Looking Up

I'm sitting at the computer tonight listening to a little Willie & Lobo and I thought it would be a good idea to jot down a few thoughts.

My daughter Jessica and her husband Brandon came to visit us for the 4th of July Bar-B-Que. We had a wonderful time together and I hope they come back soon.

We finally finished the remodel job. That's the good news. The bad news is that the construction partnership is finished as well because of it. There are some deep feelings of anger and resentment on my part that I have been struggling to get past, and not very successfully I might add.

We are going on vacation to Michigan for 10 days or so at the end of next week. Time for a major battery recharge.

When we get back, I will be starting a new project with my new company that will require me to be away from home three or four nights a week, but we gotta do what we gotta do, right? I'm excited to be building again.

I went back to Houston for a family reunion in June and quickly remembered why I left there. Too many people, too many cars, and too much heat and humidity.

My friend Paul will be visiting in a couple of weeks. I'm looking forward to seeing him again.

It's been too long since I've written anything except for the one about the mighty Baxter. I've tried but everything I tried to write ended up sounding like very negative sour grapes, so I've ended up deleting quite a bit.

Things are looking up though... and it never hurts to have a little Willie and Lobo as a soundtrack for my thoughts.

http://www.willieandlobo.com/

Until next time...

The Mighty Baxter

It's strange how things happen sometimes. I am tempted to say that things are even unfair... arbitrarily so it seems. But I really know better, and I know somewhere deep down that there are reasons for the things that happen.

Sometimes though, even that knowledge is a hard pill to swallow.

Sheri and I looked at some beagle pups a few weeks ago when Jessica and Brandon (my daughter and son-in-law) were here visiting. The owner said she didn't think she would want to part with any of them, but she would think about it. Last week, she asked if I was still interested, and I told her that I would check with Sheri and let her know.

I was doing some maintenance work on her bathroom earlier today and she asked again, so I decided right then and there that Baxter needed a running pal. I loaded the little beagle in the car and brought her home. After a few growls to establish dominance, Baxter took to her and my dad and I could tell right away that they'd be good for each other.

As Dad and I went to run some errands in town and we started talking about dogs in general. He said that I should have some kind of dog like a Brittany Spaniel that I could train to hunt quail. We talked about that for a few minutes and then I stated that some people like to have dogs purely for companionship... and nothing more. Sure, a good hunting dog is of value to me, but I brought Baxter home after Danog disappeared just to have a dog to pal around with. Our new beagle is the same.

My heart aches tonight.

Baxter was killed by a truck coming to see me after I got home this evening. The new beagle was with him, but she was a few steps behind and escaped unharmed. Baxter was killed almost instantly. There was no yelp as he got hit, no movement or struggling as he lay in the road... just a couple of deep breaths as I had my hand on his ribs, and then he was gone.

The driver turned around and came back and was just sick about hitting him. I tried to ease his heart as mine was hurting. There was just no way to avoid hitting him... he darted into the road too fast. The driver never even got to hit the brakes.

Baxter once helped me find and kill a skunk that had taken up residence under our house. He always was ready for rib bones when we were done with them. Sheri started working with him on being a frisbee dog, and he was ok at it. He would follow the hay guys all around the whole 50 acres all day long. Last night, we were picking up some 600 bales of hay to store in the barn and he was right there with us all the way.

When he first came home, he would come upstairs with me and sleep right at the foot of the bed where I had laid out a blanket for him. He would be here in the office with me as I wrote most of my posts, laying on the floor next to me. He spent more time outdoors running lately when he started bringing in fleas with him and what a fiasco that turned out to be. He was better as an outside dog anyway.

Some friends came over a couple weeks ago for dinner, and I took their four children out to the back of our property to gather some blackberries, and we all got to watch Baxter tree not one, but two raccoons.

He was fun to be around, fun to watch, he loved people, and I'll miss his companionship.

Baxter is laying in the back field close to the blackberry patch under a nice tree now. I carried him back there and told him how sorry I was that this happened.

As the new beagle walked beside me, I cried on the way back to the house.



Good bye my friend, I'll miss you.

And I'm so sorry.

My George Washington Pie

I was pulling out of the driveway one morning recently when I noticed this:

Look at this close-up

Is this tree loaded down or what?

I thought that I would sample a few of these cherries and they were most desirous to the taste. They were somewhat on the sour side, but they had a really great flavor to them. My next door neighbor drove by while I was sampling my 45th cherry or so, and wrinkled her nose when she tasted one, but she also said that they were very good. I then had a brilliant idea.

I need to have a cherry pie !

I went into the house, grabbed a one gallon freezer bag, and filled it about halfway with freshly picked cherries, and headed over to the house that we are remodeling. Upon arriving, I found LaCinda, (the mom of the household) and asked her if I had enough cherries for a pie. The not-so-subtle hint was recognized as such, and I was heartbroken when I learned that I had only picked about half the amount needed, but she could make a couple of cherry turnovers. Tempting, but when you’ve got the salivary glands worked up for pie, turnovers just ain’t gonna cut it… know what I mean? I was, however, excited in the knowledge that my little half gallon of freshly picked cherries hadn’t even made a minor dent in the number of the little red fruits available from that tree.

I picked another half gallon or so, added them to the original bag, struggled to close the zip lock top, and stored them in her refrigerator until yesterday when she and her two daughters began to pit the cherries. Man oh man… I have been literally chomping at the bit for this pie.

So today, at exactly 3:00pm, I reached into LaCinda’s oven with my well padded and protected hands, and retrieved this:

Isn’t that a thing of beauty?

And if you think that it looks delicious, you should taste it. Oh my goodness ! ! ! That had to be the best cherry pie I have ever had the good fortune to place into my mouth. I think having the cherry tree in my yard, picking the cherries with my own hands, and knowing the person who baked the pie all contributed to the wonderful result, but the real star has to be LaCinda herself for agreeing to bake it, and then putting her skills to work to create something as simple as a pie, but as wonderful as a fine art.

I have said this before, and I wish to express it again… because it fits this situation. Anyone can throw ingredients together to create a dish, but the real flavor, the real beauty, the real artistry comes from the love that is added. Love for the process, love for the adventure of cooking, and love for the people who will partake of your efforts. I am convinced that she truly loves the home that we have created for her and her family in which they will live. That love and gratitude is apparent in each and every bite of a cherry pie that she was kind enough to bake for yours truly.

Sheri and I each had a piece after dinner tonight, and this was a difficult decision to make, but I will take the remainder of this wonderful pie to the jobsite tomorrow and share my spoils with the guys, and with the chef extraordinaire and her girls.

I was going to make some ice cream to go with it, but this particular pie stands proud and tall and true on its own merits… it’s just that good.

Thanks LaCinda

Painting, But Not By Numbers

When I was born, and by that I mean the very moment I was born, the canvas that was to become the depiction of my life was blank - totally and completely devoid of any markings. There were no sketchings or drawings on this canvas, there was no paint or watercolors, not even a smudge, there was no outline of what would eventually be painted there - it was a canvas of pure white, new and pristine and ready to receive the brush strokes from the artist’s hand that would eventually become the portrait of my life.

I do not know what the artist had in mind as the end result when the blank canvas accepted the first of many different types of markings. What kinds of markings will be on this canvas anyway? I think it may be a pencil or charcoal sketching. It will also be comprised of acrylic paints, and maybe watercolors. The end result will be comprised of many different types of medium, each carefully selected by the artist to accurately express each moment of my life.

And what about the painting itself? Will it be a painting that I would love to hang in a gallery for the world to see? Will it be something that I could hang in my own home and be proud to show it to my friends and family? Will it become something I’m ashamed to look upon with my own eyes, and be much less willing to share with anyone else? Or will this canvas hold something in between? What will it look like? Will the overall painting make sense or will it be the kind of avant-garde artwork where people of self-proclaimed higher intelligence stand around it and testify as to its brilliance and overwhelming meaning while having no earthly idea what it really represents? That’s actually probably not a bad guess, when you consider my life.

With every action I have taken, with every decision that I make and act upon, with each word that I speak, and each thought that I entertain, another brush stroke from the artist’s hand is added to this canvas. Upon further study of this image, we can see how I carried myself through this life, how my actions or words influenced others, and we can see changes that I've made in myself along the path of this life. My beliefs, my dreams, my desires, my faith… all are right there on that canvas, accurately depicted in whatever medium is chosen by the artist’s perfect knowledge of my life.

My grandfather was a very kind and gentle and wise man. I always knew him to be so even from the time I was a very small boy. He loved and cared for and provided for his wife and two daughters, one of whom is my own mother. He equally loved his five grandchildren, their spouses, and eventually his great grandchildren. After he retired, he found happiness in watching a gentleman on the PBS station in Houston by the name of William (Bill) Alexander, an artist who had a daily painting program.

From the biography of Bill Alexander we learn the following: Bill Alexander loved to paint! He knew early on that there had to be a way to capture an image on canvas before his passion for the image dimmed. He couldn't wait the necessary drying time with traditional oil painting methods and still keep his enthusiasm for the outcome. Hence, the reason for Bill's Wet-On-Wet Technique.

Applying Oil color to a wet canvas is not a new idea. For centuries, talented artist have used the Wet-On-Wet Technique to express their individual style. Claude Monet was one of the better-known artists who painted using the Wet-On-Wet method. In our lifetime, the founder of Alexander Art, William Alexander, developed the products and popularized this method to make it possible for anyone to successfully paint, what is now called, the Alexander Wet-On-Wet Technique.

Traditional methods of oil painting require high level know-how and often take weeks of layering color on a canvas to produce a single painting. The Alexander Wet-On-Wet Technique simplifies oil painting so one can finish a painting in a single day! How? By applying our slow drying base medium "Magic White" to the canvas, one can mix and layer other colors right on the canvas without waiting for layers of paint to dry. The extra thick Alexander oil colors are applied with Alexander brushes and palette knives that are designed to give a rewarding painting experience.

This is how my grandfather learned to paint, late in his life. His enjoyment in those programs and his eagerness to learn to paint became apparent, so he received a beginner’s set of painting supplies for Christmas, some canvases, an easel, paints, brushes and other tools needed for the Alexander method of painting, and he set up shop in his home to begin his short career with his new hobby, and with Bill Alexander as his instructor. He also enjoyed watching Bob Ross paint happy little clouds and such, but it was Bill that really got him started. Over time, my grandfather became quite masterful at painting and his kind and gentle wisdom that I mentioned before is easily seen in each of the paintings we have in our homes even today.

It was also a great joy to me that my grandfather and my wife Kelley would watch the daily programs together, him from his home and her from the back room of our dry cleaning shop or our home, and then they would be on the telephone to one another immediately after the program concluded to discuss in great length what they had just watched. I personally didn't get it, but I didn't really need to. This was something between them and it brought a high level of closeness and happiness to their relationship. I was content to stand on the sidelines and be very happy for the two of them.

Kelley seemed to lose her interest in painting about the same time that she lost her interest in me, but the connection to my grandfather through those television shows remained strong right up until his passing in 1993. That really meant a great deal to him, as I’m sure it did to her. She has one of his paintings in her own home to this day, and I can’t think of a better place for that painting to be. I know that he is happy for it to be with her.

One afternoon, a short time before he died but after Kelley and I were no longer married, I dropped by my grandparent’s home and found my grandfather sitting in a chair in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room where he liked to paint, and he was staring at an empty canvas perched upon the easel. His paints were ready, his other tools were there, but he wasn't painting, just staring. I quietly retreated into the living room and asked my grandmother what was going on. She shrugged her shoulders with exaggerated exasperation and explained to me that this is what he did, but she couldn't understand why someone would do such a thing as stare at a blank canvas. She actually seemed rather perturbed and impatient with this bizarre behavior. She was kind of funny like that.

I eased back into the kitchen and stood behind him for a few moments, and then asked him what he was doing. I’ll never forget his answer. He explained to me that he was searching the canvas for the painting that wanted to be painted there. He was waiting for the images to show themselves to him, and then the rest was easy… just paint what he saw. I watched him for a while and then there was a dawning of sorts on his face, and he seemed to understand at last what it was that was to be painted. He had seen it, and now it was time to paint it, and paint it he did. I don’t remember which of his many beautiful paintings he painted that day, but he saw it right there on the canvas even before he made the first stroke with his brush.

Not all of his paintings turned out the way he saw them. Sometimes he had to make corrections, sometimes he had to white it all out and start all over, and sometimes he just realized that what he was painting wasn't what he set out to paint and made adjustments and alterations to his original vision and created something different, but just as magical and beautiful and awe inspiring.

When I think of the canvas that will ultimately contain the portrait of my life, I think back on what it was like before the first brush stroke was applied, and I wonder what the artist saw as it was gazed upon, when the image of my life manifested itself for the eyes of the painter to see. Was it an image that was pleasing to the eyes? Was this to be a painting that would inspire, and spread cheer and good feelings to all those who gazed upon it? This canvas, with all of its colors and imagery, would be an accurate reflection of my life, all of the good, all of the bad, all of the beauty and every last bit of the ugliness. Would the artist be smiling with each stroke of the brush or is this portrait to become one that the artist really didn't desire to create but knew at the same time that it must be so.

We each have our own canvas, and it started off just as pure and clean as mine was the moment I was born, as unblemished and spotless and full of hope and possibilities and potential as the one in the doorway between my grandfather’s kitchen and dining room while he was staring at it. And while we cannot be the one holding the brushes and other tools, we are influencing the artist with each of our actions, with our behaviors, with the way we conduct ourselves, and even with our faith in the artist.

I take my canvas out every once in a while a take a good hard look at it. It’s unfinished, to be sure, and some spots are a little rough and could use some touch up. I don’t always like what I see, but I never dare to complain about the image, for it is truly an accurate depiction of who and what I am. When I see something in that great painting that is not to my liking, I cannot expect it to be erased or altered, because that would negate the precision of the depiction on this canvas of my life. It would be nice to be able to suggest to the artist to draw more of the good stuff, but let’s hide the unpleasant things over in an obscure corner where they’re less likely to be noticed. In actuality, we can suggest that all day long, but the artist cannot be interested in portraying anything but the true life of the subject being applied to that canvas. The artist can never be convinced to portray us in any way that is even slightly inconsistent with the way we choose to live our lives. It may not always be to our liking, but it’s fair, and right.

So how can I make my painting be one that the artist will enjoy painting? How can anyone? I think the answer lies in looking at the canvas often, studying it with honest eyes, making the changes in life that would be worthy of a change in the portrait, and most of all, in asking the artist what it is that should be painted. It was promised to each of us a long, long time ago that if we will ask the artist what he would like to paint, the image will be shown to us. Isn't that just like my grandfather’s experience with his own paintings? Then once we are shown that image, all we have to do is paint it, or in this case we must live our lives in a manner that will allow the master artist to apply the brush in his hand to our canvas to create the image that was shown to us.

But we can’t just ask and then not look for the image. And we won’t be shown the image unless we demonstrate to the artist that we are willing to make the changes necessary to change the painting. Faith in the artist’s infinite wisdom and enough desire to please the artist to take the appropriate actions are required for us to influence what goes on our canvases, and also what gets covered up by new paint never to be seen again. Yes, I believe that can happen as well. My grandfather did that from time to time, and so will the artist working on our own portraits. All we have to do is ask, and then wait for the image to appear to us, and then live our lives in a way that will create a life portrait of beauty and inspiration.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but as for my painting, I don’t want it to become some forgotten piece of artwork, regarded by the artist as an effort that didn't turn out as he would have liked, collecting dust over in a corner, and facing the wall so no one can see. I don’t want to have to explain to the artist why I lived my life in such a manner that created this unwanted piece of art. I can’t bring myself to look into the saddened eyes of the artist and describe how I didn't care enough to seek out the image that he really wanted to paint, and that I really didn't have enough faith to ask what it was that he wished to put on that canvas.

I don’t want the portrait of my life to be looked upon with disgust or sadness. I wouldn't want it to become as a carnival side show, ugly and disappointing to the eye of the beholder but still drawing viewers to it as they are unable to look away from its hideousness. I surely would see these reactions and want to change the work on the canvas, to grab some paint and change the image myself, make it pretty and delightful to the eyes, or even cover it up with a fresh coat of white paint, but it’s going to be too late then, isn't it?

So as I now look upon this canvas that is a true depiction and representation of my life and the way I live it, I can see some things that need changing. As I ask the artist what it is that should be painted, and ask with real intent, and having enough faith that the artist will show me what is to be painted, all I have to do now is close my eyes, shut out the world for a spell, and wait for the image to appear, just as it appeared to my grandfather as he stared at the blank canvas upon the easel between his kitchen and dining room so many years ago.

Once I can clear away enough of the messy debris from in front of my mind’s eye so as to see what is desired for me, then I will know what to do. I hope that my painting is one that can be proudly and prominently displayed in the artist’s home, just as one of my grandfather’s is proudly and prominently displayed in my home.

I hope to see yours there too… right next to mine.

Until next time…

Front Porch Sittin'

It's a beautiful evening here tonight... good front porch sittin' type evening. I was doing just that a little bit ago after I finished painting the downstairs bedroom. The sun was just going down and I thought I would sit out there instead of watching the conclusion of "Remember The Titans" on ABC Family. I got myself a glass of water and pulled a comfortable chair out there and just sat.

The sky was growing darker by the minute, clouds turning from white to pink and orange to dark blue, now just shadows with an almost purple sky peeking through here and there. Because of the cloud cover, I couldn't really see too many stars tonight. The moon is waxing at about half but I couldn't really see where it was, again because of the clouds. The humidity is up just a little, but not enough to make the air even slightly uncomfortable.

The crickets were chirping from all directions. A dog somewhere far off was barking at nothing in particular, it sounded like. Occasionally I could hear one the cows from across the street mooing very low and soft, as if to let the other cows know that she was turning in for the night. My dog Baxter was laying on the porch next to me and the two cats Gordon and Frankie were content to park themselves on the table next to my chair. Gordon needed the top of his head rubbed and scratched every few minutes.

A few cars went by our house, people on their way home from work or going to the little store just down our road I guess. I didn't get the feeling that any of the occupants of those cars were out for a night on the town. I could be wrong about that, but it's just not likely. Not on a Wednesday night on Highway O in Ava. There's a raccoon that comes up onto the porch late at night and our cats are kind enough to share their cat food with him. I'm not sure how voluntary this act of benevolence truly is, but the cats are still around and I haven't found any dead raccoons as of yet. I tried to be very still and quiet while I was sitting on the porch to see if I could spot ol' dark eyes, but no such luck. Maybe I'll spot him some other night.

I could see the lights on in my next door neighbor’s house across the field that separates us. Fern lives alone, is well into her eighties, still gets on her tractor and mows her lawn. I wonder if she was watching "American Idol" tonight. It surprises me sometimes to find out who watches that show. I start watching the auditions, but lose interest after a few weeks. Sheri's mother watches it with some of her friends. I'm curious if her gatherings are like what I'm planning for my own watching parties when "24" starts up again. Probably not, but it's kind of fun to imagine something like that.

I called Kelly (Sheri's step-mother) this evening from out on the porch to check on her and Sheri's father. Things are going well in Michigan. I didn't talk as long as I would have liked, but she's pretty busy these days and it's an hour later there than here anyway. I tried to call Jessica, but she didn't answer her phone. I tried to call a few other people too, but couldn't get anyone. I hope it's because everyone else was sitting on their front porches too.

I used to sit on our front porch on evenings like this when I was in high school back in Texas. Even then I instinctively understood that I had to remove myself from the frenetic world once in a while and learn to relax enough to enjoy the simplicity and serenity of a cool summer evening. From my front porch in Texas, I could see several transmitter towers a few miles away. They all had a series of red flashing lights that blinked in a seemingly random manner. I would just watch them and it didn't take long for me to memorize the patterns of those flashing lights.

Often, I would be sitting out there after a considerable amount of time in a swimming pool, either in our back yard or over at my friend Rick's house. Man, we put in some serious time in swimming pools when I was in high school. We were mostly in Rick's pool, and that was all right with me because his back yard was always in a state of landscaping and the smell of that bark mulch stuff they use in flower beds combined with the smell of the chlorinated pool water added to the atmosphere of fun-having. To this day those two smells can trigger some pretty powerful memories.

Sitting on the front porch after some time in the pool was a great finish to a great day. There would be a hazy ring around the gas lamp in our front yard, and around the street lights, and even around the moon caused by my time in the swimming pool. That ring signified to me that it had been a pretty good day.

Sometimes I would take a little clock radio out there with me and listen to the hits of the day while I watched those lights. Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" or "Muskrat Love" by The Captain and Tennille. I was dating a girl by the name of Debbie and our song was Chicago's "If You Leave Me Now" until we changed it to "Weekend in New England" by Barry Manilow. This was back before rap, before punk and boy bands, and even back before disco. The hardest thing we listened to was Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven."

How could my life as a youth of fourteen or fifteen seem so complicated and frenzied and convoluted at the time, and yet so simple and carefree in retrospect?

Sometimes, one or both of my sisters would come and join me, but usually not. Once in a while, one of my friends would come over and we'd sit out there and talk about girls, or school, or girls, or music, or what time we were meeting after our parents went to sleep so we could swim the ponds on the golf course and collect golf balls... or girls. Around the neighborhood, sounds of other kids playing and laughing could be heard. We would hear someone's mother calling them in for supper from the next street over. The smells of different dinners being cooked were floating by on the breeze, a whiff of meatloaf one second, and then the aroma of spaghetti as the breeze shifted.

There was something special in those kinds of summer nights on the front porch. I couldn't begin to explain what that special something was, but it was here in Ava on this night.

So tonight, I was sitting on our front porch and thinking about days past sitting on other front porches, listening to the beautiful noises of the crickets and dogs and cows as they perform their nightly symphony, wanting to share the moment with Sheri, and wishing that some of my friends or maybe Rebecca or Jessica or Justin could come over so we could talk about... whatever. It wouldn't matter what we talked about. The conversation would be mostly meandering, would probably be pointless, and would no doubt be forgotten in a day or two.

I need more evenings like this... on my front porch. I plan on spending a little more time out there and a little less time in front of the television this summer. If you get a chance, stop on by and sit a spell... I'll even make a fresh pitcher of lemonade.

As for now, I’m going back on the porch and wait for Sheri to get home from work in about a half hour.

Until next time...

When my number is called

When I was a kid, I used to look forward to Christmas because my 2 sisters and I would always be with our 2 cousins from Dallas. We would eat the huge meal, and open a few presents on Christmas Eve, then it was off to bed where we’d talk to each other through the walls and closed doors, while convincing ourselves that we were trying our hardest to fall asleep so Santa would come. Every year, we would wake up on Christmas morning to find all of the gifts that were left for us during the night.

Invariably, there was always one toy under the tree that was better than all of the other kids toys, one toy that everyone wanted to play with, one toy that was the coolest, or fanciest, or funnest... one toy that eventually would become the subject of much squabbling and bickering. Our parents tried to use such occasions to teach us about sharing. Let someone else play with it for a while. We had other toys after all and we shouldn’t be greedy or selfish. We’ll get our chance to play with it again. Tough lesson for a kid to learn, but one that we carry with us throughout our lives.

My grandfather was like that favorite toy on Christmas morning. Our family had many chances and countless opportunities to enjoy him, and his life, and his passions while he was here on this Earth. In 1993, he died after a lengthy illness, and I came to understand through my own grief that it’s time to share now and we have to let the Angels have their turn with him. I will have another chance to enjoy time with him. As for now however, I have our own other affairs to tend to after all, and life does go on for the rest of us, myself included. I have others that still need my love and attention.

Forget not lest ye be forgotten, but we cannot forsake the loved ones we still have among us.

I hear conversations from time to time (as I'm sure you all have as well) among people discussing how they would like to die, if given a choice. Watch the movie "Grumpy Old Men" and you'll get a small taste of such a discussion. I hadn't really given the subject much thought, until the other day when I read a post from my good friend Ben. You can read it here still swimming with sharks. It's basically about his fear of sharks versus his love of surfing, but it's really well written and you won't be disappointed if you go and read it yourself.

I responded to his post by saying "Jumping into the jaws of "whitey" (Ben's nickname for the great white) wouldn't be my first choice on the "fun things to do" list either, but you know as well as I do that when it's time to go and your number is called, there ain't a whole lot you can do about it... and if it happens while you're doing something that you really love (ahem, surfing), then so much the better."

This really is how I think about the subject at hand, but my response was also a little tongue-in-cheek at the time I wrote it. In the time since however, the thought has stayed with me and I've had time to really think about how I would like to go, if I had any choice in the matter at all.

Dale Earnhardt went doing something he truly loved... racing. Sheri and I were watching that race back in 2001 and were shocked along with the rest of the racing fan community when we learned that he was gone. Many said that he died too young, that he went way before his time, that his death could have been avoided, and other things of that nature, but I wonder.

Amelia Earhart also comes to mind. She also was doing what she loved... in this case, flying.

Indian Larry was a person known in motorcycle circles as much for his made from scratch motorcycles as his antics. He would STAND on his motorcycle at highways speeds. Yes, STAND! Of course, with no helmet. He died, unfortunately, when he fell off his motorcycle doing his famous standing while riding act.

Steve Irwin (The Crocodile Hunter) died in a dreadful accident. Although it's ironic that this particular deadly event was in a most unexpected manner compared to the dangerous situations that he placed himself countless times, his young death wasn't completely unexpected. I've seen him make comments on TV that he was completely in control.

There are those who will say that the idea of "At least they died doing something they loved" is ridiculous, that it would be far better to be alive with the people that care about you than to die performing an insignificant, meaningless, dangerous life-taking act.

Some will say the bottom line is that while Dale, Almelia, Indian Larry and Steve arguably made tremendous steps in pushing their fields forward at least in part by their outrageous acts, it makes one wonder was it worth it? Some will ask if they were your loved one, would you rather have them around for life events, good times and bad times, birthdays and holidays ahead, or would you rather know they died doing what they loved? There's a good point in there... if you believe that life is random and that we really have some say as to when our time on Earth is up. Personally, I don't subscribe to that theory.

Do you ever consider someone who has died while really enjoying life to the fullest and think about how lucky they are to go that way, or is it just me? And is it really luck anyway? I can't help but wonder if God is watching and calls some of His children home at a time when they're the happiest. I don't know if that really happens, but I like to think that God does things like that sometimes.

I know people who have been sick and made to endure a period of discomfort at best, and utter pain and agony at worst, before being called home. I don't pretend to know why God chooses to put good people through this, my grandfather for example, but I do know that there is a purpose, even if we are incapable of understanding that reason at this time. I also know other people who have had a friend or family member go through this before passing through the veil.

When my time is up, I don't want it to be after a long and debilitating disease like my grandfather. That seems a little selfish of me to want that, perhaps more than a little, but if that is what God has planned for me, then that's what I will do. Do I really have a choice? I don't want to be in pain any more than anyone else does. When it's time for me to go, I want to go healthy and happy... but I especially wish that for all of my friends and family. Each and every last one of them.

But here's the thing, and there's really no way around this... all of this thinking about when and where and how is really a moot point, because as I said in my response to my friend Ben, when it's time to go and your number is called, there ain't a whole lot you can do about it. We don't get to choose the time. We don't get to decide how. We don't get to determine where we'll be and what we'll be doing. It's not up to us. All we can really do is prepare and try to be ready.

Not to try to sound morbid or anything, but the day will come for all of us, and when it does for me, I hope that I am ready and willing and will hear the words “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou has been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” Matt. 25:21 For that, I will endure anything God has in store for me, and will try not to complain about the manner of the journey.

But if it happens just after sinking a birdie putt on the 18th green to cap off a particularly satisfying round of golf at the Augusta National Golf Club, then so much the better.

I'm just saying... in case anyone is listening.

Until next time...

Scratching Behind the Ears

I crawled into bed with Sheri and discovered Guapo (the grey cat) was under the covers where he likes to sleep next to her. He wasn't ready to sleep and still had some playing around to do, so Sheri politely invited him to get out from under the covers. He did so, planting himself next to my head, and proceeded to scratch behind his right ear with his right foot in a vigorous manner. I commented to Sheri that I would like to be able to scratch behind my ears with my foot, to which she responded by informing me that when I start doing that, I would be sharing the cats' litter box instead of having my own bathroom.

I thought it would be a good time to get up and write a little bit and let her fall asleep before she gets any other bright ideas.

I started thinking about what I had said though... about being able to scratch behind my ears with my foot... how cool would THAT be? Then I started thinking about some of the other abilities animals have that would certainly be useful to me if I could have those same powers.

Take bats, for instance. Bats avoid obstacles and nab insects on the wing by emitting ultrasonic squeaks and interpreting the echo the sound waves make after bouncing off objects in the environment. This biological sonar, called "echolocation," is also used by dolphins to navigate murky waters. If Sheri ever does take away my bathroom, this echolocation that bats and dolphins are able to do would sure come in handy when I'm trying to get to the litter box in the middle of the night.

Did you ever play hide-and-seek when you were a kid? Do you play it now with your children? It's a fun game, but never play hide-and-seek with a shark because you'll lose. Sharks have special cells in their brains that are sensitive to the electrical fields other creatures generate. This ability is so refined in some sharks that they can find fish hiding under sand by the weak electric signals their twitching muscles emit.

And here I am, unable to tell if a raccoon has entered my bedroom until it runs across my face. As far as the electricity... I have to get "bit" by 120 volts a few times before my brain is jolted enough to go flip the breaker to the "off" position before wiring the light switch or electrical outlet in the homes that I build. If I were a shark, I would save myself a lot of agony and pain... plus it would be cool to always know where someone is hiding.

Snakes... besides being able to slither around without any arms or legs, temperature-sensitive organs located between the eyes and nostrils of boas and pit vipers allow the snakes to sense the body heat of their prey. There is one located on each side of the snakes' head, so the animals can perceive depth and strike with deadly accuracy even in complete darkness. I can't even tell when my food is too hot to eat without ending up with seared flesh from the inside of my own mouth. I'd like the ability to be as menacing as snakes are too. Just once I'd like someone to spot me out of the corner of their eye and then turn and run right smack into a tree. Maybe I should haul out my driver’s license photo once in a while.

For moths, the term "love is in the air" is something to be taken literally. The furry insects can detect chemical love signals, called "pheromones," emitted by the opposite sex from up to seven-miles away. Some studies show humans also detect pheromones, but the effect seems to require close encounters. Seriously, do front porch lights emit these pheromones, or what? It would be awesome to detect anything from seven miles away, but I'm not sure I could handle that whole slamming myself into a light bulb as a trade off for having that talent.

This one is kinda neat... Most rats have poor vision, but they make up for it with the "whiskers" on their snouts. They use the long hairs, also called "vibrissae," in the same way that blind people use canes. By whisking the hairs across objects the come across, rats and other rodents form mental pictures of their surroundings. I keep telling Sheri that I need to keep my whiskers for this very reason, but she's not buying into it. And why don't these rats have food in their whiskers after they eat like I do?

Anyway... these are the kinds of things I think about when I'm trying to fall asleep. Not really all that surprising then that I have dreams about Cheech and Chong being missionaries for our church.

Some people manage to even develop super powers based on some otherwise loathsome members of the animal kingdom. Spiders, bats, and teenaged turtles pop instantly into my mind. I wonder what kind of superhero I could be if I picked an animal based on my personality or some other feature that I possess. Scary thought on so many different levels, huh?

I'm not totally convinced that all of my running around the house with a towel clothespinned around my neck at the tender age of 11 is a sufficient prerequisite for my foray into the superhero business anyway.

If the personality of my alter-ego mirrored my own, then I suppose a crime fighting, cape wearing gastropod by the name of "slug-man" might be slowly oozing down main street in Smalltown America awaiting for the next crime spree. Doesn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of organized crime figures, I'm afraid. Besides, while Kryptonite might be difficult to obtain for the population, the one thing that would stop me in my tracks as Slug-Man can be found in any kitchen across the land... in the form of salt.

I could be like the Incredible Hulk, except I don't exactly have a body-builder physique. I'd be more like the Incredible Bulk, growing fatter and fatter when I get angry... or hungry. "You don't want to make me hungry, you crime guy, you. You wouldn't like me when I get hungry." I'm not really sure how I could fight crime by eating and growing huge, but it's kinda fun to think about, especially if I get to carry holsters filled with Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream.

I'm always thinking about stuff, so Owl-Guy might fit the bill... I even wear glasses now to complete the effect. I'm much better at night anyway. Owls have two main methods to hunt their prey. The first one is called perch and pounce. The owl would find their prey and sit on a perch. Then the owl will quietly leap on their prey and take the prey back to its nest. The second way to hunt is the quartering method. Open-country owls usually use this. The owl will be soaring over the sky looking for its prey and then it'll swoop down and grab the prey. With either method I choose to catch criminals of the century, I'm sure that everyone across the land would sleep much better knowing that Owl-Guy is prowling and patrolling the skies.

I don't know. Maybe I'm not really cut out to be a superhero. Maybe I should just stick to building houses and leave the crime fighting to those with real animal skills.

In the meantime, I'm going to visit my chiropractor this week to see if he can help me with that original thought I had while watching my cat. I'm still going to work on the scratching behind my ears with my foot. If for no other reason, I want to be able to handle that pesky itch and still keep both hands on my chicken sandwich.

I'm just saying.

Until next time...

We Don't Remember Days...

Today is Sheri's birthday.

I gave the crew the day off because it was raining and because I wanted to spend the day with Sheri anyway. She has been wanting to paint the downstairs bedroom so we got some stuff to do that, and we went to a steakhouse and had a very enjoyable and relaxing lunch. Our waiter was a guy named Allen and he took very good care of us. He even offered us dessert! What a guy, huh?

We went into Springfield to get a few things for her and also to pick up some materials for the remodel job that's rapidly and finally coming to an end. As Sheri was trying on some articles of clothing (I couldn't help with this one), I was wandering around the store and while I was looking in the menswear department, I made the decision that all of the neckties that I purchase from now on will contain the color purple. I then found myself in the home decor section where I saw something that made me pause and think about the day.

It was neutral in color and simple in design and would fit very nicely in any home. It was a wall plaque with a little nugget of thought provoking (at least in my case) wisdom. We have several of those in our home already... there's one that says "Pray Always" that Sheri made in Relief Society, and one that hangs above the big picture window in our living room that states "Love is Spoken Here." Rebecca made that one at girl’s camp a few years ago. There's one that reads "Everything for a Reason" that Sheri received for her birthday last year from our good friend Melinda, and there's one that Rebecca made for a family home evening that she conducted that advises us all to "Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them."

The one that I saw today made me think about different moments in my life. I remember the day that Sheri and I got married, because we celebrate that day every year as our anniversary. I remember lots of dates like that, birthdays and anniversaries and holidays and so on. Other important or memorable events occurred on dates not remembered by me.

In August of 1977, I was vacationing with a friend and his family and we had just finished a tour of the Alamo in San Antonio when we heard that Elvis had passed away. I don't remember the date, but I remember the moment. Many of my parent’s generation remember where they were when they heard about the assassination of President Kennedy, or Martin Luther King Jr., or that of JFK's brother Bobby.

I recall how I felt when I realized that I was in love with Sheri, but I have no idea when exactly that was. I remember the same with my first wife Kelley, but also have no clue as to when it was. You just don't forget those kinds of things, but some of the unimportant details have a way of fading, probably to make room for more of the really meaningful things.

We all have those monumental moments that we keep within our memory banks... which brings me back to that plaque I saw this morning. It said simply, "We Don't Remember Days, We Remember Moments."

I hadn't really thought about it before, but man, how true is that?

I don't know when Sheri and I made the decision to move to Missouri, but I sure do recall the thought process that went into our decision, and then the decision itself. I cannot recollect the day I asked her to marry me, but I sure do recall asking her. That was a special moment, and the day it occurred just isn't as important as the event.

Does the day really matter anyway? I don't think it does. In the big picture, it's the moments in which we feel the most emotion that really shape our lives and form who we become. If you read a good book that moves you, you'll remember that and it will cause a change in some part of your behavior or habits.

The same goes for people you meet. Some of the people I've had the privilege to know have had a profound impact upon me. It's not the time we spent together, but the moments we shared. I don't know off the top of my head the date that Jaya was born, but I remember her mom planting a light kiss on my cheek and thanking me for caring so much. Until then I never really knew if she realized how much I cared for the whole family, but in that seemingly ordinary moment, I discovered that I was doing it right, and that made a difference to me.

Meeting people for the first time is often forgettable. That's not always so, as in the case of love at first sight. I remember the first time I laid my eyes upon Sheri. She was waiting for me in the airport and was wearing a very pink dress and standing near a wall to my left. Those kinds of meetings are engrained into our minds, but most first meetings aren't.

I can't remember the first time I met many of the people I knew from church back in Richmond, but it's easy to recall the last time I saw them, especially those who moved away when we were still there. The effects of a hurting heart have a way of lingering for a while, and we remember those last times because there's more emotion invested in the moment... especially when there's a "goodbye" to go along with it.

A little more than a decade ago, my family enjoyed a little piece of land in Texas that my father had purchased. He dubbed the 26 acres "Seven Oaks" and we spent many happy days there as a family. The things that I really loved about the place though, were the moments that were available to us while we were there. We didn't have a telephone in the house, and we didn't allow a television to be taken there. That wasn't the purpose of our visits to this special place.

Seven Oaks was an opportunity to create moments sitting around the fire and telling stories that we had already heard countless times before. It was a place where the little kids would eat their lunches in an old chicken coop (or maybe it was a rabbit hutch, I'm not really sure) up in a tree that Sam and I had cleaned out for them. Our little escape from the rest of the world was a place to fix up and enjoy for what it was... a retreat.

We cooked everything outside, mostly because there was no stove or oven in the house, but also because everything just tastes so darned better cooked that way. I remember cooking breakfast on a cast iron griddle over coals dug out of the fire pit from last night's fire. You've never had a breakfast so fulfilling.

The best moment was an Easter Sunday when we held our own church meeting. We sang hymns, a couple of kids gave short talks, and Gordon (Sam's dad) gave a really special talk about the important meaning of the day. Even more than the day itself, that was a moment worth remembering.

I can only hope that the kids who got to enjoy the place have some of those kinds of moments to carry with them throughout their lives. They were kind of young back then, but they do remember the name "Seven Oaks" and how much fun it was to be there.

I certainly can't tell anyone what their special moments in life are, or should be. Everyone has their own. I have mine and you have yours. So as I was standing there in front of that plaque today, I thought briefly about what it was saying to me.

We don't remember days, we remember moments.

What is it that makes a special moment so much more than just a memory? I think it's emotions, as I eluded to before. The moments in our lives that really make a difference are driven by emotion. And the range of emotions that are involved is vast and wide indeed. What are some of these feelings that make the moments in our lives? That depends.

For me, the equal but opposite feelings of pleasure and pain are the two that make such moments. Who can forget the first time they looked into the eyes of their child, or the time they had to watch as that same child was suffering? Who can't recall the feeling of falling in love for the first time, or the feeling of your first broken heart? Who has difficulty remembering coming to the realization that you have a really special friend, and when you had to say goodbye to that friend.

These are the kinds of moments that matter... at least to me. And it's those moments that carry the true wealth, not where I was, not what day it was, and not who witnessed it. The true meaning is deep within the emotions felt at the time. Pleasure... pain... fear... peace... love... hatred... joy... anger... all of the experiences we have that cause these (and other) strong emotional feelings are what we remember.

We also have the unique ability to create moments, sometimes by design and sometimes by accident. I don't know why I remember sitting my dad's car at a drive-in movie and watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" while I was assembling some leather moccasins I had received for Christmas earlier in the day. My dad doesn't remember that night... a moment created by accident.

I also remember creating a meal for Sheri and I in Richmond that we enjoyed at a table set up under the big oak tree in the back yard as the sun was going down. That was one that worked out as planned so I'm going to take a moment here and pat myself on the back and take credit for creating a special moment. To reiterate the essence of this post, I have no clue as to what day of the week my special dinner happened, or anything else about that day.

We don't remember days, we remember moments.

Christmas is another example. Christmas was always special when I was a kid. I don't always remember which Christmas something special happened, but I do remember the moments. When my cousin Kevin and I played with his tabletop hockey game for hours on end, or when we tried to knock each other's block off with the Rock 'em sock 'em robots, or even when he and my sister Linda turned my brand new tent into their own vertical trampoline of sorts. All of those moments are indelibly etched into my brain, even though I have no recollection of anything else that happened on those days.

So even though I don't remember when I first met many of my friends, I do remember special moments I had with them. I can't recall all the times Rebecca and I spent together, but I do have some very special memories of some of our meaningful conversations together. And while I can't remember anything else that happened on the day when I first heard Jessica laugh out loud, I do remember exactly where we were and what I did that made her giggle for a few brief seconds.

I don't know what we will or won't remember on the other side of the veil, but I am very thankful that at least in this life we have our moments to remember, even if we don't remember the day or anything else that happened on that day.

I also believe that we will have more of those moments if we keep our eyes tuned into our daily lives in such a way that we will recognize them as they are happening. I think that we get so caught up in just surviving that we don't notice the special events until they are over and we can only relive them in memory. Focus your attention on not only what is happening at any given moment in time, but also on the meanings of such moments, and I think that you will find that those special moments not only happen more frequently, but become even more special as they are happening.

Some years from now, I hope I will remember the day that Sheri and I spent together today, and when I saw that plaque, and my decision about purple in my neckties... the special, and sometimes goofy moments that made today memorable. And even though I probably won't remember exactly which one of Sheri's birthdays these things happened, I can live with that.

We don't remember days, we remember moments.

Until next time...

When the cows are lying down...

My dad and I were on the road together the other day, and when we saw a bunch of cows laying down in a field he told me something that his father had passed down to him many years ago. It was one of those things that you'd expect to hear from someone who has been around the block a few times. My father has a lot of these adages himself, no doubt learning them from his own father, or from a friend who learned it from a parent.

As I thought about the so-called truism that my father had stated to me, I began to reflect on the many other "facts" that I have learned in my life. Some are nothing more than false urban legends, others are based on someone's interpretation of a certain experience, while others are facts that you could bet your life on and still wake up on the green side of the grass tomorrow morning.

According to Wikipedia, a truism is a claim that is so obvious or self-evident as to be hardly worth mentioning, except as a reminder or as a rhetorical or literary device. I'm not sure my father's "fact" about the meaning of non-standing cows falls under this definition, but neither do many of what some would call a truism. "Cats are mammals" is a statement which is true by definition, is based on findings by our scientific community, and is uncontestable, so it can easily be called a truism.

An axiom on the other hand, is a proposition that is not proved or demonstrated but considered to be self-evident. Therefore, its truth is taken for granted, and serves as a starting point for deducing and inferring other (theory dependent) truths. OK... this is more like it.

So what are some of these nuggets of wisdom, or axioms, that I've learned over the years, and what exactly do they mean?

From my 80-something year old next-door neighbor, Fern: When the frogs are singing before Easter, they'll be looking up through ice after Easter. Easy enough. If you hear the frogs singing before Easter, we're going to get at least one more freeze after Easter. Well... at least for the two winters we've lived here, ol' Fern was right. Last year we got it so bad that we lost all of our peaches on our peach tree. This year wasn't nearly as bad, but it did get down below 32 degrees Fahrenheit a couple of nights after Easter. I can't help but wonder... how do frogs know when Easter is? Maybe we should try to understand frog language along with dolphin squeaks and squeals and whale songs. Someone bring that up in the next scientists meeting, will you please?

Never wrestle a pig. You both get dirty and the pig likes it. I can see how someone might think that, but what if you were to take the pig into a regular wrestling ring for the contest? Who says the pig gets to have the home field advantage? I see guys like Hulk Hogan and Wahoo McDaniel wrestle, and they don't get dirty. They get sweaty, but certainly not all muddy. And who says pigs like to be dirty anyway? As I understand it, pigs and humans are two of only a few mammals that get burned by the sun, and us humans build houses and invent sunscreen to keep ourselves from frying. Pigs cover themselves in mud out of necessity, not for pleasure... or has someone already mentioned to that scientists meeting about learning other animal languages and we can understand pig now? Or is it possible that I've just not spent enough time in barnyards to know when a pig is smiling and therefore happy? I'm just asking.

How about this one? The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I personally don't agree with this one. I have a fear of heights, or rather I'm afraid of being in high places if there's an opportunity to fall. I'm not afraid of that fear either... I happen to like that fear. I want to keep that particular fear, because it keeps me from places where a fall followed by a sudden stop as I make contact with the ground is possible. That's difficult to explain, given my fondness for flying, or my desire to skydive someday, huh? For a great many people, public speaking is feared more than even death. I happen to enjoy speaking, and I'm not really all that afraid of my own mortality, so I'll just hold on to my little fear of gravitational forces on Lynn, and keep my feet as close to the ground as I can.

Here's one I remember from my childhood. Chewing gun takes seven years to pass through the human digestive system. There is nothing to support this rumor. As sticky as chewing gum might appear to be outside the body, once it's sent down the alimentary canal it's no more remarkable in that respect than most anything else we swallow. Although gum resists the body's efforts to break it down, it does not linger in the stomach. Gum is eliminated in the same way, and at the same rate, as any other swallowed matter.

I'd swallowed so much gum in the previous seven year stretch when I heard this that I was amazed that I had any room left to eat another single meal. I know that most people don't swallow their gum, but I've had more gum stuck to the bottom my shoes that I figured it was better for the Earth and the environment if I were to just get rid of it in the same manner that I dispose of most things that go into my mouth. Just a side note here... if you didn't step or sit on a piece of old gum today, you can thank me next time you see me. I just thought I would mention that.

Here's an oldie but goodie... Hair grows back darker or thicker after it has been shaved. Is there any man on Earth who wouldn't shave his head at the first sign of hair loss if this were true? It doesn't grow back thicker or darker for you women who shave legs and under your arms, and it doesn't grow back thicker and darker for us guys who shave our faces and the occasional hairy back. I choose to not shave my face most of the time for other reasons, not for fear of a darker and thicker beard. And as for back shaving... OK, I only did that once, and it was a miserable experience. It wasn't really a shaving anyway, but one of those things that you spray on and wipe off after a few minutes. And then Rebecca thought it would be a good idea one time to do that wax thing on my chest, but that wasn't all that delightful either. I couldn't take off my shirt for a month until those two patches grew back on the pecs.

So you women (and men too I guess, if you do that sort of thing) keep on shaving the legs and under the arms, and we men will continue to shave our faces (well, not me personally), and I'll keep the razors away from my rapidly receding hairline until someone can prove otherwise.

Remember this from our mothers? If you keep making that face, it's going to freeze like that. I'm making that face right now, and it doesn't feel frozen. However... one look at my driver's license makes me think twice about this one. YIKES ! ! ! And a close cousin to this one is... If you cross your eyes they will stay that way. Hasn't Hasn't happened happened yet yet. Uh oh.

If a picture falls off a wall, it is a sign of death. What? I have cats and a dog that knock pictures (and everything within reach) off of our walls, tables, counters, cabinets, and dressers. As far as I can tell, no one in this house has died because of it. I suppose if it were a life-sized portrait of Andre' the Giant framed with three by six inch solid oak and it fell off the wall directly on my head, there might be some bodily damage, perhaps even death... but I have nothing like that in my home. That reminds me, I need to talk to Sheri about getting one of those for our living room... I'll just have to remember to not hang it on the wall.

If your right hand itches, you will receive money; if the left itches, you will get a letter. My hands usually both itch at the same time, due mostly to my handling of some kind of substance that should kept off of hands. Be that as it may, I'd be sprinkling itching powder on my right hand as often as possible if I thought it would help my finances.

An apple a day will keep the doctor away. Good advice, but it's not just apples, you know. Fruits and vegetables are an essential part of a healthy diet for strong bones, mental strength, and a healthy body. And do you really think if you stop eating apples a doctor will actually make a house call? Get real.

Hang a dead snake on a fence belly-up for rain. Someone around these parts and in the Ozarks and the plains states has a lot of very tough questions to answer about dead snakes. Enough belly-up on the fence already.

A sneezing cat is a sign of future wealth. Who thinks of these things? A sneezing cat is a sign of fits of uncontrollable laughter... and cat snot all over the house. Do they even make NyQuil for cats? I guess I could charge people to come over and watch the cat sneeze for a while, but I'm not sure the little money I'd make from such a money-making venture would qualify as "wealth".

You must get out of bed on the same side that you get in or you will have bad luck. I haven't really challenged this one yet... I always get into bed on the top side, and I don't remember ever moving to the bottom during the night.

Throw salt over the shoulder to dispel bad luck. I saw a guy do this in a Chinese buffet restaurant just the other day. He sat down with two full plates of food, picked up the salt shaker, poured some into his hand, look around to see if anyone was behind him or watching, and over the shoulder it went. I never understood that one.

Don't step on a crack on a sidewalk or walkway. You'll break your Mothers' back. I heard this one a lot when I was a kid, and I still don't step on cracks when I can help it. I'm not as worried about that as I am about having to count the stairs every time I go up or down them. Don't ask me why I do that... but I learned in a college psychology course that both habits are signs of neurosis. Explains a lot, doesn't it.

And the list goes on and on.

Author and New York Times writer Anahad O’ Connor made it his mission to find out about many of these old wives tales. In his new book Never Shower In A Thunderstorm (Times Books, 2007), O’Connor separates fact from fiction. “I think a lot of people take the things they’re told for granted,” he says. “A lot of the claims I’d come upon I’d been hearing since I was five or six, whether it was from a parent or a kid in school. I figured this has to be right because it was ingrained into our culture. People need to not take these tales for granted. They need to realize there are a lot of scientists trying to dig at these to get to the truth.”

OK, good. So they're working on these, which means that someone got that message to the scientific community. In the meantime, here are a few more to ponder as you go about your lives.

Don't tickle an infants feet; it will make them stutter when they get old enough to talk.

If a knife drops, a man will come to visit; if a fork drops, a woman will come to visit. Neither men nor women come to visit me because I always seem to be dropping silverware.

If a bird flies in the house; a death is soon to come. To the bird, if I have anything to say about it.

Cure a toothache by spitting into a frog's mouth and ask it to carry the pain away.
Uh, Ben? I really need to talk to you.

If you dream of muddy water it is a sign of death. Muddy Waters, the blues singer?

If you dream about a wedding it is a sign of a birth. Does this mean she shouldn't wear white?

If you dream about a snake; you have an enemy. Dreaming about snakes hanging belly-up on the fence means the rain is your enemy.

If your nose itches, company is coming. See the knife/fork thing above.

Cross your fingers behind your back for luck; cross them twice for double luck. CAUTION: Don't try this one. I broke my fingers once trying to cross them when they were already crossed.

Don't go outside with a wet head or you will catch a cold. I keep trying to get this one past Sheri, but she makes me shower anyway.

Don't look at anything scary while you are pregnant or it will mark your baby. That partially explains me, as I'm certain my mom looked at my dad on occasion while she was carrying yours truly.

Don't plant potatoes during the dark part of the moon.

Plant your garden on Good Friday.

Don't plant your garden on Rotten Saturday, the seeds will rot.

While pregnant, don't reach higher than your head.

If you sweep under a woman's feet she won't get married.

If you drink coffee it will stunt your growth.

When the wind is out of the east fish bite the least; when the wind is out of the west fish bite the best. I used to call the telephone weather report when I was a kid and wanted to go fishing, just for this reason.

To keep a cat off your car, put a hat on your hood. My grandma told me that wearing a hat would make me lose my hair. If I keep a hat on the hood of my Jeep, it won't grow hair I guess, and even if it does I could shave it but then it would just grow back thicker and darker. See how these things affect our lives every day?

Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. Red sky at night, a sailor’s delight.

It's bad luck to walk under a ladder, or let a black cat cross your path.

There are two ways of stopping a run of bad luck if you walk under a ladder by accident. Cross your fingers and keep them crossed until you see a dog, or spit on your shoe and let it dry. I'd rather just spit on the dog.

Breaking a mirror bring seven years of bad luck.

If you open a pocket knife, then you be the one to close it or bad luck will follow.

If you sew anything on Sunday; when you get to heaven you will have to pick the stitches out with your nose. I guess our Heavenly Father really does have a sense of humor.

Hanging a dead wolf on a fence will warn the other wolves to stay away. It might keep idiots from hanging dead snakes belly-up too.

An acorn at the window will keep lightning out.

When a bell rings, a new angel has received his wings. I actually like this one.

If you blow out all the candles on your birthday cake with the first puff you will get your wish.

If a black cat walks towards you, it brings good fortune, but if it walks away, it takes the good luck with it. Where are all these black cats coming from anyway???

It's good luck to find a four-leaf clover. On the other hand, it's bad luck to spend hours on end looking for one when your time could have been spent doing something more productive.

It's bad luck to pick up a coin if it's tails side up. Good luck comes if it's heads up.

To insure good fortune for your baby throughout life, be sure that his first gift is a silver coin. Place it yourself into the child's hand. If the child drops it, she/he will have difficulty holding onto money throughout life. (Conversely, if the child grasps it tightly; she/he will be fortunate with money.) Be sure to remove the coin from the baby's grasp and carefully save it as the baby's personal amulet. Man, I need to have a serious talk with my parents.

If you spill pepper you will have a serious argument with your best friend. Will not!

A rabbit's foot will bring luck and protect the owner from evil spirits if carried in the pocket. Didn't fare too well for the rabbit now, did it?

A rainbow in the Eastern sky, The morrow will be fine and dry. A rainbow in the West that gleams, Rain tomorrow falls in streams.

A horseshoe, hung above the doorway, will bring good luck to a home. Again, I have cats in the house and can see only bad things happening if I hang a horseshoe anywhere near them.

If you sing before seven, you will cry before eleven. Huh?

All wishes on shooting stars come true. tend to wish that the shooting star doesn't fall on me. So far, this one holds true.

Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Who sticks around long enough to see?

You can tell what kind of husband a man will make by the way he treats his mother. Seriously Sheri... I never step on the cracks.

It's bad luck to open an umbrella inside the house, especially if you put it over your head. I've never had a leak in the roof bad enough to warrant this action anyway.

If you make a wish while throwing a coin into a well or fountain, the wish will come true. If you tell someone your wish, it won't come true. Doesn't make sense... throwing money into a fountain while wishing for more money.

Two people pull apart the dried breastbone of a chicken or turkey until it cracks and breaks, each one making a wish while doing so. The person who gets the long half of the wishbone will have his/her wish come true.

To predict the sex of a baby: Suspend a wedding band held by a piece of thread over the palm of the pregnant girl. If the ring swings in an oval or circular motion the baby will be a girl. If the ring swings in a straight line the baby will be a boy. This is why I keep getting beat up by pregnant women.

Cure leprosy and the plague by swallowing a spider rolled in butter. Uh, yeah... I'll be all over this one next time I have leprosy or the plague.

Well... there you have it, and this is but a partial list. I'm sure many of you have things that you learned as a youngster that seem out of place with reality today. I'd really like to hear some of your "truisms", so please feel free to share them with us.

And what was it my dad said that got me all stirred up about this?

When the cows are laying down, the catfish ain't bitin'.

Hardly worth the wait, was it?

Until next time...

Rubbing Elbows with the Famous

My daughter Rebecca called me earlier this week, the purpose of the call being to brag. I quickly prepared myself to "one up" her, until I heard her grounds for boasting. She is a customer service representative for DirecTV, which calls for her to assist DirecTV customers all over the country by way of telephone. It wasn't all that surprising then, when she asked me "Guess who I talked to yesterday."

I asked who she had talked to and she responded "Jeff Gordon." I'm sure she wanted to bring this to my attention knowing that he is my favorite of the NASCAR drivers. She asked if she was speaking with THE Jeff Gordon, but certain information in his account information already told her the answer. It was him.

I started thinking about the many people of fame that I have run across, and I found myself on another trip down Memory Lane.

I remember my dad telling a story about me and him being out in a boat on Lake Travis in Austin when I was a little kid, and almost being capsized by the secret service detail for President Lyndon B. Johnson. I don't personally remember this, but it might very well be my first brush with someone famous.

I wonder why we remember so well our meetings with celebrities. Aren't they just like us... for the most part? Aren't I as much a child of God as they are? Then why go all goo goo gaa gaa over a chance meeting with say... Dan Pastorini, starting quarterback for the Houston Oilers back in the '70's? He walked in to the movie theater where I was attending my station at the concession counter. My friend Curtis pointed him out and then asked "Hey, aren't you Dan Pastorini?" The response was a curt "Uh huh" and then he went down the isle to the movie.

I couldn't help but wonder how many times he hears that or something like it every day. Probably dozens, at least. I really liked Dan as our quarterback, but I thought he was a little rude to us kids behind the counter. But then again, why shouldn't he be? He was there to see a movie, not at some public function where he would be expected to be more gracious to his fans.

I was on a train once with John Madden, the television football analyst. I was traveling from Detroit to Los Angeles and I spotted him in the bar car showing off his Super Bowl ring that he won as the coach of the Oakland Raiders. I didn't talk to him, but every time I went through that bar car, he was there talking and having a good time and showing off that ring.

I don't know why I was afraid to go up to him and just say "Hi" or something. You never know how the celebrity will react and I was scared of looking like a fool, I guess. What if he had turned away and not even acknowledged my presence? Not likely, being John Madden, but I wasn't going to take the chance. I might today, being older and not as easily intimidated by fame.

I spent a few days in Graham Nash's house in Los Angeles back in the late '80's. He's the "Nash" part of "Crosby Stills & Nash" fame. I was working for my brother-in-law, Mike, refinishing hardwood floors and he got the call to do Nash's home. I never actually met the guy, because he had taken his family to Hawaii for a vacation before he went back on the road with Crosby and Stills. He had a very nice home, complete with a grand piano in the master bedroom.

There were quite a few projects going on with the house while he was gone. The studio upstairs was being refurbished, for one thing. One guy was in charge of all the work being done, kind of a "contractor to the stars" sort of guy. He came bounding downstairs during our second day there asking if anyone had seen a 6 foot boa constrictor by chance. I jumped atop the nearest piece of furniture I could find, which happened to be the dining room table, and gave him a vigorous negative answer. He explained that one of the workers apparently had knocked over the cage that keeps him from terrorizing hardwood floor refinishers and the public in general, and he had escaped and couldn't be located. I responded by volunteering to keep a sharp eye out for him from the safety of the tabletop. He then, very nonchalantly as if it were an afterthought and totally unrelated to the snake escape, let us in on the fact that one of the kittens was missing too.

I became very afraid that we would find the snake and the kitten at the exact same time, one inside the other. We didn't, and we were told the next day that both had been found, each in different places, and both unharmed. Just another day in the life, but while I was there, I ran across a telephone list taped to a small desk in the living room containing the names and telephone numbers of all sorts of famous people, mostly from the music industry. I wasn't really tempted to copy all of the numbers down for my own use, but I wonder what would have happened if I had and started making phone calls.

Sheri has told me how she saw Tiny Tim in the lobby of a hotel in Toledo, and Ted Nugent at the restaurant next door to where she was working in Lansing, Michigan. She didn't talk to Tiny Tim, but the workers where she was working sent her over to the restaurant to offer Nugent a bottle of champagne, him being the Motor City Madman and a local favorite.

I was at a red light in L.A. next to a car being driven by Marion Ross "Mrs. C." during the "Happy Days" days. Sheri asked me how I knew it was her, and I told her it wasn't only that I recognized her, but the icing of that particular cake was the royal blue "Happy Days" jacket hanging in the back window. I also saw Anthony Geary, "Luke Spencer" on "General Hospital" driving while I was standing in line at Randy's donuts, also in Los Angeles.

And speaking of "General Hospital", I was hired, along with my ex-wife Kelley and her brother Jack, to participate in a television commercial for ABC's new fall line-up back in 1982 or thereabouts. I was taken to wardrobe and dressed like a construction worker, placed on a landing along the gangplank leading to the Love Boat, and all the stars from GH, Happy Days, Hart to Hart, and a few other shows came running down the plank, right past us on the landing, and then onto the Pacific Princess. It was really neat to be a part of that and see how things in the television industry get done.

My favorite though, is when Sheri and I were married by Dan Pastorini's backup quarterback for the Houston Oilers some 25 years after I "met" Dan at that theater. Giff Nielsen had long since retired from professional football, when I knew him as my Elder's Quorum President. A few years later as Sheri and I were preparing for our wedding, I found out that he was called to be a bishop down where my parents lived in Missouri City, Texas. I asked him if he would perform the civil ceremony for Sheri and I, and he accepted. He even wore one of the six Hawaiian leis that I had imported from the islands for the occasion.

I still can't help but be intrigued by the need to rub elbows with the famous. I have never been an autograph seeker, except when I was a youth and went to quite a few Houston Astros baseball games. I didn't get many, but even then I wasn't really into that sort of thing. As I learn more and more about celebrities and the struggles they seem to have with their own fame, I wonder two things... Why did they bother to seek fame if they are ill prepared to handle it? And why do we even care?

I'm just asking.

Maybe it's because we spend so much time with these people that we feel as if we really do know them on a personal level. I don't know. I'd really like your insights on the subject. I don't have a whole lot of interest in meeting Keifer Sutherland, but I would like to have lunch someday with Jack Bauer. That, I could get into.

I'd like to hear about your brushes with fame though... they often make good entertaining stories.

Until next time...