Continued.......

Four months give or take since I have written one sentence on this blog.  I seriously considered maybe termination and starting something else.  But. like life, maybe it's OK for it to evolve, as we do.  

No time like the present to start again.  Hunkered down waiting for the remnants of Hurricane Patricia to show up and Drown us tomorrow night.  I'd like to say I missed those big assed thunderstorms but I'd be lying.   Guess this one is supposed to be the strongest one ever.   So I guess I will bring up to speed what is going on in our life.

The past few months have been busy. Construction, cleaning and at sixty one years old I am still putting my shoulder to the wheel- (literally) of moving heavy shit. Moving all of the accumulated stuff out of the house to be sold or rented, for family members living in other states.   The consequences have been reigniting old popping a cracking knees.  Yes I said both of them. On a side note, we attempted unsuccessfully several times to acquire a really cool old house in Ingleside these past few months  and learned once again, corruption is everywhere. I could go into more detail but  the audacity of some of these folks is truly amazing. Scars have taught us (me) one cannot fight every battle. Quickly lick your wounds and move on.   Lisa and I have been dealing with many issues.  Not all of them pleasant.  And therefore, likewise will not be aired here.


                           Said goodbye to a Past life.  Won't be doing much of this anymore

We did have a great time with the grand daughter seen above.  Awesome, isn't she?  And after five days of driving, actually for the most part took care of all the crap (literally) complicating our lives in Idaho.  Loaded it up in a big ass trailer and hauled it to Texas.  Didn't cut family ties but the ultimate goal is to get back into travel mode.  Mucho stuff I wanna see and do before I croak.

So we blew most of our seed money to upgrade our transportation and it will be awhile before we are able to look into buying again, pending the house sells, or somebody hits their numbers.  Hey, it can happen.  But damn, it's got real leather interior and was rather a pleasure to make the 2000 mile drive back.





                         Ta Dahh !

Danny and Leya had been looking after our trailer and paying our rent while we were gone,  But one tends to find out why these things were never meant to be lived in full time.  Buncha stuff didn't work at first, particularly the AC, which was probably twenty years old.  So I went with the least ghetto option and found an online deal for an 8000 btu portable compact roller job by Koldfront.  It'll last until I can get back up on the roof and fix and replace. Believe me, I'd gone with the trailer trash window unit rather than one more night of ninety plus 89 percent humidity.  That there is miserable.  

So we are sitting, in the probably mostly vain hope of making some money in the Oil fields.  But one would have to be in a coma not to know that business has pretty much died away.  The consolation is that gas down here runs around 1.75 to 1.90.  Still quite eerie driving through the Oil Patch noting the activity has decreased to about 0


Did I mention that my wrist and ass still hurts from that fall at HEB?  Anyway, somebody from Corporate called to inquire about my health about a week after I wrote about it.  In the best concerned crisp texas drawl reminiscent of Dolly Parton in Nine to Five, she asked how I felt.  I decided what the hell and disclosed every single twinge of pain I had experienced the past week since.  No, nothing about my bowels.  I'm not that rude. Then I asked her what she thought?  To her credit she stuck to script which mostly assumes that I want a million bucks and they don't want to give it to me. But they are really sorry, or she is anyway.   I mulled upon that a few minutes and decided to hang up mid call.  Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of HEB stores, just these rich corporate bastards could either put in softer floors or pay folks to keep shit clean. I mean it damn it.

I have discovered some revelations about myself.  One that I appreciate music and have dedicated my life to learning the harp.  (That's hipster for Harmonica)  Well, couple of minutes a day, (here and there) anyway.  I have found that the area cats are very appreciative of my efforts.  I take progress where I find it.  My rendition of the Doobie Brother's Long Train Running seems particularly popular.  Really, really popular.

Second, I have written three short stories over the summer.  And re wrote em and re wrote em and re wrote em and re wrote em and.....  Anyway, I've been kind of immersing myself into some of Stephen King and Hemingway.  The first is too damn scary for me, the second puts me straight away to sleep after twenty minutes.  I could take drugs and "think" that I had talent, but these guys brilliance is more or less unequaled.  But below them are a hundred thousand authors, that well, are not that far below.  Myself, meh.  But I have sent a couple out to a couple of the zillion online and print magazines and even a podcast.  So I sit patiently waiting for my rejection letters.  I'm hoping that my one chance lies in that somebody will recognize what a scary place my brain is and that I actually have to live in there....alone.

I'm ashamed to admit that I paid little or no attention growing up that there was a huge Japanese Internment camp less than twenty miles away. Didn't visit it until my sixties. This camp had over ten thousand internees living in Tar paper shacks, when the temperatures ranged from minus teens to a hundred and some. Japanese Americans mostly lost their homes and belongings and were railroaded to this place in paradise amidst the Sagebrush near Twin Falls.  By all accounts endured stoically.  And thousands joined to fight in the war.  For those that are clueless as to what a tarpaper shack is, think a frame of two by's with loose fitting pine boards tacked to them, all covered by tar paper.  No insulation, nada. Eight feet of snow outside or a hundred degrees and dust. This was a big deal folks.  These were American citizens who went on to prove themselves over and over.  It's humbling.  This stuff could happen again.  We took a slew of pics but here are a few.  

I confess that sometimes I tend to focus on downsides more than upsides until Lisa reminds me of some of the out and out great times we have had the past few years. The great times to come and the great kids and grand daughter we have.  As well as for better or worse, we live in a time when great things are happening.  Probably more than any time in history. That man may be on Mars in less than twenty years and I'll be what, less than fifty  That friends and neighbors is amazing. 

 I apologize, kind of , to anybody that I might have offended with my politics.  But really, is it that hard to just agree with me?  Seriously, rather than being mad at me, just agree with me.  That's what I would do.

 Anyway, returning to Idaho I found that Mom and Dad are both in their mid eighties, still alive and awnry enough to boot.    Hell, there's hope.  I think Ninety is a sure thing with a hundred not out of the question.  

I'd like to wish Mooster a happy birthday.  Second one he missed by dying.  Schmuck. We'd get together and raise a few birthday brews sometime in between to celebrate.  Damn, I just realized that was what we were celebrating all along, our birthdays, all year long.  But I gotta say, love ya and miss ya man.

But for now, I am picking tiny little ants out of very private body areas. Most times not before the buggers have injected their tiny little fangs in me.  Getting reacquainted with these big ass Mosquitoes again and contemplating what tomorrow's temps are going to be while an airborne Ocean is headed this way. That's what CNN and the Weather Channel seem fixated on. 

So I'm going to stop drinking the very strong Coffee that I make and poor myself a glass of cheap wine.  Cheaper than the kind I usually drink because for a while times are gonna be lean.  I noticed also that when drinking the cheap stuff, for some reason, I probably should not be near a keyboard.  Expensive OK. I find that I am quite brilliant and witty with any brand costing more than eight bucks a bottle.  Cheap not so good.
                                                          
                  Arvwah
                                     ( That is incredibly funny,  Blogger says I misspelled arvwah, how the hell is it supposed to be spelled?)

The age of getting your ass kicked

 No fluff on this post today.  This has been kind of a crappy week overall.  Yesterday, during the storm grab the door to get in out of the rain when there's a flash.  Lightning close by.  I get a shock from the handle that nearly knocks me on my ass.  Kay, that's new.  Wiring in the RV all OK.  Air or ground one of the two and thankfully it didn't hit closer.  But well, that's just not enough for the Karma gods.  Took a big ass tumble at the local HEB today.  Ambulance chaser's dream case.  No signs, no indication of anything wrong.  Just minding my own business and whistling.  I actually think I was whistling while carrying a bottle of my favorite alcoholic beverage in one hand and the other, my new favorite non alcoholic beverage,  A twelve pack of it anyhow.   Had not had an ounce to drink and nary an Ibuprofen tablet in my system.  Life's immediate problems seemed to be working themselves out and I was heading to the checkout with a big smile on my face left, right, left right fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkkkk BAM.   Left one I think, hit a patch of butter.  Maybe it wasn't butter.  Sure felt as slick as butter and for the third time in the last ten years got my ass kicked.  At least when I was younger I could select who was going to kick or not kick my ass.

Anyway I did the magnificent split thing which is agonizing.  Looks good with Cheerleaders but not old guys. Threw the stuff I was carrying straight up in the air and fortunately I didn't kill anybody when it came down, except it shattered about 18 inches from my leg and fired off a number of shards that had to be plucked out.  I have no defense for this kind of fall. It is my kryptonite. If there was an army of me's all the enemy would have to do is lure me's into a grocery store or some other building(Twinkies probably do it) with a hard floor, douse it with little spots of grease and every me would walk in,  make the same kind of fuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk sound followed by a thud.  Then just walk around and coup d' a tat or grace thing and the war would be won.

What followed this time was quite hilarious. When lying there covered in vino, the first thought in my head past the pain was "hope I don't get pulled over".  The second stupid thing was "damn I'm tired of getting my ass kicked when it isn't my fault and there isn't anybody that you can at least punch in the nose". OK,  I'll kind of clear this up.  The first time this happened was at the local  Y some years back.  Same kind of fall, type I have no defense to. In that instance there was no one to give me a hand up.  So after nearly ten minutes or so when I started to gingerly move stuff with the certainty that I was not paralyzing myself, I got up.  Some dilweed walks in and steps over me without a thought.  While I'm thinking that wasn't very nice.  Now I'm not the type who gets dollar signs in their eyes when something happens.  So I limp outta there and go home.  I'm so torqued the next day I call the director of the place.  Not once but three times because he's busy and doesn't call me back.   This one was easy.  The kid mopped the floor and didn't put the signs out.  He apologizes profusely, so he can say when he.s served the lawsuit that he apologized profusely.   But of course I didn't.  Sue that is. The second time was after being rear ended (Not funny El) by an old guy of eighty something going about thirty when he was supposed to be stopped.  KaWHAM  in all caps.   Should we have whiplash, neck injuries?  Yes but we are fortunate and don't  Did we get knocked back into third grade like when trying to talk and all you do is mumble  Yep that' was more like it.  Lisa is more worried about the condition of the old guy than the damage to our truck.  Was he OK? Did he pass out?  Have a heart attack?  Nope.  His explanation is that " It turned yellow but" I thought you folks were gonna run through it and I thought I could sneak with you" or asshole words to that effect.  Who expects somebody to stop at a red light, right?  That began a week long process of fighting the insurance companies.  Yup two of em.  Our's wanted 500 bucks (deductible) and his wasn't going to pay even though he admitted to the citing officer it was his fault until there was a court decision.  Now this little diddy happened hundreds of miles from home.  Literally, it took 90 minutes of arguing to just get a motel paid for, two nights.  Had we not convinced the other driver to call his insurance and own up , we'd be screwed.  Guy's in the auto body joint told us one guy was camped in the mountains waiting for his vehicle to get fixed.  Never heard what happened to him.  Promises were made to compensate for food, gas and motel but the only compensation ever received was the car was fixed and they paid two nights in a CHEAP motel  Seriously, the agent told me if she got billed for anything more than sixty bucks it wasn't going to get paid.

Back to today.  I don't hit my head but I'm not moving.  The mental checklist is going full bore.  Sixty one last month, Ya'll ain't no spring chicken. I'm in pain damn it.  Covered head to toe with, well better'n I normally get wine.  Some lady starts hollering that there is an accident.  Folks show up and damn if she doesn't pipe up.  "I watched him fall and I also saw something on the floor that he slipped on".  Bless her. Managers go to the area that is now covered in wine squeaking their shoe's and looking at me dubiously.  Yeah, like I stuck the little shards of glass in my leg that were now bleeding on purpose.  I mentally note my wrist is sprained and my back hurts like hell, as my ass, but hope nothing else is messed up along with the little bleeding cuts.   Somebody grabs a chair and  Iget up and slump on it.  Manager looks me in the eye "Do you want an ambulance"?  Right.  Go to the ER, walk out with pain pills, a follow up appt and then a bill for upwards of ten grand.  Such is the world today.  Nothing is going to be paid up front. Fruit of the stories of so many others.  So after my mental check that I'll be able to walk out anyway, I says no.  I request an incident report and I envision the poring over of security camera footage that is going to happen.  The are going to be disappointed as what they will see is a young guy past his prime going down pretty damn hard. Who obviously slipped on something, probably butter.  But one lady, older than me starts picking shards, daubing ointment and putting band aids on.  About four total.  She gets down on a knee, grunting like I would.  Efficient.  She reminds me of my Lisa because that's what she would do.  I ask her couldn't she find somebody younger joking because she's obviously a cashier supervisor or something.  She tells me she's used to it bringing her husband back from death's door a couple of times.  Whatever that story is, I'll never know

After I recover a bit I'm ready to go.  They grab me another bottle of wine ask me again if I want medical treatment.  I turn it down so they can fill in the checklist that the lawyer's tell em to do.  I limp anyway, but now I'm really, no bones about it, limping like I really hurt, because I do.  The cashier supervisor lady does what she personally can, gets me to the front of the line and gets a youngster to carry my stuff.  I move past folks covered head to toe like I'm an old Wino.  Well, damn it maybe I am but if I'm going to smell disgusting I want it to be of my own accord.   Do I want medical treatment?  Hell yes.  Is it their damn fault? No doubt in my mind.  Something had been cleaned up halfway was my guess.  Just a quick wipe.  Didn't seem to be a spill.  Could somebody say "Hey, we know you don't think you need an ambulance, why don't you  go down to the local urgent care.  Maybe wrap that wrist. Get some antibiotics for those glass cuts.  Maybe even some rub for your back if it's not too bad. Hell's bells maybe even one o those pain pills.  Here, we got your groceries.  It's on us.  Oh! don't forget this coupon for  fifty bucks off your next purchase."Those things would be the right thing to do.

That didn't happen because that's not their world.  Generations of faker's and, well, folks who have really been hurt have given these corporations all the practice they need.  Everybody has an immediate responsibility to accept a dramatic role.  Get that Lady's name who piped up what she witnessed happening. Lay back, let the paramedics do their job.  A circus of cops and paramedics, bystanders what have you.  Submit to the neck brace and hours waiting to be examined at the ER .  "Does this hurt? Does that hurt?'  Filling out paperwork. And the Company? admit to nothing.  Accept no responsibility.  Checklists.  If nothing happens in the next ten or fifteen days then the security footage will be automatically wiped.  Then no evidence.  They're scott free.   I've been through this before.  Ten years ago after getting stabbed by a clandestine tattoo gun.  And we all know former inmates all have Autoclave's right?  CDC says the odds are probably with me I won't have hep or Aids.  No guarantees though.  I can submit to the chemical regimen that will likely insure I won't have it, but my hair will probably fall out and, you know, other side effects, the sexual kind.
So I skipped it then and I'll probably skip it now.  No doubt about it I'm hurtin. But if something is serious, well, I'll deal with it knowing that it will be an upward battle.  I'll skip it because of my unnatural dislike of drama and, I just don't want to sue anybody unless I have to.  But somebody else would probably be at the ER right now.  Except, like me,  I wonder how many would just be grateful, like I was, when a sixty five year old grandma takes the time to help the best she could.  Were I so inclined, I suspect the whole matter would cost several times the salary of the guys just making sure the checklist is filled out.  Yep, I'm sure that grandma is worth a whole lot more than what they are making right now.  

Spring in Texas

"A great deal has been said about the weather.  But very little has ever been done."

Mark Twain

And so, it has been a bit of time since I added anything to this blog.  Not from disinterest, but because as the way of life, we have just added so much to our plate.  Well first, my wife Princess Persistence Incarnate decided this was the place she wanted.  It's a foreclosure in rough shape and it was pretty obvious that because of it's location, the bank was holding out for developers probably due to the size of the lot.  It's a huge house with what looks like a mother in law apartment, two car garage and an acre of land.  After a number of discouragements and rejections, it's finally looking like the princess is going to make it happen.  With thirty five grand of fixit money to boot.  It's going to need it.

This is the only pic that survived the reformat of my Android.  A huge stone fireplace exists just to the left.  With the crazy high rafters, looks more like a Viking hall.  But anyway, the place is a little rough

This is a couple miles from the house and more or less our reason for home basing here.

                            

,
This may be a bit premature, considering we are expecting another round of storms tomorrow, but last Monday we experienced a Tornado warning.  The kind that says take cover now blah blah.  Lisa and a handful of others headed to the clubhouse which is the most substantial building here.  Most folks just elected to ride it out in their RV's.  Sadly, there a some old folks been here a number of years really are not mobile, nor inclined to do anything else.  As I have said it before, the prevailing sense is if ur number is up, it's up.  When they do elect to take cover, it's usually to get drunk.  According to Lisa, this was the general conversation and disgruntlement that occurred.  Nobody had any Vodka.

I thought I would wander out in the Bronco and see what I could see.  Would like to at least have a heads up.   This is the before storm.

 The downfall however was blinding and as I watched, a lake formed in the road.  Have to warn you. miracle of miracles cuz we are in a drought.  A Gol durn Ocean fell on me.  Couple of minutes in to the following clip I check the weather radar on my G5.   The red border is the area under Tornado warning.  The Blue dot is us somewhere's near it's border.  Fortunately, and like I said probably prematurely, we experienced no real damage but are expecting another round of bad weather tomorrow night. Guaranteed I'll have some Vodka.   A tornado did touch down on a construction site about twelve miles away and tipped over a couple of work trailers and sent some guys to the Hospital, But nothing fatal.  It's a bit eerie listening to the wind howl.  

This is the after storm part.  A bunny exited from the field on the right and swam across this.  Who knew?  Well, there was that one Jimmy Carter thing.  And no, I missed the bunny shot.

                                           Have to include the random deer pics.  Taken at the location of our last job.  Which ended very nearly a month ago.  ,We worked nearly the entire year with very little time for fun.  And we have a summer ahead of us that looks to be the same.  Only of a different task.  That being to wheel and deal with contractors.  So on the eve of my sixty first birthday, I am really looking forward to much more fun times ahead.  Congratulations to my nephew Evan. and my sister Deanna getting one marred off.  Hehe.  For the first time in my life, well forty years or so, I came back from a long stint  up North working in the oil fields that maybe I should pay a bit more attention to getting my mail caught up  with me.  And that I was maybe in a little bit of problem with the law.  See I missed a jury duty notice by about three weeks.  The Court clerk was fairly understanding and I am going to have to volunteer at a later date.  No not the highway crew.  Jury duty.

I was a bit encouraged by the feedback from my short story.  My old college buddy Nan suggested an Editor.   And after looking at it again, I certainly could see why.  But Editor's can be expensive .  So what the heck, I cleaned it up a bit and submitted it to a few sites.  Have not received any rejections yet.  What the heck.  Can't win unless you try right?

Anyway, till later

Lena Horne Stormy Weather

  

Just an Update.....

. Merriweather: You're improving Jack, you just can't seem to get rid of that streak of honesty in you. The one that ruined you was that damned Indian, Old Tepee.

Jack Crabb: You mean Old Lodge Skins.

Mr. Merriweather: He gave you a vision of moral order in the universe and there isn't any.Those stars twinkle in a void there boy and the two legged creature dreams and schemes beneath them, all in vain, all in vain Jack.

Jack Crabb: You hear anything?

Mr. Merriweather: Listen to me, a two legged creature will believe anything and the more preposterous the better: whales speak French at the bottom of the sea. The horses of Arabia have silver wings. Pygmies mate with elephants in darkest Africa. I have sold all those propositions.

Jack Crabb: Or maybe we're all fools and none of it matters.

Mr. Merriweather: Ahhhh.

                                         Little Big Man

So I originally wrote a bunch of political stuff here that really didn't do anything but give myself some kind of smug satisfaction.  But I'm thinking all of us in some form watch the goings on around us and to ourselves say "How crazy is this place?"  But, as the pendulum swings, I think it is going in the right direction.  Folks who ride close to the center on either side are finally starting to see past the crazy.  As much of a drumbeat there is to go to war right now by the various politicians.  I doubt this is what the average joe citizen is interested in."  Guess I'll leave it at hat.

Lisa and I are having what we are calling a year in transition.   What that has more or less meant is we have spent a whole lot of time working.  But we are starting to see some results.  Year from now I should have a boat in my own garage and the ability to head the two miles to the water to fish for Reds whenever I want.  Part of this is pulling any and all remnants from Idaho  If mission gets accomplished we have some rather spectacular plans for a reward.

I guess because I have maintained this blog means that I more or less enjoy writing.  And the last entry being a foray into short storydom of which I will comment a little later.  But the larger issue here is the business of reinventing oneself.   In the time I have left, it is my intention to soften the edges a bit.  Yes that means being less curmudgeonly.  It's time to value the experience and the maturity one gains with the years.  It did not come cheap or without scars.  But yeah, it is time for a new life.  One that is not always comfortable but with it's own rewards.   Like the song says

My next thirty years

So I got some positive encouragement from my literary experiment in depravity.  I also received some feedback concerning editing.  And thank you Nan, I might appreciate the name of that editor you suggested.  I have all kinds of twisted little ideas swirling around in my head.  

The next couple of weeks are kind of crucial in getting done what needs to be done.  A little more on that when things get a bit more certain.

So this is what 3 inches of rain in just a couple of hours looks like in drought stricken Texas

In the year 9595

   

In our heyday

"Glory days, yeah they'll pass you by
Glory days, in the wink of a young girls eye"
                       Bruce Springsteen

Read of the passing of another from my home town.  Someone I only remember as, (myself  being only a fifteen year old),  a scrappy little blond haired kid whose boxing skills belied his young age. Whacking a heavy bag with jabs and rights with gloves larger than his head. I was transported back to a small garage in an alley in the old part of town off of second Ave, that had been transformed into a small boxing gym, barely the size of a single car garage run by a, kindly old  white haired Bill Moran whose house it was located behind. A small ring with boxing posters taped to the walls, the one I recall depicting 1969's National Golden Gloves champs of which Ron Lyle, a former Colorado state prisoner was one. Seems like the season was always Winter as I also remember the cold drive navigating icy streets while picking up and dropping off various friends afterwards.  Windshield of my 61 Ford steamed up by all the sweat.  Or seeing Earl, a former Marine and if memory serves a Vietnam vet jogging up the wet sidewalks in the dark. Green nylon military jacket and old gray sweat pants not unlike those in the Rocky movie that wouldn't be made for several years, with a white towel hooding his head. Earl was the pearl of the gym, (yeah it rhymes) a boxer of considerable skill and toughness.  I'm shooting from memory but as I recall he went to Nationals on several occasions.  And though he benefited exactly zero, Earl would don the gloves and spar with each one of us and amazingly, no one ever got hurt. With skills far beyond ours, he somehow looked like he was actually sparring as hard as say with, Woody Turley, one of the other older greats. An extremely cool thing to watch at that time. But Earl, underage as you might be,  would deliver a stinging hook if you dropped a glove below your ear just to make sure you were taking all of this seriously.    My dad had said no to this whole boxing interest several times before, envisioning the Cauliflower Ears and punch drunk demeanor that can accompany long term involvement, but eventually  relented. Apparently not to concerned about my good looks.  But anyways, so myself  and many of my friends spent many evenings the winter there eating a lot of boxing glove leather, coached patiently by a number of highly knowledgeable old guys, in the hopes of learning something that could give us some kind of edge if we ever found ourselves in a random, unescapable encounter with a number of tough guys who proliferated  in our little town.   So hell, anything that might help you survive.  But there was also just that allure of the test.  Yourself and those other guys. So on any given night that ring would be full of young men from ten to whatever years  of age.   This was the heyday of boxing in the old Magic Valley.  Where some of the locals enjoyed almost as much fame as the greats of the day.  I recall an amateur match in Gooding, Idaho attended by the great Gene Fullmer .  

Years later I would meet Matt whose dad, a one time pro of some stature raised his kids with a good knowledge and experience base of the manly arts.  That journey over several years led to various boxing gyms around Boise.

 I would meet the great Harry Kidd Matthews from Emmett, Idaho,  a one time foe of Rocky Marciano in a fight considered one of the greatest.  Ok, he was presenting trophies but still I got to shake his hand.
  
  Still later, I would get to meet and talk with George Logan  (Toughest Cat in Boise).   George, a one time great would drop by the gyms and spar with some of the better amateurs. The conversation was short but I had the opportunity to talk with him about his fight with Cassius Clay (Muhammad Ali)  in 1961 and who had beaten one time champion Ezzard Charles.  Of Charles I remember Logan, a really polite self deprecating guy saying "he was past his prime."  But Ali? I remember the words "really great" spoken.  Yeah I know, it's a little different from the article but remember, George was talking to a kid at a local boxing gym and it was pretty clear he had a great deal of respect for the man.

  This was very heady stuff  in my youth but certainly credited to an interest that I had that brought me experiences that you couldn't buy from me now. Then I rarely gave a second thought to.   Memories like before a match I once had, my buddy  Matt loaned me a cup that he said was once owned by Archie Moore. Another great champion. Jeez.  I'm not sure if it was true or not or he was just trying to give me an edge .  Think about being the guy who fills those shoes, or cup so to speak. All of us played a sport or two, we might reminisce a bit about "back in the day" but there's just something about the connection of being in a ring in a solo encounter with  another whose abilities were at least as much as your own.  And really something everybody should experience.  My few fights were bloody, each time.  Sometimes the other guy a little more.  It didn't matter so much.  Boxing was a sport that tested your will as much as your toughness. A sport touted in the seventies by Playboy magazine of all things to be the toughest of them all.  Yeah, there's comparative sports now (think MMA)  But I don't think that option is as available to guys of questionable athletic bent as we were.  Nor are the kindly old coaches willing to spend time to teach the finer points of an art that they themselves had loved and were willing to pass on to anybody who'd pay attention, not just the prodigy. (As I myself have) But boxing and all of us old guys who share a little bit of that history, from those small towns, who at one time or another put it all up there,   there is a treasured corner for all those shared memories  and believe it or not a feeling of community.  And when an old great like Joe Frazier, Ron Lyle or Ken Norton, to just a local standout like Rick Adams passes, There's a communal wail from a bunch of guys, not a one under fifty who shared a time some thirty to forty years ago when in  our minds, the real glory days of the sport were. 

,

 Harry Kid Matthews vs Rocky Marciano

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You can't go back

Nor would I suspect, want to

I like to scourge the Internet to find quotes that suit my mood, moment or day.  My usual suspects, Mark Twain, Will Rogers or even Unknown meet the "thought for the day" category pretty much, but now and again I find a gem that gobsmacks me right to the bone.  Such as the case of this one stolen from one of the other blogs I occasionally read.

 "You never know when it will be the last time you see your father, or kiss your wife, or play with your little brother, but there is always a last time"

Written by some guy John Trooper, whom I've never heard of let alone read one of his books.  Little explanation is needed and one surely can expand this meaning to other loved ones.  It's just one of those little truth's in life.   So, 

Yep, we're outta here tomorrow.  Whether it's to our usual roosts or not, who knows?  Most unreliable schedule I've ever known.  Get a call at any time and if you take the job, you got a couple of hours to get there and set up.  Can be a real pain sometimes. Especially at night. As far as on call though, well, I'll put it like this.  Young guy shows up not fifteen minutes ago.  I thought I recognized him out of the couple hundred guys I deal with every day and asked if he had left some time during the day,  (being not new round here was  the question). He says he left about 3:00AM.  Yep that's my gig.  He had to come back because some "Jagoff" (and isn't there always some jagoff whose name we never hear?) had screwed some (insert a thingamabob that I haven't the faintest idea of recognition or purpose)  Then he added "Don't you get bored doing this?".   I thought back over the years, to all the years owning jobs that I was on call for?  And two memories leapt instantly to the top of the heap.

A time in the early nineties when as a newly divorced, broke Dad with two small children living in a remote location, middle of winter with two plus feet of unplowed snow outside.  Odds of getting out in 4X4 50/50.  Getting a midnight call that I had to deal with, no getting around it.  (This stuff happened alot back then.) because some "jagoff" probationer or parolee was "struttin his stuff".  (yeah i was a PO, another term that needs no explanation)  And also fresh from child custody court and here I am having to find some midnight babysitter's because I really hafta handle whatever bullshit is going on.  Loading the kids up and dealing with that little nightmare, picking up a couple of sleepy little ones a couple of hours later to go back for a few minutes of precious sleep to then start the day again.  Cuz, well I needed the job.

And.............

For thirteen years give or take working at Skywest Airlines,my coveted second job,  bless her soul for doing so much for me, yet taking so much as well.  Many, many nights of walking into a terminal full of screaming angry passengers because, well, because God thought this was a great night for a snowstorm to trap them all in some small town they had never heard of, midway during their flight to whoever knows where.  Sometimes hundreds of them.  Yeah I know, a lot of folks have to do this stuff.  But this was betwixt and between the other stuff.  And the gods of coincidence just loved to make them all happen at once. And to me.  To work eight hours overnight in freezing weather, go  home change clothes, drop the kids at school and then, exhausted, go sit on a witness stand for a couple hours in some courtroom scattered between eight counties. There are limits though.  One prosecutor from a northern county some five hundred miles away faxed a subpoena about quitting time for the next day.  OK, he would be a classic "jagoff"  I called him and the dude really expected that I was going to hop in the state ride and be there AM.   Such is the abuse a state employee gets.  Dismiss or deal dude, it ain't happening's what I told him.  It's been nearly eight years since I retired and wouldn't return on a bet.   Folks who abuse state workers should walk a mile in their shoes.

So anyway, to answer the guy's question, No, I don't get bored here everyday.  Matter of fact, I kinda like it.  Fer now anyway.


 "What day is it? It's today squeaked Piglet. My favorite day said Pooh."

             AA Milne

The Alamo, San Antonio

Between really lousy weather,   Countless contacts with the loan guy at the bank who seems to need more and more stuff while gathering up crap to complete our taxes,   And frankly I am bored with talking about life on a Caliche road in South Texas, oh yeah where the winters are milder, you just have to deal with the consequences of the occasional ocean of water that falls on you seemingly every week during the season. Plus we have been trying to make ourselves available for every emergency or short term job that comes around in an effort  to stretch out this employment as long as possible as the companies sort things out.  My understanding is the more curmudgeonly ilk among us are hard pressed to find work.    And  Oh yeah, my last computer took a crap.

So last Saturday, the planets came together and we were released on perhaps the nicest day we have had around here for weeks.  Ashamed to say, we had never been to the Alamo, although sometimes not more than an hour's drive away.

Though one could argue this place is the reason Texas ever came into existence and provided the rallying cry "Remember the Alamo" allowing the Texians to push the Mexican Army back.   I experienced the  same humbling reverence I  felt while visiting the resting place of the USS Arizona in Oahu.  Though things didn't start nor end here, some 200 to 250 "Texians" died in a Battle with somewhere's near 3000 of Santa Ana's troops on March 6, 1836.  After repulsing two previous attacks, they were overrun in the third attack. The Mexican soldiers swiftly executed the survivors or those who surrendered.  Over 600 Mexican troops died during the battle.  Another stroke of luck, we happened to visit during the annual reenactment that had been rained out the week before.

The Alamo is located smack dab in the middle of San Antonio, Downtown.  Entrance is free but good luck finding parking under 15.00 for the day. 

Tha Alamo chapel itself is not large.  Photography is not allowed so folks will have to google images themselves.  It now has a roof but gazing at the top of the walls with the small walkway,  well, imagination tells the rest of the story.  The inside is currently home to a massive display of early flintlock weapons and Bowie Knives or "Arkansas Toothpicks",  It's said David Crockett, one of the Commanders secluded himself for a period to settle with his maker before the battle.

The Walls still bear scars of the attack.

Lisa got some folks to smile, well me not so much.

     

What?  I'm a friendly guy and I promise not to mug you.  

We also had Dinner on the River Walk.  A meandering walk along the San Antonio River lined with many many restaurants.  A lot of the prices seemed a little steep with the exception of the Mexican variety, which incidentally is what we went with.  Otherwise about every type of food in the spectrum is available.   .

I just have not settled on a platform for the Panoramics yet.  Yes that is the top of Lisa's head.

Dinner visitor.  Tried to get my foot in the pic.  He was just a bit skittish.

And Back.  Note the Caliche dirt road.

My earliest memories of the Alamo, other than high school History.  I must have been five or six when I watched this on old black and white television.  It's worth the eight and a half minutes worth.

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