Where Were We?.....(part 2)

Let's see, in last week's episode the spiffy young college kids were racing down the mountain road when they realized the bridge was washed out! Too late to stop, they plunged.....oh wait, that's a different cliff hanger. Oh yeah, our young hero was realizing the little "hoopie" his dad had bought for all the kids to learn to drive in might possibly be something of a collector's item so no more crashing it into other old wrecks when the brakes failed! That was probably the first major lesson I learned during my tenure at Foodway. Of course the very first thing I learned was to never put the eggs in the sack first. That was such a no-brainer I don't even count it as a learned lesson.

I learned another valuable lesson shortly after going to work at Foodway. In fact, I learned it within about thirty minutes into my first shift. That lesson was 'rank has it's privileges'. The people with rank above me were two clowns who were seniors in high school. One I'll call Buford. Buford was an idiot and took great pride in his idiocy. I'm sure he practiced his down home Texas accent at night until it was perfected. He never let a word slip out of his mouth unless it was fouled in some way with crudeness. He was definitely a proud Texas boy. The other kid I'll call Barbie Ken. Okay, I'll just call him Ken because I'll get tired of writing Barbie Ken over and over but in your mind's eye picture Barbie's perfect boyfriend Ken and you will get a glimpse of how this guy saw himself. I do admit Ken was a darn good-looking guy but sadly he knew it better than anyone else. 

These guys had advanced up the corporate ladder from sack boy, to fill-in cashier, to full fledged stocker....complete with the fancy price stamper thingy in one back pocket and a feather duster proudly sticking out of the other back pocket. Occasionally Buford and Ken would be called to the front to help run a register or sack groceries. They did not like this and they always let the lowly sackers know about it. They made life miserable for us during and after this rudeness shown to them. As all of you know, I'm just about the nicest guy in the world so I never let any of this misery get to me. I let it slide right off my shoulders. I did not let it build up inside where it became a hideous growth of pulsating hate...really...no really.

One Saturday not long after I started at Foodway the store was packed and the front was going crazy. The manager kept calling Buford and Ken to help up front and every time he did those boys got more and more sadistic in their paybacks. I had one customer who must have been having a big party because it was all I could do to load all her groceries onto the cart to haul them out to her car. I was having a fit because of the weight even though Buford had graciously helped me load the cart up. Remember me telling you about the hill? The hill was a problem when the cart was heavy. This lady walked out to a little light blue Ford and popped the trunk. I started to load her groceries and looked up to see the cart heading down the hill toward Pipeline Road. I ran after it and grabbed it but because Buford had hung her pack of Pepsi's out on the edge of the cart, when the cart stopped the Pepsi's kept going. Twelve bottles of Pepsi went in twelve different directions. I impressed myself with my speed in catching all of them and getting them back in the little cardboard crate. As I politely put them in her trunk she told me I could just get in there and get her another 12-pack. As I pushed the cart and the ruined Pepsi's up to the front door I saw Buford and Ken laughing their miserable little heads off.

My head swelled with pride the day Buford asked the assistant manager if Mihills could help them unload the stock truck. This was a job only the top guys got to do so I felt I finally measured up. The assistant manager (who I had to use all kinds of restraint to not refer to as the Ass Man) agreed to let me help. I didn't know he was in on their sadistic plan. The truck came in and the rollers were set up. I thought it odd that the rollers didn't extend all the way through the backroom but stopped about ten feet in. Buford and Ken were stationed at the end of the rollers and I was assigned further into the backroom. Looking back I should have been able to figure out what was about to happen. Two guys unloading a truck and throwing the boxes to one guy, and a little guy at that, was not going to work out well. Two minutes into the operation I figured out what was up but I refused to give in. I kept up with their best efforts to wear me down and I know it was only by the power of the pulsating hate mentioned above. I was feeding off of it and feeling no pain. By the time the truck was empty, all three of us were covered in sweat, stretched out on the floor, and trying to catch our breath. I felt good. I had burned off a lot of nasty energy. They were mad. Their idea of a good time had backfired on them. Finally, after Buford was able to talk he growled, "Mihills, get out there and get us some of that spray deodorant off the shelf and bring it to us." I went out there thinking I would get some Old Spice maybe, or something even better if I could find it but then.......then my world of reparations opened wide up! I grabbed the spray can and went back to where they were still resting. I tossed them the deodorant and Buford grabbed it mid-air, opened it up and sprayed it all over himself. Then he tossed it to Ken who politely only sprayed it on his underarms. Then wonder of wonder, Ken asked if I wanted to use any of it. I told him I was okay. About that time Buford figured out what I had brought them. Feminine Hygiene Deodorant!!! Buford actually laughed. Ken made me a promise. He told me I would pay dearly for my little trick.

One Saturday after hauling groceries out to a candy apple red Pontiac Catalina I was walking back in with a big smile on my face. The lady in the Catalina had been trying to convince me I needed to ask her daughter out on a date. I had never met her daughter but I imagined if mom had to drum up dates for her there might be a problem or two. Anyway, I was still wearing the smile when I heard someone ask me, "What are you so happy about?". It was a friendly question and I recognized the voice. It was Francine. She was standing at the register with her mom waiting for Ken to finish ringing up her groceries. I finished up sacking for them and was all happy and all....you know, wagging tail, jumping up and down...stuff like that. Ken picked up that this was the girl I was crazy about so he asked me, right in front of Francine and her mom, if she was my girlfriend. I didn't know what to say so I resorted to my fallback response of turning brilliant red and saying nothing. No one answered Ken's question so he answered it himself with, a sing-song, "Oh she is! Mihills has a girlfriend!" I carried their groceries out to the parking lot....to the little light blue Ford, and yes, there was a 12 pack of Pepsi's on the cart. I was very careful with those Pepsi's. When I got back inside the store Ken was waiting for me. He said, "Wow, you've got yourself a pretty girlfriend. Guess what. I'm going to take her away from you." I told him I didn't own her so he couldn't take her away from me. We were just good friends. He persisted, "No, Mihills, I can tell. You're crazy about that girl and that's why I'm going to take her away from you. Do you know why? Because of the deodorant thing, that's why." He took Francine out on a date a week later. Barbie Ken was a jerk.

Both Buford (wonder of wonders) and Ken graduated from high school a few months later and went their separate ways. Better jobs, higher wages, draft board....that sort of thing. Anyway, life at Foodway got much better for me and all of us junior guys....because we weren't the junior guys any more. We were top dogs! We were going to get to make life miserable for a whole herd of new nerds coming in. The thing is, the guys I sacked groceries with and I were just too nice to do that to anyone. Foodway was about to enjoy some good times. Tune in next week for the final episode to see what, if anything happened with good old Francine and hear the amazing tale of theft at the store and hair-raising chase scene....I can't wait!!!

Let Me First Say....(part one)

 ....I am married to the most wonderful woman in the whole world. We've been married for over 52 years, which means we got married in grade school. Not really of course but we were young. Couples tended to do that back then. Now they put it off until they're out of school, out of college, out in the work force, out of touch with lots of eligible partners. Oh sure, waiting til you're out of college to marry is a good idea and I highly recommend it. I was a junior in college when Debbie and I married and I remained a junior for the next twenty-five years before graduating with a bachelor's degree, just after my oldest son's college graduation and just before my youngest son's. But this isn't a story about marriage or a poorly managed college education. I just wanted to get it out there in front that I AM HAPPILY MARRIED to the love of my life before I start talking about my first "girlfriend". Actually, the story is more about my first job but the girlfriend enters into the picture so to save any discomfort when my editor (Debbie) proofreads the story I just want to say one more time I am married to the woman of my life, my wife.....enough said.

The day I stopped being a wayward, carefree teenager was the day my mom came home from shopping at the Foodway grocery store down the street from our house. She came into my room where I was busy daydreaming and told me if I wanted to go to work I should put on a white shirt and get down to Foodway. I said, "Okay". She said, "Right now, I told the manager you're on your way." Well, thank you mama...I didn't know if I was pleased or put out with her but I didn't have time to think about it because my mom was holding my white shirt for me to change into and my older sister, Cindy was standing there waiting to drive me down there...with a silly looking grin on her face I might add.

Did I mention all this took place on a Friday night? No? Of course not. It wouldn't matter to anyone who never worked in a grocery store but to those of us who faced that Friday night and all day Saturday onslaught, thank you. I appreciate your sympathy. Back then there were laws on the Texas books called 
"Blue Laws". I don't know why they were called that. I don't know why they were there....I don't even know why the phrase "Texas books" is appropriate but all that aside the laws stated that no store other than an emergency type store could be open on a Sunday. We all just naturally assumed it was listed somewhere in the Bible, maybe in Leviticus. Sunday was a state moderated day off for everyone except police officers, doctors, nurses, firemen, and of course preachers who only had to work on that one day.

Because all the stores were closed on Sundays everyone who worked, and back then it was everyone who wanted to eat and have a place to live, had to get all their shopping done on Friday night or Saturday. Christmas shopping was especially chaotic but everyone seemed to love it. People didn't seem to get so grumpy and argumentative until they were allowed to shop 24/7. No downtime for anyone. Oops, I didn't mean to go there. Back to the story. 

As I was saying, my sister Cindy dropped me off at the front door of Foodway and drove off as fast as that Pontiac Bonneville would take her back home. I wondered about that later. Was I supposed to walk home? Anyway, I walked into a madhouse. The store was packed with shoppers trying to get their weekly groceries bought and paid for and the store was obviously shorthanded. My mom had told me to look for the guy in an apron, gold-rimmed glasses, and frayed look on his face. I was to boldly ask him for a job. I found the guy. He was sacking groceries for a customer as fast as he could. I did as my mom had instructed. My sales pitch went kind of like, "You don't want to hire anyone to work here, do you?" He didn't even have to take a breath before telling me to go to the office right behind him, grab an apron, and start sacking groceries on aisle five. I grabbed an apron but I didn't know how to put it on. I wandered over to aisle five and the cashier helped me with it and showed me how to put groceries into the bags without ruining most of them. She was a nice old lady. (Old...she was probably thirty.) I did okay that night and before I realized it the magic hour of nine came along and the store closed. 'Whew' I thought. I made it through that. I'm gonna go home and rest. I did not know I would also be mopping and waxing all the floors and helping restock the shelves before going home. Good grief, what had mama gotten me in to. Believe it or not, we were done and out of there by 9:30 and my dad was waiting for me in the parking lot. The bedraggled man who had put me to work was the night manager. He told me to come back in on Saturday morning at eight and the store manager would talk to me. He would either officially hire me or pay me for my time and send me home.

The next morning I was there before the store opened and met all the employees working that day. Everyone but the manager was smoking, drinking coffee, and laughing it up. The manager was sitting in his office with a serious look on his face. I nearly turned around and walked out but I did need to start working. I walked in and introduced myself. I was surprised at his friendliness and appreciation for my willingness to jump right in and help the night before. The job was mine if I wanted it with a few stipulations. I had to have a car, no bicycles or reliance on parents, I had to show up clean shaven, white shirt, starched and ironed jeans or slacks, tie, polished shoes....and the most important part, he had to see and approve my report card at the end of each six weeks. Anything worse than a "C" and I would be fired on the spot. Out of all those stipulations the only one that worried me was, "had to have a car...no reliance on parents". I kind of had a car. My dad had bought an old car for Cindy and me to learn to drive in but so far we hadn't done any "learning". I didn't have a license and I sure didn't have any insurance. I was definitely reliant on my parents....so I answered, "No problem, when do you want me to start?" He wanted me to start that day right after I completed the application.

Now that I'm engaged as an up and rising sack boy for Foodway Grocery Store, I'll explain why I felt I really needed to get a job when I had no expenses in life. It was girls....isn't that always the case. It all comes down to girls. In my case it was just one girl. Before I was old enough or had any right to "fall in love" I fell head over heels for a girl a year younger than me. I had nothing of interest to present to this girl. I had no money. I couldn't drive. I was too young and stupid to have any imagination....but I fell "in love" anyway. Even though this girl, who I'll call....Francine, yeah Francine...even though Francine was younger than me, she had her drivers license, she had friends and a social life, and she even had a partially developed personality. As I desperately tried to interest Francine in being interested in me, I floundered because I had no means of transportation other than riding her around on the handlebars of my bike, I didn't have any money to take her out on a date, and I didn't have enough imagination to even know how to plan a date. I was still a stupid little boy without a clue. As an example, on her birthday I found out she had mentioned she was crazy about a Ford Thunderbird she really liked down at Helm-Lary Ford in Hurst. Old romantic me hopped on my reliable Western Flyer and rode over to take a look at the Thunderbird. Then I went to the hobby shop and spent one of my first paychecks on a model of that same Thunderbird, along with the matching paint. On Francine's birthday, when everyone else was giving her cards, flowers, and perfume I gave her the Thunderbird. I was impressed. She was not. Neither was anyone else at that party.

Dumb old me was learning fast about life. Not too sure I wanted to learn it. I had it pretty good as a dummy but I had to grow up. I talked to my dad and told him about the requirement the store manager had for me to drive myself to work. He, of course didn't act like he had a bit of sympathy for my rushing into adulthood but he told me I could take the Hoopie (our '53 Studebaker) to work and back....no other driving around. No joy riding! I'll find out! You know I will! I was overjoyed. I had a car to drive to work. Now all I had to do was avoid getting a ticket for driving without a license, having insurance, and as I found out later, not having a title to the car....different story. I wasn't too worried. The store was less than four blocks straight down one residential street so I felt safe. I felt like a king the first day I pulled into the Foodway parking lot driving my own car. Did I mention Foodway was located on a very steep hill? Probably not. Well, Foodway was located on a very steep hill which would normally be a mundane detail* but in this story it's good to know that on that day as I proudly wheeled into the parking lot the brakes on the Hoopie failed. Absolutely no brakes and no way to stop. Thinking like the adult I had magically become, I looked for the oldest car in the parking lot and ran into it. That stopped it, mission accomplished. Very minor damage and the owner couldn't have cared less. In fact, I had to point out the damage to him. The Hoopie already had a dent in the front so all was well. When I got my first break that night I called my dad to report the brakes and true to form he reminded me it wasn't his fault I was in such an all-fired hurry to grow up and I could figure out for myself how to fix those brakes. Naturally though, by the time my break was over I looked out to see my dad out under that old car fixing those brakes. 

The very first Saturday I had to work I drove off a little before eight and as I was pulling up to the intersection where the store was located I saw flashing lights come on behind me. I hadn't been speeding. I had been driving carefully....what had I done? How did he know I didn't have a drivers license?? I stopped just inside the store parking lot and waited for the strong arm of the law to ruin my life. I still remember the officer adjusting his belt and holster as he slowly walked up to the car, looking at it like it might be stolen. I rolled my window down and tried to not seem nervous...failing miserably. He looked down at me for a second, removed his sunglasses and said, "Son, any chance you might want to sell me this car?" I would have given it to him if it had really been mine but it belonged to my dad of course. I told him so and he wanted to make sure I told him if the car ever went up or sale. It's been nearly sixty years now and that old car still hasn't gone up for sale. However, that was my first hint that I might be driving a collectible and it made me a little more thoughtful of how I would stop it the next time the brakes failed.

I've got a lot more to say about my history at Foodway Grocery Store. It was a wonderful experience despite the pitfalls. I'll tell you about the pitfalls and more about good old Francine in the next installment.

*Editors note: This mundane detail is important in part two of the story as well.

In Summary...

 .....I promise, this is my last post boring you all with my ailments from the past two years. I've gone full circle now and a very patient physical therapist is trying to whip me back into shape after nearly two years of either sitting on my backside or falling on my face. After a particularly difficult workout yesterday he told me I absolutely have to help him in this long trek to make me workable again. I argued that I am faithfully doing all the exercises I've been assigned twice daily.....well, sometimes I do most of them twice daily and sometimes I do a few of them when I remember but, I DO at least think of them twice daily. He said, "Never the less Mr. Mihills, (he calls me Mr. Mihills when he's frustrated with me...he calls me Mr. Mihills a lot it seems) you have got to do more. You need daily aerobic training." While struggling to maintain a serious expression on my face, I frantically tried to remember what "aerobic" meant. I knew it was something I had always laughed at and never considered for myself...so, I sat staring blank-faced at him as if I were in shock.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence the therapist continued. "You need to be out walking daily." I told him I had tried to walk but until I had some stamina I would walk until I had to stop and then call my wife to come get me or, if on a treadmill, fell off. He came back with, "Okay then, you need to ride a bike daily." I told him both my wife and doctor would not allow me to ever get on another bike because of my previous head injuries. Not to be discouraged...or maybe not to be defeated he came back with, "Excellent! You must go to the pool and swim for thirty minutes three times a week!" Rather than give him another excuse as to why I couldn't do that particular aerobic exercise, I just said, "Okay". I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't know how to swim.

I actually did go through the motions of learning how to swim during my sophomore year in college. I took swimming as a PE credit with thoughts of splashing around, doing cannon-balls, and holding my breath as long as I could...you know, the stuff kids do at pools. I did not think for a minute that this class was actually for swimming swimming...real swimming. I thought it was an easy credit to round out my need for one more PE course. On the first day of class I was shocked to find a real swimming coach wearing a real life-guard badge on a real swim suit, and sporting a shiny and very shrill whistle. To make the situation even worse, this coach was a woman! A very stern looking woman, built like a well-trained Marine. 

This coach, who I will simply refer to as "Coach" rather than constantly spelling out her complete name of "Coach Lucrecia McEvil", yelled for everyone to get into the pool and show her what we could do. Since nearly all of us were as dumb as me we did jump but then stood in the shallow end not wanting to show her how we could splash, do cannon-balls, or hold our breath. We were all old enough to know that would not impress Coach. A couple of brown-nosing idiots did try to swim but dropped like rocks and nearly drowned before Coach fished them out with the "Hook". Coach was very happy. She had a whole class of new clay to mold into Olympic swimmers by the end of the semester....if we survived.

Now I know I may come across as stupid in many of my stories. This is because I have spent a lot of my life stupid. But signing up for a swimming class just to get an easy college PE credit to finish up my sophomore year ranks right up there with the biggies as far as stupid goes. The only other stupid that comes close was when I was called in after I had applied for graduation and told I was three hours short to graduate. I needed an elective and most available classes were already full. Rather than delay graduation I signed up for calculus...seriously. I didn't even know how to spell calculus but I did not want to delay my graduation another semester so I signed up for, as an elective...calculus. I did pass it but my GPA took a bit of a hit. Anyway, that swimming course nearly caused me to start my "junior year" of college one hour short of actually being a "junior". It nearly caused me to sport an F in a physical education course. Shoot, it nearly killed me!

Coach was merciless. She drove us hard in that pool. I never knew a person could sweat in a swimming pool but sweat we did! By the end of that semester most of us had overcome our fear of water and could take a bath without someone standing guard outside the door. We could all shower and enjoy it. Some of us could actually say we could "swim" if we were asked...as long as we didn't have to prove it. Unfortunately for us, we did have to prove it to Coach. Our last day of class was our final for the semester. Pass it and go home with an A on your record. Fail it and go home with an F, no credit, humiliation, and the promise to never come near her pool again.

The test would have been a cakewalk had it been written, or even oral....but N-O-O-O. Coach insisted we take our test in the pool. Each one of us had to swim the length of the pool however we chose as long as we didn't drown. Then we had to climb out, go to the high dive and jump off, swim back over to the lanes and then swim back to her on our backs. If we could do that we would pass the course. I may have never mentioned this before but I am deathly afraid of deep water. I am so afraid of deep water I never go swimming, or even ride in a boat for fear I might somehow wind up in water over my head. The only fear I have worse than deep water is heights. In this test I had to overcome two fears at one time. I had to climb about a hundred feet in the air, walk out on a tiny little board about six inches across, and then jump...willingly into water that I knew had no bottom. This actually made the first step of the test easy for me because I was so focused on climbing the ladder to that high board I didn't give my swimming the length of the pool a second thought. It seemed like in just seconds I was across that pool and climbing out. I climbed out of the pool and walked as slowly as humanly possible without being declared dead to the ladder leading to that board so very, very high up there...way up there....higher than any man should be asked to go. At one point I froze on the ladder and had to be prompted by Coach's whistle to "hustle on up there Mihills...people are waiting!"

I got to the platform finally and couldn't even look down. I was so far up I couldn't believe it. How did I get myself in this situation? I graciously allowed every swimmer arriving at the platform to go ahead and do their jump before me. I didn't mind waiting. Finally, I was the last idiot on the platform. The whistle blew. I heard, "Get on the board Mihills!" I inched my way out thinking I might throw up before making it to end of that death board. I heard, "Move it Mihills. We don't have all day!" Actually I did have all day and I didn't much appreciate being rushed. I made it to the edge and looked down. I could not jump. I couldn't. My body was frozen in place. I heard that whistle blowing and non-coherent yelling going on but all my mind was registering was HIGH and DEEP! The good Lord finally slapped me up the side of the head and told me I was embarrassing Him and I needed to get moving. I heard the shrill whistle reach a new and improved octave and Coach trying out a new and scary growl, "Mihills, if you don't come off that board right now I'm coming up there to push you off!" I jumped....I fell forever it seemed before I hit the water then I sank probably three hundred feet at least. I frantically used every swimming technique I had learned and scrambled back up to air. I was so excited to have done the impossible...that was until I remembered I had to swim back to that miserable old woman on my back.

Coach yelled for me to get on with it and swim back to her on my back. I never mastered any part of swimming but I especially never mastered swimming on my back. People, including both sons and all eight grandchildren, tell me swimming on my back is the easiest way to swim. I say to them "NUH UH!" When I try to swim on my back I automatically propel myself to the bottom of the pool but I was not going to fail this test now. I had mastered the high board for crying out loud. I pushed off and successfully got about six feet away from the edge of the pool before I started sinking. I fought my way back up, grabbed a lungful of air and repeated the process over and over until I was about to the middle of the pool. I was completed worn out. Coach mercifully blew the whistle and yelled, "Mihills, you passed! Get out of the pool before you drown!" I was so happy. I was so tired. I sank to the bottom of the pool....and walked to the side so I could graciously pull myself out and get to my next class. 

So, today I get to experience swimming again. I am going to use Cody and Cayce's pool. I have made them promise no one will be out there to watch me and no cameras will be going. I do suspect though that Cayce will have someone hidden to make sure I don't drown. Cayce seems to want me to live longer for some reason and watches over me even more than Debbie. I don't even own a swimsuit so before the humiliation of going to their pool, I have to go through the humiliation of buying a swimsuit....oh, and a large towel.....some cheap sandals...sunscreen.....probably a lifesaving device disguised as a toy for the pool. Oh yeah, I need to check with our lawyer to make sure my will is up to date. I hope to be able to write again.....no promises....

Hershey

If you know me at all you know I am not a "pet person". I can't understand having animals running around causing all kinds of problems, most of which create a disgusting backyard ambiance. However, I did fall in love with one little puppy who came into our lives years ago. We named her Hershey. I don't know why but that's what she was stuck with...

Hershey was one of a large litter of....mutts. Their lineage obviously came from all over the neighborhood. We had a chance to pick one out "for free", and if you have ever had a pet you know the phrase "for free" is meaningless. Our boys, Jamie and Cody, immediately chose the runt of the litter because she was cute. I could not for the life of me distinguish one little mutt from another but those two boys had to have the cute, little...runt. So Hershey came into our family. (This is another phrase I didn't get at the time. Dogs are not family!) 

Hershey was typical of all puppies when first separated from mom and siblings. She was fun to be with during the day. She loved the boys so much she would pee when she got excited. She was nearly always excited. The night time brought new problems though. I insisted Hershey be an "outdoor" pet. I will explain why I used " " on the word outdoor later. Hershey did not like being alone in the backyard at night. Night after night she cried, howled, and begged to be let indoors. I continued to go to the boys rooms to tell them their dog was being a nuisance and it better stop. After the first two unsuccessful nights I gave up on the boys and brought her inside, made up a bed for her next to our bed, and slept with one arm hanging down into the box so she wouldn't feel lonely. I threatened her within an inch of her life if she made a mess in the house and she listened. This impressed me and I began to develop a small ember of....like for this animal.

Before I go further I will explain "outdoor" pet as an adjective rather than a redundancy. I was raised in a family where pets absolutely never came into our house. They were outdoor only. This one rule wasn't my dad's rule. It was my mom's. She forbade animals in the house. If you knew my sweet mom at all you knew she rarely forbade anything. She was a hoot....but she did not like dogs, cats, or anything else she couldn't either ride or eat. We could have any pet we wanted as long as it wasn't a cat, bird, lizard, snake, or rodent. We could have a dog and we had several over the years but only one ever made into the house for a brief moment. Our poor little dog Handy sneaked in an open back door one day and paid the price. He ran out of that house just a bit faster than the shoe my mom had thrown at him while she screamed bloody murder. Us kids didn't even come in for several hours after that. This is how I came to believe pets were strictly for outdoors.

I married a beautiful young lady who loved pets. We hadn't discussed this particular conflict before the marriage so I had little to stand on when the arguments started. While we were still in a one bedroom apartment learning how to be a married couple I came home to find a really ugly little mutt sitting in my chair! Rather than the prescribed, "Honey! I'm home!", Debbie heard me yell, "Arghhh! Debbie, there's a stupid mutt sitting on my chair! ARGHHH!" This scared the little pup and caused her to pee...all over my chair. My hysterics grew much more alarming as I ran toward my chair yelling for that dog to get out of there. This caused the poor little urchin to do the other thing dogs do....all over my chair. We did not keep this little pup for long. Luckily Debbie found a suitable home for her. This turned out to be a blessing for the puppy because Deb had found her wandering around the construction area of the new DFW Airport. I never knew while she was out there because the new dog was all I was interested in. She found it lost, dirty, hungry, and scared. She brought her home, gave her a bath in our bathtub, fed her and groomed her. Then I came home and made Deb get rid of her.

As the years passed and and the family grew, Debbie always wanted a pet around. I would not yield on my rule of no pets in the house so she kept her little orphans outside as they came and went. This was until we got Hershey.

Hershey was without a doubt, the smartest dog I've ever met. I would swear she would understand and commiserate with me when I sat out on the patio and complained about my stupid career choices. She learned to never bark unless she needed to give us a warning of impending doom...like the trash men coming by. AND, the best feature Hershey offered was never even trying to come into the house when a door was open. She knew her place. While she was still learning about her new home though she ran into a few problems on her own. Our yard was a pet's delight. Trees, pond, shed, and toys inadvertently left outside were a constant source of entertainment for her. I had a nice stack of firewood stacked next to our two trashcans which were just inside the gate leading to the front. Hershey learned really quick that she could climb up the firewood, onto the first can, and then jump up to the larger can. Here she could see out to the front if she stretched her little body far enough. It was her special place.

One morning the boys couldn't find Hershey. They came in worried because they could hear her crying but couldn't find her. I went out back with them and sure enough, Hershey was no where to be found.....but we could hear her. Eventually one of the boys figured out where she was. She had done her normal thing and jumped up to the tall can not knowing that one of us had left the lid on crooked. She hit that lid and fell in as it flipped over and slammed shut. Poor little thing spent the whole night in the trashcan. 

Hershey also impressed all of us because she actually understood us when we gave her a command. I know she did although she never shook her head and replied, "You got it boss". She just did as she was told and she never had to be told a second time. One afternoon I was going to cross the street to visit with my neighbor George. The boys were playing with Hershey in the front yard but when I stepped into the street Hershey tried to follow me. I turned around and said, "Hershey! Stay!" And stay she did. She sat down at the curb and waited for me to tell her what to do next. George and I wandered off to his garage out back and I was there for about two hours. When I came home I found Hershey still sitting  where I had told her to stay. She was waiting for me to tell her it was okay to go on back to the backyard. My ember of like was growing for Hershey and now I was beginning to think of her as family.

Debbie never gave up asking about letting her pets roam inside the house. When Hershey won me over I gave in and told her she could let Hershey in but she still had to sleep outside in her doghouse. Debbie went to the sliding glass door and called for Hershey. Hershey ran up and stopped at the door. Debbie told her to come on in. She looked at Debbie as if she were asking if there was a trick involved. Finally she ventured in and the boys were delighted. They played and Hershey was good. No damage, no accidents so it became a normal thing to let her in to play. She never seemed too anxious to stay for long inside. After just a bit she would wander back to the sliding door and hint she would like to go back out. Hershey was turning into the perfect pet. I loved that little dog.

We were so impressed with Hershey we began to brag about her like a grandparent would brag about a grandchild. Debbie loved to demonstrate Hershey's obedience and "smarts" by entertaining guests. She would go to the sliding glass door, open it and say, "Hershey, in!" Hershey would come in and say hello to everyone. Then Deb would slide the door back open and say, "Hershey, out!"....and out she would go. One day the boys had some friends over and they were sitting on the floor watching TV. Debbie told them to watch while she went to the glass door, slid it open, and invited Hershey in. As soon as Hershey came in Debbie told her to go out. Then she repeated the process, inviting Hershey in to play with the kids then telling her to go back out. Hershey always obeyed immediately by running full speed at the open door but on the last demonstration of the day as Debbie yelled for Hershey to go out, she slid the glass door closed and poor little Hershey ran right into that glass door. She didn't get hurt, as far as we know, and that's the only reason I'm sharing that memory. We all laughed til tears came at the situation but then immediately the boys and their friends all ran to Hershey with love and kisses. Debbie did feel bad but even today if that story is told she can't help but laugh.

One holiday weekend we decided on a trip to the Hill country to see some of my relatives. Jamie had his first job so he had to stay home and promised to be careful, not let strangers in the house, have no parties, and take care of Hershey. On Sunday afternoon we got a call from Jamie. He was worried about Hershey. Something didn't seem right. Now, normally I would have gone on with my weekend and not worried about it but Hershey was family. We packed up and came home a day early. We got home and immediately went out to check on Hershey. We found her swollen, lethargic, and struggling to breathe. This was a Sunday night. No veterinarians were open. In a panic we found an emergency animal hospital in the next town over and took Hershey there. They thought she had been bitten by a snake so they treated her, gave us some pills to force down her, charged us a small fortune and sent us home. We fixed a bed in the garage for her and she seemed comfortable. She could at least breathe without difficulty. The next day though she was worse. We watched over her most of the day but by late afternoon we knew we had to get her back to that hospital. We loaded her up and got over there in a hurry. The doctor on duty was the same as had been there the night before so he knew what he was dealing with. We were escorted in immediately ahead of a couple other pet owners waiting their turn to see the doc. When they saw the shape Hershey was in they didn't seem to mind at all. 

As all four of us stood around that stainless steel table with the boys both crying, the doctor tried to figure out what he could do for Hershey. His aide was there as well and they were trying to figure out what to do while Hershey got worse by the minute. Her breathing became labored and she wouldn't wake up as we patted her and talked to her. The doctor finally told us our little dog was dying and there was nothing he could do. Now all four of us were crying (yes, I did cry for a pet). The aide and the doctor both had tears in their eyes as he suggested we go ahead and "put her down". I never liked that phrase but it made sense to me then. We had to help Hershey since she couldn't help herself. She was struggling for each breath. The doctor told us we should go ahead and leave while he did what needed to be done. I felt like I was leaving a close friend behind and I have a lump in my throat right now as I tell you about it. We went to the waiting room and mourned the loss of our little dog. When the doctor came out and told us Hershey was gone I couldn't bear to see her again. The doctor offered to have a service come get her and bury her in a pet cemetery. Now, I have never been one to spend money on an animal but right then I didn't care how much it cost. I wanted Hershey taken care of properly.  We agreed to have Hershey buried in this cemetery and paid the enormous sum of money to have it done. This cost, along with two emergency hospital visits in two days, cost more than I would ever have willingly spent on any pet for any reason....but this was Hershey.

A week passed after Hershey was gone. The boys and I had emptied the yard of all memories of our little friend. We gave the dog house away, threw away the food and water bowls, and I hauled off my stack of firewood where I figured the snake had probably been. Then we got a card from the cemetery owners thanking us for "trusting them with our precious pet" and advising us Hershey had been buried with dignity. Debbie and I both wondered if dignity was an act of kindness or the name of another pet.

I wish I had another dog like Hershey but I know I never will. Debbie still loves animals and wants to bring them home as pets but I don't allow it anymore. None of the later pets have measured up to Hershey's standards and Debbie eventually grows tired of them and gives up on them. I don't want to say "bye" to another little dog.....I'll say "bye" to cats all day long. I can't stand cats.

A Glimpse of Memory....

I've been bemoaning the fact that my old memories have faded away. It happened during my surgery and multiple CT Scans (although the neurosurgeon poo-pooed that idea). I have been working toward getting them back, the memories I mean, along with the normal use of my legs and vocal chords. It's a long journey but I'm getting there. I know people are as tired of hearing about it as much as I am living it. 

A few days ago I was sitting in my den feeling sorry for myself when something Debbie said jolted a memory to the surface. It wasn't a monumental memory....wasn't particularly funny even but doggone it, it was a memory. I'll tell you about it but first a word from our sponsor: 

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We've had the opportunity to host a college intern this summer. She's a sweet girl but shy. We're really trying to make her feel at home. In fact, Debbie made her do the dishes just last night....just kidding. We don't know how to entertain young people anymore. If you are older than six, you've outgrown our talents. We don't know how to do anything but watch TV and work in the yard. (Debbie works, I watch). This sweet girl (I'll call her Gina) is finally coming out of her room to visit with us occasionally now but she still doesn't seem at home. One evening she came into the den and sat down in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room and started watching one of our super intellectual shows. Debbie invited her to come sit on the sofa with her. She did. Debbie then told her we don't have any rules about furniture and stuff. "Go ahead, take off your shoes, stretch out, put your feet on the coffee table. Get comfortable." That last comment reminded me of the time I realized that even as a stinky, skinny little boy, I was still important and welcomed. 

We absolutely did not put our feet on any of the furniture. We had an ottoman which was not to be used as a footstool by us smelly old kids. We could sit on it if our clothes were clean but we could not put our feet on the ottoman. It was 'furniture'. The same held true at my aunt Ramona's house but only in the formal living room. The den was lovingly offered for our destruction. But when we went to aunt Cricket's house, there were no rules. I'm serious. This wonderful woman who laughed all the time and carted us around to junk yards, playgrounds, and anywhere else we suggested showed me I was welcome. We lived close enough to aunt Cricket that we could go visit her regularly. It was about a twenty minute drive to her house unless uncle JD was driving. Then the trip lasted about ten hair-raising minutes. On one occasion, probably the birth of another sister, I had to spend the night at aunt Cricket's house. I was warned to be on my best behavior. After my shower that night I came into their den and sat down in the only chair I knew no one else would want and sat there with my hands in my lap. The show being watched was some old comedy and everyone was laughing and having a good time. They were even eating ice cream IN THE DEN and not at the dining room table. I didn't know what to do so I became invisible, or so I thought. I had been perfecting invisibility for several of my six or seven years of life, however aunt Cricket saw me anyway. I'll never forget what she said and how she said it; "Rusty, get over here and grab a spot. Put your feet up on the coffee table and get comfortable. Peggy, (my cousin) get in there and get Rusty a bowl of ice cream." This type of thing had never happened. I know it's a silly little memory but it was important enough to me that as I searched back for fond memories, this is the first one that came back. I sure loved my aunt Cricket...still do love her. I'm sure she's reading this. I think Heaven would not be heaven if my blogs were blocked.

One more amazing thing happened this week. I was hitching a ride home from a little league game in my son Cody's car. As we drove along Cody said to Carter, "Hey Carter, see that old bicycle shop over there? It was a grocery store when I was in high school and I worked there!" Carter was so impressed he almost acknowledged Cody's comment. That made me offer, "Hey Carter, if you really want a blast from the past, one of these days I'll drive you by the old derelict building that was a brand new grocery store where I worked as a kid!" I'm thinking Carter was overwhelmed with awesomeness because he had a bit of a glazed over expression on his face which told me he couldn't wait to see that old building. Whether I ever drive by that old building again or not, that quick jolt of memory brought back a flood of fond memories stretching from high school, through college, and into my professional career. As soon as I got home from the game I grabbed a notebook and wrote down eighteen memories I had recalled. Stay tuned because I've got some catching up to do. There will be stories ranging from 'chasing the shoplifter' to 'blazing grasshoppers' to 'life in the fast lane as a 19 year old "boss". I can't wait to write them. I hope you can't wait to read them.

Seasons...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Downtown...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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