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 |  They say:"Third time's a charm". We shall see. Welcome to my third blog on WDC, |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The above picture has graced both my other blogs and of course I had to have it here...Me and my sweetie. This is my third blog here on WDC. This is, in effect, my house. So please come on in and make yourself at home. Please don't mind the mess because this part is still under construction and I will be adding stuff in the next few weeks until I get it the way I want it. About the Title: "Tor's House"....Well in a way, this is what a blog is to many of us. It is our way of inviting the world into our personal space. Just like in real life, I will endeavor to be the best host to my guests that I can be, but you must understand...in my house I tend to speak my mind. I apologize in advance for any who may feel uncomfortable. What will you find here? Oh that's easy....Humor, strong opinion, and even some philosophical musings....or what passes for that with a dumb ole country boy. So I welcome everyone...come in and let's sit and chew the fat awhile. Let's talk about stuff and see if we can figure out the answers to the world's problems....or what to make for lunch...whichever. |
| Real life...you know....that stuff we deal with between bouts on the computer can be a bitch sometimes. An example of that bitchiness: Last week I had the opportunity to travel back to Texas. I am the chief witness for Walmart in a civil suit brought by one of our customers at my old store. The man is trying to milk a quarter of a million from the store. I will delve into that case at a later date but today I have another subject. As you can imagine, I was overjoyed to get an all expenses paid trip back home and to Houston too....great! I would get to visit two of my children who live in Houston and whom I have not seen in almost two years. But, like I said, real life can be a bitch. On the day I arrived in Houston my daughter, who is thirty-two years old, was told she had a tumor that was cancerous and had to be removed. I talked to her last night; the tumor had been removed....and so had her ovaries. She will never have children. My baby girl had been in a bad marriage and had gotten out of it almost ten years ago. About seven years ago she met a really great guy and they have been together now for years. Melissa had put off having children but she and Jason had finally decided to take the plunge and get married and she was looking forward to having his children.....that's done now. I can not tell you how sad I am for my child. I know she would have been a wonderful mother and now that option is gone. Real Life can be a bitch. I know that Mel has told you all about her son, Richard who is a helicopter pilot in the army. He is now into his first week of Chemo and radiation treatment and in six weeks he too will undergo an operation to remove a cancer. His flying days are over with the Army, his life is altered completely and forever. I cry for these children. There should be a cosmic law that insures that crap like this is visited upon the parents, not the children. They have their whole life ahead of them...so much promise, so much potential. Me, on the other hand, has run the race, been to the dance, and wrung all the juice from life.....why couldn't I take these burdens from them? Yeah, Real LIfe can be a bitch can't it. It is a good thing that old men like me can dive into the computer and hide from the bitch, and spend a little time whining and complaining about that same bitch. Whenever I start feeling sorry for myself now all I have to do is think of these two wonderful young kids and what they are dealing with today. Compared to them, I am doing great....So why couldn't the bitch visit me and not my children? |
| My first inclination, upon sitting once more in front of a computer, was to call this entry "The Lost Month". After all I have never, in three blogs and four years, ever gone this long without doing a blog. We all know that Internet time is different from real time; a month of silence around here is tantamount to death and burial in the real world....or close to it. After much introspection however I have come to the conclusion that the month of February was not a lost month, but merely one in which I found myself, like Robinson Caruso, stranded on a strange island.....one called Real Life. Far from being lost, this month has instead been a learning experience for me. So what, you might ask, have I learned during this enforced exile from Blogville? Well, my friends, I have learned all sorts of interesting things about myself and the world around me. For example...... 1. The old saw: "Dog is man's best friend" is just so much hogwash, a rumor probably started by the canine species themselves. You remember when last I left you? It was the end of January, the aftermath of the great ice storm of '09. My computer had taken a dump, as had my electricity and my heat. As I sat, huddled over my hastily dug fire pit, trying to soak up warmth, it occurred to me that it could be worse, at least I had my faithful dog Sherman to keep me company....God how wrong I was! Sherman and his fur bag gang was not standing steadfast at his master's side, instead they were all just waiting for me to let my guard down so they could insert the blade in my spine. Let me set the stage for you. It was the dawn of the third day after the storm. No power, no heat, no telephone...we were truly cut off from the rest of the world. On the plus side, the road between my Sister-in-Law's house and my own had thawed just enough so that, if one had the right truck and was careful, one could navigate the two miles between us. Knowing that I had to get Mel to a warm place, I borrowed the neighbor's cell phone and got the SIL to drive over and pick Mel up so she could stay in a warm place while I stayed at the frozen remains of Almosta Ranch and took care of the animals. So there we were....waiting for the arrival of SIL and the departure of my sweetie to a warmer place. Mel, being Mel, was feeling all guilty about leaving me sitting astride a glacier so she volunteered to cook up this package of bacon which had been in our now useless fridge. She got out her trusty iron skillet and commenced to fry up that bacon over the open fire....god there is few things that smell as good as bacon cooking on a camp fire in the early morning! As she finished up the cooking, her sister arrived. I took the bacon and delivered it to a "safe" place in the house, on our kitchen counter and I then went back outside to see Mel off. I stood on the front porch, bundled in every stitch of clothing I owned, and waved a sad goodbye to my sweetie. I tell ya, I was one heroic, yet tragic figure.....right out of Homer, I was. As the truck disappeared over the hill, I turned and went back in the house to make myself a nice, big bacon sandwich. Upon entering the kitchen I noticed right away that something was amiss.....I could not see the large platter of bacon anywhere. Now I KNEW that I had just set it on the counter...maybe the cold was starting to effect my brain...I searched all over...no bacon. Then I saw it; the empty platter laying abandoned next to the garbage can. It was only then that I took noticed Sherman, all one hundred and ten pounds of backstabbing, double-crossing, two-timing fur and guts. He was sitting and watching me and HE HAD BACON CRUMBS ON HIS DAMNED MOUTH!!!!! Have you ever seen a hundred pound white dog fly into a snow bank? They make a very satisfying thud when they hit the ground. His flight was quickly followed by similar flights of Mollie, Sassy, and Booker. No, I know, the others were innocent but I figured they probably aided and abetted him in some way so to me they were all guilty! Oh the pain of it all! When a man has his mouth all set for bacon and has to settle for a COLD peanut butter and jelly sandwich....it's just wrong. Example number two comes in the form of old Red, our neighbor's Red Bone hound dog. The day of THIS crime against man took place the morning after the great bacon caper. Sherman and his cohorts were still banished to the snow drifts and for once were not guilty of helping Red. Again I must set this up for you. On the day the power first went out, we had a freezer full of meat which was in jeopardy of going bad so I had a bright idea. I took the meat from the freezer department atop the fridge and transfer it outside. I buried it in a mound of snow and ice on TOP of my car. I figured that would keep the wild animals from finding it. HA! The next morning, after the Bacon Caper, I arose early, chipped the ice off my blankets and staggered outside to start the fire in my fire pit. Once I had a fire roaring and coffee boiling, I decided to cook a big breakfast to help thaw out what was left of my blood supply. I had this large package of pork chops amid the meat hidden on top the car and I figured a couple of those boys and a few eggs would make a wonderful start to an otherwise crappy day and later on I could put the roast which was also among my stashed goodies, on to cook for dinner. Great plan, uh? It was then that I noticed something funny....there was tracks all over the hood of my car and leading up to the roof...DOG tracks. I walked over to the car, my throat tightening in dread. Once I got to the car the signs told the story. A dog had climbed up on the car and dug out my stash! There was a really neat line of tracks leading from the car, across the pasture and toward the neighbor's house. There was also a discarded PORKCHOP WRAPPER half hidden in the snow, not to mention an empty ROAST WRAPPER! Yup, ole Red, that doggie paragon of virtue, that Jeffery Dalhmer-in-dog fur, had made a midnight raid on my freaking food supply! I hung my head in surrender....I was finished, done, I tell you. I trudged back inside, slowly opened a cabinet door and removed a can of SPAM which has a half-life of enriched uranium, and took it back to the fire. Fried spam and scrambled eggs for breakfast followed by Top Ramen soup for supper....that was my menu for the foreseeable future. I toyed with the idea supplementing my diet with roast dog, but I could not figure out a suitable explanation to Mel as to the disappearance of her fur babies. So there you have it...my examples of why dogs are NOT man's best friend. Just one of the many things I learned during this LOST month away from Blogville. There were other lessons and other experiences and I will share them with you over the coming days. Right now though I must get busy re-introducing myself to some folks in Blogville who probably think I had died. For better or worse, I am back.... |
| Well I have made it once again to a computer so I guess it is time to dust off this old blog and see if I can come up with something mildly interesting to say. I was all set to write chapter two of the Great Ice Storm story but I got to thinking: that story is so "Yesterday's news", so I decided to switch gears and discuss, instead, a great learning experience I underwent on Sunday. Have you ever had one of those days when something that had bothered you for years, suddenly becomes crystal clear, when it all falls into place? I had a day like that on Sunday. It was my birthday and I realized that I had reached a milestone of sorts; I was suddenly within a few years of my father's age. It is sobering to think that you have become your parent's peer. My father died at the age of 65 and here I was at 60 and my thoughts turned to the man who had given me life and who guided my formative years. I can remember how he use to sit on the back porch, the last five years of his life, staring out at nothing...sometimes I would catch such a look of saddness on his face that it would take my breath away. I always wondered what it was that he was thinking, what was he seeing when he starred out into space like that? I think I know now. You see there is one great mystery about my father's life which he took to the grave with him. When he was a young man...in high school, he made quite a name for himself as an athlete.He was one of the best football players to ever come out of our area of the state and his senior year he won a full four year scholarship to Rice University. Now those of you who know that school know that it is better known for it's acedemic standards than it's sports standings and dad went there and maintained an A average while exelling on the football field. Then, in his second year at college, he gave it all up....he walked away from school and sports and disappeared into the West Texas Oilfield, working as a roughneck on various rigs. He would never talk about why he left and mother either could not, or would not, shed any light on the subject for me....it was his mystery. He met my mother while working on a rig near Odessa, Texas. He married her, they had one son then the war broke out....he went to war. He returned and took up his life again, had two more sons, moved back home to Polk County and spent his time working a farm and in the oil fields around the area. Annonymous, backbreaking work of a poor man was his life and I have often wondered...why? Now I know. It was all about choices. WHY he made the choice to walk away from a bright future and college is not important any longer....it was his choice and it was his to take to the grave with him. I no longer wonder about that. He made the choice and spent his life going down that road and that's enough for me. Now though, I realize why he was the way he was those last five years. He was looking back, remembering those choices, and wondering if he had done the right thing. He was also coming to the realization that, finally, there was no going back. The die was cast and his life was set to play out....the dreams were finally dead. I truly do understand him now and in a way it is comforting to think that we are now peers of a sort. He is closer to me today, at this moment, than he ever was in life....and that's a good thing. Mom once told me, not long before her death, that I was so much like my father that sometimes she could close her eyes and listen to me and swear it was him standing before her and not me. She was fussing at me at the time, but I took it as a compliment. Well now I understand that better too. I am like my father in so many ways and now I understand not only the road he took, but how he felt as he neared the end of that road. I understand now dad, and I gotta tell you....You did good. You did the best you could for all of those who depended upon you and you never stopped moving forward on that road you chose. I'm proud to be like you. |
I want to take a moment to thank all of you readers and friends who have sent well wishes and concerns to Mel and me. I have been in sporadic contact with a few of you via phone and your love and caring has meant the world to both of us here. I want to apologize in advance to those of you whose blog I normally visit. It will be quite some time before I have more than limited access to a computer and my reading and commenting time has been seriously shortened. Please forgive me and I will try to make it up to all of you in the future. I am going to try to post the story of our little adventure in installments because of this limited computer access. It won’t be daily, but I will try to get it all in somehow. Anyway....this is the first entry. I hope you get a chuckle....God knows I DIDN’T!  Call me a little strange if you will, but I like to keep score in the ongoing practical joke war that has raged between God and me. To date, sadly, the score stands at 579 for God, 0 for me. It is quite possible though that after this latest adventure, I may have to finally admit defeat. On January 27, 2009 God, in one of his more inspired moments, came up with the perfect practical joke....He drop kicked my ass right back into the 19th century! Monday dawned bright and cold (so what else is new) with the weather talking-heads screaming about a massive winter storm barreling down upon the blighted land of Misery (better known as Missouri). I listened and suddenly felt a cold chill run down my spine...call it a premonition. I had to get ready for work but I told Mel to keep an eye on the weather radar on the computer and call me at work if it looked as if the storm might arrive before I get off work....I was scheduled to work until nine that night. So off to work I went, muttering about the STUPID weather, the STUPID state, and the STUPID weather men as I rolled through the frigid countryside. At work absolute chaos reigned supreme as all the people mobbed the store in search of supplies for the upcoming storm. I stood there at the door and shook my head as folks rushed about filling their buggies with necessities such as microwave dinners, fresh meat, milk and veggies...all perishables. I'm thinking to myself...."UH?" About a quarter to five that afternoon Mel calls me at work. "Looks like the storm will be here within the hour," she said. "It looks like a bad one on the radar." That's all I needed. I bid my fellow wage slaves a fond adieu, made my way out to the Grey Ghost in the parking lot, and headed for home. I arrived home about 5:30 and I had not been home more than twenty minutes when the skies opened and freezing rain and ice began to pelt the earth....the wind howled through the trees.....the goats headed for shelter. About eight that night we lost power, which was expected so Mel and I decided to make an early evening of it and go to bed. After all, I wasn't really worried, we still had heat. Our furnace is powered by propane and doesn't need electricity and we still had phone because I have a back up old land-line phone which plugs directly into the phone line and doesn't need power either. I learned, living in Hurricane country, to keep one of those handy. So, like I said....I wasn't really worried. It was close to four o'clock the next morning when I was awakened by the lights coming on! Oh yeah, this was going to be nothing at all, I thought; we already have power back. I got up, put on a pot of coffee, and putzed around, doing my morning rituals. I kicked the dogs outside to do their thing, grabbed a hot mug of coffee, and made my way over to my desk to start the computer and check out Blogville. THE DAMN COMPUTER WAS DEAD! I know what most of you are thinking and you are wrong. I did not panic, I did not scream like a little girl and I DID NOT lay on the floor in the fetal position and suck my thumb. On the contrary, I took the news quite stoically. After all, I had more or less expected the old dinosaur to bite the big one before this. I figured that the stress of the storm was just more than it could take and it just gave up the ghost. I was not going to overreact, I had the television, I had my Xbox...life was still good. So I settled in to watch a bit of news, then I played some Xbox. Mel climbed out of bed a couple of hours later and started breakfast....life was still good. I was in the middle of breakfast when the unthinkable happened: BAM! The power went off again....for the last time. It was now dark and it would remain so for the next nine days. And so it began.... Yes, I was unhappy, but not overly concerned. We had plenty of canned goods, at least enough for a few days, on the shelves and we still had heat and phone...it was all good. We spent a LOOOONG day at home, unable to leave because all the roads were closed due to something like five inches of ice which had dropped on us during the night. We retired early to bed after a cold dinner, determined to wait it out. Thursday morning dawned even colder than the previous two...12 degrees with a twenty mile an hour wind gusting. I got up and noticed a chill in the living-room. I went over to the furnace and checked it out. THE DAMN THING WAS OUT! Well it happens from time to time. I just have to relight the pilot light and get it fired up again. IT WOULD NOT LIGHT! I screamed for Mel to “Get the hell in here, we got trouble!” She checked it out and came to the same scientific conclusion I did: “It’s Broke.” “Thank you, Miss Fix-it”. I stalked over to the phone to call the people who service the thing and demand some...SERVICE! THE DAMNED PHONE WAS DEAD!! This meant the phone lines themselves had gone down. Now not only do we not have power, we also are without heat and phone..... WE ARE WELL AND TRULY SCREWED!! Episode Two: The Cold, Dark Days, will be posted when I get the chance to use my Sister-in-Law’s computer...it may be a day or two. |
| A blogging question, if you would permit..."Should a blogger do an entry late at night when most of his readers have already gone about their business or should he wait until the morning? Well you're right; nobody gives a damn so I might as well write one now anyway. Speaking of not giving a damn....that's me and it's all because of the weather. For the past two weeks we have had one day...count em...one day, in which the temperature has soared above freezing. This morning when I staggered out to the car it was a balmy 18 degrees with about a twenty mph wind blowing. Do any of you know what that makes the wind chill factor? Well I just happen to know because I used a very unscientific formula to figure it out. The answer is: The wind chill is four degrees colder than A FREAKING POLAR BEAR'S ASS! Oh yeah, did I mention....we are supposed to have snow and ICE the next two days. Is it any wonder I don't give a damn? They have a saying, here in Missouri about the weather....I don't remember it, but I am fairly confident that it consisted entirely of one sylible words. I swear this state has the largest contingent of backward, in-bred, ignorant folks I have ever run into. The other day I had the great misfortune of finishing the book I was reading while on my first break. That meant I had to go through lunch NOT reading and I would have to listen to the others taking lunch at the same time....not good. A lady at the table behind me was telling her buddies about a particularly dumb customer who had asked a really stupid question. The lady told what the customer said, then she declared: "Have you ever heard of anything so goofy? That guy was a real Oxymoron!" Then she repeated the story for a latecomer to the break room and again called the guy a "real Oxymoron". I could take it no longer...I turned around and asked the lady: "Do you have any idea what an oxymoron really is?" The room got quiet and the lady replied, somewhat testily: "Well of course I do, an oxymoron is anyone who does or says something really stupid." "Next time we get paid," I told her, "invest in a dictionary. You will be amazed at what you can learn from those things." It's the weather, I tell you; it sucks the patience right out of me. I am sure all of you have, by now, read the really funny blog entry by Nada  and I have to chime in here on some of her subject matter...Ms. Franklin and her singing at the coronation last week. If there was ever one piece of advice which I would depart to that lady it would be: Use some of the money you made forty years ago and buy a voice! Good lord whose idea was it to have her sing anyway? Yes, forty years ago or so the woman could really belt out a tune but now.....well...not so much. She was half-way through the song before I recognized what she was singing. And people were applauding like they enjoyed it...morons. Now I have said over and over again that I know absolutely nothing about poetry, but I gotta tell you...that poem the lady read....well I think had she read the first ten pages of the Metro Washington D.C. phone book it would have been more moving than that thing she recited on that particular day. Your right, you are definitely right....I am an insensitive boor, but I JUST DON'T GIVE A DAMN. You want 'kinder, gentler, come see me about July or August! |
| This morning I was given a reminder of one of the constant truths in my life: God is the ultimate Jester. I arose from my slumber this morning and even as my feet hit the floor, I knew I had a real winner for a blog topic today. So I did my morning chores, grabbed a steaming mug of coffee and took my seat at the computer all set to dazzle my readers with my wit. Oh I have to tell you, this entry was going to be some of the funniest stuff I had ever written. Hell, I was even chuckling as I banged the keys....we are talking academy awards time here. It was all about how I had gone through the entire day yesterday believing that TODAY was my day off when in fact, and as I learned after returning home, I have to work today and won't be off until TOMORROW! Ah, my angst, my pain, my bitter disappointment would have had you all rolling on the floor in laughter. But it was not to be. I was about three quarters of the way done with the entry when I hear this big, booming laugh behind me. "OH MAN, THAT IS SOME FUNNY STUFF, DAVID!" It was God, he was reading over my shoulder again.I got nervous, I think a part of me knew what was coming. "Uh, glad you liked it God. You really think it's funny?" "Oh yeah, it's funny alright," he said between chuckles. "But you want to know what's even FUNNIER?" Before I could scream: "NO!" He snapped his fingers and my computer did this strange little hiccup and my entry went "poof" and was GONE! I sat there at my desk with a look of shocked dismay plastered on my face....HE HAD DONE IT TO ME AGAIN! "NOW THAT IS REALLY FUNNY!" His voice boomed as he fell over in gales of hysterical laughter. After a few moments he managed to gain some control and he patted me on the shoulder tenderly. "Have no fear, my son," he told me in a kindly voice and a big grin on his face. "I'm gonna keep you alive a long, long, time because you are by far my favorite victim when it comes to practical jokes. Oh I wish you could see the look on your face!" He then proceeded to lose control and his laughter echoed throughout the house as he slowly faded from view. "THANKS FOR THE LAUGH, DAVE....SEE YOU NEXT TIME." And he was gone. Sometimes it's hard being God's favorite practical joke victim, but I guess if he's messing with me, he's leaving my friends alone...cold comfort. Mel just got up. I told her what happened. "I thought I heard Him laughing in here," she said, "so I figured I better get in here and hide all the sharp objects." "Do me a favor honey," I told her sadly, "Just stand there behind me and watch my back while I finish this thing. If he shows up again reach over my shoulder and hit "save" real quick." She did....it's done. Sorry you missed the other entry, now THAT one was funny. |
| "Politics is just Show Business for ugly people." Never has that been more true than on this day. I typed the above and paused.....ten thousand thoughts bouncing around in my head. What came to the surface just now though is that I am and have been for years...a man of two minds. Folks, let no one get the wrong idea, I love my country, and I am proud to be an American but at the same time I have a deep and abiding distrust of the government of this nation. As I watch all the Pomp and Circumstance surrounding the transfer of power I am almost overwhelmed by these warring sides of my mind. I want to believe that this day marks a turning point for the nation, a change that will take us on a high road and remake us into a land of milk and honey. I want to believe...but I can't. Fifty-nine years of watching American politics has taught me a cruel truth of its own: Every inauguration day is a beautifully wrapped gift, but when that gift is opened and the pretty wrappings discarded....the box is empty. It is always business as usual. But, like the little boy who never gets a Christmas present but each year stands at the window and watches for Santa Claus, I want to believe..I really do. At times this morning I am almost overcome with cynicism, but then I witness a shot of the Washington Monument and the sea of cheering people standing in freezing weather, and my heart swells in spite of everything. Maybe this time....maybe we will get it right. Then I remember that this man has named an avowed Socialist as the Global Warming Czar. This woman will sit in on Cabinet level meetings. I shake my head. Then I see a shot of dozens of Senators filing down the steps to their VIP seating, followed by their entourages and I can not help but be reminded of pictures of the Senators of ancient Rome filing into the Colosseum for the games. I shake my head. How like Rome we are....what can possibly save us? This man? We are about to find out, my friends. For better or worse....we will know. Where will we be in four years? Like the little boy watching for Santa Claus, I eternally hope for the gift of better times for this country.......but that other part of my mind tells me something else. If he succeeds, then we will live in a new era, but if he fails, I am not sure this country can survive that. That, my friends, is what scares me today. |
| Do you ever climb up in the attic or down in the basement, wherever you store your old stuff, and sit and go through stuff you have written long ago? I am guilty of doing that in here from time to time. This old house in Blogville has a basement that is just chock full of old writings, like snapshots of my creativity along with pictures of those who stopped by to visit. After work last night I decided to light a candle and descend the creaky stairs that led to the basement...I wanted to revisit an old friend. "Invalid Item"  was my very first blog. It was started way back on March 31, 2005 and by now it is indeed old and dusty and laid in a corner of the basement forgotten. I made myself comfortable, opened the big book up and started to read. As I thumbed through the pages I was instantly transported to a simpler, quieter time in Blogville, a time when I was new to the town and getting to know my neighbors. From the very beginning I had two readers who left comments on a regular basis; zwisis and Wenston . They were both there to greet me when I moved into the neighborhood and I am happy to say that zwisis has remained with me through all three blogs.Those first twenty entries rarely had more than two or three comments and I noticed back then I had a habit of answering comments directly in my blog...something I rarely do anymore. I wonder if I should start doing that again? I think it was about entry 15 or so when I had the pleasure of a new reader dropping by, it was Nada and she was followed quickly by Scarlett  . Little did I know at the time, that those two ladies were destined to become two of my closest friends. I had to smile when I read Scarlett's first comment...she began it by saying: "Hi Tor." I thought about how many times since then I have run across her comments to other blogs that started the same way. I wonder if those other writers know what a special lady she is, what a good friend she can be.To all those first readers who faithfully left comments I want to give you all a heartfelt "THANK YOU" for making me feel so welcome here on WDC. It has been a long road...this blogging trip and I have made some wonderful friends along the way. That, to me, is worth every word I ever wrote. And now, since I am waxing nostalgic, I would like to reprint one of my first entries...in fact I think it was #33. I really do believe that my writing was better back then..what do you think? WHY WORRY? Ahhhh....another day in the master's cotton field is behind me, time to relax on the front porch of my hovel and contemplate the wonders of life. Or, I could just sit here at the computer and do my stress management exercise-write in my blog. Well I survived the trip to the doctor...he tossed the bones and read the chicken entrails and came to the conclussion that I needed to be on BP medicine. Actually two meds it turns out. One of the pills is for BP alone and I had no problem with that. It was the other one that made me go...UH??. This other pill was for "Congestive heart failure". Ok...what's up with that? The dang ticker hasn't failed me yet so why do I have to take pills for it? And, probably to pay me back for all my witch doctor jokes, the dang doctor has scheduled me for an MRI on thursday. He took a little bit too much pleasure telling me that he wanted to check and see if I had experienced what they call a "Mini-Stroke". It's like I told you in another blog entry...once the doctor gets his claws in you he feels duty bound to find as much wrong as he can....it's like he is working on commission or something. I was discussing this sad turn of events with my buddy Randal at work today and he asked me if I was worried about the MRI. The question reminded me of a sage bit of advise my ole daddy gave me years ago, just before my all expense paid vacation with Uncle Sam. Dad Said..."Why worry." To which I said: "UH"? Dad expounded on the theme: "Son, why worry? You really only have two things to worry about in life...whither you are well or sick. Now if you are well, you have nothing to worry about, but if you are sick you only have two things to worry about. Will you get better or will you die. Now if you get better, you have nothing to worry about. But, if you die, you only have two things to worry about. Will you go to heaven or will you go to hell. Now son, if you go to heaven you have absolutely nothing to worry about. But, if you happen to go to hell YOU WILL BE SO BUSY SHAKING HANDS WITH YOUR FRIENDS YOU WON'T HAVE TIME TO WORRY!" So you see, dad had it down pat. Why worry? I repeated this advise to my buddy Randal who listened quietly then, when I had finished he thought for a moment then shook his head. "You know Dave,"he said seriously. "I sure hope nothing happens to you because then I will be the most twisted person at this store." Randal is such a compassionate guy, that's why I like him I think! LOL...I remember repeating this advise one day while laying on my back behind an ancient stone wall and listening to the bullets SMACK into the stone or whine angrily over our heads. I shared this wisdom with another buddy of mine who was laying next to me trying to keep the elastic in his ass from snapping outta fear. He too paused and thought about it...then he told me: "You know if I wasn't so low on ammo I would shoot you myself." LOL....some guys just can not see the humor in a situation! Thank you....all who have come through my doors and I hope we are able to visit for many more entries in the future. |
| Over the past few years I have received many email inquiries from new bloggers and new members asking for advice. They all wanted tips on how to make their blogs a success. The fact that they asked me about this stuff showed how desperate they were....What the hell do I know. Be that as it may, I always try to give them honest and, I hope, helpful advice; hell, this is what old men do after all. So today I thought I would put some of those questions and answers in the form of an interview with a fictitious, “new” blogger. This is merely an exercise on my part...something I have not tried before...I hope you enjoy it. New Blogger:Hi Tor, I am new to WDC and I have decided to do a blog. I found your blog on the Blog Page and I really enjoyed reading your last entry. I was wondering if you would mind answering a few questions for me. Me: Well howdy, NB how you doing? I would be happy to answer any questions you may have about blogging but lord, I don’t know how much help I will be. NB:Thanks Tor. My first question has to be the most obvious one: What do I have to do to be successful writing a blog on WDC? Me: You started off with a tough question. First thing you have to do is define “Successful”. You see, for many people, the mere act of putting words on paper/screen on a semi-regular basis is a success. To those folks merely exercising their writing muscle is the success they are searching for. Then, there are people who judge their success with a blog on whether or not others read their writings. So what would success mean to you? NB:Hum...A little of both those, I suppose. I want to exercise that writing muscle, but I also want others to read what I write. Is that wrong? Me: No, not at all, in fact that is pretty much the way I look at blogging. In my opinion, any writer who tells you they don’t care if anyone reads their stuff is lying to themselves....and you. NB:So you write for a readership. How do you go about doing that? Me: I’m not sure there is a right way or a wrong way but what I do is I try to write an entry as if I were writing a newspaper or magazine column. On some level I try to pattern my entries after some of my favorite columnist I have read over the years. Dave Barry is one of my favorites when it comes to humorous columns and I try to emulate him when I do humor. Admittedly, I rarely come close to his expertise but I keep trying. Leon Hale, who did a column for years and years in Houston, Texas is another of my favorites. He has a down-home, country style that just pulls the reader into his stories and I do love that. NB:Okay, that sounds like something I could do, but what about the other type of blog...the one that is written like a daily diary, is that not the way to go and should I steer clear of that sort of writing? Me: Not at all. As I said before, it merely depends on what you want from a blog. If you decided to write your own blog like a daily diary then that is perfectly okay. The beauty of blogging is that there is room for all kinds of blog. The only advise I have for you if you decide to write a purely personal diary sort of blog is do NOT dwell only on the negative aspects of your daily life. Do not write “Poor Me” entries constantly. Let’s face it, everyone has crap going on in their own life and they tire easily of reading an unending tale of woe from someone else. Write about the good as well as the bad. The upside of doing that is that, when you search for good to write about, you suddenly realize that there ARE good things happening with you and maybe life doesn’t suck quite as bad as you thought it did. NB:Well that makes sense. I have read a lot of your back entries and looked at your other two blogs and I notice that yours is a mixture. You seem to put in personal and sometimes very dark entries mixed with your “column” sort of entries. Was this done on purpose? Me: God, I rarely do any blog entry on purpose. I think that about 85% of the time, when I sit down at the computer to do an entry, I don’t have the slightest idea what I am going to write, it just flows out. Some would say it is regurgitated and sometimes I have to agree with them. When asked about a particular entry, I usually just respond: “Stuff happens.” NB:Kind of like this interview then. Me: Exactly! NB:So, after I decide what sort of blog I want to write, how do I know if I am doing it right? Me: Oh that’s an easy one. There are two things to look at: Views and Comments. Of course you already know about comments. Are people moved to add their thoughts to what you wrote? Then there are the Views. If you look over there to the left you will see a pull-down menu. One of the categories is “My Places”. If you open that up and go down to “Summary Stats”, you will get a list of all your items that have been viewed by others and how many times they viewed them. You then compare the two numbers. For instance, let’s say you have done an entry and you get thirty views of that entry but only one or maybe no comments. That tells you that thirty people have opened your blog to read it but few felt moved to leave a comment. You take from that information what you will...it is there for you. NB:So how do I get readers in the first place, do I just put my blog out there and hope someone stumbles by and reads it? Me: Oh hell NO! This is the one hard-bound truth of blog writing on WDC; if you want readers you have to read. What I mean is you can’t just throw entries out there and expect people to rush to you. You must take the time to read other blogs, leave comments and get involved. In turn, those people will visit your own blog and return the favor. However that does not mean you can rely only on that. You must also give them something of substance to read. Look at it like this: Your visits to other blogs sends out an invitation to others to visit yours, but if you have nothing for them to read when they get there, they probably won’t be back. NB:Damn, all this sounds like a lot of work. What if I don’t want to invest the time to do everything you suggest?” Me: Well then by all means...don’t do it. Look, it all boils down to one thing for me: Everything you achieve in life is due to hard work and an investment in your time.....why should blogging be any different? NB: Thank you Tor, you have given me an awful lot to think about and I am grateful for your time. I guess I should get busy and write my next entry. Me: You’re welcome, and I look forward to reading your next entry. I’m sure you are going to be a rip-roaring success here on WDC. WRITE ON! |
| This morning at about seven a.m. I called my brother, Mongo. It went something like this: RING, RING Mongo: "Hello." Me: "It's me, I got some bad news for you." Mongo: Worried voice...early morning calls are never good. "What's wrong David?" Me: angry voice "I just wanted you to be the first to know...I am filing for divorce from Melinda." Silence for the space of a few heartbeats. Mongo: "Oh no, what the hell has happened?" Me: "I'll tell you what happened, not only has that evil woman drug me up here to live in God's freaking refrigerator, but this morning the temperature hit -3 degrees and she climbed out of bed, walked outside to look at the thermometer, then came back to bed and stuck her DAMNED COLD FEET AND HANDS ON MY BODY! I am kicking the hussy to the curb!!" At this point I had to hold the phone away from my ear due to Mongo's loud and somewhat hysteric laughter. Mongo:finally getting control of his giggles "So Mr. I'd-wear-an-overcoat-in-Hell now finds himself in below zero weather....GOD I LOVE THAT WOMAN! You tell her she has made my whole dang year!" Me:"Well I can see I will get no sympathy from you...you damned turncoat. You just remember this phone call when you hear the news on TV about a crazed man killing his wife and burning the body for warmth....I warned you!" Gales of laughter erupted in my ear and I slammed the phone down. So that is how my morning began. I am off the next two days and as I sit here with my electric blanket wrapped around my body and try to type this...you guys just watch the news and remember....I warned you....there's gonna be a killing in Missouri! |
| Okay, so I cheated and I bumped up last nights entry. Well I felt bad about that....for about ten seconds and I decided to give you an example of someone else's humor since mine is a tad gross. Enjoy. A vacationer was out West and was visiting one of our National Parks. There was a sign at the entrance that read"WARNING THIS IS GRIZZLY COUNTRY" never enter the forest without a bell around your neck and some pepper spray!! You should scout the area you intend to fish,hunt,hike or camp in. Black Bear droppings are recognizable as they will have remnants of nuts and berries and small rodent bones in it whereas Grizzly Bear droppings will have little bells in it and smell like pepper!!!! Two second graders were walking home from school and came across a frog on the side of the road that exclaimed"Please help me I'm a beautiful princess turned into a frog by a wicked witch and if you take me home with you and kiss me and place me in the bed beside you,when morning comes I will be a princess again!" So the one lad took the frog home with him. The next morning as they were walking to school his buddy ask "did you kiss the frog as she asked?" to which he replied"no, heck, at my age I'd just as soon have a talking frog!" During these serious times, people of all faiths should remember these four religious truths: 1. Muslims do not recognize Jews as God's chosen people. 2. Jews do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah. 3. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian world. 4. Baptists do not recognize each other at Hooters |
| I started not to write this entry tonight because every time I write an entry this late, the views suck and the comments are few, and then I have to bump it up the next day and THAT ticks some folks off cause it's like cheating, but you know what...I don't care because I am in a foul mood, I'm sick and I am back to my irascible self again. Oh yeah, did I mention; I also hate people who write long rambling, opening sentences...Morons! So a few things that are irritating me at the moment..... First of all, someone on this site who shall remain nameless but whose initials are ERIC WHARTON accused me of having a soft side after I wrote my last story. Well this entry should show Mr. Smarty Pants the error of his judgement! The main thing however that really bugs me is this threat we keep hearing about of terrorist sneaking a dirty bomb into the US and setting it off. Well I gotta tell you, after three days of suffering from the Crud from Hell, I have come to the inescapable conclussion that terrorist don't have to use a "dirty" bomb, all they have to do is figure out how to make a bomb from this crap I have and detonate it. I guarantee you America would be brought to its knees within a week! I have spent the last three days puking and sitting on the pot, sometimes doing both at the same time. I have to tell you though, when that happens, one must have a serious case of dexterity or one ends up with a lap full of whatever was in your stomach. After three days I can attest to the fact that there is absolutely nothing left in me to come up. I come to this truth because the last time I rushed to the toilet and sit upon the throne, nothing came out but a burst of tortured air which, interestingly enough had the same tonal quality as Herve Villechaize on Fantasy Island. For those of you under the age of 150, just google it for God's sake, I can't explain everything! So can you imagine the horror that would be spread if a bomb like this was let loose on America? In Washington, if all the Politicians crapped as much as I have the last three days, Capitol Hill would be filled with midgets! But I didn't miss work, no siree, I have been there all three days! I plastered a smile on my pasty face, while clutching at my spasming mid-section and swallowing my own bile and I welcomed the idiots to Wally World! I wonder if any of the smart asses who gave me even a sidelong look realized how close they were to being drowned by projectile mucus? Okay, so it don't take much to bother me right now but here are a few of those things. 1. The History Channel....This was once my favorite channel but that is quickly changing. Have you noticed how almost 80% of their programing nowadays is made up of silly documentaries meant to scare the hell out of us? Nostradamus 2012! The Mayan Calendar 2012, Seven Signs of the Apocalypse and 2012! Do you get the idea that 2012 ain't gonna be a banner year for us? Then you have Mega Earthquake, Mega Tsunami, Mega Tornado, and my personal favorite...Mega Solar Storm on or about 2012! They ought to change the name of the History channel to The Hysteric Channel, for God's sake. Oh and speaking of Solar Storm...they told us in such solemn tones about the chaos that would ensue when all the electronics around the world were fried. NO CELL PHONES! My reaction was...."So what's your point?" 2. Goodbye Puke Yellow!....Did you all get the notice from the SM? Yes, it's true, they are doing away with the pukey yellow background. What the hell is up with that? Yeah, I know, the color is butt-ugly but by God it is OUR color. It sets us apart from the rest of the cookie-cuter writer sites...WE GOT UGLY DOWN PAT! Now they are going to plain WHITE! Don't they read the news or watch television, don't they know that white is out this year? At the very least they should replace the butt-ugly yellow with a little powder blue or something....geeze. Okay I was going to make this a list of five, I swear I was, but I have suddenly been gripped with a terrible spasm....bile is also on the rise....I gotta stop this now and go pay my respects to the porcelain god and do my part in backing up our septic system....more tomorrow...maybe....GAWD! |
Thank all of you who left such kind comments to my last entry. I have followed the advice of many of you and I have made that entry into a static item in my port....
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| I would like to do something just a little different with my blog entry today. I would like to take a trip to the kingdom of “What If”, in the land of “Could of Been”. As many of you who follow this blog know, My sweet wife, Mel was born and raised in Michigan while I was born and grew up in Texas. Like many couples who meet late in life, we have often wondered out loud what life would have been like had we met and fell in love as teenagers. Yes, I know, highly unlikely since we were separated by so many miles...but not really. You see, shortly after we did meet and we were busy telling each other our life stories, we were both shocked to find out that we were, at one time, not only in the same state, but on the same road at the same time. It was the summer before my senior year and I had already decided to join the military and forego any more school. Before I joined however me and a good friend decided what we both needed was a road trip. So he and I set off in my car for MICHIGAN. We knew two sisters whose father was working on a pipeline up there. Our plan was to travel across country, arrive in Michigan, and go to work on the same pipeline.....and the girls. The road we had to travel to get to where we were going went right through Mel’s hometown. She often road her horse along that road. I remember seeing a pretty girl riding a horse as we zoomed along the blacktop headed for our destination. So you see....had I stopped and met that girl on the horse, and if it as I suspect was Mel....we actually COULD have found each other when we were young. So......in the kingdom of “What If”, in the land of “Could of Been”.......... *********************************** The old man shuffled out onto the front porch of the modest log cabin. The old white dog raised his head in greeting from his spot next to the old man’s rocking chair. “Morning old dog.” The old man’s voice was raspy, his breath shallow. “I see you and I made another night. So I guess that means we have spend another day here, uh.” The white dog had been the man’s companion for twenty years...ancient for a dog. He watched the old man intently as he made his way to the rocking chair and sat down heavily, then the dog lay his head back on his front paws....both of them stared out across the front yard and the empty acres in front of the house. The old man fumbled in his shirt pocket and brought out a package of cigarettes. He took one out of the package and put it in his mouth. His hand shook slightly as he held the flame of his lighter to the end of the smoke. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slowly with a sigh. The dog raised his head again and stared at the man. Looking down, the man demanded, “What? Don’t say it, I know, you think the damned things are gonna kill me.” He gave a small sad laugh. “You sound just like her, you know.” The dog sniffed in disapproval and laid his head back down again. The man removed the cigarette from his mouth and held it in his hand as he returned his gaze out to the empty vista of the land. The green grass of his front pasture stretched almost out of sight until it merged with the far ridge. Over the ridge was a river lined with oak, mesquite and a few pecan trees. A thick forest he had allowed to grow for the deer and other wild animals she had loved so much. She....there she was in his mind again. Truth was she never left, not for an instant. His eyes fixed on the top of the ridge as his mind once again, turned inward. His wife of sixty-five years had passed away the month before and now him and the dog were left alone...waiting. He let the cigarette fall from his hand unnoticed. How often had he and the old girl sit on this very porch and laughed and talked? One of their favorite topics had always been ; what would their life had been like had they not met by chance as teenagers. He had always held that their love had been too strong, they would have found each other eventually and she had smiled and agreed with him. He remembered now, that first meeting..... He had been seventeen and full of wanderlust. He had loaded up his car and left his native Texas for a cross country adventure. His plans were set, he was going to spend the summer seeing the country he had never seen before and when he returned home, he was going to volunteer for the military. There was a war going on and he wanted to be a part of that grand adventure too. If the truth were known, he had merely been a young man at loose ends. Raised in the Cowboy way, he was quickly seeing that way of life disappear as the world speeded up and became modern. He had no place in that new world and he was really searching for something to hold onto, to believe in. His travels took him all the way up to Michigan where he planned on working on a pipeline for the summer and when he arrived there one of the first things he saw as he sped down the blacktop highway caused him to stop the car in wonder. He saw a girl riding her horse bareback. The horse was a big buckskin mare with a long, flowing mane and tail, whose long stride at the gallop ate the ground up. The girl was tall and long-legged, dressed in jeans and a light denim shirt. Her long brown hair was flowing in the wind and she sat the horse as if they were joined. She was coming toward him and as he pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road, she drew up even with him. He waved at her and she pulled up on the reins and brought her horse to a skidding stop. As she sat there above him and looked down with a smile he found it hard to breathe....she was the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered. Her brown hair fell well past her shoulders and framed a face highlighted by bright, clear blue eyes that held just a hint of laughter in them. Her high cheekbones and small nose and full lips gave her the look usually found on the cover of magazines....and she could damned sure ride a horse! His first thought was: “What more could a man want” ? They talked there on the side of the road. He told her his name was David and she said her name was Melinda. She lived in the small town close to where he was going to be working on that pipeline. He had not wanted to let her go but she had insisted she had to return home, it was getting late. He did manage to get her phone number....the summer was definitely looking up. They had spent that summer getting to know each other. Every moment he was not working, he spent with her. They rode horses through wide meadows of wild flowers and lay on a bed of soft green grass, staring up at the warm June sun and they shared their life stories with each other. She had told him of her plans. She wanted to go to college and become an animal doctor and she wanted to raise and train horses. It was then that he suddenly realized something about himself....he had no plans, not for his life. All he had ever thought of was what was over the next hill, what adventures he could find and he told her that. “Well that’s just silly,” she said with a smile as she tickled his nose with the stem of a flower. “You have to have a plan.” “Hey, I got a plan. I’m going to join the service. I’m going to war.” She had looked into his eyes silently for a moment, her face serious, the smile gone. “And are you going to stay in the service; make a career of it?” Her voice was soft and low. “No.” He shook his head. “When the war is done, so am I.” “Then what will you do after the war.” He had starred at her in some confusion. “Hell....I have no idea.” It was then that she offered him an alternative. “You know, going to war is not a bad thing, but why rush out and join? Why not go back home and finish school and go to college...build your life. If they call you up in the draft, then go and go proudly, but until then start to build something for our future.” His eyes had widened in surprise. “OUR future?” his voiced almost caught in his throat. She bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Of course you silly man,” she said with a smile. “You and I are going to be married. It had been just that simple, he thought now as he sat alone on the porch. They had spent the summer together then he had returned to Texas, finished high school and entered a small college near his hometown. His father had been amazed and his mother had been elated. She had enrolled in the same college which had meant leaving her home far behind. They had married during their freshman year. After that, the years flowed by like a gentle, wide river, carrying them along through life. He never did get to go to war. He did, however learn two things....he had a knack for writing and telling stories and he had a love of history. He spent the next thirty years writing books and teaching history at the same small college they had attended. She became a Vet and spent her spare time training horses for show and for harness racing. They had three children...two boys and a girl. Life flowed onward down that river of time. And now here he sat...an old man, alone. In sixty-five years they had never been apart more than a week, and now she was gone for good. He was alone in their small house on a thousand acres of ranch land. Cattle grazed in the pastures and horses...her horses...milled about the corral...and he was alone. He reached down and absently scratched the old dog’s head. His eyes burned as a tear weaved a track down his wrinkled, weathered cheek. He had never let anyone see him cry, he had held it all in. Even at the funeral, even as he comforted his children and grandchildren, they never once saw him cry. A man has his pride, after all. It was different now, here alone with the old dog. Hell, that dog was probably as heart broken as he was, he thought. He still remembered when she had brought him home, just a small, white bundle of fur. The dog had been his birthday gift from her. He had to smile when he remembered how she had laughed at his lack of imagination, she had called it, when he named the new puppy: Dog. The name had stuck and so had the dog. Now here they both sat...missing her. His children had worried and fussed over him for a week until he had finally run them off. “You people have lives to live, I’m fine now go home.” He had told them gruffly. They had all filed out of the house, but he knew they, or the grandchildren would be around from time to time...checking on him. The morning turned to afternoon and still he sat in his chair. He knew he should get up and fix something to eat. He could not remember the last time he had taken a meal...days he was sure. He was light-headed and his heart was racing as it did from time to time. He was about to get out of the chair and go inside when a movement on the top of the ridge caught his eye. He looked up there, into the sun, and could barely make out the figure of a horse and rider. They seemed to be just sitting still and looking down toward the house, but he could not make out what the rider looked like. “Damn these old eyes,” he muttered. It was then that he also noticed that his old riding horse was saddled and standing tied at the edge of the front porch. “Now that’s strange, I don’t remember saddling old Bud.” He rose from the chair on legs that were shaky and walked slowly off the porch and over to the horse. “I may as well ride on up there and find out who is trespassing on my land.” he told the dog who had followed him loyally down the porch. With some effort, he pulled himself up into the saddle and turned the horse toward the far ridge. The stranger was still sitting up there, unmoving. He started off in a slow trot, which was about all he could handle at his age. The dog hobbled slowly along with him as best he could. Then something really strange happened to the old man. His horse slowly increased speed, without being urged to but instead of having trouble riding, the old man sat the saddle surely. As the horse gained speed, the man seemed to gain strength. He looked quickly down and noticed that the old dog was no longer hobbling, but was loping along in a sure and steady run beside the horse. He noticed his hands, holding the reins and was shocked to see them looking young and strong again...no wrinkles, no arthritis riddled knuckles. The horse was now at a full gallop and he was nearing the top of the ridge. The rider was still setting still...waiting for him. He was still a few yards from the top of the ridge when he finally recognized the rider....It was Melinda! She looked the same as she had looked the day he had met her. She wore the same jeans and denim shirt. Her smile....as she smiled at him now...was the same. She took his hand when he stopped beside her. “Let’s go home baby,” she told him softly. The white dog barked joyously at their side. *************************************** The pick-up truck skidded to a stop in front of the old man’s house and his grandson, Aric opened the door and stepped out. He had promised his dad he would stop by and check on grandpa today and he was really worried about the old man. He was relieved to see grandpa sitting on the front porch with the old dog laying at his feet and he called out to him. “Hey gramps, how you feeling today?” Aric was greeted with silence. He started toward the porch and the old man made no move to rise or that he had seen him. Aric began to run, afraid of what he was about to find. When he reached the porch, the truth struck him like a hammer blow. The old man was dead. Aric looked down and noticed, not surprised at all, that the dog had also died as he lay at his master’s feet. How fitting, Aric thought sadly. He turned hurriedly from the hateful sight of his dead grandfather, a man he had loved deeply. He dug his cell phone from his pocket, he had to call his dad and let him know. He was dialing the number when motion on the ridge caught his eye. Aric looked up to the top of the ridge and saw two riders.....looked like teenagers...sitting on their horses and looking down at him. There was a big white dog with them. Even as he was about to yell at them to go away, they both waved to him. Then the girl took the boy’s hand and they turned their horses and rode over the backside of the ridge and out of sight, followed by the dog. “Damned kids,” Aric muttered as he dialed his father’s number. |
| Electricity is a stimulus. If electrodes are attached to a dead body and electricity is coursed through that body, it will be stimulated; it will jump and jerk, the arms will wave, the legs will jerk.....but the body is still dead. Congress debates a Trillion dollar stimulus package for the country. It will make the body jump, the arms wave and the legs jerk, but will it revive the body? More people live on the government dole today than ever before in history. There seems to be no such thing as failure today, if a business is about to go belly up, it runs to Big Brother and holds out its hand for money. It is called Socialism. Freedom is a muscle and if it is not exercised it will atrophy, that includes the freedom to fail. Just because the "body" is stimulated, it does not mean the body is cured...or alive. You may take from this what you will, agree with it or disagree. It is merely the observations of an old man and, in the great scheme of things, worth very little on the open market. |
| I feel like a little change of pace this morning so what about a little humor. Laughing never hurt anyone did it. Let's lighten up and smile this morning and maybe forget, for a moment, all the garbage happening in the world. A man calls home to his wife and says, "Honey I have been Asked to go fishing at a big lake up in Canada with my boss And several of his friends. We'll be gone for a week. This is a good opportunity for me to get that promotion I've wanted so Would you please pack me enough clothes for a week and set out My rod and tackle box. We're leaving from the office and I Will swing by the house to pick my things up. Oh! Please pack My new blue silk pajamas." The wife thinks this sounds a little fishy but being a good Wife she does exactly what her husband asked. The following Weekend he comes home a little tired but otherwise looking Good. The wife welcomes him home and asks if he caught many Fish? He says, "Yes! Lots of Walleye, some Bluegill, and a few Pike. But why didn't you pack my new blue silk pajamas like I Asked you to do?" The wife replies, "I did. They were in your tackle box!"  What would a joke entry be without a little "Cowboy" humor? While riding one day, a cowboy met an Indian riding along with a dog and sheep and began a conversation. Cowboy: "Hey, cool dog you got there. Mind if I speak to him?" Indian: "Dog no talk." Cowboy: "Hey dog, how's it going?" Dog: "Doin' alright." Indian: Look of shock. Cowboy: "Is this Indian your owner?" pointing at the Indian. Dog: "Yep" Cowboy: "How does he treat you?" Dog: "Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food, and takes me to the lake once a week to play." Indian: Look of total disbelief. Cowboy: "Mind if I talk to your horse?" Indian: "Horse no talk." Cowboy: "Hey horse, how's it going?" Horse: "Cool." Indian: Extreme look of shock. Cowboy: "Is this your owner? " pointing at Indian Horse: "Yep" Cowboy: "How's he treat you?" Horse: "Pretty good, thanks for asking. He rides me regularly, brushes me down often, and keeps me in a shed to protect me." Indian: Total look of utter amazement. Cowboy: "Mind if I talk to your sheep?" Indian: "Sheep liar." Come on, admit it....you smiled didn't you. Have a good day! |
| Stoicism is not all it's cracked up to be. The label has been hurled at me on more than one occasion not in the form of a compliment, but more like a curse. I stand guilty as charged, I guess. I learned years ago to keep my emotions in check, to wall them up and not let them out...it's my survival technique. The thing is, very few people understand this technique and they think you are cold and unfeeling...not so. The thing is, with people like me who internalize everything, quiet times like a commute are anything but peaceful. During a long drive my mind goes into overdrive. This brings me to the subject of this blog today...Last Night's Commute. Eight o'clock and time to go home. I weigh the options of travel, just like I did in the morning when I decided to try to make it to work....do I chance the icy roads to make it home or do I just hunker down at the store? I go. The darkness is extra dark, leaden clouds hang close to the earth, spewing out light rain, mixed with sleet and ice as I pull slowly out of the parking lot. I head south, toward home, thirty miles away...it might as well be a hundred. The car is quiet; a cocoon of warmth surrounding me and protecting me from the inhospitable weather without. I sit forward in my seat, scanning the small illuminated patch of road, searching for ice accumulation, every nerve wired and alive....my mind begins to work. Problems, family situations, health...bad news and worse news; all these line up in my brain as I drive and hit me like hammer blows to the body and soul. This is how I deal. "Never let the Bastards see you sweat" was my daddy's favorite saying and I have learned to live by it. I fight those battles inside, out of sight of prying eyes...my face blank. As I move along the road, the only sound I am aware of is the "flickada, flickada" of the wipers that are proving ineffectual against the weather. My mind does battle with the issues. Weighing options, reconciling what I can not change and fighting against the despair over fiances and family. The battle is waged silently as I navigate the curves and hills of the narrow country roads. As always, I seem to be losing the fight and despair is threatening to overcome me...I see no way out, I see no relief. Then, without warning, amid all the doom and gloom that threatens to overcome me, something happens. Way in the back of my mind, behind all the bad things assaulting me, I see a glimmer of pure, white light. As I roll through the dark countryside, the light becomes brighter, bigger, until....about three miles from home, it bursts forth in all its brilliance and bathes me in its light. It is a simple truth...... "You are almost home." That is the one great truth that saves my life each night. I am almost home. I am almost there.... Then, before I know it, I am on the dirt road and approaching my drive-way...then I see it...my mail box, then my house. More importantly, I see my dear, sweet wife standing all bundled up against the cold....standing on the porch and waiting for me to arrive safely home once again. I pull into the drive and park the car next to the well-house. She is off the porch and standing at the car door as I open it and climb out. I smile tiredly and she throws her arms around my neck. "How was your day, baby?" Her voice a soft whisper against my ear. "Oh it was okay," I tell her. "It's all good now." I know the internal battles, the mind numbing effort to keep everything inside, will continue on the next commute, but I also know that peace is waiting for me when I complete each drive. Love, like an oasis in the desert, in the form of my wife, soothes the pain of the battle and makes me want to do it another day. |
| Every day, without fail, I cruise around Blogville reading the offerings of old friends and of people I have never read before. It is always interesting, and sometimes it is educational. Sometimes, however I am left shaking my head and wondering..."What the hell were they thinking?" I ran across one a few days ago and the thing that jumped out at me was one statement: "Iraq is an UNJUST war; civilians were killed!" My response to that was to reread the sentence....then laugh out loud. Well DUH! However Just or Unjust a war may be depends upon what side a person happens to be on during that war. Let me give you an example. During WW2 the majority of the German people believed that the actions of the Allies were unjust. After all, Germany was only doing what they had to do in order to survive. The treaty that ended WW1 had, they were told, been written in such a way that threatened to destroy the German nation. So where was the Justice and who was right? The people of 19th century America felt that the Indian Wars were justified. Indians were killing American settlers in the West, they were attacking Army outposts there, so of course America was JUSTIFIED in wiping them out. It is no surprise that the Indians felt just the opposite. These strangers were coming into their land and pushing them out, they had to fight to survive. Who was right? On which side was Justice on? You see what I mean? The other part of the writer's statement, meant to show the Unjustness of the war, was that civilians were killed. My friends, there has never been a war in the history of mankind that did not result in the deaths of non-combatants. That unfortunate fact is just a part of the reality of war. In fact....and this is only a personal observation.... it is usually the willingness of one side to take civilian casualties and to inflict them, that decides the outcome of a war. If you don't believe this then do some research on WW2. Look up the number of civilian deaths in the Soviet Union for example. You might also look up the numbers of civilian deaths in the fire bombing of the city of Dresden and the A-bombs dropped on Japan. The dirty little secret...the unspoken truth of the matter is....There is no Justice, no honor, no glory in any damn war. It is a filthy, hard, bloody and merciless business. I wish I could have come to that conclusion through scholarly study, but unfortunately the school I learned this great truth from was that of personal experience. War is kill the other S.O.B. before he kills you. If you can shoot him in the back or while he is sleeping....more the better. War is stepping out from behind a wall and into a storm of bullets, of being so afraid that your bowels let loose, but you still step out there and move forward. War is exultation at the end of the battle that YOU are alive and the others are dead....even your comrades. Better them than you....you lived! War is....doing it all over again the next day. Where is the Justice, where is the honor, where is the glory? The problem is that unless or until you are willing to do these things, you will be at the mercy of those who can do it. So, my friends, if you are unwilling to do these things and you can't find someone to do your dirty work for you, then get ready to be rolled over....just don't cry about "Unjust wars and civilian casualties". And that is a Truth that will not change. |
As my good buddy, Eric Wharton  pointed out in his latest blog, California is going broke. My immediate overwhelming response to that statement is: "So, what's your point."If California is going broke, whose fault is that? I am told that California has the sixth largest economy in the world...the world, not the country. It is a rich state with the highest per-capita income of all the states in America...so what's the problem? Well I believe the problem is that the state of California is no different than individuals everywhere....they live beyond their means. They tend to spend more than they make. You see, while California is a rich state, their state government spends more than they receive in revenue. In that state, if you are an illegal alien, you get free health care, free education, and a welfare check. Everything you need to live is given to you. They have the most stringent environmental laws of any other state which has strangled a lot of private businesses. California leads the way in the "Going Green" craze. They own a fleet of state cars which run on alternative fuels....but they don't use them, they use the old gas guzzlers. California also still feeds at the Government pork trough. Just recently the city of Santa Barbara recently received a grant from the federal government of $500,000 to build AN OUTDOOR TOILET! And they are going broke. My reaction to this news is the same as if I had a neighbor who made ten times more than I make and they came to me declaring that they were going broke and couldn't pay their bills. I would tell them to clean up their act. Get rid of some of their "toys", cut back on their spending, and budget themselves. But, by God don't ask this poor boy for a loan. I happen to know that there are some good, sensible folks who live in California and I feel sorry for them. I hope that they get together and demand that their state government start living within their means instead of begging the rest of the country to bail them out. If you are an illegal alien or an endangered tree frog, California is Heaven, but why should the rest of the country pay for that heaven. |
| The first day of the new year dawned bright and cold here in the Heartland. The wild birds were singing their natural Cantata at the top of their voices until I yelled at Mel to just throw them some more damned seed and shut them up! Damned birds! So how is this day, this year, any different from what has come before it? It isn’t any different...not one bit. The thing is, it is up each and every mother’s son of us to MAKE it different. So what would I do different that might make this year a better one? Hell if I know. Now if that sounds flippant, it’s not meant to be. The truth of the matter is that none of us really know the steps we should take to make one year better than the next. Oh we all have certain ideas of what we should do, what paths we should try to travel, but we don’t really know because there is no map we can follow. The trails and paths of this new year make themselves anew each day, when we wake up and climb out of bed and those paths are never straight and narrow. No, they are crooked and curved and filled with intersections and forks. It is up to us to choose the right fork, the right turn, that will let us continue unimpeded. The biggest problem most of us face is that we get kind of comfortable walking one particular path and we just continue along that one...never making any turns, and we end up walking the same way we did the year before, and the one before that. So....back to the question....What am I going to do to make this year any different from the ones that have come before? Well I tell you what, I think that this year I’m going to stop at every intersection, every fork in that path of mine, and I’m gonna look real hard at them. If they seem to be overgrown and tough to travel, but if they promise to get me further along on my journey, well by God, I think I’m gonna take them instead of staying on the comfortable, known trail I have traveled all my life. Will that make this year’s journey any easier.....Hell, I don’t know, but it will sure make it more interesting now won’t it. |
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