It's 5:00 o'clock PM.
I know this without looking at an actual clock because I have an old cheapie wrist watch apparently given to me by a former co-worker that has an alarm which is set to go off at this time. Well, it's actually set to go off at 18:00, which is 6:00pm on the 24 hour clock, but this watch has not been reset for Daylight Savings Time. The reason the alarm has not been deactivated and the time has not been reset is because the instruction booklet for the watch was not included when this little timepiece was left on my desk following the former co-worker's exit from the company. (Incidentally, she left of her own accord, a career change choice).
The reason I have a watch that I don't know how to operate? Hey, it was free. And it's the only one out of four watches I own that the battery hasn't run down and that the wrist band hasn't recently broken.
Okay, so the primary reason is I procrastinate when it comes to buying watch batteries and similar small tasks.
But as I stated, it's five o'clock in the evening on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. And my throat is a little scratchy. Since we are staying with good lifetime friends who don't have the days off leading up to this wonderful holiday to otherwise entertain us, I have had a little idle time to speculate if the source of this esophageal annoyance was from various co-workers (still present at work) who had coughs and sniffles the week prior to my departure, or if the house dust cleaning completed the day before we left town infected me, or if the germs are from my lovely spouse who recently mentioned her own throat related symptoms revealing themselves to her a couple of days before our jaunt across two mid sized states.
After some careful thought, I'm going with a combination of all three. It was a multi-tiered attack.
On a tangent, does anyone else wonder how the advertising staff that wrote and filmed the latest Santa's workshop themed ad for T-Mobile could have missed the fact that the hot pink wigged elves singing the lyrics "something in a 4G wonderland" sounds like "something in an orgy wonderland"? No, I don't have a dirty mind. It just sounded that way the very first time I overheard it playing on the TV and it makes me chuckle now every time it comes on.
I blame the above digression on the nine hour and twenty minute drive. Yes, I've had an entire day to recover from that little trek, but as stated before, we're all somewhat waiting on the holiday to arrive. So the mind wanders aimlessly.
This trip has taught me a few things which I will now share with my readers. To practice for the upcoming List of All For Which I Am Thankful, I will share these "few things" in classic "list" fashion:
(1) The instrument panel - also commonly known as the dashboard - of the current model Volkswagen Beetle makes a top notch eating tray as you drive down the highway after making a fast food stop.
(2) You will never see deer in the "Deer Crossing" zones that are dutifully advertised by those bright yellow diamond shaped signs. You will see them, however, running along the entrance ramp to the freeway in a large metropolitan industrial area long after the "zone" warning has expired.
(3) Remember to dress for your destination when you leave your house, particularly if you live in a warmer climate and are driving Northbound. (Now the shorts do come in handy for comfortable clothing to wear around the house. They aren't so good when you have to move your car out of the driveway for someone to leave the house).
(4) Nothing makes you realize just how much too long it has been since you have last visited your friends than their children being able to practically look you level in the eye without standing so much as on tippy-toe. (To do so the last time we were here would have required standing on a chair).
(5) Never forget any of your prescriptions when you travel. I was almost driven to request a new prescription to alleviate stress suffered from trying to arrange for a short 6 day script to be filled at a pharmacy local to where we are staying.
Now that my typing fingers are warmed up, I can proceed on to the personal Thanksgiving List. This must be done now since the next few days will be spent preparing for The Meal, The Game, The Post Meal Nap, The Biggest (Biggest...biggest) Shopping Day Of The Year (the second two "biggest"s were tractor pull-esque announcement echoes) and The Return Drive. These items are not in any certain order.
I am thankful...
(1)...for the physical, mental, and financial ability to be able to write this list in this fashion. This means having my hands and eyes and intact thought processes, the education to utilize them, and the income to afford the tools and the electricity to power said tools.
(2)...for the vehicle that brought us here and the safe journey to get here. Hey, if there is anything I have learned in my line of work, it is that a lot of people do not have comfortable or even reliable transportation to get from A to B.
(3)...for the other person in the aforementioned "us". That would be my wife.
(4)...for the friends who now host us in their home.
(5)...for the other friends who are also visiting with us.
(6)...for the children of our friends. They give me real hope for the future of our society, our nation and our planet.
(7)...for the steady employment that provides the income I earn and the health insurance that helps keep me moving. Without the income....well, I try not to think about that. Too many people have to live with that these days. Or I guess I should say withOUT that.
(8)...for those who are working in far flung parts of the globe in uniform, away from their families, and who have more to worry about when they drive on the road than whether or not they'll hit a deer. Here's a big "Hooah" to your coming home soon, mission accomplished.
(9)...for the food, of course, that we enjoy; not just on Thanksgiving Day, but every meal we have, regardless of whether we consume it from the dashboard of a Beetle, a shiny restaurant booth or at the family table complete with the additional leaf installed.
(10)...for the past memories we will share, the fellowship we will enjoy, and the new memories we will create with our dearest, longtime friends on this Holiday. And if our friends manage to find the time to read this entry between the soccer games, the homework, the turkey basting and the channel surfing, they will see this heartfelt "thank you" for putting us up and for...
...well, for being our friends.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
My (belated) personal homage to Veterans Day
Count on me to be a day late with my own personal take in remembering the first Veterans Day in a hundred years to have the date 11/11/11.
As with any speech or presentation, one starts with the "thank yous" to the individuals responsible for one's being in the position to give said speech or presentation. So here goes.
First, I'd like to thank my Dad. If it wasn't for him, I truly wouldn't be here. (That goes double for my Mom, but since I'm writing about veterans, I'll have to save thanking Mom for Mothers Day).
Dad joined the Army Air Corps in WWII and served as a Mechanic, working on B-29 Stratofortresses.
He probably got a nice tan on Guam, which was a major base of operations in the Pacific for the long range bombers my Dad kept in the air.
Next in line are my uncles. My uncle Norman, one of my Dad's older brothers, served in the United States Army and fought at the Battle of the Bulge, if my childhood story memory is correct.
My uncle Joe served in the U.S. Navy in WWII as well. He worked in the morgue, if memory serves, preparing those who sacrificed everything for their last trip back home. He was one of my Mother's older brothers. My Uncle John, my Mother's oldest brother, served in the U.S. Army as well in WWII. He was a cook. When he came home on leave he would bring home gifts like sugar and flour, which were greatly appreciated since much was given up on the home front for the war effort in those days.
We must count our blessings that we give up very little for a war effort nowadays, except for those who have family in harm's way. No gas lines or rationing of basic supplies here any more.
My Uncle Gerald, who married my Dad's only sister, also served in the Army in WWII.
Another brother of my Mother was too young for WWII but served in Korea in the U.S. Air Force. Thank you, Uncle Frank.
My Father in-law, also named Frank, also served in the Air Force between Korea and Vietnam. It was the beginning of the Cold War years. A few of the peace time stories he has told also spoke of some cold weather in remote mid west air bases! Thanks for keeping guard, Frank.
Then in my generation there was my older sister, Pam. She joined the U.S. Marines right out of high school. This decision was right out of left field for my parents. She re-upped after getting out for a few months following her first hitch. I think the first hitch was four years and the second six, or vice versa. I was only around 12 years old so I don't recall.
Then she got hitched to another Marine. The Marines look for a few good men. She found hers.
Which brings me to another same generation veteran, my brother in law Paul. Thank you, Paul, for your service.
One of my cousins had a stint in the Marines, also. Thank you, David, for your time in the uniform.
And Tommy, I appreciate your service in the Air Force.
I have a number of current and former co-workers who have served. Brooks Rose, my thanks go out to you, Marine. Hooah.
Josh Lehmann, I don't know what you did to talk the Army into taking you, you crazy Cajun, but thanks to you as well. Capt. Theresa Sommers, U.S. Army, (and your husband as well), I appreciate your service to our country, doing multiple tours abroad, particularly these days.
To my former Team Lead, Gary McDonald. I might have been too young to really appreciate your service in Vietnam when you were serving, but I certainly do now. Thank you for coming home safe and being a great boss.
Rick Alvarado, U.S. Army, thank you for your time away from your family and your sacrifice. I'm glad you came home safe, too. Rick is married to a former co-worker of mine who, last I knew, was working for Homeland Security.
There may be a few others I haven't mentioned here, but if the lateness of the hour has suppressed my memory of names, forgive me.
As I sit here in my military theme decor home office writing this blog, I look around at the ammo crates I purchased at a local Army/Navy store some years ago that I used to build my desk, shelves and wall cabinets. I gaze at the photos and posters of various military aircraft I have framed and hanging on the wall. I glance up at the camouflage netting "curtains" draped over an old Army tent pole that is resting on old bayonet handles I've mounted to the wall as if they are stuck in the wall itself. I look at these things and wonder just how many sons, husbands, daughters and wives carried these pieces of equipment and supplies and speculate who flew those aircraft over the years that I now admire in these frames. I wonder if they came home to the welcoming arms of their families and spouses or...if they did not. I wonder if any of the ordnance that sat in these wooden crates stopped an advance of an enemy or if they were just used in a training exercise.
I do know one thing. I like Veterans Day. I like that we set aside a 24 hour period to pause and remember the men and women who have served and continue to serve. I know in these times I think about them more than just one day a year. Heck, I usually think about them at least a couple times a week.
To all of those whom I have mentioned above,
Thank you.
As with any speech or presentation, one starts with the "thank yous" to the individuals responsible for one's being in the position to give said speech or presentation. So here goes.
First, I'd like to thank my Dad. If it wasn't for him, I truly wouldn't be here. (That goes double for my Mom, but since I'm writing about veterans, I'll have to save thanking Mom for Mothers Day).
Dad joined the Army Air Corps in WWII and served as a Mechanic, working on B-29 Stratofortresses.
He probably got a nice tan on Guam, which was a major base of operations in the Pacific for the long range bombers my Dad kept in the air.
Next in line are my uncles. My uncle Norman, one of my Dad's older brothers, served in the United States Army and fought at the Battle of the Bulge, if my childhood story memory is correct.
My uncle Joe served in the U.S. Navy in WWII as well. He worked in the morgue, if memory serves, preparing those who sacrificed everything for their last trip back home. He was one of my Mother's older brothers. My Uncle John, my Mother's oldest brother, served in the U.S. Army as well in WWII. He was a cook. When he came home on leave he would bring home gifts like sugar and flour, which were greatly appreciated since much was given up on the home front for the war effort in those days.
We must count our blessings that we give up very little for a war effort nowadays, except for those who have family in harm's way. No gas lines or rationing of basic supplies here any more.
My Uncle Gerald, who married my Dad's only sister, also served in the Army in WWII.
Another brother of my Mother was too young for WWII but served in Korea in the U.S. Air Force. Thank you, Uncle Frank.
My Father in-law, also named Frank, also served in the Air Force between Korea and Vietnam. It was the beginning of the Cold War years. A few of the peace time stories he has told also spoke of some cold weather in remote mid west air bases! Thanks for keeping guard, Frank.
Then in my generation there was my older sister, Pam. She joined the U.S. Marines right out of high school. This decision was right out of left field for my parents. She re-upped after getting out for a few months following her first hitch. I think the first hitch was four years and the second six, or vice versa. I was only around 12 years old so I don't recall.
Then she got hitched to another Marine. The Marines look for a few good men. She found hers.
Which brings me to another same generation veteran, my brother in law Paul. Thank you, Paul, for your service.
One of my cousins had a stint in the Marines, also. Thank you, David, for your time in the uniform.
And Tommy, I appreciate your service in the Air Force.
I have a number of current and former co-workers who have served. Brooks Rose, my thanks go out to you, Marine. Hooah.
Josh Lehmann, I don't know what you did to talk the Army into taking you, you crazy Cajun, but thanks to you as well. Capt. Theresa Sommers, U.S. Army, (and your husband as well), I appreciate your service to our country, doing multiple tours abroad, particularly these days.
To my former Team Lead, Gary McDonald. I might have been too young to really appreciate your service in Vietnam when you were serving, but I certainly do now. Thank you for coming home safe and being a great boss.
Rick Alvarado, U.S. Army, thank you for your time away from your family and your sacrifice. I'm glad you came home safe, too. Rick is married to a former co-worker of mine who, last I knew, was working for Homeland Security.
There may be a few others I haven't mentioned here, but if the lateness of the hour has suppressed my memory of names, forgive me.
As I sit here in my military theme decor home office writing this blog, I look around at the ammo crates I purchased at a local Army/Navy store some years ago that I used to build my desk, shelves and wall cabinets. I gaze at the photos and posters of various military aircraft I have framed and hanging on the wall. I glance up at the camouflage netting "curtains" draped over an old Army tent pole that is resting on old bayonet handles I've mounted to the wall as if they are stuck in the wall itself. I look at these things and wonder just how many sons, husbands, daughters and wives carried these pieces of equipment and supplies and speculate who flew those aircraft over the years that I now admire in these frames. I wonder if they came home to the welcoming arms of their families and spouses or...if they did not. I wonder if any of the ordnance that sat in these wooden crates stopped an advance of an enemy or if they were just used in a training exercise.
I do know one thing. I like Veterans Day. I like that we set aside a 24 hour period to pause and remember the men and women who have served and continue to serve. I know in these times I think about them more than just one day a year. Heck, I usually think about them at least a couple times a week.
To all of those whom I have mentioned above,
Thank you.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Good fences make good times
I didn't always have such a cushy job.
One thing about having to work for a living from the time you could (legally) drive a car is that you learn to appreciate the employment you have as an older adult. I have had many jobs, the first being the typical paper route type, of which I had two different routes. Wait, back up a minute. There was that convenience store short, short, short term job I had when I was roughly thirteen before the paper routes. A school buddy of mine named Ronald, a nice red headed kid, hooked us up with an after school gig where we mopped the floor and stocked a few shelves after the store closed and made a few bucks. I think that ended when I slipped once and used the term "pissed off" in front of my parents and my Mom got...well, pissed off. I blurted out that I had heard that term from the store owner when we didn't complete some task as we should have and, well, there went that job.
So, after the store job, I had two paper routes, the larger one fetching enough funds to buy my first ten speed bike and a blue jean jacket, the rave of style in those days.
I looked studly in it. Does anyone remember the term "studly"? No? Anyone? Anyone? Okay, so I looked cool in it. On my ten speed. Which was also blue.
There were a few other pre-college jobs; The Dallas Morning News, where I worked in "Quality Control". The title of the department had nothing to do with what we did. Essentially we filed the ads that they would pull to lay out, shoot the plate for the page to be printed, and then file them back in a large wall of slots. The coolest part of this coveted position was the ability to read the entire week of newspaper comic strips before they went to press. Well, all but Sunday's comics, or "funny papers". Those were full color and kept elsewhere.
You wouldn't think a sophomore in high school would find that part of the job so cool. But we did, because we sat around. A LOT. Easiest minimum wage ever made.
Then came the summer of 1979, following graduation from dear old Kimball High.
My best friend in life was good friends with a guy whose father owned a fence company. Being that neither of us were from what you would call rich stock, we had to work for any money to go anywhere or do anything, so this was prime full time employment. And I didn't even need to drive to work because they would pick me up from home every morning.
Yeah, almost like in the movie Good Will Hunting. Except we weren't THAT poor, we didn't drive down the street and pick fights at random, and we had Texas twangs instead of "Bah'sten" accents.
These were good times. Now I don't know if we found so many things amusing about the job because the heat wave of 1981 (my second summer at this job) fried our brains, or because we were early college age guys enjoying the last days of essentially care free work before we joined the rank and file of working stiffs having to make car and house payments with their employment income. We all still lived at home rent free, our cars were old hunks that were paid for, and our dating lives were...sporadic. So the money we made either went into the bank to eventually pay for books or it paid for FUN.
Most of the fence we built - in fact, ALL - of the fence we built was galvanized chain link. We did have one wood privacy fence job fencing around some pool pump equipment for some woman who had sons our age, and this job ended with us borrowing said sons' swim trunks and hitting the pool.
Like I said, good times.
The first fence job I worked was a large chain link fence job for a really, REALLY old woman somewhere in North Dallas who wanted to keep "those stupid keeids" out of her yard. That job almost gave the crew supervisor - the owner's son - an early heart attack. She couldn't hardly be pleased.
We had some close calls with death, too, on this job. Other than the heat of 1981. We once had a load of sand in the back of our 8 foot bed 1979 Chevy Cheyenne crew cab pickup and blew a tire while traveling in the middle lane of south bound Interstate 35 near downtown Dallas. As luck would have it, the tire tread remnants wrapped around the rear axle and clinched the emergency brake cable so tightly against it that it jerked us to a quick stop IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREEWAY.
I swear that - sounding dangerously close to Rosanna Rosannadanna - I thought I was gonna die.
But we didn't. Months later, while driving down that stretch of historic road, I used to show friends, with pride, the deep gouge in the concrete running from the center lane of five lanes all the way over to the shoulder that was created by our left rear rim - sans tire - when some good Samaritan helped push our truck over to the side of the freeway. Amazingly enough, there were no accidents.
We didn't get much fence built that day.
There were also shenanigans that helped pass the time. You know, pranks.
One day I was too slow getting a nut threaded onto a bolt being held by a straining, trembling hand of a co-worker through the hole of a fence bracket that holds the chain link fence against the pole. So, in retaliation, later that day one of the crew laid some of the fence bolt nuts out in the sun for a few minutes and then casually let one of them drop down my "plumber butt crack" whilst I was crouched down working on....something.
I swear I thought they were going to wet themselves watching me move faster than I ever had in my life to shake that red hot nut down my pants leg. If we hadn't been so dehydrated I think they might actually have stained themselves.
Then once I was pulling up on a wire with my trusty pliers and the pliers slipped off the wire and popped me in the mouth. That was while installing fence along the roof of one of the utility rooms at the Cotton Bowl at Fair Park. I went into a temper tirade for about 15 seconds, throwing tools, buckets, spools of wire everywhere. When I played out, I looked around at the other two workers who were staring at me like I'd lost my mind.
Good times.
I'll be seeing the friend who helped me land that job this Thanksgiving. We'll drive up to see him and his family along with some other friends and we'll probably share other stories that we HAVEN'T heard a hundred times - like these stories - because we've both lived long enough to have experienced just a few more golden moments.
But no story or experience will be about a time where I was so darkly tanned, scratched up from barbed wire, or had fingers (or lips) so bruised up from pliers, pinching brackets, or red hot bolts.
"Good fences make good neighbors"? Maybe, Mr. Frost. but they also make great friendships and even better memories.
One thing about having to work for a living from the time you could (legally) drive a car is that you learn to appreciate the employment you have as an older adult. I have had many jobs, the first being the typical paper route type, of which I had two different routes. Wait, back up a minute. There was that convenience store short, short, short term job I had when I was roughly thirteen before the paper routes. A school buddy of mine named Ronald, a nice red headed kid, hooked us up with an after school gig where we mopped the floor and stocked a few shelves after the store closed and made a few bucks. I think that ended when I slipped once and used the term "pissed off" in front of my parents and my Mom got...well, pissed off. I blurted out that I had heard that term from the store owner when we didn't complete some task as we should have and, well, there went that job.
So, after the store job, I had two paper routes, the larger one fetching enough funds to buy my first ten speed bike and a blue jean jacket, the rave of style in those days.
I looked studly in it. Does anyone remember the term "studly"? No? Anyone? Anyone? Okay, so I looked cool in it. On my ten speed. Which was also blue.
There were a few other pre-college jobs; The Dallas Morning News, where I worked in "Quality Control". The title of the department had nothing to do with what we did. Essentially we filed the ads that they would pull to lay out, shoot the plate for the page to be printed, and then file them back in a large wall of slots. The coolest part of this coveted position was the ability to read the entire week of newspaper comic strips before they went to press. Well, all but Sunday's comics, or "funny papers". Those were full color and kept elsewhere.
You wouldn't think a sophomore in high school would find that part of the job so cool. But we did, because we sat around. A LOT. Easiest minimum wage ever made.
Then came the summer of 1979, following graduation from dear old Kimball High.
My best friend in life was good friends with a guy whose father owned a fence company. Being that neither of us were from what you would call rich stock, we had to work for any money to go anywhere or do anything, so this was prime full time employment. And I didn't even need to drive to work because they would pick me up from home every morning.
Yeah, almost like in the movie Good Will Hunting. Except we weren't THAT poor, we didn't drive down the street and pick fights at random, and we had Texas twangs instead of "Bah'sten" accents.
These were good times. Now I don't know if we found so many things amusing about the job because the heat wave of 1981 (my second summer at this job) fried our brains, or because we were early college age guys enjoying the last days of essentially care free work before we joined the rank and file of working stiffs having to make car and house payments with their employment income. We all still lived at home rent free, our cars were old hunks that were paid for, and our dating lives were...sporadic. So the money we made either went into the bank to eventually pay for books or it paid for FUN.
Most of the fence we built - in fact, ALL - of the fence we built was galvanized chain link. We did have one wood privacy fence job fencing around some pool pump equipment for some woman who had sons our age, and this job ended with us borrowing said sons' swim trunks and hitting the pool.
Like I said, good times.
The first fence job I worked was a large chain link fence job for a really, REALLY old woman somewhere in North Dallas who wanted to keep "those stupid keeids" out of her yard. That job almost gave the crew supervisor - the owner's son - an early heart attack. She couldn't hardly be pleased.
We had some close calls with death, too, on this job. Other than the heat of 1981. We once had a load of sand in the back of our 8 foot bed 1979 Chevy Cheyenne crew cab pickup and blew a tire while traveling in the middle lane of south bound Interstate 35 near downtown Dallas. As luck would have it, the tire tread remnants wrapped around the rear axle and clinched the emergency brake cable so tightly against it that it jerked us to a quick stop IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREEWAY.
I swear that - sounding dangerously close to Rosanna Rosannadanna - I thought I was gonna die.
But we didn't. Months later, while driving down that stretch of historic road, I used to show friends, with pride, the deep gouge in the concrete running from the center lane of five lanes all the way over to the shoulder that was created by our left rear rim - sans tire - when some good Samaritan helped push our truck over to the side of the freeway. Amazingly enough, there were no accidents.
We didn't get much fence built that day.
There were also shenanigans that helped pass the time. You know, pranks.
One day I was too slow getting a nut threaded onto a bolt being held by a straining, trembling hand of a co-worker through the hole of a fence bracket that holds the chain link fence against the pole. So, in retaliation, later that day one of the crew laid some of the fence bolt nuts out in the sun for a few minutes and then casually let one of them drop down my "plumber butt crack" whilst I was crouched down working on....something.
I swear I thought they were going to wet themselves watching me move faster than I ever had in my life to shake that red hot nut down my pants leg. If we hadn't been so dehydrated I think they might actually have stained themselves.
Then once I was pulling up on a wire with my trusty pliers and the pliers slipped off the wire and popped me in the mouth. That was while installing fence along the roof of one of the utility rooms at the Cotton Bowl at Fair Park. I went into a temper tirade for about 15 seconds, throwing tools, buckets, spools of wire everywhere. When I played out, I looked around at the other two workers who were staring at me like I'd lost my mind.
Good times.
I'll be seeing the friend who helped me land that job this Thanksgiving. We'll drive up to see him and his family along with some other friends and we'll probably share other stories that we HAVEN'T heard a hundred times - like these stories - because we've both lived long enough to have experienced just a few more golden moments.
But no story or experience will be about a time where I was so darkly tanned, scratched up from barbed wire, or had fingers (or lips) so bruised up from pliers, pinching brackets, or red hot bolts.
"Good fences make good neighbors"? Maybe, Mr. Frost. but they also make great friendships and even better memories.
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