On The Road Again...

 You will probably say, "Oh Mihills! You're entirely too old for that!" And you may be right but I did it anyway. I bought a new "Hog"! Well, okay, it isn't really a hog....it's more like a bicycle.....it's not really a bicycle....it's an "adult tricycle" okay?! It's all my wife and my doctor would allow me to have in order to restore my "Born to be wild" lifestyle. I've always enjoyed bike riding but this goofy brain condition I developed made it impossible for me to control anything on two wheels....even my walker has four wheels. I thought about it for months and finally pulled the trigger and ordered this elderly status symbol about two weeks ago. It arrived in less than a week from the distributor. It was one long box left on my porch and weighed too much for me to move it to my garage without my old dolly (which does have only two wheels and I didn't wreck it once thank you very much!)

I was worn out by the time I finally wrestled the box inside and had to take a nap before beginning the assembly. When I woke up I went out and opened the box to find, by my count, three thousand disconnected pieces. I went back inside and watched a movie with Debbie....ate some ice cream, and went to bed. 

The next day I was rested, alert, filled with a third cup of coffee and decided, "Hey, I can do this!" I went to the garage and began pulling tricycle parts out of the box. I am much wiser than I was when I was still in my early 70's. I laid all the parts out on my work bench and inventoried each part against the parts list. Everything was there...amazing but true! Then I took the instruction manual inside and read every page.....all eighty pages. Yes, this may have been a mistake. I opted to stop for lunch at this point. Eighty pages of dull reading and a big lunch always makes me sleepy so I went ahead and took a nap before going back out. When I woke up Debbie was just starting another movie so I stopped off and watched it with her. She appreciates it when I spend quality time with her.

I didn't make it back out to the garage until the next morning and then I arrived there determined to get the trike assembled...or die trying. I managed to get the rear assembly together which included the axle, two wheels, seven gears, derailleur, and back brake. I wish I had taken a picture because that was pretty doggone impressive if I say so myself. My next step was too assemble all the remaining parts to the trike frame. Easy peasy you say? Not so. Running the cables for the brakes and derailleur took the rest of the afternoon. If I hadn't followed the instructions step by step I'm sure I would have ruined something but following those steps was hard, i.e. "take the longer cable and thread through from the shifter to the derailleur by passing it through the diddlywop and into the whoop-tee-do housing insuring a snug fit. Pull tight and tighten down using the whirlee thing adjuster (see notes on page 33 and 72). Turn by hand to tighten, then back the turn off by 25%." The cable was too short. Referring back to the manual I found this: "If cable is too short you used the wrong cable you moron! I SAID use the LONGER cable. Take it all out and start over....and pay attention!" I was beat after running all four cables. I can't remember why there were four cables. One for the shifter, one for the back brake assembly, and one for the front brakes. If I wasn't so tired I would go out there and try to figure out where that fourth cable went.....just don't care right now.

The final day I had allowed for assembly came with cold wind and rain. A good day for working in the garage and I bull-dozed through the remaining parts. Before long I had myself one nifty looking seven speed tricycle. I couldn't wait to try it out but I didn't want to get it wet so I held off til later in the day when the clouds moved out. Then I pushed the trike out to my driveway, climbed on and took off. I rode probably, oh, I don't know, maybe three feet before the chain came off. I pushed the trike back in the garage, read through that section of the manual again and realized my problem. I had assumed I installed all the cables and derailleur properly. Silly boy. I spent another two hours redoing it all and then dejectedly came inside. 

Next day! I got up early and went out to my new ride. I hopped on and headed down the driveway. I turned right and rode up the slight incline to the end of the street, turned around and headed back down the street. The slope was just enough to really get going good and I was through three gears and moving right along when I decided to turn right onto Charley's street. I was moving at a pretty good clip when I went into the turn. Did you know three wheel vehicles do not take turns like a two wheel vehicle? Neither did I. Committed to the turn I quickly realized I was about to tip the trike over. Gently screaming, "SWEET MOTHER OF SCHWINN, WE'RE GONNA CRASH!" I managed to avoid the oncoming curb by less than an inch and regained control. I decided I didn't need to show the trike to Charley. I slowly worked my way home. I'm going to have to learn how to ride this thing before I can justify wearing the new vest Debbie made for me emblazoned with "Born To Be Mild". But, I will get there. Oh yes, I will get there.

The Wrap up....

 Dear Irma,

Thank you for letting me know how Frank has been reacting to my letters. I didn't know his dementia had progressed so rapidly. I sure didn't intend to make him upset receiving letters from "some guy he didn't know". My heart is breaking right now. If he has lucid moments will you please pass on this message to him from me: "Hello Frank....I miss you buddy! I want you to know and try to remember, I consider you my best friend. Thank you for all the good times we shared in the old neighborhood and thank you for teaching me how to slow down and breathe! I'm enjoying my time in Fort Davis and savoring this slower life. Take care my friend. I love you."

Irma, if there is anything at all I can do to help you with Frank please, please let me know. I don't have anything going on here that I can't walk away from at the drop of a hat! I guess I'll give you an update on all that's been going on out here and then I won't send any more letters. First of all, I hired that kid I told you about who called me looking for work and a place to stay. I was hesitant because he didn't have any construction experience but he seemed honest, intelligent, and honestly, I just felt sorry for him. He moved into one of my spare rooms and immediately got started on the garage project I had planned. He worked like a mad man getting the project up and going and then on days when there was nothing going on here, he hired out to a local rancher, running fence and doing other odd jobs. (I paid him hourly on days he was working on my garage but nothing if he wasn't working on it.) There was one stretch of three weeks we were waiting for trusses to be built and delivered and he got nervous not making any money. I reminded him part of his pay was free room and board but he still didn't like not having something specific to do each day. I'm sure glad he came along. I haven't mentioned it to him yet but I plan to offer the overhead apartment to him to rent when the garage is finished. If he doesn't want to rent it that's fine but I'll sure miss having him around. 

Secondly, Jo has fallen in love with Lou and wants to adopt him. Silly woman! She found out he had experience selling cars and she's been trying to get him to go to work for her at the dealership. I reckon he'll have a job waiting when he finishes this garage. By the way, Lou has started dating a young widow he met at our church. He seems quite smitten, to say the least. She has a young son and has been struggling as a single mom after her husband was killed in a car accident a year ago. I think she is enjoying Lou's attention but I hope it's for the right reason. Convenience isn't a real good motivation for a relationship.

Jo and I have continued as "good old pals". She's a hoot to be around and I'm still surprised at that after my initial opinion of her that one day in the store parking lot. We go out dancing every Thursday night. I'm glad I learned that two step. Now I'm learning Texas Swing if you can believe that! We hit the early bird specials at the local restaurants at least once a week and spend most Sunday afternoons wandering around the countryside. It's beautiful out here!!

I did start a part time job finally. I never could get that job at the hardware store like I wanted but I spend 20 hours a week, mornings and Saturdays, sacking groceries and helping out at the Stone Village Market. It's been fun and absolutely no pressure....I should have moved out here years ago!!!

I guess that's all the news I have. I've enjoyed keeping my story going for Frank and you. Again, I'm so sorry the letters started upsetting him. I think of the two of you as family so stay in touch. I won't write again unless I hear from you.

I truly love you and Frank!

Bert

One more car memory....

 All this talk about new cars has got my memory cells working in overdrive. I'm reminded of the time I challenged a co-worker at the grocery store to a drag race. He was a pompous, snot-nosed, spoiled, perfect complexion, well-rounded personality type that none of the rest of us could stand. He had his pick of any of the girls he chose to date without losing a drop of nervous sweat over the possibility of a rejection. He was the guy we loved to hate. His name was Ray Bands.....I kid you not. Oh sure, he probably adopted the "Ray" from Raymond or some other ill-fitting nomenclature but the name stuck. Ray Bands was at the top of his game in the year 1967 when all the rest of us were still trying to figure out what it was that made girls run in horror from us if we showed them the least amount of attention.

I still don't remember what weird feeling came over me the day Ray was at the store on one of his many days off, showing off his newest purchase, a baby blue 1957 Chevy, two door hardtop, 327, 4 speed on the floor.....mint....not a scratch or flaw of any kind. It was the car I had dreamed of whenever I wasn't dreaming of the lovely Melba Peach from sixth grade miraculously walking into the store wearing her Hurst Jr. High cheerleader outfit even though we had left junior high behind years before.....I'm sorry, where was I? Anyway, I couldn't stand it that he had everything he ever wanted....he had probably even dated Melba Peach at some point in the past. During his rundown on the overall qualities of his new purchase, I had all I could take. I said to him, "Ray, it's pretty and all but I just bet I can beat you on a quarter mile drag race!" 

Let me say at this point in today's story, I'm reminded I have already told you all about this race. You remember of course, Ray laughed at me and my 1953 Studebaker, six cylinder, 3 speed on the floor conversion. Laugh he might...but I happened to have driven my dad's 1960 Bonneville to work that day. Having accepted my challenge, we walked out to the parking lot where I quickly left Ray and his puny little 327 in the dust. I never told my dad I had raced his Pontiac so I am still alive today to talk about it. Ray never spoke to me again, which was not a problem for me but he also stole my girlfriend du jour to put me back in my respective place on his imagined social ladder. 

This is just another story about other people's cars. I personally have never owned anything worth talking about but I can sure brag about all the cars others in the family have owned. I won't do that though. I'm a humble sort of guy.

The Car....

 I 'need' a new car. Oh, I know I don't really NEED a new car, but I want a new car. I haven't bought a new car in seventeen years. I did receive the gift of a newer pickup several years ago from my son, Cody. He got tired of worrying about me driving an ancient, rusted out pickup with 300,000 miles on it and insisted on replacing it with a nearly new Chevy Silverado, which I will never be able to wear out in this lifetime. He's a good little boy. Anyway, I still need a new car because the FAMILY car which Debbie drives and occasionally wrecks is in  need of replacement. We bought it new in 2007 and figured we would get a few good years out of it. Debbie wrecked it three times over the years and still picks up a ding or two about every time she gets out. It has over 100,000 miles on it but still runs like new. I've never had to pay for anything on it other than oil changes, tires, and a battery or two. I've never even done a tune up on it. It just runs and runs....and I'm sick of looking at it. Nobody drives a car for seventeen years. It just isn't done! Why won't it die?!?! Debbie loves her little car and gets nervous whenever I talk about getting rid of it. She just doesn't understand. I need to see something new parked in the garage. Something with more bells and whistles than her little Kia Sportage has would be nice. Something with some safety features like those available on newer cars like backup cameras, lane change alerts, and "hey you crazy woman, you're about to hit that car in front of you" alerts. And, I don't care what Debbie says, when we finally shop for another car, I am going to have the final say in what we buy. It will probably be our last new car and she's picked out the last two we've bought over the years. I want something really nice.....I always thought a Caddy would be a nice retirement type car but there are so many other classy cars on the road I'm open to suggestions. I will not buy another boring little economy thing with silver paint and tiny little wheels. I want a real car!!! 

Growing up in the 50's and 60's was so simple. The dad would decide what to drive. He would shop for it. He would care for it. He would never allow the wife to control the use of it. It was the FAMILY car. He would faithfully wash and wax it and then trade it for a newer model every two to three years. That's how it was done. There were no other family vehicles unless you lived on a farm and needed a 'plain-jane', six cylinder step side (pickup) to go from farm to market. This vehicle would never be sold or traded in. It would be used until there wasn't another mile left to be driven in it, at which time it would be parked in the corner of a nearby pasture to rust away into oblivion. The family car though was special. It told the neighbors of the success and wealth of the owner. It always gleamed in all it's shiny chrome and vivid colors. It would never be driven more than three years because the new models always had so much more to offer and successful families did not drive old vehicles unless times were really bad. Even then, the family car would be replaced occasionally just because.....you know, just because!!

Nowadays, all the cars look the same. One year all of them are silver, one year they're all gold, some years black comes back into style but there are never any flaming red or bright yellow cars introduced. And, all the cars look the same....similar to a bar of soap going down the road. No one actually has just one car either. There is the "family" car, driven by the mom and occasional frustrated teenager. The dad always has his own "work" car. In most cases there are "the kids" cars, and some really upscale families have "for fun" cars. These are usually off road, funky, and all utility. Every family needs one. We don't have one.....

Growing up, we were toted around in big, powerful, fancy cars. They weren't always new but they for sure always looked new. Driving around in a dirty car was just....well, it was just not done. The first car I remember was a 1950 Chevy, mint green with a dark green top. This was replaced with a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief, two door hardtop with all leather interior. It was a beauty and a joy to be seen in. After that, we went with a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville. This was our first four door model because with five growing kids there was a need for easier loading/unloading. After that came the 1965 Chevy Caprice. This was the car I got to "borrow" for dates. My dad really loved this car and drove it until he bought a 1972 Chevy Impala, two door hardtop....fancy! He kept the Caprice for his "work" car and only drove the Impala on special occasions. The Impala was eventually replaced with a sleek new Buick Regal. I think this was around 1976 but I'm not sure. It was a beautiful car....quite impressive, but a piece of junk. It never gave us anything but grief and was soon traded in for another big honkin' Buick of some type. I have lost track because by this time I was married and taking care of my own "family" car. My dad continued to buy Buicks until the day we had to take the keys away from him. His heart was broken and he insisted the Buick be parked where he could look at it when he wanted.

I never kept the tradition of trading cars every few years. If I had something dependable, I would drive it until it was no longer dependable then drive it down to Mr. Wright's used car lot and sell it to him for next to nothing. That is how I wound up in the situation I'm in now. I have a seventeen year old car that I'm sick of looking at. It has no value at all. I hate to think of making car payments again, especially since Debbie is still in her destructive driving mode. I could be content with just the Silverado sitting out there. It is one nice ride but I can't imagine letting Debbie drive it. If she would just agree to give up her driving license we could be a one car family. I would get rid of the Kia and have lots more room in the garage. Our insurance rates would be much better because Debbie keeps an up to date accident report on file. The insurance lady told me the only way I can lower my rates is to take Debbie's driver's license away. That would be nice but I'm afraid I would get tired of having to take her for all the woman type stuff she does.....shopping, meeting friends, etc. As much as I would love to be rid of that boring old silver Kia Sportage, I guess it will have to do until it dies and leaves Deb stranded somewhere. Then we go car shopping!!!

AH-H-H, August...

 ...where a young man thinks of getting away from the stifling summer job and getting back to college where life is simple.

....where an old man thinks about getting the heck out of Texas forever or at least until mid-November.

....where you sit around and ponder whether or not someone really could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

....where you try to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

....where you clean up the awful mess on the sidewalk and promise yourself not to fall for stupid old wives tales ever again.

...where an old man thinks back to the early days in life when August was tolerated without air-conditioning....and those were the "good old days".

...where memories drift back to "two-a-days" for the jocks and summer band for the nerds (of which I proudly hold rank).

Yep, August is probably the second most miserable month of the year, with first place held by September. I'll explain: August is the "proclaimed end of summer" yet everyone knows it isn't. It's just another miserably hot month. September is supposed to start "fall" and everyone knows it doesn't. In Texas absolutely nothing changes except the Christmas decorations go up in the big box stores. September is just a tease. On September first mean, thoughtless people start talking about "fall"....oh boy, here comes fall.....football season, falling leaves, gentle cool breezes from the north.....all just a big old pack of lies! 

Oh sure, I know you're tired of my constant complaining....every stinking August the same thing! Can't this guy find anything else to be upset about? No, not really. August and September are the longest, hottest, most boring, anti-climatic, disappointing, and irritating parts of the year. Okay, I'm done. I'm going to try to remember something good to write about.....let me think....let me think.....

....still thinking. It's hard to think when it's so hot outside. Well, I tried to conjure up a memory about a cold time of year but I think I'm kind of stuck in my "I hate August" mode. So, let's share some good memories of August. Anyone, anyone? Okay, I'll start. I was born in August. It happened on a really hot day if I remember right. All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas was the location and the constant hum of the overhead fans lulled all of us newcomers into a sense of well-being, not to be crushed until it was time to leave the hospital in an old worn out Chevy, without A/C naturally. Swaddling was not recommended by the good sisters at the hospital so that particular comfort was taken away as soon as mama took that ride on the wheelchair to daddy's waiting chariot. I know I must have complained a lot at the time because my dad took off for some peace and quiet in Korea right after getting me home. Had it not been for my good old uncle Frog staying with us during that time my diaper wouldn't have been changed nearly often enough. My older cousin Janell assisted as much as she was allowed but August didn't last forever and Janell had to go back to school. That was her excuse anyway.

Okay, I did survive my first August but the disdain remains to this day. I don't recall very many banner occasions in any of my Augusts. Well, I did have a birthday party at the Sylvania City park when I was seven. I got a belt. It was a dress belt, ultra thin and black. Why do I remember that? I nearly drowned in Lake Worth the August I was nine. I should have known how to swim by that time but I didn't. After that I was too afraid to learn. When I was seventeen I graduated from high school on a hot August night. Six hundred and twenty one of us sat out at Pennington Field  in full gown and mortar board hat waiting to be declared smart enough to function. Other than that these few stellar memories, not much can be said for August. 

It will be September next month and you know what that means?! Nothing, absolutely nothing. I promise I will be in a better mood toward the end of October or early November. Until then, unless I can have a good memory wander in I'll just make stories up about my imaginary friends. It's never August in my imaginary stories. The weather is just about perfect all the time.

Bert, Bert, Bert....What are we going to do with you?!?!

 Hello Frank!

Sorry it's been so long. I'm just such a party animal (haha) it's hard to find time to stop and write. I've been busy around this old place since I bought it last month. I did tell you about that, didn't I? I thought I did. The old guy I had been renting from wanted to sell and I didn't really want to move again so soon. I thought about it for thirty seconds or so and offered to buy it. He grabbed my hand, shook it and said, "SOLD" without even waiting to hear what I was willing to pay for it. It's a good thing too because the number he came up with was about $15000 less than what I would have offered. After we signed the papers and the deed was transferred I went straight to the bank to see about getting a home improvement loan. I'm going to build a four car garage with a second floor apartment. I'm planning to rent out the apartment to cover the loan payments and put a little back for my old age (another ha).

Another big change I'm making is opening up my guest room and extra bath to either a single guy or young married couple to stay. Truth be told Frank, I'm lonely around here and I'm hoping this will be a positive thing. We'll see I guess. Anyway, I thought I would offer free room and board for anyone who can help me get this garage built. I've already had a call from a young guy new to the area. I'm talking to him tonight about taking the offer. He was at the hardware store looking for work and saw my posting on the bulletin board. I could have told him the hardware store wasn't hiring!. I've been trying to get a part time job there ever since I moved out here! 

Jo had been working on the chamber of commerce planning committee for the past couple of months putting a small business fair together. They finally had the fair last week and she asked me to go with her. She would be busy working a booth but I could wander around picking up free key rings, ball point pens, and whatnot til lunch. So that's what happened. Don't ever buy another pen Frank. I've got more than either of us can ever use up. Anyway, at lunch we snuck out and grabbed some chicken-fried steak at the cafe rather than enjoy the free hot dogs offered at the fair. After lunch, she resumed her post and I went back to wandering aimlessly. I did discover that after lunch several Slurpee machines had been set out and free Slurpee's  were available to all! I've never been a huge Slurpee fan but let me tell you, these Slurpee's were FINE!!! I was so impressed with the first one, I immediately grabbed a second. I couldn't figure out what it was about these drinks but I couldn't stop slamming them down. They were so stinking refreshing, and cold, and refreshing, and.....well Frank, guess what. These were not Slurpee machines. They were margarita machines. Have you ever tasted a margarita? You know I'm not a drinker so I was a little embarrassed when a couple of off duty cops offered to help me to Jo's booth. It appears I had been standing in the Lane Bryant booth, dripping Slurpee down my shirt, and singing "La Bamba" when I was escorted out. In between her "ah hail-uhs" and uncontrollable laughter, she informed me I was "drunker than a skunk". I don't know what that means but I do now know what a bad hangover feels like. Never again, never again!!!

Jo and I have been taking those free dance lessons for a few weeks now and let me tell you, I was definitely raised in the Church of Christ. I don't have a dancing bone in my body but it sure has been fun. Next time y'all come out, we'll have to go out "cuttin' the rug".....I also don't know what that means but I've heard it mentioned around me a few times with an attached chuckle. 

I guess I've embarrassed myself enough. I'll go and get ready to interview this kid who thinks he wants to live in my house and build my new garage. 

Y'all take care, Bert

Splash!!

Remember the wonder and amazement of being young, free, and behind the wheel of your very own automobile? No stress, no worries, every day was sunny and bright.....well, that's the way I remember it anyway. There was a short window of time when all those things seemed true and real. I hope all of you got to experience that feeling at least once. Oddly, I'm beginning to feel that way again since I'm old, retired, debt free, and my bum leg isn't acting up too much. Now if the morons in Washington will straighten up their collective acts and play fair, maybe we'll all be able to enjoy some "stress/worry free" days.... sorry, I got carried away there for a minute. I was going to tell a story about the past when all those things had fallen into place for me.

It was the summer of 1968. I had graduated from high school ranked in the top 600 of a class of 621. I remember leaving Bell High School for the last time. It was a beautiful late May morning. My graduation tassel was hanging from my rear view mirror, my windows were all down on the shiny Chevy Impala I had bought with my own money, nice breeze, and all those losers still in high school were sweating away the last week of their semester. I had made a trip to the school to pick up my last letter jacket....yes, I was a letter-man.....don't swoon.....nearly everyone in band had lettered at some point or other and I had managed to do it my senior year. I wasn't too sure that jacket would ever be worn since I was now a COLLEGE MAN but I was still proud to finally get it. It was a perfectly beautiful morning. The whole world was ahead for me....Yay!!

I started my new job at Six Flags the next morning. I was free from my grocery store job, which at the time seemed like a wonderful thing. I wound up missing that place as the college years progressed but in that first summer out of school I was free as a bird!!! 

Now that I'm older and the likelihood of being arrested is minimal, I will admit that the cool Chevy I owned made me drive a lot faster than the law allowed....much, much faster. I couldn't help it. I tried to slow it down but no-o, that sucker liked speed. Everywhere I went I was amazed to get there earlier than planned and in some cases I was amazed I got there at all. My route to Six Flags was down the old farm to market road 157 between Euless and Arlington. It was a nice long and straight stretch of highway and I liked it. 

About two weeks into my daily drive along FM 157 a storm front blew in and it rained so hard one of my neighbors told me he actually saw Noah float by in his ark. I'm not too sure he was telling the truth but I could never prove it. Anyway, it rained so hard during this storm, the river flooded the road and it had to be closed down for a while. This meant I would have to get to work by driving through "the river bottoms" which ironically did not flood. That was over fifty years ago and I still haven't figured out that scenario. The river bottom route was winding narrow roads, deep drop-offs, spooky as the dickens at night, and slow. I couldn't wait for 157 to be opened back up. After a week, the water still hadn't receded enough to open it back up so I was looking at another few days of slow driving. Finally, one morning Mark E. Baby, the KFJZ disc jockey informed us the road was now reopened for slow moving traffic only. I was so excited as I grabbed my stuff for work I may have missed the part about "slow moving traffic only"....pretty sure I did miss it. 

I always drove down the old Hwy 183 from Hurst to Euless like the model citizen I was. Hwy 183 was not a good road for fast driving. FM 157 crossed Hwy 183 right in the heart of "downtown Euless"... HAHAHA....sorry. If you didn't live around here back then you probably didn't catch the humor in that. Anyway, I would turn south on 157 in downtown Euless (snicker snicker) and head for Arlington. About a half mile down the road, 157 would drop down considerably to the lower straight route I loved. I couldn't see the road because an overhead train track was located right over the hill on 157. That morning, as I started down the hill, I opened it up looking forward to an adrenaline filled race to Six Flags. I was already up to about 80 mph when I went under the train tracks and spread out before me was an empty road...except for about two dozen guys working pumps as they struggled to get the last of the water off the road. There was about a hundred yards of road still under water and it could be used but only very, very slowly. As the job foreman pointed out to me as I flew past him, I was going a bit too fast. I hit that water creating the most beautiful arched cascade on either side of my car. The waterworks people in Las Vegas would have been so impressed. There wasn't a dry worker left on either side of the road. I knew it wasn't in my best interest to stop at this point even though some of them probably wanted to congratulate me on my performance. I floored that old Chevy and prayed all the way to dry asphalt it wouldn't stall out on me. By the time I got to the end of the water I must have been going close to 100 mph. I didn't slow down until I reached the other side of the straightaway. In my rearview mirror I could see laborers waving and cheering me on. Some were waving shovels, some were waving only one finger, but all were jumping up and down and screaming their approval. 

I didn't use FM 157 to get to work the rest of that summer. The nice, quiet river bottoms seemed a much more relaxed way to travel.

Poor, Poor, Pitiful Lou...

Lou sat on the front porch of his parents home in Ann Arbor loving the beautiful weather but brooding about his lot in life. After two years of intense physical therapy his doctor had declared him as well as he was ever going to be. If he had been in Texas the doc would probably have said he was "fit as a fiddle". TWO YEARS! How could two years have gone by without even one step in the positive direction of getting his life going again. He thought his life was half used up at twenty-five and he was leaving Fort Worth on the ill-fated bus ride to Alpine. He thought at that time he had used up all his allotted stupid ideas and he could jump start a new life. Now he gloomily considered his current state: Twenty-seven, still no education, still no job, and worst of all, still living with and depending on his parents. Something has to happen.....NOW!!

Taking an inventory of his newest bad decisions he realized his biggest mistake since being carted home from Abilene in the back of his parents' rented van was in not starting back to school when his dad offered to pay for it. If he had he would be well on his way to a four year bachelors degree in....what?! What would he have majored in since his aeronautical engineering path bit the dust at UTA? As he lay in the hospital in Abilene after surgery, Lou was sure he knew what he wanted to do with his life. The emergency response team in Fort Davis had taken such good care of him he had decided to pursue a career as a paramedic. It seemed so far back in time though, he didn't have the same burning desire to do it. Maybe being a super hero wasn't in the cards for Lou. But Lou, old boy, you better come up with an idea soon. The money he received from Greyhound Bus Lines after the accident wasn't going to last forever. His good graces with his parents would fade as well now that he was declared healthy. They wanted to retire and travel and he understood. He didn't want to stay in Michigan. Texas was home and he ached to be back where it was scorching hot most of year, except for the two or three days in late March called "spring". Maybe he should widen his view of available options.....no, Texas it was to be even if he couldn't explain it to his own satisfaction.

A few days later, Lou finished packing up his few personal possessions into the back of the 2007 Kia Sportage his dad had given him, obviously out of pity. The car had been Lou's mom's car and rather than use it as a valueless trade-in, his dad opted to let poor old Lou have it before taking delivery of the new Chevrolet Suburban they had bought for their travels. After all the good-byes, hugs, tears, and uncontrolled gleeful jumping around by his parents, Lou fired up the old Kia and headed for....."home".

Lou decided he wanted to try west Texas again so he set his sights, and GPS of course, on Fort Davis. Maybe this time his luck would be better. Since his window of opportunity for a college education had closed, in his own mind anyway, he thought he might enjoy working at a hardware store. That's where he would start anyway if, and this was a big IF, the old Kia made it that far. It did. He had a few worries along the way and had to buy new front tires in St. Louis, replace a worn strut in Memphis, and worry about overheating all the way from Big Spring to Pecos. He did make it though and the old car was still chugging along as he pulled into the little motel in Fort Davis he would call home until he found a cheap apartment.

After a couple days rest and stretching exercises for his mended leg, Lou headed to the largest hardware store in town in hopes of snagging a job of some sort. He was told by the pretty girl at the cash register that the manager was gone for the day but it didn't matter because they weren't doing any hiring at the moment. Well, so much for improved luck! She did say a few customers posted job openings on the bulletin board next to the entrance if he wanted to take a look on his way out. There wasn't much there. He didn't like the idea of digging fence post holes for the two ranches needing help and mowing Miss Ethyl's yard for the summer wasn't going to cover expenses. He did stop at one listing though. There was a guy in town building a new garage with overhead apartment in the back of his house. The job only paid $20/hour when working, which meant he might go days without any pay. The interesting part of the listing though said, "owner will provide room and board for single man, or young married couple, no kids or pets please!" Lou had none of the above. He also had absolutely no experience in carpentry either but how hard could it possibly be to learn. He decided to apply for the job! He wrote down the information, "for inquiries, call Bert at 555-1212".

Alarming News!!

I was watching one of Debbie's favorite Vlogs on YouTube yesterday. Oh, no I wasn't watching it by myself. Had it been me turning on the TV, we would have been watching "Gunsmoke". However, Debbie got to the remote first so there we sat, watching another episode of "Let's Bore Russell To Tears". 

During this informative Vlog, it was mentioned with an embarrassed chuckle that this Vlogger used to be a Blogger! Can you imagine?! She informed us no one ever Blogs anymore....what a waste of effort on a primitive way to tell a story! I had no idea.....I sincerely apologize for my antiquated method of story-telling and I appreciate each of you who have continued to read this appalling site. Oh well, I couldn't figure out how to create a second blog a few months ago so it's a pretty good bet I'll never figure out Vlogging. If you'll stick with me maybe we can muddle through together.

Back when the earth was still cooling and dinosaurs roamed the area, I was a skinny, invisible student at West Hurst Elementary. I loved West Hurst Elementary. I was moved there from South Hurst Elementary as soon as the doors to the new school swung open. What a treat! The best part of the whole thing was this new school backed up to "the woods". The woods designated the end of the world to those of us brought up in the fairly new suburb of Hurst. We had never been allowed to venture past the open pasture into the woods for fear we would fall off the edge of the world. We played baseball and fought native Americans, which we callously called "Indians", in our beloved field. We were a bit upset when bulldozers began clearing a large part of that field to build a stupid school. Our anger was quelled when we saw the new ball diamond with a real backstop included with the new school campus. Also, tether ball courts were installed. If you don't know about tether ball you are probably a lonely, sad, and empty sort of soul. The best part of the whole thing was most of the pasture and all of the woods were left intact. The fine elected officials serving on the school board still used good sense back then.

The second best part of moving to the new school was the kindness of the builder to leave ALL the big boxes the furnaces came in. I almost said 'the boxes the air conditioners came in' but remembered the era. Schools weren't air conditioned back then...silly writer. Those had to be furnace boxes. They were way too big to hold anything else. Anyway, whatever they were soon became the favorite attraction of every boy and some of the girls newly enrolled. Our recess time became "jump in a box and roll down the hill", over and over again. To clarify, the school was situated fairly close to the road and the field sloped down pretty drastically before leveling off at the new ball park. A worthy student could get up to a good, albeit dangerous, roll before banging into the backstop at the bottom. It was a wonderful way to spend a recess....good exercise, excitement, sweat, dirt....I still miss it!

One day one of my classmates, Rodney something, decided it was time to take a turn in a box roll. Rodney had started the school year out on crutches from a broken leg and although he still had the crutches he felt confident he could do it. I was dragging my box back up the hill when I saw Rodney climb into his box for his first trip down the hill. The launch was courtesy of a couple of sixth graders with less than honorable intentions. Rodney came down that hill over and over at a speed unknown to us experienced box rollers. His first crutch flew from the box after the first tumble. His second made it to the third roll. After that it was just Rodney, a broken leg, and intense screaming left in the box. Poor guy. He really shouldn't have done that. He got carried off to the hospital to have that leg reset and we were banned from all future box rolls down the hill. Someone on the school staff carted the boxes off to the dump that night and they were never seen again. So sad....oh sure, we were sorry for Rodney too but doggone it, he should have known better.

After the Rodney incident our recesses were limited to softball...not even real ball but SOFTball of all things. We could opt for tether ball but since none of us knew what that was we stuck to softball. A lot of the girls decided to let an ambitious, and obviously newly graduated teacher, coach them on how to play tether ball. Within just a few days all the tether ball posts were in use and lines formed for a turn at what was undoubtedly one of the best games ever! Soon, even the guys were wandering away from the ball field to get a turn at tether ball. I eventually caved and got in line myself after watching all the glee coming from those six tether ball posts for a week or so. Oh my goodness! I had never played anything as much fun as tether ball. It became an obsession for all of us and fights eventually broke out as newcomers tried to "buck the line". If you don't understand the phrase 'buck the line', you have led a deprived and lonely life I'm sorry to say.

Some days it was too rainy for tether ball. The courts were just too muddy to allow us to play. The cold days however were perfect for the game because it hurt like the dickens to punch that ball with frigid hands. Most girls and some of the sissy boys chose to stay indoors on cold days. I, and most of my really manly friends would be out there for a good tether ball workout regardless of the cold...and we didn't have to let anyone else play....no lines....silly girls. By spring, we were tether ball masters. We could not be beaten. My dad installed a tether ball post in our backyard and the only way I could be beaten was if one of my sibs complained I was hogging the post...or if my next door neighbor Sandy came over to play. She could put me in my place real fast. Thinking back on it, I'm not real sure Sandy was really a girl. She may have been a guy who always wore dresses and beat me at everything we attempted. She even hit me with a left hand hook one day causing me to see stars and hear little birds chirping around my head. I loved that girl but I kept it a secret for fear she might just be a guy. The last I heard, Sandy was a full professor of math at the university, married, with three very mean and tough little girls. She probably still plays tether ball and beats up neighbors. You just never know for sure....

Leaving West Hurst Elementary to go to Hurst Jr. High was tough. I did miss recess but before too much time had passed I discovered a new interest....girls. And so the story continued....

Time to catch up with Bert....

 Hello Frank,

I hope this finds you and Irma doing well. I sure did enjoy y'alls visit earlier this month and I hope you guys enjoyed it too. I'm grateful for you figuring out what was wrong with my old truck and getting it going again. Electrical problems have never been my favorite things to figure out. I would have never thought to check out the wiring on the firewall. I nearly sold my beloved truck for scrap before you got here. I doubt I'll ever trust it again so I think I'll probably go on and buy a low mileage Jeep Wrangler, but I'll keep the truck....just to have a truck. This is Texas after all!

So what did you guys think of Jo? I feel bad for judging her the first time I met her in the parking lot at the store. I would have sworn she was just an old widow lady spending her husband's inheritance while searching for another man. I kept that opinion of her until she gave me that ride into town after my old truck broke down. I felt kind of bad being so cold and distant to the point where she had stopped calling so I asked her out to dinner....just to be nice and to pay her back for that ride. Did I tell you how she responded when I called her for the dinner invitation? She said, "Yeah, I'll go but I won't be seen riding around in the piece of junk you call a truck! I'll drive." I never told her I loved that old piece of junk and just agreed for her to pick me up in that big old black Cadillac of hers.

I'll also tell you I found out a lot more about Jo over the last few weeks. She isn't the fancy dressed widow lady I thought. I asked her why she always wore jeans and boots when the first time I saw her at the grocery store she was all gussied up in a fancy black dress and dripping diamonds. First of all she said she wasn't dripping diamonds. She wore one small diamond ring her husband had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary and a nice black dress because she was on her way home from a funeral. I apologized....she is about as down to earth as me. We have hit it off pretty well BUT, I assure you, we are just friends! She won't let me drive anywhere when we go out wandering the countryside. She says it's because she knows where everything is and I drive like an old woman! I think she just doesn't want to ride in my truck. I've had to talk to her about her profanity. You know I don't use bad language and I really hate hearing it from other people. Since we were running around so much I figured I should say something to her. Her response was, "Well hay-ull Bert! Why didn't you say something sooner?" Except for a well-worn "hay-ull" at times (which is always followed by, "hay-ull, I'm sorry!"), she has kept her cussing to herself. I like that about her. I'm going to invite her to go to church with me as soon I'm comfortable she won't agree with the preacher by yelling, "Hay-ull yeah! Amen!"

Just one more thing about Jo and I'll stop. I know I'm going on like a love sick teenager. It's not anything like that at all. We've talked about a lot of things and both of us agree this is nothing but a couple of friends hanging out together. She says she would never marry again because of her love and respect for her late husband, and you know I feel the same about Velma. It's just good to have someone to pal around with.....someone rich....with a nice car....and a personality! Jo didn't get her wealth from an inheritance. She owns a car dealership in Alpine! Can you believe that? All this time and she never mentioned it. I had to ask what she did with her free time. Her response was, "You mean when I'm not wasting my time hanging out with you? Well hay-ull Bert, I own a used car lot. I thought you knew that. How do you think I'm able to drive around in a clean black Caddy without having a staff to take care of it for me?" You could have knocked me over with a feather.....or maybe a tumbleweed! I don't want to infringe on a friendship by asking about a good deal on a new Jeep but it would sure be nice if she would offer. I guess time will tell.

I'm sorry I spent this whole time talking about Jo. It kind of makes me ashamed of myself. I'm sure Velma would have liked Jo too but I'm not sure she would approve of me going on and on about her like I have. It's hard to not think about things like that.

Oh, by the way, I'm going to learn how to dance!! There's a program available down at the civic center offering free "two-step" lessons to residents. I checked and I'm now considered an official resident of Fort Davis! Yay!!

Y'all take care, Bert

Rant and Rave....

 Every day I scan through our neighborhood newsletter and every day without fail, someone has posted asking for help. I promise I'm a good Christian boy, born and raised in the Church and taught about helping the poor 'amen'...and I do. But, and this is a big BUT, these guys in the newsletter are "repeat performers". The same names, the same stories, over and over. It's like the guys who drive their new pickups and Lexus' to their respective street corners to hold their "Will work for food" signs. Have you ever rolled down your window and offered work to any of these guys? They don't want to work. If they did, they would be working. I have a boatload of work any of them could be doing for me around our house and yard but getting someone out to actually do the work is pretty darn difficult. 

I know this doesn't sound real compassionate but that's just not the way our generation was raised. There were times growing up when I wouldn't see my dad for a week at a time because he was "at work". He volunteered for every hour of overtime he could get, he worked another job as a stock clerk at a local grocery store, and for a time, when college costs were looming over him, he got a third job as a janitor at a local hospital. He would never in his life consider asking for a handout. The sad tidbit of this last information was, both my older sister and I were embarrassed about our dad working as a janitor. He was doing it for us and we were embarrassed.

I know my lofty pillar has been shaken in the eyes of loyal readers. I don't sound like a very nice person right now....but I am. Really! Trust me.... All of my sibs and I worked at our jobs like the dickens...that's a phrase used by my mom. We all worked part time jobs while in school to cover our personal costs, some of our clothes, and even a bill or two if we knew things were tight. My dad didn't know about Cindy and I paying some of the family bills for a long time because he wouldn't have allowed it. It was tough growing up in the Mihills' herd. And, none of us would change a single moment of it. We didn't think of ourselves as poor. 

I remember visiting with a friend I grew up with one night. We started talking about our years at West Hurst Elementary. We had a snow day and the school was closed but there was a pristine lawn in front of the school and someone had to destroy the picturesque scene. My brother, Glenn and I walked the two blocks to the school and met Steve and his brother, who had come up with the same plan. We built snowmen, dueled out snowball fights, and generally acted like the idiots we were. The school was located on Precinct Line Road, a main artery through town at the time, so we had lots of onlookers pass on their dreary ways to work. One car stopped and the driver got out of his car. He came over to us and told us he worked for the paper. Would it be okay if he took our picture? Well of course it would be okay. We were going to be famous for sure. I remember waiting for our picture to show up and sure enough, within a couple of days there it was. Four clowns standing in the snow, soaked from rolling around, red cheeks, and silly grins on our faces. I was so proud! Now, this friend I mentioned earlier was Steve. While we reminisced, Steve pulled out from a drawer a copy of that picture. I hadn't seen it in decades. I remember feeling pretty doggone rich most of the time growing up and I'm sure most of my friends and classmates felt the same but when I looked at that picture, the shock of how poverty stricken we looked hit me like a truck. All of us were wearing wornout clothes. Steve and I, being the oldest were the hardest hit by the lack of funds because we were older. Our younger brothers got the hand-me-downs which were sometimes not great but at least everything fit. Steve and I both wore coats too small for us. Our jeans came up over our ankles and had patches on the knees. Our shoes were the official shoe of that era, "Tennis shoes". If the holes in the toes weren't obvious in the picture they certainly were to us. I also noticed and then remembered, my brother didn't have any gloves so I gave him one of mine. Each of us wore one glove and just let the other hand freeze. It was worth it to play in the snow. 

That photo brought into focus how hard my dad had to work just to keep five kids fed, clothed, and educated. And he did it. He took care of all of us without asking anyone for a single penny. He also managed to provide Christmas for other families who were worse off, never let a Christmas go by without presents for us stacked to the ceiling, never let an Easter go by without something unique for each of us, took in his mom and sister for a short time when the sister developed MS, sent funds to re-carpet a church in South Dakota he had visited, and the list goes on and on. 

The one thing that sticks in my mind the most happened when I was a junior in high school. I was going to a band banquet and wanted a white sports coat so bad I could taste it. I didn't say a word about it to anyone but my mom so I was surprised when my dad came home from work early the day before the banquet and told me to jump in the car. He took me to every department store around trying to find that white sports coat with no success. Just before the stores were closing he spotted one more store which just might have something. We pulled in and convinced them to stay open a bit longer because there was a fine looking coat on the store dummy (we never called them mannequins because dummy sounded funnier) in the window. My dad told them we needed to see that coat. They said they couldn't because it would mess up their display. He insisted on speaking to the manager who quickly got the coat down for me to try on. It was a perfect fit! My dad didn't even ask the price and I had the sports coat I had dreamed about. Now, this is the bad part. I wore that coat to the banquet and boy oh boy, did I ever look cool. No one else wore a white sports coat.....just me....all alone. When I got home I hung the coat in the closet and never wore it again.

I guess looking back I wasn't such a nice person. I thought I was. I try to be now but those lazy free-loaders out there really get to me.

Westward Ho'.....Lou, Part Three

 Unless you are much better at retaining information than I am, you need a refresher on the life and times of poor old Lou. I'm not going to go back to the first story but I'll copy and paste the last paragraph to the last story. (I had to re-read the whole tale to remember what and who I was writing about......SIGH...)

The next morning, with a vow to not spend another dollar frivolously, Lou packed up his meager collection of clothes, personal items, and one or two memory makers he had taken from his former home, and walked outside. He allowed himself one more Uber trip and chose downtown Fort Worth. He truly did not plan to become homeless but he was sure getting close to it. On the ride west to Fort Worth, Lou made the decision to be dropped off at the Greyhound bus station. He would choose a town that sounded good, buy a ticket, and wait for the bus to load up. Looking over at the bus schedule for something fairly cheap, he chose Graham, Texas. Only $49.00 one way. He walked up to the counter to find the next bus wasn’t leaving until 1 a.m. the next day. He decided to find something else and settled on a town called Alpine. A bus was heading out at 3 in the afternoon. Alpine sounded nice. It sounded almost refreshing. He bought the ticket without even asking which direction he was going. It didn’t really matter. It was a long bus ride away from Arlington and bad memories. He would have some time to really work out a plan as he rode the big bus to his new “home”.

Three o'clock finally arrived at the Fort Worth bus terminal and Lou awoke from a really good, and much needed nap, to the sound of "Final boarding for Alpine, Texas loading at platform two!" He jumped up grabbing his meager possessions and running to the bus. He got there just as the porter was beginning to close the doors on the luggage compartment. Whew! Could have easily missed my ride!

Lou boarded and settled in for the long ride to his new home. The bus wasn't full but there were more people going to Alpine than he thought. This was a good sign he had chosen his destination well. As the bus pulled out of the station and slowly made its way to the interstate Lou was excited to see where he was going. As the bus lumbered onto the interstate and headed west he was a bit confused. For some reason he thought that bus would be heading north. Alpine sounded like a northern town. If he had been thinking he would have known that since the name of the town had "Texas" attached to it, it didn't matter how far north he traveled. He wasn't going anywhere near the mountains. He was feeling kind of stupid but no one knew except him. He would just keep this little bit of information to himself and act like Alpine was just where he thought it was.....wherever that was. Now he felt like he was really on an adventure! "Where are ya headed son?" "Oh, I have no idea..wherever this bus goes I guess."

As the miles rolled along, Lou spent some time reviewing his rocky life since graduating from high school. Man, it seemed so long ago. It was really easy to mess up life by making dumb decisions. And dumb decisions were indeed made. First of all, he fell head over heels in love before even starting his second year of college. He knew then it was dumb but he just couldn't help himself. Next, he allowed Dana to start making decisions for him rather than use his head to reason things out. His grades started falling, his dad stopped paying Lou's tuition, he started to despise his little apartment that he had loved so much....all because Dana made fun of it.

If these mistakes weren't enough, he asked Dana to marry him while he was barely twenty years old! What was he thinking? She readily agreed and started planning a big wedding. Things were getting out of control for Lou but he was in love. Nothing else mattered. Dana was embarrassed her fiance worked at a grocery store so she talked her daddy into giving Lou a job at his car dealership. Lou had loved his job at Kroger but he figured he would enjoy selling cars even more. He felt a little uncomfortable taking the job, knowing he only had it because of Dana being a spoiled little rich girl. Then when Lou's parents started planning the rehearsal dinner at a local franchise style restaurant, Dana was mortified to the point her dad "insisted" on paying for the rehearsal dinner himself. This action, along with lots of little slights toward Lou's parents, caused a distance between Dana and his parents. They didn't feel welcome yet Lou didn't try to fix things. If Dana was happy, Lou was ecstatic. Eventually, after the wedding was over and dust had settled, Lou's parents stopped trying to have a relationship with the new couple....and Lou pretty much lost the family he grew up with. Sad story and Lou felt a huge lump in his throat as he reviewed this part of the past few years. He wondered if his folks would ever welcome him back. He didn't feel like pursuing that prospect quite yet, but someday...

Lou knew he had to take control of his life. He decided his first assignment to himself was to find a job. Well, actually he had to find a place to sleep and then he would find a job. He would take the first thing that came along even if it was digging ditches. When he knew he had a home, an income, and a sense of creating new roots, he would find a church. He hadn't been to church since his parents moved to Detroit. It didn't seem as important to Lou as it did to his mom but now he was beginning to think church might help. As these thoughts turned more spiritual, Lou discovered he missed the old comfort of church, singing the songs even though his voice was terrible, and praying....how did he get so far off track? Right then he stopped, lowered his head, and reintroduced himself to God. He confessed his wrongs, his stupidity, gullibility, and all the other "ity's" he could think of. He even teared up but he kept his face turned to the window so no one would see. After his "Amen", which included a promise to find a church even before he found a job, he felt a peace he hadn't had in several years. "Yep", Lou thought to himself, "You're finally getting this messed up life about as straight as this Interstate 20 we've been riding on for like...forever.

Lou started to enjoy his trip and the view outside after their last stop in Pecos. Leaving Pecos and the interstate, the bus driver took the exit for Highway 17 to the next stop, Fort Davis. "Low and behold, we are going to the mountains," Lou thought to himself. "They sure aren't the Rockies but man oh man, they are beautiful!" (Do you need quotation marks around thoughts? Just asking for a friend.) They were entering the Barrilla mountains after miles and miles of flat old Texas. They passed what was kindly posted as "Casket Mountain, elev. 6183 feet" just before a weird sound came from under the bus. More metallic sounds grew louder as the bus began to weave on the road. The driver was trying to make it to a wide spot in the road when a front suspension gave and the bus lurched to the right. Dropping off the paved road to soft sand on the shoulder caused the bus to teeter over a drop off before finally rolling over on the right side and sliding down the ridge. Luckily, a stand of mesquite trees stopped the slide and the bus came to rest on it's side, on the side of a small "mountain", in the bushes and mesquite trees... and a lot of dust.

Total silence was heard for a few moments, then the screaming and hollering started. No, it wasn't the little old ladies making the noise. It was Lou who had been sitting on the left side of the bus and fell into the seats and windows of the right side, hitting his head on glass and breaking his right femur. There were other injuries of course and passengers were struggling to get out of the wreckage, but no one seemed as damaged as Lou sounded. He had never experienced such pain. As the bus driver worked his way through the wreck giving aid and instructions, he was trying to get to Lou who evidently had a bad injury and wasn't moving...just screaming. Everyone who had already made it out of the bus was dialing 9-1-1, inundating the normally bored operator to near hysterics as she fielded calls while trying to contact emergency crews in Fort Davis. Fire trucks and ambulances arrived shortly and the passengers still in the bus were helped out. Bandages were applied, comforting words were said, and arrangements for hotel rooms were made all while the firemen tried to find a way to extract Lou from the bus without hurting that broken leg more. The fire chief, a man named Ken according to the name tag, got to Lou first and started to calm him down. With soothing words and gentle movements Lou was untangled and carried out of the bus and to a waiting ambulance. Fire chief Ken rode in the back of the ambulance because he had comforted Lou and calmed him down. His calm and quiet demeanor, along with a dry humor that kept Lou from more screaming, was more helpful than the knowledge he would soon be in a fully equipped emergency room....with real doctors!

A short time in the ER left the doctors knowing Lou needed to be taken by Care Flight back up to Abilene. Surgery was needed and Fort Davis didn't host an orthopedic surgeon. The helicopter ride was painless for a drugged up Lou. Unfortunately he didn't get to enjoy his first helicopter experience because he was so drugged up and he doesn't remember it to this day. Lou's parents had been notified of the accident and flew in to Abilene from Detroit as soon as they could get a flight. With a repaired femur, lots of painkillers, and the parents he had missed so much, Lou was feeling pretty good laying in his hospital bed. There was time for healing, physically and emotionally. His parents let him know how much he had been missed and how much love they had for him. All in all, this accident was turning into a blessing....oh, you know it wasn't. Accidents are never blessings. They are wake up calls occasionally and this one certainly turned out to be for Lou and his family. A mended relationship healed faster than a mended femur but Lou got the care and physical therapy he needed while still in Abilene.

During this time of healing, Lou discovered what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He was going to.......haha! Wait til the next episode to find out!

Grease Monkey......NOT!!

As I was growing up at 656 Elm Street in Hurst, Texas, I lived through many stressful situations. Take for example the distribution of dessert at a table of seven with eight servings of cherry pie. Will that last slice belong to me or will my dad insist on saving it for his lunch the following day? Looking back, I realize that was always a silly question. There was also the stress of maintaining my solid C- grade average over the long haul. Hard times indeed.....but the worst stress I ever suffered was that of helping my dad work on the car. Oh I wanted to help! Every time daddy raised the hood of whichever old car was sitting in the driveway, I was right there offering to help. Little did I know I should have made myself scarce when those opportunities arose. 

I was rocking along just fine in life with only the stress of not getting enough dessert or watching my grade point average drop another point or two. Why did I have to offer to help work on any of those old cars? Luckily for me, I was well-known as a klutz and possible slow learner....I know, it surprises me too. For a long time during those carefree days, my offers to help were answered with, "If you really want to help, stay out of the way!" A whole new level of stress began for me when the answer became, "Yeah, you can help. Hand me a three eighths box end." Whut? Let me ask you, if you were a ten year old who had never even peeked in a toolbox, would you know what a three eighths box end might be? My first stabs at grabbing the right tool were chuckled at because working on old cars was my dad's happy place. After a few failed attempts at choosing the right tool though, the comedy was over and I was told to go away. It took a long time to get another shot at helping with the mechanical work, which looked really fun and made my dad happy. Little did I know....

Being the inquisitive sort who was always searching for knowledge.....HAHAHA, please stop it! Okay, being the sort who desperately wanted to please his dad, I researched tools, their use, and their nomenclature. Naturally I approached my cousin, Mike. Mike's dad also loved working on old cars and surely Mike had already gone through this trial by fire of learning everything there was to know about tools. I called him and explained my situation. He did indeed know what a three eighths box end tool was and told me important details. It seems a three eighths box end was not a three eighths open end. He went on to tell me it was also not an adjustable (better known as a monkey wrench for some reason). WHAT is it? "Oh", Mike replied. "It's a wrench". Did everyone follow that? I didn't either. Mike admitted he too went into a major panic whenever his dad asked him to hand over a tool of any kind. He had learned the simple things like box end, open end, monkey, and channel locks but his dad started throwing things at him like, "Hand me that fifteen sixteen whoopydoo". No, there is no tool known as a whoopydoo but there may as well have been. Some of the things both Mike and I were asked to hand over were just as bizarre. If the request for that 'big monkey' came along for the first time would you have known what to grab? I didn't think so....but I knew for a lifetime after getting it wrong once.

I finally got to where I understood the odd names shade tree mechanics had for their tools but I still struggled with sizes. A request for a three eighths box end went from "what is he talking about?" to "good grief, which box end is it?" In my own defense we had not covered fractions in school yet....or maybe we had and I spent the time watching the pretty little birds playing in the trees. Once I did know fractions I still had trouble figuring out the specific box end or open end daddy wanted. I was just as apt to hand him a 5/8ths rather than a 3/8th...(notice how I switched over to fractions? I'm not that slow!). This lack of ability to judge sizes still haunts me today. I never could look at a nut or bolt and say with any certainty "that there is a 5/8ths hex nut....for sure". It got to where whenever I had to hand over a tool, I would have three or four more options in my other hand, just in case.

I treasure those memories of "helping" my dad work on things. I didn't learn much but some of the lessons stuck. I've managed to keep all my family's old wrecks running longer than they should. My brother Glenn soaked it up like a sponge. Even today he has several old and classic cars he maintains. He's also teaching his two grandsons everything he knows. He suspects the older one is actually learning while the younger one is dreaming of being a rock star but he hopes he can teach the blooming rock star how to at least keep the oil changed in his car. As for me, I tried to teach both of my sons everything I knew about keeping the old car in good shape. It didn't take long of course. I didn't have that much to tell them but neither of them seemed interested anyway. My oldest son Jamie even told me all he needed to have in his toolbox was a roll of quarters and a list of good mechanics. Fortunately they took their school work seriously and now each enjoy a successful career....AND a list of good mechanics. 

I still think of myself as a good shade tree mechanic. That's how I think, but I know I'm not. I still can't figure out what size tool I need to loosen or tighten a bolt or nut. When the leaders of the free world decided we should all convert to the metric system my problem was doubled. Fortunately, I've been successful enough that I bought myself a spiffy new toolbox called a roll-away. Whenever I decide to do something stupid, like my own repair to an ailing car, I can roll that shiny red toolbox right out there in the driveway and pick the wrong sized wrench to my hearts delight!

Once Upon A Time...

 Long, long ago when cities were just towns, towns were no more than villages, and villages were tiny hamlets, such was the hamlet of Freiburg, Germany. Freiburg was quaint and life was simple. Nestled into the southern border of the Black Forest where magic was known and mysteries flourished, Freiburg was made up of fewer than fifty stout citizens.

The hardworking folk of this little hamlet toiled throughout spring and summer growing the food they would survive on throughout the harsh winters. You would think they would be sad to see the cold weather leave because the sun and warmth brought work, work, work. But no, the citizens were always happy and never more so than when the first warm breezes began to blow across the fields.

Spring time also ushered in the very best day of the year for the people of Freiburg….Easter! Easter meant feasting and playing games, frolicing in the sunshine and dancing in the streets. Easter also meant Easter eggs. It’s not known if any other areas of the world had access to Easter eggs. Truth be told, Freiburg citizens didn’t know, or care whether there even were more people in the world. Freiburg was their home. It was where they were born and where they would die, but I digress.

The tradition on Easter was for the mystical rabbit from the Black Forest, Herr Peter Hare, to appear from the forest bringing brightly decorated eggs for all the children. Early on, this tradition inexpertly referred to Herr Hare as a cotton-tailed rabbit! Very odd indeed since this large rabbit-looking creature had no fluffy white tail. Nevertheless, the description stuck and Peter Hare decided to just live with the moniker. So each year, when the children of the hamlet began their chant, Herr Peter would come out of the forest bringing joy to everyone. The chant sung by the children went like this. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way!”

After one particularly bleak winter, in the wee hours of the thirteenth century, Easter seemed ever so important to everyone in Freiburg. Herr Peter knew this and wanted to make the celebration more special than normal. He made up hundreds of additional decorated eggs and loaded them up in his burlap bag. When he heard the chant from the children, he immediately started down the path to the edge of the forest, next to the meadow, next to the hamlet of Freiburg. He happily hopped along and just as he stepped out of the dark forest into the brilliant sunshine of the meadow to the sound of “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity…” TRIP! Peter snagged his foot on an exposed tree root. With a crash, he fell to the ground, bumping his tender nose, and losing his grip on the large bag of goodies. The eggs flew out of the bag and went in every direction, all over the meadow, under bushes, behind trees, IN the trees, and many more in plain sight. Hundreds and hundreds of colorful eggs were scattered everywhere he looked.

Panicked as never before, Peter looked around and realized he would never find and collect all the eggs by himself so he rushed into the hamlet in search of help. As he ran down Main street, which was also the only street in the hamlet, he yelled, “Help me! Help me, before Easter is ruined! Everyone grab a basket and come help me find my Easter eggs!” Everyone who could walk, wobble, or scoot grabbed a basket and headed out to help with the hunt. The children were the most excited and pleased but the older people had a great time too. After an hour or so, every egg had been found. Some had found many, some had found few, but everyone had found joy on this special Easter day. As they gathered all the eggs together to give to Herr Peter, he laughed and said, “The eggs are for you! Would you rather I hand them out to you as usual or would you prefer to keep what you found?” A resounding “Keep them!” echoed throughout the hamlet, across the meadow, and into the forest.

So, that’s how the world began the wonderful tradition of hunting Easter eggs. Over the years, the hamlets became villages, the villages became towns, the towns became cities…but this wonderful tradition remains the same. And, let’s hope it always remains for all the children…and all the old people who still feel like children on Easter!

Hello Frank,

I hope this finds you and Irma doing okay. I wanted to tell you if possible, you might want to move up your plans a bit for coming out for a visit. It might already be getting kind of warm in July but if you could figure out a way to come right now I think y'all would be glad you did. This is the most beautiful time of year I'm finding out from the locals. The cactus is in bloom and wildflowers are growing like crazy. It's nice and warm during the day and gets pretty chilly at night. Perfect weather, which is something hard to find in Texas. If you can, come on out. If not, I understand. We'll still have some great places to go in July but we will need to pray for good air-conditioning. We'll take your car!!

I've settled in here pretty well. I met the neighbors down the road a while back and we've visited a bit. They even invited me down for steaks on the grill!  I don't know how well she cooks on anything else but that lady knows a thing or two about grilling steaks....and making banana pudding. Whooee, I ate well that night. I guess I'm going to need to get a grill again. When I sold my old one before moving I didn't think I would ever want to grill again. That must have been the depression talking. She cooked over mesquite which I've never done. I've always cooked with propane but not any more. I'm going to start picking up mesquite as I find it lying around.....and there is a lot of it around. I'll probably burn up the first few things I try to cook but I'm looking forward to trying it out.

The old Chevy gave up the ghost the other day. I was coming back from a run to Alpine and found myself sitting on the tailgate waving frantically at people passing by. It's amazing how many people start concentrating on the road when they see a person waving for help. They don't even try to slow down. A few good souls smiled and waved and then kept on going. Finally, a lady in a Cadillac threw on her brakes and backed up when she passed. I'll give you three guesses who the driver was and the first two don't count. You are correct sir! It was the widow lady I helped with her groceries when I first moved here. Why did it have to be her?! I had finally been cool enough on the phone that she had stopped calling. Now I feel obligated to return the favor of a much needed ride back to town. The wrecker service I called charged me an arm and a leg to haul the old beast (truck, not widow lady) home where it sits under my shade tree looking mighty sullen. It has been my only transportation since I moved so I guess I better consider replacing it. I'm renting a Jeep Wrangler right now and I think I might just buy one of those instead of another pickup. Who knows...

That ride back to town in the Cadillac would have been pleasant if I hadn't had to be so nice to the widow lady. I feel terrible saying that. She's been nothing but nice to me and I avoid her like the plague. I guess I'm afraid she's looking for another husband and I sure ain't looking for another wife! I'll go ahead and take her out to eat one night to pay her back for the ride but if she starts calling again I'll have to speak to her about it. I guess you could say "I'll have to be frank" with her....get it? Frank? Okay, so it was corny. I'm kind of out of practice. I'll work on that before y'all come out. HEY, why don't y'all come on out and we can go out to eat with widow lady....you know, I guess I better start using her name. Widow lady takes longer to write than Jo. Her name's Jo. Ew, that makes me feel like we're friends or something. 

Not much else to write about. If nothing else, Fort Davis is quiet and pretty slow moving compared to Hurst. I guess I'll end this before you get too bored. Oh yeah, I'm going to keep my old truck. I think I might try a restoration. I know that's probably a silly idea, especially since I sat out there on the side of the road not having a clue why it died on me. It's been a long time since I played like I was a gifted auto mechanic.

Take care. Give Irma a hug for me....and seriously, y'all think about coming on out. Protect me from old widow Jo!

Bert

Haltom City Revisited...

 I went out for breakfast with a few friends this morning. We decided to go to the Bluebonnet Cafe in Haltom City. If I can stay awake long enough I'll tell you a little bit about it. It's been around for twenty-nine years and I had never heard of it....of course I don't pay attention to most conversations so I could have easily missed it...everyone else in the group, and there were five old wornout coots in the group, knew about and had been there at least once over the years. I wasn't very hungry so I simply ordered a cup of coffee and biscuits with gravy. Normally that's a reasonable order if you aren't too hungry. The waitress carried out this huge platter of biscuits and a matching sized bowl of gravy. When I saw her coming I figured she was bringing the order for all of us at the table but no...she sat it down right in front of me. Two others had ordered the same so two more platters of biscuits with gravy came to the table. The two remaining guys had ordered a regular breakfast with eggs, bacon or sausage, toast and hash browns. I'm glad none of us ordered the "tall stack" of pancakes or we might still be there. The food was delicious but none of us could put a dent in our respective orders. There were lots of biscuits carried home for the wives. I don't think I'll be able to eat the rest of the day. 

Anyway, that's not what I chose to write about. The tale is about the ride over there. It was a true, dyed in the wool stroll down Memory Lane for all of us. We weren't reminiscing much until we passed the old Haltom City Theatre (the only theatre I was ever thrown out of twice, thank you old junior high buddy Harry). Seems like all of us started pointing and talking at the same time then. We had all spent time there growing up...well, maybe not Tom. He grew up somewhere else but the rest of us all had stories to tell about that old movie house. I remember daddy driving us over there from Hurst on Saturdays, dropping us off, then driving back over to pick us up. Don's memories included being dropped off at the theatre with a nickel for a giant Butterfinger candy bar and instructions to not leave the theatre until he was picked up. One day he and his brother watched the same movie four times before their parents picked them up. Daddy did this occasionally, especially if he and mama needed to do some Christmas shopping, but it wasn't a regular occurrence. 

My first trip to the Haltom Theatre was when I was seven or eight years old. Uncle Frog took my brother Glenn and me out for hamburgers at the Brown Trail drive-in and then on to Haltom City to see "The Bridge Over the River Kwai". Uncle Frog let each of us order a chocolate malt with our meals if we promised we would finish them! We both agreed that would be no problem. Now let me say that a 55-gallon drum of chocolate malt is a lot of ice cream for a five and seven year old to consume in one sitting...and each of us had one. We couldn't even carry them in one hand when they were handed to us. I gotta tell you, we both sucked on those things as fast as we could trying to finish them before we got to movies. We hadn't made much headway when we passed the Haltom City limits sign out on Hwy 183. I was sitting in the front seat with uncle Frog while Glenn was in the back. Frog looked over at me and said, "I hope you boys are about finished with those malts. If they aren't gone when we get to the movie, you're going to sit in the parking lot....all alone.....in the dark, until they're all gone." Our malt sucking went into overdrive and just before we got there I hit the bottom of mine and tossed the empty out the window. (Back then no one gave littering a second thought.) I heard the empty cup hit the road and it sounded just like an empty cup should sound....no noise. I announced my completion of the malt proudly and wished I could throw up. Less than a minute after I tossed my cup out, Glenn's window came down and he threw his out bragging he had finished too. Funny thing though, my cup throwing was uneventful. Glenn's sounded like a chocolate explosion going off. Malt hit the road but only after hitting uncle Frog's Pontiac and dripping down the side of it. I don't know how it happened unless Frog was puttering around real slow but when the cup hit the ground it had time to splash back up on the car's rear panel. The right side of that old Pontiac was covered and dripping chocolate malt when we parked at the theatre. Old uncle Frog didn't have too much to say about it. He was good that way...but he never took us out for hamburgers and chocolate malts again....ever!

That was only one of the fond memories of driving through Haltom City today. We were so busy pointing out landmarks it made me wish I could go back in time for just one day to experience some of those memories we all had. I won't tell stories about all of them but you might remember some of those memories we shared: 1) The Haltom City Theatre of course; 2) the Haltom Drive-in with the big bison painted on the front; 3) the Shetland Pony farm back behind where the old Farmer's Market was located...remember the ancient pick up trucks lined up with all kinds of fruits and vegetables?; 4) the Clown Burger; 5) the Holiday Skating Rink (the only skating rink I was ever thrown out of, thank you again Harry you old troublemaker); 6) the propane store with the old rocket standing in the parking lot (that old rocket is still standing there); 7) the Old South Pancake House; the original Birdville High School where Haltom City and Richland Hills produced their scholars back then; 8) and of course I had to point out where Debbie and I lived when we were first married... Bertha Lane down behind where the old Mitchell's Department store stood. 

These were my memories, sparked as we drove through town. Each one of us had our own stories to tell and I won't steal any of their good times. They can tell the stories if they want you to hear them. I'll even give them the blog space but I doubt they'll take me up on it. They all seem to still have active lives while all I have is this old laptop and lots of memories. I wouldn't trade with any of them!

Lou Two...

 Lou stood in the courtyard of the student union building at UTA contemplating life…well, his life anyway. It was a cold, windy and overcast day, which matched his mood perfectly. He had come to this courtyard hoping the location would help him figure out exactly what happened to cause his life to become so unraveled. This spot had been one of his favorite haunts when he had been a happy, carefree college freshman here. He loved the life he had created for himself after finding out his family was moving out of state during his first semester in college. It had been a real challenge convincing his parents he was old enough to take care of himself if they would just let him stay in Texas to go to school. Finally, his dad agreed with the stipulation of keeping his GPA where it was supposed to be and finding a part time job to pay for his living expenses.

That first year of college was wonderful. Lou had no trouble keeping his GPA on target even though he had to snag a job at the local Kroger grocery store to pay for his tiny apartment and other expenses. The freedom he felt and the pride he had in his ability to handle that freedom made every day a good day. Good friends, good school, good job, dismal yet acceptable apartment, made life all Lou had imagined. 

In May, after his freshman year was wrapped up, Lou spent  a couple of weeks visiting his family in Detroit, He came back to Texas secure in his knowledge his tuition was covered for his fall semester at UTA. He had worried his parents would say, “That’s enough! You’re moving back in with us!” His grades were so good though his parents didn’t want to mess with perfection! He planned to work as many hours as possible during the summer to build up his savings to cover his living expenses. It wasn’t a problem because he loved his job and had made many new friends, both at Kroger and at UTA.

In early August Lou was invited to a “back to school” party hosted by an upperclassman. Lou was surprised at the invitation since he didn’t really know this guy that well. In fact, he didn’t know him well enough to know about the little sister who had discovered Lou while stopping off for milk at the Kroger one afternoon. It was her insistence that Lou get that invitation and get it he did. Little sister, an eighteen year old beauty named Dana, was the typical baby girl of the wealthy family. She was spoiled by adoring parents and older brother and typically got what she wanted.

I gave a pretty good background on Dana in the last story so I won’t go into it again. I’ll just say Dana wanted Lou completely to herself. She didn’t like sharing him with his job, his school work, or even his friends. Lou didn’t seem to mind this arrangement but his grades started to drop pretty quickly into his second year at the university. Things would have to change or Lou was going to be in trouble with the dean, and even more importantly, in trouble with his parents. 

I guess I’ve spent too much time reviewing and not enough time telling about the important stuff. As I mentioned in the first story, Lou was a twenty-five year old recently divorced man with no job, no home, and no plan. He was feeling completely lost as he sat on a cold bench in the UTA courtyard. He thought about the mistakes he had made over the past six or seven years. He had lost his wife because she no longer found him “fun and mysterious”. He had lost his relationship with his family because they didn’t approve of the way Dana treated him and he wouldn’t listen to them. He lost his home because well, it wasn’t his. It belonged to Dana’s parents and had been a gift to her when she and Lou married. He lost his job because he had foolishly thought he was accepted by his father-in-law as the brilliant young entrepreneur he tried to be. As soon as Dana got tired of Lou, Lou was let go from the car dealership her father owned. It seems Lou wasn’t as good a car salesman as he had been led to believe. When he lost his job he also lost his transportation. He lost everything and the only positive thing he could think was that he no longer had to deal with the foolishness he felt for dropping out of college to make a fortune selling cars for an unappreciative father-in-law. Had it not been for the $10,000 check the family gave him “to go away” he would be completely destitute.

Well, enough pity party. Some decisions had to be made, and made fast. He called the Uber service he had used to drop him off at the campus and requested a ride back to the dingy “weekly stay” hotel he had rented. He had to decide on an immediate start…somewhere! His “severance package” wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t get out of that hotel and find a job. Trouble was, he didn’t want to come back to his old life. He no longer had any of his old co-workers still hanging around at Kroger’s. They had all moved on with their lives. Although Kroger did offer him work, he would be starting at the bottom again with all new people. He couldn’t talk himself into it. He also didn’t want to go back to school for two reasons. First of all, he couldn’t afford it and secondly, everyone walking past him all day were kids. They were all carefree, laughing and joking kids. He felt like an old man around them. He needed to get away. He promised himself one more really good meal tonight, a good rest at the hotel, and then ACTION! 

The next morning, with a vow to not spend another dollar frivolously, Lou packed up his meager collection of clothes, personal items, and one or two memory makers he had taken from his former home, and walked outside. He allowed himself one more Uber trip and chose downtown Fort Worth. He truly did not plan to become homeless but he was sure getting close to it. On the ride west to Fort Worth, Lou made the decision to be dropped off at the Greyhound bus station. He would choose a town that sounded good, buy a ticket, and wait for the bus to load up. Looking over at the bus schedule for something fairly cheap, he chose Graham, Texas. Only $49.00 one way. He walked up to the counter to find the next bus wasn’t leaving until 1 a.m. the next day. He decided to find something else and settled on a town called Alpine. A bus was heading out at 3 in the afternoon. Alpine sounded nice. It sounded almost refreshing. He bought the ticket without even asking which direction he was going. It didn’t really matter. It was a long bus ride away from Arlington and bad memories. He would have some time to really work out a plan as he rode the big bus to his new “home”.

Note. There will be another installment of Lou’s story beginning as he stepped onto that bus to Alpine, Texas. How will he react when he discovers he has chosen a town not nearly the resort mountain town he envisioned but a little town basically devoid of trees and surrounded by desert! This story and those that follow are dedicated to my sister Julie Myers. She is the only one to express disappointment with my decision to stop the Bert and Lou stories. Thank you Julie! I love you too!!