Hank's Adventure Blog

2011-10-04T11:47:00.001-05:00

Dick’s Classic Garage – San Marcos, TX

2011-09-29T10:05:00.002-05:00

I gave Dick’s short shrift in my last post and I mean to make up for it here. Here are some pictures from the amazing collection:

Indian Motorcycle

Duesenberg Model SJ (?)

Duesenberg Touring Car

Duesenberg Speedster

Boat Tail Speedster

Speedster Engine Bay

Auburn Speedster

Ford Convertible

Revolutionary Tucker

The Usual Suspects

Woody Wagon w/ Chris Craft in Tow

And finally, my personal favorite:

Model A Ford

If you are interested, you can find more information on Dick’s at http://dicksclassicgarage.org . I highly recommend an extended visit.

Surprising San Marcos, Texas

2011-09-28T16:52:00.000-05:00

...

Recently, I received a message from my cousin, Suzanne. Her email asked, politely, if I was willing to donate one of my photographs to an auction benefiting victims of domestic abuse. I had to think it over before making a decision. I considered the expense involved in producing my photographic wonders, the years spent searching out images and the utter lack of compensation or recognition I would receive for my effort. After weighing each of these considerations, I told Suzanne “I’m in.”

The next day, I sent her a catalog of all the images I consider fit to print and advised her to pick one she liked. She and her daughter, Dawn, in cooperation with our first cousin once removed, Amy, selected “Moon Mountain.” I dredged up my last print from the closet.

On the day of the auction, I threw my overnight kit and the print in the car and headed south. San Marcos is a quaint little town about 30 miles south of Austin. I had an uneventful three and one-half hour mosey down scenic Interstate 35, AKA the “NAFTA Super Highway from the Bowels of Hell.” Traffic seemed light as I whizzed past everything else on the road in my rush to put Austin traffic behind me. I made it without incident.

I arrived at Suzanne’s place, the Cool Mint Café, just in time for a gourmet lunch. I treated myself to a plate of smoked chicken enchiladas with mango-habanero sauce. I learned later that I ordered their most popular dish. I could easily see why. Refer to http://coolmintcafe.com

Suzanne

It was great to see Suzanne again. Her long list of accomplishments would hardly fit in my measly blog and yet she is a kind person with a down-to-earth view of the world. My own life has been a modest endeavor by comparison. Frankly, I am surprised they let me use the good flatware at her amazing eatery.

After my hearty lunch, I made my way to the auction event site, Dick’s Classic Garage. It was there I made a second stunning discovery. Here in a small town wedged into the heart of the Texas Hill Country (recently extinguished, for the most part) I discovered an excellent automotive museum. The cars and trucks were American and vintage from the 1920s through the early 1950s. I strolled the aisles, gawping first at the Duesenbergs and ending with the last Packards and Studebakers. I must have drooled like a little kid, because at the end of the trail, I was shriveled and dehydrated. I would do it again, in a minute!

My delivery complete, I trundled back to my motel room and collapsed.

One of 2 Outlet Malls serve your spending needs

On Sunday morning, I drove around the town taking pictures to share with my devoted readers. There are many attractions in San Marcos, not least of which are two, count 'em, two outlet malls. Cowboy boots, pantyhose and Ferragamo shoes are among the items for sale at bargain basement prices, or so they tell me.

Downtown San Marcos on Sunday Morning

The downtown square was crowded on Sunday morning. One of the cafes on the square attracted a large following. I watched several couples sprint the last few hundred feet to the door as if there was a famine in the town. Maybe their appetites were stimulated by the sermon at the local house of worship.

1878 Building - Newer Tenants

County Courthouse

Cool Mint Cafe

I was becoming a little peckish, myself. I made my way back to the Cool Mint and settled in for brunch with Susanne and Amy. Over South Texas Migas, Suzanne explained that when she first opened, they had a ghost in residence. For months, the spirit threw glasses and plates across rooms. The staff eventually became accustomed to the disturbances and scolded her whenever she acted up. She, the ghost, was probably one of the two spinster sisters who built the house that now houses the Cool Mint. Miss May is generally assumed to be the haunt. Her sister? I cannot recall her name, but they were both creepy, even in this life. That is according to local lore. I find myself charmed into believing it.

Finally, I have sad news. Suzanne is planning to sell the cafe and retire. To my eye, this is a serious injustice. Retirement from a worthy enterprise while still in the first blush of youth seems wrong. What can I say. If she sends me copies of my favorite recipes, I shall bury my grief in a mountain of the most delicious food in Texas.

I recommend the entire experience in San Marcos. I only hope you can get to The Cool Mint while Suzanne is still around, just in case she sells it to someone less imaginative.

PS: I am told the woman who won the picture left the auction early to go home and hang it in her livingroom. She was happy. So am I.

Readers’ Salvation

2011-09-19T14:53:00.000-05:00

...

Glad to see everyone this morning. I suppose you are wondering why you are here. I do not blame you. I think you have suffered long enough, so today; I bring good news for everyone. I will share it with you right after this important message:

I wish to share an experience with you. As you know, many of us have had brushes with the authorities regarding drinking and driving. Well I for one did something about it.

The other night I was out for dinner with some friends and frankly, I had way too much wine. Knowing I was wasted, I did something I had never done before. I took a bus home. I arrived safe and without incident which was a real surprise since I had never driven a bus before.

(Sent to me by Zita)

Ta tump!

I have long searched for ways to write and tell better stories. In fact, I searched the nation for a writing program, but to no avail. Then, about a month ago, I happened upon the Southern Methodist University (SMU. Pronounced S’mooo) website. I was delighted to learn the school has a creative writing program, right here in my own city. Well, Dallas anyway. I signed up immediately and ordered my textbook the next day. The program offers a “core curriculum,” a “non-fiction track,” a “children’s book track,” and a “fiction track.” I have ruled out non-fiction for lack of interest. I shall consider the other two at my leisure.

There you have it. In a few months, you will be able to throw away your head massager, headache remedies and extra strength reading glasses. I will produce nothing less than Pulitzer Prize winning, quality prose. You will eventually be glad you stuck it out for all this time. Mebbe.

Meanwhile, let me know what you think. Should I devote my golden years to writing children’s stories? Perhaps the children would be less corrupted if I concentrated on fiction for an older audience, less eager to sue. You be the judge.

PS: I hope you do not mind being Guinea pigs for my homework assignments. Heh, heh.

...

Kinky for Perry

2011-09-13T08:58:00.000-05:00

...

My friend Odis alerted me to this piece. I feel compelled to share a glimpse of what politics CAN be. After reading, you are welcome to draw your own conclusions. Oh, I voted for Kinky over Perry. Can I pick ‘em, or what?

By Kinky Friedman | The Daily Beast – 14 hrs ago

Rick Perry has never lost an election; I’ve never won one. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. On the other hand, I’ve long been friends with Bill Clinton and George W., and Rick Perry and I, though at times bitter adversaries, have remained friends as well. It’s not always easy to maintain friendships with politicians. To paraphrase Charles Lamb, you have to work at it like some men toil after virtue.

I have been quoted as saying that when I die, I am to be cremated, and the ashes are to be thrown in Rick Perry’s hair. Yet, simply put, Rick Perry and I are incapable of resisting each other’s charm. He is not only a good sport, he is a good, kindhearted man, and he once sat in on drums with ZZ Top. A guy like that can’t be all bad. When I ran for governor of Texas as an independent in 2006, the Crips and the Bloods ganged up on me. When I lost, I drove off in a 1937 Snit, refusing to concede to Perry. Three days later Rick called to give me a gracious little pep talk, effectively talking me down from jumping off the bridge of my nose. Very few others were calling at that time, by the way. Such is the nature of winning and losing and politicians and life. You might call what Rick did an act of random kindness. Yet in my mind, it made him more than a politician, more than a musician; it made him a mensch.

These days, of course, I would support Charlie Sheen over Obama. Obama has done for the economy what pantyhose did for foreplay. Obama has been perpetually behind the curve. If the issue of the day is jobs and the economy, Rick Perry is certainly the nuts-and-bolts kind of guy you want in there. Even though my pal and fellow Texan Paul Begala has pointed out that no self-respecting Mexican would sneak across the border for one of Rick Perry’s low-level jobs, the stats don’t entirely lie. Compared with the rest of the country, Texas is kicking major ass in terms of jobs and the economy, and Rick should get credit for that, just as Obama should get credit for saying “No comment” to the young people of the Iranian revolution.

More to the point, could Rick Perry fix the economy? Hell, yes! Texas is exhibit A; Rick’s fingerprints are all over it. He’s been governor since Christ was a cowboy. The Lone Star State is booming. The last time I checked, Texas is kicking in a hell of a lot of the U.S. GDP. Unemployment is lower than the vast majority of the other states. Hell, we could probably even find a job for Paul Begala.

As a Jewish cowboy (or “Juusshh,” as we say in Texas), I know Rick Perry to be a true friend of Israel, like Bill Clinton and George W. before him. There exists a visceral John Wayne kinship between Israelis and Texans, and Rick Perry gets it. That’s why he’s visited Israel on many more occasions than Obama, who’s been there exactly zero times as president. If I were Obama, I wouldn’t go either. His favorability rating in Israel once clocked in at 4 percent. Say what you will about the Israelis, but they are not slow out of the chute. They know who their friends are. On the topic of the Holy Land , there remains the little matter of God. God talks to televangelists, football coaches, and people in mental hospitals. Why shouldn’t he talk to Rick Perry? In the spirit of Joseph Heller, I have a covenant with God. I leave him alone and he leaves me alone. If, however, I have a big problem, I ask God for the answer. He tells Rick Perry. And Rick tells me.

So would I support Rick Perry for president? Hell, yes! As the last nail that hasn’t been hammered down in this country, I agree with Rick that there are already too damn many laws, taxes, regulations, panels, committees, and bureaucrats. While Obama is busy putting the hyphen between “anal” and “retentive” Rick will be rolling up his sleeves and getting to work.

A still, small voice within keeps telling me that Rick Perry’s best day may yet be ahead of him, and so too, hopefully, will be America’s.

Enter the Tooth Fairy

2011-09-03T11:05:00.001-05:00

...

My telephone buzzed one afternoon last week. It was my grandson, William, on the other end. He is six years old.

“Hello,” I offered cheerily.

“Gwand faver, I wost a toof!” The excited voice said.

“That’s great. Where did you lose it?”

“Just a few seconds ago.”

“Uh, Congratulations! I am sure you will have a visit from the tooth fairy tonight.”

In the background, I began hearing a wailing sound. Even though it was hard to hear William over the screeching, it sounded as if it were coming from far, far away and gradually getting closer. William and I chatted a while and said goodbye before his Mom got on the line.

“Sounds like someone is unhappy,” I offered.

“It’s Sophia,” my daughter replied. “She’s upset because William lost a tooth.”

“Odd,” I thought. “Maybe she wanted to be the one to knock it out?”

At that moment Sophia, four, arrived at the telephone.

She screamed “I’M MAD!” into my ear. Ah, a precious moment had arrived. It seemed she was miffed that her brother would be meeting with the Tooth Fairy that very evening and she couldn’t go too. I wondered, “Who wudda thunk it.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, your teeth will soon fall like rain.” I tried to comfort her.

She was having none of it and returned the phone to her mother. The set-your-teeth-on-edge wail slowly faded into the background.

The conversation ended soon after. My daughter had to rush into the kitchen for a headache reliever. Whatever she took, she earned it.

The next morning, I rang up my daughter.

“Just calling to check up on you,” I said. “I hope the Tooth Fairy showed up alright.”

“Yes, the Tooth Fairy arrived right on schedule; she answered,“ and left William three dollars.”

“What do you plan to do with his first lost tooth?” I expected something like “Have it mounted on a marble plinth and placed in a museum.” What I got was:

“Oh, William wanted to keep the tooth, so we wrote a note explaining that the Fairy could have the next one. We placed the note under his pillow at bedtime.”

“So, William went into debt to the Tooth Fairy and mortgaged his next tooth as collateral?”

“Well, that might be one, demented way to look at it.” She replied. “William even gave one of his dollars to his sister so she would not feel left out.”

“And he is paying hush money to his sister? Cool!”

I admit I was a little flabbergasted at first. Now, I see the light. Children are much more complicated now than when I was among their ranks. They understand political power by age four and negotiate with the supernatural by six. At that age, I dreamed of living with The Three Stooges.

Now, I hope I live to learn where this leads. I anticipate the return of “William the Conqueror” and an “Empress Sophia” in the next decade or so. Be forewarned…

...

New Mexico Chili Cook Off

2011-08-29T15:23:00.004-05:00

My friend Ray sent this. Like chili, it is earthy, so if you are easily offended - you were warned. Also, so far as I know, there are NO TOMATOES in chili. Hank

If you can read this whole story without laughing, then there is no hope for you. I was crying by the end. This is an actual account as relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off in New Mexico.

Note: Please take time to read this slowly.

If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better.

For those of you who have lived in New Mexico, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Santa Fe Plaza...

Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chili taster named Greg, who was visiting from Springfield, IL.

Greg: 'Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original judge called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3.'

Here are the scorecard notes from the event:

CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI

Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick...

Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.

Judge # 3 -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These New Mexicans are crazy.

CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI

Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.

Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor needs more peppers to be taken seriously.

Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI

Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.

Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.

Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced from all of the beer.

CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC

Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.

Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.

Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300 lb... Woman is starting to look HOT ... Just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?

CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER

Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.

Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef could use more tomato. Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.

Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I am burning my lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw them.

CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY

Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.

Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic. Superb.

Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I am worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.

CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI

Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.

Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. **I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.

Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing. It's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI

Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili... Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.

Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?

Judge # 3 -- No report.

Irene? I Rain!

2011-08-27T10:21:00.000-05:00

...

It seems cruel that every channel out of two-hundred plus choices is covering hurricane Irene. Poor New York. It gets all that rain (mebbe) and it is going to waste, while we have barely enough water to frac our oil wells. It ain’t fair, I tells ya.

Luckily, I found a “Stooge-a-Thon” on an obscure channel this morning. I shall limit my viewing to that channel until the weekend is over. Monday will be soon enough to learn if my wish that Washington, D.C. washed down the Potomac River and out to sea came true. My other wish is that the Congress would rush back into emergency session this afternoon, while there is still time to join the buildings and monuments.

I know it is a faint hope. It is going to be 106 again today. The sprinkle of rain we received last week sizzled like spit on a hot griddle when it reached the ground. Sometimes, a faint hope is the difference between hanging-on and simply hanging.

Even in despair, I remain a man of action. This afternoon, I promised myself I would shop for a sailboat. See you at sea!

...

Daddy Long Legs

2011-08-21T11:00:00.001-05:00

Ron sent this and it was just too innocent and sweet not to share. HB
...

Stories about children and their views of the world are always touching.

A father watched his young daughter playing in the garden. He smiled as he reflected on how sweet and pure his little girl was. Tears formed in his eyes as he thought about her seeing the wonders of nature through such innocent eyes.

Suddenly she just stopped and stared at the ground. He went over to her to see what had captured her attention. He noticed she was looking at two spiders mating.

'Daddy, what are those two spiders doing?' she asked.

'They're mating,' her father replied.

'What do you call the spider on top?' she asked.

‘A Daddy Longlegs,' her father answered.

'So, the other one is a Mommy Longlegs?' the little girl asked.

As his heart soared with the joy of such a cute and innocent question he replied, 'No dear. Both of them are Daddy Longlegs.'

The little girl, looking a little puzzled, thought for a moment, then lifted her foot and stomped them flat.

"Well", she said, "that may be OK in California, but we're not having any of that shit in Texas."

Bon Voyage, Gerard Depardieu

2011-08-18T09:41:00.002-05:00

...

In a world filled with reports of gloomy and hateful events, Gerard Depardieu managed to elbow his way to the front of the news line. Mr. Depardieu apparently felt an urgent need to relieve himself while sitting in a commercial airliner on the tarmac. The story says he asked to visit the restroom and the steward told him he had to wait.

No, he had to go!

The next part of the tale is that the actor stood up and proceeded to urinate in the aisle of the airplane. (I can hardly keep from laughing at this.)

Next, the plane returned to the gate, released Mr. Depardieu into the custody of the bladder authorities and called maintenance to clean up the mess in aisle one. Given the high-resolution X-Ray machines operated by the TSA, I am surprised they did not tell him to “go tinkle before boarding the plane.”

I am confident Gerard will feel the heavy boot heel of justice on his neck for his wanton act. Still, I cannot blame him so much as the airline and the Federal Government for this crime. (I am sure there is a law specifically forbidding this sort of thing on the federal books. Aren’t you?)

Some have even suggested alcohol might have been involved. Well, D'uh!

All I can say is everyone knew he was French when he bought the ticket. Serves them right.

...

The Churches Before Katrina

2011-08-15T16:39:00.000-05:00

My cousin Jerry sent this. Several times. All hate mail shall be forwarded to him. {:-) HB
...

The hurricanes that hit the Gulf Coast of our nation were devastating. It did not spare the houses of worship in and around the area. One of the local television stations in South Louisiana aired an interview with a woman from New Orleans.

The interviewer was a woman from a Boston affiliate. She asked the woman how such total and complete devastation of the churches in the area had affected their lives. Without hesitation, the woman replied, “I don't know about all those other people, but we ain't gone to Churches in years. We gits our chicken from Popeye's".

The look on the interviewer's face was priceless. [Or racist?]

Ta Tump!

'''

...

The Second Time Around

2011-08-11T15:12:00.000-05:00

...

It has begun again. Appliances that have served me without complaint for years are dropping like flies. You may recall I experienced a mass failure of household appliances around December of ’09.

I will never forget that particular episode because it began just as my son rolled into emergency surgery in New Mexico. He suffered an attack of peritonitis and cheated death by a narrow margin. While the doctors worked to save his life, I was organizing a flight to the hospital and receiving new appliances. I received a new refrigerator, a new dishwasher and a new clothes washer at about same time. The deliverymen hauled the dead machines away. No one knows where.

On this past Sunday, the last holdout, the old clothes drier went toes up. I made a quick trip to Home Depot for a replacement. It showed up yesterday. Today, I am back in the laundry business. Now, I can launder a few shirts while I wait for the dead battery in my truck, which I discovered yesterday evening, to either charge or melt. I am seriously wondering, “Who or what is next?”

I study other items around the house, trying to identify any suspicious noises or other indication of an imminent demise. You know, electrical sparks, oil leaking onto the floor, grinding noises and such. So far, I have found nothing.

The major difference this time around is I do not care. My children and grandchildren are nearby and in good health. At least no one has called to tell me anything different. As far as I am concerned, it can rain broken appliances; the house could burn, and the wreckage be swallowed by the Earth. I would not bat an eye, so long as my loved ones are safe and well.

I suppose I will be reminded of how blessed I am every time some electro-mechanical servant quits or bursts into flames. I will be reminded how unimportant such things are and feel profound gratitude for those I cherish above all else. A drier and battery are a small price to pay for renewed appreciation of all life has brought me.

Tips for the Handyman

2011-08-08T10:26:00.001-05:00

...

On Sunday, I wrote about the new and improved bicycle seat I received for my birthday. It was a thoughtful gift. I was eager to install it and say farewell to the “ice pick” style seat I have used these many years.

I went into the garage at first light this morning and studied the installation of my current seat. It was a simple clamp operated by an Allen screw. I retrieved the proper wrench and set to work. After ten minutes, I set out on my first potentially comfortable ride in several decades.

I finished riding a few minutes ago and I want to pass along a few tips to others who might be considering a similar project. Listen up, men. (I want to write this while it is still fresh in my mind.)

Tip 1: The pointy end of the new seat must point directly at the center of the handlebars. A test ride of, say, 50 feet will help you detect even the smallest misalignment. No, you cannot detect this small error with the naked eye, but other organs can.

Tip 2: When properly installed, the pointy end of the seat angles slightly downward. Under no circumstances should the average male rider trust his eyes to determine the proper angle. I am just guessing here, but I suspect your personal architecture determines the minimum proper declination of the seat. Unless you are a colossal fool, test this in your driveway before heading far from home.

Tip 3: Finally, tighten the Allen screw to “red in the face” torque. You might save yourself the embarrassment of having the seat tilt forward into a near vertical position, dumping you onto the frame member. Ouch! Conversely, you do not even want to imagine the seat spontaneously tilting backward to the vertical, either. The consequences could be severe.

Tip 4: Take the Allen wrench with you when you go for your first ride or two.

There you have it. Follow these simple suggestions and your first ride on your new bicycle seat will be memorable for all the right reasons. Overlook even one of them at your own peril.

I am keeping this short because I need to soak in a hot tub for a while. Then, maybe an ice pack…

...

The Birthday Boy

2011-08-07T13:25:00.002-05:00

...

As one of millions of Baby Boomers, I felt obliged to celebrate my recent birthday. At first, I considered hanging, but ruled it out, at least for the present. Instead, I celebrated with my children and grandchildren. The clan descended upon my shack in the sun on Saturday. They were heavily loaded with gifts, cards and an ice cream cake. Since the cake is not on my diet, I limited myself to eating about half of it, instead of gobbling it down while my guests looked on. It was a tasty treat indeed. Oh, we also fetched in a giant order of Pizza. After the feast, I began to suspect methamphetamine laced one or more of the dishes. The grandchildren went completely nuts with gleeful energy. It was too warm for them to play outdoors, according to their parents, so they screamed and yelled, racing in circles through the house, bouncing off strategically placed furniture for that last bit of thrill. I think they had a great time and I enjoyed watching them. Occasionally, I would catch a ricochet before he/she plowed headlong into a table or lamp, but otherwise I simply went with the flow. The swarm repeatedly piled upon my son, who was only casualty. I think they bent one of his knees “the other way” once or twice. All, especially I, had a grand time. There were gifts and sentimental cards involved, you know. Here are a few of the loving sentiments I received on my “Special Day.”

…

From G'son, William

From G'sons Augie and Josh

From Sarah and Charles

From G'daughter, Sophia

From Ben & Tam

…

How could I not feel cherished after these?

As if these were not enough, I received some special gifts. One of the best was a set of dumbbells, just the right size for children who have taken an infernal interest in their grandfather’s collection of “big boy” weights. More than once, I have entered my weight room only to discover a team of grandchildren trying to lug or hoist more than their own weight in pig iron. This scene has a very disturbing effect on me, thus the lighter (2 and 4 pounds, I think) dumbbells will allow me to actually show them a few training exercises without too much concern that they will come away crippled for life.

My other favorite is my new bicycle seat. It seems my son took pity on his dad when he learned I was riding an “Ice Pick.” He went to the farm supply store and found a seat worthy of a 1940s vintage tractor. (Could it be for my 1940s vintage bottom?) You have seen those old seats, right? They are about 30” wide and supported on soft springs.

This one is really designed for a bike, but is sprung, heavily padded and even has a comfort feature for the prostate challenged rider. I guess I have that to look forward to, too. At least I shall be prepared in the bicycle department!

Other cherished gifts included golf shirts, cookware (huh?) and some recommended reading. My son-in-law thinks I should try the “Dresden Files,” a series by Jim Butcher. I respect his judgment and shall acquire an early volume soon – while I can still buy a paper printed book.

That is it for me. I am thankful for all the loving attention. I am also grateful I shall not turn 65 again anytime soon.

…

The End of All Things

2011-08-04T14:20:00.001-05:00

...

Don’t worry. Be happy!

As I sit here typing, I can hear the financial experts on CNBC discussing the stock market. I should mention it is 2:00pm CDT and the Dow Industrials are in line to fall 400 points today. Even gold is down $50 per ounce. I can hear the stress in those knowledgeable voices. In their own way, they are all saying the same thing: “EEeekk!”

Okay, I will admit a few things are wrong with the economy.

First, the US has a $60 trillion unfunded liability for various pension and health programs. Second, the US Congress recently demonstrated that as petty and mean-spirited as they are, they cannot cut a single dollar from their spending addiction.

Next, 20 million or so folks are out of work or under worked. The lucky employed are largely paid on a par with workers in India or Russia. That is not good.

Then, there is Europe. Specifically, the European Union, sometimes called the “EU” (Rhymes with “Pee Euw”) is falling apart and they have no central bank or printing press to save them. Soon, most of Europe could return to the dark ages.

The US has trouble and may not fare much better than Italy or Ireland when push comes to shove.

I am not worried. Why? I am not concerned because the US Congress is on vacation for five glorious weeks. I plan to relax; sun bathe (10 minutes at a time, y’know?) and mebbe sip a cold beer in the evening for as long as they are out of town. Everything might blow over and get better in their absence. :)

When they return, I will begin to worry.

Until then, I suggest everyone eat, drink and make merry. (No, not make Mary... sheesh!) The unpleasantness will be upon us soon enough!

...

Over and Under

2011-08-02T18:04:00.001-05:00

Sorry, dudes and dudettes, but the official high temperature in Dallas, Texas today was 110. Since no one chose "over" the prize money remains with yours truly. No one chose "under," either, so I'm keeping that, too.

We can play again another time. :)

Hank

The Great Debate

2011-08-02T10:14:00.000-05:00

...

I had business in another city on Monday, the first day of August. The ride from my home to my appointment is about 120 miles, each way. I wanted to beat as much of the heat as possible, so I set my alarm at around the time the U.S. Marines landed on Guadalcanal. Well, maybe I slept in a bit later, but 0400 arrived at the same instant I turned out my lights for the evening.

I sipped and guzzled all the tea I could hold, hoping at least one eye or the other would be open for the entire journey.

As I waited for consciousness to arrive, I snapped on the television and scanned several stations for a report on the definitive issue of our times. That is right; I was looking for the weather reports. The first estimate I got was for a high temperature of 105. No chance for rain and the country might be broke before it got that hot anyway. Educated meteorologists debated back and forth.

If this were not gloomy enough, the next person guessed the temperature would hit 106. The Weather Channel posted a 102, I think, and I was on their side, but the screen was too blurry for me to say for sure.

By the time I left the house at 0730, the high bid was 108 and I felt the weight of summer gloom heavy on my shoulders. “Why would anyone live here,” I asked myself rhetorically. “Why indeed,” I answered. I sped south where the air was 90 at 0900. “Very symmetrical,” I thought.

In Washington, D.C., The Congress was in full showboat mode, dazzling the people with a full frontal assault of smoke, mirrors and dire predictions. Many in Texas had bigger fish to fry. Those fish would be the ones they picked up from the mud where their stock tanks used to be. Without water, cattle and fish are equally perishable commodities. You can sell cattle, but you might as well eat the fish.

I arrived home in the middle of the afternoon and collapsed. Even in a 68-degree cabin, the intense heat dehydrated me. Two liters of Gatorade later, I was able to collapse on the sofa until the cool of the evening.

Whoever had 107 in the pot won the prize yesterday. I fear that will not cover it today. I am guessing 109. Anybody want the over or under?

I plan to spend today reading brochures from Finland, Yellow Knife, Yukon Territory and other frozen places as a spiritual present to myself. Later, I may go out for ice cream.

Stay in the shade, my friends. November and autumn will be here before you know it.

2011-07-29T16:31:00.005-05:00

The Green Snake

When I was a schoolboy, I read an article in a popular magazine entitled “Seeing the Green Snake.” In those days, I was interested in hanging every kind of trophy on my wall, so the story was irresistible. I dreamed of bagging one of these rare reptiles. As I read, I learned that the term “seeing the green snake” was the Russian equivalent of our “seeing pink elephants.” I felt grossly misled. Apparently, some Russian men were over-imbibing Russian vodka and hallucinating about snakes. After I saw a few Russian women, I felt a deep sense of sympathy for the men. Then, there are the Russian men. I never learned what the women drank, but I am convinced they are fully justified. I wish all Russians a happy life with all members of the Russian opposite sex, whatever they may be.

That experience pretty much ended my interest in green snakes. Later experiences ended my interest in pink elephants, too. Finally, I arrived at a point in life, where I no longer desired blasting one of God’s creatures into eternity. In fact, I now go to extremes in sparing animals of every sort, given my murderous beginning.

In the past few days, my luck and one possibly helpless animal’s life ran out.

I was on track for a near-record time on my morning bicycle ride. As usual, sweat was running into my eyes and my visual acuity changed as I moved between full sun and heavy shade. The heat is oppressive. I think that is why snakes tend to slither onto the concrete trail in the heaviest shade. They look exactly like twigs or branches from even a short distance. As an aside, I have risked a grisly end, avoiding serpents lying in the shade appearing to be tree limbs. Lesser snakes, twig caliber, are less threatening.

That brings us to my ride of just a few days ago. As I said, I was making excellent time. I rushed up a steep hill and across a small bridge, into a long stretch of intense sunlight. My pupils must have been the size of microbes as I sped toward a patch of shade. I have a trained eye, but the green snake was a few feet from my front tire when I recognized his/her peril and mine.

Like a news crawler in Times Square, my brain finally alerted me: “The two foot long green twig directly in front of your tire is a dangerous looking snake!”

I could do nothing. Dodging left would put me over a 50-foot cliff. On the right sturdy trunks would do to me what I did not want to do to the snake. I had milliseconds to act. That is the moment I began studying the snake in detail. My faint hope was the cleats on my tires would miss the animal. Failing that miracle, I hoped I was looking at a common garter snake.

In the expanded time that comes with emergencies, I noticed the snake was a darker green on its back than its sides. The snake’s sides were a bright, light green. They were almost chartreuse.

“Wish I had a motorcycle that color,” I thought.

Using my expanded sense of time, I analyzed further. The reptilian head looked wrong. It had a small head, but shaped more like a constrictor or a mamba.

“This is just perfect,” I thought. “I am about to run over and piss-off a pigmy Green Mamba or Burmese Python. They may never find my body, just the bicycle and my garish suit.”

I pulled up on my handlebars, struggling to fly over the little package of death.

I had no luck. I continued to the end of the trail and made a sad turn toward home. I resolved to look for the little terror on the way back, hoping he would be gone, having slithered away to poison or crush someone else.

Alas, I found him coiled in a strange “S-shaped coil exactly where we first met. He looked annoyed, but he was not moving. I gave him a respectful berth as I passed, slowly.

The next day he was gone. My guess is a crow, dog, or cat made a meal of him [or her].
I could only imagine the showy reptile had rejoined the Great Circle of Life. [Cat poop?]

I am sorry, Ruth. Next time, I will try to mail you a live specimen.

Goodbye Harry Potter

2011-07-19T13:49:00.001-05:00

…

I had a chance to see the final Harry Potter movie this weekend and I loved it. This final installment had plenty of action. I saw heads roll, wizards and witches blown to confetti by magic spells and loads of other magical creatures engaged in the battle of good versus evil. I caught the 3D version, so I found myself flinching or ducking a few times. To make it a complete movie experience, I loaded up on the quarter pound hot dog, a bucket of popcorn, one large dill pickle and an ocean of root beer. It was the best three hours of my weekend. [Munch, munch. Urp.]

I know many of you might not be Harry Potter fans. That is okay by me. To enjoy this fantasy thoroughly, I think you need a bit of child in your soul. It does not hurt to practice letting your imagination out for a run from time to time, either. If I had just a bit more of these qualities, I would be a fugitive from the law or from a padded cell or both. That qualifies me as a near perfect Potter fan.

So, if you can find a bit of your inner child, take him/her to see this last Harry Potter movie. If you simply cannot stand Potter, the current Winnie the Pooh feature is supposed to be good, too – at least according to my daughter and her two wild Indians.

Afterward, write and let me know what you thought of the movie and if the food at your theatre was any good.

…

The 405

2011-07-16T12:16:00.000-05:00

…

The news of the temporary closure of the 405 in California has reached even the most remote backwaters of the country, including DeSoto, Texas. Frankly, I do not fully grasp the urgency, but I did appreciate the Colbert Report video analysis of the problem, suggesting an alternate route.

I have driven the 405 from end to end many times. My impression is the thoroughfare spends half the time closed, anyway. The other half of the time, it runs at half speed. Under the worst conditions, my journeys on the 405 seldom required more than 24 hours to complete. How much worse could it get?

In Dallas, I-35, “The NAFTA Highway” is the same. Each morning at rush hour, accidents and other catastrophes regularly stop traffic. Since the trouble centers on rush hours, I do not complain. I am no longer in any kind of rush. I-35 is the major freeway crossing the gut of Dallas County. It closes twice per day, once in the morning and again in the afternoon for about five hours each time.

By some coincidence, I had an appointment last week at midday. I thought I was lucky to be travelling in the brief window when “35” was relatively safe. I breezed to my appointment and chose the same route home as I enjoyed on my way out. This time I was not so lucky. I averaged about 4 miles per hour for the next 90 minutes. I had to squelch several attacks of frustration and exasperation. Fortunately, I stopped carrying firearms in my car years ago. I knew I would crack one day and I took precautions to avoid a long rest in our state prison. In retrospect, it was a wise decision. The cause of the delay was an eighteen-wheeler’s engine blowing apart at a choke point known as “The Mixmaster.” As I crept past, I saw various engine parts scattered in a long puddle of black oil. It was gruesome!

Arriving home, I tuned in the national news, only to learn the fate of southern California and the 405. I sympathize and I have some advice. Throw your car keys in the toilet and make as many large Margaritas and Martinis as it takes to keep you off the street. You can buy food and toilet paper on Monday, if necessary.

If you have a loaded gun, unload it and give it to a neighbor until the crisis passes.

Then again, I suppose some Californians would not even notice a little extra inconvenience as long as they could stay in their automobiles.

I am very curious to hear from West Coast readers about how they coped with this threat to western civilization, as we know it. So do not be shy. How did you manage, really?

…

Sweatty and Ice Pick Ride Again

2011-07-12T10:04:00.001-05:00

"Sweatty," the Biker

I am publishing this at the risk of giving my younger readers (under age 50) nightmares, but I just couldn't resist. Besides, it was all I had.

An annoyingly alert neighbor caught me sneaking home from a bike ride and trespassing across her lawn. The scene was apparently comical enough that she snapped my picture. Upon receiving it, I had to admit it was amusing for a man having a near death experience. I completed 7 miles in 32 minutes in the morning heat. The shade was a life saver. Some retirement, eh?

"Sweatty" and his faithful steed, "Ice Pick."
Named for the shape of the seat.

While recovering, I updated my profile with a list of stuff Google thinks people might want to know about me. (Google doesn't seem all that smart to me. Go Figure.) I did my best, but if you don't want to know this stuff, it is okay with me.

Pictures from Eagle Ford

2011-07-11T10:04:00.000-05:00

Front: Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church

My short time in the Eagle Ford shale area included a couple of hours on my way out of town for photographs. At left, Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church stands atop a low hill overlooking Carrizo Springs, Texas. It is a beautiful church. It has served the faithful since 1952.

It is a cool looking church.

Side: Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church

The building is wrapped in a very attractive layer of native limestone. Regrettably, your Ace photographer lost some of the detail to the bright sun and absence of my trusty polarizing filter. Drat. Sooner of later, I must return and correct my error.

Inside: Stained glass adds to church's beauty

Inside, large stained glass windows paint a rainbow of restful colors. It is nigh impossible not to feel peace creeping up on you in here.

Sanctuary: Artwork is added to Sanctuary

In the Sanctuary, an artisan paints elaborate details on the overhead arch. I hope he doesn't screw up, right in front of the "Big Boss" and all.

The church is sharing in the local renaissance as maintenance and improvements proceed apace.

View from church parking lot. Mighty flat out there, eh?

From the church parking lot, a visitor can overlook the entire town of Carrizo Springs. Those with magnifying ability might be able to pick up the McDonald's or Sonic signs just above the trees on the right. That's pretty much the center of town.

PS: Try clicking on the photo to enlarge it. Click the <- arrow to go back to the normal view.

Modest Home in Carrizo Springs

A modest home. There are dozens, if not hundreds of these here. God only knows what they might rent or sell for. Big oil is desperate for land and shelter here. The family living here may be able to sell out and move to Orange County, CA!

Carrizo Springs Lawn Sculpture

I am sure this truck has some life left in it. The owner may be so busy, he no longer has time to worry with it. His Cadillac Escalade will have to do for now.

C'mon now. I bet you have unfinished projects at your place, too. Perhaps not 3 generations old, but unfinished, nonetheless.

One of the more imposing homes in town. Note palm tree in the
front lawn. Palms are quite common here. Go figure.

The large tree in the front lawn of this larger home suggests the prevailing winds are from the south.
The place appears very comfortable, but it is hard to see because - you guessed it - more sun.

Drilling rig in action.
Looks to be 200 to 300 feet tall.

I saw only two of the hundreds of rigs in this area. The place is soooo big, they are scattered far and wide.

I thought if anyone out there had never actually seen one, this might further their education or broaden their experience. You know who you are.

Derelict Welding Shop

On my flight home, I saw hundreds of relics of days gone by. This little shack once provided a needed service years ago. Now? Time and everything else passes it by, except me.

Another derelict business

I bet this building was a grocery and maybe a dry goods store in its day. Those days might have included any number of incarnations. Now, it is retired by the side of the road, sort of like me.

Maybe something will happen and the place, if not the building will be revived. Mebbe.

30.1 Miles Per Gallon! Woo Hoo!!

If you look closely, you will see an orange number indicating my mpg. As a major cheapskate, I am ecstatic to get my almost 4000 lb. car to squeeze so much from a gallon of $3.89 gasoline.

Frankly, I believe the car simply wanted to get back to the barn and out of this heat. I used to have a horse who was the same way.

Click on the photo to view larger version. Click BACK ARROW to return to normal view.

How Dry Is It In Texas?

2011-07-09T12:40:00.000-05:00

This just arrived from my friend Zita. It seems seasonally relevant and factual enough to pass along. Smile!
...

A buddy out of Longview said he'd killed a mosquito that was carrying a canteen.

A man in Dime Box said the chicken farmers were giving the chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs.

In Lake Palestine , they caught a 20 lb catfish that had ticks on it!

But just this week, in Bryan, a fire hydrant was seen bribing a dog.

It's so dry in Texas that the Baptists are starting to baptize by sprinkling,
the Methodists are using wet-wipes, the Presbyterians are giving out rain-checks,
and the Catholics are praying for the wine to turn back into water.

PRAY FOR RAIN

The Eagle Ford Play

2011-07-09T12:35:00.000-05:00

…

Except for a near continuous stream of hot, dry weather and funerals, life has been intensely laid-back in my neighborhood. Clearly, this is an intolerable situation. It seems all the action, economic and otherwise, has fled elsewhere. After a few weeks of peace and quiet, I resolved to find something to see and do.

Thanks to the internet and a network of friends and relatives, I discovered where everything worth doing or seeing went. It went south. Far, far south. In fact, there is a large scale economic and socio-cultural boom unfolding even as I type. Geographically, they call it the Eagle Ford Shale Play.

This oil and natural gas bonanza covers more than a dozen counties in Texas along a line from Laredo on the Mexican border to Brazos County east of Austin, Texas. It is another monster discovery in a string of such discoveries in the last decade.

It was lucky for me that my youngest brother, a construction mogul in his own right, had the ambition to open an office in the heart of this phenomenon. It was only natural I would wrangle an invitation from him to visit his area. He was a good sport about it, too.

“Can you c’mon down tomorrow?” He said.

“I am already packed.”

The next morning, I headed south for a reunion with my brother and a guided tour of the economy of south Texas as it appears today. I punched his address into my trip computer before I pulled out of the driveway. I knew I had my work cut out for me when the computed mileage came back on the doorstep of 400 miles. If I hurried, and I did, I could get there in time to miss lunch.

I shall not boor my long-suffering readers with details of my ride down Interstate 35, AKA “The NAFTA” Highway", AKA “The Highway from the bowels of Hell.” Let us just say I was fortunate and the heavy traffic had little trouble keeping up with me. My directions said, “… go fifty miles past San Antonio and turn right. Then stop just before you hit Mexico. Call me when you get there.”

The trip lasted only five high-speed hours and I arrived just after lunch. My brother met me at a restaurant and paid for a down-home chicken-fried steak lunch for me. It is definitely off my diet. But what choice did I have? I did not want to hurt his feelings. Besides, I have a genetic weakness for CFS lunches. [urp]

Kid brother Paul. He looks that way because the
top of his head is on fire in the sun.

So, brothers reunited in an adventure, set out to see as much of the vast undertaking as possible. This, on a day when the temperature passed 110 and the sights stood 50 miles apart.

The local highways and by-ways were loaded with all kinds of heavy equipment. Various companies (you know many of their names) compete over yards to park and service million dollar machines used to turn 12000-foot holes in the ground into producing wells. Ranchers who cannot feed one cow on 50 acres of dessert are selling water to the service companies to make ends meet.

Courtyard of Ancient Hotel being refurbished to meet demand

The labor force is ballooning from around the country. My brother estimates about 50,000 workers have arrived in the last eight months. More are arriving daily. Housing and feeding the workers is a big problem – and a big opportunity.

Funny, in the worst economy of our generation, a desert is blooming across an enormous swath of south Texas. In a place where it never rains, people are beginning to smile again. I am proud to say my brother is a part of it. Go get’em, Paul!

View of courtyard from balconey - Desolation Road, beyond

I will include a few [more] good pictures in the next installment.

…

Time on My Hands

2011-06-27T08:26:00.000-05:00

…

Last week, I found I had free time. I cannot recall the last time that happened, probably because my memory is beginning to go, too. So, I sat at my idle keyboard trying to decide whether to open a branch office or take a nap when the telephone rang. (Or, whatever they call the sounds phones make these days – it made one.)

“Hello?”

“Hello,” crooned a cute female voice. “May I please speak to Mister Hank Burden?” I knew she was cute because I have a sixth sense about such things. It is a kind of biological radar.

Right away, the “mister” put me on alert. I got ready to fend off a sales call.

“You’re talking to him,” I said brusquely.

“Good. My name is Melody and I am calling from BMW.”

“Sorry honey, I just bought one 2 years ago and the ashtrays aren’t full yet.” (I am at my wittiest on these occasions.)

“No, no sir, I don’t sell cars. Your car contacted us last evening and reported a problem with the brake fluid. I am calling to set an appointment to service the car.”

“Uh, my car called you?”

“Yes sir. It’s part of our maintenance plan.”

“And it told you the brake fluid needed service?”

“Yes sir, that is correct. Also, I see here you have not contacted us regarding the recall notice we sent three months ago.”

“Uh, recall notice? Well, I have been busy.

“Of course you have, poor baby. Why don’t we just set an appointment for you to bring your sweet, long-suffering car into our shop and we’ll take care of all these little problems?” She was positively cooing.

“What else did my car tell you?” I was thinking “… that lying rat bastard,” but I didn’t say it aloud.

“Well, nothing, really, just small talk, you know how chatty cars can be.”

“I do now.”

In ten seconds, I had an appointment for early next week. The revelation that my car was chatting up complete strangers while I slept ruined my chance for a nap.

Until I figure a way to control this “feature”, I will be very discreet about what I say and where I go in my car. I have been meaning to ride my motorcycle more, anyway. I am almost positive it doesn’t have a phone.

...

Turtle Digs

2011-06-27T08:22:00.000-05:00

...

As regular readers know, I am an avid gardener. Oh, sure, I tend a few flowers and exotic potted plants. Most of my time and energy is spent (some say wasted) maintaining the traditional American lawn. It is not easy.

During one of my recent attacks on Mother Nature’s non-conformity took me to the depths of the “back 40.” Back here, it is shady and heavily forested with mature ash and black walnut trees. I was wielding a weed eater when I spotted something odd nearby.

I killed the engine and walked nearer. There on the sun dappled ground stood a large turtle. She made no effort to move. Behind her rose a small pile of moist earth. The heavy clay that passes for earth in this area can be hard as concrete.

I studied the scene for a long time before I realized I was watching a mother turtle digging a hole in which she could lay her eggs. I backed away slowly. Once I was a good distance away, I ran for the house and grabbed a camera. I snapped half a dozen shots before she moved.

I think she found the earth unsuitable for hatching a family. Maybe she thought I would poach her eggs from the nest. Who knows? She left, returning to the little creek at the end of my property. It a couple minutes, she was gone. I hope she was able to find a safe place, wherever she went.

Here are a couple photos:

Her shell is just over 12" in diameter. I'm guessing.

See, she's been digging with her back legs.

…

Heat Springs Infernal

2011-06-24T08:57:00.000-05:00

...

I bet most people will agree with me this has been a remarkable year, so far.

Japan suffered the most unlikely tragedy when the tsunami washed over their six seaside nuclear reactors. That was a truly serious bummer.

Next, the western half of Texas caught fire, burning more than 2 million acres of farm and ranch land. My cousin Buddy lives in the direct path of the flames. He had more than a few anxious moments; first attempting to evacuate by car, then being informed it was too late. He would have to take his boat across the lake if the flames got any closer. When I saw him before the prairie fire incident, he already had gray hair. Now, he probably has none. I am happy to report he, his family and his home survived.

Meanwhile, 80 miles to the east, we had flash flood warnings every day. So, one-half of northern Texas was on fire while the other was under water. I have seen stranger. I just cannot remember when.

May arrived disguised as July. The daytime high temperatures raced into the upper nineties and the upper 70s at dawn became a “balmy morning.” June has continued apace. During my recent trip to San Antonio, I noticed cactus plants wilting in the sun. Hot and dry does not quite cover it.

Returning home, I found my precious lawn near death. I watered it heavily for two days before I was content it would survive. The very next two nights in a row, giant thunderstorms prowled our area, dumping several inches of rain on the city. Within minutes, the lawn took off for the sky. It was the first time in my life I hired help so I could cut it as fast as it grew.

We are back to scorching heat and high humidity now, so everything is comparatively all right here.

Then, we have those poor souls in Arizona. Many of the eyewitness reports come from Springerville, AZ. I have stopped there many times on motorcycle trips. It is a beautiful part of the state and my heart goes out to those who have lost their homes and businesses to that terrible fire.

Not everything strange has been bad. Seal Team 6 sent Osama Bin Laden to paradise after a decade long search. To paraphrase Forest Gump, that is one less thing we have to worry about.

Finally, I think my daughter-in-law has started an informal over/under pool on the ultimate debauching of the US currency. She has tentatively picked September 2011. If she is correct, or even close, she will make the Mayans and Nostradamus look like a bunch of sightless boobs. Since negotiations between the Democrats and Republicans have broken down, I am picking August.

As far as I am concerned, we have had plenty of excitement for one year. Would anyone else be interested in moving this year’s end to June 30 and starting 2012 on July 1? Let me know.

Finally, I am changing my investment strategy for my retirement years. I plan to sell all those “iffy” paper assets and replace them with gold bullion and shotgun shells.*

See you at Wal-Mart! J

* [not really]

…

A Short Conversation

2011-06-17T09:19:00.001-05:00

...

My son and his two feral children visited me yesterday afternoon. As always, I was happy to see them, but ill health tempered my enthusiasm. I visited the local doctor earlier in the day only to learn my sore back was a kidney infection. It was a new one on me. Maybe some exotic Tex-Mex delight from San Antonio was the problem. We may never know. The Doc gave me two scripts. One script was for the infection. The second was to turn my urine bright, fluorescent orange. She alerted me to this side effect so I would not panic or faint over into the bowl when it happened.

“Roger,” I replied. I could see how such a medication could have high value in the practical joke department. Unfortunately, I felt too weak to do more than make a mental note.

I went home, took my first dose of meds and keeled over onto the sofa. I was out like a doornail. Hours later, the gentle banging and kicking on the back door by small fists and feet roused me from my coma.

I rolled off the sofa and crawled to the door. Standing up, I opened it and there they were. Joshua (1.75 years) and August (3.67 years) were mugging my back door. My son, Ben, brought up the rear. He had a pleasant, if somewhat insane or crazed look about him. I see this look from time to time on the face of overmatched parents. Heck, I used to see it on my face, and often.

I invited them in and returned to the sofa. I explained that I was not entirely well but by the time I finished my sentence, all the children were gone. They needed apple juice, chocolates and other staples stored a Grandfather’s house. Ben went with the children and gave each little boy a ration of whatever they wanted.

When they returned, we actually had a few minutes of peace due to the youngster’s mouths being stuffed full of goodies.

“So,” I asked my son, “what do you make of this Congressman Weiner scandal?”

We looked at each other for about ten seconds in absolute silence.

“Bwah, Ha, Ha, Ha! Hoo buddy, that’s rich!” Har, har, har, de har, har,” we chimed.

It took a couple of minutes to regain our composure. Finally, Ben offered a thought. “Just what do you think was in his mind that lead him to believe this episode could end well?”

“Bwah, ha, ha…”

By then, the goodies were gone and the children wanted to head to the playroom upstairs. Ben and the boys headed up. I joined them a bit later. I used up all my oxygen and physical strength during our five-minute political discussion. I needed a minute to recover before heading to the playroom (aka bomb crater central).

On my way, I stopped in the bathroom and closed the door.

“Oh my gawd! Eeeeeek!” I screeched.

…

My Holiday Road

2011-06-13T10:13:00.000-05:00

...

Last year, my daughter and her hubby invited me on a family vacation. The plan involved driving from Dallas to Branson, MO. There, we stayed in a nice resort, saw much beautiful country and almost went mad coping with two unhappy children. They hated riding in the car, so they tortured each other for the entire trip. When the volume from their third row seats became unbearable, the folks in the front seat merely turned up the radio, drowning the mayhem in the far back seats. In the middle row, I sat next to a cooler. It was not much company, but I did not mind until a thorough search revealed not a single adult beverage in the container. I was doomed to endure a 10-hour ride with demonic sounds fore and aft in a state of complete sobriety. It was a glimpse of Hell.

On Saturday, last, I returned home, satisfied that we enjoyed the best possible family vacation.

This year, the vacation included some important changes. Number one was cars. I took mine and they drove theirs. Second, we stayed in rooms at opposite ends of the motel. It was mercifully quiet. Third, Grandfather has an injured back, which bought me a pass on any heavy lifting (grandchildren). All these changes made a large difference. I have old friends in San Antonio and reconnected with two of the best. I re-introduced my daughter and son-in-law and the two grandchildren. Surprisingly, everyone behaved himself or herself. It left me wondering what happened to my real family.

We enjoyed authentic Tex-Mex food, great conversation and even visited the Witte Museum across the street from the restaurant. It was a good day.

The dolphin show at Sea World was great, too. It had elements of “Circ d’ Soleil”, a Beluga Whale, trained tropical birds and, yes, a corps of Pacific White Sided Dolphins. The children were transfixed and I appreciated the show to the fullest.

The thing about Sea World is its size. It is immense. The other thing about Sea World is the heat and humidity. By noon, the temperature was over 90 and the humidity was up there, too. After a couple of hours, our team was completely dehydrated and on the verge of collapse. We did the only sensible thing: We made a desperate dash for the motel, specifically, the showers, bar and swimming pool, not necessarily in that order. All our problems resolved. I even got out for a quick session of sun and swim before the longish journey home. Next time, we will go in mid-October.

Heavy use of air conditioning, a stoked iPod and magnificent scenery eased the stress of the 5+-hour drive home. I arrived, walked into the house and collapsed into the most delightful nap/coma I have had in years.

I believe all had a good time.

Should you ever be confronted with an opportunity to travel with family, especially small children, you may wish to reread this publication and make note of any survival tips you find. As an alternative, watch all the National Lampoon’s “Vacation” movies – and memorize them.

You will thank me (or Chevy Chase) later.

...

A Day to Remember

2011-06-12T15:04:00.001-05:00

...

Memorial Day is a somber holiday, reserved for the living to remember the dead. Over the centuries, millions of men and women have answered the call to duty and made that great sacrifice. I thank them and wish them eternal peace.

Memorial Day is also one of my favorite holidays. I feel I owe it to that long line of patriots to wring as much enjoyment out of the fruits of their sacrifice as practical. I believe that is a good way to honor them.

With this in mind, I invited friends and neighbors to join me on that special day. Then, I got busy buying meat. This year, I selected the traditional beef brisket and added a couple slabs of spare ribs for variety. Okay, I bought the potato salad and Cole Slaw at the deli or assembled them from purpose made parts. Sue me. It was still a feast of the first order. There was strong drink and a Strawberry aperitif, not to mention four hours or so of storytelling. I loved it. Gee, I hope my guests enjoyed our time as much as I did.

The festivities kicked off at 3:00pm and went full tilt until almost dark; say 9:00pm. Then, holding our stomachs off the floor with our hands, we began to call it a night. In a few minutes, everyone was gone. Except for the mile high pile of dishes and a few pounds of leftovers, you could hardly tell there had been a party at all.

I turned off the porch light and headed to bed. Plopping onto my bunk like a stuffed bear, I stared at the ceiling, waiting for my tummy to rejoin the rest of my body.

I lay on the edge of sleep for a long while before I heard “Ding dong!”

“What the pf… “ I began.

“Ding dong!” The bell repeated.

In a food-sleep-induced stupor, I rolled out of bed and stumbled downstairs to the front door. A dark figure waited for me. I was wearing my crabbiest face as I threw it open. You know, it is the one with only one eye open and slobber running down my chin.

“Hey, Hank!” Mike said. “Are you still smokin’ meat?”

It was Michael, my neighbor. He had left only an hour before and I puzzled over what he wanted.

“No. I went to bed.” I mumbled.

“Well, I was out on my patio smoking a cigar and relaxing after the feast when I noticed your backyard filled with smoke. That’s not unusual, if you’re cookin’ meat. Then, I began to see the flames down near the creek. I think maybe your backyard is on fire.”

“Fire? Where?” I responded opening the other eye.

Mike jogged through my house and I went with him until we reached the back door. Throwing it open, I noticed there seemed to be a pea souper of a London fog in my yard. Michael pointed toward the creek and down low. There, beneath the Holly plants an angry red flame crawled north along the edge of the creek.

Without a word, we ran for the garden hose reel in the back yard. I had 100 feet of hose and I prayed the fire was within range. Michael peeled hose from the reel as I frantically pulled the slack over the fence near the house and into the “back forty” section of the property. After paying out the entire length of hose, I grabbed the open end and ran. Meanwhile Mike turned the water hydrant to the full open position.

“Please God; let this hose reach the fire in time, okay?”

As I ran, the hose began to sputter and burp water toward the fire. I hoped the delivery would speed up before I arrived in the actual flames. Already, I had a choking sensation from “eating smoke” and the fire seemed to grow, as I got closer. My eyes were burning too; bless them.

When I saw the scope of the problem up close, I swallowed hard. The fire was about 60 feet long and 10 to 15 feet wide. “Not a good sign,” I thought wryly.

Then the water arrived.

Did you know that an established wild fire would not necessarily go out just because someone sprays water on it? No, apparently, fire can burn inside a log or railroad tie, happy as a clam, while some desperate fool waters the outside of the fuel. That is why it took more than half an hour to kill the flames. Then, we spent another 30 minutes spraying for good measure. When all seemed cold and dead, Michael told me he would keep an eye on my yard from his patio until he went to bed. I stood around a bit longer, just to be certain.

The apparent cause of the blaze was a bucket of presumably dead ash I emptied earlier in the day. Not all the ashes were as defunct as I thought the little troublemakers to be.

Henceforth, I shall have a better plan for dead ashes. I plan to start dumping them in my yard, right next to the hose reel.

On the good side, this is one Memorial Day I shall remember for many decades to come. After all, how many of us end our holiday standing in their back yard, blackened by smoke and soot and wearing only their jammies? I felt lucky to be there.

Hope you had a memorable Memorial Day, too!

…

Limits of Authority

2011-05-30T10:01:00.000-05:00

My cousin Jerry sent this. Thought you might enjoy some Texas humor - It is tried and true.

H.


A DEA officer stopped at a ranch in Texas and talked with an old rancher. He told the rancher, "I need to inspect your ranch for illegally grown drugs."

The rancher said, "Okay, but don't go in that field over there," as he pointed out the location.

The DEA officer verbally exploded saying, "Mister, I have the authority of the Federal Government with me!" Reaching into his rear pants pocket, he removed his badge and proudly displayed it to the rancher. "See this badge?! This badge means I am allowed to go wherever I wish....on any land!!
No questions asked or answers given!! Have I made myself clear? Do you understand?"

The rancher nodded politely, apologized, and went about his chores.

A short time later, the old rancher heard loud screams, looked up, and saw the DEA officer running for his life, being chased by the rancher's Santa Gertrudis bull......

With every step the bull was gaining ground on the officer, and it seemed likely that he'd sure enough get gored before he reached safety. The officer was clearly terrified.

The rancher threw down his tools, ran to the fence and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Your badge, show him your BADGE!!!"

...

SISTER MARY ANN'S GASOLINE

2011-05-30T09:22:00.000-05:00

This came to me from my friend Zita. It caused me to smile - I hope it does as much for you!

H.

PS: Happy Memorial Day!
...

Sister Mary Ann, who worked for a home health agency, was out making her rounds visiting housebound patients when she ran out of gas.

As luck would have it, a Texaco Gasoline station was just a block away.

She walked to the station to borrow a gas can and buy some gas. The attendant told her that the only gas can he owned had been loaned out, but she could wait until it was returned. Since Sister Mary Ann was on the way to see a patient, she decided not to wait and walked back to her car.

She looked for something in her car that she could fill with gas and spotted the bedpan she was taking to the patient.

Always resourceful, Sister Mary Ann carried the bedpan to the station, filled it with gasoline, and carried the full bedpan back to her car.

As she was pouring the gas into her tank, two Methodists watched from across the street. One of them turned to the other and said,

'If it starts, I'm turning Catholic.'!!

"ba-boom."

...

The Funeral

2011-05-26T10:07:00.000-05:00

...

The limo stopped in front of my home at precisely 5:00 pm. A well-dressed and solicitous young man rang the bell. When I opened the door, he opened an umbrella and escorted me to the long black car. We chatted and made small talk as he drove me to the final act in the play “My Mother’s Life.”

Everything went as near according to plan as is possible in my life. In fact, we even got a few breaks. The funeral home furnished a priest to celebrate the mass. In addition, Father Thomas, the priest I recruited from a Parish near the Oklahoma border, arrived in time to assist and offer words of comfort to the assembly of family and friends. Just before the Mass began, the head priest approached me. He asked if there was anyone there who might offer a few words about my mother.

“Father, you are in luck,” I told him. “Come with me.”

I lead the priest over to my nephew, Jason. Jason is an imposing 6’4” and a uniquely qualified speaker. He is Pastor at a Baptist church somewhere in south Texas. In addition, he recently earned his Doctor of Divinity at Baylor University. Oh, he is also a very nice person and a good husband and father. He instantly joined the line-up of the Clergy. I was certain my mother would not be denied entry into Paradise based on lack of clergy at her funeral.

Candles were lit, incense burned and prayers offered. The Mass began uneventfully. After a few minutes, I began feeling a little tug at my coat. It was my granddaughter, Sophia.

“What are they doing, Grandfather?” She asked in a stage whisper.

“They are praying to God to let Grandma Lottie into heaven.” I answered.

Before long, coats and skirts all over the church felt tugs and innocent and profound questions found voice in stage whispers. After a little more than half an hour, the Mass ended with “The Mass has ended. You may go in peace.” And we did.

We stepped out into steady rain and dark skies. It was a comforting rain. There were no winds and lightning never flashed. It felt as if we had permission from the heavens to feel a sense of loss and sadness.

Our little group piled into Limos and rode the hundred yards to the little tent covering the final resting place. The casket rested above the grave and the chairs under the tent filled quickly. A few found standing room. There were more prayers. “Dust to dust,” and all that. At the end, the funeral director suggested we could have the flowers piled high on mother’s casket. I picked one and handed it to a guest. I repeated this act until everyone had a flower as a reminder of the fragile nature of our lives. We stood about for a while, chatting, consoling and catching up with those who remained on earth.

Then, it seemed it was time to go. I found the limo and began the swift trip home. On the way, I reflected on the times I spent with my mother. There was the time I dropped a raw oyster into a gallon pot of spaghetti sauce. I was a mere teenager at the time and I channeled some of my rebelliousness into practical jokes. (Spaghetti was my mother’s favorite food in the world. Raw oysters were on the other end of the spectrum.) Out of a gallon of sauce, stirred and divided among five family members, what were the odds my mother would find “the prize?”

The answer? 100%.

In fact, I think she found “slimy” the oyster on her first bite. Oh sure, I received a large beating, despite my protests of innocence. I guess choking with laughter took some of the credibility from my plea.

As I grew, mom sought more effective methods to keep me in line. Merely hitting me with her hand began to leave her bruised and crippled, so she resorted to whacking the rowdy disobedient with a broom. It did not work out as she expected.

Once, I did some niggling thing that annoyed her. Furious, she called my brother to “Bring me my broom!”

“Why? You going someplace?” I countered.

Luckily, she dissolved into laughter and the broom dissolved into history.

I must have a hundred or more memories of her that will always make me smile. I shall cherish (and possibly publish) them as long as I live.

I want to thank all the friends, relatives and neighbors who attended one or more of these services. It meant a lot to me to see you there. For those who sent food or flowers, thank you ever so much. I actually gained a little weight eating better cooking than my own. The plant I received is flourishing on my patio, even as I type.

May God bless and keep you always.

Hank

…

Sunday

2011-05-25T09:53:00.001-05:00

Sunday is my official day of rest. Aside from continuous napping, I restrict my activities to motorcycle riding and lawn care. If I must “do” the landscaping on Sunday, I make it a point to do a half-assed job. That way I do not feel so much resentment over the intrusion into my life.

This Sunday was special. My schedule included meeting my daughter and her family at the North Park Shopping Mall for my grandson’s hastily rescheduled birthday party. That his great grandmother has passed away on his exact birthday bummed us out. We wanted to get back to a normal life for our newly minted Six year-old as soon as possible. We were to convene at 11:00 am. We could celebrate until we left for the chapel and my mother’s Rosary by 4:30, so we had a ton of time.

I felt no guilt over lying in my bed, listening to the morning show on CBS and scanning the Sunday newspaper. I sipped tea and rested up for the big day to follow. It was cloudy and rainy. Storms lingered, left over from a night of mayhem.

My telephone rang. Did you ever notice how many bad things begin with a telephone call? I answered confidently. I felt all the bad news that was remotely possible drained from my universe by recent events. Hubris filled me. Naturally.

“Good Morning, Sarah!” I said cheerfully.

“Hey, Dad. I just called to say the birthday party might have to be postponed.”

“What on Earth for? Is everything alright?”

“Not exactly. Our power went out early this morning. The house is smoking and the plumbing is leaking inside the house and the Fire Department is here. They say the house might burst into flames any time. BAWWWW - BOO HOO HOO!”

“Great Googly Moogly! Is everyone safe?”

“Yes, but we had to gather all our belongings and put them in the car. We are almost homeless!”

My daughter calmed down a bit and I offered to drive to Ft. Worth, just in case she needed more storage space. I would bring my truck along with me…

I raced westward. When I arrived at my destination half a dozen of Ft. Worth’s finest milled about. A large fire truck parked, lights flashing, in front of my daughter’s house. The firemen were using some high-tech infrared devices to track heat sources lurking in the attic and behind the walls. Their diagnosis? Lightning struck the electric meter causing a large amount of current to pass through the house through the wiring and copper plumbing. Much of it was still smoking when I arrived.

I hung out until my family headed for a nearby hotel – their home for the next few weeks. The firemen stayed until the electric company found time to drop by and kill the electricity at the pole. They stayed with the house until there were no signs of extra heat to be found. God Bless them!

Weak but relieved, I returned home and collapsed. Before I knew it, time to head for the Rosary arrived. I dressed, but inside I felt weak and wrinkled. I drove to the funeral home arriving a little early. Soon, friends, family, grandchildren and neighbors flooded the chapel. The young ones gathered at their great grandmother’s casket to discuss what might be happening. “It is sort of like being asleep,” said one. “Yes, her soul goes to heaven but I think they’ll put her in the ground.” Another one said. “Is she coming back?” “No, I don’t think so.” It was a touching scene. At that moment, the gift of innocence seemed more precious than gold – or eternal life, for that matter.

In time, the Rosary began. The children moved to the very farthest pews where they could continue their discussions uninterrupted. Before long, the Deacon leading our prayer service was shouting to be heard over the din in the rear. Scowl as he might, the little angels in the back paid little attention. I think someone finally went back there and explained “SHUT UP!” to them. All was quiet for about a minute.

As eternity approached, we reached the end of the service. In ones and twos, people began drifting back to the parking lot and normal[ish] lives. It was dark and rainy. The forecast called for more of the same tomorrow. “Perfect,” I thought.

I specifically avoided thinking of the havoc the grandchildren might raise during Mass. They are all good little heathens, as far as I can tell. Besides, what could be a more powerful reminder that life goes on?

And do not worry. Eventually, my grandson got to celebrate his birthday at the Lego store. Reports indicate he was exhausted after looking at and playing with as many blocks as he could. Also, I hear a large bag of blocks found their way home with him. Good for him!

…

Changes

2011-05-23T15:18:00.001-05:00

I suppose by now everyone who knows me also knows my mother passed away just after dawn on April 29, 2011. My phone rang at 0230 that morning. A nurse from the rehab center was on the other end of the call. “Your mother’s condition has changed,” she offered flatly.

“I was planning to come see her tomorrow. Should I change my plan?”

“I cannot tell you what to do. All I can tell you is her condition has changed.”

“Thank you for calling. G’night.”

I hung up the phone and fell into bed. Sleep drugged my brain, but I felt an annoying uncertainty. “I don’t suppose that nurse called me in the middle of the night to tell me she was getting better,” I thought to myself.

Then I replayed my visit from the previous day in my head. Mother had been semi-unresponsive, but we managed a conversation whenever the fog lifted. After an hour, I told her I had to go, but I would return Saturday, the day after tomorrow.

Without warning, she sat upright in bed, a position that caused her excruciating pain. She looked me directly in the eye and said, “I love you, Hank!” She used a loud voice, as if to reach me at a long distance. It sounded strained, as if speaking was almost impossible. Then, as quickly as it had come, the light went dim in her eyes and her face became expressionless.

“Are you okay Mom? Shall I get the nurse?”

She sat still as stone.

“I’ll get the nurse for you – then, I’ll have to head home. I will return Saturday.

I fetched a nurse and she checked mother’s vital signs. A physician entered and inspected the wound on her back, taking samples and applying medication. My mother lay still in her bed. No spark of life lit her features, but the nurses seemed content that she was stable. I left for home.

It was 0330 when I poured a cup of strong coffee and hit the highway. Traffic was mercifully light at this obscene hour and I pressed my speed to the outlaw side of the speedometer. It was not quite 0500 when I arrived at mother’s bedside. Other family members showed up and I took a seat by mom’s bed, holding her hand for a long time. She appeared to be sleeping, but her breath was ragged. Nurses were in the room, doing what little they could to keep her comfortable. Most of us stood about the room making quiet small talk until my sister-in-law noticed mom’s breath had slowed dramatically in the past few minutes. All fell silent and listened. In, pause, out, went her breath. In, long pause and then out. We waited what seemed like an hour for the next breath, but it never came. The charge nurse stepped to her bedside and held his stethoscope to her chest. After a few seconds, he looked up at me.

“It is 7:30 a.m.,” I told him.

In a few seconds, we all left the room. I sat in a padded chair in the hallway while attendants made her “presentable.” After a time, I went back in to say goodbye. I found her draped in a clean white gown that covered her from her neck to below her feet. The attendants neatly brushed her hair and closed her eyes. There was a palpable silence in the room. It might have been the first true peace mother had experienced since her birth in 1923.

We each drifted away slowly. I drove to the funeral home of mother’s choosing and made the final arrangements. It would be everything she could ask for and more. The recitation of the Rosary was set for Sunday evening. Mass of Christian burial and interment would follow on Monday night.

April 29^th was also my eldest grandson’s 6^th birthday. He graciously agreed to celebrate at the Lego store on Sunday at noon, before returning to the process of saying goodbye to Grandma Lottie.

Saturday provided the time needed to find that black tie – oops – get a new one. I picked up my suit at cleaners. Then, I collapsed. I think I napped and slept straight through to Sunday morning about ten a.m.

That was when things began to get exciting.

…

Camping in with Augie 2.0

2011-04-18T10:39:00.002-05:00

…

Despite a life that often mimics a Chinese Fire Drill; I had the pleasure of entertaining one of my three favorite grandsons (so far) over a recent weekend. August, AKA “Augie”, showed up on Saturday afternoon. The usual activities entertained us; reading, jigsaw puzzles (He is a 3-year-old jigsaw genius.), movies and eating from the pantry of goodies. Finally, around eight o’clock, we agreed it was time for bed. Augie wanted to sleep in the “big bed” with Grandfather. I said okay. We both looked forward to a restful ten hours of shut-eye. Instead, we had the following conversation, beginning roughly at lights-out.

“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie.”

“Gwandfather, I’m not comfortable.”

“Okay, find a position that is comfortable.

Augie began flopping, rolling and flailing about under – and above – the covers. This continued for about 20 minutes. After that, we had ten minutes of quiet and stillness.

“Gwandfather, I am thirsty.”

“Huh? Oh. Okay. Just let me turn on the water drinking light…”

I snapped on the bedside lamp and picked up the large glass of water I keep beside the bed. I held it out for the boy and he eagerly slurped it up.

“Had enough? Okay then, let’s get back to sleeping. Close those eyes, now,” I admonished gently. I fell into a deep sleep, almost instantly.

“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie?”

“Gwandfather, I dreamed a bear took the underwear off the triceratops horn and ripped them all up.”

"That’s nice. Let’s not worry about that right now, okay? Let’s get a little sleep. How does that sound?"
He agreed and we fell asleep, I think.

“Gwandfather, it is morning. Can we get up now?”

“What the…” I squinted at the clock with sleep-drugged eyes. It said it was 2:20 A.M. “Augie, it IS technically morning, but it is still time to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get up, okay?"
He agreed and we laid our sleep heads on the pillows once more.

"Gwandfather, I' thirsty."

"Okay, I'll get the water."

"Gwandfather, you forgot to turn on the water drinking light."

"We don't need it. Just feel around with your lips until you find the glass."

I shoved the water glass in his general direction. After a few seconds, his little lips latched onto the glass and the slurping resumed.

"Have you had enough?"

"Yes, Gwandfather. Thank you."

"Okay. G'night, Augie. Sweet dreams."

“Raaarrrrhhh!.”

"Eeaaarrgggh! What the [bleep] was that?”

“That is the sound my dragon makes.”

Augie held up a shadowy figure of a plush dragon. It was one of a dozen little stuffed friends helping him get comfortable.

“Okay, let the dragon have a little rest, too, okay? Please?” I crashed.

"Gwandfather, what was that sound?"

"Oh, probably just some old man, tying a noose to the ceiling fan. It is nothing to worry about. Now, let’s see who can pretend to be asleep the longest.” [z]

“Snoooorrrt! My nose is clogged up.”

“So I hear. Would you like some nose spray? I have some saline spray to make it better."

He declined, graciously and said he would be fine without it. I collapsed onto the pillow.

"Snoooorrrt!"

"I’m cold."

“Here let me help you get under the covers. If you are still cold, you can snuggle up with me and I’ll keep you warm.”

With that, Augie began wiggling and kicking under the covers. When he stopped an hour later, he was snuggled against my back with his elbows and knees planted firmly in my kidneys and spine. I was still half-asleep and willing to settle.

“My little tummy is growling. It sounds like this: Grrrrrble, Gurgle.”

“Say, that’s a pretty good impression. I guess that means your tummy is sleepy, right?”

“No, that means my tummy is hungry.”

“We’ll have breakfast soon. Just let me lie here awhile longer,” I begged.

“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie?”

“I tooted.”

“Okay, let’s go see what’s for breakfast…”

We walked down the stairs and waded in to a new day. We ate hearty, played indoors and out. I even managed to stay awake long enough to read a story or two. Eventually, the gods showed mercy and Augie’s mother retrieved him. He pretended he didn't want to go, but I told him we have to bear up under adversity, like big boys.

It was a challenge, but I am happy we did it. It makes the rest of my life seem so much easier.

…

U.S. Economy Circles Drain?

2011-04-18T09:30:00.000-05:00

…

Recently, it occurred to me that we may be in more trouble than we know. Over the weekend, I had an opportunity to reflect on the Congressional approach to cutting a relatively small amount of money from the current budget. Overall, it was an unflattering spectacle. There were plenty of threats, name-calling and outrage on every side of the issue. Every party stretched truth beyond recognition and lies hovered near the lips of the speakers.

It was only at the last minute that the parties reached agreement. I am sure the nation sighed with relief, as did I.

The next hurdle for our federal government is the debt ceiling. Since we are in the hole for more than $14 trillion, what harm could come from borrowing another trillion or two? I expect very little.

Then, the notion crossed my mind that the harm lies in the process. As nervous creditors watch, our Congress may put on another “show” over this issue, too. Then, at a quarter ‘til midnight, they’ll announce an agreement. It will be too late.

I imagined the emotions and judgments a serious creditor might make while watching the federal circus, day after day. The thought made me queasy. What would it do for the sensitive digestive tracts of, say, the Chinese? I hope they have a large wok handy as they watch. I can imagine them needing a wash-up before meeting to decide what to do – days or weeks before the deadline.

Then I imagined a large container ship might sail into the Port of L.A. a week later. The cargo of redeemed U.S. Treasuries would have the ship decks awash under the load. In a few more days, trillions of dollars in U.S. currency would arrive at a port in China, say, Shanghai.

Then? Well, let’s just say our debt problem would be less, but we might soon feel nostalgia for $5.00 per gallon gasoline.

Gee. I truly hope I am wrong about this. Or, maybe not.

…

5 Year Old's First Job

2011-04-07T14:28:00.001-05:00

...
My friend Odis sent this. I think you will like it, provided you have not seen it recently. Me? I am hiding my own Easter eggs, so what do I know.

Here it is:

Here's a truly heart warming story about the bond formed between a little 5-year-old girl and some construction workers that will make you believe that we all can make a difference when we give a child the gift of our time.

A young family moved into a house next to a vacant lot. One day, a Construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot.

The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door and spent much of each day observing the workers.

Eventually the construction crew, all of them "gems-in-the-rough," more or less, adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important.

At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars "pay" she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own paycheck at such a young age.

The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us."

“ Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"

The little girl replied, "I will, if those assholes at Lowe's ever deliver the damn sheet rock..."

...

The Blank Page

2011-04-06T09:50:00.000-05:00

…

This Christmas past, “Santa” brought me some new bicycle clothing. It is the real stuff, too. High tech and form fitting (oh, no) it is stylishly black with large chartreuse panels fore and aft on the jersey. These highly visible panels cry out for an inscription.

I have considered selling advertising on the space, but dismissed the idea. Who would buy it? A “Fat Farm,” perhaps? Maybe a cardiologist would be interested. You know, "Don't let this happen to you!"

Well, forget them. I think I need a more direct and useful message. I can put two messages on the jersey, one in front and another in back.

Right now, I am thinking “Man Down” for one side and possibly “Call 911” on the other.

I admit I may need a little help here. If anyone has a suggestion or two, I would be happy to get it – just post a comment and let me know what you think. Surely, my alert readers can offer some better choices!

…

Tis the Season

2011-04-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

...

First, let me say my mother is showing signs of recovery. The rehab center took her off physical and occupational therapy weeks ago. She simply was not fit enough to benefit. Now, they are considering putting her back on.

Her improvement baffles medical science, but not me. During my recent visits, I have adopted the policy of smuggling rich chocolate malteds into her room. She sucks them down as Manna from Heaven, which is practically true.

Since I began, she has recovered her voice (a mixed blessing if ever there was one); she has recovered the use of her left arm and her ability to swallow seems healed – at least during the malt slurping periods.

Next week the therapy staff will reevaluate her abilities and make a judgment on her fitness. Meanwhile, I will be pushing the calories… Heh, heh.

The surprise of the week came from my son. He showed this morning up on a new BMW motorcycle. His lacks a few accessories I consider necessary for real touring, but that can be fixed with the application of $$$. Okay, maybe $,$$$.

For those of you interested in such things, the bike is an 800 cc water-cooled twin cylinder. It is very handsome, handles well (runs like a scalded dog and stops as if it hit a wall.) Ben says he was surprised to find motorcycles could also turn – a feature largely missing on his “old” bike.

To my surprise, it was not expensive as BMW stuff goes. You know, the key fob for $395.00, retail.

So, for you lot who bemoan your inability to hit the road, I suggest you take a look at one of these puppies, provided your wife or girlfriend will allow it. You know who you are.

...

Local News: Local Family Relocates

2011-03-21T14:33:00.000-05:00

...

I have begun riding my bicycle again. I travel the same 7 mile (+/-) track each day, sucking up nature’s wonders. Pollen is among Nature’s most prolific wonders. I guess sneezing and red, swollen eyes are indicators of good health?

Avid readers will recall it was last year that a Beaver family moved into our nature trail. Within hours, they converted a low-lying acre of plant life into a large, fetid swamp. Let me tell you, there is nothing more natural than a beaver swamp. Well, maybe a convention of skunks would be comparable, but little else.

Recently, I awakened to some odd quacking noises outside my window. Too sleepy to locate my gun, I peered out the window to identify these untimely quackers. Sure enough, a Mallard drake and his floozy hen were paddling about in my creek having a grand time diving for insects and small fish.

“Oh, it’s only ducks,” I told myself falling back into bed. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. The party in the creek was too much.

Eventually, I saddled up for my morning bicycle ride. I zoomed along the trail enjoying the fresh air when I realized there should not be any fresh air in this part of the trail. The beaver swamp was dry.

“Uh, oh,” I thought. A bad feeling came over me and I pedaled for all I was worth toward the place where the creek behind my home empties into the larger stream by the trail. It was just as I feared. No water was flowing from my creek into the larger artery. This could mean only one thing: Beaver trouble.

I should mention here that we measure the “normal” depth of my creek in inches. It is more of a babbling brook, a foot deep in places. Now, I began to put the cheese and quackers together and they did not add up.

When I got home, I staggered down to the creek side. Sure enough, we now have several duck-entertaining feet of water where before there was barely enough to hatch mosquitoes. If it turns out ducks eat mosquitoes, this could work out. Otherwise, I may have to resurrect some ancient skills and remove the dam before the air becomes unbreathable. [BOOM!]

Sophia Turns Four

2011-03-15T11:16:00.001-05:00

...

It was Saturday a week ago that the family swarmed into the Chuck E. Cheese restaurant near my daughter’s home. The place was jammed with every imaginable electronic game, game of chance, game of skill and things to climb. There were 300 or 400 children in various stages of going berserk.

A waiter brought every kind of pizza that can be made on cardboard for our enjoyment while the children, pockets stuffed with tokens, raced from one adventure to the next.

All went well until about an hour into the festivities. It was “present opening time” and August, my 3-year-old grandson, was nowhere to be found. His parents showed reserve as they sprinted from place to place, at random, in search of their son. Since I am more experienced, I kept a cool head. I knew if desperadoes had taken Augie, they would let him out of the getaway car at the curb in front of the restaurant within the hour. He is a handful that you could not trade for a million dollars. I know. I have tried.

Feeling left out, I began a slow, methodical search of the gaming complex. Eventually, I passed a racecar game for two players. The two seats had high backs, so anyone under five feet tall would not be visible from behind. Augie was one of the players. He was out of tokens, so he was playing the “demo,” over and over again.

In time, I caught the eye of his over-stressed father and pointed down at the seat in front of me. Augie is anything but tall. My son rushed over and peered over the seat. I watched as he deflated and his BP returned to triple over double digits. He leaned on the seat a while as Augie continued playing. Once his composure returned, he said, “Thanks for turning up, son.”

We opened presents, sang the birthday song and ate cake, but relief vacuumed up the party spirit out of at least two adults well before the singing began.

Difference between Grandpas and Grandmas

2011-03-15T11:14:00.000-05:00

…

This will bring a tear to your eyes and warm the cockles of your hearts.

Have you ever wondered what the difference is between Grandmothers and Grandfathers? Well, here it is:

There was this loving grandfather who always made a special effort to spend time with his son's family on weekends. Every Saturday morning he would take his 7-year-old granddaughter out for a drive in the car for some quality time -- just him and his granddaughter.

One particular Saturday, however, he had a bad cold and really did not feel like being up at all. He knew his granddaughter always looked forward to their drives and would be disappointed. Luckily, his wife came to the rescue and said that she would take their granddaughter for the drive.

When they returned, the little girl anxiously ran upstairs to see her grandfather who was still in bed. "Well, did you enjoy your ride with grandma?" he asked. "Oh, yes, Granddad, it was really wonderful. We didn't see a single asshole, blind bastard, dipshit or son of a bitch anywhere we went!"

Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

PS: Mark all hate mail to the attention of Ray K. I’ll see that he gets it.

H.

…

The Grandmother Saga

2011-03-15T11:10:00.000-05:00

...

My mother, a grandmother four times and great grandmother to 10, I think, is resting comfortably in the nursing home.

My Dad used to describe people in her condition as being in “bad shape.” That is appropriate here. She has depleted her reserves of energy for recuperation and strengthening.

The kind staff at the nursing home will keep her comfortable as long as necessary and I will send my dark suit and black tie to the cleaners this week, just as I did when my Dad used to tell me others were in bad shape.

Eighty-seven is a good long life by any measure except those who might be 85 or 86 and enjoying their life.

...

Mother 1 - Reaper 0

2011-03-02T09:36:00.000-06:00

…

After three days in critical care, the hospital discharged my Mom to return to rehabilitation. That long list of serious ailments melted away due to the vigorous assault of modern medicine and fervent prayer.

She is not 100% as capable as she was. She has a new swallowing problem, probably the result of that last stroke. There is a strategy for dealing with this, so she can return to her occupational and physical therapy. Cautious optimism replaced despair, at least for the near term.

I am good with that. The recent excitement has been an emotional roller coaster for us all. I believe I shall celebrate Mom’s good fortune by having a brisk lie down in the afternoon.

The family and I are grateful for your expressions of concern and caring and especially the prayers. God bless you.

Hank & tribe.

…

Goin’ Up to the Spirit in the Sky

2011-02-28T13:33:00.000-06:00

…

Friday, I got a call saying mother was not doing well. I jumped back in the car (I think it was still warm.) and sped to Granbury. Meanwhile, the rehab center rushed her back to the hospital, where they performed the customary CAT scan, blood tests and reported as follows when I arrived. “Your mother has had another stroke. She is suffering from kidney failure, dehydration and sepsis. Her blood pressure was near single digits. We cannot treat the kidney failure here, so we will send her to Ft. Worth.”

After waiting another hour, the ambulance had not showed up. The smart and cute woman doctor in charge of the ER said, “We’ve waited as long as we can. Get the helicopter… “

“WHAT? You mean to tell me my 87 year-old mother is getting to ride in a helicopter?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I suppose you will insist I go with her, just to keep her calm, eh?”

“No, we insist you drive carefully to the new hospital. Your mother will meet you there.”

“$%^&*(O,” I thought to myself. I returned to the room to break the news to my mother.

In the darkened room, my mom reached up and laid her hand on my shoulder. I was shaking as I bent over her bed, resting my arms on the rail at her side. (I could not stop laughing.)

She spoke in a weak whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, I replied. It is just that at 87 you are going for your first helicopter ride. I let a little jealousy slop over into my voice.

I cast my glance aside toward her face. She looked utterly shocked.

“On the good side, I got the doctor to agree to let you fly the last little bit of the trip.”

A wide grin covered her gaunt face. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow, still smiling.

“I’ll see you in Ft. worth soon, Mom. Remember, I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

I walked out of the room and toward the parking lot. On the way, I passed a tall stranger carrying a flight helmet. He was muscular and bald, but sported a brush of red hair on his face.

“You the pilot,” I asked.

“Yup. What can I do for you?”

I told him “You can be extra careful and fast. Your passenger is my mother.

“Will do, sir.”

He and I turned and went our ways. After I fetched my jalopy from the lot, I saw him doing his pre-flight inspection. I was pleased to see him concentrating on his work.

Somehow, I knew this part of the adventure would work out all right. I drove back to Dallas. I was limp as a rag when I arrived home.

Then the phone rang. It was the Ft. Worth hospital. My mother arrived in good order and they were bedding her down in a critical care unit. I was free to sleep the sleep of the just for one night.

Tomorrow could wait.

…

Fighting the Good Fight

2011-02-23T09:24:00.000-06:00

…

My mother has never been shy. The stroke left her voice intact along with her opinions and her willingness to share them. Her hearing is gone, so she generally speaks only loud enough so she can hear what she is saying. The walls reverberate and the windows rattle in normal conversation.

“I hate this place. Get me out of here,” she exclaimed.

“But mom, this seems like a nice place. They cook for you and let you watch TV as much as you want. The nurses are very nice and the physical therapists are helping you get better each day. What is so terrible about it?”

“They served me oatmeal.”

“Hmm. It seems to me you served me oatmeal every morning until I graduated high school. You told me it was good for me. Maybe this is just Karma working itself out.”

On my way out, I checked with the staff. She has not been shy nor has she been easy to care for. I thought I sensed a bit of dread when two nurses entered her room to return her to her bed after a therapy session. Apparently, there have been issues. I got the same feeling from several sources. Still, everyone I met was friendly, cheerful, polite and competent. Poor souls.

Whatever else you might say about her, she is fighting the good fight wherever she finds it. I only wish she had some less well-meaning adversaries.

So, she may be down, but she seems far from out.

I believe I shall devote my afternoon to napping. God knows, I have earned it. I think of it as taking one for the whole team.

Three Weeks with Mortality

2011-02-22T17:24:00.000-06:00

It will be two weeks this coming Friday that I got the call. It was my mother’s voice, but slurred and with gaps. She struggled to make herself understood. It came out like this: “I’ve had a minor stroke and I am in the hospital in Granbury.”

I fell silent for a moment, trying to integrate what I heard. When my single brain cell finished processing, I said, “I’m on my way.” Five minutes later, I fired up the Bat mobile and aimed west. I felt it better taking the extra time to don trousers.

Less than an hour later, I arrived at the Granbury Medical Center and strode directly to mother’s room. My brother and his wife were there. They were somber.

I went to her side and grasped her hand. Bending low, I kissed her forehead and said, “I AM HERE MOM!” She is hearing challenged, y’know. She looked up at me and proclaimed her undying love for me, provided I “ get me the the Hell out of there in the next thirty minutes.”

“Wait here,” I said, “while I talk to the nurse.” The “wait here” part was a jest my Mom understood. I took it as a good sign.

The nurse said she seemed in good shape, considering. I deduced that the alternative, or bad shape, would have left her dead in her tracks. She was very lucky, so far.

I got the rundown. Cognitive abilities were okay. All limb movement was available, but her left side was uncoordinated and pitifully weak. The MRI showed this was the second of two strokes. The first occurred about six months earlier. We all recalled her slurred speech for a few days, but the she recovered. Waiting was all we could do now.

After three days, the hospital transferred her to a rehabilitation center recommended by my brother. I checked it out and it seems well equipped, clean and competently managed. I booked my Mom in for rehabilitation.

She is in rehab now and today she seems to be improving. I will catch up with more details in the next few days.

For now, I think I shall pour myself a glass of old Scotch whiskey and kick back. Tomorrow is another day.

:)

No Parent Left Behind

2011-02-10T10:04:00.000-06:00

The following came from my cousin Jerry. After reading, I fear education is in worse shape than I originally thought.

I promise you cannot read these and not laugh (or cry -hb) out loud.
These are real notes written by parents in the Memphis school district .

Spellings have been left intact......

1. My son is under a doctor's care and should not take PE today. Please execute him.

2. Please exkuce Lisa for being absent she was sick and I had her shot.

3. Dear school: please ecsc's john being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 and also 33.

4. Please excuse Gloria from Jim today. She is administrating.

5. Please excuse Roland from p.e. For a few days. Yesterday he fell out of a tree and misplaced his hip.

6. John has been absent because he had two teeth taken out of his face.

7. Carlos was absent yesterday because he was playing football. He was hurt in the growing part.

8. Megan could not come to school today because she has been bothered by very close veins.

9. Chris will not be in school cus he has an acre in his side.

10. Please excuse ray Friday from school. He has very loose vowels.

11. Please excuse Lesli from being absent yesterday. She Had diahre dyrea direathe the shits.

12. Please excuse tommy for being absent yesterday.. He had diarrhea, and his boots leak.

13. Irving was absent yesterday because he missed his bust.

14. Please excuse jimmy for being. It was his father's fault.

15. I kept Billie home because she had to go Chris tmas shopping because I don't know what size she wear.

16. Please excuse Jennifer for missing school yesterday. We forgot to get the Sunday paper off the porch, and when we found it Monday. We thought it was Sunday.

17. Sally won't be in school a week from Friday. We have to attend her funeral.

18. My daughter was absent yesterday because she was tired. She spent a weekend with the marines.

19. Please excuse Jason for being absent yesterday. He had a cold and could not breed well.

20. Please excuse Mary for being absent yesterday. She was in bed with gramps.

21. Gloria was absent yesterday as she was having a gangover.

22. Please excuse Brenda. She has been sick and under the doctor.

23. Maryann was absent December 11-16, because she had a fever, Sorethroat, headache and upset stomach. Her sister was also sick, fever an sore throat , her brother had a low grade fever and ached all over. I wasn't the best either, sore throat and fever. There must be something going around, her father even got hot last night.

Now we know why parents are screaming for better education for our kids.

Life between the Ice Sheets

2011-02-08T11:49:00.001-06:00

...

Hey! This is a service to my north Texas friends without windows who still have access to a computer. First, DO NOT GO OUTSIDE! It is colder than a witch's heart out there. Ice is all over the ground. Again. A light snow covers most of the ice. The wind gusts over 25 mph and it could blow your Toyota Pious off the road and into a ditch. Then where would you be, eh?

So, stay indoors. Keep warm and wait for a better day. I think Valentine's Day will be better than today. I hope.

Hank
...

Rule of Law

2011-02-08T11:45:00.000-06:00

...

It seems we in the good old U.S. of A. have every sort of problem. I shall not list the gloomy circumstances faced by us all. Still, we seem to have unlimited energy to use Egypt’s current unrest to fill our news reports. I would think tending our own knitting might be a wiser choice.

Besides, where do we get off sitting in judgment? Our record does not justify our favoring one side or the other.

Finally, what is with the Administration backing the tens of thousands of protesters in Cairo? Does that mean if we organize a mob of, say, 2,000,000 to camp on the Whitehouse doorstep, that would justify changing our government? What about the elections? Are they too inconvenient?

I read in a history book that once upon a time, WWI veterans camped out in Washington D.C. They were protesting the economic depression and urging the Congress to approve their service bonuses early. They were unemployed, hungry and hopeless. What happened? The President, Hoover, I think, sent General Douglas MacArthur and the U.S. Army to scatter the “protesters” using any force necessary. What would happen if a similar gathering took place in Washington today? I wonder if the Secretary of State and President would extol the virtues of the protesters and capitulate, or would they demonize them as a treasonous mob bent on destruction of the country.

I do not have the answer. I simply believe it is an interesting question.

You are welcome to let me know what you think.

...

Goodgoshamighty!

2011-02-03T13:42:00.001-06:00

…

It is colder ’n a well digger’s [bottom] in the Yukon! The temperature has struggled up to 25 from 9 or 10 early this morning. Judging by the television reports (and I have watched a LOT of TV this week) the entire planet is under an inch or two of ice, except for Egypt. In Egypt, they are having a rock fight in downtown Cairo. At least they are warm.

The ice came Monday night. I have been frozen in since then. If anyone finds this note, tell my friends and relatives I thought of them as I went stark raving.

Texans are world renowned for their driving skills on ice, and not in a good way. Dallas is home to half a million commuters and I bet there were 600,000 accidents on Monday. It has gotten better since then. I guess everyone either wised up and stayed home or is in the hospital recovering from multiple auto accidents.

Personally, I have only one complaint. Since the storm arrived around midnight, I missed my chance to go to the store and lay in a supply of cakes, pies, cookies and candies for the occasion. Now, the fact that everything in the house is “good for me” just adds to the cabin fever.

The local weather idiot promises a thaw for Saturday and Sunday. I hope he is right. I shudder to think about 100,000 anti-freeze filled souls jamming the icy roads to see the Super Bowl. The carnage would be awful.

Okay, after the snow we are supposed to get tonight melts and the snow we are supposed to get next week melts; I think everything will be okay after that.

See you in the spring!

…

Oasis!

2011-01-30T14:34:00.001-06:00

…

Texas winters are more stressful than the evening weather reports suggest. They are not severe by most (any) standards. However, they do seem to drag on long after the novelty has worn off.

This year is no exception. The typical wintery day includes daylong gray skies. The wind blows from the north to add to our discomfort. Temperatures hover in the thirties at dawn and climb into the weak fifties in the afternoon. Occasional misty rain thickens the sense of gloom. It would lead one to believe the great outdoors had vanished, only to be replaced with a soggy, cold copy of Mordor.

The trees are in on it to. On a recent trip to the store for provisions, I noticed the line of trees standing along the roadside. Leafless, they appeared to be auditioning for a scary movie. Johnny Depp could play the lead…

So, when the sun burst upon a clear sky last Friday, it was Katy-bar-the-door to be the first one outdoors. I did not fully appreciate how haggard I had become over the weeks of gloom. A check in the mirror revealed a Sméagol Golem looking chap. Clearly, he was a tortured soul.

I was determined to rejoin the human race, at least while the sun shone and the air was warm. I called my daughter and we organized an afternoon in the park for four. My neighborhood park has dozens of playthings for swinging, climbing and running amok. My daughter and I joined in the g'children’s games, keeping watch in case they became stuck halfway up a tower or something. Later, we sat in the sun and chatted about our ordinary lives – still keeping watch over our charges.

It was the best day of 2011, so far.

Then Saturday showed up. It was yet another golden day. Warm air, sunny skies and light breezes, taken for granted by some, painted broad smiles on many faces, including mine.

Around noon, I collected my son's set of grandchildren and we were off once more. We hit the park, ate lunch at Mickey D's, played with trains, took a nap (my personal favorite) and still managed to return to their parents place just before bedtime.

I cannot recall a better night’s sleep.

Today is more of the same. Children and adults are outdoors reestablishing their grip on sanity even as I type. I would be out there, too, except I am trying to cut back.

Tomorrow, the forecast calls for the mild weather to end. We are looking at four or five days of colder, wetter weather. Again.

Nevertheless, I am extremely grateful for the three-day respite. The long journey through winter’s gloom passed through a great oasis, and just in time.

…

Life’s Lessons: Going to the Dogs

2011-01-27T11:18:00.001-06:00

…

The big day arrived right on time. At 0830, the back door swung open and my granddaughter and her mom swarmed in from the morning chill. My daughter had an early meeting at her office and all the good childcare people in her life had suddenly moved out of state. I was all she had left.

My daughter flung Sophia’s backpack onto the hearth, blurted out a lifetime of child rearing instructions, hugged and kissed everyone several times and “Poof!” She was gone.

I wasted no time implementing my cunning plan.

Step 1 was breakfast of cereal and fruit. At the end of the day, Sophia reported to mommy “we had breakfast with dessert.” I can live with that.

Step 2 began as a surprise ride in Grandfather’s truck. We went directly to the largest store with the largest toy department in the area, Super Target. I put the little girl in the basket seat and off we went. After travelling about twenty feet, she spotted a display of “Stickers.” With Valentine’s Day almost upon us, I could not resist her request to “pull over!” After considering her choices, she picked out some princess stickers for herself and a batch of care bear stickers for her big brother. “Aw, how thoughtful,” I reflected.

Step 3 involved slowly making our way along every aisle in the toy department. Most of the “toys” currently for sale would give nightmares to a combat Marine. It took quite a bit of searching before we discovered a box of puzzles with a princess motif for my granddaughter. Not wanting to be left out, I added a deluxe Wiffle Ball set to the basket. We have needed one of these for several years, y’know.

Step 4 was lunch. I was really in the mood for Bar-B-Que, so I headed for “Memphis Red Hot ‘n Blue.” (MRH&B) I was sure we could find something for Sophia, too.

We did. She slurped her milk and snacked on cheese fries until her creamy macaroni and cheese arrived with a side of, you guessed it, more French fries. I will not even attempt to describe my meal. If you have even been to MRH&B, you can imagine. If not, you would never understand. [urp.]

Step 5 should have been a nap, but it was not. Instead, we visited Remus the dog at my son’s house. It was a stroke of luck that Sophia’s boy cousins, August and Joshua, had just awakened from their naps when we arrived. The two boys and the two girls, Sophia and Remus, played at full throttle for the next two hours. The entire mansion shook in their gleeful swath of destruction. My son and I sat in the den, watching TV and dozing as peacefully as we could under the circumstances. After about two hours, I captured my charge and ruined their fun. After lots of hugging and waving, we pulled out of the driveway and headed home.

Step 6 began when we reached my dwelling on the edge of the forest. We were both showing signs of fatigue. I prepared cookies and milk for my girl and set about picking up some debris in the den.

A small voice said “Grandfather, I frew up.”

“Huh?” I said, looking around.

“I frew up.”

Then, I looked down. “What happened?”

“I frew up, Grandfather.”

She was drooling and her little eyes were watery. Clearly, she did not feel well.

“Uh Oh. Where did you throw up, sweetie?”

“Right there,” she said indicating the floor between us.

Well, it was not my office, so she got credit there. It was only the carpet in the den. As I considered my next move, Sophia stuck her delicate finger down her throat and began again.

“NOOOOOooooo!” I said as soothingly as I could.

Life's Lessons Applied

2011-01-24T11:36:00.003-06:00

...
First, I am not doing any more hilarious news stories. Apparently, my readership does not fully appreciate my gifts in this area. Okay, maybe in the far, distant future I might attempt it, if someone begs me. Most of you will probably feel relief instead of the guilt you deserve. Harumpf!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

As many of you know, I recently hosted my son’s dog, Remus, for two action-packed weeks. In the past, Remus seemed disappointed and depressed when abandoned in my care. This time was different. All I had to do was spend my every waking moment doing stuff to entertain a dog. Outdoor exploration was her second favorite. Pooping in my office was third. I believe first place was playing with her cousins from my daughter’s family. When Remus is happy, everyone can tell by her wagging tail and her broad smile.

Tomorrow, I face a similar test. This time, Sophia, my 3-5/6 year-old granddaughter will spend the day with me. Normally, I would fret over entertainments, treats and activities. This time, I believe I have a sure-fire plan. Some may recognize a few elements I picked up from my time with Remus. Here it is:

First, we will breakfast on Rice Chex. My pantry is the only place in our family where this treat exists.

Next, weather permitting; we shall pay outdoors for a while. I will let her have plenty of time to sniff about among the trees and shrubs. Since Santa brought her a new baseball glove for Christmas, I will remind my daughter to bring it with her. This is the equivalent of fetching a stick with Remus. Sophia probably cannot catch a ball yet, but then Remus just looks at me as if I stepped off a flying saucer when I throw the stick for her. Still, I think they both enjoy it.

If the weather is inclement, I believe we can substitute shopping at a large toy store for the outdoor part. Same thrill. Different species.

At lunch, we will dine out. Mickey D’s is a possibility. “Memphis Red Hot ‘n Blue Bar-B-Q” is another. Either way, at least one of us will get a “Happy Meal.”

Then, for the grand finally, we shall travel to my son’s house to visit Remus. I know the girl and the dog will be more than happy to see each other. We will play there until our welcome has worn out or somebody needs a nap. That will be me, most likely.

I reserved the later afternoon for coloring, watching educational TV or possibly taking in a matinee, time and movie fare permitting.

The best part is this: Sophia is fully potty trained. There is less than a 1% chance that anyone will poop in my office!

I shall let you know how it turns out.

…

News Stories We May Never See

2011-01-21T10:13:00.000-06:00

...
With apologies to the brave souls at the Onion, I believe they overlooked these stories from the IP Wire Service*.

Miracle Cure Discovered

Scientists announced today that they discovered a cure for virtually every known disease affecting human beings. Made from potato peels and seawater, the drug will cost less than a penny a dose and will not require a prescription. It is said to have no side effects. Dr. Lee Roy Snert, project leader, said today that "the cure needs no further study and should be on store shelves by tomorrow.. "

In an unrelated story, stock prices for the major pharmaceutical and medical equipment companies joined health insurance companies in a plunge to zero, starting a global medical and financial panic. For the first time in more than 70 years, witnesses saw Wall Street executives plunging from their office windows like lemmings.

Paleontologists Find Missing Link

A group of government-funded paleontologists announced they have discovered an ancient bone fragment containing human DNA. The fragment is over ten million years old. “This just about wraps up our research. The DNA in this bone proves that human beings have been on earth a long time, even longer than monkeys and apes.”

When this reporter asked if the arrival of humans before the so-called lower life forms might indicate evolution is headed back toward the jungle, the representative turned ashen and hurried back to his lab, locking the door behind him.

Physicists Identify Rarest Particle

Physicists working at the Large Hadron Collider in Cern, Switzerland announced the discovery of the ultimate sub-atomic particle today. “This particle is so rare, it makes the Higgs Boson look as common as beach sand,” said one scientist. During the hastily called press conference, a young scientist in a white lab coat pointed out the image of the particle, which was one among hundreds on the screen displaying test results. As he aimed his laser pointer at the new discovery, a draft in the room lifted the speck from the screen and it drifted like a snowflake onto the floor. It seems the “new particle” was a grain of sugar from a carelessly placed donut in the lab. As the conference ended, scientists were engaged in a heated debate about who could be responsible for such a blunder. A subsequent inspection of the scientists’ fingers revealed donut sugar particles contaminated fully half the staff’s fingers. No further conferences are scheduled.

Prophet Says “Everything Will Be Alright”

Today, a world-renowned prophet with a successful record of future predictions shocked the world press with his latest forecast for humanity. Mr. Irving C. Fingers of the Global Prophets' Association announced he has seen the future “as clearly as if it were yesterday.”

“I can tell you with absolute certainty that the human race has nothing at all to worry about,” he began. “Almost everything is going to work out better than anyone suspects and the few events that won’t are barely noticeable.”

Upon hearing the announcement, millions of people poured into the streets around the world in a celebration of joy, fellowship and forgiveness.

On another topic, it was during the ecstatic celebration that astronomers working at Kit Peak in Hawaii noticed a 100-mile wide ball of nickel and iron emerging from behind the moon. The scientists are quoted as saying “We will know if Mr. Fingers is correct, or not, in about eight hours.”

It a related story, the space rock appears covered in a layer of disease germs that are immune to the recently announced miracle cure.

Film at eleven.

* IP = Imaginary Press.

It should not be too hard to top these. If you want to send along your own imaginary news items, I'll publish as many as I can. You'll get credit, or blame, as appropriate. (Not too long, pornographic or believable, please.) Also, if you would like to be added to my notification list when new publications are available, let me know at: hank.burden@Gmail.com

...

Remus and Me

2011-01-08T17:02:00.000-06:00

…

From time to time, it is my privilege to board my son’s family dog, Remus, aka “Remus the Depressed.” And so it was for the past two weeks. Remus arrived complete with her travel kennel and a few pounds of kibble. As soon as I erected the kennel, she crept inside and lay down with an audible sigh. My expectations for the coming two weeks were low.

Remus is a large dog. Her parents were Great Pyrenees and Border Collie. I am sure they were both from good families. Her disposition is even and she tolerates children very well. That is a good thing, too. The two boys in her household do not show her much respect. They are not mean or hurtful, but they are young boys, filled with curiosity.

They raise her jowls and observe her substantial tooth collection. They eat her food, just to see who is getting the better deal. Remus tolerates it without complaint.

I decided to do more to entertain my guest. Perhaps a more active “vacation” would appeal to her and lift her gloomy mood. So I did.

First, I let her out into the backyard to tend any necessary business she might have. Then, I let her remain outdoors for a while to enjoy the mild winter air. She took full advantage of the opportunity.

She even trotted next door to investigate the dog scent coming from my neighbor’s yard. In a few seconds, all Hell broke loose. I heard the Mastiff pup woofing up a storm followed by a light brown blur speeding to my backdoor.

Seems it will take a while for the two to become friends. Remus never went back for a second meeting, demonstrating good judgment and a will to live.

Next, my daughter dropped her two wild Indians at my place. They are sweet grandchildren, but they have different opinions of dogs. My granddaughter was convinced Remus was smooching her. My grandson saw the same lick as more of a tasting prior to devouring him. The entire affair left him a little nervous and cranky. Remus truly enjoyed their company and was all smiles the rest of the day.

I added a few minutes of combing to her evening routine. She is good for about ten minutes of having her under coat ripped out with a comb, and then the session is over.

She also enjoyed following me about on my daily rounds. She followed me to retrieve the mail. We collected the morning newspaper together. At odd moments, we headed off into the “back 40” for some wide area sniffing and exploring.

I rather enjoyed it, too.

The only dark moments came when I entered my office only to be greeted by large poops. Older and wiser now, I shovelled the mess out the door and scrubbed the floor with bleach. I was irritated, but I held no grudge.

Yesterday, my daughter-in-law, Tam, came to retrieve her pet. Remus was as excited to see her as she was when I handed her a giant ham bone earlier in the week. In ten minutes, they were gone.

Now, here I sit, with no one to play with. Rats.

Maybe I will buy another dog.

…

A Few Final Pictures

2011-01-06T10:47:00.003-06:00

I was rummaging about in my wild west photo safari collection over the weekend and thought I might publish a few more pics, just to see how I (and others) received them. Sometimes, ya just have to step back and look at a picture from a distance - in space and time. So, here goes:

Cabin on the high plains

The tiny cabin with windmill floats on an ocean of west Texas prairie. There are no other structures in sight. Ageless, there's no telling when it was built, but I estimate it is pushing a century of years. On the good side, the nearest roadway is half a mile away, so the kids could play outdoors without fear of traffic. On the downside, the nearest rattlesnake was probably under the house.
Ssssssssssssssssssss!

Twin Peaks, AZ

These twin peaks are located somewhere in Arizona. I think they can be seen from western New Mexico since they have little competition in altitude and uniqueness. It is nigh impossible to get a good picture of a mountain. The massive scale is often lost in translation. Still I make the effort. Maybe one day...

Derelict Cabin

The cabin at right won the "Most Hopeless" award for nothern California. I would be surprised if it survived the heavy rain and snow that showed up right after I left. (Darn!) This one was on 101/1 before reaching the Shoreline Highway, I think.

Twisty Highway in the Forest

This picture is representative of the winding forest highway inland from the coast. Note the absence of shoulders on the road. Note the blur of scenery as I shot through the windshield. Sigh. I still like it, but it may never be sold. Maybe I can find a show for folks with naturally blurry vision?

Remembering NoCal

2011-01-06T10:47:00.000-06:00

...

It took awhile for me to notice, but there is a thriving agrarian culture in the most unlikely place on earth. Yes, on the strip of highway running through the heavily forested mountains, I began to notice people walking along the side of the road carrying gardening tools and sometimes wearing a backpack.

I bet there is not more than a quarter acre of tillable land in the whole county, but these dedicated gardeners trudge to their remote little plots to tend their vegetables.

Once, I passed a tall, lanky man standing beside his pickup truck holding a hoe. (The garden tool.) He eyed me carefully as I passed and remained stock still until I reached the next curve – about 200 feet away. I had time to see him take one-step to cross the road in the uphill direction of the mountain. Most of the foot traffic responded in similar ways. If I did not know better, I would have sworn they were running a still.

Overall, I expect a vegetable garden of small to moderate size could easily feed a family. The soil seems fertile enough and water is plentiful. Sunlight might be an issue. The ambitious gardener would have to find a clearing or at least a thin spot in the canopy to have a chance to set fruit on a tomato vine, for example.

I kept my eyes open, but I never noticed the kind of roadside stands associated with this much gardening. You know, someone selling beets and artichokes from the back of their antique pickup truck. Odder still, these gardeners seemed to prefer Lexus sedans to trucks.

The next time I pass that way, I will stop and strike up a conversation with some of the farmers. They seemed shy at first, but I bet they are proud of their gardens and eager to show them off to an interested stranger. Maybe I can score, er uh, purchase some fresh veggies or herbs, wholesale.

California! What a wonderful country.

…

Photos of Northern California

2011-01-01T16:13:00.001-06:00

...

In response to a flood of requests, I will publish more photos from The northern most point of my recent photo safari. Have mercy. It was rainy, cloudy and cold the whole time. Since I left, I hear it's only gotten worse - or better - depending on your outlook. You may click on the photos up to 2 times for larger images.

The conifer forest stood all around me. I was surrounded by Ents, for all I knew. I tried to appear respectful and unequipped with an axe. Easy enough. I felt a sense of awe looking up at these giants appearing out of the mist and I had no axe. [Whew]

The cabin at left seemed uninviting as well as unoccupied. The posters on the gate posts proclaim "No Trespassing, Dag Nabbit!"

Okay, I paraphrased a little, but you get the idea.

The clouds hung low over the earth. The mountains are considerable, meeting the mists half way between earth and sky.

It is impossible to determine the age of these places. A few years of cool rain and heavy shade help moss establish a foothold on slow pedestrians. I bet this place has seen 50 winters, at least. I try to imagine how it might appear with warm light in the windows and snow falling outdoors. It must have been a happy place at least once.

Mountain Stream

The highway runs alongside the stream below. You can follow the water, but you'll never catch it. It has a 10,000 year head start.

It was past sundown when I arrived in Fortuna, CA. The local motel, a Best Western, did a good job of providing me a hot shower and good bed for the night. I also got to do laundry. Finally, a little glamour in the trip!

Once I reached the Shoreline Highway, aka CA-1, aka "The Twisted Highway of Death" I had an uninterrupted view of the vast pacific. The sky was gray as was the water. Winds were calm. A light mist or rain fell here and there. It was a romantic setting, but not so easy for photographs, except maybe black and white...

The tree is probably 120 feet tall. It has a great view of the sea and I found it therapeutic to simply stare at it for awhile. It seems far too frail to withstand the storms that pass this way. Yet, there it is, gracing the hillside like one of those elegant Japanese silk paintings.

I hope you enjoyed the pics. I am sorry to be slow getting these out, but the holidays... Well, you know.

Happy 2011!

Adsense Nonsense

2010-12-29T09:39:00.000-06:00

…

A few months ago, I joined the Google Adsense program. That is where I let Google sell advertising space on my blog page and they eventually send me a small portion of their take. They have many rules. You may not click on advertisements on your own site because that is cheating. You cannot pay or induce someone else to click on your site. There were more. Many more. As far as I know, I complied with all the requirements. Then, I got this:

…

Hello,

After reviewing our records, we have determined that your Adsense account poses a risk of generating invalid activity. Because we have a responsibility to protect our AdWords advertisers from inflated costs due to invalid activity, we've found it necessary to disable your AdSense account. Your outstanding balance and Google's share of the revenue will both be fully refunded back to the affected advertisers.

Please understand that we need to take such steps to maintain the effectiveness of Google's advertising system, particularly the advertiser-publisher relationship. We understand the inconvenience that this may cause you, and we thank you in advance for your understanding and cooperation.

…

Cooperation? They went on to say I could appeal their expert’s decision if I chose, but they could not tell me what they found suspicious because the formulas they use for detection are proprietary.

I found it difficult to defend myself from these unspecified accusations. I sent an appeal that must have sounded like “WTF” to the reader, if any. It did no good. In less than 24 hours, I had my reply. I was out of the Adsense program.

I know this will be disappointing news to the throngs who relied upon my blog site as a principal source of shopping information, but I can do nothing. Worse, the pile of money I earned publishing Google’s ads was half way to paying for a mid-range dinner for two. You know, any dinner not involving a drive-through window.

Not to worry. I never intended to become a giant internet retailer. I shall look for something pleasant and possibly entertaining to fill the empty space. 

Happy 2011, y’all.

…

A Lone Star Christmas

2010-12-27T13:44:00.000-06:00

…

Each year around Christmas, I routinely receive offers from retailers of every kind. They each attempt to offer something so eye catching, so irresistible that you will be unable to restrain the urge to go to their store and shovel out money in exchange for some miraculous product or service. I routinely sail these offers into the round file and get on with my life.

I did, that is, until this one showed up. It is from an area auto dealer specializing in pickup trucks. Before I saw their flyer, I would have said, “I already have a good pickup truck and will not need another for the foreseeable future.”

Then, I looked at the coupon. I must admit, this man knows his market. The chance to win $25,000 is interesting, but we all know the chances are remote. Next, gift cards for some of the major retailers, Wal-Mart, Target, Bass Pro Shop, etc. could be very handy this time of year.

An almost irresistable advertisement?

Last but by no means least, the dealer offers a FREE SHOTGUN with the purchase of every new vehicle. Who could resist such a gesture on the very eve of Christmas? I admit I was seriously tempted. Fortunately, self-control got the better of me and I’ll have to use one to my several existing shotguns in my Yuletide celebrations. (?) I will probably enjoy a simple Christmas Eve, driving through the neighborhood, shooting mailboxes and reindeer in the traditional Christmas in Texas way.

What kind of rube do you suppose those truck salesmen take me for, anyway?

Wishing y’all a Happy and Prosperous 2011!

Putting Crisis Back Into Christmas

2010-12-27T13:34:00.000-06:00

…

It was not all that bad. It is just that I awoke on Christmas Eve morning with a fever. Always considerate and cautious in such matters, I soon found myself in the local urgent care facility. They weighed, poked, choked and listened to my various internal noises. I even got X-rayed!

“Pneumonia,” said the slip of a girl who was my doctor.

I admit, it sounded glum for Christmas morning with the grandchildren. I asked, “Am I contagious?”

“Oh Herr yes.” The doctor was oriental, too.

“B-but Christmas…” I pleaded.

“You can stir have Christmas, but do not hug any grandchirdren or share food or drink with anyone.”

With that, a sweet, innocent looking nurse with a bundle of syringes under her arm replaced the doctor.

“Unzip your pants, loosen them and lie down on your stomach.”

I complied, but I was uncomfortable. I hardly knew her.

What happened next was awful. That sweet little nurse stabbed a needle into my backside and turned on the pump. “Ding, ding, ding went the pump indicating gallons of anti biotic delivered. In a few minutes, she unstabbed me.

“Boy, I glad that’s over,” I exclaimed.

Stab! “Ding, ding, ding” replied the other pump.

By this time, I thought my legs at least doubled in size. The discomfort was, well, eye watering.

I got a sheaf of prescriptions and managed to walk out of the place feeling pneumonia was a trifle compared to my backside and legs.

“Owww!” I said with each step.

Christmas morning arrived on time and the children and grandchildren showed up bright and early. Everyone waded into the pile of gifts. Grandfather sat quietly in his chair, hoping not to attract undue notice. I felt much better, except for that bottom stabbing business, but remained weak – probably due to the aforementioned stab wounds. I still felt some bloat in the antibiotic department.

Soon all the gifts were opened. Children’s toys covered the floor and filled the air.

The ‘girls’ set two tables; one for those over age six and one for those under age 6. I sat at the old table and enjoyed baked ham and all the trimmings. The mashed potatoes and deviled eggs were among my favorites – at least they were until I met the pecan pie. It was wonderful.

Eventually everyone went to his or her own home and I stretched out on the sofa – tummy side down – to doze through “A Christmas Story” for the ninety-third time.

Today, I am a picture of health.

Overall, it was a wonderful Christmas. I sincerely hope yours was as good.

Rockin Around the Christmas Tree

2010-12-21T18:42:00.000-06:00

…

Here is the original deal. I promised to retrieve the antique family Christmas tree from storage and assemble it. In addition, I would endure the annual agony of making all the tiny lights light. I believe it would be simpler to re-wire my cell phone, but that was not part of the bargain.

In return, my daughter would bring a few grandchildren over. Then, in a frenzy of holiday togetherness, we would decorate the tree. The plan had a few flaws from the beginning.

Flaw number one is the tree, itself. It is stored in a 6’ long cardboard sarcophagus when not in use. The box is decrepit and may have seen its last Christmas. The tree comes out of the box in sections. Each section has a basic string of lights permanently installed and ready to plug into the wall. It never works the first two or three attempts, but they do not mention that in the instructions.

I attacked the problem early on Saturday morning. The first pass, I got the sections out of order and the tree looked like a pagoda. I took it apart and began again. As I re-stacked the sections, I made careful note of the location of the electrical connections between each string.

Then, two hours later, I was ready to throw the switch. (Try to recall Clark Griswold and his Christmas lights in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.) I made all the connections and stabbed the cord into the outlet. Ta-Da! The top third of the tree blazed into life.

Okay, I must have missed something. I disassembled it and began again. Ta-Da!

Now, the top and middle lit, but the bottom remained dark.

On the third attempt and just before pitching the tree into the creek, all the lights lit. I had crawled around on the floor and stuck myself with potentially toxic fake pine needles for over four hours.

Then my daughter and the assembled Ant Hill Mob arrived. My daughter began artfully hanging ornaments, while the g’children were content with emptying the boxes containing the ornaments. They wanted to find the good ones.

Me? I collapsed in my chair, spent.

In time, one grandson discovered the Christmas tree box and, after glancing around furtively, slipped inside. He was in there for a few minutes before he called out “Hey, somebody find me!”

I fell for it. I tiptoed over to the box calling “Where’s William?” Small chuckles issued from the box.

“Well, I guess I better put up this old box before someone gets trapped inside,” I said loudly.

Then I picked up the box by the two top handles and began swinging it around and bouncing it off the various upholstered furniture. Squeals of delight and mock terror filled the room and the box. After a long time of flinging my heavy grandson about, I put it down, allowing him a chance to escape. Flushed with excitement, he said “That was great, Grandfather. Can we do it again?”

“Oh no,” I thought, “what have I done?”

“No, Grandfather, do me, do me,” echoed the chorus.

Sure enough, everyone wanted a nice long ride, just like his or her brother/cousin got.

I managed it, but it took a heavy toll. I have been on an Advil diet ever since.

You would think I would learn after five years of this how these things can get out of control. Apparently, I have some sort of mental or character defect preventing me from growing up and from engaging in self-preservation behavior.

Oh, what the heck. It IS Christmas, after all.

…

Another Christmas Spirit

2010-12-20T09:59:00.000-06:00

…

Over the decades, I have experienced many sorts of what we might call “Christmas Spirit.” When I was a boy, the spirit was magical and wondrous. I will never forget the Sears & Roebuck Christmas Wish Book as long as I draw breath. It was the scripture of Christmas.

A decade or so later, my Christmas spirit broadened to include the joys of parties with friends, visits with distant relatives, meeting new people and making new friends. I began getting out into the world.

Time passed. I found myself sipping adult beverages while assembling fiendishly complicated toys on the kitchen floor at a wee small hour of the morning. “Does this look like a tricycle to you?” I asked my wife.

“No. Have some coffee and try again.”

Those days seemed to drag on forever, but in retrospect, they were brief. Soon, the children were only home for a week or so during the Christmas season and the toys gave way to travel tickets and cars.

For the past twenty years or so, my Christmas spirit has been stable. You might even say it has grown stale. That changed last year.

Yesterday, I telephoned my son.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, son! I just wanted to call and congratulate you. It’s been one year today since your re-birth!”

“Yes, it has.”

We chatted for a minute and hung up. It was December 19, 2009, a Saturday, when I received the call that my son was gravely ill. He was in emergency surgery. He had peritonitis. The odds of survival were around 50-50, give or take. He was lucky. He survived.

I shall never forget that Christmas day. After a hasty trip to the hospital in New Mexico, I managed to catch influenza. I returned home Christmas Eve and collapsed on the sofa.

Ben

I awoke early on Christmas morning. The house was silent and empty. There were no decorations or presents. No Christmas dinner baked in the oven or bubbled on the stove. The light from the picture window revealed a heavy snowfall was underway. It was beautiful and healing. This might have been my first or second “white Christmas” ever. Yet I was numb, inert. All I could do was lie there in silent prayer that, in the fullness of time, my son would return to me.

A few nerve-wracking weeks later, everything changed. Family filled the house and Christmas dinner was underway. My son, thin, weak and grumpy, sat in the den and watched as his children joined in the Christmas melee under the tree.

At that moment, I wanted for nothing. Better still, I have all the Christmas spirit I shall ever need.

May Providence smile on you every day.

…

The Last 2000 Miles

2010-12-17T10:53:00.000-06:00

…

I apologize for the long delay in finishing this story. The truth is the trip almost finished me. It is only recently I regained the ability to stand erect. When relaxed, my hands still resume the form used to grip the steering wheel. My shutter finger is numb. The entire episode covered 4,560 miles. I covered the Shoreline Highway miles at great emotional and physical expense. The vast desert delivered miles in an uninterrupted stream. I occasionally thumped my speedometer with my thumb, just to see if it was stuck. It might have been an episode from the Twilight Zone. Hmm.

After running the entire length of Highway 1 as far south as San Francisco, I decided I had had enough. Fatigue was overtaking me and I was ready for a real, ecologically irresponsible shower and a night in my own bed. I determined at that moment the photo shoot was over and the journey home had begun.

Stopping in Orange County for fuel and souvenirs for the grandchildren, I raced south. It was nightfall when I reached my limit in Yuma, Arizona. I slept the sleep of the just that night and was ninety percent rested when I resumed my journey before dawn.

Speaking of journeys, I asked my GPS to take the shortest route home. Accordingly, I spent the next night in Alamogordo, New Mexico. I could not have been more surprised if I were in East Oatmeal, Indiana. That night, I treated myself to a bucket of chicken and a kidney busting size Dr Pepper. I understand how truckers get that way. Round. On those long desert highways, there is little opportunity for exercise. Yet, at the end of the day, comfort food seems essential.

The next day was a continuation of the GPS’s whimsical navigation. I saw a dozen places I had never seen before. I did not dream they existed. I am sure they felt the same about me.

As I travelled, scene after scene taunted to stop and capture it. I was exhausted at my core, so I pretended I did not see them. They will be there in spring. I may give them another look. Sadly, there is no shortage of decline and decay in the country. It is easier to see in the sparsely populated and economically marginal communities. My journey may get shorter each year.

At the end of my second 600-mile day in a row, I pulled into my driveway and waited in the car while the garage door descended. It shut out the world. Finally.

I went inside and crashed on my favorite napping sofa. I earned the rest. Unpacking could wait. As I write this, I have only one garment bag left to unload. There is no urgency.

I included more pictures in the two preceding posts. I hope you enjoy seeing them as much as I did finding them. They are “draft quality,” so any worth keeping may be cropped (or something) before they go on canvas. Click on the photos – twice for largest image.

Enjoy, and

Merry Christmas to all!

Travel Into the Expanse.

2010-12-12T12:53:00.001-06:00

...

It is difficult to describe the immensity of the southwestern United States. High plains, deserts and mountains are all there, as if they were spread on a banquet table. It is a place to feast your eyes and rest your spirit. I shall always be drawn there.

Another Desert Home

On my journey, I was lucky to get photos of dozens of formerly useful structures. I shall try to share a civilised number of them here. Frankly, I imagine me working on this collection for months to come, looking for the most poignant fraction of each image. I'm sure it will keep me out of trouble...

Tumbledown Home - NM

Out here, a house of stone is only temporary. The heat can be merciless. Long droughts are punctuated with flooding rains. The "economy" doesn't mean much here. Subsistence is more important.

I bet many merry Christmases, birthdays, weddings and funerals were celebrated here. How could they not?

I wonder if any spirits from those times might remain. They could stay here to get away from the hustle and bustle of the cemetery.

Snowfall on the Mountain - Directly in front of me. Dang.

I raced along the highway in Arizona keeping a watchful eye on those distant clouds. They were suspended just above the mountains, directly in front of me. As I hurried to beat the storm, snowplows pulled over to let me by.

I wondered if they were laughing and saying "We'll see him - in the Spring!" If I were them, that is what I would've said. I chuckled a bit and opened the throttle a bit wider. This was no time for lallygagging about.

I survived my dash through the snow, but not because I got by before the storm arrived. No, the blizzard and I waltzed through the mountains of Arizona together. I found refuge in the town of "Snow Flake." I might have taken a clue from the name, but I was too spent from the long climb to the top of the mountain. Next morning, the outdoor air was 9 degrees. It was so cold, I went back to sleep for an extra hour. When I awoke, my car alerted me that the two tires on the north side of the car were low on air.

I looked for a long time before finding a Jiffy Lube willing to inflate my tires. I was puzzled because these tires never lost pressure before. Then, I realized the air was squirted into the tires at 85 degrees. Now, it was probably shrivelled with cold.

When I arrived at Yuma that afternoon, I took a couple of blizzard pictures of my car. It was the only evidence the storm ever existed. I hit the car wash right after taking this shot.

...