The Wal-Mart effect

I used to live in heaven. It was a nice place. If you needed something you had to plan for it. There wasn’t a store too close by, that way spending money was planned and done carefully. The nearest grocery store was 6 miles away. The nearest Wal-Mart was 10 miles away. If you needed milk you got it while you were out doing other things. Then the unthinkable happened. The mother ship Wally World flew over and dropped a Super Center in my back yard. Just a mere 3 ½ miles away. Why, I could walk that far. I would have to steal one of those little electric wheelchairs to get home, but I could walk there.

At first I thought it would be a good thing. Need some oregano, take fifteen minutes and go get some. Need some eggs, why they are just a short way down the narrow streets. And coincidentally, going to the grocery store to get eggs, I came back with eggs and maybe orange juice. Now, I come back with deodorant, dog treats, beef jerky, flower pots, birdseed, tennis shoes, a DVD player, three pocket knives, and maybe eggs, oh yeah, and a much lighter wallet.

It is amazing that before I survived without setting foot in Wal-Mart but once a a year, now It is a miracle if I don’t get there once a day. This is what I will now and forever call, the Wal-mart effect. It is the complete and utter inability to go into that cavernous land of delights without coming out with 50 things that I didn’t know I needed until I saw them. Not that I am buying frivolous things, I just never knew I needed a combination moustache/toenail trimmer. I never knew I couldn’t live without 20 pounds of oatmeal cakes. Before if I wanted fresh doughnuts I had to go to Krispy Kreme 12 miles away, now I can go to Dunkin Doughnuts inside the Gates of Wally conveniently 3 ½ miles away.

It used to be that Northern tools or Ace hardware were the only place I couldn’t get out of without buying something, but then I came home with a new hammer, screwdriver, super strong magnet that would suck the iron out of your blood, or a chainsaw. Last week I came home from the store, blinded by the Wal-Mart effect, with a huuuuuuge coffee cup shaped flower pot. Is my manhood in jeopardy. Should I start wearing pastel colors. Then I look at the receipt and see that I also came home with 4 quarts of motor oil and a pair of pliers. Hummmmmmm, maybe this effect isn’t so bad after all - just someone hide my wallet.

Midnight Ramblings

It used to be that a midnight snack consisted of crawling out of bed, staggering to the kitchen, stuffing my face, and then staggering back to bed and slipping into a coma. Those were the good old days. Now it is a bit more involved.

Now I sit up, check for animals that will be harmed if I step on them, and then try to get out of bed without waking up Steph. Next I run the gauntlet of furry beasts sleeping in various parts of the floor. The worst is the big dog, the Great Pyrenees, there is no telling where she will be laying. Sometimes she is in the bedroom floor, sometimes in the hall, some times in the living room, sometimes upside down in front of the front door, and sometimes she materializes from the paneling - although she snores so I can usually get a general direction.

Turning on the lights is also a must. There are times when the little dog leaves little presents in the middle of the floor. Nothing like stepping in a warm pile in the dark. But that is another story entirely. Lights are also good to see miscellaneous dog toys in the path to the fridge. You only step on a rubber ball and fall on a big soup bone once before you want to see where you are.

After all the hurdles are cleared there comes the fearful time when I actually open the fridge. This is usually followed by the cacophony of furry feet in a wild stampede. The second the magnetic bond on the door is broken there are three bodies sitting at my feet and three tongues drooling on the floor ( and one rat running up and down the sides of her cage) wondering what gastrointestinal delight will be brought forth to appease their discerning palates. In other words what kinda grub am I gonna toss on the floor for them.

After I make a selection of the leftovers lurking in the icebox, I have to pay toll or run the risk of not getting out alive. Between the two dogs, cat, and the rat it is amazing that I get anything at all. So the dogs and the cat get a couple of pieces of whatever and the rat get a little nibble and I make my way back to the bedroom shutting off lights as I go. Finally, I get back to the bed, push Steph back to her side of the bed, and lay back down.

Only problem is now I am wide awake again, and hungry. Wonder if the dogs left anything.

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.

Whats in your shorts?

Sometimes the great hand of fortune rests on us and leaves us with a, “How did I survive that?” feeling. After the excitement dies down and our pulse returns to normal we carefully reconstruct the circumstance of the event and are left wondering even more how we got away with it.

Friday morning I drove the WarWagon to Kannapolis to buy a 1995 Ford Windstar from a man. I had my trusty antique tow bar in the back and was looking forward to the extra money I would make when I parted out the van and sold it for scrap. I was really looking forward to finishing up the deal and going to pick my kids up at school to start our weekend together. I checked out the van and noted that only the right rear hubcap was missing. Then set about loading up all the various parts of the engine that the owner had removed and disassembled.

With the deal made and the van firmly attached to my trailer hitch I started back down I-85 through mid afternoon traffic in Charlotte. Things were going smoothly and I was calculating having a few minutes to eat a leisurely lunch and cleaning up the apartment a bit before going to get the kids. The van was towing smoothly and so I bumped up the speed to 65 mph and settled in for the drive.

Just before the Mallard Creek exit there was a huge chunk of tire that had been left by a transfer truck. Traffic slowed as both right hand lanes maneuvered around it. I made an easy move to the shoulder of the road and went around the obstruction then picked up speed again to head for home. Little did I know what that seemingly innocent maneuver would set into motion.

When the speedometer read about 63 mph I felt the van step to the right and instinctively I slowed and looked in the mirror. To my shock there was a tire rolling along beside my drivers door. It was far too small to be from the WarWagon so I knew that the van had lost a wheel.

The errant Bridgestone passed my front bumper and made a lazy turn for the shoulder fo the road and I breathed a mild sigh of relief. Then it decided it wanted a bit more freedom and turned left, crossed all four lanes of south bound traffic and rolled along the median. When it slammed into the cement barricade I began to really be concerned. It would have been funny had it not been so scary and potentially deadly as it leaped nearly 40 feet into the air and crossed into the north bound lanes. For a second or two it was out of sight, and then it appeared again as it hurtled skyward and vaulted a street light on the median. By this time everyone on the south lanes had stopped and were watching the show.

I slowly drove along the shoulder trying to stay even with the tire that had crossed into the south lanes again and headed straight for my front fender. I stood hard on the brakes as the tire sailed past the front bumper and charged up an embankment and went exploring in the trees along the side of the road.

After a brief scavenger hunt I located the tire and noticed that the brake rotor was attached to the back of the wheel. When I lugged the 90 pound assembly back to the van I saw what had happened. The nut that holds the wheel assembly on the van had been removed. I immediately pulled the wheel cover off the passengers side tire and found that the nut had been removed from it as well. A phone call to the man I had bought it from revealed that he had removed both of them not realizing that they held the wheel assembly on. He brought me the nuts an hour later and I was on my way again.

While I was waiting my guardian angel went and put in for hazardous duty pay – he deserves it. Me? Well I went back up in the trees and emptied my shorts.

Assault on Kings Mountian

In a daring afternoon raid a band of ragtag troops, lead by an experienced and devoted leader, William, invaded the rough terrain of Kings Mountain battle field. Jared, the tireless scout, forged ahead of the small unit and reported back with much needed information. Emily, communications officer, kept each member informed of the progress of the advance. Allison, moral officer, did her best to boost morale and keep the troops moving by constantly smiling and repeating, “Daddy, I love you.”

Before the invasion the troops fueled up with orange Bug Juice, peanut butter crackers, and apples, then rode onto the battleground in the trusty WarWagon and disembarked to begin the assault. A scene of utter chaos ensued as the troop checked maps and watched informative movies in the pre-assault planning session held in the visitor’s center.

The troops carefully inspected all displays of weapons and equipment while asking many questions about their usage. Every button that could be reached was pushed and each new discovery led to many more questions. When all information that could be gleaned from the displays was investigated the band rushed out onto the well worn trail and charged through the dense fallen leaves in their quest to reach the summit.

Close observation of the terrain revealed creeks, hollow trees, and holes that could be used for shelter and camouflage. During the raid shrieks and yells could be heard pealing through the landscape as the warriors charged up the mountain side.

When the assault ended and the troops were safely ensconced in the WarWagon and headed for home. Their leader, with sore hips and knee – the only casualty of the day, mused that if the British were still there they would have run in fright from the attacking horde. Either that or would have all died from laughter.

Cosmic Revenge

Every religion or belief system that I have ever had any experience with has with it an element of retribution contained therein. Call it what you will – justice, judgment, karma, accountability or any thing else – it is unavoidable. I recently witnessed events that are irrefutably that intervention of justice in the life of someone I am fairly close to.

In February of 2004, my ex-wife decided that she would not allow me to see our children any more. Since I was not in a position to hire an attorney I was forced to accede to her wishes and stay away. It broke my heart to do. Recently I scraped up enough cash to hire help and my ex changed her mind and had allowed me to see the kids. I cannot express how overjoyed I was to be reunited with them.

The first Friday night that I kept them was like a dream. We hugged and talked and played and opened presents that had been accumulating in the closet. Late in the evening we all collapsed into bed. At 6:00 am my phone rang. It was the ring tone programmed for my ex-wife’s number.

When I answered all she said was, “If I die, tell the kids I love them,” and hung up. A call like that will wake you up faster than drinking espresso while soaking in ice water. I tried to call her back and could not reach her, each time I was sent to voice mail. Finally, thirty minutes later, I got her again. She said, “I’m on the phone with 911”, and hung up.

At t his point I was picturing her locked in the trunk of a Lincoln, headed out to Lake Norman to be fitted with concrete shoes. Thoughts of having to raise the kids myself, funeral arrangements, and possibly moving back to Tennessee to be closer to my parents stirred in my mind. I found myself trying to think of who may be that mad at her, other than me.

Finally, I staggered to the kitchen to start the first of several pots of coffee for that day. Around the time Mr. Coffee began his final gurgle her cell tone rang again. “I am upside down in the back seat of my truck.” To make a long story short she was driving too fast in the rain and flipped her Ford Ranger 4 times on Highway 110 in Cowpens, SC on her way to work. While she was not seriously injured, she was banged up enough spend the day in the emergency room. Somehow she only bruised her leg and her lung. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person, but I had already vented my spleen when we talked about the kids the first time and told her that she would one day get what was coming to her and it would happen in such a way that no one could blame me. I didn’t feel the need to get that worked up again.

Since that morning she has offered no resistance to my requests to see the kids. She has almost been nice - something I am unused to. Perhaps spending a couple of hours upside down in the rain while waiting for the Rescue Squad to cut her free with their giant can opener she had time to reflect on a few things. Perhaps it will be the last time the balance of her life has to be evened out. Time will tell.

20 things that make me smile

Things that make me smile

1. My children – They are the reason I exist.

2. Old friends – Those that are always there even when things go wrong.

3. My truck – Like the energizer bunny – still going.

4. Antique tools – They are scattered all over my apartment.

5. Old shoes – The ones that are so broken in that they start to break apart.

6. Morning coffee – How else do you start a day?

7. Winter chill – much better than the summer sweat.

8. Meeting new people – new people to laugh at all my old jokes.

9. Pictures – Moments frozen forever of life years ago.

10. Old barns – Exploring Mecca’s for a scavenger like me.

11. Pretty girls smiles – Seen too seldom but appreciated every time.

12. Old TV shows – Slivers of my youth.

13. Books – Other worlds to explore and hide in.

14. Apple pie – Especially when it comes with coffee.

15. Music – Real music that you can understand the words too.

16. Quiet conversation – Getting to know a person inside and out.

17. Word puzzles – Things that make my brain work.

18. Hot baths – Soak away your cares and aches.

19. Sunsets – Especially when viewed from a beautiful location.

20. Memories – Sweeter every day (some anyway)

Ugly Daughters

I heard a song recently in which a father is giving his daughter away at her wedding. After thinking about the premise of the song ( and thinking of my own two daughters) I came to a conclusion (bear with me) - all fathers secretly, subconsciously, and selfishly wish for ugly daughters. They may not say it - or even realize that they wish for it, but they do. You see, all fathers, myself included, want to keep their little girls all to themselves. They want to keep boys away from their girls at all costs. Mostly because daddies remember how they felt about girls when hormones started to kick in. You see when girls are beautiful they eventually attract attention of the enemy - boys.

This villainous enemy is intent on taking girls away from their fathers. Boys are the nemesis for every father who has female offspring. (While I want my son to be married to a beautiful gal one day - I want all those insidious creatures to stay away from my girls.) Those disgusting beings who want to carry off and marry our beautiful daughters. They want to take our pony-tailed, freckle faced darlings and start new families. Of course- with their new families comes the possibility of having daughters. For the young fathers sakes - I hope those daughters are ugly.

Goodbye

I don't like funerals, although ,I don't know of anyone who does. However, I now am faced with the reality of attending one once again. And yet, with the funeral comes a sweet comfort. You see, my friend, Jo Dyer, was a wonderful, godly, sweet woman. A woman I never saw without a smile on her face. A woman who cared for others, and loved her family. She was devoted to her family and raised two of her grandchildren. In the nearly twenty years that I knew her I cannot ever remember hearing her complain about anything or any one. She was one of those special people who truly make the world a brighter place to be.

You cannot think of Jo without thinking of her warm smile and her long dark hair. I remember visiting her house and being amazed that she and her husband, Lester, were sitting and eating an onion like anyone else would eat an apple, washing it down with buttermilk and cornbread. I remember her and Lester singing in church. I remember rarely seeing one without the other.

Now, after a prolonged illness, she finally has the comfort that she gave others in her life. She has “shuffled off this mortal coil” and stepped through the gates of glory. Her race ended, she now receives that, “Well done.”

No I don't look forward to her funeral, but I am comforted in the knowledge that her struggles here on earth are ended. I will miss her, but one day I will see her again.

Fate

A cold wind howls across the landscape of my soul.
Icy cold fingers bring pain to the depths of my being.
Cut off from those I love - I am alone.
The man who was afraid of nothing - now in fear of living alone.
Dispair and sorrow my only companions
I long for the warmth of loves touch.

Adrift in a black sea of nothingness,
Unable to fulfill my dreams,
Much less my wants,
And barely my needs.
Like a drunkard longing for the next sip
I long for love.
I yearn for comfort.
Yet I live
Alone.

tiger by the tail

It seems that when the world starts to look sunny and bright it suddenly clouds up and begins to rain. Not that rain is always bad thing., but sometimes I would just like to sit in the sun for a while. This mold between my toes is starting to irritate me. The impetus for all this - well the transmission on the WarWagon died again. This is the first time that she hasn't got me home. I had to call my friend to tow it with his truck. Since he was at work when I called him I got to sit in a church parking lot in Charlotte for 5 hours. It was great fun. At least I had a book with me so I had something to read.
I know that all 2 of my faithful readers are wondering why I haven’t posted any new insightful writings so I will tell you. I have been busier than a one legged man at a butt kicking competition. I have been at home only long enough to shower change clothes and get a small amount of sleep each day. And on top of all that my laptop computer died. So for now I am holding the tiger by the tail. Problem with that is - when I let go there are teeth in the other end.