Puff's Story

About two and a half years back, a female stray cat began to hang around the house. It was obvious that it had never been petted much. After supper every night we began to talk to it and give it table scraps. After a few days, it would finally tolerate a hand rubbing its back, and I was able to ascertain its gender without doubt. We decided that we did not need a female cat having kittens all the time, and her life was spared when my grand daughter came to visit us and was able to pet the cat. Every few minutes of the day she would go outside to see about the cat. She and her grandmother settled on naming the cat KeeKee. KeeKee was a young cat, and I know she had been put out because she was female. We talked about having her fixed and were just about to do it when guess what?...you got it!...kittens on the way!

The days pass, and we know the time is near for kittens to be born. My wife has a big heart for animals, and she was hoping KeeKee would have her kittens in a safe place where they could easily be found...didn't work...one day the pregnant cat disappeared. A couple of days later my wife heard a cat crying insistently at the back door. She opened the door and there stood KeeKee as we say in the south, "justa squalin!". It was obvious that she was no longer pregnant, but, where were her kittens?
Time passed and my wife went to the door again and heard a kitten cry inside the storage room.  She located the kitten and placed her in a box inside the storage room and went back inside.  After a little while she opened the back door and saw KeKe running across with deck with kitten number two in her mouth.  The cat marched up and laid it down on the deck then took off again...in a little while she brought another...then another.. for a total of four, two males and two females.

KeKe was a good mother, and we enjoyed watching the kittens play and grow to "adoption age." They were pretty kittens and for once social media paid off. The two males and one female were taken by friends and family. By this time my wife had decided to keep the biggest, long haired black and white kitten. She named her "Puffy", "Puff" for short. We had already neutered KeeKee, and as soon as Puff was old enough, we had her "fixed" as well.

Puff grew and became larger than her mother. When Puff came home from the vet, KeeKee would have nothing to do with her. They would hiss and slap at one another until finally all out cat fights began to take place. Puff was the larger cat and soon chased her mother away. Most of the time we have had only Puff but KeKe would return occasionally. Puff has always been an "outside" cat, but she had access to the inside of the house during the day. On Wednesday night of last week we put her out for the night. The next morning I got up early and went to play golf. Usually, Puff would be waiting at the door and come bolting in when it was opened, but, this day she was not there. I thought nothing of it for there had been other days when she would be missing then show up a little later in the morning. I loaded my cart then drove to the golf course. I had played 4 or 5 holes when my phone rang...My wife said, "I hate to bother you while you're playing golf, but, can you come home and help me find Puff? I hear her meowing in the woods in front of the house, and she won't come out. She's crying, and I can't find her!". I'm thinking I don't want to leave my golf game so I try to reassure her  that Puff is all right. She doesn't buy it and insists that the cat is hurt or trapped and desperately needs help. A rain shower was approaching the golf course so, I loaded my cart and went  home to see about Puff!

When I got home, I found my wife standing out in the front yard calling Puff. I took my time, unloaded my cart, and walked down the hill to see what I could do to locate the cat. We both began to call and Puff answered "meow!". It sounded like the cat was somewhere near us up a little draw in the side of the hill that once was used as a "wet weather spring". The area around the spring is covered with  brambles, bushes, and trees of various ages and heights. The old spring emanated from the base of a huge sweet gum tree that has two trunks rising from the same root system. The trees are probably at least 80' high. The thickest part is along the edge where the smaller bushes and brambles were growing. "Puff is in there somewhere..She's hurt or hung, and we have to find her!  Listen to her crying!" said my frightened wife.

We spent hours looking for Puff. We would call, and she would answer. I knew that cats usually escape danger by climbing, so I spent a considerable amount of time looking up those two giant sweet gums. I could not see her in the trees and it certainly sounded like she was underground close to us. We came to the conclusion that the cat had somehow crawled into a hole in the ground somewhere and was stuck. I searched and searched the banks of the spring hole and finally found a slick looking hole which led me to think, *Well, she might have went in after a squirrel or rabbit or something and got lost in a maze of tunnels where she couldn't figure out how to get back out*. It sounded like the cat was in the bank just to the right of the base of those two sweet gums. I got my shovel and began to dig into the bank where we thought her cries were coming from. I must have dug a dozen or so holes finding nothing that looked remotely like a tunnel.  I decided that Puff's only chance was for her to figure out how to get out on her own..I had done all I could do.

The sad and forlorn look on a woman's face can stir a man to try stuff even when he knows it's pointless. So it was with me, and after sitting through the heat of the day, Thursday evening I got my shovel once again and dug more holes hoping to get lucky.  Late that evening my neighbors came to help us look. Now the search party consisted of two grown men and two women. We call, Puff answers "meow".  All four of us think she's here or there, but, no cat to be found. Finally dark arrives and things get quiet and still. Another neighbor came to help with a flashlight.  He shines his light up and down the trees and finally sees Puff's glowing eyes about 75 feet up the tree.  Jubilation is the best way to describe how my wife felt...the rest of us were relieved as well, although I was a tad aggravated that I had spent nearly all day digging holes and fighting through briers and brambles! Knowing the cat was in the tree and assuring my wife that she would come down, we went to bed that night thinking Puff would be at the door Friday morning.

We got up Friday morning earlier than usual expecting to see Puff dash in when we opened the door. Still no Puff! Her meows told us she was still up the tree. Intermittently all day long and into the night we called and she wouldn't budge. She would prance out to the end of the limb she was on, meow at us, look around a bit, then go back to her perch. Once during the day she actually came down one limb lower than she had been, but went back up. I'm thinking the cat can and will come down..eventually. My wife feared the worst, that the cat couldn't figure out how to back down and would stay in the tree till she passed out and fell. All this time, my wife had been on social media with her friends and neighbors and by now, the whole community was worried about Puff. Finally late Friday night we gave up and hoped for better results on Saturday.

My wife's fear was that the cat was in great need of water. She had been in the tree three nights and two days without any food or water and the days were mid 90's and very humid. Again we got up early and opened the door on Saturday morning...still no Puff. Nothing had changed, Puff was exactly where she had been the day before! We began to call as sweetly as we could and amazingly, the cat began to come down! With much coaxing from the both of us, she would back down the trunk from one limb to the next. Each time she reached a lower limb, she would walk out on it and look around for what seemed the longest time before going back to the trunk and sitting a while. After a couple of hours calling her, she made it to the lowest limb on the sweet gum tree. It was a long limb and stretched all the way out to the edge of the thicket. Puff would walk out all the way to the end of the limb then back.  Even though this was the lowest limb, it was a good 20' above ground and the cat absolutely would not get back on the trunk and back down. Finally she made a move...she climbed back up to her original spot! Now my wife is in a tizzy. She was afraid the cat would die from lack of water, and she looked at me with a pitiful face. I'm at a loss as to what I could do. She wants me to spray the water hose up in the tree...I know it won't reach, not even close. I had worked a ladder up the tree as high as I could. It reached to a point under the lowest limb but not high enough to reach the cat. Even up the ladder, the hose wouldn't reach.

What could we do to get Puff some food and water? Well, country boy ingenuity set in. I got my open faced reel and tied a good size weight on the line. I made my first cast at the limb that Puff was sitting on and missed. The weight hung on a twig, and I broke the line trying to pull it out. A second try ended the same way. The third cast hit my mark. The weight pulled the line all the way to the ground underneath the tree. I tied a  nylon line with a large pound test to the fishing line and pulled it over the limb and out to the point in the yard where I had made the cast. We tied a picnic basket to the twine underneath the tree then hoisted it up the tree with some food and water in it. We hoped the cat would actually get into the basket, and we could then lower her. I pulled the basket all the way up to the limb where Puff was perched. She walked out to the basket, looked into it, retreated, came back, looked again, then stuck her head down and drank some water. That silly cat then went back to her perch and stretched out for a nap! I throw up my hands and proclaim, "Well, I'm done! That cat will come down when she passes out I bet!". Again we are out of thoughts as to how to get Puff out of the sweet gum tree.

My daughters who live hours away from us were texting and calling my wife constantly wanting to know about Puff. They suggested calling the fire department, the phone company, the power company, or someone who owns a bucket truck. We live in the country...the fire department is volunteer and has no ladder truck, the utility companies just cannot do such things, and as far as I know, no one has a bucket truck. Besides, heavy equipment would ruin my yard!  Finally my oldest daughter told her mother that something just had to be done, so, she searched the internet until she found a person who would try to rescue the cat. He lived about 85 miles from us, but, said he would drive as far as three hours to attempt a rescue. She called him and gave him her mother's number. Early Sunday morning, he called and said he could be here by 10:30. The whole community and all of the Facebook connections are relieved. Finally, Puff is going to be rescued!...we hope!

I teach Sunday School so I went to Sunday school while my wife waited for the rescuer. My friends and neighbors in my class were well aware of the "Puff" crisis, and they wholeheartedly supported my decision to shorten the lesson so that I could be home in time to meet the cat rescuer.  About 10:45 he called and said that he had inadvertently placed the wrong address in his GPS but would arrive in about 15 minutes. Mr. Bob arrived around 11 and after papers were signed protecting us if he got hurt as well as protection for him in case the cat got hurt, we walked down to the sweet gum tree. He told me that he had made several hundred cat rescues, two or three dog rescues, and one drone rescue. His last rescue was about the same height as this one, so, the height didn't bother him.

After surveying the situation, Mr Bob decided that the line I had already worked over the limb was a bit too far out for the limb to safely hold his weight, so, another had to be secured closer to the trunk. He got his trusty Big Shot out of the truck. It was a giant sling shot. He tied a bean bag to a sturdy line and shot it up into the tree over the limb just above Puff's perch. It took three tries, but on the third, the bag hit its mark and pulled the line over the limb. Now Mr. Bob tied a heavy rope to the line and pulled it over the limb, then secured it to a nearby tree. The line had been shot from the yard over the undergrowth, so the rope had to be worked through the brush so that it hung vertically. We pulled as much as we could, then Mr. Bob said his body weight would do the rest. He donned his climbing gear and hooked to the rope. As expected, his body weight pulled the rope through the brush until it was a straight up climb. Now he started to climb the rope.

When he got to the lowest limb he paused to rest. All the while we are talking and pleading with Puff, still trying to coax her down a bit. Again he starts up and climbs to a point just under Puff's perch. She just sat there looking at him. He spent several minutes talking to her and even offered her a cat treat (this guy had everything imaginable). Finally he moved within reach and just as Puff had decided to move up higher, he grabbed her and put her in a cloth sack. After repelling down the rope, he handed the sack to me and told me to take her inside the house to let her out. Inside the house, I opened the bag and let her out. She seemed distressed and disoriented for a bit, but, soon settled down and took a little food and water. Puff was out of the tree finally and safe inside the house.

Word spread quickly over our little community and many people showed their relief by text message, phone calls, and Facebook posts. Many have said that this was the most exciting thing to happen in our community in years! Puff was a celebrity! Mr. Bob would take no pay for his magnificent work. He simply asked for a small donation to his humane society chapter. After collecting a nice contribution, Mr. Bob headed home. and we go inside with Puff...just look at where she decided to settle down!

After all the trouble we went through, now she gets in the basket! *rollin eyes*

The Handshake

I suppose everyone has a particular "claim to fame" event in their lives. For me, one of those memorable events took place while playing baseball in college. I attended a small college in west Alabama on a work/ study program. Scholarships for baseball players were very limited back then, so, many of my teammates were also included in this (almost a scholarship, but not quite) work/study program.

We were very good athletes. Most of us attended small rural high schools from across the country and were simply unnoticed by the larger universities. We could flat play some baseball as could most of the smaller schools throughout the south. Each year our schedule included a few games against a few larger universities. I'm sure we were considered as easy wins for them, but, we could hang with them and often come out on top. This particular season we were scheduled to play a doubleheader in Tuscaloosa against the University of Alabama.

The day arrived and early that Saturday morning, we boarded the old rickety bus and made the two hour drive to Tuscaloosa. To a bunch of old country boys who had never been anywhere much, it seemed like a huge metropolis.  There were gigantic buildings everywhere and students moving from place to place like ants on an ant hill. The bleachers were already nearly full and the Alabama players were on the field loosening up for the game. Somebody said "We don't need to pick no fight today...we outnumbered bad!". He was right, there must have been 80 or more of them dressed out that day.

The Crimson Tide couldn't roll us that day. We took both games of the doubleheader and I had a good day both in the field and at the plate. The one good thing about playing a large university was that  win or lose, you were going to get fed. After the games we were led to the athletic dorm's cafeteria. Now, this was no ordinary cafeteria. They fed their athletes here and they fed them well! There were big steaks, chicken, ham, potatoes, all sorts of vegetables and any non-alcoholic beverage known to man. The desserts were cakes, pies, and ice cream...everything geared toward building bodies bigger and stronger. We loaded our trays and sat down at a few tables to eat when someone said "looky yonder!".  As soon as I looked up and saw this man in coach's attire and wearing a houndstooth hat, I knew it was the Bear himself.  That's right...Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant was right in front of us!

As he took off his hat, someone stopped him a moment for a brief word, then he came straightway to our tables and congratulated us for playing so well. He then moved around the tables shaking our hands and asking if the food was good etc.. When he got to me, he took my hand and said, "You had a good day today didn't ye?". I said "Yes sir. Thank you sir.". I thought then and still think today, this was a good man. I mean, here's one of the best football coaches that ever lived, yet he wasn't full of himself or unreachable to us. He had watched us play and simply admired our effort and ability.

I will never forget that handshake. His hand seemed huge. My hand is by no means small and it seemed that his enveloped mine completely.  I am sure that Coach Bryant quickly forgot us, but you can bet that we never forgot how he treated us. So there you have it, one of my "claims to fame". I shook hands with the great Bear Bryant. I won't be forgetting that!

The One that Haunts Me

Two very good high school teams had made it to the South State Championship game that year. We were fortunate to be one of them. That particular group of young men were exceptional in that along with being talented, they were also very coachable.  We were downright undersized by today's standards, but every one of those kids had worked very hard in the weight room and had made themselves strong.  I remember in one playoff game, we were taunted during warmups by the opposing team as being a " junior high" team because they were so much bigger than we were. Well..they WERE bigger, but, they found out that they weren't stronger!  We whipped them that night on their own field...made them cry! This was the team we had that year, not overly talented in any area particularly, but, solid in all areas....enough so that we believed we could be state champions.

The team we faced that night was no different...we were outsized again, and this team had some very talented players. As a coaching staff, we had decided early on that we would not be out coached, and the plan we had for this game was the absolute best we could do. The guys executed it very well and with little time left in the game we were leading 7-0, but facing a punting situation. The ball was punted and rolled dead deep in our opponents territory.

Sometimes in spite of having the correct defense, an athlete can simply out maneuver the defenders and this happened late in this game. Somehow one of their athletes got loose and ran the ball through our defenders from around his own 20 yard line to inside our own 10 yard line.  With time running out and a couple of plays later, they scored to make the score 7-6.

There may have been a few seconds left on the clock or maybe time had run out, either way, the extra point would be the play of the game, and, it is the one play that haunts me to this day. I don't know if the opposing coach knew how exhausted both teams were or if he had no confidence in his kicker, or what else went through his mind, but, he elected for a 2-point conversion. Once they lined up for the play we called time out to set our defense. From my vantage point on top of the press box, I relayed the formation and suggested that it would probably be a running play. Our defensive coach adjusted his 5-3 allinement, moving the linebackers up close and having the linemen close every gap inside.The plan was to make the ball carrier bounce to the outside where we had the advantage with speed and quickness. When the play was set, they lined up in a pro I formation with a slot to the left. They snapped the ball and ran a fullback lead toward right tackle....exactly what we expected. Our linemen did their job closing the guard and tackle gaps and our end took on and stuffed the fullback forcing the tailback to bounce outside. Our outside linebacker had read the flow perfectly and was able to square the ball carrier up...looked like game over! I don't know if what happened next was planned or just an act of desperation, but, the ball carrier while in the process of being driven back and tackled was able to twist so that his back was to the tackler allowing him to hoist the ball over his head and toward the end zone. There was a mad scramble of course and one of their linemen came up with the ball. The officials did not call the illegal forward pass nor incomplete forward pass, nor lineman down field....they let the play stand! I was flabbergasted as was everyone in the stadium who had eyes to see.

That one no-call cost us not only the South State championship, but probably the State Championship as well because the team that got by us dominated the north team the following week. We protested the call as much as we could, even sending film to the state association for review, but, to no avail.

A lot of things happened during my career as a player and coach, both good and not so good, but this is the one play that makes me feel disgusted every time I think of it. Those kids deserved to win, they played their hearts out!

A typical day...Busy, busy, busy!

I am astonished at how much there is to do with my time now that I have retired. I honestly don't know how I got it all done while I was working.....guess I just let a lot of stuff go.(no reference to "Frozen" intended!)

Knowing that I have decent remodeling skills, my wife gently demanded that I rework her kitchen cabinets again. Of course I agreed and after a trip or two to the local building materials store for paints and new cabinet hardware, I was ready to begin. By today's standards, we have a small kitchen, but, that thing is full of cabinets that were hand made when I built my house back in the 70's. There are 24 doors and 9 drawers as well as the facings all coated with a dark wood stain.  Over the past two weeks, I have removed, sanded, stain blocked, painted (2 coats), and replaced it all, and I must say...it looks pretty good!

Yesterday, Thinking I was about through and deserving a restful, fiddle around day, I had just settled into my chair when I hear, "We need to replace the contact paper on the shelves...I'm gonna run up to the dollar store and get some...be back in a little."  I'm thinking this won't be too bad, just peel and stick..right?

The old paper comes right out, my wife uses it to cut the new paper then peels back about a foot of the slick paper. It's to be my job to hold one end while she " works" the sticky end into place...trouble is, the lower shelf is 4" off the floor!  Hands and knees and backsides are the only way to go, so, down we go!

If you've never seen two 60+ year old people flopping around on the floor, well, just wait...you'll probably be there someday. We managed to get the shelf covered and then we looked at each other both thinking the same thing...how in the world are we going to get up?  We both unfurl our legs and attempt to rise but we are both tall people and the space in the kitchen floor is tight, so, we knock each other around a little and then I say "time out...one at the time, me first!" I manage to get my knees under me and raise myself up, then I grab her hands and pull her up....flexibility is a fleeting thing for sure!

Today, I was putting the finishing touches on the cabinet doors when my cell phone rings. It is a fellow trustee of our church calling. A new commode was needed in the parsonage and he had it in his truck and he just wondered if I could maybe come down there and put it in.  So here I go down to the church already sore as the devil from the previous day shelf paper extravaganza. Truthfully, putting in a new pot is a one-man job and I was the one man. My friend is a great organizer and facilitator, but, not much on actually doing the work...but...I knew this a forehand so, I begin to take out the old pot.  Invariably, the nuts on the commode bolts will not come off easily, and I wind up on my knees with my head stuck down under the pot for nearly an hour before they finally come off.  I then put the new commode together and set it up  quickly ...no leaks!

While all this is taking place, my wife calls from her cousin's house and says " She's bought a new couch and she's giving me her old one and it's just what I've always wanted... Come get it!"  I tell her what I'm doing and that I'll be on as soon as I can. I'm thinking " What's wrong with the couch we have? I wonder how heavy it is. What will we do with the one we have? How am I going to move it by myself?".  Anyway, I go get the couch, load it in my truck, haul it home, back it up to the front porch steps, wrestle it out onto the porch then through the front door...whew!

Tonight as I write this post, I know tomorrow brings my annual wellness checkup at the doctor's office and probably a stint in Walmart. After that, who knows? In any case, I am very grateful that I am blessed with good health at my age and as happy as a pig in the sunshine to stay... " Busy, busy, busy!

"Aww, it don't matter."

"What do you want for supper?" she asked. "Aww..it don't matter." I said. Dang! All I meant was that I loved her and..I appreciated the fact that she was willing to cook for me and...I was trying to let her know that I would eat anything she wanted to fix and..she didn't have to go to a lot of trouble.  It didn't go over with her that way...."Just tell me what you want and I'll fix it!", she exclaims and so, I start making suggestions.

I must admit that first thoughts in response to the question were steak and potatoes, or fish and hush puppies, with pies or cakes and ice cream and such...but..in reality I know better. I like plain food........ham sandwiches....butter beans, peas, cornbread, biscuits, potatoes, greens, or anything out of the freezer..and she can make any of it taste really good.

I have found that "It don't matter" is not a good response for other questions as well.  "Do you like this outfit or this one?"  Best not answer "It don't matter."... even though you mean " you look good in either one.", she reads that answer as you don't like me in either.  "Do you want to go out or stay at home?" ....to her "It don't matter." automatically means stay at home. You get the idea.

Communication in any relationship is very important and sometimes it requires reading between the lines. Most men like me are not well schooled in this ability. We make our remarks without thinking about feelings. This often gets us into trouble!

I guess it's just a gender thing mostly. When menfolk say "it don't matter", it usually doesn't and they are giving the lady the choice.  Women read it differently apparently.  Make the choice ladies! We're just happy as a baby gnawing on his first chicken bone that you put up with us, so...what do I want for supper?........"Aww....it don't matter!".

C'mon Mikey! Let's play ball!

My brother and I are not quite two years apart. My youngest brother was born during my twelfth year on this earth. Both are fine, upstanding, Christian men and I'm proud to have them as brothers.

For those first twelve years, it was " me and Mikey" (Mike-ee), and you would'nt see one of us without the other. Being the older, very early on I was ordered to "look after" Mikey.  To me, that meant I could order him around some, make decisions for the both of us, and get him to ask our parents for permission to do something.

Early on we both took an interest in sports through Little League baseball, but it played out fairly quickly that I had the much greater interest. I loved sports, especially baseball, and I wanted very badly to be good at the game. I would start early in the morning begging Mikey to play ball with me out in the yard. I think he knew what he was doing when he would say "Naa...I don't want to". I'd use every ounce of reasoning ability an eight or nine year old boy could muster. Bribery was out of the question for neither of us had anything much to call our on, so, I'd beg and beg, pester and plead until finally...he'd say "Ah-ite, but I get to bat first!".

Finally, the game was on. I always had to set up the bases and hunt up the bat, ball and gloves. A two man baseball game was a bit difficult to play. Out of necessity, we used imaginary runners, boundaries in the field for singles, doubles, triples, and home runs. If the player in the field could get to a bag before the batter could get to first, he could force out an imaginary runner, etc..

The game would begin with me in the field and Mikey at bat. I would run myself to death nearly, trying to get him out so that I could bat.  At last, the third out!....then I'd look up and see Mikey cackle out loud, throw the bat down and run for the house as hard as he could! That would do it for me every time! I would light in after him with brotherly thoughts of murder on my mind and when I did catch him, I'd fist him on the shoulder, get him down and hold him, threaten him to an inch of his life, or, all of the above! I'd not have much to do with him for a day or two, but much like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football knowing that Lucy is going to pull it away,  I would soon start begging him again.

You might think I never got to bat...well, I did bat sometimes, and on the times he'd quit and run, after I reckoned with him, I'd go get my stick bat and bat rocks...hey!...if you want something bad, you'll figure out something!

I'll never forget those times, and, all in all, it helped me to become a player good enough to pay most of my way through college and enable me to have a successful coaching career, so,  Mikey did me a great favor every time we played, even the times he'd quit and run!.... Thanks Mikey!

"Smart" Cars and DTV

Last February, we bought a 2013 Ford Taurus and we really like it. The car is a six cylinder with power everything and it provides us with a quiet, comfortable ride. From the outside, the car is easy on the eye, but appears as normal as any other machine of its type. That's where the normality ends. The car has no ignition switch or key! It's a "smart" car. It comes with a keyless remote that allows you to unlock and open the doors simply by walking up and pulling the door handle. You don't have to ever take the remote out of your pocket or purse...I like that. Once you enter the car, the steering wheel telescopes out and the seat adjusts to where it was the last time you rode...when you turn the engine off, the steering wheel telescopes down and the seat moves all the way back..that's good...makes it easy for us old codgers to get in and out. To crank the engine you mash the brake pedal and press a button...the thing fires right up. It has bluetooth technology, dual zone heating and cooling, GPS, radio and CD player, and many other buttons and whistles that I have yet to discover. Everything is accessible through a touch screen or buttons on the steering wheel. It's an amazing machine! Wait..it is a machine isn't it? One day shortly after we got it my wife got out of the car and left her remote on the seat. The car immediately started blasting the anti-theft horn...how did it know to do that? Does it have a mind of its own? Twice now I have found the car sitting in my garage with both front windows down and the doors unlocked...I don't like that! We always lock the car at night, so I know neither of us just forgot and left it that way. What's going on with this thing? Imagine taking a trip somewhere and leaving the car in a busy parking lot, locked when you left it, but wide open when you got back! Shortly after it happened the first time, I asked the manager of the service department at the local dealership if he knew why this might happen. He had no clue about it...said he'd never heard about it before. I just shrugged it off as a freak occurrence that would probably never happen again, but then, it did! Now I'm really scratching my head, so, when all else fails, read the instructions! I pull out the manual (about 3 inches thick) and start searching for the reason that my car would do this. No luck there, so, I do the modern day thing....Google! It turns out that my car along with many other late models from all companies have a feature on the remote that not even the salesmen nor the mechanics know about. If you press and hold the unlock button on  the remote for about 5 seconds, the doors will unlock and both front windows will come down! I carry my remote in my pocket all the time and apparently the button was being pressed by some other item in my pocket long enough for this to happen. Mystery solved...maybe...or is this "smart" car just trying to aggravate me? Hmmm! I know it couldn't happen, but what if that thing decided one day to crank itself up and drive off somewhere? Sure hope it tells me where it's going before it leaves! Naaa...it couldn't do that...could it?

We now watch digital TV via microwave technology. This is supposed to be quite an improvement over the old analog TV which received the radio waves. I really can't tell any difference between digital and non-digital broadcasts, they look the same to these old eyes. I agree that the picture is sharper and clearer, but I'm not convinced that it is because of the microwave signal..might be that TV sets are just made a lot better. *shrug* What I don't like about it is that if the wind blows just right or there's a cloud in the sky, you have no picture or sound at all! With the old system, there would be a picture, maybe fuzzy but watchable, and sound, either the actual program or frying. At least you knew the set was working properly. Now you get a silent dark screen with a message "No signal or weak signal" and that's it!, or the screen freezes right in the middle of what you are trying to watch. It drives a person nuts!

Technology challenged? As fast as new things come out, who's not at least a little bit challenged? We try to keep up, but, change is a slow process for us. My kids tell us all the time that we need new and updated stuff. Why? Our old stuff still works..I don't have to watch movies on my phone! I still use the old fashioned dial a number and talk to someone approach. I don't need a text plan....shoot...I don't text much! Facetime is great, I can see my grandkids regularly, but, I lived 55 or so years without it and made it all right. It's a wonderful, fascinating techno world that we live in, but hey, I know how to live without it and still be happy.

If you see a car moving down the road with no one driving it, it'll probably be mine taking a trip without me! If you do, just don't try to out"smart" it!

God bless us all!

The Silent Type

"You're not talking to me today?", my wife said not fifteen minutes after I had wished her good morning and inquired as to how she had slept. I mean c'mon now...we just got up and not much conversation sparking things happened to either of us during the eight or so hours that we were asleep.  I answer her with "Well...yes..I'll talk to ye, just don't have a whole lot new to tell you right now...dahhhhh-lin."  For some reason beyond my comprehension, this seems to aggravate her even more. She snaps back "You never talk to me...I'm not saying anything else to you again!".  I'm thinkin " Sheesh!"!

This scenario seems to play out quite often at my house. We are both retired now and we are in close proximity to each other most all the time. I rather like it and we get along fine...except when it comes  to me just making chit chat. I could go for days and not say a word....would'nt bother me a bit! My wife on the other hand is a big talker and is well practiced in the art.  I think she expects me to talk to her...even when she already knows everything that I know!

Thank goodness for cell phones, FaceTime, and messenger. This technology takes some of the pressure off us men folk. While the wives are on these devices, they don't want us talking to them! Trouble is, when they finish, they feel compelled to recount their whole conversations and their only available audience is us men! This is not all bad, we learn much pertinent information this way.  You know, stuff like "The fair has nearly killed her!", or "So and So's baby has the colic.", or "Somebody is renovating their kitchen.". Men really are interested in such things, we just don't want to "appear" that way. Our responses to questions regarding these newly discovered facts are always manly answers.."Yep!", "Nope!", "Uh huh!", "Naw", "Whatever!" to name a few. We also use the nonverbal manly communication gestures ...nods, shoulder shrugs, head scratching, and the infamous eye roll. Responses such as these are fairly common for men everywhere I would think, and are innocent enough, but women interpret them as indifference prompting them to say things like " You wish I'd just shut up don't you?", or "is that all you have to say?" ..heh heh..."Yep or nope" fits well here but adds fuel to the fire!

I reckon "the silent type" fits me pretty well most of the time. I can carry on a good conversation when I have something to say. I can write and speak correctly, even eloquently at times, if I consider my topic worthy.  Chit chatting is my weakness and even while writing this post  my wife asked, "Why won't you talk to me?"? * Rollin eyes*...the cycle continues! *Smile*

Breaking the Rabbit's Teeth

When most people picture a bunny rabbit, they think warm, soft, cuddly, and gentle as can be. "Sweet li'l bunny rabbit!"...,yeah right!  My grandmother raised rabbits for food, and, occasionally someone would come by looking to buy some. My Dad and uncles had built some hutches up off the ground. They were basically wooden boxes toward the back enclosed with chicken wire that extended out a couple of feet. This allowed the rabbit a place to lay out and cool as well as drop his business through the wire.

Grandma lived right across the road from us practically and so, we stayed with her all day and every day during the summers and every afternoon while school was in session until our parents got home from work. You talk about "old school".... She believed in hard work, so, as soon as I got big enough, I was put in charge of the rabbit business.

She would buy a little feed in the winter, so, that was fairly easy. In the warm weather, we gathered food for them most every day. Wild vetch and kudzu was abundant and they seemed to like it very well. We often kept around two dozen rabbits, which were composed of an older buck and doe that we used for breeding and the rest different ages. The buck and doe were kept separated until a group had been harvested, then they were put together to breed another clutch. That's more or less how it worked.

Keeping water and feed available was a big part, but, there was also keeping the hutches clean. Manure had to be removed from under the cages  periodically and it had to be hauled off and scattered over the cow pasture or garden spot as it was a good fertilizer. Yes..farming of any kind is a nasty business, so, when you see these TV stories about poor conditions on a farm, take it with a grain of salt, it has always been that way and our farms continue to feed the nation.

The worst part for me was breaking out the teeth of the buck and doe. That's right, I had to break them off with a pair of pliers. Rabbits are rodents and just like rats, they have to knaw on stuff to wear off their teeth.  Rabbits that were harvested were no problem, but, the buck and doe in their hutches had nothing to knaw on other than food, so, their teeth, two on the top and two on the bottom would get longer and longer until the rabbits had trouble eating. I've seen the two bottom teeth reach almost up into the rabbit's nose!...talk about looking grotesque!

I don't know how much it hurt the rabbits, but, I would always come out looking like I'd been in a hatchet fight without a hatchet. Not only did they have teeth, they had claws as well and even though their brains were small, they knew what was up with the pliers! It was a sight. Here I was 12-13 years old trying to hold down a big old rabbit without hurting it so I could get hold of a tooth with a pair of pliers. The devilish things would squirm, flop, twist and squeal...all the while scratching and clawing. Finally pinning the rabbit, it would give up and I would snip the 4 teeth. The buck was even worse!

I despised doing it, but, it was just something that had to be done for the good of the animal and the welfare of the family. It and other experiences are what made me the man I am today....very thankful that I don't have to raise rabbits!

Secret of a Good Marriage

My wife  is a fine cook. She can put a meal on the table that will make you want to slap something! Even while working, she would get up every morning and fix a pan of biscuits or something to get the day started right for all of us, then, after work, she would come in and make a fine supper of whatever we might have. Early on in our marriage and especially while the kids were growing up, money for trips to the grocery store was tight, so, we ate a lot of vegetables that I could grow and meat that I killed by hunting, or harvested off the family farm.  Quail, dove, chicken, deer meat or whatever all went well with a pan of her fine biscuits. Peas, butter beans, corn, tomatoes, greens and potatoes all seemed to taste good because she knew how to fix them.We thought we were eating like kings because of her cooking. I was always very appreciative of this and always bragged on her cooking...and her biscuits!   Hoo-eeee!

There's a lot being said today about obesity in young children...hey!...Parents, they'll eat what you feed them! Feed them a lot of vegetables and they will learn to like them. Mix in a hunk of meat once in a while and make them some biscuits! Cook their food at home and set down at a table as a family and eat! They will remember it as they get older. Cooking is becoming a lost art, but it's the best way to feed your family!

Although most of us would rather it not be told, southern men can cook pretty good too...especially using a grill or a pan of grease. Some of us can do very well with stoves too. I can hold my own either way and knowing this, occasionally my wife now walks by and says " You got supper buddy!", or, "I want some of your biscuits in the mornin!". I gladly oblige!

She likes my biscuits. I take a small sifter of flour and cut in a pretty good glob of Crisco shortening with a fork. Just roll the flour up on the grease and mash it through over and over until the mixture takes on a yellowish tint and becomes a little tacky.  Next, pour in some buttermilk and stir with a fork. If you want spoon ( catheads) biscuits, use enough buttermilk to make the mix loose, then use a spoon and drop the dough into a greased skillet. If you want patted out biscuits, use enough buttermilk to roll a pretty good ball of dough on your stirring fork, but also leaving a film of flour unmixed under the dough ball. Remove the fork from the dough ball and then roll the dough around in the loose flour coating it all around. If I think I'm wasting too much loose flour, I squeeze as much as I can up into the dough ball. Now, just pull off small pieces of dough and flatten them in the palm of your hand, then place them in the skillet. I bake at 480 degrees until brown.....they ain't bad!

She and I will soon celebrate our 42nd wedding anniversary. I've never bought her expensive gifts ( don't want to spoil her *wink*). We usually go out to a good meal somewhere and I thank her for staying with me all this time. She sometimes asks, "What if I decided to leave you?". I say, " Awww shoot Dear, you ain't gonna leave....you still like me and I know ye like my biscuits!".

So there you have it. The secret to a good marriage...make each other biscuits!

Pierre's Ghost (The Legend Of Juzon)

We've all heard those scary, strange, unknown sounds in the night. Most could be explained away as a screech owl,  bobcat, or some other creature that, once determined, is not scary at all. My generation grew up without air conditioning, so, we slept at night with windows wide open in order to feel the cool from the night air. As a result, we could hear many sounds in the night from the outside...some far off in the distance and some just outside the window.

One night the yard dogs began barking. Most of the time you could simply holler at them and get them to hush, but not that night. Suddenly, we could hear off in the distance what the dogs had been hearing all along. It was a hideous cry, and, it was getting closer....and closer! I promise it would make the hair on your body stand straight up! By now the dogs had crawled up under the house...the thing was close and its cry was deafening. Daddy made us get in the house and shut the doors and windows, I mean, it was right close and we didn't know what in the world it was...still don't know for sure. Speculation was that it was probably a panther, but, who knows.

The next day while visiting with my grandmother, we told her of the strange sound that scared us nearly to death. With a funny look on her face she said, "It was probably Pierre's Ghost lookin for gold to steal and murder on his mind!". Of course, being 8 or 10 years old, we begged her to tell us the tale and so she began..."Well boys, back before the civil war, a Frenchman named Pierre Juzon came up here and settled on some land along side the old Jackson Military road down yonder just north of  Hickory. The Talasshee creek ran through his property and fed a small lake and they say it was a bottomless lake! Ol Pierre built himself an inn on the bluff overlooking the lake and along side the old Jackson road, where he lodged weary travelers as they moved between Jackson and Mobile. He had buddied up with a ol Choctaw Indian that he called Billy. They say Ol Billy was a mean'un and they couldn't nobody do nothin with him, 'ceptin Ol Pierre himself.  He'd take in the farmers and traders who had sold their goods in Mobile and were heading back home with their money. People say that many boarders were never seen again..that Ol Pierre would send Ol Billy to sneak into their rooms at night and cut their throats for their money and jewels. They would then gather up their bodies and throw them into the bottomless Juzon lake where they could never be found. Some say their spirits still haunt the lake and a lot of folk claim to have seen ghosts flittin just above the water on moonlit nights. Folk say that when Pierre heard that Sherman's army was headed his way, him and Ol Billy took all the blood stained gold and jewels they had gathered up and hid them in the lake somewhere. Later on when they went back to get it, they couldn't find it and in a rage and blaming the Indian for losing the hiding place, Pierre pulled out his pistol and shot Ol Billy dead. Screaming and cussin and moanin, Ol Pierre searched the Juzon for his lost gold...he never found it and nobody knows what become of him to this day. Some think the ghosts got him, some say he drowned, some say he just disappeared, and on some nights you can hear him squalin and moanin as he wanders around lookin for his gold." Then with a wry smile Grandma said, " I bet that was Ol Pierre y'all heard last night!". We sat there for a minute thinking about her tale of murder, then after looking at one another, I said ,"Aww, Grandma it wad'nt no ghost we heard..had to be a animal of some kind." She just smiled and said, "Well maybe so....maybe not!"

There is another version of the tale where Confederate soldiers on the run from Sherman dumped a load of gold in the Juzon lake in order to keep it away from the Union army. In either case there is some truth in the tale..there actually was a man named Juzon who owned the property there, many folks through the years have tried to drain the lake in search of the treasure to no avail....just can't get the water out! You can google Juzon lake, Newton County, Ms and read about it if you like. I found that the Choctaw Indian friend was not named in the historical record, so, Grandma must have  just used "Billy" in her story to aid in the telling of it.

Anyway, the next time you hear a strange, eerie sound in the dark of the night, as your skin begins to crawl, just remember....it might be something as common as a screech owl, or, it might be Ol Pierre"s ghost looking for his gold...who knows? Bwoo-ha-ha-ha! *evil laugh*

The Last Season

During my career as a coach I had two "last" seasons. The first was the last season at BH before consolidation ripped our school away from us. The second occurred at NC toward the end of my school career as I approached retirement.  Both were sad times for me, but the last season at BH was much more so because of the forced consolidation that was about to take place.

I was in my second stint as head baseball coach at BH, taking over after Coach M had left again for better things.  We were one season removed from a state championship and after a 500 season the year before and just missing the playoffs, we felt ready to make a run again.

I had been thinking about my players and what positions they could play to improve on last year and as the season started, I thought I had the best line up ready to go...I knew we would hit, just wasn't sure about the defense, as the Ol boy would say," we wadn't too swooft!".  Well, 4 games in and we were 0 for the season, then I made one defensive change at shortstop. We reeled off 16 straight wins and made the playoffs again.

Our kids knew the situation well...win, or it's over forever at BH. They wanted with all their heart to end the last season at BH as state champions once again. The first game of the best two of three series was played at home and we were shut down by a big, strong pitcher who later went on to play quarterback at the University of Southern Mississippi. Having played five games over the last week and a couple more days had worn us down physically and it showed in our pitching.  Even so, my kids were gamers. They grabbed their gloves and bats and took it to our opponents in the second game. Now the series was tied at one game each with the third game to be played at a neutral site. I was never more proud of a group of kids than I was of them. They weren't  big, strong, or fast, but, they were hard nosed, gritty, and determined. They played their hearts out, but, in the end, that "big Ol cornbread eatin football signee" had the fresh arm against us and we lost the third game. Now the finality was realized and tears began to flow, not because we lost the game, we knew we had given our best, not because we didn't win the state championship, we knew the nature of the playoffs, but because it was the last game of the last season ever played for old BH school.

I often think back to that day and wonder what would have been in store for that group had consolidation not separated them. They were back on the verge of another state championship..very well could have happened the next year! In any case, I hope they remember what I told them in that last huddle, "Hold your heads high boys, you are part of the heart of BH school and what you have done this season puts you on same level as all those who have come through before you. You, the last team from BH, have represented her well and I'm very proud of you!"

The "last" season will always be the first of my memories, and I'll always shake my head and think, "Why did it have to end?". Are we really a whole lot better off? I suppose in some ways yes, others no, and that's the nature of change. *sigh*

Oops! Sorry dear!

I reckon most men are much like me. I enjoy doing things that often cause my hands...feet...clothes...and generally my whole body to get dirty...even nasty a good part of the time. It is the nature of man I suppose to track dirt into the house. "Oops, sorry dear!" is a pretty common utterance from my mouth this time of year. With eyes like a hawk, women can spot a speck of dirt on their floors from a mile away!

According to my high school Ag. teacher, the soil around here is called orangeburg... we call it red dirt. It is a good soil for growing vegetables, but it sticks to everything! I try not to track it in...I mean I always check the bottom of my boots before I come in, wiping them on the grass most times...I even take them off sometimes, but it still makes it in some how. "Oops! Sorry dear!".

It's not that men folk don't care, we really do. It's just that our minds are wired differently. If a woman sends her husband to the grocery store with a list, he'll do his best to bring back the items on the list, nothing much else, but he'll have the list. If she says,"We need two loaves of bread and if they have green peppers, get 6.", guess what he'll bring home....that's right...there will be 6 loaves of bread sitting on the counter for sure! Hey, we just try to please! *grin*

I know that women work very hard to keep their house neat and clean, and it's a great source of pride for them. I assure you that a man appreciates it too....he just doesn't think about it in the same way. "I worked like a dog all day cleaning this floor and here you come trackin that dirt in!", I've heard my wife say! "Huh?....What dirt?", I'd always say. "This dirt right here!", she'd say with a hand on her hip and the other pointing at a footprint or a dirt clod. "Oops, sorry dear!" *sheepish grin*

I know this trait of tracking in dirt is not unique to me. I know of a statement made by my wife's grandmother regarding her husband John. She said, " I could be moppin the floor in hell and here would come John justa trackin mud everywhere!". She was quite a character, but she understood how men do..."Oops! Sorry dear!" Ain't life a blast? *smile*

"Open ye mouth and swaller this!"

Growing up in the 1950's and 60's was quite an experience. Our parents, who had grown up tending livestock and working in fields, were now beginning to earn wages from factories or from trades that they had learned after World War II. Families began to acquire things that made living a little easier, yet, the mentality was still buy what you need to just get by. Frugality ruled and people worked hard trying to live without borrowing money.

In those days, a trip to the doctor or dentist only took place after all the home remedies failed and sufficient time had passed to make sure a body would not heal itself! We didn't like going anyway because in those days you expected to feel pain to get healing. Doctors and dentists can do some terrible things to a body...guess that's why they call their business a "practice"! *rollin eyes*

Houses were not built as tight as they are today and the "frugality" factor always took hold at night, so,
in winter, gas heaters were turned off at night and fire places were raked up and bedded for coals the next morning. We slept under piles of quilts and blankets.....it was cold! The croup was a common occurrence and I still remember what it feels like. Usually within a few hours after waking, your voice would return to normal, but, there would be a little tickle in your chest. The cure?....Vick's salve...on your chest, neck, and face and then a rag poultice of it worn around your neck until the croup was gone.

Sometimes a cold would get in your chest and cause a cough and maybe fever. The cure...A tablespoon of sugar with a little turpentine dropped into it. "Open ye mouth and swaller this." Mama would say. Eating sugar laced with turpentine!...don't know if it cured or not, but, it did seem to sooth the croup and made you quit complaining for sure!

Small cuts were "doctored" with merthiolate or mercurichrome (not sure of the spelling) which were basically rubbing alcohol. Both solutions came in small bottles with application sticks attached to the lids. Parents would swab a cut with it then say "Blow, blow!". The stinging would make you dance for sure!

For more serious cuts or bruises, they would pull out the coal oil. It was a well known fact that coal oil would take out soreness. Many cuts that should have been stitched were wrapped up tightly and then the bandage would be soaked in coal oil. I bear a scar from a vicious cut that was treated in this manner.

The vilest "medicine" we were made to take was castor oil. Parents believed that it did a child good to take it, whether they were sick or not! Grandma used it as a form of punishment. I had rather take a whipping with a switch than swallow castor oil. Mama would say "Open ye mouth!". I wouldn't. She'd say "Open ye mouth or I'll call ye daddy!" That would usually do it. I would take the dose. Horrible, vile, terrible, nasty, disgusting...all rolled up in one..that's the taste of castor oil.

I don't have any statistics, nor do I know of any studies proving that my generation was tougher than this one, but, logic tells me it must be true. So it was with our fathers' generations and I expect the cycle will continue. We just didn't visit the doctor much in those days, we took care of ourselves. "Open ye mouth and take it! It's good for you, it'll make ye grow!" still rings in my ears as I remember those days. It's a wonder that we survived!

The Death of a Lady

Her given name came from the small community in which she stood back in the 1920's. It was a time when one room schools existed where there were sufficient numbers of children within a small area. When automobiles began to appear, transportation became less an obstacle and the one room school began to disappear in favor of a large campus housing all grades in different rooms. So it was with her. Several small one room schools came together to form a bigger school, and because of the most central location, she was built in the community containing Beulah Baptist Church, therefore, her given name was Beulah.

Her surname came from the founders of the school out of respect for the state superintendent of education of the day, a man named J.F. Hubbard, who apparently had a part in the consolidation effort of the time. In any case, the school became known as Beulah Hubbard school, and it churned out its first graduating class in the 1929-30 school year.

She was built of rough cut timbers and lumber with handsaws, hammers and nails. Her floors were of heart pine that were oiled on a regular basis to prevent rot. Her walls were lathed with strips of hardwood and then plastered over. Restrooms were built inside the building which was quite innovative and a novel thing at the time. Each classroom was well lit by huge windows that lifted up easily for ventilation during the hot August days. Early on she was heated by coal burning heaters and later, large butane heaters in each classroom provided heat on the colder winter days. She was a marvelous construction in her youth, a long hall of classrooms with a large auditorium attached to the back, a gymnasium within a few yards of the north end that also had a small lunch room on the back and a bus garage underneath and people were proud of her. Teacher's housing was made available across the road from the school, and as numbers grew, an additional building was constructed to house grades 1-5, the old house that had been used to house home economics and agriculture classes was replaced with an add on to the south end of the school, and a new stand alone cafeteria was constructed. Her district lines were permanently fixed when the northeastern and east central part of the county were taken in. Now, the family called Beulah Hubbard was almost complete. Integration became law in 1968, but, black students had a year of choice before they were compelled to attend the public schools. Some chose to go ahead and attend, but most waited until the 1969-70 school year to begin their education in the "white" schools. Now, the family was complete.

The little country school called Beulah Hubbard produced graduates who became doctors, lawyers, school teachers, business men and women, bankers, preachers, and farmers, all of which were successful in what they did with their lives. Very little money was allowed through the county for her maintenance, most needs had to be met locally by fundraising efforts, and though everyone contributed as much as they could, age began to wear her down.

It's difficult to explain how important the school became to the community. The smaller communities...Beulah, Hopewell, Greenland, Rock Creek, Pleasant Grove, Battlefield, Duffee, Center Ridge, Oakland, Hebron, and a few others now had a common thread..the grand old lady Beulah Hubbard. Life blood, fabric, focal point...all good descriptors, yet, they fall short in trying to explain the atmosphere surrounding the school and community. Most of the staff were local people and those who came in from other places quickly bought in to our way of doing things. The student body averaged about 250 grades K-12. They knew each other well and all were accepted no matter about social status. They were taught at home to act right and respect their elders, and they allowed themselves to be taught. They were great athletes and able to play with most schools with much larger numbers.

The talk began in earnest around 1986...that dreadful word..consolidation..became the desire of the controlling interest on the county school board. Much debate took place over the next few years, many tempers were lost, many ideas were presented to the school board in hopes of saving all or part of her to no avail. Every vote was 3 to 2 in favor of the controlling interest until the death sentence was pronounced in 1989.

Beulah Hubbard school is no more, the lady is dead, yet, those of us who attended or worked there remember that sense of belonging to something very special...just a little country school, made up of country people who loved each other and loved their school. Deep down inside, each of us who were a part of her still harbor a hope that she will someday be resurrected in some way. As the consolidated school becomes larger and larger, perhaps...just maybe...only time will tell!!

Honey, where did we put that.....?

There had been a glass coaster on which my wife had set a red candle on the kitchen table for months. As the Christmas season approached, my wife thought it would be pretty to use the whole set of glass coasters to help decorate her table. "Now where did I put those coasters? I remember I was gonna put them up somewhere, but, I can't remember where that is!" she said. Of course, no matter what I'm doing, immediately we begin rifling through drawers, looking in closets, cleaning out bookshelves, and generally wrecking the whole house trying to find the coasters. ('cause if Mama ain't happy..ain't nobody happy!)  All the while, questions and comments abound. "Looks like you could remember where ye put 'em...where'd ye have 'em last?" I might say. "Oh hush, you're just as bad as me!" she responds. "Can't ye just use somethin else?" I say moaningly. "I got to find them...can't stand not knowin where I put 'em!"she says with a tone of aggravation. I'm not sure if she's aggravated at me or at herself, so, I dutifully continue to search a few more minutes then I say "Well..I give up!" then mosey on back to my chair to rest my eyes a little. *wink* I get "the look" as she continues the dragnet search. After a couple of hours with breaks in between, finally I hear "Here they are! Now I remember putting them right here because....". I'm just shaking my head thinking "Good grief!". Ok..finally the mystery is solved. With the set of coasters in hand, she moves toward the table to retrieve the one holding the red candle. Lo and behold....it's gone! "Did you see where I put the one that was on the table?" she asked. I'm thinking "Oh no..here we go again!". We begin to look through the house again for the one coaster that we had to start with. We search and search, wrecking the house a second time.  This time I even search through the garbage can in the kitchen..it's not there. "It's got to be right here somewhere. Think! Where'd you set it down?" I said. "It was on the table, now it's gone, that's all I know. It just wasn't meant for me to have a pretty table this year." she moans. "Aww, we'll find it..it'll turn up somewhere 'round here.", is by now about all the sympathy and comfort that I could muster. We search and search until finally she says in disgust, "Just stop lookin for it, it's just gone!" A day or two later she is sweeping under the table and pulls a chair all the way out from under it and there on the front edge of the seat is the coaster with the red candle. We had both pulled the chair out a little and looked in it as we searched, but, neither of us had pulled it all the way out. The table cloth had hidden it from us as it sat on the front edge of the seat. Scolding her  I said " Who in the world would put the thing right on the edge of the chair like that? Most folk would put it in the back of the seat where it wouldn't be likely to fall out!" Uh oh!...you could see sparks in her eyes as she lit into me with a list of my escapades along the same lines as the search for the coasters. Of course she was right, I misplace things too and just can't rest until I find them. I've been known to tear the place apart looking for my pocket knife!...just can't do without one. Shoot! I find a lot of my stuff while we are looking for her stuff! "Hey look!...found that screw driver I been lookin for!"

It's funny how we take comfort in knowing where our things are located. I guess for my generation it's because we never had much more than bare necessities while growing up, and, we were taught to take care of things. We are not pack rats, we do throw things away, but only after they have been worn out! We think seriously about things before trashing them.The result is, there's a lot of stuff that we know we have, we're just not quite sure exactly where it is!

Hey! Where did I put my glasses?

Please don't push the red button!

When my two oldest girls were small children in the late 70"s, we bought them a Fisher-Price toy called "Please don't push the red button!". The toy was a colorful plastic box of sorts enclosing a cassette player and speaker. Sesame Street was the theme of the toy and this one featured the muppet Grover. A children's book and cassette tape came with the toy. The plastic was molded in the front to hold the little story book and in front of the holder was a line of multicolored buttons, one of which was most definitely red!

They were so excited as they opened the package and loaded the cassette. With the book in its place and two little heads close together as they stared at the first page, the cassette began to play. "Hello, this is lovable, furry old Grover speaking....." and his voice began to give instructions as to what to do to follow along in the book as he told his story. Always after he talked a little, he would say, "Please don't push the red button! You can push the green button or the yellow, just Please, Please don't push the red button." This would go on after each instruction or part of the story. Well...after a couple of times hearing ol Grover say "Don't push...", well, guess what?...of course, they had to know what would happen if they pushed it, so, they did! Grover would moan and groan about it at first, then sound very exasperated as pushing the red button continued. My girls loved the toy and what was left of it was passed down to my third daughter and son after they were born. We certainly got our money's worth out of that toy.

During one of our runs toward a state championship in baseball, we had to play a team on the Gulf Coast. The game time was set for 7:30 on a Friday night, so, with the drive being roughly four hours, we decided to stay the night in one of the local hotels there. We went down Friday afternoon, planning to get situated in the hotel, grab a light meal somewhere, then go play the game at 7:30. All the way down, the guys would ask, "Does this place have a pool?". Our answer was always the same, "I suppose, but, we're not gettin in it!".
I told Coach M. as we drove by the hotel's pool, "'em boys'il be in 'at pool 'fore we leave!" He said "Naa..they'll stay out of it if we tell 'em to.". We played and won the game and got back to the hotel around 10 that night. We declared bed check at 11 and sure enough they were all where they were supposed to be. We went to bed and along about 1 AM the phone rang...."Coach...you need to come get your boys out of the pool!". Yep...country boys are going to get in a pool of water..it's a given!

As we move through life, we are often tempted to "push that red button". I think I'll go pull one of those tags off a mattress that says "Do not remove this tag"...*grin*. Y'all behave now!! 

Of "coachwhips" and "spreadin adders"...

I guess you must be a child of the 50's (or of some decade prior to that) in order to even recognize the names of the creatures mentioned in the title above. Growing up in my part of the deep south, we ran across these "critters" on a regular basis. Where did they go? I suppose as people began to move away from farming crops, fields and pastures became covered with pine trees which changed the habitat to the extent that coach whips and adders could not survive here any longer. The same scenario happened with the bob white quail which were plentiful here while crop farming was the rule.

Coach whips and spreading adders are two different species of snakes. The coach whip is a thin non-poisonous snake which can grow as long as six feet. Its scale pattern makes it appear braided and its color was usually dark like a whip. This snake was peculiar in that it was an inquisitive snake. Usually seen around fields where the crop or vegetation had grown up about waist high or better, the snake would often stick its head up a foot or so above the foliage and look right at you as you walked by. Coach whips are one of the faster moving snakes to have such length. The old folks say a coach whip would get away by grabbing the end of its tail with its mouth and forming its body into a circle and roll away like a wheel! Think that might be stretching it a little? *smile*

The spreading adder (eastern hog snake) is short and stubby with a characteristic pointed snout on its head which it used to root around in the ground in search of grubs, worms, or insects. Its underbelly was a vivid yellow (around here anyway). We often encountered adders in the yard or around freshly plowed ground. When distressed, they could puff out their heads resembling a cobra (some called them puff adders) and even play dead! The old folk always warned us that the “spreadin adder” bite would make you extremely sick. No death has ever been recorded that was a result of an adder bite, but, who would want to risk it?

Terry was a teammate of mine in college, a Yankee boy from somewhere in New York state. He had heard me talking about working bird dogs and hunting quail and wanted to come home with me one weekend to see for himself what it was like. I brought him home one Friday evening during quail season. My family was still in the chicken business and after showing him around a while, we came in to supper. Mama had her usual course of vegetables and somebody in the family had killed a mess of squirrels, so, she had fried them and added biscuit and gravy as well. Yankees were not big on vegetables, so ole Terry lit in on the squirrel, biscuit and gravy. Afterward, he said, “Best fried chicken I ever ate!”. There was a surprised look on his face when we explained that it was squirrel, not chicken!

The next morning, we set out to hunt quail. My old bird dog was working hard, but by this time, quail had begun to be pretty scarce and would not set good. We had walked about an hour when finally the old dog pointed a covey. The birds were just on the edge of a patch of woods that opened up into a large field covered with broom sage. It happened that when we got the covey up, the singles flew out and scattered into the sage. We started out into the field and had just about reached the area where the birds had settled, when I heard a loud “'Whoa!”. I looked to my left and saw Terry had dropped his gun and was running back toward me. I said, “What's wrong with you boy?”. He said while pointing toward where he had been, “Look!”. There, with its head raised up above the top of the sage by about a foot, was a coach whip! Terry had been almost eyeball to eyeball with it! I said, “Aww, it's just an ol coach whip, it won't hurt ye.”I said, “Look.”, and started walking toward the snake. It let me get within about ten feet of it then, zip!..down it went disappearing from sight. I said, “Just wait a minute.”. Sure enough after a few seconds, the old snake's head rose out of the sage again a few yards further away. He said “That thing is not scared of us at all is he?”. I assured him that he probably was scared or was at least instinctively wary. He said, “Can you catch one?”. I said,”Well, you could try, but, they are maybe the fastest snakes alive!” That pretty much put a damper on the bird hunting for the rest of the day. We went on and killed a few birds, but, he spent most of his time looking out for coach whips! He had quite a story to tell his grand children!

I wonder, as time goes along, what else might disappear from our part of the world. The coach whips, adders and quail are gone, replaced by deer, striped skunks, and wild turkey. Wild hogs are moving this way and we already have armadillos and coyotes. New tales and experiences await, so, turn off the TV's, ipads, iphones, and game boys and get outside!! I bet a grand kid would much rather hear a story about a coach whip than one about saving a princess on a video game! The choice is yours!

"Doo-da-doots" and "Pa-dings"

My house is beginning to sound more and more like an arcade! I have seen many innovations over the course of my lifetime. I can remember the first television my dad bought back in the 1950's. It was a second hand RCA, made of what looked like a thousand tubes stuck in a metal frame. The cover had been removed during the repair and never put back, so, it sat there on the table, tubes exposed and glowing as the electricity coursed through it. What a marvelous invention it was!

Radios were large and bulky. At first they were limited to their location in the house by the length of their cord. Then one day I got a transistor radio! It was nice! Not much bigger than a matchbox, it had a telescopic antenna and it would just fit in your shirt pocket..wow..I thought I was “up town”!

Along and around 1962, we got a telephone. Daddy had been trying to get one put in for a couple years, but, had been told that the party line was full. Finally “Ma Bell” expanded its service from 4-party lines to 8-party lines and we got the phone. Of course, we were not allowed to call anyone (except for emergencies), but we could answer if no adult was there. Everyone on our party line had an assigned ring so that we would know when to answer. Ours was two short rings. The phone was wonderful but had its drawbacks. The older ladies on the party line had to talk everyday at a certain time. There was no need to try to use the phone during that time of the day. Also, on a party line, your ring would sound in every household on the line, so, reckon there was some eavesdropping?

In college I became acquainted with computers. Mind you, they were nothing like what we have today. One computer took up a whole room and to make it do anything, you had to write programs on keypunch cards and feed them into the machine. One period or comma out of place and the whole thing was ruined. About this time, calculators began to appear. I often thought how much easier my studies would have been had I owned a calculator!

Now we all own iphones, ipads, laptops, and desktop pc's that work with the click of the keypad. Ringtones and notification sounds ring out all through the day and night. My wife will say “You got a doo-da-doot!” or I'll say to her, “You got a pa-ding!” and we both drop what we are doing and check our machines. I can tell who is calling by what ringtone sounds on my phone.Yep..."arcade-ish" for sure! In case there is a reader who does not yet know their meanings, "doo-da-doot" is a Facebook notification and "pa-ding" is an instant messenger notification.

I know technology is good, but it never stops! New things appear every day and many people become obsessed with purchasing new stuff. Until it gets so outdated that it will no longer work, I think I probably have all I need...Uh oh...gotta go! I think I got a “pa-ding”!! *grin*

Assault with a deadly chili pepper!

Time on task is an important aspect of teaching. Studies have shown that a very large part of the school day is wasted because students do not stay on task. "Keep 'em busy and you'll keep 'em out of trouble." was a piece of sage advice given to me as I was preparing to teach. Good advice, yes, but practical?..not hardly. I came to realize that most of those college expert teachers had never actually taught public school students on any level. Keeping students busy and on task turned out to be one of the most difficult things a teacher could accomplish.

It had been a normal day. First and second periods had come and gone with no major confrontations. I usually started my math classes by discussing any questions regarding homework, then presented the lesson and examples for the day. After addressing any questions on the day's lesson, I would have the class start their assignment for the next day, using the time left in the class period. This was the time that a teacher had to do his "head knockin".."Keep 'em on task.." stuff you see. Some would actually work on their math homework, others would work on what they were supposed to have done last night for the next class, some would fake it. In any case, I expected a quiet, studious few minutes at the end of the class period which allowed me to check a few papers or look over the materials for next class period.

Third period was a general math class and was designed to supply a math credit toward graduation for kids who just could not make it through the college prep math courses. They were not the sharpest tools in the box, but could function well enough, and, of course, they were full of life! Two of my good ole boys, Bud and Flip, were side by side in the back seats of two adjacent rows. I was busy with something at my desk and the class seemed to be "on task" with the homework for the next day.
Suddenly a giggle!, then another..without looking up I said "Y'all be quiet back there". A minute or two passes and then a loud cackle of laughter breaks out. I stand and look back to see Flip holding his head in his hands, ears and face red as beets and Bud is reaching across the aisle patting him on the back. I say, "What's wrong with you Flip?"...he looks up with tears rolling down his cheeks and says "Arrrhg..cough...sputter ..wheeze!"'. The other kids were rolling with laughter, so, I look at Bud and said, "What did you do?". He said "Coach, I reckon it's assault with a deadly chili pepper!" I said "What?". He said, "I had one of them red hot peppers in my pocket and Flip saw it and bet me a dollar he could eat it without any water!" Poor ole Flip was burning up! I made him wait for water till the bell rang to end the period! (It was only a minute or two) I also made sure ole Flip got his dollar!  Bud took his punishment like a man, and, later that day, I had the security officer at the school talk to Bud about his "assault with a deadly chili pepper". As for Flip, he wound up in the nurse's office for a couple hours till the effects of the pepper wore off. I heard a lot of "ChiliFlip" from that day forward. Some lessons cannot be learned from a textbook!