It's been two days since the temperature has been above the twenties. I don't mind a bit of cold weather but since most of my hobbies and interests are outdoors, I get kind of cranky after an hour or so of forced sitting. I was thinking about summer and feeling trapped there too because the heat has gotten so overbearing here in Texas during summer. I can't get out and do the things I enjoy because I can't handle the heat like I used to. Big ol' sissy....That leaves spring and fall to enjoy the outdoors. Spring usually lasts about a day and a half and I think we missed fall completely this past year.
When I think back on good times as a kid, those memories nearly always happened in summer. Either the summers were milder or I handled the heat better back then. I get to thinking about summertime in my mind and its kind of like: Sleepy summertime, old dogs, children, and watermelon wine....oh wait, that's Tom T Hall's thoughts on summer. I don't care for old dogs, children are okay from a distance, and I'm almost positive I wouldn't care for watermelon wine.
So, how am I going to keep myself busy here in Texas during the three or four days of winter and the eleven months of summer? I like to write but I don't always have something to say....kind of like now. I enjoy catching up on annoying little details like shoe polishing, arranging my sock drawer, culling worn out clothes from my closet...you know what I'm talking about. Sadly, I've done all of that too. I can even find things in my desk drawers now. I've cleaned my guns, watched all the movies I cared to catch up on, sat with Debbie as she continues following her never-ending British murder mystery shows, and even puttered in the kitchen. I have got to get outside soon!
Oh sure you say, "But Russell, you go to the gym three days a week!" Hello, the gym is indoors and I have to drive all the way from north Hurst to south Hurst to get there. Location is everything and that gym is located too far away. (editors note: Those of you who grew up in Hurst and now live in normal towns or cities are thinking, "But Hurst is just a little town". To this the author replies, "Balderdash!" It takes longer to get from north Hurst to south Hurst than it takes to drive from south Hurst all the way to Arlington.) Even though it's a long drive, my pickup doesn't get warm before I'm there. Same problem on the drive home. Trapped! I tell ya', I'm trapped!
I know, I know....stop complaining! I'm not complaining. I'm whining. There's a difference. I can't enjoy my wood shop because it's freezing out there. In the summertime it feels like a furnace. I wonder how the pioneers handled all this? I'll tell you how: They died young before their bodies had a chance to get as persnickety and old as mine. I wish like everything Debbie and I had buried our roots in someplace like New England. Yes, you heard me! We fell in love with New England last fall. While visiting up there, I mentioned to a store owner how I would love to live in his small and beautiful Maine town. He told me I would hate it in the winter because of the unbearable cold. I checked the temperature up there yesterday morning.....TEN DEGREES warmer in Camden, Maine than here in good old Hurst, Texas. That store owner just did not want me as a neighbor.
Okay, I'm done. The sun is shining outside now. The temperature just hit thirty. I reckon I'll go out and make sure my lawnmower is running well. I'll probably need it by the weekend.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Blind Date...
There were so many times growing up when I wished I could just close my eyes for a minute and when I opened them everything would be okay. It never happened of course but there were situations when I squeezed my eyes shut so tight I gave myself a headache. One of those situations came along at a Friday night football game in 1967.
When the Hurst-Euless-Bedford School District was still growing and the Castleberry School District was beginning to shrink there were a few years where Bell High School, my alma mater, was in direct football competition with Castleberry High School, where my cousin Mike graced the halls.
On one such football night, Bell was the visitor to Castleberry's Homecoming game. Mike had called earlier and asked if I wanted to stay over and go out with a couple of girls after the game. He added the teaser that "the girl I want you to meet is one of the band sweetheart nominees". Just because I'm a nice guy I agreed to sacrifice in such a way. I sat with the Bell band on the visitor's side and watched Bell beat the heck out of Castleberry during the first half. The Bell band went out on the field and did a wonderful job I must say. Then Castleberry's band come on and I have to say right here and now there is nothing worse to a visitor than watching the backs of everyone on the field during a homecoming halftime show. Well, I take it back. There is one thing worse. Watching the show without my glasses is worse. All I could see were the fuzzy backs of the people on the field. (Its hard to keep up the "doggone good-looking look" when you need glasses.)
After halftime we figured the crowd had thinned around the concession stand so we wandered down for cokes and popcorn. I ran into Mike with his band buddies. He was all excited because the girl he had fixed me up with had won band sweetheart!! I got all excited too and thought about how great it would have been if I had actually seen her on the field instead of something fuzzy wandering around out there.
When the game was over I started looking for Mike and my date. I found him easily enough because there were about forty grinning band members standing around Mike with their evil little eyes trained on me. As I walked toward Mike the crowd opened up like they were waiting for me. I should have run for Hurst as fast as I could because it was an obvious ambush I had walked into. Mike grabbed me by the arm and reminded me I had a date with the Castleberry Band Sweetheart. Then he grinned so big I got scared. Before I had that chance to bolt and run this....let's say "husky" young lady walked up and Mike introduced her. "I would LOVE for you to meet Bertha Bigacres, Band Sweetheart for 1967!" This girl was big and her looks were not typical band sweetheart quality. As I stared in amazement at Bertha and tried to formulate a reason why she would be the band sweetheart Mike explained. He told me everyone had stuffed the ballot box. Bertha laughed and bragged that she had helped. I did not doubt her for a moment.
I have to say I took it like a man. I asked Bertha where she preferred to graze and she picked a pizza hangout in River Oaks. It seems this was pre-planned too because we got a standing ovation when we walked in. Bertha knew how to put that pizza away. I think I got one slice that night but to be honest, I didn't have much of an appetite. We hung around the dark pizza place all evening with the band crowd (thank goodness) and then I offered to haul her home. When we got to her house I walked her to the door just like my dad had taught me and waited for her to unlock the door. Then she turned to me and said, "How's about a little goodnight kiss?" I ran.
note: Over the years old Bertha has grown bigger and uglier in my mind. To be honest, she was maybe a little bit overweight but not that bad. She also was not an ugly girl. Mike showed me a photo of her when I was talking to him about writing this story. She was actually very nice looking. I had imagined a total knockout to walk up for our date and Bertha was not that. AND, since she laughed and bragged about being a part of the con, I felt justified in sharing the story. I hope she never reads it but if she does I'll say this: "Bertha, you are part of my happy memories. Best wishes!"
When the Hurst-Euless-Bedford School District was still growing and the Castleberry School District was beginning to shrink there were a few years where Bell High School, my alma mater, was in direct football competition with Castleberry High School, where my cousin Mike graced the halls.
On one such football night, Bell was the visitor to Castleberry's Homecoming game. Mike had called earlier and asked if I wanted to stay over and go out with a couple of girls after the game. He added the teaser that "the girl I want you to meet is one of the band sweetheart nominees". Just because I'm a nice guy I agreed to sacrifice in such a way. I sat with the Bell band on the visitor's side and watched Bell beat the heck out of Castleberry during the first half. The Bell band went out on the field and did a wonderful job I must say. Then Castleberry's band come on and I have to say right here and now there is nothing worse to a visitor than watching the backs of everyone on the field during a homecoming halftime show. Well, I take it back. There is one thing worse. Watching the show without my glasses is worse. All I could see were the fuzzy backs of the people on the field. (Its hard to keep up the "doggone good-looking look" when you need glasses.)
After halftime we figured the crowd had thinned around the concession stand so we wandered down for cokes and popcorn. I ran into Mike with his band buddies. He was all excited because the girl he had fixed me up with had won band sweetheart!! I got all excited too and thought about how great it would have been if I had actually seen her on the field instead of something fuzzy wandering around out there.
When the game was over I started looking for Mike and my date. I found him easily enough because there were about forty grinning band members standing around Mike with their evil little eyes trained on me. As I walked toward Mike the crowd opened up like they were waiting for me. I should have run for Hurst as fast as I could because it was an obvious ambush I had walked into. Mike grabbed me by the arm and reminded me I had a date with the Castleberry Band Sweetheart. Then he grinned so big I got scared. Before I had that chance to bolt and run this....let's say "husky" young lady walked up and Mike introduced her. "I would LOVE for you to meet Bertha Bigacres, Band Sweetheart for 1967!" This girl was big and her looks were not typical band sweetheart quality. As I stared in amazement at Bertha and tried to formulate a reason why she would be the band sweetheart Mike explained. He told me everyone had stuffed the ballot box. Bertha laughed and bragged that she had helped. I did not doubt her for a moment.
I have to say I took it like a man. I asked Bertha where she preferred to graze and she picked a pizza hangout in River Oaks. It seems this was pre-planned too because we got a standing ovation when we walked in. Bertha knew how to put that pizza away. I think I got one slice that night but to be honest, I didn't have much of an appetite. We hung around the dark pizza place all evening with the band crowd (thank goodness) and then I offered to haul her home. When we got to her house I walked her to the door just like my dad had taught me and waited for her to unlock the door. Then she turned to me and said, "How's about a little goodnight kiss?" I ran.
note: Over the years old Bertha has grown bigger and uglier in my mind. To be honest, she was maybe a little bit overweight but not that bad. She also was not an ugly girl. Mike showed me a photo of her when I was talking to him about writing this story. She was actually very nice looking. I had imagined a total knockout to walk up for our date and Bertha was not that. AND, since she laughed and bragged about being a part of the con, I felt justified in sharing the story. I hope she never reads it but if she does I'll say this: "Bertha, you are part of my happy memories. Best wishes!"
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
First Day
The first year L.D. Bell High School opened in the new building was also the first year I started high school. Neither of us has aged particularly well but we're both still around. The new high school was built way, way north up on Brown Trail. It was so far out there it was hard to believe it was still in Hurst. In fact, it may not be in Hurst. It may be in Bedford but who really cares? There was also a new highway being built, which is now known as Airport Freeway. It handles about a gazillion cars every day. At the time it was a dirt road intersecting Brown Trail just south of the school. The first day at the new building was exciting for everyone. It was exciting for me because I was now in high school, I had a car to drive, and it was all new.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
Friday, December 14, 2018
Mechanical Pencils
I never was much of a math whiz. The logic seemed to escape my grasp for some reason. Oh sure, if I had applied myself I would have figured it out eventually but that would have been hard work and not nearly as much fun as blissful ignorance. Besides, as I look back on my early life I realize the odds were against me understanding math for many reasons. One reason in particular was the fact that I hated math. It had no relevance for me.
The start of each school year was exciting. The trip to Gibson's Discount Store for our school supplies was a real treat. I'm sure my parents enjoyed it as much as we did because they took such joy in tossing things out of the basket as we tossed them in. It was a great family tradition. One year in particular I wanted a Scripto mechanical pencil just like my dad's. I wasn't sure it would stay in the basket but amazingly neither mama or daddy grabbed it and put it back on the shelf. Hiding it under a package of notebook paper possibly helped. The pencil cost 29 cents as opposed to the wooden pencils which were practically free. It was a fine writing instrument let me tell you. It was kind of a turquoise blue translucent plastic. You could see the little screw thingy move as you twisted the top. It was a true marvel.
This Scripto pencil was my reason for not doing so well in math class that year. You see, I used a pen for all my classes except math. In math I got to use my new Scripto. I sat in class day after day slowly twisting the top and watching the little screw thingy move up and down, up and down. It was so interesting how the lead would slowly come out and out....and out until I turned the top the other direction. The lead would slowly twist back into the pencil. It was simply amazing. I found I could twist the top enough times that the lead would appear to stand out away from the pencil with no support and then it would still go back in with no effort. How could this possibly be?
Throughout the year the math teacher would attempt to ask me frivolous questions about the topic of the day. Most of those questions went unanswered because they had no relevance to the operation of my Scripto. I did not do well in math that year.
I did manage to graduate from high school on time even though I still had no concept of math. I figured that was okay since I was out of there and college had to be much easier. I lost my Scripto sometime along the way and had to go back to using plain old wooden pencils. Oh sure, the wooden pencils tasted better when chewed but they didn't hold a candle to my beloved mechanical pencil. Plain old pencils were boring. There was no mystery about wooden pencils.....unless you hadn't already figured out how they got the lead inside the wood so neatly.
The start of each school year was exciting. The trip to Gibson's Discount Store for our school supplies was a real treat. I'm sure my parents enjoyed it as much as we did because they took such joy in tossing things out of the basket as we tossed them in. It was a great family tradition. One year in particular I wanted a Scripto mechanical pencil just like my dad's. I wasn't sure it would stay in the basket but amazingly neither mama or daddy grabbed it and put it back on the shelf. Hiding it under a package of notebook paper possibly helped. The pencil cost 29 cents as opposed to the wooden pencils which were practically free. It was a fine writing instrument let me tell you. It was kind of a turquoise blue translucent plastic. You could see the little screw thingy move as you twisted the top. It was a true marvel.
This Scripto pencil was my reason for not doing so well in math class that year. You see, I used a pen for all my classes except math. In math I got to use my new Scripto. I sat in class day after day slowly twisting the top and watching the little screw thingy move up and down, up and down. It was so interesting how the lead would slowly come out and out....and out until I turned the top the other direction. The lead would slowly twist back into the pencil. It was simply amazing. I found I could twist the top enough times that the lead would appear to stand out away from the pencil with no support and then it would still go back in with no effort. How could this possibly be?
Throughout the year the math teacher would attempt to ask me frivolous questions about the topic of the day. Most of those questions went unanswered because they had no relevance to the operation of my Scripto. I did not do well in math that year.
I did manage to graduate from high school on time even though I still had no concept of math. I figured that was okay since I was out of there and college had to be much easier. I lost my Scripto sometime along the way and had to go back to using plain old wooden pencils. Oh sure, the wooden pencils tasted better when chewed but they didn't hold a candle to my beloved mechanical pencil. Plain old pencils were boring. There was no mystery about wooden pencils.....unless you hadn't already figured out how they got the lead inside the wood so neatly.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Crosstimber
We came back from a year in New Mexico feeling pretty rich. My dad felt it necessary to quit Convair rather than face a transfer to California where all the crazy people lived. He decided the best thing to do was to bring the family back to Hurst where folks were normal...even if it cost him his job....which it did. So, there we were, five kids, a mama, and a daddy who didn't have a job.
I spent a lot of time in my adult life trying to figure out how someone with five kids to feed could willfully walk away from a good paying job with eighteen years seniority without having something better lined up. It had to be a difficult decision to make. There were two in junior high, two in grade school, and one little prima donna who had yet to face the discomforts of formal education. However, the decision having been made, we traveled back to Hurst thinking life would be good.
Because we were kids and sheltered from reality, we thought we were embarking on another adventure when we were told the house on Elm Street was still leased out with another six months on the contract and we would have to rent a house some place. We found a mansion, approximately 1600 square feet, to rent on Crosstimber Court in the rich part of town. It was massive let me tell you. It had a beautiful lawn on a private cul-de-sac and neighbors were just as snooty as they could be....it was great! I know those neighbors were tickled for us to move into their quiet neighborhood. Five extra kids on bicycles always improve a neighborhood.
After moving into the house on Crosstimber daddy got busy trying to find work. He tried the Lennox plant and couldn't get on there. He tried to go back to Convair but of course he couldn't get a job there either. Finally, he gave up and went over to Bell Helicopter. He felt a bit odd applying for a job where they manufactured little things resembling grasshoppers. He had worked for many years at "the bomber plant" for crying out loud. He needed a job though despite his aching pride. As it worked out Bell hired him and he started to work at $2.00 an hour. This was in 1962 and I swear that sounded like a lot of money to me. I didn't know for many years just how big a pay cut he had taken to insure we didn't have to grow up around crazy people. That year of 1962 had significance though if you are a student of U.S. history. There was an ugly situation on the horizon called "the Vietnam War". This war used helicopters....lots and lots of helicopters. Bell Helicopter wound up being a great move on dad's part. Just like his ancestors before him, he stumbled into success despite his best efforts.
I truly feel life turns out the best for everyone. Oh, I guess it didn't appear so great for all those poor guys receiving draft notices but that's another story....and a dark story I will probably never tell. Daddy got a great job with lots of overtime, we got to live in a really nice house in a snooty neighborhood, we had a set of woods with a creek running through it just across the street, AND the biggest reward for this move was I was just around the corner from Bertha Leghorn (name changed to protect me). Ah, Bertha Leghorn. I had fallen in love with her in the sixth grade before we were transferred. She was beautiful, she was a cheerleader, she was popular, and as I learned in junior high school, she was not particularly bright. I did not care. I was not particularly bright either.
During the short time we lived on Crosstimber I rode past Bertha Leghorn's house probably a million, no make that a billion times. I kept thinking she might eventually come outside to see how great I looked on my bicycle. She never came outside....ever. I finally decided the reason she never came out when I rode by was because she was intimidated by my good looks and athletic ability on a bike. It never occurred to me she would be hiding inside because that creepy stalker was riding by again. I was so consumed by Bertha Leghorn and the bicycle trips I had to make around the corner it took me way too long to notice the girl on the other side of our back fence. Valerie Whohadapool (name changed to protect me again). Yes, Valerie was a very pretty girl living behind us. As I may have mentioned in this and other stories, I was not real bright. We were getting close to having our house back on Elm Street when Valerie yelled at me one day from over the fence asking why I had never come over to swim with her. I hated to tell her I had no idea she existed. I climbed up on that fence, took a look, and realized just how stupid I really was. Here it was, early fall and Valerie had been out swimming all summer...alone...just her, while all I was doing was riding that cotton-picking bicycle around and around hoping to be seen by Bertha Leghorn. Stupid, stupid, stupid...what more can I say?!
Before I ever had the time to convince Valerie Whohadapool to fall in love with me we moved back into our house on Elm Street. I'm sure the neighbors missed us when we moved. I do know they had a block party after we were gone...probably a form of grief recovery.
I spent a lot of time in my adult life trying to figure out how someone with five kids to feed could willfully walk away from a good paying job with eighteen years seniority without having something better lined up. It had to be a difficult decision to make. There were two in junior high, two in grade school, and one little prima donna who had yet to face the discomforts of formal education. However, the decision having been made, we traveled back to Hurst thinking life would be good.
Because we were kids and sheltered from reality, we thought we were embarking on another adventure when we were told the house on Elm Street was still leased out with another six months on the contract and we would have to rent a house some place. We found a mansion, approximately 1600 square feet, to rent on Crosstimber Court in the rich part of town. It was massive let me tell you. It had a beautiful lawn on a private cul-de-sac and neighbors were just as snooty as they could be....it was great! I know those neighbors were tickled for us to move into their quiet neighborhood. Five extra kids on bicycles always improve a neighborhood.
After moving into the house on Crosstimber daddy got busy trying to find work. He tried the Lennox plant and couldn't get on there. He tried to go back to Convair but of course he couldn't get a job there either. Finally, he gave up and went over to Bell Helicopter. He felt a bit odd applying for a job where they manufactured little things resembling grasshoppers. He had worked for many years at "the bomber plant" for crying out loud. He needed a job though despite his aching pride. As it worked out Bell hired him and he started to work at $2.00 an hour. This was in 1962 and I swear that sounded like a lot of money to me. I didn't know for many years just how big a pay cut he had taken to insure we didn't have to grow up around crazy people. That year of 1962 had significance though if you are a student of U.S. history. There was an ugly situation on the horizon called "the Vietnam War". This war used helicopters....lots and lots of helicopters. Bell Helicopter wound up being a great move on dad's part. Just like his ancestors before him, he stumbled into success despite his best efforts.
I truly feel life turns out the best for everyone. Oh, I guess it didn't appear so great for all those poor guys receiving draft notices but that's another story....and a dark story I will probably never tell. Daddy got a great job with lots of overtime, we got to live in a really nice house in a snooty neighborhood, we had a set of woods with a creek running through it just across the street, AND the biggest reward for this move was I was just around the corner from Bertha Leghorn (name changed to protect me). Ah, Bertha Leghorn. I had fallen in love with her in the sixth grade before we were transferred. She was beautiful, she was a cheerleader, she was popular, and as I learned in junior high school, she was not particularly bright. I did not care. I was not particularly bright either.
During the short time we lived on Crosstimber I rode past Bertha Leghorn's house probably a million, no make that a billion times. I kept thinking she might eventually come outside to see how great I looked on my bicycle. She never came outside....ever. I finally decided the reason she never came out when I rode by was because she was intimidated by my good looks and athletic ability on a bike. It never occurred to me she would be hiding inside because that creepy stalker was riding by again. I was so consumed by Bertha Leghorn and the bicycle trips I had to make around the corner it took me way too long to notice the girl on the other side of our back fence. Valerie Whohadapool (name changed to protect me again). Yes, Valerie was a very pretty girl living behind us. As I may have mentioned in this and other stories, I was not real bright. We were getting close to having our house back on Elm Street when Valerie yelled at me one day from over the fence asking why I had never come over to swim with her. I hated to tell her I had no idea she existed. I climbed up on that fence, took a look, and realized just how stupid I really was. Here it was, early fall and Valerie had been out swimming all summer...alone...just her, while all I was doing was riding that cotton-picking bicycle around and around hoping to be seen by Bertha Leghorn. Stupid, stupid, stupid...what more can I say?!
Before I ever had the time to convince Valerie Whohadapool to fall in love with me we moved back into our house on Elm Street. I'm sure the neighbors missed us when we moved. I do know they had a block party after we were gone...probably a form of grief recovery.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
It was an ominous journey....
I was worried about taking such a long and detailed trip without someone holding my hand and guiding me through it. Oh sure, travel used to be a routine thing for me. In my work I would hop on a plane to go just about anywhere without a second thought. I've been retired for a while now and travel hasn't been my top priority. We've been on a couple of cruises but never by ourselves. Mike and Nancy, seasoned travelers, guided us through the Alaskan Cruise with experience and confidence. Cody guided us through the Caribbean cruise without any problem. This last cruise was all up to me to follow instructions, get us on the right flight, then on to the right ship without getting lost or arrested. I worried about the trip from the time we received the gift until the moment I got back home and able to sleep in my own bed.
Our trip was a very generous gift from our kids, Jamie and Jennifer, Cody and Cayce. It was planned to be a gift for our 50th anniversary but the boys got nervous we wouldn't live that long. I hope we do and on that anniversary date we will look back on this gift with love and appreciation for the wonderful blessing we have in our children. Now, let me tell you the hidden story, apart from all Debbie's beautiful pictures posted on Facebook.
We left town before the sun came up on a muggy Saturday morning. Cody drove us to the airport because we were to cheap to pay Uber. As we drove toward DFW Airport, Debbie gasped, "Oh no! I forgot my passport!" Cody slowed down and made a u-turn as she said, "Well, wait a minute. Maybe I have it here someplace." He pulled to the side of the road rather than make another u-turn while she gave herself the first of many pat-downs. She eventually found the passport and we were back on our way. This was just a glimmer of what was to be an eventful day.
I'm a 'stand back and watch' kind of guy and although I remembered how to get a boarding pass and hand over the luggage I let Debbie tell me each little detail in sequence as we moved along. In fairness to her, I do move rather slowly and my actions sometimes reflect an ignorance of what's going on around me. Her prompting was appreciated despite the irritation it caused. I got a chuckle though when we got to security. I sailed right through security while hearing Debbie call out to me to "Wait! My boarding pass won't scan....WAIT!!" Unfortunately, having passed through the metal detector, I was not allowed to go back to help her. I watched as she was led back to the ticket counter to get another boarding pass. Then I watched her wait as TSA opened each of her carry-on's, dumping everything out on a table, while searching for illegal whatevers. THEN I watched as they made her spread 'em for a full body pat down. She didn't look like a terrorist but these days you just don't know. She finally cleared security after fifteen minutes of stress on her part. Actually I was nervous too as I watched. I didn't know how I was going to enjoy the cruise without her.
We found out at the last minute that our boys had also paid for first class seating on the flights. It was wonderful! I've flown first class many times when traveling for work but this was a first for Debbie. She was ecstatic and let everyone know this was our first time....as if there was any doubt. As we began the final approach at Logan Airport in Boston Debbie panicked because she couldn't find her phone. I told her we would find it after we landed but she wasn't consoled. She told the flight attendant who did not care at all. She asked the guy in the seat behind us to check the floor. She unbuckled her seatbelt (on final approach) and crawled around on the floor searching. She removed her seat cushion and couldn't figure out how to get it back together....did you know we did not see a life preserver under there as promised!! She finally gave up and buckled up just before we landed. She found her phone in her pocket.
It was late afternoon when we got to our hotel in Boston. We wanted to see some sights but we didn't have a lot of time. We took the subway to the downtown area and as we entered the subway system Deb said she would get the tickets from the kiosk. We both had dozens of $5 bills to cover the $4.50 cost but for some reason she decided to stab a $20 in the machine....it sounded like she had won the big prize on the slot machine when the change of $15.50 started spewing out.....all quarters and dollar coins. Quite a load to carry around. It was exciting to say the least. I paid the tip at Cheers pub with coins. The waitress didn't seem to mind.
At the hotel that night Debbie, ever prepared for anything, started to set her clothes out for the next day's boarding the ship. All of a sudden she let out her classic and copyrighted "Cuuuurappp!" as she discovered she had left her new tennis shoes at home....the very expensive ones she bought specifically for this trip. I didn't forget my new tennis shoes because I didn't buy any for the trip.
When we arrived at the hotel we were instructed to be in the lobby the next morning at 11:15 sharp to board the shuttle for an 11:30 departure to the ship. Debbie insisted we go down early. I was a bit irritated because it was much more comfortable sitting in our room. I'm glad she insisted though because shortly after we arrived in the lobby two large black shuttles pulled up. We stared at them for the longest time wondering who they were taking and why they hadn't left yet. After a while I decided to check with the doorman about our own shuttle. He informed me my shuttle was waiting out front. Debbie and I charged for the front black bus and climbed aboard. Had we waited until we were told to arrive we would have missed our ride. Strike one up for Deb!! The bus we jumped on and the bus right behind us left the hotel at 11:00 a.m. Someone on board asked if there would be another bus arriving at the hotel at 11:30 as planned. The driver answered "no, this is the only one". We felt sorry for those at the hotel who followed the instructions and missed the bus. There were only six of us on board at the time.
One more short story and I won't bore you with the whole trip. On the first day of sailing we slept in because we had partied the night before until way past 9:00 o'clock. We met our table partners at dinner the night before and I was worried we wouldn't be classy enough for them. All I can say is, "Der, nope. Nope we was gooder than gold....no problem at all y'all". I won't say their names or be tacky. I just realized that Debbie and I can come across as very elegant in the right setting. When we went to our cabin that night Debbie started looking for her extra insulin. She tore through her bags in a frantic search and insisted I do the same with my bags. We found no extra insulin. Hopefully she would have enough. Before bed she repeated over and over "I can't believe I left that extra insulin and my new shoes at home". I was sympathetic but I did get tired of her mantra. The next day she opened our room safe to put something away. She yelled, "Would you look at this! How did this get in here?" It was her extra insulin.
I will tell you later about the high seas, hurricane force winds, and seasickness. It was a wonderful adventure. The ports were beautiful and the autumn colors were amazing. I had a chance to enjoy Maine lobster and clam chowder. We will never forget this trip I hope. Surely we can remember it until our 50th anniversary three years from now!
Our trip was a very generous gift from our kids, Jamie and Jennifer, Cody and Cayce. It was planned to be a gift for our 50th anniversary but the boys got nervous we wouldn't live that long. I hope we do and on that anniversary date we will look back on this gift with love and appreciation for the wonderful blessing we have in our children. Now, let me tell you the hidden story, apart from all Debbie's beautiful pictures posted on Facebook.
We left town before the sun came up on a muggy Saturday morning. Cody drove us to the airport because we were to cheap to pay Uber. As we drove toward DFW Airport, Debbie gasped, "Oh no! I forgot my passport!" Cody slowed down and made a u-turn as she said, "Well, wait a minute. Maybe I have it here someplace." He pulled to the side of the road rather than make another u-turn while she gave herself the first of many pat-downs. She eventually found the passport and we were back on our way. This was just a glimmer of what was to be an eventful day.
I'm a 'stand back and watch' kind of guy and although I remembered how to get a boarding pass and hand over the luggage I let Debbie tell me each little detail in sequence as we moved along. In fairness to her, I do move rather slowly and my actions sometimes reflect an ignorance of what's going on around me. Her prompting was appreciated despite the irritation it caused. I got a chuckle though when we got to security. I sailed right through security while hearing Debbie call out to me to "Wait! My boarding pass won't scan....WAIT!!" Unfortunately, having passed through the metal detector, I was not allowed to go back to help her. I watched as she was led back to the ticket counter to get another boarding pass. Then I watched her wait as TSA opened each of her carry-on's, dumping everything out on a table, while searching for illegal whatevers. THEN I watched as they made her spread 'em for a full body pat down. She didn't look like a terrorist but these days you just don't know. She finally cleared security after fifteen minutes of stress on her part. Actually I was nervous too as I watched. I didn't know how I was going to enjoy the cruise without her.
We found out at the last minute that our boys had also paid for first class seating on the flights. It was wonderful! I've flown first class many times when traveling for work but this was a first for Debbie. She was ecstatic and let everyone know this was our first time....as if there was any doubt. As we began the final approach at Logan Airport in Boston Debbie panicked because she couldn't find her phone. I told her we would find it after we landed but she wasn't consoled. She told the flight attendant who did not care at all. She asked the guy in the seat behind us to check the floor. She unbuckled her seatbelt (on final approach) and crawled around on the floor searching. She removed her seat cushion and couldn't figure out how to get it back together....did you know we did not see a life preserver under there as promised!! She finally gave up and buckled up just before we landed. She found her phone in her pocket.
It was late afternoon when we got to our hotel in Boston. We wanted to see some sights but we didn't have a lot of time. We took the subway to the downtown area and as we entered the subway system Deb said she would get the tickets from the kiosk. We both had dozens of $5 bills to cover the $4.50 cost but for some reason she decided to stab a $20 in the machine....it sounded like she had won the big prize on the slot machine when the change of $15.50 started spewing out.....all quarters and dollar coins. Quite a load to carry around. It was exciting to say the least. I paid the tip at Cheers pub with coins. The waitress didn't seem to mind.
At the hotel that night Debbie, ever prepared for anything, started to set her clothes out for the next day's boarding the ship. All of a sudden she let out her classic and copyrighted "Cuuuurappp!" as she discovered she had left her new tennis shoes at home....the very expensive ones she bought specifically for this trip. I didn't forget my new tennis shoes because I didn't buy any for the trip.
When we arrived at the hotel we were instructed to be in the lobby the next morning at 11:15 sharp to board the shuttle for an 11:30 departure to the ship. Debbie insisted we go down early. I was a bit irritated because it was much more comfortable sitting in our room. I'm glad she insisted though because shortly after we arrived in the lobby two large black shuttles pulled up. We stared at them for the longest time wondering who they were taking and why they hadn't left yet. After a while I decided to check with the doorman about our own shuttle. He informed me my shuttle was waiting out front. Debbie and I charged for the front black bus and climbed aboard. Had we waited until we were told to arrive we would have missed our ride. Strike one up for Deb!! The bus we jumped on and the bus right behind us left the hotel at 11:00 a.m. Someone on board asked if there would be another bus arriving at the hotel at 11:30 as planned. The driver answered "no, this is the only one". We felt sorry for those at the hotel who followed the instructions and missed the bus. There were only six of us on board at the time.
One more short story and I won't bore you with the whole trip. On the first day of sailing we slept in because we had partied the night before until way past 9:00 o'clock. We met our table partners at dinner the night before and I was worried we wouldn't be classy enough for them. All I can say is, "Der, nope. Nope we was gooder than gold....no problem at all y'all". I won't say their names or be tacky. I just realized that Debbie and I can come across as very elegant in the right setting. When we went to our cabin that night Debbie started looking for her extra insulin. She tore through her bags in a frantic search and insisted I do the same with my bags. We found no extra insulin. Hopefully she would have enough. Before bed she repeated over and over "I can't believe I left that extra insulin and my new shoes at home". I was sympathetic but I did get tired of her mantra. The next day she opened our room safe to put something away. She yelled, "Would you look at this! How did this get in here?" It was her extra insulin.
I will tell you later about the high seas, hurricane force winds, and seasickness. It was a wonderful adventure. The ports were beautiful and the autumn colors were amazing. I had a chance to enjoy Maine lobster and clam chowder. We will never forget this trip I hope. Surely we can remember it until our 50th anniversary three years from now!
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Little League....
I know I've told this story before but I can't remember if I ever posted it to this blog. If you've already heard it I apologize. If not, enjoy the tale.....
Our short stay in Roswell, New Mexico was a true adventure for us. We had never lived where there weren't any trees or creeks. We felt like we had moved to the wilderness and would probably be blown away during one of the dust storms. We had dust in our hair, dust in our clothes, dust on the windowpanes....it was a GREAT adventure. The joy of it was dampened somewhat by mama's constant crying but we tried to overlook that. The third day we were in our new house Glenn and I couldn't help ourselves from chasing the tumbleweeds, which were constantly blowing across the empty lots around us. We blended in with the natives real well as we ran after each weed, caught it, and stored it in our garage. We were so pleased with our efforts we kept them for our dad to see when he came home from work. He was so happy and honored when he opened the door to the garage and found it packed to the ceiling with huge tumbleweeds. I can still hear his happy yelling.
Mama cried for about 14 months. This was a real puzzle to us because we lived in New Mexico for less than 10 months. I guess we all know where our tendency toward depression comes from. Anyway, about my only memory of her was of her sitting at the living room window, looking out, and crying....a lot! We couldn't understand it. After all, there were no trees to block her view, there was this fantastic wind blowing, dust was everywhere, there was an alfalfa field to hide in, there was an old gravel pit a mile south of us where we could ride our bikes like crazy, and there were lots of lizards to chase. What more could the woman want?!
My very best memory of living in New Mexico was having a chance to play little league baseball. I never got to play in Hurst for some reason, that reason being money. Daddy was making a lot of money working in Roswell so we had more to spend on fun stuff. I couldn't believe it when he suggested I sign up for little league.
I went to the ballpark for tryouts and was quickly picked by the "Yankees". The First National Bank of Roswell sponsored us and I have to say their sponsorship was money well spent. We did them proud by winning a game before the season was over! Really! I know why I was picked so quickly during the tryouts. First of all, I was good. I lived for baseball back then and I was darn good. Secondly, I was left-handed. Everyone knows left-handed players are the best. Thirdly, the coach's son was a good friend of mine from school. Oh sure, I know that didn't play into his decision at all but I thought I'd throw it in.
I got to play first base and back up pitcher. I was the best first baseman in Roswell. I have that information as fact from my mama. When she wasn't crying she was telling me I was the best first base player she ever saw. I did not like to pitch though. The few times I tried many young men were damaged severely. I never found out if any of the hits to the head with a hardball caused any permanent damage. We moved back to Texas too soon. You know, we always thought we moved back to Texas due to another transfer for my dad.....could it have been getting out of town to avoid lawsuits? I guess we'll never know...
One day during practice I impressed the coach so much I thought he was going to wet his pants. He had been preaching to us about dedication to the game. He wanted us to really get into it and learn how to play our very best. He wanted us to strive for perfection without fear of pain. He wanted to win a cotton-picking game before the season was over. Anyway, I was standing just west of first base dreaming about some useless subject when a line drive was hit just outside the base line. I ran for it and as I glided through the air I snagged that ball like a pro. I got pretty scratched up in the process but I came up with the ball in my glove. Coach was so excited he stopped practice to tell everyone THAT was the kind of dedication he was talking about. He wanted everyone to play that same way. I didn't have the heart to tell him I tripped over the base on my way for the ball. I didn't catch it. It caught me. If I hadn't tripped I would have missed that ball by a mile.
When we finally won the last game of the season everyone in the park, including the team we beat, gave us a standing ovation. The coach cried. As far as I know he never coached again. You just can't repeat perfection.
Our short stay in Roswell, New Mexico was a true adventure for us. We had never lived where there weren't any trees or creeks. We felt like we had moved to the wilderness and would probably be blown away during one of the dust storms. We had dust in our hair, dust in our clothes, dust on the windowpanes....it was a GREAT adventure. The joy of it was dampened somewhat by mama's constant crying but we tried to overlook that. The third day we were in our new house Glenn and I couldn't help ourselves from chasing the tumbleweeds, which were constantly blowing across the empty lots around us. We blended in with the natives real well as we ran after each weed, caught it, and stored it in our garage. We were so pleased with our efforts we kept them for our dad to see when he came home from work. He was so happy and honored when he opened the door to the garage and found it packed to the ceiling with huge tumbleweeds. I can still hear his happy yelling.
Mama cried for about 14 months. This was a real puzzle to us because we lived in New Mexico for less than 10 months. I guess we all know where our tendency toward depression comes from. Anyway, about my only memory of her was of her sitting at the living room window, looking out, and crying....a lot! We couldn't understand it. After all, there were no trees to block her view, there was this fantastic wind blowing, dust was everywhere, there was an alfalfa field to hide in, there was an old gravel pit a mile south of us where we could ride our bikes like crazy, and there were lots of lizards to chase. What more could the woman want?!
My very best memory of living in New Mexico was having a chance to play little league baseball. I never got to play in Hurst for some reason, that reason being money. Daddy was making a lot of money working in Roswell so we had more to spend on fun stuff. I couldn't believe it when he suggested I sign up for little league.
I went to the ballpark for tryouts and was quickly picked by the "Yankees". The First National Bank of Roswell sponsored us and I have to say their sponsorship was money well spent. We did them proud by winning a game before the season was over! Really! I know why I was picked so quickly during the tryouts. First of all, I was good. I lived for baseball back then and I was darn good. Secondly, I was left-handed. Everyone knows left-handed players are the best. Thirdly, the coach's son was a good friend of mine from school. Oh sure, I know that didn't play into his decision at all but I thought I'd throw it in.
I got to play first base and back up pitcher. I was the best first baseman in Roswell. I have that information as fact from my mama. When she wasn't crying she was telling me I was the best first base player she ever saw. I did not like to pitch though. The few times I tried many young men were damaged severely. I never found out if any of the hits to the head with a hardball caused any permanent damage. We moved back to Texas too soon. You know, we always thought we moved back to Texas due to another transfer for my dad.....could it have been getting out of town to avoid lawsuits? I guess we'll never know...
One day during practice I impressed the coach so much I thought he was going to wet his pants. He had been preaching to us about dedication to the game. He wanted us to really get into it and learn how to play our very best. He wanted us to strive for perfection without fear of pain. He wanted to win a cotton-picking game before the season was over. Anyway, I was standing just west of first base dreaming about some useless subject when a line drive was hit just outside the base line. I ran for it and as I glided through the air I snagged that ball like a pro. I got pretty scratched up in the process but I came up with the ball in my glove. Coach was so excited he stopped practice to tell everyone THAT was the kind of dedication he was talking about. He wanted everyone to play that same way. I didn't have the heart to tell him I tripped over the base on my way for the ball. I didn't catch it. It caught me. If I hadn't tripped I would have missed that ball by a mile.
When we finally won the last game of the season everyone in the park, including the team we beat, gave us a standing ovation. The coach cried. As far as I know he never coached again. You just can't repeat perfection.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)