Ok,, I am bite'n It Off

Bite'n off more than one can chew is sometimes right up my alley.  Zig Ziegler,  who is a master motivational speaker, once wrote in the foward of his upcoming book that he weighed much less than what he actually did at the time.  He figgered that in six months, at 2 pounds a day it would be a snap.  In fact, it would be so easy that he waited another 3 months to even start his diet.  Well, old Zig is never wrong in my book,,, This Old Codger decided that I needed a "playhouse".  A room, buidling, or hut down by the barn in which to do some "reed'n, rite'n and no rithmatic", so I mentioned this to The Boss.

"Ok, but what about the outside, covered reading deck that you promised to build for me?"  (Now you imagine her look for yourself.)

"OK, Dear,, but I was going to do that and not tell you and let it be a surprise."..(Now imagine the look I got with that.)  "But now I guess it won't be a surprise."  (Ok I know that is lame, but whadda ya gonna do?)

So, I have been working on her deck and it is coming along pretty much on schedule. 

I see you there a'thinkin',,,"what the hell does that have to do with Old Zig?  Well, I will tell you.  Zig talks about his momma trying to get him to do this, that and another, and she would say "Zig, you're just like Grandma's biscuits,,,she used to say 'they squated to rise and got caught in the squat'."  Ok, I will translate;  you have to push to keep going in order to reach your goal, so just like Zig saying that he weighed much lessat the time but had time to lose,  I have "named" my playhouse, (actually the design has developed into a larger room that will sleep one of my girl's families - with a small bathroom)..We'll just have to see how far i get with that.  So to "take my oversized bite "and see if I can chew it,  I am showing you the sign that I made that will hang on the front porch above my rocking chair...  Ok, time for me to "chew".  Now, I will have to hurry up with the "Grammy Deck", and get started on my project.  It wouldn't hurt if ya'll gave me a nudge of encourage every now and then by saying, "How's the hotel a'comin'?"  Rates will be reasonable  :)  :)

Field of Dreams or just Day Dreams

Not much of a story… to most. We all know where most of the boundaries lie. We have all kinds of signs What is the speed limit? I dunno. Well look for a sign, Duffus. We all know they are there. It gives some sort of comfort to know they are there. Sometimes you have to LOOK. How did you learn what that road sign meant. Somebody probably told you. Others have to experiment and learn about the wonders of technology. Radar. Still in a way that is a sign. This posted photo is a sign. Now that you have glanced back at the pic and have asked yourself, “ Has he lost his ever loving mind”?

Nope, Yep, well I dunno, but here’s how it goes.

Back before color television and video games and every kind of sport imaginable, there was “little league” boy’s baseball. I know, I know all you weemen liber’s ( I got three daughters, remember?), ya’ll are going to say “We didn’t get to play baseball back then”. Well, that is a different story and different day.

The season was short, not like today, where the extra games, play-offs and such, go nearly all summer long. You got at it and got it over with, but in those few short seasons, each learned about guidelines. Rules- Rules- Rules. Why so many rules? I dunno. To keep honor and chaos in its rightful spot, I suppose, and at times it did.

You learned that the “Dads” were engineers, coaches, councilors, medics, and on and on. The field had been neglected for years. A Dad with a host of other Dads cleared brush and mowed until you could see where the old field was. Chicken wire was restrung on the back stop. I don’t know who paid for the chicken wire but I can tell you it was from the community.

Everyone’s Dad worked. Coaching time was after that. Part of the “coaching” was that if the coach was late or couldn’t make it, you practiced anyway, on your own. The Dads umpired. You didn’t give your Dad or anyone’s Dad any lip. You did not want to be “out” the second time. There was amble transportation. Yep; Moms and Dads. Somebody’s parent had to leave early. Yep, hitch a ride with somebody’s Mom or Dad. Maybe even eat supper with them. Do you see a pattern here?

Socialization. That term has just about worn me out. Play baseball for a season with these mentioned guidelines and you will get plenty of socialization. Who bats first? Who bats fourth? What is the difference? I know. Do you? Everybody gets to bat. You barely had enough to field the team anyway; wealthy, poor, and in between. “It’ll all even out in the end”; ( title of a great song a friend of mine wrote, different story and different day). You showed up every time. Practice or game, you were there because the others couldn’t play if you were not there to be part of the team.

I could go on and on, and probably will with a lot of stories about the “players” that I encountered on this field of dreams. Yep; quite a few of them too. About the PHOTO? Oh, like the story, not much. If you can use your imagination, you are looking from the home run fence back down the right field fence line. If you LOOK veeerrry closely, you will see HOME.  Yep, and a sign of the past.

The Day The Earth Stood Still

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…..



 
  http://www.youtube.com/embed/6W4_mUBWxwU?rel=0" 

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 though; 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.

A fun Place to Drop By and Visit "Tin Star Ranch Hand"

A few weeks back I re-upped my Facebook account and was reunited, rather quickly, with some of my old high school buddies.  I think I am joined in opinion with almost all of them that we had a  unique friendship amongst us all.  We all had very fond memories of each other and our teachers.

One of these folks spent his career with the Texas Department Public Safety, one of the most respected law enforcement agencies in the state and in my opinion any where,,,but that aint the point.  He has had a Blog for quite sometimes and it has some very good (interesting and humorous) stories.  It's hot and you may not want to go outside and play in the heat of the day, so I recommend that you drop by and say "howdy" to the old TIN STAR RANCH HAND.  I think the pleasure will be yours.  Tell him that old Glenn Bert "sent'cha"

http://tinstarranchhand.blogspot.com/

"Dry Docked" Me and Toodlums

Another repost to expose my new found high school mates to an adventure with a school mate (that has passed on)...and myself...

Carlus Wayne Morgan, AKA;  Toodlums

“Dry Docked”

Women are the only ones that do dumb things. Men always have a reason, even if they don’t really need one.

You have met him before, but I have to keep changing his name so that I don’t have to pay him royalties. From here on, in this episode of adventure, I will refer to him as “Todlums”. Todlums and I have been running together since we were about twelve years old. He was over at the office just last Friday. I invited him to lunch but I knew I was safe from buying his lunch, because he is always late, but that is another story and this is this one.

I bought a boat, but first. My brother in law and I bought a dump truck. We hired another brother in law’s brother to drive that dump truck. You have to follow this real close now. With no fault of his ,he (the brother in law’s brother) rolled the dump truck down the side of an iron ore mountain. I am not talking about on the wheels. I am talking about on one side, on the top, on the other side. Etc. The insurance company was quick and efficient. I mis-spoke earlier. We bought a boat. I do not recommend this process, just buy the boat first.

One Monday night I called Todlums.

“Let’s go fishing tomorrow.”

“You don’t like to go fishing.”

“I do now, I got a boat - pause - and some beer”.

“OK.”

“Come on RIGHT now, you are going to stay here tonight so you want be late tomorrow.”

“OK.”

A gloriously beautiful day it was. The sky looked like it was spray painted with sky blue paint. The wind was very light causing hardly a ripple on the entire lake. It was seasonably warm. The humidity was high. We took a short swim before off to the scaly creature’s habitat we did go. In Texas, I am pretty sure it is a law that you cannot fish close to where you “put in’the boat. You must, I am sure, straddle in, life jacket up, slowly ease away from the lake bank and then run wide open until you can no longer see the vehicle that brought you to the event. We did this with professional precision. With speeds reaching excess of plenty fast enough. Water spray provided a feeling of cooled jubilation.

“How about here?”

“OK.”

“Let’s drink a beer first; it’s hot.”

“OK.”

There is nothing like the sound of puepussstt echoing across a smooth glimmering lake. I placed the Cloud’s Pleezin Po-Boy sandwich on the bow of the boat to bask in the morning sun. They would be perfectly heated by the time lunch rolled around. It is just hard to explain the allure of such an event. After the first refreshment, it was noticed that we probably weren’t in the best fishing spot on the lake. It was determined that before we got our gear all wet and tangled, we would go to that cove over yonder. In a few minutes, we got to “over yonder” and killed the engine.

“Man, this is the spot. let’s drink a beer before we start.”

Puepussst,,,,,puepussstt .

“We are going to catch ‘em today, man’alive. Just as soon as I finish this I am gonna bait up.”

“Have you ever been over to The Landing?”

“No, but I know a fellow, who’s buddy catches big’uns every time he goes over there.”

“Gimme one of those sandwiches and a beer before we head out that-a-way.”

The Landing was sure to hold treasures of sightseeing even if a fish never flops. No luck there either. This went on pretty much all day. A safe bet would be that the spinning prop got more fish than was caught by the total number of angles that day. I have seen a gazillion bumper stickers that read Any Day Spent Fishing is better than the Best Day Working. I am convinced that included the fact if you never wet your hook. This was one of those days, but the horizon was reaching up toward the flaming orb. It was time to head to la casa.

The sixteen foot bass boat glided effortlessly up onto the sandy beach. I told Todlums to jump out and back the trailer down the ramp. I would do the obligatory redneck circle with the boat and drive it onto the trailer. He would then pull me and the boat up the ramp. This can only be done by a man wearing a feed store cap and preferably the sleeves cut out of an old faded denim shirt. I was fixed, plus a half-finished Travis Club Senator cigar made by Finch Tobacco Company, San Antonio, Texas, clinched dead center in my mouth finished the list. This was going to be a snap.

Todlums got into his ‘62 Chevrolet pickup truck and only on about the fourth try got the trailer backed far enough into the water. Finishing up the ceremonial circle, the boat slid up on the trailer and its belly found the supporting cradle. Peering through the back glass of the pickup, Todlums was watching with anticipation for my signal. That’s when I spotted it. The Chevy was a three speed on the column and the shift lever was sticking straight up. The transmission was either in second gear or still in reverse. Now you tell me which one it was.

I certainly did not want to look silly in front of the scattered strangers around the loading dock so for caution’s sake, I yelled out to Todlems.

“Be sure it is in LOW (gear).”

Todluns thought I said, “I’m ready let’s go.”

The truck’s engine roared to life. There was an acute backward movement of the blue truck. Hell bent for bassacwards we went. The rear of the truck souged off into the lake until the tail pipe was blowing bubbles like a trapped whale breaking wind. Todlums was still looking out the back glass right at me; eyes bigger’n dinner plates. Before the whole truck got under water, Todlums had sense enough to hit the brake which slung the boat backwards, squirting off the trailer. I, Captain boat-pilot, had it under control. No problem. The boat was driven from the front swivel seat. The throttle was on the right side and the steering stick was on the left. Sitting tall and unnerved, I yanked back on the steering stick to twist the boat left and I showered down on the throttle to the peg. The moss green Kingfisher lurched forward like a big frog and rammed snugly against the bow stop. Evenrude was squealing at top lung. Todlums recognized the error of his direction and stabbed the gear shift into sure enough low gear. Out we started. The trailer once again dislodged from under the fiberglass watercraft. The boat prop caught hold and forward we went back onto the trailer. This one was going to be one for telling about. About a third way up the ramp, in all the excitement, the six cylinder pickup engine coughed and almost died. Todlums pushed in the clutch and raced the engine to top RPM’s.,,and jumped off the clutch. One more time, backwards I was headed. The trailer was built to tilt in the middle for easier loading and when center of gravity was reached, the back of the boat crashed onto the concrete ramp. Todlums was on his way, so, in short time, the full length of the boat was resting quite firmly on its belly. The back of the boat and motor prop were still slightly in the lake. Boat motor was still at full scream. Mud and water was reaching tree top heights and mud was raining down like from a slop filled volcano. Women and children. were running and screaming, hiding behind trees. One old dog was barking and jumping up and down. Everyone was in general disarray.

Todlums got to the top of the hill. ( to this day, I don’t believe that he knew what happened until he got out of the truck.) He came running down the ramp and stopped in a linebacker’s stance and just stood there in total bewilderment. The noise was deafening. A fellow fisherman standing next to a picnic table was hunkered over, shielding his beer cooler from the falling mud pies. He was bent at the knees and his brow was furrowed down to the top of his big nose. His mouth was all twisted up in a snarl, with his three teeth showing. His squint indicated that he was not totally convinced that he was seeing what he saw. He was holding his hand out making a silly twisting motion. Finally I realized that he was indicating for me to turn off the motor. I slowly reached over and clicked the ignition off. If was absolutely quiet; the cigar still in its rightful location. The only sound heard was mud splats from falling lake bottom mixed with seaweed and the swinging stainless steel basket fastened to the inside rail of the boat, holding my last beer, swishing back and forth; Skerrshh, Skerrshh, Skerrshh.

Thanks Coach, I needed that

Just another "re-post" linked to FB.  I apologize if you fellow bloggers feel tricked into a site visit..maybe i don't feel too bad :)

I am tired.  Tired of this, tired of that…  I often find myself wrestling with things that other people are able to just leave alone. 

Nope, I am not going to gripe on a particular subject.  I am going to talk about a solution;  I hope.

As with almost all my teachers, my coaches had a big influence on my up-binging.

I would like to see a few, or even maybe a lot of things to be different. Things that are hindering me from which I might want to go or do.  Barriers, or at least obstacles, can sometimes get in the way.  It can be anything.  Imagine yourself and the things that are blocking your progress; business, school, reading writing, ‘rithmetic.  Maybe ailments.  I know I have a bushel load of those too.  It has to be something though, doesn’t it?  Something is always causing the soup to be a little too salty.

Then I remembered.  I seem to do more of that, now that the snow is gathering on the mountain, if you know what I mean. It has been a looonnngggg time since I was in high school.  Things change.  Those that have seen a glimpse of my stature, you can see that it might be described as robust.  I am not overweight.  Even though at 6’2”, I am just too short for the comparison scale to match my weight.  You might find this hard to believe but in high school, I ran track.  Hurdles.  I know, not your normal idea of a hurdler, but that is not the point.  I enjoyed a small level of success in this effort.  That is not the point either.  Wait, maybe it is.  I don’t know.

Our school was hosting a track meet with a large number of other schools.  The school had a tradition of excelling with its track program therefore a large number of schools wanted to come to our meets.  In most of the running events, because of the large number of participants, preliminary races or trials are run to determine the fastest times in each heat.  The finals were then run at the end of the meet to determine the ranking of the runners in that event.  The preliminary times were not as important as long as they were fast enough to make the “cut” for the final races. I was fortunate enough to make the finals in one of the events.  I truthfully cannot remember exactly which particular event.

Time came for the final event in that category to be run.  The coach and I were talking about “go, go, go” type of stuff.  He mentioned that I did not have the fastest time in the “pre-lims” and it had been nowhere close to my best times. It was a very cordial type of conversation.  My response was immediate, and was, I felt, true, “But Coach, it is raining!”  I am sure you can agree that I had a good point. 

I cannot remember seeing “Coach” without his Beechnut chew, and I never saw him spit; ever. He also was a robust man.  The race was ready to start and the starting blocks were in place.  He walked gingerly about twenty feet out in front of all the runners.  Stretching both arms out parallel, still chomping, he turned two 360 degree turns very slowly.  The other participants looked at me as if I had any clue about what he was doing.  I just shook my head.  The man with the starter pistol even looked at me. Coach swaggered back to where I was standing, grinned and shook his head in an affirmative nod. 

“Well, Bert, you are in luck”

“Coach, what in the heck are you doing and talking about?”

“No, excuses, I have determined that it is raining in all lanes.”

The starter pistol went off echoing against the brick walls of the gym and high school buildings. The race went well.

Again,,,”Thanks Coach, I needed that.”

Jump to Invictus/Crowded Hallway

http://glnroz33.blogspot.com/2010/02/invict-us.html

click on link above to jump