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 |  My second blog. What you get are pieces of me; my humor, my memories: be welcome. |
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MY BOOK! http://www.lulu.com/davidmac73 This picture was in the header of my first blog and I wanted to bring it back. Me and my sweetie on our wedding day....it is my favorite picture. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This is my second Blog on WDC. The first Blog, Random Thoughts, is finished and done and I loved almost every minute I spent doing it. This blog will be somewhat different than the first because I want to use this space for my humor and my memories. The humor may sometimes fall flat and the memories may, at times be boring, but isn't that the way it is with life. Please join me here and partake in these pieces of me and if sometimes you find the jokes unfunny or the memories dull, then please come back another day and maybe you will find something to your liking. After all, like my daddy always said: "Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you." Thank you, vivacious   for this neat new logo for my blog! Yup, this about says it all, I think!** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I thought that Independence Day was the appropriate day to put this great new siggy in my blog....Thank you sultry ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please check out Scarlett's Newsletter for Bloggers: The Blogville News
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Thank you, Startiara  for this lovely Siggy!! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Ah, the wonders of modern medicine! Last night, around eight o'clock I had to report to Sleep Quest, the local clinic which deals with sleep disorders such as Sleep Apnea which it seems that I suffer from. This was my second and hopefully my LAST trip to this little wonderland. Last night they hooked me up to their trusty little CPAC machine to see if that would cure my nocturnal woes. Have any of you ever had the pleasure of wearing this little gem before? They tell me that it gets easier the more I use it; that remains to be seen. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular medical torture devise, just think of having a wind-tunnel blowing at full power with the air flow directed straight up your nose. Now consider trying to SLEEP while this is taking place. The overly happy technician, Mark spent the first thirty minutes of my visit hooking me up to all the same wires he used last time I was there. Then, after I was all hooked up and had struggled into the prone position upon the bed, he trotted out the damn CPAC machine. I was personally dubious as to his ability to find enough clear space on my body, space not already wired to his computer, in which to place this new contraption. I should not have worried; Mark is a whiz at finding space to hook crap to the human body. He cheerfully attached the CPAC over my nose, with its webbing straps over the top of my head and around the back of my neck....LOVELY. When he flipped the switch to activate the machine I thought my head was going to swell up like one of those cartoon figures and I was going to float off to the ceiling. Of course that did not happen. Instead, I felt my nose hairs being uprooted and swept away with the strong air current. Then Mark, who I am convinced was a dungeon master during the inquisition in a past life, cranked the machine up to a setting of 4. Again, for those of you unfamiliar with the machine, 4 is one of the low settings and it gives an air flow similar to the strong wind which bends large trees during a Hurricane. Then with a cheery wave, Mark left the room to man his computer screen, presumably so that he would be able to pin-point the exact moment my head exploded. Well there I lay with about twenty wires attached to my body, unable to move, while my nose received the same wind as a category four hurricane....and he said: "Have a nice sleep???? Of course I didn't go right to sleep. God knows I tried to sleep and I think I might have dozed off for a few seconds here and there. Finally Mark came back in and told me he needed to ADJUST the machine, then maybe I could sleep. Well he adjusted it alright, he turned the damn thing up to NINE! I soon discovered that the setting, 9 on the CPAC machine is the setting that equals the wind force of a Micro-Burst. That is the wind phenomenon that has been known to slam 747's out of the air! I just gave up at this point. I now how pure oxygen ripping out the lining from the inside of my nose, traveling into my skull, wiping out all my nice cob-webs from a mostly unused brain, then bouncing off the back of my head. I can only presume that some of the wind actually made it to my lungs. I just closed my eyes and said to hell with it, I went to sleep. Of course I woke up every few minutes, it seemed like to me, but I always managed to go back to sleep. Aside from the rather nasty nightmares which featured me as a runaway balloon figure in a Macy's Day Parade, I didn't suffer too much discomfort after a time. Finally, about four o'clock this morning I awoke and hit the button to call Mark into the room. I asked him in a very calm and quiet voice if he thought he had gathered enough data to end the test. He looked rather disappointed but answered that Yes, he believed he had enough. "SO GET THIS DAMN MESS OFF ME!" I yelled at him. He spent the next ten minutes unhooking me from the CPAC and all the other wires. Yes, that's right, it only takes ten minutes to unhook the mess because I was helping him by ripping wires from my body and tossing them across the room! All told, I guess I managed to sleep about 3 hours out of the six or so that I was there. The funny thing is that after only three hours of sleep I felt more refreshed and alert than any eight hour sleep I have had in years. Mark was quite smug as he explained that it was not the quaintly of sleep I had gotten, but the quality that made the difference. He also reminded me that if and when I get the machine in my home I would quickly become used to the discomfort. Maybe he has something there. Maybe there will be a time when I will finally find out what it is like to feel really rested and refreshed in the morning. What I am really looking forward to is that first night, at home, when I am laying there wearing my Buck Rodgers mask over my nose and getting my hurricane up my nose and then getting to tell my "frisky" wife: "Not tonight, dear; I'm breathing!" |
| As a few of you might have noticed, I missed doing a blog yesterday. I am sorry but I just couldn't get into the mood. You see, I have an excuse for the dirth of words yesterday. It seems that the dreaded Dramallama decided to pay me a visit yesterday and he took a dump on my front porch. The drama? Well it isn't that uncommon here in America. Like a great number of other citizens I have been discovered to be in arrears due to a dispute on my Federal Income Taxes....to the tune of $4,000. This stems from a glitch which took place back in 1996. Anyway, I only learned of this yesterday when I picked up my paycheck and just happened to notice that HALF THE DAMN THING WAS MISSING! (THUD) Well when I picked myself off the floor I examined the check stub and found a "deduction" labeled Federal Levy. Well after coming home and making some hot phone calls I learned that 10 years ago I had been a bad boy and now it would seem that I am about to pay for it...oh lucky me! So...what does this mean for me in the foreseeable future? 1. As an employee of Wal-Mart, even though I have worked my way up the salary ladder, my wages still rank me BELOW the poverty level...now I have to learn to live on HALF that. 2. Grocery shopping has suddenly become a luxury which we shall now indulge in a lot less. 3. Going out to eat will now mean taking our plates onto the front porch for dinner! 4. My favorite before-bedtime-cocktail will now be ice water with a twist of lemon. 5. Will have to do some serious number crunching to see if we will be able to continue to keep our internet connection. Now I am not going to bore you with paragraphs of "OH WOE IS ME! I AM DESPERATE AND SPIRALING INTO DEPRESSION!" Nope, I have kicked the Dramallama off my damn porch and have made up my mind to carry on as best I can. Hell, its the Government, all they can do is bleed me dry...they can't eat me...can they? LOL! Anyway, if by chance I happen to disappear from the blog page for awhile you guys don't worry. It just means I had to let the internet go for awhile. Sooner or later I will be back and blogging like crazy..or crazy blogging...whatever. My old daddy had a saying for stuff like this that jumps up and bites you in the ass from time to time: "SHIT HAPPENS so quit crying and get on with your life". That is what I am gonna do. |
| Why do fathers always think they can do whatever their sons can do and do it a lot better to boot? My father was no different. No matter what it was, he was convinced he could perform any task better than I could. The thing was, he was right...most of the time. The one major exception to this rule was riding my horse, Skipper. I have blogged about Skipper before but for those of you who might not remember, I will tell you a little bit about her again. Skipper was half Quarter horse and half Tennessee Walker. The Walker half of her bloodline assured her of being a bit high-strung and nervous....not an easy horse to just jump on and ride. In fact, there was very few people who she would even allow up on her besides me. Before she was my horse, her former owner had won quite a few ribbons riding her in Cutting Horse compitions at different rodeos...she was a champion. If you have never watched a good cutting horse work you have missed a treat. In competitions a small herd of cows are brought into the rodeo arena and the horse and rider cut out one cow from the herd. It is then the job of horse and rider (mostly the horse) to keep the lone cow from rejoining the herd. When you see a good horse work a cow it is almost like they are dancing, the horse matches each move the cow makes as it tries to slip by the horse and rejoin its friends. Okay, so you get the picture. My horse could run like the wind and turn on a dime and give you two nickles change. Not a horse you want to ride unless you are use to it. Well as it so happens, one day the rancher I worked for had a bunch of cows in a lower pasture he needed to drive back up to the ranch house. These cows had spent all summer running in the river bottom forests, foraging for themselves and were pretty wild by the fall of that year when we were to gather them up. Dad heard Mr. Hood and I talking about going out the next morning to round up these cows and he suddenly decided HE wanted to come along and "Help us out"...HA! Both Mr. Hood and I tried, diplomatically to dissuade dad from coming with us. We knew it was going to be a hard ride and an all day job just to find these cows, much less get them headed back to the corrals. Dad, to my knowledge, had never spent much time on the back of a horse. After all, when he wasn't working in the oilfield, he was a dirt farmer at heart...horses were not something he had ever had much experience with. We had no luck. Amid claims of "showing the boy how its done", my dad insisted on coming along. Mr. Hood, ever the pragmatist gave in and told dad; "Okay, its your skin. Come on along". The next day, things went from bad to worse when, just after daylight we gathered at Mr. Hood's barn. I was leading Skipper and dad was walking along with me. I assumed he was going to ride one of Mr. Hood's old mares....nooooooo....not my dad. He insisted on riding Skipper for the day and told me to catch one of Mr. Hood's old horses for my mount. Well me and Mr. Hood just looked at each other and we both shook our heads...we knew how this was going to go. I went off and saddled an old mare that was more at home behind a plow than herding cattle and dad happily jumped up on Skipper's back. She, just as happily, threw him right back off! Had I of laughed then, I would not be here now. Nope, I stiffled my mirth as he picked himself up and dusted his backside. I did suggest that he might mount slowly and don't jerk the reins at all...Skipper had a soft mouth. We finally got mounted and headed off to find the cows. It was about a five mile ride through the woods to where the cows were last seen and we headed off at a good clip. The horse I was riding had a gait very similar to a sherman tank...rough as hell to set the saddle. Dad, on the other hand, eagerily took the lead, setting Skipper into a single-foot gait that was like riding in a rocking chair. I was not a happy camper. I got my revenge though when we came to the first creek we had to ford. The water was only a few feet deep and it was an easy ford...if you didn't stop. I warned dad as we entered the creek not to stop and let Skipper drink. Of course, him knowing so much more than me, ignored my warning and stopped in the middle of the stream to let Skipper get a drink. Bad move. Skipper loved the water. As Mr. Hood and I exited the creek and started up the other bank we heard a loud splash followed by a very impressive string of expletives that almost turned the air blue. I looked back in time to see Skipper, just as happy as a clam, down on her side and splashing in the water...dad was somewhere under her! Well we got Skipper up and dad out of the water before he drowned. He was soaking wet and so was my dang saddle. He got remounted and was still yelling bad names at me, my horse and every cow ever born. The best was yet to come. We finally found the cows and, as expected, they scattered in all directions trying to elude the men and horses. The race was on! We each took out after a different group, trying to get them all together and headed for home. The cows were having none of it. We rode at a gallop trying to catch up to the cows. Through pine thickets, over logs, jumping gullies. I was lagging sadly behind because the horse I was riding had all the speed of a bicycle in a Nascar race. Dad, on the other hand was out in front and gaining on one cow. Skipper was streched out at full speed and was running like a racehorse. Unfortunately for dad, the cow didn't run in a straight line. Just as Skipper pulled along even with her, she peeled off to the left, making a hard turn. Of course Skipper never missed a step and at a full run, she too pivioted hard to the left. Dad kept going straight! He must have bounced four times before coming to rest at the base of a big pine tree. Skipper stopped in her tracks and looked back at dad quizzically, as if to say: "Hey! You coming with me or not?" That was the last straw for dad. As I reined up to see if he was hurt, he staggered to his feet and demanded that I give him my mount. "Catch that crazy horse of yours", he grumbled. "You done ruined her with all that running". I knew better than to say a word. I just dismounted and handed him the reins to the old mare and happily went off to "catch" Skipper. I really think she was relieved to have me up on her back again. The rest of the day went without incident. The cows were brought back to the corrals safe and sound and dad and the old mare were a perfect match. He never again demanded to ride my horse....anywhere...anytime, which was fine with me and even better with Skipper, she hated amatures! |
| I had not planned on writing a blog today. I really had nothing of any interest to share with anyone who happened by here but when I read Nada's blog I suddenly had a subject. Dogs What is it about these wonderful creatures that captivates so many of us? From the time that the first wild wolf allowed itself to be domisticated by pre-historic man, its decendants have remained close to us; protecting our homes, offering complete loyality to our person. It is the dog who many times teaches us lessons in unconditional love and loyality, lessons we sorely need in our lives. Try as we might we can never equal the love given by a dog to it's master. I have owned many, many dogs in my lifetime but it was not until I met Mel that I learned the joy of accepting the love of an animal. I was raised to believe a dog was a tool. He either hunted food or he worked livestock...much like a good horse, he was just something you used in a day's work. I am proud to say that now I know the difference between a tool and a creature who can love me. Nada and her husband have shared the love of their dear Ollie for seventeen years. Can you even begin to imagine the pain of losing something you have loved that long? I really can't imagine it. Not long ago I lost my Rotty, Crockett. We were only lucky enough to have had him in our lives for a couple of years but as I write this, it is hard to remember a time when he wasn't sitting at my feet. Crockett was a big, mean looking dog with an intimadating growl which could make a person's blood run cold when they heard it. The funny thing was, Crockett was as gentle as a lamb. He let the cats use him as a big pillow when they wanted to nap. I can not tell you the number of times when I would awaken from one of my more vivid and horrible nightmares and find his head resting on my chest, his eyes staring into mine as if trying to calm my shaking body. He would remain close to me until the night fears had subsided and then return to the end of the bed...his job done. Crockett enriched my life in ways I would never have believed possible for a human, much less a dog. I sit here now and as I type this I am surrounded by three more dogs...all laying in a circle around my chair as close as they can get. Each dog is different, each has his own unique personallity but they all share one thing in common....they love me without reservation. What more could any man or woman ever hope to have? I sometimes think Crockett sent two of them to me from where he awaits my arrival. Sherman and Rocky, from the very beginning, would not allow me to keep them at arm's length. They demanded I let them into my heart and with their gentle preservance they made it impossible for me not to love them. I hope I have 17 years with these two bozos. If that is possible I will count myself the luckiest guy around. So I guess what I am trying to say is that if you are lucky enough to have the love of a dog for as long as Nada and her husband had with their Ollie then his loss has got to hurt every bit as much as the loss of a human loved one. When you think about it, please add these two wonderful people to your prayers, I know they are hurting right now. Dogs are wonderful creatures and their loss is to be mourned. |
| Some of you may have noticed the new picture I found to go in my blog intro. This picture is perfect for me because it reminds me, everytime I open my blog to write, that I need to just lighten up and try to hold onto my own "Happy Place". Yeah, I have drama, you have it...hell we all have drama in our lives. My big thing is not to let my own drama rule my life. The way I see it, we have so many days alotted to each of us and it is up to us to make the most of those days. Thus it is I try not to dwell on what is wrong in my life. I would rather explore what is good and right with it if I can. Now before some of you get up in arms, I am not saying this is the way we should all approach life...this is just what seems to work for me. I sat here today, after arriving home from work almost an hour late and I had to do some serious thinking. Yes, today at work was horrendous and Yes, when I came in the door I was seething but THAT should not be how I end the day nor what I should dwell upon. So I sat down, turned on the CD player and let good music wash over me as I considered not only the day but all my days that I have used up to this time. Upon reflection, I have to admit that I am a very lucky man. I have a job, I have grown kids of whom I am very proud, I have a wife who loves me byond all reason....yes, I am lucky. I have managed to live to the age of 57, something an awfull lot of my brothers never got the chance to do. I have survived hard times, bloody times and downright scary times. I have been very comfortable finacially only to lose it all and have to start over....a couple of times. No, I don't have a lot but what I do have is paid for and the people in my life are quality people...yourselves included...yes I am a lucky man. As I sit here at my desk I realize that, like all of you, I have unfulfilled dreams...hell that's what makes us human: Our reach should exceed our grasp. Will I ever realize those dreams? Who knows, but I will not waste time agonizing over them. I will just continue to pursue them as best I can and hope for the best. All in all, I have to say that HERE is my "Happy Place". This little house filled with all the animals is my refuge. This woman who loves me is my rock. I am in my Happy Place each afternoon when I walk through the door and its effect upon me lasts when I walk out the door and into the cold cruel world...I can smile....Yes, my good friends, I am a lucky man. This is not to say that you won't hear me bitch ever now and then. Hell I am human just like everyone else. Yes, I might bitch and moan but I KNOW in my heart of hearts that I have come a long way and I have found my own Happy Place. I hope each and every one of you can find your Happy Place and know the peace of mind that is mine each day. Okay, I am done now. I am going to sit back and listen to good music and let the cares of the world wash away. Oh and for those of you who haven't voted for Blogger of the Month yet, please drop me an email with your vote...you have until the 23rd. |
| Geeze, what a stink a little picture can make! I can't believe you guys actually believed that I would harm some poor little ducky. As you can see up above there, no duck is in any danger. LOL! I even got Phyliss in here threatening me with bodily harm...hey, not bad, at least she commented. I LOVE IT! NOW QUITE DOWN! THERE WAS NEVER NO DUCK HURT HERE...IT WAS ALL CC's FAULT! *************** Now that I have quelled all those nasty rumors about animal abuse, I would like to move on to a different topic. Well a few of you have expressed interest in how I first met the king of the bucketheads, ccstring. Actually that is a fascinating story. You see, long ago and in a internet Galaxy far away, I was once the Manager of an MSN Chat Room. Now this was not an MSN run room, which can tend to be rather sleazy at times. No, this was a private room and we made our own rules and policed the place ourselves. Now this Chat Room was an off-shoot of an MSN group, or Community as we use to call them. This Community had probably 2000 members and in the chat room we usually averaged 30 to 40 chatters a night. Now I had a group of people who acted as "Hosts" and who helped to regulate the room when I was not there. One night, in my absence, the room was invaded by this techno-hacker dude. When I arrived the room was in an uproar. Seems this guy had come in and immedately started to whisper all the ladies in the room: "I'll be your slave for life if you will just talk dirty to me!" That was his favorite line. Well, the host on duty at the time began getting frantic messages in his "whisper box" from female chatters demanding this guy's removal. He then kicked this CC creature out of the room, only to have him return time and again. I guess he finally got tired of the game and left on his own, that's when I came in. Now being the good ole Texas boy that I am, I formed a "posse" at once and we set out to hunt this pervert down and mete out some justice to him! Oh what a journey that was. I could not believe some of the places we were led into just by following his nickname to the different rooms he visited. Each time we would catch up to him he would dart out into cyber-space and on to another room....we kept following. Some of the rooms which ccstringwere really shocking for some of us, it was just sick! There was that Vampire Room where people role-played and bit each other in strange places, that was bad but not as bad as the Bondage Room or the Animal Love Room....man those were scary. In each of these rooms, CC was not only a regular visitor but he was even a host...the man owned those places! Well, we finally cornered the little perv in The Redneck Love Room. The rooms name was: FAMILY REUNION! CC knew he was trapped and he knew I was about to lower the boom on him. Just before I could swing my hammer and ban him for life from our own little piece of heaven, he broke into the biggest SUCK-UP MODE I had ever seen. Since most of the "posse" with me were wimmen, he played to their emotions...he groveled, he whined, he snotted and cried. He promised to mend his ways and never do pervert stuff again..."JUST PLEEEESE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE". I have to admit it, he was the greatest all time suck up that I had ever run across...No one does it better. Before I knew what was happening, CC had all the wimmen fooled into believing that he was a poor misunderstood guy who just wanted to make friends. THEY BOUGHT THE WHOLE THING! I was overruled and CC was allowed to return. It was very soon after that when I became aware of his nefarious game. He was going around blaming ME for everything. I soon found myself locked in an ongoing battle with this paragon of Evil, this Pervert in sheep's clothing. I can not tell you the battles we have fought. We have had some interesting battles over the years. The Great Toolshed war, The Escaped Monky War, The Martian Lander Rescue are just a few of our wars. No matter what the reason or where the battlefield was, one thing was always the same: CC would trump up some bogus reason to attack and then I would retaliate. This was usually followed by his whining and snotting to any avalable wimmen folks that HE was being picked on and needed their help. It is nice to know that no matter where I go or what I do, some things remain the same. I will always be able to count on ccstring to be there to torment me. This is a good thing actually. After all, where would Sherlock Holmes be without his Professor Moriarty, where would Superman be without Lex Luther? His sleaziness brings out the best in me. I revel in the wars and enjoy the time I spend beating him about the head and shoulders. So, for those of you who don't like silliness like this in a serious blog...sorry, but sometimes I just gotta cut loose and have a good war. If, by chance you would like to come along for a ride, please feel free to join us. Oh, and by the way....I fully expect him to come in here with his own "version" of how we met...he can't help it, its just how he is. Like the whole duck killing thing...WHAT GUN? WHAT DUCK? See, he lies. |
| Well, by now most of you have already seen my new picture which gaces the intro to this blog. Now before you start yelling and throwing stuff...IT'S NOT MY FAULT! Mel was the one who found the picture of the duck with a gun to his head. She found it while searching out clip-art to use for "MySpace" on MSN. She then saved it and showed it to me after she got home last night from work. Of course I nearly fell out of my chair laughing when I first saw the thing and I couldn't wait to add it to my blog. So if you want to yell at anyone....YELL AT MEL! I would also like to invite all of you to check out Mel's "MySpace" thingy...she has done a terrific job fixing the place up. http://www.myspace.com/melindamcclain Now, as you would expect, as soon as my little buddy CC saw the duck picture he reacted like a defective pistol: He went off half cocked! I can not tell you how many threatening phone calls I got from him warning me to cease and desist and not harm da duck! Oh well....thus is my lot in life. In fact the turkey chose today as the day he showed the world his much anticipated: Tor's Steed. Big deal. What you guys don't know is that he really didn't make anything new with that thing, he just went back and copied and pasted this dang monster he made YEARS AGO when he was busy trashing me on a daily basis. So, if you go look at that thing don't be too impressed cause all he did was dredge up his old nasty-work...da bum. Well I guess that is it for the day....remember: LEAVE LOTS OF COMMENTS OR DA DUCK DIES!!!!  |
| Blog topic? Who needs those stinking blog topics? I got so much rattling around in my thick skull today, there is no way I can stick to one particular topic. First of all, today I would like to recognize and pay homage to a very small segment of the male population. In the past two weeks these men have earned my undying respect and admiration. I am talking about the men contestants on "Dancing With the Stars". C'MON, LET'S HEAR A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR THESE PARAGONS OF MALE FORTITUDE!! I know, I know, you are probably wondering what the hell am I talking about, right? Have you guys actually WATCHED Dancing With the Stars? For those of you who have not yet caught an episode...THE PAST TWO YEARS...here's the deal: This show takes just average, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, B list celeberties and matchs them with professional Ball Room Dancers/instructors. They then have a dance off to determine who is the best B list Celeberty dancer. Now first of all, I gotta tell you....I have always dreamed of doing the Tango or the Samba or one of those fancy dances...IN A BALLROOM. I love that stuff. Unfortunately I was always kept from pursuing my dream by extreme clumsiness. I mean, I even lose track when trying to count the steps in the Two-Step. Besides being clumsey I have one other drawback that keeps me from doing any serious ballroom dancing comptiton....I tend to fall flat of my face and go into convusions when approached by nearly naked women! This is why I have so much respect for the men who are competing in this show. THEY DON'T FALL DOWN AND GO (THUD)! I could not believe it the first time I saw that show this season. There was Jerry Springer, standing in the middle of the dance floor and this drop dead georgous blonde, wearing three bandaids with confetti hanging off them and sparkles floats up to him, throws one leg around his waist and slides down the front of his body! He stood there like a rock(questionable imagery there)! Then he gave her a hand back up and they swung off around the room. I stood up and applauded: "BRAVO, BRAVO!" Mel threw a shoe at me! I mean, really....HOW DO THESE GUYS DO IT? I can only imagine what would have happened had I been one of the contestants. The first time one of those drop-dead beautiful, band-aid wearing, hussys got within two feet of me and started swiviling those hips..... (THUD) (THUMPITY, THUD) (THUMPITY,THUMPITY, THUMPITY, THUD) ^^^^^That's me, hitting the floor and going into convulsions! The only sane explaination I have for those guys being able to stay verticle is that maybe B list stars are all Nutered. I DON'T CARE...THOSE GUYS ARE MY HEROES!!!! Hey, look! I seem to have found one major blog topic after all...am I good, or what? |
| Well, it seems that some of you have voiced an urge to see more of Sherman so today I figured I would give you a peek into PART of my world of animals. This first picture was taken shortly after Mel brought Sherman home. As you can see, he was the very image of "Cute and Cuddly". ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The problem is, this cute and cuddly little puppy had one major flaw: HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO STOP GROWING! This next picture is of the same Sherman only it was taken about a month ago. He is sitting there giving me his "Why the hell did ya turn off The Animal Planet?" look. Oh and the couch in the picture is his SECOND favorite place to relax. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** As if that picture wasn't enough to make you rethink ever owning a dog, here is an even scarrier shot. This is Sherman and Rocky, hamming it up for the camera. If there were ever two more perfect examples of "Partners in Crime" I don't know about it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Now I will leave you with this last shot of Sherman in his FAVORITE spot and position for relaxing. He loves to lay on the floor, in front of the air-conditioner and let the cool air blow across his man-parts. I think he just wants to stay cool and comfortable while he insures that all within visual range can marvel at his manhood...he is quite proud. I wonder how proud the turkey is gonna be after his next little trip to the Vet? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Maybe at a future date I will go into more detail about the rest of our Furbabies. |
| My life with dogs have been, shall we say, a learning experience. For instance, one of the things I have learned over the past seven months is that if you take a Labrador Retriever and cross it with an American Bloodhound you get a LABHOUND! This particular mixed breed tends to have the size of a big old hound and the intelligence of a...well..a big, ole hound! That's our Sherman, bless his heart...Big and Stupid, but lovable. The dang dog is only eight months old and he already weighs eighty pounds and he likes only a couple of inches being as tall as my desk...AND I GOT A DAMN BIG DESK! Sherman shows absolutely no signs of stopping his growth. As it is now, he can walk up to the kitchen counters and reach anything left on the edges without raising his body at all. If there is something that he might want to "investigate" and it happens to be pushed back to the back of the counters, no problem. He just raising up on his hind legs and goes "Counter surfing". No amount of yelling at him or punishing him has any effect. Oh he might stop doing it at that moment but hell, the dog has the attention span of a Mayfly and the next day he is back at it again. It is so funny to watch his reaction if I yell at him a second day. He looks at me with such a shocked expression, I can almost hear him say: "WHAT?" In total innocence. Now our little prince, Rocky, the purebred German Shepard, is about a month younger than Sherman and he STILL looks puny next to him. Rocky was supposed to be our "Big" dog, the king of the castle, the protector of the home....he ain't even close. It is Sherman, not Rocky who first reacts to anything strange that comes upon the property. It is Sherman who stands at the fence, back hair raised, feet planted firmly and gives voice in a deep, threatening bark. It is really funny because sometimes he really gets excited by some interloper into his territory and he will suddenly break out in that deep, baying, almost howl of the Bloodhound. He always looks shocked when that happens, like: "Where did that come from?" Yes, Sherman has usurped Rocky's expected position of Alpha dog but Sherman is so dang dumb he never really takes advantage of the power. Both Rocky and Mollie boss him around, steal his toys and just pick on him in general. It makes no never-mind to Sherman though, he just goes along with the flow, always happy go lucky and ready to play or lick your face while you sleep...one of his most favorite pasttimes. I can't wait until Sherman is fully grown, I even have a saddle all picked out for him. I think I will ride him in parades...with the rest of the dang HORSES! |
| Somewhere there is a piece of land, not huge in size, maybe a hundred acres or so. The land consists of a large open meadow with grass so green it is almost blue. Bordering this meadow on all sides are great stands of Aspen and Fir trees with a wide creek meandering through the property from north to south. A couple of hundred yards from the East bank of that creek there stands a simple log cabin with a porch running the length of the structure. On the front porch is two rocking chairs, home-made, which are perfect for sitting in the afternoon and watching the setting sun over the mountains in the far distance. Behind the house there is a rough-hewn corral built in front of a large barn. Horses mill restlessly in the corral, whinnying to be let out so they might graze on the tender shoots of grass near the creek along with the small herd of cows and goats already there. Cats patrol the barn on the lookout for mice and dogs of varying sizes lay about the outside of the cabin soaking up the late summer sun. The only thing that is missing from this small piece of heaven on earth are the two people who should be living in the cabin.....Me and Mel. I see this place almost every day of my life and have seen it for the past five years. Its alive and well, stored in its home in my mind. Why, you might ask, do I dream of this particular place? Because of Mel. You see, as soon as I met her I became aware of this secret yearning she has, this dream unfulfilled. She has a deep and abiding love of animals of all kinds but it is horses that she loves the most. In her younger days she trained and raised horses for other people. Blue blood race horses, Trotters, she raised them and trained and showed the animals for rich owners. She never had that place of her own and at times, even though she tries to hide it, I can see that yearning so strongly in her eyes it is almost like a tangible voice. So I dream of this mythical place, this cabin in my mind, where we can sit on the front porch, sipping coffee and watch the sun set behind the mountains. Where, in the morning, we can saddle up two horses and ride out to work our few head of cows or maybe just ride through the forest on our way to explore the foothills of the far mountains. I dream of this place where she can open her heart to all animals, great and small, where she can take in orphans wild or domestic and raise them as her babies. I know, at this late stage in my life, this is a dream that I will never be able to make true for the woman I love but I will cling to the dream anyway. For you see, that is the way of a man. He clings to his dreams even though they are well and truly out of reach. He holds those dreams just on the off chance that one day....maybe....who knows. That place I described is out there somewhere and maybe one day I will really be able to sit her in that rocker, then join her on the front porch...to know such peace must truly be what heaven is like. |
| At times like this I am reminded of Al Pacino's character in The God Father....two or maybe three...when he said: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." In a humorous way, that is the way I feel. When I started this new blog I swore I would steer clear of topical subjects; just keep it light and maybe a bit funny. Well as you can see by yesterday's blog, I failed miserably. Maybe it was all the shows on TV revisiting 9/11 now that we are on the eve of the five year anniversary of that sad event. Maybe it was reading some really thoughtful and well written blogs by others who delved into this War on Terrorism we now find ourselves involved in. For whatever reason, I wrote yesterday on the difference in how our father's generation fought WW2 and how we approach this one. Oh yeah, and I did a poll. Now the poll, like the blog entry, dealt with whether you thought we should fight this war like WW2 or not. That's all it dealt with. I never once mentioned whether or not we should be in Iraq nor did I delve into any of the many political, philosophical, and ethical questions surrounding the fact that we are at war. Just how should we fight it. Now I knew from the very beginning of my FIRST blog that this site is predominately liberal. That is only natural, after all most writers tend toward the liberal side. I also know that I am in no way equipped to debate these folks on such weighty questions, I am after all, just a country boy with limited education. No, no debate here; you are all welcome to believe as you see fit and I will do the same. I will say, however that most of the arguments I read yesterday I had heard before....many years ago. The very same terminology was used by some other very intelligent and earnest college kids, many of whom were throwing eggs at the time. Yes, these highly educated college kids used their unique form of debating skills to impress upon me the wrongness of another war which they referred to as a "police action". I guarantee that if any of these future CEO's, college professors, doctors and lawyers had been over there they would have been hard pressed to tell the difference between that "police action" and a War....but they weren't there. They were here, in America, safe and sound and telling the rest of us how wrong we were. The biggest difference I see in then and today is the fact that in this police action/war there is no safe place. This one has come home to our shores and will continue to come here every time we show the slightest weakness. Well, like I said: I never wanted to debate the reasons we are in this fight....I just want to know how we are going to fight it. Now this is just the musings of a simple man but you see people like me have learned a very important lesson and we learned it early at our daddy's knee. "When you get in a fight, the reason why doesn't matter a hill of beans. What matters is winning the fight". I have a feeling that if we don't win this fight, we won't be around for another one. You see even if we were to pull out of Iraq and Afghanistan tomorrow, and pay for the damages and say "I'm sorry"...IT WON'T MATTER. They are going to come at us even stronger and harder. They don't want to just win the struggle, they want to destroy the Western way of life. Now....and this is JUST MY OPINION.....I would fight the war just a tad different than what is being done right now. Some of the things I would do....glad you asked! 1. I would pull out of Iraq all together. I would turn over Saddam to those in charge now and tell them: "Do what you want with him". I would then assure them that they are all free to go about killing each other but if they ever threaten Americans again we will come right back and this time a hell of a lot harder...there will be no rebuilding. 2. I would then concentrate on finding and destroying the Taliban, al-Qaeda and Hezbolla. 3. I would make it known that any country that gave these people aid or sanctuary or armed and fed them would be attacked and laid waste to. 4. I would close our borders until such time as the threat of these groups no longer exists. 5. I would let it be known that we will rebuild nothing. You come against us, you aid our enemy and you will pay a price. *********************** Will any of this ever happen? Probably not. This is just what I would like to see happen. My Opinion, nothing more. I have as much right to this opinion as some of you do to: Peace, Love and Flower Power! The bottom line is: We are in a fight and in every fight I was ever in I always tried to be the one who struck the most important blow...the last one. Please feel free to line up with the picket signs and the eggs....you dang sure won't be getting a cherry! |
We are about to mark the five year anniversary of 9/11 and that got me to thinking about another sneak attack that resulted in our going to war. After Pearl Harbor and our entrance into WW2 we became locked in a total war. I was struck with the difference this war was approached and the way our generation approached war. The more I thought about it, one thing kept coming to mind: What a difference a Generation makes! Here are some examples. I have also included a poll. In the meantime, here are some examples of what I mean when I talk about a difference in the way this generation goes to war and the way our fathers went to war. *************** During World War Two the Japanese high command came up with the idea of using large balloons to carry incendiary bombs to the American mainland. Japan launched a reported 9,000 such weapons into the air which were carried by the prevailing winds toward the United States; approx. 1,000 of these bombs actually reached our shores. The Japanese plan was to have the fire bombs land and explode all along the coast of the Pacific Northwest, igniting huge forest fires in the vast woodlands there. These fires would then in turn burn cities and disrupt transportation. Fortunately for America, the Japanese did not do a very good job of researching the weather in that part of America because the balloons landed at the height of the wet season and the forests did not catch fire as suspected. What did happen though was that one such bomb landed without exploding right away. This bomb was happened upon by a minister and his wife who were on an outing with their Sunday school class of children. The bomb was discovered by the minister's wife. She and five of the children were standing around the bomb when it finally did explode. These six unfortunate people became the first and only American residents to be killed as a direct result of an attack on American soil during the war. What I find interesting is that these deaths along with the landing of the balloons in general, was never reported in the news at the time. In fact it was not until decades later that these events were declassified and became common knowledge. This left the Japanese government in a quandary. The only way they had of knowing whether or not the bombs had had the desired effect was to monitor American newspapers and radio reports. Since nothing was reported, the Japanese had no way of knowing if they were successful or not and they finally abandoned the use of balloons to deliver bombs to American soil. My question is: What would have been the results had that event happened today? Would the government of the United States be able to convince the news media not to report the event? I doubt it. This generation of "Newsmen" would have demanded the right to trumpet such attacks to the world. In doing so they would have taken great pains to explain exactly WHY the attacks failed, thus giving the enemy the information they needed to make the next wave of attacks work they way they were intended. ************************ During World War Two the Germans made a habit of building munitions factories in or near major cities. They also used existing rail lines which ran through major cities. What did the Allies do? They did not hesitate, they bombed those same cities to rubble. An estimated 75 to 135 thousand civilians died in two days of bombing in the city of Dresden, Germany alone as a result of these bombing attacks by American and British bombers. Where was the moral outrage of the News Media? It certainly was not evident at the time. The raids were trumpeted as a great success in the newspapers and the radio. My question again: What would happen if America did the same thing in Iraq and Afghanistan? What would be the reaction of the Media if America bombed the major cities of these two countries to rubble? Now before you go howling in outrage, I am not suggesting that is the course of action we should take. I am merely pointing out the difference between generations. I want us to look at how our fathers viewed war and how we view it. What a difference a generation makes. *************************** [Linked Poll's access is restricted.] |
| For those of you who have followed my blog you know that a couple of weeks ago I had to undergo an all night test for sleep apena. A couple of days ago I got the results....interesting to say the least. The good folks at Sleep Quest sent my doctor a detailed report which he has shared with me. It is called a Polysomnographic Evaluation. Where would the medical field be without all these big words? The bottom line of all the medical mombo-jumbo was simple: Within the time span of six hours spent in the test mode, I stopped breathing 96 times. I had 242 episodes of hypopneas which, I believe, if I understood the doctor, meant that I would take shallow, labored breaths that didn't bring in enough oxygen. The report went on to say that the normal stage 4 sleep, which is the deep, restful time, that a person normally gets each night is 15-18% of their total sleep....I got 1% stage 4. The oxygen content of blood was 91%. What all this crap means is...I seem to have a problem. My doctor, after reading the results, told me: "I really don't see how you get out of bed after nights like this, much less go to work". Now why I am boring you all with this information? Well personally I just wanted to share the good news. You see I have been fighting this particular bear for well over a year. No one could tell me what was causing all the symptoms I was suffering. Blood pressure spikes, severe headaches, dizziness, shortness of breath....every damn bit of it is caused by this sleep apnea and my nasty habit of not breathing during sleep...go figure! Well, like I said, now I know. I am now set up for test #2 in which they will determine if an CPAP machine, worn during sleep will fix the trouble. If it doesn't do the trick then I will have surgery. The bottom line is that I am closer than ever before to feeling good once again and honestly, I can't even remember what that is like. This crap has effected my writing to no end. I can see that now. According to my doctor it is not uncommon for people who fight this battle every night to fall into depressions from time to time...some even stay in that state and some even take their lives because of it. He says lack of restful sleep, with the system breaking down, will do that to you. I know how that feels. Somedays its all I can do to sit at this computer, much less write anything that makes the slightest bit of sense to anyone. Okay, medical report is done and I promise not to bore you with this stuff any further. I am just waiting for the next test on the 22nd....I hope that is the end of it. |
| Since SOMEONE has already done a blog entry on the subject of Goats I felt it was time for me to admit my big obsession: Tennessee Fainting Goats. These wonderfully funny little creatures were first brought to America by an enterprising Scotsman who sold them to sheep herders in the South. The sheep herders would run the fainting goats in with their sheep herd. Whenever wolves or other predators attacked the herd, the sheep would run and the goats would...well...FAINT and thus be eaten. The sheep would escape unharmed while the predator got an easy meal. You see this little goat has a genetic disorder which causes its muscles to lock up when it is startled or frightened or excited. The goat then falls over and it looks just like a faint. Telling you about these little fellas just doesn't give you the real picture so I have included this link...go look and have a laugh. http://www.compfused.com/directlink/765/ One day I want to own a whole field full of these animals. Can you imagine the money I will make off of them. All I have to do is charge the Bubbas around here a dollar to scare the goats and watch them faint, those guys will be lined up around the block! Check out that link and let me know what you think. They might not be as big as those in zwisis's blog but they sure are more entertaining! |
| This marks my very first "nothing'' entry in my brand new blog. I have a quandry it would seem. Even though I opened my new blog almost a week ago, it seems my old, worn out blog is still getting views...like thirty a day or so. I am wondering if people are still using their favs links to get to my blog and are being taken to the old one instead of the new one. So, any of you who might have my OLD blog linked to favs, please delete it and put the new link in its place. This should keep you from getting thrown into the "Old home" by mistake. Also, anyone out there who has the SLIGHTEST idea how to sit up a quizz, please email me and let me know what to do. I would like to do one of those but I'm just too stupid to do it without some tech. help. Okay....I'll shut up now so you can go enjoy some real bloggers...LOL! |
| A caution to the ladies who might read my blog. This blog entry is for the men in the audience. I have seen many times where one or more of you have warned us guys that you are about to talk about stuff we might not care to read, well this is my warning. This entry is aimed at the men out there. As much as I kid about it, we are different...men and women and this is about something men should take to heart. By the time a man is 35 he knows that the images of the right man, the tough man; the true man which he received in high school does not work in life. Robert Bly, American poet I was intrigued by this quote in zwisis's blog. The more I read this quote, the more it bothered me so, me being me, I have decided to blog on the subject. Mr. Bly, in my opinion gave up on his gender. To simply say it does not work in life is to give up. This might sound terribly chauvinistic but I believe that men should hold to the effort of being a right man, the tough man and the true man. I think that each man should hold himself up to a higher standard than he holds his friends to. Yes, it is so very hard in this day and age to be a "right" man. What does that even mean anyway....right? I think it means that in each man's life there are crossroads of decisions that he must make...travel the wide, easy highway or stick to the narrow, winding path, overgrown and tumbled. To be the "Tough" man means what? Does it mean men don't cry? Does it mean men must wear a macho mask no matter what happens in his life? No to all of those things. I believe a man must remain Mentally tough. He must learn to steel himself to do the hard tasks in his life without looking back and without regret. Mentally tough, spiritually tough and with the wherewithal to see a decision through for the good of those around him and not just himself. What does being a True man mean? Well to me it can only mean one thing and that is a man must be true to himself and his beliefs first and to his family and friends second. A man must not compromise his beliefs or his morals. Back in 1976 well after I had gained manhood in a physical nature, I happened to see a movie called: The Shootist. This was John Wayne's last movie and he played the character of John Book, an old, sick and dying gunman who comes to a small town to die. There was a line, delivered by his character at the beginning of the movie that struck me to my very heart.... "I won't be wronged, I won't be insulted, and I won't be laid a hand on. I don't do these things to other people, and I require the same from them." This line struck me because, in different words, this was something my own father had always lived by and had tried his best to instill in me. As I watched that movie I understood, finally, what dad had been trying to pass on. To be tough and right and true to myself and to all those around me. Now let me just say that being all these things is hard. Not only hard but, sometimes almost impossible but that is how it should be. Every man should TRY to live up to these goals but also realize that many, many times we will fail. The important thing is that a real man will pull himself up, dust himself off and try again. I have fallen many times and I have failed many, many times to live up to these tenants but each time I have failed, I have always gotten back up and tried again. Will I ever get it right and keep it that way? I don't know but what I do know is that not to try is to be less a man. So, Mr. Bly, I humbly beg to disagree with you...It can work but nobody said it would be easy. But then no one said LIFE was supposed to be easy did they. |
| To continue my story started yesterday about "Firsts" I really must tell you about our coach's ill-advised decision to give his bunch of hooligans "Free time" on a dang college campus. After winning our first game at the Huntsville Invitational Tournament, our basketball team had the rest of the day off. Our next game not being played until late that afternoon. Twelve hormone bedeviled, country bumpkin, teenagers given, what the coach described as "Free Time"....YEAH RIGHT! To this day I still suspect that the coach had his own agenda to take care of and didn't want to be bothered with corralling a bunch of boys in a strange place. I even asked him about this very thing years later. He just smiled and said: "Now you know that is ridiculous". YEAH, RIGHT, the grown-up me replied. Anyway we were free of adult supervision for the afternoon. We were only cautioned to be back at the gym for the game just before ours so that we could attend it as a team. YEAH, RIGHT! Me and a couple of my buddies quickly peeled off from the rest of the team who seemed content to set around in the student union and play foos-ball and watch television. We had bigger fish to fry. First thing we did was walk around the campus itself. I don't think there is anything more beautiful than a well kept college green, complete with large, shady oak trees. I was struck by the beauty of the campus. My two buddies quickly pointed out something else of beauty....the dang ground was littered with COLLEGE WOMEN! Yup, there they were in all their glory; sitting under the trees reading, sitting in circles, talking and lounging on the steps of the different large buildings housing the classrooms. I don't know for sure, but I think we had the same looks on our faces we had when we first saw that beautiful gym: Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, not to mention a large amount of drool which appeared as if by magic. I was jolted out of my own trance by a nudge from the elbow of my buddy, Donald Rosecrans. "Mother of God", he whispered fiercely in my ear. "Those are sure nuff WOMEN!" "What was your first clue, Sherlock?" My voice just as hushed as his own. At this, my other buddy, Jimmy Hooks, who was no where as suave and worldly as me and Donald, spoke up in a loud voice. "Hell, boys, my first clue was them big BOOBS!" Well that did it. There was this particular group of ladies sitting under a tree, fairly close to where we stood, close enough that is to have heard Jimmy, if not the rest of us. One of the girls, had to have been a senior or at least a junior, looked directly at us and smiled. All three of us stopped breathing at that exact moment. She was beautiful. Long dark hair, big brown eyes, with a body that would have stopped traffic. She wore a turtle necked sweater that was obviously made of some very STRETCHABLE material judging from the ample bust line that was more than visible. Add to that, this cute little mini-skirt that hit her legs about a mile and half above the knees and you had the perfect mix of fashion and female attributes needed to vapor-lock the hearts and brains of three kids from the backwoods. We could not believe it when she and her girlfriends stood and walked over to where we stood...all three of us with that deer-in-the-headlights look only boys of that age can muster when faced with the opposite sex. She stopped directly in front of me and slowly looked me up and down as if trying to classify some strange bug for a biology exam. "You CHILDREN get lost on the way to kindergarten?" Her voice was as soft and as smooth as an angel's, even when she was slamming us. I couldn't believe she had said that! The very idea, who did she think she was? Well I wasn't about to let her get away with it. In my smoothest, John Wayne voice I told her.... "Well I tell ya what, little lady, you play your cards just right and I might even let you hold my ball......basketball that is." My buddies smirked at this. Oh yeah, "HE SHOOTS-HE SCORES!" They knew old Dave had put her in her place...or had I? Without missing a beat, this wise, worldly college WOMAN took hold of the bottom of her sweater and lifted it up...NO BRA! "And no matter how you little boys play YOUR cards, you will never get to hold these", she purred then dropped her sweater, hiding those wonderful treasures from our glazed eyes once more. Before we could do more than gag as our tongues hit our shoes, the girls turned and walked into the nearest building which happened to be the History building, leaving us speechless. Well I don't mind telling you that we couldn't wait to get back to the team and tell our tale, embellishing the facts at every turn. We were heroes. In one day, broad daylight, the three of us had managed to get a glimpse of a pair of boobs much superior to even those of Rosemary Bonds and we didn't even have to buy the obligatory six-pack of beer nor spring for a movie ticket to get a look either which everyone had to do with Rosemary...even if she liked you. Yup, we were heroes. That afternoon we played our second game. Again, I made it into the game. I grabbed a rebound under the other team's goal and I started down the court. Halfway there I passed the ball to Jimmy. It was then that I glanced into the stands and saw THE SAME GIRL! She smiled real big and took hold of her sweater as if she was gonna lift it again, but of course she refrained...the damage was done. Jimmy picked that moment to pass the ball back to me and I made a shot that missed the hoop....missed the back board...bounced against the back wall and out of bounds...not even close! Oh the laughter that echoed through the gym was deafening as well as humbling. Back to the bench I went, a much chastened young man who now knew it was never safe to mess with WOMEN! |
| Do you all remember that magical world of "Firsts"? By the time you reach my age you normally have left the world of Firsts far behind. This world is almost always the common playground of the young and I guess that is as it should be. After all, things always seem so much bigger and better when viewed through younger eyes. Today I was reminded of one of my forays into the world of Firsts. As a freshman in High School I played Basketball. Now this is not to say I was a star player or anything like that, indeed I was lucky to make the squad, but I did enjoy the game, even more so than football. Well this particular year our freshman team was invited to play in the Huntsville Invitational Basketball Tournament. What made this so very exciting to a bunch of country boys like us was the fact that the tourney was played in the Sam Houston University Basketball stadium! We could not believe our good fortune. Here we were, a bunch of small town yokels about to play a number of games over a whole weekend IN A COLLEGE GYM! ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS!! I can still remember, to this day the awe I felt the first time I walked into the dang dressing room of the College gym. The thing was almost as big as our entire gym back home....hell they had a whirlpool AND a weight room INSIDE each dressing room. We, on the other hand did boost running water in ours. The funny thing is this normally loud, boisterous group of teenagers entered the dressing room as silent as church mice, our eyes big as saucers as we took in all the new and novel sights. We silently found our places and changed into our game uniforms. We grabbed our practice basketballs and we shuffled out of this majestic room and down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway we passed through a door into the bedlam of a big-time college basketball court just prior to game time. The noise hit us like a wave, like a living, breathing, beast. It was Saturday morning and the stands were full not only of fans from the hometowns of both teams, but also college students! Even the two bands were augmented by members of the College band who wanted to set in with them and practice their music. THE PLACE WAS ROCKING! We walked out into the middle of all this chaos of noise and cheering and onto a real, honest to God College basketball court. The damn thing seemed to be a mile long and the hoops looked at least fifty feet high. The floor, oh my lord it was the prettiest thing we had ever seen in our whole, miserable lives. It was polished to such a high gloss that it was almost like walking on a mirror. The lights were blinding and the noise deafening. We looked to the opposite end of the court and the team we were playing that day, which was from another very small town, was standing with their mouths agape and their eyes bugged out just the way we were. Anyone who has ever played a basketball game in a packed stadium will attest to the power of a couple of thousand cheering people have on your nerves, especially if you had never played in front of more than a couple of hundred fans at best. I will never forget going into the game in the middle of the first quarter. When I ran out onto the court it was as if all those cheers was for me personally. I had butterflies the size of buzzards as I took my place. We got the ball and set up a play. We were running a double post and I was at the bottom of the key, as a center. I ran to the top of the key as the guard charged to the right with the ball. As he passed me he flipped the ball behind him and into my waiting hands. I turned and executed a perfect jump shot from the top of the key and scored a basket. The place went wild. Our side of the stadium, with maybe a thousand fans, band and college kids roared my name! I swear, that moment is the closest I have come to peeing my pants in public since potty training. We survived all this sensory overload and we even went on to win the game. My little shot was by no means the game winner and that's okay. I don't think I could have taken the crowd cheers had I made a game winning shot. The really funny stuff happened after the game. We had to hang around until late afternoon before we played again and that meant a lot of free time for a bunch of country boys to view the sights.....ON A COLLEGE CAMPUS! But I see I have ran a bit long today so I will save that story for tomorrow maybe. It really was a hoot. Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the story. |
| I am old. Let's get that out of the way right up front, shall we. I know I am old, my bladder informs me of this fact about three times during each night well after such time as I should be sound asleep. My body is a constant reminder to me that I am no longer a resident of the "young and hip" group in the world. Yes, my body has convinced me, on many occasions that I am not the man I once was. I know, for example that I will never again run a mile in under five minutes. At this late date in my life I would be lucky to cover that distance in five DAYS and that would be only if a very mad man with a gun were chasing me. I think, if faced with that scenario, I would merely hold still so he could get a good shot...quicker that way. If I were an actor I would have long since gone from leading man, to character roles, to grizzled side-kick used to supply comedic relief. I can see me now as a Gabby Hayes type character opposite some damn Brad Pitt type. If anyone out there is too young to remember Gabby Hayes well to heck with you, Google it! How old am I? Well let me try to put it in perspective for you. My first attempt to write a blog is known in archeological circles as "The Dead Sea Scrolls". I was the one who cautioned God against doing that whole Sodom and Gomorra scene, but what could I do, he was young and head-strong. My body gets it, and knows my limitations, it's my brain that has yet to acknowledge the advance of years. My mind still believes, or at least fails to grasp the fact that we have aged past the age of thirty. Let me give you an example of the follies of the brain. When I was in my early thirties I took a paddle trip down the Trinity River from Dallas to Lake Livingston. By car that trip is almost three hundred miles so you can imagine what the river route was like. I was quite proud of this accomplishment but I have to admit, the physical exertion of living in the open, sleeping on the ground and catching or shooting my food, not to mention paddling the boat for eight hours a day, wore me out. Fast forward to today. I am seriously trying to work out the logistics of making an actual canoe/kayak trip down the Mississippi from its beginning to its end in New Orleans, a trip of over 2000 miles. The fact that I have been considering this trip for a year now should be ample evidence that my mind has yet to come to terms with my biological age. My brain and my body see this trip in two very different lights and they both have wildly differing ideas on how the trip should be made. The Brain's Plan: Launch my canoe/kayak at the source of the Mississippi. Forge my way downriver, carrying only the barest minimum in supplies and relying on my fishing and trapping skills to eat. Sleep on the ground each night and only build a crude shelter in case of bad weather. Carry no map, no GPS, rely on my natural instincts and explore the river like the very first white man who ever floated upon its waters. The Body's Plan: Okay, use the canoe but buy a damn motor to go on the back of that sucker! Have another canoe tied to my own in which I can carry a few "essentials" such as three large ice chests containing a month's ration of meat, beer, cold drinks, various cakes and pies for dessert. Also make sure spare canoe has three-man tent equipped with central air and heating along with a generator to power lights and portable refrigerator. Be sure and bring along at least a month's supply of toilet paper. The body also insists on taking clean clothes and pack them around the portable TV and stereo to keep them from being jostled about while on the river. The body has a plan B just in case its needed....instead of a canoe/kayak, just take the car and DRIVE the whole trip that way we could use motels and hotels along the route. Which will win out: Body or Brain? Well I'm pulling for the body but knowing my history, the brain still has a good shot at getting its way. Off subjec: I would like to thank everyone for the warm welcome back to the blog page. I would also like to thank the annoymous member who gave me the comstumicon...that's the Alamo if some of you didn't recognize it. |
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