she was so tiny and helpless at birth. It didn’t take long for her to figure out she had it made. No one really expected anything out of her. She didn’t have to clean her room very often and when she did no one really expected the room to be clean. She didn’t help with housework and didn’t help her daddy work in the yard. She began to lose respect for her mommy and daddy because of the way she was allowed to get away with everything. They would always be surprised when her grandparents would bring her home after a sleepover commenting on how sweet she had been. She sure wasn’t very sweet at home. Her favorite word was “NO” whenever she was asked or told to do something. She felt she had to show how grownup and independent she was in order to lose the hated name. She also began to make orneriness her standard personality but the name Little Kirsti didn’t go away.

One cold winter night the wind was blowing against Little Kirsti’s bedroom window. The sound 

Kept her awake and a bit nervous. The wind had a mournful sound to it and gave her the chills. She huddled up under her blankets and wished the wind would stop. As she wished for a peaceful night, all of a sudden the window blew open and a cold winter wind came blasting into the room. Little Kirsti knew she had to get out of her safe and warm bed to close that window but she waited as long as she could. Finally, the cold seeped through the covers on her bed and she had no choice. She jumped out of bed, ran to the window, and slammed it shut. If Little Kirsti had been thinking like the big girl she thought herself to be she would have wondered how a window sliding up and down could be blown open by the wind. This thought never had time to register though because as she turned away from the window she saw what appeared to be a fairy princess standing next to her bed. She couldn’t believe it. She thought fairy princesses were just imagination!

Little Kirsti was afraid and wanted to run to her daddy’s bedroom but she couldn’t get her feet to move. She was frozen in place while looking into the eyes of this beautiful fairy. The eyes were brilliant blue and very loving. Little Kirsti didn’t know how eyes could be loving and friendly but they were. She was hypnotized by those beautiful blue eyes. 

Suddenly, the beautiful fairy began to speak. She told Little Kirsti to get back in her bed because she had something special to tell her. She then asked Little Kirsti what her biggest wish might be. Little Kirst immediately answered that she wished everyone would just call her Kirsti, not Little Kirsti. The beautiful fairy smiled then and asked Little Kirsti why she was referred to as “Little”? Little Kirsti then told her about her mommy’s difficult pregnancy and how she had to deliver her baby way too early. The baby was so small and frail she became known as “Little” Kirsti. The name stuck and here she was nearly full grown, almost seven, and still being called “Little”. She did not like the name one bit! The fairy then asked her how her parents should know she wasn’t still little. She replied, “Well, look at me! I’m the very same size as all my friends and no one calls them little!” The beautiful fairy smiled again and said, “Little Kirsti, I’m going to tell you now what I was sent to tell you. Listen carefully:”

“ A person isn’t judged by how they look. They are judged by how they act. So far, your tiny  body has grown bigger and strong. You aren’t the frail little baby you were when you received your name….but, you are evidently still the helpless little baby you were. Your body has grown but your actions, your personality, hasn’t grown at all. How do you talk to your parents? Are you respectful to them as you are to your grandparents? Do you help your mommy and daddy around the house and assume some jobs as your own chores? Do you try to do things right when you work? Is your bedroom clean and neat? Can you dress yourself properly and keep your face, hands, and clothes clean enough to not show everyone what you just ate? Can you answer all these questions for me Little Kirsti?” Little Kirsti sat and scowled at the fairy princess. She finally answered with an angry voice, “I don’t know!” The fairy smiled once more and said, “You do know the answer Little Kirsti. It’s the same answer you give to your parents when they tell you to sit at the table and eat your food or to get ready for bed. Your answer to these instructions is always, “NO!” It’s time for you to grow now. I’m going away but I will be watching. I hope you will remember that your actions tell people how grown up you are...or aren’t!”

The fairy princess slowly vanished and the wind outside stopped blowing. Little Kirsti woke up  and it was morning. She sadly realized her visit with a beautiful fairy princess had been nothing more than a dream. She also thought it might be a good idea to try some of the things she had been told in the dream. She went downstairs and softly said “good morning” to her mommy and daddy. She slipped into a chair at the table and ate the breakfast that had been prepared. She hated it but she ate it and even thanked her parents for breakfast! She put away her dishes and cleaned the table where she had eaten. She then went upstairs and looked in her closet for clothes that were not only comfortable but color coordinated. She dressed properly for the first time ever without trying to look sloppy. She did all the things a grownup six and nearly seven year old ought to be able to do without help. She continued doing these things, and more, for many, many days. Then one day something wonderful happened. Her daddy had a group of men coming to their house for a meeting. As each of them arrived, he introduced his wife, his son Frank, and his daughter Kirsti. No more Little Kirsti….she finally grew up.

Ah, Spring...

Spring....when a young man's heart turns to love and an old man's heart turns to finding a good lawn boy. I shouldn't say "lawn boy" now because there are very few "lawn boys" out there. Professional lawn care services rule the market now. I haven't seen a teenager mow a lawn in several years (with apologies to grandsons Andy and Sam who work their respective hineys off during the summer). I keep waiting for them to say, "Hey Papa, let us take care of that yard for you this year" but so far I haven't heard anything.

I have been out looking over the yard and now I'm depressed and overwhelmed. During our long cold spell this winter we lost over half of our shrubs, most of the lawn, and one huge live oak. Despite Debbie's promise that she wasn't going to work flower beds anymore (she made this claim last August), she spent yesterday afternoon buying up about a quarter of Calloway Nursery's inventory. I went to Calloway's with her and spent the time reminding her that we were through with yard work. All the while she was loading up the two-tiered cart I was pushing around. By the time the damage was done and I was loading it all into the back of my pickup, I knew the stage was set for another miserable summer in Texas. As the sun began to set in the west and the truck was unloaded, she announced that tomorrow, now today, would be spent digging up dead shrubbery and planting new. Its a never-ending cycle that always begins in the early spring and lasts until the temperature reaches into the high nineties.

Last year we talked about selling our home and buying a townhouse. We found a realtor we liked and started the process. As the days passed we realized that even though the value of our house had sky-rocketed with a promise it would be sold in less than a week, we couldn't find any other area we liked as well as where we had spent the last twenty-five years. We gave up the idea of moving and vowed to each other (yes, vowed, not suggested, not considered....we vowed doggone it) we would do no more yard work. We would find a good lawn care service to take care of it all. Every time I reminded Debbie of our vow yesterday she replied, "Well you don't want to hire someone just to dig up shrubbery and replant do you?" Well, yes! I do want to hire someone to do that. I'm too old and out of shape for that nonsense. She just poo-pooed me and kept on loading up green stuff.

I'm waiting for her to finish her coffee now so we can get after it. It's entirely possible I won't survive the day. The last time I tried to work in the yard I stumbled and fell...broke three ribs. AND, when I did this Debbie said, "Well, this settles it! No more yard work for you!" What has changed in the last four weeks. It's a conundrum...

And to Andy and/or Sam, if you are reading this I will pay you DOUBLE what my grandpa used to pay me for mowing his lawn. It was a quarter...and my dad always made me give the quarter back.

Paper boys...

It's a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon. A good day for being lazy. Debbie is reading and I'm trying to think of something to do to ward off boredom. I would like to get a good fire going but I can't talk Debbie into bringing in any firewood. While looking at Christmas cards received from family, friends, and others who remember to buy cards early enough to get them mailed, I read one from an old friend. Its handwritten note at the bottom wished Debbie and I a merry Christmas and "hey Russ, we sure enjoy reading your blog!" He didn't add, "If you would write in it once in a while" but I know what he was thinking. There I was already feeling guilty for never remembering to send out cards and old Kris had to add to the guilt. I decided right then and there to get up, walk down the hall to my study, and take a nap in my favorite rocker. After I woke up from my nap I had kind of lost all that zeal for writing. I walked into the den and mentioned to Debbie that I couldn't decide whether to write a story or play my banjo. She immediately replied, "Oh, please, please write a story!" I guess Debbie is missing my stories too.

I know it's hard to believe but everyday of my growing up years wasn't action packed and newsworthy. I'm afraid if I just write any old thing you will say, 1) that's not particularly interesting, or 2) he's told us that story a hundred times. When I started this blog I had so many memories tucked away I could write all day and never say the same thing twice. Now I worry about those two items above. I did make an index of my stories which would have been very helpful to me if I hadn't lost it. I don't think I've told this before and if I have I'm sorry and I'll be happy to refund your money.

In 1963 I decided I was old enough and mature enough to get a job. I found out though that most places wouldn't hire a twelve year old. However, the Fort Worth Press newspaper was just tickled to take me on and give me my own route. I was in business and sure to grow rich in no time. The route was long and meandering through south Hurst. It took my manager a long time to train me and help me memorize my route. If I remember right he spent a whole afternoon teaching me before telling me my papers would be delivered to my house the next day. After getting lost a couple of times and having way too many papers left over I learned the route and the addresses. I loved throwing the paper! I saw lots of friends on the route, the little old ladies loved me, and very few dogs chased me after they got to know me.

One of the fun things those of us in the business liked to do was tease each other as we worked our routes. I threw for the Fort Worth Press and others threw for the Fort Worth Star Telegram. Some of our routes overlapped and when we happened to show up on the route at the same time we had to do something to rile the other guy. Since I was twelve and most of the boys were fourteen or older I possibly lost most of these encounters. I would throw my paper on the porch and when the ST guy showed up he might toss my paper in a mud puddle or fling it out in the street. It was a fun time. Sunday mornings were a real hoot because we had the same camaraderie going on and it was DARK! Sunday was also the only day we could toss the paper in the yard rather than carefully lay it on the front porch. The Sunday paper was always too big because of all the ads and exceptions had to be made. The ST boys always borrowed their dads' old 1953 Chevy to throw the papers on Sunday and I would ride my Western Flyer cherry red bicycle. They would come up behind me and honk their horn or drive by real fast hitting a fist against the outside of the door to see if I would lose control of my bike and spill my papers all over the street. They were rarely disappointed. It was great fun. Eventually my Dad found out about the fun we were having and started getting up early on Sundays and slowly driving the old 1950 Chevy pickup around my route while I stood on the running board and threw the papers from there. Luckily, it wasn't yet dangerous or illegal to do things like that.

The most fun I had was collecting for the paper at the end of each month. The ST boys would always look me up in the school lunchroom just to say "hello, how's it goin" and "what nights are you going to be collecting for the paper?". Mama didn't raise no fool. After about three months of our kidding around and me losing all my money I learned to lie about the nights I would be out collecting. One night my cousin, Mike, was spending the night and I asked him if he wanted to go out with me while I collected for the paper. He was all for it until we actually went. It was a cool fall night with a full moon and we got to talking about vampires and werewolves....you know, regular stuff. We both got a little shaky and after we had walked past the woods along our neighborhood and greeted by a screech owl we were both wishing we had stayed home. We took a shortcut across an open lot because the road curved there and we could save a few steps by cutting across. I told Mike the owner of lot was crazy and hated kids. We were just about through the lot when an old 1953 light blue Chevy came around that curve. While the oldest insane ST kid drove, the younger one hung out his window with a blood curdling scream and hit the side of the passenger door. Mike and I both screamed like little girls and I came real close to wetting my pants. The ST boys waved as they drove away with an unspoken promise to have more fun next time we met. We turned around and went home....really fast.

I kept that route and improved it with new subscriptions until it was just too big to work from walking or a bicycle. When my manager offered to split my papers into two bundles, one to be delivered to my house, and one left about halfway along the route I declined and gave it up. A couple of years later Glenn got himself a Star Telegram route. I helped him with it and begged our Dad to loan us that old Chevy pickup to use on Sundays. He told us grandma didn't raise no fool but he did drive us around the route on Sundays. By then the other ST boys were probably in prison and we never saw them again.

Indian Summer

 Ah....fall. It's finally fall in Texas. It's the time of year when the leaves stop falling because they have dried up from the heat to where they fall because nature's internal clock tells them it's time. It's when it is refreshing to go outside and enjoy the cool breeze and realize that life is good and we have much to be thankful for. 

Fall in Texas lasts from about the first Tuesday in October until the first Friday in October. Oh sure, we have had extremely long fall seasons, lasting for nearly a full week, but those times are rare. After our fall is over we experience what has been referred to as "Indian Summer".

The phrase "Indian Summer" is defined as 'any spell of warm, quiet, hazy weather that may occur in October or November'. Down here in Texas we just call it, "more hell". I know that isn't as poetic as Indian Summer but it describes things perfectly. 

It's Saturday and Indian Summer has returned. The cool days of fall are just a pleasant memory. Today's high is in the upper 90's. Tomorrow is expected to reach 100...again. I had to get out a light jacket the other day and I almost had to wear it for a few minutes. Now it's back in the "coat closet". Items in the coat closet have been known to not only go out of style but actually dry rot from lack of use. I hate Indian Summer.

When we were kids the word "summer" equated to freedom, baseball, fishing, and having more fun than the law should allow. We hated it when September got here because our parents told us it was "fall" and time to get serious about school again. It sure didn't feel like fall but we were just kids and trusted our parents. They learned early in parenthood to never use the phrase "Indian Summer" around us, i.e. "Oh look, it must be our Indian Summer". All we heard was "SUMMER" and we reveled in the knowledge that summer hadn't left us yet. Yep, we had to go to school but afterwards we had a whole afternoon to frolic with abandon. My dad called this "acting like a bunch of wild banchees". We had no idea what he was talking about so we gleefully left the indoors to play wild banchee on every occasion. The heat of summer didn't bother us so the heat of Indian Summer sure wasn't going to get us down.

On one occasion my brother Glenn and I were outside on a Saturday afternoon playing our version of football. It was a hot Indian summer day. Although it was fall in our minds (we were playing football after all) it was hot. All of a sudden I got dizzy and fell over. Glenn thought he had hit me too hard, and he probably had, but actually I was just too hot. I lay there for a minute or two while Glenn continued the game and scored three touchdowns. I finally got up and headed for the house. Glenn asked where I was going and I told him I was going in to take a nap. "A NAP?!" he asked with big eyes and worry all over his face. "Why do you want to take a nap for crying out loud? It's Indian summer!" I didn't know it but I was entering a new threshold of my life. I was entering....well, I don't know what I was entering but I knew I didn't want to play football in 100 degree weather any more. A nap sounded really nice. I have stayed in that frame of mind and body up to and including today.

You would think at seventy I would be old enough and smart enough to not be fooled by our three or four days of fall but I'm not. I have several projects outside that I started with joy on those beautiful days. I can guarantee you those projects will not be touched again until we have another few "fall" days in late November. I will have to work fast though because Indian summer has a tendency to sneak in a few kicks in the gut during this time right before we enter winter. Winter is just too cold to work outside. Sometimes it gets down to the low 40's. 

Just a Short Little Something...

I have so many great memories I sometimes have a hard time sorting them all out in my head. I started writing them down once but I lost my notebook. I've sat down several times in the last few days thinking I would write another story. Like a barber barking out "Next" to the guys waiting for a clipping I yelled out "Next" into my memory bank for a story to tell. Each time I yelled one story kept coming up so I guess it must be next. It's a really short story so I originally thought I wouldn't bother with it. Maybe it's time to tell it since the bank is getting low on memories anyway.

When our boys were little, like when Cody was still basically a toddler, Debbie and I took them on a vacation to Colorado. They both fell in love and wanted to stay but I had a great job (snicker snicker) back in Texas so we came on back home.

We left on our trip during a particularly hot part of the Texas summer. 'Sweltering' was the word we would use to describe it, but only before noon. After noon 'sweltering' would have been welcomed. We left early  one morning before the sun came up. It was already hot and after loading the car I was soaked with sweat. If you've never driven sixteen hours after working up a lather I don't recommend you start now. That's why we learn as we age. By the time we reach seventy we're so stinking smart from making mistakes we have a wise and valid opinion about everything. 

By the time we reached Childress the sun was just beginning to peek out from the horizon. It was a beautiful experience. Naturally its more arid out around Childress and when I stopped to fill up the morning breeze felt great. I decided to drive with a window open for a bit and enjoy the fresh air. Everyone was asleep in the car except me so I figured I didn't need to ask for a majority vote. I should have asked for that vote because within five minutes of getting back on the road everyone in the car was awake complaining about "all that wind" and asking for breakfast. I stopped before we got out of Childress, and that isn't something you have very many minutes to think about, so we could get a bite to eat. Back on the road the family was happy, the AC was churning away, and I was vowing there would be no more stops till we got to Raton Pass at the north end of downtown New Mexico.

It wasn't a real long drive to Raton Pass. Oh sure, we did have to drive for days before getting out of Texas from Childress but from the state line (which is a little town called Texline) to Raton Pass was only about two hours drive...much less if Debbie is driving. By this time, everyone except me needed a restroom break. I prided myself on not stopping for potty breaks. I pulled into a station right before heading up the pass and walked around for a few minutes while everyone else "borrowed the facilities". I hate to stop for restroom breaks without buying something so I chose a cup of coffee. The guy gave it to me because it had been sitting there all day. Back in the car and presto change-o I had to stop for a restroom break. During all these stops we realized there was no need for the air conditioning because the temps had really cooled off. It felt great so we drove the rest of the trip with only open vents. Those who don't know what I'm talking about should take a trip sometime in a 1969 Ford Ltd. That old beauty had great vents. 

Our stay in Colorado was awesome. We stayed with my sister and brother-in-law who lived in Colorado Springs. I'm sure our two weeks coincided with two of their more memorable two weeks. On our drive home the old Ford decided it had had enough and died as we were descending Raton Pass. It was a moment of excitement for the boys and sheer terror for Debbie and I. The power steering went out, I had no brakes, and I admit I had been going pretty fast. I finally wrestled the old beast to the side of the road and sat there wondering what I was going to do. I patted it on the dashboard and promised if it would just get us back home, I would never take it out of town again. It fired back up and we got on our way. I stopped at the little station at the bottom of the pass and the guy told me it was normal for these "older cars" to vapor lock while descending the high altitude of Colorado. He assured me we would make it home okay and he was right. 

If you've ever made the trip to Colorado from central Texas in the middle of the summer you know what I'm saying when I say it is the worst possible thing a person can do. It is way past miserable for about a week after getting back home. The next morning after we arrived home I went out to check on my old Ford. It was sitting in the driveway looking like....well, I don't know what it looked like but it was sad. I didn't keep it long after that but I did need to make a run to the store in it that day. The boys loaded up with me, Jamie in front, Cody in back and hanging over the seat so as to not miss any possible conversation. On our way to the store we had the following conversation:

Jamie: Dad, why do we live in Texas rather than Colorado?

Me: Because Texas is our home.

Jamie: But couldn't Colorado be our home? It's a lot nicer there.

Me: Oh silly. What makes Colorado nicer than Texas?

Jamie: Colorado has mountains.

Me: Texas has mountains. (Note: Cody is listening very carefully and quietly to the conversation.)

Jamie: Colorado has rivers.

Me: Texas has rivers.

Jamie: Colorado has trees.

Me: Texas has trees.

Cody: China has plates.

That pretty much ended our discussion on the pros and cons of the two states. I think it hurt Cody's feelings that I didn't have a response to his statement. We did make many more trips to Colorado before the boys were grown. We enjoyed them all. I told the boys when they were getting ready to graduate from college it was their one chance to pick anywhere in the world to call home. They did. Jamie lives in Arlington with his family. Cody and his family live in Colleyville.

"Let it Go" he said....

Back when the earth was new and dinosaurs roamed the steaming landscape I worked for a large international corporation. This corporation was headquartered in Chicago but I worked at the Texas facility. I had to go to Chicago every few months to receive an honorable award or be threatened with unemployment....depending on the then current construction market in my area. I was an operations manager and had no control over the construction status in Texas or the surrounding states but I still got blamed if it was bad. It was a good career but it wasn't a great career.

On one of my treks to Chicago I was told I was to play in a golf tournament after a planned conference. I was already assigned a slot in the tournament and was instructed to bring my clubs on the trip. Some people might get excited about this. Some people might beam with pride for being invited to the annual managers' gold tournament. None of those people would be me. I had never played a game of golf in my life. I told the CEO and the CFO they had made a mistake. They told me corporate officers never make mistakes. I would be there for the conference and then stay over the weekend for the tournament. Actually, since the CFO was a recently transported German, I was told, "Roos, you vill play golf and you vill like it!" I have dreaded my trips to Chicago many times over the years for various reasons. I dreaded it because I knew it would be boring. I dreaded it because I might have to make a presentation. But I had never dreaded a trip because of a game of golf.

The conference was held very early in March at a beautiful country club outside the city. The week went by in a blur and on Friday afternoon all my lucky coworkers got to head to O'Hare for their flights home. I had to hang around for a stinking golf tournament. I whined to anyone who would listen that night. I begged to be replaced with someone who knew how to hold a golf club. I got no mercy from anyone left at the country club because they all loved golf. I went to my room that night dreading the next day.

I woke early that Saturday morning and left my room for breakfast. As I walked into the reception area and looked out those massive windows all I could see was snow. An early spring storm had dumped several inches of snow on the city.....and the golf course. Those who discovered it with me were so disappointed. I was thrilled by it all. I ate a huge breakfast that morning...with great gusto! The CFO came in, sat down beside me, and asked if I had prayed for snow. I told him I hadn't and I tried to act disappointed. He saw right though me. He sipped his coffee and sighed. Then he said, "Roos, you MUST learn to play golf. It is a gentleman's sport and you vill be expected to play in the future. Go home now and learn to play golf! Yah?"

And now, the rest of the story....

I told my son Cody about my experience and he agreed. I needed to learn to play golf. He volunteered to teach me. He told me to buy an inexpensive set of clubs and we would hit the local driving range. My old pal Scott Brown fixed me up with a used set of clubs he had found at a garage sale. A big $35 investment kind of riled me but it was for my career after all. Cody and I went to the driving range that next afternoon. After showing me how to tee up and hold the club he suggested I hit a few balls to get the feel. I was a natural. I hit that ball at least thirty feet on my first swing. Unfortunately I missed the ball on my second swing and whacked the rubber with all my strength. I heard a small crack but figured it must have been my spine. On the third swing I got a solid hit and watched the ball as it arched into the sky. I also watched the head of my club arch off beautifully to the right of us. It landed with a whack right in the middle of a group of seasoned golfers. I started to go after it when Cody grabbed my arm and said, "Dad, just let it go." He also said something about my choice of golf clubs but we won't go there.  After a couple of nights at the range, Cody said I was doing well enough to actually play a real game at a real golf course. We scheduled the following Saturday morning for my debut.

Cody chose a little 3-par, nine hole course close to our house. He picked me up at 6:30 that morning. I didn't understand going out that early but it soon became evident. When we teed up at seven a.m. we were the only players on the course. I guess Cody was a little worried for other golfers. I had a great time and was wishing I had learned to play years earlier. I told Cody I was excited about becoming a serious golfer. It was about this time that I sliced a drive off to the right and watched in horror as the ball streaked over into a resident's patio, knocking items off the table and bouncing off walls. I started to go after it when Cody said, "Dad, just let it go!" I tried to explain to him that I needed to go after it because it was the only ball I had. He insisted I leave it. He gave me another ball and on the next green I over-compensated and sliced the ball hard to the left. Cody started yelling, "FORE! FORE!" to the ground crew who were about to receive that ball but they didn't listen. Finally he yelled "QUATRO! QUATRO!"....and they looked up in time to dodge the little white missle coming their way. Cody decided we had played enough golf. As we walked out to the car with Cody's clubs and the only club of mine he allowed me to bring he said, "Dad, about your dream to become a serious golfer....I suggest you let it go." So I did....

Ah, the "Good Old Days"...

This time of isolation has been trying on the best of us...meaning me. This time of isolation has been tough on me. When it was first announced I thought to myself, "Cool! I now have an excuse for not going anywhere or talking to anybody!" How was I to know how old it would get? Now I know...

I've tried to come up with constructive activities and for a while Debbie and I used our time wisely catching up on projects in our yard. You know, like removing the massive back flowerbed, bringing in dirt and sod to place. Things like building retaining walls and raising the drop off at the back of our property so I don't fall anymore. Typical stuff any healthy thirty-something could easily handle. It's a bit harder for us sixty, soon to be seventy-somethings. We weren't able to finish before the hot weather set in so now we can look out every day and be reminded of our failures and procrastinations. Oh well.

I also thought this would be a great time to spend working on unfinished projects in my wood shop. This reminded me of another procrastination of mine. Every summer I promise myself I will add air-conditioning to my shop before the next summer. Yeah right, however I did make sure I got the heater bought before next winter. I got it in June. It's really in the way now. I can't work out there. It's too hot. I tried to go out early one morning to work and had to come back in. It's about this time every year I begin to hate Texas.

Every dedicated writer I know is thrilled to have this uninterrupted time to spend churning out great stories, poems, articles....I had to make myself come in here this morning to write. I don't know why. I love to write. I just don't have anything to say. The "pandemic" we're enduring now did make me think of the old days and how easy it was to live and how hard it was to catch each others' germs. As soon as I thought about this a flood of memories came to me. Acting fast, I grabbed my laptop, opened it, uh...checked e-mail, looked at Facebook for a few minutes, ran through the few scales I can remember on my trumpet, strummed my guitar til my fingers hurt and tried once again to play Dueling Banjos on my banjo. I realized I hadn't played my blues harmonica for a while because it makes me sad so I looked around for it, remembered I had hidden it from my grandson, Carter, and after searching realized I hid it from myself as well. I guess I should write.

Actually, this particular memory came to me the other day as I passed the beautiful Colleyville sports complex a mile or so from our house. We've gone there over the years to watch our grandkids make us proud but now they sit empty. It's a sad thing to see. I thought back on the city ball parks we had down the street from us while growing up in Hurst. They were never empty. If an organized game wasn't going on, there would be a pick up game in process, or maybe a golfer or two would be practicing their drive in one of the outfields. During little league season all of us five kids would follow mama down to the ball park in the evenings to watch a game or two. It is a wonderful memory. Just about everyone knew the person sitting next to them and most of the kids playing were friends from school, church, or the neighborhood. The ball parks ran along the creek that held so many memories for Glenn and me. If a game was boring we could wander down to the creek and catch crawdads or fish out coke bottles to turn in for two cents. This turned into a regular routine for us when we figured out some of our citizens were litter slobs and empty coke bottles were always plentiful. We would find enough for each of us to earn a nickle and carry them up to the snow cone stand / snack bar at the park. Five empty bottles would earn us each a snow cone, soft drink, or package of peanuts. Life was good.

I think back on those days. We never washed our hands after fishing around in the pond. We never washed our hands period from late May until early September. We were quick to share our goodies with our friends. No one was denied a bite or two of the snow cone. The soft drinks were passed to anyone needing a swig, and the peanuts were meant for everyone. I remember one day, the little brother of one of my friends had talked his mother into giving him a nickle for a snow cone. He had to have someone hold him up to the window to buy it and as he walked back down to the bleachers he grinned from ear to ear over his giant lime snow cone....until he tripped. It was heartbreaking to watch his face go from pure joy to surprise to horror as his big old snow cone hit the dirt. I couldn't stand it. My bottle fishing had been especially successful that night so I was flush. I jumped up with the plan of buying that little fella a new cone but as I got closer I realized his cone was still pretty much intact on the ground. I scooped up all I could with my pond encrusted fingers and patted the snow back into the paper cone for him. I wasn't able to wipe away the dirt clinging to it but I told him he could easily lick it clean. He was a happy boy and I felt like a saint. I get slightly nauseous now thinking back on the germs I handed him but as far as I know he survived.

I realize my good old days weren't everyones' good old day. History tells us there were some pretty grim things going on back then, but I truly hope everyone has their own bank of memories of "the good old days".