Well, I tried to add a photo but it appears I'm a bit...uh, stupid. I have no idea where my pic went but trust me you would have laughed. I few weeks ago a crew of "tree surgeons" came through our area. They had been hired by the power company to trim branches away from power lines. Nice idea and proactive but I might suggest hiring someone who actually knows how to trim trees before this happens again.
The photo I hoped to include showed a tree down the road from us which had been "trimmed". It had been a beautiful shade tree at one time. Now its....well, its indescribable. This same desecration occurred all around the area. Some areas look like war zones. A drive down Glade Road used to be a pleasant trip under mature oak and elm trees. Now its more like driving down Kindling Row. Its a sad scene which I will try to avoid for a couple of years.
I happened to be on my patio the day the surgeon made his way to my back neighbor's place. He had a huge tree which I've never been able to identify. It has, or had, about eight trunks coming up from one spot. It was weird but pretty. It shared its shade with us at certain times of the year. When the job was completed the tree had morphed from a multi-dimensional piece of art to a two-dimensional abstract. I hate it. While the job was going on I walked out to discuss the job with the surgeon. Unfortunately, he no hablar ingles. I started to talk to him using my vast Spanish vocabulary. I explained to him I had no problem with the job he was doing other than he was destroying my neighbor's tree. I made suggestions like "leave that limb alone", "if you have to take that limb, cut it at the trunk and not six feet out", and lastly, "touch any of my trees and I'll shoot you". While I was speaking, the man's supervisor walked up behind me. I turned and asked him if he thought his employee understood me. He spoke to the employee in Spanish and got a response. The supervisor then told me, "yes sir, he understands you would like to order a large chicken burrito, rice and beans".
I guess it has been a while since I've used my Spanish and could probably use a refresher course. I explained to the supervisor that I didn't want any of my trees touched by his butchers. I said it in a nice way of course. He explained he had to trim away anything closer than six feet to the power lines. I got out my tape measure and checked my trees. They passed my yard up and continued their carnage further down the road. I'm still heartsick over the damage done to our beautiful trees but thankful I had trimmed my own trees a few weeks before these guys showed up. Maybe I can bid the contract with the power company next time.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Monday, April 4, 2016
Haunted House on Elm Street
I've told this story many times but have never taken the time to write it down. It's a true story. The events are as I remember them. Some of my siblings remember different things in different ways but these are my memories of the haunted house on Elm Street.
We moved into the house in 1955. It was new and in an unfamiliar area. My long life of five years had been spent in the River Oaks section of Fort Worth. This new house was way out in the rural town of Hurst, Texas. The first several years in the house held no surprises for us so its confusing even today how or why the haunting began. We know exactly when it began though.
Daddy had been transferred to Roswell, New Mexico in the early sixties. He was with a team of men responsible for the electrical wiring of the underground missile silos installed to defend our country against the evils of the Cold War. Rather than sell our house in Hurst my parents chose to rent it out in case we wanted to come back to it some day. They rented it to three college girls and off we went to our new adventures. After the project was completed in Roswell, General Dynamics decided my dad was needed in San Diego. Because of five young children and a Texas born and bred wife, he declined the transfer and moved us back to Hurst. The renters still had a few months left on their contract so we moved into another rent house a few miles south of there. When the lease was up on our old house we moved back in. It was soon after this move we were introduced to the ghost.
Mama was the first to see the ghost. It was a Saturday afternoon late in the summer. We had wrapped up the weekly yard care and house chores and had cleaned up to go shopping for school clothes. All of us were piled into the 1960 Pontiac and as we backed out of the driveway mama told daddy to stop the car. She had left her purse on the dining room table. She hopped out of the car and ran up to the side door of the house. This door opened to the dining room which was next to the kitchen. As she stepped up into the house she froze then quickly slammed the door and ran back to the car. She told us someone was standing in the kitchen. Daddy got out and told us to stay in the car and lock the doors. He then went to the side door and stepped in. He was gone for what seemed like an hour but was surely just a few minutes. We didn't know what to expect...maybe a burglar running out the front door with daddy in hot pursuit. Eventually the side door opened and daddy stepped out carrying mama's purse. He had checked the entire house and found nothing. Mama was sure she saw someone but when asked to describe the person she couldn't even tell us if it had been a man or a woman.
As the years passed the ghost appeared to mama several times. She would never see enough of it to describe but she did determine the ghost was a woman. Her sightings were always in the kitchen or hallway. She occasionally found pictures moved on the hallway walls. One evening while standing at the kitchen sink she felt she wasn't alone in the room. She felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder. She quickly turned to see.....nothing. The feeling of a presence was still there but nothing more. None of the rest of us saw anything until 1968. We had all heard various sounds over the years but no sightings. The sound I remember most was kind of like a television set off in a distance. You can hear it but can't understand what's being said....does that make sense? I heard this for years late at night. The first time I saw anything was during one of those "sounds". Unlike before, the sound began to rise in volume until I woke up enough to sit up in bed. I looked out my bedroom door and saw a pulsating light in the hall. The sound increased and decreased in volume as the light pulsated. After a few seconds the light faded along with the sound. I would have written it off as a dream had it not been for our conversation over breakfast the next morning. I started out the story with, "Now don't any of you laugh but let me tell you what I saw last night". I then described to the family what I had seen the night before. Glenn laughed at me and Cindy rolled her eyes but my mom set her coffee cup down and said she believed me because she had seen it too.
Not long after the pulsating light thing, I started having nightmares. The dreams were always the same. The television sound would start down the hall and all of a sudden someone would grab me by the ankles and try to drag me out of bed. I would wake up holding onto the headboard and scared half to death. I didn't tell anyone about this though. I didn't normally have nightmares but they were just dreams....nothing interesting. Then one night the dream started again. The sound started and I felt the fingers wrap around my ankles. Just when the pulling would normally start, the music stopped and the fingers went away. It woke me up and as I sat up in bed I saw a woman sitting at the foot of my bed. I started to say something...probably something stupid, but before I could say anything she smiled and slowly faded from sight. I never had the dream again.
As all of us kids grew up and moved away mama would occasionally mention seeing her ghost. I had long since decided my own experiences were brought on by some medication I must have been taking but mama was persistent. The ghost was real. She had seen "her" so many times she could describe the clothes she wore. Her stories were so regular I began to feel a little bit creepy when I would come home to visit. In fact, I was checking on their lawn one summer night while they were away on vacation. It was hot and I was craving a glass of cold water. I hated like everything to go into the house alone....at night....in the dark...but a cold glass of water on a hot August night sounded just too good to pass up. I went in and turned on the lights in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and got the cold water. I poured a glass and stood at the sink sipping on it. I felt someone walk up behind me and place a hand on my shoulder.....I am not making this up. I just got goose bumps remembering it after all these years. I never turned around to see who my visitor was. I dropped that glass and ran for the door as fast as my legs would carry me. I never spent another minute in that house by myself.
The last couple of years my folks lived on Elm Street the ghost didn't make any appearances. I asked my mom one day if she had seen "her" and she shook her head 'no'. She said she kind of missed her, too. A few months before my dad passed away we were sitting together at the nursing home talking about old family stories and such. He got quiet at one point and seemed to ponder what he was about to say. Then he looked up at me and said, "You know Blanch's ghost? I've seen her several times over the years too.".....boo!
We moved into the house in 1955. It was new and in an unfamiliar area. My long life of five years had been spent in the River Oaks section of Fort Worth. This new house was way out in the rural town of Hurst, Texas. The first several years in the house held no surprises for us so its confusing even today how or why the haunting began. We know exactly when it began though.
Daddy had been transferred to Roswell, New Mexico in the early sixties. He was with a team of men responsible for the electrical wiring of the underground missile silos installed to defend our country against the evils of the Cold War. Rather than sell our house in Hurst my parents chose to rent it out in case we wanted to come back to it some day. They rented it to three college girls and off we went to our new adventures. After the project was completed in Roswell, General Dynamics decided my dad was needed in San Diego. Because of five young children and a Texas born and bred wife, he declined the transfer and moved us back to Hurst. The renters still had a few months left on their contract so we moved into another rent house a few miles south of there. When the lease was up on our old house we moved back in. It was soon after this move we were introduced to the ghost.
Mama was the first to see the ghost. It was a Saturday afternoon late in the summer. We had wrapped up the weekly yard care and house chores and had cleaned up to go shopping for school clothes. All of us were piled into the 1960 Pontiac and as we backed out of the driveway mama told daddy to stop the car. She had left her purse on the dining room table. She hopped out of the car and ran up to the side door of the house. This door opened to the dining room which was next to the kitchen. As she stepped up into the house she froze then quickly slammed the door and ran back to the car. She told us someone was standing in the kitchen. Daddy got out and told us to stay in the car and lock the doors. He then went to the side door and stepped in. He was gone for what seemed like an hour but was surely just a few minutes. We didn't know what to expect...maybe a burglar running out the front door with daddy in hot pursuit. Eventually the side door opened and daddy stepped out carrying mama's purse. He had checked the entire house and found nothing. Mama was sure she saw someone but when asked to describe the person she couldn't even tell us if it had been a man or a woman.
As the years passed the ghost appeared to mama several times. She would never see enough of it to describe but she did determine the ghost was a woman. Her sightings were always in the kitchen or hallway. She occasionally found pictures moved on the hallway walls. One evening while standing at the kitchen sink she felt she wasn't alone in the room. She felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder. She quickly turned to see.....nothing. The feeling of a presence was still there but nothing more. None of the rest of us saw anything until 1968. We had all heard various sounds over the years but no sightings. The sound I remember most was kind of like a television set off in a distance. You can hear it but can't understand what's being said....does that make sense? I heard this for years late at night. The first time I saw anything was during one of those "sounds". Unlike before, the sound began to rise in volume until I woke up enough to sit up in bed. I looked out my bedroom door and saw a pulsating light in the hall. The sound increased and decreased in volume as the light pulsated. After a few seconds the light faded along with the sound. I would have written it off as a dream had it not been for our conversation over breakfast the next morning. I started out the story with, "Now don't any of you laugh but let me tell you what I saw last night". I then described to the family what I had seen the night before. Glenn laughed at me and Cindy rolled her eyes but my mom set her coffee cup down and said she believed me because she had seen it too.
Not long after the pulsating light thing, I started having nightmares. The dreams were always the same. The television sound would start down the hall and all of a sudden someone would grab me by the ankles and try to drag me out of bed. I would wake up holding onto the headboard and scared half to death. I didn't tell anyone about this though. I didn't normally have nightmares but they were just dreams....nothing interesting. Then one night the dream started again. The sound started and I felt the fingers wrap around my ankles. Just when the pulling would normally start, the music stopped and the fingers went away. It woke me up and as I sat up in bed I saw a woman sitting at the foot of my bed. I started to say something...probably something stupid, but before I could say anything she smiled and slowly faded from sight. I never had the dream again.
As all of us kids grew up and moved away mama would occasionally mention seeing her ghost. I had long since decided my own experiences were brought on by some medication I must have been taking but mama was persistent. The ghost was real. She had seen "her" so many times she could describe the clothes she wore. Her stories were so regular I began to feel a little bit creepy when I would come home to visit. In fact, I was checking on their lawn one summer night while they were away on vacation. It was hot and I was craving a glass of cold water. I hated like everything to go into the house alone....at night....in the dark...but a cold glass of water on a hot August night sounded just too good to pass up. I went in and turned on the lights in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and got the cold water. I poured a glass and stood at the sink sipping on it. I felt someone walk up behind me and place a hand on my shoulder.....I am not making this up. I just got goose bumps remembering it after all these years. I never turned around to see who my visitor was. I dropped that glass and ran for the door as fast as my legs would carry me. I never spent another minute in that house by myself.
The last couple of years my folks lived on Elm Street the ghost didn't make any appearances. I asked my mom one day if she had seen "her" and she shook her head 'no'. She said she kind of missed her, too. A few months before my dad passed away we were sitting together at the nursing home talking about old family stories and such. He got quiet at one point and seemed to ponder what he was about to say. Then he looked up at me and said, "You know Blanch's ghost? I've seen her several times over the years too.".....boo!
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Just a heads up...
An important notice to any guy within five years of retirement:
Within the next five years never, never, EVER answer your wife's request with "I will take care of that when I retire"! Listen closely when I say, "WIVES TAKE NOTES!!!!!"
My bucket list of things to do after retirement did not include marking things off a checklist. However, each time I made the above referenced comment Debbie wrote it down. As I neared my much longed for retirement she put her notes into a nice, user-friendly, concise TO DO LIST and posted it on the refrigerator door. I ignored the list as long as I could do so without encountering too much conflict but after a month or so of retirement I started receiving little nudges (I refer to these as nagging) about when this or that would be completed. There are items on the list I swear I never promised to tackle but since her attorney is much more driven than mine, I have been reduced to working according to the terms of the TO DO LIST. The only reason I have time to write today is the weather. Next up on my list is "Paint the House". It is raining so obviously it would be careless to work outside. My only point scored during the argument portion of the list making was that I can only do one thing at a time and until such time the next item listed is non-preferential and can not be addressed by management. That is all legal talk for "you can't make me do items 2 through 27 AND you can't nag me about them until item 1 is completed". Based on my progress so far, I will still be painting the house during the Christmas holidays. My dad always told me to never pay someone to do something you can do yourself. I got a quote for painting anyway.....$3500. I laughed (see earlier posts) and took on the project....I figure I'm making about thirty cents an hour....
Since I've had a lot on my mind worthy enough to share I may post again today....as long as it keeps raining.
Within the next five years never, never, EVER answer your wife's request with "I will take care of that when I retire"! Listen closely when I say, "WIVES TAKE NOTES!!!!!"
My bucket list of things to do after retirement did not include marking things off a checklist. However, each time I made the above referenced comment Debbie wrote it down. As I neared my much longed for retirement she put her notes into a nice, user-friendly, concise TO DO LIST and posted it on the refrigerator door. I ignored the list as long as I could do so without encountering too much conflict but after a month or so of retirement I started receiving little nudges (I refer to these as nagging) about when this or that would be completed. There are items on the list I swear I never promised to tackle but since her attorney is much more driven than mine, I have been reduced to working according to the terms of the TO DO LIST. The only reason I have time to write today is the weather. Next up on my list is "Paint the House". It is raining so obviously it would be careless to work outside. My only point scored during the argument portion of the list making was that I can only do one thing at a time and until such time the next item listed is non-preferential and can not be addressed by management. That is all legal talk for "you can't make me do items 2 through 27 AND you can't nag me about them until item 1 is completed". Based on my progress so far, I will still be painting the house during the Christmas holidays. My dad always told me to never pay someone to do something you can do yourself. I got a quote for painting anyway.....$3500. I laughed (see earlier posts) and took on the project....I figure I'm making about thirty cents an hour....
Since I've had a lot on my mind worthy enough to share I may post again today....as long as it keeps raining.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Aunt Cricket
One of my sons and his wife are frantically trying to come up with a name for their next little bundle of joy from heaven. The little lady is due in March and they have yet to come up with a name. Since all their names begin with "C" they are having more trouble than a couple with the foresight to never lock themselves into an alphabetic situation. I've tried to help. I've offered Calamine, Christmas, Curtis....they don't seem to take me seriously. Today I offered my very favorite "C" name....Cricket. To have a granddaughter named Cricket would be a tremendous honor. No one else in the world...well, except for my 327 first cousins and I, can say they had the most wonderful aunt ever created by the good Lord. Her name was Cricket. Thinking about Aunt Cricket got me to thinking about some of my wonderful childhood memories. I'll be happy to share one with you. If you've heard the story already just be quiet, nod, and smile.
It was another golden summer day in Hurst. Aunt Cricket, Bruce, Glenn, and I were cruising around the area checking out fruit and vegetable stands for free samples. I mentioned I knew a place where it was easy to find golf balls. No one had mentioned golf balls but I felt uncomfortable with no conversation. Any topic in a moment of silence was my motto.
Bruce and Glenn perked right up at the mention of golf balls. Golf balls were so much more interesting than free samples of watermelon at the fruit and vegetable stands. You have to remember these were the "good old days". The Super Ball was yet to be invented so to the three of us nothing bounced higher and faster than a good old golf ball. With a minimum of effort we convinced Aunt Cricket to turn that big old blue Pontiac around and head for the city park.
Hurst used to have a wonderful park. Before it was a park it was a wonderful pasture with a creek and surrounded by woods. We were absolutely forbidden to enter this area because "it was dangerous". It was our favorite place to play. After the city turned it into a park and built the ball park we swore we would never go there again. Then they built the swimming pool and all was forgiven. But I've digressed...back to the story.
We talked Aunt Cricket into driving us over to the area of the park where I had found golf balls earlier. She parked the car in the gravel lot and told us we had fifteen minutes. We took off at a run and started looking as hard as we could. At first we found nothing. Then all of a sudden Bruce yelled, "I got one!" The party was on. Glenn found the next one and I immediately found three more. It seemed they were popping up out of nowhere. After a minute or two we had found close to a dozen balls. That's when I saw one move. I grabbed it and was stuffing it into my pocket when my shallow little brain processed the information that the ball was moving when I first saw it. I looked up and saw a middle aged guy with a club waving at us. He obviously thought we were shagging the balls for him. We obviously had no idea what "shagging balls" meant. When we saw him we started running for Cricket's car as fast as we could. When we got close enough to the car Bruce yelled out, "Start the car mama. Start it NOW!" For some reason, and this is why I loved her so much, Cricket started the car and leaned over and opened the doors so we could hop in. She peeled out of that lot so fast the middle aged guy with the club was peppered with gravel as he raced after his balls.
We were probably two blocks away when Cricket finally asked why that ugly man was chasing us. We told her we had no idea. One minute he was hitting golf balls and the next he was screaming and chasing us. She shook her head and admitted the world was going to hell in a hand basket.
I will love my Aunt Cricket til the day I die.
It was another golden summer day in Hurst. Aunt Cricket, Bruce, Glenn, and I were cruising around the area checking out fruit and vegetable stands for free samples. I mentioned I knew a place where it was easy to find golf balls. No one had mentioned golf balls but I felt uncomfortable with no conversation. Any topic in a moment of silence was my motto.
Bruce and Glenn perked right up at the mention of golf balls. Golf balls were so much more interesting than free samples of watermelon at the fruit and vegetable stands. You have to remember these were the "good old days". The Super Ball was yet to be invented so to the three of us nothing bounced higher and faster than a good old golf ball. With a minimum of effort we convinced Aunt Cricket to turn that big old blue Pontiac around and head for the city park.
Hurst used to have a wonderful park. Before it was a park it was a wonderful pasture with a creek and surrounded by woods. We were absolutely forbidden to enter this area because "it was dangerous". It was our favorite place to play. After the city turned it into a park and built the ball park we swore we would never go there again. Then they built the swimming pool and all was forgiven. But I've digressed...back to the story.
We talked Aunt Cricket into driving us over to the area of the park where I had found golf balls earlier. She parked the car in the gravel lot and told us we had fifteen minutes. We took off at a run and started looking as hard as we could. At first we found nothing. Then all of a sudden Bruce yelled, "I got one!" The party was on. Glenn found the next one and I immediately found three more. It seemed they were popping up out of nowhere. After a minute or two we had found close to a dozen balls. That's when I saw one move. I grabbed it and was stuffing it into my pocket when my shallow little brain processed the information that the ball was moving when I first saw it. I looked up and saw a middle aged guy with a club waving at us. He obviously thought we were shagging the balls for him. We obviously had no idea what "shagging balls" meant. When we saw him we started running for Cricket's car as fast as we could. When we got close enough to the car Bruce yelled out, "Start the car mama. Start it NOW!" For some reason, and this is why I loved her so much, Cricket started the car and leaned over and opened the doors so we could hop in. She peeled out of that lot so fast the middle aged guy with the club was peppered with gravel as he raced after his balls.
We were probably two blocks away when Cricket finally asked why that ugly man was chasing us. We told her we had no idea. One minute he was hitting golf balls and the next he was screaming and chasing us. She shook her head and admitted the world was going to hell in a hand basket.
I will love my Aunt Cricket til the day I die.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Old CD's, Cassette tapes, Vinyls, and the 8-Track
I have them all....or I did have them all. I gave the vinyl records, along with the turntable to a niece who was into oldies. I should have kept them because I'm now hearing they are on their way back as the preferred method of listening to music you can't afford to pay to listen to live.
I got rid of all my 8-track tapes years ago. However, I had to keep one to use with my 8-track player. I couldn't make myself toss the player. It was a gift from my mom. I kept the cartridge in order to show my grandkids how the thing worked. So far they haven't asked.
I threw out all my remaining cassettes, save one, a year or so ago. When my old pickup truck radio decided to eat one of my cassettes I figured it was time to step into the next century. I threw away all the cassettes except for the Kingston Trio Three Album Collection. Don't really know why....can't play it.
I may have mentioned on Facebook my plan to go through my mountain of old CD's during the next couple of weeks. My plan is to keep those I still enjoy and throw out the rest. I'm going to workout on my rowing machine while listening....one CD for one workout session. I did learn very quickly to check the old CD player to make sure it wasn't set for "replay". The first day I listened to the Dixie Chicks. I used to really like the Dixie Chicks until they insulted President Bush during a concert. I overlooked their action in order to fully research the collection I have on hand. They were really great. I don't know if they are still around or not but they used to be really talented. The second day started off kind of rough. I was already on the rower ready to go. I grabbed the next CD off the top....Christmas music....I didn't want to work out to Christmas music. I grabbed the next....and the next...and once again....all Christmas CD's. I moved them all to the bottom finally and went for the CD now on top. It was Pachelbel. I like Pachelbel...when I'm reading or relaxing. Not sure it would work for rowing. I grabbed the next one....hmm, it was the Dixie Chicks again. I decided to go ahead with it before my resolve to workout faded. It was a good CD and a good workout. I kind of feel sorry for Earl. According to the song, he had to die. I know I have some really good CD's in my collection. I have some smoking rock from the late 60's and early 70's. I also have Neil Diamond, John Denver, the Beach Boys, and more. On the country side I have the Statler Brothers, Oakridge Boys, Vince Gill. My bluegrass collection would make you swoon. So WHERE ARE THESE CD'S??!!
I may have to cull my collection visually before I proceed with the workout plan. The problem is, I bought all these CD's at one time or another because I liked the music recorded. Oh sure, I may have been immature and I know I was always about a decade behind the current trend...but I liked it at one time or I wouldn't have bought it. I may not be able to throw any of them away....don't tell Debbie.
I've created my own personal favorites on Pandora so I'm sure that method is out of date now. Let me know what I need to use in order to be 1) up to date and current, and 2) entertained. I'll let you get back to your day now....."get your motor runnin', headed down the highway..." dunt ta dunt ta da da da da dunt....
I got rid of all my 8-track tapes years ago. However, I had to keep one to use with my 8-track player. I couldn't make myself toss the player. It was a gift from my mom. I kept the cartridge in order to show my grandkids how the thing worked. So far they haven't asked.
I threw out all my remaining cassettes, save one, a year or so ago. When my old pickup truck radio decided to eat one of my cassettes I figured it was time to step into the next century. I threw away all the cassettes except for the Kingston Trio Three Album Collection. Don't really know why....can't play it.
I may have mentioned on Facebook my plan to go through my mountain of old CD's during the next couple of weeks. My plan is to keep those I still enjoy and throw out the rest. I'm going to workout on my rowing machine while listening....one CD for one workout session. I did learn very quickly to check the old CD player to make sure it wasn't set for "replay". The first day I listened to the Dixie Chicks. I used to really like the Dixie Chicks until they insulted President Bush during a concert. I overlooked their action in order to fully research the collection I have on hand. They were really great. I don't know if they are still around or not but they used to be really talented. The second day started off kind of rough. I was already on the rower ready to go. I grabbed the next CD off the top....Christmas music....I didn't want to work out to Christmas music. I grabbed the next....and the next...and once again....all Christmas CD's. I moved them all to the bottom finally and went for the CD now on top. It was Pachelbel. I like Pachelbel...when I'm reading or relaxing. Not sure it would work for rowing. I grabbed the next one....hmm, it was the Dixie Chicks again. I decided to go ahead with it before my resolve to workout faded. It was a good CD and a good workout. I kind of feel sorry for Earl. According to the song, he had to die. I know I have some really good CD's in my collection. I have some smoking rock from the late 60's and early 70's. I also have Neil Diamond, John Denver, the Beach Boys, and more. On the country side I have the Statler Brothers, Oakridge Boys, Vince Gill. My bluegrass collection would make you swoon. So WHERE ARE THESE CD'S??!!
I may have to cull my collection visually before I proceed with the workout plan. The problem is, I bought all these CD's at one time or another because I liked the music recorded. Oh sure, I may have been immature and I know I was always about a decade behind the current trend...but I liked it at one time or I wouldn't have bought it. I may not be able to throw any of them away....don't tell Debbie.
I've created my own personal favorites on Pandora so I'm sure that method is out of date now. Let me know what I need to use in order to be 1) up to date and current, and 2) entertained. I'll let you get back to your day now....."get your motor runnin', headed down the highway..." dunt ta dunt ta da da da da dunt....
Thursday, January 21, 2016
So how's it goin'?
Already 21 days into the new year and already 21 days behind with those noble resolutions I made. The start of 2016 is especially important to me because it's the first year I've entered into the fully retired portion of life. Because of my newfound freedom and empty calendars I felt it important to plan some really worthy improvements. I won't bore you all with my list of resolutions...especially since I'm failing with them daily but I am curious if others have the same problem.
I have come to the conclusion that along with my wonderful talents, darn good looks and overall congeniality I am also very lazy. I bought a new fountain pen and classy journal to record my daily actions and thoughts beginning January 1 of this year. I have yet to put ink in the pen and I have no idea where I placed the journal.
I vowed to post on this page every Monday morning. It's Thursday if you've not noticed and I missed Monday the two previous weeks as well.
The spreadsheet to record daily caloric intake and burned calories has not been opened on my computer since the day I built it in November of last year. I started out the year with a "couple of extra pounds to lose" and this morning weighed in thirteen pounds heavier than I weighed in November.
On the plus side, I have made it a point to sleep in longer and make sure I don't miss any meals. I feel it's important to keep a strict schedule. I have also placed my rowing machine in the "play room" so it's more accessible. I hope to use it soon. I have set my study up as a peaceful place to create and write. It kind of wore me out moving the furniture around so I haven't actually written anything yet but I love the ambiance of the room.
I hope you have been at least as successful as I've been so far this year. I have a suggestion to give you. This is a resolution I made years ago and it has remained a part of my life. Promise to do a random act of kindness every day. It is a simple thing, maybe nothing more than a genuine smile to an overworked clerk, but it will make the recipient feel good and it will make you feel great. I have tons of suggestions but since I tend to ignore my own good advice I'll stop there. Besides, its time for me to get started on another short story....after I stop for a cup of coffee and visit with Debbie.
I have come to the conclusion that along with my wonderful talents, darn good looks and overall congeniality I am also very lazy. I bought a new fountain pen and classy journal to record my daily actions and thoughts beginning January 1 of this year. I have yet to put ink in the pen and I have no idea where I placed the journal.
I vowed to post on this page every Monday morning. It's Thursday if you've not noticed and I missed Monday the two previous weeks as well.
The spreadsheet to record daily caloric intake and burned calories has not been opened on my computer since the day I built it in November of last year. I started out the year with a "couple of extra pounds to lose" and this morning weighed in thirteen pounds heavier than I weighed in November.
On the plus side, I have made it a point to sleep in longer and make sure I don't miss any meals. I feel it's important to keep a strict schedule. I have also placed my rowing machine in the "play room" so it's more accessible. I hope to use it soon. I have set my study up as a peaceful place to create and write. It kind of wore me out moving the furniture around so I haven't actually written anything yet but I love the ambiance of the room.
I hope you have been at least as successful as I've been so far this year. I have a suggestion to give you. This is a resolution I made years ago and it has remained a part of my life. Promise to do a random act of kindness every day. It is a simple thing, maybe nothing more than a genuine smile to an overworked clerk, but it will make the recipient feel good and it will make you feel great. I have tons of suggestions but since I tend to ignore my own good advice I'll stop there. Besides, its time for me to get started on another short story....after I stop for a cup of coffee and visit with Debbie.
Monday, January 11, 2016
I'm Done!!
I've always been a DIY guy. For those in the listening audience who don't recognize the initials, it means "do it yourself"....and that's what I've always been. My dad taught me from an early age the value of taking care of things so they wouldn't wear out or break and the value of repairing things myself when they did wear out or break. It's been a pretty good exercise and one I'm proud of but I think I may be at the end of my DIY days.
I had to be with my dad when he was working on something, whether it be the car, the refrigerator, or even the toaster. He taught me how to go about the process and I slowly began to actually be a help rather than a hindrance. I fondly remember him instructing, "Hand me the 5/8ths box end.". I had no idea what he was talking about but rather than ask for clarification I handed him a pair of pliers. In his loving way he explained, "Does that look like a 5/8th box end? What part of this pair of pliers looks like a box end wrench?". After that day I knew a box end and lovingly passed this knowledge on to my sons later in life. I never captured his talent of looking at a nut or bolt and immediately knowing what size box end was required. My own instructions to my boys went like this: "Hand me a 5/8ths box end. Oh, this isn't right. Just bring me all of the box ends."
After Deb and I were married I continued to ask my dad for help with repairs and he seemed to enjoy being needed. After a while though he took me aside and told me it was time to flex my wings and do my own repairs without his guidance. He said it something like, "Ok boy, this is the last time....from now on fix it yourself and let me enjoy my retirement!". A year or two later Deb complained about the washer not working properly. I had planned to work on my car anyway and since the washer was located in the garage I told her I would take a look at it before starting on the car. As I disassembled the washer looking for something needing repair, I spread the parts out on the garage floor. After a near complete disassembly I was frustrated and decided to stop and fix the little problem I had noticed on our car. I raised the lid and checked the carburetor linkage (impressed aren't you?!). It was fine so I set the air cleaner aside and worked my way through the other suspected parts. As I worked I laid out the car parts on the garage floor. After an hour or two I still hadn't located the problem so I stopped for lunch. During lunch Deb informed me she HAD to get some wash done so please let her know as soon as the washer was ready. In my own mind I knew it was Saturday and the only way for us to get to church on Sunday was in our only car which was laying in pieces on the garage floor. I ate a quick lunch then got back out to reassemble the washer. Hmmm, I don't recall this piece...where does it go?? Could it be a part for the car instead?....hmmm...I had a mess on my hands. I couldn't remember how to put the washer back together so I did the only thing a father and husband can do in an emergency...I called my dad. After reminding me of our earlier conversation he agreed to come over and help me with the washer. I failed to mention the car situation. When he arrived I opened the garage door and was amazed at his sympathy for me...."WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU DONE???". He got to work though and by seven that night he had the washer and car both up and running. I love that man and sure do miss him. There are days I miss him more than others. For example...
Our dishwasher went out a few months ago. We found a nice replacement at Home Depot. While checking out, the clerk asked if we wanted to pay $65 for installation. My response was, "Absolutely not. I've installed dishwashers before and it only takes a few minutes.". It took me seven hours and I'm still worried about leaks. While shopping for the dishwasher Deb found a kitchen sink she liked and a couple of weeks later we went back to Home Depot to purchase it. Again, "No, we don't want to pay for an installation.". Because the new sink was laid out differently from our current sink our disposal wouldn't fit. I rationalized that we were spoiled and didn't really need a disposal. After another trip to Home Depot for supplies, I reworked the plumbing and finished the install. It took four hours. Just last week Deb told me she had to have the disposal back so we made another trip to Home Depot for another sink. When asked if we wanted to pay for installation I replied, with some hesitancy, that I thought I could handle it myself. It took nine hours....yes, that's right. I said NINE STINKING HOURS. Nothing matched up. I made three more trips to Home Depot before the nightmare was over. On my last trip I stopped the clerk and told him, "Look at this face. If you EVER hear me say I don't want to pay for installation again, slap me right up the side of my head.".
I'm done.....
I had to be with my dad when he was working on something, whether it be the car, the refrigerator, or even the toaster. He taught me how to go about the process and I slowly began to actually be a help rather than a hindrance. I fondly remember him instructing, "Hand me the 5/8ths box end.". I had no idea what he was talking about but rather than ask for clarification I handed him a pair of pliers. In his loving way he explained, "Does that look like a 5/8th box end? What part of this pair of pliers looks like a box end wrench?". After that day I knew a box end and lovingly passed this knowledge on to my sons later in life. I never captured his talent of looking at a nut or bolt and immediately knowing what size box end was required. My own instructions to my boys went like this: "Hand me a 5/8ths box end. Oh, this isn't right. Just bring me all of the box ends."
After Deb and I were married I continued to ask my dad for help with repairs and he seemed to enjoy being needed. After a while though he took me aside and told me it was time to flex my wings and do my own repairs without his guidance. He said it something like, "Ok boy, this is the last time....from now on fix it yourself and let me enjoy my retirement!". A year or two later Deb complained about the washer not working properly. I had planned to work on my car anyway and since the washer was located in the garage I told her I would take a look at it before starting on the car. As I disassembled the washer looking for something needing repair, I spread the parts out on the garage floor. After a near complete disassembly I was frustrated and decided to stop and fix the little problem I had noticed on our car. I raised the lid and checked the carburetor linkage (impressed aren't you?!). It was fine so I set the air cleaner aside and worked my way through the other suspected parts. As I worked I laid out the car parts on the garage floor. After an hour or two I still hadn't located the problem so I stopped for lunch. During lunch Deb informed me she HAD to get some wash done so please let her know as soon as the washer was ready. In my own mind I knew it was Saturday and the only way for us to get to church on Sunday was in our only car which was laying in pieces on the garage floor. I ate a quick lunch then got back out to reassemble the washer. Hmmm, I don't recall this piece...where does it go?? Could it be a part for the car instead?....hmmm...I had a mess on my hands. I couldn't remember how to put the washer back together so I did the only thing a father and husband can do in an emergency...I called my dad. After reminding me of our earlier conversation he agreed to come over and help me with the washer. I failed to mention the car situation. When he arrived I opened the garage door and was amazed at his sympathy for me...."WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU DONE???". He got to work though and by seven that night he had the washer and car both up and running. I love that man and sure do miss him. There are days I miss him more than others. For example...
Our dishwasher went out a few months ago. We found a nice replacement at Home Depot. While checking out, the clerk asked if we wanted to pay $65 for installation. My response was, "Absolutely not. I've installed dishwashers before and it only takes a few minutes.". It took me seven hours and I'm still worried about leaks. While shopping for the dishwasher Deb found a kitchen sink she liked and a couple of weeks later we went back to Home Depot to purchase it. Again, "No, we don't want to pay for an installation.". Because the new sink was laid out differently from our current sink our disposal wouldn't fit. I rationalized that we were spoiled and didn't really need a disposal. After another trip to Home Depot for supplies, I reworked the plumbing and finished the install. It took four hours. Just last week Deb told me she had to have the disposal back so we made another trip to Home Depot for another sink. When asked if we wanted to pay for installation I replied, with some hesitancy, that I thought I could handle it myself. It took nine hours....yes, that's right. I said NINE STINKING HOURS. Nothing matched up. I made three more trips to Home Depot before the nightmare was over. On my last trip I stopped the clerk and told him, "Look at this face. If you EVER hear me say I don't want to pay for installation again, slap me right up the side of my head.".
I'm done.....
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