What color is my garage?

As always this has not been proofed for errors.

We grew up at the corner of 6^th 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.

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.

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.

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.

Catfish Suprise

As always this has not been proofed for errors.

My dad loved eating fish, any type fish would suffice but he was especially fond of catfish. My dad and mom would make weekly pilgrimages to some obscure restaurant for catfish. The holy of holy catfish spot was in West Union Illinois, Earls Supper Club!   

Me, I do not like fish. How do you know that fish is bad? It smells like fish. To me even if it is fresh it still smells like fish. Fish sticks, fish nuggets, fish plakes, fish tacos, fish anything;  no, nope, no way, not going to do it. Fish coated in batter then deep fried till the fish smell/flavor is gone and smothered with tartar sauce, maybe! If I have to clean the fish then definitely it is a great big NO!

One week my mom purchase a package of frozen catfish from the Swan Man. Everyone in this area is familiar with Swan Ice Cream and the Swan man. The Swan Man will stop buy your house once a week selling sweet treats and an entire smorgasbord of frozen foods. Anyway, my mother decided to purchase a  box of catfish. This recipe was for a catfish casserole. Yes, I said a catfish casserole. My mother decided that she would make a catfish casserole for us.

The big night arrives. My mother follows the recipe to the letter, every ingredient added and then baked for the required time. My dad and I sit down at our respective places at the dining room table. Now, my mom was always the last one to sit down, last one to start eating and last one to leave the table. Pop, was always the first to get his food, he inhaled everything he ate and could be back in his lazy boy before my mom could even get the first bite of food down.  

Pop serves himself a heaping portion of the culinary treat called catfish casserole. I take a small portion figuring I will make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once mother settles on the couch to watch TV with pop. Pop is pretty excited, after all it is catfish…and he thinks catfish in any form is better than no catfish at all. Pop takes his the first bite then I take a bite. I don’t know what catfish casserole should taste like but I’m assuming it is supposed to be good. I look up at pop and he is staring at me, it is a stare of horror.  

Remember, mother is last one to sit and last one to get up. Neither pop nor I would dare take another bite. We waited patiently for mother to sit down, dish up some catfish casserole and take a bite. The moment arrives, she takes her first and only bite as pop and I watch her intently. She chews, then swallows and says nothing. For a second I thought she was going to take another bite but then she looks and my dad and says: “I will make us all some sandwiches.”

We never had catfish casserole again.

I like this decade of my life.

Life to this point has been rewarding for me.  Jackie and I have been married for 23 years. I think we have a good relationship since I probably irritate her more than she lets on. We made it! At times I think our businesses put a strain on our relationship but we never really seem to get mad at each other very much.  Again, she probably gets more irritated at me then me at her but she hides it pretty well. 

 It was an unusually hard journey for us early this year. We felt as if the world was crashing in on us in January but we determined to get through it and get through it together. It is always rewarding to look back from a hilltop to see the valley you just walked through.

Michael has so much potential but he doesn’t realize it.  We have tried to guide him but he doesn’t apply what we advise him to do. As a 21 year old he has to be left to make his own his decisions and live with the consequences. How my heart aches for him and how I wish to see him grow more and start down life’s path. He has the needed determination to succeed and I think he is just now starting to realize it.  He also needs to gain some patience. I’m sure he will be successful but he needs to find his direction.

I wonder where Stephen will be a year or two from now. He has a lot of potential but seems to be more concerned with partying than any other thing. I partied at his age so I guess I understand. He is pretty steady and soft hearted. He should go far but he needs to find himself. He started college this year. I believe he is taking his studies as serious as we can expect Stephen to take them. He has done well working for us at the smoke shop. He had an opportunity to basically run the place while our manager was away. He did very well, I think he took it seriously and I feel he might have what it takes to one day run our businesses.  We will have to see what he decides for his life but he will do well whatever it is.

I was sad this summer.  This summer I watched and listened as two of my female employees talked about their weddings. Specifically, I watched Lucy as she pretty much planned every aspect of her wedding all the way down to making the decorations and invitations. The excitement I heard in her voice and saw in her eyes made me think about a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. The poem started out as a list of what I missed out on by not having a daughter. I wish I had a daughter to need me.  Maybe it is an odd desire and maybe it is just a case of missing what I did not have.

Somehow Talita found us. When she first arrived in Indiana my biggest concern was not allowing anything bad to happen to her. I think I was probably overprotective of her from day one which is just the parent in me.   Her mother seems to really sacrifice to put her through med school but her father does not appear to have very much to do with her.  I think she has an impact on my desire for a daughter but I can’t say it is negative or positive.  Regardless she has become the daughter I didn’t have, my Brazilian daughter or minha linda filha brasileira. I suppose it was almost providential that she found us.  She needed a father and I needed a daughter and somehow she found me, how unlucky for her.  She deserves a father who really cares for her and I’m happy to be the one, even if it is as a surrogate. Today I believe I wouldn’t love a daughter of my own more than I do her. I want the same for her that I want for my sons; happiness and success.

Our businesses have done very well this year. The Brazil Store has performed well this year. Jackie takes the ups and downs of daily sales more to heart than I do but I understand her frustration.  Terre Haute is having a good year also. For a startup Smoke n Peace is doing well. I feel good that our businesses are moving in positive directions.  

As I close in on my birthday I have to say that it has been a good year for me.  I have had a few downs but they have been outweighed by the positives of the year. I would also have to conclude that my 40’s are turning out to be the best decade of my life.