I Went to a Football Game

I went to a football game, alone. It was second half of our local 13,000 student Stephen F. Austin State University football game.  It was Parent’s Weekend, so literally half the people left after the 2nd quarter.

It was a stifling hot Texas evening, so I sat at the top of the stadium where there was virtually no one, but the team flags blew in the breeze. That breeze was nice!

I participated, without involvement. Was part of the crowd, yet not crowded. With people, but all by myself.

Plus, high in the stands you can see plays develop.

Perfect! Continue reading I Went to a Football Game

Whisker Windfall

This Labor Day was the twentieth anniversary since I grew a goatee. Haven’t seen the ugly under those hair follicles in this century!

Several weeks ago Janet and I traveled, and in Keystone, South Dakota, I shaved.

I was shocked! Without hair on my face, everything looked different!

At least my receding hair line, even if it’s in a steady retreat, is a gradual reveal.  It’s like a slow descent plane landing.  But shaving cold turkey and going lickety-split from whiskers to clean shaven after twenty years, well that’s an engine failure crash landing!

I felt like I needed to introduce myself to the guy staring back at me in the mirror! Who is this stranger?

The worst part, however, was somehow, sometime in last twenty years, someone snuck another chin under the original! It doesn’t look like a double chin with facial hair, right?

But now, my face looks pregnant! Nine months. With twins! Continue reading Whisker Windfall

Writer’s Block

The weakest ink lasts longer than the strongest memory.

Sometimes the ink flows.

But sometimes it’s stuck in the pen.

Full, but nonetheless, dry.

 

Thoughts crash in thunderous explosions,

Yet it’s all thunder, no rain.

Ideas, memories, laughter, pain,

They come, they go,

Enter, leave,

Flicker, fail.

Nothing sticks, nothing lasts.

Writers Block

Like Alzheimer’s,

Random, continuous thoughts flow,

But nothing connects in logical sequence.

Before a memory is expressed,

The wind catches it’s seed, without root,

And no effort or concentration can make a difference,

As neurotic puffs wisp away the thought to oblivion,

Never to be seen, nor known, again.

 

And so it is today.

The pen remains silent.

Still.

Dry.

Maybe tomorrow ink will flow.

Maybe.

 

Writers Block

Throw Momma From The ‘Plane’

Last week we flew to Rapid City, South Dakota to start a six state vacation tour. There’s always a variety of people on airline flights.  I catch myself evaluating everyone, particularly the men, just in case I have to fight.

Don’t call me paranoid. Call me, I don’t know, prudent. Maybe paranoid.  Mainly, prudent.

This flight though, I was more worried about a flight attendant than anything else! At first, I wasn’t completely sure if he was a she, or she was a he. It was she.

I’m figuring she could’ve retired in 1972, but has held on to working as long as she can. The airline must have great benefits! Hair styling, Botox and charm school, however, aren’t among them.

Her gruff, don’t make me slap you, matter of fact, I smoke three packs of cigarettes a day for lifer voice seemed disturbingly familiar. She even looked familiar, but patting my chin with my finger, I couldn’t figure out from where…

Then my mind started churning….a movie, maybe?

That’s it! That’s who the stewardess looks like!  She looked like mama from the 1987 movie, Throw Momma From the Train!  It was uncanny!!  Twilight Zone music started playing it was so eerie!! Continue reading Throw Momma From The ‘Plane’

To See The Way

A college student in an electric wheel chair was moving up the sidewalk beside our local university.

She controlled her chair with one hand while tapping a cane back and forth in front of her with the other.  She was partially paralyzed, and on top of it, blind! Yet there she was, out in public, on her own, making her way from place to place!  Amazing!!

I respect her immensely for doing what seems impossible to me!

She reminds me of a blind friend named Randy I knew in college.  Randy was 7 or 8 years older than me and had lost his sight his senior year of high school when he caught a rare virus. Continue reading To See The Way

Golf With a Putter and Six Iron

A few years ago a handful of my high school buddies started getting together every year. They’re great guys and I’m always glad to see them!

But every year we do something they love, I loathe. Golf.

I’m not talking about fun golf, like Putt-Putt, where you navigate obstacles, putt over the astro turf hill, and maybe even win a free game with a hole in one at the Windmill. Nope!  Nothing fun like that!

They like golf-golf, where you whack a little white ball (orange for me so I can find it in the woods) and hit it over acres and acres of mowed grass that’s had gallons of ‘Weed Be Gone’ sprayed on it. The only goal is to knock the little ball in a coffee cup in the ground that you can’t see.

Psft!  What are they thinking?! Continue reading Golf With a Putter and Six Iron

Playhouse to Lighthouse

The tenth grandchild is coming in October! Can’t wait! Grandkids are great!

Last year I built a swing set for the grandkids, then a fire truck (you can read that here).

The boys had something, but JJ, daughters, daughter-in-laws, and even granddaughters said they wanted something for the girls, specifically, a playhouse. Playhouse foundation

~Challenge accepted.~

I drew up plans for a little 10’ x 10’ playhouse, bought the materials and started work.

It’s insulated, with lights, porch lights and a plug for a heater or fan powered by an extension cord.

Like everything that comes from your hands though, I know where I messed up.  I see my mistakes, things others, besides building professionals, may miss.                     img_0633

But I see them.

I shake it off.  Remind myself that the goal isn’t perfection, even if I want it.  Demanding perfection, whether in a playhouse or a child’s life and behavior, destroys the goal. Continue reading Playhouse to Lighthouse

Just Two Little Letters — 2

~Disclaimer: This is the second satirical post and only meant to entertain, maybe even cause a grin, snicker or smile.  The first post is here.  And yes, there are ALWAYS exceptions.  For the record, no words were injured in the writing of this post, so please don’t injure the writer. (Wink, wink.) ~

It’s weird! Men and women have fun differently!  Granted, there’s no hard and fast rule, but generally the pendulum swings two ways.

Men feel friendship with other guys by doing stuff together.  Here goes:

Two men. They get up at 3:15 AM in cold weather, and meet 3:45 AM sharp at a gas station.  They go inside, fill their thermoses with coffee and get in a truck together.

“Good morning”, one says.

“Morning”, says the other. Continue reading Just Two Little Letters — 2

Just Two Little Letters — 1

Writer’s note! This is satirical and not intended to insult two particular groups, men or women.  OK, I guess this runs the risk to offend everybody, but still, it is written with a wink., smile and laugh. Any similarity to any person, past, present or future is strictly coincidental…

Two letters! That’s all. Man. Wo-man.  Same species, I think. But galaxies apart!

I’m in a chain email group with 6 or 7 high school buddies. When the first email starts, a series of rude comments and insults ensue, much to the delight of all!

When we actually see each other, the greetings among our guy friends includes a hand shake or a bear hug, seldom both.

Bear hugs, however, must be in accordance with the Guy Book of Rules.  Any violation of these imaginary rules results in loss of  “guy points”.  Multiple violations may result in permanent loss of the “man card”.

Rule 17 in the book, section 2, bullet 3, subset 4(a), clearly states that IF you hug a guy instead of shaking his hand, it’s very brief. I mean, break a china glass on the floor brief. And never, ever, ever more than a second.  In fact, prolonged hugs, according to subset 5(d), can result into a justified fist fight. Continue reading Just Two Little Letters — 1

You Come From Good Stock

Three months ago. Saturday. 8:04 AM. Work rings. Never good. Answer phone.

“Dee’s mom called. His wife is a nurse and woke up and heard him gurgling. She called 9-1-1 and started CPR. They don’t know how long he was without oxygen. He’s at the ER now, but non-responsive.”

My heart sunk. We’d worked together 23 years. Dee’s a quality guy. I knew then I’d never see him again, not the same.  At minimal, brain damage from oxygen deprivation would forever change him.

~~Something awakened Dee’s wife, Alanda, at 6:15 AM.  She heard Dee gurgling from fluid filling his lungs. She flipped on the light, called 9-1-1 and started CPR.

Alanda saved Dee’s life. He’d crossed death’s doorway, but at the threshold, Alanda grabbed the tip of his little toe toenail and began pulling him back.

Five minutes later paramedics arrived. They took over CPR and used an AED.

One electrical shock to the heart. Two. Continue reading You Come From Good Stock

Stories about family, faith, friends and funnies. Pull up a chair. Grab a cup of coffee and laugh, cry, ponder and inspire about ordinary events of this wonderful, ever changing, bubbling pot that we call "every day life".

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