Differences with the Same Likeness

"Where have all Ya'll Been"?

2012-01-24T09:58:00.000-08:00

Some of us “old timers” remember a popular song by Johnny Rivers with which we ground a lot of cornmeal into the hardwood floors of various Texas “honky-tonks” during the 60’s and 70’s.

I hadn’t thought of this old favorite for many years until I was looking for a topic for my return to the “blog-us-fear”. Most have probably not noticed but I have been a little slack in keeping up with my posting and commenting on all my favorite blogs, but those of you who may have notice my absence, I figured I would kind of fill in the blanks of “how come”this has been.

Christmas is noted for being a time for surprises. We had a great Christmas day. I cooked a dressing and “The Boss” and I added all the extras and took lunch to her 92 year old Dad, who still lives at home. We had a grand time. The girls were going to gather at our house later Christmas day, so we returned home and started the “dressing routine” all over again. My goodness, the grandkids were a joyous bunch. Squealing and a hollerin’, jumping, riding in the new John Deere sideboard wagon, American girl doll sleigh riding, cap guns along with a long list of other gadgets.

All tuckered out, the kids, and some adults hit the hay pretty early. The Boss and I usually stay up with the bunch that likes to talk and visit. This is always a pretty good size group, but finally around 1:30 am everyone finally gave in to weariness. That cool sheet on my bed felt great. The Boss takes longer to get her list covered so she was still up around 2:00am, when I woke up. No need to cover all the technical parts of my self-diagnosis, but I will jump to the part where I said, “Boss, meet me in the van, I need to go have my blood pressure checked.” With little commotion, I told my youngest daughter, “don’t wake the others, I am going to have my BP checked and we will call you. You can explain if anyone wakes up.”

Skipping over the details of the tubes, wires and vampire visits from the ER room, the next morning the cardiologist visited and said we would do the “dye routine”, but he thought he could treat the heart attack with just medicine due to the fact that I had immediately take a couple of aspirins on the way to the ER and fast reactions in getting to the hospital, damage seemed to be less than usual. A second option would be placement of one or more stints, or a less likely would be a bypass operation. The next morning, we did the ”dye routine” and surprise, surprise I won what was behind door number 3. He showed me the picture of the procedure’s results and he didn’t have to do much explaining. Friday, I took a three- four hour nap while I received a triple bypass for a late Christmas present...

And you are thinking, ”What the hell does that have to do with Johnny Rivers?” The next day, The Boss was showing me the “dye” picture again and I pretty much knew that at some point I would be writing this blog and out of the blue came a line of the chorus from this old Johnny Rivers song. The publishers are just going to have to sue me for changing the words, but these changes reflect perfectly with what I thought at that moment.

So ta-ack a goo-ud look at my face

You see my smi-ile, it’s back on my face

Now look closer, it’s easy to trace

“The tracks of My Years”...

(not actual pic, The Boss has the real one somewhere,,lol)

To Each,, and ALL

2011-12-23T06:23:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

"Let's have a cup of coffee

2011-11-23T10:11:00.001-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving to all...Have a cup on me.

Take a couple of minutes and enjoy the video and if you watch the whole thing, copy the pic and post on your site. You folks are winners.

http://www.flickspire.com/m/SimpleTruths/LifeIsLikeCoffee

NaNoWriMo - A slow trek through sticky Mollasses

2011-11-21T09:14:00.000-08:00

Hazel in Pool room….(After She gets to Memphis- Several chapters skipped)

The juke box was silent and the only sound in the room was a June bug bouncing off the colored light panels of the juke box. Everyone was looking back and forth at each other. Ramone threw up his arms and let them slap against his blue jeans as he turned and left the bar, shaking his head. Hazel stood with her arms folded across her chest with one hip cocked out and patting her foot. Raoul alternated from staring at the table top and glancing back at Hazel. Words didn’t come as quickly as he had imagined they would.

“I don’t guess I really know what to say. I thought I would have something ‘cute’ or witty but for once I guess I feel lost. How have you been? That’s pretty thin but I really have wondered about it all this time.”

Hazel seemed to care less. Acting without emotion was a screen that she used quite often. “I have been Ok; nice of you to ask. Your concern these past years is real heartwarming. What am I doing here, and where am I going? You think you can send your goon brother and wrap me up like a package anytime you get a whime ? You might over power me but you will never win. As long as I can draw a breath, I will fight you. If you overpower me I will still not give in to you.”

“Causing you any anxiety has never been my intention, Hazel. Ramone promised me he would not harm or hurt you, did he? If he did, even my own brother will have to pay. You’re not here because I am trying to force myself back in you r life. I simply need your help. No one has the strength and determination that you have, someone I can trust. I can’t take any chances.”

“Why in the world do you think you can trust me, even if I agreed to help you in whatever hair brain scheme you might have working. You must think I have lost my mind. You packed up and left with no regard for anyone beside yourself. I don’t see any chains and locks because that is the only way you will keep me here, Raoul. You mean absolutely nothing to me. The Schlitz beer sign was reflecting in the pools building in her eyes. When I turn around a walk out of here, I hope I never hear your name spoken, much less see you again.” Hazel turned and started toward daylight.

Raoul knew Hazel well enough to anticipate her thinking. Before she had reached half way to the door, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait Hazel.” She turned and stood motionless, not daring to speak for fear of losing all control. “Wait, you can’t leave until you hear what I have to say.” His tone confused Hazel. The combative and condescending tone had left his voice. “I didn’t bring you here for me. You are going to help me and then you can go and do whatever you want too. Everything about me is depending on this operation I am working on, even my life. I have got to have your help and you are going to give it. This may be the most underhanded thing I have done to you yet, Hazel. You can’t win this one, I have Lucy.”

Raoul could easily have lost his left eye. Instantly before anyone looked in their direction, Hazel bolted toward Raoul with the fury of a mountain lion. The frequency of her high pitched scream echoed throughout the room burying her fingers into his eye sockets as he stumbled backwards, falling over a chair. A sickening thud resounded from the floor meeting the back of his skull as the air emptied from his lungs. For the first time he could remember, he thought that he was in trouble. Hazel dug her finger tips further into Raoul’s eye sockets while he made every attempt to loosen her grip on his body. Her legs were locked around his left leg and her teeth were latched firmly onto his left shoulder. Every attempt to roll his body into position to overpower her gripe, was met with an anticipated counter move that gained advantage for his assailant. She loosened her biting grip long enough to hiss a warning, “You son-uv-a-bitch, you have made a serious miscalculation. You will wish you had never ever known me. I have nothing to bet or loose, so I will promise you this on my soul.” Hazel took a deep breath and released her right-hand grip in order that Raoul would be able to look her in the eyes. “If you cause one scratch to come to be put on my baby, you can never imagine the terror you will experience. This I promise you, until I can no longer draw a living breath.” Hazel went limp and rolled onto the hardwood floor, flat of her back. Raoul, already on his back, fought to get his breath and hoped his blurry vision would improve. At this point, he was helpless.

Between spasms of fighting for breath Raoul rolled toward Hazel trying to focus on her image. “Lucy is Ok and is in no kind of harm. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew you would never talk to me but I have gotten into this thing and there is only one way out and you are the key to that. I had to have someone that had the courage and strength to follow through and if this was a test, I guess you passed. Are you ok now? I had no intention of hurting you. My estimation of your reaction may have been a little under-shot. If I don’t accomplish my goal, I will end up in the river so Lucy is my only wild card, so Hazel, you are going to have to listen and play along.

White hot hate radiated toward Raoul from Hazels ice cold stare. ”Let me hear it.”

Hank and Billy Ray (Pork Chops and Collard Greens)

2011-11-16T09:32:00.000-08:00

If you don't remember or have forgotten, this link to an earlier post, "PaPa" will brief you on what's happened and this is the next attempt at ,, well you know what I am doing here,, lol

(you have to scroll down to the bottom of the page)

http://glnroz33.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2010-03-10T13:00:00-08:00&max-results=24&reverse-paginate=true

After Door Smash(Not real title of chapter)

“What the…Hazel do you have a towel or something?” Hank didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed a dish towel that had been on top of the beer sack. “Hurry, this is not going to help for very long. Damn, Hazel, I need something to stop this bleeding. Hurry. Hazel? Damit it!” The flow of blood had slowed but the compress was becoming saturated. Hank finally looked around the room. Billy Ray was sitting in the floor leaning back on his stiff arms. “Where the hell is Hazel?”

“She gone.”

“Gone? Where the hell too?”

“I don know.”

“Did you see her leave?”

“She did’n leave. He snatched her up by the arm and yanked her out the door.”

“Did she say anYthing about who he was or where they were going?”

“Nope, she look like she was dumbstruck. Did’n say nothing, jus gone.” Billy Ray looked like he had a dose of the dumbstuck. Hank was a little bewildered himself. Angelique seemed to be waking up. Hank tightened his hold on her as she started fighting against him.

“Hold still Angelique. You have been injured. We gotta get you to a hospital. Where the hell is a hospital? I better call an ambulance. Ya’ll got a phone. Hell no, I forgot. Billy Ray run downstairs and call the operator. Tell her we need an ambulance. You gonna have to ask the folks in the bar what the address here is. You got any change?”

Billy Ray, still looking like he was in shock, shook his head from side to side. “Nooo, besides, I am not sure I should be the one to go down there. It’s about to get dark and, well I just don’t know.” He gave Hand a look of embarrassing worry.

“Here, hold this in place, don’t let the blood start gushing again. I think I have some coins.”

“Give me a pencil and something to write on.”

Both men jumped from surprise and turned their attention to the girl. Her eyes were still closed but she seemed to be aware of the conversation.

“Don’t call an ambulance. I need my grandmother here. I’m not going to any hospital. I will write her phone number down if you will give me a pencil and paper. When you get her on the phone, you are going to have to talk slow. She speaks English but she understands better if you talk slow and in short sentences. Tell her what happened and she will know what to do. She is a doctor…of sorts. She has the things that I need, but the sooner would be better. You will have to go pick her up, she don’t drive. It’s not very far and easy to get there.” Angelique was becoming more awake but the effects of her injuries were coming to the surface too.

“I’ll be right back. Billy Ray, hold the bandage tight and talk to Angelique and try to keep her awake. Angelique, don’t worry, I will find her and it will only be a little bit before I get back.”

ONLY ONE CHOICE, IN MY BOOK

2011-11-11T10:11:00.000-08:00

Ya better Never forget 'EM !!

A Smidgen of Nanowrimo

2011-11-07T08:24:00.001-08:00

Why I post thisruntogethermuckitymuck and anyone reads it. I ain' got a clue, but here it is. lol

PC&CG Nano chapter one or somewhere in between

The PT boat cut through the waves riding the growing swells. Sea water pushed aside in folding waves like pigeon wings. All hands were outfitted in foul weather gear.

“Wha’s yore name?”

Hank looked up at the black youngster. He seemed to be about the same age as himself.

“Hank, wha’s yore’s?”

“Bielly Raaay”. The young boy kept at a distance but he kept his eye on Hank and what he was doing. “Wha’s that you got there?” He pointed at the object the young boy Hank was holding against the ground as if it might levitate upwards.

“It’s a PT boat. It’s chasing the Japs out of the Philippine Islands. I had an uncle that was over there somewhere, during the war.” Hank made a wide arc pushing his “PT” boat at top speed chasing a Jap battleship or maybe it was a sub. The sand parted as if saltwater and a loud explosion signaled that another Jap tin can was scrap metal headed to meet old man Poseidon.

“Looks like a sardine can to me.” Billy Ray spoke with a degree of authority that he could see it was a sardine can. “My Daddy buys ‘em all the time down at Frank’s. Everbody know whut a can of sardines look like.” “Ain’t you eva ett sardines?” A scowl had worked its way onto Billy Ray’s forehead. Sardines were a staple for pulp wood hauler. He had assumed Hank’s daddy was a pulp wood hauler seeing that Hank had no business being there if he wasn’t. Billy Ray was sure this Hank fellow didn’t get around much.
Hank picked up the sardine can and inspected it closely and put it back onto the roaring sea and made another swift arc.

“Well, it’s my PT boat. There are a bunch of them under that tree over by the check-in shack.” He turned his head and nodded in the direction of the old post office building that had long since been closed for its initial purpose. He never took his eyes of the sleek PT boat, ever in its quest for more Jap raiders. “Go get you one and help me fight off these Japs.”

Billy Ray hesitated for a moment then he spun around and took off toward the old post office. Dirt flew up each time he took a step with the legs of his tattered overall pant legs flapping like a pair of flags. His selection for his warship only took a few seconds and with a twirl he headed back to the battle in a full run.

“I got me one.” Billy Ray was beaming. He had shed a portion of his shyness during his quest for just the right can for his “boat”. He squatted on his knees and his PT boat roared to life. Between the two of them, those Japs didn’t stand a chance. A sudden duo of explosions erupting from each youngster simultaneously confirms this to be a fact.

“Billy Ray, ya ever eat any sardines?” Hank had been thinking about the first time he remembered seeing Billy Ray.

“Why, ya needin’ a new PT boat?” Both let go of a polite chuckle. “How come you think about that? I was thinking about that when we stopped for gas back yonder, aways. I used to kinda like ‘em. They stop a growl but I don’t much care for the smell.”

A quiet pause, then they cut their eyes at each other at the same time and gave each other another polite chuckle. “That was a while back wadn’t it? We might have to stop and get a couple of cans. I’ll stop and run into some roadside store along the way and get us a snack. It’s a long way before we get to NaOwlens.”

Neither spoke of it but both had been wondering how it would be once they got there. Around home everyone knew each other and even though a lot of changes had been taking place, it was still unspoken that there were “places” and each should keep in mind where those places were. Seldom did you hear anyone say specifically, “You better know you place”, it still was pretty much on the forefront of everyone’s mind. A stroke of the pen doesn’t blot out centuries of lifestyles and habits. The civil rights act had changed a lot of signs and removed just as many, but habits die slowly and hatred seems to simmer forever. Hank and Billy Ray had gone to separate schools during the early years but going into high school the school system had integrated all the county schools and the high school in their area was total consolidation instead of using a government quota arrangement. Other areas of the country had not enjoyed the success as they had with their school. There had been no situations of conflict other than what you would expect from a segregated school. To say there was nothing to adjust to would not be honest, but during their three years of high school together, there had been no conflicts between either of them or any of the other students.

“We get those seeds loaded, we’ll get us sumthin’ to eat and we’ll come back and bunk down at the feed house. There ain’t no need in us spending money on a motel tonight. Hell, the rats will probably be bigger than the motel rats but at least they won’t be hungry, being they will be fattened up on the spilt feed.” Billy Ray knew the “rat” part was for comic relief and he anted up with an honest laugh.

“Ye’uh that’l be Ok wit me.” Hank knew Billy Ray knew the real reason for the plan. As long as they had known each other, they both had tried to walk the line of “place” without talking about it. He knew someday it would have to be an issue to settle but today didn’t seem like the time to tackle it. They rode in silence for several miles. Louisiana roads seemed lonelier than the ones back home. The rear mud grip tires sang a dirge as the old pickup kept a steady pace south.

“Well fellers, that’s all he ordered.” The fourth and last hundred pound sack of seed threw up a cloud of dust as it bounced on to the oak boards of the Chevy truck.

“Ya’ll bout messed around rummaging through those old junk shops and got here too late. There ain’t nothin but shit that oughta be thowed away in them places any how. I wouldn’t trade a twenty five pound sack of hen scratch fer all you could tote off in that there pickup of your’n. I ain’t figgered out where they git that shit from, no how. Anyways that room in there where I keep that horse tack can be ye room for tonight if’n ye still wanna stay here. Theres enough saddle blankets in there to make ye a pallet, maybe even for cover. I’m gonna lock up but I’ll hide this key over the third window above the lintel. Anything comes up missing, it’ll be ya’ll’s asses. If ye mess around down in the French Quarter and ye mess with the wrong people and ye don’t get ye ass cut up, then the poo-leece will put ye up fer the night. Either way, it ain’t no skin off my ass, so ya’ll be keerful. They’s plenty to do without actin like some shit-for-brains, doing sumthin stupid. Hit ain’t none of my business but a feller like him can still git in a heap of trouble over pretty much of nuttin.” With a quick nod toward Billy Ray, the message was sent. Wil’Like I said, ain’t none of my bid-ness, I’m just sayin’.” Mr. Mann’s head was nodding in a’yes’ motion while at the same time shaking from side to side in a ‘no’ fashion. Hank and Billy Ray knew that he was being as honest as the day was long but was a little uneasy in saying it.

“I’ll send a bill fer the seed. Now ya’ll git, I gotta git home in time fer Rawhide, plus supper’s a waitin. Git.” A big glob of spit, resembling creosote, hit the ground, it’s splatter barely missing three pairs of scuffed brogans.

“Thanks ye, Mr Mann.” Hank extend his hand and Billy Ray followed up with his hand shake. “It was good a’meetin ye. We’ll be awright. We ain’t much interested in stirring up no trouble. We thought we would go down close to the River and French Quarter and eat supper and get back here early and try to be gone ‘bout time you open up in the morning, b’fore it gets too hot. Thanks again.” A simple nod from each signaled for them to start their hunt for a good place for supper...

Ready,,,Set,,,,,,,

2011-11-01T08:34:00.001-07:00

Ready, set,,,,

Why, what, where, when, how-come and reckon? That definitely is the question. Why do some folks (myself is mainly who I am referencing) put themselves in a situation they know little about?

I seem to be drawn to things that I know little about or don’t understand. I have, as long as I can remember, wanted to know about how things worked; clocks, auto engines, brain surgery and so forth. I figure if something is already broken, then tear into it and see if you can come up with what is causing it to be broke. I look at it as “heck its already broke so chances are I ain’t gonna break” it. That sounds like I am repeating something. Anyhow, last night with just a couple of hours before midnight, I signed up for this year’s Nanowrimo challenge. There, I have announced it. They say that once you announce it, you feel pressure to push forward and complete the task. I won’t go into the details because all ya’ll know what it is about. The truth is I need a little “prodding” with something like this. I don’t view it as something BIG in my life; I am not trying to write the “Great American Novel”, but I do like messin’ with it. I have been a little slack on the blogging end of all this and maybe I will write about that in the future but mainly, it is just like tearing into something that is broken, except nothing has been broken. Now that makes a lot of sense doesn’t it? I guess the fact that I haven’t posted is what I feel is the broken part and jumping off into this quicksand of Nanowrimo may be just the thing to “line me out”.

Well, here is my plan….I ain’t got a plan. Nope, no plot, no outline. I do have my characters; Billy Ray and Hank. Ya’ll all remember them, don’t you? I don’t know how all this works but hopefully it will “ all even out in the end”(that was mentioned in an earlier post).

Ya’ll are welcome to comment any helps, hints, or mints as awaaaayyyy we go.

"Don't Pay........"

2011-09-22T06:44:00.000-07:00

"Don't pay the ransom Honey, I think I can escape."... an old Honkey Tonk steriotypical phone call to the house when the clock has been running backerds.

I feel like I have been kidnapped, but it is just a matter of too many work things getting in the way of my "play: things. I read all ya'll's posting and enjoy everyone of them and I ran across this YouTube video and it made me realize that I should just wave a "flag", of sorts, and say hello.

If'n ye got a minute, plug in the head phones, and "crank" the volume to 10, and visit for about 2-3 minutes.

Ms. Dianne Estrella's Mico Story Site

2011-08-17T09:21:00.000-07:00

http://dianeestrella.com/?p=6531

"Ok, where is that AAA guy?"

Ms. Dianne's Wednesday Micro Photo Prompt

2011-08-10T06:23:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Ms. Diane for providing an opportunity for me to squeeze in a short post. Everyone might enjoy participating jump over and visit her site.

"That damn cat,,,"

http://dianeestrella.com/?p=6470

"It's Right in Front of You"

2011-07-21T06:16:00.000-07:00

It’s right There, In front of You

I am starting a new “series” of posts labeled “Right There in Front of You”. I find that I sometimes go to great lengths looking for INTEREST. Music, movies, travel, books or stories, all seem to have more intrigue if I have to go to some trouble discovering these adventures. Anything that is at arm’s length doesn’t seem to get the first attention. In fact, we as individuals are surrounded with interesting things. I consider you folks interesting and “right here”. All I have to do is punch a few buttons and you pop up. That’s why I would like to share with you something a young lady in our writers’ guild (East Texas Writers’ Guild) has written. Rebecca (Becca) is a 16 year old who is already a terrific writer as well as an artist/illustrator. At this time, she has no Blog Site so I will forward any “comments” (and I know you have some comments of encouragement you would like to share). Thanks to each of you for taking the time to encourage this young writer.

Shoot On Sight

By: Rebecca Brown

Beneath the thick undergrowth I sit,deathly quiet as I await the arrival of what's left of my team. Clutching my gun––my only protection––I stare out into a seemingly empty field. I've been staring at it for some time but I know “they” are out there. They've tricked everyone else but I am not so naïve. They're out there, just waiting for me to show myself so they can take me out as well. I'll simply have to wait it out and stay here, concealed behind camouflage garments and green paint smeared across my face.

I wait and wait but no danger presents itself. I know that once I cross this field I will be safe, but if “they” are out there... I'll be lucky to make it half way.

The moments drag by as I wait for my team. Having not seen them in some time, I begin to worry. As the evening sun begins to set, I now notice shadows beginning to move in the undergrowth. I shiver as a rather large spider crawls down a nearby tree to examine me and a chill breeze pierces the warm air, chilling me to the bone. I need to get out of here. Where is my team? Have they been taken out like the others or have they found a safer way across the field? Did they go on without me? Oh, I wish I knew. If only I could get across that field.

The eerie screech of an owl and the sharp snap of a twig set my nerves even more on edge. The light of day is almost gone. I can't afford to wait any longer. I quickly scan the area. Nothing. Standing up slowly, I carefully step around the red and yellow leaves that litter the ground. Ever so quietly, I creep out into the field. Has all this work been for nothing? My team and I spent weeks readying ourselves for this. Now, this is the end. It is all up to me.

I feel exposed out in the open field without the trees or thick bushes to hide me but still, I continue on. It is too late to turn back now. Catching a glint of light from within a group of nearby cedar trees, I break out onto a run. It must be “them”. Who else could it be? My pulse is racing. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I make a run for it. I'm almost there. Almost safe...but almost isn't good enough. Three sharp pains suddenly hit me. One in my leg, and two in my chest.

I stop dead in my tracks and look down to see a crimson colored liquid staining my camouflage jacket. I've lost.

Looking back, I see the opposing team step out into the open as they congratulate each other. Shaking the team captain's hand, I set down my paintball gun and promptly ask for a rematch. I just know I'll get them next time.

Promt from Diane Estrella's Photo, Micro Prompt (click title to visit her site)

2011-07-20T07:15:00.000-07:00

"What did he say?"

"He said, beep bbeeep, errrk, wrrriiilll, bepbep, hummzittt, clang."

"What does that mean?"

"I think he is looking for either the bathroom or a chargin' station."

ps. Be on the lookout for a post that a 16 year old from our writers' group wrote. She doesn't have a Blog Site, so I am going to post it for her.

Ms. Diane Estrella's Micro Story (click on title to Jump to her site )

2011-07-13T06:21:00.000-07:00

"Ssnaakkkeeee!"

Micro Burst Writing from Ms. Diane Estrella's Pic Prompt (click on title)

2011-07-06T06:07:00.000-07:00

"Ok, one more time,,, did,,you,,get,,the,,last,, Oreo cookie?"

Micro Muse from Ms. Diane Estrella

2011-06-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

My weekly post (now days).. Prompt from Ms. Diane Estrella. Pay her a visit:

http://dianeestrella.com/?p=6039

I never dreamed it would boil down to this.

Hoof Beats

2011-06-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

http://www.dianeestrella.com/

….hoof beats thundering through the Enchanted Forest, the Princess holds tightly to the neck of her galloping steed. Wondering of the future, she looks toward her accompanying Prince for reassurance and asks, “….

From Ms. Dianne Estrella weekly Micro Entry

2011-06-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

Micro from Ms Dianne,,, http://www.dianeestrella.com/?p=5890 It is just a thought.. lol

If he weed-eats my petunias one more time, it's gonna be his butt.

"The Boss" - Happy Birthday

2011-06-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

"The Boss" is celebrating a Birthday today. I wished her a Happy Birthday this morning, and thought I would share this bit of news with all ya'll.

Micro Prompt

2011-06-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Micro prompt from Diane Estrella . http://www.dianeestrella.com/

Never, ever, did we or anyone believe that "they" would actually invade and occupy our country.

Micro muse for Today

2011-05-25T07:27:00.000-07:00

Once again Ms. Diane Estrella atThat's What I am Here For http://dianeestrella.com/?p=5611 has posted a pic for a "mico" story. I am thankful for these opportunities because time restraints have forced my "fun" time to be pulled back, of sorts.

"Ummm,, Ahhh,, well,,yes,, I guess so."

What the Heck?

2011-05-23T06:47:00.000-07:00

Saturday. "The Boss" and I stopped in at a local Deli for an early supper and I saw this on the sidewalk. What do you think happened?

2011-05-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

Micro Fiction prompt from Ms. Diane's fun Blogsite

http://dianeestrella.com/?p=5460

What's that dude on the roof looking at; ain't he ever seen anyone walking their dog?

Tiny Story

2011-05-04T06:53:00.000-07:00

Jump over to ms Dianne Estrella's web page http://dianeestrella.com/ and see all the fun things she is up to. This is an entry for a "micro fiction" written to the photo prompt that she has posted.

"Ok, once again; Open the can of soup, pour it into the saucepan, add a cap of milk, set the stove-top burner to med, place the pan on the flame and wait. I will be home for dinner shortly."

Time

2011-04-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine was at our annual campout this past weekend and he is a song writer.

It is alwasy interesting to be re-acquainted with some of the lyrics that he has written over the years. One of my favorites (others I intend to share with you over a period of TIME) is a line that contains the title of the song.

",,,Time is just a record of losses and wins, but It will all even out in the end." ,,, Louis "Buddy" Hale Jr.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, - Five Star Event

2011-04-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

Dang, I feel like ToTo riding in Dorothy’s basket. It has been hectic. I need to settle in and catch up to date with ya’ll. The Annual Angelina River Bottom Exhibition (fishing trip, remember the pirate’s chest) is this coming weekend, actually starting Friday, so I will be tied up for a few more days.

One thing that has gone on around the old house place was this weekend’s festivities. A few months back, The Boss and I were riding around after we had our breakfast at the “Egg & I” and we were talking about the holiday events where we “dote” over our girls. Then we got to talking about our “towheaded” son’s in law. I thought and eventually spoke out loud.

“I think I am gonna declare a holiday for the guys.”

She said, “What in the world are you talking about?”

“We are gonna pick out a weekend and name it Son-In-Law Day.”

“Do you think they will go for that?”

“Ain’t gonna tell ‘em about it.”

“What? You are going to just announce it and they are going to come running up just because you said so?”

“Yep, especially if we don’t tell THEM. The girls will make ‘em show up, especially if I throw in a steak or any other kind of supper.” A supper nice restaurant here called “Jakes” was the destination, so they had us a nice place for 10 prepared right on time.

I was right. They showed up just a twisting and a squirming wanting to know what is all this about. The girls didn’t even know “what” was planned.The only little surprise was that the girls didn’t let out the secret about “why” we all got together for what seemed to be no reason. I had a couple of walnut plaques made stating they were “Five Star Son in Laws” and a wooden pen set with their names lasered into them. I fixed up this declaration for a Justice of The Peace friend of mine to read but he had to change his plans so the young lady that was the hostess was “convinced to read this to the room of diners. Each one got his copy with the "officail" Red Ribbon of Authenticity on the front. The two boys just about fell out of their chairs. The fact that the girls had kept such a good secret made the whole event work, plus the fact that they are REALLY “Five Star Son-In-Laws”. The additional fact that they are afraid of me doesn’t hurt. 

Here is the Declaration “Hear Ye, Hear Ye”, and I will update tomorrow with some pics.

Write Neeeckkeeed

2011-03-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

Write Neeckked

How many times have you seen, heard, or read, “What is the most prevalent thing that you feel hinders your writing”?

The Boss tells me I say silly things to those who are asking or saying something to just make small talk. This was one of those times; I can’t find where it was but I am giving credit to The Literary Lab, in my mind; I think. They were asking for a suggestion or thought from the readers. My comment was “I need to more often write neeckkkeed”. In reality, at first, I thought I was being cute and usually I look for some kind of shocked response, but then I realized that I really felt that way. No, I don’t mean without my blue jeans. Peel away the layers of apprehension and shyness. Write what happens in the real world. I don’t always talk like what is spoken in the real world, but can I write it? I think I am suppose to, but truthfully, I don’t do that very often, if ever. I think that in order to get to the core of a topic, you have to dig through that muck and mash.

My next reaction was, “surely I am not the only one that has ever thought this”; it seems I was correct. Our local writer club, East Texas Writers’ Guild met one Monday soon after this and the agenda was to watch YouTube videos of interviews with different writers. We experienced computer problems and ended up just having an open discussion night. The next day I went to the YouTube site and searched out the interviews on my own. I remembered the interview with Anita Shreve , the author of “The Pilot’s Wife” along with many others. In one segment she is telling about writing a scene that was a little too risqué for her personal comfort. Her response to herself was, “I can’t write this way. My Daddy is going to read this.” After considering an alternative direction for a short while, she determined that the scene was important to the story so she overrode her anxiety about the scene, peeled away the “layers” and wrote the real world into the story.

Like an overweight doctor that tells me to lose weight, I sit here and preach about this as if I have “torn down that wall” and mastered this technique, when in real life, I have not. My three girls are going to read just about everything I write and so are my sisters, my nieces and nephews and maybe even a few of you, so am I going to write very Neeckkeed? Probably not. For my purposes, I don’t think I need to. I will let “Momma Lou” do all the really colorful language, but maybe I should shed a few layers and still be in line with what is called for.

Watch all parts if you have the time

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SgE8qTA5eQ&feature=related

and click each Next Part

Circle Unbroken

2011-03-23T12:50:00.000-07:00

A good while back, I posted this story and forgot about it. This Monday I went to our writers' critique meeting and I had nothing new, so I pull this one out of the pile and read it. It was interesting how there were varied opinions on the "meaning" and "direction of the story; maybe it doesn't make any sense. I thought "what the heck", I asked another writer friend to look at it and they whacked it to "smitheriens", but I like the suggestions they made. I figured that I would run it back through the ringer one more time and hopefully someone will give me their idea(s) on what the durn thing is about. sooooo.....

A Circle Unbroken aka Old Fence Post

The blue 59 Chevrolet Apache pickup easily climbed the grassy knoll looking down on the valley of the neighboring landscape. The Texas summer had been hot, way hot. He hated winter, but the tilt of the planet had finally allowed a crispness to fall upon the bristling grass. The cirrus clouds painted a giant canvas of O’keeffeian beauty in the western horizon. The panorama reflected off the polished aqua blue paint on the hood of the old truck, mirroring the picturesque light show. It would soon be dark.
Turning the key off, the six cylinder engine came to a complete stop. He just sat there listening to the crackling of the hot engine cooling down in the fall air. Reaching his arm out the window, the chrome button on the door handle easily unhooked the latch of the door; the inside latch mechanism had long been broken. The truck was old. He had actually taken his driving test forty two years earlier in this same truck. You hold onto old friends that have helped you along over the years.

That fence was not going to fix itself. Replacing a single post would hobble through the winter. He and his daddy had strung this fence when he was still in high school. Tough, but the elements and time had given it’s toll on the whole run of fence. The loamy Texas dirt was soft so digging the hole next to the existing post was finished in short order. Hammering the galvanized staples into the new post, securing the old rusty barbed wire would take very little time.

An orange ray of Texas sunset reflected off the rolled up window of the passenger door on to the old dilapidated post. The smooth decades-old surface was cracked and splintered. The barbed wire had left scars and discoloring up and down its torso. Still upright, the Old Codger like post had served its intention well.

With a grunt and a shuffle, he clawed around behind the seat and finally found his fencing pliers. Grabbing the head of the long since rusted staples, he gave each one a twist and a pull. The evening wind let out a sigh of relief as the wires dangled free from its crimped existence With a “whoomp“, the new post found its new footing; it was ready to take over in this relay of performance. Three whacks each on the wire strands and the new staples were set to hold. Throwing the pliers back under the seat, he stopped and looked at the old post. Working it forward and sideways, soon the dirt had loosened around the footing. The post landed with a clatter in the bed of the truck. You don’t just throw away something that has helped you along over the years.

Darkness was winning the battle. He glanced at the empty hole. Not sure if you make a sound if no one is there to hear you, but the old codger spoke with a chuckle,

“That’s a hell‘uva note”, when you’re finished as a fence post they take you out of a hole and put you in one when you start out”.

“Sounds kinda backerds to me”

“Old Blue“ roared to life the instant he touched the starter button.

Where Ya'll Been ?

2011-03-17T09:24:00.000-07:00

Where Ya’ll been? Me ? I have been in “Rehab”. Yep, I seem to be susceptible to addictions lately. Some of you have read my earlier post.

http://glnroz33.blogspot.com/2011_02_01_archive.html

This time, I have been hooked on “crack”. The lure and latch was almost unbreakable but I did it. “Word Crack”. My oldest daughter kept on at me to read a series of books that she had read. She had finished the first two and was forced to go in the middle of the night and buy the third one- right then and there. I thought, “ye’uh another bunch of those vampire monster books that ain’t got one line of reality in ‘em. Then The Boss started in on me after she read them. Then there you have the youngest daughter; she’s read ‘em. I am not sure about the middle daughter. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, you would sooo like these books.” I ain’t got a chance when they gang up. I was caught up and finished with the couple of books I had been reading so I snuck around and started the first one without telling anyone. This way I could say, “I tried reading those danged things but just couldn’t get into the first one.” You have to think ahead with all these women telling me what to do; they know me better than I know myself, reckon? “W O R D C R A C K”. For the past couple of weeks I have been hooked on these durned books.

The main character (heroine) is a 17 year old girl. I almost stopped when I discovered this. They didn’t tell me this with all their sales pitches. I read on a little further. “Hunger Games” is a shallow, fast moving , and have to say, inspiring read. It is pretty confined to the main character throughout the book. “Catching Fire” is a continuing saga but it changes gears and keeps you thinking because it has its own identity. The final book, “Mockingjay”, is a final wrap up of the various obstacles that were created in the first two books with adding a few of its own. These were a definite surprise to me. I am still wondering what it was that made these books so appealing to an Old Codger like me.

The thing that amazes me is that the characters and plot did not take on the feeling of what I imagined would be for the intended age group and market audience. I have finished with these, but I am not sure “Katniss Everdeen” is finished.

I Kinda Feel - "NEGLECT" in My Efforts

2011-03-08T09:01:00.000-08:00

If ya have a chance, just give a quick WATCH

http://news.yahoo.com/video/omaha-ketv-18230073/girl-keeps-new-year-s-resolution-one-good-deed-per-day-24439740

Education - Farm Style

2011-03-03T09:52:00.000-08:00

Growing up, Timmy Ray lived out in the country. It ain’t like that was anything special, it was just that everyone we knew lived out in the country. You get a different look at life living out in the country and along with that sometimes a different approach to education.

Everybody played at everyone’s house. Everybody was part of everyone’s family. This was also the case when it came to meal time, if you happened to be at a friend’s. It was pretty much understood that if you were there you were invited.

Timmy Ray had two brothers and a sister. Timmy Ray was the oldest, next was Bobby Jack. Jackson was his real middle name, named after his Momma’s Daddy, but no one ever called him that. Willie Bob, actually William Robert as his full name was shorted the day he was born. He was the youngest boy and he told everyone his name was “Damit”. His Daddy said that it was because he was always hollering at the boy to do different things.

“Damn it, get that firewood box filled up in yonder in the kitchen. Damn it, get cleaned up for supper.” He would end up being called by that clear on up through his old age. Myrtle Faye was the baby. She was ruient rotten.

“Ya’ll get on in hen’uh now, get cleaned up and get somethin’ to eat.” We didn’t waste any time. Their Momma could cook like nothing else. They had a garden so the table was always set with a lot of different foods, in the springtime. Cornbread and fresh cow’s milk to round it all off. None of us wanted to be the last one in. Everyone had their regular spot and I got down next to Willie Bob. He was on the end of the bench next to Bobby Jack.

Their Daddy was what seemed to be a reasonable man but always came across a little “gruff”. He cussed a lot. One thing he always did was say the “Blessin’” before the first biscuit was bit. Immediately after “Amen”, their Momma passed the plate of hot fried chicken and everyone took a piece and the Daddy asked, “What vegetables ya’ll want?”

Timmy Ray, being the oldest spoke up first. “Can I have some of them damn mashed taters?”

There was not even a pause. The Daddy rared back and with a long sweeping stoke, bounced his massive hand off the top of Timmy Ray’s head. It was not that hard but Timmy Ray’s head jumped forward with enough force that he spit out his first bite of a chicken leg. Nobody said anything or even moved. After what seemed like five minutes the Daddy spoke.

“Bobby Jack, how ‘bout you, whad you want?”

“Well---may I PLEASE ,, have some of them damn potatoes?”

Like lightning, “whack”, a knuckle sandwich bounced off the top of his head. Bobby Jack had already swallowed his first bite of fried chicken. I am looking back and forth at the different choices. It would soon be my turn to ask. Another long silent pause was settling around the table Myrtle Sue was pointing at Bobby Jack with one hand and stifling a giggle with her other hand over her mouth. Maybe I will have green beans.

“Willie Bob?” The Daddy was looking at him with a sideways glance. He didn’t say anything else. You could see look of concentration on Willie Bob’s face. Finally he spoke.

“Well Daddy, I don’t know for sure, but you can pretty much bet your sweet ass I don’t want none of them damn mashed potatoes!”

I became educated, that instant. I grabbed a piece of cornbread and headed for the house.

Now What?

2011-03-02T06:54:00.000-08:00

It ain’t just me that says “I am too old to change my routine and way of thinking”. A lot of people say that about me. Oh, don’t take up for me, I like it that way, but I am a reasonable person. I will listen; up to a point.

I am a traditionalist. A week ago last Saturday, The Boss and I went to a high class restaurant for lunch. Actually it was Chic-fil-a, but the food and service is always great. As we were driving out of the parking lot, a young girl was being escorted across the pavement to their awaiting four wheel drive pickup. (It is a law in Texas that says you have to have a least one pickup in the family. ) They continued on to the passenger side of the pickup and he opened the door and she climbed (literally) into the cab. Cars were lined up behind our van but I stopped and put the gear shift leaver into park.

“Oh Lord, what is it now?” The Boss was looking around with a look of concern before looking back at me.

I opened the door and stepped out of the van.

“Hey Dude, I appreciate you opening that door for that little ole girl. You don’t see that much now days. Keep on doin’ that.” By that time, The Boss had gotten over her worry that I had been overtaken by a fit of parking lot rage and she figured out what I was talking about. Not wanting to be outdone, (The Boss has learn to come out of her shell over the years) she rolled down her window and put in her “two cents” worth.”

“Yes, thank you. She appreciates that and you both will in the long run.”

Both the kids were looking at us like two old people that had wandered away from “the home” but he finally acknowledged us.

“Uhh, Ok, sure, ya’ll are welcome.” Both of them gave a timid wave and he walked around and got into the driver’s side.

What does this have to do with the VIDEO on this post? Well, it is a stretch, but it has to do with my old fashion traditional habits. The Boss and all the Young’uns have Kindles. They all have tried to talk me into letting them get ME one of those things. I like “books”; kraft paper, soft cover, hardcover, new, used, paper dust-sneezing, dog eared “Books”. BUT, times are changing.

I know that, but none of this started out to be about me. I saw an article on the Huffington Post and I went to YouTube to get the video and I thought about a lot of “You” out there, who at one time or another has talked (grumbled) about how hard it is to get published. I watched the video and wondered that I may be too strict with my old ideas about books and the publishing industry. I suppose that I started with this hobby so much later in life than most of you folks, that I don’t spend a whole lot of time, or any, thinking about getting some of this junk I write published, but in true reality, I have always been in favor of innovation of most any kind.

Watch this short news clip. I found it inspiring in that I have always enjoyed working with people and watching them improve and move forward toward goals they have set for themselves. I haven’t done much research on the “how to” part of this new approach but it is worth, In My Book,- a look.

A Tale of Intervention, Maybe, I Don't Know

2011-02-25T15:18:00.000-08:00

There is a TV show; INTERVENTION. I watch the TV show; INTERVEVTION. I don’t know why, perhaps I thought it would teach me to watch out for the warning signs; it did not.

How could I have know that it would start with just a “taste”, hardly noticeable, but yet noticed.

“I don’t know, I am not sure this is a good idea”. I spoke, in reality, to myself. No one else could hear me. The room was empty.

I had only seen this done. How does one know that you are doing it right, being sure not to injure yourself or cause any other harm.

I though; perhaps I should wait. Wait until I can get someone to instruct me on the proper technique. Surely there is a right and wrong way. Besides, you hear all the horror stories of over indulgence. But, I had always been able to grab hold of loose handles and repair the implement. This shouldn’t be that hard. Besides, it is just a “taste” – that’s all –just this once.

“You’re right. Remember when you were able to quit the smokeless tobacco- for fifteen years, then slipped back and had to quit again? This won’t be anything near as tough as that. You only paced the floors at night for six months. How could this be tougher than that to handle?” Where was that voice coming from?

The tightening of my arm was uncomforting. This was a new path. This was not something that, as a tow-head boy running loose in the woods of a rural Texas countryside, had “dreams” about when he grew up.

“Just do it. Are you going to write a story about it first?” I have got to find out where that voice is coming from.

“What I need, perhaps instead of this, is a cold bottle of water. I don’t know if I need it to drink or pour over my head.” Now I am talking out loud. I had the “cotton mouth”. That’s where you can’t spit or swallow and the roof of your mouth feels like grade school glue. This is stupid

“Do it.”

They say that you can tell you are hooked on something if you wonder if you will be able to get your hands on you next fix even before your mind tells you that you need it. I will be able to tell-surely. There are hundreds of documented cases of addiction. Few, if any, are recovered.

“Do it.”

Everyone does this, at least sometimes. Don’t they? Why am I fighting this so hard? It is not a big deal and I have read that it can give you all kinds of sensations and enjoyment. Can it?

“Do it.”

I can feel my pulse quicken. I know that I have decided, or have I? Yes, I have, I think so.

“Do it.”

Will I be able to put this Genie back in the bottle?

“Who care, just do it.”

OK, this is it. I need to get all these contradicting voices out of my head. I suppose I will know on the other side of these questions.

“Do it.”

“OK, to heck with the risks Ok.”

“Then just DO IT – NOW”

With a deep breath, I held it inside until my ears were about to burst.

“I don’t know. I can stop this before I get started with this.”

“I said DO IT.”

I saw the target area. Eyes wide open so I could see what was going to start happen and then – I did it.

I DID IT
click

$53.50 Plus Loose Change Back in the Bottle

2011-02-21T15:06:00.000-08:00

Read Whitney's comment ( last one ) from the picture blog. This is not where I initially headed but that'll work..:)

Part of My Day, today

2011-02-11T13:53:00.000-08:00

What goes through you mind when you first glance at this photo?

Rexall Recollections

2011-02-01T12:48:00.000-08:00

Thank goodness I am on the tale end of a bad cold. The Boss has done real good with putting up with it. I may have even worn out the sympathy card. Advances in medicine have developed techniques of reattaching severed limbs, organ transplants, and I have even seen a picture where a lab rat had a cloned human ear growing on its back. (Now that was gross) Why is it that if we go to the doctor with a terrible case of a “bad cold”, all we hear is “drink lots of liquids, take Tylenol and give me 93.74 (ninety three dollars and seventy four cents). Now doesn’t that make you feel all better now, but “show me the cure”. I borrowed that last tag line from Wendy’s but changed it up a bit.

We are bracing for a cold front to come through later today, but it is here a little early. After the same old "bring in pizza" and stretching out with the paper towel ottoman routine, I thought back to that old wood heater.

One weekend, long ago, my Grandma and Aunt came to visit us and it had just come a big cold spell. Daddy had the old wood heater roaring full force and it was a puffing and heaving to get more air. The front had a round snout with little triangular vent windows, three of them, and they were flared wide open. Sort of put in mind of a jack-o-lantern except there were two eyes, a nose but no mouth, all glowing hellish orange drawing deep breaths in order to feed the flames.

Aunt Sybil had three boys at the time but I can only remember one being there. John Wayne, my cousin, and I both had bad colds. The day had worn on and something was said about “doctoring” our colds before they had to leave. John Wayne being the oldest got to go first. Aunt Sybil had John Wayne stand next to the heater and open his mouth for his first “dose”. Several drops of coal oil (kerosene) was dripped onto a round tablespoon of sugar and stuck into John Wayne’s open mouth.

“John Wayne, take that now. I ain’t got all day.” Her voice sounded suspiciously as if this might not be the end of it.

“Unnnnaahhh.” John Wayne tried to shake his head no.

“Close that mouth.”

Eyes closed tight and a big frown, he made loose with a little foot stomping dance, but swallowed his “medicine.”

“Now open up again.”

I guess he thought I was going to somehow save him as he cut his eyes over at me, but I wasn’t going to step in. Heck, he was older than me, he was on his own. With a defeated look he finished his dance and stood back beside the heater and opened his mouth for continued administration of his cure.

“Where’s the Vicks Salve?” Aunt Sybil looked over at Daddy but still keeping one eye on John Wayne as Daddy handed her the blue jar with the green top. With one swift motion, she spun the top off, dipped in with her finger and withdrew a glob of the translucent wonder salve.

“Stick out your tongue.” A quick swipe and the vaporous glob disappeared into John Wayne’s mouth. The dance regained its momentum. He had been “doctored”.

Now it was my turn. I didn’t figure I would get the same prescription because both of those treatments were totally new to me. I had a pretty good idea of the trail I was fixing to hike. Daddy had already fashioned something that looked like a bib. Well, I guess it was a bib; a square piece of cloth, about the size of a wash cloth, torn from an old sheet. Two torn strips of the sheet were tied to corners of the bib, making tie string to hold it around my neck. A liberal amount of the Vicks Salve was smeared over one surface of the bib and held close to the huffing heater to help “activate” its healing power.

“Get over here, Boy.” I knew from the sideways grin there wasn’t any room for foolishness so I turned away from the heater and the gooey side of the “plaster” was stuck to my chest. The vapors jumped straight up into my nasal passages. The warmth and sensation was a surprising relief from the cold air. The good part was over. Out comes the dreaded yellow box; the notorious Black Draught, pronounced “black-draw”, such a fitting title. Black Draught is supposedly a nature herb product. It is ground up leaves of some sort that look like sage with the same taste except mix in a little bit of creosote and dried goat dung and I think you just about have it. A heaping teaspoon, or larger depending on size and age, is taken dry but immediately “chased” with some form of large volume liquid; and wait. If you believe in the “flushing” of poison from you system, this is your ticket. Now, I was doctored.

I don’t know if all that worked but we did get over our colds at some point. I am not sure but probably this method of treatment is just an old country unproven remedy. Now that I am all grown up and moved out of that hand hewn log cabin and live in modern civilization, I am sure that type of treatment is just a lot of foolery. But you know what, I kind of like the smell of Vicks Salve. Truthfully, I have a jar on my night stand. The Boss sometimes tells me that it reminds me of her mother. Actually, I sometimes use it for lip balm or other purposes, I know it probably doesn’t work but I like the smell but I really hate getting tangled up in those danged tie straps around my neck.

We are What We Read

2011-01-30T11:12:00.000-08:00

We are what we read. First of all, I Thank Jerry from Gently Said
http://www.gentlysaid.blogspot.com/ who a couple of weeks ago posted a blurb about “The Momma Lou’s Diaries”. He included a quick link to jump directly to my post. The result was that I had more page visits than any other post that I had written. Thanks Jerry.

I was sitting at Starbucks this morning, reading the “news” and pretty soon I was thinking about a list of things that aggravated me. It seems that you can’t even go to Wendy’s without the possibility of having an all out brawl over French fries or Diet Coke. It goes on and on. This is a bunch of ba-lon-iiee, so I clicked over to my Blog Dashboard and started scrolling down the list of the people that I follow. Everyone on my list rolled through my mind like a Rollodex and each elevated my “happy thermometer”. Sometimes it seems that the happy catalysts are taken for granted and soon we are reading the opposite.

To each, I extend a Thank You. I plan to continue on both reading and posting, but I wanted to share this thought before I get back in line for a refill. Dorky you say? Ok,,,so what.

HELP, I need HELP!!

2011-01-25T13:42:00.000-08:00

Will someone ( If you can) please try to expalin this and ,,, well I am at a loss of how this gets on the air and a lot of other "stuff" gets canned.

http://tv.yahoo.com/blog/jersey-shore-will-spend-season-4-in-italy--2176

Whadd Ya Reckon That Is?

2011-01-20T07:24:00.000-08:00

The split rail gate gave out a crash that sounded like a clap of thunder as it slammed against the latch post.

“Dusty, all the horses have been rounded up after that horse thief tried to sell them off in Abilene .” The sun was touching the horizon as they both walked back into the bunkhouse, ready to eat some chow and get ready for a new day tomorrow.

“Now, go get in that bed, Boy. We both have a big day tomorrow.”

In the morning they were going to the river and set out some hooks. Listening to the Daddy read the pulp fiction western book had made the Boy tired and relaxed. His imagination followed every move Dusty had made chasing those horse thieves down and getting the herd of horses back to the ranch. It was time to hit the bunkhouse. Standing in front of the steel wood burning heater, one body side would get warm while the other side got cold. The secret was to turn slowly and evenly warm all sides. All toasty, it was a short run and jump across the unfinished wooden floor boards. Years of wear had rubbed the surface to a butter slick finish. The bed springs let out a creak and groan as the Boy came crashing down and scooted under the covers. The Daddy reached up and turned the switch that “cut out” the single hundred watt light bulb that hung at the end of a cloth braided electrical wire. The room went pitch black and then slowly the red glow of the coals, peeking through the damper holes in the front of the heater, radiated a warm orange glow throughout the “house” part of the log cabin.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“What are they gonna do with that horse thief?”

“Boy, get quiet and go to sleep. You ain’t gonna want to get up in the morning.”

“OK”

I still believe one of the most relaxing sounds is the sound of fire burning. The crackling and the sudden flare of light as the wood opens up and falls into smaller chunks of embers. The metal wood stove was working its magic.

“Daddy.”

“What, Boy?”

“Did you throw Tom any scraps out after supper?” Tom was an old three footed tom cat that stayed around the place. He had come up and half of his left leg was missing. The Daddy said that it looked as if he had got it caught in a pretty good sized trap and the trap either cut it off or the cat chewed it off in order to free himself from it.

“Yes, why?”

“I thought I heard him squealing out in front of the porch.”

“Yep, but that ain’t Tom. I have been listening too and it ain’t Tom. It is too loud.”

It started as a deep rumble that sounded like rocks being rolled around in a hollow log, and as it continued, the sound changed into a high pitch screech that echoed across the creek branch and traveled on across the iron ore gravel road and up into The Mountain. The first volley was followed by a second, maybe louder, and then-quiet.

“Daddy, what is that racket?”

“I reckon it might be The Black Panther.”

For many years there had been stories about a black panther that roamed the river bottoms and back woods of the northern part of the country. No one had actually verified they had seen the animal. The stories were consistent in the fact there were a lot of “almost” sightings. Daytime seemed to quell the roaming of the panther. Nighttime was when it seems to emerge. One such story, a local resident was camping in the bottom and as he was coming back toward the camp from running his hooks, he heard something stalking him. As he hastened his pace so would the noise. Finally he took out in a dead run but could still hear the underbrush thrashing behind him even though he was gaining speed. He carried a two shot 32 caliber derringer pistol and he fired both barrels over his shoulder without turning to see his target. The noise stopped and when he got back to camp, it was quiet for the rest of the night. In the light of morning he retraced his trail and saw drops of blood in what he thought was the area where he fired the shots, but there was no animal.

“Will he get us?” The boy found little comfort in being inside the cabin. He had heard all the stories way before now.

“Naw, I don’t reckon. It probably smells those pork chop bones I threw out for Old Tom.”

Another blood curdling scream ripped through the night and the Daddy jumped up and flipped the switch that turned on the light for the front porch. The single shot shotgun was resting on two 16 penny nails driven into the wall over the front door. He reached and brought the gun down and took the grocery sack paper plug from the barrel. Dirt daubers can ruin a resting shotgun. A quick flick and a new shell was dropped into the chamber and the breach closed.

“Boy, light your lantern.”

A quick stroke of a kitchen match on the hot heater and the red coal oil lantern was lit.

“Now get behind me. I’m fixin’ to open the door and look outside.” For once the Boy didn’t argue.

“Hey.” The Daddy’s voice carried out into the darkness beyond the porch light. “Hen’ugh, whuoo, whuoo.”

Nothing, and then a low slight rumble.

“Get on outta hen’ugh, fore I load you up with this shotgun.” Quite again. The Boy holding tight to his position with white knuckles holding the wire bail of the coal oil lantern; a feeling of excitement in the place of fear. “Hand me you lantern, Boy.”

“What ya gonna do with it. You ain’t going out there and leave me in here, are you?”

“Naw, I’m gonna put it out on the edge of the porch. That panther won’t like the smell of coal oil burning so he will stay away. I reckon he is already gone back down in the creek bottom.” After lowering the wick and setting back the flame, he place the little red lantern at the front edge of the porch and put the four hundred and ten shotgun back over the door.

“Come here, Boy. Let me show you something.” Sunlight was streaming through the single window behind the wood stove. There was yet a smell of breakfast but morning was in full swing.

The area directly in front of the porch was a barren spot where rain washed sandy soil down from the hill and collected in a spot about twelve fee square. Right at the edge was a print, a big print. The soft and damp dirt had maintained its shape from the previous night when the animal was standing in front of the log cabin. The Daddy held his fingers outstretched with his hand hovering about the paw print. His hand could barely cover the print.

“He was a big’un. I reckon it was The Black Panther. I wish I could of got a good look at ‘em, he was a big ‘un.” The Boy could tell his Daddy was excited. “I’m gonna take this empty coffee-can and put over it so it will stay awhile until I can show folks what came to see us last night.” The old style coffee-can barely covered the track. Each time someone stopped by to see the track, everyone would start with the tales they had heard over the years. Many times the can was removed and replaced to preserve the event. Eventually the can went into the garbage heap. The print faded back into nature but the memory of the event is as fresh as the coffee that was new in that can.

“Daddy, how come you didn’t shoot that panther when you went on the front porch, that time?” The Boy now older than The Daddy of that night was running the scene through his mind.

“I was set to, if I needed to. I wasn’t going to let you be in danger, but it turned that out I didn’t have to shoot ‘em. You take something like that now, nobody heard tell that The Panther jumped on anybody. There were tales of coming close, maybe. Set your ground and hold it but if you ain’t pushed, let it be. If you’re pushed, make a good solid move. The Panther didn’t push. “

Does The Black Panther still roam the river bottoms and backwoods? Don’t ask me. Ask other folks, I know what they will tell you.

"How is the Light?"

2011-01-13T13:33:00.000-08:00

I have never been to your place. I have been to a lot of places. Even though I may not know where I am at times, I know where once I was.

I took a trip today. A danged “cold” has been kicking my rear end for about a week now. Today at lunch after eating a quick couple pieces of takeout pizza, I took an old empty box in which our new fax machine came shipped and placed a roll of paper towels on top. I had constructed a perfect ottoman. Lights off and my space heater a’hummin , I was set; I left town.

This is how I write these silly stories. To me, it is like watching an old movie. The scenes start with an opening and then play themselves out in different directions. Sometimes I have to hit the replay button just like on the DVD remote and go in a different direction, but most of the time I let it take its own path of least resistance. I have found it a little unusual since I have been aware of how this works its way through, because the trip wants to start with a straight ladder back chair with a woven rope bottom. There were two of them, but one stayed in the lean to kitchen. This one stayed in the “house”, which is the main room of the structure. You can tell this is the main room because this is where the heater is; sitting right in front of the window. An oval shaped metal wood burning heater with a six inch thin wall blue metal smoke stack that started up toward the ceiling and then made a ninety degree turn toward this only window in the “house”. One of the window lights (pane) had been removed and an exact size sheet of metal had been fastened in its place. A hole, the size of the smoke pipe’s diameter had been cut in the center of this piece of metal to serve as an insulator for the hot stove pipe. A short horizontal run and another ninety degree turn of the pipe straight up and the smoke and vent problem was solved. The “house” chair rested to the left side of the heater. I suppose the light was better because the window would be over the left shoulder and this is where Daddy would sit and read pulp fiction western books after supper while I made “busy” with my “doings”. Many years of handling that chair with calloused hands had rubbed its unpainted surface to a mirror smooth finish. The pine trees outside the window would dance in its own reflection off the flat surfaces of the ladder-stay back supports when the light was just right. I seldom, if ever, remember when the light wasn’t just right.

Heat and light seem to attract life. It pulls your attention toward its energy and then gives it back to you. To me, there are many trips originating from that heater and small one hundred watt light bulb. This has not been the trip I took when today I put my feet up on that homemade ottoman, but as I alluded in some form or another, it started here. Where, often determines in which direction our journey begins and how or where it ends. Those trips will be forthcoming , if the light is just right and I seldom, if ever, remember when the light wasn’t just right.

My infant bathtub, salvaged from the era.

Momma Lou Diaries - "It'll Be Aw'right Honey"

2011-01-10T14:44:00.000-08:00

"It'll Be Aw'right Honey"

Sometimes we see what we ain’t seeing. Now that makes perfect sense if you can see what I am saying. See what I mean? One thing that is easy to see is that when something needs tending to my sisters and I are quick to jump in and help one another out. What ain’t easy to see, sometimes, is what is being helped.

Daddy, also known as Paw Paw, depending on who read what and when, and where while I was writing about him, was spending a few days in the hospital for some tests. It was one of those trips that didn’t require any of us to “sit up” with him all night, but the three sisters and I had been there a few hours and visiting hours were about over. Any one of us has ever been bad to miss an opportunity to gather up and go out to eat at some restaurant, so we decided that a local Denny’s type place would fit our needs. It really didn’t matter much because we didn’t have much to choose from in the small town.

It was kind of late spring, maybe getting close to summer and the temperature was mild that night. I remember all this because this is the weather where my standard fashion attire is a jungle shirt and cargo shorts. I don’t like being bound up in warm weather. It had slacked off raining a little bit but it had been raining for days. The stormy part of spring had passed and these were what we called early summer “shauers”. The water could soak in the ground before it ran off to the ditches and low places. St. Augustine grass especially loves lots of water. It makes their “shoots” run wild and spread along the top of loose sandy East Texas dirt. The grass was happy because the ground was saturated.

My sisters are loud, particularly Momma Lou. Well her name is Brenda Lou so you can see the connection. She and the other two were standing in the lobby and had been waiting for the rain to let up. I think it was Mary Ann, who said,

“Carolyn Mae, why don’t me and you ride together down to The Star grill and Glenn Bert can bring Brenda Lou with him.”

I didn’t want to bother all the sick folks with any other commotion and I was ready to get out of there so no one would have any further suggestions. Mary Ann and Carolyn Mae took off and I stuck my head back in Paw Paw’s room for a last check to make sure he was doing all right. In that couple of minutes the dad gum rain started back up and Brenda Lou was hollering about “let’s go.” She is loud a plenty and she loves to laugh. I have never seen anyone who got any more enjoyment out of a loud laugh than Momma Lou.

“Come on, get your ass in gear. I don’t want to get drowned.” She was holding the lobby door open while standing out in the covered breeze way.

“Aw’right, you stay here under the awning and I will go get the car. I will run down there so I won’t get wet.”

“You take all night, but you’re gonna get your ass wet.”

“No, I ain’t. I’m fixin’ to be quick about it.”

The sidewalk ran next to the driveway down to the asphalt parking lot. It was forty or fifty yards from the covered awning to the edge of the parking lot and the car was only one row past that so this was going to be a snap. It was going downhill at a pretty steep decline and this was going to work in my favor. Sometimes, here in East Texas, in the blink of a eye a down pour will just fall out of the sky. This was one of those times. Almost instantly, the side walk was a small river about two inches deep but there was a patch of St. Augustine grass between the sidewalk and the brick wall of the hospital.

“You’re gonna get drenched,” laughed Momma Lou. She was already wound up and excited to see me have to run through that river of rain water. There ain’t nothing she likes better than to see me have to wiggle out of a tight spot.

“Hell no, I ain’t even gonna get my feet wet. I am gonna stay on the grass.” I took off hell bent for which a way. Once upon a time I ran track and could keep a pretty strong stride. This was going to be a breeze.

“Watch this.”

Spitter spatter, spitter spatter

“Ohhhh Sheeeeeee- eeeiiiittt!” About the fifth step, I hit a soggy spot. It was ok with me that my tennis shoe went out of sight down into the mud but it didn’t hang tight. I gave it the gas with that foot before it had time to sink further into the Texas mud. Equal and opposite reaction, I know, but what happens if there is no friction. My leg shot backward and my body kept its journey forward. Off balance I took another step and my legs finally got back under my ass but they forgot to stop their and suddenly they were out front. No don’t fall backwards on your butt! My mind was screaming silent coaching tips to my torso.

“EEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHaaaaaaaEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHaaaaaaa!” Momma Lou lit up the rainy dark sky. She was going to get a show. She sounded like a siren.

Slow down feet. Let my lard ass catch up and balance out. I ant’t falling flat of my back. Ahh , here we go, straight upright again.

“WoooooHHHOOOOOO Haaaaaaaaa.” Momma Lou was about to lose her breath. “HHHHEEEEE,,,ArrrkkkArrrrkkHHarrrkkkkk, Cough Cough,,, EEEEEEEAAAAAAAaaaaa!”

Come on feet, extra push here.

Right foot, extra thrust, this was going to work. Leg muscles gliding like a well oiled machine, it started on its backward journey. See, I told you this would work. My right leg now fully extended rearward; my left one hesitated. My body’s algebraic formula was somehow out of equilibrium. My upper body was still headed way to forward. It was inevitable, I was headed earthward; the question was, how am I going to be graceful about this?

I suppose every kid has had or wanted one of those lawn water “slicky slides”. I never had one of those but it always seemed like it would be fun. Now was the time to try out my technique. I was already headed forward and it was simply a case of assuming the Super Man stance with hands extended forward and jump. The ground was soft and the mud was “slicky” and downhill. My forward speed caused the splash to be minimal but the hyrofication and saturation of the St. Augustine grass covered soil permitted the maximum speed of my forward progress. Water and mud was spraying to each side looking like that antique Chris Craft speed boat cutting thought the waves at Lake Forest Park Lake. Two different times I had to wipe the mud from my glasses because I knew there was a concrete parking bumper at the end of my runway and I wanted to see what might happen. The hedge bushes were flying by like a picket fence. I once thought that I would reach out and grab one for braking purposes but I had to wipe my glasses again.

Whhoooooohhhoooooooo HHHHaaaaaHHHeeeeeee Hhhheeeeeeeeeee,,,, Shhhheeeeeeiiiiuuuuuttt. Momma Lou was coming unlatched. What the ffffffuuuuhhhhhhhheeeeeeee Heeeeeee… OOOhhhhh myyyyyy Loooooorrrrrddddyyyy.

I ain’t never going to live this down. Where the hell is that parking bumper? Oh, there it is. Spit, spit, spit. Damn mud. I should be slowing down by now. Picket fence Picket fence. I am headed right toward that parking bumper. Dig in with your left toe. I was talking to myself now, but I did just that; works just like a boat rudder, I was veering to the left.

“Goooooo Glenn Bert, you silly shit.”, OOOhhhhhhhh hhhehh Heeeeeee.

I stopped. The black asphalt and concrete parking bumper gave my hands a firm foundation in order to stand myself up right. I slowly cleaned my glasses with my finger one more time as I turned and looked back up the hill to where Momma Lou was standing. She was leaning over with her arms and face resting on a brick wall that bordered the covered area. I could hear here spewing and huffing from all the way where I stood. She looked up just in time for me to flash the international hand sign for “I ain’t happy” and after catching a quick breath, put her head back down on her arms and continued with her wailing. I turned and headed for the car.

“It’s aw’right Honey. It aint as bad as it seems right now.” Momma Lou had gained a supporter. An elderly gentleman walked outside from the lobby and came across a scene of wailing and carrying on like he had never seen or heard tell of. He was surely anguished by the misfortune that had fallen upon Momma Lou. It wasn’t Momma Lou’s misfortune that had come crashing down, but she was having a hell’uv a time trying to get the nice man to understand just what the predicament was.

Wheezing, “Ohhh my Gauwddddd, Ohh me. I can’t breathe. Lorrddyyy help me breath.”

“Oh Honey, just try to relax, I promise it will turn out better than you think.”

“Nooo Nooo,” with a limp wrist wave of her arm and partially extended pointing finger she tried in vain to give the nice gentleman an idea of the calamity.

“Oh yes, tomorrow the sun will bring a brighter and better day.” With hands clasped and a most solemn look, he stood as a picture book perfect statue of concern and caring.

Through streaming tears a quizzical response, “ what the h…” Heeeyyyyyyaaaahhh shheeeeaaaattt… pointing was being wasted.

“Oh myyyy you poor thing.”

In all honesty I have never seen more concern on the face of an individual. I think he would have been taken from us himself if I had not pulled up into the covered area of the drive way at that very moment.

“Get your butt in the car.” I pushed open the passenger car door and Momma Lou fell into the front seat, heaving and gasping for air.

“Ohhhh Myyyy,, hehehehe, wadden gonna get wet. AAAahhhhmmmeee.”

A look of confusion overtook the sympathetic and caring stranger.

“Shut the door, and don’t you go telling Mary and Carolyn about this, act like nothing ever happened.”

I shouldn’t have said that. As I “peeled” away into the night, the windows of that 1983 Chevrolet Caprice rattled for fifteen solid minutes and she ain’t let me forget this episode ‘till yet.

Good "News" , for a change..

2010-12-29T06:10:00.000-08:00

See? News ain't all bad.....

Another Calendar Page To Tear....

2010-12-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

It is just about time to tear off the last calendar page for the year. I want to thank everyone for their kind comments and their hospitality in letting me browse their thoughts by reading your blog posts throughout the past year. My wish is that everyone to be as fortunate as I have been over the years and perhaps years to come. In this fortune, you all have been an added ingredient. I wish to each and all a happy, merry, fun, and fortunate "this time of year", but for me, to all of you. (Ya'll),,,

Merry Christmas

Write With Pictures - Prompt

2010-12-21T13:48:00.000-08:00

Write with picture is a great Blog-Site. I enjoy it because of the group or team participation. No FanFare here, just jump over and particpate.

http://writewithpictures.blogspot.com/

Ms. Kelli works hard and does an exceptional job but she could use more folks to make it "funner".
This is my Quick Write for the picture prompt for Tuesday.

Photo by Dan

San Antone Rose

Deep within my heart…lies a meellll ohh deee

A song of old San Annnn-tonnne.

The stone bridge arches across the San Antonio River the same since the WPA days. As kids, my sister and I would play down on the River Walk just before dark and watch all the couples walk hand in hand along the shallow waterway. History has a way of adding to the flavor of new beginnings. The mating dances were hardly notice by us two youngsters, more interested with catching frogs.

Where in dreams I liiiiiivvee with a meeem –ooh-riii

Beneath the stars all alone.

Future trips while visiting my Aunt’s brought greater insight and pages of the calendar. The river stayed the same but the participants were more of the equation. There seemed to be less interest in catching frogs, and fireflies. Glances and subtle waves were too much of a distraction.

It was there I found beside the Al-a-mo

En-chant-ment strange as the blue up above.

A moon-lit pass that only she would know,

Still hears my broken song of love.

But weekend visits pass quickly and the mist of memory can grow thin. Thoughts of next summer faded until time drew nearer for the next journey of another visit. The old saying “Take you eye of the prize, it will disappear” has a lot of truth to it. Standing alone silently under the stone arch peering to the far bank of the river, a Texas Swing Band was sashshaying through the Bob Wills hit of 1944.

Moon in all you splendor, know only my heart;

Call back Rose, Rose of San An-tone.

Lips so sweet and tender, like petals falling apart

Speak once a-again of my looovee, my own.

A broken-song, empty words I know

Still live in my heart all a-lone.

For the moon-lit pass by the Aall-a mo,

And Rose, my Rose of San Annn-tone.

Italicized Words and Music by Bob Wills 1944

Fun Challenge from "The Literary Lab"

2010-12-08T08:21:00.000-08:00

Domey for over at "The Literary Lab", sent out an invite for a One Sentence Story UN-challenge.

http://literarylab.blogspot.com/2010/12/charlies-one-sentence-story-uncontest.html

This is a fun site if you haven't visited. I thought what the heck and sent in my one sentence novel. lol

photo credit from

http://www.farmerswife.blogspot.com/

http://athomewiththefarmerswife.blogspot.com/

The slap of the rickety screen door, like a starting pistol, signaled the race for life as he left the old farm house for the last time.

Thanks I think I Needed That

2010-12-06T08:49:00.000-08:00

I would like to thank Ms. Suzyhazye over at "Tales of Extraordinary Ordinariness" for coming back with her recipes. (and her other writings).

http://www.suzyhayze.blogspot.com/

Ya see I am wayyyy tooo bigggg a fan of homemade bread. This was my second attempt at her "Beer Bread Recipe", although the first one turned out ok too. It is so simple even an ole caveman codger like me can do it. I won't repost the "how to's" but it is only a short hop over to her site and see the post if you missed it. I used Dundee's Honey Brown Beer and it gave it a "sweet whang", which was just ok with me. The only thing I changed is that I used mini-loaf pans, which made two small loaves. I bought these pans because my little grandson luvvvvvssss bread and i wanted him to have his very own. Give it a try..

I SA-idd It Wuz the Guv'ner

2010-12-01T08:53:00.000-08:00

I Said It Was The Guv’ner

Being vocal is an understatement when referring an older sister who is the youngest of three girls. But to tell the truth, it sort of runs in the whole family. From here on and in other cases you will know her as “Momma Lou”. That’s what her herd of grand-young’uns call her. She likes to do, what we pronounce down here as “arr-gee”. She’s gonna do her dangdest to have the last word, but this story is only partially about Momma Lou.

“No, Momma Lou, it didn’t happen that way. I was not even there that night.” Convincing her is like trying to talk a frog out of his croaking.

“Yes, dadgum (my word, not hers) it you were. You and Toodlums were there picking your guitars when I got there.”

“No, that was the party that ya’ll throwed over at the Scout Hut when ‘Snag’ Larson told everyone his family was being transferred and everyone put together a going away party.” He made the whole thing up because it was customary for the students to give parties in honor of those whose families got transferred. The oil patch was playing out and getting transferred was a common thing. ‘Snag’ hoodwinked the whole bunch with that one.

“Well, it did happen that way.”

“Nope, did not”

“Did too, Glenn Bert.”

Shaking my head from side to side, “Did not.”

“Shut up ‘fore I slap the shit out of you, I SA-IDD it was the Guv’ner.” Spit spewed with a fine mist as the word “Guvner” came out as we both busted out laughing. I knew I had convinced her of her error but she will never admit to it.

Several other members of the family, sitting around the table, busted out squealing and laughing and hee-hawing. The Boss has been around my family since about the time she grew out of her diaper age and started to school. She laughed with everyone else because it really was a funny, or at least amusing, sight. I caught her eye and I figured out pretty quick she didn’t “get it” and reckon you don’t either.

One of the countless Sundays all three sisters and brother-in-laws were at our house for eating one meal or the other. The main munching had pretty much run its course and we were talking and telling tales with about thirteen conversations going on. That week a representative from the governor’s office had addressed some part of the student body at a neighboring university. It seems to be big local news. The TV news and newspapers had just about worn the story “see through” thin. Whatever his speech had been about was not important. It was the fact that a state official would come so close to where we were. Actually they did that all the time but somehow this was different.

My mother, from here on in this story and future reference, and because all the grand kids call her by this title, will be referred to as Grannie. Grannie always sat at the end of the table and at the adjoing corner Paw Paw took his place. Paw Paw was still finishing his helping of “Arish Stew” and Grannie had pretty much finished up.

“D’jall hear ‘bout the guv’ner coming down to the college this week?” She was picking at a cup of peach cobbler.

PawPaw had just shoveled in a big tablespoon full of stew and chewed several times. “Maw, it wuddent the guv’ner it was one of his men.” That’s what he called her most of the time; Maw. He continued with another spoonful.

“It wuz too the guv’ner. That’s what they been saying for several days up at the Court House Café.” Grannie had worked several years there and knew quite a few people that talked about these type things. “I guess they oughta know what they’re talking about.”

“Well Maw,,,,it waddunt the guv’ner. It was somebody he sent up here to talk for him.” Paw Paw seldom got rilled and was not anywhere close to being where he actually gave a flip one way or another. Now, you take Grannie, she had sort of a temper at times. You could gauge the level of that temperament by the swinging of her leg back and forth crossed over one or the other knee. The swinging was now pretty “peurt”. That was a word from Paw Paw. I never really knew the origin but it means fairly fast or quick: peurt.

Leg swinging stopped: “It wuuuzz the guv’ner.”

“Naw it wuddnet , Maw.” Leaning over his bowl so he wouldn’t drip taking in another spoonful of stew. The thirteen conversations stopped to none. It was kind of like watching a checkers game. Who’s going to move where, next?

“I am going to,,,,slap you,,,,right,, square-daabb ,,,,in,,,the mouth,,,,,,,I saaaiiid,,,,,it,,,,wuuzzz,,,,tha GUV’NER!” Finger pointing and peering down her nose.

It sounded like the Fighting Red Devils had just scored the winning touchdown in the last two seconds of the game. We could not hold it back.

Stifling a laugh and settling for a smirky smile, Paw Paw looked down the table to where I was sitting, swallowed his mouthful of stew and surrendered.

“Well, eye God, Maw, I guess it wuuzzz the Guv,ner then.” The roar of the crowd erupted again.

“Yep. Momma Lou, eye God, you are right. I suppose it wuuzzz the Guv’ner.”

Lost and Found ,, Beck's Father's Coat

2010-11-30T10:54:00.000-08:00

In sticking with my promise to myself to NOT post political junk on this site, I would like to make a disclaimeer here.. This is NOT a Political Post, but it is a segment from Glen Beck's TV show. The subject is about a young single mother and her story about finding Glen Beck's father's coat.

..

"Open That Jar of Pickles"?

2010-11-11T14:01:00.000-08:00

Open That Jar of Pickles

“Let me open that jar of pickles for you”.

Twirling around , hopping, in the kitchen must have been part of a magical dance to somehow help herself loosen the lid atop the jar of Mt. Olive dill pickles.

“I want to do it myself”.

With this kind of determination, always called for wrinkled eyebrows in sort of a “pout” and the heightened concentration by sticking her tongue out. With this, she had not changed since she was old enough to walk.

“Daddy, Daddy, come look. I can do it”.

At first I felt a bit of a shock. A parent can instantly see signs of pain in the face of their children. I had been occupied all morning building a storage shed in the back yard to put extra boxes that we had yet to unpack. Dust and dirt covered her little five year old face. Each cheek sported horizontal “clean” streaks resembling cartoon war paint. It was easy to recognize the knuckle smears where the backs of her hands had wiped the tears, and the dirt, from her eyes and cheeks over and over again.

“I can do it. I can ride my bicycle”.

By accident, we had moved a small 12” child’s bike that had belonged to a friend, when we moved to South Carolina from Texas. I remembered distinctively that it was not equipped with training wheels.

“Come watch me. I can ride it”.

Little, short, running strides could barely keep up with my normal walking gait. The bicycle had about as many scratches as she did. The knees of her blue jeans were almost worn throw and her tennis shoes were on their last leg. Snatching the frame upright on to its two wheels, she stood on her left tip-toes in order to throw her right leg over the seat.

“Don’t bite your tongue off”.

That was the only instruction that I had to offer. She was forever sticking her tongue out when she was wrestling with some type of obstacle, whether animate or mental. I stepped back to watch. Pushing off, she started down the driveway. Wiggle, wiggle, and then with speed, the travel line began to straighten. I positioned myself at the end of the driveway so I could stop her before she rode into the main street. I was a slight incline going toward the street. There had been no need. Applying the kick back brake, the rear tire locked up and place another signature along with the other black I can do it skid streaks.

Snap, a grunt, and a twist and the aroma of pickles filled the kitchen. The cartoon war streaks were not there but I still got to see that smile and determination.

“I told you I could do it”.

“Yep, you did, along with forty eleven dozen thing along the way”

We finished with our song…

(All my girls and grandkids had their own little song that we sing. This one was a pee-wee cheerleader so we developed hers into sort of a “yell”. This will stay up only a short time because,, well, that is just the way I am,,) I start, she picks up, I cut in, she pick back up ‘til after the clap and then sometimes finish in unison.

With a cadence:

Cortney Wortney, she’s my honey,

She is cuter than the Easter Bunny.

And, Like Brear Rabbit, who love the thicket,,

I lubbbbb my Cortney, (clap and stomp) Now that’s The Ticket.

Now, you have heard about the "whole bunch" and a few have asked about pic. This will be up for a short time only, but now you know who my baby girls are and Yep, The Boss.. lol

"Net"

2010-11-05T12:09:00.000-07:00

As an Old Country Codger, who is also a parent, you wonder sometimes what you might have taught your young’uns. Yesterday I didn’t wonder. I relaxed. Not for myself but my youngest Baby Girl. She received the news that she passed her BAR EXAM.

We hear a lot about “net” these days. I don’t mean the kind you catch something in but where one bunch is compared to another bunch and compare which bunch is the biggest. That difference is the “net” of something.

I have “net’ed” a lot more “taught” than I dispensed. My Middle Daughter called “The Boss” yesterday after she got the news from the younger, and asked “How does it feel to be the parents of a new lawyer”. I haven’t had that conversation with the Middle one yet but it gave me a lot of thinking opportunities. It feels like happiness and humongeous pride for the youngest one’s accomplishment. She worked herself to a frazzle during college and her internship with the State Department,, just like the Middle One did while she worked herself through school, internship with the Center for Disease Control, set up her own business, with two kids 3 and 2, Big Paw’s Baby Girl and Baby Boy( Big Paw’s baby boy being brought from Russia), and the Oldest worked herself through college, who now is in the midst of raising Big Paw’s Big Boy-9 years old, (who was born 3 months early and weighed 1 ½,, yep one and one half pounds at birth, three months in intensive care in the hospital) while she teaches school and helps her husband with their business. – all one sentence?,,I know.

Through all of their adventures, they supported each other as well. One looks out for the other and we all look out for each other. A tiny blog post cannot even touch what I could write, so I think it all come down to strength. Comparing “net” strength or “net” taught, with them and this old 6’2, 275 lb. Old Codger, look in the dictionary under “Short End of the Stick”, and you will see my picture.

Through it all “The Boss” molded and shaped when the situation needed “molding and shaping” and I take bragging rights kind of shyly – but I take them, so sue me. I got a great lawyer

Congratulations to my Baby Girl.

Has Anyone Signed Up?

2010-11-01T09:02:00.000-07:00

Has anyone signed up for the NaNoWriMo thingy? Did anyone participate last year?,,and how much time did you have to devote to it.. Seems like a survey don't it?

Writer's Litmus Test

2010-10-28T11:49:00.000-07:00

This is one of the most “amazing” things, to me, and I have never seen it. Well, I see this picture just as you do and it is still amazing, but to see it “live” could only be a guess at its magnificence. I wonder sometimes that what we think we see is not what we are looking at.

Nope, this is not a travel post. It is a writing post. OK, I will try to unravel my direction here. I was sitting in Barnes and Noble (one of my favorite places) and while I was sitting in one of the three available reading chairs, thumbing through a “writing” book. I looked up and thought: “Look at all these books”. What must have been going through the minds of all these people? Somebody had to write each and every one of those books. I wonder how many authors had “hands on” experience with each topic written about in thousands, perhaps millions, of words on all the pages in that building.

One of my worries about writing is having the correct information and background. That you have to be an expert about everything you write. That it is the truth. Maybe not completely but at least be authentic and true to the history of the article. I don’t think I am alone in this thought or there wouldn’t be so many “how to“ reference books on the market. My true nature, I think, is to not just make shit up but sometimes I get enjoyment out of doing just that. I am a great fan of the old TV series Twilight Zone so I know how important it is that a person be careful to keep the distinction between fact and fantasy clear in their mind.

But would anyone want to hear all that? I don’t know. I do. Maybe. There are a lot of other rules. Another post yesterday alluded to maybe rules are just guidelines anyway. I like that and maybe fact from fiction is just a guideline too. I suppose the reader will eventually let you know, I guess everyday is a survey for response within its self. Everyone has their own aspirations whether it is writing or reading or ‘rithmetic and how they apply to society and an audience is varied as there are number of personalities.

I bought that book. During one of the segments, the author was listing a few guidelines or hints that would indicate the readers’ interest or aptitude for being a writer. One of the things he mentioned that a writer, as a youngster, as having the characteristics of a storyteller. I am not sure I am a storyteller so I changed the interpretation of what he was saying to someone, as a youngster, enjoyed to “play-like”. Did you ever use the phrase; I am going to “play-like” I am a pirate, or let’s play school and I will be the teacher. Some of you may have read a past post of mine, Oh Me,,No Wii , where Davy Crockett and I were great partners in adventure. Suddenly I remembered, I had been to the Grand Canyon, but it was in Nacogdoches county, close to a small community called Traywick. Which incidentally, is where Hank and Billy Ray (Pork Chops and Collard Greens) used to play ( refered to as Satersville ) when they were little boys at the pulp wood yard. Back to the Grand Canyon story. This was the REAL Grand Canyon. It had to be. It was a deep gully and had a small stream running down the middle of it, and I had a miner’s pan, which was actually the top of an old fashion coffee can, and I sifted through tons of ore panning out the golden nuggets that were going to make me rich and I would buy a horse, no,, a whole western town, and I would trade it all for a new Roy Rogers guitar with an authentic rope strap and real plastic guitar pick with a picture of Roy and Dale on it.

While at the bookstore, I looked and looked for a book on “Writer’s Litmus Test”. I didn’t find one so I made up one of my own. I took it twice to see what it would tell me. I passed so from that I decided: I am gonna be a writer…

Not really just “play-like”.

Newspapers,,Times are a'changin'

2010-10-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

Newspapers convey to us words from around the blind corner: from places we can’t see or hear. News. I suppose that is where they got their name.

The evening newspaper. The end of an uneventful day. Time to read about events and people he didn’t experience while going about his daily activities. He didn’t see me seeing him as he sat down on the park bench. A folded newspaper clutched under his left arm. His right steadied a walking cane propped against the armrest of the bench.

Inside the folds of the cheap print paper tales of intrigue and current events waited patiently to spring forth and enlightened the gentleman. The evening sun added golden highlights to the silver mane that had been neatly combed even though time could be nearing for a barber’s tool. A brightly colored automobile stopped for the red light, one of those new “hybrids” he had heard and read about. Pedestrians waiting for the “walk” light to indicate “go” for the foot traffic. A countdown clock,,4,3,2,1, and tiny LED lights formed an outline of a walking man gave the signal to “walk”.

“My goodness, times have changed”, his words heard only by one of Shorty’s descendents. Shorty had been the park mascot, a small fox squirrel that had been adopted by the park visitors a few years earlier. A squirrel can be easily bought with a steady supply of peanuts.

“I wonder what the stock market did today”? The bank across the street once had a “ticker tape” billboard on the front façade, but now long gone. He rarely let a day go by that he had not charted the up and down graphs in his mind as he spoke to his broker by phone that actually had a coiled wire hooking the receiver to the body of the telephone. “Oh well, things worked out OK”. The stock market had been a minor hobby of his. The sales and marketing opportunities had allowed for his family to be sheltered in a modest home and all his sons and daughter had gone to and graduated from college. He made a mental note to check and see how they were getting along. Getting them through college was his major goal and worry as they grew to adulthood. He often worried that their opportunity would not be as fertile as when he got out of college.

“Shorty Junior, do you have lots of ‘hickornuts’ stashed away for the winter?, might be a long hard one.” Shorty junior didn’t to seem to care much as he reached and took the peanut from the silver haired gentleman. A sudden click and buzzing sound of a starting street lamp sent Shorty Junior scurrying into the hedge bushes. The wind stirred with a dry chillness as the smiling gentle spoke to no one . “Guess it is too late to read about the weather”. Remembering the newspaper under his arm brought another chuckle without an audience.

“Yep, times are a’changing, but I hope they don’t stop printing newspapers. I sure hope it don’t rain”. The unfolding rustle of the newspaper as he spread it to cover himself from the night dew, echoed against the bank’s brick wall.

Post "POST",, After the first two comments, I see that I have missed the mark on this one. I suppose this might need further explaination. lol.. There was a local news story about the downtown area making a fuss about the homeless in the park. This was meant to be a different view in the fact that we never know what the history of these visitors is. The "man" is ok with his situation because he has done what he had set out to do before this period in time. I supposed I interjected my worry of getting my girls out of college into the story and it landed soundly out of place. Both he and I are "fine" with the children situation. lol. You folks sure are great.. lol

When Ya Get Old..

2010-10-26T08:54:00.000-07:00

When you get old your Saturday's are "different". You have read the story about "The Boss" and me going to Greenville and then on to Denton where we lived when we first got "hitched". Spur of the moment. Well, we do movies that way too. We have breakfast around lunch time, (This week it was at the EGG and I,,maybe I will get a complimentary ticket for that plug) and then we could think of no place to run off to so we decided on a movie. Saturday tickets are at a discount. Six dollars each. That makes twelve dollars for entry fee, but I always outsmart "The Boss". I drop her off at the ticket booth and go park the van. See, that way she is tricked into buying the tickets. I park and we enter the gate and she runs off to the "powder room" while I get refreshments. They are a bargain at our movie house. Two Icee's, a box of Milk Duds and a sack of popcorn only came to twenty two dollars and sixy three cents. Good thing they were out of bottled water, it is only 5.25, but it is a pretty good sized bottle. I wonder who out-smatz who on this deal. reckon?

Anyhow, by not doing a lot of researech on the movie hunt, the movie we choose may not always be as entertaining as we had hoped. This week we ventured into see RED.
"Retired and Extremely Dangerous". I have posted a link so I won't go into all the characters that are involved, I will keep this short.

This was fun. Pure and simple. Not a whole lot of "cussing" and no neckedness, just fun. The best I would describe it if I was down at the feed store would be that it is a cross between "Die Hard" ( It does have Bruce Willis in it ) and the "Pink Panther". Neither of these movies were a big draw to me but the combination made me laugh a little.

If you don't like going to the movies, I doubt it will be too long before this thing is available on Netflix or DVD. I am not much of a movie critic, but I am hard to please with plot and acting. It doesn't much matter here, because the fun was laced through out, in my Old Codger opinion.

http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1810143371/info

click to view trailer

Could this be portrait of an "Old Codger"

2010-10-22T05:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been walking or perhaps driving, and think, "What was that"?
Doing a "double" take (look) ? Watching a movie? Or, perhaps even reading a passage in a book and you have to go back a page and re-read.

Sometimes, things just ain't what they seem..reckon? :)

http://empathicperspectives.blogspot.com/2009/05/more-optical-illusions-to-test-your.html

Photo borrowed from above blogsite. Check it out. Fun visit

What do you see, or see at first glance? Then What did you see? Hummm...

I knowww It is a day Early,,,,,,

2010-10-20T14:22:00.000-07:00

No story today. To borrow a phrase from SGT. Joe Friday, “just the facts Ma’um, just the facts”.

Exactly three month ago today, yep count ‘em, on July 21, 2010 an event fell toward my favor. I was a “non-Winner” in a contest. Usually when I have been a non-Winner, I have not fared quite so fortunate. Unless you fell off the turnip truck last night, you have moseyed on over a time or two to “Middle Passages”. I don’t know how I first stumbled into such luck, but if you haven’t visited this site, you need to.

http://middlepassages-lcs.blogspot.com/

Don’t just go on my word, Go ahead Click on link and see for yourself.

I have two items to touch on, today. One is the prize that I won, “The Faith of a Writer”, by Joyce Carol Oates. You think you might have thought you have read all you need to know about writing, but this is information to supplement what genius you already have. (That was meant to be HaHa funnie). Page sixty three, second paragraph, first sentence is my favorite line.

The most important things I want to cover is my apology to Ms. Liza in that I haven’t thanked her publicly for this prize. My Daddy always said that “Egg on your face” ( for waiting so long to say “thank you” ) has no expiration date so Ms. Liza I thank you for bestowing this winning on me. The real prize is your daily posting.

Back to the book. To me, this was more of an inspirational book than textbook so I did not take “how to” notes for future reference. The book is in good condition, no major coffee stains and no pages missing.

Item number two: With Ms. Liza’s permission, I would like to offer this book to anyone who would like to read it. Just send me your address in comment, ( I will not publish, and I WILL delete for security reasons), and I will mail the book to you.

Thirdly, ( I know I only said I had two things to note ), but “ Thank You” to all you who drop by, even if you don’t say hello. The visits make for a more fun time.

you can still comment your "Where To" thoughts on previous post. publish comments sometime tomorrow..thanks

Where To?

2010-10-19T14:30:00.000-07:00

Does anyone notice their own stride? Suddenly the feel of the sidewalk moving as steps became familiar to the thought process of walking. Same route, same surroundings, only different. Unseasonably cool and damp, not aligned to correspond with the calendar page. Not uncomfortable, but yet still a distance to the destination. Familiar but actually unnoticed on a normal routine, the sound of brakes interrupted the steady gait. Bus Stop. The once bright reflective lettering was now weather beaten by the tick tock of time and elements.

The swoosh of the opening doors allowed warm dry air to spill forward in a beckoning invitation. Aching knees stepped forward with little effort. The fluorescent glare enhanced the uplifting atmosphere as passengers danced in their intertwined conversations. The welcome sight of an empty seat ..

so what do you think is next? You are invited to "comment" what happens next,,reckon?
I FORGOT TO MENTION, I AM WAITING FOR ALL COMMENTS AND POSTING AT ONE TIME..

Could It Have Been Me?

2010-10-18T08:15:00.000-07:00

I like visiting places that I have never been before. This was right in line with an exercise from a new book that I picked up on “writing”. The point of the exercise was to go to a place, building, house, park, or anywhere that you had never been – someplace out of the ordinary for yourself, but not putting yourself in any real danger. Spend at least thirty minutes in this strange environment and make note either mentally or on a note pad. Use judgment in not drawing unwanted attention to yourself. This new knowledge would be new fodder for a future story.

Passing by on numerous occasions, I had never paid any great attention to the outer facade. Entering the main door, I was greeted by a uniformed gentleman.

“How are you today?”

Friendly enough it seemed. “I am doing ok, and you? My name is (you know what it is)

“Hello, they call me Webster.”

“I am doing a writing exercise for a class and part of the experiment calls for me to observe a place or situation that was new to me”. (Ok, “a class” can be just one person, can’t it?) “I should be finished within thirty minutes”.

“That’s fine. I will leave you at it then”.

I took a seat in one of the several nondescript vinyl upholstered stools. The room was brightly lit and with no windows. There could hardly be any differentiation between day and night. Eggshell colored walls enclosed the room towering upward three times the height of normal. The number of people was sparse. No conversation indicated that anyone was familiar with the other. A monotonous stare affixed to each as if they were unaware of the person in close proximity. Do they know or feel as if they are being held prisoner. Do they even have the will power to live and thrive outside these walls, or has the routine welded itself into their being so that what was once an individual is following the same motions as the gang. Minutes, for me, seemed like hours. How did they feel about time? A large clock fastened high on the south wall might as well not been there. No one seemed to check for the time of day. My upbeat mood was shot for the day. I didn’t like this place. How had I missed all this? Could I have just as easily been part of this bunch? Each one is a decent human being and I in no way draw a conclusion as to what is right or wrong. What would I do?

My sentence ended after what seemed much longer than thirty minutes. I had the option and ability to get up and walk out. I did.

“Thanks you Mister Webster. Time for me to be getting on down the road. I appreciate your hospitality.” He opened the door ahead of me and I couldn’t pass through quick enough.

“Come back anytime”. Mr. Webster’s grin had no indication of true intent.

“Sure thing”. I touched the visor of my cap.

The roar of my truck’s diesel engine eased a soothing effect over my fading anxiety. I was leaving. I wondered when their stay would be ending. The power steering belt gave a whining screech as I turned to leave the parking area and I glanced up at the stark sign marking the location. Casino

Well, what do YOU, think ? :)

2010-09-16T12:11:00.000-07:00

"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend; inside of a dog, it is just too dark to read"!

Groucho Marx

pic credit http://s226.photobucket.com/home/sulisaeris

Redirect

2010-09-14T11:37:00.000-07:00

“Shawn, what the hell is the matter with this computer?”

Total frustration had caused me to throw the styrofoam cup across my office. Fortunately, only a few drops of cold coffee splattered against the eggshell wall. The fifth refill was almost completely finished after a morning of “boot and re-boot”.

“Throw your coffee cup. That always seems to fix the problem.” His friendly sarcasm reverberated from the adjoining office. “I’m having to tinker with mine this morning too. I will give yours a look in a couple of minutes.”

Every time I would google “Granger Supply”, “Apartment Finder in Your City” would pop up. Backspace and start over and “Cheapest Airfares” would cover the screen. Each time the search would redirect to another site. A minor stumbling block each time would follow with the proper searched site. No big deal.

“I will be in there in a minute, my danged computer keeps redirecting my web search.”

“Virus”. My first thought was immediate. Where could I have picked this up? I haven’t been into any “neeckeed” picture sites..today. Ok, just “Norton” my files and things will be fine. An hour and a half later, same routine. Redirect. The usual check of any changes show nothing new being amended in any file anywhere. Restoring the computer to an earlier date brought no fix. After finally getting several searches to work properly, no articles were posted about a fix, although numerous people were reporting the same problems. One particular article was quite informative and I decided to go back and print it to see if I could find any clues. It would not “search” this title a second time. I eventually gave up that search and tried a generic search again. Redirect, redirect, redirect.

“Shawn”!

“You’re on your own, dude. My computer keeps redirecting me when I do a search”. No sarcasm this time, only frustration was in his voice.

“That’s all right. I am going to post about what my computer is doing on my blog and see if anyone else is having this problem”.

……………………..

Under normal circumstances, no one would notice the empty store front with the “For Lease” sign propped up in the front window. The blinds were drawn and the building lay between a Payless shoe store and an ancient Baskin Robbins ice cream parlor. There was no sign out front designating what the prior business had been. The city of Newark had almost forgotten about this once family oriented neighborhood. The twin black Yukons, parked out front, should seem out of place, but no one noticed. The three banks of computer servers, neatly arranged in the back store room, were completely out of sight.

“It still has a few bugs in it, but the initial setup is working toward what we had hoped. It is well hidden and doesn’t cause enough problems that people will expend a lot of effort trying to find the cause and hunt for a correction to the aggravation.”

“But, does it proceed with the intent of allowing the use of individual computers to be manipulated”?

“Oh, absolutely. All that is needed is the Czar Committee to put pressure on the major browser companies and they will understand that we actually control them, just as the Chinese did with Google. It will be just a matter of changing a few commands in the root program. Any information distribution the Information Czar Committee wants to put forth or “redirect” will be simplified. The individual will be limited on exchanging their own ideas and thoughts. Any use of the internet can be rerouted through a tracking program. The Tax Czar Committee has been searching for a consistent method to tax usage of the internet. This is a sure fix. The possibilities are only limited by the various Czar Committee’s imagination“.

“I am seeing an indication of an incoming inquiry. It looks like some sort of a trace exercise. I need to see where the signal is coming from”.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Shawn, have you figured this thing out yet”?

“Not yet”.

“ I’m trying to run down any incoming changes that have been automatically downloaded to my laptop”.

“Ok, fine, but pick up line one. I think it is one of your redneck buddies. He said he’s from the Homeland Security Czar Committee. You need to find some new friends”.

“Ok, tell him I will be right there as soon as I finis

Boop De Do De - DA DA

2010-08-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

.
.
“Know where the FedEx place is?” The Boss asked off handedly.

“There are fifteen in town, which one?” (Actually about 3, maybe 4)

“Well, I need to pick up something. They tried to deliver it and we weren’t home.”

“What wuz it?”

“Somethin’.”

Two things here. (I have learned to read between a few lines over the last fortyumpteen years.) Well kinda one, with a couple of subplots. It was something that we didn’t really need or it was a surprise for me, which I probably didn’t need because I have about everything I need already.

“Why can’t we wait ‘till tomorrow?”

“Cause, I said.”

“Well then, I guess that settles it.” It is usually settled before I get to put in my suggestions anyhow. Reckon?

A couple of clicks on The Boss’s I-Phone and we had the correct location in the crosshairs. Only waiting an unreasonable period of time, we were handed a cardboard box with a label that had more inscription than the Magna Carta, but we were off. One step outside the door the boss handed me the box.

“Here, happy birthday.”

“It ain’t my birthday yet.”

“If you don’t take this, you may not make it.”

I gingerly took the box and saw the word Apple on the label in various places. I will have to admit, I sorta, kinda figured out what was in the box. I was, for real, excited. I opened the box and inside was a special edition, candy apple red I-Pod with my name inscribed on the back. I was, for real, excited. I know I said that already. I am really hard to buy for, according to my girls and The Boss, but this hit the target. I wore out a Zune so this was a great surprise. I don’t download a lot of songs, but I am a big fan of podcasts and especially old radio shows. Mysteries and Orson Wells classics are great to listen to. I have found that by listening to these old programs, it can generate ideas for writing and scene setting. Some are pretty “hooky pooky”, but fun just the same. There are several websites that offer these to download for free or a donation of some amount.

Another new adventure came in the form of a credit card looking piece of plastic. It was what ya’ll already know about as an I-Tune card. I actually learned how to “redeem” its value and trade it for real music. Now ain’t that somethin’? I am still a traditionalist and I like to have the CD or album on hand, but this does seem pretty easy. During my first year of school we had what we called and “assembly program”. The student body had the opportunity to watch a movie in the auditorium. The movie starred Jimmy Stewart in “The Glenn Miller Story”. Even today if it comes on TV I am glued to watching it again.

One day last week I was wrestling with a bunch of junk at the office and I took a break and ordered some Glenn Miller tunes with that I-tune bunch of folks. Now that is “slicker that greased owl…”, well never mind, but it was easy. In a matter of not time, I was tapping my foot and in a much better mood. Those songs never get old to me. You might not have the tune handy so I went out on the YouTube and found this old clip from the real Glenn Miller and if you have a few minutes give it a listen. I bet you can help yourself from tapping your foot and singing along.

Boop De Doo De Daa Daa
.
.

Texas Tea,, or Yummm

2010-08-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

As a writing exercise, i have expanded on the "One Minute Writer" blog's idea. (please visit that site). Look close at hand and pick an object and use a 7 minute span to write a short essay. The few extra minutes, to me, seems to help relax the experiment. It was hot and I stopped in at Star Bucks, and,,,,,,

Texas humidity and ice cold tea: Quite a recipe. Unsweetened, to me, is preferred. I suppose I am a traditionalist in a sense. I don’t think most things need a lot of “phizzazz” added in order for their true nature to be appreciated.

A classic smooth crystal glass holding just the right of amount of pure, clean perfectly formed ice cubes; hidden from the heat, but condensing vapors, a hint of treasure. Golden chestnut color liquid cascading down over the dancing heat diffusers, creates a minute stirring of the ingredients. Light rays expose tiny ripples of current, changes in the mixed ingredients slowly realigning their positions. Tiny molecules of moisture attach themselves to the outer layer of the shimmering crystal container and as if holding hands grab each other, growing into larger droplets of atmospheric droplets. Weight finally pulls them into miniature streams of sweat devouring the shell of the mixture’s universe. Only at the right moment can the experience of the mixture be realized. Small sips, each being wholly appreciated and then, only then, can the enjoyment be shared.

The amazing thing about iced tea is that a true tea drinker never tires of the experience. He always looks forward to the next “refreshing”, visualizing in his imagination, the previous wonderment of quenching and awaiting his next thirst.

In A Bit....

2010-08-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like the glowing warmth of a campfire. Snapping and popping, the oak logs piled high with the yellow and orange flames squirting upward through the tightly stacked cracks from the bark still on the wooden fuel.

Too large to be intended for the fire, cut sections of trees served as resting stools for more than one annual trip to the familiar river bottom. Without confirmation, each has in intended occupant. Time has a way of etching routine without formality. The unceremonious act of who takes their place in cadence is stamped in time.

It seems one always has “one more thing” to sort out and put in its place. The last to take his place in line. The last to turn out the lantern. Beyond the reach of the campfires shine clattering of assorted gear indicates the restlessness. All, except this one, have gathered at their appointed places amongst the bark covered thrones.

“What are you doing out there? You gonna come on or what? We ain’t gonna wait all night.”

The strings are tuned and the whistles are wet. We wait momentarily.

“Well, are ya coming?”

From the darkness and damp, with clarity comes a chuckle and reply.

“In a bit, perhaps, you old codger, In a bit.”

The usual banter and ribbing of “always late” and “it’s gonna be daylight soon" offers a familiarity to the situation. We know we are going to have to wait. A round with flask and a dirge of song pushes the hour past.

The shifting of logs and flicker of flame, upward the embers struggle to rise. The glow still strong but not quite as bright, the warmth still surrounds us all. The sweetgum stump, awaits in quiet with sounds from just beyond. It seems the clatter is not intense as it was some time earlier.

“The music is old and bellies are full, if you’re coming on, then ya gonna have to do it soon. Not sure of the duration with this routine of fun.”

A chorus of laughter votes in favor of wit, but certainty not at all certain. Waiting for a reply I sit suddenly quiet as I listen for anticipated answer.

“In a bit, perhaps, when I finish. In a bit.”

The campfire out, the reminding ashes, what’s left of the mighty oak, a reminder that dawn is near. The river fog cloaks the forest near and water still between the banks flows. The cold ashes swirl about and, with a grin, I answer the wind’s invitation ; “are you coming”.

“In a bit, perhaps, you old codger, In a bit.”

..

"Todlums" aka Carlus Wayne Morgan

2010-08-09T14:09:00.000-07:00

If any of you read the "Boat Fishing Story"...... you know "Todlums"

When I first started blogging, I wrote this for "Sixty second Writer", but never put it on my blog. Well, here it is.....

The prompt "Trust"

Reminiscing is a common past time when the beard turns gray and “The Bark of The Dogwoods” becomes brittle and shallow. Old men sometimes tire of playing checkers and other highly active games and they resort to other less strenuous exercises such as games of “Remember When”.

“ Bet I got something of yore’n that you have forgotten about”.

Smoke curled from his freshly lit corncob pipe. It was bobbing up and down. He kinda looked like Popeye except he didn’t have the massive ham hock forearms. I swiveled around on my stool and looked around the barn trying to see what might be out of place or missing. Hell, who could tell anyways? It had been longer than yesterday since I had straightened up the sundry of tools that I had collected over the past forty some odd years.

“Hell, I don’t know”. “You better not drag this out too long, we both are on borrowed time and best I remember you’re older than me”

Somehow we both thought that was funny. Hearty laughter just seems to make the joints move a little smoother.

“Need any money”? The growl sounded more like a a directive than a question.

“Nope, still got some beer in the fridge”

He slowly fished around in the back pocket of his old overalls and fished out his old weather worn wallet. He had his head all crook-ed and sideways. His eyes all squenced shut from the over abundance of smoke. He finally fumbled around until he pulled out of stack of folded receipts and other junk. He shuffled them around until he pulled out a folded piece of currency.

“Yonta take a peek at that”? Still another directive.

I unfolded the wrinkled bill and recognized it to be a two dollar bill. Instantly my smile could no longer be suppressed. I guess the smoke was in my eyes too.

“I don’t need it yet”, I replied as I gently handed it back to him.

“Didja thank that I had lost it”?

“Nope”

“Well that day while we were out at the old Sinclair plant a dranking hot beer, you handed me that two dollar bill and told me to hold onto it ‘till you might need it so if you don’t need it, I figure you trust me to hold onto it ‘till you do”
.
Today nineteen sixty seven doesn’t seem like such a long time ago.I spit on the ground and finally spoke again,

“ Give me another beer and put that danged ole pipe out, that smoke is making my eyes water".

July 24, 1949 - August 9, 2010

June 6, 2009 2:05 PM

Value?

2010-07-15T10:24:00.001-07:00

“Reckon it will stop, Boy”? With a grin, The Daddy parked the 1949 Cheverolet pickup in front of the Hale Motor Company. Only one wheel had any brakes left on it.

Earlier in the day, the blue ‘59 Apache pickup had been sitting in front of the show room. He had never bought a new pickup and this one was not new either, but as close as he would ever come to buying one. He was not impressed by things. The young boy, at this moment, was. He knew the magnitude of the event. It was more a symbol of hard work and loyalty than prestige. Something that did not come easy. Either one of them. The Daddy with pride took the keys without fanfare. The young boy of twelve would eventually take his driving test in that pick up.

Going down the interstate using his watch and mile markers , the young boy, now a daddy, kept a 60 mile per hour pace on the way to their new home in another state. Seven years later the return routine. The Daddy did grin when the blue truck returned to its home state.

“Well, I will give you five hundred dollars under what you are asking.”

“Man, I am sorry you ruint your whole day by driving down here, but I will pull it out in front of the house and make a flower bed out of it before I will do that.” The older “young” boy turned to walk away. .

“No, no, your son in law told my you “lible” just walk off and leave me standing here. It’s a deal,, your deal. How will I get it on my trailer? I will come back Wednesday to get it” .

“Put a battery on it. Crake the sum’bitch up and drive it up on the trailer”. The older “young” boy grinned and then he did turn and walk away. “Only reason you’re getting it, ‘cause I know you will treat it right. Maybe you will get another 40 years out of it.”

IF NOT the WHOLE movie, Please, At Least the TRAILER

2010-07-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

I rented this movie the other day. If you only watch one movie this year. This should be it. I thought I had better come back and put a disclaimer here:

This movie is VERY GRAPHIC

Truthfully I am a little sick to my stomach just thinking about this.

Click here to Go directly to YOUTUBE for trailer and other videos:
http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWbdn5YfMJs

Is THIS Happening to Anyone Else?

2010-07-07T07:44:00.000-07:00

Is anyone else have trouble "Posing" a new post on your blogsite? This one worked, but another site I have all I get is the "calculating" flower going round and round...
Any help....

"I Do Hereby Proclaim, I have found It"

2010-06-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

He was “all wet” all right, but not in the Fountain of Youth discovery. Juan Ponce de Leon hop-scotched over from Puerto Rico and has been given credit for discovering what he thought or hoped was the fountain of youth at St. Augustine, Florida in the 16th century. It ain’t so. Or at least in my opinion.

The fountain of Youth is in Luckenbach, Texas. No one probably noticed but I have been absent a day or two. I took a couple of days off from the office while The Boss and I took a short vacation to Fredricksburg, Texas. Six million, eight thousand, three hundred and six , (that is where I stopped counting), motorcycles decided to do the same thing. On Saturday, on our way back home, we “cut through” to stop in on Luckenbach, Texas. The motor cycle riders decided to do that too. Most of you know I am a frustrated wanna be git-tar picker and If you had a radio and only listened to one country song, around ’78-’80,you have heard , “Let’s go to Luckenback, Texas, with Willie Waylon and the Boys”. Sooo, that is what I did.

Everyone must have thought this was the fountain of youth because most of us there had more wrinkles in ourselves than our jeans. After sass-shaying around the grounds and in and out of the “fountain” part of the party, I did feel a little better. See there? I told you. It was hot so I go me another bottle of youth and plopped down in an empty chair and just stared at all the people. Everyone seemed to feel younger than their gray hair indicated. I did. How come that is, reckon?

It was just like Ole’ Ponce. He felt better when he splashed off in what he thought was the fountain of youth just because he “thought” he felt better. Me too, ‘cept I didn’t splash off in anything, I just had a good time reminissin’. I know I felt better than that dude that was walking so bow-legged that his steps were wider than they were long. He had had a long trail ride and the last half of that ride was coming up. All I had to look forward to was air conditioning, cruise control and power steering. Besides, we only had about twenty miles until we got to the next bed and breakfast at which we were going to stay.

I was gonna write a real “sturring” response on the effects of this fountain of youth but I think ya’ll would have a good time doing a little research on your own. There is quite a bit on this part of Texas even though there ain’t much to the place itself. It is all in one’s mind and you will see what I am talking about….maybe. I will post a couple of clicking links ( go ahead and “Google “ – Hondo Crouch )and If I can figure out how to get ‘em in the right places, I will post some pics.

http://www.luckenbachtexas.com/

http://www.lone-star.net/mall/literature/hondo.htm

http://good-times.webshots.com/photo/2635408420099034237ZVALZX

These high pixel pics take forty forevers to upload, so I will post more pics later. One more thought. I was telling my oldest daughter about Luckenbach and she finally asked,,"You mean, they don't even have a Walmart"? I 'bout fell out of my chair I stopped my story right there. :)

It is Prononced "Tatersaaalliiiiiiiiddd"

2010-06-04T13:53:00.000-07:00

We’re dropping like flies. Us “Bloggers” that’s who. Me too, but I am going to try to hang in there.

It has been awhile since I posted. A lot of things have been going on around the Ole Casa. Everyone has had a lot to do. Me too, but I sometimes don’t really know if you all enjoy reading what I slap up on the screen or you are just real nice people, about it. I think maybe it could be a little of both. Reckon? What I do know is, I enjoy reading what you folks write. I think what it is, is “Battling Fatigue”. Not battle fatigue, but , well you get the kinda play on words. I could go on about it but I think for me to fight my “battle” of fatigue is to tell you about this barbeque place, "Ribmasters" in this small community that The Boss and I go to quite regularly.

The Boss’s favorite is a plain chopped beef sandwich with lots of barbeque sauce on it. In Texas, beef is pretty much the king of B-B-Q. Pork is the favorite in other parts of the south but Texas has always had an abundance of cows ready to be a participant in this age old range cuisine. Brisket is a part of the cow that if not cooked properly is rather tough to eat, but with slow consistent temperature, it can be mouth watering tender. If any of you read the story about The Boss and me going to Denton and Greenville, well during that time of early life experiences, I worked at a Barbeque place in Denton. It was a bad thing. Oh, no, Not the Barbeque, but the fact that I went from 220 pounds to 275 in short order.

Pork ribs is another specialty that is different than some parts of the south. Beef ribs are popular in other parts and we cook them fairly regular here too but pork ribs reign king as far as I am concerned. They can be found either with the “dry rub” or “glazed”. Dry rub is with a mixture of seasoning rubbed on the slab of ribs before cooking and that is all you do to them. To glaze the slab, seasoning can or cannot be rubbed before cooking, but just before they are “done”, a sauce is put on the ribs and the fire “glazes” them to a tacky consistency. The sauce is often times a sweet and tangy sauce with a little bit of a “fire-ie” punch to it. I guess that is where the term, “season to taste” comes from.

Potato salad is a staple side dish, but a lot of people around here might look at you sideways if you order it that way. “Tatersaaaaaliiid” is the preferred pronunciation in these parts. I ain’t much on tatersallid. It use-lee has un-yunns in it. But, this place also has baked potatoes. I have my own recipe with that. Instead of me going all through the proper grammar and mixin’ procedures, I have posted a picture of a real “Texas BBQ Tater”. It ought to be a secret, but I will share it with you just this one time.

Wouldn’t ya like to have a bite of this? Yummm

Take a "Look-See"

2010-05-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

Ms. Keli at "Septembermom" site has another site that I have mentioned in the past. Click on the Post Title to go to her site "My Voice, My View".

Write With Pictures
Click here: http://writewithpictures.blogspot.com/

There is a daily prompt and it is fun to play for a few minutes. The more people at the party, the more fun there is. Jump over and "crash" that party and see how much fun you can have. This is lead in for my "bragging" about Ms. Keli being nice and picking one of my entries. I am going to visit often.. How about you.

Prompt: Wednesday Ten ,,

Ten Words Only to "Think" the Picture

Photo by Rebecca http://www.blogger.com/profile/16135537886717771317

"The present reflected by the unseen depths of the past."

Why ??

2010-05-20T07:08:00.000-07:00

,
Why? Ever ask yourself that question? I didn’t think so. Me neither. Well, maybe sometime. Today, for instance. Why am I attracted to old movie theatres? I don’t know. I don’t care much if I don’t know exactly why. I think it has to do with “grinning”. No, I don’t prefer comedies or goofy story lines in movies. I am a serious individual.

The Boss and I were eating breakfast at one of our many favorite places we frequent on Saturday mornings. “Frequent” is the right word, trust me. She was sitting there patting her foot waiting for me to finish my cup of coffee. She doesn’t drink coffee.

“Know what?”

“What?”, slurp

"I have been thinking, I wonder what the house Grandmother used to live in looks like?”

Slurp. “Humph.”

“I have thought about it a several times.”

"Ok, Let’s go then.” Coffee cup empty. I had worn out my excuses.

“It’s in Greenville.”

.“I ain’t that senile yet.” I slide my coffee cup to the side.

“And then we could ride on over to Denton and look at the house we moved into when we got married. That is only a little over an hour more”

“Did you take your pills this morning?”

“Yes, but I need my sunglasses.”

At 11:30 am we are leaving the house for the second time that morning. Sunglasses, books, Kindle and cameras. Off to Grandmother’s house we go.
.
In a couple of hours we were driving up and down the remembered street counting the lots of the once sidewalk edged street. Well, things aren’t as big, long, or shinny as we remember growing up. The street was broken and cracked. Weeds lined both sides of the once manicured street.

.“Ok, it is in the next block, slow down.”

I would have never guessed to do that. I coasted to an almost slow crawl.

“We missed it. You have got to turn around.”

I would have never guessed to do that. I turned around right in the middle of the next intersection. There was no traffic. I had to be careful of the Dodge pickup that looked abandoned.

“Ok, don’t go so fast, you will pass it again.”

Do you think I would have ever guessed to do that?

.“It’s gone.”

It was gone. The pier foundation posts were still there.

“What happen to it?"

“I don’t know. I guess somebody took it.” I was amused at my wit.

The Boss’s expression revealed to me that not only was I not amusing, but there was more to it than that.

We expect things to stay as we remembered them. Time has passed since I started this story. Time had devoured that small part of her world. I did not feel witty anymore. I made another turnaround and drove back down the street. It was still discouraging.

“Well, let’s go on to Denton and we will have a good time there.” Putting an optimistic spin on the situation, I felt, seemed like a good idea.

“Ok.” Looking out the window, she was searching one last time. I could not see her face.

As we drove out of that neighborhood, I think maybe that street still had its sidewalks bordered with neatly trimmed grass and flowers dotting the adjacent yards. I am pretty sure The Boss saw it

.
* * * * * * * *

Denton, Texas 1970, avenue B. flash to 2010.

“Turn left here.”

I don’t think I would have thought of that. How did I ever make it this far, reckon?

“The street used to be crushed rock. Remember trying to ride that old bicycle that you painted florescent green on all that gravel. This is much better. I am glad to see good changes for a while.”

I slowed to a crawl, I don’t have to be told three times.

“It should be right there. But,,It is gone. There are apartments there now.”

I backed the van up. There was no Dodge pickup in the way on the street. “Are you sure it wasn’t the last one, there?”

“No, it was next to the last one on the street. It’ gone.”

“The E-Z Mart is still back there. We passed it awhile ago. Let’s go get some M&Ms and a Dr Pepper. Remember? We used to do that every time I got paid.” I didn’t want her looking out the window like back in Greenville. I almost felt a little frantic.

“Ok, but It’s gone.” Something must have been outside the window.

“Let’s ride around the square. I want to take some shots of the old movie theaters. I have been taking pictures in every town I travel to when calling on customers. Those M&Ms are pretty good aren’t they?”

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In 1971, John Wayne as “Big Jake” came to the silver screen at the Campus Theatre on west Hickory Avenue. We were there. The theatre was still there. I got out of the van and walked up to the front door. The Boss stayed with the air conditioning and her Kindle. I could see someone moving around through the round windows of the lobby doors leading into the main auditorium. I figured that if I messed around looking through the front door long enough he would get curious and ask what the heck I wanted.

I jumped a mile. A nicely dressed young woman came from behind me. “Could I help you?”

“Ah, yes ma’um,,ah my name is (you know what it is), and my wife and I moved to Denton in 1970 and we came to this theater all the time.” I sort of was talking off the cuff.”And I am a famous writer and I got this blog site, and all my friends would just love to hear about how,, this and that.” I could see it in her face. She finally smiled.

“Would you like to peek inside?”

“Oh, yes ma’um, that would be wonderful, and if you don’t mind, would it be ok to take a few pictures of the inside, if I can’t, well, I understand and all that.” Envision a “hang-dog” look right here.

A light chuckle. “Sur’uh, but I am running behind and we have a play performance tonight so I have GOT to get some paper work finished. Just take all you want.”

“Yes Ma’um, I will only take a few so I will only be a minute.”

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels played that Saturday night. I did not go to the show, but, you know what? I am going to one in the future. I might go to two of them. The building was refurbished to its original state.

The carpet was manufactured in the original weave and color pattern. The seats were upgraded. professional stage lighting was installed and it looked like the stage area may have been enlarged. Some things I miss. I am a talker not a reporter, but I wanted to share with you why I like old theatres, both renovated and dilapidated. I am attracted to all of them. Why? Well that is how we started today and after studying about it. I think it is because they hold a treasure of universal memories for everyone that has ever had the opportunity to go to one of the single screen, pop corn cooking, shoe sole sticking movie houses. They can fall in on themselves but the mystic is never “gone”. Try to look at one, if you are old enough to remember them, and try to keep that grin off your face.

Larry McMurtry, I hope you are wrong. I hope there will never be “The Last Picture Show”

If you want to drop by "The Campus" website just click on the highlight

Say "hello" to Ms. Julie

http://www.dentoncommunitytheatre.com/

**sorry about the spacing and layout, after 1.5 hours of everything jumping around, I gave up. Try you best to read it.. lol

Where Ya'll Been?

2010-05-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

While taking a minute to check in on all you folks after being kind of "absent", I saw this post over at Ron Paul's "Where Sky Meet Ground.." blog.

http://skymeetsground.blogspot.com/2010/05/true-colors.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+WhereSkyMeetsGround+%28Where+Sky+Meets+Ground%29

I am not going to preface this with a "not gonna be a political post", but it ain't, but if we don't think about what Ron and all the other men and women who protect us and our families from danger, then , hell I can't help it. Please visit his site and if I have inadvertently offended anyone..

ookkkayyy,, i will do better next time,,

Repost for My Niece

2010-04-30T10:43:00.000-07:00

Actually this was a combination of one or more happenings, but it was to fit a "prompt" on a writing blog,,and a repost...I don't think my niece (this is her mom,,lol ) has read this and she asked if I had written any stories lately..

"Street, where I grew up"

I love the street where I grew up. Now that might be an overstatement, but I do definitely hold a lot of fondness for the unnamed oil top road that lead out to the main highway.

Well, I guess it had a name but it was always called “First street to the left after you pass Ross’s Affiliated Food Store”, Our house sat almost directly across the street from Grannie and Paw’s house. Both houses are gone now. At least from there. Grannie and Paw’s house now sits in a pasture ten miles toward town. Back to where they moved it from in the first or was it the second place. Anyhow, Daddy’s house was moved thirty miles south to sit next door to one of my sister’s house (the one in this story,,no, sister not the house, well the house too,,just read on). Everyone should rest easy because the street is still there. I saw it just this last Sunday.

I rode over that way intentionally to take a picture for a story that I wrote. I took the picture but decided to not use it for that story, so I will use it for this story. I jump around, a lot, kind of like Grannie and Paw’s house.

Me and my younger sister, (she is still older than me), we stayed into stuff all the time. You remember me telling you about the main highway. Well, we couldn’t ride our J.C. Higgins, Sears Roebuck, store bought bicycles on the main highway, but that was where the filling station was that sold snow cones,- if he ever had ice. There ain’t no need to fill you in on the deciding part of whether or whethern’t we were going. I guess you can say the first leg of the trip was uneventful.

The old codger had a way of intimidating us kids when we ordered our snow cones If you asked for extra syrup, he would stop pouring right then and say, “hee’uh, that’s enough”, and if you didn’t say anything, he liable to just stop anyhow. I can’t remember what she got but I got the coconut. Bright blue. Syrup and ice running down my chin and forearm. Dripping off my elbow onto the sizzling hot oil dirt in front of the old filling station.

Have you ever tried to ride a bicycle while holding onto and eating a snow cone? A bright blue, coconut snow cone? Well she was better at it than I was. I was able to catch up to her at the hill right before you had to turn left, just past Ross’s Affiliated Food Store. It was always a known fact that to get back to, or get to anywhere on a bicycle, there is a race. I had a plan. I was not going to be outsmarted or out bicycled.

I kept a piece of a cane pole stuck behind and through my seat. This was to protect me from dogs. I steadied my left hand, holding half of the bright blue coconut snow cone, on the left handlebar. With my right hand, I reached back and snatched my dog stick from its perch. With one quick motion I won the bicycle battle, but lost the bicycle war. In my mind, it would just slow her down enough so that I could zoom on ahead and have bragging rights to arriving home first. It DID slow her down. My aim was perfect. The cane pole slide between the two spokes just about where the valve stem was. The wheel came around and the cane pole locked against the front wheel support fork.

Here it gets a little fuzzy. From later examination, the fork proved a lot stronger than the spokes. The fork held. Half the spokes didn’t. They vanished. Ass over tea kettle just don’t quiet describe the following event. Luckily the grass at the edge of the street was pretty tall. The dust had not even settled when she jumped up. She was wearing her snow cone mixed with a sundry of other green vegetation. How I held onto that Blue coconut snow cone I can’t even begin to guess, but she gingerly took it from my left hand and soon I was wearing THAT blue snow cone. We didn’t even try to make up a story to tell when we got home. It was our butts! – AAA-ginnn..

Epilogue: This episode was minor. Someday I will tell you about how I had to let her shoot me in the butt with my own BB gun.

2010-04-27T06:57:00.000-07:00

Good morning,, after wrestling with Best Buy all night and still have to go back today. (new computer crashed).. I have the information now.

I send a big thank you to Ms. Keli (septemnermom) at My Voice, My View http://www.myvoicemyview.blogspot.com/ . She volunteered to be the “Depot Person”. Her email address is on her profile. Add to the beginning story and send your address to Ms. Keli www.septemberkel@yahoo.com and she will forward your WINNIN PRIZE to you. Now that ain’t to complicated is it. Remember if you don’t want to write a “story comment” just say hi and you win.

Just a couple more things: It would be nice if you would stop by and say hello to Septembermom’s Blogsite (My Voice, My View) and read her efforts. It will be your treat. ALSO, she and some friends have a blogsite that needs a visit and PARTICIPATION,,,,, “Write With Pictures” http://www.writewithpictures.blogspot.com/ ,It is a great site to just enjoy and post your reactions to the “Pictures” posted for writing prompts.

Again, Thank you Ms. Keli,, and everyone is invited to come along.. Thanks Glenn

Here we Go..

The Note….

5957 Canal B. The brass address plate dangles askew, missing two of its four anchors. The rain rolls off the canvas awning. An odd crease forms a trough that spits a stream of water two feet beyond the edge of the tattered green covering. Stepping around the splattering geyser, shaking her umbrella, the fashionably dressed lady opened the door and stepped inside.

Twenty years prior, the fishnet had made a nice touch to the décor, along with the scattered green glass net floats. An over sized fish tank , sitting behind a row of padded leather chairs hummed and bubbled a calypso rhythm. Removing her rain coat the stranger dropped it across the back of the barstool adjacent to the ones he sat in which he sat. It seemed insane that she was even here. The room had an aroma that was definitely of seafood, but did not smell like fish. The stink of stale beer burned her nose.

All she had was a crumpled piece of paper with this address and a name scrawled in pencil. He had handed her the note as he stepped from the subway. No one had seen the assailant. He only took a few steps after getting off the train. He collapsed right in front of her. Her only misfortune was she was waiting to get on the train.

“Please, find Johnnie, tell him….”

He never spoke another word as his hand slid from hers leaving the note and a twenty dollar bill.
Before the police could arrive, she panicked and ran. Now she was here.

“Does anyone know Johnnie Wittenbrook?”

Her question rang throughout the restaurant without warning. The room fell silent. One old bearded seaman pushed his chair back and walked out of the room without speaking. It seemed that even the fish tank had fallen silent.

The quiet was finally broken when…..

Celebration

2010-04-23T07:38:00.000-07:00

..
The Boss has done gone and spoilt me with this new toy. This is my first post using this new Toshiba NM305 Netbook. It is a departure from my widescreen HP but this one will travel with greater ease. A big ole “Thank You” to The Boss. Hint,, I could use a new pickup too. 

Celebration,,Reckon?

Months Earlier, I did a post where I started a story and others carried it forward with their comments. A few folks that I usually hear from did not participate and their explanation was that they normally didn’t write stories. Well, I understand that, but I invite these folks to jump in and play along too. I haven’t come up with a starting point yet, but I wanted to get input from a few of you.

Ok, here is the thing. When I was just a youngster I grew up with the opportunity to scout and play though out the piney woods of East Texas at my leisure. Now that was all fine and good, but I suppose it left a dent in the fender of my social skills. There weren’t many neighbors or friends around to play with. We had an old dog, but Daddy had to tie a pork chop around my neck to even get that dog to play with me. Come lunch time that even that old dog and I were adversaries. That is beside the point. The point is I am still prone to use those methods in order to attract friends, soooo, as per pre-mentioned post, I have these (see photo,, no I am not going to substitute a pork chop this time) as party favors.

If you will so much as say “hi” in the comment section, you win! Now how easy is that? But, it would be more funner if you would add your view of how the initial story should continue. Use any mood or twist that you would like, just remember women and children might be reading this.

But, there’s a problem on my end. I do not feel comfortable with asking all ya’ll your addresses inorder to send the pens. I have done that in the past and I know some feel comfortable with that, but if someone would volunteer to be the “depot”, I would mail all the pens (in stamped envelopes) to this one person. Participants could comment their address to the “depot person”, so that envelopes could be addressed and sent to the folks that sent the “depot person” their address.. wheeuuw,,,would that work? If this is too complicated, just say so.

"Down Here In Texas"

2010-04-22T05:58:00.000-07:00

originally posted at Serendipitous Surplus,, ok I admit it,, I might be a little lazy today..

“Down Here In Texas” It has been over twenty years since I first met these fellows. Do you ever get tired of hearing someone from another country or state proclaim, “Well, the way we do it back in,,,Ya Ya Ya”. Well, I don’t know any other way to put it. Down here in Texas, which comes from the Indian word Tejas, meaning “friendly people”, if ya like somebody, it usually lasts. It don’t mean you have to like ‘em right off. Ya kinda have to sit back and see if they are going to be all “hat” and no “cattle”. Don’t usually take too long. Not what a person says, but what they do, will wind up telling the tale.

What? Hell, no. They ain;t real people. They are made up. Larry McMurtry made ‘em up. Yep, but you know what? They are as fresh 'n gritty in my mind as the dust they stirred up going from Texas to Montana. Cap’em Gus McCrae and Cap’em Woodrow Call. I ain’t trying to “hawk” this book. The Pulitizer Prize has already done that. If ya haven’t already and don’t want to read it, knock ya’ self out. I won’t suffer from that. I already read it and watched the movie several times. One of those times was a long weekend and my youngest daughter was home from school. At my insistence, she watched it with us. It was her first time to see it. She had not read the book at that time. Not going to tell you how it ends but she looked at me with tears in her eyes and paid me a compliment.

“Daddy, you are a combination of Gus and Call rolled up in one.”

At first, I took it as a compliment, but “The Boss let out a grunt and a groan, with a roll of her eyes, which threw me into a state of wondering. I wondered if it was Gus’s charming ways or Call’s steel rod stubbornness she might have been thinking about. That still ain’t the point. The point is some writers can paint such a clear picture of who the characters are. Gus and Call and all the other members of the The Hat Creek Cattle Company came to life on the pages. You could “hear” what they were thinking.“The Last Picture Show” was the first in a series of four, (I think there were only four, well Rino Ranch might make five), but the characters lived their whole lives throughout these books.

I am not sure how McMurtry does it. I read his books. I re-read with just the intent of sneaking a peek at how he does it. I still can’t see a definite formula for his method, but something works.If I could paint just a fraction of the degree of character believability that McMurtry does, then ,, nope I would try to do a little better, but at least I would have the satisfaction that I was progressing. I see these characters in some of your writing out there. I take enjoyment in those characters and I hope you don’t mind if I look at them and say.

“What are those characters thinking?”

"Why or How Come?"

2010-04-21T06:44:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading a book. It is a mystery. No, No, not the story, well it kind of is a mystery but that isn’t the mystery. I am not a writer so here is the mystery. The mystery is; why are there goodles and gobs of books at places like Barnes and Noble that wouldn’t make good fire starting material and this manuscript, that I just finished, is still on a desktop at the author’s home. This is not the first “baby” of someone’s that I have read. The others were the same way too. Good, Real good. Ok, maybe a “he said, she said” that was not totally captivating, or the genre is a little new to me, and remember I don’t understand the rules of writing, but this is an “amazing” phenomenon to me- It is a mystery to me, that this book has not been picked up.

I received my new issue of Writer’s Digest last night and was scanning through to see what articles were in it. One article had a list of things that should be in a book. I haven’t read the article yet and this is not meant to be a critique of this particular book, but I associated each point the magazine was making to specific situations that I had read in the book. They were all there, so somebody had done their “homework”, even though the main character didn’t really get all wrapped up in school. The characters are real people and will continue to be so, especially when you ask yourself, “What would “…….“ do?”

Being new to writing, I have not latched onto the idea of trying to get my works published. This is a hard business. I guess I am trying to make too many points here, but the main one is DO NOT GIVE UP – EVER… This book, along with others, needs to be read. If a manuscript has been turned down, join a local group and set up critique groups that can input a range of ideas that might be adapted so that the “market” can smile more favorably. Make a short story out of parts of it and submit to different outlets. (not in this particular case perhaps, but a general idea). I have had the opportunity to try new ideas, in marketing in my industry and it is hard to come up with a ‘better mousetrap”, but sometimes the least little tweak can make a difference.

I find this new, to me, medium, is fun thought, provoking and definitely “amazing”.

I Need Help and/or Suggestions

2010-04-09T07:44:00.000-07:00

I have read, it seems, that in the Blogging World 100 posts is some sort of marker in the road of number of posts. At that point an event of some sort is participated in, such as a contest or "give-away". If you add the number of previous posts, (that by some freak of nature or some other Un-natural occurance cause them to get deleted) and the number of posts since then, there are over 100. Ok, some of them are pretty lame, but numbers are numbers.

I need a bunch socail chairpeopleto give me hints of what would be interesting to commemorate such an event. As many suggestions as can be put into the pot the better I can think about it. If I get no suggestions, then that will be terrible.. I don't know what my next idea would be, so help me out here,, What do you think???

Window

2010-04-06T15:02:00.000-07:00

At almost seven feet tall, bushy white hair and ashy looking whiskers, Great Grandpaw Jessie was kind of scary looking to a semi-timid six year old boy. The old straight, ladder back chair with a laced-in cowhide bottom seemed small even though Great Grandpaw was of slight frame. The mountain of hot coals in the fireplace was little comfort from the cold winter day. This side of the “Dog-run” home was referred to as “the house”. A “dog-run” house is a long single ridge roofed house that was divided in the middle with a wide hallway splitting the house into two sections. No door was at either end allowing the wind to flow through and cool during the summer - or let the “dogs run” through to the front or back yard. The bed rooms were usually on one end and the kitchen and other some room was on the other end. As with most houses of this design, A long porch went pretty much across the whole front of the house and a back porch of various designs attached to the back.

The young boy being restless, always like to play out in the dog run or sit in the wide swing on the front porch. It hung sideways so whoever was sitting there could wave at the traffic (it is a law in Texas that you have to wave at passing cars if it does not endanger yourself or anyone else by freeing a waving hand) or turn the other way and look through the window and check to see if Great Granddaddy was doing ok. Windows were a great invention to be able to see “inside”. The cold wind was sharp and the vision of the fireplace won the battle of decision. The boy could see the warmth inside. Great Grandpaw grinned and motioned for the boy to come on in the “house”.

Three years later the boy was sitting in the same swing watching the traffic. Cars drove by slowly. No one honked their horns. They did wave. Several cars and pickups had parked along the highway. The yard had been full of vehicles since early morning. Aunts, uncles, cousins and various friends were milling around inside and around the house. Uncle Bobby and one of the cousins were sitting on the porch steps drinking tea or soft drink out of a Dixie Cup. The boy nestled a paper plate with green beans and mashed potatoes in my lap. He was careful; He didn’t want to spill anything on his dress pants before they got to the church house. He turned and looked through the window. The effect puzzled the young boy. Instead of seeing inside, he saw himself. Was the window sending a signal? For a brief moment he was amazed at his own reflection. The harder he peered, the more distinct his image was. Gradually his focus relaxed and the interior of the “house” came into view. A window; sometimes to keep things in, sometimes to keep things out. While doing both, and with patience, they will allow you to see what “Is”. The old ladder back, straight chair was sitting in front of the fireplace. It was unoccupied. The boy could clearly see the black and white cow hide stretched across the chair bottom.

Old Dog of a Thing

2010-04-05T21:16:00.000-07:00

It’s ugly. I know it is. It has to be. “The Boss” said it was. So there ya go.

Sitting there in the refuge store, the light was dim. I didn’t see it at first. Others were scattered around. Mostly each was sitting off toward different corners. It was kind of sad looking, really. That is not exactly the truth. It was real sad looking. An old yellow dog, of a thing. Sometimes you can see past the scars the patchy spots and a whole array of imperfections. What the heck. Walking over toward it, I could see there was a little life, a spark, as someone might say, left in its old coat. Rustling my hand back and forth across its coat, I could see that a new “do” might bring out the luster. Goodness knows it couldn’t hurt

“How much for this poor ole’peek-id thing?”. The nice lady handed me a cup of freshly brewed coffee as her eyes sadly look it over. I could tell she seemed to have some sort of attachment.

“Sixty Dollars. That should be a fair price.” She pretended to be writing something on a note pad but out of the corner of my eye I could see she was watching me out of the corner of her eye. A line from a Billy Joe Shaver song came to mind….”I saw you looking at me while I was watching you, a’looking at me” or that is pretty close. Sorry Billy Joe.

I guess my grunt and reflexive inhale cause her to suspect my doubts in the worth of sixty dollars, because before I could give an answer of any kind, she added.

“Well, if you will provide a good home, I will drop the price to fifty dollars.”

“Ok, I will pull my pickup around back and make it easier to load.” I gave her two twenty-dollar bills and a ten. One more glance and with a shaking of my head I went out the front door and got in my pickup. Have you ever done something and as soon as the trap door snaps shut you think, “Why in the world did I make that decision?”

“Hey there, Ms Boss, come look what I found today.” Apprehension hung in the air like Spanish moss. “Whadda ya think?”

The way she cut her eyes back and forth at me and then again gave away her secret.

“Uhhh, where you going to keep that thing? Are you planning on keeping it in the house?” Eyes cutting back and forth.

“Well, I guess I can take it out to the manufacturing plant and try to clean it up a little.”

“I think that is a great idea. You always come up with just the right solution.” The Boss cut her eyes back around at me one more time while she was walking back into the house.

It took a week of serious work over but “The Boss” finally let me carry it in the house for a test to see how it behaved. The jury might still be out on whether it gets to stay or not.

(BEFORE,,late upload of pic)

What do ya’ll think?

The Boss and I both think the vote is still out,,lol,, but I had a good time "messin" with it.

Where??

2010-03-31T07:43:00.000-07:00

Most of the bloggers that I follow have fallen silent or at least infrequent. Why? and Where? ( are ye ).. Opps,,I am one of those. The fun stuff always seems to get pushed to the back of line. Last year I told myself (at about this same time), I am going to do some "Summer Stuff" this year. I didn't. I say the same thing this year and I am, but One of those things is to write more.

You folks have read several of my "tales" , epsecially about the coaches that have had a positve impact on my upbringing. In reflecting back, I have realized, even before now, that I like "team" activity. I do better and do more often picking guitars with a group than when I take time and sit alone to play. It seems that writing is the same way. Sure, there are tons of books out there I can read. I have done this but they all have "characters" that I enjoy but they are way short of "character". In short, I guess I am waiting for your "characters" to stoke up my enthusiasm.. see ? it can't be my fault..:)

So, what do you think? Hummm?

Accent?? lol

2010-03-29T08:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the accent... It is not mine.. lol.. I was doing the camera so I spoke very little. The first video was an old friend that started the sequence of being Bushy Beard's long lost relative and the other "map reader" was my brother in law. Although he did most of the talking, my parents always had a hard time determining which one of us was on the phone when we called, so you had a small glmipse I suppose.

This was a very memorable event for the boys as well as us grown ups. I am not sure who had the biggest kick. It was a cold and rainy day so we had a lot of time to sit around and talk and tell stories, but it did snow as we were leaving the camp. The last night as I packed my grandson down in his sleeping bag he said.

"Big Paw, this has been the best day of my life. Did all this really happen or did I just dream it?"

I don't have to explain to you how I felt.

Which Direction? (Bushy Beard part 2 or 3)

2010-03-23T06:25:00.000-07:00

The rain stopped and the treasure hunter dashed into the sunlight to get a better view of the long lost map of Bushy Beard. Their keen sense of direction sent the hunters quickly onto the path toward discovery. .
And then....

Bushy Beard is an Ancestor

2010-03-22T14:18:00.001-07:00

The rain pelted the tin roof like acorns falling from a giant oak tree. The weather had turned foul. Over a century ago a band of pirates led by "Bushy Beard", The Pirate, had been in the process of hiding their treasure when a young boy (Pedro), his dog (Baggywrinkles) and a red headed little girl (Luella Annabella) came upon the bunch and a fracas broke out. The bandits turned tail and ran before burying their treasure and it was never found. A map was dropped in the riot and was never discovered... until now.

"The Map" Jump to Seredepitous Surpluses for Video (couldn't get it to upload here)

Click on the POST TITLE to view VIDEO

To be continued..... Just too much excitement..

Bushy Beard Has Been Hard at Work

2010-03-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

Bushy Beard The Pirate has been hard at work eventhough he is a little behind. (Earlier deleted post back story, will repost). This week end is annual camp out for myself and my old running buddies. (see post about "Dumb Bull"). Bushy Beard buried his treasure along the Angelina River before escaping from Pedro and his little red headed friend who confronted his band of pirates.

My grandson aka "Pedro", at least for this episode will be making his first journey with us. He will most likely find an ancient treasure map hidden in the cabin and with help from all "us'ins" will find this buried treasure along the river banks. That is why "Bushy Beard" has got to get busy and complete his part of the program.

How this turns out will be reported as it happens. I just hope the weather is going to hold out.

Thanks Fats, I needed That

2010-03-15T07:37:00.000-07:00

A fellow(ette) blogger was talking about Mondays and I thought Yep, me too. Then,, I thought about old Fats,, I like this one... Click and see if you can keep from doing the "Blue Monday Shuffle",,:)

Ms Liza at MIDDLE PASSAGES wrote a post today that reminded me of an "Erased" earlier post of mine

2010-03-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

Click on Title to Jump to her site.

This was from the prompt "metamorphosis" at "The One Minute Writer"

I Finally Met A Morfus

‘Dim lights thi -ick smoooke and louuud countreee musiic”. If you know the song you understand the reasoning for the phonically spelled tag line. If not, oh well, continue on anyway. It happened today. Word prompt “Metamorphosis“.. The lights got brighter.

A whole tow sack full of psychiatrists won’t be able to tell you why guitar pickers hang out in the nastiest, soured smelling, roach infested honkey tonks to have a good time. I think it is the stereotypical vision of being the only place other people go to listen or play music. I can tell you it is not. I learned to hate it.

Thursday, three weeks ago, Mr. “Roy” shared his birthday cake with me and several others, celebrating his 90th birthday. It was lunch time at the Senior Citizens Center. Today was our Thursday schedule again.. Some friends and I play guitars at the Senior Citizen Meals on Wheels event on selected Thursdays. The window blinds were open. The fluorescent lights were bright. There was no smoke. Mr. “Roy” and fifty other celebrants hit the dance floor with the first chord of “Kansas City”. Mr. “Roy” likes to raise his knee waist high and shake his foot when he likes the music. Mr. Roy liked the music today. So did I.

Another Shameless REPOST " The Storm"

2010-03-08T19:33:00.000-08:00

Posted pre-blog fit. The Storm Click onTitle or on link.

http://www.glnroz49.blogspot.com/

Did This Really Happen??

2010-03-08T07:40:00.000-08:00

Normally, I don't like to "cut and paste" for a post but a busy Monday and a nifty little email that my father-in-law thought was funny forced me to share this with those who like to make fun of us Texans,,lol

Cowboy Bank Loan

A Cowboy from Sweetwater , Texas walked into a bank in New York City and asked for the loan officer. He told the loan officer that he was going to Paris for an international rodeo for two weeks and needed to borrow $5,000 and that he was not a depositor of the bank.

The bank officer told him that the bank would need some form of security for the loan, so the Cowboy handed over the keys to a new Ferrari. The car was parked on the street in front of the bank. The Cowboy produced the title and everything checked out.

The loan officer agreed to hold the car as collateral for the loan and apologized for having to charge 12% interest.

Later, the bank's president and its officers all enjoyed a good laugh at the Cowboy from Texas for using a $250,000 Ferrari as collateral for a $5,000 loan. An employee of the bank then drove the Ferrari into the bank's private underground garage and parked it.

Two weeks later, the Cowboy returned, repaid the $5,000 and the interest of $23.07.

The loan officer said, "Sir, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out on Dunn & Brad street and found that you are a highly sophisticated investor and multimillionaire with real estate and financial interests all over the world. Your investments include a large number of wind turbines around Sweetwater , Texas . What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5,000?"

The good 'ole Texas boy replied, "Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $23.07 and expect it to be there when I return?"

Don't mess with TEXANS...

"Abby's American Cup"

2010-03-03T07:06:00.000-08:00

If by some chance that you don't know that I have three daughters, then welcome to my blog because it is very likely your first visit. :)

It has always given me pleasure for them to acheive and think for themselves. I also like to bring attention to other youngsters, both male and female, when I feel they are working toward a goal of their own. I have never been sailing but have been intrigued by sailing since my youth. Somehow I stumbled onto a sailing site and its connection to a blog about sailing. It turns out to be the project of a sixteen year old girl with a dream. She has an enormous dream, only shadowed by the determination to acheive her dream.

For an uplifting and inspirational trip, jump to here blog and then to her official website to see for yourself.

http://soloround.blogspot.com/

The Day The Earth Stood Still

2010-02-24T13:45:00.000-08:00

The newspaper was lying openly on the coffee table. My father in law had left it open in order to ask if I knew the man in the photo. I did. He had made for me a couple signs. The detail is cut by a computer and they can be applied to a smooth surface. The article explained how he had bought the old movie theater. It had been storage building for an appliance store for many years and he hopes to renovate it back to a theater. It was known that I had an interest in saving old buildings of all sorts but movie houses were especially intriguing to me. I made a mental note to drive by and look at the progress myself.

The rumble of the diesel pickup engine died away and the Sunday morning was deathly quiet. I had a perfect parking spot; within twenty feet of the ticket booth. I sat in my truck listening to the clicking of the hot engine cooling. I got out of the truck and walked under the awning. An earnest smile stretched across my face. The last time I had been to this movie house was still fresh on my mind. I can’t remember the title but it was an English movie. It had a police chase scene that lasted most of the movie and I was forever confused about the siren noise. Years later I realized all European police cars made the same sound. I was a small boy, about ten or eleven years old. I was in the fourth grade. This was the same night the junior high building burned to the ground.

The front entrance was locked and the ticket window was boarded up. The side of the building had a large door used for the emergency exit. The construction men were using this door because of its location to the main theater. I turned the knob. It was unlocked and the door opened easily. A broken brick propped against the bottom held it open allowing a large shaft of sunlight through its opening. Stepping inside, it only took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. There was no resemblance to its earlier years. Plaster had almost completely fallen away from the red brick structure wall. About a half dozen metal folding chairs haphazardly arranged themselves around an ancient wood burning heater. This must be what a dungeon must smell like. Dampness and mold mingled with wild animal excrement. What a mess.

Being careful of where I placed my steps, I made my way toward the concession stand area. Without warning the exit door slammed shut. The noise cracked off the brick wall and echoed back from when the stage one stood. Eternal blackness was complete. A person’s first instinct is to put their hand in front of their face. My hand was not there, or at least it was not visible. A touch to the forehead confirmed the darkness. Logic is an unarmed alley in the battle of panic. A mental retracing of my steps around broken glass, rusty nails and other debris hampered my ability to find the exit. Not even a sliver of light seeped its way around the rickety door frame. If I waited a few minutes, hopefully my eyesight would further adjust to the blackness. They did not adjust.

I have heard that when you lose one sense, another will compensate to make up for that loss. Surely that was happening. The atmospheric interpretation changed. The cool air felt filtered and refined. Pungent mold odors morphed toward a hint of corn oil. Visions of molten yellow butter laced around the distinct memory of popcorn. They obviously were cleaning the snack bar area and had yet to clear away the years of spilled ingredients. No? The sharp report of filth was lacking. Sliding my feet instead of taking steps, a stationary object obstructed my movement; I bumped my knee. Reaching forward, searching for identification, I recognized the feel of an upholstered seat back. The cloth was cool and dry to the touch. A brocade patter was consistent across the entire back. Moving my hand downward I could recognize the shape as being a seat familiar to most move houses I had visited. I stood until my balance was steadied. If I sat for a few minutes surely my vision would adapt. The seat was soft and comfortable. I rested my elbows on the arm rests.

Stone quietness has a way of screeching. This was not that. Electronic scratching erupted from the darkness straight ahead. I relaxed my grip on the arm rests. My hands were going numb. Instantly the white reflection was blinding…..

The screen faded to black. A soft blueish glow through frosted diffusing panels scatted along both wall casts a hazy hue throughout the theater. Small white lights at the end of each row of seats illuminated the carpeted isles toward the rear entrance. On the left east wall a white box with glowing red letters marked the side EXIT. My initial thought; I will sit awhile and enjoy the event but the door opened and a bright shaft of sunlight eased its way into the chamber. The house lights dimmed. I knew it was time to go.

As I looked at the peeling paint from the stately marquee, I sat in my truck listening to the clicking of the hot engine cooling.

The "Point" of It All

2010-02-23T11:26:00.000-08:00

Today Septembermom http://myvoicemyview.blogspot.com/ "pointed" me over to Write With Pictures http://www.writewithpictures.blogspot.com/ with her post. The photo was the prompt for a Tuesday short story. My youngets daughter (middle daughter's story is almost finished) popped into my mind. She was the ballerina. This is my entry for the phot prompt. Please drop over and check their blog out, and thanks to Septembermom for the tip.

Photo by Michelle http://2009pictureadayproject.blogspot.com/

Get The Point?

“Oh daddy, throw those old smelly, worn out things away.”

Holding the tattered shoes that once were shiny and pink, now torn and scuffed to the point of being tread bare, I place them back into the box in which they arrived.

Her first pair looked like doll shoes. She was just a doll. Hardly in school but she wanted to be a ballerina. Perched on the edge of the theater seat watching for the first time what would become an endless stream of dancing toy soldiers and sugar plum fairies, a determination was being forged; A determination that would be the vehicle to carry beyond the colored stage lights and grease paint.

Blisters on top of blisters compounded with swollen and aching joints became the norm. Practices when most of the other kids were home or doing other recreational activities was the daily routine. Hundreds of hours preparing paid its dividend when the house lights dimmed and the stage lights glared. Smiling through pain was masked in the twirly whirl of satin and lace. Snow scenes to sword fighting mice. What a spectacle; a spectacle not so grand as to be able to hide the one small face that was continually sought by gleaming parents.

Hardwood floored dance studios have been replace with wood paneled walls and black robes as the halls of determination. Still just as intense and crisp but a different arena. But now, as the show starts to begin, the program announcer invitation has changed from “all be seated” to “all rise”.

Throw those old smelly things away?...Don’t even touch ‘em.

Maybe you Know,,Maybe Not

2010-02-22T09:29:00.000-08:00

I am not a writer nor am I a storyteller, but I enjoy folks that are. All of you are these and each of us has the opportunity to jump around from blog to blog and enjoy these stories. From time to time I reference artists that are outside our blogging family and they are of interest to ME and I think that you all might have not heard of them and would enjoy their work.

I cannot remember the chicken and egg scenario between Whole Wheat Radiohttp://www.wholewheatradio.org/wiki/index.php/Main_Page and

Woodsongs Oldtime Radio Hour. http://www.woodsongs.com/ Whole Wheat Radio is a computer based radio station in Talkeetna, Alaska. It was started by a computer guru and his soul mate. Jim Kloss and Ester Golton moved to Alaska and built a 12 x12 cabin and started their own radio station promoting only self produced music. It is carried on internet only. It does not produce any radio “waves”. It has grown beyond that first small cabin and you can research their journey if you have the interest. Woodsongs Oldtime Radio Hour is the brain child of Michael Johnathon and is produced at the Lexington Theater in Lexington Ky. It has a folk theme and it is produced by all volunteer staff as well as the performers. The theater is actually two movie houses that have been refurbished. The Boss and I stopped in on our way to Virginia Beach on our past vacation to tour the beautiful buildings.

Both of these outlets are a treasure chest of brilliance. I have no favorites, but one artist that you may not have heard of came to light via Woodsongs. Minton Sparks is a talented lady that tells stories, set with background music. She tells about things she has experienced in her past. If you would like to hear her perform, click on the Woodsongs link and then jump to “archives”. Scroll down to number #490 and click on the WMV icon and that show will download onto your computer. She shares the show with Jakob Dylan. You can “drag” the player time button over to her performance if you are not interested in Mr. Dylan. Minton Sparks also has her own website.

Just a thought, not a directive. If you cruise the internet for entertainment, this will be, I think, a fun episode with both of these sites.

http://www.mintonsparks.com/

Only One of Many Fine Quotes!

2010-02-19T11:42:00.000-08:00

"Within or Beyond?"

2010-02-17T15:11:00.000-08:00

Beyond Their Means

I have been doing it all wrong. I have been trying to live within my “means”. I thought I was following the habits that I had been taught growing up. You have met him in “Paw Paw Sacks”, “Lady McQuay”, “Put Up’t Tomatoes”, and perhaps others. He and my mother had been living “beyond their means” up until their passing and I didn’t know it. After he passed away, I took over the day to day operations of the bank statement, you get the picture. My mother lived and stayed on another three years. Not me, nor any other writer, is clever enough with words to convey how determined they were. An instant “blended family”, with the added opportunity of being share cropper poor, was grounds for an interesting lifestyle. This is not about how they negotiated though the financial and sociological rapids of raising three girls and a boy, all public school ages, but a synopsis of the outcome. Future stories will unravel the plot and introduce you to the characters.

Both of them had grown up through the Great Depression and had experienced firsthand true hardship. As youngsters, we were glad that we didn’t have to experience the same situations as we heard during the front porch conversations after supper. We knew that there were things that we were not accustomed to but seldom did I feel poor. Somehow we made it over the hurdles that presented themselves, from time to time. Credit was a necessity but it was taken very seriously. Credit was something to be afraid of and kept in check. Credit was allotted within a frame of mind of how you were going to pay it back. Credit was used for necessities. There was never a thought of buying something on credit that you didn’t need.

“Let me ask you something”. My sister that is my age, except she is four months OLDER than me asked, no demanded. We were sitting in the porch swing that actually hung from a frame in the back yard of their house.

“What?” All the time I wondered what kind of butt chewing I was in for. (Not really)

“Does Daddy always try to give you money?”

It had been almost a half century since the “blend” had been concocted. “You too?" He asks me that every time we go eat fried fish.” My thoughts, for some reason, jumped back to when school pictures were ready and there was such an effort to make sure we all had enough money for pictures to pass around to kin folks and friends at school.

“I don’t want or need to take from them, besides If I took it all I would still probably be…...” well my daughters might read this so you will have to fill in the blank with anything you want. The cackle echoed off the green asbestos style siding on the house. I laughed as well.

“Hell, take twenty bucks from time to time. It will make them feel better somehow.” I guess I was feeling a little guilty. He had bought lunch earlier that day.

Such a short time later, it seemed, my three sisters and I were sitting in their kitchen getting ready to draw numbers out of a hat to see who would go first. A lifetime of trinkets were sorted and place around in full view. Jewelry, watches, bibles, the list is too long to mention. One sister was designated to select for the older brother who was unable to be there. We started. We took turns selecting items that each of us wanted as a keepsake. More attention was given to watching the others as we touched each item. At the slightest indication that the chosen piece was important to someone else, it was left or offered to the other person. These were things they were given over the many years. Seldom did they indulge for themselves. We completed our task.

“Glenn you have to do the rest.” No questions or directions were given.

Still sitting in my pickup, looking across the deserted campground, listening to the Angelina River water ripple toward the Gulf of Mexico, there was the fire pit where fifty years ago, I watched my first pot of River Coffee being “cooked”. I realized just how far beyond their means they had lived. My goal was to take care of the rest of the loose ends. The final services had been covered. The hospital and doctors and been compensated. The house had long been paid for. The three automobiles were paid for. No outstanding obligation was left standing. The thirteen grandchildren and umpteen (I have tried to count three times and failed) great grandchildren had a little surprise coming, and still had six one hundred dollar bills with which I intended to “buy supper” for the girls. (And have).

This school custodian and restaurant waitress set for us a standard that I hope that I can someday reach. At first glance you might say they lived within their means. Trust me or ask anyone who knew them. They lived waaayyyy beyond their means.

Painting: A River Landscape, Peder Mork Monstead 1897

The Dry Hot Plains of Texas

2010-02-15T09:19:00.000-08:00

Trudging one foot in front of the other, hampered by the gouge in his thigh from the 50 caliber buffalo gun, Shane was desparate for a drink of water. The Texas sun was beating down. The only shade was his Stetson felt hat. Sweat was exploding from his whole body. He raised his head to look toward the horizon...... Damn I am in the wrong movie....

Texas February 12th

Invict Us

2010-02-11T14:20:00.000-08:00

Six more minutes until the bell rings.

“Out of the night that covers me….” Ok, I will memorize this thing tonight. The last half of class was designated as study time to give us a jump on the homework assignment but my concentration was on the clock above the caulk board. Invictus. Sounds a little bit sinister. My favorite lines “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul”, held little support for my more pending anxiety. Four more minutes until the bell rings.

She was late getting to school. She did not ride my bus. Actually we weren’t in the same grade level. Two more minutes. Changing class at the end of a subject period was a major social event. A short event but at times could be very intense due to the brevity. Surly she had made it to school before the first class was over. Today I will speak to her. I am pretty sure she will talk to me. Just last week as we passed in the hall a small smile gave me confidence. I think she was smiling at me. One more minute until the bell rings. We have five minutes between classes. Maybe we can talk about the football game Thursday night. I think there might be a reception after the game. The high school always has one.

The snap of books shutting coincided perfectly with the rolling clang of the class bell. Chairs clanging against desk fortified the signal of the bell. The rush to the halls was in full gait. I only have five minutes. I can’t be late for science again.

“Excuse me. Opps, sorry.”

Pushing and shoving to get to the hall. Finally the room emptied into the hall. Frosted blonde. Ok, nope that’s not her. An instant case of “cotton mouth”, as I recognized the tennis sweater turn from the midway stairway landing and descend the last half of the staircase at the other end of the building. I would never live it down it I threw up right here in the hall, not even counting the fact no telling who all would be splattered in the ordeal. Ok, now that thought made me feel better. If I take normal strides, we should meet just past the intersection of the other hallway. Oh goodness, six more steps.

“Hi.” The high pitch of my voice shocked me back into the present. Where did that come from?

“Hello.” A brief hesitation and a smile as if I had not finished my sentence.

“Come on, move it!” The crowd following either of us was not interested.

Man oh man; if I just had a couple of minutes, I would have had it made. Maybe I didn’t win that battle.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.
(William Ernest Henley)

That was a smile, wasn’t it? She said hello. YESSSS!

Only Fifty-five more minutes until the bell rings.

Framed...

2010-02-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

Framed…

The rain finally stopped after three days of on and off drizzle. Nothing had been able to hold his interest since the company had closed and liquidated its inventory. It seems all the late nights and weekends over the years was riding the skim along the curb being washed down the gutter. Two months and he still had no prospects with new employment. The severance package allowed him to take his time to secure a new job as long as he used good judgment. It was kind of pleasant spending a few days in Charleston. No rush, no deadlines. Just doing whatever he wanted to do for a few days.

The houses turned trendy shops along the street held little interest as he strolled down the historic district. He was following his sense of smell toward the aroma of fresh, roasted coffee. An empty table with only one chair snapped his attention. The heavy wrought iron chair screech as it dragged against the rough sidewalk as he sat down.

“No, just plain regular roast coffee, no cream or sugar, please.”

The waiter was dressed in white slacks and white shirt. His black vest matched the stripped canvas awning covering the sidewalk. The stranger blended into the crowd that had begun to gather along the street since the sun started to peek through the clouds. Young children laughed and played as their parents toyed with the wares of the neighboring shops. Relaxing had never been on his list of daily routines. Today was no exception.

It was easy to expect the jolt of caffeine. The brew was that good. Holding the cup in both hands, leaning on his elbows, his gaze caught a glimpse of movement through the window across the street. The design was more of a studio than a storefront. There were no wares placed in the window to draw the attention of the holiday shoppers. Some sort of cloth drape was covering an artist easel that faced toward the street. Removing the covering, a young artist immediately started with her brushes. Random strokes, it seemed to him. The fluid movements and pastel colors had a hypnotic effect. Soon, he was captivated.

A burning sensation shot through his elbows and up his forearms. How long had he been sitting in that position? A quick glance at his wrist watch indicate over an hour had passed. Screeching his chair he stood up trying to shake off his disorientation. The cloth covering was place over the canvas and the lady obviously left the studio. A feeling of anxiety flooded over his mood as he crossed the street and placed a hand on the window of the studio. Peering inside, he could see the covering still swaying back and forth. He had apparently missed the artist’s exit.

Today might be the day. He was poised at what had become “his table”. This had been going on for two weeks. Some days there was no activity in the glassed studio, but he had to make sure he didn’t miss a day. The lure had become too great. With the painting, arms and body had taken on a life form, blending into the background, without giving away the identity of the ghostly figure. His white Kaki slacks and starched shirt had collected three days of wear and wrinkle. Frenzied anticipation replaced every day concerns and routine. Today might be the day. Maybe.

There was a movement behind the glass. The spilled coffee went unnoticed as he shifted to get a better look at the lady on canvas. The removed dust covering revealed a continuing kaleidoscope of colors. The facial features becoming apparent, while leaving the recognizable features as bland as an egg shell, ignited a mystery within the daily visitor. Maybe today. The coffee half finished, he jerked as if his foot has stepped off a bridge. His head was lying across his folded arms and numbness was felt along the right side of his face. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the street was once again alive with reveling merry makers. The clatter of the foot traffic had jostled him awake. The drape was covering the portrait. How had he missed the artist today? He had been determined to bask in every stroke, watching the woman on the canvas come alive. The disappointing grind of the steel chair signaled his departure for the day. Maybe tomorrow, just maybe.

The following night brought no rest for it was filled with reoccurring dreams of the olive skinned lady on the canvas. Long dark hair, pulled back and tied into a style often seen as the fashion of a ballerina, framed an elegant profile. Large gold hoop earrings accented the eyes and smile of contented mischief. This could not have been the lady on canvas. The features were yet to be brushed by the artist. Where had he seen this face? Tired and weary, but without ability to sleep, he turned to the brown bottle of spirits to relax his fidgetiness. A half bottle into self medication, weariness tipped the scales toward sleep. A more peaceful rest, he had never experience. The cool night air brought a chill into his quarters as he slept through a dream filled sleep. Stirring in the middle of the night, a chill had fallen upon his shoulders. A damp and lingering chill. Attempting to reach for the woolen blanket he knew to be at the foot of his bed, he rolled gently to reach for the blanket. It was as if he was somehow fastened flat of his back to the cot. The harder he attempted, the tighter he seemed to be fastened. At the point of exhaustion, the stranger collapsed once again on his mattress. The candle had burned through its tallow and the room was totally absent of light. The heavy beating of his heart and deep laboring breaths were the only sounds in the room.

“Dawn will arrive shortly.” He whispered softly.

He supposed he whispered. No one was there to hear his words or he would have yelled louder hoping that someone would come to his rescue. The thought of a stroke or some other health related catastrophe went through his mind. There was no idea of the time of night. The oddest ideas appear at times like this. He would get a striking clock on his next visit to the shops. Even in a pitch black night the counting of the chimes would tell the time of hour. He would be patient. Each attempt get up from the bed brought the bounds tighter and tighter. Imagination or actualization? Time passed. Finally, the night felt to be fading. Eye muscles ached as they were pushed beyond their limits, attempting to land upon a recognizable speck. There. It appeared as a slinder streak, no wider than a hatpin - a golden streak of light piercing through the window. His eyes could not easily adjust from the long hours of darkness. The light beam inched its way down the wall facing his left. The room was beginning to become illuminated. Just a few more minutes. Maybe. In the window?

“Is someone standing there?” Once again, words not verified for ears to hear.

Advancing sun rays projecting into the room focused a mirror imagine on the glass panes. The coffee shop was visible beyond the figure directly across the narrow street. The image at which he looking, was not a figure at all. It was the likeness of the lady in his dreams. The mischievous smile and large gold earrings were the key. Yes, it was definitely her. The painting was finished. How had he missed it? But, this wasn’t the painting in the window. Was he still dreaming? Instead of her arm resting, relaxed, on a bookcase, it was hooked through the arm of another figure. Why had the artist painted the lady so perfectly dressed and this other figure was crumpled and disheveled. It appeared to be his suit. The sun’s ray continued crawling down the wall giving greater contrast to the reflection. His heart skipped a beat and then raced unabated. Breathing was labored with the tightness holding him into place as if he were sewn into, - into a canvas. No sound could be heard for the scream was suspended in time. There was no mistaking the recognition of the gentleman suitor reflected in the pane of glass.

"Lady McQuay" Repost (click to Jump to Serendipitous Surpluses)

2010-01-29T12:10:00.000-08:00

A commentator asked me about a reference I made in my Happy List post about crafts (boat building) making me happy.. Maybe some missed the first time around, I hope others aren't bored,,
Jump to Serendipitous Surpluses by Clicking on the Title Bar

"Earthcrack"

2010-01-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

The earth has not only split and cracked in Haiti.....

Photo: http://www.oakhurstchamber.com/