...
I am uncertain if Halloween is Sunday or Tuesday this year.
Halloween is a big deal in my family. My daughter goes all-out decorating her home with skeletons, spider webs, pumpkins, straw and assorted scary icons. No less crafty, my daughter-in-law routinely makes costumes for her brood with a holiday theme. Last year (you may recall) it was Star Wars. My son grudgingly donned a very authentic looking Obi Wan Kenobi suit to accompany his elder son (2), who dressed as Yoda. They were very convincing. There was an issue with the weather as the evening temperature hovered in the 80s as the swarm ran through the neighborhood. Heat exhaustion became a real possibility for my son. Lucky for him, several Trick or Treat stops provided adult beverages in the form of ice chests on the front lawn. These little life preservers helped more than one adult endure the long journey through many blocks of neighborhood.
My eldest grandson was Spiderman. His sister was a princess. (What else?) As befits a superhero, he flew from house to house until; finally, he could fly no more. His dad carried him on the return trip. The princess thought it undignified to schlep door-to-door. Thus, the local oaf carried her for the whole journey. At the end, the oaf, too, wore out and his back was killing him.
We eventually returned to my daughter’s house to inventory the haul of goodies and apply medicine to those annoying aches and pains. Good Bourbon and single malt Scotch were most effective, as I recall.
It was a delightful evening. This year promises to be bigger and better. There will be four grandchildren out for loot this year. Since they are older and stronger, we expect (nay, pray) there will be less toting them about.
My son is the one slightly dark cloud. Rumor has it he will be leading a family of Smurfs this season. As “Papa Smurf”, he seems less than excited about painting himself blue for the occasion. I am sure a little pre-trick or treat lubricant will ease his objections (again this year) but I think I will suggest a longer-term fix to his bride.
We might provide him a large green ogre suit he can wear every year. It would be a natural fit and practically everyone would recognize him as Shrek. Heck, he might even want to wear it year ‘round. I will keep you posted.
BOO! & Happy Halloween!
...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Sitting on the Sophie
…
Recently, my daughter dropped my three-year-old granddaughter, Sophia, at my house while she kept a dental appointment. Sophia is at a very fun-loving, princessey stage of life and we tend to have great fun together. This visit was no exception.
After some greeting time, I learned Sophie as I call her had not had enough breakfast before she left home. “B-But she ate an entire…” her mother halted in mid astonishment.
No matter, I whipped up a batch of hot buttery toast slathered with peach preserves. Served with a Sippy cup of ice-cold milk, it was an irresistible breakfast treat. My daughter left for her appointment as Sophie finished her “post-breakfast-snack.”
Soon, it was activity time. I asked what she would like to do. Sophie selected pink Play-Doh and several cookie cutter figures.
“Now, turn off the television.” She demanded.
“Uh, okay.” I turned it off with only a trace of resentment that I would miss the morning action in the equity markets. She did not want to share Grandfather with Wall Street. Rats.
Before I knew it, we were making pink snakes, pink bunnies and pink butterflies all over the kitchen table. Pink cherries were next. I rolled a dozen or so spheres and Sophie stacked them like little cannonballs. We even stacked a few of them like pink cherry snowmen.
I still have the [pink] Furby I bought for my daughter when she was four or five. We played with it for a while. Mercifully, it stopped talking around 2007, so it was not interesting for more than a minute. Thank goodness.
One by one, we played with stuffed toys, threw a tea party, built Legos and more. After an hour, Sophie settled down to color in a coloring book. She is more advanced than her older brother. She colors in the general area of the figures on the page. None of the male grandchildren is so dexterous. The hook came when I tried to leave the room to, er, wash my hands.
“I only want to color when you watch me!” she announced.
“Okay, okay. I will stay here as long as I can. Good job! You have a real flair for this! One day you will be a great artist.”
I kept shoveling out the encouragement as she obliterated one figure after another. We both seemed to be having a good time, considering one of us had “to go” and has a chronic sore back.
Then it happened. “Hello! I’m back. Where is everybody?” It was the mommy, come to retrieve her little one.
“We’re upstairs,” I called.
“Baww! Waah! Noooo!” Exclaimed our tyke, wrapping her arms around my leg.
“But Sophia, your mommy missed you and wants to take you home with her.” I tried to console her.
“I don’t wanna gooooo! Waaah!”
It took a while to calm her and I had to agree to carry her to the car and strap her into her federally approved container before she would accompany her mother. I was eager to help because I could see in my daughter’s eyes she was thinking of giving in and going home without her.
I just could not let that happen.
…
Recently, my daughter dropped my three-year-old granddaughter, Sophia, at my house while she kept a dental appointment. Sophia is at a very fun-loving, princessey stage of life and we tend to have great fun together. This visit was no exception.
After some greeting time, I learned Sophie as I call her had not had enough breakfast before she left home. “B-But she ate an entire…” her mother halted in mid astonishment.
No matter, I whipped up a batch of hot buttery toast slathered with peach preserves. Served with a Sippy cup of ice-cold milk, it was an irresistible breakfast treat. My daughter left for her appointment as Sophie finished her “post-breakfast-snack.”
Soon, it was activity time. I asked what she would like to do. Sophie selected pink Play-Doh and several cookie cutter figures.
“Now, turn off the television.” She demanded.
“Uh, okay.” I turned it off with only a trace of resentment that I would miss the morning action in the equity markets. She did not want to share Grandfather with Wall Street. Rats.
Before I knew it, we were making pink snakes, pink bunnies and pink butterflies all over the kitchen table. Pink cherries were next. I rolled a dozen or so spheres and Sophie stacked them like little cannonballs. We even stacked a few of them like pink cherry snowmen.
I still have the [pink] Furby I bought for my daughter when she was four or five. We played with it for a while. Mercifully, it stopped talking around 2007, so it was not interesting for more than a minute. Thank goodness.
One by one, we played with stuffed toys, threw a tea party, built Legos and more. After an hour, Sophie settled down to color in a coloring book. She is more advanced than her older brother. She colors in the general area of the figures on the page. None of the male grandchildren is so dexterous. The hook came when I tried to leave the room to, er, wash my hands.
“I only want to color when you watch me!” she announced.
“Okay, okay. I will stay here as long as I can. Good job! You have a real flair for this! One day you will be a great artist.”
I kept shoveling out the encouragement as she obliterated one figure after another. We both seemed to be having a good time, considering one of us had “to go” and has a chronic sore back.
Then it happened. “Hello! I’m back. Where is everybody?” It was the mommy, come to retrieve her little one.
“We’re upstairs,” I called.
“Baww! Waah! Noooo!” Exclaimed our tyke, wrapping her arms around my leg.
“But Sophia, your mommy missed you and wants to take you home with her.” I tried to console her.
“I don’t wanna gooooo! Waaah!”
It took a while to calm her and I had to agree to carry her to the car and strap her into her federally approved container before she would accompany her mother. I was eager to help because I could see in my daughter’s eyes she was thinking of giving in and going home without her.
I just could not let that happen.
…
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Day Hell Froze
...
I am not a big fan of professional sports, period. Cheering for the pros feels like cheering for a multi-national insurance conglomerate or investment bank. The pros exist for the money. Ho hum.
I have an active dislike for some pro sports teams. The Texas Rangers earned my eternal contempt when they moved to my State. They arrived from Washington, D.C., where they were the Senators and moved into a shabby stadium in Arlington, Texas. At the same time, I was working a day job in Dallas and commuting to Arlington for graduate studies five nights per week. It never failed that game traffic snared me each way. The return trip was the worst. I was exhausted from a full workday and suffering from brain-melt when classes adjourned around ten p.m.
I often sat fuming in the post game “rush” for an extra hour. It seemed they played more home games at night than necessary. Thus, I came to detest the team individually and collectively during my years in graduate school.
Their record did not justify much respect, either. I came to know the team as “Texas Stranglers” for their uncanny ability to choke by the All Star break. They never even looked like a professional team. I developed a routine for those rare occasions I went to the stadium to watch them lose in person. As soon as I got to my seat, I ordered a large beer and a hot dog. I gobbled the hot dog and slurped the beer. Then I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. Sometimes, I could fall asleep before they introduced the teams. The warm Texas sunshine felt good and the drone of reports from the stadium announcer put me in a coma for the duration. I had some anxious moments on a few occasions when I awoke in an empty stadium but overall I enjoyed the game.
Then, last week the unthinkable happened. The Stranglers won the American League Pennant. Even more astonishing, they trounced the Yankees to do it. Yikes! I know we live in strange, interesting times, but this is going too far. The only thing I can think of to explain this aberration is that God is setting them up for even greater humiliation in the World Series. I shall avert my eyes from these games to preserve my sanity, such as it is.
Still, it would be unfair of me to deny the team’s accomplishments this year. Therefore, for the balance of the season, I offer my sincere wishes for success to the Texas Rangers.
They can begin next season as “Stranglers,” so they will have something to strive toward.
...
I am not a big fan of professional sports, period. Cheering for the pros feels like cheering for a multi-national insurance conglomerate or investment bank. The pros exist for the money. Ho hum.
I have an active dislike for some pro sports teams. The Texas Rangers earned my eternal contempt when they moved to my State. They arrived from Washington, D.C., where they were the Senators and moved into a shabby stadium in Arlington, Texas. At the same time, I was working a day job in Dallas and commuting to Arlington for graduate studies five nights per week. It never failed that game traffic snared me each way. The return trip was the worst. I was exhausted from a full workday and suffering from brain-melt when classes adjourned around ten p.m.
I often sat fuming in the post game “rush” for an extra hour. It seemed they played more home games at night than necessary. Thus, I came to detest the team individually and collectively during my years in graduate school.
Their record did not justify much respect, either. I came to know the team as “Texas Stranglers” for their uncanny ability to choke by the All Star break. They never even looked like a professional team. I developed a routine for those rare occasions I went to the stadium to watch them lose in person. As soon as I got to my seat, I ordered a large beer and a hot dog. I gobbled the hot dog and slurped the beer. Then I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. Sometimes, I could fall asleep before they introduced the teams. The warm Texas sunshine felt good and the drone of reports from the stadium announcer put me in a coma for the duration. I had some anxious moments on a few occasions when I awoke in an empty stadium but overall I enjoyed the game.
Then, last week the unthinkable happened. The Stranglers won the American League Pennant. Even more astonishing, they trounced the Yankees to do it. Yikes! I know we live in strange, interesting times, but this is going too far. The only thing I can think of to explain this aberration is that God is setting them up for even greater humiliation in the World Series. I shall avert my eyes from these games to preserve my sanity, such as it is.
Still, it would be unfair of me to deny the team’s accomplishments this year. Therefore, for the balance of the season, I offer my sincere wishes for success to the Texas Rangers.
They can begin next season as “Stranglers,” so they will have something to strive toward.
...
Friday, September 10, 2010
Adventure Rich Times II
…
I awoke in a posh suite in the Dallas Marriott. The room temperature was a pleasant 65 degrees, so I stayed under the covers longer than usual. During the night, I decided I was too old and too rich to fool around with this project, especially considering the heat would keep me out of my house until the electrical, and air conditioning troubles were behind me. After tea and bath, I hurried on my way, stopping at my favorite hardware store.
I tracked down a sales clerk and asked if he could recommend an honest, qualified electrician for a project at my home.
“Bwaaaa Ha Ha Ha!” He mused.
“I must be a lot funnier than I realized.” I did some musing of my own.
“I’m sorry, sir.” He said, regaining his composure.
“It is just that electricians are hard to come by. You might get a longer list if you dropped at least one of your requirements. You might find one electrician in the county the meets one of your criteria. However, finding one both qualified AND honest? Fuggeddaboudit!”
Undaunted, I went to several other places with the same request, receiving similar reactions at each place. Some found my predicament more amusing than others.
As the morning wore on, the temperature climbed steadily from 80 degrees at dawn to 90 at noon. Soon, the heat would be oppressive.
I retreated to my home and sat glowering in my dark, warm office.
Then I had a brainstorm. My friend Roger works on residential projects. Heck, a couple years ago, he did a serious renovation of the exterior of Casa Burden. He did a good job and charged only slightly more than a brain surgeon. I grabbed the phone and called.
“Hello?” Roger answered.
“Hey, Roger, how’s tricks?”
“Life is good.” Roger assured me.
“I am sure it is. Say, do you know an honest electrician?” I slipped this into the conversation as casually as I could, so he would not know how desperate my situation was.
To my surprise, Roger gave me a recommendation. I hope I thanked him before I hung up and began dialing the man’s number.
Soon, I was talking to the electrician, not one of those 1-800-SCR-EWME rip-offs. The man’s name was Dave. He suggested I contact someone he knew about the A/C problem and offered to come out and repair my electric service at 8:00 a.m. the next day. I did as he asked.
The A/C repairperson showed up that same evening and got my A/C going just before dark. He was great about it too. He did not complain when I peered over his shoulder and offered advice. Even the bill was reasonable considering it took him 45 minutes longer to make the repair with my assistance than it might have otherwise.
That night, I slept in my own cool, dark bed. I missed calling room service for liquor and food, but what the heck. I was home.
I awoke bright and groggy the next morning and managed to get a cup of tea down my throat before Dave showed up – exactly on time.
He examined each outlet in every suspect location throughout the house. Then, he made the diagnosis of a “bad circuit breaker.” My worst fears loomed large in my mind. I swallowed hard and awaited the bad news.
“I’ve got some of these at home.” Dave offered.
“They’re not new, but still good. I may have new buss bars to fit this, too.” He finished.
I felt lightheaded. Did I dare hope the repair could be so simple? Could mere money fix this mess?
Dave retrieved the parts and completed the repairs two hours later. Then, he handed me a bill for something less than the full value of my estate. I felt grateful.
“It might have cost less, but I have a policy of charging references from Roger double my normal rates.” He said, smiling disarmingly as he drove away.
In ten minutes, I was in a cool house watching my own TV and sipping a beverage I made for myself. Well, at least I opened it myself. That counts, too.
Roger was right. Life is good.
...
I awoke in a posh suite in the Dallas Marriott. The room temperature was a pleasant 65 degrees, so I stayed under the covers longer than usual. During the night, I decided I was too old and too rich to fool around with this project, especially considering the heat would keep me out of my house until the electrical, and air conditioning troubles were behind me. After tea and bath, I hurried on my way, stopping at my favorite hardware store.
I tracked down a sales clerk and asked if he could recommend an honest, qualified electrician for a project at my home.
“Bwaaaa Ha Ha Ha!” He mused.
“I must be a lot funnier than I realized.” I did some musing of my own.
“I’m sorry, sir.” He said, regaining his composure.
“It is just that electricians are hard to come by. You might get a longer list if you dropped at least one of your requirements. You might find one electrician in the county the meets one of your criteria. However, finding one both qualified AND honest? Fuggeddaboudit!”
Undaunted, I went to several other places with the same request, receiving similar reactions at each place. Some found my predicament more amusing than others.
As the morning wore on, the temperature climbed steadily from 80 degrees at dawn to 90 at noon. Soon, the heat would be oppressive.
I retreated to my home and sat glowering in my dark, warm office.
Then I had a brainstorm. My friend Roger works on residential projects. Heck, a couple years ago, he did a serious renovation of the exterior of Casa Burden. He did a good job and charged only slightly more than a brain surgeon. I grabbed the phone and called.
“Hello?” Roger answered.
“Hey, Roger, how’s tricks?”
“Life is good.” Roger assured me.
“I am sure it is. Say, do you know an honest electrician?” I slipped this into the conversation as casually as I could, so he would not know how desperate my situation was.
To my surprise, Roger gave me a recommendation. I hope I thanked him before I hung up and began dialing the man’s number.
Soon, I was talking to the electrician, not one of those 1-800-SCR-EWME rip-offs. The man’s name was Dave. He suggested I contact someone he knew about the A/C problem and offered to come out and repair my electric service at 8:00 a.m. the next day. I did as he asked.
The A/C repairperson showed up that same evening and got my A/C going just before dark. He was great about it too. He did not complain when I peered over his shoulder and offered advice. Even the bill was reasonable considering it took him 45 minutes longer to make the repair with my assistance than it might have otherwise.
That night, I slept in my own cool, dark bed. I missed calling room service for liquor and food, but what the heck. I was home.
I awoke bright and groggy the next morning and managed to get a cup of tea down my throat before Dave showed up – exactly on time.
He examined each outlet in every suspect location throughout the house. Then, he made the diagnosis of a “bad circuit breaker.” My worst fears loomed large in my mind. I swallowed hard and awaited the bad news.
“I’ve got some of these at home.” Dave offered.
“They’re not new, but still good. I may have new buss bars to fit this, too.” He finished.
I felt lightheaded. Did I dare hope the repair could be so simple? Could mere money fix this mess?
Dave retrieved the parts and completed the repairs two hours later. Then, he handed me a bill for something less than the full value of my estate. I felt grateful.
“It might have cost less, but I have a policy of charging references from Roger double my normal rates.” He said, smiling disarmingly as he drove away.
In ten minutes, I was in a cool house watching my own TV and sipping a beverage I made for myself. Well, at least I opened it myself. That counts, too.
Roger was right. Life is good.
...
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Adventure Rich Times
…
As I type, the skies are dark gray and winds howl around the doors and windows. There is a creek behind the place, about 120 feet west and 15 feet below my property level. Normally a trickle, today, I can hear water rushing to the sea from the comfort of my den. Pretty cool, eh? It is a perfect day for a murder, or possibly telling a story.
My recent life is an adventure rich environment. Here is an example.
Over a month ago, I noticed my electric lights flickered from time to time. I thought little of it. The temperature outdoors was hovering around 105, so I guessed the local utility was having trouble meeting the demand. As days passed, the flickering became more frequent. Then, I noticed the problem persisted into the relatively cool evening, too. So much for my supply and demand theory.
It is only fair to mention I learned everything I know about electricity from Mr. Wizard on TV, back in the 50s. Still, I took it as a personal challenge to diagnose and repair the problem. Day after day, I studied the pattern of flickers’ time and duration. I suspected one or more of my antique appliances were having an internal meltdown and I was determined to discover which one(s) it might be. I exempted the dishwasher, clothes washer and refrigerator, which I replaced in rapid succession last winter.
As days turned into weeks, I began living more and more of my life in the dark. Through scientific experimentation, I eliminated each appliance, one by one. (Buzz, Pop! Arrgh!) I narrowed the possibilities to two. First, there might be a problem with the service coming to the house. The man from the utility checked the current at my meter and said “Nope. It ain’t us.”
The other possibility was too awful to contemplate. Years ago, I searched the internet for “antique, possibly dangerous, circuit breakers no longer in production” to find replacements for some failed breakers. Lucky for me, there was a museum of electrical switches and breakers only thirty miles away. I drove over there and asked for the size and model breakers I needed. The person behind the counter began laughing uncontrollably.
“Did I say something funny?” I asked.
“Wheeze! Hey, Albert, come see this!” The man gasped.
Albert thought I was hilarious, too. Then, I got the bill. I might have teared up a bit, but I paid their price a sulked all the way home.
Now, I relived the anguish of that long ago experience as I realized the trouble was probably inside the breaker panel.
“Aw, shit.”
No matter. I was determined to fix this. Then, the air conditioning stopped. In an instant, the problem moved from an academic exercise to a matter of life and death. I am a grown man, experienced in the ways of the world, so I knew exactly what to do.
“Hello, Marriott?” I said into the phone.
Next time, I will tell you the rest.
As I type, the skies are dark gray and winds howl around the doors and windows. There is a creek behind the place, about 120 feet west and 15 feet below my property level. Normally a trickle, today, I can hear water rushing to the sea from the comfort of my den. Pretty cool, eh? It is a perfect day for a murder, or possibly telling a story.
My recent life is an adventure rich environment. Here is an example.
Over a month ago, I noticed my electric lights flickered from time to time. I thought little of it. The temperature outdoors was hovering around 105, so I guessed the local utility was having trouble meeting the demand. As days passed, the flickering became more frequent. Then, I noticed the problem persisted into the relatively cool evening, too. So much for my supply and demand theory.
It is only fair to mention I learned everything I know about electricity from Mr. Wizard on TV, back in the 50s. Still, I took it as a personal challenge to diagnose and repair the problem. Day after day, I studied the pattern of flickers’ time and duration. I suspected one or more of my antique appliances were having an internal meltdown and I was determined to discover which one(s) it might be. I exempted the dishwasher, clothes washer and refrigerator, which I replaced in rapid succession last winter.
As days turned into weeks, I began living more and more of my life in the dark. Through scientific experimentation, I eliminated each appliance, one by one. (Buzz, Pop! Arrgh!) I narrowed the possibilities to two. First, there might be a problem with the service coming to the house. The man from the utility checked the current at my meter and said “Nope. It ain’t us.”
The other possibility was too awful to contemplate. Years ago, I searched the internet for “antique, possibly dangerous, circuit breakers no longer in production” to find replacements for some failed breakers. Lucky for me, there was a museum of electrical switches and breakers only thirty miles away. I drove over there and asked for the size and model breakers I needed. The person behind the counter began laughing uncontrollably.
“Did I say something funny?” I asked.
“Wheeze! Hey, Albert, come see this!” The man gasped.
Albert thought I was hilarious, too. Then, I got the bill. I might have teared up a bit, but I paid their price a sulked all the way home.
Now, I relived the anguish of that long ago experience as I realized the trouble was probably inside the breaker panel.
“Aw, shit.”
No matter. I was determined to fix this. Then, the air conditioning stopped. In an instant, the problem moved from an academic exercise to a matter of life and death. I am a grown man, experienced in the ways of the world, so I knew exactly what to do.
“Hello, Marriott?” I said into the phone.
Next time, I will tell you the rest.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Hiatus
Hey!
I am happy you stopped by. I am currently on hiatus (taking time off) to deal with some local issues. I look forward to writing again as soon as they are resloved.
Hank
I am happy you stopped by. I am currently on hiatus (taking time off) to deal with some local issues. I look forward to writing again as soon as they are resloved.
Hank
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Ozarks
...
After breakfast, everyone piled into the car and we resumed our trek toward Branson. The grandchildren were disappointed to leave the spinning breakfast table so soon. They expressed their disappointment by screaming, crying and fighting among themselves. Mom and Dad knew exactly what to do in such a crisis.
My daughter slid a CD into the player and my son-in-law turned it up. Way up. I could hear every nuance of Johnny Cash’s aged-in-the-cask voice, but I could also still hear the children, barely. For my part, this was not a tranquility inducing experience.
Eventually, there was a break in the music and I knew I had to act fast.
I spun around in my seat and faced my granddaughter, looking directly into her innocent eyes. “You are getting drowsy,” I said in my best “The Count” voice. I repeated the phrase several times, adding some finger waving for effect. It had little effect. I took a slightly different tact. “You are feeling happy…” I increased the finger action. Sure enough, she began to smile. In a couple of minutes, she forgot the pique leftover from breakfast.
Next, I turned my power over the minds of children to my grandson.
“Do me, do me!” He pleaded.
Okay, but you must promise to be good or I won’t do it.
“Okay, gwandfadder.”
I ran the hypnotism routine on him. Five minutes later, I was enjoying the company of two contented grandchildren. It felt good to know I had not lost my touch.
Next, I leaned forward into the front seat.
“You are sick of listening to loud music…“ I began.
Everything went swimmingly for the rest of the trip. Well, it went swimmingly until we hopped off the interstate in Arkansas and turned north on a tiny state highway. My son-in-law was tour guide for the children.
“We’re going to go through the Ozark Mountains,” he said cheerily. “We’ll see beautiful scenery and forests along the way, so keep a sharp lookout.”
“Dark, scary forests,” I added for effect.
“We’re scared,” said the chorus in the rear seat!
“Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that.” I thought silently.
It was then my daughter turned and gave me a stern look.
“Do you recall the little talk we had just a few days before we left?” She asked.
“Uh, no I don’t seem to have that recollection. Can you give me the gist of it?”
“The topic was you were going to straighten up.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll do my best, really.”
With that, I received a scary mommy scowl and life returned to normal, at least for now.
We cruised through some of the most beautiful scenery in America. Quaint villages, small farms, mountain streams and meadows appeared around every turn. Through gaps in the dense forest, we saw magnificent vistas as row after row of mountains stood tall all the way to the horizon. I made a mental note to revisit this country on my motorcycle in the near future. It was two-wheel paradise.
Then, everything changed. The tiny highway dissolved into a fork of two dirt roads. After a short break for indecision, we took the left fork and motored on. I recall humming the theme from Deliverance. I only got through a few bars before I received another “straighten up” scowl from the front seat.
We drove for hours. The quaint villages gave way to little clusters of haunted looking buildings. The forest squeezed ever tighter and the road narrowed to barely one lane. The farms disappeared and ramshackle shacks and trailers took their place. We passed a group of young girls playing barefoot in the road. They strolled out of our way, seemingly fascinated by seeing the giant SUV on their tiny road. I think their dog actually laughed at us as we rattled by.
Next time, we will arrive - somewhere.
...
After breakfast, everyone piled into the car and we resumed our trek toward Branson. The grandchildren were disappointed to leave the spinning breakfast table so soon. They expressed their disappointment by screaming, crying and fighting among themselves. Mom and Dad knew exactly what to do in such a crisis.
My daughter slid a CD into the player and my son-in-law turned it up. Way up. I could hear every nuance of Johnny Cash’s aged-in-the-cask voice, but I could also still hear the children, barely. For my part, this was not a tranquility inducing experience.
Eventually, there was a break in the music and I knew I had to act fast.
I spun around in my seat and faced my granddaughter, looking directly into her innocent eyes. “You are getting drowsy,” I said in my best “The Count” voice. I repeated the phrase several times, adding some finger waving for effect. It had little effect. I took a slightly different tact. “You are feeling happy…” I increased the finger action. Sure enough, she began to smile. In a couple of minutes, she forgot the pique leftover from breakfast.
Next, I turned my power over the minds of children to my grandson.
“Do me, do me!” He pleaded.
Okay, but you must promise to be good or I won’t do it.
“Okay, gwandfadder.”
I ran the hypnotism routine on him. Five minutes later, I was enjoying the company of two contented grandchildren. It felt good to know I had not lost my touch.
Next, I leaned forward into the front seat.
“You are sick of listening to loud music…“ I began.
Everything went swimmingly for the rest of the trip. Well, it went swimmingly until we hopped off the interstate in Arkansas and turned north on a tiny state highway. My son-in-law was tour guide for the children.
“We’re going to go through the Ozark Mountains,” he said cheerily. “We’ll see beautiful scenery and forests along the way, so keep a sharp lookout.”
“Dark, scary forests,” I added for effect.
“We’re scared,” said the chorus in the rear seat!
“Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that.” I thought silently.
It was then my daughter turned and gave me a stern look.
“Do you recall the little talk we had just a few days before we left?” She asked.
“Uh, no I don’t seem to have that recollection. Can you give me the gist of it?”
“The topic was you were going to straighten up.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll do my best, really.”
With that, I received a scary mommy scowl and life returned to normal, at least for now.
We cruised through some of the most beautiful scenery in America. Quaint villages, small farms, mountain streams and meadows appeared around every turn. Through gaps in the dense forest, we saw magnificent vistas as row after row of mountains stood tall all the way to the horizon. I made a mental note to revisit this country on my motorcycle in the near future. It was two-wheel paradise.
Then, everything changed. The tiny highway dissolved into a fork of two dirt roads. After a short break for indecision, we took the left fork and motored on. I recall humming the theme from Deliverance. I only got through a few bars before I received another “straighten up” scowl from the front seat.
We drove for hours. The quaint villages gave way to little clusters of haunted looking buildings. The forest squeezed ever tighter and the road narrowed to barely one lane. The farms disappeared and ramshackle shacks and trailers took their place. We passed a group of young girls playing barefoot in the road. They strolled out of our way, seemingly fascinated by seeing the giant SUV on their tiny road. I think their dog actually laughed at us as we rattled by.
Next time, we will arrive - somewhere.
...
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