Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Flags with blue stars and flags with gold stars.

My dad was about 8 years old when World War 2 began.  He told us about the flags that hung in the windows of most homes during the war. The flag with the blue star meant that someone from that home was fighting in the war. If the flag had multiple stars it meant that multiple member of that family were fighting in the war. My father’s home had a flag with two blue stars hanging in the window. If a flag with a gold star was displayed in the homes front window that meant a member of that family lost their life fighting in the war.
Just about every town had a Western Union office. The employees at the local office would call you when you had a message. They would read the message to you over the phone except in the case of a family member being lost during the war. In this case, a western union messenger would jump on a bike and head to the home in person.
There must have been some type of protocol and procedures a Western Union messenger had to follow. My uncle said that the messengers never talked to anyone or made eye contact with anyone except the people intended to receive the message. Their message was always bad when they showed up at your home.
My dad’s family lived in the last house on a dead end street. One day my dad and a couple of his brothers saw the Western Union messenger start down their street. Pop and his brother followed behind the messenger as he passed house after house getting closer and closer to their home. He said they thought which brother had died, Melvin or Johnny? The messenger stop at the second to the last home, my dad’s neighbors had lost their son. The flag in their front window was change from a blue star to a gold star.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Shoot it Johnny, Shoot it!

My dad and uncles where all avid hunters of deer, rabbits, and basically anything else they could hunt.  Every day during deer season they would be in the woods before dawn. At a pre-arranged time they would head in the direction of the one closest to the truck. They hoped by doing this that they would run any deer to that person stationed at the edge of the woods.

On day Pop and Uncles Johnny and Wilber were hunting on Don’s farm.  Don, another Uncle, had a farm with an old railroad bed running through one side of the property. The railroad bed had the rails and ties removed which made for a great access road to the back of Don’s property.  Pop, Johnny, and Wilber headed into the woods for that day’s hunting.

10:30 a.m. was the predetermined exit time.  The three men conduct their exiting strategy as planned earlier and walk to the truck for some lunch. Pop and Wilber place their shotguns in the protective cases and got in the truck, Wilber sitting in the middle and Pop on the passenger side.  Johnny sits down in the driver’s seat of the truck with his shotgun, barrel down to the floor, between him and the door.

As they ate their lunch and discussed the morning’s adventure, Wilber notices a large buck walking across the field towards the truck. “Holy smokes look at that big buck coming our way,” said Wilber. Pop says to Johnny, “Get your gun ready!” Johnny, moving very slowly, slides the gun under the steering wheel while keeping the barrel aimed at the door just for safety. He gets the barrel end out of the window and waits for the buck to cross the lane.

Now, all three men are whispering as Johnny has the gun raised and resting on the side – view mirror.  As the dear crosses in front of the truck, Wilber excite says: “Shoot it!” Pop echoes Wilber’s call to arms with: “shoot it, shoot it, shoot it!” Now, neither Pop nor Wilber could see from Johnny’s point of view. Johnny couldn’t get a bead on the deer because of the angle in which he held the gun out of the window. A few more seconds pass as Pop and Wilber become even more excited when BAM, Johnny squeezed off the first shot at the buck.

It’s only legal In Indiana to use a shotgun and muzzleloader to hunt deer. Johnny was using a Browning 12 gauge, semi-automatic, shot gun that held three or five shells. Johnny always used the three inch magnum shells which were the most powerful you could by.  The shotgun would discharge the spent shell to the right of the gun with a good deal of force. The metal portion of the shell would be hot as hell to the touch for a few seconds after it had been discharge from the gun.

Back to the truck; Johnny squeezed off the first round at the deer not realizing why there is an Indiana law forbidding you from hunting from a vehicle. Bam! The gun goes off deafening the three men immediately. Then the gun discharges it’s shell with enough force to hit the windshield, chipping it on the inside. The shell ricochets and hits Wilber on the forehead where it leaves a divot above his right eye. Once the shell leaves Wilber’s forehead it comes to rest on Pop’s lap. Pop pick the shell up and quickly drops it saying, “Hot damn!” Before Johnny could realize that chaos was taking place in the cab of his truck, he squeezed off another round at the deer. The whole chain of events repeated again.

Pop, Johnny and Wilber drove the entire way home not saying a word. Johnny was mad that his windshield had two chips in it that cracked from top to bottom when he turned the defroster on. Wilber had two bruises on his forehead. Pop burnt his index finger and thumb removing the shells from his lap. None of the men could hear because of being in closed quarters when a shotgun went off and the dear…had lived!

Funny Things

The following is a list of things have read or seen, or something someone forwarded to me in an email. Everybody has seen these types of things, typos from a church bulletin, newspaper report, etc. These just happen to be a few of my favorites. I followed each one with my own observation.
·         While out on the road several years ago I opened a fortune cookie that read: “Don’t Panic.”  (I just remember thinking what the hell do you mean don’t panic?  Was the food poison or something!)
·         Someone sent me this to me, it is from a patient’s records. The Doctor wrote: “the patient refused an autopsy.”  (At least this person was asked prior to the autopsy!)
·         Another Dr. Note was: “Patient has no prior history of suicide.” (I want to meet the person with a history of committing suicide)
·         The Church Bulletin mistakes are always some of my favorites... like this one: “This being Easter Sunday, we will ask Mrs. Lewis to come forward and lay an egg on the altar.” (Man, our church could’ve used a Mrs. Lewis to living things up a bit!)
·         Another Church Bulletin: “The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.”  (The only church around were they want you to give your offering in cash and all singles!)
·         Last Church Bulletin: “For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.”  (Well there was this one time in Tijuana…!)
·          A teacher tells about a note she received from a parent: “Dear School: Please excuse John being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, and also 33.”  (Thank god he didn’t miss the 34th)
·         Another note from a parent to a teacher: "Please excuse Gloria from Jim today. She is administrating." (Jim is just going to have to leave Gloria alone today.)
·         Classified ad: "Great Dames for sale." (Is that even legal here?)(No, we wouldn’t want to be selling the “just okay” Dames.)
·         Classified ad: "Lost Cocktail." (Where did you last have your cocktail Bob?)
·         Last Classified ad: "Wanted. Hunting rifle, suitable for teenagers." (You know…you can’t just use any rifle to hunt teenagers…)
·         Newspaper Headline: "Youth Hit By Train Is Rushed To Two Hospitals" (we thought his treatment would have been better if we left him split in two pieces)
·         Newspaper Headline: "School Praised After Vandalism" (Hey, every school should be known for something!)

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Fishing with Caleb

My nephew is a good kid. I say kid but he is married, home of his own and the responsibilities of life. We made a trip to Canada to do some fishing. My father, Caleb and I headed out on the lake. Our prey was the Northern Pike. My dad was in the back of the boat, Caleb in the center and I was in the very front. Standing, I positioned myself with my knees resting on the inside of the V of the front of the boat. Caleb and Pop were both seated.

We had fished for quite a while when I heard pop say: “Damn it Cabe!” I finished reeling in my line and turned to see Pop holding a handkerchief to mouth. Caleb was sitting quietly and almost in tears. I guess Caleb had gotten a little too aggressive while casting and hooked Pop in the mouth with his lure.

Later that day Caleb and I went back out to do some more fishing. We headed into a rocky cove area with little in the way of cabbage weed. I figured this would be a good place to try for some small mouth bass. One of the first fish on the line was a northern. We put it on the stringer and tied it to the side of the boat.

We fished longer and caught a few more fish. Caleb had just put a fish on the stringer when I hooked a good sized Northern. Caleb was holding the stringer in one hand when I ask him to grab the net. Caleb raked up my catch in the net and I proceeded to take it off the line. I ask Caleb to hand me the stringer …Caleb looked down at one of his hands and then the other, the stringer was gone! In all that excitement he had let go of the stringer to grab the net.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Traveling with kids: Hotels and Motels

My boys loved staying in hotels and motels. Any young boy has three main objectives when staying in a motel or hotel. First, they need to know where the ice machine is. The very first thing on the boys’ agenda, after arriving in our room, was to grab the ice bucket and head for the machine. They wouldn’t look around the room, check out the pool, or anything until they had filled the ice bucket.

Second, and only after a glass of ice water, was to bounce from one bed to another. The boys would jump from bed to bed and back again. Once Jackie and I had finally had enough, they would argue over which side of the bed they would be sleeping on, further pushing Jackie and I to the breaking point.  If the jumping from one bed to another didn’t end with raised voices from either Jackie or I, it ended with a crash, thud and face plant directly into the heat/AC unit.

Lastly, the boys have to check out the bathroom in great detail. If we would have been at home it would have been like pulling to teeth to get the boys to take a shower but somehow showers are always better at a hotel. Michael could destroy a motel bathroom like John candy did in the movie; Plains, Trains, and Automobiles.  There wouldn’t be a bar of soap, bottle of shampoo, towel or washcloth left after Michael finished his shower, which was usually taken within a few hours of checking in.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

My Uncle Buck - "UB"

I wouldn’t let him build me a picnic table.

Our uncle Buck, yes we have an Uncle Buck. We had an Uncle buck (UB) before the movie came out. My dad was extremely fond of UB and UB was fond of my dad. UB is in his 90’s and still just as funny as ever. My father, UB and I  were fishing in UB’s pond. UB’s mentions to my dad he is going to have an additional garage built. My dad asked UB if a certain relative (who UB didn’t like) is going to build it for him. UB didn’t hesitate a second. UB said: “him, I wouldn’t  let him build me a picnic table!”

Whoever prays the longest wins!


My mom’s aunts and uncles were/are all very strong Christians and I believe they are/were very sincere. I say are/were because most have passed away. There was one thing about meals with them I didn’t enjoy which was the prayer before the meal.

These people could pray, I mean pray like there was no tomorrow! Their prayers would start out simple enough but escalate into mini sermons. They wouldn’t  just pray for the food, we would pray for every concern uttered by anyone in attendance that day. At the end of the prayer my dad would whisper: “Well I guess he/she won the prayer contest this time.”

I’m sure the vacuum will pick that up.

Written in 2006

Michael keeps a pretty clean room…most of the time. Every now and then his room will get pretty messy. Stephen’s room is normally a wreck. If you want walk through Stephen’s room, you’ll be force to make the decision of whether step on the stuff covering the floor or to jump from area to area of exposed carpet. Both boys have a difficult time vacuuming their floor.

Have you every watched your kids vacuum? I’ve watched both of my offspring vacuum their rooms and it’s a disaster waiting to happen. Normally they drag the vacuum from the closet to their room while hitting it on of every wall and door casing on the way. They do this because they are mad we have asked them to vacuum in the first place.

Vacuuming phase one:  problem one with them vacuuming is they have failed to get the big stuff off the floor first. When I say big stuff mean the hats, shirts, etc. They will vacuum around a t-shirt and act surprised when they accidentally suck up one corner of it, which causes the vacuum belt to squeal, smoke, and then break. End of vacuuming when the belts breaks and the boys never tell us the belt is broken. It is up to use find out later.

Phase two and the second problem: the small pieces of miscellaneous debris that they fail to pick up by hand first. You know the stuff I’m talking about, BB’s, pennies, and the little lego that you normally step on when you’re barefooted. This is my favorite part to watch; in fact I don’t have to watch, I can sit in the front room and listen for this stage of vacuuming. You can recognize this stage from the familiar chunk, clunk, ping, ping, sounds you hear coming from the room.

Some of this debris never gets sucked up in the vacuum; it will roll around in the head of the machine while making a huge racket. After the debris has made its way around the beater bar few dozen times it is gets hurled out from the front of the vacuum and the cycle repeats itself again and again. Finally the boy is close to the wall when the piece of debris gets hurled out of the vacuum for the last time ending up next to the wall. The only reason the cycle stops here is because the vacuum can’t get the stuff that close to the wall without using the hose and the neither boy will work that hard at cleaning their floor.

There is always the piece of debris that will never enter the head of the vacuum. This is when the boy will go back and forth repeatedly trying to get the vacuum to pick it. Back and forth, back and forth until they realize that it will not get picked up. Now, instead of picking it up and throwing it away they will bend down and try pushing the debris under the head of the vacuum.

Stage three and problem number three: the small pieces of paper. I know by the sound of the vacuum when the boys are trying to get a small piece of paper off the floor, you know it too, it’s the sound of the vacuum going back and forth over the same spot at least a dozen times. Finally the boy will bend down, lift the front of the vacuum, and try and push the piece of paper into the base of the unit without getting their finger caught by the beater bar.

Stage four and problem number four:  the candy rappers and Kleenexes. Candy rappers are tricky devils. They make a quick crinkle and sloop sound when they get sucked up. If you aren’t close by when this happens you will not hear it. Actually the candy rappers don’t normally cause a problem; they just fill up the canister faster. Kleenexes make no sound when sucked up and create a unique problem of their own. You don’t normally know the boys sucked up a Kleenex until you go to use the vacuum for yourself. You vacuum half a room before you notice it isn’t picking anything up. Once you have determined that it isn’t picking up anything you go through the normal series of diagnostics. First the canister: is it too full? Second the filters: are they clogged? Third, it must have been the boys. Now you have to tear the hoses off the vacuum looking for a clog.

By the time you would go through the aggravation of hounding the boys to vacuum their room, replacing one vacuum cleaner belt, unclog the hose, it would have been easier to vacuum their room yourself.

Duct, scotch, and masking tape, or thumbtacks will do the job.


All three of these types of tape have many purposes. Thumbtacks can also be very useful. My boys, unfortunately, don’t know any of the practical and intended uses for these products. The following is a list of uses dreamed up by my resourceful boys:

  1. If a little scotch tape will hold a poster on the wall securely. The entire roll will hold up any piece of trash or trinket you think will look good hanging from the wall.
  2. If you cut out every magazine pitcher you find, you can basically wall paper your room. The problem is when you run out of scotch and masking tap you’ll have to use hundreds of thumbtacks.
  3. Me: “Why did you rap the deodorant can with an entire roll of electrical tape?” My Son: “Well, I was bored.”
  4. You can make a nice wallet for Dad out of duck tape! Of course it takes a dozen attempts and two eight-dollar rolls of duct tape, but the final product sure is nice.
  5. Tape balls: now that’s a good idea! We can make tape balls and we will leave them scattered throughout the entire house. Then when mom vacuums the house she won’t see them because we will have strategically placed them in areas that get vacuumed but not seen. When the balls clog the vacuum it will cause her to work for fifteen minutes trying to pry the balls from the beater bar, only after the belt has burned in half.
  6. Got an old pair of sneakers you just can’t give up? Duck tape them and you can extend their use by, oh say, ten minutes but it was a good idea at the time.
  7. Fingers always need taped for some reason.
  8. Anything that breaks, tape it! In fact, before it breaks you should always tape it; tape it for the hell of it!

The cars disappear down the hole dad.

My oldest son, Michael, was between two and three years old. We were in the process of potty training him. During this time Michael had developed a fascination with the toilet, in particular, flushing it.

At this time, we were living in small three-bedroom, one bath, and ranch style home with a one car attached garage. The house was just under 1000 square feet and we paid $24,900.00 for it. It was a great starter home.

One day my wife went to the grocery store while I watched the boys. Stephen, the youngest, was napping while Michael, who never napped and was the poster child for ridilun, was playing between his room and the family room. I heard the toilet flush and Michael laugh, the sound of scampering feet faded as he ran down the hallway and back to his room.

Flush, laugh, scamper, flush, laugh, scamper. This series of procedures took place a half dozen times before I finally asked Michael to come into the front room. As he turned the corner he said: “what dad?” I said, “Come hear pal, and sit on my lap.” As he sat on my lap I asked, “What are you doing?”  Michael said, “The cars disappear down the hole dad.” I said,”what?” Michael, “the cars disappear down the whole daddy.” I said, “Show me what you mean.”

Before I could get up from the couch Michael was quickly off my lap scurrying down the hallway . He ran into bedroom, grabbed a matchbox car, and was at the bathroom door before me. Michael said, “Watch this dad.” With one smooth motion he threw the car into the stool with one hand and flushed the toilet with other. "See dad, the car disappears down the hole!"

After scolding him for his actions I was able to figure out that he had flushed at least seven (7) matchbox vehicles down the toilet. I prayed that we wouldn’t have plumbing problems after that.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Where are my tools

Where are my tools?


For the first few years that Jackie and I were married, I would purchase some type of tool almost every week. One week I might buy a pipe wrench, the next maybe a set of screwdrivers. On my birthday one year, my grandmother gave me a sizable check that I used to buy a two-piece stackable tool chest and a 315 piece tool set from Sears. I was set! I had everything I could posibly need to fix almost anything.

As the boys got older I would notice sockets or screwdrivers lying around on the garage floor. There were times that certain tools would just be missing. Other times I would find tools in the driveway or yard. Once, I even found one of my screwdrivers driven into a four by four post behind the shed.  My tools were one by one disappearing and I couldn’t stop it. I would lecture the boys about using them or demand they stay away from them. Once, I even grounded them from going into the garage, which worked for about eight minutes. Regardless of what I did, the tools kept disappearing. I finally gave up trying to save my tools and resigned myself to the fact that one day I could start collecting again, after the boys have moved out.

A few years after the great Bermuda tool triangle mysteries had ended, my oldest son was about to turn 16 and would soon be driving. My wife and I purchased him his first vehicle. It was a one-owner vehicle and had 80,000 miles on it. The vehicle owner was an older lady who taught college locally. She had the routine maintenance done on the vehicle regularly. The only thing wrong with the car was she did not feel the need to clean it on a regular basis which was bad because she transported a large canine around with her.

Michael and I had a great time cleaning the vehicle. We used armoural on the dash, waxed the outside, and painted the wheels with that “magic in a can” called spray paint. When it came time for Michael to replace the boot around the gear shifter, he was in need of a specialized type of screwdriver. He searched and search for the proper tool only to come up empty handed. In his frustration he asked me for the screw driver. Finally, I was able to get some satisfaction for all those years of aggravation, due to tool loss, by replying: “Welcome to my world, and while you’re here, why don’t you go look for the tool you need  behind the shed, maybe in the driveway or out in the yard.” Michael very sheepishly said: “I understand, what comes around, goes around.”

Spray paint: It is Magic in a Can!



Written in 2006 

Michael and Spay paint

Jackie (my wife) and I moved into or third home in the early 1990’s. It was on one acre, situated on large private lake. We had a small "hilly" wooded area that you walked down and through to get to the lake. I had spent quite a bit of time cleaning up this wooded area. I built a nice limestone path that twisted and turned down the hill and ending with a small footbridge at the waters edge.

In our area a hardware store had filed bankruptcy. The bank had foreclosed and was having an auction to sell of all the merchandise to cover the remaining debt. I bought various items including a box of spay paint. This box contained about twenty cans that were a variety of colors. My oldest son had grown to covet this box of cans. Cans that with the push of a button would distribute an atomized spray of wonderful color on any and everything.

One day I headed down to lake, tackle box and trolling motor in one hand and the battery and fishing poles in the other. As I started down the limestone staircase I notice the first four steps were painted with arrows pointing down to a small sign. When I got to the sign, also spray painted, it said “clubhouse this way” with another arrow pointing back into the woods. As I stood looking down the path in horror I could see that every tree along the path to the “clubhouse” had also been decorated with a variety of colors straight out of a can.

I sat all my fishing gear down and found my oldest offspring at the “secret” clubhouse. He was surrounded by a half dozen empty can of spray paint.  You know, I cannot remember what all I said to him but I know it included “what you were thinking” and “what part of that did you think was a good idea?” It gets better!



Stephen and Spray Paint

We sold and moved away from the house on the lake about two years ago. The home we bought is on three acres in a nice private subdivision. The neighborhood is quiet, the homes are all very nice, yards are well landscaped, and its inhabitants are mostly professional people.
Our  lot is wooded with house sitting perpendicular to the road leading back through the subdivision. The driveway to our home is concrete, it curves and then widens out in front of the garage. Both the house and the garage are brick structures.

One day I was mowing the portion of the lawn that paralleled the subdivision road I notice something wrong with one of the bricks on the garage. As I got closer I could see that it had been spray-painted. Oh yes, sprayed painted with one of those wonderful cans that distributed an atomized spray of beautiful colors.

I didn’t have to speculate on which one of my offspring did this; it was Stephen! Michael wouldn’t have used another can of spray paint again, since the brick staircase and clubhouse incident a few years earlier, without first requesting it in writing, signed in blood, all while he promised to be the model citizen for the next several months. Stephen, on the other hand, had not been through the spray paint use lectures of 2001.

As I shut the mower down and heading into the house I quickly snapped at Stephen saying, “Why did you spray paint the side of the garage?” Now, I know both of my boys pretty well, and they have a hard time hiding things from me. The look on Stephen’s face was one of a bank robber who has the FBI knocking on his door. Stephen began to deny but then relented by saying, “I don’t know, I thought it would blend in.” Here is how I responded: “You thought fire engine red would blend in with the dark red bricks on the side of the garage?” I continued, “What part of spray-painting the side of the garage did you think would be a good idea? …And what part of having one brick, on the side of the garage, which sticks out for every neighbor to see, did you think would be something that I wanted? You know, if I wanted one fire engine red brick the side of the garage I would have spray painted it myself.”

I had just dished out the punishment of stick detail, which is a full time job in our yard because of all the trees and it’s the punishment that Stephen disliked the most.  Once I finished laying out punishment I continued with the lecture. I was probably half way through when Michael walks through the kitchen and ask, “what did you do Dobe?” Head staring at the ground Stephen answers: “spray painted the side of the garage.” Michael says, “I’ve had this lecture before, you should have sprayed the back of the garage, it would have taken Dad longer to notice it” and Michael walked out.

I still haven’t cleaned that brick off. I have left it as a reminder for both boys that: “thou shall not use spray paint without prior arrangements being made with dad and only with his supervision.” Now both boys go through a difficult procurement process to acquire and use a can of spray paint. Sometimes when I spray paint something, I do the “I’m going to spray paint something dance” just to tic them off.

 

Things I Like

  • Fishing
  • Iced lattes.
  • Cookies just out of the oven.
  • The smell of freshly cut grass.
  • To see someone, anyone smile.
  • Rum and diet coke.
  • To make someone laugh.
  • To sing out loud as I walk through my coffee shop. Really it is just singing out loud anytime and especially when I have my I-pod on.
  • Cutting open a five pound bag of a dark roast coffee.
  • Dogwood trees.
  • When my wife makes a joke. “Jackie made a funny”
  • Being called Dad.
  • Driving my convertible.
  • Practical jokes as long as they are not played on me.

There is Honor in Serving Others

There is honor in serving others.
Several years ago I heard a local businessman say: “the customer is always right until the customer is wrong.” I have never forgotten this. I remember who said it, who he was talking too at the time and when he said it. It wasn’t long after that his businesses failed. I still see this guy around town and he is now a bit more humble. I think this guy failed to realize one truth of being in business for himself: “There is honor is serving others.”
The first George Bush once said: “Any definition of success must include serving others.”
I’ve always tried to get the point across to everyone who is now or has ever worked for me that there is honor in serving people. It is very honorable when you can serve day in and day out and always have a smile on your face. Serving is a very humbling experience. You’re not always treated well by those you serve. In some cases you are looked down upon by those you serve.  The thing is I’ve never been ask by our bank if the money we deposit is from a customer who treated us badly. It doesn’t matter how others treated you, what matters is how you handled it and if you provided the same level service to each and every customer.
So my point is this, service to others is very honorable. Personally I appreciate those who serve me and understand the humility it takes. So thank you to all of you who have served me! Thanks to the bank tellers, servers at restaurants, clerk at the gas station, attendant at the car wash, cashier at the grocery store, and on and on. I too include service to others as part of the definition of success and you are honorable people in my book.

Friday, October 15, 2010

What kind of medicine has Dr. Bob been prescribing?

As always this has not been proofed for errors.  

My dad, his brothers and all the neighborhood boys loved to play army. They would gather in the woods just outside of town. Everyone had their assignments, some of the guys made a lean to, some dug the trenches and others crafted the weapons out of sticks.

Pop was the army doctor. He made a doctors kit from items he had found around the house and barn. Makeshift splints, bandages, and various candy for medicine was all included in his kit. It didn’t take long for the other kids to learn that if they were hurt pop would prescribe a peppermint candy or tootsie roll for the injury.

One weekend all the boys were heading out to the woods for a day of playing army. Pop needed to fill his kit with candy but was unable to find enough to get through a day of what was sure to be full of injury and illness. He remembered seeing a chocolate bar in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He figured he could break it up in small pieces and make it last.

As the day went the boys would visit Dr. Bob. For a few hours everything was going well. One by one the boys started feeling ill. The boys started coming to Dr. Bob with an all new set of symptoms: cramps. Dr. Bob prescribe more chocolate and away the boys went.

I’m sure you have figured out that Dr. Bob was handing out ex-lax as the prescribed medicine. Later that night the phone at my grandparent’s house started ringing. All the mothers from around the neighborhood wanted to know what kind of medicine had Dr. Bob been prescribing.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Coon hunting in the park.



To earn extra money for Friday nights my father and uncle Joe would hunt raccoons. Pop and Joe would head out just before dark with flashlights and guns. They always managed to return home within a few hours with at least one raccoon in hand. My grandfather sold the coon skins and would pay my dad and uncle for the coon(s) they brought in.  Pop and Joe would get their money and out for the evening they would go.  

You have to understand that my grandfather loved to hunt raccoons. He would spend hours hunting before his dogs would tree a coon. So he could never understand how pop and Joe could spend just a few hours out, early in the evening and always come home with a raccoon.

It turns out that my dad and uncle didn’t have great skills as hunters. The fact is that they would walk over to the city park to do there coon hunting. No one else hunted in the park since it was against the law to do so. It was easy pickings for Pop and Joe.  

“Life at best is bittersweet.”

Three weddings in the last four weeks and I find myself dwelling on the fact that I will never have the chance t to give away a daughter or dance with her at her wedding.  I know it was probably best that Jackie and I didn’t have a daughter because as I think about it I would have been a push over.  Still, I think it would have mellowed me considerably and I wonder how much different would I be today?  Jackie and I don’t really talk about it. I don’t want her to feel any regret since I know I do.  
To give a daughter away must be such a bittersweet moment. One on hand you’re a proud father who has watched a child grow and mature into adulthood. On the other hand it is your child whom you’ll always see as your child. It is strange how I see my sons, I know they are young men but they are still my boys and always will be.  I’m sure most parents have the same feelings about their children.
I think I’m bothered now at this point in life because I would be nearing the time that if I had a daughter she would probably be getting serious about all the aspects of her life. This would probably be the time she would begin to realize some of her dreams, goals or hopes.  I’m seeing positive growth in Michael and Stephen and wonder what I would be seeing out of a daughter?
Sometimes we must hurt in order to grow and I understand that. I’m sure there is a lesson in my longing/desire or at least I think there might be.  I have always been told that some lessons are learned best through pain.  Maybe there is a life lesson in this that I have to learn and maybe I have to learn through a little hurt or pain.
Anyway, just a random blog that really only means something to me, thanks for humoring me by reading this one.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Cheap Hotels and Motels – I’m dropping you off here, I’ll pick you up in the morning.

As always this has not been proof read for errors.

My work, when I had a real job, required a lot of travel.  The company I worked for understood the amount of time we spent on the road and allowed higher travel allowances. This was to help ease the pain and discomfort of spending 3 to 5 nights a week on the road. I became used to traveling at a certain level of comfort and luxury.

One of my bosses, Elise had knack for finding the cheapest hotel/motels anywhere. The cheap hotel room would have been okay but she always found the biggest fleabags available. I assume Elise was trying to earn extra brownie points for saving money.  I wouldn’t have minded but they were within eyeshot of a nice hotel, where for a few dollars more you didn’t have to wear flip-flops in the shower or sleep fully clothed. 

It was January,  Elise and I had a four-day trip planned to visit customers in Wisconsin, the lower peninsula of Michigan and finishing our trip in Fort Wayne, Indiana.  Keep that in mind, this is Michigan, Wisconsin, and Northern Indiana in January. I drove to Milwaukee to pick up Elise at the airport. We had to be in Green Bay the next morning followed by an appointment in Appleton. By that days end we would finish, on the other side of the lake Michigan in Grand Rapids.

This was truly the trip of a full-fledged road warrior and by the time I picked Elise up at the airport I had logged five and half hours in the car.  We leave the airport during rush hour.  I’m tired, cranky, and rush hour isn’t helping my patience at all. The only thing I want to do at this point is have dinner, check into a hotel, empty voice and e-mail and go to bed. Now I mentioned that Elise could find a cheap hotel but failed to mention she also picked the worst possible restaurants.

First stop: food! “Elise, where do you want to eat?” This was my first mistake. Elise says: “take the next exit and we find a place, okay?” “That’s fine,” I said knowing full well that it would be a pit. As our vehicle slows she point to the first place she sees is an old Ponderosa that has found a second, third, fourth life, or maybe more as another restaurant. An old Ponderosa! This should be a clue that we’re probably not in for a fine dinning experience.

Let’s see…we need a place to park. Oh here’s a spot (surprise) right next to the front door since there are only two parking spaces taken in the entire lot. We enter the Ponderosa now family style restaurant where we appear to be the only patrons. Supper was a disaster that I couldn’t finish. We’ve eaten now on to a hotel/motel.

There isn’t a lot South of Green bay except Sheboygan. It is getting late and Sheboygan will have to suffice. Elise has graciously made all of our hotel arrangements so we already now we have reservations in Sheboygan at the Americas Best Value motel. Here is just one quote from a customer review of the Americas Best Value motel: “No pool, like a super 8. The room had ants. Check-in counter had bullet proof glass. Did not feel safe. Would have went somewhere else, but room was already paid for.”  We passed a Holiday Inn express, Fairfield and a few other nicer hotels to get to this place. It was horrible.

Let me just tell you about the luxury accommodations I had. First, the room was L shaped. The main part of the room had the bed and dresser. The rest of the L had one broken chair. The room had two windows and both were not air tight. You could stand by either window and feel the cold, January, Wisconsin air blowing in. It had the typical hotel room heater but in this case the heater could not keep up with the cold air blowing in. The hotel sat next to the interstate so the leaky windows also let all the road noise in too. This was not going to be a good night.

I survive the night but the new day will truly be a road warrior day going. We are starting in  Green Bay then to Appleton, through Chicago and probably at rush hour and finishing South of Grand Rapids. Actually we had to be in Hastings, MI the next day but we were staying in Grand Rapids that night.

So day two goes exactly like I expect. We make our Green Bay and Appleton meetings. We opt for fast food in the car. Next on to Chicago where we hit the town as rush hour, although just about any time in Chicago can seem like rush hour. It will be another three and half hours before we get to Grand Rapids and I have run of things to talk to Elise about. Once we get to Grand Rapids Elise has directions printed out to our hotel. Keep in mind, I traveled all the time but I would be lying if I said I had stayed at a Howard Johnsons but after this night would could say that. I couldn’t believe that we were sitting in the parking of HoJo’s. At least the next day we only have one meeting and then it will just be a long drive to Ft. Wayne.

The room at HoJo’s was the dirtiest hotel room I have ever been in. I didn’t take my shoes off until I showered the next morning. I covered the bathroom floor with the “clean” towels and washcloths I knew I didn’t need.  The heat in the room was one that either was an eye blistering ninety degrees or twelve degrees below zero, there was no in between. I opted for the freezing temperature and prayed I would last the night. As I played on the bed, fully clothed I decided that I would be staying in better accommodations the following night. I got up, got my Marriot Rewards card out and made a reservation at the Courtyard in Ft. Wayne.

On to Ft. Wayne and end day three in familiar territory.  I know Ft. Wayne pretty well, it was part of my immediate territory when I first started with Akzo. We had a large wholesale distribution point in the Fort which meant I spent a lot of time in that territory.

We get close to Fort Wayne and Elise again pulls out her confirmations and directions for our hotel. I ask her what hotel? She said it was called the Relax Inn and Suites.  I know this hotel, I also know this is surrounded by several other low priced hotels. We pull up in front of the hotel lobby. I pop the truck of the car, get out leaving the vehicle running and walk back to the trunk. Elise gets out and says she can walk from the lot and I should just park the car now. I said: “Oh, I’m not staying in another fleabag hotel Elise.”  I could see she was shocked but I didn’t care. I finished with: “I have a reservation at the Courtyard tonight, I will pick you up in the morning.”

Elise checked in at the Courtyard with me. We had diner at the Cork and Clever which is a very nice restaurant. As we returned to our Hotel Elise said “I understand why all you guys spend so much money on travel now!” I only traveled with Elise one other time but I insisted on making all the hotel reservations.

Friday, October 8, 2010

My Travels: Iowa and the Side Show Gas Station

As always this has not been proof read for errors.

Somewhere in Iowa, traveling west on I-80, I entered a construction zone that narrowed the road to one lane. Having already driven 350 miles I wanted to reach my destination and end the day’s journey.  Traffic slowed to 20 MPH at which time I reach the top of a smal hill. As I begin down the hill I was confronted with the view of an interstate stretching several miles ahead and every mile lined with vehicles bumper to bumper. My day is getting better and better!

As travel slows to a crawl I noticed, in the closed lane several car lengths ahead, a man bent over doing something. As I got closer I can see he is bent over spray painting a yellow line parallel to traffic. He was also carrying a case of cans to be used in the completion of his duties. When my vehicle was close enough to talk to him this is how the exchange went:
Me: “Why are you painting the line with just spray cans?” “You don’t you have a machine for that?”
Road Worker: “The #^%* line painting is broken!”
Me: “How far do you have to paint a yellow line?”
Road Worker: “All the way!”
Me: “How far would say ‘all the way’ be?”
Road Worker: “Four $%^^%$#$ miles!”

Traffic moved on and I was unable to continue our conversation. I wanted to find out more. I figured that he must have had a bad attitude so his supervisor put him on line painting duties to get him away from everyone else. Regardless, this was strange but it gets even more bizarre.

After that exchange with the road worker I notice the low fuel light was on in my vehicle. This was the first time it had come in since taking delivery of it in April and I was not sure how far I could drive before refueling.

Meanwhile, traffic continued to creep along for another twenty minutes before exiting the construction zone and resuming the recommended maximum speed limit. I say “recommended” because I’ve always considered speed limits just a suggestion. Anyway,  I need fuel and soon!

By this time I’m getting a little worried, this is Iowa and there’s nothing in Iowa. I pass two exits with nothing at either. When I reach the off ramp for the third exit, BINGO, signs of life! As my car come to a stop at the end of the ramp I’m face with three choices: Buddies Boats 4 U, Larissa’s Adult Superstore, and a Phillip 66 combination mini-mart, camping ground, and “Burger and Fry Emporium.” No kidding, it was called the burger and fry emporium.

Well, I need fuel and today isn’t the day to find out how far my vehicle will travel with the low fuel light on. I pull into the combination fuel-camp ground-eatery thinking that this will be a routine fill-up and notice a motorcycle following me in. I park at the pump, get out of the vehicle and begin the process of swiping my fleet card and fueling my vehicle. The cyclist is now pulling up to the pump behind me. I watch as the biker sets the kickstand and gets off the bike.  His passenger, probably his 7-8 year old son or daughter, falls off the bike. As he helps him or her up I hear the youngster, who is dressed in all leather including a full face helmet say: “@#$% that hurt!”  He brushes the youngster off as she removes her helmet. Yes, I said she. When the helmet is fully off I notice she is a midget. Dressed all in black leather! Now I know I’m staring so I  quickly look away.

At the same the biker stuff is going on, there is a guy on the other side of my pump crawling around on the ground, like a dog, looking for something. As I looked at him he looked up at me and this is how our exchange went:
 Me: “did you loose something?”
 Dog man: “No, I’m looking at the undercarriage of my car”
 Me: “Did you hit something or is something wrong with it.”
 Dog man: “Nope, just looking to see what’s under there.”

It gets better. Now pulling into the emporium, on the other side of the man crawling around his car is an old Ford truck with a slide in camper. An older man gets out of the cab and begins to fuel the vehicle. Trying to avoid staring at the midget biker chick and watching the dog man, I watch the old guy reach up and pound the palm of his hand on the side of the camper. Within a couple of seconds the door of the camper swings open, a small wooden ladder falls to the ground, and a half dozen older folks begin, one at a time, slowly stepping down and out. It was like watching a bunch of circus clowns pile out of a small car…they just kept coming! The first women hits the ground walks around to the old man fueling the truck, shouts something about his driving while she slaps the heck out of him. I quickly looked away.

The pump kicked off and I, without hesitation, put the handle back in the pump, replaced my gas cap, shut the fuel door all in one smooth motion and while avoiding eye contact with the midget biker chick, the old man, the old women, and the crew standing behind the camper. I grabbed my receipt and reluctantly headed inside for a bathroom break and a diet Pepsi. As I enter the gas-camping-mini-mart-burger-fry emporium I see a set of glass front soft drink coolers and above them is a sign stating: “Free Bathrooms – Men’s and Women’s” with an arrow pointing left to a dark hallway. “Free Bathrooms:” I’ve never paid a gas station to use their bathroom. Anyway the first door I pass has a picture of women on it. Everything being equal then door number two must be the men’s room. WRONG, it was another women’s bathroom and there was a woman in it. She screamed: “Get out!” and I quickly looked away and got out. Door number three, which I had seen before entering door number two, had no sign above it and a spring nailed to the frame  which was holding it closed. I thought door three was broom closet or something. As fate would have it, it was the men’s room.

Shaken but relieved, I run down the list: Fuel – done, Bathroom – done, next a diet Pepsi. I grab my diet Pepsi and head for the checkout, all the while avoiding eye contact with the midget biker chick, the old women who slapped her husband, and now the lady from the bathroom, who are all in the line in front of me. I notice the lifesavers down the isle behind me and decided browse, get one pack of lifesavers which will buy myself time away from the line. This way I wont have to feel uncomfortable as everyone paid and passed by me on their way out the door of the mini-mart-fuel-camping-burger and fry emporium. As I turned, there in the isle blocking my way was an old women and man. I didn’t have the heart to excuse myself and try and pass by them in the narrow isle so I circled around the coolers and down another isle. Turning again around the corner of another isle and passing the burger and fry portion of the travel emporium, I fail to notice the step up. Well, I tripped. As I caught myself from falling I knocked one of the napkins holders to the floor. This caused the store clerk, who I will get to in a minute, the biker midget chick, the mean old lady, and the women from the bathroom, and now the old couple in the isle to turn to see what I had happened. As they all looked at me, I looked at them. I quickly looked away and headed to the lifesavers as if nothing had happened.

I didn’t think it could get any weirder but it did. When the women from the bathroom walked away from the counter I got back in line but now I’m behind the old couple. As I look behind the counter I see a blind albino women sitting at an empty desk. She begins shouting things I can’t understand and laughing as if she has just prophesied something we all should know. It was creepy and I quickly looked away.

After paying, I got back in my car with my diet Pepsi, three packages of lifesavers, and two packages of gum. I know, I said that I was going for a single pack of lifesavers but I staled for time so long that I didn’t want the store clerk to think I was a shoplifter. Anyway, as I pulled away I began thinking about that whole bizarre experience. It was a sideshow. The Phillip 66 Camp Ground Mini-mart Burger and Fry emporium and now we can add sideshow to the title

What color is my garage?

As always this has not been proofed for errors.

We grew up at the corner of 6th and Putnam in Terre Haute. The house was built in the late 1800’s early 1900’s and still had the carriage house/ barn when my parents purchased it. My dad decided to have the barn torn down and a new modern garage built.

The new garage was state of the art with prefinished white aluminum siding. It was no maintenance aluminum siding designed to need no painting for a few decades.  The trim around the doors and windows was pre-primed wood. My dad decided to have one of my brothers paint the trim to match the paint on the house. My dad gave the task to Robin who passed the job off to Perry. Somewhere in the lines of communication between Pop, Robin and Perry the proper instructions did not get passed along.

About half way through the day, the day that the trim was to be painted my dad receives a phone call from Perry. Perry was requesting some additional paint to complete the job. Pop without thinking about it told Perry to go to the paint store and get another gallon.  Pop would call to make the arrangements then stop and pay for the paint later that day.

Pop said several minutes passed before he realized Perry was asking for more paint. Pop said he thought to himself there is no way Perry would need more than a gallon of paint for the trim. Puzzled by the request pop tried calling home to inquire more about the need for additional paint. Unable to reach anyone he decided to call one of our neighbors. When Mr. Brooks answered the phone pop ask him to look out his window and tell him what color the garage is. Mr. Brooks answered; “Bob, it is the prettiest shade of green I’ve ever seen.”

Rabbit hunting from my bedroom.

AS AWLAYS THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF READ.

My first shotgun was a single shot 410, I guess I was 8 or 9 years old.  Pop took me to shoot it for the first time. Unfortunately the firing pen was not installed properly and the gun would not fire. A few days later Pop had exchanged the defective gun for new one. Outside we went and this time the gun fired with success.  

We had snow on the ground for several weeks that year. It was a clear night and the moon was full. As I looked out of my bedroom window I could see a couple of rabbits in our front yard. With a full moon and snow on the ground you could clearly see the silhouettes of each rabbit.

My shotgun was hanging on a gun rack in my room. My only box of shells sat on the shelf below the gun, I remember looking up at the gun rack thinking my bedroom was some kind of hunting lodge. Anyway, I got the brilliant idea that I could pick off at least one of rabbits in the front yard. 

I loaded my gun and turned my bedroom lights off. I slowly opened the bedroom window and realized there was a screen in the way. With a pair of scissors I sliced a notch in the screen large enough for my gun barrel to pass through. I slid the barrel of the gun out, aimed and pulled the trigger.

One problem, I didn’t know the consequences of firing a gun from such a confined area as a small bedroom. I had never experienced a ringing in my ears before. The fact is it was a deafening ringing, loud ringing! As I turned I could hear the faint sound pop yelling: “What the hell are you doing?”   As pop turned my bedroom light on I said: “I’m rabbit hunting.” All pop did at that point was to turn and walk back to the front room. I’m sure he said something else but I didn’t hear it.

I looked from my window for the spoils of my hunt but didn’t see anything. I put my coat on and headed outside to recover my fresh kill but there was nothing, I had missed. Disappointed and beginning to recover my hearing I headed inside. I sat in my mom’s chair to the left of my dad to watch TV. Nothing was said for a long time and until pop asked: “Well, did you get a rabbit?” hanging my head I said: “no.” Pop said: “Damn, I was looking forward to fried rabbit tomorrow night. Your mom can really fry good rabbit.”

Nothing was ever said about the rabbit hunt from my bedroom again. Somehow I escape on this one. I had escaped the lifetime of occasional ribbings my dad was famous for.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Things I hate!

  • Eating fish.
  • The smell of maple syrup.
  • Eye boogers, the really crusty ones that hurt when you rub your eye.  
  • Sticky hands.
  • People who point to their wrist instead of just asking you what the time is? One day I will be rude enough to say: I know where my watch is, where the hell is yours?”
  • Searching for the TV remote.
  • The saying “life is short.” It isn’t short, it is the longest thing any one of us will ever do.
  • Sticky floors.
  • Rhubarb.
  • Smoked Sausage and Fried Potatoes.  
  • A vehicle’s back windows rolled down while I’m riding in it.
  • Any women I just met or barely know thinking she can call me, honey, baby or dear.  
  • Being touched by people I do not know.
  • When the bed sheets too tight at the end of the bed; it mashes my feet down.
  • My leaf blower and weed eater.
  • Losing my sunglasses.

Monday, October 4, 2010

I hate Smoked Sausage and Fried Potatoes.

As always this post has not been proofed.

I would dread the summer time and the one week that my mom and sisters would head off to Church Camp. It wasn’t that I missed my mom, I did miss her, but the dreadful aspect of her leaving was that my dad would have to cook for me. My dad was not a bad cook he just didn’t take any time plan our meals. Pop’s idea of planning our meals was to by a 25 pound bag of potatoes and 10 pounds of smoked sausage. That meant smoked sausage and fried potatoes every night until mother returned.

I don’t think I ever had a good piece of smoked sausage or properly fried potatoes. Pop always gave me the bend in sausage. It would never lay flat in the frying pan. If something doesn’t lay flat in a frying pan it will not get cooked properly. One part of the sausage would always be burnt and the rest would be cold. As far as fried potatoes; Pop would start frying the potatoes and retreat to the front room for the six o’clock news. Sometime during the news he would remember the potatoes on the stove. One side of the potatoes would be burnt while one side would not be done.  

To this day I hate smoked sausage but I hate fried potatoes even more!

There is more to this story that I’ll share at another time.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

An Airplane Wing, 12 inches of snow and a long rope.


As always this has not been proof read for errors.

I was probably about 17 years old. My transportation was a 74 Dodge pick up truck. The truck had a slant 6 engine with a three speed on the tree. It was equipped with a vinyl interior and radio with 8 track player. It’s list of standard features was what we called: “seat and heat.” It got me from point A to point B with absolutely no style whatsoever. The exhaust was partially missing so it sounded like it had straight pipes on it. There was nothing stealthy about this vehicle but by golly I was glad to have the transportation.

It was winter and school had been cancelled because of snow. We had about a foot of snow on the ground. Now at age 17, no school, snow covered roads and a drivers licenses, all that teen age boys can do is look for mischief.

Jimmy Gibson, Scott Haney and I decided to go sledding. The only decision to be made was where? Well, as fate would have it there just happened to be a new subdivision being built just a few miles away. We knew the subdisvision was in its early stages of development. The entire area had been laid out with paved roads completed. The building sites were surveyed and marked, and underground utilities had been installed. This would be a great place to go sledding. Sledding while being pulled by the truck at 30 m.p.h. We had a problem, we didn’t have a sled.

Jimmy Gibson’s dad was a private pilot who had developed a subdivision for airplane enthusiast around a landing strip. Jimmy’s dad was a serious private plane enthusiast with a lot of extra plane part in his basement. At that time most of the sleds were made of aluminum. An airplane wing is made of aluminum; it has a great shape for sledding so what more could you ask for? Off to Jimmy’s basement we scrambled and started hunting for a sled.

We found the perfect piece of airplane wing! Nice curve in the front, very smooth allowing for little surface tension, reinforcement with aluminum ribs for increased rigidity and about 3 feet long for comfort. We did discover two flaws; no handles and no place to tie a rope to it so it can be pulled behind the truck. Jimmy grabs a hammer and screwdriver and proceeds to punch three large holes in the front of the wing part. There you go, two holes for handles and one for the rope, a very long rope!

I don’t know if you have ever been to a new development like a subdivision but it is a large construction site. There are various types of pieces equipment, building materials and debris scatter throughout the area. In the case of this development the debris was covered by 12 inches of fresh snow.

By default Jimmy is the first to ride the sled, after all the sled is Jimmy’s since it belongs to his father. To save you the details of the slow start we had pulling the sled let me just say it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t daring enough. As with anything 17 year old boys will do we had to make it more exciting.

We were probably doing 30 m.p.h. when Jimmy hit the drainage pipe. He rolled about 15 feet through the snow. The sled jammed under the pipe just long enough for the rope to tear though the aluminum and almost decapitating Jimmy. I brought the truck to a stop and Scott and I went to recover Jimmy and the sled. The fun was over!

I don’t know how much an airplane wing cost 25 years ago but it must have been a lot. As we walk into Jimmy’s house his dad immediately recognized our makeshift sled for what it was; part of his “$%#@” airplane wing.  The rest of the conversation included questions such as: “what the hell were you boys thinking” and “what part of using my airplane wing as a sled did you think was a good idea?” and “how did you punch holes in the wing and why would you do that?” Years later I would have my own boys and I would ask some of the same types questions …Karma!

Jimmy’s sentence lasted six weeks.  Mr. Gibson never really talk to Scott or I after that.