Chickens. Roost. You Do The Math

This isn't gonna be easy - parts of my life I have deliberately kept from public consumption, but it's pretty clear now that was more or less a waste of time. So, here goes.

I might be out of the hospital, but it's not because I'm appreciably better. I was admitted because I had congestive heart failure. What that means is that my body was retaining water to the point of ridiculousness. My stomach is extended to the point of distension. When I eat something, I am immediately short of breath because there is just no room in my body cavity for the bottom of my lungs against the diaphragm to expand. Also, I generally find myself in the bathroom within a half hour of eating, regardless. Making room.

So what put me in this state? I'm on diuretics, right? Well, yes I am, but they don't always work as advertised. I've also got by definition kidney disease because of my diabetes, so just increasing the dosage is not necessarily an option. Unless I'm wanting kidney dialysis real bad.

Plus, I've got a leaky valve in my heart. This has been going on for a long time. My previous cardiologist held the opinion that getting it fixed would be riskier than just letting it be. He felt is wasn't serious.

This is in total contrast to the local cardiologist. I've seen him in the past - the other one is from Wichita and I sometimes have to go there to see him. He does come out here to the medical center I frequent once a month. But the local one wanted to see me in short intervals and his lab fees were significantly higher than any one else I'd seen. Since my insurance paid based on their idea of the cost, that meant more coming out of my pocket. I just felt at the time he was breaking me, so I went back to the doctor from Wichita.

The problem with this leaky valve over time is that it allowed backpressure in the system - every time my heart pumps, it pressures up both sides of the system. This is forcing water from my blood into my tissues. My weakened kidneys can't handle it. I actually gained over forty pounds from my first hospital stay to my latest. I can assure you that is not because I was gorging myself at the local buffets.

It didn't help that my company switched insurance companies at the first of the year and I never received a card with the necessary info. So, I had a ton of doctors' appointments that I wasn't about to go to until I got this straightened out. By the time I did, I could barely drag myself to my pickup to drive to Dodge. I did have the foresight to bring my overnight bag, laptop and some other stuff. I figured I wasn't coming home, and I did not.

Back to my water retention - apparently my sodium intake was too high.

Now I'm here to tell you I thought I was doing a good job of avoiding sodium. I do not eat potato chips or other salty snacks. I didn't even have a salt shaker in the house until one of my classmates came to visit for several days, and I knew she's want some salt. My sister even breaks out the salt shaker to season the foods I prepare.

But I wasn't avoiding enough of the "bad" foods. Lunchmeat, bread, canned soups, cheese, sausage, bacon, tomato sauce, salad dressing - man the list goes on and on. It doesn't bother most of the populace, but me it does. A couple of the major offenders I was eating was dill pickles and the instant cup of ramen noodles. I'd eat some Cherub tomatoes and have several dill pickles for my evening snack, and when I was trucking, I'd have pickles packed to go with my deli sandwiches. Which, as it turns out, is actually a tad lower in sodium than regular commercial lunchmeat. Still high, though.

I have switched to fruit (fresh, dried and canned (sugar free)) as a snack, but too little too late. I'd bet my sodium levels are lower than most, but still too high for my weakened kidneys.

Apparently I've been drinking too many fluids, too. I generally went through about a gallon of tea, plus any juices or milk. Rarely any sodas. Which apparently overwhelmed my system.

So what does all this mean for my future?

I'm still weak as hell - and I'm still anemic, for that matter. My red blood cell count is still in the nines when it should be in the twelves and higher. Apparently the kidneys signal the bone marrow to produce, so yeah. Borked kidneys.

So that leaves me in far too poor shape for a heart surgeon to want to screw with. I'm simply not worth the risk to them. Plus, getting that valve repaired is no guarantee that my system won't immediately build up the backpressure again.

So I am on a liquid restriction and a diet. I have to exercise, period. No choice.

I have always approached diet and exercise as something to be scoffed at and never even attempted. Not me, not interested. It's been a way of life since day one, as far as I can remember. I'm sure there are self image problems associated with this self destructive attitude. On top of all that, I am King of All Procrastinators. Why do today what I can put off until tomorrow? And I'm pretty much an anti-social hermit most of the time.

And, my close friends know this. My Cuzzin' Tom stopped in to see me Friday before he helped me get released on Saturday, and he had an intervention in mind. An intervention just like you'd give to an alky or druggy or whatever. He informed me that he wasn't going to stand for more of the same from me - he was there to help and support me, but he'd kick my ass if I didn't reform. He told me that I was a very great person who everyone loves, and he did NOT want to have to explain all of that to someone while he was standing next to my casket. He and my buddy Road Pig hold the opinion that my house burned down so I would learn just how much the community values me.

He's been working on losing some weight and exercising, and he knows the little tricks one uses to motivate. Instead of looking at something as a chore, look at it as something that improves my health. Take every chance to do something on foot every day - haul out my garbage (something I've been too weak to do, and I generally put it in my pickup and drive to the dumpster which is about a hundred yards away), just walk around the area, whatever, as long as I get out and do something. If I'm snowed in or have some sort of weather, just do some stuff inside - as long as I do something.

Needless to say, he got my attention. It was pretty emotional for both of us. Thing is, he is absolutely correct, end of story, no other argument accepted.

I like tomato sauce? Get a ton of roma tomatoes and make it myself. Tomato soup - the same only buy a chicken and boil it, pull the chicken out, remove the skin, debone that for various meals, and cook down the broth - no sodium in that. Chicken broth for the tomato soup. Which is what I did Saturday and Sunday. I made my own tomato soup - actually more of a vegetable soup with mass quantities of tomato. I had chopped up bell peppers, onion, garlic, celery, carrots and such and got it to cooking, and was busy dicing tomatoes and the thought that the chunks would have to be sieved out and what a waste - when I saw my blender staring at me. Problem solved. I used about a cup and a half of my highly reduced chicken broth and have even more saved back, and I've got several meals worth of my own tomato soup. It's kinda spicy, but that's what I was doing with the canned stuff. It's different, but it's fresh, not sugared and salted up. I also found I could use it for flavor in the ramen noodle cups - I'd shake out the freeze dried veggies and then rinse out all the salty dried broth flavor, add the freeze dried veggies back, add some frozen mixed veggies from the freezer, and pour in the tomato soup. Turned out pretty good.

I've also got a big container of chicken salad now - and I used fat free Miracle Whip - which is relatively low in sodium compared to the other stuff. I made chicken breakfast tacos for breakfast - I started out thinking I had the ingredients for two tacos, and it turned into enough for four. In the past, I would have went ahead and made all the tacos I could and ate 'em all - waste not want not, right? Today, I have the makings for another breakfast in the fridge. I used the salad I had already made up for topping as well - perhaps diced carrots aren't necessarily a breakfast item, but they were today on my tacos. I used a griddle coated with butter flavored cooking spray, chopped red and green bell peppers, a small amount of diced onion, some canned sliced jalapenos, two eggs and a ton of spices. I did go ahead and use a small amount of cheese and hot sauce.

And, even though it's really too soon to tell, this all does seem to be working. I lost 3.4 pounds over yesterday morning's weight. My cardiologist told me to be happy with a pound/week - but this is for sure water weight. I kinda had a clue, based on how many potty trips were needed yesterday. The diuretics worked well yesterday. The real test is if that continues - I had days before where the diuretics kicked arse, but maybe only once a week, which was not enough. Plus, several months ago, I had seemingly reached a stalemate losing weight - but that was when I was forty pounds lighter. It seems that once I get so much water off, that's it. Until, I suspect, I knock off some real weight.

I suspect I'll be looking into a lot of things online - like sodium free broth, low sodium soups and so on. Most of what I've seen on Amazon per soups are that the really low level stuff is all vegan organic. Blechhhh. I'm not ordering a case of that stuff until I try a single can from somewhere. And if you look at the labels on, oh, say Campbell's Heart Healthy stuff? Loaded, absolutely loaded with salt. In fact, a lot of that stuff has added sodium to make up for the lack of taste from less fats. That might be heart healthy for some, but not for moi.

The dietician I spoke with told me it was more important to get a handle on portion control that worry about counting calories just yet. Main course meat? Size of a computer mouse. Can't use Montreal Steak Seasoning anymore. Baked potato? One of the smaller taters - certainly not one of the huge baked taters the restaurants serve.

I'm sure I'm going to end up mixing my own salad dressings as well - vinegar and oil and spices I'm sure. I'll be shopping a lot more in the fresh produce sections. Online recipes for ideas, etc.

One thing that really irked me about my convo with the dietician - sure, lots of sodium filled foods are right out - like tons of bacon. But then she advised me to eat sandwiches with meats from the deli, which are lower in sodium than your average Oscar Meyer stuff. Hello? Bread and deli meats are still loaded with sodium - how can that be acceptable? It is, though. Beats me.

So my life is gonna be full of challenges of all sizes, each and every day. I guess one good thing - I was sure counting on lap band surgery to help me out - if I can't hold it, I can't screw it up, right? But if I can control my diet and lose weight in order to make myself healthy enough to be a candidate for surgery, why bother with it? I wouldn't need to go through that if I can diet successfully enough to lose that much weight. I put that in the plus column of future goals.

I dunno. I'm not sure I'm strong enough - but like Cuzzin' Tom says, little steps that I can successfully complete and put in the win column. It's taken a pretty big step just to get to this point - I just hope I can maintain and improve. Two days does not make a recovery.

And let me reiterate that this situation is my fault. Maybe I've got bad genes. Maybe I was raised wrong. Does. Not. Matter. I knew enough that what I was doing to myself was bad for my health, and I did it anyway. Nobody held a gun to my head, nor programmed my mind, or sent out mind control rays, or whatever. It's all on me, myself, and I.

I can take heart in that I am blessed with some very good friends. My buddy Road Pig has tried his own variety of intervention over the years, and I've ignored his advice. My buddy the Young Doctor spoke rather frankly to me several months ago on the subject. And Cuzzin' Tom. And particularly my sister. How can I ever be worthy of these people? Clearly they must be deranged to love me as they do. Boy, do I have the wool pulled over their eyes.

Well, maybe not so much. Maybe it's time I cut myself some slack and learned how to take care of myself not only for my sake, but for theirs as well, and the community as a whole.

Redskins

One of the benefits of blogging is that one spends a fair amount of time reading other bloggers. Sometimes, I even have my horizons expanded by reading different points of view. Which brings me to this:

We've surely all heard about the uproar about the usage of "derogatory Indian names" for sports teams and in particular the Washington Redskins have been singled out, mostly because of the rather politically incorrect comments the owner has made in the past.

Well, it just so happens that over the years I've counted a fellow blogger named Ron as a friend. He happens to be full blooded Choctaw, and is rightfully and damned proud of his heritage, and is heavily involved in the dealings of his tribe both spiritually and politically. His blog is called "The Local Malcontent" and he is based out of the Talihina, OK area. In the mountains.

At any rate, he has some very strong opinions on this subject and expresses himself quite well in this rant. I very strongly recommend you go and read the whole thing, as they say, because I suspect his position is not quite what one might expect when one listens to the limousine liberals stirring the pot.

I'm serious. Go and read!!!!

Finally!

After all these years, my ol' innertube, forum and blogging pal finally met each other. That would be Chris Byrne, the Anarchangel and one of four forum moderators at The Gun Counter.

We first met when Kim DuToit started his first forum. Chris was the fourth person to sign up - I didn't get signed up until the next day. But, we were there at the start of it all, before either of us started blogging. Kim was an inspiration to both of us. If you remember, he wrote such controversial essays about the pussification of the American male and held some feces stirring views which he and his wife Connie famously defended tooth and nail. Chris and I used to have some very long and involved phone and IM conversations where we really got to know each other. I gotta say, if you don't know it, Chris is pretty much a genius. I had to give him some crap today when he started providing a little extra knowledge into the conversation - I asked his lovely wife Melody (Mel) what it was like being married to her own edition of Wikipedia. I had always thought there was no difference between a KC strip and a NY strip steak. I was wrong.

I'm laughing thinking about it now.

At any rate, Chris, Mel and their progeny Chris V were headed across I70 - they were going to Colorado Springs this afternoon on their way back out to the Phoenix area. Man, I'd never had Chris so close to home before - when they lived in northern Idaho, I was in the southern part - still way too far. But now? A two hour drive to Hays? To meet at a nice restaurant? You betcha.

We met at a small chain grill called Whiskey Creek Wood Fire Grill in Hays, where the steaks are marinated and grilled and delicious.

And by the way, Chris is a big guy. He gets his clothes from Omar the Tentmaker just like I do.

Melody with the sprout - rather I should say sapling. I've forgotten how long they've been together, but it has to be well over five years. And I finally got to meet the better half! She was kinda busy.....

The star of the show - I give you "Happy Boy." That is what the family calls him because he just plain smiles all the time. He's always happy. It's easy to get him to smile and laugh. He has no fear, and liked me right off. This is different than I'm used to - I'm far more used to fussy babies that are freaked out about how big I am - particularly if they first see me standing. Not this little turd - only he ain't so little. He's a statistical outlier, which is what Melody thinks is a better name for him. He's eating solid foods, refuses pureed baby food  - he just turns his head and the trap is closed when he doesn't like something. No drama, just outright refusal. He's manipulative - of course he had me wrapped around his little finger instantly.

It had been a while for sure. Chris was fascinated by two babies sitting at the end of the table next to us, and they were just as intent as him giving him the once over. None of them had anything to "say," but it was pretty comical. He was a head bigger than either one of them, and the same age. He also liked my beard and immediately tried to remove it from my face. Never got a grip on it, but I understand that he does - and does the same thing with hair. And he's got a grip for such a tyke.

At any rate, we didn't have much time - it was snowing when I rolled into Hays, and it wasn't getting any better while we were there. So we both knew the longer we stayed, the more bad weather we'd be fighting. Sure enough, I had to drive all the way to Dodge to finally run out of the snow. Chris ran out of it around Wakeeney, but they ran into weather in Colorado.

At any rate, even thought it was a pain in the arse to fight slick snowy roads, the whole thing was completely worth all of that. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

One Of The Problems Of Growing Old Is...

That a lot of your friends........ don't.*

He came into our lives at the start of our high school adventure. Fairly tall, very fair haired and skinned, reasonably athletic, highly intelligent and quiet. His mother, newly a single mom, and sister had moved into our town. She was a Woods - an extremely large and close family based out of Kalvesta - the small farming community just to the north of our farm. So, I was on very close terms with a lot of his cousins. He came highly recommended.

As a new kid, he was shy at first, but as we all discovered, he did like to have fun and to participate in his area of interests. Band, basketball and track figured into his extracurricular school activities. Family was always important - even at such a young age, he was the man of the house for his mother and sister. His family background included the Nazarene Church, and he was also very active in their youth groups.

We became fast friends, he and I, plus he had many others as well. Jeff never did belong to just one clique, identifying that narrowly was not his style. He was a geek, a jock, a popular guy, and a Christian without letting any of those descriptors overwhelm his personality. Laid back, he never seemed to get too excited about issues that had the rest of us chasing our tails. "Don't sweat the small stuff." While he was blessed with common sense, he was just as likely to end up in some sort of shady hijinks as the rest of us. Nothing serious, because he didn't want to shame his Mother. He was really stung if he crossed that threshold, and avoided that at all costs. After all, she expected better of him.

He also started going out with Margaret. She was a member of a large Catholic family - many aunts, uncles and cousins. Her immediate family only included her parents and sisters. By definition, I became friends with "Maggie," though I've always called her Margaret. She was a very good match - equally laid back and dedicated to her family and friends, she ended up grounding Jeff for many years. She always felt she wasn't as intelligent as her husband to be, but he blew that off. That was the sort of thinking that upset Jeff - because destroying one's self wasn't something one did. Her unerring abilities to keep goals, morals, common sense, family ties, and intelligence (she IS smart) and yet to enjoy life as well fit Jeff quite well.

With this relationship in mind, Jeff decided to start college at St. Mary of the Plains in Dodge City. He would start college there while Margaret was a senior back at the high school, then she'd go to Dodge City Community College. They would then transfer to Kansas State. Jeff was studying to be a mechanical engineer. I was in pre-med, and had a scholarship there, so we decided to be roommates in the men's dorm.

High School Graduation 1977 - check out all that hair!

Jeff proved to be a major influence in my life from that time onward. Music? I'd been listening to the Carpenters, for Gawd's sake. He had a collection that included Steppenwolf, Steve Miller Band, The Doors, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Edward Winter Group, KISS and most importantly the Doobie Brothers.** Jeff was also a serious geek, and we shared our collections of scifi and fantasy. Neither of us had read the Lord of the Rings trilogy, so a week of frenzied reading put that under our belts. Asimov, Bradbury and so many others populated our bookshelf in that little room.

And we had fun. There were two bars within shouting distance that had "drown nights." Wednesday night - The Armor Room, two dollar cover. Friday - The Opera House, three dollar cover with a live band. One economically fueled night after one of those particular bars closed, we found ourselves bored and not ready to go "home." As gearheads, we were always interested in looking at the offerings that the local car dealers had on their lots. Hey, after midnight, we could look without having some pesky salesman bother us. We weren't going to be buying, we were just looking.

We ended up at the local Ford dealer. Skaggs Motors. Owned by Milton J. Skaggs, but J. Milton Skaggs the son was pretty much running things by then. This was important later.

One of our fellow Cavalier classmates worked there part time as a detailer and all around lot boy. His room sported one of their promo tags that went on every front car bumper. As we were concluding perusing the Skaggs collection, it occurred to us that we could quite easily blow his little wall art clean away by helping ourselves to several of the selection before us.

Quarters in hand, we loosened the tag screws and between us collected six tags. That would be enough, we thought. As we were walking back to Jeff's car***, we both noticed one of Dodge City's finest walking in the car lot about a hundred yards off talking into his portable radio. This was not a good sign.

Jeff headed east to a N/S street and hung a left. We could see several police cars to our right coming off Wyatt Earp Boulevard and they fell in behind us. We met another police car. As we went further north to the next cross street, we could see the intersection ahead had cars waiting for us to pass. I had my window open, ready to dump the tags. Jeff was watching his mirrors. There were and still are cross drains on that street, and Jeff hit one a tad faster than he should have. His fan shroud loosened and the fan started rubbing, which only added to the ambience of the moment. Get ready - now! No! Not now, just a minute! Okay, Now! NO! NO!

It was too late. The night exploded into red lights. We pulled over, and when instructed, did as we were told. I handed over our illicit gains from our crime spree to the first officer, and even dug into my pocket for some screws. Of course they searched the car. Did we steal the quilt in the back seat? How about the timing chain in the trunk? The lack of logic involved in those accusations really got under Jeff's skin. Yeah, right, homemade quilts are standard with new cars these days, and yeah, we really had the time to disassemble the front end of a car, remove the fan, water pump and front cover to steal a used timing chain.

We were not arrested, but told to go back to our dorm. The officer in charge told us it would be a very good idea if we presented ourselves to one of the Skaggs family to beg them not to press charges. Of course we did - bright, early, tired and a tad hungover, we were there. We got there before J. Milt did, and he had meetings. He ushered us into his office, and started talking. If we wanted promo tags, all we had to do was ask. Next time we closed out a bar, go home to stay out of trouble. Probably a good thing we didn't have to talk to his father, he'd have thrown the book at us. He really didn't appreciate being awakened at two or three am for crap like that. We were appropriately sorry, and went back to the dorm and slept the rest of the day.

We had made a mistake, paid for our mistake, and it was time to move on. Jeff lived that principle. As I mentioned, the illogic of some of what happened offended him - this would remain a hallmark of his to his last day. A natural conservative, wastes of time and money, hypocrisy and social injustices upset his sense of right and wrong, and figured greatly in his thinking the rest of his life.

Jeff and three other classmates from St. Marys took off for Kansas State to live off campus, and Margaret continued her studies there as well. Not long after they graduated, I was called upon to be their best man.

Jeff's Dad Don, Margaret, Jeff, Mom Vivian, and little sis Shelly

Jeff was now employed as an engineer for Exxon and this began his career with the oil industry - Oklahoma and Texas figured into most of the addresses his burgeoning family would call home.

Their home was truly open to all and sundry - various friends, family, neighbors, coworkers, fellow church members and sometimes a little of each stripe would be there at any given time. In all the years of visiting their home, I'm not sure if I was ever the lone guest. Someone was always there. Margaret told me that they thought that was what a home was for. Hard to argue, that.

Their open and fair attitude to all was really brought home to me in their first home in Oklahoma City. It was a brand spankin' new condo in a development that a ton of fellow newly hired Exxon engineers seemed to end up. I got there, and one of Jeff's coworker and neighbor was there, with his wife and parents. They also happened to be African American, and they were obviously comfortable in the Bridgwater household. Racism was simply not part of Jeff and Margaret's makeup. This was not a case of overcompensating or putting on a show - that was simply the correct course. Nothing more, nothing less. Considering our shared background in an essentially color free community, that was a revelation.

Lindsey, Mackenzie, Paul, Jeff, Margaret 2001

Time marched on, as it always does, and the two newlyweds had children. Twin girls and a son. School and church activities filled their time, which always included me when I happened to be in the 'hood.

I found that a couple of happy little girls, screaming with delight when tickled and teased, was something to be highly enjoyed. Just never did it often enough.

I'm not sure if I was completely responsible, but on one visit, I took the 'rents and Paul to the local shooting range in OKC. It was Paul's birthday, and I let him air out some of my pistols. In the past few years, both of them have started picking up a collection that has to be exercised at that same range, and they were amassing the components necessary to reload ammunition. Margaret - not interested - but if that is what the men in her life want, so be it.

And as I discovered, one tends to become more politically active when one delves into the gun culture. If you want to preserve it, you have to. So, in the ever present Facebook political battles, I could count on Jeff to wade in with some valid point I had missed. He had my back, and I his.

Jeff, Margaret, Margaret's sister Paula and her hubby Steve, Paul and the twins at a KSU football game

The family is also die hard Kansas State University fans. Season football tickets, so they drove to Manhattan on weekends. EMAW****, babyee!

Just by living life the way he and Margaret did drew a lot of respect over the years. Countless coworkers, friends, children's friends, church members - all have come to rely on my friend for advice and leadership. Like I said before, Don't sweat the small stuff was one of his favorite sayings. He would explain that whatever it was that was bothering you and upsetting your apple cart was really not that important, and that if you did what you were supposed to do, control what you could and things still went haywire, well, it was NOT your fault. Maybe if one was a tad more forgiving, or forgetful, or whatever - one might find one's self finding life a bit easier. God does not give you more than you can handle - but you have to step up to the task. Responsibility for one's actions was important. While having money is good, friends and family are more important.

He had the innate ability to come at a problem with a different slant. Usually his solutions were brute simple, yet no one had considered them up to that point. Relax, don't get too excited, do the right thing, get over it and move on, you know the correct path if you just listen, don't waste your time letting that eat at you - well, I think we all know people who can do this and make it look easy. Jeff had that and his assurances and demeanor were of a healing nature.

His mother died last summer, and Sis and I went to the funeral. I was soooo pleased that I did that, because it meant the world to him that I made the trip to honor his mother. Of course it was the right thing to do - I had to do it, but that really didn't enter into his calculations. He let me know numerous times how much it meant to him that I, his friend, was there for him.

The Jeffs at Vivian's funeral

This summer, I made it a point to swing through OKC on my road trip to see Sis as well as Jeff and family. He was extremely tickled that I was going to be there, and he needed to get with Margaret to make plans to have a supper for Sis and I. The time was set, and we showed up. It was a typical Bridgwater occasion - there were other friends and relatives there as well. Sister Shelly and her family came over, Margaret had family there, and several other people. Paul ran the grill. The family's preacher dropped by - he had some thoughts about some future plans and some other budget issues he wanted to run by Jeff. He had been on sabbatical and wanted to share some of his adventures as well.

Like I said, people came to Jeff for advice. Even his preacher.

Last Monday I posted this picture on Jeff's Facebook timeline. As long as we get to laugh out loud about it!! was his response. Alas, it will have to wait, because as y'all have figured out, Jeff passed away. He fell asleep in his chair Saturday night, and the family thinks he had a heart problem of some sort at around 10:45pm that night. Attempts at CPR failed.

I was at the auto races in Dodge City with my cousin Tom that night. Shelly tried to call and text me, but it was too noisy to hear my phone. I didn't even look at my phone until the wee hours of Sunday morning, when I read the text. 

Jeff passed away tonight! Margaret called me about 30 minutes ago.

Well, someone's gotten Shelly's phone and is sending out malicious texts. That was my first thought. Then the lack of logic of that thought hit home. Nope, it had to be true, I had lost my friend.

I tell you, the reader, of these things not because of my pain, although that is pretty evident. What I want y'all to know is the huge hole Jeff's passing has left in so many lives in so many places. He left a mark on this old world, and in a very rare and good way. He, like the Disciple Peter, was a rock. Jeff was a rock that many people's foundation was stiffened and fortified. As I can tell you from experience, being around Jeff was good for one's soul.

And there is no doubt in my mind that Jeff has gone to greater Glory. There are many people who are pretty decent, but when they die, one has to wonder if they did make it to Heaven or not. With Jeff, there can be no doubt. There is far too much evidence to the contrary that he is. He was just one of those who everyone knows would make it. Every one loved Jeff, because he loved everyone in the first place.

I have, in my fifty four years, managed to amass quite a collection of friends. Very good friends I have come to count upon, to lean upon, to enjoy life, to share experiences, to counsel in turn and just to live, period. I hesitate to call Jeff my very best friend ever, because it would short change so many other people to consider them beneath him. At any rate, Jeff wouldn't want to be put on a pedestal. Not his style. Were I to say such a thing, he would no doubt admonish me about how that would not be fair to the other people who figure large in my life. I actually have different friends that fill different niches in my life, and consider myself so very, very fortunate to have the riches that I do in that department.

However.

I do have to say that this has ripped a huge gash from my heart and soul, even knowing Jeff is in a better place. It pains me greatly that others are hurting worse than I. I will miss my friend, and it has not and will not be easy.

But, we will all move on. That is what he would want, and he was correct. I will be a pallbearer for him on Thursday October 3, at Lake View Park Church of the Nazarene, and I will be at the viewing at Mercer-Adams Funeral Home from 6 to 8pm. Helping to bury him and be there for his family is the very least I can do, so I will quite willingly be there.

RIP Jeffrey Dean Bridgwater, my old buddy.

*Quote from one of my Facebook pals.
** I have it on good authority that Jesus Is Just Alright will be in the musical selection at the funeral.
***A '68 (or '69, memory not remembering right) Pontiac Grand Prix 400 big block, auto, deep blue white vinyl roof. What a wonderful car it was.
****Every Man A Wildcat

What Goes Around Comes Around

I have been completely remiss in getting around to saying something about the situation, and lots of you will already know what is going on......

Long story short, Squeaky of Squeaky Wheel Seeks Grease is having some funding problems for plumbing problems. Jennifer and Erin have been tirelessly pushing a raffle for a fundraiser - and for the moment it is done. However, Squeaky still is short of her goal.

By Gawd the internet community came to my aid - unasked, unplanned, and even over my objections.

It is time I gave back, so I just did.

If you have the coin and the inclination, Squeaky could really use the help. You can read more at the above links, or go to Erin's page specifically with a pay link, or go here directly.

I can certainly attest to the power of a few people tossing a few shekels - it truly does add up, and the money I received after the Death of the Poor Farm certainly went a long, long way towards returning my life to a semblance of normalcy.

So go help her out already!

The Tour

Frank W. James, famous gunwriter, blogger, farmer and ham. 

I stopped in to see Farmer Frank today. While he is an irascible stubborn ol' farmer, I can assure you he is a charming host and funny to boot. I was given the tour of the various homesteads and saw all the ground, plus a glimpse of his gun collection and reloading building. I kinda figured we'd get along, because we've had some riotous phone calls in the past.

Got to meet their kitties and the resident Doxy as well. He showed me a gun he was reviewing - and of course I'm not gonna tell ya about it. You'll just have to wait until the article is published.

That is his "truck gun" he's posing with - it is, as he says, a mishmash of parts that aren't worth anything, but it makes for a good self defense gun for the pickup. M1 carbine, aftermarket paratrooper stock, cone flash hider - pretty trim little ventilator.

Of course his Smiths caught my eye - he seems to have plenty. I saw a lever action, and of course it wasn't just any old lever action - it was a Wild West Guns Alaskan Copilot takedown in 30-30 - not the usual 45-70. He told 'em he didn't need to shoot at bears in Indiana - the 30-30 would suit him fine. Sure was a quality piece.

One thing I really, really liked about talking to Frank is that he never talked down to me. Considering how much more extensive his gun knowledge really is, he could do so quite easily. But he explained his thinking on various technical subjects in terms I easily understood and felt I could add to the discussion.

Plus, he got to meet Elmer Keith back in the day. I asked. He'd have never dropped Keith's name if I had not asked about him.

I surely enjoyed our too brief meeting, and it is my fervent hope that there will be another opportunity with more time to perhaps exercise some shootin' irons in the future.

Not Quite What I Expected

I hadn't seen Bob in over a week. So, I texted Road Pig to see what was up. He informed me that Bob was there for the morning feeding, just like all the other mornings. So, he was ok. (In fact, later on last night, I did finally see him, plus this morning, and then this afternoon)

But that was not all. The past month has been pretty stressful for the family because they put his wife's mother in a rest home. Seems Mom had a cat who was originally her Dad's cat, but after he passed her mother took care of her. Now Kitsey needed a new home. Would I be interested? Poor kitty needed someone; she is so alone now, really tugging on the ol' heartstrings.

Well, not really. Still kinda shaky on the whole Rooster thing.

The next tack was to disparage me. "Turn key deal. Current shots, dishes, litter box AND litter, bag of food. Just meet her, ya big chicken."

Well, I knew once I said I would, I'd be coming home with a cat. So I said yes. Barring getting my face clawed off.

That did not happen. We moved her in, and she immediately hid in a corner. After I took Mrs. Road Pig back home and came back, she was still in the corner. I had to eat supper, and after that was done, I picked her up and put her in my lap. I did get growled at a tad, but she settled down.

Barely tolerating me

I finally had to get up, so I put her down and took care of bidness. I figured she'd hide behind the love seat, but she got clever. I don't know where she's stashed herself this time.

Things haven't quite gone her way for some time, and this even upset the apple cart even more. So, I'm for leaving her alone tonight and letting her become acclimated to the new digs.

So, we shall see. I think she'll be ok - just needs some time.

Landlord No More

Some of you already know this - and I was keeping pretty quiet online about it - but I finally sold the family ground. Since Sis and I have half shares, we split it down the middle. The money is enough to help out for some time, but it is not even close to being enough to retire on. Half sections of ground, while the price has gone up, are not that high out here compared to dedicated corn and soybean country.

Since the ground does not get enough rain to continuous crop like the guys in Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and so on do,we have to summer fallow it, which means it sits idle for a year before it can be planted again. With the way the weather has been cooperating, that means I'm all in once every two years. This year, it was several late freezes plus drought that knocked it out. Two years ago, drought and hail - but the miniscule amount sold for a price I certainly wasn't used to. In all the years that I've been in charge since Dad died in '98 - Sis and I have gotten exactly one crop yielding over thirty bushels to the acre. I can remember Dad hitting it two or three times, but Dad generally planted milo, and had cattle. So he had three possible revenue streams. It got to where we just never could get milo to grow well enough to pay for the seed, so we stopped that. As a landlord, I rented out the pasture rather than run cattle.

And having the old farm house burn down didn't help either. I'd have liked to put something out there, but even after selling it I don't have the money to do much other than to plant an older used mobile home. It's cheaper for me to rent the place I've got now and it's a lot more convenient to "live in town." I'd have figured differently, but it turns out I'm a lot more adaptable than I thought I was.

And Sis could sure use the money as well.

And I sold it to the family that had been leasing/renting the place already. So, it's gonna stay a family farm. Dad would like that, I think.

So, I'm gonna be getting a new incisor crown - I've been toothless up front for long enough. Y'all probably know about the new pickup, or assumed that since I sold the old one. I've got some health related issues that need to be addressed, so I'll be taking the time to do all that. When yer on an hourly wage and ya ain't workin,' it makes it tough to pay the medical bills, much less the rent and other things.

And, I've always admired Charles for his World Tours. I'm not sure just how far I'm gonna get, or how long I'll stop, or much of anything other than I do want to to to OKC ( and I really, really need to see Chaz), Grand Rapids, MN, and Michigan to see relatives. Not sure if I'm gonna make it west to Denver - I've got an uncle there I really need to see (as well as several other people....). I've got another couple cousins on the west coast, but - well, not sure if I have the time to do all the other stuff and go thataway. Of course, this means that I'll be wanting to see all my online pals I've never met - Grey Havens, Farmer Frank, and Gawd willin' and the crick don't rise stopping off in Indy to meet the residents of Roseholm. I'm sure it would be best were I to time it to drop in on one of their blogmeets, should they hold one again. Not limiting myself to just this list, either - just don't want to get to detailed and promise something I cannot fulfil.

And I'd dearly love to see my dairy farming family buds in upstate New York, as well as Tatyana in NYC, but again, not sure about time to travel and all. I know Tatyana is dying to have me tour "her" city that she is so in love with, and it would be so awesome to see the crew at Northview. Were I to go that far east, I could not forgive myself were I not to see Washington DC and the Smithsonian, Philadelphia and other historical sites of interest.

I haven't even set the time yet, nor how much time I'll take. I've got three weeks (one benefit of seniority at this job), plus some personal days, but again, I'll probably approach this on a "when I decide to leave here, I'll go" basis. I'm kinda tired of hauling ass to get to a site to get unloaded, and hauling ass back to go out again. I'd kinda like it to be MY idea for a while.

So, there you have it. I may be coming to a town near you. Tickets iz free.

Sunday Sunday Sunday At Raceway Park!

One of the first things I do when I log on to the innertubes is to peruse the latest Facebook posts. This is what I found this morning:

Sunday Sunday Sunday at Raceway Park!

That was P.T.'s way of saying good morning Facebook on Sundays. It was a catchphrase of his, and when we could see that, we knew P.T. was still with us. But not today.

fishing in his younger years

 P.T. was a blog father of mine. He was the proprietor of The Plains Feeder, based in an old feedlot in Nebraska. I found him surfing around for bloggers who lived in my area when I first got online.  I learned very quickly that P.T. was a unique human.

He was a very well educated man - a lawyer who traveled the world and lived the life. Revolution in Spain? He was there. He was more or less somewhere between libertarian, Constitutionalist, and anarchist. His criticisms of the government were ruthless, concise, precise, acerbic and surgical. And yet, he was kindly with his intellectual powers.

Doing his best Hunter S. Thompson in Venice

He was also a recovered alcoholic. I always figured he'd just burned out, because he was more or less a recluse out at that feedlot. Society burned him out, and the internet was a lifeline. He freely admitted to his mistakes in life - never blamed them on someone else or some entity. His errors were all his.

I have tried to do the same myself.

Then, his health worsened. Cancer. His ex wife, a professor in Iowa, had him move in with her. In my mind, the friendship P.T. had with  his ex wife was a measure of the man he really was, because she more or less became his live-in nurse. She retired, and they moved to New Mexico. This, as far as I remember, happened in 2009-10.

P.T. had a huge tumor on his neck, and it was removed, plus he received chemo and radiation therapy. The medical folks were less than enthusiastic about letting him have pain meds because of his past history, so he was in some pain for some time. At some point, when they knew he was just counting the days, they relaxed that thinking and P.T. was able to enjoy some relief. Simple foods and drinks were appreciated. The wildlife at their place was savored. Wild horses were always dropping by for P.T.'s amusement.

A man of simple needs

It is with great regret that I never took the chance to meet him. I had one chance some years ago - I was coming back through Omaha, and he'd have met me at one of the truck stops. But, my company wanted my butt home, so I didn't take the time. Damn. He certainly led a fascinating life, and I'd have loved to hear more.

And we all knew his days were numbered and that he was in pain. He had become enamored with Facebook over blogging because of it's more immediate social interactions, and it was a great relief to me to see him post as often as he did. I know I'm not alone in this, either, because he did have some close pals who thought the world of him.

And, while it is best that he has left us for a better place, and isn't suffering any more, my day is far less bright today than it would have been.

Goodbye, P.T., and hope to meet you in the future.

Honest Is The Best Policy

For me, being an honest and moral being was a learning experience, mostly by having my butt warmed when I transgressed a social norm. I had sticky fingers - in particular, the Matchbox cars that I did not own. I "liberated" them from my best friend (who had a ton, he wouldn't miss any) and the drugstore in town. After having to return the frankly tiny collection to my pal (yeah, what a pal I was) and paying the drugstore, stealing seemed far less lucrative than my initial thought. Or lack of thought; I sure didn't put in much before I acted. It seemed to me that a life of crime had better have a huge payout for the risks involved, and some payouts would never ever be enough.

And time went on, I was fairly honest unless other people were involved and I was a follower. This continued in my career as an altar boy.

I was generally paired with another Catholic classmate who I will call by his Confirmation name here. Those of you who know both of us will recognize his nickname. At any rate. Philip John and I were a pair, and we handled our duties in about as professional a manner as we were capable.

I suppose we'd been serving for a couple years when it occurred to Philip John that he could use a loose dollar from the collection plate once in a while. I finally gave in and took several bucks over the course of time myself. He even got so bold as to take a fiver once in a while. Beer money, he'd say.*

By then I'd realized I'd probably burn in hell, and had stopped helping myself. We were even so bold as to take a swig of the sacramental wine as well, but Lordy did it ever taste like crap. At any rate, things had settled into a routine. We were called upon to serve about once a month or so, and we were well into high school.

Then one day, Philip John was continually needling me about something and it was getting under my skin. He wouldn't stop, and my wolf pack classmates were more than willing to jump in at the smell of blood. My blood. I found this, as always, very tiresome and irksome.

So, I told Philip John that he'd better damn well stop that nonsense, or what he was doing to me would be a walk in the park compared to the bombshell I would drop on his a$$. That everyone would be on his case forever if I opened my mouth. I did not say what my secret was.

He ignored my warning, and one day as I was getting teased about whatever the hell it was that he had started, I unleashed my doomsday knowledge. I told everyone about how we had been taking money from the collection plate, and how I had stopped, but Philip John had not, even to this very day.

Somehow, I instinctively knew that I'd catch the slack even though I had done the exact same thing. The idea that I'd learned and stopped no doubt helped my cause.

And Philip John was quite unable to handle it - he stammered, totally embarrassed and spewed futile excuses the whole time. He could sure dish it out, but he was quite unprepared to take it. It was as I figured - no one got onto me about my part in the crimes, but they sure piled on Mr. Philip John.

To this day, he is known as The Guy Who Stole From the Collection At Church.

I feel bad about taking the money. I've since confessed my sins and done my penance. I will never feel sorry for getting my revenge on Philip John. I warned him, he ignored the warning and kept right on torturing me because he could. He's been paying penance of a different sort.

*Even though we were underage, we all had fake IDs and purchased lots of beer before we were 18 and could legally purchase the 3.2% brews available at all the regular commercial outlets. The good 6% was available at liquor stores only, and they were far pickier about age than the local convenience store.

Giving Thanks

Since this is Thanksgiving, and writing what we are thankful for is de rigueur, welp, here is my meager effort.

It has been a rather tumultuous year at The Poor Farm, mostly because The Poor Farm exists only as a concept these days. As most of you are well aware, it all went up in smoke on June 26.

That incident is not one of the things for which I'm thankful. All I had left were some scattered possessions in my truck, in my pickup, and at the neighbors' place. The cat who chose to put up with me met certain death. I still have problems with that - I cannot go out there and look without remembering Rooster, and all the pain rushes back. I've said it before - I'd have given all the other stuff if he could have been spared. Nope, all of it was taken, as it were.

So, thinking in those terms, I was thankful that I still had what I did. Once I pulled off the clothing I was wearing, I had more to wear while doing laundry. I still have a few guns stored away from the place, my laptop and some winter clothing in the back seat of my pickup.

Still - negative feelings about the whole thing.

Maybe in the long run it was a good thing, because I certainly learned against my initial judgment about how generous the human heart really is.

To see the magnitude of the response of all you out there completely blew me away. Both local people, internet friends, and people that up until that point had never heard of me gave willingly. I had many large and small donors - and believe me, it all added up to me being able to start again.

I had a difficult time accepting all that. I've always been a loner as far as getting by is concerned, and to have to take that help was something for which I was completely unprepared - it wasn't my way.

I find myself living in a house that is far nicer than the one that burned. More room, more storage, more comfortable (central HVAC as opposed to a propane stove and wall A/C in the living room). No mice. No bugs. No unusual creatures on my porch.

To be honest, I do miss some features of the creatures - I miss being able to step out at night and hear or perhaps join in with the coyotes. I miss all the birds and their music. I miss the open spaces. Stepping out the front door, all I see are evergreen trees. If I look up, I can see the North Star. On the farm - the whole of the Milky Way spread gloriously across the sky.

But living in town has made me a more social creature - just having to go to the Post Office for my mail means I encounter people I enjoy seeing. I can just jump in the ol' pickemup truck and dash to the grocery store or cafe rather than make a big trip out of it. This is something my great friend Road Pig foresaw when he offered his mother's old place to me to rent. He wanted me in town. I have come to appreciate that decision more and more as time goes by.

It doesn't hurt that he offered one of his cats up as a possible pal as well. Bob has become my buddy. He does like his treats, but he also is very attached to the attention. Maybe that seems like a small thing to some, but it's damn nice to know there is some sort of creature that likes to see me come home.

So, as far as the losing the house and finding out how generous people can be situation is concerned, why, yes, I am particularly thankful. I have been changed - not much, but my worldview has been altered, and my reactions to people as well. As I have said before, I have so many of you to thank for all that.

Thank you.

And looking in other areas, my health is constant - kinda poor, but regular. Not getting worse, at any rate. I've not managed to lose weight or regain my old stamina, but I do manage to report to work most of the time. I enjoy what I do, too. So, I'm thankful for my job. Many are not so fortunate, as we see in the news every day.

I am thankful to live in the United States of America. I have multiple freedoms that most citizens of the world do not enjoy. I can still speak my mind, vote for whom I wish, worship how I want, buy what I want and can afford, drive where and in what I want when I want, enjoy the world's best and cheapest food supply chain, obtain quality medical care (even out here in flyover country), own and use personal weapons denied so many other world citizens, and so many more freedoms we take for granted. Perhaps these things are slowly going away, but this year, I enjoy them and am thankful for it.

Mostly, and let me reiterate here, I am thankful for my friends. I have some very good friends. Very good friends. I have always been fortunate in having such people at my back, but this year taught me how much they cover my six, as it were.

My friends have to be the thing I am most thankful for, out of all the freedoms and choices out there. I love you all, and once again, Thank You!!!

Vivian Had Moxie

Vivian Fae Bridgwater, 75, died November 11, 2012 at her Oklahoma City home. Vivian was born October 14, 1937 to Rufus Milton and Ruby Eleanor (Friedlund) Woods in Kalvesta, KS. She was raised in the Kalvesta area where she attended grade school and graduated from Cimarron, KS High School in 1955. She received her Associates degree from Bethany Nazarene University. She married Donald Bridgwater in 1958 and to that union were born two children: Jeffrey and Shelly. She worked in the Accounting and Payroll fields for many years in Cimarron, KS, Austin, TX and Oklahoma City, OK. 

Vivian's life was filled to overflowing with family, friends and co-workers. She was absolutely devoted to her children and grandchildren. Whatever they were about, she was about. She also loved a good joke or prank -- even when at her expense. Her servant heart meant that no task was too big or too small -- at work, at church or at home. 

Of course, that is only part of the story.

Vivian was the mother of one of my best friends. I was the best man at his wedding. Somehow, over the years, we have remained tight. Even my sister is a friend of the family, which also includes my buddy's sister. Our lives are intertwined, and Vivian's passing hurt.

What this obituary does not say is how she supported her husband while he finished his schooling - he was a zoologist who ran the OKC zoo for some years, if memory serves me. However, when he was finished with his education, he left Vivian and her two young charges on their own.

Keep in mind that this was the sixties, and divorced single women with kids going it alone was absolutely unheard of. This did not stop her - she proceeded to raise her children by herself. Not entirely by herself; she was born into a big family that helped her out considerably over the years, but by and large she raised two children quite well. Both her children are successful, responsible and loving adults I am proud to call friends.

The family that raised her and looked after her (of course, she did some lookin' out for her own as well) could be considered a clan. When her parents moved off the farm and into town, the house they built had a completely open basement that ran the full width and  breadth of the foundations so that there was one huge meeting/family/dining/play room for all the kids, grandkids, and great grandchildren to romp. It was always a madhouse of screaming, playing children, adults with Solo cups filled with tea and paper plates with fried chicken and other assorted covered dishes, and a lot of camaraderie and love. So, there was an extensive support system, but it also required input as well as receiving help.

We always thought she was pretty cool. Jeff and Shelly don't see it that way, of course, because she was their mother and that was just the way she was. She certainly was a disciplinarian, but she never got excited or dramatic about much of anything. Always seemed to know what, how and why we were thinking, or why we did something. Disappointing Vivian was a crushing blow - you just did not want to do that.

Plus, she was always attractive, dressed well, and had very restrained tastes in clothing, furnishings and so on. Pictures filled the house.

Music and religion filled her life as well - she was always involved in her local church - on the board of directors, in the choir (she played the piano as well), involved in all the various activities with youth, serving the elderly, or whatever. She did love her music, and even as a child the family sang together - the old hymns with everyone joining in was right up her alley.

And, she was one of the few people I know that I consider to be the epitome of a Christian lady. Gossip never crossed her lips, nor did talking behind someone's back, or running someone down. Truly, she followed the maxim of "If you cannot speak well of a person, do not speak at all." And it was never obvious that she was avoiding saying whatever negative thoughts she really had - she just never even brought it up. I never once heard her bad mouth the father of her children - the details came from others. She never put him down around the children, either. I gotta say she had way more intestinal fortitude than I - my mouth is weak in that regard. Hers was not.

Of course she was a wonderful grandmother - there are five grandkids who worship the ground she walked on. Jeff's kids gave eulogies at the funeral (Shelly's are a tad young for that), and that was the hardest part of the whole affair - to hear what they had to say. She was never a pushover - she surely did discipline them as well! There were tales of washing mouths out with soap for thing said that should not have been uttered. Any events they were involved in? Grandma was there, supporting them.

For me, growing up Catholic meant never hearing a ton of hymns that others consider de rigueur. One of Vivian's favorites was played at her funeral just as she preferred - by family members on guitars, banjo and singing - and the Woods family has some very talented pickers and grinners. I'd never even heard this one before, but it was one of her beloved hymns. You'll just have to hear Johnny Cash and pals on this one:


link

Vivian, you are in a better place, but we're going to miss you anyways.

The Man Cave

This is for Tatyana, so she can see how us rednecks live out here in the sticks (if we had trees, that is). I've taken a ton of pics, but they're gonna be under the fold, if you dare.

My Niece

Some years back, I was visiting a married couple I'd been friends with for years. Their first child, a daughter, was about two or three. I've always enjoyed little kids and will play with 'em at the drop of a hat, and that night was no different. Alleah and I were getting along famously - hide and seek, playing dead, peekabo and so on. Time wore on, and it was time for me to leave.

This upset Alleah greatly. She started crying, and said: "Don't go, Uncle Jeff!"

This even shocked her parents. She had never called anyone that before, and they had no idea she understood what it meant. But, I tell you what, it meant I was her Uncle from then on. How could I refuse that task? We had a sort of a bond from then on.

I kept up with her as she grew up, and as we got older, I'd kid her about what she'd said. She never backed away. I'd encourage her and tried to give sage advice when I felt it was necessary. It really wasn't - her parents did a wonderful job of raising her without my input!

She was a cutie as a little girl, and as a teenager, she was turning into a very beautiful woman. She also developed a very strong personality - she had no fear of arguing a point, plus she was logical and consistent in her beliefs. As a former debater, I was extremely proud of her for the way she self organized and cut right to the heart of issues.

She was, and still is, a fierce defender of her family and friends. Woe be unto anyone who crossed her younger brother, for instance. Loyalty and honor mean something to this young lady.

She was very active in high school - athletics, cheerleading and so on. Until her wreck. She was coming home on a back road that has a wicked set of ninety degree turns, and she found the first one about O dark thirty one night, and failed to negotiate the turn. It's been a long time ago, and I'm murky on the specific details, but I'm thinking she was tossed from the car, and missing one or both shoes, and of course no phone or flashlight available. She had to walk to the nearest farmhouse, and I'm thinking there were two - one she could reach going south, the other north - and maybe she even had to go to one first and no one was there. So she had to walk back past the wreck. She was also suffering from a broken vertebrae in her neck, if I recall correctly. At any rate, she did manage to find someone and wake them up so she could get some help.

I made a point to stop in and see her after that - she was lying on her parents' couch. Obviously, she was in pain, but I could see that physical pain was only part of what she was feeling. Kids live in an egocentric world where they're gonna live forever. Alleah just found out that frankly, the universe didn't give a damn about her. That's a pretty big shock for a young teenager, and it shone through her eyes plain as day. Like it or not, she did a lot of growing up right then and there. The injury prevented her from any more high school athletics or cheerleading, but she picked up on the lesson of the value of life tuit suite. Sharp kid, that.

Did I say she was good looking? Actually, she is flippin' hawt! She worked part time for a car dealership where I was employed, so I got to see her frequently then. She was walking out to her car, leaving, one day and a whole passel of bored, horny young salesmen were watching her butt. And saying shit. Now, I appreciated the geometry and artistry of the wiggle in her walk, but dammit, she was my niece! I chewed some ass that day. They could look, but there had better be no touching, or they'd have to come through me. I was surprised at my reaction, actually.

She has been a success in school as well. Double major in college, and graduate school after. Good job, too. Like I said, she has a head on her shoulders, and knows how to use it.

Remember how I said she was a fierce defender of her family? Well, when ol' Uncle Jeffro had a problem, she jumped right in with both feet to help her hopeless ol' Unka out. She was a big donor for one of the savings accounts (her dad set one of them up), giving up the money she was saving for a new car. Damnit, girl!

She was also tireless working Facebook and helping with some other fundraising efforts. Have y'all ever heard of flocking with yard flamingos for fundraising? She helped start some of that - there were plenty of other people who got that going and worked on it, but she was right in there. I also understand there is a Pampered Chef party that I will be the "hostess" for, so I can get some free stuff. A lot of people have done a lot of work for all those efforts, but Alleah has been right in the middle of it all.

Which is kinda hard to see how she has had the time, considering how busy she's been. Tomorrow, my niece is getting married in Wichita. Hell of a good guy, too. So, Uncle Jeff and his Cuzzin Tom are headed to the Air Capital to see her off on a new adventure. She's had to take instruction in the Catholic faith. Heh.

I got her a St. Jude* medal on a rosary.

I wish her and her guy nothing but the best, and if there is ever anything I can do, I'm there!

*Patron Saint of Lost Causes

Truly I Am One Lucky Bastard

Yannow, after all that happened and my life starts to settle, I cannot help but reflect on the generosity of so many people in and in the fringes of my life. This small town has really come through for me as well as many of you on the internet, and some of long time friends have gone above and beyond the call. Not only cash, which I sorely needed, but places to stay, furniture, cookware, towels, sheets, dinnerware, you name it, I've gotten some pretty awesome stuff. Like Corelle dishes. Bath and kitchen towels - quality stuff, unlike the linty stuff I buy from WallyWorld. Leather furniture. Art for the walls. You name it.

One gift really stands out, though, because it's not what you'd expect. A longtime pal called me up and wanted to meet me - and he, his father and grandmother gave me a substantial chunk of money. But that wasn't all.

Scott told me that he knew I'd lost all my knives, and that I'd probably be needing a good one. Just to recount, I'd lost a bowie collection - including some custom stuff by Gil Hibben, a KaBar, and other admittedly el cheapo fantasy blades. Also - the inevitable samurai sets, some auto opening ones of different varieties, some collector trappers, a straight razor collection, all kinds of sharpening stuff (including a grinder with paper wheels - the best way IMHO), as well as some nice Forschner and Henckels kitchen goodies (although some of my replacements are Chicago Cutlery, which ain't nuttin' to sneeze at), and a bunch of pocketknives of various manufacturers and patterns.

He had purchased this older Case XX Sodbuster (buffalo horn scales) from eBay, and sent it in to Case for a tune-up. Let me tell you this baby is sharp. Tight, too, and plenty of snap. It's been damn useful around here.

And he wasn't the only one, but I have a policy not to mention that I may or may not own particular items online, especially considering I had a bunch of them stolen several years ago. It's none of the Algore's Innertube's bidness. But someone (rather, a family of someones) made sure I would be protected. Stylishly. 'Nuff said.

At any rate, it's great to have such fine friends who know me too well, and just thinking about it makes me all misty and runny and mushy. I love you all.

Good Times in Rapid City

I've got a load that I can't get rid of until tomorrow morning here in Rapid, so I had some extra time. It was a sign. I had to meet the legendary Robert Dennis, aka "Jinglebob" of Dennisranch's weblog fame.

For those of you who don't know Robert - his is a rancher located east of Sturgis, SD. And he's not just any rancher - he is an old school cowboy. He makes his own gear (as well as orders for others), is a cowboy poet and musician, and if it can be done from or with a horse, that is his preferred method of working. So, he is continually breaking horses for team and working cattle. When he brands or doctors his charges, it's done from horseback with a lariat. I grew up using squeeze chutes and holding pens.

At any rate, several phone conversations revealed that we were on the same wavelength on a lot of things. I've been trying to find a moment to stop in, but today I got close enough that he drove in to buy my supper, if you can believe that.

He's just as entertaining in person as he is on the phone or online. We had a blast talking about a whole lot of nothing, but having a hell of a time, and even got some flirting with the cute waitress in.

Thank you, Robert, and we'll have to do this again. And if you come down into the flatlands, as you call 'em, it will be my turn to entertain!

Happy All Hallow's Eve

Happy Halloween*, everyone!

*Brought to you by your brain starved zombie host.**


**Just not starved of much of anything else.

No Truer Words.....

link
This song always gives me pause and causes me to reflect.

I've seen the needle
and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But every junkie's
like a settin' sun.

Of course, when Neil Young wrote and first performed Needle and the Damage Done the drug culture hadn't really been exposed to meth (or crank) or for that matter cocaine. Those iconic drugs would come later. He was writing about heroin, injected by needle, and mourning the loss of fellow musicians. The first part of the song sets the tone - how he'd seen the damage done, hit the city and how his fellow musicians kept dying, even after some success. Milk blood to keep from running out - the lengths junkies go to make sure they can get high again.

But the last stanza - wow. A little part of it in everyone. Isn't that so true? Most of us have some sort of addictive or compulsive behavior, whether it's cigarettes, booze, gambling, or some other vice. I've sure had my share of vices and the last one - eating - I just cannot seem to control. Granted, it's not heroin addiction by any means, but it's a little part of it in me, and I do understand. After all my surgeries and procedures involving opioids for pain control I can tell you it's probably a damn good thing I never got into the *ahem* recreational use of said drugs. I know I've got addictive tendencies, and while the truckers' drug has it's charms (I'm being sarcastic here), and blow for your nose was almost a social requirement at one point - they can't hold a candle to the derivatives of the poppy.

But every junkie's like a settin' sun. That phrase right there is the coup de grace on several levels. Everybody has their own light - talents, skills, personalities - an individual beacon that drug addiction dims and eventually puts out. And they go out brightly as well - burning themselves out, fighting society with their denial and hiding their pain, refusing help. In a flaming nosedive, they extinguish themselves.

I've made my past no secret. I and several friends have managed to avoid that fiery crash. One of them and I have discussed this at length, and we feel like we made it through the fire. Plus, on the other side, we found each other and discovered why we were friends in the first place. Our relationship is the stronger for it. We are both in pain for those still on the other side of that fire - maybe they just toke up a little, or they're still methheads, or whatever. The divide exists because they are trapped in their delusions, and consider us some sort of traitor or similar. They are the ones who are living their lives the way they want, and are free because of it. We, on the other hand, are sellouts to the man, or something. Whatever it takes to continue consuming that drug without admitting to the logical disconnect that they aren't free, they are in thrall to the drug and all that goes with it - the societal dismissals by the so called upper crust plus the acceptance by the dregs - those who use and deal, the continual lack of money the associated problems with obtaining more to get their fix - theft or prostitution, their poor health and so much more.

There aren't as many of the heads left anymore. They keep dying off far faster than my clean and normal compadres.

And every time I hear Neil sing this song, all of these thoughts rush through my head. I remember.

I Feel Soooo Accomplished

I wear bifocals. I discovered I needed them - oh, say something approaching twenty years ago. I'd been a lousy model builder as a child, but with big plans that never panned out. Then, I got older and decided to check in on the ol' hobby. At that time, the thinking was "Now that I'm an adult and can afford to buy some of the detail goodies to make 'em look real, I can go to town. I also have the patience to do it right - fill in cracks and low spots with body putty, proper painting, and care." So, as I was trying to simulate spark plug wires on a SBC (1/24 or 1/25 Z28 model), it became painfully obvious I couldn't see well enough to do that kind of detail work. Even after I got bifocals. Even with magnifying glasses on articulated arms.

So, I ended up collecting some die cast models. Not the same.

During a Woot Off before Christmas, one of the things that came up was the Alpha Force WWII Aces or Modern Aces - Six Pack. Either six WWII fighter plane models in 1/100 scale, or six modern fighter planes in 1/144 scale. Whoa. Too Cool. The Bachmann Mini Planes have always tripped my trigger until one has to actually, well, pay for them. So, hey, here are some model planes that promise to be highly detailed, just require a little glue, and most importantly, cheap! $11.99 plus five bucks shipping and handling cheap. If you are a Wooter, you also know that you could actually buy three sets and get them all shipped for the five bucks S&H.

What can I say - I succumb to impulse buys once in a while. I ordered two before Woot ran out. Two each of the WWII planes. I've got a good friend who is about as bad as I am when it comes to neat stuff for "decoration." His office is lined with memorabilia - truck models, old toys, swords, guns, sports goodies, Cohiba boxes - just a lot of good, manly stuff. It's his Man Cave - I have a whole house for that. I knew he'd appreciate the WWII planes. We're both old WWII memorabilia and history buffs. We can watch a History channel presentation about P51s and get misty eyed. We're emotional that way.

So, the six models are of the pictured FW190, Me 109, Spitfire Mk. Vb, Mitsubishi A6MZ Zero, P 47D Thunderbolt (a truly manly fighter), plus the all time fave - P 51D Mustang. It just doesn't get any better than that - all the major players are represented, and you'd really need more than six slots for cool WWII fighter planes. I could see the P47 knocked off for a P-38 (edited) Lightning, and I'm sure there are others that could be successfully argued.

So, how did it go together? Wow. Did I mention these things were 1/100 scale? And I'm about blind to tiny crap like this? Did I? I'm not sure, they say memory is the first thing to go. I dunno about that - it might be seeing things super up close and personal. Not only is the memory going and the eyesight not so useful - but there are other things that irk me, too. Whoever said after you're a teenager the zits go away lied. The hair on top of my head has migrated to my eyebrows, my nasal passages, my ears, down my back to my butt. You are what you eat - I must have eaten too many Rice Krispies as a kid - all my joints snap, crackle and pop. Oh, wait, I was talking about building a model. Sorry 'bout that, seems like I get sidetracked easily these days...

Other than needing to be about thirty seven times larger, it was really surprising to me how well this thing went together and how fine a degree of detail it exhibited. Tampo painting has come a long way, baybee. The only major flaw was a pretty good seam opening on the bottom of the fuselage, but on display it's not visible. I can tell you for a fact that the paint scheme shown would be impossible for me to apply. Also, not surprisingly, it's very very fragile. I suspect that open display of this model with a cat in the house may lead to one upset tubby trucker.

And just think - I've only got five more to go!

And one more thing - my pal is about as blind as me for close stuff, too. Bwaaaa haaaaa haaaaa haaaaa!