November 11, 2009.
Another Veterans Day to pay honor to our veterans.
If you are reading this in English, please take time to thank a veteran. We owe a world of thanks to our veterans for this privilege and the freedom to speak our mind.
There is a fine line being crossed today and many won't even recognize the transgression.
Well, it's not exactly an act of aggression or the breaking of any law or statute. It is simply a misunderstanding of a practice that has been handed down over the years.
What is this poor old country boy rambling on about now you ask? Reckon I am just a stickler for details....and like a t-shirt I often wear, it usually will get a decent discussion moving.
The t-shirt..nothing special...it just reads: 'I get enough exercise....just pushing my luck'.
The Internet is filled with the subject of today's holiday.
Veterans Day. To be celebrated every November 11th, on the Eleventh of November, no matter which day of the week it happens to be on....right here in the United States of America.
Other nations call it Remembrance Day and will include the fallen heroes of past wars.
Originally, Veterans Day here in America was designed to honor all our living veterans. Thus the name....Veterans Day.
We have somehow managed to merge a large chunk of Memorial Day into this day. If memory serves me correctly, Memorial Day is tucked away back at the start of summer, right there at the end of May. I think even the government got involved on this one and we are subject to celebrating Memorial Day on a rotating Monday...which gives many a three day weekend. (give me your comments on this down there where comments are asked for...OK?)
Honoring our veterans for their service to our nation. Answering the call to duty during times of war, standing in the gap defending our way of life here in America, and also being at the ready during times of peace.
Acknowledging all veterans who served honorably without regard to the price they were prepared to pay with their lives, for the blessings of being called an American.
I probably will step on some toes with this one, but if we already have a holiday remembering our fallen veterans back in the month of May, why do it twice in a year?
Enough already.
Veterans. I salute you and thank you for your service to our great nation. Thank you for your being the one that stood for me and my family, defending our way of life. Giving us the freedom of choosing where to live, what church to attend, the freedom to drive across our states at our own discretion, and the fact that here in America, we stand proud because of the uniforms you have worn or still wear today, support our Stars and Stripes here and around the world.
Thank you Veterans. Thank You.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
If A Tree Falls....
Think back about your very first paying job.
What do you remember about it? The low pay. The working conditions. The people you worked with.
There's a good chance your first boss is likely to be mixed in there somewhere.
I can see this man, but I cannot recall his name....maybe as this story comes out and I share it with you, I will remember his name, however... I do remember he had a daughter that was...well let's just say....she was easy to look at.
Seems like we were always finding an excuse to go by his house with some sort of problem to get some guidance on.....
Well since I can't wait around for you to answer the question, I will tell you about mine. So sit back and get comfortable for this short journey with me back to Jasper, Texas and my first job. Where I learned the ins and outs, the ups and downs, and the make you or break you mentality of being the paperboy.
There was about six or seven of us boys that managed to secure the residential routes in and around Jasper. The major portion of my route bordered two sides of the school property where the local junior high and high schools were located.
There was one street in particular; Olive Street, that had a vertical rise on it and it was 'THE' hill to challenge every kid with a bike....to see if they could make it to the top without jumping off and walking the bike to the top.......I beat it one time and one time only.
Getting back to the subject of this story, the Beaumont Enterprise and the Beaumont Journal were the obvious choices of local newspapers and to have these delivered to your home or business would require the human touch.
To assist in the delivery of the newspapers, someone came up with the idea to paint a series of letters on the road in front of each subscribers house that would indicate as to which paper to drop off. Seems simple enough right...?
Don't forget we are dealing with teenage boys, the weather, early morning hours, and the ever present customer that is innocent of any wrong doing other than expecting home delivery of their newspaper.
To get our supply of papers for our customers, we would meet at the local fast food establishment.
Now mind you at the time, we didn't have a clue as to what a fast food restaurant really was, but looking back, the Dixie Queen would have to be on the list.
I remember one morning the juke box was still turned on and one of the guys who will remain nameless, inserted a coin or two and we listened to the music while we folded our papers....mind you it was around 3:30 A.M., so I am certain the neighbors really appreciated us that morning.
Remember me telling you about the schools being in close proximity to my route? Did I happen to mention the rumor of the high school also being haunted along with the local movie theater?
Funny how information like that never comes to mind while you're across town and folding papers. But you just wait until you get on out on your route, tossing papers at the porches of your customers in the wee hours of the morning...a warm summer morning that just begs for a short break.
Using my new 1967 Honda Trail 90 motorcycle as my main mode of transportation for the deliveries, I pull up under a street light and remove my helmet for a well deserved breather. Sitting there thinking about almost being through with the morning run, my mind relaxes and I realize I am sitting about a full city block from ...........the haunted high school.
With all this eerie information spinning in my head, the next event of the morning could be classified as my encounter of the scariest kind. Fighting against the forces of evil that hide under the cover of darkness and invade young minds was more than I was ready for.
While finishing my short break, the next several minutes would etch upon my memory and quite possibly be the single reason my hair began to turn gray while I was still in junior high school.
I never realized that so many human senses, emotions, and reflexes could be called to order in such a short fashion. All due to the power of the mind...and I was absolutely certain that my very existence would soon be nothing more than a faint vapor on the streets of Jasper.
Beginning as quickly as it had ended, the shriek was as intense from its start to its finish. Precise and clear. There was no lead in, no warning, no sound of the tree that fell on the woman that morning as it she lay trapped and screamed a single time for her life.
The siren splitting the summer air, reaching my ears, causing the activation of self preservation to kick in.......or was that me on the kick start of my motorcycle...yeah must have been.
I would find out later that the murder I had only witnessed with my ears was in fact, a simple yet innocent chance meeting with nature but would certainly not be my last encounter with the common screech owl.
Oh yeah, due to the movement of several layers of brain cells, I have managed to recover the name of my boss from the Jasper paper route.
Here's to you Mr.Graham and the memory of tossing newspapers.
What do you remember about it? The low pay. The working conditions. The people you worked with.
There's a good chance your first boss is likely to be mixed in there somewhere.
I can see this man, but I cannot recall his name....maybe as this story comes out and I share it with you, I will remember his name, however... I do remember he had a daughter that was...well let's just say....she was easy to look at.
Seems like we were always finding an excuse to go by his house with some sort of problem to get some guidance on.....
Well since I can't wait around for you to answer the question, I will tell you about mine. So sit back and get comfortable for this short journey with me back to Jasper, Texas and my first job. Where I learned the ins and outs, the ups and downs, and the make you or break you mentality of being the paperboy.
There was about six or seven of us boys that managed to secure the residential routes in and around Jasper. The major portion of my route bordered two sides of the school property where the local junior high and high schools were located.
There was one street in particular; Olive Street, that had a vertical rise on it and it was 'THE' hill to challenge every kid with a bike....to see if they could make it to the top without jumping off and walking the bike to the top.......I beat it one time and one time only.
Getting back to the subject of this story, the Beaumont Enterprise and the Beaumont Journal were the obvious choices of local newspapers and to have these delivered to your home or business would require the human touch.
To assist in the delivery of the newspapers, someone came up with the idea to paint a series of letters on the road in front of each subscribers house that would indicate as to which paper to drop off. Seems simple enough right...?
Don't forget we are dealing with teenage boys, the weather, early morning hours, and the ever present customer that is innocent of any wrong doing other than expecting home delivery of their newspaper.
To get our supply of papers for our customers, we would meet at the local fast food establishment.
Now mind you at the time, we didn't have a clue as to what a fast food restaurant really was, but looking back, the Dixie Queen would have to be on the list.
I remember one morning the juke box was still turned on and one of the guys who will remain nameless, inserted a coin or two and we listened to the music while we folded our papers....mind you it was around 3:30 A.M., so I am certain the neighbors really appreciated us that morning.
Remember me telling you about the schools being in close proximity to my route? Did I happen to mention the rumor of the high school also being haunted along with the local movie theater?
Funny how information like that never comes to mind while you're across town and folding papers. But you just wait until you get on out on your route, tossing papers at the porches of your customers in the wee hours of the morning...a warm summer morning that just begs for a short break.
Using my new 1967 Honda Trail 90 motorcycle as my main mode of transportation for the deliveries, I pull up under a street light and remove my helmet for a well deserved breather. Sitting there thinking about almost being through with the morning run, my mind relaxes and I realize I am sitting about a full city block from ...........the haunted high school.
With all this eerie information spinning in my head, the next event of the morning could be classified as my encounter of the scariest kind. Fighting against the forces of evil that hide under the cover of darkness and invade young minds was more than I was ready for.
While finishing my short break, the next several minutes would etch upon my memory and quite possibly be the single reason my hair began to turn gray while I was still in junior high school.
I never realized that so many human senses, emotions, and reflexes could be called to order in such a short fashion. All due to the power of the mind...and I was absolutely certain that my very existence would soon be nothing more than a faint vapor on the streets of Jasper.
Beginning as quickly as it had ended, the shriek was as intense from its start to its finish. Precise and clear. There was no lead in, no warning, no sound of the tree that fell on the woman that morning as it she lay trapped and screamed a single time for her life.
The siren splitting the summer air, reaching my ears, causing the activation of self preservation to kick in.......or was that me on the kick start of my motorcycle...yeah must have been.
I would find out later that the murder I had only witnessed with my ears was in fact, a simple yet innocent chance meeting with nature but would certainly not be my last encounter with the common screech owl.
Oh yeah, due to the movement of several layers of brain cells, I have managed to recover the name of my boss from the Jasper paper route.
Here's to you Mr.Graham and the memory of tossing newspapers.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
East Texas Back Roads
Seems so long ago now.
That right of passage from two wheel transport up to the family car.
Gaining the trust of my parents to prove that I was responsible enough and worthy of learning to drive. To take the only mode of modern day transportation my parents owned and take it out on the open road.
The first new car my parents ever owned was a 1972 Mercury Comet. Up to that point, every car we called ours was at least a second or third hand used model.
Come to think about it, that '72 Comet was the only new car that ever graced a driveway where the Chambers' resided.
Most of my driving skills were learned on a paper route; during the darkness of early morning hours, running the back roads, city streets, and highways between the east Texas towns of Woodville and Jasper.
Mind you the cars I speak of rarely ever had an automatic transmission. I loved the shifting of gears and figuring out how 'not' to jerk the car around by dumping the clutch when shifting gears.
One of my favorite cars we came across was a 1958 Chevy. You remember the body style...the area just above the tail lights were horizontal fins. Kind of reminded me of a whales tail fin but sort of swollen.
It had four doors, was turquoise and white. A six-cylinder engine, with standard shift on the column. Originally owned my dad's brother, but driven mostly by my Aunt 'Tiny'. Can't remember what her given name was right now...but that's what we called her. She was a little bitty lady and loved doing stuff out of doors.
My aunt and uncle lived in Alvin, TX. Remember the story about my dad growing up in Alvin...well his brother kept his family there until they moved to the Texas hill country out around Junction, TX., but that's another story.
By living in Alvin, the commute to Galveston for my aunt to spend a day of fishing and crabbing was easily accomplished.
There's no telling how many trips she had under her belt, but I can tell you this...every time it rained, the trunk would take on a bit of water due to the rust holes around the back window...(standard options of the early Chevrolet models) ....and the mix of fresh rainwater with the remnants of sand, crabs, and saltwater would allow an aroma familiar only to the gulf coast would emanate out and find the nearest and untested set of nasal orifices, resulting in the usual response from the unsuspecting victim...
"What the heck is that smell.....?"
It got better....or weaker with time and more frequent rainfall.
Going back to the paper route my parents were responsible for, at one time we had the entire distributorship of the Beaumont Enterprise and the Beaumont Journal for the entire town of Woodville, Texas and its outlying areas. I perfected my driving skills while dodging potholes and throwing rolled up newspapers at the end of subscribers driveways.
No big deal you say. How about if I tell you that I wasn't even out of junior high school when all this was 'happening'? Thinking back, it probably wasn't all that odd learning how to drive at the young tender age of 13 or 14 years old.
Reckon you could say I had earned the trust of my parents. I remember my dad dozing off during parts of the route, leaving me to drive and make the tosses that had to be made. Reckon he felt pretty good about me and my driving ability.
Have you ever heard a song on the radio and either the song or the words would transport you back to a time in your life that just made you smile and maybe laugh at the memory?
Just last week, the country and western song by Alan Jackson; "DRIVE" came on and caused me to make that trip down memory lane.
...and I would press that clutch,
and I would keep it right,
and he'd say, 'a little slower son you're doing just fine,
just an old dirt road with trash on each side,
but I was Mario Andretti,
when daddy let me drive....
I remember several different events while driving the paper route. The nocturnal life of the native critters in our corner of the world, snowflakes as big as fifty cent pieces, and the best place to get a grilled cheese at 4 A.M.
Every time my travels take me through that part of Texas, I look for specific landmarks and re-visit that time in my childhood and smile....because,
...I was high on a mountain,
when daddy let me drive.
That right of passage from two wheel transport up to the family car.
Gaining the trust of my parents to prove that I was responsible enough and worthy of learning to drive. To take the only mode of modern day transportation my parents owned and take it out on the open road.
The first new car my parents ever owned was a 1972 Mercury Comet. Up to that point, every car we called ours was at least a second or third hand used model.
Come to think about it, that '72 Comet was the only new car that ever graced a driveway where the Chambers' resided.
Most of my driving skills were learned on a paper route; during the darkness of early morning hours, running the back roads, city streets, and highways between the east Texas towns of Woodville and Jasper.
Mind you the cars I speak of rarely ever had an automatic transmission. I loved the shifting of gears and figuring out how 'not' to jerk the car around by dumping the clutch when shifting gears.
One of my favorite cars we came across was a 1958 Chevy. You remember the body style...the area just above the tail lights were horizontal fins. Kind of reminded me of a whales tail fin but sort of swollen.
It had four doors, was turquoise and white. A six-cylinder engine, with standard shift on the column. Originally owned my dad's brother, but driven mostly by my Aunt 'Tiny'. Can't remember what her given name was right now...but that's what we called her. She was a little bitty lady and loved doing stuff out of doors.
My aunt and uncle lived in Alvin, TX. Remember the story about my dad growing up in Alvin...well his brother kept his family there until they moved to the Texas hill country out around Junction, TX., but that's another story.
By living in Alvin, the commute to Galveston for my aunt to spend a day of fishing and crabbing was easily accomplished.
There's no telling how many trips she had under her belt, but I can tell you this...every time it rained, the trunk would take on a bit of water due to the rust holes around the back window...(standard options of the early Chevrolet models) ....and the mix of fresh rainwater with the remnants of sand, crabs, and saltwater would allow an aroma familiar only to the gulf coast would emanate out and find the nearest and untested set of nasal orifices, resulting in the usual response from the unsuspecting victim...
"What the heck is that smell.....?"
It got better....or weaker with time and more frequent rainfall.
Going back to the paper route my parents were responsible for, at one time we had the entire distributorship of the Beaumont Enterprise and the Beaumont Journal for the entire town of Woodville, Texas and its outlying areas. I perfected my driving skills while dodging potholes and throwing rolled up newspapers at the end of subscribers driveways.
No big deal you say. How about if I tell you that I wasn't even out of junior high school when all this was 'happening'? Thinking back, it probably wasn't all that odd learning how to drive at the young tender age of 13 or 14 years old.
Reckon you could say I had earned the trust of my parents. I remember my dad dozing off during parts of the route, leaving me to drive and make the tosses that had to be made. Reckon he felt pretty good about me and my driving ability.
Have you ever heard a song on the radio and either the song or the words would transport you back to a time in your life that just made you smile and maybe laugh at the memory?
Just last week, the country and western song by Alan Jackson; "DRIVE" came on and caused me to make that trip down memory lane.
...and I would press that clutch,
and I would keep it right,
and he'd say, 'a little slower son you're doing just fine,
just an old dirt road with trash on each side,
but I was Mario Andretti,
when daddy let me drive....
I remember several different events while driving the paper route. The nocturnal life of the native critters in our corner of the world, snowflakes as big as fifty cent pieces, and the best place to get a grilled cheese at 4 A.M.
Every time my travels take me through that part of Texas, I look for specific landmarks and re-visit that time in my childhood and smile....because,
...I was high on a mountain,
when daddy let me drive.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Going Home
Going home is not as easy as it sounds.
My dad wanted to move back to his hometown of Alvin, Texas. It was soon after my mom had died and he felt the need to go home.
So we moved him into a nice apartment complex there in the heart of Alvin where he and his siblings were all raised and attended school. As a matter of fact, you could say that my dad and baseball Hall of Fame pitcher, Nolan Ryan went to the same school....even if it was 3 decades difference in time. This move lasted only about a year or so, until he realized that 'home' was back here in Beaumont.
I guess it was about ten or twelve years ago when several years of graduating classes from the 1930's began having shared reunions and I had the honor of taking my dad so he could attend and reminisce. That was neat being able to sit in and listen to him and his classmates talk of their stories from ....'back in the day'.
One of the last reunions was scheduled around the last formal public viewing and visitation of the old high school before it was to be demolished for a new school. Let me tell you something; the folks that made the trip to Alvin for that final public visit were amazing.
You could see it in their eyes and their smiles. You could hear it in their voices as well as sense it in their presence. That common bond between Alvin High School Yellowjackets.
There were tears and laughter all being shared openly. Memories were filling the halls and classrooms where the different years of classes were gathered.
Then there was the lull in conversation when a name would be mentioned and for whatever reason, that individual had passed on ahead of them...then almost at a predetermined time....the silence would be broken with the familiar phrase: "Hey, do you remember the time that...."
I am certain that many memories were revisited that day; the simple stirrings of first loves; the friendly competitions between team mates, and the banding together to pull out a victory on the field of play....were only a few that I noted hearing while trying to blend into the background and listening to the shared stories.
My dad as was many of his classmates were surviving members of the notable group of people called the Greatest Generation that had also survived the great depression and had fought in the war to end all wars.
These people had managed to go home for a visit of the old high school and came away with a different set of memories.
I suppose these folks had never been told that you can't go home...my guess is that they probably wouldn't have cared if they had either.
Call me sentimental....but I was hoping Nolan Ryan was gonna show up and top off the day for me.
Reckon you can go home after all...if you really want to go there...
My dad wanted to move back to his hometown of Alvin, Texas. It was soon after my mom had died and he felt the need to go home.
So we moved him into a nice apartment complex there in the heart of Alvin where he and his siblings were all raised and attended school. As a matter of fact, you could say that my dad and baseball Hall of Fame pitcher, Nolan Ryan went to the same school....even if it was 3 decades difference in time. This move lasted only about a year or so, until he realized that 'home' was back here in Beaumont.
I guess it was about ten or twelve years ago when several years of graduating classes from the 1930's began having shared reunions and I had the honor of taking my dad so he could attend and reminisce. That was neat being able to sit in and listen to him and his classmates talk of their stories from ....'back in the day'.
One of the last reunions was scheduled around the last formal public viewing and visitation of the old high school before it was to be demolished for a new school. Let me tell you something; the folks that made the trip to Alvin for that final public visit were amazing.
You could see it in their eyes and their smiles. You could hear it in their voices as well as sense it in their presence. That common bond between Alvin High School Yellowjackets.
There were tears and laughter all being shared openly. Memories were filling the halls and classrooms where the different years of classes were gathered.
Then there was the lull in conversation when a name would be mentioned and for whatever reason, that individual had passed on ahead of them...then almost at a predetermined time....the silence would be broken with the familiar phrase: "Hey, do you remember the time that...."
I am certain that many memories were revisited that day; the simple stirrings of first loves; the friendly competitions between team mates, and the banding together to pull out a victory on the field of play....were only a few that I noted hearing while trying to blend into the background and listening to the shared stories.
My dad as was many of his classmates were surviving members of the notable group of people called the Greatest Generation that had also survived the great depression and had fought in the war to end all wars.
These people had managed to go home for a visit of the old high school and came away with a different set of memories.
I suppose these folks had never been told that you can't go home...my guess is that they probably wouldn't have cared if they had either.
Call me sentimental....but I was hoping Nolan Ryan was gonna show up and top off the day for me.
Reckon you can go home after all...if you really want to go there...
Monday, October 19, 2009
Cookie Crumbs and Ethics
My dad was a traveling salesman.
His wares of choice were common everyday items that most everyone could enjoy having at their ready. I will dare say that a few sold better during specific seasons simply due to the way each was manufactured.
Now mind you the seasons here in Texas are as follows: Hot and not quite as hot.
The biggest difference in the two are like night and day....kinda like when the sun goes down...it's not quite as hot. But still, the heat of the seasons did play a part into the success of whether or not my dad had decent sales or not.
My dad was a route salesman for a couple of different cookie companies...and he traveled the country roads of East and Southeast Texas for many, many years.
Just to clear up the seasonal sales statement, chocolate covered cookies didn't do really well in the hotter months, so these were obviously a 'hot' item come the fall and winter months...and the fact that we didn't make many night time runs to stock the stores shelves will support this.
Mrs. Shelby's Cookies and Little Brownie Cookies are the brands that brought me through my childhood. You could say that I was raised on stale cookies....probably more than I like to admit.
My dad would use me and my brothers as his own personal "in house" test survey to determine if a new product was going to sell or not. He would soon know whether or not to push the new 'taste' to his customers.
It was late 1964 when we left Beaumont and headed north to Jasper, Texas. The Little Brownie Cookie company wanted to expand into the area where a new Corp of Engineers project was in its final stages of completion.
Hello Lake Sam Rayburn reservoir.
The largest man-made reservoir inside the boundaries of the great state of Texas. Little did I know then, what type of impact this body of water would have on me and my life this far down life's highway. (you did read about me and my love of bass fishing didn't you...?)
I rode with my dad in his cookie truck through many summers. Making the so called stops at the hundreds of Mom & Pop stores to restock the shelves. Taking in the memories of the screen doors emblazoned with the popular Rainbo Bread logo or the infamous Triple 'XXX' Root Beer that called out to a young boy thirsting for refreshment.
My dad's route covered so many little roadside stores, I still find myself wondering when I pass by an abandoned building along the many miles of familiar roads; if it in fact once housed a set of shelves where a mild mannered father would place his offerings of treats for the public...while his son would go in search of and find the owners old hound dog to pet, or pay a lay-away installment on his first .22 caliber single shot rifle that he still has today, or actually help in rotating the stock of cookies with the freshest in the back, or question where we were gonna eat lunch that day.
Yes I spent a lot of time on the old step-van cookie truck, having to ride sideways on the motor cover and try not to stare at the ever disappearing white stripes on the roadway...double checking with my dad to see what set of license plate numbers we were looking for next.
This was a game he played endlessly to keep his mind occupied. Always looking for a triple set of numbers on the license plates of the thousands of automobiles either coming or going....111 , 222, 333, BUT you had to go in proper order and keep your own list.
This must be where I first learned of and about ethical behavior.
Hey thanks Dad. Thanks for the little things.
His wares of choice were common everyday items that most everyone could enjoy having at their ready. I will dare say that a few sold better during specific seasons simply due to the way each was manufactured.
Now mind you the seasons here in Texas are as follows: Hot and not quite as hot.
The biggest difference in the two are like night and day....kinda like when the sun goes down...it's not quite as hot. But still, the heat of the seasons did play a part into the success of whether or not my dad had decent sales or not.
My dad was a route salesman for a couple of different cookie companies...and he traveled the country roads of East and Southeast Texas for many, many years.
Just to clear up the seasonal sales statement, chocolate covered cookies didn't do really well in the hotter months, so these were obviously a 'hot' item come the fall and winter months...and the fact that we didn't make many night time runs to stock the stores shelves will support this.
Mrs. Shelby's Cookies and Little Brownie Cookies are the brands that brought me through my childhood. You could say that I was raised on stale cookies....probably more than I like to admit.
My dad would use me and my brothers as his own personal "in house" test survey to determine if a new product was going to sell or not. He would soon know whether or not to push the new 'taste' to his customers.
It was late 1964 when we left Beaumont and headed north to Jasper, Texas. The Little Brownie Cookie company wanted to expand into the area where a new Corp of Engineers project was in its final stages of completion.
Hello Lake Sam Rayburn reservoir.
The largest man-made reservoir inside the boundaries of the great state of Texas. Little did I know then, what type of impact this body of water would have on me and my life this far down life's highway. (you did read about me and my love of bass fishing didn't you...?)
I rode with my dad in his cookie truck through many summers. Making the so called stops at the hundreds of Mom & Pop stores to restock the shelves. Taking in the memories of the screen doors emblazoned with the popular Rainbo Bread logo or the infamous Triple 'XXX' Root Beer that called out to a young boy thirsting for refreshment.
My dad's route covered so many little roadside stores, I still find myself wondering when I pass by an abandoned building along the many miles of familiar roads; if it in fact once housed a set of shelves where a mild mannered father would place his offerings of treats for the public...while his son would go in search of and find the owners old hound dog to pet, or pay a lay-away installment on his first .22 caliber single shot rifle that he still has today, or actually help in rotating the stock of cookies with the freshest in the back, or question where we were gonna eat lunch that day.
Yes I spent a lot of time on the old step-van cookie truck, having to ride sideways on the motor cover and try not to stare at the ever disappearing white stripes on the roadway...double checking with my dad to see what set of license plate numbers we were looking for next.
This was a game he played endlessly to keep his mind occupied. Always looking for a triple set of numbers on the license plates of the thousands of automobiles either coming or going....111 , 222, 333, BUT you had to go in proper order and keep your own list.
This must be where I first learned of and about ethical behavior.
Hey thanks Dad. Thanks for the little things.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A Driving Force
It is often times misunderstood; which would support why I am not even sure if it actually exists in the first place.
Oh I know that it really does exist, but what happens when the 'drive' goes away? Is it like the transmission on a car? If it's not in gear, you're not going to move very far.
The driving force behind getting something done. The reason for, the need to, the gotta have, the will to endure to reach a goal.
Sometimes it's as simple as ... just because it's what I want.
The part of nature that kicks in and causes different amounts of gray matter and body mass to be put into motion that ultimately give us room to perform and reach that plateau or level of acceptance among our peers.
I witnessed a bit of the phenomena earlier this week when report cards were issued. These were the first for my son in high school.....
Mind you I wasn't expecting the next brief exchange with my son, but was pleasantly surprised. He had received passing grades in all but one class.
The conversation immediately went into the common tennis court theme. Just like players who volley to see who gets to serve first...thooomp..thooomp...thooomp.
To my surprise his counter reply with..."I am simply going to have to hunker down, study, and try harder for the next grading period..."
The driving force for my son is that he wants to try out for the freshman baseball team come next semester and like any good and decent parent, I seized the opportunity to remind him of this.
This is that 'something' he wants...his driving force.
That 'gotta-have' that is fueling his desire to play high school baseball.
Isn't it good to see the 'want-to' in your kids lives actually work with the rotation of the earth? The natural balance of the systems are within factory specifications and working together for the good of life in the Chambers' home for now.
Last week I took my son to the batting cages for the first time in about 3 years. He has been away from organized baseball for that long and understands that he will have to work harder than others that have continued playing.
His attitude is much different this time around. Not sure exactly why, but thankful for the fresh wind that is blowing in from outfield.
That wind blowing in could be the result of the many new and unfamiliar eye catching smiles that crowd the halls and classrooms of his school or even discovering his older sister's Letterman's jacket from her four years of being a cheerleader in school...which prompted the question...
"How do you get one of these jackets?"
We will have to wait and see.
Oh I know that it really does exist, but what happens when the 'drive' goes away? Is it like the transmission on a car? If it's not in gear, you're not going to move very far.
The driving force behind getting something done. The reason for, the need to, the gotta have, the will to endure to reach a goal.
Sometimes it's as simple as ... just because it's what I want.
The part of nature that kicks in and causes different amounts of gray matter and body mass to be put into motion that ultimately give us room to perform and reach that plateau or level of acceptance among our peers.
I witnessed a bit of the phenomena earlier this week when report cards were issued. These were the first for my son in high school.....
Mind you I wasn't expecting the next brief exchange with my son, but was pleasantly surprised. He had received passing grades in all but one class.
The conversation immediately went into the common tennis court theme. Just like players who volley to see who gets to serve first...thooomp..thooomp...thooomp.
To my surprise his counter reply with..."I am simply going to have to hunker down, study, and try harder for the next grading period..."
The driving force for my son is that he wants to try out for the freshman baseball team come next semester and like any good and decent parent, I seized the opportunity to remind him of this.
This is that 'something' he wants...his driving force.
That 'gotta-have' that is fueling his desire to play high school baseball.
Isn't it good to see the 'want-to' in your kids lives actually work with the rotation of the earth? The natural balance of the systems are within factory specifications and working together for the good of life in the Chambers' home for now.
Last week I took my son to the batting cages for the first time in about 3 years. He has been away from organized baseball for that long and understands that he will have to work harder than others that have continued playing.
His attitude is much different this time around. Not sure exactly why, but thankful for the fresh wind that is blowing in from outfield.
That wind blowing in could be the result of the many new and unfamiliar eye catching smiles that crowd the halls and classrooms of his school or even discovering his older sister's Letterman's jacket from her four years of being a cheerleader in school...which prompted the question...
"How do you get one of these jackets?"
We will have to wait and see.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Sincere Thanks To You
How many different ways is there to say thank you? Probably about as many as there are languages and dialects of those foreign lines of communication.
I owe each and everyone of you a special heartfelt thanks for spending time here.
Where here is exactly is what you're looking at. Inside my blog. You could be any other place in our cyber world, but you chose to exit off the cyber-hiway and cool your fingers and space bar pounding opposing thumb for a few minutes....you're looking at your thumb resting on the space bar there on your keyboard aren't you..?
In setting up my blog a friend of mine suggested hooking up with an online device that tracks all the visitors to this site. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to see the list of 5 or 6 friends who frequent my new obsession of randomly captured adventures from my life or not.
Just this week, I stumbled across a few extra visits from some of you folks out there and wanted to acknowledge your part in boosting my morale. The discovery came on a day that was just really lousy for me. Almost to the level of lousiness..(is that a word?) when the Dallas Cowboys lost their opening game to the New York Giants at the new billion dollar facility.
Goes to show you, spending money on your house and not your foundation, which in this case in my humble opinion...foundation is the QB...tony romo...does not...I repeat....Does Not guarantee you a win.
...sorry about that. Let's get back to the issue. My cyber friends out there who give of your valuable personal time to visit my blog. Just for grins, I am gonna list a few of the places where you have checked in from...be it all a mistake or on purpose that you came in here, I can deal with it.
Here we go now. We have on the list in no particular order the following locations:
Connecticut
California
Delaware
North Carolina
Virginia
Illinois
Texas
Canada - Regina, Saskatchewan
New Zealand - Wellington
Philippines - Manila
Like I opened this post with the numerous ways to say thank you being way more than any one person can list. Being a simple old country boy at heart, let me try it this way....
Hey thanks y'all, I really do appreciate your making time to visit. Hope to see the list of locations grow in the near future. Tell your friends.
It Is What It Is ..... y'all.
I owe each and everyone of you a special heartfelt thanks for spending time here.
Where here is exactly is what you're looking at. Inside my blog. You could be any other place in our cyber world, but you chose to exit off the cyber-hiway and cool your fingers and space bar pounding opposing thumb for a few minutes....you're looking at your thumb resting on the space bar there on your keyboard aren't you..?
In setting up my blog a friend of mine suggested hooking up with an online device that tracks all the visitors to this site. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to see the list of 5 or 6 friends who frequent my new obsession of randomly captured adventures from my life or not.
Just this week, I stumbled across a few extra visits from some of you folks out there and wanted to acknowledge your part in boosting my morale. The discovery came on a day that was just really lousy for me. Almost to the level of lousiness..(is that a word?) when the Dallas Cowboys lost their opening game to the New York Giants at the new billion dollar facility.
Goes to show you, spending money on your house and not your foundation, which in this case in my humble opinion...foundation is the QB...tony romo...does not...I repeat....Does Not guarantee you a win.
...sorry about that. Let's get back to the issue. My cyber friends out there who give of your valuable personal time to visit my blog. Just for grins, I am gonna list a few of the places where you have checked in from...be it all a mistake or on purpose that you came in here, I can deal with it.
Here we go now. We have on the list in no particular order the following locations:
Connecticut
California
Delaware
North Carolina
Virginia
Illinois
Texas
Canada - Regina, Saskatchewan
New Zealand - Wellington
Philippines - Manila
Like I opened this post with the numerous ways to say thank you being way more than any one person can list. Being a simple old country boy at heart, let me try it this way....
Hey thanks y'all, I really do appreciate your making time to visit. Hope to see the list of locations grow in the near future. Tell your friends.
It Is What It Is ..... y'all.
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