HEY FELLAS, MAMMA DIED LAST NIGHT

In the tiny town of Cumming, Georgia, only fattened by urban sprawl, sits the local KRYSTAL. It could just as well have been any other chain drive thru, all small towns have their local hangouts, and this one is certainly no different.

I have been coming to Krystal’s infrequently since I moved to Sugar Hill a few years ago. Most times I have business in the area, if not I invent some just to stop in and have a favorite breakfast of mine; 3 eggs, grits, wheat toast, bacon, with extra bacon, and a reasonably good cup of coffee. I order, sit down, and the clerk of the day brings it to my table, usually quickly, and usually correctly, if not I eat what they bring. That is my way of dealing with life’s little challenges.

I have never tried to interact with the locals, although through unintended eavesdropping I have learned much about this same little cluster of community life. Ole Walter quit selling Fords at the dealership and spends more time fixin’ up the old home place, his Daddy would be proud. Arnold should quit his job, he is the danged best fiddler this side of Nashville, maybe further. Shorty is in the hospital again with a tumor; hope it ain’t as bad as the last one.
All the daily matters that are important to that click, but foreign to anyone more than 10 feet away. 

 Hal is probably the one I noticed most. One reason is that in error I parked in “HIS” spot once and heard about it in tones louder than usual and meant for me to hear. ‘His’ spot was the best parking place on the lot, right next to the door, with a low curbing, making it easy and quick for him to help his Mamma out of the car and into the comforts of the restaurant. For some reason the Handicap parking was a good 6 spaces away from the door. The particular morning that I arrived before Hal and parked in that space, I could feel the eyes of the group on me. I just figured my pants were unzipped again (something that happens more often than I want to admit).
“He’s in Hal’s spot. His Mamma is gonna have to walk A MILE.”
“He’s that new fella that comes around every so often. Guess he don’t know the parking arrangements here.”
“He don’t know no better, wonder what he does with all that JUNK on the back of his truck?”

That was sort of the way it went that morning. So for the first time I paid attention to this Hal when he entered, lovingly assisting his Mother in every way as he directed her to their tables, made the rounds of ‘Good Mornings” and went back to order their meals. I paid attention because Hal mentioned that he was a few minutes late and somebody’s old truck was in his spot. This was accentuated by the heat of the stares that I knew were being sent my way. From then on I made sure to park far enough away as not to be in the way of the 'old folks.'

I also starting paying attention to Hal and his Mamma. I am in my mid 60’s, but she seemed to be ancient. I think I heard 95 or 96 at one time referring to her. She was frail but full of life. She always greeted each of the group by name, asked about their kin, and when asked about her health, “She was still kicking, just not as high!” I do not recall ever hearing about her aches or pains, just local gossip. If she had any pains, she already knew about those, she wanted to hear what she didn’t know.

Being this outside observer let me absorb the local culture without having to learn names, birth dates, addresses, and all that other stuff that goes along with it. They are a kind bunch and when Hal walked in that morning alone and dropped that load on us, there was not a person there who did not shed a tear, including me, and I do not even know Mamma’s name.

I think I might introduce myself next time I drop in.

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME!!!

We were blessed(?) to have received a dachshund puppy a few weeks ago. The phase, "Time flies when you're having fun." does not always apply here. Don't get me wrong, she is a puppy and to boot a doxie, which makes her doubly adorable. Her registered name at the vet's office is Coco Cook, but around the house she mostly answers to Hell Hound or more aptly, Pee Pee Head!
My Janet is a very thorough person and researched everything about this breed. The one recurring theme was that they are stubborn and hard to house train. Looking into those beautiful, big brown eyes, I naively asked, "How hard could it be to train a 4lb. cute little puppy?" The answer: more than you thought! Oh,and as I have found out, those are lying eyes!
Janet went on-line and bought a book about dachshunds and the 'proper' way to train them. Well that is about as useful as how to train children(I am still waiting for that 10 volume set to come out), but, Bless her Heart, Janet tried.
THE CRATE METHOD says to feed her, put her in her very small crate, wait approximately 20-30 minutes and take her outside to do her business. If nothing happens in about 10 minutes, take her back to her crate, wait 10 minutes and repeat this process until she does her business. when she accomplishes this she can then be 'trusted' to play around in the house, having related freedom to pooping/peeing outside means free range of the house. This was evidently written by an evil dachshund who possessed opposable thumbs. Our little bundle of joy would do her business outside, run around the house a few minutes, then, while staring us in the eyes, squat and poop again, as if to say, "Let's get this straight, I make the rules around here." BACK IN THE CRATE! Now as unpleasant as that was, it was the jumping up on the sofa and peeing that almost sent out the 9-1-1 call to save that dog's life. We have a mini-carpet cleaner for the floor, but Janet's sofas are sacred. All I can say is, THANK GOD FOR SCOTCHGARD, or there would be a suspicious, albeit, small mound it the backyard under the Crepe Myrtle tree. Janet tried to circumvent part of the problem by putting old quilts on the sofa and love seat until the 'training' took effect. We washed 2 quilts a night the first week!
THE PEE PADS! This was my ante into the poker game, a game we were unwittingly playing against a 'Sharp', as the were known in the Old West. They must work, I thought stupidly to myself. They have them in the pet aisle of every major food store. They even have them in 'store brands' which means they are big sellers. Never equate being a big sellers to a product that works. The instructions say to place the pad near an exit door, put the pet on it and let it smell it, as it is treated with a chemical that makes the dog want to do its business. I would love to buy a spray bottle of that stuff(I know some People I would spray it on, but that's just me). Then after a few times of your dog going to the pads, remove it to just outside the door, and keep moving it until you are in a suitable outside area for the dog(more instruction written by that evil doxie). I put Coco(a.k.a. Pee Pee Head) down on the pad that I had so neatly and lovingly spread on the hardwood floor at the front door. Like a little angel she stood there, looked up at me with those beautiful brown(again LYING) eyes, reached over and grabbed a corner of the pad in her mouth and took off running through the house, head held high, pad flapping in the wind like a banner, looking very much like she was the victorious general in a grand game of Capture the Flag! It is hard to be mad and laugh at the same time.
THE LAST STRAW---DOGGIE DIAPERS!
A few days ago, Janet sent me an e-mail while she was at work, saying that a patient had told her to try "Doggie Diapers". This had worked for her small dog and should work for us. Apparently that lady has no experience with our particular bred. On the way home that day, Janet stopped by Petsmart and bought a packet of the diapers. They looked all the world like diapers for newborns with the exception for a hole to allow the tail to poke through. Our plan was that after feeding her in the evening, taking her out to do her business, then bring her in, put on the diaper and let her run and play at will, hoping that she would associate this with proper toilet training, and at best, not soil our furniture.
This was one of those moments when you look back and say, "Damn, why didn't I film this?" We put Coco on the counter in the kitchen, and while Janet did her best to hold that 4lbs. of dynamite still, my part of this comedy act was to thread the tail moving a blurring speed into the tiny hole and then attach to tabs to the diaper as are normally held in place. The first couple of tries, Coco whipped the diaper out of my hands with that little brown rapier known as a tail. At one point I had the diaper held with my teeth while I held her hind legs with on hand and her tail with the other---instant problem, not enough hands! Finally, between the two of us, we managed to get it on her. When we stood her up on the counter, we both broke into simultaneous laughter. That poor dog looked like a Rap singer with his pants hanging down, it was pitiful. So it was back to the operating table. The second attempt managed to get the diaper on properly and looking pretty good. Janet put Coco on the floor and off that little dog ran and within a distance of less than 10 feet, had that diaper in her mouth, playing Round 2 of Capture the Flag.
Does anyone know where I can buy a doggie diaper made like Lederhosen???

GRAND KIDS----YOU GOTTA LOVE 'EM!!!

They step on your toes and tug on your heart strings. They will tug on your wallet, too. They will even drive you to the poor house if you let them, all the while charging the gas for the trip on your credit card.
Well, of course, grand kids put "the touch" on Grandparents, that's why we are here, that and to fill them with sugar and send them home wound up tight. When we were kids we could always count to Grandma and Grandpa to see to the 'extras' that we needed in life.

With schools opening around the state now and in the next few days, there naturally has been a buying frenzy for all those needed, as well as, not needed, school supplies. Like kids of every generation, everyone wants to be cool and have all the things that the "in" kids have. Coming from a reserved and conservative home, my grandchild not come close to all the cool stuff.
Not to be deterred, the call went out. "Hey, Grandpa, whatca doin'"? The child might as well have said, "Grandpa, could you e-mail me your card number, expiration date, and don't forget the security code!"
After a little chit chat about the life of a retired guy and new school, new grade, new friends, it got down to business.
"Grandpa, you remember when you were and high school and wanted all the latest improvements?"
"Oh, you mean like an ELECTRIC typewriter?"
"A type-what, oh never mind. You know what an ipad is don't you?'
"Well of course, I used one not too long ago."
"Weeeelllllll, it sure would be nice if I had one. All the kids are getting them and Momma just won't buy me one, but she said it was OK if I asked you.
"I can't understand your Mother not getting you something as important as an eye pad. You say all the kids are using them?"
"They sure are, and I just know you don't want me to look funny if I show up without one."
"Personally, I think you would look funny WITH one, but you kids are sure different these days. I mail you one today, honey, love you, bye."
That was THREE WEEKS AGO and that little ingrate has yet to text me a thank you or anything. What is wrong with children today?!?!

THAT AIN'T THE WAY I HEARD IT!!!

Here is another "fractured fairy tale" for you to enjoy(I hope).

There once was a giant who lived on the top of a mountain(ain't that the way it always is). Down in the valley below was a village of below average little people, known as the Kingdom of TRID.

Now as this giant would move around on the top of his mountain, doing whatever it is that giants do to past the time of day, he would occasionally dislodge a boulder that would roll down the mountain side and squash a villager or two.

As you can imagine, this was very disconcerting to the villagers, so they called a town meeting to decide what to do. Since no one would volunteer, it was decided that they would draw straws to see who would confront the giant and ask him to stop.   

The next morning, the poor chap who drew the short straw made his way up the mountain. When he arrived at top, he found the giant and began to tell him why he was there. After the villager finish, the giant drew back his huge foot and kicked the hapless villager of the mountain and to his doom.

The town council decided to try again to negotiate with the giant, but this time send 2 villagers. Again the giant quietly listened to the request, then when the finished, he kicked them both off the mountain.

Undeterred, 10 messengers were sent, kicked off, 20 were sent, kicked off, until finally, the Church got involved.

An envoy of 30 Trids(villagers) and their priest marched up to the giant. Upon hearing the same old request, the giant booted all 30 villagers off his mountain.

After the dust settled, all that was left was the lone holy man facing the giant. With up stretched arms, the priest cried out in a loud, albeit, small voice, "Why? Why? Why? Why have you booted off all the villagers, yet left me alone?"

With a very large grin on his face, the giant bent way, way down until he was almost nose to nose with the little man and said those familiar words we all know:

"Silly Rabi, Kicks are for Trids!!!"

FRACTURED FABLES!

Many, many years ago, before modern medicine and the ability to diagnose ailments as easily as we do today, seizures we frightening and much feared. 
In ancient Persia, the ruler, the Shah, had a very young son, called a Shan(meaning son of the ruler), who was prone to violent bouts of seizures of unknown causes. But whatever the cause, the only treatment was to take silk ropes and gently tie the Shan to his bed until these fits past.
Now the Shah had a small detail assigned to the task of watching the Shan every minute of every day, to be ready to protect the young boy, otherwise, while in this state of wildness, the child could, and would destroy priceless vases, statues, and any objects he could get his hands on.
One day,while sitting around for what seemed like an eternity, the guards began to talk among themselves. The boy had been free of his malady for more than 2 months without any signs, there was music coming from the bazaar out side the window in the streets below, the laughter of the dancing girls was hypnotic, and the aroma of the wine was more than they could bare.
They decided that they would go out the window and down the balcony to have a few drinks, a few laughs, and watch the dancing girls for a short time, and then return to their posts. No one would be the wiser.
They had no sooner landed on the street and began to enjoy the festival when the Shan had the worst episode of his short little life. He broke vases, turned over tables, toppled marble statues, ripped silk curtains, and would have chewed through the walls if his teeth had been strong enough.
The court guards heard the commotion and summoned the Shah, who soon got matters under control. The had the palace guards arrest, bind and bring the Shan's attendants before him.
As the men were on their knees, with an axeman standing over each one, seconds before the fatal blow, the Shah asked that famous question that we still ask today,

"WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE FIT HIT THE SHAN?"

YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK! YOU SHOULD WRITE A BOOK!

First let me say, Thank you, to all those of you that take the time to read the drivel that I pass off as ‘writings’. They are just things that come to mind from time to time and I have to get them out. It is much like the “artwork” that I do. It means little to most people, but it is my male equivalence of giving birth, of sorts. I do not sit and try to create or ‘build things in my mind’, they just happen. On the contrary, when I try to think of amusing stories or projects to make, NOTHING, I just come up blank.

This is why I laugh every time one of you posts the comment, “You should write a book.” I would if I could. Maybe, if I live long enough, I will have a collection large enough to incorporate into a book worth printing and more importantly, worth your money.

I will say that, as a young man,if I had this wonderful computer with all the amazing editing capabilities, or even one of those early word processors, I would have written far more while it was still fresh on my mind. Old fashion typing was out of the question, what with number of errors that I make on a single page, and HANDWRITTEN, forget about it. I can’t read most of my own writing as soon as I write it. Even with this modern system, I still cringe and think of Mrs. Carroll when I hit a wrong key. Let me be my father right here and say kids just don’t know how easy they have it. I think it would be good training to have and occasionally use the old typewriter, correction paper, carbons, and the like, just to give prospective to their lives.

I have toyed with the idea of buying one of those voice recognition units, but I see two problems right off the bat. First, it says it can recognize any voice, well; I would have to have a money back guarantee to believe that. Second, even if we get past my severe Southern Drawl, I talk so much that it probably would burn up the processor on my Dell. I envision a Star Trek scene as done on SNL: 
“Capt. Kirk, “Computer!”
Computer, “Huh, you talkin’ tu me?” 

At any rate, much like an old man wearing Depends, the stories will leak out from time to time. Not because I want to, but I have to.

Thank you for reading and your comments

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, AND QUITE POSSIBLY A LIFE SAVER!

Today's on again off again rain is very taxing if you are trying to paint some projects and let them air dry in the sun. It is a merry go round of take in, the rain stops, take it out, the rain starts, take it in, repeat.
During this little dance with the rain gods, I recalled an earlier time when I was not as patient as I am now. If you laughed at that statement, clearly you did not know me 20 years ago. 

2001

Being the inventor/artist/nosy Nellie, that I am or was, I decided that since it was going to rain every fifteen minutes and quit long enough for me to haul everything back out in the sunshine to dry only to have to repeat the process, I would come up with a better solution. Now right then where I should have looked at the Weather Channel to see what would be a good day to paint and let dry in the sun, but hell, I don't need no stinkin' Weatherman/woman to tell me that. If it won't dry naturally, I'll do it artificially.(Sorta sounds like that tag line, "Hey, fellas, I wonder what will happen when I ....!)

Like any good handyman, I have a heat gun lying around that is seldom used. Now a heat gun is much like a lady's hair dryer, just on steroids and PCP and Speed, with a little diet pill to even things out. They are normally used to heat the paint on wood just enough to make it turn loose from the wood, so that you can take a large putty knife and scrape it away and save hours of time or paint strippers or sanding. The only problem is it takes a very delicate touch and keen attention, both genes that I seem to have been born without. What I lack in natural talent, I can always make up in bravery(that;s city talk for stupid).

On the utility table, I had my boards that I had just painted and taken back out for third time. I had the extension cord plugged in and ready, along with the "ACME HOTTER THAN HELL HEAT GUN", much like the one that Wiley Coyote sometimes uses, another ignored red flag.

I will take a moment to crow and say that I was being unusually careful and attentive to my work, an anomaly for me to be sure. Then it happened. I confess that I have the attention span of an goober hull---on a good day. I used to say that I had the malady that all 'artists' are afflicted with, that special brand of ADD, OCD, or any combination of letters that meant I could not stay focused. I no longer make excuses and attempt to tag along on the coat tails of real suffers. I CAN NOT STAY FOCUSED!

I had finished drying a few boards to the degree of readiness that was needed, when my gaze slipped past the lumber on the utility table to another table where there were many cast iron toys I had been pricing and getting ready to box up for the next sale. THEY ALL HAD GOTTEN WET, and in just a minutes nature would take its course and they would begin to put on a light coat of rust.

I walked over to where the iron pieces were sitting on the table and began to give them a blast from my HEAT TERMINATOR. Like magic all the fronts were dry in an instant. Now for the backs. A quick science lesson, cast iron is a GREAT conductor of heat, hence all the millions of cast iron stoves invented and sold since Ben Franklin's day!
As I picked up the first piece, I did not even get to the point of rotating my wrist when the pain from the DEATH RAY heated iron reached my brain. I immediately tossed the piece about five feet straight up in the air. In the mili-seconds that it took that little piece of cast iron to make the trip up and back down, I realized that if it hit the ground from that height, it would break(yes, cast iron will break like glass in some cases--usually when heated and owned by me). My left hand being rendered useless, I dropped the heat gun(thank goodness they have a 'dead man's switch for just such users as me) and proceeded to try to catch the iron with my right hand. Second science lesson: iron will not cool off sufficiently in a 5ft. toss to be catch-able. As soon as it hit my hand it was airborne again.

Now, I had two burned hands and was in great pain, to me at least. I ran over to another table that held assorted tools and the important first aid kit. I know I must have looked like Frankenstein trying to put a model airplane together as clumsy as I was opening that box and retrieving that Unguentine but success was not to be mine that day. I sat down in a chair and as I was fumbling around with the cap, got a large glob of it on the top of the tube, then I dropped it in my lap.

My wife, Janice, had witnessed the entire proceedings and was walking past me as I dropped the salve. "Did you just see what just happened?"

In one of her rare moments of "Fractured Sayings", as we called them, she said without breaking here stride, "Yeah, looks like you got an ointment in the fly!"