Real trucks

My brother and I were talking about trucks and we began to discuss what makes a real truck. Not a little prissy pansey thing that never sees the dirt, but a real honest to goodness Real Truck.

Here is what we decided.

My truck falls under the category of a real truck.
Real trucks have scratches and dents.
Scratches scuffs and scrapes are trophies on a real truck.
Many parts on the truck maybe be factory but not necessarily to that truck.
If it fell of going down the road, you didn’t need it anyway.
If it is loud it’s a good truck, if it is quiet, it needs to be worked on more.
If at any point someone asks, “Is it supposed to be that way, I mean it just doesn’t look right”, you might have a real truck
Real trucks can be 4 wheel drive and 2 wheel drive. 4 wheel drives just break more often and are more fun to break, also more expensive to repair.
A 4 wheel drive truck can get stuck twice as far from civilization, twice as bad, and will be twice as hard to get out, and most likely, you will break something you wouldn’t have if you had a 2 wheel drive.
Real trucks have mud on them, you can clean it top and bottom, you can clean it with a tooth brush, and it will still have mud.
Real truck are dirty more than they are clean.
Real trucks don’t say ford or dodge on them.
Real trucks have accessories, no not the chrome ones, accessories like trailers to haul other not real trucks, other accessories for real trucks include winches and trailer hitches
Chains aren't an accessory, they are a necessity no real truck should be without.
A real truck breaks chains.
If a real truck is in an accident, the police officer will have to ask you to point out the damage caused in the wreck.
If you have never ticked off the guy at the local car wash for leaving the wash bay full of mud rust and oil, you don’t have a real truck.
Real trucks come in many colors - often all on the same truck.
You might have a real truck if you friend calls to borrow it because he doesn't want to get his truck dirty.
Real trucks aren’t pink.
Real trucks require tetanus shots.
If a real truck gets shot no one notices.
Real trucks have engines sizes bigger than your in-laws IQ.
Washing a real truck involves driving it down the creek.
The tires on a real truck are the same size but not necessarily the same brand.
Real truck are parked all by themselves at Wal-Mart not for fear of scratches, but because no one will park near them.
Real trucks do not need a paved parking spot.
If you run over a VW and don’t touch it you have a real truck.
Real trucks can carry more than they weigh.
Brakes? what’s that, I just gear down.
Real trucks aren't afraid of water; they float on it, or drive through it.
If you wreck a real truck you will most likely increase the value of it.
Real trucks don't get cut off in traffic, honestly, people are afraid of it.
The people at the parts store know you as the guy that drives that big truck.
You can use your truck as an alibi, as in “Honest officer I was stuck down in the woods all day, just ask anyone”.
Real trucks can be fixed with a ball peen hammer and duct tape.
The bumper stickers on a real truck aren’t for show they are holding it together.
The air conditioner is a fancy option your truck used to have.
The radio, probably cost more then your truck, and it came from the blue light sale at k-mart.
You have a gun rack, but don't currently own any guns.
you can stand under a real truck to do an oil change.
Real truck have floors made of street signs.
Useful modifications to your real truck are made from wood.
Leaving the window in a real truck down in the rain is no big deal it will just run out the holes in the floor.
Real trucks always have parts in the bed, just in case, especailly if the before mentioned truck is 4 wheel drive.
Not all real trucks have back bumpers, because it still chained to the back of someone else real truck.
The pine tree in a real truck isn’t an air freshener on the mirror; it is stuck in the grill, and still has squirrels in it.
Real trucks don’t come in pastel colors.
Getting a new key made for a real truck involves going to the hardware store and looking at screwdriver.
If you have a horn but it can’t be heard over the engine you may have a real truck.
Air bags are under the truck, not in it.
Locking your truck doesn’t refer to the doors but the axles.
You never lock a real truck, no one wants it anyway.
Your dog thinks the passenger’s seat belongs to her.
A real trucks owner thinks a security system is taking the battery with him.
A real trucks security system is a pile of cans in the floorboard.
The interior of a real truck can be cleaned with a garden hose.
Little children old women and small animals may be scared of a real truck.
A real trucks tailgate can be used method to get out of a mud hole.
The entertainment system in a real truck consists of two lawn chairs and a clear starry sky.
Someone asks what kind of sound system you have and you reply FlowMasters.
A real truck might go missing, but you never worry, your friend is using it to pull out his real truck.
You might have a real truck if you have ever used it to plug a hole in the cattle fence.
You never put more then $20 in gas in a real truck, not because you can't afford it, but because it will start to spill out on the ground.
A real truck can be used to measure the depth of the pond.
Your wife may leave you, your dog may run off, your boss may fire you, but a real truck will never let you down.
When a real truck has a full tank of gas it is either stolen, or your buddy filled the second tank up when he borrowed it and it’s not hooked up.
If your truck can be used as a form of ID you have a real truck.
The paint on a real truck can be touched up with any color Krylon.
You may not want to look behind the seat of a real truck; live animals may be living there.
Any size tire can be used on a real truck, if it won't fit, just drink a beer and grab your saw-zall.
If you drive a real truck all your neighbors know you are coming home long before you get there.
The son of the owner of a real truck, always wins at my daddy’s truck is bigger.
A real truck can be used as a hunting blind.
If your neighbors don't let you park in front of your house you may have a real truck.
It is possible to get your new boots muddy by getting in a real truck.
Real trucks can be used in place of a chainsaw for tree removal.
A real truck can and has been driven through a house.
When some punk in a rice rod pulls up next to you at a light with his "music" blaring you always have the option of running him over with a real truck.
A real truck has bullet holes from the inside out.
A real truck will have to be turned off when going through the drive though at the Taco Bell so you can place your order.
You work on a real truck in the drive way because it won’t fit in your garage.
The only way you can see in the rain in a real truck is if your buddy hangs out the window and moves you wipers for you.
The ice scraper on a real truck is a flattened beer can.
Your pretty new truck is sitting in the driveway, because you pulled the motor to get your real truck running.
A real truck has been used more than once to pull out a stuck tractor.
A real trucks tool box is big enough to sleep in.
A real truck lights can be used for an impromptu football field in the middle of the night, but only after everyone’s truck is stuck while waiting on another to come pull you all out.
You and your buds have never gotten in trouble for having a party in the back field, the police get stuck at the gate 80 acres away every time.
It’s a real truck if it has ever been identified for trespassing on some farmer’s property because it left parts behind.
If you have a real truck you need a second vehicle for parts runs.
When you own a real truck, before buying or renting a home, you must check how far away AutoZone is from you.
A real truck has blood mixed in its oil.
Real trucks are built by Craftsman, Snap on and Matco.
When rebuilding a real trucks engine, you might find your missing 3/8 inch racthet.
If you know your truck more intimately than your significant other you have a real truck.
Real trucks aren’t accessorized they are modified.
Real truck owners get new parts for Christmas.
The seat belt is worn in a real truck, not in case of a wreck, but to keep you from falling out.
The sun roof in a real truck was made with a shotgun.
Real trucks are door optional.
Cleaning a real truck could lead to replacing sheet metal.
Real trucks have parts attached with JB weld.

You may have a real truck …
...if your tires can be heard before your truck can be seen.
...if your tires are taller than your girlfriend
...if a good first date is seeing if you can break something out in the middle of no where
...if you run into you bud and neither of you care
...if all the deer in your freezer came from the front of your truck at 40mph
...if people say, “I’m not riding in that!”
...if when someone asks “is that big enough?" you respond, " no, but it will do for now".
...if no one else wants to park near them.

You don’t have to ask if it’s a real truck you will know it when you see it.

Got more? Let me know.

ACK I dont have time for this.

So it has been a while since I posted anything new. Actually it has been a long time. And seeing that I am sick as a dog today I finally have time to lay hands on the keyboard and do some typing. It is kind of exciting, this is my first time being sick in a house I actually own. Woo Hoo. How fun.

The past few months have brought about many changes. I have a home and some land. I have made a few new friends. I have entered a romantic relationship for the first time since the divorce. I have two dogs, two snakes, a rat, and two fish. And my girlfriend wants another rat. I am thinking of charging admission.

It is all great fun and wonderfully exciting. I never know what will happen next. I have been so busy I haven’t even had time to read, but that is a good thing. Staying busy keeps you alert and alive, but is makes things pile up. I have three books I am working on writing that I haven’t touched in months. I have one truck in the field that needs to be painted and reassembled, one that needs a timing chain, and three that need to be disassembled sorted through and made into one good truck. I have my faithful old WarWagon that needs attention. My suburban needs servicing, and the check engine light on Steph’s Taurus stays on all the time. And to top it all off Christmas is coming, and I still haven't bought all my presents.

Ok gotta go I don’t have time to be sick. Maybe I can pencil it in for the fifth of nextember.

Maybe not.

Remote controlled

The newest member of my family is a huge dog. Abby is a Great Pyrenees, otherwise known as a stomach on legs. And a hardheaded one too. I have never had a dog I couldn’t train to come when it was called, and other simple things, but Abby was not learning. So I bought a remote control. Well actually a shock collar. After three days I have well behaved a dog in my house. No more chewing on shoes, jumping on furniture, running off through the neighbors yard, or other bad behaviors. All it takes is a simple push of a button and she is on the straight and narrow path.

It got me wondering - why cant we get a remote control for people. Since most people ignore their conscience and common sense wouldn’t it be nice to have a means of directing them into better behavior. Call it an idiot button. Driving 40 mph in the fast lane - buzz. Thirty seven items in the express lane - buzz. Parking in four parking spots - buzz. Fighting over the last Harry Potter book - buzz. Yelling at your kids in public instead of making them behave at home first -buzz. Yelling on a cell phone in a restaurant - buzz.

Imagine the joy and stress relief of having a magic button that would irradiate irritation. The ease of life without stupid behavior. It would be grand to be able to fix the idiots of the world - or at least watch their hair stand up on end.

Lost in my Genes

I used to worry about my propensity for loosing things. I can loose things while I am holding them in my hand. I constantly take off my glasses and then have no idea where they are. The biggest problem with that is I cannot see my glasses once they are off. That is also why there is super glue holding one of the lenses in place.

When I am working on a car I spend most of my time trying to find my tools. A wrench that I just had in my hand can grow legs and hide for several minutes. Some never get found. I have a large hammer that I finally painted yellow years ago because I could never find it. Now that all the paint is worn off I am back to loosing it again.

Unless I hang my keys on the hook in the living room I can never find them. My pocket knife is lost more than it is found. The only thing it seems that I don’t loose is my truck and it is huge and bright red.

But recently I remembered something that put things in perspective. Many years back I learned that I am a descendant of John White. Who is John White you ask? Well I will tell you.

In 1587 there was an attempt to establish a colony at Roanoke, Virginia ( now in present day North Carolina). John White was in charge of that colony. He went back to England for supplies and when he returned the colony was gone. He had lost an entire colony of people.

What does that little lesson in early American history mean. Well it means that we White’s have been loosing things for hundreds of years. It is a genetic predisposition. I can no more change it than I can stop the rain. However, it does make it a little easier to smile when I loose yet another ink pen - at least I never lost an entire colony.

Realization

I was struck by a realization today - I now own a home. It isn’t anything fancy, but it is mine. If I want to fix it up I can. If I want to knock it down I can. I don’t need permission to paint remodel or just hang a picture. I am free to do what I please. If I feel like it I can go drive around in circles in the grass, and no one can say a word to me about it. On the down side if anything breaks I cannot call the landlord. If the air goes out it is my problem. If the steps fall down I have to fix it. If the refrigerator conks out it comes out of my pocket.

It has been a long time coming, but I am finally there. I am a home owner. So if you will all excuse me I have to go clean the carpets and mow the yard.

Yep I am a home owner.

Feels right

Getting up early,
Hot coffee in a travel mug,
Old work clothes and steel toed boots
Big trucks
Loud engines.
Long days of back breaking toil
Greasy hands
Skinned knuckles.
Cold drinks
Nights of cool comfort.
Friends in need,
Friends when needed.
Warm hugs
Soft kisses.
Meat and potatoes.
Long hot showers.
Exhausted sleep.


Some things just feel right.

Heroes

I am always amazed at the strength of people I know. When some would have thrown up their hands and said, “ I quit,” they soldier on. Some living with the horrors of an unthinkable childhood, some with the pain of a tragic marriage, some in the hell of loneliness, some swimming upstream against a belligerent current of self doubt, and some in the fall of financial ruin yet the march on.

Sometimes they fall, some times they want to quit, sometimes they want to hide, and sometimes they want to go away and start over. But inside them, hidden maybe even to themselves, is a reserve of will that keeps them struggling onward.

These individuals too often don't see the strength they possess or the inspiration the give to others. They continue week by week, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, and second by second to try and rise above their circumstances and positions and live their lives. They fight an unseen foe and slowly they are victorious. They are the ones who can look back and say, “I didn't think I was going to make it through that,” yet they have.

They are the ones who give us to know them the strength to endure our own ills. They do more than they thought they could. They are stronger than they think they are. They are, and always will be, my heroes.

public meanness

I am always amazed at the human propensity to harm one another. We can go from, “I love you, and I can’t live without you,” to “I hate you, and I never want to see you again,” in an instant. Every day we see marriages, relationships, friendships, and partnerships end up on the rock reef of ruin. Another statistic on the books of life.

And it seems that we are not content to just hurt the person by ourselves. We recruit armies to attack the object of our derision. We spread rumors and tell stories that we have no business repeating. Things are said in “jest” that are ruinous to the other. Rumors grow and mutate into things that have no truth left in them, and still we are not satisfied. Feeling good about ourselves is only achieved through tearing the other apart.

What is it about us that makes up find the things that are most hurtful and display them in front of the world? I honestly believe it is our training from every source of influence to be as selfish as possible and only think of number one. There was a song many years ago entitled, “You Always Hurt the One You Love,” The Mills Brothers sang it n perfect harmony, beautifully saying, “ If I broke your heart last night it’s because I love you most of all.” Today that song would change to, “If I can’t crush you publicly and frequently I wont love my self at all.” A truly sad change in the status of relationships. We have gone, as a society, from a people who help others and feel good about it to only feeling good if others are under our heel.

I am not above this blatant self-promotion. I have, at times, lashed out against others, not caring of the repercussions on the object of my scorn. The worst thing is that the damage is not done just to the single object of attack. Just like it is impossible to drop a bomb on a single person and not damage the surrounding area, it is impossible to just hurt one person. In the aftermath of our attacks we find children, friends, and family wounded by our selfishness.

What can we do? Well the answer is both simple and complex. It is easy to say but hard to implement. We should simply love each other as much as we love ourselves. The golden rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” still applies today but seldom is applied today. We can't solve every problem this way, but we can solve a lot of them.

When you tear down that person remember that you are tearing yourself down. A person who needs to destroy someone else to puff themselves up is really a small person to begin with. They are insecure and live inside themselves in a small insular world that will never know true joy or happiness. They will continue to stumble from one tragedy to another and make all those around them miserable until they learn to step outside themselves and learn to love.

We can’t forgive and forget everything, but if we try wouldn’t it make the world a nicer place to be.

Resilience

Shortly after they finished the construction of the interchange between highway 74 and I-85, completed all the landscaping, and removed all of the orange cones, someone lost control and ran down one of the newly planted cedar trees. For along time it languished there half in and half out of the ground, surrounded by the tire tracks of an 18 wheeler, pointing at some unknown point on the distant horizon. Eventually the tire tracks disappeared and grass grew back, but the little dead tree lay there in a depressing display of brown branches and falling bark. Since I drove past it every day eventually sensory adaptation set in and I didn’t notice the poor little tree any more. At some point the state got tired of cutting around it and cut the remains down leaving only a small stump as a marker to the trees presence. In time I forgot the tree ever existed. Until today that is.
Today I drove down the onramp and began to merge on to the interstate when something caught my eye. To my left there was a small hint of green against the brown winter landscape. The little tree had, from some internal reserve of fortitude, sent out a branch and it has begun to show green. I was amazed. I remembered back to a time where it was nothing more than tire ruts and dead wood. Now life has sprung from the grave.
As I looked at it I was intrigued by the resilience of the little tree. By all rights it should be nothing more than a small stump. But now, at least until the big mowers come back through and cut it down, it has made a comeback. Not a huge epic struggle from behind that inspires millions to do great things, but a small gesture of unyielding strength. No matter what life throws at us, no matter how hard the situation and no matter how bad things get there is always hope for regaining some small part of what was lost. If we can take a lesson from the little tree and show resilience, stiffen our backs and set our heels we can survive anything. Just stay the course and do what you are supposed to. For the little tree it was growing branches, for us it is growing period. When we stop growing we are done.
So take a lesson from the little tree. Never give up. IF you hold out, and don’t fall out, you will find out.

I forgot

My oldest daughter tells me that my hair is turning grey. I disagree. I think I am turning blonde. I keep doing these things that make no sense. Like tonight for example, I was watching The Tonight Show with Jay Leno that I had taped last night because Bill Cosby was a guest. I came in from working and sat down in my chair to eat and turned the tape on. After I finished eating I had a terrible thought. I was going to have to stay up later than I wanted to because I hadn’t taken a shower yet. The reason is that I don’t like to go to bed with my hair wet because it stands up like medusas snake-do and is impossible to tame the next morning. (Vain I know, but at least I don’t gel, mousse, and spray it down.) Then I remembered that it was only 7 pm and the show I was watching was taped.

If that was the only time something like that had happened I wouldn’t worry about it. However, it is becoming a daily occurrence. I can’t tell you how many times I have opened the microwave to heat up something and found the something that I heated up last night and then forgot about. Sometimes it doesn’t even make it into the microwave. I find a ruined un-frozen dinner sitting in the box on the counter.

I have to be careful with channel surfing because, more often than not, I will forget what I was watching when I started surfing which leads to more surfing and more forgetting. It is not unusual for an hour to go by and for me to have surfed through every channel and still not know what I was watching. I don’t know how people with the hundreds of satellite channels do it. I can’t keep track of seven stations. When I had cable I just surfed around until I passed out from hunger because I forgot to eat the dinner that was in the microwave.

Since I know that I cant remember anything I wrote myself notes and then promptly loose them, and then when i find them I have no idea what they mean. I call numbers all the time and say, “ Hi, I am William White. I found your number in my wallet and I have no idea how it got there. Do you know who I am?” Which sometimes leads to long awkward silences, and the occasional, “If you call back, I’ll call the cops.”

I cannot count the number of times I have looked through old computer files and found long rambling narratives I have written, that show great promise, but I have no idea what they are about. Or I open up an old notepad and see where I have written something down and I am not sure if it is a story idea or a list of things to do. Sometimes I try to work these scraps of information into a essay, Eggs, bacon, preparation H. But at that they don’t make sense. Wash car, vacuum hair, spaghetti.

To help with all this brain malfunction, my dad gave me his old Palm Pilot. It is a great tool. Now I carry all my phone numbers, things to do, appointments, and notes. It is a great way for me to carry more information around that I have no idea what it means. I find things like: lawn mower, potatoes, boots, and air scrawled in the memo pad section. I don’t know what they mean but they are there in this hi-tech wonder so they must be important.

The Palm is also one more reason for me to drive around the block and them come back to the apartment to get something. I have to make special trips for my keys, wallet, laptop computer, cell phone, and now for the Palm. I am sure that my neighbors take bets on how many times I am going to have to come back and get something.

I once drove all the way to Franklin, NC without my wallet to get a load of scrap metal. If you are not familiar with Franklin it is one downhill slide from Tennessee and a 3 hour drive from my apartment. I took my time loading up the truck and was ready to come home when I noticed that I was low on gas and needed to fill up before I headed in. I also noticed that I didn’t have my wallet. I scrounged through the WarWagon and came up with a few dollars in change, put that in the tank, and barely made it to Asheville. I then got to spend a long, hot, sweaty night not sleeping in the front of the truck. Finally, the scrap yard opened and I was able to unload and get some money for breakfast and gas.

And speaking of my wallet, there is a cashier at a store here in town that knows who I am and calls me when I forget my wallet. When I was having to walk with a cane for a while I was forever having to go back to a store and get the stupid thing off of a shopping cart where I had hung it when I unloaded the cart (yeah I know I didn’t put it back in the buggy corral but I was hurting). One gas station used to keep my cane when I left it leaning against a pump. I learned eventually to keep a second cane in the truck.

So what is the point to all this babbling. Well, to be honest with you I cannot remember. But whatever it is, I can blame it on blonde roots.